Chapter Text
1773
Prince Charmont bent to pick up a stone from the shore, admiring it as he straightened up again. It was smooth, reddish-white, with a slight shimmer to its surface; a deep orange color ran along an L-shaped shelf on one side. Char ran a finger over the shelf, pleased at how the stone hugged his touch. He quickly slipped it into his coat pocket and continued to stroll along the lake, blinking into the early September wind.
It had been almost three months since he’d been sent to the villa. He’d enjoyed the freedom from responsibility for only the first six days before realizing that the freedom to roam from his living quarters far outweighed other forms. He’d taken to slipping away on long walks to collect stones for the past several weeks, as the endlessly changing world outside seemed the only thing that Char hadn’t tired of.
The bark of the fallen tree was damp from earlier rain. Char relished its cool slickness on his fingertips as he trailed a hand over its surface. Lowering himself to peer into the den that the roots provided, Char gave a short whistle and reached into his left pocket for a small piece of meat. A tiny orange snout poked its way up from the recesses of the roots, dark nose quivering.
“Good morning, Rondo,” Char cooed, holding out the fox’s breakfast. Rondo snatched it out of his hand, tail wagging at a rapid pace, and ate quietly. A laugh bubbled up from Char’s throat. “Careful, you almost took my finger off!”
Rondo paid him no mind.
“Let’s see that leg,” Char murmured, kneeling to take a closer look at the fox’s leg. There were no more blood spots on the bandage today, but Rondo was still limping and seemed to be drained of energy. Char frowned as he retrieved a fresh bandage and gloves from yet another pocket.
As if sensing his agenda, Rondo looked warily up from her food. With a sigh, Char pulled on the thick gloves and slowly reached out to her--flinching as she nipped at his fingers. He tentatively stroked her shoulder, slowly working down to her injured leg. He’d done this many times before; why Rondo was acting out at the moment was a mystery to him.
Char wrapped the old bandage in his gloves and shoved the bundle back in his pocket. He watched Rondo lick at the replacement dressing for a beat before whispering a farewell and making his way back to the path.
It was on one of these very walks that Char had discovered Rondo as a pup in July. She’d been nestled in the roots of the fallen tree, bleeding from one of her back legs and Char had felt morally obligated to take action. He snuck her into the villa, where one of the servants—Harriet—had once raised a pair of fox kits when she was a girl. Char begged for her help. She eventually agreed with the one condition of weekly updates, although the array of stressful moments had still been in high numbers. The two released Rondo back to her den after a few weeks and Char continued visiting the small fox, if only for his own loneliness than hers.
A breeze nipped at the tips of Char’s ears; he reached up to pinch one between his thumb and forefinger. He supposed it was a bit chilly to be going out without an overcoat, but something about the bite in the air was irresistible--a pleasant shock contrasting warm fireplaces and blankets.
Char made his way closer to the water once more, spotting a large, dappled rock that sat just beyond the surface of the shallows. The lake was calm, save for a few ripples that were teased across its surface by the wind. Char’s hand ached as he eased it into the frigid water.
After hastily retrieving the rock, Char stood quite quickly, lost his balance, reeled backward, forward, and promptly tumbled into the lake. He propped himself up with a gasp and sat there for a moment, lungs expanding stutteringly, body quickly growing numb, before his brain began working again and forced him to frantically crawl out of the water. The dappled stone seemed to laugh at him as he stumbled back up to the path.
The walk back to the villa was long and rueful. When Char reached the door—which suddenly seemed much bigger and scarier than usual—he considered climbing back up to the balcony of the library, but upon further consideration decided that exerting himself in such a state wouldn’t be very sensible.
“Good heavens, what have you gotten yourself into?”
Char winced at his aunt’s exclamation as he walked through the door.
“I went for a walk,” came his only reply. He braced himself for a verbal lashing. “And I tripped and fell into the lake.”
“Your Highness, it is imperative that you stay within sight of the villa--it’s my duty to make certain that you don’t endanger yourself in such ways! Did I not make myself clear that you were not to go traipsing off on your own in this weather and be gone for half the morning?”
“You made yourself quite clear.”
“There are many privileges you’ve been given here—you should be grateful instead of constantly disobeying and having your own way.”
“I understand and I apologize,” Char chattered. “I should have asked permission. I know myself to be selfish and impulsive at times and for that I’m sorry.” He was desperate to run upstairs and change into a dry set of clothes, but common sense kept him rooted to the spot.
Aunt Margaret sighed tiredly. “I can’t help but worry about you.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Char swayed suddenly, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.
“Are you all right, my prince?”
“Oh, yes, I’m just waterlogged. I feel fine, really.”
“Nonsense. I’ll have a hot bath drawn for you.” Aunt Margaret began to lead him toward the stairs. “Go and get yourself out of those clothes.”
“I assure you, I’m perfectly all right,” Char insisted, rosy-cheeked, and proceeded to teeter precariously before toppling over backward.
~*~
The prince shivered as another cool compress was laid on his forehead, chills scraping at the inside of his skin as if trying to escape his scalding core.
“Shh,” the servant pleaded, despite Char seldom making a peep. “A physician has been sent for. There’s no need to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Char assured her. “I’ll be fine.” The servant clearly didn’t agree, as she proceeded to fret and shush and meddle, looking even more distressed than before.
Char made the clever decision to keep his mouth shut.
The door opened with a soft clank, allowing Aunt Margaret to occupy the doorframe.
“The physician has arrived,” she announced, then spotted Char’s consciousness. “Ah, Your Highness, you’re awake!”
Char smiled drowsily, giving her a small nod.
“I’ll show the physician in.” With that, Aunt Margaret retreated once more to meet the doctor.
Suddenly Char’s skin felt bitterly cold, and he attempted to motion for the servant to remove the cloth from his forehead. However, she merely adopted a frightened expression and flitted about his face uselessly, unsure of how to go on.
“May we be alone?”
Char started at the new voice in the room; the door was cracked open and a man, the doctor, was standing at the foot of his bed.
“Of course,” Aunt Margaret replied, and, ushering the servant out before her, gently shut the door.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” the man greeted. “I’m Doctor James Lawrence. I heard you’re running quite the fever.”
“Is that what they told you?” Char grinned despite exhaustion as the doctor stepped around to the side of the bed. “I suppose it’s true, then. How do you do?”
The man smiled good-naturedly, setting a large bag down on the floor.
“Quite well, thank you. And you?”
“A bit warm.” He blinked hazily up at the man, who was dressed in dark clothes with his hair tied back. He had such a peculiar way about him; Char found himself captivated.
“Let’s see to that, shall we?”
Char nodded, drowsy, as the man removed the cloth from his forehead.
He next awoke to the quiet voices of his aunt and the physician filtering in from just outside the door. Listening intently, he could pick out the man’s curling tones from their whispers. He was mesmerized by the faint memory of hands on his face and fingers on his wrist, the scratch of a quill on paper, low hums borne of concentration permeating his half-sleep.
The door to his chamber creaked gently open and Aunt Margaret poked her head in, gaze finding the prince under rumpled blankets. Char quickly shut his eyes again, and, lulled by darkness, was not awake to hear the door swing shut.