Chapter 68: The First Peaceful Moment in Forever

"Oh... Reiner... yes, that’s... ohhh... your hand... it’s... amazing..."

Cherion let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and he didn’t care who heard. A week ago, this kind of relief would’ve seemed impossible. Now? His eyes were rolled back, his spine had turned to a literal puddle of jelly, and his scalp felt like it was being kissed by the gods.

The culprit? Reiner.

The boy’s fingers moved across his hair like they owned the place, fast, precise, almost annoyingly perfect. Cherion slumped in front of the vanity, watching his reflection through a haze of steam and bliss. He’d spent most of the day shadowed by this new attendant, and somehow... he liked him. Really liked him. Totally weird.

After months of navigating the murky, double-edged dialogues that had defined his life with Soren, where every "Good morning, My Lord" felt like a hidden needle or a test of his patience, Reiner was a breath of fresh air. He was a clear mountain stream. No, he was more like a golden retriever that had somehow learned to use a hairbrush. Bubbly. Transparent. Relentlessly, almost exhaustingly, cheerful.

"The Holden family has been in service to the Valtrane line since the first stones were laid, My Lord!" Reiner chirped. "My brother, he’s the serious one, obviously. He kept telling me I’d have to wait years for a proper post. But then he sent me to the Academy, I’d literally just finished my final exams, and said the Duke’s fiance needed a new attendant."

The evening had rolled in, dark and heavy, and Cherion was holed up in his private room. The ritual had started with a bath, long, punishingly hot, and filled with enough salts and aromatherapy oil, before Reiner had swept in to handle the aftermath. He’d draped a massive, oversized robe of Northern wool over Cherion’s shoulders. Now, the room smelled like a dream of summer fields, steam, lavender, and the sharp, clean scent of winter mint.

Cherion leaned his head back, surrendering to the pressure of Reiner’s thumbs at the base of his skull. "You know," Cherion murmured, almost whispering, half-asleep, "I really... I really wish you’d been the one they sent for me from the very start, Reiner."

His hands wavered for just a beat, then got back to work with even more gusto. "Oh, My Lord, don’t I know it? I was thinking the exact same thing. I honestly couldn’t believe it when Flio told me the stories. My jaw hit the floor, I swear it did."

Reiner’s reflection in the mirror darkened for a second. His cheeks went bright pink, and his brow scrunched up like he’d just bitten into something sour. "To think someone sat in this very room, used these very brushes, and made such a... such a horrific mess of things! It’s insulting. Truly. That man wasn’t an attendant, he was a damn snake."

Cherion felt a phantom chill at the mention of his old attendant. "Yeah, Sor..."

"Abup-up!" Reiner suddenly hissed, leaning forward and practically shushing Cherion with his oil-slicked hand. "Don’t say it, My Lord! Please! It’s wretched luck to name the rot once it’s been cut out and tossed in the fire. We Northern folk believe names have weight, and that one? It’s heavy enough to sink a boat. Let’s just pretend he was a particularly disgusting fever dream and move on to better things. Like... like this hair oil! It’s imported from the coast, you know."

Reiner huffed, his chest swelling with protective anger. "Ugh, honestly though, he should have had the death penalty. A quick trip to the block. I still can’t wrap my head around why the Duke let him off with just a cell in the bowels of the fortress. It’s too kind, if you ask me."

Cherion just smiled, a small, tired thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t tell Reiner that the "kindness" had been his own request. He didn’t mention the frantic, whispered plea he’d made to Zarius that night.

He just watched Reiner work, admiring the boy’s fierce, uncomplicated sense of justice. Of course he was mad at Soren, mad didn’t even begin to cover it. The man had tried to ruin him, had dared to harm Zarius, and somehow thought loyalty and devotion made that okay. It was the kind of betrayal that, in a typical traditional setting like this, usually earned a quick trip to the executioner’s block. No questions asked.

But... Cherion didn’t think it needed to be done so easily.

"Well," Reiner continued, his mood shifting back to its usual sunny frequency as he grabbed a warm towel to pat down the excess oil. "I suppose it’s because the Duke was far too distracted to think about executions. He was, by all accounts, somewhat unsettled himself."

Cherion blinked, his eyebrows shooting up. "What happened?"

Reiner snorted, a sound hardly befitting an attendant. "Oh, My Lord. You should have seen him. He stayed right by your side, day and night, while you were unconscious. I think he forgot what a bed or meal was."

The room suddenly felt much smaller. The lavender scent, previously so soothing, now felt heavy and cloying in Cherion’s lungs. He felt a strange, fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach, a mix of disbelief and something that felt dangerously like a spark of warmth.

Zarius? He thought, his mind racing through images of the scary Duke who once had threatened to kill him.

"His Grace..." Cherion whispered, more to himself than to Reiner. "He really did that?"

Reiner nodded, a little grin tugging at his lips. "I saw it myself, My Lord. The first day I arrived, I went to his chamber to greet him... and there he was. Sitting right by your side, didn’t even flinch when I walked in. I also brought him food, he barely touched it. He hardly worked, just stayed there with you." He shook his head. "The Duke really worries about you."

He almost let himself feel it. Then he stopped, because... yeah, no. It was probably just that he was freaking out over the one person who could get rid of his curse.

Ha, yeah. That makes way more sense.