The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Thirty-Six - The Message

Mark's face throbs as he crouches on the floor, the blood from his nose caking on his face and his wounds bloodying his shredded clothing. The three men tower over him, their boots next to his face.

"How lucky that you decided to attend the ball," one man says, leaning down and holding Mark's head up by a handful of his hair. "We've been looking for the lost Prince of Rubellus for some time now."

"Just think, he was King Seán's little pet," another remarks, causing the other men to break out in cruel laughter.

"How does it feel, Prince Mark?" the man holding his hair asks. He gives another forceful tug, causing the prince to wince as he muffles a yell.

Gritting his teeth, Mark scowls and attempts to channel his magic, but the moment a strand of red circles his hand, he receives a swift kick to the jaw. His eyes nearly roll backwards in his head as he collapses, a new bruise forming on his face. His inability to fight back seems to spur the men on, and soon, three pairs of feet are pounding into his stomach and ribs again. He tries to cry out for help, but his voice is lost in a cough that makes his mouth taste like blood. Hot tears stream down his face and blur his vision as he curls into the fetal position, his body in too much pain for him to do much else.

"They said damaged, not dead. Come on, lay off and let the little prince cry before we cart him off," the original kidnapper says, glancing back at the others from his place by the door. Two pairs of feet back off, and the third lands another kick to his ribs before backing off as well. "The conquerer of Rubellus wants to kill him himself."

The four men leave, giving Mark an opportunity to lie there and cry. His magic warms him, but can't seem to heal him. He can't channel it strong enough due to the pain that courses through his entire body. He rolls himself over just enough to cough blood onto the stone floor below him, sending another wave of agony through his gut. The physical pain is one thing, however. His mind has become so numb that he can barely think.

He lifts his hand, watching it for a moment before murmuring softly, "Can you please give Seán this message?"

His magic throbs in his veins, causing him to nearly cry out from the sheer stinging that accompanies it. It swirls around his hand, turning his very blood into liquid fire. Tears well in his eyes, but he keeps channeling it as he starts to murmur his message.

——

Seán jumps off his horse, observing the town around him with a deadpan gaze. He hates stopping, but the knights can only ride for so long, and their horses need rest and nourishment. At least the mayor here is kind enough to let them stay in the local inn for free. At least, that's how Seán likes to see it. That the man's actions are because of his heart, not because of the fact that Seán is the king.

His magic jolts, causing the royal to nearly lose his footing. Almost instantly, several men are around him, all asking if he's okay.

"I am fine," Seán replies, waving them off. "I just need to rest."

The knights back off and the king moves hastily to his room, channeling his magic the moment he shuts the door. In an instant, red starts to intermingle with green.

"Mark?" he squeaks, his throat closing up.

Softly, Mark's scratchy, broken voice fills the air. "Seán, I don't have a lot of time. They might come back. Um... I don't know where I am, but hopefully you'll find me. Hopefully I'll be alive when you do." He pauses, and the king can almost hear him gritting his teeth to bite back a cry of pain. "If I'm not, just know that I would have loved to waste more time with you." Mark laughs weakly. "I wanted to tell you in real life that I've fallen in love with you, but I didn't want to die and never get the chance to tell you at all."  He inhales sharply, a twinge of panic entering his tone.  "They're coming back. I have to go."

The red fades from the green and Seán absorbs his magic back into his hand, tears welling in his eyes. He tries to wipe them away, but his attempts are fruitless. So, for the first time in ages, he just lets himself sob. Mark is far away and being tortured, and there's nothing the king can do to help. He just told Seán that he loves him over a message because he's afraid he'll die.

Mark can't die. Seán has so much he needs to tell him. The royal settles onto his bed and pulls the pillow close to his chest, burying his face into the soft fabric. It smells like feathers and soap. Seán wishes it smelled like Mark.

A knock sounds at the door, followed by a voice telling him that dinner is ready. Slowly, Seán pulls himself up, gets himself back under control, and exits his room.