Gasps echoed on the terrace. Kurt was unable to tell whether they were shocked because the boy spoke or because of the gloom held in his words. The boy, Blaine, kept his eyes on the Prince, as if his reaction was the only one worth noting. Kurt kept his gaze steady.

After all, he had been living with the knowledge of his imminent death for quite some time now. He had no hope to lose.

“Not – not a single note?” the King asked.

“No, sir.”

“Is there…something else?” the Kind pressed, not willing to give up so easily. “Do you carry some sort of magic? Or – or a music box? Is the Song of Salvation just a name?”

“I cannot say,” Blaine answered, furrowing his brow in thought, finally dropping his eyes to stare at the ground. “I know very little about myself.”

The King frowned, looking down on the boy with confusion. The others remained silent, for they were at a loss as well. The Prince stared at the top of Blaine’s head, thinking how terribly sad it must be to not know yourself at all.

“How long were you locked in your cave?” the King wondered.

“I was to sleep for five hundred years.”

Kurt’s eyes widened, looking to his father in astonishment. Five hundred years? But how could that be?

“Five hundred – but then – oh my,” Kurt spoke, unable to finish a thought for too many were flitting around in his mind at once.

“What is it?” the King asked his son.

“Five hundred years ago…” the Prince trailed off, pondering on his old history lessons. “The Days of Darkness, father. Magic was feared and reviled. Witches and the like, they were drowned.”

“There was a fire,” Blaine whispered. “A great fire. The village was under attack just before my Keepers put me to rest.”

“Your keepers?” the King prompted. “Your parents?”

“If I have parents, I never knew them,” Blaine stated. “The Keepers were witches. Every generation, I had three new Keepers. They were mothers and daughters, born into the role, and they kept me safe.”

“Every generation?” Kurt asked. “How old are you, exactly?”

“I…cannot say,” Blaine answered. “I was alive long before the Days of Darkness. I remember the beginning of time as if it were a dream. The beginning of creation. Whirling stars and the dissolution of galaxies to create this world.”

“But how is that possible?” Kurt gasped. “Are you – do you never die?”

“I do not know death.”

“Then you are immortal,” the King concluded wisely. “You were spelled to sleep?”

“There was an enchantment,” Blaine attempts to explain. “The Keepers smuggled me out of the village and put me to rest.”

“But you look so-”

Kurt discontinued his thought. It wouldn’t do to be so very frank, not in such a delicate situation. The Prince often had such a problem; he just never knew when to hold his tongue.

“Yes?” the boy asked, looking back to Kurt with a very slight smile on his rosy lips.

“Human,” the Prince whispered. “For such a creature, you look very human.”

“I am human,” Blaine assured. “I breathe and eat and drink. I need sleep, just as you need sleep. But my body doesn’t age. I have looked this way for as long as I can remember.”

The Prince did not remark on the fact that the boy’s appearance was quite remarkable, nor did he mention that his form was rather pleasing in Kurt’s eyes.

“Why was your village under attack?” the King asked.

“I was being hunted,” Blaine revealed, looking back to the King. “Word had reached beyond our village that I never aged a day. It was assumed I was practicing magic and they came to murder me.”

“Would that have even worked?” the Prince asked with a tilt of his head. “If you are immortal, would they have been able to kill you?”

“We did not know,” Blaine said. “It was a theory never tested. I have never been ill or injured to the point of fatality. But the Keepers could not take such a chance, and so they put me to sleep, hidden away in my cave.”

“I see.” The King nodded his understanding. “Yet…you cannot sing.”

“No, sir,” Blaine replied, regret in his eyes. “I know of the name, the Song of Salvation, but I was never told why it was given to me in particular. I only know that I am an immortal boy, possibly born of magic, but I possess none of my own with which to heal.”

“So you are…just a boy,” the King concluded.

Blaine lowered his head regally, giving the King the only answer he really needed despite the interrogation.

“Very well,” the King sighed. “You may sleep in the castle for tonight. Tomorrow, I will have someone escort you into the town so that you might find work.”

The Prince’s body jerked at the statement and at the absurd possibility that his father might force their guest to fend for himself.

“But father, you cannot send him away!”

“And just what other course of action might I take?” the King asked his son. “He is but a mere boy. He has no other purpose, no reason to stay in the castle.”

“Blaine is an immortal being,” Kurt said, “from a world long forgotten with a face that never ages.”

“Be that as it may, I’m not-”

“He’s been locked away for centuries,” Kurt clarified. “He doesn’t know this world. He doesn’t know our kingdom or the laws.”

“Forgive me, sir,” Rachel interrupted in a soft voice after having been silent for so long, “but I believe the Prince may be correct. This boy knows nothing of our land or our traditions. There’s a very real possibility that he may be in danger if he’s sent into town or away from the castle in ignorance or uncertainty.”

“Not everyone is kind to outsiders, sir,” Rachel’s mother agreed, her words nearly a whisper in the breeze.

The King’s eyes darted from his son, to the nurse, to her daughter, and back again. “And what would you have me do?”

“He can remain here,” Kurt suggested. “He can – he’ll be my – he can remain at my side.”

“Son, you hardly know him.”

“Someone will have to teach him,” the Prince stated, leaving no room for argument. “I will take on that task.”

“You’re very ill,” the King reminded. “You cannot-”

“I will not leave him to his own devices in the towns. He knows nothing. He has to learn about our world and how to live in it if he is to ever have a purpose, as you so crudely worded.”

The King crossed the space between father and son, kneeling at the Prince’s feet. Blaine stood and backed away from the pair.

“I cannot put another ounce of responsibility on your frail shoulders,” the King whispered.

“I have no others,” the Prince argued with a bow of his head. “The only weight I carry is that of my own death.”

“Kurt-”

“You have brought him to Vaerithea for my sake,” the Prince said softly. “He is here because I had need of him.”

“But he cannot help,” the King reminded. “He said as much.”

“It is of no consequence, father,” Kurt stated, sighing as his thin chest shuddered with the exhausting nature of the conversation. “Can you not see? If I am to die, then I am to die. Yet you speak of purpose and reason as if I have any at all when those present know it is not so. Perhaps this is what I can do. Perhaps this, caring for a stranger bred from magic, perhaps it is my purpose.”

The King gazed up at his son. Kurt knew what he saw:

Bravery and courage in the form of a weak, dying Prince, with a heart too big for even the healthiest man to hold.

“Very well,” the King replied after a long moment. He stood, looking to his knights and to Kurt’s nurse and her daughter. “The boy will remain in the castle. Only we will have the knowledge of his true origins. To anyone else who might ask, Blaine is the Prince’s new servant and nothing more. I expect you to guard this secret with your life.”

The knights bowed, deep and low with reverence. Lady Rachel and her mother curtsied in acknowledgement. Blaine merely stood off to the side, head still hanging, as if in shame.

“Good knights, you are all due for a warm meal and a great deal of rest. Nurse, if you and your daughter could prepare a tonic for my son,” the King ordered, looking to the Prince once again. “You cannot see, but you are much paler than you were this morning.”

Kurt may not have been able to see his own face, but he could feel a cold sweat breaking out along his hairline.

“Perhaps you might have your new servant escort you to your chambers.”