Chapter 48

“What?”

Caught completely off guard, Lucien’s hand slipped against the gemmed chain. One side of the heavy ornament slid from the narrow shoulder, striking Kosha’s collarbone with a sharp clatter.

“What exactly are you planning to do, and when?”

“Tonight,” Kosha stammered, scratching his head and cautiously sending the remaining orange wedges floating back into the air. “Ah, I mean, if you are amenable.”

Recently, Lucien had occasionally relied on medicine rather than magic to induce sleep. Whenever the castle guards failed to deliver a summons, Kosha recognized the prince had chosen the chemical remedy instead. Since the household rules remained vague and unexplained, Kosha spent his evenings waiting for sunset, assuming a lack of summons meant a night of isolation. He merely wished to know whether he should anticipate a call to the bedchamber.

“I wondered whether Your Highness might spare me some time tonight. Please don’t go to sleep yet.”

Lucien stared at him, his gaze dark and unreadable. “And what exactly do you intend to do with me in the dark?”

“Pardon? Well, naturally, the magic,” Kosha stammered, shrinking back slightly under the relentless questioning until his voice dwindled into a nervous murmur. “I need to perform the treatment.”

Was there anything more important between them than the detoxification?

Lucien, however, seemed entirely derailed.

“Ah.”

The realization arrived a beat and a half too late, as though Kosha had proposed something wholly unexpected and far more scandalous.

While waiting for clarification, Kosha found himself distracted, wondering whether the prince’s eyelashes had always been so strikingly long. Then Lucien’s voice snapped through the quiet, unexpectedly sharp.

“Is that how you casually speak about such things?”

Confused, Kosha bowed his head at once. “I apologize.”

He had absolutely no idea what transgression he had committed, but offering a blind apology always proved the safest route. Perhaps requesting a late-night audience using such stilted, formal language had been a mistake, though he remained certain his childhood tutors had instructed him thusly.

Indeed, one should never attempt courtly etiquette without proper practice.

“I merely thought it best to carry out the treatment at night,” Kosha explained, his voice fading beneath his growing nervousness. “The symptoms that persist after dark present the real danger. I even consulted the library texts and made observations of my own.”

Focusing on his magical senses, Kosha’s fingers moved almost of their own accord. Starting near the prince’s collarbone, they descended with agonizing slowness, tracing the buttons of the tightly fastened shirt one by one before coming to rest directly over the center of his chest.

“The toxic magic hides during the day,” Kosha murmured softly, speaking more to himself than his patient. “I managed to draw the shallow remnants to the surface during the first detoxification. The true problem lies in the poison retreating deeper into your core.”

Lucien remained perfectly still, saying absolutely nothing.

“Even when I force the mana along your blood vessels, I can only squeeze out a drop or two,” Kosha continued, pressing his fingertips more firmly against the broad, muscular chest. “I cannot even perceive it during daylight hours, although the signature unmistakably matches my own mana.”

Lucien, meanwhile, heard almost none of the medical diagnosis.

The mage looked indecently alluring with the luxurious, gem-studded ornament draped heavily over his shabby servant’s clothes. The striking contrast amplified his appeal, heightened further by the flimsy collar of his tunic and the careless, unknowing way he wore a royal emblem of authority never intended for a commoner.

“I am certain Your Highness would prefer to avoid a method involving cutting open your chest, removing your heart entirely, and purifying the organ directly,” Kosha babbled. “The texts claim magical surgery is highly reliable, but lacking any practical experience, I strongly advocate for the nocturnal treatment instead.”

Fortunately, Lucien failed to comprehend the gruesome nonsense spilling from the mage’s mouth. He grasped only the essential detail: Kosha wanted to do something to him in the dark.

“But lately, many nights pass where you never call for me,” Kosha added softly, finally beginning to withdraw his fingers from the prince’s heartbeat.

Lucien caught his wrist, breaking his silence. “Did you miss me because I stopped calling for you?” The question struck with abrupt, disarming force.

Miss him? Had he actually missed the prince?

Blinking, Kosha considered the concept with earnest gravity. “Well, rather than longing, I felt…”

“Felt what?”

“I worried something had gone wrong,” Kosha admitted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Did my magic cause terrible nightmares? Did I commit some grievous mistake or act rudely? Because if so, I apologize entirely. I was never raised properly, leaving me completely ignorant of proper court etiquette.” He truly believed his feelings aligned closer to medical concern than romantic longing. “I also feared you grew angry because I wandered into the East Wing unsupervised.”

Lucien remained silent, letting the frantic confessions spill.

“And the new medicine you take, does it cause adverse side effects? Do you find the chemical slumber more comfortable than my magic?”

Listening to himself, Kosha realized his feelings extended far beyond mild medical concern. He had worried a great deal, twisting himself into knots over the prince’s absence.

Lucien ignored the barrage of anxious questions, choosing instead to toy with one of Kosha’s unruly curls. His thoughtful, brooding expression made the mage wary of disturbing the silence.

When the quiet grew heavy enough to suffocate, Lucien finally murmured, “So you did miss me.”

Kosha stared, utterly lost.

“That is the very definition of wanting to see someone,” Lucien explained, his voice dropping an octave. “You kept thinking about me, obsessing over my absence regardless of the logical reasons. Isn’t that so?”

The prince pressed for an answer, leaving absolutely no room for denial. The more Kosha analyzed the logic, the more undeniable it became.

Oh. Is that what this hollow feeling was?

Having always struggled to define his own tangled emotions, and desperately wanting to supply the answer Lucien desired, Kosha finally nodded. “I think you are right, Your Highness.”

Only then did a smile bloom across Lucien’s face, a radiant curve soft enough to melt whatever frail resistance remained in the room. For a mage inherently obsessed with beautiful things, retaining any wits in the face of such devastating charm proved entirely impossible.

Wielding that beauty like a honed weapon, Lucien issued another unreasonable demand. “Then say it again.”

“I think I missed you.”

“Again,” Lucien commanded softly. “Properly this time.”

Kosha swallowed hard. “I missed you.”

Hearing the confession aloud solidified the emotion, making it truly feel as though a terrible, aching longing had consumed him. The logical reality of seeing Lucien every single day during daylight hours vanished entirely from his overwhelmed mind.

Watching Kosha obediently repeat exactly what he had been told, Lucien laughed beneath his breath and closed the final gap between them. By the time Kosha realized how intimately close they stood in the center of the vast chamber, the realization proved entirely useless.

“Let’s do the treatment a little later,” Lucien whispered directly against his lips.

—That was not particularly important right now.

Their breaths mingled, hot and sudden.

Not important? Was the detoxification not the singular, most critical matter binding them together?

Lucien’s mouth descended upon his, crushing the thought before it could fully form. In that breathless moment, trapped in the center of the royal chamber, concentrating on Lucien’s kiss became the only important thing left in the world.

***