Chapter Text
The palace infirmary sat just beyond the eastern gardens, where the scent of crushed rosemary and morning sunflowers drifted in through the open arches.
Will stood at one of the long oak tables, fingers brushing the rim of a shallow brass bowl. Within it, water shimmered faintly, stirred not by wind but by the soft thread of magic that followed him. He murmured a quiet blessing under his breath, the kind drilled into him since childhood, and watched the ripples settle. With sunlight touching his face, the water glowed brighter for a moment, almost as if greeting him.
It faded quickly. It always did.
Dustin shuffled beside him, elbow deep in bandages and fragrant bundles of herbs. He hummed constantly, lute resting against a chair, gleaming with polish, because of course he’d brought it into a hospital wing. He never went anywhere without it.
He claimed instruments “soothed the recovery environment.”
“You look miserable,” Dustin observed without turning, his voice bright and matter-of-fact. “And it’s not even noon. Is this a prince thing or a festival thing? Or is His Majesty making you practise speeches again?”
Will exhaled through his nose. “Festival. Definitely festival. I already told my mother I don’t need attendants to help me dress. She looked like I’d slapped her.”
Dustin grinned. “It is the Solstice. Biggest day of the year. You’re supposed to be festive.”
“I’m supposed to stand still while people drape me in gold cloth and pretend it’s comfortable.”
“See? Festive.”
Will shot him a flat look.
Beyond them, the garden rustled with a soft morning breeze. Sunstones glittered along the courtyard path, little pieces of polished amber set between the stones to catch the light. Somewhere outside, someone was already tuning an instrument for the festival. The notes drifted faintly through the arches, rising and falling like birdsong.
Most of the kingdom was probably already excited like usual. The Solstice Festival was a celebration of Istathia itself; the longest day, the brightest sun, dancing, flowing garments of yellows and whites. People came from smaller villages just to be part of the sunset ceremony.
Will wished he felt that excitement. He used to, when he was younger.
But lately… everything in the palace felt different.
His mother kept watching him with that soft, knowing expression, and his father, usually bristling and impatient, had been oddly cheerful all week. Too cheerful. Almost suspiciously so. And every time Will stepped into a room, conversations stopped half a second too late.
He wasn’t paranoid. He just knew his parents too well.
Dustin’s humming slowed. He nudged Will with his elbow. “You’re overthinking again.”
“When am I not?”
“Exactly,” Dustin said proudly, like that proved something.
Will huffed a laugh. “It’s just… everyone’s acting strange. I feel like I am the only person who doesn’t know why.”
“Maybe they’re planning a surprise party,” Dustin offered.
Will raised an eyebrow. “For the Solstice? During the largest festival of the year?”
Dustin shrugged, ever the optimist.
Will shook his head, smiling despite himself.
Footsteps approached and Max stepped through the archway, arms full of fresh-cut herbs: mint, feverfew, sunleaf, and something faintly violet that she probably wasn’t supposed to have collected yet.
“God, save me,” she muttered, dumping the armful on Dustin’s table. “The gardeners yelled at me again. Apparently I took the ‘good mint.’ Whatever that means.”
Dustin patted her shoulder sympathetically. “They’re so ancient I doubt they even know which is the ‘good mint.’ Besides, who else is supposed to make the potions for their arthritis if you don’t have the right resources?’”
Max smirked. “They need to be more grateful.”
She rolled her sleeves up and began separating the herbs with practised efficiency, fingers moving quicker than Will could track. Max always looked like she belonged everywhere and nowhere; too capable for palace halls, too sharp for court politics, too restless for anything still. He watched her, not really knowing what else to do but still wanting some company, resting his cheek in his hand.
She glanced between them. “You two ready for tonight?”
Will made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “No. And I don’t intend to be.”
Max laughed. “You? The prince? The face of Istathia’s biggest celebration?”
“I’d rather spend the evening in the library.”
“You’d rather spend every evening in the library,” Dustin said.
Will didn’t deny it.
Max paused, giving him a too-keen look. “Is this about the royal family acting weird lately? Because even I noticed it.”
Dustin perked up. “See? It’s not just you, Will.”
Will frowned. “You noticed too?”
“Yeah,” Max said. “It’s like Her Majesty keeps trying not to smile at you. And His Majesty, well, he is smiling at everyone, which is almost worse.”
Will rubbed the back of his neck and hummed, uneasy.
Dustin tugged a sprig of lavender from the pile and held it to Will’s nose. “Well, whatever they’re planning, it’s not going to kill you. Probably. Now breathe, Your Highness. Calm thoughts. Calm. Happy thoughts.”
Will shoved his hand away. “Dustin, please.”
Max snorted. “This is going to be a long day.”
Will didn’t disagree. Ironic, considering it was the longest day of the year.
Beyond the arches, the sun began to lower, spilling brighter gold across the infirmary floor. Istathian architecture was built to worship light; arched ceilings painted in soft golds, columns carved with curling rays of the sun, and walls that seemed to glow on their own. Even here, in the quiet healing wing, everything felt open, bright, and warm.
Will kept lingering near one of the long tables, enjoying the feeling of the warmth resting across his shoulders like a cloak. From here, he could see Dustin continuing to move methodically along the shelves carved into the far wall. Each wooden niche was lined with jars, bundles of herbs, salves, polished stones, and small glass vials that held the subtle shimmer of healing magic. Dustin reached up, rearranging bottles with a practised hand, humming under his breath as he worked.
A few steps away, Max knelt over an open chest, her hair catching the sun like copper metal. She sorted through the herbs, her fingers moving swiftly. She separated each sprig and leaf with sharp precision, laying them into shallow containers lined with soft linen. Sunleaf in one, mint in another, feverfew in small wrapped bundles. The scent of crushed greenery rose around her, mingling with the faint sweetness of incense burning near the doorway. Outside, birds sang from the garden walls, their notes drifting lazily inside.
Will watched them work, feeling a small ache of envy for their ease. Dustin and Max looked entirely at home in this place: the soft echo of their footsteps against the tile, the easy rhythm of their movements. They belonged here, in the heart of daily life, in the simple comfort of doing things that mattered.
He then let his gaze drift out through the open arches, where the gardens stretched across terraces of stone and greenery. Bright marigolds and sun-kissed lilies filled the air with warmth, and beyond them, the golden rooftops of Istathia sprawled outward like a reflection of the sky.
This kingdom, his kingdom, felt peaceful in these moments. Alive. Rooted.
And yet… Will felt strangely separate from it, an onlooker instead of a piece of the living rhythm before him.
Max brushed dirt from her hands and rose to place the sorted herbs on the worktable. Dustin stepped back from the shelves with a satisfied nod, sunlight catching in the glass vials like captured stars.
Will stood quietly, letting the warmth of the palace wash over him, hoping, just for a moment, that he could stay here in the simplicity of afternoon. Before duties called. Before expectations found him again.
The afternoon warmth had melted into evening, and evening into something softer, gold slipping slowly toward light amber. Will hadn’t noticed the shift until the light stretched long across the infirmary floor, the arches casting deeper shadows as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon.
Fast, sharp footsteps echoed down the corridor, unmistakably armored.
They reached the threshold, one last sharp strike of metal on stone, and then he appeared.
Mike stood framed in the archway as if the fading sun had been waiting to crown him. The dying light poured over him in molten gold, catching on the edges of his armour: silver worked so finely it gleamed like water, each curve chased with delicate sun-lines of gilt, as if even the steel bowed to Istathia’s symbol. His pauldrons glimmered, feathered with engraved sunrays that softened the harshness of the metal.
A crimson sash, the deep red of smouldering embers, crossed his chest and was bound at his shoulder with a clasp shaped like a rising sun. Threads of gold were woven through the fabric, subtle but alive in the light, shifting when he breathed. The sash moved gently as he exhaled, like it too was part of him.
His hair, always just a little too unruly for court standards, curled against his forehead in dark pieces that caught the glow. The light sharpened the angles of his face; the straight line of his jaw, the determined set of his mouth, the quiet intensity in his eyes. And those eyes, brown deep enough to hold whole stories, swept the room in a single, searching stroke before landing on Will.
Will felt it like a physical touch.
“Your Highness,” Mike said, voice tighter than usual, “where have you been?”
Will blinked, caught off guard. “I’ve been here.”
Mike stepped forward, boots clicking against the tile with a precision Will had always found… steadying.
“Here?” Mike repeated, disbelieving. “I checked the gardens. The training yard. The library.” His jaw clenched slightly. “You weren’t supposed to wander off today.”
Will lifted his chin, a little defensive. “I didn’t wander. I was helping.”
Mike shot a look toward Dustin and Max, both of whom were suddenly very invested in pretending to work, and exhaled slowly, like he was fighting the urge to say more. His irritation, Will noticed, wasn’t anger. It was worry. He wore it poorly, tension pulling tight at his shoulders.
“The entire palace is looking for you,” Mike said finally. “The setting ceremony begins soon, and Her Majesty asked me to find you. She thought something had happened.”
Will frowned. “She did?”
“Well,” Dustin chimed in under his breath, “you do tend to vanish like a stray cat—”
Mike cut him a warning look, then turned back to Will. “You’re expected in your chambers to prepare. I was sent to escort you.”
His voice softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Will caught it. He always did.
Mike straightened, regaining that knightly composure he liked so much. “Your family is waiting. We need to go. Sunset’s in less than an hour.”
He let out a quiet breath. “Alright. I’m coming.”
Mike nodded once, a small flicker of relief passing through his expression, quick, subtle, gone before Will could question it.
He stepped aside, arm extended in a formal gesture of escort. “After you, Your Highness.”
The title sounded strange in Mike’s mouth, polished, dutiful, too formal for the boy Will knew. But for now, it held them both in place, in roles they had to play. Will stepped forward into the dimming light, and Mike fell into stride beside him, close enough for Will to hear the familiar, steady rhythm of his armor.
Will’s chambers were already buzzing with quiet preparation when he entered. Mike had escorted him before quickly rushing off, having other important duties to do. Will mourned his presence, but at least he had El, his retainer and advisor, who moved gracefully across the room, her soft slippers barely making a sound against the polished sunstone floor. She wore the pale gold garments of a royal attendant, loose and flowing, the fabric catching the light like early morning frost. Despite the formality of her role, her posture was relaxed, almost casual, as though she’d long since decided she would not treat Will like something breakable. He internally thanked her for it.
Steam curled from the adjoining bath chamber, carrying with it the scent of sweet citrus and warm amber. Jane pushed aside the curtain of woven sun-threads and gestured for him to follow.
A wide marble basin, carved directly into the floor, glowed with the soft reflection of sunset light filtering in through a high, arched window. The water shimmered faintly, touched with a thin layer of magic that kept it the perfect warmth. Floating across the surface were delicate golden petals, thin as silk and reflective as coins. They drifted gently with the steam, swirling whenever a breeze from the window brushed the air.
“Sunblossom petals,” Jane explained as she tested the water with the back of her hand. “The crown prince said they’d help you relax before the ceremony.” She wrinkled her nose affectionately. “He worries more than you do.”
“Don’t I know,” Will huffed with a soft laugh as Jane stood, smoothing her hands down the front of her robes. Her dark eyes flicked over him with the same worry Jonathan always carried, but softer, warmer, threaded with a kind of loyalty that felt like kinship rather than duty.
“You look tired,” she said simply, not unkindly. “The festival will drain you even more. You should let yourself breathe while you can.”
He didn’t know how she always knew. She stepped back toward the doorway, pulling the curtain half-shut to grant him the illusion of privacy.
“Okay, Will,” she said, pointing one finger at him in mock sternness. “Don’t take too long, alright?”
She slipped out of the room before he could reply, leaving only the faint scent of her lavender oil behind.
The chamber grew quiet again, save for the soft lapping of warm water against marble. Will exhaled slowly, letting the room settle around him, the gold-flecked steam, the gentle glow of enchanted lanterns, the life of the palace humming faintly somewhere far beyond the door.
For now, he could simply exist.
Just Will.
The golden petals drifted toward the center of the bath, glowing like tiny captured suns.
And Will finally stepped forward to join them.
The carved wooden doors of Will’s chambers parted with a low, melodic sigh, as if the room itself exhaled him into the corridor. Will let his fingertips graze the pillar beside the doorway before stepping out. It was smooth stone, cool and polished, carved with winding patterns of vines and constellations. He traced the grooves automatically, grounding himself as he took a breath. The scent of the palace greeted him, jasmine drifting through the halls, mingled with the sweet, earthy smell of the golden fields beyond the far arches.
And then he looked up.
Mike stood waiting for him across the corridor, hands slipping out of his pockets as he took in the sight before him. He froze. Will wasn’t sure what it meant.
The gold and white of Will’s ceremonial outfit caught the light, scattering it like shards of morning through crystal. Delicate embroidery curled across the fabric, shifting between soft gold and bright pearl as he moved. A single chain of thin metal brushed his collarbone; the cloak behind him whispered with every step. It was the same one he wore every year.
Mike swallowed, then found his voice. “Are you ready to go, Your Highness?”
Will rolled his eyes but felt the warmth blooming in his cheeks all the same. “Mike, I told you to stop calling me that.”
“I mean—” Mike stepped closer, and his smile turned lopsided, almost bashful. “How can I, when you look so… princely?”
“Princely?” Will raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “Really?”
Mike shrugged, but the affection in his eyes softened the tease.
Their laughter drifted up to the lanterns, stirring the dust motes into tiny spirals of light. When Mike offered his arm, Will slipped his hand through without hesitation.
They walked together down the long open corridor, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the distant hum of music from the gathering. The palace opened gradually around them, arches lifting toward the sky, walls carved with ancient stories, soft green vines hanging like ribbons.
The moment Will and Mike stepped past the last marble arch, the world opened into a celebration already alive and glowing.
The golden fields stretched in every direction, tall grasses shimmering like strands of sunlight. Lanterns hung from wooden posts and floating crystals, their lights shifting from warm gold to soft pink as the sky dimmed. Beyond the fields, the palace shone like a carved jewel, white stone kissed by the sunset until it gleamed rose-gold, every balcony glittering like it had been brushed with stardust.
Music drifted through the air, carried by soft drums and strings that flickered with magic. The rhythm was gentle, lilting, the kind that made even the most reserved elders sway unconsciously. Closer to the gathering’s heart, a bonfire roared in a controlled spiral of flame, twisting like a lazy helix toward the sky. Sparks floated upward, turning to tiny motes of light that dissolved before they reached the stars.
People were dancing in wide, slow circles around the fire, children racing ahead of their parents, couples laughing as they twirled. Even the breeze seemed to dance, sweeping warm air across the fields, carrying the scent of honeyed bread, wildflowers, and earthy grass. These were his people.
Will paused, letting it all settle into him. The music. The air. The warmth. The safety.
And beside him, Mike.
Mike didn’t say anything at first. He just stood close enough that Will could feel the heat of him, close enough that his arm brushed Will’s when they both inhaled. He was scanning the crowd like a knight should, alert but somehow soft around the edges, as if being here, being next to Will, made the vigilance lighter.
Will glanced at him, and Mike looked back with that tiny, quiet smile that always made something flutter in Will’s chest.
“You okay?” Mike asked softly, leaning just a bit closer so his voice didn’t have to rise over the music.
Will nodded, unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I am.”
Mike’s expression warmed in a way that felt like its own kind of sunset. “Good. You deserve to be.”
The breeze lifted Will’s cloak, brushing gold-threaded fabric against Mike’s arm. A group of children ran past them, trailing ribbons and bursts of laughter. Someone handed Will a small bouquet of blossoms as they passed, tiny white petals dusted with pollen, and he laughed as they ran off again. “Well, so do you. Are you okay?”
Mike watched him, smile growing, something affectionate and unspoken caught in his eyes.
“Come on,” he said gently, tilting his head toward the gathering. “Your family is waiting for you.”
The unanswered question stumped him slightly, nevertheless they continued to weave between clusters of revelers.
As Will and Mike moved through the crowd, heads turned almost immediately. Conversations faltered. People nudged one another, whispered, smiled. A little girl, tiny braids tied with yellow ribbons, tugged Will’s sleeve before either could react. She held out a piece of parchment with both hands.
A drawing, crayon-bright, messy in the way only children’s art could be, showing the royal family standing under a huge golden sun. It reminded him of himself.
Will’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh—thank you,” he said softly, crouching so he was closer to her height. “This is beautiful.”
She beamed, shy and proud, before scampering off into the crowd. For a moment, Will just stared at the drawing, warmed through in a way the sun couldn’t quite replicate.
Mike glanced over his shoulder at the girl, smiling faintly, but the smile flickered as his eyes shifted back to the horizon. His hand tightened subtly on the hilt at his waist. The crowd thickened as they approached the centre of the field, and Will noticed it now.
Patrols. Twice as many as last year.
Armour gleamed between the dancers, moving with an efficiency that didn’t match the celebration. Knights lined the far ridge, watching the borders. And Mike… Mike was scanning everything.
He paused briefly to nod at a line of sentries passing by. His entire posture sharpened, shoulders squared, jaw tense. The festival smell of warm bread and burning cedar did nothing to ease him.
Will nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “Mike,” he murmured, half teasing, half worried. “It’s the Solstice. You’re allowed one night without duties, you know.”
Mike didn’t laugh. His eyes stayed on the distant mountains, where the light was slipping into dusk. “Not while Caris keeps its armies at the border,” he said quietly.
The words were soft, meant only for Will.
Right, the Kingdom of Caris. Istathia and Caris had been at war for longer than even Will was alive. He knew the shallow-surface details, like how a Carian king assassinated an Istathian one which sparked the entire thing.
The concept of Caris immediately made Will nervous for reasons even he couldn’t explain. Even the name made Will’s stomach tighten, though he couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the stories he’d grown up hearing; how Caris wielded dark magic, the kind highly forbidden in Istathia for centuries. Maybe it was the way every lesson, every prayer, every historical tale warned him to fear the kingdom.
He’d never been there. Almost no one had, except a handful of high-ranking knights, Mike not among them. He’d heard rumours though. A dark kingdom filled with monsters that once caused a large massacre in Istathia over a decade ago. People didn’t like to talk about it. Mike especially. His parents and little sister were killed because of it before he was taken in by the knights along with his older sister, Nancy.
Once Will reached his family, his mother almost immediately rushed over to him placing two hands on his cheeks. “You, honey, are trouble. Do you realise how long I searched for you?”
“I might have some idea,” He gave Mike a look as they tried not to laugh.
She soon shifted her gaze towards the knight standing beside him, giving him a warm smile, the same one she had always given him. Ever since he was young, she had always favoured and respected him dearly, “Thank you for finding him, Sir Michael.”
“It was no trouble, Your Majesty.” He bowed politely, hand on his chest, giving Will one last glance before turning away.
He sighed, turning back around. His father’s eyes found him immediately.
He raised a single brow, sharp, assessing, peering at Will from behind his mother’s shoulder. “You’ve never shown up this late before,” he said, voice low enough not to shame his son publicly, but firm enough to leave no room for misunderstanding. “You missed greetings with half the noble houses.” His gaze narrowed. “Do not let this happen again.”
Will’s spine straightened automatically, centuries of etiquette training snapping into place. The instinct to obey was as reflexive as breathing. “Yes, sir.”
The words left him like muscle memory, quiet, dutiful, while something small and tight curled beneath his ribs.
He tried not to let his father dampen his mood, turning around and standing next to his mother. He was about to ask where Jonathan was until he spotted him conversing with Nancy. Max and Dustin wouldn’t come down until later, Lucas and Mike were on duty, and Jane was busy playing with the little kids. So, he people watched as the sun began to set over their kingdom on the longest day of the year where the sun shone the brightest, basking in the last few rays of light until they began to head back into fall. The summer breeze, music, and laughter were peaceful as he watched the bonfire dance mesmerisingly.
Will waited until the palace quieted, until the festival chatter drifted faintly from the far corners and corridors. His chambers, perched high in the eastern wing, may have seemed calming at night away from the rest of the palace, but peace had a way of feeling like a cage when he stayed too long inside it.
He slipped his cloak over his shoulders, the white-gold fabric muted in the dimness, and crossed to the door. He didn’t open it immediately. Will always listened first.
Two guards usually passed this hall every hour; one heavy-footed, one light. He’d learned their rhythm the same way he’d learned to read the constellations. Tonight, only the heavy-footed one patrolled, the lighter steps were missing, perhaps reassigned. It occurred often.
Good.
Will cracked the door, the hinge soundless, oiled quietly yesterday under the guise of “organising his things.” The hallway was empty and he slipped through the gap and pulled the door closed behind him, breathing easier the moment he wasn’t surrounded by four walls.
He moved quickly but silently, tracing a path he’d memorised over years of sneaking out. Past the row of mosaics. Down the narrow servants’ stairwell used mostly by laundry runners. Through the shadowed alcove behind a statue of the First Queen. He ducked beneath her marble crown and exhaled, knowing this was the blind spot where guards never looked.
Another patrol passed, their armour clinked softly, gold and silver reflecting off the tiled floor. Will pressed back into the shadows, watching the light ripple across the corridor. As soon as they turned the corner, he slipped out, feet whispering against smooth stone.
The palace opened ahead of him, vast and radiant even at night. But beyond all that, the gardens waited. The real reason he snuck out.
He stepped through the final side entrance, the nighttime air brushing his face like a relieved breath. Sometimes, he just needed to be out here, away from it all.
His thoughts trailed as he mindlessly walked through the royal gardens and into the forest beyond the palace walls, beginning to remember the way Mike was so on edge for the entire day. Mike had always been a little protective, sure, but recently it seemed like it had increased tenfold. Was it connected to the war with Caris?
When Will tried to press for details about the topic, the court shut him down with practised ease; curt answers and guarded looks to change of subject in front of the prince. Even his parents. Mainly his parents. That reticence made the story feel even heavier, not lighter. Secrets in the palace felt like locked doors; the more they refused to open them, the more he wanted to see inside.
His father contributed to the pressure in small, cutting ways. Lonnie had a habit of picking at Will’s smallest foibles until they swelled into public lessons. It always felt like there was a scale tilted towards perfection for Jonathan, and towards correction for Will. His eldest brother walked through the world wrapped in a kind of careless charm that won laughter where Will’s same actions would draw a lecture. He loved Jonathan immensely, but the unfairness of it burned him anyway.
He moved deeper into the trees, where the path narrowed and the moonlight threaded through leaves like pale ribbons. Crickets sang, and the hush of the forest seemed to flatten time, his thoughts slowed to be only his own. He liked to think of the trees as honest, they did not pretend, did not cloak themselves in courtly smiles. Here he could be small and unremarkable. Here, the title at his collar loosened just enough to breathe.
But then his steps faltered.
A scrap of cloth had snagged on a low branch ahead, dark as a moonless pool. It was wrong for the forest and wrong for the palace, black mixed with a bruised violet that swallowed the moonlight rather than reflecting it.
Will’s chest tightened. But naturally, he had always been curious. He continued to move towards it.
Using his magic, Will shaped a small lantern, light gathered from the warmth in his chest, pooling into his palm until it swirled upward. He wrapped his fingers around the handle, steadying it. The glow wasn’t strong, but it was enough to paint the path in soft gold. Enough to be a weapon, if it had to be. It’s just a piece of fabric, you’re being dramatic.
He stepped closer, each footfall quiet against the moss-soft ground. The forest should’ve smelled of pine and flowers, but the air here felt… thin. Like something had pressed down on it, squeezing the colour out of it. He couldn’t place why he felt that way, only that something beneath his ribs urged caution.
The cloth continued to hand in tatters from the branch, swaying faintly. At first glance it seemed simply dark, black and weather-worn, but as Will raised his lantern, the fabric swallowed the light instead of reflecting it. A muted sheen of violet shimmered across it, damp-looking though it had not rained.
He frowned. The bark of the tree behind it looked wrong, too. Not dead or decayed, but dulled, as though its colour had been washed out. The leaves overhead rustled with the same softness, but even they seemed muted.
Will leaned in.
The lantern glow caught on something stitched into the cloth. A shape. A crescent moon.
He didn’t recognize the sigil. It wasn’t from any noble house he knew, nor any southern guild or border regiment. And yet, something about it felt… cold. He reached towards the banner, hesitating. The closer he held the lantern, the weaker the flame looked. He blinked, unsure if he imagined it.
He’d never seen anything like that. Nothing in Istathia behaved this way.
Will’s fingers tightened around the lantern.
The ground seemed to tilt and Will blinked against a brief wash of dizziness. The trees around him felt a step further away, their shapes blurring and refocusing as though the world had shifted under his feet.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
Had he not eaten enough today? Maybe he had walked too fast?
But as he reached his free hand toward the fabric, the dizziness pulsed again, like the air was thicker around the banner than anywhere else, like something invisible pressed against his temples.
Will’s fingers hovered inches from the banner.
Until his hand was hastily ripped away and he was dragged against his will in another direction. He felt his feet scuff slightly against the ground as the other person gripped his wrist tightly. In retaliation, he attempted to pull his arm free, but the person was relenting. “Let me go!”
Only when they had reached the gardens did the grip finally release. He rubbed his wrist as he looked up to find none other than Mike Wheeler looking at him in frustration and worry. Will could tell it was mainly in worry. His eyebrows were drawn tight, the line of his mouth firm, eyes glowing in the lantern’s gold light.
“Your Highness,” he said quietly, trying to steady his breathing, “what were you thinking?”
A tremor slipped into his voice. “You could have been hurt.”
Will stood there, dumbfounded, as he stared back at the knight, “What do you—”
“—You cannot, under any circumstances, touch those banners, Your Highness. They are dangerous.”
This only sparked his curiosity even more, “Why? They’re just pieces of fabric.”
Mike sighed, guiding Will back towards the entrance of the palace with a gentle hand, “They are contaminated with dark magic. Just… promise me you’ll stop sneaking out?”
Will gave the boy a sulky look, “Mike, you know how much I need to get out. Besides, why are they just lying around?”
“This is the reason as to why patrols have doubled, which I am sure you have noticed due to your attentiveness.” He explained, “Your safety is of utmost importance and is my highest priority, which is why I urge you to stay inside during evening hours.”
With hesitation, Will finally nodded his head and sighed, walking in the direction of his chambers. “Goodnight, Mike.”
It was quiet, but Will heard the whisper, “Goodnight, Will.”