Rin dragged Alaric inside with his aunt's help, every movement careful and trembling. The prince was ice-cold to the touch, rainwater dripping across the wooden floor as they laid him on the bed in the small spare room. The steady rise and fall of his chest was the only thing keeping Rin from panicking outright.
His aunt placed a hand on her hip.
"Rin, what on earth happened? Why was the prince lying outside your house all night like a drowned cat?"
Rin swallowed a surge of guilt and frustration.
"…We argued."
Argued was generous. What he did was shut the door in Alaric's face and leave him in a storm.
His aunt stared at him like she could see straight through every word he didn't say. But instead of scolding him, she sighed.
"You clean him up. I'll boil water."
When she walked out, Rin sat beside the bed, wringing the rain from Alaric's cloak before removing the heavier layers. The fever was already building beneath his skin, heat radiating from him despite the chill.
"How stubborn can one man be…" Rin muttered—though the words carried more worry than irritation.
The door suddenly burst open.
"Papa!"
The twins rushed in, eyes wide and shiny with emotion.
"Is Mister Al okay?!" Riven asked, nearly tripping in his haste.
Rin's lips tightened.
"He'll live. But don't disturb—"
"Papa," Rhen said, puffing up his cheeks with indignation, "why did you leave him outside?"
Rin almost choked.
"I—what—why are YOU two scolding me? I admit I was out of line, but are you seriously doing this for the sake of a stranger?"
"He's not a stranger anymore," Riven said firmly.
"Mister Al always plays with us when he visits," Rhen added.
"And accompanies us because you're busy taking care of the shop," Riven finished, arms crossed.
Rin stared at his sons.
When did they get so sharp?
So bold?
He opened his mouth to argue—but they were right. Worse, they had no idea how deeply their words struck.
"…You two," Rin sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Go sit in the other room. I need to treat his fever."
The twins left, though not without glancing back at Alaric with genuine concern. Rin watched them go and couldn't help thinking—
They've already grown attached.
It scared him how easily Alaric had slipped into their world.
He turned back to his patient, damp hair clinging to his forehead. Rin pressed a cool cloth to Alaric's skin and began carefully mixing herbs to draw the fever down. His hands were steady, but his expression was not.
"Did you really stay there all night…" he whispered.
There was no answer.
So he kept working.
---
By the time dawn painted the village in gold, Alaric was asleep, wrapped warmly with a slowly easing fever. Rin left the room only long enough to prepare porridge in the kitchen. Today, he closed the shop without hesitation—a rare day off, and likely one that would surprise the entire village.
The twins stayed in the spare room, whispering over Alaric like tiny gossiping nobles.
"Do you think he's dying?" Rhen whispered dramatically.
"No!" Riven snapped. "He looks fine!"
"He has the same eyes as you," Rhen continued.
Riven froze.
"…Are we related?"
"We are… but maybe one of us is adopted?" Riven said gravely, pointing to himself. "What if I am the hidden son of Prince Alaric?"
"STOP TALKING NONSENSE!" Rhen hissed, shoving his brother's shoulder.
Their volume rose with every theory. One more comment and Riven was ready to tear out his hair—
And that was when Alaric finally stirred.
His eyebrows twitched.
Eyelids fluttered open.
The twins froze like startled mice.
"Mister Al is waking up!!" Riven squeaked before bolting for the kitchen.
"PAPA! HE'S AWAKE!"
Rin nearly spilled the porridge pot in his rush to the spare room.
Alaric blinked dazedly, vision adjusting to the familiar wooden ceiling of the cottage. He had been here before… but never like this.
Rin's face came into view, eyes sharp and worried.
"Highness—how do you feel? Your fever was severe. Do not move yet."
Alaric watched him quietly for a moment before speaking, voice still rough.
"…You treated me."
Who else would, Rin thought irritably—but instead he cleared his throat and avoided eye contact.
"We are in Vareth," he said clinically. "You're safe. I will continue treating your fever."
The twins hovered beside the bed like anxious ducklings. Rin squeezed a cloth to cool Alaric's forehead, then sat him up carefully and offered a bowl of porridge.
He inhaled and forced the words out stiffly.
"No matter what you did, it was still unreasonable of me to leave you outside—especially since you're a prince."
Alaric blinked.
Then, softly…
"If anyone should apologize, it's me. I misled you. I've been… unclear. And that misunderstanding put distance between us."
Rin paused, stunned—not expecting that level of honesty from a man who teased him endlessly.
Alaric leaned back with a tired smile.
"But if you really want to apologize…"
He tilted his head toward the spoon.
"…you should feed me."
Rin stared at him.
Behind him, the twins immediately burst into giggles.
"Papa's feeding someone!"
"It's the first time he's apologized to anybody!"
Rin's face went red.
"You two—quiet!"
But the twins only grinned triumphantly.
Rin exhaled in defeat, lifted a spoonful of porridge—
and murmured under his breath:
"…We will talk later, after you recover, your highness."
Alaric smiled faintly—so faintly one would miss it if they blinked.
"Then I'll get better quickly," he murmured.
And for the first time since that stormy night—
both of them felt the distance between them finally, slowly closing.