Each year the Kingdom of Khearia throws a festival in remembrance of one of their most beloved kings who had tragically perished along with his wife and second son. His first son, Prince Fabian, was the only one to survive. Witnesses claimed his cro...
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True to his word, James didn't bring his confession up again that day. In fact, he behaved like he'd never said anything at all. The only thing that was strange was James' insistence of getting off his horse every half an hour to dig up some kind or root or pick some kind of flower. Alex was under the assumption that this was to fix his eyes, but James was a paranoid man, he doubted James needed most of the things he had collected.
ㅤIt was something that Riley had seemed very concerned with. "What are you making, a bouquet?" he'd asked sarcastically.
ㅤJames had sneered in response, but remained abnormally mute.
ㅤTensions had been steadily heightening, just like the terrain. They were getting closer to their destination, the danger, and they could feel it thinning the air, clinging to the sweat that stuck to their skin. Fletcher had seemed to be taking it the hardest, he wasn't like the rest of them, he wasn't equipped to handle such pressure.
ㅤJames had accrued the brunt of Fletcher's anxious hovering. The first time James had tried digging up some roots with his bare hands, Fletcher had ranted angrily, much to everyone's surprise. He'd tolerated Fletcher cleaning the dirt off his palms before wrapping them in so many layers of bandages that they resembled paws.
ㅤ"You need to protect against infection," Fletcher had insisted.
ㅤJames hadn't seemed convinced. "Do you know how much dirt, blood, rot, and filth these sore hands have come into contact with in the last fifteen years?"
ㅤFletcher narrowed his eyes at this. "And how many times have they been infected?"
ㅤ"Well, they've never needed amputating yet," James insisted hesitantly.
ㅤBy some miracle, James had kept his cool throughout the day. Alex supposed it wasn't something to be surprised about. Even if James could be snappy, his career as an assassin had dictated he needed patience.
ㅤBy the time they'd finally decided to set up camp, the air moistening as it became darker, Fletcher had burned through a significant amount of their medical supplies.
ㅤJames sat on a log, neutrally, as Fletcher kneeled in front of him, refreshening the bandages for the fourth time that day. They were a little off the path, sheltered by trees that were growing out of a cliff face, and blocking their view of the sky. The steep rocks were blanketed in a fuzz of ivy and ferns, birds came and went from small crevices and gaps, their nests hidden away.
ㅤMost importantly, up against the cliff was a small crumbling stone cottage, long abandoned and roofless, a skeleton of what it used to be. The wind had picked up as they'd climbed in altitude, so the walls would do well in protecting them from the night's chill.
ㅤ"Don't use any more of our medical supplies," Alex told the scholar, "we might need them tomorrow."
ㅤFletcher glared at him. "We need them now. James is hurt, and just because he's used to it doesn't mean it can be neglected. You need to consider him more sensitively, Lord Alex, he's not indestructible."
