Through that day and the next, Kurt felt he was missing something.

Castle life went on as usual, and Kurt played for the Prince at dinner, but Wes and David ran off as quickly as they could as soon as the table was set, and Mike, like he had all day, kept disappearing and returning without explanation. The Prince didn’t seem perturbed, but Kurt was, due to its previous detrimental outcome, battling an increasing desire to investigate.

After tending the Prince that evening, and sending him to bed, he went to sup himself, as he usually did with the rest of the servants. However, only Brittany and Tina were present, and their behavior was certainly odd—and that was already taking into account Brittany’s previous behavior. When he asked Tina where everyone was, her smile brightened and widened, but she simply shrugged and said they were busy. Brittany piped in with, “They’re hunting spiders.” Kurt had gone to bed mystified.

On top of that, he’d slept restlessly. All night his dreams had been filled with strange visions of the Prince. They were hard to recall and even harder to explain, but he could have sworn that in one of them he had grown from the rose bush itself and stepped to Kurt, naked and shining beneath the sun, unscarred and smooth, smiling and reaching a hand to Kurt in joyous supplication. Kurt had brushed their fingertips together and felt the deepest ecstasy, but behind Blaine the roses started to shed, and with each petal that hit the ground, a new scar slashed across Blaine’s body. Kurt tried as hard as he could to draw the Prince into his arms, to protect him, but he found that when he stepped forward he ended up moving to the side, or backward, or in any direction but toward the Prince.

He woke confused and still caught up in the dream, and found himself still dwelling on it as he dressed and went to breakfast in an all but empty kitchen, only Emma present, flitting around and preparing vast amounts of food even though there was no one around to consume it. When Kurt inquired when the others would be coming, Emma stuttered and babbled nonsense until he nodded and pretended he understood.

He spent most of the day with the Prince, who insisted on teaching Kurt the intricacies of tending a rose bush, and Kurt had no idea there was so much to it.

“These will bloom within the next day or so, if the weather is good,” Blaine said, circling the bush and running his fingers lovingly over the leaves. Kurt watched him closely—he wouldn’t have let Blaine even come out here, given his state, but the sun was out and, after what Mike had told him about Blaine’s mother, he didn’t have the heart to keep the Prince away.

“Then what?”

“I will cut a few,” Blaine said. “Some for decoration, and some I will use to make rose oil, from the petals.”

“You make your own rose oil?”

“I do,” Blaine said, nodding. “I steep the crushed petals in almond oil, which Santana will fetch from the market today—“

“Did anyone else go with her?”

Blaine turned to Kurt, looking puzzled.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but…everyone is missing,” Kurt said. “I haven’t seen anyone but Emma all day, and usually I see someone, so I just wondered—“

“No,” Blaine answered, cutting off what was sure to become a ramble. “Just Santana, though perhaps she brought Sam or Puck with her to lift the heavier items. I’m sure it will not be as quiet when she returns tomorrow morning.”

He turned away, and Kurt took it as a dismissal, which left him disappointed and more curious than ever, and a little resentful at being left out of the loop. He was itching to learn what was going on, as he was certain something was out of the ordinary.

“I should learn to how to cut the roses properly,” Kurt said instead, brushing a fingertip over the velvety underside of a closed bloom. It called his dream to mind, and how soft Blaine’s fingertips had felt against his own before he’d been pulled away—

“We’ll see,” Blaine said, and Kurt immediately narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Prince, who appeared to now be avoiding his gaze. Kurt expected that he’d come out to find the Prince here without him any day now, despite Kurt’s orders to the contrary.

Just as he was opening his mouth to call the Prince out on his clumsy attempt to hide his intentions, Blaine spoke again.

“I believe you still need to measure me for the garment you’re preparing?”

Kurt stared, eyes wide. He’d forgotten about that.

“Of course, my lord,” he said, noticing belatedly that he was only referring to the Prince as “my lord” as a fallback instead of as a constant, and berating himself for his carelessness. When had he become so familiar? “I would like to wait till your side is feeling a little better, if you like—“

“That will be fine,” Blaine replied, and there was something uneasy between them. A tension, an awkwardness. They had been uncertain with each other since they had met, but it was appearing stronger at strange times, and Kurt wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

“What will you use the rose oil for?” he asked, to break the tension and hopefully restart normal conversation.

Blaine sighed, looking over at Kurt unsteadily. Kurt realized it had probably been the wrong thing to say.

“I use it on my scars,” he said. “Sometimes they feel…tight. Uncomfortable. The rose oil soothes them.”

Kurt nodded. Of course. He knew that rose oil could be used on skin, but he had obviously not been thinking properly.

“Was your stepmother not the wife of the apothecary?”

Kurt could have laughed in relief. The Prince was giving him an out, even if he didn’t intend it.

“She was,” Kurt corroborated. “She taught me some things—you know that, of course—but I was only really trained for immediate medical aid. I picked up a few things here or there for other treatments, but I didn’t learn everything. I wasn’t intending to become an apothecary, so I never bothered to learn beyond the basics.”

“Is it supposed to be a comfort to know that my doctor never bothered with anything but the basics?”

Kurt hummed and tiled his head, taking the teasing for what it was rather than taking offense.

“Well, I suppose it’s more comforting than if I had never bothered to learn anything at all.”

“That’s true,” Blaine agreed, laughing quietly. He was still smiling faintly when he looked back up at Kurt.

“Tell me about your family.”

Kurt and Blaine spent most of the day together, talking and sitting outside. At one point, Blaine quickly pulled up his hood as Emma came out with a basket of food, insisting that the Prince eat something hearty to keep up his strength, and Blaine thanked her warmly, at which she looked comically shocked, her already-large eyes widening to the point that Kurt imagined them taking over her entire face. When she left, he mentioned it to the Prince, who laughed and suggested Kurt write a tale of it. Kurt had nodded eagerly, then and there throwing out silly jokes and lines he would include, and it had been wonderful to see Blaine smile, his hood thrown back the moment they were left alone.

It was a gift to see Blaine without his hood—it was the strongest defense he had, his strongest armor, and he was allowing Kurt to see behind it. He was expressive, and while his face moved a little strangely around his scars, he was still a fantastic conversationalist, quick to react with sympathy or laughter, and Kurt didn’t feel like he was a servant speaking with his Prince—he felt like a young man speaking to another young man. Kurt hadn’t really expected that, after the Prince had had so little interaction over the years, but he supposed that the novelty of another person to talk to was bringing Blaine out of his shell. He finally understood what Mike had been talking about when he said that Blaine would have been a most charismatic leader. And Kurt was pleased to find that he genuinely liked Blaine and wanted to spend more time with him. He was easy to talk to, and they shared a real connection, if Blaine’s eager participation in their talks was any indication.

Kurt began to wonder, as he took in Blaine’s good mood and open expressions, if Blaine had wanted all these years for someone to just look at him for himself, not for his scars, and if the reason he was so happy was that Kurt was giving it to him.

He was honored to be the one giving that to Blaine. 

When the afternoon wore on, the Prince excused himself, stating only that he had to confer with Mike on some business—Kurt raised an eyebrow at the term, but kept quiet—and mentioning only that he’d see Kurt again at dinner. Kurt had watched him go, a little sad that he was raising his hood again as he walked.

Dinner that evening was even more baffling. Wes and David didn’t show up at all, and Mike had set the table by himself, finishing just as Kurt was settling in his stool in the corner.

“Where are Wes and David?”

“Busy,” Mike said with a little smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

Kurt sat and carefully tuned his lute, keeping a suspicious eye on Mike, who kept looking over at him and smiling ever few seconds.

“What?” Kurt finally burst out. “Why is it that everyone keeps smiling at me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike replied, far too quickly, his face a sudden mask of polite confusion. Kurt was about to let loose and let him have it when the Prince entered and sat down. His hood was down. He knew Wes and David wouldn’t be showing up.

“I’d like to hear a story,” Blaine said suddenly, about halfway through his meal. He looked over at Kurt expectantly, and Kurt fought off the urge to shudder.

“Of course, my lord.”

Kurt lowered his head and plucked out a little tune on the lute while he thought. Half of him was searching his mind for an appropriate tale, but the other half was marveling that he had gained back Blaine’s trust so soon. His last tale had, after all, been a disaster.

He’d have to make this one a good one.

“Have you ever heard of the Tale of the Godly Bread, my lord?”

Blaine shook his head.

“Well, the tale is this,” Kurt began, smiling to himself mischievously. “There was a boy, and he was none too bright. A handsome, strapping lad he was, but his head was empty of all but nonsense.

“One day, this boy was ordered by his mother to tend to the bread loaves she was baking to feed her sick husband. There were many fine loaves, and they cooked so evenly and brownly, and their scent made the boy’s mouth water. He fancied that he should have one as a reward for minding them so well, and his father being so sick would not miss one, and so he claimed one of the loaves, sprinkling some cheese on its surface to add to its flavor, and reminding him which he had chosen.

“Now the boy began to daydream, thinking of how delicious his cheesy bread loaf would be, when he began to smell burning coming from the oven. He quickly doused the flames of the oven and removed the loaves, saving them just before they were scorched, and thus saving his favor with his mother, but the cheesy loaf, the one he had claimed for himself, was blackened, as the cheese had burned a pattern into the crust of the bread.

“The boy was so very hungry, though, and he didn’t want his mother to catch him wasting a loaf when it was needed to tend his sick father, so he went to eat the cheesy loaf anyway. But when he pulled the cheese from the surface of the bread, he was shocked to see that burnt into the crust was the face of one of the gods!”

Blaine raised an eyebrow incredulously, but Kurt, who was enjoying his storytelling particularly, shook his head.

“No, my lord, I know you don’t believe me, but it was true. And the boy knew from that moment that he was blessed, and had a direct connection with the god who had revealed himself on his cheesy loaf.

“And so the boy set up a shrine to the Godly Bread in his room, and worshiped it and prayed every day. And finally, moved by his devotion, the Godly Bread moved and spoke to him.

“’My son,’ it said, ‘I am pleased at your piety. For this, I will grant you three wishes.’

“The boy considered, and made his first wish. ‘Cheesy Bread God, I wish to be well-loved in this town by all.’

“And so the Godly Bread granted his wish, and when he next ventured into town all the townsfolk wanted his attention and approval. In particular, a girl he had been keeping his eye on was showing him favor, and that night, he returned to the Godly Bread.

“’Cheesy Bread God, I wish my love to grant me all her favors.’

“And so the Godly Bread granted his wish, and when he next saw his beloved she drew him to her bedroom and allowed him the touches of her body.

“But when he left her embrace, there was, in town, another strapping lad waiting to court his lady, a blacksmith’s boy, and she was not averse to his attentions, as this new lad was the most popular boy in the town, so the boy returned to the Godly Bread.

“’Cheesy Bread God, I wish to be the most popular boy in the town.’

“And so the Godly Bread granted his wish, but when he went into town the next morning, all were in mourning. They delighted at his appearance, but all were wearing black and weeping into kerchiefs and wailing their grief.

“’What has happened here?’ the boy asked.

“’Why,’ said the townsfolk, ‘that strapping young blacksmith’s boy has met his demise. Why, this very morning, he choked on a piece of bread!”

“And the boy grew scared, for while his wish was granted and he was now the most popular boy in town and had enjoyed the embraces of his beloved, he never meant for anyone to die. So he returned home and faced the Godly Bread.

“’Cheesy Bread God,’ said he, ‘why have you done this? A good lad has died because of you.’

“’No,’ said the Godly Bread, ‘he has died because of you. Because of your selfishness, a good man has died and your father still lies ill in the next room. I have no more wishes to grant you, and so you must live with your choices.’

“At this the boy grew remorseful, for he had forgotten his ailing father in his excitement at having his very own personal god. Determined to help his father in any way, he took the Godly Bread into the next room and fed it to his father, giving him more nourishment that he had stolen away in his gluttony, and kept away from him in his greed.

“But when the Godly Bread was eaten, suddenly the boy’s father rose from his bed, cured of all ills! His final act of sacrifice in giving his father the bread had absolved the boy of his sins, and in return the bread had cured his father.

“And so, for the rest of his life, the boy prayed to the Godly Bread whenever he ate a new loaf.”

Blaine laughed and clapped when Kurt finished. Kurt was pleased—the entire tale, Blaine had been attentive and reacted just as he wished in all the right places. Now, Blaine shook his head.

“Where did you hear such a tale?”

“I didn’t, my lord,” Kurt revealed teasingly. “I lived it.”

Blaine cocked an eyebrow. “You wish me to believe that not only are you the foolish boy, but you spoke to a god through your bread?”

Kurt preened at the first, finding pleasure in the implicit compliment. “Actually, my lord, it was my brother Finn. And no, he did not actually get three wishes granted from a loaf of bread. But he did believe it to be so. I don’t believe I ever convinced him that the bread wasn’t granting him wishes, but he still prayed to it until he got too hungry and ate it.”

Blaine laughed delightedly, and Kurt smiled at him fondly, pleased his story went over well.

“My lord, I must leave you,” Mike said quietly, leaning forward to interrupt politely. “I have matters to attend to.”

“Of course,” Blaine said, suddenly sobering, waving Mike away. “I will be retiring now myself.”

Kurt nodded, standing from his stool and loosening the strings on his lute.

“How are you doing?” Kurt asked, pointing to the Prince’s bandaged arm. Blaine huffed.

“I am fine,” he said, not unkindly. “Get some supper and rest. You’ve done enough today.”

With that, he left Kurt alone.

Kurt wandered out slowly, preoccupied. He felt confused and a little nervous, sorting through a lot of new things today. All the time spent with Blaine, getting to know and like him; the strange looks and smiles of Mike and Tina; the disappearance of apparently the entire staff. It was all strange and Kurt was having trouble sorting it out. Maybe a good meal and some sleep, maybe a warm tub of water to bathe—

He paused. He was outside the Prince’s chambers.

He’d walked there without thinking, perhaps out of several nights’ habit. He scolded himself and turned right around, heading back into the court and toward the kitchens that way.

He paused again, this time in the middle of the court. He’d heard banging, he was sure of it, and voices. He cocked his head, trying to hear where it came from, and just then a shout echoed from upstairs. Kurt moved forward, heading to the stairs—it hadn’t come from the western side, so he was perfectly entitled to explore.

When he reached the top of the stairs and turned left, it was to see lights flickering under the heavy wooden door he’d ignored two nights ago. There were definitely voices, many of them, and Kurt recognized all of them. So this was where the staff had been all day—but why…

He moved to the door, getting ready to burst in an see for himself what was going on, but just then the door opened just enough for Mike to slip through.

“What’s going on?” Kurt demanded.

Mike startled, staring. His mouth opened and closed like a fish drawing in water.

“Mike?”

Mike sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Look, Kurt, you weren’t supposed to see this yet,” he admitted, and Kurt frowned.

“See what?”

“No,” Mike said, holding up a hand to ward Kurt off as he tried to step forward. “You should let the Prince show you when it’s time.”

“No, Mike,” Kurt insisted, huffing out in exasperation. “Why don’t you just tell me, if I’m going to find out anyway?”

Mike considered for a moment.

“I’ll tell you,” he said finally, “but I’m still going to let the Prince show you when it’s time.”

Kurt nodded after a moment. At least he’d find out what was going on.

“This was once the music room,” Mike said. “The Prince has ordered its renovation. He’s fixing it up for use again.”

“The Prince…is renovating?”

Mike nodded, and Kurt almost burst into tears.

“Is it…just this? Or…or elsewhere—?”

“I don’t know, Kurt,” Mike answered. “I was told to oversee this, but the Prince had me gather up any money I could and he sent Santana into town for a lot of things, and he tapped into the coffers—he hasn’t done that once. There wasn’t much in there, but he’s spending it all on cleaning and building materials. Kurt, I think he might be thinking about fixing things up. For now, it’s just this, but who knows what he’ll do tomorrow.”

Kurt clapped his hands, laughing and feeling tears roll down his face.

“Mike, you know what this means!”

Mike smiled cautiously. “I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves here, Kurt—“

“But what else could it be?” Kurt demanded. “Why would he just pick the one room?”

Mike looked at Kurt and shook his head in wonder.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Kurt asked.

“Look,” Mike said, ignoring the question, “maybe the Prince will fix things up. But we won’t know until he says so or orders us to do it. Okay?”

Kurt nodded. And later that night, when he was lying down to sleep, he allowed himself to hope again.