Luminescent

Chapter 5

A/N//: And so begins the countdown to the wedding. I really only added in this counter because I lose track of days so very easily. Enjoy. Give Diby a read, please, thank you.

Harold's Perspective - Friday - Thirteen Days Until the Wedding

Finally, it was done. Harold had crossed his t's and dotted his i's, and the alliance with Forrod had been completed as much as it could be until King Adleherd joined him for the signing on the eve of his wedding. For now, the document was tucked safely in the locked drawer of his desk. He had actually finished reading and editing a lot sooner than he had anticipated. The clock on his wall told him it was only noon, and he had nothing lined up for the rest of the day. He actually had time for leisure, and, fuck, his shoulders and back needed the leisure. Harold leaned back in his chair, glancing at the window. Unfortunately, it was a sticky, rainy day. There wasn't much he could do in the way of outdoor activities, but he could find himself something inside.

Quickly, his mind wandered to the prince who he devoted his time to for the next day. Erart seemed to want to spend as much time as possible in Harold's company, so it wouldn't hurt to visit him. Hell, maybe he'd enjoy a game of chess. Eins was off and at home, so he wasn't around to entertain him, but after last night's display, he wasn't sure he wanted to be around his advisor if he were available.

After allowing his back to rest for a little while, he rose from his seat and began his search for Erart. He never thought finding a flamboyant and happy silver-haired prince would be such a difficult task. Everywhere he went, there was no Erart. He wasn't in the kitchen talking to the chef, who he had quickly befriended after discovering his cake creations. He wasn't in the library counting all of Harold's philosophy books and pouring over his texts there were written in High Sellendren. He obviously wasn't outside trying to convince Harold's guards to spar with him. He never thought Erart would be so impossible to find. He actually has to resort to asking a maid of his whereabouts.

"The Prince, your Majesty?" she asked. " He actually has yet to rise from his bed."

"He's still asleep? At this hour?" Harold asked. "No one has tried to wake him?"

"Actually, Sir, he's awake. He's just staying at the ceiling though. We asked if we should call the doctor, but he just asked us to leave him alone and not tell you," she replied hurriedly.

"I'm glad you did," Harold said. "I'm going to go check on him. Thank you."

Harold didn't stick around long enough to hear the maid reply. He was walking as quickly as his feet would carry him to Erart's bedchamber. Harold was actually worried. It was unlike Erart to stay in bed for so long. In the few weeks he'd been there, he'd always been an early riser. If the sky was awake, he was awake, and hell-bent on making Harold's life difficult. But if what the maid said was true, and he was hoping it wasn't, something was wrong.

The King found himself outside of the Prince's door. He knocked gently, but there was no answer. He knocked again, harder this time, but still the Prince didn't answer.

After waiting another moment, Harold muttered, "Fuck formalities," and opened the door.

The room was dark. The curtains hadn't been drawn. A fire hadn't been lit. The window was cracked open to let in the depressing sound of the rain. In the dim lighting, Harold could vaguely make out the shape of Erart lying beneath the covers of his bed. Harold slowly crossed over to him, but before he even made it half away, he found himself stepped on something that gave a slight crunch when he walked on it. He knelt down to examine it. From the looks of it, it was the flower vase that once sat on Erart's bedside table.

Harold looked back at Erart. What the hell was going on inside his head? Had he thrown the vase? He couldn't picture any other reason it had gotten half away across the room. As his eyes adjusted, he realized there was more than one thing broken in the room. The mirror to his dressing table was shattered. His chair was upturned. The drawings around his bed had been torn down. The room was an absolute wreck. Honestly, with the window open like that, Harold was worried something had happened to Erart. He stood quickly and crossed the rest of the distance toward Erart. Again, screwing formalities, he climbed across Erart's wide bed until he was able to place a hand on his shoulder. When he felt the steady rise and fall of his body with his breaths, Harold released one of his own he didn't realize he'd been holding.