Soren walked into the infirmary to find Elian groaning softly.
He was by his side in an instant, kneeling beside the bed.
"Hey, hey, easy... it’s okay," he whispered, smoothing Elian’s curls away from his forehead.
Elian’s eyes were shut tight, his face almost ghostly from losing too much blood. It had been a week of almost waking and slumping right back into unconsciousness, and everyone was starting to get worried about whether or not he would make it.
Soren massaged Elian’s head until he calmed down again, with only his eyes twitching shakily.
Soren let out a soft sigh, slowly taking his hands away from Elian.
He was filled with rage at Lucien, because he could not understand why a Duke would completely turn away from his subject... one he suspects has been more than a subject at some point in time.
Lucien did not deserve Elian. If this was him backing away, then it was great news; Soren would finally have the space to treat Elian exactly how he deserved.
A knock sounded at the door, and Soren did not bother looking behind him. He knew who it was, and that person had been here at that same time for the past seven moons.
"Good evening, doctor. How is Elian?" Finn asked quietly behind Soren.
Soren stood, walking toward his table without speaking to Finn. He grabbed a neatly folded cloth and returned to Finn.
"Did he send you for a change of cloth?" Soren questioned calmly.
Finn blinked slowly, taking his eyes away from his sick friend.
"Yes," he replied to Soren.
Soren almost scoffed, but he clenched his jaw and handed the cloth to Finn. "The wound is almost healed. He would not need to wrap it up after today. Tell His Grace to simply apply the healing oil around the affected area to avoid scarring," he informed.
Finn nodded. "I understand," he said, and glanced at Elian again. "Is he going to be fine? He looks too thin... is he going to die—"
"Go," Soren commanded lowly.
Finn bit his lip and nodded. "Yes..." He sighed and walked out of the infirmary.
He was still looking behind him at Elian as he walked through the door when he suddenly collided with someone’s hard chest.
"Ugh..." Finn staggered, almost falling.
Luckily, Rowan shot out his hand and steadied him. "He’s waiting for the cloth," he said, gesturing for Finn to quickly move away.
Finn bowed his head, muttering an apology and hurrying out of the infirmary.
"He’s still not woken?" Rowan asked, moving over to Elian.
"No," Soren murmured, carrying over a bowl of lukewarm water to Elian.
He lowered it on the chair by the side of the bed and sat beside Elian on the bed.
Rowan frowned, his fists balling beside him. He did not like looking at Elian in such a state. A young man once filled with life and hope now lay motionless, grappling with life and death.
All for what?
"The guards have found nothing in the forest. Whoever did this was a professional; they fled the scene immediately," Rowan said, pushing his hands into his pockets.
Soren quietly wrung the cloth of excess water and gently placed it on Elian’s forehead.
"If Lucien means to find him, he will. Unless this was some murder attempt," Soren said, taking the cloth off Elian’s forehead.
"I beg your pardon, doctor?" Rowan narrowed his eyes at Soren.
"I said what I said, Rowan. After all, the boy is considered a traitor, isn’t he?" He asked, glancing at Rowan for a second before returning to wiping Elian’s body.
Rowan chuckled dryly. "Be careful there, Soren. Are you suggesting the Duke set this up to kill Elian?" He asked in disbelief.
"Your words, not mine," Soren shrugged.
Rowan frowned. "My cousin might be ruthless and unfeeling, but, trust me, he is no monster—"
"He had Elian locked in the dungeon for three months, feeding him only once a day. Brought him out and made him face horrible punishments, and now, he seems to have had enough and wants to—"
"I dare you to finish those words, Soren. Finish them and answer to the court. I hope you have evidence to back up your accusation," Rowan threatened.
Soren sighed, gritting his jaw tightly.
Rowan covered the space between them, standing in front of Soren. "You and I know Lucien can’t hurt Elian..." He smirked.
Soren’s hand paused above the bowl, his hand clenching around the cloth.
"And why is that?" Soren questioned calmly, acting like he had no clue to what Rowan wanted to say.
Rowan scoffed softly. "I thought I could get to him first... just like you thought, too. But, when I saw that my little cousin had hope for redemption from his darkness, I had to give it up... I had to let him be happy," he murmured.
Soren swallowed hard, hating that he understood what Rowan was saying.
"You, too... I see the way you look at Elian, and I also see the way you hold yourself back. You do that because you believe that their happiness lies in their hands—"
"Not anymore," Soren snapped his head up, dropping the cloth into the bowl to glare at Rowan, "not anymore," he murmured, standing from the bed.
"Why do you say so?" Rowan held Soren’s gaze, his eyes challenging him.
Soren laughed, a dry, mocking sound. "This," he pointed to Elian. "This is proof that a man who cannot be bothered about his lover’s wellbeing is not worthy to be called a lover. He lost that title seven days ago when he refused to show up even once to ask about Elian’s health. And for that, I am stepping up for Elian," he clarified firmly.
Rowan arched his brow. "Stepping up for Elian? Did Elian ask you to? And, what would you have Lucien do? Leave his fiancé and be with who? His attendant?" He asked.
Soren shrugged, "The more reason why he is unfit to have Elian. He was never going to commit to the poor man anyway."
"And who told you Elian needs someone to ’have’ him?" Rowan smiled. "He is human, and if you think that way of him, then you’re no different than what you claim Lucien to be," he stated, looking over at Elian.
"Just heal him and let him be. If fate says he’ll end up with you... or me... then it will be so." Rowan patted Soren’s shoulder, stepping back from him.
Soren chuckled. "Every human is selfish, Rowan. I do not think I can let Elian fall into the hands of a Valemont man anymore," he said, his face turning serious.
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "You’re not his mother. It is not your place to decide whom he ends up with. Also, can we just shut the fuck up right now and hope the poor lad lives?" He shot at Soren.
"He will live. He’s a fighter," Soren replied.
Outside, Lucien stood beside the door, hearing every word they said.
Rage filled him, his gloved hands clenching into a tight fist.
Soren dared to accuse him? To declare him unfit for Elian? And to appoint himself as Elian’s man?
All Lucien wanted was to go in there and slam his fists in Soren’s face. But that would cause an unwanted uproar. Rowena was still in the manor and he could not afford drama.
They thought he did not come to see Elian? They were wrong. After he left that first night, he had always returned at that same time when Soren seemed to return to his chamber for a change of clothes or something. He had been here for seven nights in a row, speaking to an unconscious Elian, begging him to open those beautiful blue eyes he’d missed so much.
He just wanted him to live, even though he was cutting off their ties. If Elian lived, Lucien lived; if Elian died... Lucien died.
He stared at the door for a few more seconds and turned away. This time, no more peeking, no more eavesdropping; he was turning away for good.
He walked away, heading inside and straight to his study. There was nothing exciting anymore, and while everyone thought he was rooted by Rowena’s side, he was busy burying himself with work and replying to letters he’d ignored to spend time with Elian.
If Soren could give Elian the peace and love he deserved, then he had no problems. After all, he could never love Elian.
He settled, staring blankly at the letter on his desk, but never picking up the quill.
A knock came at his door, pulling his attention away.
"Come in," he said without asking who it was.
Quietly, the door creaked open.
"Lucien," Chester walked in, shutting the door behind him.
Lucien sighed; he knew it was time to really talk with Chester. He’d avoided it for a while now, and it was long overdue.
"Sit, Chester," Lucien murmured, sighing.
Chester settled in front of Lucien’s desk and cleared his throat. "...Your father is regaining a bit of his memory—"
"He’s been doing that for over fifteen years," Lucien cut him off. "If he can’t recognize me, then he is not healed—"
"He’s asked for you, Your Grace." This time, Chester was the one to interrupt.
Lucien paused, his fingers trembling slightly before he curled them toward his palms.
He lifted his gaze, locking them on Chester’s face. "What did you say?" He questioned slowly, almost in disbelief.
Chester sighed, "Yes, Your Grace... that is why I have come. He asked for you for two nights, calling out to you like you were right beside him...." He said, observing Lucien’s unreadable face. "You should go to him, Your Grace."
"We shall leave tonight," Lucien blurted, standing immediately.
What better to occupy his head than a long travel at night? He needed an escape, and perhaps, seeing his father was the escape he needed.
"Tonight?" Chester asked.
"Get ready, Chester. Meet me out front; the carriage will be waiting," Lucien ordered and strode out of the study.
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