“But I’ve been in bed for weeks, father,” the Prince sighed, slumping down in his bed as the King fluffed his pillows.

“And for good reason,” his father replied.

“I’ve told you ten times already this morning,” young Kurt sassed, “I feel better than I have in months. I only want to walk down and eat my breakfast in the hall rather than in my bed for once. It isn’t as if I’m asking to play badminton or traverse the land for a month.”

“You know I only worry for your health,” the King said, pulling a chair with plush cushioning up to his son’s bedside.

Kurt bit back an aggravated groan as his father sat. Yes, he knew his father worried. That seemed to be all he could do as of late; worry. He worried about Kurt’s blood and his bones and the lack of color in his cheeks. He worried about Kurt under-eating and he worried about Kurt overeating. His father couldn’t worry more if he tried.

“My legs are restless and my back aches from sitting for so long,” Kurt admitted. “Please. I only want to walk down to the hall.”

The King patted his son’s frail hand. “We’ll see what the nurse says when she comes up.”

Kurt couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “And she’ll bring her nagging daughter along as well, no doubt.”

“Kurt, be civil. She’s a fine young girl.”

“She’s a fine young girl but she nags.”

“You would do well to be polite to her.”

“I’m perfectly polite to her,” the Prince stated. “I’m very nearly charming.”

“Your nurse and her daughter do us a great service by living in the castle with us.”

“I’m not disputing the fact that their service is generous,” Kurt reminded. “But I’m also not disputing the fact that Lady Rachel is just as insufferable as she is generous.”

“Kurt-”

“All she ever does is tell me what to do and she natters on and on about her father and how she can’t ever make it to town to see him. It’s the same story every day and it’s extremely tiring.”

“Might I remind you of the reason that Lady Rachel is unable to see her father?”

Kurt fell silent, eyes trained on his hands that were limp in his lap.

“She hasn’t seen her father in months because she has so graciously offered to help tend to you along with her mother. She can either stay in town with her father, who works a great deal, or she can remain at her mother’s side and help care for you. She cannot have both of her parents. You ought to think of that the next time you consider her nattering insufferable.”

“Yes, father,” Kurt acquiesced softly, eyes never leaving his lap because he couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his father’s eyes.

He was never raised to be an entitled, spoiled prince, yet Kurt couldn’t help feeling restless, bitter, and annoyed some days. He was dying. And to see others living life around him, walking wherever they pleased, going outside whenever they wished, well, these sights were simply a constant reminder of his failing body and a sign that he no longer had that free will. Kurt had to rely on so many people. It was unjust.

He didn’t feel like royalty at all.

“What if you take your breakfast on the terrace?” the King suggested. “The walk isn’t so far. And the weather is quite nice today.”

An hour later, Kurt seated himself at a small table across from his father with Lady Rachel and her mother at his side. It had been a successful journey; he had washed and dressed himself without the aid of his nurse and he walked down a long corridor and onto the terrace all on his own. The sun shone down on his face, all warm and soft in the morning sky. Kurt hadn’t been outside in ages and the spring breeze felt like an angel’s breath against his cheeks.

“Can’t I sit out here every day instead of in my bed?” Kurt wondered. “I can do just as much of nothing as I can indoors if I sit here.”

“The fresh air would do the Prince good, your Highness,” Lady Rachel added.

Kurt hid a smile beneath his napkin. He had to admit, Rachel always stood by his side during an argument. She was loyal.

And she was probably the closest thing he would ever have to a best friend.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” his father said, “so long as the weather doesn’t turn sour.”

“What – what is that?” Kurt asked in bewilderment, suddenly spying shapes approaching the castle. They were walking from far down the road at the base of the hill. He could only spy them because the sun was right and they had drifted out from the tree line. “Father? Are we expecting visitors?”

The King peered intently over the low, stone ledge of the terrace. He began counting quietly to himself.

“One, two, three, four, five,” he whispered. “They’ve returned.”

“What – who?” Kurt pressed. “Who has returned?”

“Remain here,” his father ordered, standing abruptly and tossing his breakfast napkin down onto the table. “I’ll return quickly.”

“But who-”

“Stay here, son.”

His father bolted out of sight. Once he was gone, Rachel rushed over to the ledge despite her mother’s weak protest. Kurt stood slowly, unwilling to falter or show any more weakness than necessary, and moved to her side.

“Oh, they’re back,” Rachel remarked curiously.

“Who?” Kurt asked.

“The King’s favorite knights,” Rachel explained. “They disappeared months ago, around the time you fell very ill. They were gone without explanation. No one knew why they’d left or where they’d gone.”

“No one?”

“No,” Rachel said. “They simply vanished. But – oh. He’s not a knight, is he?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes at the approaching figures. Just as he saw his father greet them outside the main doors to the castle, he realized that Rachel had been correct. There were five people in front of his father, but one was not a knight at all.

In fact, he just looked like a boy; smaller than the other men and dressed in white.

He watched as the knights spoke to his father and stared inquisitively at the strange boy amidst them. He and Rachel weren’t situated so high up that he couldn’t make out the dark, curly locks atop the boy’s head.

His father’s shoulders seemed to fall in defeat and Kurt frowned without understanding any of it.

When he saw his father lead the men and the boy into the castle, Kurt hobbled back over to his chair.

“I wonder what all the fuss is about,” he mused aloud.

“Without meaning to be presumptuous, sir,” Rachel’s mother spoke (she was always so much more respectful to him than Rachel, who basically considered herself Kurt’s equal when it came to their odd friendship), “but I heard rumors that your father sent them on a quest for a cure. For your illness.”

“Well that would be strange, indeed,” Kurt said. “I’m dying. There is no cure for death.”

“Stop being so defeatist,” Rachel said, striding back to Kurt’s side. “Just because the physicians and whatnot can’t name your illness doesn’t mean that there isn’t a cure.”

“It does when they don’t know what’s causing the illness,” Kurt snapped.

“You act as if you want to die,” Rachel said as she crossed her arms, looking downright terrifying with her piercing gaze and determined stance.

“You act as if I have a choice.”

At that moment, Kurt’s father returned to the terrace with four of his five brave knights and the boy in white. The moment Kurt’s eyes locked with the boy’s, he felt a shock of something, perhaps something magical, zing through his body. He felt it all the way down in the tips of his toes and it struck him so suddenly that he nearly fell out of his chair. The boy was – well, he was unlike any other boy Kurt had ever seen. He wasn’t tall or broad-shouldered like the knights, or even like the stable boys he’d seen. No, the boy was small in stature but he had a grace about him, an almost airy presence like he was a wisp of a person in reality.

Like maybe he belonged somewhere else, somewhere mystical. Another realm, perhaps.

He was lovely.

Kurt had never thought another boy lovely before.

“And you say he hasn’t spoken a word?” his father asked his knights, as if continuing a previous conversation.

“Not since he awoke, sir,” one knight replied. “And even then, he only informed us of his name.”

“Which is Blaine, you said,” his father clarified.

“Yes, sir.”

The King turned to Blaine, who was still very busy looking at Kurt. On Kurt’s part, he couldn’t seem to look away either. It was very difficult to look away when someone had such piercing, endless, golden eyes. He’d never seen eyes that color.

“Young man,” the King said gently. “Might I address you?”

The boy, Blaine, Kurt recalled, looked to the King. He didn’t seem frightened or worried in the least. Rather, he looked…at peace.

“Blaine,” Kurt’s father said, “I – are you – gracious, I’m not quite sure what to say. I suppose I didn’t prepare for such a possibility. All this time they looked and now I’m at a loss.”

“What is it?” Kurt asked. “Who is he?”

The King’s eyes darted to his son and back to Blaine, who still peered up at the King, calm as you please.

“I sent my men on a – on a quest of sorts,” his father attempted to explain while inspecting the new boy before him. “To find the Song of Salvation.”

“The Song of – you sent them on a fool’s errand?” Kurt wondered, still in a bit of a daze. “You sent them chasing after a ghost and a fairy tale?”

“I sent them to find the last possible cure for you,” the King said in a hard tone, stopping his son’s protest immediately. “And it wasn’t a fool’s errand. Not when they’ve returned with a boy who turned a dead petal into a blooming daisy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Blaine,” Kurt’s father said again, ignoring his son’s question, “can you speak?”

The boy said nothing. He simply stared into the face of Vaerithea’s last King with wide eyes.

And he smiled.

“I – I need to know,” the King continued. “My men, they found you where the tale said the Song would be found. I need to know if…you are the Song of Salvation.”

Still, Blaine remained quiet.

“Please,” Kurt’s father begged. “My son is – he’s very ill. He’s dying. We’ve done all we can and no one can tell us why or how to cure him. It’s said that the Song can save lives.”

Blaine tilted his head, the smile falling from his lips. His eyes became sad, shadowed suddenly with grief and heartache. Kurt wondered if Blaine could feel his father’s sorrow, as if perhaps he was mimicking the emotions his father felt in his soul.

The boy turned slowly back to Kurt, that same heartache written on his smooth face. He began approaching the Prince, and when the knights moved to stop him, the King held them back.

Once he finally stood in front of Kurt, he kneeled. Kurt’s heart began to pound violently in his chest, as if his heart had found reason to beat instead of die. He blinked rapidly, fearful that the boy would disappear. His skin was so pristine; no scars, no lines around his eyes or on his forehead. He was nothing but sun-kissed flesh with an invisible halo made of starlight.

Blaine raised one hand and cupped the Prince’s cheek.

His hand felt just as soft as the rest of his skin looked. The smile returned to his lips, but it was cheerless, almost pitying.

When he finally spoke, Kurt nearly fainted at the pure beauty of his voice.

“I’m afraid I am not able to sing, sir.”