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“There was strong magic on that blade,” Yoongi insists. “It was poisoned.”
Prince Seokjin interrupts his Casting to hum idly in agreement with Yoongi’s assessment. One of his hands presses Yoongi insistently back against the cot, entirely spanning the wound festering with unnatural rot. His open palm emanates blessed warmth.
Yoongi hadn’t realized how cold he’d grown. A sensation not unlike frost had crept up from his fingertips until it’d centered itself around his heart.
“I know. Now sit still, you’ll reopen it. Let me work.”
“You pretended to be a fool in the beginning,” Yoongi continues, undeterred. He’s unwilling to be placated so easily. His head is swimming, but this is important. Months of attempting to teach the other man even the basics of Dragon Speech, yet now it falls from his mouth as if he were born speaking it. It had taken Yoongi years to learn how to hold the power of those ancient syllables in his mouth without burning his tongue on it.
The prince’s eyes flicker over to him briefly. He smiles distractedly, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He pauses in his Casting as he reaches the end of the page, elegant fingers poised to reveal the next verse of incantations. He has one of the clearest tones Yoongi’s ever heard; his Casting is more akin to singing than chanting.
“You already believed me to be one. Who was I to convince you otherwise?” The Prince asks him in the common tongue. There’s mirth on his expressive face. He’s clearly amused by the distress this revelation is causing Yoongi. Yoongi wishes he wasn’t half so charmed by it.
“I thought you’d never had a teacher” Yoongi tries again. There are certainly tales of those who have mastered Dragon Speech without one, but Yoongi is yet to meet any such mage himself. He’d thought them a myth like many others.
Instead of answering, Prince Seokjin plucks the lingering thread of his Casting right from the air as skillfully as Yoongi himself might have. Certain spells can be temperamental, but this one doesn’t seem to care that it was abandoned for a bit. It bends underneath the prince’s whim like it had just been waiting patiently for when he cared for it again.
The uncomfortable sensation of rended fleshing knitting itself back together quells Yoongi’s questions for the moment. Magical healing always brings the worst sort of itch with it.
An eternity passes before the prince leans back. Sweat drips from his brow, matting the dark hair escaping from his topknot to his temples. He gingerly wipes what must be Yoongi’s blood from his fingertips on a kerchief, careful not to close the spell book until his fingers are clean. He is similarly meticulous as he strips Yoongi of his bandages.
Yoongi has never seen him so quiet in the entire year they’ve known each other. It’s unnerving. He must be more accustomed to the prince’s constant chatter than he’d thought if he misses it now.
“Where are we?” Yoongi finally thinks to ask. Now that he is no longer dizzy with pain he realizes that he does not recognize their current surroundings. The room is a far cry from the richness of the the palace and even a far cry below any of the serving quarters. Surely none of the floors except perhaps those in the stables are dirt. The only furnishings are the thin straw pallet he lays upon and a rickety table. At the far side is a single window covered by tacked up burlap.
The air here is unpleasantly old and musty, only recently disturbed the copper tang of magic and blood.
Even if he hadn’t been wounded, magic always reeks of blood.
Prince Seokjin’s cobalt blue robes are dirty at the knees from kneeling in this squalor. The jewelry he usually wears is absent, leaving his ears and neck curiously bare. He looks vulnerable and young, nothing like the composed prince Yoongi is used to.
Despite all this, the prince hasn’t complained once. Nothing makes any more sense now that Yoongi’s head is clearer.
“Away. I’ve had Lord Namjoon take us somewhere they won’t find us.”
“They?” Red cowls drawn low over a pale dozen faces in the crowd. Drawn blades dripping with wicked intent. Snatches of conversation in a sharp, black language that made Yoongi’s hair stand on end. The fear that the two of them wouldn’t live to see the sunrise. He doesn’t know where they would be now if the prince hadn’t known the words in Dragon Speech for flame, to maim, to kill. Once more he circles back to the mystery of the prince’s tutelage.
Prince Seokjin visibly deflates at the question. “I was hoping you might know.”
Yoongi shakes his head. Whoever they were, they had counted on Yoongi’s magic and neutralized him first. They hadn’t known to worry about Prince Seokjin. His bonds had only been ordinary rope.
Well, they would certainly know better next time.
“Sit, you look like hell.” Extended periods of Casting could take a lot out of even the most experienced mages. Even if Yoongi hadn’t seen the way Prince Seokjin was practically swaying on his feet he’d be concerned.
“There’s no need to lie to me, Master Yoongi. We both know that I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You said so yourself.”
“No I didn’t.” Had he? Hopefully he would remember making that much of a fool of himself. The prince’s ego does not need to be any larger than it already is.
“You were quite delirious with fever, but I know what I heard. Unless you’re admitting to being a liar?”
Ah, there was the nonsense he was used to. The two images of Prince Seokjin that he knew: the foppish imbecile and the talented, disheveled healer were warring strangely in Yoongi’s head. The true question was where one began and the other ended.
Either way, it was clear that he had underestimated the prince. He owed the crown now twice-over for saving his life. Perhaps Prince Seokjin would also demand that Yoongi tutor his own children in magic when he produced heirs.
For some reason the prospect sat as heavy as a stone in Yoongi’s stomach.
“Thank you.”
“Perhaps you should be almost killed more often. You’re not usually this agreeable.”
Yoongi laughs humorlessly, which only serves to aggravate the wound in his side. He doesn’t think they’ll be able to traverse the road tonight with how it feels. Hopefully the prince is right about their location being remote enough. It certainly isn’t the sort of place one would expect to find the crown prince. “I would rather avoid future attempts on my life.”
“I as well,” Prince Seokjin replies solemnly. Then, the curve of his mouth turns sly. “You’re terribly heavy, after all.”