Chapter 3

WHILE FASTENING THEbuttons of his fitted waistcoat, Laurel analyzed himself in his full-length mirror, glancing up at the light knock on his bedroom door. Though his stomach jumped with nerves, the sight of his angelic sister gave him a familiar sense of calm.

"You look nice," she commented, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"And you're the most beautiful girl in all of Ikronia." It was a common compliment from him, but still she blushed pink.

"You're just saying that." She had the soft, rounded features of a doe, but she was no empty-headed doll. Beneath her unassuming looks was a will stronger than steel, fierce loyalty imbuing her very blood. And there was no one that loyalty flowed more strongly for than her older brother.

"Cross my heart," he answered soberly. "You're a nymph in a sea of hags."

Laughing, she shook her head. "That's incredibly mean."

"Sometimes the truth hurts." He knew that to be a fact above all else. When they left his room, he glanced around self-consciously, glad that neither of their parents seemed to be around.

Understanding, Ingrid slipped an arm around his waist, giving him a quick squeeze. "They're not home." She felt some of his tension dissipate almost as soon as the words left her mouth. "I know why you're nervous, but try to relax."

"Easy to say when you're not the one that's supposed to just sit back and let some stranger dig around in your head for fun."

"I doubt she'll be having fun," Ingrid assured him, frowning. "Think of her like a doctor. I don't think doctors are having fun when they cut people open for surgery. But it's what they get paid for."

"At least you're knocked out for surgery," he muttered, but sighed. "I know I'm an ungrateful prick for complaining at all after everything Nero's done."

"Nero just wants you to get better," she said, locking up the front door behind them as she spoke. "Just like I do. And Cedar, and Ramor, and March, and everyone else."

"I know. I'm trying."

"You're doing so well. Everyone's really proud of you."

Snorting bitterly, Laurel rolled his eyes. "Sure. Let's ask Dad and Vatra how proud they are of me when we get home."

Pursing her lips, Ingrid gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "They don't understand what you're going through. If you would just explain to them what happened-"

"No."

Because they'd gone down this road many times, and his bland response had never changed, Ingrid knew trying to convince him wouldn't make a bit of difference.

"From what Nero said, it sounds like you're just meeting her today, so you can agree to everything. You don't have to actually do anything yet."

Only because she was trying so hard to cheer him up, Laurel forced a light smile onto his face. "You're right. There's nothing to be nervous about, really."

"Exactly," she agreed, content with his response.

LAUREL ALWAYS FELTa certain fancifulness walking into the castle. Probably a side effect of reading so many romance books that took place in one, he mused, then frowned. Had that been part of Nero's appeal to him? Uneasy with the idea, he pushed it away, shifting his attention to the certain dread that lay ahead of him.

As they made their way down a hall, they passed by an open room strewn with various swatches of cloth, clusters of pearly beads, and satin ribbons fashioned into fat bows of various styles. March Cesari, the newly engaged fiancé to the Crown Prince of Ikronia, sat in the middle of the pile staring down at what appeared to be two identical pieces of silk with an expression that suggested he'd just watched someone kick a puppy.

"Are you okay, March?" Ingrid asked, leaning into the doorway a bit. He looked up at them in surprise, blinking his long eyelashes at them in obvious confusion.

"Oh, you're here already? I… I must have lost track of time," he admitted, brow furrowed with worry as he ran his hand through his glossy cap of raven hair. "Which color do you like?" He held up the two swatches. "For the table runners at the wedding. Chantilly or Snow?"

Laurel blinked, frowning. They were exactly the same. Was it because March's freaky insect eyes could comprehend more colors or something?

"You really think anybody's going to care about some tablecloth? White is white."

Looking stricken by the harsh words, March's eyes widened. "What?"

Suppressing a groan, Laurel reminded himself of the promise he'd made to be nicer to the delicate royal-to-be. Fussy as he was, he'd never really done anything to deserve the caustic treatment anyway.

"What I mean is, everyone's going to be too busy looking at you to notice the color of a tablecloth."

"Oh," March breathed out, relieved and flattered by the compliment. "Well, still. I want everything to be perfect."

"Show them to us again," Laurel suggested with a sigh.

"Chantilly, and Snow." March repeated the shade names, wiggling each cloth respectively as he did so. Glancing over to Ingrid, Laurel could see she was stumped as well.

"The, uh, left one. It's more opulent," he lied, assuming the aesthetic March would probably be going for.

Letting out a deep breath, March visibly sagged with relief. "Oh, good. I thought so, too." He tossed one of them aside, tucking the suggestion into a folder that was already bulging with notes and other swatches. He stood, giving Laurel and Ingrid a hesitant smile. "Neroki and Ash are already set up, so they're just waiting for you. Would you mind terribly if I sat in?"

Laurel gave a non-committal shrug as they fell back into step. "It doesn't really make a…" He trailed off as March's words sank in. "Did you say Ash?"

"That's the healer that's traveled here to help you," March explained, oblivious. "He's originally from Ironchill, but apparently he lives just on the outskirts of Ikronia now. I haven't gotten to talk to him much, but he seems nice. He was very polite."

Feeling his hand curl into a fist at his side, Laurel spoke slowly and deliberately, as if letting out too many words at once would break open some barrier in him to let out other, more dangerous things. "This Ash, he wouldn't have just arrived yesterday, would he?"

Blinking innocently, March nodded. "He was here yesterday, and he came back today. Why?"

"I'm not doing this." Turning on his heel, Laurel began a brisk walk in the other direction.

"Wait!" Ingrid cried, gripping his arm. "Laurel, please!" She begged, latching onto him.

"That guy is a complete psycho. He ambushed me yesterday at a café."

"What did he do to you?" Ingrid asked, horrified. March looked shocked.

Feeling immensely foolish already for the way he'd phrased it, Laurel struggled to articulate how completely obnoxious the man was.

"I was just trying to read my book, and he wouldn't leave me alone. He wanted me to show him around the city, and he tried to hold my hand." When they both stared at him incredulously, he felt his face color. "He said I look like a sunflower from his mother's garden. He's a moron."

"He said you remind him of sunflowers?" March echoed wistfully. "That's so sweet." Much to Laurel's chagrin, Ingrid nodded, looking a bit guilty.

"It isn't sweet," Laurel argued, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "It's completely asinine." Then, because his mood had been soured by the prospect of having to interact with the pushy Ash again, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Nero should consider himself lucky if you're swooning over a pathetic line like that."

"I don't know," Ingrid piped up thoughtfully. "It's a romantic compliment, isn't it?"

"It's hardly a compliment being compared to something growing out of the dirt. And it doesn't even make any sense. A person can't look like a flower."

"Well, you're tall," March pointed out, tilting his head. "And your coloring-"

"Forget it," Laurel ground out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "My point is that he's deranged."

"But he's going to help you," Ingrid said, frowning, though her voice was soothing. "I know this is a big step for you, and I'd be terrified too, but if this is what it takes for you to get better…"

"Laurel," March started, wringing his fingers together nervously. "You're the bravest person I know. Last summer, if it weren't for you, I don't know what would have happened to all of us."

The soft pleading in both their tones dug into his ears like an attack, ballooning up inside him until there was no more room for his anger, or his self-pity. Inhaling deeply, Laurel stared up at the ceiling for another few moments, as if gathering strength.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll hear him out."

HAVING BEEN ASSUREDthat his soon-to-be patient would be arriving soon, Ash crossed his ankle over his leg. The conversation between himself and the prince had gradually become less strained, less like small talk, and more like a conversation between friendly acquaintances. That was helpful. It was becoming more and more obvious to him that treating Laurel was likely to be the most gratifying case he'd ever taken on, and also the biggest thorn in his side. Both sides of the coin were equally thrilling to him.

Despite the noble genetics that had granted him his unique brand of healing magic, Ash had very little experience interacting with aristocrats. He'd grown up far, far away from anything remotely resembling upper-class and with no money at that. He'd never considered himself a noble, and never remembered that he technically was (half, anyway) until it was shoved into his face.

He was very pleasantly surprised to discover that Prince Nero was an affable fellow, and not a snobbish fop like he'd imagined. Even his pretty little fiancé had been cordial and accommodating, if a little stiff and formal.

Ash chuckled a bit at some amusing anecdote Nero was telling, gaze flicking to the doorway as the others entered. And experienced, for the second time in as many days, the dizzy sensation of his world turning upside down in a quick loop.

He'd wondered if the blonde male's beauty would dim to him once the initial shock of first sight had worn off, but found himself spellbound once again. Pleased with the sensation, it wouldn't have occurred to Ash to struggle against the red string of fate that seemed to be tying a neat little bow between himself and the wounded sorcerer. But as Laurel hung back a bit after Ingrid and March entered, watching the healer with guarded eyes, Ash could see that he was determined to struggle enough for the both of them.

Well, that was fine with him. It wasn't as if he expected such a defiant, distrusting person to succumb to his charm and fall to his feet right away or anything. And in any case, he couldn't very well begin courting someone he was being paid to treat. And though the ache of anticipation could be bitter as well as sweet, Ash had no doubt that his patience would win out against any amount of resistance that Laurel could put up to him.

He stood, giving a small, polite bow and greeting to the three of them. The young woman had the same golden hair and peachy skin as Laurel, but barring that, they couldn't have looked more different. She had a compact frame, with delicate hands that looked more suited to serving tea than the cello he'd been told she played, and beautifully at that. And while Laurel's features brought images of jealous, wrathful deities to Ash's mind, her fair face and plump, rounded body invoked thoughts of quiet cottages in flower-dotted meadows.

"I'm Ingrid," she introduced herself. When he held out his hand, thinking surely such a gentle being wouldn't mind, he was not surprised that she laid hers in it gracefully, blinking a bit shyly when he kissed her knuckles.

"Lovely to meet you, Ingrid." He turned to March. "And to meet you again, Your Highness."

"Oh." Though he looked flattered, March shook his head as he was bowed to. "I don't have a royal title until after the wedding, so my name is sufficient."

"Understood." Shifting his gaze over, Ash felt the spark of attraction snap to life in his stomach, quickening his pulse. "And lovely to see you again, Laurel. I hope it's a relief that my insistence to know you was obviously an instinct based on our tangled destinies, and not on any predatory kind of urge."

Unimpressed, Laurel barely graced him with a single withering look before moving past him to sit. "Spare me your unhinged delusions, and let's keep the discussion focused on why I'm here."

It was a fair request, Ash decided, though he couldn't quite suppress his delight at the response. There was something enchanting about the way the sorcerer was so fiercely determined to reject him, but he could also see the mistrust was rooted in some deeper pain. That pain, he guessed, was likely the reason they were here in the first place.

Everyone was quiet as they settled into chairs, eyeing each other with a bit of tension. Finally, understanding his place, and having been through quite a few of these sessions in the past, Ash spoke.

"Did Nero explain to you how my treatment works, or about the process at all?"

"Briefly, and vaguely," Laurel said, determined to make the rest of their little conference as formal and impersonal as possible. "I know that you're wanting to knock me out and dig around in my brain."

"It's not quite as barbaric as all that, but I'll admit it can be an unpleasant process for both parties."

"Both parties?" Ingrid piped up curiously. "You mean it's hard on you, too?"

Ash gave a nod. "There's a certain level of… I guess we'll call it empathy that goes along with the procedure. Think of it like this." He sat up, gesturing widely with his hands. "You have your brain, and you have your body. Imagine there's a big, thick cord running between the two, and everything you've ever done in your life, or that's been done to you, sticks to that cord. Most of it's fine. Just memories and events that help shape your personality, your perception, all that."

"For most people," he continued, "Memories and the like stick to the outside of that cord and nothing ever goes wrong. But sometimes things can cut into it, and block parts of it off. That's how I think of it when I treat patients that are stuck in comas, or have these debilitating phobias, any of that. It's like a knot. If I untangle the knot, then it clears up the cord, and they can get back to living normally again."

Unblinking, Nero watched Laurel carefully, wishing his longtime friend wouldn't keep his guard up so diligently. Knowing that even if Laurel felt hopeful about the process it was unlikely he'd ever express any optimism about it, the prince finally spoke. "Does that sound like something you'd be willing to try?"

With everyone's eyes on him, Laurel jerked his chin up. "It all sounds so breezy when he phrases it like he's simply untangling a knot from a string, but he's admitted that it would be an unpleasant process for the both of us." He turned to Ash. "Stop sugarcoating it, and tell me exactly what you'll be doing to fix me."

"I don't usually think of it as fixing anyone," Ash clarified quickly. "I've never considered any of my patients to be broken. Just stuck."

"Semantics," Laurel waved a hand impatiently. "Explain how you'll untangle the knot, as you've phrased it."

"It won't be as easy as the basic explanation makes it sound," the healer admitted. "People, especially people who are hurting, have a way of protecting themselves. Even the ones that are completely open and willing, our bodies can be territorial of those memories and secrets, resist change. If the subject has reservations about the process, or about me, it's even harder."

"You're stalling," Laurel finally realized. "Come out and say it, or I'm ending this little gathering and going home."

Ash glanced over to Nero, who had warned him this would be the part that would turn him off the most, maybe irreparably. It wasn't particularly shocking to Ash when patients were disconcerted by the idea, but it was what it was. There was no way of altering the process to make it more bearable, for either of them.

"It takes time to even reach the knots, so to speak. But once I get to them… Like I said, it's an empathy-based sort of magic. I can untangle them, pull them away from the cord so they aren't blocking the way anymore. But to do it, I have to sort of… Live through those memories. We have to," he tacked on.

"Elaborate," Laurel said calmly, but a dull roar had begun sounding in his ears, sending his heart pounding in his chest.

Ash could see the doubt, the fear, practically pumping off Laurel in waves now. And already, perhaps because he'd felt so drawn to him from the very beginning, he could feel the intensity of those emotions creeping into his own blood. But he was a master at absorbing pain, defusing it, so he didn't let it show on his face or in his movements.

"Once you're comfortable enough with me to let me put you under, I'll use my magic to put you into… It's kind of like a trance. But you'll essentially be asleep. And while you're asleep, for lack of a better term, I can go in and separate the memories that are blocking you, from your cord. But the only way I can do that is to view them, from your point of view, while you're doing it too. To put it really frankly, we're more or less living through it, the way you experienced it. When that's over, then I can pull it away from you. You won't forget, but it won't affect you anymore. You can go back to how you functioned before your cord got tangled up."

"No." Shaking his head, Laurel had to swallow down the nausea that rose in his throat at the very concept. It was impossible enough to imagine reliving the things Malory had done to him, even in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, but with another person? "No, this isn't going to work for me." He stood, the energy rolling inside him boiling hot, but his skin felt colder than ice.

"It'll work," Ash countered quietly. "I've never failed a case. Not once. If you really want to get better, you have to let me do this."

"You don't understand!" Laurel snapped. He could feel his power now, sparking in his fingers, and clenched his hands into fists to fight against it. "Making me relive the things I've been through isn't going to make me better. I won't be able to sleep, or eat. I'll go back to how I was last summer." Though the auburn-haired male had no context for the reference, he immediately understood that had been the blonde's lowest point.

"Laurel," Ingrid stood as well, moving to him. "Try to stay calm. We just want to help you."

"I know you think that," Ash said. "But it's not true. You'll face it, and when it's over, it can't hurt you anymore. I only want to help you."

"This isn't helping me!" Anger and anguish flooded through him, swamped him with emotion. "I don't want to do this! I'm not going to do this!" Heat, blinding, gnashing heat, gushed through him, overflowing. His eyes blazed with his fury, glowing dangerously.

When Nero sprang up from his seat, hoping to help Ingrid in soothing her brother, Ash stood as well.

"Stop," he ordered them calmly, satisfied when they froze, eyeing him cautiously. He raised his own hands, letting his power flow out and wrap around Laurel like a blanket, effectively extinguishing the chaotic energy bubbling out from him.

"What are you doing to me?" The sorcerer demanded, gritting his teeth, instinctively resisting the unfamiliar sensation. "I said I don't want you putting your freaky magic anywhere near me."

"I'm not invading you," Ash promised, keeping his eyes locked firmly on the blonde male's. "I'm just showing you that I can help you." Now that he'd cooled the anger, dampening it with his own magic, he drew it out like a poison, pulling it out from Laurel's hands in a thin trickle, taking it into his own, where he snuffed it out completely.

Panting, Laurel tried not to make a sound as the dread inside him melted into nothing. The rage and despair he'd felt only moments earlier seemed to pour out from inside him, leaving him feeling as delicate as a hollowed out eggshell. His brain, his nerves, his heart, everything, felt weightless, like he'd been flung into the clouds. Oh god, was this what it should feel like? He thought desperately, biting down on his lip to keep from gasping. To his horror, he could feel tears rising up in him now, tears of pure and unadulterated relief.

"I'm sorry," he bit out, voice roughened with emotions he was immensely embarrassed to feel. "I… I need a minute. Don't follow me."

When he fled, bounding out of the door without a backward look to any of them, Ingrid dropped back down into her chair, fingers fretting with her loose strands of sunny hair. A magic user herself, she had a very vague understanding of what had occurred, but it was no secret that Laurel's power levels were far out of her own league of soft, practical magic. She could see now that Ash's were as well.

"Do you think someone should…" March trailed off, eyes wide. "I mean, are we okay leaving him alone right now?"

"He'll be fine," Ash assured them, sitting as well. Again, a master at hiding his own pain and discomfort, they'd have no idea how shaken he was by Laurel's pure magnitude of power.

"What did you do to him?" Nero asked, letting himself relax, fractionally.

"I just…" Struggling, Ash sighed. "It's hard to explain in words. I just took out the bad, and replaced it with good. I don't know how else to say it."

"So he isn't hurting, then?" Ingrid asked, hopeful.

"Not hurting, no." He knew very well why the blonde had rushed out. It was, to his understanding, an unnerving feeling to have your pain sucked from you, flipped into pleasure. Particularly for someone as closed off as Laurel.

Minutes passed, with only forced conversation to break up the long stretches of silence. Ash knew about how long it would take for the strongest effects of the spell to settle, and confronting Laurel before that process was finished wouldn't be the ideal strategy.

"Neroki," March asked suddenly, a hint of wistfulness evident in his soft voice. "If you had to compare me to a flower, what flower would you say I'm like?" Smirking, Ash realized that Laurel must have mentioned the comparison he'd made between him and a sunflower.

Giving his fiancé an odd look, Nero shrugged. "I don't know. What kind of question is that?"

"I think the easy answer for you, March, would be a rose because it's beautiful and classic, right?" Ash spoke up, grin still evident. "But I think you're more like an orchid."

"An orchid?" He repeated, surprised.

"Roses are common," he explained. "And you have a very uncommon look, more suited to something exotic like an orchid. And from what I can tell, you don't seem to have any thorns." The lovely little noble's aura was thinner than silk, nearly transparent, like an iridescent bubble. Not a mean bone in his body, Ash determined, though he was sure he could sense a bit of spine hiding under all those fussy mannerisms.

"T-thank you, Ash, that's so nice," he managed to stutter out, a very endearing slash of pink rising across his cheeks and nose. Ingrid looked similarly impressed.

"Actually," Nero interjected, giving the healer a very sardonic stare, rife with warning, "The reason I hesitate to compare you to a flower is because they're all too common. Even the most exotic bloom can't compare to you. No one and nothing on the planet can come close to matching your beauty, inside and out."

Seeming unaware of Nero's irritation with Ash's observation, March sighed, visibly delighted with his future husband's assessment of him. When the prince rose, pulling March to his chest and attempting to kiss him, the pretty male turned away, letting out a somewhat unseemly squeak.

"Neroki! Not here," he protested, swatting at him as he pressed dramatically loud kisses to March's face and dark cap of hair. In Ash's opinion, March's struggles sounded very halfhearted.

Clearing his throat, Ash stood. "Would it be alright if I go talk to him? Alone," he clarified. "I think he'll agree to work with me now. Please just trust me to do my job."

When he received no objections, he followed Laurel's trail, letting his instincts do the tracking. He found him in an empty room, huddled on the floor, back pressed to a wall. When he sensed Ash enter the room, his head whipped up, eyes damp.

"I said not to come after me."

"I know, but I'm terrible at following directions. You might have noticed that already."

There was almost nothing Laurel despised more than crying in the presence of another human being. Even in the absolute depths of his misery, he could count the number of times he'd succumbed to emotion with someone else on a single hand. But these tears were different, born of an overwhelming sense of relief, and joy. It was almost worse, he thought, showing this feeling to another person.

He knew what it was like to have his magic turned against him. Malory had tried forcing a bond between them more times than he could count, greedy for that rare and precious link that would connect them so deeply that they'd gain each other's powers.

"Go away." He lowered his head back into his arms, ashamed. "I don't want you here."

Kneeling down to him so he could speak very softly, Ash tried not to reflect on how the vulnerability seemed to magnify his already impossible beauty.

"I've told you that you won't be getting rid of me that easily, didn't I? Agree to let me treat you. I know you have doubts, but it's not as if you'll be shackled to me, Laurel. You can withdraw your consent anytime. I can't see anything if you don't consent to it. But I promise you that once you start to know me, start to understand what I can do for you, you won't want me to stop."

Laurel could feel it already, knew very well that the healer's words weren't any swaggering bravado. The light inside him, light he hadn't felt in so long, continued to pulse inside him in blissful waves. But, still…

Trying again, Ash exhaled. "I know that whatever happened to you is bigger than anything I've dealt with before. So you don't truly believe that I can help you. And you're afraid to face it, and afraid for me to face it as well."

Trying not to feel bitter about being read like a book, Laurel could only nod.

"This is what I do. Just give me a chance to help you. That's all I'm asking. There are risks involved with the process, but I've been doing this a long time, and to a lot of people. You don't have anything to worry about with me."

Laurel shuddered, wanting it more than he'd wanted anything in a long time. And because the thought of Malory was so dim, so muddled and faded underneath the layers of pure pleasure Ash had left crackling inside him, a tiny flicker of hope lit.

"Fine. But don't blame me if I end up being your first failure. I can't promise you that this is going to work on me."

"Leave the promises to me," Ash suggested, wishing more than anything that he could reach out and give a reassuring stroke, a pat, anything. His fingers itched with the need, but he kept them at his side. "I think you'll find I'm very, very good at keeping them."