#humanxmonster

It wasn’t like he was a complete idiot. He noticed that other humans changed. And he was aware of what aging looked like. The servants showed signs of age first, their rough lives wearing into their faces with stress wrinkles and graying hair. Nobles had the ability to mostly disguise their aging. Hair could be dyed or disguised with wigs, expensive creams could be brought in from other countries to prevent wrinkling, and life without rough work meant that they kept their youthful looks for much longer. And given that Sara had been elevated to the level of a noble, Davrakoss compared her looks to the other nobles and saw minimal differences in both.

But aging couldn’t be avoided forever. And by ten years of minimal changes to her looks, other people were starting to notice, even if Davrakoss didn’t.

The nobles spoke to Sara first, prying into her beauty regime. Most were eager to know if she’d found some kind of beauty secret from another country. Given that Sara had basically no beauty routine, the questions were parried away quickly. But it was the beginning of the realization that something was different.

Davrakoss found her, several nights after that, peering at herself in the mirror. “Do you think I look old?” she asked him one night, when they were in the bathroom together.

“No,” Davrakoss said honestly. She didn’t. She barely looked older than when they’d first met. Maybe there was some slight wrinkling at the corners of her eyes, a slightly more mature look to her face, but she didn’t look that different.

He had expected her to be pleased. Humans didn’t seem to like aging all that much. But her brows had creased and she’d leaned back looking discomfited.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, setting down his brush and moving to her side. She frowned into the mirror, tilting her head back and forth as if hoping her expression would suddenly change.

“Shouldn’t I look old?” she asked. “Well, maybe not old, but older, at least. I’m in my thirties, but I look like I’m still in my twenties.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Davrakoss asked cautiously. “Humans don’t like aging.”

“It’s a weird thing,” Sara said. “It’s not normal. I should be getting older.” She drew back from the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink tightly enough that her knuckles started to go white. “People are noticing. If this keeps going on, more people are going to notice.”

Davrakoss stroked his fingers through her hair, twining a few strands together. “It’ll be all right. People are just going to assume you look youthful.” He kissed her forehead. “Come to bed.” He tugged on her hand. “I’ll make it worth your while?”

Sara smiled and took hold of his hand, following him.

Now that the seed had been planted, Davrakoss found himself looking at other humans, comparing their current looks with what he remembered from ten years ago. And, once he was looking for it, he could see that there was something wrong.

Everyone else looked different. Some of the changes were subtle, but if he looked, they were all present. Sara looked almost no different. In fact, looking at himself in the mirror gave himself a realization.

She had changed exactly as much as he had in the past ten years. Small little changes, but nothing big. Nothing that indicated they were aging.

Feeling mildly panicked, he wrote a quick letter to his parents. They responded a week later and he read the response with a tight, thrumming anxiety in his chest.

“We need to talk,” he said to Sara. She gave him an alarmed look. “In private,” he added, casting a look to the few servants lingering in the room. She frowned, but allowed him to pull her into their room and securely latched the door.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Davrakoss sat on his bed and gestured for her to sit next to him. She looked at him cautiously. “What happened?”

“Nothing in particular,” Davrakoss said. “But, ah. It concerns you.” He passed Sara the letter.

She read through it. He saw her eyes move over the letter once, then twice, then three times. Her fingers tightened on the paper and she took in a strangled breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He tentatively touched her shoulder.

“Your parents think I’m not aging anymore?” she said, glancing up at him.

“You did suggest it first,” Davrakoss said. “I wrote to them in case they’d heard of something else like this. They hadn’t, but they did have some theories.”

“I saw that,” Sara said, glancing at the letter. “They think you’re healing me from again?”

“Oh.” Davrakoss felt his face starting to warm. It was an unfortunate thing about being human that they showed things like embarrassment so easily. “Yes, um, you know how I mentioned that wyvern blood and saliva and such has healing power?” Sara nodded. “All our body fluids have healing powers. My parents suggested that maybe if you were to be in contact with my, um. Fluids. Repeatedly. It might start healing other things. Like aging.”

Sara’s mouth opened slowly. “I’m immortal?”

“I think they said that’s unlikely.” Davrakoss glanced back at the letter again. “Yes, right there. It’s unlikely that you’ll stop aging entirely. You’ll just age a lot slower. Probably around the same rate as me.”

Sara stared down at the bed. She was breathing slowly, apparently focused on something else. Davrakoss squeezed her arm gently. “Sara? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said, but her voice was a little faint. Davrakoss took hold of her and pulled her into him, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He smoothed her hair with a hand. “We just spent so much time worrying that I was going to die a lot sooner than you. And now it turns out we don’t have to worry at all.” She let out a weak giggle, snuggling her face further into his shoulder.

“No,” Davrakoss said. “We don’t.” They sat together for a few minutes, allowing relief to roll through them.

After a few moments, Davrakoss cleared his throat. “We need to discuss something else,” he said. “Um. I don’t know if you read through the letter entirely, but they do mention at the end…”

Sara lifted her head. “They want us to leave.”

Davrakoss found himself trailing his fingers through her hair over and over, trying to soothe himself. “People are going to notice that you aren’t aging.”

“People have already noticed that I’m not aging,” Sara said.

“I know. It’s only going to get worse the longer we stay and the more obvious it gets, the more likely that people are going to start connecting the dots.” Sara worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “They said they’ll give us some territory close to the border. My sister will be able to take over for me in a couple of years and then we can just stay in our own territory full time. We can even live near a human town, if you want, so you can still interact with humans.”

Sara nodded slowly. “I remember you telling me you wanted to live out there. Just you and me together. No responsibilities.”

“Mmm,” Davrakoss hummed. He leaned into her and she leaned into him so they were supporting each other. “Are you okay with it?”

Sara squeezed his hand, working her fingers over his knuckles. “We’re going to get away from all the annoyances of noble life. It’ll be just the two of us.” She glanced up at him. “Yeah. I think I’m okay with it.”

A pulse of delight rolled through Davrakoss’ body and he was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her. She laughed as he did. “We’ll have to leave soon,” he said. “Within a few months. We don’t want to stay around here any longer than we have to.”

Sara smiled up at him. There was nervousness in her eyes, but her expression was confident. “We’d better start getting ready, then.”

In the end, Davrakoss was able to use the nervousness people had toward wyverns to his advantage. Dropping a few hints that suggested he needed to be somewhere open to exercise his hunting instincts seemed to give the nobles a fright. Within two months, he had managed to convince them that he needed to live in a larger territory or he was going to eat them all.

“It’s been ten years,” he said to Sara as they packed up their belongings. “You would think they would know better. I’m not going to eat them!”

“Humans just get nervous around anything stronger than they are,” Sara said matter-of-factly. Davrakoss gave her a smirk.

“You speak as though you aren’t human.” A strange look crossed Sara’s face.

“Maybe I’m not entirely one anymore,” she said. “Not sure it’s such an awful thing.”

She was silent for much of the ride out to wyvern territory. Davrakoss tried to spark conversation a few times, but it all felt hollow. In the end, he fell silent and let her say goodbye to her home in peace.

He carried her up to their home on his back. Her fingers dug into his scales. He could almost feel her nervousness. The home was a cavern, not on top of a mountain, but in the midst of a forest. It was a quiet, pleasant place, and the cave had been used as a wyvern den previously, meaning it was well-insulated and not as dirty as a normal cave would have been.

It took some time to get Davrakoss’ horde settled. “It’s homey, isn’t it?” Davrakoss asked. With lights set up and a rug and nest of blankets and pillows set up, it was warm and inviting. Sara looked around and gave a single, pleased nod.

“It’s nice here,” she said. She turned and gave him a broad smile, which he automatically returned. “Welcome home.”

It didn’t take too long to settle into a routine. Davrakoss spent time hunting and Sara would rummage through the forest for plants to set up a garden. On the weekends, she and Davrakoss would go into a nearby town for any pother supplies they needed, and to allow Sara to socialize.

The longer they stayed in the wilderness, the more obvious it became that Sara wasn’t aging. Gradually, she and Davrakoss tapered off their interaction with any humans. There were murmurs of a mysterious, ageless woman who loved in the woods with her strange husband, but they were stories told ton scare children, and if anyone of power believed them, they were too afraid to go looking for her. No one ever seemed to connect their presence with the presence of the wyvern they sometimes saw flying over the woods.

Davrakoss engaged in politics with extreme rarity. He would occasionally guide his sister in her princess duties, but he seemed to enjoy not being in the limelight.

“It’s calmer,” he said to Sara. “Much simpler. And I don’t have to worry about anyone except you.”

They lived together in peace. Davrakoss found himself more contented than he had been in his entire life. He had his mate, he had a territory to hunt in, and he had few worries other than filling his belly and relaxing

Years passed in slow contentment, and they watched as humanity advanced. Prejudice against wyverns faded, though it didn’t vanish entirely. Davrakoss was able to see his species establish peace and trade with humans and watch as communication between the species became more open. Wyverns fought alongside humans in a couple of wars and several wyverns even took on human forms more permanently and lived in human societies.

Wyverns lived long enough that, to most humans, they appeared ageless. But they weren’t. And eventually, Davrakoss noticed the streaks of gray that worked into Sara’s hair. There was white in his hair too, but it was blonde enough that it was difficult to notice. She pulled at her hair with dissatisfaction until Davrakoss reassured her that she was beautiful nonetheless.

All things considered, she lived a remarkably long life, for a human. Two hundred and eighty was far longer than most humans could expect to live, even if it was slightly under wyvern life expectancy.

Davrakoss sensed it coming before it happened. He couldn’t have said exactly what it was. But he woke in the morning with an odd sense of dread in his stomach.

He was supposed to hunt, really, but he spent his day curled around Sara. There was just a sense that if he left, something would go completely wrong. She must have known he was anxious, because there was no teasing or prodding him to get on with his normal day. She just stroked his scales (as he got older, transforming took more effort and he spent more time in his wyvern form) and sang to him.

Eventually, late in the evening, Sara slumped against him. She slipped quietly into sleep. And then, with Davrakoss curled close to her, sleeping peacefully in her home, she died.

Davrakoss buried her in the forest outside their cave. He spent hours at her graveside, ignoring his complaining stomach.

For the next twenty-five years, he never assumed his human form again. And when he sensed his death was coming, he crawled outside his cave and lay down on his mate’s grave.

“What happened?” Davrakoss hurried over to you.

“Tried to stand,” you ground out through your teeth. “Didn’t work.” Davrakoss knelt down to look at your leg.

“You’re not really recovered enough to move around,” he said as he examined it. “The burn damaged your muscle. It will take some time before you’re healed enough to move around.”

“How long?” you asked. Davrakoss shrugged.

 “Based on how you’re currently healing, I’d say you’ll be able to walk around by morning, but you should be off your feet for another day while the leg heals.”

“I have to go back to work,” you said. Davrakoss’ lips curled for a moment before his face relaxed back into a more neutral expression.

“You don’t. I’ll give you the day off,” he said. “Most of the servants caught in the fire aren’t working.”

“Which is why it’s more important that I work. I still am a head servant. If you don’t need me here, then I should go help the remaining servants complete their tasks,” you insisted.

An odd expression crossed Davrakoss’ face, like a mixture of confusion and admiration. Again, his expression rapidly returned to neutrality and he stood. “I admire your desire to help them, but you need to recover first. I assure you, they will survive a day without you. And I can further assure you that your health is far more important than whether or not the castle is dusty.”

You stared at him. He’d sounded nearly bitter at the end of the sentence. His expression was set into a grimace that didn’t fully relax even when he was done speaking. “Sire, I am not unwilling to take a break. I am just unwilling to sit by idly while others are forced to do work in my stead.”

Davrakoss sat beside you on the bed. “Do not think of it as being idle, if it helps you. Think of it as allowing yourself to be more effective when you return to work. Or, if you truly insist on being a help to someone, think of it as useful for me. I have never healed a human before and I would like to see if it affects humans and wyverns the same. If you injure yourself again, my observations would not be as accurate.”

You mulled the thought over. “If you wish, sire,” you acquiesced. Davrakoss gave a low sigh.

“Good.” He eyed you for a moment. “If you’re all right with it, I’d like to wash your leg off. The healing should prevent any infection, but it might help clear out any dirt that could get trapped under the skin as it regrows.”

At the mention of a bath, you became very aware that your leg was sticky with the pus that had wept from your wound. The thought of it still clinging to your skin turned your stomach. On the other hand, the idea of a prince trying to clean a servant was so ludicrous it almost unsettled you in its own right. “With some soap and water, I can clean myself, sire,” you said.

“Davrakoss,” he corrected. “I only thought it would be easier, with your arm, if I helped.”

Ah. Right. The pain had dulled enough that it was easy to forget your arm was still injured. The wound was mostly just a very angry red now, but you could feel the heat radiating into your muscle. When you only looked troubled, Davrakoss hurried to reassure you. “I only want to clean off your leg. Nothing more. Your modesty-” He spoke the word as if it were a funny concept, “-will remain unblemished.” He looked, for a moment, like he was going to laugh, then pressed his face back into a serious expression.

You were tired and sore and the idea of Davrakoss taking care of you was just amusing enough that you wanted to give it a shot. “Okay.”

“Hold still. Don’t squirm,” Davrakoss said, then hefted you up against his chest. He was careful to avoid touching any of your burns and allowed you to settle in his arms before he actually started moving. You clung to him with your good arm and rested your head on his shoulder.

Davrakoss set you carefully on the edge of the tub, ensuring that you were balanced before letting you go. He twisted one of the handles on the wall and water started to pour from the spigot on the tub.

You had used running water before, but there was such a difference between using it to clean and actually using it to bathe. It lapped over your feet within a few seconds. It was so simple, you marveled. No lugging water around, no heating it over a fire. Just turn a handle and there it was.

“Hike up your skirts a little,” Davrakoss said. You lifted them just enough to show off the whole burn on your calf. Davrakoss knelt, holding a cloth he’d soaked in water. He tugged gently at the bandages, peeling them off the burn.

It was no longer as inflamed, but it was still bright red with a few blisters remaining. A thin, sticky yellow film covered portions of your calf. Davrakoss examined it for a moment, then took a firm hold of your ankle. “This will hurt,” he said gently. “Are you ready?” You nodded.

Davrakoss started at the edges of the burn, working inward gradually. You twitched or hissed when he touched the worse areas and he would back off for a moment before moving back in. The pain was terrible, bad enough that you had to physically work to not scream. One of your hands clung to the edge of the bathtub. The other, after a few seconds of fumbling, managed to find purchase on one of Davrakoss’ horns. He jerked, startled, when you grabbed him, but he didn’t protest.

The horn was connected to his head with a sturdiness you found yourself somewhat surprised by. His head jerked whenever you moved your hand and you found yourself doubting stories of hunters who had cracked a wyvern’s horn off with a strong blow, leaving it alive with a reminder of its loss. It felt like detaching the horn would be a job only successful through serious skull damage.

After what seemed like an eternity, Davrakoss released your ankle. “That should be better,” he said. You looked down. It was still red, but the film was gone. You could feel cool air on your leg, both a relief and an uncomfortable sting. You removed your hand from his horn, flexing your stiff fingers.

“Thank you,” you said. Davrakoss nodded, dunking the cloth he’d been using in the tub and wringing it out.

“It’s no trouble.” He draped the cloth over the edge of the tub and took your ankle again. This time, he just turned your leg and tilted his head to get a look at the burn.

You didn’t want to focus on that again, so you looked at him. His expression as he looked at your leg was soft in a way you’d never seen before. There were no lines of stress, no curl of his lips, no blazing fire in his eyes. They glowed more like soft embers. He was entirely focused, entirely at peace in the moment. You didn’t even want to breathe in case it disturbed him. He just looked so calm.

He released your leg again and sat back. You sat up straighter, startled out of your reverie. “It’s looking good,” he said. “At least it isn’t as bad as it was.” He picked up a fluffy towel and patted your leg dry. “Would you like me to help you back to your bed?”

“I should at least try to clean myself off,” you said. Davrakoss nodded, rising to his feet.

“If you need help, I’ll be right outside,” he said. He left the bathroom and the door clicked shut behind him.

It took you some time to pull your dress off, especially over your burnt arm. Once you did, the tub was full enough that you could get in. Cool water lapped over your leg, soothing the worst of the burn. You could practically feel the grime floating off your body.

After soaking for some time, you drained the tub and fumbled to grab a towel to dry yourself off. If you pushed yourself up only with your good leg, you could stand, though precariously. Slowly, you dressed yourself again. Now that you’d cleared your own body of soot, your dress seemed to reek of it. You would be only too glad to get another one.

You hopped carefully to the doorway and opened it. Davrakoss was sitting at his table, nibbling absently on the end of a fountain pen as he stared at an empty sheet of parchment. He looked up when the door opened.

“Hold on, let me help.” He ran over to you and put an arm around your shoulders, helping her stand. You wobbled, but remained standing. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you?” he asked as you struggled to find a way to hold him that supported you without knocking your burns against anything.

“It’s fine.” You secured your grip on his collar. “Just help me a little.”

In a staggering, slow way, you made your way across the room. You pulled yourself into bed once you made it, panting slightly from exertion.

“Is there anything else you need?” Davrakoss said. You shook your head. “Then I wish you good night.” He drew the curtains closed. You heard him walk across the room and resume whatever he had been writing. It only took a few moments to drift off.

You awoke disoriented. The night had been more drifting in and out of consciousness than any true sleep. Still, your internal clock demanded you awake at your usual time. Slowly and blearily, you sat up and tugged the curtain away.

Davrakoss was on the floor. He was curled under one of his cloaks. His tail was tucked close to his body and he was wearing normal clothes, not his nightdress. Despite the fact that he was should have been uncomfortable, he was apparently sleeping far better than you had. Even as the sun crept up and the room lightened, he remained resolutely asleep.

 Your stomach growled and you realized you were starving. You cleared your throat, hoping to get Davrakoss’ attention. He didn’t move. You tried his name. He remained asleep.

“Davrakoss?” you attempted again, louder this time. He stirred, one eye blinking open.

“Sara,” he mumbled. “’M getting up. Gimme a minute.” He raised himself to his knees, then slowly clambered to his feet. “How are you feeling?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair.

“Better,” you said. “My arm doesn’t hurt much.” The burn had faded to pink, fresh skin. It stung in a distant, easily ignorable way. Your leg was warm, though, and still ached.

Davrakoss sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the sheets away to look at your leg. “It looks a bit better,” he said. “The inflammation has gone down, at least, and it’s quite a bit cleaner. It just needs more time.” He licked his thumb and smeared more saliva down my leg. It was blissfully numbing.

Your stomach growled and complained. Davrakoss glanced up before resuming work on your leg. “I’ll feed you in a minute,” he said. “You must be starving. You barely eat.”

“I eat,” you said. “I don’t eat as much as a wyvern, maybe, but I do eat.”

Davrakoss grinned, shivering with quiet laughter. “You eat like a little mouse. I’ve never seen you eat.”

“You have. Yesterday,” you said. Davrakoss rolled his eyes.

“Before that, though. I have no idea how you manage.” He set your leg back down. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with your breakfast.”

He hurriedly pulled himself together and left the room. You sat up, testing your leg. It was no longer as pained and you could put weight on it, but not for long. You had to do a sort of limping hop in order to avoid the worst of the pain.

Davrakoss returned to the room with a tray he’d apparently loaded with everything he could find. There were several hot cakes, some pastries, a tall glass of fruit juice, eggs, bacon, sausages, and a large steak you assumed was for him. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” he said, putting it in front of you.

“I can’t eat all this,” you said. He shrugged, removing the plate with the steak on it.

“You don’t have to. I just didn’t know what you wanted.” Davrakoss sat down at the table. You stared at the food in front of you. There was enough of it that you weren’t sure where to start. Eventually, you went after the hotcakes, then diverted to the bacon before taking a pastry. It was full of sweet fruit covered in some kind of syrup that almost made your mouth ache from the sugar. The hot cakes were rich and sumptuous and the bacon was deliciously salty. It was good food and you wanted to get as much of it as you could into you before it was taken away.

Davrakoss returned to the bed when he was done eating, sitting down next to you. “Done?” he asked as you pushed the tray aside. He placed it over on the table when you nodded. “Let me see your arm,” he said, gesturing to your injured arm. You offered it to him and he examined the pink skin for a moment. “Does it hurt anymore?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said as he probed the skin. “Maybe it stings a little, but- ah!”

Davrakoss bent his head and kissed the skin of your arm. There was no longer any real pain when he touched you and you could feel the softness of his lips against your skin. There wasn’t even any tingling numbness anymore. You could just feel him kissing you. A fluttering sensation spread from the pit of your stomach and your tongue felt like it had suddenly become glued to the top of your mouth. It was hard to take anything bigger than a shallow breath.

He lifted his head, a few strands of his hair tickling against your skin. “That should make sure it heals over properly,” he said. You managed a nod. Davrakoss shifted back, pulling the covers down to examine your leg again. After a moment, he leaned in and kissed along your calf. The numbness spread through the burn enough that you couldn’t feel his touch, but you could imagine it.

Davrakoss raised his head again, shaking out his long hair. “And how if your chest?” he asked.  

“Fine.” There was still some raspiness in it, but it was barely worse than a mild cold.

“You’re sure?” Davrakoss said. He waved a hand at you. “Lie back.”

You did as you were told. Davrakoss nudged you over so he could kneel on the bed next to you. To your surprise, he tilted his head so his ear was right above your chest.

You froze so completely that, after a few seconds, Davrakoss said, “Breathe.” You pulled in a shallow breath. Gradually, your breathing grew steadier, Davrakoss still leaning over you, apparently listening intently.

He sat back. “You sound all right, I suppose. Maybe a bit of wheeze, but that should fade in time.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice faint. Davrakoss didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he was tactfully not mentioning it. Instead, he stood up and picked up the tray.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said and swept out of the room. You sat up and examined your arm. The skin was still faintly pink and new-looking, but it no longer stung faintly to the touch. As for your leg, examination showed that the blisters were almost completely gone. Touching it still ached, but the ache felt both less severe and didn’t seem as deep into your leg.

Davrakoss returned and settled back down at the table, writing on the same piece of parchment he’d been working on last night. You craned your head, trying to see if you could catch anything you recognized. It was too far away for you to actually read, though. From the structure of what he was writing, though, you were pretty sure it was a letter.

“Who are you writing to?” you asked. He glanced up at you, dipping his pen in ink.

“My parents. I’ve been trying to keep them appraised of what’s been going on here.” He wrote a few more words, then tapped the pen thoughtfully against his lips.

“How do you get the letter to them?” you asked.

“A courier takes it to a drop location we set up ahead of time. My parents check every now and then. Sometimes they write back through a similar method.” He scratched out a few more words. “I am trying to find a way to tell them about healing you.”

“You’re going to tell them?” you said. Davrakoss nodded.

“I should. Just in case.” His mouth twisted as he frowned. “They won’t be happy, but hopefully they won’t be mad enough to actually fly out here.” He considered for a moment. “They should understand they need to be tactful in this situation. But I will be in for it when I go home.”

“I’m sorry,” you said automatically.

The sound of hooves clattered closer. A royal carriage, made from red wood with black trim, approached. That was a little disappointing. You had rather hoped he would fly. But it made far more sense to allow him to come in a human guise. A wyvern flying overhead could start a panic.

The carriage rolled to a stop and the head of the guards stepped up to unlatch the door. There were several guards around you, all high ranked, all fully armed and armored. You were uncertain whether they were there to protect the prince or to protect others from him.

There was a heavy cha-thunk as the door slid open. You craned your neck. The inside of the carriage was dark, too far away for the lamplight around you to reach. The head of the guard lowered the stairs and stepped back.

He emerged slowly from the carriage. He wore a long cloak that covered everything but his head, hands, and the tips of his black boots. Thick fur covered the top of the cape and the lower half of his face. His hair was long and cornsilk-blond.

The fact that he was a wyvern was obvious. They were shape-changers by nature, but even their shifting had limits. Their wings could become arms and their muzzles could shrink into human faces, but there was nothing to be done with their horns and tails. The prince himself had a set of straight horns jutting back from his head and you could see the tip of his tail poking out from beneath his cloak. And yet his eyes struck you the most. They were the exact color of burning embers, sort of yellow-orange, with the same steady glow. They swept the clearing with an air of distant interest.

“Your highness.” The head of the guard bent at the waist in a small bow. The prince’s eyes locked onto him. “We are pleased to see you arrive safe in our kingdom. I hope your journey was pleasant.”

“It went as well as can be expected.” The prince’s voice was not like you’d imagined. You had thought it would be deep and rumbling, the sort of powerful voice a wyvern should have. It was, instead, mid-toned and astoundingly normal.

“This servant has been assigned to take care of you as long as you reside in the castle,” the guard said, gesturing to you. You stepped forward, dipping your back in a small bow. “She will be responsible for assuring your stay in the castle is as comfortable as possible.”

You lifted your head in time to see him give you a nod. “I can show you to your room, sire,” you said.

He nodded again and you noticed him hefting a bag over his shoulder. “I can take that, sire,” you said, holding out your hands. His eyes narrowed and he glared at you until you lowered your hands again. “As you wish, sire. Follow me.”

You started walking and heard his footsteps crunching after you. Good. Some nobles were stubborn assholes who wouldn’t take orders from a servant if they were paid. At least he wasn’t going to be that awful.

The prince’s room was above and a ways behind the throne room, toward the back of the castle, meaning it was a bit of a walk to get there. The prince was silent the entire time. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; it was nice to have some peace and quiet. But having him staring at your back the entire time was a little unsettling. You could almost feel it, a steady burn between your shoulder blades that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

“Here you are,” you said as you pulled open the heavy wooden door to his room. Room didn’t quite cover it; it contained several rooms inside it, from the main bedchamber to the bathroom to a small sitting area. You stepped aside to allow the prince to enter his bedchamber.

It was a large, semicircular room. A large fireplace was set into one of the flat walls. Across from it was the prince’s large, curtained bed. A red, circular rug covered much of the stone floor. Two wooden doors on the flat wall led to his bathing room and his parlor respectively and a door on the circular wall led to his closet. Set in the curving wall next to his bed was an enormous window, overlooking the countryside, the distant forest, and the even more distant mountains. The prince moved to it almost immediately and gazed out over the landscape.

You cleared your throat quietly, still standing by the door. “Is this all to your liking, sire?”

He didn’t look back at you. “Yes.”

“If you wish it, I could take your bag and place your belongings away.” You stepped toward him, one hand outstretched, but before you had even completed the motion, he had turned back toward you, one eye fixed and glaring.

“I am fine.” He turned back to the window. “You are dismissed.”

You bowed, even though he couldn’t see you, and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind you.

When you had returned to the servant’s quarters, a mostly-wooden attachment to the castle, you decided to forgo sleep. It was well past midnight. There was too great a risk that you would fail to wake up on time if you decided to sleep. That was one of the downfalls of being one of the servant heads; you were expected to be the first ones up, so there was no one to wake you. Occasionally, a kind night-shift guard would stop by to make some noise, or another servant would stop by and wake a straggler, but no one could be expected to stop their duties to wake someone up. Self-sufficiency was crucial.

When the sun began to rise, you went about your first task of the day: serving breakfast to the prince. A tray had already been put together by the kitchen staff. It was laden with a multitude of options: a meat pie, a bowl of porridge, hot cakes, sweet molasses, three different kinds of juice, an apple, an orange, sausages, bacon, eggs, and toast. It was heavy enough that you struggled with it, though you understood its necessity. No one was entirely sure what a wyvern might want to eat, and no one wanted to risk him going hungry.

It was a small miracle that you made it to the prince’s room without spilling anything. Opening the door was another challenge entirely. You managed it by partially balancing the tray on your knee while you used one of your hands to jerk the door open.

The curtains were drawn around the prince’s bed when you entered. You placed the tray of food on the table and crossed to the window. Thick curtains blocked the golden sunlight streaming over the horizon. You jerked the curtains open and crossed to the prince’s bed.

“Good morning, sire,” you said as you opened his curtains.

He turned, fixing one of his fire-bright eyes on you. His gaze was piercingly hateful. If you had been less sure of yourself, you might have quailed under it. But if there was anything you had learned from working with nobles, it was to always keep a straight face. Any sign of disapproval or amusement could send an already-angry noble into a rage. The best protection was neutrality.

“Breakfast is on the table, sire,” you said. “I am to ensure that you make it to your meeting with the Queen’s board on time.”

He sat up, long hair falling across his face. “Then you are here to watch me? Make sure I behave myself?” His voice carried the sting of sullen resentment.

“I am here to make sure your stay in the castle is as smooth and beneficial for both parties as possible,” you said. “I am not your guard. I am only here to take care of you and make sure you are kept comfortable.”

The prince stood. He was wearing simple nightclothes, though they had clearly been tailored to allow his tail to poke through. “Would you like help getting dressed, sire?” you asked.

It was a fairly innocuous question (many nobles saw it as a sign of wealth to not have to dress themselves), but the look the prince fixed you with made you realize he did not see it that way. You dipped your head in a small bow. “As you wish, sire.” You turned on your heel and headed toward the bathroom.

It was unused, so your job there mostly consisted of ensuring that everything was still functional. Thankfully, the castle had adopted indoor plumbing immediately after its invention, meaning you didn’t have to lug water up the stairs for a bath. When you exited the room, the prince was dressed and looking at his breakfast with a critical eye.

“Is it to your liking, sire?” His eyes shifted slowly up to you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled. Your expression remained neutral. “Is there anything you would like me to request from the kitchen for further meals?”

He returned his gaze to his meal. “More meat.” He lifted his knife and fork and began to cut pieces off of a sausage.

You had half-expected him to tear into his meal like an animal eating flesh, but he cut his meal into small pieces with as much dignity and grace as any other noble. When he had finished, the eggs and meat were gone, but most of the tray remained full.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, sire?” you asked. He shook his head. “As you wish. Then I will show you to the meeting.”

The prince followed you out of his bedroom and down the staircase toward the conference room. He was quiet again. This time it was a touch more unsettling. You could almost feel him staring at you. You ignored him.

The conference room was below the castle and had no windows and only the one door. The walls were covered in heavy red cloth emblazoned with the kingdom’s sigil, a bird flying out of an oak tree. A large wooden table covered most of the floor and most of its surface was covered in maps and documents. The generals and politicians sitting around the table looked up as you and the prince entered. The queen, at the head of the table, lifted the corners of her lips in a faint smile.

“Your majesty,” you said, dropping into a low bow. “I have brought the prince.”

“You are dismissed, Sara. Head back to your position,” the queen said. You turned and walked out of the room. Before the doors closed behind you, you glanced over your shoulder. The prince was looking back at you. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought he looked almost scared.

Then the door closed and you turned back and headed up the stairs.

Your first task was to return to the prince’s room and clean it in its entirety. Returning the tray to the kitchen and making the bed were both simple tasks. The issue came when you attempted to straighten his closet. A large chain had been fastened around the handles of the door. You examined the room for a key, but if there was one, it wasn’t in an obvious position. There wasn’t much reason to tear the room apart looking for it, you decided. If he didn’t want you in his closet, then you wouldn’t go in there. You just had to hope he wouldn’t get pissed at you for it. Some nobles were dumb like that.

After cleaning the room, you headed downstairs to help some of the other servants clean out one of the libraries. The castle had at least three, one for history and law books, a smaller one for religious tomes, and the third and largest for anything else. You were re-sorting in the history library when someone in a green cloak stormed in.

You lowered yourself off the ladder and stared at the shape as it made its way over to one of the tables and sat down. The cloak was distinct- in the light, it had a slight shimmer to it, a shift in the colors. It was the prince.

“Sire?” You approached him slowly. The meeting should have gone on for longer. Why was he in the library?

He looked up at you. His expression was irritated and weary. “Yes?” he said.

“Is there anything I can help you find?” you asked. The prince pinched his brow.

“If you could get me any books on past wars and treaties in your country, I would appreciate that,” he said through his teeth. “And books on wyvern relations would be useful as well.”

“We have quite a few books on wars and treaties, sire. Are you looking for anything specific?”

He traced a finger along the wood grain of the table. “Books on the creation of treaties.” You nodded and left him.

You returned with a towering stack of books that nearly obscured your vision. The prince took them without a word and spread them across the table. You bowed and left him to his devices.

Late in the evening, you returned to his table. The books were strewn about. Someone had provided him with paper and notes were scrawled across nearly every available surface. He was sitting back in his seat, rubbing his temples as if to drive away a headache. His wildly twitching tail made him a bit difficult to approach.

“Sire?” you said. He glanced up, eyes burning under his lashes. “Would you like supper? I can bring it to your room or I could show you to the dining hall if you’d rather eat with others.”

He stood, gathering books up seemingly at random. “My room, please.” His voice was clipped and curt.

“As you wish, sire.” He was out of the library before you could finish your sentence. You gestured for another servant to clear up the books he’d left and went to the kitchen to fetch his dinner.

They had listened to your earlier request for more meat. The plate was stacked with fine cuts from beef, lamb, and pig. It was heavier than the first tray, but was less awkward to carry. You considered that a small victory.

The prince was staring out the window when you entered. He barely looked around. “Your supper, sire,” you said, placing it on his table. He said nothing. “Is there anything else you would like?”

“No. You are dismissed.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, you were gone.

Once you were safely out of the castle and in the servant quarters, you collapsed. The room had begun to spin due to exhaustion. Your position as a servant head had several perks, one of them being your own room in the servant’s quarters. It was a small room, slightly smaller than the prince’s bathroom, and, of course, it lacked indoor plumbing. But it was your room, and that was a blessing enough for you.

You lit the lamp on your night table and sat down on your bed. The servant’s clothes were not terribly comfortable. You shed them as swiftly as possible before falling back onto your bed. There were several things you should do, like eating and bathing, and changing into proper nightclothes, but movement felt like an insurmountable task. You were just so tired.  Maybe it would help to close your eyes for just a moment. Then you would get up.

You jerked awake. The lamp had burned out and it was cold to the touch. A quick look at your window confirmed that it was just barely dawn. It felt as though you had been asleep for barely a moment. Exhaustion still lay heavy over your limbs. Groaning, you staggered out of bed. You needed to hurry. The prince’s breakfast would be ready soon and you needed to deliver it.

After stripping the rest of your clothes, you scrubbed the grime off your body and redressed in the servant’s dress. You secured your red leather pin, the symbol of your head position, to your collar and headed to the kitchen as the sun finished rising over the horizon.

“You’re late,” said one of the cooks as she placed the tray on the serving counter. “Rough night?”

“Rough day before,” you said. “Thank you.” The tray had a meat pie on it and was piled high with sausage and eggs and bacon. You carefully found the best position to carry it in and headed up to the prince’s room.

You carefully opened the door and stepped inside. The prince was not in his bed. Instead, he was slumped over the small table. Books were spread around him. The gas lamps on the wall glowed faintly, even with the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. He had fallen asleep reading. And, judging from the ink smears on his hands, he had been taking a considerable amount of notes.

“Sire?” You stepped closer to him. “Sire, wake up.”

He let out a sigh and stirred, sitting up. His eyes focused on you and he jerked to his feet. You had to take a rapid step back so the tray wasn’t knocked out of your hands. “Apologies, sire, but you have a meeting soon. You should begin to prepare.”

His eyes burned, but you couldn’t read his expression well enough to tell why. “I am going to clean up,” he said and hurried into the bathroom.

You cleared off the table as best you could, trying to keep them as organized as possible. After a few minutes, he emerged and you began to straighten his room while he ate breakfast.

When he was finished eating, you picked up his tray. “We should head down to the meeting room,” you said. A sour look crossed the prince’s face, but he didn’t protest. He simply stood and waited for you to lead the way.

You headed back down the steps to the basement meeting room. The prince stayed a step behind you, not too close and not too far. You could hear the heavy tread of his boots echoing off the stone.

Gas lanterns illuminated the hall in a flickering light as you walked toward the meeting room. You couldn’t feel the prince’s gaze on your back as you walked and a swift glance over your shoulder confirmed that he was staring at the floor rather than you. His expression was tense with focus.

You opened the doors to the meeting room. The table was full of people, the queen at the head as usual. She nodded slightly at the prince as he entered. As soon as he saw her, the prince drew himself up in a haughty swagger. He took his place at the table and stared firmly at the queen.

“Sara. Dismissed,” the queen said. You bowed and left the room.