Hallowed Ground | Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Rel cut into the potato a little more viciously than usual, frustrated and angry with nowhere to direct it. He’d fled from the prince’s quarters the moment he’d been dismissed. The Praetorians had cast him curious glances when he’d stepped out into the hall, clearly unruffled and obviously angry. He’d ignored them. Had fled at a fast walk without looking back. The Prince, who had not given Rel his name, had been…thorough in outlining his intentions. And the rules. Rel was to report to his quarters every few days—a ruse to make people think they were fucking—and had heavily suggested he relocate to the servants quarters in the Imperial Wing, specifically his quarters. Rel…had not been impressed and had asked if he could think about it. The bastard had graciously agreed. 

As for the rest of it…for what Red had been most afraid of. Well. He hadn’t even seemed upset that Rel was fey’ri. Hadn’t even mentioned it, in fact. Rel had only been mildly surprised at the time, too angry to consider what the implications of that might be. He was supposed to be listening to the other servants—and everyone else in the palace. Nobility and commoners alike. Anyone who might have loose tongues around the practically invisible servants. People tended to overlook them, to be fair. Rel had seen it firsthand. 

So yes. He was mad. Furious even. But he was also confused. Incredibly so. Why hadn’t the Prince outed him? Why hadn’t he arrested Rel? Thrown him into the dungeons? Rel knew there were some. He’d seen them. Had snooped early on in his employment, very carefully. The entrance was near the barracks, where all the soldiers were stationed. He hadn’t dared to explore too much there, or too often. And he’d only managed to sneak down the stairs once before he had to rush out because he’d heard someone coming. There were servants who worked there, though they all seemed like soldiers of some kind. Retired, maybe? Or injured? Rel wasn’t sure. 

What he was sure about, though, was that the Prince planned on using him. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew better than to ask questions. But if what he saw on the map was correct, even without being able to read the coded notes… Someone was planning something. Something big. And the Crown Prince knew about it. 

And, well. That had been nearly three days ago and the rumours were already spreading. Rel refused to respond to them. Refused to even acknowledge them. He didn’t answer questions when directly asked and deflected when he could. It had started slowly, with someone asking him why he’d been taken to the Crown Prince’s residence. Rel had known couldn’t tell the truth and had said as much. It wasn’t like he could tell them what he was. His silence on the matter had only fueled the rumours. Even some of the palace guards were whispering about him now. 

He only had the rest of the day to decide before he had to report to the prince. He wasn’t looking forward to it. In fact, he was dreading it. But he hadn’t heard anything about anyone planning anything, so that was…good, he supposed. 

He just had to make it through the afternoon without incident and then he could go report in. 

Rel sighed, attention drifting slightly. He caught sight of one of the Praetorians—the Prince’s guard—peering into the kitchen from the hallway and fumbled. The knife slipped and Rel cursed as the sharp blade sank into his palm, into the meat of his thumb, right near the base. He stood abruptly, dropping the knife and using part of his sleeve to press against the wound. Cook spun towards him at his cursing, at the sound of a knife clattering across the floor. 

“Rel?” she called, gruff but concerned. 

He peeled the sleeve of his uniform back and hissed, ignoring her. It was deep but clean, no jagged edges. No dirt in the wound. He’d probably need stitches. 

A hand settling on his shoulder made him jump and he glanced up to meet Cook’s concerned eyes, brow furrowed as she stared down at the blood seeping past his fingers. She sighed. 

“Go get that seen to,” Cook told him, still gruff but fond. As fond as she ever got. Fuck. She must’ve noticed he was quieter than usual, more distracted. He grimaced when she leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And don’t you let nobody push you ‘round, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, slipping out from under her hand and heading for the door. 

The Praetorian was gone, but Rel knew that he was being watched. Of course he was. He sighed and hesitated just outside the kitchens. Rel glanced towards the place infirmary, then in the vague direction of the Imperial Wing. He sighed and turned to head for the Imperial Wing—and the Prince’s quarters. He might as well get it over with. 

By the time he got to the prince’s residence, he’d taken off his outermost jacket and wrapped it around his hand. The two Praetorians outside the prince’s room exchanged a glance and then gave him—and his bloody hand—a once-over. A very intense one, too. It made his skin crawl. But Rel just tipped his chin up slightly, just enough to be almost disrespectful, and one of them shifted aside. He pushed the door open for Rel and waited. Rel eyed him for a moment, trying to figure out if he’d seen the man before—if he was one of the soldiers that had been training with the prince the other day. He couldn’t tell, not with all the armour on, so he inclined his head and stalked into the room. 

Only to find it empty. 

Rel scowled, pressing down harder on his hand and ignoring the blood started to drip down his wrist. He’d raised it to try and stem the bleeding, but apparently that didn’t matter. He turned back towards the door. The guards were watching him, faces hidden behind impersonal bronze masks, though he could just see their eyes. They were fixed on his bleeding hand. 

“His Highness will return soon,” the one on Rel’s left said. He was still holding the door open. Rel pressed his lips together and looked away, watching from the corner of his eye as the man cocked his head. “Do you require a healer?”

He snorted. “No,” he said, completely honestly. He’d probably be able to heal the wound, just enough to stop it from bleeding so fast. Not that he was going to tell them that. But it would still need stitches—it was too deep. And his ability to cast healing magic was…not what he wanted it to be. Not enough. Just enough to maybe not die, but definitely not enough to put someone back together. He could…probably handle such a deep cut. “Thanks, though…”

The guard’s eyes narrowed and Rel turned his head back. “Try not to bleed on the floor,” he said and pulled the door shut. 

Rel stared at it for a moment, noting that the guard had not locked him in this time. A beat passed, two and he chuckled. Bastard had a sense of humor. He shook his head and turned to pace the room, keeping the pressure on the wound. The bleeding was slowing, which was good. But not enough. Rel’s limited knowledge of healing was a hindrance at the moment. He knew how to make a man bleed out in moments. Knew just where to put a blade to incite the most pain. He knew so many different ways to kill a man—and subsequently save him—and he couldn’t even heal a deep cut on his fucking palm. He was pathetic. At least he hadn’t hit anything particularly important. He hoped…

The door opened while his back was to it. He glanced down and grimaced. There were tiny specks of red all over the Prince’s nice floors. He couldn’t bring himself to care, not really. Besides, it wasn’t like the man was unfamiliar with blood or gore. He was a military officer who had returned from a military campaign very recently. Rel had a feeling he’d know what to do. 

“Is there a reason you’re bleeding all over my floor?”

Rel closed his eyes for a moment. The prince’s tone was flat, emotionless with just the slightest hints of annoyance to it. He exhaled very slowly and turned to face the man. The prince was watching him with cold, narrow eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. He could just see the guard’s back over his shoulder through the partially closed door. Rel offered him a wry smile. 

“It’s not intentional,” he said and the prince’s eyes narrowed even more. Alright, so maybe it was a little bit intentional. But the injury itself hadn’t been on purpose! Surely he’d understand that, at the very least. “Well…I’m.” He wet his lips, eyes darting away. “Sorry?”

“Do I even want to know how you got injured?”

Rel grimaced. “Cut myself working in the kitchens,” he said and the prince sighed, very deeply. “It’s…not even that bad, I promise…” That earned him another sigh, but Rel couldn’t stop. The words just tumbled out. “Alright, maybe it's that bad… I might…need stitches?”

He dragged his gaze back to the prince when the other man shifted and found him pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you came to me because..?”

He glanced past him at the guard and the Prince pulled the door shut. Rel wet his lid and gave the man his full attention, at least for a moment. Then he lowered his gaze and blew out a long, slow breath. “I…don’t really trust my safety to the palace infirmary…” Rel winced, realising how that sounded and rushed to add, “not that I doubt the healers! It’s just…” He raised his injured hand, gesturing vaguely—and painfully—at his…everything. His eyes, his hair. The horns hidden in said hair. “Well…”

The prince’s stance softened and he stepped away from the door, arms dropping to his sides. “You don’t want them to know what you are,” he said and Rel nodded. The prince already knew. And he hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t done anything. Not for three whole days. He could’ve said something, done something. Had Rel tortured or executed. He’d done none of it. “And I already know…”

“You haven’t done anything the last few days,” Rel admitted quietly, not quite looking at him. “I can trust you’ll continue to protect me.”

The prince stared at him for a long moment, eyes darting down to his hand where it was bleeding through his makeshift bandage. Really, the palace should give the staff sturdier clothes. His outermost layer—a thin jacket in soft grey—was warm enough most days but definitely not suitable enough as a makeshift bandage. Rel shifted a little, feeling like the room was too big. Like the floor was tilting beneath him. 

“Sit down before you fall over,” the prince said, a little gruffly, and was suddenly right before Rel, tipping his chin up with gentle fingers. Rel sighed at the touch, eyes closing. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.”

His eyes flew open at that, but the prince was already moving away, fingers slipping away from his chin like a whisper in the dark. He swallowed, turning to follow the other man towards the desk. The prince gestured to one of the chairs, rounding the desk to open a drawer. Rel was only mildly surprised when he pulled a neatly folded field medics kit out of it and placed it on the desk. He’d seen one before, back in the Isles. One of his cousins had been injured and Zarkias had flipped it open to use the needles on Lekas. The prince’s kit, when he unrolled it, had more to it than that old one back home had. Maybe because it was a well used and well stocked one? Rel didn’t know. 

Rel sat, because what else was he supposed to do? Besides, he was starting to feel a little lightheaded. Had he lost too much blood? He sighed, sagging back against the chair. The prince didn’t even glance at him, just came back around to sit in the other chair and tugged the kit closer. He had a tiny bottle in his other hand. Rel watched as he leaned forwards and gently took the wrist of his injured hand, tugging him upright. He went with the touch, frowning a little. 

“I’m not going to ask you about this,” the prince said lowly, brushing his hand away from the bunched up fabric and applying pressure. Rep watched with a sick sort of fascination as the other man peeled the makeshift bandage away from the wound and hissed. “That’s deep.” 

“I…got distracted,” Rel told him, the words slurring together a little. He could offer a little context, he supposed. The prince glanced up at him, frowning a little. Rel pressed his lips together. Now was not the time to blurt all his secrets. The man knew the most important ones. “Sorry.”

That earned him a snort. “Must have been some distraction,” he said, tone soft, and pressed the fabric back over the wound, pressing down hard. Rel flinched. That had hurt, quite a bit. He frowned, trying to reach for his magic but it slipped through his fingers and kept slipping through them. “This needs stitches.”

Rel sighed. “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

The prince pushed the sleeve of his undershirt up, pausing when it revealed a series of jagged, parallel scars across his forearm. Rel looked away. He knew the prince was staring, knew that he probably couldn’t help it…and wasn’t even surprised by it. Rel knew he had scars. These ones were faint, almost invisible if it weren’t for the way they were raised and jagged. Someone’s pet prakfura—only a little thing—had taken a swipe at him. The prince only stared for another few beats before he turned away. Rel watched him from the corner of his eyes, a little wary—and dizzy from bloodloss. That was dangerous. What if he got ill? Fey’ri, despite their high potential for magic, did not have the best—or most stable—health. An injury like his? If left unchecked? Rel didn’t want to think about what could happen. 

“You really should be more careful,” the prince murmured, picking up the bottle. He removed the makeshift bandage again and set it aside. Then splashed a small amount over the wound. Strong alcohol, by the smell. 

Rel hissed, trying to jerk his hand away. The Prince’s grip tightened, keeping him still as he set the bottle aside and scanned the kit’s needles. Rel pressed his lips together, teeth grinding. He hadn’t even noticed the bastard opening the bottle. Fuck, he needed to pay attention. 

“Stay still,” the bastard told him, picking a needle and setting it aside. “You’ll make it worse.”

“That hurt,” he ground out and the prince sent him a look. He shut up. The prince smiled, a fond little thing and released him. “What…?”

The man shook his head, turning to disinfect the needle and then thread it. He didn’t say anything as he turned back, taking Rel’s hand in his and turning it slightly so he could get a better look at the wound. Rel had healed it a little on the walk here, but clearly not enough. 

“This is going to sting,” the prince warned and Rel snorted.  

“Just do it.”

Apparently, he didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Rel sat in silence for the duration of the sewing up. He made little noises occasionally, but mostly he kept his lips pressed together tightly, wincing when something was particularly painful. The prince focused on his hand, on the cut he was stitching up. Which meant Rel got to studying him, eyes slitted. He really was handsome, all dark hair and darker eyes. The tanned skin was nice, too, though it was starting to get lighter with all his time spent inside. Oh, Rel knew he was still training with the soldiers, but… Well. That wasn’t any of his business, was it?

When he was done, the prince set aside the needle and thread, and reached for a roll of bandages. Proper bandages. Not the bloodsoaked gray mess that had been Rel's outer jacket. He bandaged Rel’s hand carefully, smoothing gentle fingers over the white bandage until it sat right. Rel twitched. 

The prince was just securing the bandages when there was a knock on the door. He glanced over, a scowl creasing his expression for a split second before he flipped the medkit closed and shoved it aside. The bottle tipped over and rolled onto the floor with a clatter--unbroken. Surprisingly sturdy. Rel sucked in a sharp breath when the older man pulled him up out of his seat and turned to pin him against the desk. He tossed the bloodied cloth behind his desk and leaned in close. Relfyn went utterly still, hyper aware of just how close they were, of how the prince was pressed up against him. At how close the man was to kissing him. At the way he was crushing papers beneath him. The prince cleared his throat. 

“Come in,” he called, pulling back and turning towards the door as if he hadn’t just been caught kissing someone--which he hadn’t been...but apparently that was what he wanted them to think. Rel stayed right where he was, breathing heavily and suddenly, alarmingly, awake. 

The door opened and…silence. Rel didn’t dare move, didn’t dare to even breathe. At least until the prince squeezed his wrist and he inhaled sharply. 

“My apologies,” someone said—a woman, he thought. “I didn’t realise you weren’t alone, brother.”

“Aiyana,” the prince sighed and shifted away from Rel, turning to drop back into his chair. Rel tensed, eyes darting to the floor. He caught a glimpse of soft pastels and silk before closing his eyes. “It’s just you.”

“Yes, Theron,” the Imperial Princess said, stepping into the room with a soft whisper of silk. Theron. His name is Theron. Rel heard the door close and then she was moving closer. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?”

Theron chuckled and nudged Rel’s knee with his fingers. “No, you weren’t.” He nudged him again when Rel didn’t move. “Rel, get up.”

He got up, opening his eyes and keeping them averted. He really didn’t want to insult anyone, let alone a member of the Imperial Household. He was pretty sure the Praetorians and Theron were bad enough. Rel inclined his head and shuffled aside, fingers gliding over the bandage on his hand. He startled when he felt fingers brush against his—soft, feminine. The princess. 

“I hope this wasn’t your doing,” she said, deceptively soft. Rep very nearly looked up. 

“Aiyana!”

“What? I’m not blind, little brother.” He risked a glance and found her glaring at Theron. She looked like Theron, with her dark hair and dark eyes but the similarities stopped there. Her skin was pale and Rel could just make out the pointed tips of her ears through her hair. They were like his. Not exactly, but close. Half-elf, his mind supplied and he didn’t bother arguing with the assessment. “I can see your medical kit, the sterilising alcohol.” She paused here, tone going meaningful. “And the blood.”

Theron sighed deeply. "It isn't," he said, and Rel suddenly felt watched. "Rel had an accident while working in the kitchens, didn't you, sweetheart?"

Rel stiffened, wetting his lips. They both had to be watching him now because that sensation of being watched had intensified. He shifted, uncomfortable. "I...yes..." He hesitated, glancing up at Theron before letting his gaze slide away again. The prince's face was hard to read. "Cut myself...peeling potatoes..."

The Princess made a soft noise and her hand glided down to his elbow, catching it gently. He wanted to pull away but didn't dare to, not when she guided him over to the chair and sat him down. "And you didn't go to the infirmary because...?"

"Aiyana." Theron's tone was a warning. One she clearly ignored, because she tipped his chin up and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Theron," she hissed, not looking away from him. "Are you insane?"

Theron laughed. Rel glanced up, meeting the princess's eyes. She looked half-furious and half-afraid. He cringed back--or started to. She still had her fingers under his chin and he hadn't been released. Rel wasn't sure if he should move right now so he froze up, unsure.

"He's not going to hurt anyone."

She hissed, an unhappy sound, and released him, stepping back. "He's fey'ri, Theron."

Theron looked unbothered when Rel glanced his way. "Yes, he is."

"You know they're usually assassins."

Rel leaned back, hugging himself. Great. Now the Princess knew about him, too. Theron spared him a glance before he focused on his sister. She looked upset now, her lips pressed into a thin line and her forehead creased in concern. Or frustration. It was a little hard to tell.

"I'm aware." Theron leaned back in his seat, elbows on the arms and his hands hanging down. He looked utterly unconcerned, content to sit there with an assassin right next to him. Rel made a face and half-turned away from them, towards the desk. Great, now he was also in the middle of a fight between them. "He is one."

"By the gods, Theron," she breathed, eyes widening. "You are insane."

"No, I'm not." Theron turned to look at him. "Rel."

He turned back at his name, meeting Theron's gaze with wary eyes. 

"Yes, your highness?" 

Rel winced at how shaky his voice was, but he wasn't going to take it back. Theron turned and unfolded the medical kit. He picked up one of the needles and turned to hold it out for him. Rel stared at him, eyes darting down to the needle and back up. It sat on Theron's open palm, sunlight glinting off it. 

"Stab me with it."

He froze. Was he crazy? With his sister here? Rel wet his lips, gaze darting to the princess and back to Theron. He swallowed and shook an arm free. Rel picked up at needle. Was this a test? He considered them both for a long moment. It was a test. It had to be. How could Theron be so sure he couldn't actually stab the bastard? Just on principle, because he could? The princess was watching him very closely. Rel sighed and before they could register it, he moved. Pushed through the lightheadedness, shoved it down deep and went straight for Theron's throat.

"Stop," Theron said and Rel froze, the needle millimetres from the artery in Theron's neck. Rel stared at him, breathing heavily. Something in his palm--the stitches, maybe--had pulled tight and he could feel blood welling up. His head spun, vision flickering a little at the edges. He'd gotten up too fast. Theron gazed up at him calmly. He'd shoved the other man into the chair, pinning him with his uninjured palm firmly planted over his collarbone. Theron's lips twitched like he wanted to smile, like he'd known Rel wouldn't actually hurt him. "Drop it."

Rel tossed the needle aside and shoved off him. He turned and stalked away a few paces, hating that he'd actually listened to him. Bastard, he thought, inspecting his bandages--minimal bleeding--and crossed his arms. He bit his lip, waiting for his dizziness to pass, for them to say something. For the princess to do something. He'd just attacked the Crown Prince--on said prince's orders--in front of the Imperial Princess. She could have him executed for that. Nevermind that he hadn't actually harmed the man.

Aiyana swore softly. "How did you manage that?"

"Rel," the prince said softly, "came here seeking refuge. He doesn't want to hurt anyone." Rel turned his head slightly. So he'd figured him out already? Rel shouldn't be surprised. He had implied as much--and Theron had said he had impeccable instincts. He could probably tell that Rel didn't want to cause trouble. "He just wants to be left alone."

The princess made a soft noise that Rel wasn't sure he wanted to put a name to and then sighed. "I see," she said, very carefully. "Dare I ask who he's running from?"

Theron sighed. "We'd rather not say."

She hummed at that. Rel tensed. He wasn't going to tell her? Or maybe she'd come to her own conclusions? Whatever those would be. He probably wouldn't be hearing them. And he really hoped she didn't decide to ask him about it. He probably wouldn't be able to lie to her. Gods, he was ruined. All because he'd made a deal with an Imperial Prince. Fuck.

"We have an agreement," Theron told her after a long moment of silence. They had to be staring at each other again. "Rel can stay here but he listens to me and only me."

"Only you?" she asked and Rel just knew she'd raised her eyebrows at that. He scoffed, ignoring them when Theron chuckled at him and Aiyana snorted. "Really, Theron?"

"I'm sure you've...heard the rumours?"

Aiyana laughed. "The ones about you and your paramour?" she asked and there was the soft rustle of silk, the creak of a chair--she must have sat down. "Or about someone plotting a coup against us?"

"Both," Theron replied with a snort. Rel twitched and turned to watch them, keeping his distance from where they sat before Theron's desk. He reached out carefully with his magic, trying to sense if there was anyone else nearby--he had always been able to sense bad blood. Theron sent him a look. Rel shook his head--just the guards. The prince inclined his head--not that Rel thought he knew what he'd done. But he'd definitely sensed it in some form. "Though moreso the latter."

Rel watched as she cast a look over Theron's desk, then at the medical kit, the needle now on the floor across the room. As she took in the knocked over bottle. The blooded remains of Rel's outer layer behind Theron's desk. Rel glanced at the floor between them and grimaced. He had bled on Theron's floor. There were little droplets leading from the door to the desk--with some concentrated where he'd been standing when the prince had entered the room--and a tiny pool between the chairs. That was...more blood than he'd wanted to lose. Shit. No wonder his head was spinning.

They switched languages then, to something Rel couldn't understand--and hadn't learned. He scowled at them, eyes darting between the siblings. Theron was smiling, clearly enjoying their conversation. Frankly, Rel thought it was a little rude of them...but he was the outsider here. It would make sense for them to exclude him. He sighed and held himself still, watching them. He was pretty sure he even heard his name a few times. The princess was probably interrogating her brother about their supposed relationship. Or lack thereof.

Why did he feel like it was on purpose? Rel waited until they weren't looking at him to disappear, pulling invisibility over himself like a cloak. While their backs were turned, Rel slipped away, through the almost-invisible servants door and into the hidden passageways all palace servants used. He headed back to the kitchens, only emerging from the servant passages once he was clear of the Imperial Wing.

Cook lit up when he slipped back into the kitchen, sans outer jacket. It was still a bloody mess on the prince's floor. Rel bobbed his head and went back to the basket of potatoes he'd been peeling, letting the others give him little shoulder pats or snide remarks as he passed. He paused when Morath stepped in front of him. Rel stared down at the dwarf--a whole foot shorter than him--and frowned.

"That's some fancy bandage there," the dwarf said, scratching at his coppery beard. Rel tensed. Morath was Cook's second. He was highly skilled and highly sought after--with good reason. He squinted up at Rel, head tilted. "Gotta be something to worry about, hm?"

Rel snorted, relaxing slightly. There was no reason for him to be so tense, not around Cook or Morath. "I'm fine," he said, offering the dwarf a shy smile. "It's nothing."

Cook huffed. "It was not nothing," she said, turning towards them from where she'd been tending to a large pot. "You needed stitches."

"And I got them," Rel told her, sending her a wide-eyed look. "Why are you acting like I've been off doing something suspicious?"

"Probably because you have," Morath told him and Rel snorted. The dwarf huffed and turned away, stepping out of Rel's path. "Go on, get back to work."

Rel coughed to hide his laughter. "Yes, sir."

The dwarf waved a hand at him, joining Cook over by the pot. Rel watched them for a long moment before dragging his gaze off of them and returning to the basket he'd been sitting by earlier. He sighed, casting a glance over his station. The basket wasn't as full as it'd been when he left. Someone had started working through his chores for him. He looked for Phee and found her at her own basket, head bowed. Rel watched her for a moment, just taking her in--the dirty blonde hair that was falling over her shoulder, the way she glanced his way when she thought he wasn't looking. She was always watching his back for him. 

Rel softened, ducking his head, and reached for the knife he'd been using earlier. Rel adored Phee. She was like a little sister to him. And the rest of the kitchen staff were like the family he'd never really had. He'd never exactly...fit in, back home. They were too cruel, too violent. Too...unpredictable. He'd always been too soft for their liking, had preferred to stay his hand even when he probably shouldn't have. He'd spent years disappointing and was done with doing so. Hence running away.

But Cook and the others? They felt like family to him. The one he should have had. Supportive, comforting. He was sure they loved him, as much as one could love another servant working for the Imperial Family. And if not, they at least liked him. Or tolerated him--better than his parents or siblings, or anyone at the Guild had, anyway. 

They were his refuge, the people he could...maybe relax around. As much as he felt he could do so, anyway.

Safe, if one could call it that. 

So why did he feel like he wasn't safe anymore?