Chapter 64: The Forgotten Worry

"ARGH... DAMN IT!"

Cherion broke the surface of sleep with a violent, soul-shuddering gasp. His lungs burned, as if he’d been submerged in sub-zero water for a decade, and his eyes snapped open to find a ceiling he actually recognized. For a terrifying, disorienting second, he expected the suffocating smell of Royal lavender and the sight of itchy, lace-trimmed sleeves. He braced himself for the cold cobblestones of a training yard and the high, piping voice of a child who didn’t know he was a walking tragedy.

Instead? Softness.

He was sinking into a mattress that felt like a cloud made of expensive goose down.

I’m back. The thought screamed in his head. He didn’t even pause for air before diving into a frantic check of himself. He threw the heavy blanket aside, his hands, his wonderful, long-fingered, adult hands, trembling as he did a mental inventory.

He sat up, twisting this way and that. Check. Wiggle toes. Check. Then he flailed his arms in a ridiculous, half-dance, half-stretch, making sure every muscle still obeyed. It was absurd. He looked like a madman, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

"Mic check, one, two... testing, testing," he croaked, his voice cracking but deep and surprisingly adult. "I’m Cherion. I’m an adult. I am definitely not eight years old. Yeah. We’re in business." He finished with a self-satisfied smirk, like he’d just dropped the hottest freestyle of the century.

He let out a laugh that was half-sob, half-cackle. No more being stuck in a tiny body. No more staring at Yerel like some lovesick fool. He was himself. And, miracle of miracles, his feet didn’t even throb. The frostbite, the exhaustion, it was all gone. He felt light. He felt... normal.

That’s when he realized... yep, definitely not his bed.

This wasn’t his room. This was Zarius’s. His bed. Cherion sat there, alone for perhaps ten seconds before the door suddenly slammed open.

Zarius stormed in. Not Little Nugget anymore, all grown-up, all serious.

If Cherion looked like a survivor, Zarius looked like a war that had already been lost. Sure, he was tidy as always, nice clothes, perfect posture, but his face... grim, like a general who just realized the battle was over before it even started. Then their eyes met, and whatever mask he wore cracked, if only for a second.

For a heartbeat, they both just froze. A classic "deer in headlights" moment. Cherion sat there with his arms mid-stretch, and Zarius stood in the doorway, his hand still white-knuckled on the door handle.

Then, the world sped up.

Zarius blurred across the room, faster than any human should be able to move. Blink, and he was at the bedside.

Cherion, however, was faster in another department: his mouth and hands. Being a healer first and a rational human being a distant second, he didn’t even bother with a "good morning" or a "thank god you’re alive." He lunged forward, his hands diving into the collar of Zarius’s shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons as he tried to yank the fabric aside.

"Your Grace!" Cherion yelled, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. "Did the poison clear? Don’t just stand there looking like a ghost at a haunted house! Sit down! Let me see the shoulder. If that wound hasn’t closed up, I swear to the gods I’ll..."

He was a mess of panic as his hands pulled at the Duke’s shirt with a strength born of pure panic. He was so busy trying to play medic that he didn’t even see the way Zarius was looking at him, like someone witnessing a miracle.

"Cherion..."

"No! Don’t ’Cherion’ me! You were stabbed! You were leaking black goop! Why are you walking around? You should be horizontal!" Cherion continued to scold, his fingers finally bearing a patch of scarred, broad shoulder. He was leaning so far forward he was practically in Zarius’s lap, his eyes scanning for any sign of the Widow’s Frost.

Suddenly, his frantic movements were cut short.

Zarius didn’t push him away. He didn’t sit down, either. Instead, he grabbed Cherion’s wrists gently. He stopped Cherion’s nervous flailing, pinning their hands between them.

Cherion got jerked forward, suddenly face-to-face with him. So close he could feel Zarius’s heat, see those ruby eyes up close.

"I’m okay, Cherion," Zarius said. "The poison is gone. I’m fine... I’m fine because of you."

Cherion’s breath hitched. He tried to pull his hands back, but Zarius held on, thumb brushing the soft skin of his inner wrist, right over the pulse.

"Stop looking for the wound," Zarius whispered, locking his gaze, intense enough to make the room feel tiny. "And just look at me."

Cherion froze.

In that silence, the world seemed to disappear. There was no more palace in the background, no more memories of Yerel, no leftover of someone else’s story. Just him and that familiar, uneven thump in his chest.

He knew this feeling. He’d felt it in the dreams or memories. But back then, it hadn’t been his. It had been the original Cherion’s, chasing a hopeless crush straight toward a blade and a frozen grave.

But this? This was different.

Zarius didn’t let go. If anything, he leaned in a little bit more, filling the space around Cherion like a solid, reassuring presence.

"You know," he whispered, "I honestly thought you had no intention of waking up."

Cherion blinked up at him, hands still pinned under Zarius’s, and forced a sheepish grin. "Sorry... for making you worry. But don’t worry. I’m back now. You won’t lose your chance at healing your curse, not while I’m around."

Zarius’s brow furrowed, his mouth twitching into something almost like a frown. "You... you’re implying I needed you awake just for that?"

Cherion shrugged, trying to act casual while hiding the grin threatening to split his face. "Isn’t it?"

Zarius opened his mouth to reply, but before the words could escape, there was a knock on the door. The door creaked open, and there stood Elios, looking momentarily confused, eyes darting between the two of them... and then, his expression softened, relief and joy spreading across his face.

Cherion’s fingers wiggled free enough to give a half-wave at Elios. Zarius finally let go completely and moved toward the door

His gaze lingered on Zarius for a beat. The Duke was already talking, already serious, but Cherion couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that crept across his face.

Everything felt right again.