"You must keep eyes on her at all times. I want no less than six of our Bludston men in her immediate vicinity until she returns to the room. Allow no one besides Madame DeGhal and the Head of Imperial scheduling to approach and speak with her, do you understand?" Prince Mikhail demanded.
"Yes, my Prince," the guard answered.
"And find Sir Ilya. I need him here to give report immediately."
A knock at the inner door drew his attention, and he motioned the guard away with a dismissive gesture.
"Enter!" He called.
One of the maids scurried in carrying a tray, and bobbed a quick curtsey.
"What is that? I did not send for food," he growled.
"No, my Prince. The lady... the woman... who-"
"The Princess! You are speaking of my betrothed, wife to the Prince of the Empire!" He snapped.
"F-forgive me, my Prince. The Princess sent for broth, pureed meat, and greens for you. She said it would be good for you," the maid stuttered.
Mikhail glared at the frightened girl. Perhaps she was the one who'd given the bracelets to the Princess. He should have her beaten.
"Yes, because when the Princess hears of it, that will certainly win back her affections!" giggled the boy who sat at the end of his bed, kicking his feet.
Mikhail groaned and closed his eyes, falling back against the pillows. He truly did need rest.
When he opened his eyes again, the ghostly form of Ilya, as he had been as a child, was standing beside the pale-faced maid.
"I imagine that the hardest part of being a free man, is that you can no longer blame the Emperor for all the evil that you do," the boy remarked, studying the girl's shaking hands. "Go on, have her dragged out and beaten."
"Not real," Mikhail muttered, reminding himself.
"M-my Prince?" The girl asked.
"Clean up these wet things and get out," he ordered.
The girl hurried to his side of the bed and bent down, snatching up the damp discarded clothing. She paused at the sight of the bracelets strewn across the floor.
"M-my Prince-"
"Throw those away!" He snapped. "Do you really believe such cheap trash belongs to the Princess?"
The girl colored and scrambled to pick them up, before practically running from the room.
The imaginary boy had again disappeared.
Mikhail rubbed his forehead. It was only that he needed rest, he soothed himself, and he would rest soon, but not now.
He had planned to stumble into the room from the bath, clutching his forehead and complaining that the pains had returned, insisting that his bond had only been somewhat weakened for a while, but one glance at the Princess had caused him to forget his plan
Even now, the memory of her perfect form taunted him. Funny that he'd thought his biggest problem would be keeping his hands off of her until he'd recovered his strength and ascertained that they were safe from being accused of treason. He had a larger problem now, he'd be lucky if she ever allowed him within a yard of that perfect body again.
"Fuck," he swore softly.
If it was true... if the blood bond was really and truly broken, what would he do? Years ago, he had often imagined what his life would be like without it.
When he was a young man, just starting his command in the army, he sometimes dreamed about fleeing to his mother's home in Frem. She had spoken of it so often, and with such longing, that he could almost see the white sand beaches, the villas with no glass in the windows, and the tall doors always thrown open to the catch the sea breezes.
Once there, he would learn to swim, and when he would walk through the marketplace, no one would avoid him. He would speak to the people he met, and none of them would flinch or look afraid.
After meeting the Princess, his dream had changed. He imagined defecting to Vezda. In his daydreams he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Prince Oleg and Sir Aron. He would lead raids on the Unarian supply lines, and when he would return, he would always have fruit or small treats for the little Princess. She would grin cheekily at him, the way she did at Prince Oleg, and stick out her tongue.
That dream died the day he cut down her father. Since then, he had never bothered to imagine what he would do with freedom. If he had any dream at all, it was only that the Princess would survive and someday, laugh and smile like she did when she was a child.
Even that was, perhaps, too much to hope for.
His musings were cut short by another knock at the door, and a few seconds later, Ilya entered, looking somewhat frazzled.
He stopped short at the sight of Mikhail sitting up in bed, and then glanced quickly around the room.
"The Princess?" He asked.
"Is with Madame DeGhal. I sent her out to begin the preparations for the wedding," Mikhail answered.
"Perhaps that's best. You look better than I imagined you would," Ilya said studying him.
"I feel like hell. Report," Mikhail ordered.
"Our position isn't quite as dire as it seemed at first. I recieved a copy of the writ proving that you had reported Grieta for treason before meeting with the Emperor. They haven't found Grieta yet, by the way. It seems likely she escaped the city before they managed to close the gates..."
Mikhail nodded. This did not surprise him, he had expected as much.
"Your injuries have been attributed to an assination attempt by one of Grieta's people. There has been no official word from the Emperor, but the rumors at court suggest that the royal chamberlin was seen this afternoon, being dragged through the halls minus a head-"
"He attempted to accuse the Princess of witchcraft," Mikhail interjected quickly.
"Yes, well, the Emperor seems to be in quite the predicament at the moment. Not only are rumors swirling that his closest servant was a rebel spy, we also recieved news that the delegation from the council crossed over our western border late last night," Ilya continued.
"They are early, but not unexpected," Mikhail frowned.
"Not unexpected... no. However, shortly after news was recieved of their entry, a rider came from the port at Darkwater. A blockade is forming-"
"The Blackside navy?" Mikhail guessed.
"Not just Blackside, ships from at least 2 other kingdoms as well," Ilya said and paused. "You know what that means-"
"They mean to take the Princess whether by diplomacy or threat of war," Mikhail mumbled, and then pressed his lips together.
"It does appear that way, yes," Ilya agreed.
"But why now? Why did they not come to her aid while Vezda still stood?" Mikhail frowned as he considered it.
"That is certainly the question... isn't it? I suppose that we at least know why the Emperor was so keen to get rid of you. If he's going to take her for himself, he must do so before the delegation arrives. That gives him less than a week's time," Ilya nodded.
"And yet you say our position is not dire," Mikhail scoffed.
"Marry her quickly and it won't be," Ilya shrugged. "Word of your engagement is just now beginning to spread at court-- in fact, I was busy spreading it up until I was summoned."
Mikhail nodded and rubbed his forehead as he thought.
"Are you quite sure that the Princess would rather marry you than ally herself with Blackside?" Ilya asked.
Mikhail checked the urge he felt to slap him.
"You aren't going to give her a choice... are you, my darling?" A soft familiar voice asked.
Mikhail glanced past Ilya to see his mother shaking her head sadly at him.
"You aren't going to tell her about Blackside or the blockade because you don't believe she will chose you," his mother accused.
Mikhail started.
"Stars of Torobirk," he swore running his hand over his face and closing his eyes.
"What is it?" Ilya demanded.
"We can't trust Blackside. We don't know what they'll require from her in return, but I would guess she will pay for their friendship with her blood!" Mikhail growled.
Ilya glanced over his shoulder and frowned.
"You seem... anxious," Ilya noted.
"Having a sword run through your back a few times will do that to you. I need you to bring me something. There's an army physician that lives somewhere near the west gate. His name is Faubert. Tell him that Prince Mikhail requires a pound of goldpitch. He'll know where to find it," Mikhail ordered.
"Goldpitch? Isn't that-"
"I need something to aide me until my strength returns. I've used it before," Mikhail snapped.
"You've used it in battle when your choices were that or death. It's downsides are numerous and well documented," Ilya reminded him.
"Be that as it may, I cannot continue to lay in bed and sip broth. I need you to go in person, and be quick about it," Mikhail commanded.
"Perhaps... you should speak with the Princess before resorting to such measures. She appears to have a great deal of knowledge when it comes to healing and-"
"Go now!" Mikhail growled. "And do not speak to the Princess. The guards have strict orders to watch her at all times and to let no one approach."
"Is that an order?" Ilya demanded bitterly.
"Of course not!" laughed the ghostly form of Ilya's younger self. "You can't risk giving him an order. If it doesn't work, he'll know you've lost your power over him."
"Just do as I say," Mikhail muttered, closing his eyes.