Fanaza and Percival finally reached the inn, but every step felt like dragging a mountain. Percival leaned heavily on her, his arm weighing her shoulders down, his breath shallow and warm against her neck. His boots scraped the ground, and every groan that slipped from his lips made her grip him tighter.
When she pushed open the inn doors, the noise inside hushed. Stefan was the first to rush toward them, his face pale with worry.
"Percival! I looked everywhere for you both!" he exclaimed.
"Now isn't the time, Stefan," Fanaza snapped, though her voice trembled with panic. "I need every first aid kit here—and a physician, immediately!"
For a second, Stefan only stared at the blood soaking through Percival's clothes. Then he nodded quickly. "Take care of him—I'll fetch one." His footsteps thundered down the hallway as he disappeared.
Fanaza tightened her hold on Percival, half-dragging, half-guiding him into a room. His weight almost buckled her knees, but she refused to let go. She lowered him carefully onto the bed, arranging pillows behind his head. His eyes fluttered open just long enough to give her a faint, pained smile.
The door creaked. Lyon entered quietly with a wooden box clutched in his hands. Fanaza's eyes flicked to the kit, then back to him. She gave a curt nod. Stefan set the supplies down on a table and, sensing her urgency, slipped out without a word.
The room fell silent.
Fanaza sat beside Percival, her hands trembling as they hovered over his chest. The smell of iron filled her nose. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding louder than his ragged breaths.
"I won't hurt you, Fanaza," Percival murmured, voice strained. "But… it hurts a lot."
His warm breath brushed her fingers. He lifted one hand, weak but steady, and clasped hers. A faint smirk tugged at his lips despite the blood on them.
Her throat tightened. Slowly, she reached for the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one. The fabric stuck to his skin with blood, and when she peeled it away, her breath caught. A black dragon tattoo sprawled across his chest and side, its ink coiling like it was alive.
She swallowed hard, leaning closer. Her knees brushed the bedframe as she picked up a strip of wool from the kit.
"This is going to hurt," she whispered.
Percival's lips curved faintly, though his eyes were glassy with pain. "It could never hurt as much as seeing you afraid of me."
Fanaza's hand froze. She blinked quickly, then shook her head. "I'm not afraid of you, Percival." Her voice was soft, but steady.
She pressed the wool to his wound. Blood soaked into the cloth immediately. Percival hissed and clenched his teeth, but his gaze never wavered from her face. Fanaza cleaned the gash slowly, rinsing with water from the basin, dabbing again, then pulling out the needle and thread. Her fingers shook, but she steadied them with a deep breath.
The thread pierced his skin. Percival groaned softly, his hand gripping the bedsheet.
"You're really good at this," he said, his voice breaking between breaths.
"I had to learn," Fanaza whispered, stitching carefully. "No one else would treat me. I may be noble, but I've lost count of how many wounds I've stitched by myself."
Percival's eyes softened. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his head against her shoulder. His warm breath tickled her neck, sending an involuntary shiver through her.
"Fanaza," he murmured.
"Yes?"
"I think… I'm in love with you." His words came weak but clear, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Her hands froze. Her breath hitched. He leaned closer, lips hovering near hers—but she turned quickly, avoiding the kiss.
He smirked faintly, hiding the hurt in his eyes. He shifted as if to lie back, but Fanaza caught his wrist.
"You can't lie on your wound," she said sharply.
As she pulled him up, she tugged too hard. Suddenly, their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling. His golden eyes darkened.
"Only you could make me restrain myself this badly," he whispered. "Because right now… I really want you."
He lowered his head to her chest, closing his eyes. The words ended there, leaving her with a heart that pounded too hard.
"Percival…" she whispered. But he didn't respond. He had fallen asleep.
******
Rwaine sat in the dim glow of an oil lamp in the house of mirrors. Latisha circled him, her wrinkled hands glowing faintly as she inspected his wounds.
"Your injuries are severe," she said quietly. "Yet you feel no pain."
"That's right," Rwaine muttered. "But it feels like I'm losing too much blood."
"You are," she said. "Trust me—if you could feel pain, you'd already be dead from it."
She began to weave glowing threads of magic, sewing his skin together without needle or wool. The sensation was strange—like fire and frost dancing under his flesh.
Rwaine exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
The woman stopped, blinking at him. Then she burst into laughter.
"The proud boy finally says thank you!" she cackled.
Rwaine rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
*****
Later, the physician examined Percival in his bed, Fanaza standing guard nearby.
"The crown prince is strong," the doctor said after checking his pulse. "He'll recover soon. Truthfully, he should wake at any moment. My lady, you've done most of the work. Well done."
Fanaza lowered her head politely and walked him out. In the hallway, Stefan leaned against the wall, waiting.
"How is he?" he asked.
"He's fine," she said with a forced smile.
Stefan studied her quietly, then spoke. "Do you remember what I told you? To test his feelings for you? Well, now you know. He truly loves you."
Fanaza kept silent.
"I know you may be forced into marriage for alliance," Stefan continued. "But I've known Percival all my life. When he loves someone, he'll do anything for them. He may hurt them, he may make mistakes, but his loyalty never wavers."
Fanaza frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"
Stefan's gaze softened. "Because I've seen the way he looks at you. Only you can change him."
Fanaza scoffed. "You can't change a man, Stefan."
"Then he will change for you," he said quietly, before walking away.
Fanaza stood rooted in place. Why would Percival confess his love to her when her heart belonged to someone else? To Rwaine. She missed him so badly it ached. She couldn't stop thinking about him. How could she possibly love two men at the same time?
When she returned to the room, Percival lay asleep, the sunlight spilling across his bare chest. His body was smooth, strong, almost glowing. She sat at his bedside, staring at his face.
With Rwaine, she had never seen his features clearly—always hidden by his cloak, his scars, his secrets. But Percival was laid bare before her, and it left her unsettled.
Something in his eyes made her want to believe his words but it felt very difficult to do that.
She didn't know when her eyes grew heavy, but soon her head rested on her palm and sleep claimed her.
When Percival awoke, the first thing he saw was her. Her lashes rested against her cheeks, her breathing soft. A warmth stirred in him. Slowly, he reached out and brushed her face with his fingers.
Her eyes flicked open. She gasped and sat up quickly.
"I didn't mean to startle you," Percival said, smiling faintly. He tried to sit up, and Fanaza quickly helped him.
"How do you feel?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.
"My back still aches," he murmured. Then, teasingly: "Perhaps you could massage it."
She scoffed. "Tell the physician that."
"My back hurts, Fanaza. Just a little massage," he said, pouting.
Fanaza blinked. This side of him—playful, almost boyish—was unfamiliar. Despite herself, she smiled.
Percival's eyes widened. "Did you just smile?"
"No," she said quickly, climbing onto the bed to hide her fluster. She pressed her hands into his shoulders, kneading slowly down his back. His muscles tensed under her touch.
Percival groaned softly, closing his eyes in satisfaction.
The knock of the door broke the moment. Stefan entered. "The carriages are ready. We can leave now."
"Leave?" Fanaza turned sharply. "In your condition?"
Percival smirked faintly. "Now you're worried."
"No, but… traveling now? Is that wise?"
"I tried to stop him," Stefan said, exasperated. "But his stubbornness wins. At least the palace is safer for recovery."
Fanaza turned to Percival. "Can't we leave tomorrow instead? So you can rest?"
Percival's gaze softened. "Fine. Anything you say."
Stefan rolled his eyes and left.
When the door closed, Percival turned to her again. His voice was quiet but serious. "Fanaza… can we decide the date for the wedding?"
Her breath caught. Marriage. The word itself felt like a chain tightening around her chest.
"I told my father to delay it," Percival explained. "We would have married a week after your arrival, but I wanted more time to know each other first."
Her pulse raced. "And you think we actually know each other?" she burst out. "What are my hobbies? What do I do when I'm bored? Do I have insomnia, a favorite food, close friends? Do you know any of that? What do you even know about me, Percival?"
He stared at her, stunned. "Why so aggressive? I only asked a question."
Silence swallowed the room. Fanaza bit her lip, guilt heavy on her tongue. But the damage was done.
Percival stood slowly, his expression unreadable. "If you don't want the wedding now, you don't have to answer."
He walked out, leaving her frozen in place.
Her chest heaved as one word echoed over and over in her mind—
The wedding.