The prince was crying in his bed. He dug hard with the heels of his hands, trying to scrub the tears away but more sprung out to take their place. He hadn't realized that he was so well hydrated.

Someone would be coming soon, and he didn't want to be seen like this. The new healer. Or maybe the work man who was repairing the stone work, the one who seemed like a nice person, no matter what Elwin had said. Or El, he did want it to be him that came first, even though that was the last person he wanted to be extra pathetic around.

His father, the man who's face he could barely remember, it had been so long since he had seen it, had been to see him early this morning. He had told him that this was the last time any such effort would be made on his behalf, that he had better make the most of it. The prince had been scolded, like a small child who had been bad. His father had looked at him like he was a leper and spoken to him like he was an idiot. And one you weren't even particularly found of.

Prin was scared. What did this mean? Did this mean that they would no longer give him medicines to ease pain or fevers, that the next time he had a bad spell they would just let him die, just to be rid of him? He was scared. But he was also angry. Up until now he had not fully understood the feeling of anger, of rage, as the only ones he had ever had occasion to be angry with were the gods and circumstance, and he knew well how futile that anger was. The prince really just didn't consider himself that kind of person anyway.

But the tears were fire-hot angry ones.

A knock came at the door to his room, more of a gentle tap tap. It didn't seem like El to knock, but maybe he had heard the crying and was trying to be polite to help the prince preserve his dignity. Prin tried to straighten up quickly, using the hem of his nightshirt to hastily scrub his face. Please stop, please, he begged the salty rivulets that continued down his cheeks unheeding.

He wondered if he should ask El to get his stuffed rabbit out of storage, the one that Nanny had made for him. It would be a great comfort.

“Come in.” Prin said, cursing his tremulous voice. Was he a man or an infant? Okay, maybe that question's answer depended on the moment of asking.

The heavy door moved with a long complaining creak and the person standing there was no one the prince had ever seen in his life. He would have remembered.

He was a young man, around the age of El and Prin perhaps, with a slender build and short stature. His hair was white and curly, fluffing up and around like a dandelion's mane. His was an unfamiliar style of dress, a dapper brocade jacket with gold embroidery over a black velvet tunic that was soft and flowing. He had rings on his hands and large eyes that were silver-grey. No, when the light from the window hit them, they were honey colored instead. His feet made no noise at all on the old smooth stones of the flooring.

Prin took one last swipe at his face with his blanket, the tears had ceased, startled out of him.

“Hello?” Prin knew it wasn't much of a greeting.

The boy smiled at him. “Hello.” He responded back. His voice was sweet and clear. Maybe it was a girl after all, in vaguely masculine dress. Prin had no idea what to make of them.

“I- Are you supposed to be here?” The prince wondered. He tried to make his own voice equally gentle, not wanting to startle them, or imply that they should hurry away.

“Yes.” That smile. If it held much longer it would be unnerving. “I am here to help you.” The honeyed voice caressed the air in the room.

The prince was reminded of a picture of snakes breeding he had seen in a book and the description, intertwined and writhing. Which he remembered being fascinated by. He didn't know why that had popped into his head. Or why his mind was wandering this way.

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“You are the healer!?” He was shocked. But he didn't know what a real one was supposed to look like. Since he had never met a real one. “I am sorry for being rude.” He said, chagrined. “I'm very tired.”

“You must be very tired.” The healer agreed. “Your life has been nothing but suffering.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Prin said. “I have good days and bad. But I'm normally not such a mess as this.” He added the lie and then broke it. “Maybe I am a mess always. I don't know why I would even say otherwise.” He smiled back, a wan little smile that he knew wasn't helping matters. “Are you a boy or a girl?” he asked. He was thinking about what Elwin said about not letting men in the room, but he quickly regretted the question. Was it unforgivably rude? He had little society manners. No need for them. “What's your name?”

“I am the same as you.” The healer said, ignoring the second question. He closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room, stopping beside the bed.

“A boy? Or someone with a horrible father and a family who doesn't care about them?” Prin said dryly. He knew he came off as a petulant child, but who cared anyway. “You can sit down, if you like.” He patted the bed beside himself.

The boy sat down beside him. He had a smell that grew very strong as he got closer. Some sort of perfume. Pleasant, but very strong and herbal. It was making Prin slightly nauseated.

The boy put his ringed hand on Prin's “There is freedom in that. If they don't care about you there is no need for you to care about them.”

The prince nodded agreeably. “There would be no earthly point.”

The boy moved his hand to Prin's face, caressing his forehead and down over his eyes, closing them under deft fingers, and down further over each cheek.

It felt like a cool breeze from the window, between the iron bars that kept him from falling out. Or flying away.

“I'm not really a healer.” The boy said softly. “I am so much more then that. I can change you into something new. Something more strong and well then you could possibly imagine. Wouldn't you like to walk out of here on your own two legs? You can. But the transformation will not be easy. It is good you have been used to pain already.”

“You don't have to put up this show. I know you can't really make me better. You can just read books with me for a time that seems appropriate and then . . . I will say whatever you want me to say to my father. Whatever gets you full payment. He won't be angry when it doesn't work, not at you. He considers that a personal failing on my own part, apparently. Although many things have been done that were horrible . . .When I was young they broke my legs again, to try and make them grow longer I think. And that almost killed me, although it didn't work at all.” He opened his eyes and gasped. Those weird silver-honey eyes were inches from his own and he felt he was being swallowed by the moon.

“The cure requires sacrifices.” The boy said, as though Prin had never spoken. “You are so lovely, a pretty creature like you should not be trapped away in an attic like a nest of mice. The marvelous things you will do when you are free.” He leaned closer still and kissed the prince on the mouth.

Prin could feel keenly every split second of the stolen kiss, although the twin moons had captured his ability to move and he thought, the kiss had stolen the breath from his body. If he was dying he supposed it was alright, he made his peace with it. No, no, no! Something in the back of his mind screamed out. I'm not a ghost, to be brought back to life! I am alive already, let me go! The perfume created a fog, and he was no longer sure if it was day or night. Maybe it had been night this whole time.

“The pain will last for one day.” The boy held up one finger, and what had seemed a silver ring in the shape of a snake, slithered around his finger, getting comfortable, with a flick of it's tiny needle's edge of a tail. “And then you can leave this place. If you want to. Or stay, and rule.” He closed his hand into a fist. His grin was more sly now, it's tinge of over the top sweetness gone. “If I were you, the first ones sacrificed would be that fat little prince and princess downstairs.”

*

A fevered dream of blood and screaming, he thought was his own but maybe wasn't.

The prince had moments of lucidity where he hated that he had been so easily overtaken. He should have fought harder. Or he should have died easier when he had the chance.

One day is a meaningless promise, when time itself has no meaning.

The prince thought he must have spent a good deal of the time unconscious, or nearly so, but strange dreams and visions would follow him . . . no matter how he tried to outrun them.