"You're a fucking idiot. That's what you are," August snapped, his voice cutting like a blade as Brod briskly examined the prince, slicing away what remained of his torn shirt.
"It caught me off guard. What else was I supposed to do?" Klaus shot back.
"Anything. Anything but throwing your life away! Since when do you give a damn about anyone but yourself? That brat—did he mess with your head or something?"
"If you mean Egor—no." Klaus exhaled slowly. "August, he doesn't belong in this world. He's not made for this kind of life. If something happens to him, his old hag will claw her way out of the grave just to come after me."
"So that's what this is about?" August scoffed. "Some old woman who couldn't get into this world even if she tried? Or is there something else?" His eyes narrowed. "What's really going on between you two?"
Klaus didn't answer.
At that moment, Brod snapped the arrow shaft.
Klaus hissed through his teeth.
August forced himself to rein it in, swallowing the rest of his anger.
"Your Majesty," the healer said evenly, "the arrow has shattered your shoulder. This is going to hurt—a lot. But if you want full use of your arm again, you'll have to endure it."
"You can't give him something for the pain?" August snapped.
"It will interfere with the medicine. Healing will take months."
"Fine. Maybe next time he'll think twice before letting himself get shot."
"Do it," Klaus said quietly. "I'm not spending months crippled."
August shot him a dark look but didn't argue. There was no point.
The healer brought over a sharp-smelling solution and poured it straight over the wound—while the arrowhead was still lodged inside.
The skin began to smoke.
Klaus's face twisted.
Brod and his assistant yanked the fragment free.
A harsh, grinding sound followed—metal scraping against shattered bone.
The edges of Klaus's vision went black.
Then the solution was poured directly into the wound.
He couldn't hold it in.
Klaus had endured pain his entire life. He had learned to take it in silence, without flinching, without showing weakness.
But this—
This ripped through him.
The scream tore out of his throat—raw, broken, uncontrollable—until his voice gave out completely, leaving nothing but ragged silence behind.
Only then did he realize he was losing consciousness.
He grabbed August's hand, his gaze unfocused, and whispered:
"Don't touch Abel."
Then everything went black.
"Klaus! Klaus!" August tried to shake him awake, but there was no response.
"Captain, leave him," Brod said. "He's in severe pain shock. If he wakes now, it could kill him. The medicine will keep working for several hours—it's better he stays under."
"Why the hell didn't you say it was this dangerous?" August snapped.
"I said it would hurt. You heard him."
August fell silent.
He looked down at the unconscious prince, then carefully laid him back on the bed and pulled a blanket over him.
"The moment he wakes up, send for me," he said. "For now… I'll go have a word with my younger brother."
"Captain," Brod said cautiously, "I hope you remember His Majesty's request?"
"He said not to touch Abel. He didn't say I couldn't talk to him."
"Don't push it," the healer warned.
But August was already gone.
Egor lasted forty minutes.
That was his limit.
He threw aside the training sword he'd been swinging the whole time and left the practice grounds.
He decided to wash first—get rid of the sweat and grime—before heading to the infirmary.
In the corridor, he ran into the one person he least wanted to see.
August.
The captain was heading toward his chambers, his face unreadable. When he spotted Egor, he stopped.
"Don't you dare go near him," August said coldly. "You didn't see what he went through because of you. He was screaming."
His expression twisted, as if the memory itself hurt.
Egor said nothing, but something clenched painfully in his chest.
Klaus had never shown weakness.
Not when the spider tore into him. Not when the mage nearly killed him. Not when he fought off a swarm of creatures.
Egor had never once heard him admit that something hurt.
So what had just happened?
What kind of pain could break even him?
"I never wanted this to happen," Egor said quietly. "I would've taken his place if I could. I know he suffered because I was weak, but—"
He lifted his head.
Something inside him hardened.
"I'm not leaving unless he tells me to go himself. I'll do whatever it takes to stop being a burden. And I swear—I won't let him risk himself for me again."
August let out a short, humorless laugh.
"You?" he said. "What exactly do you think you can do? Do you have any idea how many years we spent mastering combat? What are you going to achieve in a few weeks? Or even months?"
He stepped closer, his voice cutting.
"You were a burden. You are a burden. And you'll always be one."
A pause.
"If you really want to protect him—leave. Do it before he wakes up."
He walked past him without another glance.
Egor stood frozen.
No matter how badly he wanted to deny it, August was right.
He should ask for a portal. Go back to his own world.
That would be the right thing to do.
But there was one problem.
He was selfish.
He knew it.
And still—he couldn't let go.
He needed Klaus.
There was no fixing that anymore.
He couldn't walk away from the man who had turned his entire world upside down.
Yes, it was selfish.
But he would stay.
He would follow the prince, no matter what—and he wouldn't let August drive him away.
His thoughts clawed at him, like something alive under his ribs, but Egor forced himself to steady his breathing. He washed, changed, and made his way to the infirmary.
"He's still asleep," the healer said, answering the question Egor hadn't asked. "The medicine's wearing off, but not completely."
"The medicine?" Egor repeated absently.
"Yes. I treated the wound with a special solution. It forces bones and ligaments to fuse when nothing else will work. His shoulder was shattered into fragments. Without it, he would've been crippled for life."
"That's… good," Egor said, relief flickering through him. "So he'll recover?"
"Yes. We were lucky he stayed unconscious. His exhaustion—and drained magic—worked in our favor. If he'd been awake…" The healer paused. "He might not have survived the pain."
Egor went pale.
He walked over to the bed.
Klaus lay there, restless even in sleep, his hair spread across the pillow. Heat radiated from his body.
Egor dropped to his knees and pressed his head against the prince's bare chest beneath the thin sheet.
Burning.
He shifted, cradling Klaus's head, pressing his face against his chin.
In a whisper, he apologized.
Promised to get stronger.
Begged him to wake up.
He was so lost in it he didn't notice Klaus's hand lifting—slowly—before settling on his head.
Egor shuddered and looked up.
Dark, exhausted eyes were watching him.
Klaus's face tightened, fighting the pain. A faint, strained smile touched his lips.
"I'm glad you're safe," he rasped.
"Don't," Egor choked out, tears spilling over. "Just—don't. Why would you do that? You could've disarmed him without even trying—but you didn't. You just let it happen. Why?"
His voice broke.
"Was it worth it?"
Klaus exhaled weakly.
"Egor… your life—and the safety of the people I care about—are worth far more."
"You're an idiot," Egor said, shaking. "A complete fucking idiot. Sometimes I don't understand you at all."
He pressed his face back against Klaus's chin.
"I don't understand myself either," Klaus murmured faintly. "Let me rest… then we'll talk."
His hand slipped from Egor's hair.
His eyes closed.
He lost consciousness again.
Egor stayed there, resting against him, slowly running his fingers through his tangled hair.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
Eventually, Lilith entered the room, and Egor moved aside.
She carefully wiped the sweat from Klaus's face, chest, and hands, applied the ointment Brod had given her, then began combing through his hair with slow, practiced care.
Egor leaned against the bed, staring into nothing.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
They both understood.
If Klaus kept throwing himself into danger for their sake—
This would end far worse.
Both of them had made their choice.
Both of them were ready to tear themselves apart—
For the one they loved.