The Imperial Guard, ch. 12

The Imperial Guard, ch. 12

Chapter Twelve

Catalin was sure he would have found Chris’ dumbstruck expression very funny, had he known what was causing it.

He watched Chris stare down at him, waiting to hear what was so surprising, but Chris didn’t say a word. He would have been annoyed, but that took too much effort. So he tried to ask. Talking took even more effort.

Chris visibly swallowed. “Saphie,” he called in a low voice.

“I’m almost done here, Christopher.” Saphie’s voice came from somewhere out of his line of vision. “Talk to him until then.”

Done with what? Catalin attempted to sit up, to get a look at what she was doing, but Chris took him by the shoulders and pushed him back down.

“Hold still, okay? Saphie’s working.” Chris looked composed now, and his voice was even calmer. Catalin forgot Saphie. “You know, I was thinking earlier, about something you said, and you’re right. We really do only talk about you. My meeting tonight went okay. I mean, they don’t trust me so much yet, but I expected that. They were willing to hear me out, which was all I wanted, anyway…”

Chris’ voice didn’t change tone as he continued to talk; it was still even, and completely calm. Catalin felt guilty that he wasn’t listening, but he was so relaxed that he couldn’t focus on the words. If the lights weren’t so bright, and if he hadn’t been so cold, he could have gone to sleep right there.

A raised voice broke in. “Saphie, he really doesn’t look good,” moaned someone to his left. It sounded like Kite, but Chris’ arm blocked his vision.

“Let her work.” A woman’s voice. Reiselle’s.

“Damian and Talia still aren’t back…” The voice was so timid that Catalin barely recognized it as Victor’s. “Maybe someone should look for them.”

“They’ll get back fine on their own.” Espen’s voice. No trouble recognizing that. Catalin felt himself tense up. “They wouldn’t be captured.”

“What’re you tryin’ to say?” Kite growled. “This isn’t his fault.”

“We won’t know that,” Espen replied, louder, “until we know what happened.”

Catalin heard Kite’s heavy footsteps striding across the floor, and a barked protest from Reiselle, but Chris straightened without letting go of Catalin’s shoulders. “If you’d like to argue, feel free to do so outside.” His tone stayed the same. “He needs. To stay. Calm. Understand?”

Catalin could hear someone murmur an apology, but Saphie cut it off. “Thank you, Christopher,” she said. “I’m finished.”

Chris nodded, and then turned back to Catalin. “Saphie’s going to give you something to make you more comfortable,” he said, “so stay still for one more minute.”

Catalin still wasn’t sure what Chris was talking about, but he didn’t move. He blinked-

***

- and found himself looking up at an entirely different ceiling.

He blinked again. No change this time.

Well, he thought drowsily, this is new. He was more comfortable, though, as promised. He looked around, realizing he was lying on an actual bed rather than the mattress he’d been using for the past month, and he blinked again. Whatever Saphie had given him must have been good.

… that doesn’t make any sense, Catalin realized, frowning. Waking up in a strange room was probably cause for concern. Except it looked extremely familiar - at least, the portraits lining the wall did. He tried to sit up to get a better look.

But it was impossible. His torso felt numb, except for an intense pressure on the left side that was quickly bridging into pain. He stopped trying to move, more alert now. He wasn’t comfortable anymore. He was starting to get very nervous.

Before he could panic, the door creaked open slowly, and Chris slid in, shutting it behind him as if trying not to make a sound. As he turned to face Catalin, he almost jumped, and that stunned expression was back for a moment. It turned into something more wary. “… Cat?” he asked, hesitant.

Catalin looked back, confused. “Yes?”

And then Chris was hugging him.

Catalin yelped, more out of surprise than the extra rush of pain this caused, but Chris pulled back instantly. “Oh God, did I hurt you? I’m sorry…” As he trailed off, he became visibly annoyed. “Not that you don’t deserve it!” He raised a hand, as if to hit Catalin, but remembered himself, lighting bumping his palm against Catalin’s forehead, instead. “What were you trying to do? You know I would have come with you!”

Catalin just stared. What was he talking about?

“Well, we’ll talk about that later, anyway…” Chris shook his head, looking exhausted, before turning back to Catalin. “What happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened?” Catalin asked.

“… last night,” Chris told him, annoyance vanishing.

“… what happened last night?” Catalin suddenly realized that he had no idea.

“Cat.” Chris was starting to sound desperate. “What do you remember about yesterday?”

“… those people were here,” he mumbled, half to himself. “And after they left, Victor called me to his room.” Right, this was Victor’s room. He’d been here yesterday. “And he wanted to ask me about…” He stopped as he caught sight of his arms, eyes widening. They were scored with bruises, and several of his fingers were splinted, and looked swollen.

He finally noticed the absence of a familiar weight across his shoulders, and reached up to touch his hair. It ended above his chin. Someone had cut it off.

“Chris,” he said, not even caring that he sounded as alarmed as he felt, “what-”

“Don’t panic, all right?” Chris soothed, putting his hands in front of him. “Panicking would not be good for you right now. If I tell you what’s going on, will you promise to stay calm?”

Catalin figured it wouldn’t be any help to ask Chris how he was supposed to stay calm. He nodded.

“All right.” Chris lowered his hands. “You were stabbed last night. But it was shallow, and Saphie says you’re improving already, so all you have to do is relax and you’re going to feel a lot better really soon.” He said the more comforting parts very fast, trying to get it all in before Catalin could react.

He appreciated how hard Chris tried to make that sound normal, but it didn’t work. He stared at his friend, only partially comprehending. “How?” he asked.

“… we were hoping you’d tell us.” Chris stood. “I’m going to go get Saphie, okay? I’ll be back in a minute. Just... stay right there and don’t move and keep staying calm.” He left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Catalin watched him go, anything but calm. He could vaguely recall his conversation with Victor now, but after that, nothing.

Cautiously, he lifted the bottom of his shirt, but could only look at the gauze for a moment before his imagination got the better of him. He didn’t even want to think about it.

He tried to remember further, but couldn’t concentrate. He could hear the low rumble of a lot of people talking outside the bedroom door. None of them came in. The muttering went on for a few minutes before anyone did: Chris led the way, and behind him was Saphie, flanked by two men he sort of recognized. Damian came last.

When the door opened, Catalin could see Kite hovering outside, but when they locked eyes, Kite looked as if he’d been shocked, and stepped out of Catalin’s line of vision.

“Well, good morning, Kasshen,” the man on Saphie’s right said gruffly - Saphie’s father, Catalin remembered. “Though strictly speaking, it’s evening…”

The man on Saphie’s left - her fiancé, Edmund - gave Catalin such a concerned look that he sank into the pillow a little. “How are you feeling?”

Overwhelmed, Catalin mumbled, “Fine, thank you,” before realizing how delirious the answer sounded. The others seemed to think so, too: everyone present looked even more worried.

Except for Saphie’s father, who declared, “Not one hundred percent, then. No matter. Saphira?”

“Right,” Saphie said, snapping out of her daze, before moving to the bedside. “Could you hold out your arm for me, honey?”

“… what for?” Catalin drew in his arms more closely.

“I’m just going to give you a painkiller.” Saphie’s voice was even more soothing than Chris’. She reached down and gently pulled his left arm straight.

Catalin closed his eyes and turned his head away - looking at a needle was about the last thing he wanted - but Damian spoke up. “Could you wait just a minute, Saphie? I want to talk to him.”

As Catalin opened his eyes, he saw Chris step in front of him. “That can wait.” He’d never heard Chris sound so authoritative before. “I told you-”

“I’m not going to ask him about it, Christopher,” Damian said, his gaze narrowing. “I’d just like to talk to him for a few minutes. And I’d appreciate it if you wait outside until then.”

“… yes, Leader.” Turning back to Catalin, Chris offered a halfhearted smile, before walking towards the door. Nodding to Damian, Saphie’s father and Edmund followed, shutting the door behind them.

Before Damian could start, Catalin turned to Saphie. “Why do I need a priest?” he asked, trying not to look too uneasy.

“Oh… no, no, honey…” Saphie was trying not to laugh at him. “Edmund and my father are just helping me take care of you. I’m just going to change your bandages, all right?”

Catalin was grateful to Saphie for warning him. It meant he didn’t have to look. He turned his head to focus on Damian and ignored everything Saphie was doing.

“So… Christopher told me you don’t remember anything,” Damian began.

“Not ‘anything.’” Catalin shook his head. “I remember leaving here after talking to Victor, but…”

“Nothing else after that?” Damian asked.

Another headshake. “… do you know how I got back?”

“You showed up at the doorstep around midnight last night,” Damian said. He looked so somber. It was disconcerting.

“Alone?” Catalin frowned. Why did he ask that first?

“… I wasn’t there,” Damian said, staring at one of the portraits on the wall, “but Christopher answered the door, and he says you were alone. And you were missing a few things… your jacket, your sword-”

“I lost Celeste’s sword?” Some of the earlier distress returned, but Catalin quelled it. Damian was already looking sympathetic, and that was even more unnerving.

“As soon as we find out where it is, we’ll get it back for you.” Damian glanced over to Saphie and nodded, probably indicating that she was free to drug him, but before Catalin could tense up, Damian spoke again. “Cat… you don’t think I’m a bad leader, right?”

Catalin blinked, and said, “No…”

“Right. Well…” Another unfamiliar expression: Damian actually looked uncomfortable. “… could you just come to me with anything you’re planning to do in the future? Even if it’s something Victor told you to do?”

Catalin sank even further into his pillows. If he hadn’t felt stupid before, he certainly did now. “Yes,” he mumbled. But before he could start to apologize, Damian clicked his smile back on.

“Fantastic! Well, I won’t waste any more of your energy, then! I have a few errands to go run, but if you remember anything, let me know, okay?” Damian bounced to the door, told him to sleep well, and flung it open, leaving Catalin to wonder if he’d hallucinated all that seriousness.

He turned to Saphie, inhaling deeply. “Okay,” he said, “you can give me the painkiller.”

“What? Oh, I already did,” she said, smoothing out the blankets.

Catalin grudgingly admitted to himself that she was good.

***

When Catalin woke up next, his head was much clearer. He quickly realized that this was due to his painkiller wearing off.

After a minute of cursing and shifting, he learned that lying on his right side was slightly less painful than his back, and he curled in on himself. Less painful didn’t mean it was comfortable. He almost always slept on his stomach; lying on his side felt too unbalanced for him.

Because sleeping positions are obviously more important, he thought, rolling his eyes at himself, when you’ve somehow forgotten about being stabbed.

But before he could start to berate himself, he found he remembered a good deal more than he had when he’d talked to Damian. Writing down the list of names, and - he shuddered - being found out by Baltus, both surfaced in his memories as if they’d been there the entire time. That took care of things, at least.

Not everything, he reminded himself, taking a long sip of water from a glass someone had left on the bedside table. He still couldn’t remember where his other injuries, and his haircut, had come from. And on top of that, he’d apparently gotten back to the brothel on his own somehow.

He jumped a little as the door opened, but it was only Chris again, carrying a few plastic shopping bags. When he noticed Catalin looking at him, he attempted a grin. “Morning.”

“Are you just saying that,” Catalin asked, “or is it actually morning this time?”

“Actually morning. It’s… a little past 5:30 right now,” Chris said, looking at his watch as he moved into the room.

Catalin winced. His sleep schedule was obviously shot to hell, but what was Chris doing up at this hour?

“I didn’t really get any sleep,” Chris explained, setting down the bags, “so I went out to the drugstore to pick up a few things.”

“A few things?” Catalin echoed. Chris had carried in four bags.

“Everything I thought might be useful,” Chris admitted, shrugging. “And they were having a sale on Kite’s romance books. I was curious. Anyways, how are you feeling now?”

“… it kind of hurts,” Catalin mumbled, figuring Chris could tell that much anyway.

“Right… those pills on the nightstand are for you, they should help. And at least that’s better than ‘fine, thank you.’” Chris’ grin looked more genuine. “I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or very concerned.”

“Which were you?” Catalin asked, swallowing the pills.

“… I’m sure it’ll be a lot funnier next week. But anyway. Tell me if you start feeling worse, okay? Saphie’s worried about an infection.” He sat down in Victor’s armchair, which had been dragged next to the bed.

“… you weren’t here all night, were you?” Catalin asked slowly.

“Saphie’s dad and fiancé are using our room,” Chris said, “so this is my bed for now.” He patted the chair. “It’s not too bad! And if you need anything-“”

“I don’t need anyone to wait on me,” he grumbled into the pillow.

“Says you,” Chris retorted, “but you’re not exactly the picture of health right now.”

Catalin didn’t miss the edge in his friend’s voice. “You’re mad, aren’t you.”

“Mad?” Chris leaned back in the chair. “How did you ever guess?”

“You did hit me last night,” Catalin pointed out.

“Oh, right. That made me feel a lot better, though,” Chris said. “I’ll hit you for real once you’re well enough. You’re not going to get off lightly for almost giving me a coronary.”

“I scared you?” Catalin said, the guilt coming right back.

“Obviously! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Chris huffed.

“… yes.” He looked at the wall next to Chris. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Chris said, sighing. “Just get better enough for me to hit you.”

That didn’t sound appealing, but Catalin would give him that much. “Everyone else is angry, though.”

“Hm?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “Where did you get that idea?”

“I saw Kite outside the door,” Catalin admitted, “but he hid when I noticed him.”

“… why, Cat.” Chris looked almost gleeful. “You’re not returning Kite’s devotion at long last, are you?”

“No!” Catalin protested so vehemently that it actually hurt. He calmed himself down. “It’s just out of character for him, isn’t it? Normally, he’d be all over me. And there were a lot of other people outside the door, too…”

“They’re not mad.” Chris shook his head. “Most of them are just trying to stay out of the way. It might take a while to get Victor down here, though… he’s holed up in Reiselle’s room, pretty much acting like he can never look you in the eye again. Reiselle’s been talking sense into him, though. Talia’s working with Damian on a few things, but I don’t think she actually gets mad. And Kite… well, I don’t really know, but he’s been more upset than anyone. He broke that Espen’s guy’s nose for even implying this was your fault.”

“… Kite broke Espen’s nose?” Catalin’s eyes widened. “I thought you stopped that argument.”

“Well, technically, I just told them to go outside…” Chris trailed off. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

Which reminded Catalin - Chris’ entrance had driven all thoughts of Carmine out of his head. “Derrick Baltus is the person who was ordered to find us,” he said. “With Prince Frey’s Imperial Guard.”

“… that just figures.” Chris rubbed his temples. “I’ll tell Damian later. At least you didn’t go there for nothing.”

“Also…” Catalin paused. “Baltus was the one who caught me.”

Chris went pale at that. “Damn,” he said wholeheartedly. “I knew you were lucky, but… he did all of this to you?”

“He stabbed me, but… I’m not sure about everything else.” It wasn’t hard to imagine Baltus bruising him this badly, but the haircut seemed unlike him, somehow.

“So he might have had someone else with him?” Chris prompted.

“… I don’t know,” Catalin said. “Chris, are you sure I got back here on my own?”

“Well, I’m not sure, no.” Chris shook his head. “But you were alone when I opened the door. Do you think you had help?”

“I don’t know,” Catalin repeated, feeling thoroughly useless.

“… it’s okay if you don’t.” Chris shrugged. “Damian and Talia are looking into how you got back, so you shouldn’t worry about it for now.” He paused. “Though if it helps… by the time you got here, someone had done first aid on you already. Saphie said you’d be in much worse shape if they hadn’t.”

As Catalin frowned, processing that, Chris added, “But seriously, don’t stress yourself out over it. It’s probably not anything important.” For all that he was trying to talk casually, he obviously thought Catalin was still in shock.

Catalin started to protest, but he couldn’t say for sure that he wasn’t. He shivered.

“What’s wrong?” Chris frowned.

“… you mentioned earlier that Saphie was worried about an infection?” Catalin asked, suddenly uneasy about it.

“She said the possibility was there,” Chris explained, digging through his bags. “Since whoever did first aid might not have disinfected properly. And she’s pretty sure they didn’t, because the first aid wasn’t perfect. The injury isn’t deep, but you still lost a lot of-” He caught the look on Catalin face. “… Sorry, I forgot.”

Right. Chris knew how much blood bothered him. The description had made him somewhat lightheaded, but he tried to play it off. “It’s fine.”

“Fine, he says… you should see your face right now. No color at all.” Chris stood. “I should get Saphie. She needs to take a look at you. Think you could have some breakfast after that?”

As Chris made his way for the door, Catalin called after him. “Um, Chris…”

“Hm?” He stopped. “Something wrong?”

“… something you said earlier.” Catalin couldn’t believe he was saying this, but he was too tired to stop himself. “That we only talk about me.”

“What? Oh, come on… I was just trying to distract you,” Chris protested. When Catalin didn’t look pacified, he said, “Cat, honestly. My life story is really not that interesting.”

Catalin shrugged. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, so.”

Chris just looked back at him flatly. “I think you do have an infection,” he sighed. “You’re already rambling.”

***

Chris was right. His temperature spiked later that afternoon.

The next few days mostly consisted of Saphie or Chris shoving things at him: meals, water, pills. He wasn’t allowed to leave the room without their assistance. They often seemed to forget that thermometers existed, because they were constantly checking his forehead with the backs of their hands.

During the worst of it, people were filing in and out of the room to check on him. Catalin saw Kite several times, but the brute had a gift of coming while he was half-asleep and unable to ask him what his problem was. He was more lucid than everyone thought he was, too. They talked over his head in hushed, deathbed voices, and he heard what they were saying most of the time. They weren’t being that quiet.

Chris rarely left. He tried to protest this, once, but Chris just looked up from his crossword, face drawn, and said, “Go back to sleep.” And that was that.

He slept for lack of anything better to do. The dreams where Anwar slowly dislocated each of his fingers slowed down when the infection did.

The night after the fever broke, Catalin found he couldn’t make himself sleep anymore.

He sat up carefully; everything still ached, but he could manage it now. The lamp next to Victor’s bed was still switched on, but Chris was dead asleep in the armchair, his head pillowed in the crook of his elbow. Still feeling too warm, Catalin reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, but found it empty.

Catalin frowned. He knew Chris would prefer to get it for him, but Chris also desperately needed the sleep. The kitchen wasn’t far. He eased himself out of bed, and began to walk towards the door.

It was harder work than he expected. His legs wobbled under him, his stitches protested every movement, and standing made him dizzier than he cared to admit. When he reached the doorway, he stretched both his arms out to hold the wall as he walked. It helped.

The kitchen wasn’t far. Catalin felt a vague sense of satisfaction as he dragged himself towards it. But as he passed an oval mirror mounted on the wall, it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen how he looked with short hair yet. Morbid curiosity gripping him, he turned to look.

Well, now I know why everyone keeps looking at me like I’m about to die. Catalin’s face was completely devoid of any color, and looked thinner, though he couldn’t have lost much weight. His hair was too short and uneven to tie back anymore, so it fell around his face, and its dark color only heightened how pale he looked. If he went back home to his family like this, they wouldn’t let him through the front door, let alone accept him back into the aristocracy.

I’m not going to live long enough to go home.

The wave of panic he’d been suppressing for the past few days came to the surface in a nauseating burst. Catalin felt his legs give out from under him as his heart thudded against his ribs, but he was just composed enough to use the wall to lower himself to the floor. He drew his knees to his chest and buried his head there.

He’d known this was pointless. But he’d been drawn in, just like Victor had. He was the weakest person there. He wasn’t going to last.

Catalin wanted Rakan. No, Rakan wouldn’t help him anymore. He wanted his sister, instead. Eliade had tried to stop Anwar from taking him. If she had been Celeste’s successor instead of him, she would have been a perfect Guardian.

Celeste would have protected him, if she were there. Celeste would - no, he thought, shaking his head, that doesn’t help.

“What are you doing?”

Catalin looked up to find Amara standing over him, dressed in a nightgown that was too short for her, and for once, she didn’t look scornful. She didn’t wait for an answer before bending down, muttering “Come on,” and she took him by the elbows, pulling him to his feet with surprising ease. She pushed him towards the common room, and Catalin’s panic dimmed as he noted that she had a lot of strength for someone so scrawny. Now that he stood side by side with her, he could see that she was an inch or two taller than him.

“Stay there,” she commanded as she set him down on the couch, striding out of the room. Catalin lay back on the couch, embarrassment replacing panic. Why did she have to find him like that? A few minutes later, she returned, shoving a warm mug into his hands. “Drink that.”

He stared down at it. “This is…?”

“Red tea. Rei swears by it, says there’s nothing it can’t fix.” Amara looked dubious, but shrugged. “You didn’t tear your stitches, did you?” His confusion must have shown, because she added, “Don’t look at me like that. I grew up with spies and insurgents, I know how this goes.”

Catalin didn’t think so, but checked, anyway. “No.”

Amara nodded, taking a seat next to Catalin on the other end of the couch. He was painfully aware that he hadn’t showered in days. “So, want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“… you want to know?” he asked, skeptical.

“You think I’m heartless?” When Catalin didn’t answer, she looked smug. “I figured as much. No, I’m listening.”

He looked at her warily, but she didn’t appear to be laughing at him. Taking a sip of the tea, he said, “I’m probably going to die.”

“No you’re not,” she scoffed. “Rei said you’ve improved a lot already. I mean, no one said getting stabbed was good for your health-”

“Not that,” he said, irritated. “I mean… in general. Next time.”

“… oh,” Amara said. “Well, in that case, you’re even more wrong.” She sighed. “Think about it. You screwed up, yes. But that’s because you went by yourself, when everyone around here is falling all over themselves to look after you. Do you see logic in that?”

“But-” he started to protest.

“And yeah, Dad should never have asked you in the first place,” she continued, “but he knows that. Rei already chewed him out for it. That’s his problem. You should have told him no right from the start, or at least talked to that friend of yours about it. He’s a lot smarter than you.”

“Chris has his own problems to worry about,” Catalin said, petulant. “Everyone does.”

Amara rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Okay, I’m only going to say this once. Everyone here, me included, has spent the last fifteen years hearing about how much your life sucks. They want you to depend on them a little. Why do you think everyone’s sulking so much? Why can’t you just bitch like you always do, instead of trying to convince them that you’re fine?”

He couldn’t help it. He grumbled back, “Audacious thing to say for someone who’s been in her room for the past month.”

He’d expected her to be annoyed, but she grinned. “Blunt, aren’t you?” She paused, the smile fading a bit. “Let me ask you this, then. You’re supposed to be loyal to me. Are you?”

“… we’ve only talked twice. And the first time, you called me a peacock.” Well, she wanted blunt.

“That’s what I thought.” Again, she wasn’t fazed. “I thought if I said things like that, you’d all go home.”

“And that worked out for you, I see.”

“Right?” Amara laughed. “… my mom… she worked really hard to get rid of the suicide clause in a Guardian’s contract, you know. Everyone thinks it’s this big joke that my grandfather died in a skiing accident, but Mom always felt bad that his Guardians had to die, too. That’s what Dad and Rei told me, anyway.” She tucked her long, dark legs under her. “But those bastards only undermined her every chance they got. And Dad still does whatever they tell him to, and so does Damian.” She scowled. “We grew up together, and the idiot hasn’t called me by my name in three years.”

And suddenly, the way Amara treated Damian made sense. “Oh.”

“I just…” She brushed her short hair back. “I don’t want to be responsible for any of you. And even though I said I’d give it a try, I can’t see why any of you would be loyal to me.”

“Well… you haven’t given us a reason to.” Catalin had no idea what he was talking about, but Amara was listening. “I mean, it sounds like your mother worked hard for her Guardians, and I know Celeste was devoted to her, at least. You haven’t really acknowledged our existence much beyond insulting us, so I don’t see why…”

Suddenly remembering who he was talking to, he shook his head. “Forget I said anything, Your Highness.”

“… that’s Amara,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully.

Catalin finished off his tea. “Only when Damian’s not listening.” Amara only smirked.

***

Catalin could hear Kite’s protesting voice all the way down the hallway: “Ah, no, Tal, stoppit, he has to rest, I can’t just- ow!” and he exchanged a glance with Chris. He couldn’t believe he was actually about to do this.

The door flew open, and Kite stumbled in, followed by Talia, who looked very satisfied with herself. “I’ve brought him,” she announced.

“Thank you.” Catalin managed a half-smile at her, and then turned to his target. “Kite. Come here.” Kite blanched, but did as he was told, keeping a wary distance from Catalin. “I need to talk to you.” Catalin picked up Kite’s King of the Mountain book from his bedside table and shoved it in the bigger man’s face. “About this.”

“I…” Kite stared. “Huh?”

“Don’t say a word. I’m confined to bed, and they were on sale,” Catalin said with a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, I read a few of them-”

“He skipped the explicit scenes,” Chris supplied. That left about fifty pages per book.

“- and I thought you could use a little constructive criticism. You can pass this along to your ghostwriter, too.” Catalin took a deep breath. “First of all, the dialogue is awful. ‘Please put out the fire in my heart?’ Nobody talks that way, Kite.”

“Cat-” Kite tried to interrupt.

“The action isn’t half bad,” Catalin went on. “That bit with the mountain lion? I was kind of interested. But then everything after that… I know it might seem romantic, but this love interest has severe injuries and post-traumatic stress disorder, I don’t think he’s going to be up for a hard round of-”

“I’m sorry!” Kite howled, seizing Catalin by the shoulders. He looked about to burst into tears.

Catalin stiffened. He hadn’t expected Kite to break so quickly. Keeping his voice steady, he asked, “For what?”

“… lettin’ this happen,” he said miserably.

“And that’s obviously your fault.” When Kite howled louder, Catalin slumped his shoulders. “No, I was being sarcastic… Chris, help?”

“It really is Cat’s fault,” Chris pitched in.

“See? Kite… Kite, I’m up here.” Catalin grabbed Kite’s face in both hands, forcing him to look up. “I’m sorry, all right?”

“Why’re you apologizin’?” Kite sniffed. “You’re in pain already.”

“I’m really not in that much… ow!” Catalin hissed as Kite seized him in a hug.

“You are!” Kite declared.

“I am in pain because you grabbed me,” Catalin said, prying him off. “Listen. Next time I’m going somewhere, I’ll… I’ll let you know,” he gritted out. “So stop. Please?”

Just on cue, his next target arrived: Victor stumbled into the room next, pushed by Saphie and Reiselle. “We brought him, Cat!” Saphie announced.

“I feel like your enforcer, Commandant.” Reiselle tried not to laugh.

It took Victor a moment to look at Catalin, but he immediately looked back to the floor again. “Cat…” He dug his hands in his pockets. “I’m-”

“I should have told you I couldn’t do it.” Pushing Kite off, Catalin leaned back on his pillows, looking every bit the aristocrat. “Don’t just take all the responsibility for yourself.”

Victor was looking at him now, taken aback. “… of course,” he said at length, managing a weak smile. “Feel free to put me in my place next time.”

“I’ll do so.” Catalin turned to Reiselle. “Have you found anything about how I got back?”

“Commandants Meyers and Hentoff has been handling it, sir,” Reiselle said, her laughter under control. Talia shook her head to indicate that she hadn’t found anything.

“Well, keep l-”

“Are you giving orders, Cat?”

Pushing aside the group congregating by the door, Amara strode in, hands planted on her nonexistent hips. “Keep looking, Talia. And don’t let your worthless excuse for a leader drag you down. If you have to kick him around a bit, do so.”

Talia looked more surprised than Catalin had ever seen her. “Y-Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good.” Amara nodded. “And since you-” she addressed Catalin, “have shown absolutely no regard for self-preservation, I’m going to trust the rest of you-” her gaze took in Chris, Kite, and Saphie, “to make sure he doesn’t die.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” they echoed automatically, clearly as confused as Saphie.

“Your Highness?” Damian stuck his head in. “I thought I heard your voice!”

“I’m already finished, Damian,” she said loftily, turning on her heel and striding out the door. “You missed it.”

Damian watched her go, beaming after her. “Cute, isn’t she?”

Catalin found himself laughing hysterically.

He was aware that he was the one everyone was staring at now, and the very action made his torso throb, but he couldn’t stop. He wrapped one arm around his stomach, and wiped his eyes with the other hand, gasping, “She isn’t cute at all!”

With a theatrical sigh, Chris punched his arm. Catalin stopped laughing. “Ow!” He rubbed his arm.

“Okay.” Chris nodded. “Now I forgive you.”