Chapter 4

RETURNING HOME FROMa long, familiarly grueling rehearsal after they'd finished their business at the castle, Ingrid creaked open Laurel's bedroom door, hoping to find him still awake. Though the lights were dimmed to resemble what she imagined a dungeon's atmosphere might look like, she could see that his body was still and relaxed, wrapped in layers of blankets. When he shifted his head a little to face her, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her and taking a seat next to him on the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," he admitted. The elation he'd been left with after Ash's little magic trick had lasted awhile after they'd returned home, eventually fading into a soft glow of contentment. Now, so many hours later, he only wanted to sleep, to shut his mind off. But the doubt was creeping in again, skittering over him like spiders.

What had he agreed to, exactly? His optimism had felt warranted in the moment, in the face of Ash's unceasing reassurance, but… Had any of the emotions inside him been real? Or had he been suffering a rose-tinted hallucination, courtesy of the magic equivalent of mood-enhancing drugs?

"You should try and get some sleep," she suggested, laying a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

"How did rehearsal go?"

"Great. Everyone's sounding amazing, and these songs are really special. I can't wait for you to hear them."

"The concert can't come soon enough," he said, twisting his body around to face her more directly. "I miss hearing you play."

"I'll play something for you tomorrow," she promised, smiling. In truth, there was no one she liked playing for more than Laurel. He'd supported her from the beginning, often sitting with her for hours of practice, politely applauding even the screechiest, off key notes while she'd learned.

"I talked with Willa yesterday," he remembered. "She asked me about making more pieces for her to sell in her gallery."

Understanding the double-edged sword, Ingrid considered her answer carefully before proceeding. "And she was understanding that you need more time?"

"She was." Still, replaying the conversation in his mind put an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. "I feel like I've made so much progress, but when it comes to this, it's like I'm still exactly where I started."

"Don't get discouraged," she chided him. "You know how far you've come. Just because some things are taking longer than others doesn't mean you aren't doing everything you can."

"It's just…" He let out a sound of frustration, yanking a pillow to his chest, wrapping his arms around it tightly. "It's disheartening. Magic is the only thing I've ever been good at. You know that."

"No," she countered firmly, frowning at him. "That's complete nonsense and you know it." When he didn't answer, she sighed. "Even if that was true, which it most certainly isn't, that's what Ash is here for, right?"

Laurel scoffed, bringing the pillow up a bit to cover his face. "Ash." Just the sound of the healer's name had a peculiar twinge twisting in his stomach. In automatic defense to it, he rolled his eyes. "What does he know about what I need?"

"You must have thought he knew something about what you need," Ingrid insisted. "You haven't changed your mind about letting him work on you, have you?" She asked, a little distressed.

"No. Not yet, anyway."

"Just give him a fair chance, Laurel," she begged. "All I want is for you to get better."

The soft pleading in her words now, and in the earlier part of the day, along with March's hesitant admiration of his supposed bravery both soothed and mocked him. The guilt-tinged determination in Nero's eyes affected him similarly. If not for their expectations of him, would he have agreed to go through what he now understood would be a painfully intimate, humiliating process with a relative stranger? Could he even force himself to go through with it, even for them?

"I am," he promised her, hoping it was true. Half of him was doubtful that he could endure it. But another part of him, a coldly logical part, reasoned that he'd endured so much already. Unspeakable degradations that would sometimes wake him in the night, gasping, muscles clenched in preservation as he slowly accepted the reality around him. He had lived through those already. It couldn't be worse the second time, could it?

Eventually, another knock sounded at his door. Because the only person he wanted to see was already sitting next to him, Laurel's stomach tightened a bit as it opened.

"Are you in here, Ingrid?" Minael's voice was soft, still gently laced with the musical, lilting accent of his faraway home nation, though he'd moved to the kingdom of Ikronia nearly 25 years earlier for his arranged marriage to Helio von Isildor.

"Yes, Dad. I just wanted to talk to Laurel before I go to sleep."

He had a small frame and smooth skin, appearing many years younger than his true age, a typical advantage of noble genetics. And as was custom for most nobles, he took full advantage of the variance of cosmetic procedures afforded to him. As a result, his hair was the same sunny blonde it had been his whole life, the same as Laurel and Ingrid's now.

"Always an excuse to avoid sleeping, just as when you were a child. Go to bed and talk to Laurel tomorrow."

When Ingrid looked at him apologetically, Laurel jerked his chin toward the door. Frowning, she gave him a final pat before scurrying out of the door.

With no buffer between them, Minael and Laurel regarded each other with slight tension. But he did love his son, though his behavior had been beyond puzzling for a few years now. He'd tried, initially, to understand the reason for the erratic change in behavior, but had been systematically pushed away.

Though he expected very little in terms of conversation, Minael sat in the chair Ingrid had left empty. "You went to the castle to see Prince Nero today, no?"

"Not to see Nero," Laurel corrected him. "But I went to the castle."

"To see whom, then?"

The fact that he wanted to be honest about it unnerved him somewhat, and he wondered if it was a side effect of Ash's spell. But it had been so long since he'd been open with his father that the words stuck like glue in his mouth. "I was meeting with someone."

"A date?" Minael asked. To his credit, the disapproval in his voice only bled through a little bit.

Annoyed already, and regretting that he'd said anything at all, Laurel glared up at the ceiling. "No, not a date. You should be pleased to know that I'm likely going to die alone with only a house of cats to mourn me."

Pursing his lips, Minael gave his son an exasperated look. "The most ridiculous thing I've heard come from your mouth, and that is a high bar to meet."

"Whatever."

"Laurel." Though he had a voice that often flowed under the radar of louder, more opinionated men, he could snap authority into it when he needed it. In reaction, Laurel's spine stiffened, and he had to resist pulling the blanket over his head like a petulant child. "This doctor you go to… To talk," he finished, brow furrowing. "What do you talk to her about?" The question was rife with hurt accusation.

"You've never asked me about that before," Laurel realized, unsure how to feel. "I thought you didn't want to hear about it."

"I don't understand why you need to talk to a stranger about your problems. It makes your vatra and I look like bad parents."

"Why do you have to make it about you? I told you it has nothing to do with you."

"Then why do you need her?"

"Because I can't talk to you!" He snapped out, at his limit already. Springing up to a sitting position, he smacked his hand down onto the mattress in frustration. "You don't listen to me! Anytime I have a problem, you just assume I'm doing something wrong. I know I'm a screw up, okay? I don't need you throwing it in my face all the time."

"Laurel, I don't feel that way. If you want to talk to me-"

"Yes, you do, and Vatra does, too. He's all but told me that to my face, and you know it." Finally giving into his childish urge, he flung himself back into a laying position, snatching the covers over himself. "I don't want to talk. I just want to sleep."

He laid awake long after he heard his bedroom door quietly click closed.

LAUREL ARRIVED EARLY, hoping to give himself a few moments to mentally prepare for his first session with Ash, but the healer was already there, sitting at the table they'd spoken at the week previous. He nearly ducked into a bathroom, but of course the man's verdant eyes flickered up to his the moment he was in view. So he settled for deep breathing exercises while he waited in line to order his tea.

He'd obsessed over what he should say all morning, and had come up with nothing suitable. Nearly a week had passed, and there had been nothing inherently sexual about their encounter, but after a fair amount of introspection, he was forced to admit Ash had given him the mental equivalent of an intense orgasm. And not even a quiet, dignified one in the privacy of his bedroom. A very public, embarrassing one he cringed to remember.

And he hadn't even gloated, Laurel remembered, frowning. At least if the bastard had the decency to be smug or smirk or something, then it would have been fair to hate him for it. But he'd only stared, with his guileless green eyes, murmuring soft promises. It was infuriating.

So when he sat, fingers clenching on his delicate china cup of light tea, he hadn't made any progress on the quest for an appropriate greeting. He supposed good morning would be the most neutral, the most safe. But before he had a chance to open with it, Ash jumped ahead and solved his problem for him.

"I missed you."

Laurel's pulse seemed to skip, fingers jerking on his cup to send it rattling in its fancy little saucer. "How can you say something like that with a straight face?"

"Because it's true. It's important that we're honest with each other, if we're really going to do this."

"Believe me, you don't really want my full honesty." Laurel said, deeply satisfied when he could lift his drink to his mouth without trembling.

"Of course I do. That's the only way we can really get to know each other," Ash countered, but he'd already begun smiling at Laurel's implied nastiness. Confused and irked, the blonde huffed out a breath.

"Are you an emotional masochist or something?" He demanded, feeling his eyes narrow when Ash rested his chin on his hand, tilting his face a bit.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you keep giving me these soppy, lovesick looks whenever I remind you what a lunatic you are."

"I just find it cute that you think you can push me away by insulting me. I know I don't look it, but I'm made of tougher stuff than that."

Because the healer had pointed out his own unassuming looks, Laurel was forced to consider them once again. His initial observations held true. Ash had an attractive face, but his features weren't special or uncommon. He had an honest, earnest sort of look, with eyes that sparkled with optimism, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy about his appearance.

He didn't cut an intimidating figure whatsoever, despite that his body was sculpted with the kind of firm muscles that didn't come free with a lucky set of genetics. Only with years of consistent use. But what kind of daily exercise was someone like him getting? He definitely didn't seem the type to obsess over fitness.

"Can I help you with something?" Ash finally asked. When Laurel realized he'd been staring, lost in his own musings, he scowled, casting his eyes upward.

"Just waiting for you to get on with it."

"You know, if you want to skip all this, you could just tell me what happened to you. I mean, we'd still need to spend a little more time together before taking the big dive, but at least that part would be over."

"I'm not doing that." Laurel's voice was flat. "I already told you I'm not sure if I'll be willing to go through with it at all, even after we do all your idiotic little bonding sessions. If you can't accept that, then you should just admit to Nero that you aren't up to the job of treating me."

"Relax," Ash answered gently. "I'm not trying to rush you. I don't mind if we take our time. It's just you look so nervous, I wondered if it might be like ripping off a bandage."

I'm not trying to rush you. I don't mind if we take our time. The words were all too familiar to Laurel, but the tone, the sincerity, was new. Despite his best efforts, the words touched him enough that he found himself willing to share the barest sliver of his trauma. Enough, at least, to let the healer understand that he wasn't being deliberately difficult. Mostly.

"Just so you understand, for me it won't be like ripping off a bandage. It'll be like ripping open my ribcage and spilling my bloody guts out all over you."

The words hung in the air for a moment, hovering over them like storm clouds. Ash could see emotions flickering in the amber eyes across from him, one of which was anticipation.

"It's okay," he said, serious now. "We have plenty of time to work up to that, so you shouldn't worry about it now. You might try thinking of me as a friend, instead of an obstacle."

"Is that what you think of me as? A friend?" Laurel asked doubtfully, raising an eyebrow, though he was grateful for the grace in the man's answer to him.

"Friend isn't the word that comes to mind when I think of you," Ash admitted, grinning. "However, I'm certain we will become friends, with time."

"What is the word that comes to mind when you think of me, then?" Laurel asked, somewhat suspiciously.

"Would you like a noun or an adjective?" Ash asked, hopelessly enchanted when Laurel only glared. "When I think of you, I think of fairy kings with wings as fine as shimmering gossamer and powerful magic coursing through their veins. Fallen angels, with faces so beautiful that mortals would weep at their exquisiteness. Tritons so splendid that the gods would sit in heaven, watching them bathe in the ocean and sleep in the sun, and they would ache with yearning."

Perhaps more flabbergasted than he'd ever been in his life, Laurel found himself speechless for several moments. Then, when he tried to speak, his mouth and throat were brutally dry.

"I know I've made myself clear on this, but it bears repeating that you are deranged. You don't even know me."

"I've known you since before we were born," Ash said, as always more amused than offended at the insulting labels. "But I can see you don't believe in fate, so I don't care to convince you what I know, which is that you, Laurel von Isildor, are meant for me. And I'm meant for you."

"The only thing you're meant for is a psych ward."

"It surprised me too," Ash admitted, rubbing his chin. "Only because you're so attractive, and so… Pedigreed," he decided on the word. "I feel a bit like a mutt in the presence of a purebred, if you get my meaning. I never imagined I'd end up with someone like you, so I'm feeling very grateful to the gods of fortune."

Starting to wonder if he was the victim of some elaborate prank orchestrated by Nero, Laurel could only blink. "How can you possibly expect me to sit across this table from you and try to be your friend when you've more or less confessed your love to me, a complete stranger."

"I haven't," Ash countered quickly, shaking his head. "I don't love you. Not yet," he specified. "Knowing the destination isn't the same as having taken the journey, you know. I'm just very aware of the massive impact your presence will have in my life, and mine in yours. I'm perfectly fine with the fact that you won't, or can't, accept that yet. Although," he tacked on, taking the opportunity to barrel on while Laurel continued staring at him in absolute bewilderment. "I will say I find it pretty funny that someone who can enjoy a book like Love's Tender Fury would resist against the idea of tangled destinies."

"Just because I enjoy reading about characters falling in love doesn't mean I've deluded myself into thinking I'm going to have some epic fairytale love story," Laurel replied stiffly, glowering down into his teacup. "And you don't know a thing about the book, so just shut up about it."

"But I do." Ash corrected him. "The bookstores in this city have a wonderful selection of romance. I would assume you already knew that," he added, charmed at the way Laurel's eyes snapped to his at the words, his gorgeous face going pink at the implication. "I bought a copy, and I read it."

Lowering his forehead to rest in his palm, the sorcerer resisted a groan. "Now you're stalking me by way of preferred books?"

Ignoring the accusation, Ash tapped a finger onto his lips. "I was curious about what you like. I can admit I found it entertaining, though there was nothing particularly surprising about the ending. Of course Vedrik wouldn't be able to resist someone like Alexi. There's nothing more exciting than being challenged, you know."

"Now I understand," Laurel spoke with as much conviction as he could muster, though he had to wipe his damp palms on his legs as he spoke. "When I'm telling you that you are absolutely delusional, you think this is some sort of challenge. Like I'm playing coy for you. Is that it?"

"I don't think you're playing coy. But your refusal to accept the facts as they are is a challenge to me, yes."

"So, theoretically, if I were to swoon into your arms now, and agree to whatever your absurd goal for us is, would you consider that as a challenge success, and drop this insanity?"

He was an absolute pleasure, Ash thought, feeling his smile spread more widely across his face. It's true he was grateful to have been blessed with such a dazzling treasure of a beauty, but even more, Laurel's desperate denial of what was so obviously between them thrilled him beyond measure. He supposed his karma must have been boosted significantly by treating so many victims and sufferers of illness.

"Of course not," he answered, shaking his head. "I can't begin courting you until we're through with the treatment. If you're wanting to swoon into my arms, I hope you'll wait until then, otherwise you'd be subjecting me to a very painful dilemma."

Despite everything, the words had Laurel's skin going cold. In an oddly flat sort of voice that did very little to mask the sudden pain he felt, he spoke. "So even in your little fantasy world, I'm too screwed up for you to consider being with until I'm all better."

"No," Ash denied quickly, raising his palms defensively. "That's not it at all. I'd take you as you are, Laurel, in a heartbeat. You're more beautiful and intelligent and delightful than anyone I could have imagined for myself. But I'm being paid to treat you, and I take my job seriously. I'd never betray Nero's trust by pursuing something with you while under contract with him."

Though from his mind he brought forth very strict orders to keep his expression and body language very aloof, there was nothing Laurel could do to stop the unbearable whirling of his stomach and head. His heart beat such a mad rhythm inside, it was as if it wanted to be out of his chest and in Ash's hands instead. He recognized the sensation, and despised it. Before he could come up with a reply biting enough to express his disdain, Ash piped up again.

"I'll apologize for derailing our first session. My intent for today was for us to talk about your hobbies and friends, maybe your family. But I was clumsy with my words, and I can see I've overloaded you."

Clumsy with his words, Laurel thought incredulously. Even as he loathed the unsteady pulse inside him, in the privacy of his mind he couldn't deny the fact that the healer's monologue about glittering fairy kings and angels of immeasurable beauty was the most eloquent and romantic thing he'd ever been forced to listen to.

"It seems every time I've convinced myself that your insanity has reached its peak, you shock me by going one step more."

"And we're only just getting started," Ash reminded him, the corner of his mouth twitching at the sorcerer's wry look. "But I don't think we'll get anywhere else today. You're agitated. I can feel it in your aura."

Unwilling to admit anything, Laurel only jerked his chin up. "I suppose that's the normal reaction when one is forced into such an agitating conversation."

"I'll try as hard as I can to keep my more agitating opinions to myself during our next meeting," he promised. "And you'll have the floor."

"Great," the blonde said caustically. "I can't wait to be gawked at like a zoo exhibit."

"We can switch off, if you'd like," Ash offered. "If you find it more bearable that way, I'd be happy to alternate questions and answers."

"Meaning I'd answer one of your questions, and then you'd have to answer one of mine."

"Exactly."

"What if I don't care to know anything about you? How would your suggestion tempt me then?" Laurel asked. Tilting his head, Ash only stared, blinking innocently. Feeling more hot and more flustered than he would ever admit, Laurel growled. "Whatever. Do it however you want. It doesn't matter to me."

In the end, they planned to meet again, in the same place, the next day. Not because he was eager to see the auburn-haired man again so soon, Laurel assured himself haughtily. Only because he was wanting to progress in his health, and get back to his old life. There was nothing embarrassing about that. And if it happened to only be possible by enduring the ramblings of an insane man who imagined some inevitable destiny between them, then so be it.