That afternoon, Alex had decided to give his muscles—still aching from Sven's last beating—a rest and was wandering through the palace corridors with no real destination.
He didn't know what to do and he was bored, but he had no desire to go down into the city and attract more criticism. If only Myrina weren't busy with her lessons, he could have bothered her instead.
He was about to head for the library when a muffled thud caught his attention.
William was leaning against a wall, and at his feet, sprawled across the floor, lay a couple of thick tomes—probably the source of the noise.
"William?"
The mage shot him a strange look and straightened up. He tried to bend down, but doubled over with a groan. His hand clutched his side, and his light tunic darkened with red.
The wound. It must have opened again and started bleeding.
"William!" Alex ran to his side and supported him with one arm. "Are you alright?"
"Do not… worry."
"Don't be stubborn. You're bleeding."
"I can handle it myself."
"No, you can't. You need stitches."
"No!"
William shoved him back, tripped over the books, and lost his balance. Alex caught him by the shoulders before he hit the ground.
The mage's body was burning hot; the heat seeped through the tunic and shirt. The prince brushed his fingers across William's forehead. Far too warm.
"You have a fever."
"I'm fine…"
"No, you're not. Come on, I'm taking you to rest."
"No, I… I can manage."
Alex ignored him and guided him toward his own quarters. William's room was too far; the prince would have had to cross the entire palace and, with that wound bleeding, he didn't want to waste precious time.
He ordered a servant to fetch the doctor and stepped into his bedroom. He helped William lie down—by then he no longer had the strength to protest—and rolled up his sleeves.
"No stitches," the mage murmured, his irises glassy from fever and blood loss. "Please."
Alex opened the tunic and uncovered the wound. It was red and bleeding heavily. If it kept going like that, the mage would pass out soon.
So stubborn—why wouldn't he accept help?
He grabbed a soft cloth from the wardrobe and pressed it to the wound. William hissed in pain and his fingers tightened around Alex's wrist.
"You're… hurting me."
"You'll have to bear it until the doctor gets here."
"You shouldn't be here."
"And where else should I be? This is my bedroom."
William's eyes flew wide and he jerked upright. Alex gripped his shoulders and pushed him back onto the mattress.
"Calm down."
"I can't stay," the mage mumbled, panic roughening his voice. "I can't…"
"William, stop. You have my permission to stay here."
"Let me out. Please."
Alex frowned. He had no idea what was wrong with him now, but he would never let him go in that state.
A soft knock drew his attention. The door opened and Malte stepped inside. His sharp eyes examined the prince's face, then William's.
"By the spirits, it opened, didn't it?" He hurried to the mage's bedside and rubbed his own nose. "What a stubborn boy."
Alex made space for him but kept holding William down on the mattress. "He has a fever."
The doctor shook his head and opened his bag of instruments. "Predictable. It needed stitching, but he refused."
"He still doesn't want it."
"I don't have a choice. If I don't do it, it'll never heal."
Alex pressed his lips together and looked at William's face. Despite the fever and the confused gaze, the mage was begging him with his eyes.
"Don't do it," the prince said to the doctor. "Don't stitch him. Stop the bleeding and bandage him—I'll take care of the rest."
Malte stared at Alex, puzzled. "Are you sure, Your Highness?"
"No, but William doesn't want it, and I don't think it's just a whim." There had to be something else beneath it. "As soon as he regains some clarity, I'll force him to use magic."
Even if he couldn't understand why William hadn't done it already.
The physician wrinkled his nose in displeasure, but began working without protesting.
Alex watched him as he cleaned the wound, eased the inflammation, and bandaged it again. William was rigid, his gaze locked on the prince's eyes, his muscles tense as if the situation caused him deep discomfort. He didn't like being touched, but wasn't that reaction a bit excessive?
When the physician finished, he handed the prince the medication to lower the fever and withdrew. Alex covered William with blankets and sat down beside the bed.
For a long time, there was only silence. The mage's breathing was light and steady, and the prince found himself staring at him far more than he should have. He didn't understand him; he had the feeling William was hiding so much of himself behind impenetrable walls.
"You're really stubborn sometimes."
He reached out a hand to brush William's forehead, but the mage's eyelids fluttered. His fingers tightened around the blanket, and something like terror hardened his delicate features.
"No," he murmured. "Don't… please…"
Alex frowned. Was he having a nightmare?
He set a hand on his cheek. "William? Wake up."
"Don't do it…" Two large tears rolled from the corners of his eyes. "Don't touch me…"
"William."
The mage's eyes flew open, and for a long moment he stared at him in confusion, as if he didn't know where he was or who the person in front of him might be.
Then understanding returned.
"Your Highness…"
Alex pressed his lips together, but as much as he wanted to, he didn't ask what William had been dreaming about. Instead, he placed a hand on his forehead: it was burning less than before; the fever must have gone down a little.
"You're in my room. And before you panic, you're here only because it was the closest one where I could let you rest."
"Did you call the physician?"
"Yes, but I didn't let him stitch you." He shot him a glare. "And now you're going to use magic to heal yourself, and I'm not accepting no for an answer."
William half-closed his eyes and slowly extended a hand toward him. "If you put it that way, I'll use yours."
Alex laid his palm on his. "Why not Caedos'?"
"I didn't want him to see the wound. He would have been angry with you."
"He already got angry with me. When we returned from Astya."
"You've never really seen him angry."
The prince huffed. "So you did all this just for that?"
William nodded and closed his eyes. Alex thought he had fallen asleep, but the mage looked at him again.
"I didn't want to ask Caedos, and I didn't want to ask you, so I thought I could handle it on my own."
"And instead you managed to give yourself a lovely high fever. Congratulations."
William withdrew his hand. "I'm deeply sorry."
"Did you heal yourself?"
"Yes."
Alex tilted his head and lifted the blankets. The mage let out a startled sound, but he paid it no mind and pushed the bandages aside. The wound was a pale line on the whiteness of his abdomen, barely visible. Not even Malte's precise sutures would have left it that clean.
He smirked. "All this fuss just to avoid marring your beautiful body?"
"No." William looked away. "I don't like being touched."
"Not even by a physician?"
"No. And sutures take time."
For some reason, Alex didn't think it was an excuse at all, but rather a sort of half-admission.
He covered him again with the blanket and sat back down on the chair. "Next time you get hurt, come to me to be treated. I won't ask questions; you can trust me."
"Can I go back to my room?"
"Later. Rest a little now, you still have a fever."
William curled up and buried his nose in the sheets. His flushed cheeks stood out against his pale skin, making him look vulnerable.
"You smell nice," he murmured.
Alex stiffened, a pleasant warmth blooming in his chest. "William…"
"I like it. It smells like… home."
He had to be delirious from the fever—there was no other explanation. And yet, for some reason, his words made the prince's heart quicken.
"Is that a polite way of telling me you'd like to stay here?"
"If I asked you, would you allow it?"
Maybe. Having him around didn't bother him, but he couldn't show him favor. Not openly. Not after Ballard had thrown an inkwell at him.
"Better not, William. It's best not to give rise to gossip that could harm you."
"Thank you for always protecting me. I… I appreciate it a lot. Few have ever done that for me."
"I should be the one thanking you. You stood up for me in front of the royal advisors even though they don't think highly of you."
"I did what I had to do for my prince."
Alex rose from the chair and sat on the mattress beside him. He brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. William tilted his head slightly and looked him in the eyes, his lips parted and his breath rasping in his throat. The prince caressed his cheek with his thumb, then let it slide down to his lips.
And for a brief moment, he wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.
He pulled his hand back as if the touch had burned him and stood up.
"I'll have some water brought to you. Stay here."
He stepped out of the room and leaned against the door. His heart was still pounding in his chest, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He had no idea what had come over him, but it was all wrong. William was his mage—he couldn't and shouldn't be anything else.
It had been just an impulsive thought, and he would do well to stop thinking about it.
In the following days, Alex caught himself looking at him more than he should, searching for him in the palace corridors, as if he needed to make sure the mage was still there, still close.
He kept telling himself he did it only because William was his Court Mage, but deep down he was beginning to fear it was just a convenient lie.
So he decided to go back to keeping his distance—yet a couple of days after finding him feverish in the corridors, Alex came across him again. William was alone in a room, sitting amid scattered sheets of paper, his face injured.