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Chapter 100 - Chapter 100

AHe proceeded to lift the blonde carefully, as though Elliott were made of glass, and set him down on the bed with painstaking care, making sure not to so much as brush against his bandaged hands. Aiden himself sat on the edge, leaning close, his eyes dark with worry.

"Let me see," Aiden murmured, voice low but firm. His fingers, though steady, trembled faintly as he began to unwrap the soiled linen. Each layer peeled away slowly, the cloth clinging stubbornly to the broken blisters beneath. Every time the fabric pulled free, it earned a sharp flinch or a muffled gasp from Elliott.

Aiden's jaw tightened. His throat worked as if he were swallowing words he couldn't voice. He hated this—hated that he had to be the one to cause more pain when all he wanted was to protect him from it. Each time the bandage stuck to the wound, Aiden's breath caught, his eyes flickering to Elliott's face with guilt etched deep into his expression.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, the words breaking past clenched teeth. "I know it hurts." His hands never stopped moving, though every part of him screamed to stop. "It'll be over soon. I promise."

At last, the last of the bandages slipped free. Elliott's hands lay bare in the moonlight, and Aiden's heart clenched at the sight. The skin was raw and angry red, the blisters torn open, leaving pale, peeling edges that exposed the tender flesh beneath.

"Gods... Elliott..." Aiden breathed, almost a plea, as if the name alone could take the pain away. His chest ached so fiercely it felt like his ribs might split. Seeing Elliott like this hurt in a way his own injuries never did. His own pain he could shrug off, bury beneath duty and anger—but Elliott's pain tore through every defense he had.

He raised his gaze. Their eyes met. Elliott's were glassy with pain, but Aiden's were storm-dark, brimming with too much to name—fear, guilt, and above all else, an all-consuming devotion that was terrifying in its intensity.

"Do not ever do that to me," Aiden said at last, his voice low, steady, and unshakable. The kind of tone that left no room for argument. "Next time— you wake me up. You scream my name until I wake. Hell, you throw something at my head if you must. I don't care how. But what you do not do, ever again, is try to face something like this alone. Not when you're already injured. Not when it could make everything worse. Do you understand me?"

Elliott nodded weakly. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell Aiden he was overreacting, but he knew from the tone of his voice that nothing he said would matter. By now the adrenaline had drained from his body, leaving only pain and a bone-deep exhaustion that dragged him down. "I... understand," he whispered.

"Thank you," Aiden muttered, though his jaw was still clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn't crack. He moved the soiled bandages aside and guided Elliott's wrists gently down to rest against the soft coverlet, ensuring that the wounded palms would not bear any pressure.

"Wait here," Aiden ordered. Though his tone was firm, it sounded more like a plea, almost desperate. "Don't move. I'll get the physicians."

He was gone only moments, and to Elliott it felt like he barely had time to breathe before Aiden returned—three healers trailing close behind. They carried basins of cool water and fresh linen, clearly having been roused with full knowledge of the emperor's injuries.

The healers clustered around the bed at once, peering at Elliott's hands. Their expressions darkened. One immediately began to clean the wounds with water-soaked cloths, washing away the blister fluid, while the others exchanged low, urgent words. Finally, the head healer, an older woman with a lined face, spoke with grim finality.

"Your Majesty," she said, her voice taut with concern. "This is why we warned so strongly against disturbing the blisters. We had hoped to let the healing take its natural course with salves and clean wrappings. But now..." Her lips pressed thin. "The risk of infection is too high. We cannot continue with the usual method. We must take other measures."

Another healer arrived carrying a small, ornate jar. The head healer accepted it with both hands. "This is aureleaf salve. A sun-blessed herb. It grows only in high altitudes, under direct sunlight. These particular leaves were taken as offerings to a solar temple, blessed, then turned into this salve. It is the most effective treatment known for burns."

"Why didn't you use this before?" Aiden cut in sharply, his eyes narrowing. The edge in his voice was unmistakable—a raw, protective anger. If such a treatment existed, why hadn't it been offered from the start?

The healer's face was heavy with regret. "It is effective, yes—but not kind. The magic seals the wounds immediately, prevents infection, and averts fever. But it is... cruel in the process. The pain is said to be overwhelming. Agonizing. And it leaves deep scars. That is why we did not suggest it unless there was no other choice."

Elliott, already pale, lost another shade of color. He made no sound, no complaint—but the tiny hitch in his breathing betrayed him. He knew. Everyone knew. Sun-blessed remedies were powerful, yes, but they were brutal.

"Leave us for a minute," Aiden said suddenly. His voice was low, firm, and absolute.

The healers hesitated. The head healer frowned. "Your Highness, the treatment must be administered quickly. We cannot—"

"I said, a minute." Aiden's tone hardened, brooking no defiance. "I need to speak with him. Alone. Wait outside. Prepare for the treatment. We will continue as soon as I'm finished."

The silence that followed was tense. Then, bowing their heads, the healers filed reluctantly out, closing the door behind them.

The chamber fell quiet.

It was just the two of them again. 

The moment they were left alone, the rigid line of Elliott's posture finally sagged. His shoulders slumped, his head tilted forward, and he closed his eyes, releasing a tense, shuddering breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for hours.

Aiden moved to sit beside him. He didn't touch Elliott's hands— he didn't dare— but he leaned in, close enough that their faces were only inches apart. His voice was low when he spoke, a steady rumble meant only for the blonde.

"Look at me," he said softly.

When Elliott didn't lift his head, Aiden sighed and gently tilted his chin upward with two fingers, coaxing his gaze to meet his own. Elliott's eyes widened slightly at the contact. Aiden knew him too well—he spotted the fear hidden there immediately. This wasn't the calm gaze of an emperor. There was no regal mask, no polished exterior. All that lingered in Elliott's eyes was pain, exhaustion, and a flicker of shame. Shame that he'd gotten himself into this situation with his clumsiness, and shame that Aiden could see right through him, right down to the fear he tried so hard to bury.

Aiden's gaze softened, almost pleading in its own way, though his words remained firm. "It's going to hurt," he said plainly, not sugarcoating it. "You know it will. But it will be fast. And it's necessary."

Elliott nodded, shaky and breathless. "I... I understand."

Aiden held his gaze, refusing to let him retreat into silence. His voice dropped lower now, taking on the quiet, private tone he used only with Elliott—softened edges reserved for no one else. "It'll be over soon. And I'll be right here. You're not doing this alone. You don't have to be quiet, or brave for them. They don't matter. Not here. Not with me. None of them would dare whisper a word about what happens in this room. I'd make sure of it."

The way he said it— assured, unyielding— was like a truth carved into stone. If Aiden said no one would dare, then by all the gods, no one would dare.

His eyes flickered down to the strands of blonde hair falling across Elliott's face. For a moment, Aiden's heart twisted. He couldn't stop himself. His hand rose almost instinctively, brushing through the silken strands and tucking them carefully behind Elliott's ear. The emperor's skin was warm beneath his touch, a little too warm. His forehead was damp. Damn it... he was already starting to run a fever.

"When they apply the salve, it's going to hurt," Aiden whispered, the firmness in his voice faltering now, shifting into something closer to a plea. "Scream. Cry. Curse my name. I don't care. Just... let it happen. Please."

Elliott's eyes fluttered as he sucked in a shaky breath. For one terrifying second, Aiden thought tears would spill from those blue eyes. But no tears came. Instead, Elliott simply leaned into his touch, his weight sagging forward, surrendering without a word.

"I... I hate this," Elliott whispered at last. The words slipped out like a guilty confession, raw and unguarded.

"I know," Aiden murmured. He guided Elliott gently, pressing his face into the crook of his shoulder. Since Elliott couldn't hold his hand, this was the next best thing, his way of letting the other cling. Aiden's fingers threaded carefully through his hair, the touch so delicate it made Elliott want to break apart. "I know."

Just then, a knock sounded at the door, followed by one of the healers' hesitant voices. "Your Highness... may we come in?"

"Yes," Aiden replied immediately. His tone was curt, but he didn't move, didn't let Elliott shift away from him. Appearances, propriety—none of it mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was Elliott.

The healers entered quietly. If they were surprised by the sight before them— the emperor curled into the prince's shoulder— they didn't dare show it. The head healer approached, sitting on the edge of a chair by the bedside. She held the jar of salve, glancing at Aiden for confirmation.

Aiden's hand continued to move slowly through Elliott's hair. He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the light blonde locks of hair, his voice soft and steady against them. "They're going to start now. It'll be over soon."

Elliott's breath trembled. He gave the smallest of nods, burying his face deeper into Aiden's neck, shutting his eyes tight as though he could will the world away.

"Start," Aiden ordered.

The healer uncapped the jar and dipped her fingers in. She began to spread the salve across Elliott's ruined palms.

The reaction was immediate. Elliott's body jerked against Aiden's, a sharp gasp tearing free, his frame trembling as the first wave of pain hit. A choked sound, low and strangled, escaped his throat. Tears welled in his clenched eyes, hot and stinging, dampening Aiden's shoulder as Elliott clung to him desperately.

The salve glowed, golden light engulfing Elliott's injured hands as the magic began its brutal work. The pain only worsened— burning, searing, clawing deeper than flesh, down to bone and blood. Aiden's heart clenched at every muffled sob against his skin, every tremor wracking the man in his arms. But his hands never faltered. He kept rubbing Elliott's hair, grounding him, holding him steady.

"It's alright. Breathe," Aiden whispered. His voice shook but stayed constant, an anchor in the storm. "It will pass. I'm here. I'll always be here."

The torment lasted minutes, though it felt like an eternity. At last, the golden glow faded. The salve had done its work, sealing away the threat of infection, forcing flesh to knit unnaturally fast.

Elliott slumped forward, utterly spent, his breaths ragged and shallow. His body went limp in Aiden's arms.

Aiden caught him without hesitation, pulling him close, holding him as if sheer will alone could steady the tremors still running through him. His grip tightened, protective, unrelenting—like he could shield him from everything, even the pain already endured.

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