•Crowns And Arrows• [Klance]

Pain And Tardiness 101

When Keith woke up a few minutes later, he had to take a moment to realise what had happened.
And then he panicked. Someone had stolen from them, and he'd done nothing to stop it. His father would find out. He'd find some way to blame Keith. He would- Oh god, no.

What to do? He couldn't go back there. That would only look suspicious.
He felt a large bruise blossoming on the side of his face and a small cut on his neck, but nothing serious. Maybe his father would think he'd done that himself. But then again, his rather usually avoided his face, for obvious reasons.
Maybe he should just go back to sleep. He deserved what was coming to him, he was the one that had let the thief go. Stupid Keith.

He fell back into an uneasy sleep, not bothering to get under the blankets. How had he gotten here anyway? Apparently, the thief had brought him here. It made sense. He needed to cover his tracks. A Prince passed out in the treasury would bring unwanted attention, but a Prince passed out on his bed was completely normal.

And so he slept, and slept, strange dreams of drowning in mountains of gold haunting him, and there was that thief again. What was he doing?

The sun was merely more than a white light on the foggy sky, not warming at all the freezing cold from underneath. Lance wiped his numb fingers over his eyes, brushing away the flakes clinging to his lashes as he remembered how his early morning had gone.
He'd headed to Altea, that one village inside the forest people thought was filled with witches to go to that certain market.

"Lonce... I know this is stolen. I can't accept it," his childhood friend had said carefully, making his impatience and desperation grow.
"Allura, please, just- I can't- there's no other way for her... Please just take it."

And after a hard dealing she'd accepted, giving him that one three fuchsia petaled rare flower, so rare that it could only be bought by a king, which healing properties gave it the name of 'tempus miracle', only healing it's consumer for a limited period of time. Having made medicine out of it once he was back at his humble house, he'd greeted the woman on the bed kindly. "Hey, mom. I brought you something." As usual he'd gained no reply from the somewhat paralyzed woman, whose mind seemed to be somewhere far away from there, locked. With extreme care he'd fed her the liquid before going to work, now he just had to wait.

Back to the present, bushes rustled across the clearing. Drawing his bow was a matter of instinct. He peered through the thorns, and his breath caught. That would be a nice catch, and after that he could return to the castle.
Little did he remember the guard presentation of today, which he'd be late to.

As the soft winter sun barely lit his room up, Keith opened his eyes, a searing headache making the room spin in front of him. Last night's events seemed blurry, unfocused. But they didn't matter now, aside from the shame he felt at the memory.
He got up, walked to his rather large bathroom, and looked in the mirror. He looked absolutely terrible.

The bruise had blackened, and spread over half of his left eye. He could hide the small red cut in under his clothes, but the large mark needed some more work.
His skills in hiding bruises had grown over the years, in the rare cases when his father accidentally left a mark somewhere visible, or when he needed to wear a short sleeved shirt.
He took a quick bath, wrapped a robe around himself and got that special creme out of a cabinet. It could usually cover most of the damage, but some of the darkness was too stubborn to go away. Well, it didn't matter. He probably wouldn't see his father today anyway.
What was his schedule for today? First, that guard thing. His father insisted on it, said that showing your face to your protectors was a good way to motivate and inspire them. Keith couldn't disagree.
After that.. Oh shit. Those royal assholes would visit. They wouldn't come before noon, but Keith was still not looking forward to that. Great. He quickly picked out an outfit, something regal to show the other Prince and Queen he was 'honoured' by their visit. Maybe if they would stop subtly -and not so subtly- insulting him in front of his father, he might actually like them.
The dark red of his vest was interrupted by beautifully stitched, golden patterns, and a thick, dark belt held it tight. Too tight, maybe.