42. The Prince

42

THE PRINCE

T he senior medic had left the back of the bed elevated, and as he lay back against the pillows with his eyes closed, his mind reeled with what he had learned in the brief moments of his waking.

He felt overwhelmed, his thoughts still fragmented and scattered and refusing to coalesce into a logical tapestry that could help him orient himself in this strange world he had found himself in.

Was it strange, though?

How would he know what was strange and what was not when he had no reference, anchor, or name?

He wanted to fall asleep again and let the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness take him away from the confusion and fear, but the female sitting beside his bed, the one with the golden eyes and the gentle touch, seemed determined to keep him awake and anchor him to the waking world with the sound of her voice and the warmth of her hand in his.

What had she been saying to him?

He had lost the thread at some point. "I am sorry, but my mind wandered off. Can you repeat what you have just said?"

She smiled. "Of course. I am sorry for talking nonstop and keeping you awake. Do you want me to let you sleep?"

He did not wish to offend her and lose the only person who seemed to care about him in this world. "No, please continue." He managed to turn his head so he could look into her bright, golden eyes. "I do not know your name."

When she said something that the translating device couldn't interpret, she tried again, and when it still refused to cooperate, she shook her head. "I'm going to turn it off for a moment." She pressed on the device.

"Jaaz-min." She patted her chest. "Jaaz-min."

When he slowly repeated the two syllables, she smiled and activated the translation device. "It's the name of a white, sweet-smelling flower. Some say that it grows in the gardens of the gods. Do you have anything like that in your world?"

Something tickled his memory. "Dull-or. It's a white flower with a pleasant smell." He was so happy to remember anything at all.

"Wonderful," Jasmine said. "I will program the teardrop to translate Jasmine to Dull-or and the other way around. Can you remember any other flowers from your world?"

"Shorga. It is a purple flower." He felt stupidly happy for remembering such an unimportant detail.

They spent the next few minutes trying to jog his memory about other things, but he became tired, and his mind became sluggish.

"I am sorry," he said in a near whisper because he did not have the energy to speak up. "I am tired."

"You are also thirsty. Your lips are dry." She reached for the cup of water beside the bed and brought the tubular thing to his lips. "I don't know how much you should drink, so take only a little."

He still remembered the medic's instructions, sucking in a little bit of liquid to wet his mouth.

When Jasmine took the tube away, he sighed. "I wish I could remember my name so I could give it to you."

She retook his hand, her touch warm and reassuring as she leaned in close. "It will take time, but you will remember. Small steps. And for now, I'll call you prince."

"Prince of what? No one's answered that question for me yet."

"Prince means that you are the son of a queen or a king. I was told just a little bit about why you were sent here, and I'm not even clear on all the details, so I don't want to give you the wrong information. Besides, I think that it's better if you remember it yourself." She gave him a small smile. "That way, you will know it is true, right? I could tell you all kinds of pretty lies and you won't know because you don't remember anything. I could also tell you the truth, but you won't believe me."

She was confusing him, but since he was enjoying just looking at her smiling face and hearing her voice, he didn't say anything and let her talk.

"You can also decide what being a prince means to you and adopt it. You don't have to be limited by what others expect from you. In stories, a prince is the leader of his people, a brave warrior of great honor and courage."

Was that who he was?

Somehow, the description did not fit. He was not a warrior; or was he?

A memory flashed through his mind of training with a sword; his partner was his sister, clad from head to toe in fabrics that concealed even her face. She was fast on her feet, and he'd had trouble keeping up, but there had been joy in their dance.

He tried to cling to the memory, but it disintegrated into smoky fragments, dissipating completely.

"Tell me what you know about me," he commanded.

"I don't want to give you the wrong information. Those who know more about you and can give you better answers have been notified that you are awake, and they will arrive within an hour or two."

He tensed. "Who are they?"

"Don't worry." She squeezed his hand. "No one means you or your sister harm. You are in good hands."

"Can you at least give me their names and titles, so I know how to address them?"

"Kian is the leader of this community. He doesn't have a title or a last name, so you just need to call him Kian. He's a little grumpy, but he is a very good guy. I owe him my life."

He frowned. "How so?"

Jasmine shrugged. "It's a long story that you will not understand without context that you don't have, but I'll try to make it simple. I got involved with some bad people who had nefarious intentions for me. One of Kian's people got pulled into my mess by mistake, so he sent a rescue team. They got us both out."

The prince put his other hand over his heart. "Then I owe Kian a life debt for saving you."

Her eyes widened. "No, you don't, but thank you for offering. I have repaid the debt by myself."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "How?"

Jasmine laughed. "Not the way you think. Kian is happily mated."

He had no idea why that was relevant and what she imagined he had thought.

"I do not understand what Kian's mate has to do with your life debt to him. Did you save her life?"

Jasmine opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "Talk about cultural differences. We have a lot to learn about each other."

"I still do not understand." He was too exhausted to guess what she could have meant by her odd comment. His eyelids felt heavy. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his words slurring together as he fought to keep his eyes open. "I'm too tired to think."

Jasmine's smile was soft and understanding. "It's okay. Your body and mind need time and rest to heal."

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he drifted off into the welcoming embrace of sleep.