"In here, Georgie, in here!" A maid says, grabbing my arm and steering me towards The Prince's Quarters. 

"Keltie, w-why me?" I protest weakly, and she stares at me like I am an idiot. Then again, maybe I am. 

"Do not be daft! We all know you and the Prince have made conversation. You are, dare I say, friends?" She pipes, and I bite my lip. "We are not, but I shall go tend to him. He is the Heir, after all. God forbid anything happen to him." I say softly, and Keltie nods, guiding me into his candlelit chamber.

He is beautiful, even in slumber. 

His skin is pale, unnaturally so, and I step forward, grabbing his hand.

Fearing it is too late.

It is not, thankfully.

"Leave us." I whisper, as if in a trance, and I hear Keltie murmur something softly, and she leaves, closing the door and twisting the lock.

I automatically touch his face, stroking his cheeks and trying not to sob. 

His breathing is soft, steady, and his face is uncomplicated, gentle and tranquil in his sleep. His lashes, which are dark and thick, brush his cheeks, and his full, pillowy pink lips twitch softly. 

"Brendon." I whisper softly, settling on the bed and leaning on top of him, kissing every area of his face, his nose, his lips, his hair, everywhere. Keltie had whispered to me that he most likely grew faint from frayed nerves, and that I should attempt to gently rouse him, and then help him to bed. 

He twitches in his sleep, a small sound fluttering from his lips. 

"Brendon? Please, come back, my love." I whisper. "Please... I will do anything."

"...anything?" He croaks, and I gasp, staring down into his wide eyes, which are slightly unfocused.

"Bre-Your Highness." I correct myself, pulling away, but to my astonishment, he clutches my hands. 

"Ryan..." He croaks, his eyes full of emotion, and I lean in, despite myself.

"I..." He whispers, stroking my cheek. 

"Yes? Yes, Brendon, what is it?"

"I am cold." He says, a small, smug smile on his face, and I quickly pull away. "Oh. I see. We cannot have that.. I shall fix a fire.." I begin, but then I see his face, and scowl. "Why are you laughing?" 

"Because you are daft. Come, sit by me." He says, and I oblige. He grabs my hand, and I notice how cold his skin is, how tiny he seems, curled under soft afghans and swaddled in pillows.

"Ryan..." He whispers. "I have not been fair to you. I have shamed you. Made you feel worthless. Used you for your body, just as I have done to so many others. However.. you were different. I had feelings. I felt love. I loved you, Ryan. I still do. And so I tossed you away, out of fear and disgust for my own... preferences. And it was torture, because I would see you, every day, and I wanted. I wanted more than I had ever wanted. And I got you back, my darling, but you declined me. And I felt anger, for you said no. I am royalty, Ryan, and I am so used to everyone going out of their way to make ME happy, to suit MY needs, that I had forgotten that you still had a will. That you still had a choice. I acted out. I hurt you. But tonight, as I heard my father announcing me as the future King, as I saw all the... adoring stares, I realized. I expected you to worship me, just as everyone else did. But in reality, my darling... I worship you. Reverently. Fervently." 

I stare at Brendon, my mouth opening. "What?" I whisper softly, and he looks down, shaking his head. "I do not expect you to want to be with me. But please--just for the night, let me worship you."

And really, what can I say, except for yes?