The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Forty-One - Walking on Eggshells

The next morning, it takes all of Seán's willpower to wiggle himself out of Mark's arms. The prince is warm and sturdy against him, his arms wrapped gently around the king. Seán runs a  finger lightly over Mark's jaw, where a particularly bad bruise is healing nicely. 

The king presses a gentle kiss to his forehead before untangling himself, careful not to bump Mark with an elbow or a knee. When he's fully separated, he tucks the blanket around the prince and pulls himself to his feet, grabbing his crown as he does. Mark curls up a little tighter at the lack of Seán's presence, but stays asleep.

Hesitantly, the king leaves Mark's room and heads back to his own quarters. After washing up and changing into a fresh outfit, he heads to the throne room and settles into his seat. His emotionless guise returns far too easily, masking everything that his eyes could have given away.

"Welcome back, your majesty," one of his advisors greets.

"Thank you," he replies. He crosses one leg over the other and glances down at his consultants. "What is our current order of business?"

"Nothing has arisen among the townsfolk since you left. Several letters have arrived from the monarchs that attended the Autumn Ball, expressing their gratitude for the wonderful time and their sympathy for Prince Mark's kidnapping," one of the advisors says. "We must also get your ruling for the four men found guilty for the abduction and brutalization of Prince Mark of Rubellus."

Seán's fingers tense around the armrests of his throne. He can feel his mask crumbling, and he tries desperately to hold it together. He can't think of Mark's kidnapping. The sight of him bloodied and broken on the floor of a dungeon is too vivid in his mind. He can still feel the cold clinging to Mark's skin in his fingertips. Nausea floods his gut at the very thought of it.

"Sire?" The advisor's voices are distant as Seán feels himself spiralling deeper into the darkest areas of his mind. "Sire, are you alright?"

Seán blinks a few times, unable to speak. His hands start shaking and he fights the urge to curl up, unable to tear himself out of his worsening headspace. Mark is trembling and bruised beyond recognition. Those men, that now reside in his dungeon, are sneaking upstairs to Mark's room. They take him away again, and this time, Seán doesn't get there in time.

"Your majesty? King Seán?"

Someone touches his shoulder and he flinches, unable to stop the tremors in every muscle. Out of the corner of his eye he can see a man motioning to one of the servants, every movement filled with tension. A girl approaches the throne and takes Seán's arm gently, leading him out of the throne room.

"Your majesty, it's Flora," she says, her thick Scottish accent serving as something to focus on. "You assigned me as Mark's servant for the duration of his stay here."

Seán nods. The humiliation he would normally feel after such an ordeal takes a backseat to the panic that grips his heart. He should have expected questions. He should have prepared himself. He should have just stayed in Mark's arms and avoided all of this.

Flora leads him to Mark's bedroom and pushes open the door. When he hears the creaking the prince sits upright in his bed, looking frazzled. His eyes lock onto Seán's and the king nearly starts sobbing, relieved to see that his worries aren't real. At this point, he doesn't care that Flora is watching. He doesn't care that Flora will know. He strides across the room and wraps his arms around Mark gently, tears flowing down his face. The prince tenses for a moment before hugging back, resting his cheek on Seán's head.

"What happened?" he asks, glancing at Flora for a moment. The girl shakes her head, watching helplessly for a moment before stepping out. Mark runs his fingers up and down the king's spine, his eyebrows furrowing as Seán continues to breathe heavily into his neck.

"They w-were asking a-about the trial and I started p-picturing it and b-before I could s-stop it I was f-freaking out," Seán gasps in response, shaking like a leaf in Mark's arms. "I c-can't... think about you with them because I just see you broken and bloody like when I found you and I'm scared they're going to find you again..."

Mark tenses considerably, his eyes flashing. "Seán, stop."

The panic in the prince's voice seems to snap the king out of it a little bit. He holds Mark as close as possible without pressing into his bruises, adjusting slightly so he can meet the prince's eyes. The moment he sees the fear that resides there, guilt floods him.

"Oh God," he murmurs. He squeezes Mark's hands, getting the prince to focus on him before he can slip into his own bad headspace. "You're okay, Mark. I'm sorry. You're safe."

The prince takes a few deep breaths, his body trembling. Instinctively he starts curling into a ball, but Seán reaches out and stops him.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Don't curl up. Nobody is going to hurt you," the king insists. Mark watches him for a moment before slowly uncurling himself, reaching out and burying his face in Seán's neck. The king exhales and shuts his eyes. "We're a mess."

Mark nods slightly, his voice still trembling. "We're going to figure this out eventually."

Seán nods and rests his head against Mark's, exhaustion already settling into his bones. This is going to be a very long day.