Only a handful of days had passed since their return from Astya Castle and the fight against Reyne, and Alex had spent them in bed, complaining about his injuries and his recovery.
He would have much preferred to get up and do something—anything—but the physician wouldn't hear of it.
One afternoon, however, he had slipped out of his chambers and headed to the armory. He had grabbed a practice sword and tried to move around a bit. Too bad the wound at his side had reopened.
Alex staggered down the corridor as a sharp pain shot through his left side. He gritted his teeth in pain. Damn lunatic—Reyne had really messed him up.
He pushed open the door to the sitting room, where the Court physician was waiting for him, and stopped on the threshold. William was seated on the sofa, bare-chested. Reddish gashes crossed his side. The bruises on his face were still as dark as they had been a week earlier, when they had killed Reyne.
The mage lifted his head and gave him a detached look. "Your Highness."
The Court physician turned his head. "Take a seat; I'll finish with him and then I'll get to you."
Alex sat down in front of William and studied him. His skin was paler than usual, almost like porcelain. And there was something rigid in his posture, as if he were tense for some reason.
"Are you all right, William?"
"Yes."
A curt answer. Ever since they'd returned, the strange synergy they had found while fighting Reyne was gone. Alex felt as if they'd gone back to the first days of knowing each other—only now, the shadow of the Crown Pact lingered between them.
He sighed and lowered his gaze to the wound on William's side. Guilt clawed at his chest.
The Court physician scratched his graying head. "By the spirits, William, you really are a complicated patient."
"I'm sorry, Lord Kant."
"Call me Malte." He sighed. "I need to stitch this. You've stopped bleeding, but you're not healing."
"I'd rather not."
"Why? You'll only be left with a scar."
"I can use magic."
Alex frowned. He couldn't understand that stubbornness. "What? Are you afraid stitches might ruin your handsome body?"
William shot him a cutting glance—sharp enough to stab.
"I'm not shallow, Your Highness."
"Really? Doesn't look like it to me." He nodded toward the wound. "Your side is split open and you refuse stitches. Malte is an excellent physician—you won't get scars or infections."
"I'm not doubting that. But I can handle it with magic."
Alex crossed his arms and let out an irritated sound. "Stubborn and pigheaded. Next time, don't expect me to worry about you."
"The same goes for me, Your Highness."
The Court physician's gaze darted between them before he sighed. "You're both stubborn." He pointed at the prince. "And you, especially, are the last person who gets to scold him, considering you insist on training with a sword while injured."
"At least I'm not the one who keeps bleeding and refuses stitches."
William pressed his lips together and looked away, a flash of anger lighting up his poison-green eyes. There was something lethal and graceful about him at the same time, like a large feline.
Malte rubbed his eyes. "If you won't get stitched, at least keep it clean. Change the bandages every day and use the ointments I gave you."
"I'm already doing that."
The Court physician applied an ointment to the wound, and William stiffened. His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. He truly seemed to despise being touched.
Alex frowned. That was… odd. He had never seen anyone recoil from contact so violently.
Malte finished bandaging him and turned to scrutinize the prince. "Your turn. Undress."
Alex carefully pulled off his shirt, and the Court physician frowned.
"You're really reckless. You never learn, do you?"
"I thought I could handle it."
"Your Highness, with all due respect, I'm the Court physician. You should just follow my instructions."
Alex huffed. What a big deal. It wasn't that bad. It was just… a bit swollen, with red edges, but it didn't hurt unless he bent too much.
William lifted his gaze from the buttons, looked at the prince's side, and grimaced.
"You're an idiot."
"And here I was starting to fear you'd left your awful attitude back in the hunting reserve."
"I'm serious, Your Highness."
Alex pressed his lips together, swallowing the curse that rose in his throat. "I thought I could train without issues, all right? I tried, and I stopped immediately when I felt pain."
"You shouldn't have tried at all."
"And who do you think you are?"
"Your damn Court Mage." William's gaze burned with anger. "And in case you haven't noticed, if your damn wound opens again, I'm the one whose life is most at risk."
Alex fell silent and swallowed. He was right, but it hadn't occurred to him. He still wasn't used to that bond. He couldn't see himself as half of something. He'd always done as he pleased, but now things were different. He couldn't put the mage's life in danger.
But he would never admit that out loud. Not now that he'd called him an "idiot."
"It hasn't reopened, has it? You've got nothing to worry about."
"Oh, I have every reason to, because you're careless, selfish, and an idiot."
"Open your mouth again and I swear I'll punch you."
"Go on." William stood up and moved closer. "I dare you to hit me, Your Highness."
"You think that pretty face of yours can stop me?" Alex mirrored him, giving him a small smirk. "You may be as handsome as the gods, William, but your sharp tongue is more than enough to remind me how annoying you are."
"Then hit me." A silver glint flashed across the mage's fingers. "Go on."
The prince leaned over him, stopping a breath away from his lips. "Don't provoke me, William. I mean it, I—"
"That's enough," the physician burst out. He smacked both of them on the back of the head with his palms, and Alex's forehead bumped into the mage's.
Alex whirled toward Malte. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You're two childish brats, that's what you are. You're both injured, and yet you fight at each other like two roosters in a pen." The physician shot a sharp look at William. "You, sit back down. And you, Your Highness, let me work."
Alex pressed his lips together and let Malte inspect the wound, scolding him about how reckless he'd been to practice sword fighting in that condition.
The prince's eyes never left the mage's, partly because he didn't want to give him the satisfaction and partly because there was something in those poison-green irises that pulled him in irresistibly.
They'd managed to put aside their disagreements and mutual dislike when facing Reyne—so why couldn't they now? Did they really need danger to get along?
Malte finished rebandaging him, scolded him again, and left the room with his tools.
Alex got dressed, aware of the mage's sharp gaze on his skin. He should have found it unpleasant, but he didn't. Not entirely.
"What do you want, William?"
"You must promise you won't do anything that foolish again."
"Don't worry, I have no desire to explain to my father how I ended up killing my Court Mage."
"I'm not joking."
"Neither am I."
They stared at each other for a long moment, then William looked away.
"You're reckless. You can't afford to risk your life like that."
"Do you want to scold me again?"
"If you were a little less impulsive, I wouldn't have to reprimand you so much."
"That's enough," Alex hissed, rising to his feet. "Think I'm an idiot all you like, but stop saying it to my face."
William looked down and hesitated for a long moment. "You don't understand."
He turned away and headed for the door.
And that retreat sparked anger in the prince's gut.
"Of course, because you're so clever, aren't you?" he shouted after him. "The cunning William Traver, forced to work with the stupid prince. If my lack of wit bothers you so much, you should've thought about that before asking me to make the Pact, since it's obvious how much you regret it."
The mage stopped at the door and turned back, his irises glowing unnaturally.
"What else was I supposed to do? You threw yourself into danger without considering your own safety."
"There were people in danger, damn it!" Alex reached him. "I couldn't just stand there and watch."
"You could have, because you're the Crown Prince."
"Enough!" Alex slammed his palms against the door behind the mage, trapping him. "Stop repeating that. That's an order."
William stiffened, and for a heartbeat he looked like a cornered animal. "You don't understand. You're the future ruler of this kingdom—you shouldn't put yourself at risk needlessly."
"We couldn't wait for the reinforcements. And I couldn't turn my back on those people."
"I know, but you could have used me." William brought a hand to his chest. "I'm your mage, and you can use me however you wish. I am your sword and your shield. In case of danger, I'm the one who can be sacrificed. Not you."
Alex frowned, anger giving way to a subtle discomfort. He didn't like this kind of talk, nor the look William was giving him. Beneath that firmness was a hint of despair that made the hair on his arms stand on end.
"I don't need more people sacrificing themselves for me."
"Why not? You're the prince. You must continue to live."
"But not at the cost of your life. You're not my tool, William. You're my mage, my most trusted advisor, nothing else."
For a moment, a flash of confusion crossed William's eyes, followed by a cold irritation.
"I'm not even a noble. No one would blame you for using me."
Alex clenched his jaw. There the mage went again, spouting nonsense. The prince was starting to get fed up with it.
"If you want to be used, I'll oblige."
He grabbed the mage by the wrist and pushed him onto the sofa. He leaned over him and pinned both William's hands against the cushions.
Panic filled the mage's eyes. "Y-Your Highness…"
"Didn't you say you wanted to be used? You're the one who said it, I'm just giving you what you asked for."
Alex expected a snappy retort or one of his sharp glares, but William tilted his head, baring his pale neck, a resigned light dimmed his eyes.
The idea that he held such a low opinion of him—or of himself—fueled the prince's anger even more. He didn't understand the mage, and it infuriated him.
Alex let go of his wrists and stood up with an irritated jolt; he felt the need to put as much distance between them as possible. "Did you actually think I would do it?"
"It's what powerful men do."
"But not me! What do you think I am, some kind of monster?"
William pulled himself upright, with hands pressed tightly to his chest, and lowered his gaze. "Forgive me."
"I don't understand you…" The prince ran his fingers through his hair. "You're not my tool. Nothing about you is, under no circumstances. Is that clear? All I want from you is friendship and trust, nothing more."
He would never ask for anything beyond that, nor would he ever take anything William didn't want to give.
"Don't you dare say something like that again, or I'll really get angry."
Anger mixed with guilt. He didn't want to hurt or scare him. He only wanted him to understand how senseless and dangerous his words were—but he had gone too far.
He had been impulsive.
"I scared you, didn't I?"
"It's not your fault, believe me." William looked up at him again, seemingly torn. "I… I don't want you to risk your life. I don't want you putting yourself in danger. If you risk yourself, I risk myself too, and that's illogical. But if I risk my life, you remain safe."
"I'll be more careful, don't worry. I'm not so irresponsible as to put you in danger."
"That's not it. It's just that I… don't want anything to happen to you. That's all."
Alex's eyes widened, but he didn't understand. William was an unfathomable enigma, and every time they interacted, the prince was left only with confusion. One moment he thought he understood him, but a single sentence or argument was enough for all the pieces to stop fitting again.
"I'll be more careful."
It was all he could say in that moment.