Chapter 31

Kosha had only just managed to drift off.

Eydric had reassured him that he would wake him if anything happened, allowing the mage, who had spent hours shrinking into himself with constant agitation, to finally surrender to sleep.

His complexion had been truly dreadful. His lips were swollen, his face was ghastly pale, and dark shadows lay etched beneath his eyes. Eydric was a young, hardy knight who thought little of remaining awake through the night, but the frail mage was another matter entirely.

Since he had not realized that Kosha’s swollen lips were merely the result of a kiss, he mistook the mage’s condition for simple but profound exhaustion.

Of course, the kissing was entirely responsible for the state of his lips. Kosha was not the sort of man whose mouth became chapped from fatigue alone. The mage’s skin was far more delicate than that of an ordinary human, and the same sensitivity extended to his lips.

In truth, they had been licked with such prolonged devotion that what had happened could scarcely be dismissed as a simple kiss.

Even so, exhaustion had certainly played its part. The moment Kosha lowered his head onto the pillow, sleep dragged him under as though a bog had opened beneath him and swallowed him whole.

He began to stir only when something ticklish brushed the tip of his nose.

At first, he thought he was about to sneeze. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed reflexively, causing the sensation to vanish at once. Not long afterward, the strange irritation returned, this time hovering near his eyes. The corner of his eyelid tingled as though some winged insect were repeatedly dragging its legs across his lashes.

Still half-asleep, Kosha rubbed at his eyes. Through his blurred, unfocused vision, he caught sight of a large, shadowed presence looming beside the bed.

Naturally, he assumed it was the guard who had promised to wake him if anything happened.

“Sir Eydric…?”

“Eydric?” another voice echoed.

It did not belong to the young knight.

The realization snapped Kosha fully awake. He bolted upright so violently that he nearly launched himself out of bed.

A blond man sat beside him with his arms folded tightly across his chest, wearing an expression that suggested absolutely nothing was amiss. Kosha stared at him, too stunned to determine whether he was awake or hallucinating.

Lucien met his bewilderment with a blunt demand. “Is there some reason you’re calling for Eydric in your sleep?”

The sharp, aggressive sting in his voice sent a fresh surge of panic through Kosha. As his grasp on reality returned, he instinctively shrank backward.

Just as he feared, Lucien was still furious with him.

Of course he was.

“I… I apologize,” Kosha stammered weakly. “Sir Eydric promised that he would wake me.”

“And why would Eydric need to wake you?”

“I had hoped to see Your Highness, but I was told you would be occupied throughout the morning. I intended to wait for you, but then…”

He fumbled through an explanation that was not quite an excuse, fully expecting his words to fall on deaf ears.

Oddly, however, the blade-like tension surrounding Lucien appeared to soften, little by little. Kosha was still frantically attempting to read his mood when the prince leaned back slightly.

“Ah. You were waiting for me. I see.” Lucien’s voice emerged slowly, far more composed than before. “In that case, I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Apparently, even in this bizarre situation, Lucien had chosen to be understanding toward him.

What have I possibly done to deserve such a kind and generous man?

Standing before someone so magnanimous, Kosha could not bring himself to shirk his responsibilities. He scrambled out of bed and dropped resolutely to his knees on the floor.

“I am so sorry, Your Highness,” he pleaded. “Even if I had ten mouths, I would have no excuse.”

Lucien’s gaze settled upon him. “And what exactly are you apologizing for?”

His tone was gentle, but something sharp and jagged lurked beneath it. Kosha found it slightly terrifying.

Nevertheless, he was a man who knew how to accept responsibility. He steadied his heart, gathered what remained of his courage, and forced himself to continue.

“For the side effects of the magic potion, Your Highness.” Kosha lowered his head. “I believe there may be a slight problem with your mind. Your cognitive faculties, perhaps, or possibly…”

His heart hammered against his ribs.

Should I have dissolved the remaining residue sooner? Is it common for a concoction like that to produce delayed side effects? Could this be related to the sudden, erratic surge in my mana?

He had recklessly claimed that he could handle the magic, and now he feared that he had only worsened the disaster. A million possibilities, each one meticulously examined during his sleepless night, tore through his mind.

He was on the verge of casting aside his pride and begging for one final chance when Lucien interrupted him.

“So, in other words, you are telling me that I have gone mad?”

The question was blunt, raw, and impatient, yet it pierced the heart of their situation with chilling accuracy.

Kosha bowed his head even lower and nodded beneath the crushing weight of his own diagnosis. After all, if the man had not gone mad, he would never have done that to him.

“Ha.”

A short, hollow laugh escaped Lucien, utterly devoid of amusement.

When it faded, silence descended over the room, heavy and suffocating. Kosha remained bowed like a penitent sinner until he finally gathered enough courage to steal a glance upward.

He flinched the instant he did.

Lucien’s blue-gray eyes were fixed upon him with an intensity so profound that it seemed almost unreal. The prince sat perfectly still. For one fleeting moment, Kosha wondered whether he had become lost in thought or simply turned to stone.

Lucien possessed the beauty of a masterpiece shaped by a master sculptor, yet there were moments when that perfection surpassed anything natural and strayed into something almost alien. It was especially striking now, with every trace of expression absent from his face.

“Your Highness…?” Kosha addressed him in a soft, tentative voice.

Had the suggestion of a mental defect truly shocked him that badly? Then again, such a diagnosis would be a devastating blow to any prince’s pride.

“Your Highness… um, I’ve given the matter some thought.”

Driven to the brink by the oppressive silence, Kosha began to ramble. In one breathless, disorganized stream, he spilled everything that had been racing through his mind. He explained the unexplained surge of mana, confessed his own humiliating ignorance, and recounted every fragmented theory he had managed to piece together.

Lucien merely watched him, neither fully engaged nor openly dismissive.

“And so, deeply ashamed though I am,” Kosha stammered, “would it be possible for me to look through the Royal Library? Only the books on magic.”

He needed to study.

Kosha had received no proper magical education since the age of six. Teaching himself would be an uphill struggle, but after all the trouble he had caused Lucien, he was determined to find a solution, no matter how difficult it proved.

A strange, unreadable expression passed over Lucien’s face before he answered with a question Kosha had not anticipated.

“Books on magic… in the Royal Library?” Lucien regarded him steadily. “Do you truly believe such books would be kept there?”

Kosha blinked. “What?”

Was that a refusal?

Panic seized his thoughts. Surely the Royal Library contained everything worth preserving. If the royal family did not maintain a collection of magical texts, then who in the kingdom possibly could?

If I can’t get access to any books on magic, what am I supposed to do?

To a mage, mana was as vital as any limb. One might be born with it, but refining and controlling it demanded rigorous study. There were only two paths to learning: books or a master.

During childhood, one’s parents usually served as teachers. Later, a mage sought someone greater and more accomplished. Izeland, however, was a kingdom shaped and ruled by ordinary humanity. Finding a great master there, or even a mediocre mage, would be a fool’s errand.

With neither mages nor books available to him, Kosha had no path forward.

As agitation tightened around his chest, Lucien finally broke the silence.

“Get up.”

His voice remained as gentle and melodious as ever.

Kosha scrambled to his feet, and Lucien crooked a finger, beckoning him closer. He was already standing near enough that a single half-step brought his knees almost against Lucien’s, yet the prince gestured again.

“Closer.”

Any nearer, and Kosha would have to position himself between the prince’s thighs. Lacking the courage for such intimacy, he merely bent forward at the waist.

Lucien lifted his chin until their gazes locked.

“Let us make one thing clear.”

He spoke with deliberate slowness, measuring each word so carefully that there could be no possibility of misunderstanding.

“That crazy thing I did yesterday. Did you find it unpleasant?”

Unpleasant?

The question tore open the memories Kosha had been desperately trying to suppress. He recalled the dim room, the warm glow of the lamp, his own bewilderment, the vivid sensation of lips meeting for the first time, and the identity of the man who had kissed him.

Heat flooded Kosha’s face. His pale complexion offered no refuge from the evidence of his mortification.

Was it unpleasant? How am I supposed to answer that?

Kosha parted his lips, but no sound emerged.

Apparently, that was answer enough.

The corners of Lucien’s eyes creased as he smiled, and Kosha instantly forgot to breathe.

It was the same rare smile he had witnessed only twice before, during the victory parade. Radiant and almost disarming, it held him utterly spellbound.

Lucien, ever the hunter, seized upon that moment of vulnerability.

He reached out and cupped the back of Kosha’s head, drawing him down with maddening slowness. Every movement seemed to offer Kosha the chance to resist, as though Lucien already knew resistance was impossible.

Then the prince rose from his seat and closed the final distance between them.

Their lips met, Lucien’s still swollen from the night before. The kiss settled into a soft, alternating rhythm as he caught Kosha’s lips between his own, nipping and sucking at them until the strength began to drain from Kosha’s limbs.

Then their tongues met.

They brushed lightly at first, tangled, drew apart, and pressed together again, each retreat followed by another slow intrusion. The sensations echoed those of the previous night, yet somehow felt entirely new.

It was far too much for an inexperienced mage to withstand. With his eyes clenched shut, Kosha could do nothing but cling to Lucien and struggle for breath.

The intensity gradually receded, fading with the same unhurried patience with which it had begun. Even after they separated, both remained breathless, their lips hovering only inches apart.

Only then did Kosha become aware of his own hands, gripping the prince’s shoulders so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

“How does it feel now?” Lucien whispered.

He allowed the question to linger between them before continuing, his voice dipping into a deeper, far more languid register than it had possessed only moments earlier.

“Do you still believe I’m insane?”

The words seeped into Kosha’s ears, but his mind had gone completely blank, leaving him entirely unable to grasp their meaning. Every shred of his concentration was devoted to the single, desperate task of keeping himself from fainting.

Beyond that, he was incapable of anything at all.

***