Chapter 34

Lucien remained perfectly composed, offering no further comment on his outrageous suggestion.

Desperate for something solid to cling to, Kosha forced himself to believe it had merely been another of the prince’s cruel jokes. He longed to be the sort of poised, worldly adult who could parry such inappropriate teasing with effortless wit, but it was painfully obvious that he still had a long way to go.

Beyond the window, a deep, bruised blue had already swallowed the sky, leaving only a faint streak of bleeding crimson along the jagged mountain ridgeline.

As Lucien unconsciously massaged his temples, Kosha realized that the lingering side effects of the love potion were probably beginning to surface.

Lucien idly stroked the mage’s damp curls. “Shall we go to bed?”

His phrasing was always so peculiar. Lucien was the only one who would actually be sleeping, yet he invariably framed it as an intimate invitation. Anyone overhearing such a casual request might completely misunderstand the nature of their relationship. Correcting a member of the royal family, however, felt unbearably awkward, and Kosha had no idea how he might even begin to broach the subject. Left with no other choice, he simply nodded.

The prince gently caught him by the wrist and led the way. Together, they crossed the room to the heavy oak door opposite the one through which they had entered, the threshold Kosha already knew opened directly into the master bedchamber.

The royal bedroom was surprisingly simple, stripped of ostentatious decoration. Unlike the cold, echoing chambers beyond it, the room carried the warm, sun-baked scent of well-dried linen, and the air felt distinctly softer against Kosha’s skin.

Without calling for assistance, Lucien peeled away his outer garments and changed smoothly into light sleepwear. He appeared to have bathed before Kosha’s arrival, for the rich, damp fragrance of roses drifted from his skin with every fluid movement.

Kosha turned aside and pretended not to watch, though his nose twitched as he secretly drew the fragrance deeper into his lungs. Did he add rose oil to his bathwater? The floral note remained potent even though the prince’s ash-blond hair had already dried, which meant it could hardly have been some cheap, ordinary product.

Imagining Lucien’s private moments had become one of Kosha’s more embarrassing little pleasures of late. If the man could read his mind, he would undoubtedly curse the mage for his shamelessness. Fortunately, Lucien was merely human and entirely incapable of telepathy. Relieved by that thought, Kosha allowed his imagination to wander, wondering what other exotic scented oils might be arranged inside the royal bathing chamber.

“What are you thinking about?”

Kosha jumped.

Lucien had already kicked off his polished boots and seated himself on the edge of the mattress, where he now regarded the mage with an expectant stare. The prince occasionally asked such abrupt questions, but since Kosha was almost invariably thinking about him, an honest answer was entirely out of the question.

“Just…” Kosha faltered.

“Just?” Lucien extended one long arm, beckoning him closer.

Cornered by that demanding gaze, Kosha seized upon the first excuse that came to mind. “I was… just thinking that the bed looks nice.”

Lucien glanced around his own bedchamber as though the observation had never occurred to him.

It was, in truth, a magnificent piece of furniture. The thick, sturdy four-poster bed had clearly been built to accommodate the prince’s towering height and broad frame. Two layers of fine curtains hung from the canopy: a whisper-thin inner veil that left the bed’s interior hazily visible, and a heavy velvet outer curtain capable of smothering the morning sunlight completely. The feather-stuffed mattress, pristine white silk sheets, and intricately embroidered blankets all bore the unmistakable marks of exquisite craftsmanship, even if none of them indulged in vulgar extravagance.

When the prince pressed him for no further explanation, Kosha decided it was time to put him to sleep. He stepped closer and carefully pressed down on Lucien’s broad shoulders, and the prince sank back against the pillows with surprising compliance.

Once Kosha cast the spell that would keep him sleeping soundly through the night, the day’s task would be complete. This peculiar ritual had become their standing arrangement ever since the day of their second kiss.

Kosha had been crushed by guilt when he learned that his failed potion had caused such severe headaches that Lucien had once been forced to depend on powerful narcotic sleeping pills. For a brief time, he had even wondered whether the prince had kissed him simply because the pain had driven him out of his mind.

He no longer truly believed that, but regardless, Kosha had willingly embraced his new role as Lucien’s living sleeping draught.

Earning that position had required a grueling and tedious series of trials. The test subjects had included several carrier pigeons raised by Mailot, a stray ginger cat scooped from the street during a walk, the purebred black hunting dog Lucien claimed to have brought from Carlot, one exceptionally loyal attendant, a visibly unimpressed Sir Gosrick, and finally Mailot himself. Only after every subject had enjoyed a comfortable, uninterrupted night’s sleep without suffering any magical complications had Kosha been authorized to serve as Lucien’s personal sedative.

Sleep-inducing magic was far simpler than most laymen imagined. It required only a controlled current of mana with a clearly defined beginning and end. The process became smoother at night, when the caster could borrow from the natural, settling energy of darkness and moonlight. Kosha had often used the spell on himself during nights when anxiety refused to let him rest.

Determining the exact duration could be difficult, but after practicing on Lucien so frequently, the magic had begun to feel almost instinctive.

Kosha calculated the appropriate length of the spell and started channeling mana into his fingertips.

“Do you want to sleep here?”

His fingers twitched, and his concentration shattered. A force resembling green flame flared brightly around his fingertips before disappearing in a sharp burst of sparks.

“Y-yes? D-do what?”

“You said the bed looked nice.”

Although Lucien raised one aristocratic eyebrow at the misfired trace of magic, his voice remained maddeningly casual.

Kosha’s jaw fell open.

Admittedly, the bed was enormous. Even with someone of Lucien’s immense size occupying the center, there would still be more than enough room for a scrawny mage like Kosha to curl up near the edge.

“You cannot just say things like that…” Kosha scolded, though his heart had jolted into a sudden, treacherous flutter. What if the prince truly harbors impure thoughts about me? “And you must not startle me while I’m using magic. It can be dangerous.”

His voice trembled too violently for the reprimand to carry any real authority. Lucien merely released a short, breathy laugh and closed his eyes.

Kosha bit his swollen lip, embarrassed for no discernible reason. It had surely been another prank.

Thoroughly disgruntled, he covered the prince’s eyes with a touch that was perhaps slightly less gentle than usual.

“Then… sleep well.”

He shaped the most comfortable slumber he could devise, a sleep perfectly attuned to the hour when darkness settled across the world. Within it, he placed the faintest suggestion of a dream in which one’s deepest wishes were fulfilled, offering just enough peace to soothe the mind without disturbing the body’s rest.

A mage’s wishes took form through mana, manifesting in the outer world as physical phenomena. Through Kosha’s warm palms, the heavy sweetness of sleep seeped into Lucien’s skin, his eyelids, and his exhausted mind.

Even after Lucien’s breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, Kosha remained perfectly still, his hand lingering over the man’s eyes.

Lucien was asleep directly before him, utterly defenseless, while Kosha stood alone in the heart of his private bedchamber.

Among the countless multitudes who adored the prince, those who scattered flower petals across his path and screamed his name with fervent devotion, how many had ever been permitted to enter this sanctuary? Kosha might well have been the first. As for witnessing Lucien’s sleeping face from such an intimate, breathtaking distance, that was surely a singular privilege belonging to Kosha alone.

It was an extraordinary moment, one worth treasuring for the rest of his life. Even if Kosha were eventually cast aside and forced to return to his tiny, crumbling house in the countryside once the political chaos had ended, he would hold fast to the memories of this day for a long, long time. Perhaps he would spend his entire life dwelling upon them in the dark.

An uneasy doubt gnawed at his conscience. He wondered whether he was truly entitled to receive such precious gifts when his own clumsy entanglement had brought the prince nothing but trouble. Still, desperate to carve the serene scene into his memory with absolute clarity, Kosha deliberately took his time, slowly turning in place as he surveyed the moonlit chamber.

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