The Blades of Time

Chapter 12: Escape

James

James had always been a light sleeper. Since he was a child, the most delicate sound would wake him. His sister Madeleine would take this as an opportunity to tease him in their youth, knocking at his door or hiding under his bed. But this night, the lightness of the sleep was not his problem. It was the total lack of it. He moved and he moved, feeling uncomfortable in every position, limbs aching. He would close his eyes and he would see him. His smile, incredibly sharp jaw. The cloth over his eye. What had happened to his eye? Had it been a fight injury? His voice. His scent. The way he had looked at him. The way he had disappeared. I have to kill someone.

James had been convinced the man had come to kill him. After all, he had been warned about it. But Cillian said he had to kill a Nephilim, or that was what he remembered. But James was not tainted. He was not a Nephilim. He did not think so, at least. And then the man had left in the dark night, and it was like he had never existed. As if James had imagined him. No one had seen him. No one had seen them together. It was clear, the only reason a killer would be at his party would be to kill the prince. But why exactly?

James

Jamie quivered at the warm, sweaty hand clasping his mouth. His eyes opened widely, trying to make out the form against the night. His heart raced, and he tried to adjust his sight to see in nothing but the moonlight. The figure grabbed the edge of the sheets from Jamie's chest and pulled them down, revealing Jamie's naked body. When his eyes adjusted, he realized who it was. Cillian. It seemed as if Cillian was looking at him in the eye. He pressed one hand to Jamie's mouth and the other to his own lips. Be quiet. James nodded.

Cillian picked Jamie's morning clothes, already prepared, and threw them onto the bed. Jamie's heart beat faster but not because he was naked, not because he did not know what was happening, not because of Cillian. Because he would have to get dressed. James was not used to dressing himself. He could not remember the last time he had done it. Cillian was filling a cloth bag with his clothes so quickly, he was wrinkling his suits. James stared at him for a while, petrified. He slipped his underwear on; that was easy enough. He took a shirt and buttoned it, put his trousers on. His shirt seemed wrinkled, but other than that, James seemed to be presentable. He was rather impressed with himself. That until Cillian turned around. He stared at the prince for a moment, and then, with a loud sigh, he approached to unbutton the shirt. James moved back instinctively, and Cillian grabbed him by the wrist. He pointed to his shirt. Looking down at it now, James could see the buttons were done in disorder. Idiot. What a useless idiot. He was to be High King, and he could not perform the simplest task of buttoning a shirt. Cillian did it for him, then dragged him down the hall.