Chapter Text
Prince Porchay joined the waking world with a startled gasp. His head flew off the pillow as it jerked his torso upright, both trembling hands already wrapped tightly in the thin material of his tunic. Chay's panicked gaze urgently scanned the room for any sign of danger but found only the familiar curl of shadows where they'd always been. He saw no lurking evil. No waiting threat. No intrusion. The sky was dark beyond the window's heavy glass - daybreak's pearly grey-pink hues still hovered shyly along the horizon’s furthest edge as if unwilling to advance. Yet Chay's frantic heart kicked wildly in his chest, racing fast enough that its every beat verged on painful.
What in the Seven Realms had woken him from such deep sleep? He had no memory of a nightmare to explain it; no sweaty palms or tear-damp cheeks to note as evidence. What was happening?
Dread prickled just beneath the surface of his skin and raised gooseflesh along his arms the moment that question crossed his mind. He gave a full-body shiver so hard the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. And then-
Get up.
The demand came from everywhere and nowhere, delivered by a toneless voice directly to the core of Chay’s consciousness. He jerked against the headboard and blinked furiously against the odd sensation.
Get up, quickly!
Porchay followed the mystery orders entirely on instinct, spurred on by the dread that had since grown into gnawing worry. The prince swung both legs out from under the warmth of his blankets and paused only long enough to stretch the kinks out of his spine before standing up straight. He shivered when his bare soles met the chilly stone floor but brushed his discomfort aside to hurry across the room. He haphazardly donned whichever robe he’d left pooled beside his dressing table the night before and tucked his pajama bottoms into a pair of worn leather boots.
The unknown voice returned with a new demand: Make haste.
Chay allowed whatever mysterious energy was filling the air to guide his actions. He tiptoed silently down the back staircase, peering around every corner only to be met by one empty hallway after another. Feeling slightly giddy over such an unexpected run of good fortune, the prince grinned brightly as he slid between one shadow and the next. Eventually he reached the heavy wooden door that would lead him out into the palace gardens. He paused automatically, every muscle tense.
Yes, go this way.
The prince barely suppressed a triumphant giggle as he slipped free of the palace walls and into the pre-dawn mist. He knew a lantern would destroy any attempt to be stealthy, and that wasn’t a risk he could take (even if his brother’s retinue of guards was exceptionally tiny in comparison to those of neighboring kingdoms).
Chay scurried down one shrub-lined walkway after another in the mostly-dark, altering his course and speed at the whims of whatever force was guiding his movements. Following its flow was easy, almost too easy, but the prince felt more appreciative than suspicious.
Porchay swung left suddenly and violently, turning along a row of raised flower beds, only to freeze in place – he had to stop, or else he'd have tripped over whatever object sat motionless in the center of the path. The small, oddly shaped lump resembled a discarded bundle of laundry or a child’s broken toy. The thin cloth covering the item fluttered in the wind, torn and ragged around the edges in a way that almost reminded him of a…
Porchay dropped to his knees in the dirt, not once considering the state of his clothing. He leaned closer, taking in every detail visible in the pre-dawn light. First, there was a collection of dark, borderline iridescent feathers. These were followed by a sharply pointed black beak and two rather impressively clawed talons that curved up into the air. The lump wasn’t a lump at all; Chay had been brought to the aid of a wounded bird. The poor thing lay on its back, all alone in the royal garden with both wings splayed across the dewy grass.
"Oh no, how awful!"
Its purpose served, the string of magic energy anchoring their souls together faded back to nothingness. Concern for the injured animal overcame the prince so forcefully and gripped his heart so tightly that the sudden absence of his mysterious guiding force went completely unnoticed.
“You poor creature,” Porchay cooed. He reached out a tentative hand to stroke his fingertip carefully from the bridge of the raven’s beak to the soft, warm spot at the crown of its head. Despite the heavenly fluffiness of his newfound patient’s inky down, Chay couldn’t help frowning. Continuing to refer to the raven as an ‘it’ felt utterly abhorrent when he knew for a fact that the bird was male. In a habit born from two decades of etiquette training, the prince murmured, “I hope it doesn’t offend you, but I’m going to call you Sir Raven for the time being.”
The bird didn’t respond, of course, but at least he was breathing. His tiny chest rose and fell steadily enough to keep the prince’s almost frantic worry from mounting any further. Chay continued to pet Sir Raven in an effort to soothe them both, feeling utterly content when the raven settled down instead of trying to shift away.
As sunlight began to filter through the haze surrounding his family’s castle and illuminate the gardens, Chay’s attention landed on a gash across the animal’s right wing. His eyes followed the thick trail of blood seeping down into Sir Raven’s feathers, heart pounding like a wild thing for the second time in half an hour.
A cut that deep needed immediate medical attention, before it got infected.
The prince couldn’t help but hum a quiet, comforting lullaby as he lifted the wounded bird gently into his arms. He cradled the raven’s warm body against his chest, marveling at the odd tickling of rightness that came with the embrace.
“Don’t worry, handsome thing, I know just how to wrap a cut like this. We’ll have you back to the treetops where you belong in no time.”
Porchay switched between humming snippets of various ballads and mumbling soft reassurances to the raven as he hurried back through the winding gardens with surefooted steps. The thought of waking or frightening the pretty creature – or, gods forbid, jostling his patient’s injuries – during the course of their short journey was enough to make Chay’s breath stutter.
The prince didn’t have time to think about why his reactions to the animal’s peril were so strong; even if he did, he likely would have rationalized them away. He cared about other living things, plain and simple.
Porchay arrived in front of a different door than the one he’d used to escape the palace an hour ago. He ducked inside, no longer concerned with being caught now that Sir Raven was safely bundled in his arms. Grinning, Chay poked his head into the anteroom of the Knights’ private bathing chamber. Luckily, he found it occupied. “Hello, Sir Big!”
“Oh, uh… Good morning, Your Highness?” The only Knight in the vicinity whipped around to greet his liege lord automatically. Sir Big’s neatly tied bun jerked stiffly in time with his brief, respectful bow. “It’s a little early for you to be on an adventure, isn’t it, Sire?”
“I’m, uhh. I’m afraid this particular adventure couldn't wait for sunrise.”
As if only just noticing his precious burden, Sir Big nodded curiously at the raven clutched protectively against Chay’s torso. “Does this unsupervised midnight excursion have anything to do with the wild animal you’re carrying around like a favorite pet, Your Highness?”
“You’re very observant this morning, Sir Big,” Chay teased back. The Knights had effectively become his older brothers after his parents died and Porsche ascended the throne. Any real air of formality between them was saved for special events. Both men understood Sir Big to be more of a loyal friend than sworn vassal. “I’m afraid our good Sir Raven is the precise reason I’m out of bed this early. He’s been badly wounded, so I’m taking him up to visit the infirmary right away. If Lady Yok is willing to offer her advice and expertise, maybe I can take proper care of his wing and rehabilitate him.”
“Ah, I see,” Sir Big replied. He raised a joking eyebrow, “And if you fail, will we be having roasted crow for dinner?”
Chay’s glare was immediate, and far fiercer than he’d initially intended. But even the thought of his precious new acquaintance coming to harm was… It was… Porchay simply refused to entertain such a horrifying idea. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, uhm…”
Chay shook his head to clear away the dark, invading fog. “Sorry, Sir Big, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Of course, Sire.”
“Could, err– Could you please do me a favor when you’re at breakfast and tell the kitchens to send up a bowl of raw meat to my room? Hopefully I can coax him to eat a little once he’s up and about.” Porchay turned as if to leave and then jolted. He swung back to face the bewildered knight, smiling benignly. “Oh! And if you see my brother, please tell His Majesty that I’ll be busy for the rest of today. No interruptions unless the castle is burning down or it’s absolutely necessary to obtain my input on the issue at hand.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Sir Big! I’ll be going now.”
By the time consciousness once again lapped at the edges of Prince Kimhan’s mind, he was clueless as to how many hours had passed since he’d been shot. He remembered the tip of the arrow skimming along the uppermost tendon in his wing. He remembered the searing trail of white-hot agony left in its wake, no doubt poisoned by the men hunting him down. Whatever they’d used was powerful enough to overcome even a Faerie’s advanced healing capabilities.
He guessed, judging by the bright light streaming through his closed lids, that it was nearing midday. He’d been unconscious all night and most of the morning, then.
Kim was mere moments away from shifting back to his true form and speeding along the healing process significantly when he was stopped in his tracks by a totally foreign sensation. As the Fae prince lay on his back, closer to death than he could ever recall being before, a gentle finger stroked up from the bridge of his beak to the very top of his head. Curious enough to risk another few moments of horrible vulnerability, he kept still.
The unseen stranger, whoever it may be, was either incredibly brave or terribly foolish to lay hands on an Unseelie Prince without warning or permission. Kim couldn’t be sure which option was most accurate yet, but the caresses felt so nice. His unseen company kept each delicate touch measured and firm, dragging the tip of a pointer finger in the same lazy pattern over and over. The Fae, who’d spent nearly two-hundred years looking over his shoulder and keeping alert in case of danger, let the remaining tension in his muscles fade away.
For the first time since… Since…
Kim balked when he counted the years and found that over a century had passed since the last time he felt safe enough to simply relax. As it stood, he’d been soothed into a hazy sense of contentment by the stranger’s steady, tender attentions.
The young man – because Kim may be in a weakened state, but his magic was still powerful enough to gather basic information – didn’t have any latent magical capabilities, but he was leaking affection and concern so openly into the small room that Kim was already half drunk. Being the center of such unbridled tenderness was so foreign and overwhelming that the Fae couldn’t bear to move.
Then, because the universe hated him and wanted nothing more than to see him suffer, his stranger began to sing. Kim melted as the words flowed forward, until he resembled more of a puddle than a corvid where he lay on the sun-warm wooden table. The tune of the stranger’s lullaby was maudlin but pretty, and the words jogged Kim’s memory, written in a half-familiar mortal language:
“The wind blows cold across the earth,
And gently falls the rain.
I never had but one true love,
And in greenwood he lies slain.”
Desperate to see his rescuer’s face, Kim couldn’t remain in the drowsy trance a moment longer. The prince shook his head and blinked his eyes open as theatrically as any raven could. A high, sharp gasp and a flurry of shuffling came from the direction of his human host and the petting stopped, much to Kim’s dismay.
Once he’d managed to regain his balance and clear some of the young man’s addictive emotions from his head, Kim looked up and across the room. The injured Fae was shocked by his own reaction to seeing a gangly, doe-eyed boy staring back at him. Kim wanted to claim him, to hide the stranger away. He wanted fling himself so high into the sky that the thin, cold air at the precipice of space refocused him.
Kim brought his wandering thoughts back to the process of making observations. The young man’s clothing was simple but made from extremely high-quality materials, and a plain silver circlet peeked from his hairline to swoop across the center of his forehead.
Was his rescuer a prince of the human realm? And if so, why had he shirked his royal duties to tend the injuries of a wild raven?
Kim cocked his head to the side, one of the bird habits he couldn’t manage to shake no matter how much he practiced, and cawed softly.
The human had his back pressed tightly against the stone wall near the door, clearly meant to be his escape route in case the bird attacked. His plan would’ve been incredibly useful if Kim were actually an injured beast of the forest and not a Fae prince in temporary disguise.
The boy isn’t an idiot, at least, he noted. This thought was accompanied by a wave of smug pleasure that he acknowledged but did not question further – for now.
“I’m glad you’re awake, Sir Raven!” His human’s voice betrayed his youth, but also his unadulterated joy over Kim’s apparent recovery. He peeled himself off the wall but didn't approach Kim or the table. “I– Err, well, I was starting to get worried that your injury was worse than initially suspected. I don’t know that much about bird anatomy, but I had the head of the palace aviary help me out, so I know you should still be able to move with your bandage on!”
Kim cocked his head in the other direction and fluffed his plumage, because that’s really all he could do to convey the mixture of possessiveness and mortification filling him from tip to tail-feather. Clearly nervous, the boy continued to ramble in his pretty mortal dialect.
“You were wounded when I found you in the garden, so I, uhm… I brought you to the palace infirmary. I’m not sure if you can fly just yet, or with the wrap over your feathers, but you’re welcome to leave at any time. You can also stay for as long as you’d li– What are you even doing right now, Chay?”
Kim hopped a bit closer to the edge of the table and the young man – Chay’s – hands twitched out from his sides like he was ready to prevent any sort of mishap before it could begin. Like he was prepared to catch Kim at all costs. He had an unusually deep sense of compassion, especially for a human. Enamored by the mysterious Chay but not ready to admit anything so embarrassing, Kimhan took the opportunity to take another glancing pass over his rescuer. He flicked the sturdy feathers of his tail and fluttered the tips of his wings absentmindedly as he memorized every little detail.
The boy’s eyes were indeed wide and brown and startlingly lovely. They watched Kim back, taking an inventory of his movements in the same way he was doing to Chay. The Fae would be unnerved by the human’s awareness on a normal day, suspicious even, but the arrow’s poison still coursed through his veins, dulling his senses and slowing his reactions. Kim was downright sluggish, but he still dragged his beady gaze down across the bridge of the mortal’s nose and along either cheekbone.
A previously silent voice at the back of Kim’s head wondered: How easily could you turn such a sweet face red? Are his kisses as soft as his caresses? What do human hands feel like on Faerie skin?
Suddenly, Prince Kimhan needed to know the answers like he needed to breathe. He was desperate to know. He would find out for himself, by any means necessary.
Apparently tired with or unnerved by the silence, the boy opened his mouth a third time: “I hope your wing heals quickly so that you can return to the forest and your family soon.”
Kim violently and wholeheartedly disagreed with this statement. He didn’t want to go back through the Veil to bicker with Tankhun and play nice with their Seelie cousins at Beltane and Samhain. He didn’t want to command armies or coordinate spy missions.
He wasn’t interested in danger the same way, anymore. Not when he could stay here. Not when danger meant sinking deeper and deeper into Chay’s magnetic brown eyes.
Kim cawed again, pleased. He puffed his feathers and tapped one set of talons along the edge of the table. Chay darted forward, just as the Fae expected. Kim poked his foot out into empty air and the wide-eyed boy was right there, holding out his hands for the raven to balance on.
Once he’d been cradled close enough to feel his human’s heartbeat thud-thud-thudding through his tunic, Kimhan tucked his wings close to his sides and tapped playfully at one of Chay’s silver rings with the tip of his beak. Teasing surely counted as affection for humans, too. He wasn’t the kind to waste time debating logic and reason when he could stake his royal claim on the mortal by initiating the courting process.
“You’re going to be a troublemaker, aren’t you? I’m going to lose all my favorite trinkets while you’re recuperating in my rooms, I’m sure.” Rather than irritation, Chay’s voice was effortlessly fond. Was he eager for his things to be stolen by a mischievous bird?
Kim needed to pass a message through the Veil to one of his brothers and update them on the situation. There was no way in the seven realms he’d be going back to Faerieland anytime soon.
Not alone, anyway.