Page 4 of The Prince

“Healer Alina told me the people who…” he trailed off, unsure how to say tore him apart and patched him back together while being politically correct. And also without shuddering asthe memories tried to resurface. Clament forced them back down, barely, the echo of his screams resounding in his head for only a brief moment before he was able to make them go away—to stuff all the bad things back down into a box with a secure lid covered in padlocked chains.

“They have been tried, convicted, and their sentences imposed,” Braxton stated, his voice a dark growl filling the silent hole Clament had left by not speaking. “Whom they hurt was kept confidential, but they were made a public example to ensure something like that never happens in Toval again.” His fingers flexed as if in his remembered anger he wanted to wrap his hands around those guards’ necks.

Braxton really was an amazing actor. Or, perhaps, this anger wasn’t feigned. Those guards had allowed Clament to get too sick to continue torturing, probably ruining whatever plans Braxton had concocted.

Braxton sighed and shook his head, his hands relaxing back to his sides. “I should leave you to your rest. Can I get you anything?”

Clament should have expected that question, but his jaw still dropped for a moment before he clicked his teeth shut again. Braxton was clearly leaning hard into the carrot option, which meant Clament had an opportunity to see how far the act would go. What was something he could ask for that would require real effort on Braxton’s part but wouldn’t push the envelope too far into prematurely ending the façade? A glance around the very white room gave him an idea.

“Can you do something to make the view a little less stark?” he asked. If he was going to be living here for a while as he healed—as Braxton had implied—asking for something to look at wasn’t ridiculous, but also required Braxton to find and organize bringing it here.

Braxton glanced around as well, chuckled, and nodded. “I’m sure I can find something.” He returned to his awkward desk and gathered the stacks of papers. “I’ll send Alina in to check on you, but I’ll be back again soon.”

Braxton paused by the door and looked back at Clament, his gaze searching as if he needed to reassure himself that Clament was starting to feel better. A flash of heat sizzled through Clament’s body, rushing from his toes to the tips of his hair, and he ducked his head to hide his blush, cursing inwardly because he had zero idea why his body was reacting so inappropriately. A glance up through his eyelashes revealed Braxton’s expression suddenly soften, the slightest upturn lifting his lips in a smile, before his usual stern expression resurfaced and he left the room. The door shut softly behind him, but there was no telltale click of a lock engaging.

Something was clearly wrong with Clament. His dry mouth and shaking hands could possibly still be caused by fear, yet the way his heart was thumping said otherwise. That strong, commanding gaze, brightly intelligent while still showing a soft and gentle mien, just plain did it for him. He had to find a way to dispel such ridiculousness. Braxton was the man who had ordered him tortured, who no doubt reveled in the game he was now playing to extract information from him, and Clament was acting like a teenager with a crush. Even mentally, the last part of that thought was full of scorn.

Luckily, there was a way for Clament to find out what Braxton was really up to. He closed his eyes to reduce the distortion of seeing two places at once and called on his magic. Gold light flared—the color of royal magic—and he relaxed against the headboard as he thrust his vision through the door and into the room just beyond where Braxton was talking with Alina.

“Really does look significantly better,” Braxton was saying as Clament’s magic got him close enough to overhear the conversation in progress. “Your healing powers are far too impressive for you to be stuck here in our tiny kingdom. You should be out in the world, making millions in gold and jewels.”

“And never be able to have the face-to-face contact with my patients, or get to know the people I’m working with on a personal level,” Alina cut in, frowning at Braxton. “I like where I am just fine. Your prince was a challenge to heal—his lungs were significantly damaged by the time he reached my ward—but I’ve managed to patch him up. He’ll be a few more weeks on total bedrest though.”

“Damn.” Braxton hissed out a breath through his teeth. “The punishment the court handed down on those guards wasn’t nearly enough.” He shook his head. “Well, we should do something to keep him from going stir-crazy. I’ll have a librarian come by with a selection of books, and I’ll inform the head servant to make that room look less like a healing ward. Will you keep him company when you’re not busy?”

Alina smiled. “Of course. He’s a lovely young man. If he’s awake, I’ll get him some food. I had to find a lock to put on the pot of broth Char sent over, you know. Too many people just wanting to have a taste, and I almost ran out!” She laughed. “Speaking of someone completely overqualified for his position.”

“Yes, well, like you, Char is happy. And Fen is happy too.” Braxton shrugged. “In the end, that’s all that really matters.” A woman in what Clament guessed was a secretary’s uniform dashed into the room, arrowing straight for Braxton. “Duty calls,” Braxton said, sighing. “Thanks, Alina.”

“Of course.” She waved him off and headed to the far side of the room as Braxton followed the secretary out the double doors.

Clament wanted to follow Braxton, but the gentle tug between his eyebrows said he had better not. He was overextending, and his weak body couldn’t handle the strain using his magic caused. He floated back to his body and opened his eyes, the golden glow dissipating as he mulled over what he had just seen.

No mention of poison, or of a plot. Of course, Braxton wouldn’t tell her if Alina was innocent, but the way Braxton had appeared so concerned about Clament’s comfort seemed a little too much for mere acting. Braxton had to be up to something. Clament knew that. And yet, a part of him wanted to believe Braxton was telling the truth. Since that was the same part that sighed ridiculously over Braxton’s pretty eyes, Clament forced that thought aside. Braxton was no doubt waiting for Clament to relax his guard, to start believing in Braxton, and then the prying questions would start as he used the carrot to dig for information.

Too bad for Braxton that Clament wasn’t going to be that easy to fool. Clament’s family were masters at that very slimy craft; Braxton’s attempts were going to be feeble in comparison.

Clament smoothed the soft blankets over his lap and let out a heavy breath. Like he had thought before: he would enjoy the comforts while they lasted, braced and ready for when it all vanished again.

Chapter Three

CLAMENT FOUND HISbookmark as a knock sounded on the door.

“Enter!” he called. A moment later, the door opened and Braxton stepped into the room.

Clament slid his bookmark into place and shut the book, setting it aside on the small table next to his bed. The table’s rich, dark wood complemented the green sheets on his bed and the patchwork quilt in deep reds and purples made from velvet and weighted silk cloth cut in different-sized squares and rectangles.

The rest of the room was just as fancy. Over the last two weeks, the items with color had slowly trickled in. A small tapestry hung next to the door, a green meadow dotted with red and purple flowers that matched his quilt. The window shades were a gauzy fabric in light green, covering the more generic, white, light-blocking ones original to the room, which hung underneath. A deep purple rug filled the floor between the bed and windows. The look was garish and not what Clament would have chosen for himself, but eons better than the painfully stark white.

If he had an informal parlor here, Clament would consider commandeering the quilt to use as a throw blanket for the couch.He didn’t particularly care for the rest of the furniture, but the quilt was definitely growing on him. Back home in Namin, he only had a small room and attached bath at the castle, which he only saw maybe a handful of times a year. He was always being sent out on one mission or another—often in the hopes he wouldn’t return, he thought—and his failure at this latest mission likely meant he wouldn’t see his room again. Of course, it wasn’t as if Clament actually enjoyed spending any time in the castle. Even when he tried to hide in the alleged sanctuary of his private bedroom, his father and brother could find him readily.

Somehow his room in the healers’ ward, as garish as it was, came across far more welcoming than his room in Namin. Plus, his only visitors were Braxton and Alina, and he liked Alina despite all his mental admonitions. She legitimately seemed to care only about helping him heal; she had no ulterior motives and had never come across as if she knew she was only healing him so he would be strong enough to endure the next round of torture when it arrived.

Braxton, on the other hand… Clament let out a soft sigh.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” Clament said.

“Hey,” Braxton replied, one of his blindingly brilliant, far too beautiful for Clament’s resolve smiles breaking across his face. “How are you feeling today?” He settled into the chair next to the too-small desk now pushed back against the wall. Braxton didn’t visit every day, and the amount of time he could stay differed, but he did come by regularly. Sometimes he brought a stack of papers and hunkered down at that desk for an hour or two while Clament read, but most of the time was like today, where he could only stop by for a few minutes to say hello before his duties dragged him off again.

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