The Proper Form of Address

Chapter 10

The doctor pronounced Archer to be "recovering." She allowed him to sit up in bed and to have food brought to him. Archer ate like a starving man and was then so exhausted he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"The King came to see how you are," Trix hissed at him.

Archer couldn't have opened his eyes if he'd wanted to. And he didn't really want to. "What?" he said stupidly. "What King?"

"The King."

"Oh," Archer realized, trying to struggle his way out of the thickness of sleep.

"It's quite alright," said the King's voice. It was a nice voice, deep, melodious. Archer wanted him to stay and keep talking. "He needs his rest. Let him sleep."

Which sounded like a grand idea to Archer.

The next time he woke and had more to eat he felt awake enough to talk to Trix afterward.

"You were so sick," she said, perching on the side of his bed. "It's some illness they get here. Pneumonia, the King said. He knew just what to do, so it must be common."

"Common?" echoed Archer, adjusting his pillows. "Fuck. What sort of place is this?"

"They've been nice to me. The King's been really nice. He barely left your side."

"He also almost got me killed," Archer pointed out.

"To be fair, you almost did that yourself. Sir."

"You're so impertinent," Archer said grumpily. "I should fire you."

"At the moment you're weak as a kitten and can barely keep your eyes open."

"Doesn't mean I can't still fire you," mumbled Archer, ignoring the fact that he was more than half-asleep.

When he woke again, the King was in the room, although he was in the opposite corner, speaking to someone who kept bowing over and over again dramatically. Archer stared at him and tried to pretend he wasn't. He looked more king-like now, though, dressed richly and well, with his hair combed, although as Archer watched he kept dragging his hands through it, so it was any wonder it ended up a tangled mess, thought Archer.

"Begging your pardon, Excellence," said the person the King was talking to, bowing again, and Archer missed whatever it was he said.

"I told you," snapped the King, "he isn't to be moved until he's well and truly better."

"Begging your pardon, Excellence—" another bow—"he's much better."

"Oh, are you a doctor now?" asked the King sarcastically. "I wasn't aware. Here, just clear out the wardrobe if you're so worried about it, for fuck's sake." The King turned, waving toward what Archer realized must be a wardrobe full of the King's clothing, and for the first time Archer realized where he was.

The King stopped short upon catching sight of him awake. "Archer," he said, and then, "I mean, Prince—or Eminence—or—"

Archer stopped his stammering by saying, "Am I in your bedchamber?"

The King glanced at the attendant who had been clearing out his wardrobe. "Give us a moment."

The attendant bowed his head and left the room.

"Where's Trix?" Archer asked, as the King came over to his bed.

"She's having a bath. It's the first time I've been able to convince her to leave your side." The King smiled faintly. "She's devoted to you."

"I pay her well," said Archer.

"Money doesn't ordinarily earn a servant willing to forego bathing for several days."