It had been six days.

Kurt had left not long after the letter arrived—only stopping to pack a bag before he was heading out on one of the Prince's horses.

Blaine entered the room quietly. Kurt turned and immediately started apologizing.

"—I'm sorry, Blaine, but I have to go," he was saying. He was in his apartment, a cloth pack open on the bed, quickly filling as he stuffed in clothes. "I'll try to be back for court, but I just have to go—"

"Kurt, I know," Blaine said, standing off to one side, his arms crossed over each other, one hand caressing his own arm as the other clenched the stem of one of his roses between his fingers. He looked uncomfortable—sad, even. "I know you have to go. I understand."

Kurt turned and looked at Blaine, tying up the head of his pack and throwing it over a shoulder. Blaine looked on the verge of tears, his body close in on itself. Kurt couldn't help imagining a rose closing its petals against the frost.

"Blaine, what—"

"I want…want you to have this," he said, presenting Kurt with the rose. "And…and I'd like you to tell your father that…that his debt is repaid. I hope you have a safe journey, Kurt."

Kurt stared at Blaine, completely uncertain. He took the rose carefully, noticing that the thorns hadn't been removed. Blaine had just cut it, he wouldn't have had the time…

"Blaine, what—"

"You should go, Kurt," Blaine said. He turned his face to the side, down, and Kurt got the distinct impression that he was turning his back on Kurt as gently as he could. "Your family needs you."

Kurt just nodded, afraid that Blaine was upset with him. His entire body looked as if it was aching to be as far from the world as possible-as far from Kurt as possible. But then Blaine stepped forward abruptly and gave him one last, lingering kiss, one hand cupping Kurt's cheek fleetingly before pulling away.

"Goodbye, Kurt."

And then he left.

Kurt had spent the past six days hoping that Blaine would write—he'd sent out a letter with one of the guards every day, trusting him to find someone to deliver them, letting Blaine know the situation—but he'd gotten nothing in return. All he had was a flower that was swiftly wilting into nothingness.

Burt was very sick, though, and he needed Kurt. Carole was doing what she could, but with Finn in and out trying to deliver messages to people who were important to Burt's business, she needed help. She needed someone to fetch herbs and help with her tinctures and lift Burt when needed. And with their combined effort, Burt seemed to finally be getting better—he was awake and alert and was able to feed himself and complain of their attentions, and Carole insisted it was all a good sign.

"His heart is weak," she said. "Finn will need to take over and he'll have to stay home now. But he is alive, and that's what matters."

He had just over a week until court opened, but how could he leave now? Burt could slip back into illness at any time, he could still die. How could Kurt abandon his family in their time of need?

If only Blaine would write to him.

Kurt missed Blaine. He hadn't gone a single day away from his presence since even before they fell in love, and even though, yes, he ached for some form of Blaine's touch, he also missed his smile and the way his hair curls and the color of his eyes. He missed his laugh and the way Blaine looks at him and how when he thinks no one is looking Blaine will sigh deeply, as though finally finding himself satisfied with something. He missed the sound of his footstep and the smell of roses. His own rose was shriveling too fast, its petals even darker. He tried not to think the worst.

They can be given to a love lost.

Maybe Blaine had chosen to forget when Kurt chose his family over his staying at the castle. If so, Kurt felt as though his heart would break even while he burned over the unfairness. He had promised to come back—had Blaine given up on them? Had his parting words meant that Kurt was no longer welcome back at the castle? He'd basically released Kurt from service, but did it mean what it sounded like?

Kurt didn't know what else to think.

If only Blaine would write to him.

So that evening, Kurt sat down and wrote another note.

My dearest love, he wrote, unwilling to say Blaine's name lest it be intercepted somehow.

It's been nearly a week and I've had no word from you. I know you must be busy, but I long to hear from you. My father is well, and I will be able to return soon.

Kurt paused here, uncertain of what to put next. He felt an urge to beg Blaine for forgiveness, or plead for information, but he didn't want to push Blaine if Blaine had really given up. So he settled.

I hope you'll welcome me when I return. If not, please let me know before I depart. I hope that it is not so.

All my love,
Kurt

He folded it, sealed it, and peeked out the door to hand it to Jon, the guard who'd offered to take care of his letters.

"Thank you," Kurt said, handing it over. "None in return?"

"No, sir," the guard said. "I'll let you know if any come in, and I'll drop this with one of my boys."

Kurt nodded and withdrew back into the house, heading to his room. He sat down at the window until Carole called him to help Burt eat an early dinner, watching as the petals started to fall from his rose.

Kurt set aside the empty bowl, smiling faintly. Burt hadto be getting better-it was the first time he'd finished his entire meal without pushing it away or complaining.

"You're doing well," Carole commented, brushing a caring hand over Burt's bald head. Burt huffed briefly.

"That mean you're going to let me out of bed?"

"Soon," Carole replied phlegmatically. She turned to face Kurt, still addressing Burt. "I think I'd be comfortable watching you on my own, though."

Kurt shook his head immediately.

"I don't think-"

"No reason to stay, and plenty to go," Burt said simply. "Unless you don't want to go back."

As soon as Burt said it, Carole gave a quiet smile and slipped out of the room, leaving father and son alone to talk.

"Of course I do," Kurt said reflexively. It was true-he ached to return. "Dad, you should know, now...about Blaine."

Burt raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

Kurt grimaced a little, tilting his head to the side and considering how best to word it.

"He and I...well, the thing is." He took a deep breath and rushed out, "Dad, I'm in love with him."

Burt studied him for a moment before slumping back, as though settling into the idea.

"And does he feel the same?"

Kurt looked up at his nervously, biting his lips. He nodded. Burt ran a hand over his face.

"I don't know what to say, Kurt. I mean, I'm happy for you. You deserve every happiness. But is he the right one to give it to you?"

"I know it's complicated," Kurt admitted, "but I'm not turning away from it, Dad. I know people have a bad idea of him, but he's nothing like that. He's gentle, and sweet, and kind. He's wonderful-he just...got lost. But I have never met anyone like him. He's...he's perfect."

Burt nodded carefully. "He treats you well?"

Kurt smiled wistfully, his thoughts drifting over all the happiness Blaine had brought him. "He treats me like I'm the Prince, actually."

"So. You two...is he going to be letting everyone know he's in love with his servant?"

"Not yet," Kurt replied cautiously. "But when things settle down, we'll talk about it."

Burt sighed deeply. "You really love him, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. I know Blaine needs me, and...and I need him. My life is so different with him in it-I've never felt like this, Dad. I never thought I could. Every dream I ever had has come true. Well...it did, at least."

Burt looked at him frankly.

"You should go back, Kurt."

"You need me, Dad—"

"Carole's got me now," Burt protested. "I'm doing a lot better, and you moping around isn't helping me recover any. I know you want to be back with your Prince. And I'm sure he wants you back, too."

"I don't think he wants me back, Dad," Kurt said, hating himself when his voice shook. "He…he told me to tell you that your debt was repaid. The only reason I was there was because of your debt."

"Not anymore," Burt corrected. "You said yourself—you two are in love. I don't think he'd forget that just because you had to come here for a few days. He probably just wanted to make sure you knew that you could come back by yourself and not because you had to."

"But he hasn't written," Kurt insisted. "I haven't heard a single thing, and I've been sending him letters every day. He hasn't written back."

Burt shook his head and shrugged.

"I don't know what to tell ya, kid," he said. "Guy's gotta be busy with the castle right now. It's the final stretch. So it's time for you to go back and make sure you're there to help. It's your responsibility now, Kurt."

"You're my responsibility—"

"No, I'm my own responsibility," Burt interrupted. "Your responsibility is to your Prince and your…whatever you two are. It's time for you to go back."

Kurt sighed and looked at his dad for a long moment. Finally, he just smiled and said, "Okay."

It was evening, but he could pack tonight and leave at first light. That way, if he rushed, he'd be home by evening.

Home. Dalton—Blaine—was home.

He hurried to his room and threw the clothing he'd brought with him back into the bag, pell-mell. Their state didn't matter—getting to Blaine did. In fact, if he left now, he could be there just after nightfall, and he had his knife and he could carry a torch, it would be safe enough—

Knock. Knock.

Kurt frowned. The guards knew not to knock if they needed to come in now, and visitors had to go through them first, so who was knocking? Why were the guards not taking care of it?

He strode up to the door, wondering if one of the guards was just trying to be polite during their mealtime, and opened it.

Kurt's eyes ran up the rakish form looming over him, blocking the light from the doorway. Familiar smirk, familiar predatory gaze seeping into his skin like oil. Kurt's stomach dropped, replaced by a seething pit of fear.

Sebastian.

"Master Hummel. No longer ill, I see. Good."