Chapter 8 Healing
The Prince Who Heals
The sanctuary returned to silence, but it was no longer the peaceful silence they had known when they first arrived.
It had become the silence that followed danger.
The four captured scouts had been secured inside the old stone storehouse, their hands bound and their weapons locked away.
They would remain there until Caelan decided what information could safely be gathered from them.
The one who had escaped was already several miles away, carrying news that the missing Crown Prince was alive.
It was only a matter of time before others came.
For now, however, the immediate danger had passed.
Caelan stood near the front gate, carefully examining the damaged defenses. One of the arrows fired during the skirmish had splintered a section of the wooden fence, while several warning lines needed to be reset before nightfall.
"You should sit down," Rowan called from the courtyard.
"I'm fine."
"You've said that three times."
"Because it's true."
Rowan folded his arms.
"It usually isn't."
Caelan looked over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"I appreciate your concern."
"I wasn't offering concern."
"No?"
"I was giving an order."
Caelan actually laughed.
"I don't believe you're my commanding officer."
"No."
Rowan walked toward him.
"But I am the only physician currently available."
"I thought you said you weren't a physician."
"I'm not."
"You've corrected me."
"I've read enough medical texts to become an irritating substitute."
Caelan opened his mouth to answer, but Rowan's expression suddenly changed.
His eyes dropped to the captain's left arm.
"What happened?"
Caelan glanced down.
Only then did he notice the blood.
A narrow cut crossed the outside of his forearm where one of the scouts' blades had sliced through his sleeve. It wasn't deep, but fresh blood had soaked through the torn fabric.
"I didn't feel it."
"I can see that."
"It's nothing."
"It stopped bleeding."
"It doesn't matter."
Rowan gave him a look that reminded him remarkably of Queen Elara.
"Sit."
Caelan sighed with exaggerated resignation.
"I appear to have lost this argument."
"You never had a chance."
Inside the lodge, Rowan retrieved a wooden medical chest from beneath one of the kitchen cupboards.
Caelan watched with curiosity.
"I didn't know that was there."
"I found it while organizing supplies."
"You organized the medical cabinet before telling me?"
"I organized everything."
"Of course you did."
The prince smiled to himself as he carried the chest to the dining table.
The supplies were old but surprisingly well preserved.
Clean linen.
Glass bottles filled with dried herbs.
Needles.
Thread.
Small ceramic jars containing healing salves.
Everything had been carefully stored against moisture.
Caelan rolled up his torn sleeve without complaint.
"It truly is only a scratch."
Rowan sat opposite him.
"I know."
"You still intend to fuss over it."
"I intend to prevent infection."
"That sounds less dramatic."
"It usually is."
He poured warm water into a bowl before carefully cleaning the wound.
The moment the damp cloth touched Caelan's skin, the captain instinctively tensed.
"It stings."
"That's because you're alive."
"I preferred your bedside manner yesterday."
"I was being polite."
"And today?"
"I'm being honest."
Another reluctant smile appeared.
"You hide your sarcasm well."
"I've had years of practice."
The room filled with comfortable silence.
Rowan worked with quiet confidence, cleaning away dried blood before examining the cut more closely.
"It won't need stitches."
"Good."
"But you'll keep the bandage dry."
"I'll try."
"You'll do more than try."
Caelan raised an eyebrow.
"I'll succeed?"
"You'll obey your physician."
"I wasn't aware I had one."
"You do now."
He reached for a small ceramic jar and gently spread herbal ointment across the wound.
The scent of rosemary and mountain pine filled the room.
"You've done this before," Caelan observed.
"Many times."
"You've treated injuries?"
"My own, mostly."
Rowan carefully wrapped a clean bandage around the forearm.
"And the palace staff."
"The guards."
"The stable hands."
He looked down at his work.
"I wasn't allowed much freedom outside the palace."
"So I learned to be useful inside it."
Caelan watched him thoughtfully.
"You studied medicine because you wanted to."
"Yes."
"Not because anyone expected it."
Rowan nodded.
"When I was younger, Physician Mira used to visit every afternoon."
He smiled at the memory.
"At first she came only to monitor my suppressants."
"And later?"
"I started asking questions."
"Too many questions."
"I wanted to know why medicines worked."
"Why herbs smelled different."
"Why some injuries healed quickly while others didn't."
His smile widened slightly.
"Mira eventually stopped trying to answer everything."
"What did she do instead?"
"She started bringing me books."
Caelan listened quietly.
"I read every medical text in the royal library."
"I even copied some by hand."
"You enjoyed it."
"I loved it."
His expression softened.
"It was one of the few things I could study without anyone reminding me I was the future king."
There was no bitterness in his voice.
Only quiet honesty.
"I was simply Rowan."
Caelan looked around the sanctuary.
"You're still simply Rowan here."
The words settled warmly inside him.
"I suppose I am."
After securing the final knot in the bandage, Rowan leaned back to examine his work.
"There."
Caelan flexed his arm experimentally.
"It feels better."
"Because you haven't moved it."
"I'll remember that."
"You won't."
"No."
"I probably won't."
They both laughed.
The sound echoed softly through the old lodge.
For a few precious moments, the sanctuary no longer felt like a hiding place.
It felt like home.
The afternoon passed repairing damage left by the scouts.
Although Caelan insisted on helping, Rowan repeatedly reminded him to avoid using the injured arm.
"You've become remarkably strict."
"I learned from Mira."
"I'm beginning to understand why everyone obeyed her."
"She had an excellent throwing arm."
"I'm almost afraid to ask."
"She once threw a spoon at my father."
Caelan blinked.
"The King?"
"He refused to stay in bed after a fever."
"What happened?"
"He stayed in bed."
Caelan laughed harder than Rowan had ever heard before.
"I already like her."
"You'd get along wonderfully."
As the sun slowly descended behind the mountains, they carried fresh firewood inside together.
Halfway across the courtyard, Caelan reached automatically for the heavier bundle.
Rowan stepped in front of him.
"Absolutely not."
"I only intended to help."
"You intend to ignore every instruction I gave you."
"I healed remarkably quickly."
"You've had a bandage for less than four hours."
"I remain optimistic."
"You remain impossible."
Caelan surrendered the firewood with an exaggerated sigh.
"Very well."
"I submit to your authority."
"You'll thank me tomorrow."
"I suspect you're correct."
That evening, after dinner, Rowan checked the bandage once more.
The bleeding had stopped completely.
The skin around the wound looked healthy.
Satisfied, he tied the fresh linen into place.
"There."
"I assume I'm officially released."
"Not yet."
Caelan looked dramatically disappointed.
"One more day."
"I've survived worse punishments."
"I doubt that."
As Rowan packed away the medical supplies, he paused unexpectedly.
Something inside him felt... different.
He had spent years imagining what life might have been if he hadn't been born into the royal family.
He had imagined becoming a scholar.
A physician.
Perhaps even a teacher.
Never once had he imagined quietly caring for someone because it simply felt right.
There had been no obligation.
No expectation.
No political advantage.
Only the simple desire to ease another person's pain.
He glanced across the room.
Caelan sat near the fire reading one of the old military journals they had discovered inside the sanctuary library.
His bandaged arm rested comfortably across the chair, exactly as Rowan had instructed.
Without realizing it, the captain looked up at precisely the same moment.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
Neither needed to.
A small smile passed between them before Caelan returned to his book.
Rowan looked down at the neatly folded bandages still resting in his hands.
A quiet warmth settled somewhere deep inside his heart.
For years he had believed caring for others was simply another royal responsibility.
Now he understood the difference.
Duty expected kindness.
Affection offered it freely.
Looking after Caelan hadn't felt like another obligation.
It hadn't even felt like work.
Somehow, in ways he was only beginning to understand, caring for him had become as natural as breathing.
Under One Moon
The full moon rose slowly above the northern mountains.
Its silver light spilled across the sanctuary grounds, washing the ancient stone walls and towering pine trees in a quiet glow that made the world feel suspended between memory and dream.
The river reflected the moon like polished glass, its steady current carrying shimmering ribbons of light downstream.
For the first time in days, the sanctuary felt peaceful again.
The captured scouts remained secured inside the old storehouse, the repaired warning lines stretched silently through the surrounding forest, and no unfamiliar movement had disturbed the valley since the previous afternoon.
It was, Caelan knew, only a temporary peace.
But temporary peace was still peace.
He welcomed it.
After finishing the evening patrol, he climbed the small hill overlooking the sanctuary. From there he could see nearly every approach through the mountains while still remaining close enough to return at a moment's notice.
The familiar routine usually settled his thoughts.
Tonight, it did the opposite.
His mind returned repeatedly to Rowan.
To the confession inside the library.
To the night spent protecting him through his fever.
To the quiet mornings that followed.
Most of all...
To the moment their hands had touched.