Leander hissed as the needle pierced through his skin.
He knew the lady was trying to be as gentle as possible, but he couldn't help but moan in pain.
Artemesia worked fast, her slender fingers working through the warm skin in quick, fluid movements.
A few stitches, and he was all patched up.
"You can open your eyes now."
Leander hadn't realized the fact his eyes were shut so hard he saw black spots in his vision when he opened them.
But despite the blurriness, one face was as clear as day, as well as the concerned expression it wore.
"I-I'm alright-" he stumbled over when he pushed himself off the table.
Artemesia caught him and helped him back to the table, as it was all the shabby little room could offer.
As he calmed down, and looked back in the mirror on the wall, he could see that the stitching was proof of exquisite craftsmanship, even with smudges of blood and whatnot.
"My Lady is... quite good at this." he mumbled.
She smiled, "I had a cat once."
Leander raised a brow as she continued, "it was quite ferocious. Always getting into fights with other neighborhood cats. Whenever he came back from his evening stroll, he'd have bruises that'd need patching up,"
Her expression was a mix of nostalgia and a bit of sadness, "I remember I specifically learned embroidery from my Mother, just so I could stitch up my beloved little cat."
Leander stared at her, the lady's eyes unfocused.
"What... happened to him?"
"He passed on many years ago," she snapped out of it, shaking her head and finally meeting Leander's eyes.
His eyes widened, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright, it was a long time ago."
A beat later, she continued, "All this time, I thought your Highness reminded me of a fox,"
"Pardon?"
"Turns out, what your Highness reminded me of wasn't a fox, but my cat. Actually, I remember its fur was similar to your hair." she laughed
Leander was frozen for a few moments, but as she finished, his face looked no different from a tomato.
"A fox, and then a cat, huh."
. . .
"Let me clean up that blood," she offered.
"No- please. You've done enough." he refused politely.
"I insist, I've come this far, may as well wrap it up too."
She grabbed a few clean rags and looked determined.
Once again, Leander could not bring himself to say no.
Artemesia once again approached Leander, and her cold touch sent shivers down her spine. She gently began to wipe at the dried blood on the wound as Leander tried very hard not to wince.
But then he noticed it.
He was too busy getting flustered and almost passing out because of the pain to notice it, but Artemesia seemed unusually... calm. Almost unbothered.
That's when the first shred of doubt crept in his mind.
The way she casually came into the room, helped him undo his clothes, bandaged him, and now she was even cleaning the wound, all without batting an eye.
Did she act this way around all men?
Or... was she like this with Leander specifically?
Cool, calm and easy?
Did she... even see him as a man...?
"Your Highness!"
Leander jumped.
Artemesia stood in front of him, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his chest.
Again, so nonchalant.
"I'm done." she announced.
Leander couldn't seem to find himself, "Ah, thank you, thank you," he mumbled quietly as he turned his back to her.
The brunette sensed something was wrong, "Your Highness? Are you alright?" she placed a light hand on his shoulder.
Why are you touching me so freely?
"T-that's all, please leave now."
"But your accessories are yet to be reworn."
"I can do that myself, thank you."
"Your Highness, please let me-"
"Lady Montclair." His tone switched. She flinched.
"Spare me the last shred of my dignity. Return to the solarium. That is an order."
Artemesia was frozen. "Your-"
"Now. Do not forget who I am, or the authority I wield."
There was a moment of dead silence. Then, "Very well. As you wish, Your Highness."
Leander heard the rustle of fabric, the clacking of her heels against the floor, and finally, the door closing with a sharp thud.
He sighed heavily, and collapsed against the table, breathing ragged.
. . .
Knock knock knock.
"Brother! How long are you going to stay holed up in there?"
More knocking. Louder, and more impatient this time.
But still, there was no answer.
Damian sighed. Thalia was on the verge of breaking down the door. Adrian was just caught in the crossfire.
"What has gotten into him these past days?" Damian mumbled.
"The Lord knows, he's been like this ever since we visited Aunt Luna."
The hallway echoed with the clacking of heels against marble. The siblings turned around and their eyes lit up, "Nanny!"
Countess Sabrina smiled softly at the kids, but then frowned when she saw them crowded near the Crown Prince's chambers.
"What's going on here?" she questioned with a raised brow.
"Nanny!" Thalia whined, "Brother Lee isn't opening up his door! He promised me he'd take me shopping today!"
"Thalia, I really don't think that's the matter at hand-" Damian said nervously.
The Countess stepped forward, frowning, "What? He isn't coming out?"
They nodded in unison, while Adrian spoke up, "He hasn't been taking his meals properly either for the past few days."
"For the past two days, precisely," Damian elaborated. "Mother and Father have been busy with Thalia's birthday banquet and its preparations so we didn't bother them."
Sabrina pursed her lips, "Good job, their Majesties already have a lot on their plates. More importantly, why wasn't I informed of this?" she added, mumbling.
From her pockets, she fished out something that made all three siblings light up, relief flashing across their faces.
A spare key for the Crown Prince's chambers.
"Where did you get that from?" Damian asked curiously while their Nanny worked on the heavy oak doors' locks.
"I have spares for all of your rooms. Who knows what mischief you lot might get into-"
She froze as the doors swung open. Then, one by one, so did the three siblings.
The majestic chambers of the Crown Prince now looked like they had been hit by a tornado. Every other morning, his room would be messy and unorganized. But today, it had a completely different air to it.
His clothes were scattered around the room, some thrown on his bed, some discarded on the vanity and some lay on the floor like they had been trampled over. The bed was a mess. The sheets were torn, like some wild animal had attacked them.
The curtains were drawn shut, and not an ounce of light made it into the room, as most of the candles were thrown here and there, or used up. But the most shocking thing wasn't just the Prince himself slumped on a velvet chaise near the fireplace as if in a daze, but bottles of something stacked up on the coffee table near the chaise.
Upon closer inspection, they had come to an astonishing conclusion.
"What on-" Sabrina gasped.
"Vodka?!"