DAY 42-2: PATIENCE

The word prince echoes in Leda's mind even as she leads Avel up the slopes towards Mavix's lodge. He's riding on the broomstick he's conjured, perched and floating. But she can't see it no matter how hard she tries.

She ventures past the crystallized coniferous trees, combing through the bushes. She ensures her footsteps are short and even as to not slip from the ice beneath them.

Did she really (kind of) kick a royal prince in the face? One that (kind of) proposed to her, a stranger—however that's supposed to work?

Is it possible for someone to be a prince and doctor at the same time? And how can he be strolling through the city with no means of disguise or bombardment. There's a ton of questions swirling through Leda's mind. But, she has encountered half-humans, death reapers, and a necromancer in the past. For this all to be as true and perfect as it feels isn't necessarily impossible.

"Leda."

She turns to find he has hopped off from his broom. At a much closer proximity than earlier, he extends a bouquet of red flowers for her to receive. They're identical to red carnations—possessing the meaning of love.

Leda meets his eyes.

He's alight with nothing but puppy-like content. Just like Mavix, she can't tell if he's being honest or fooling around. It rubs her the wrong way.

Leda swallows hard, eyeing the bouquet. They end up awkwardly wedged in her arms, alongside other groceries she'd bought with the change Mavix left behind for them.

Still... Leda's lips curve into a ghost of a smile. Is this guy really a prince? He's too much of a lovesick idiot.

A chivalrous playboy prince in a fantasy world? She's not sure what she should think—feel.

"Thank you," she says, anyway. Well even if he is a little fishy, she doesn't have much of a choice right now. She doesn't have the leisure of being nitpicky. They need to secure a cure for Ro and the rest of his people as quickly as they can. Then get this bizarre prince to agree to Rhett's terms.

Leda departed on this journey thinking it'd be easy. But her and Orian only have around forty days left. Forty days from fifty-two. They needed to work a lot more swiftly. She had to be of more help; for Orian and everyone in Edaps counting on her.

She's run away her entire upbringing. Any slightest inconvenience, she tucked her tail between her legs and avoided hardship like the plague.

But that's not an option now. She needs to discard the word from from her vocabulary; blaze it in an inferno with no hopes of resurfacing. Because, if she runs away now—from this—there's no way she'll be able to forgive herself.

♥♦♣♠

   Orian is napping when they arrive. Leda feels a tad wary letting Avel stroll his way indoors, gawping at the tiny household like a kid on a field trip, but she pays him no mind.

She approaches Orian currently reclined in a chair. His breathing is faint, and his unnerving mask is back on his face. He seems to always be wearing it when he does, as if he can't rest without it.

Leda jostles his arm to wake him up, and he reacts with a start. He instinctively jerks his injured arm to which ends up in him hissing hysterically and ducking over.

"Orian," Leda cries, crouching to his aid at once. "I didn't mean to—"

"A wrist issue? Potential sprain?"

Her heart rocks in her chest. Avel has unknowingly taken a spot next to her, crouched with his hand at his chin.

He extends his arm. "Allow me to see."

He takes Orian's hand at that. Orian is quick to react, his mouth curling in caution, but it only takes a pinch of his wrist to shut him right up. He hunches over in even more pain. Avel hums.

"There's bruising and swelling. A sprain in your ligament." He reaches into his briefcase and surfaces bandages and a splint. It flutters out of his fingers and wraps around Orian's hand in a speed faster than Leda can follow. "You need to rest it properly for the next couple days. Elevate it at your chest. Also, ice it for thirty minutes every three to four hours. It should get better on its own by next week and you'll be able to move it again."

Stunned, Leda stares openmouthed as Avel studies Orian's fingertips. Orian is also bug-eyed over the magic that has just occurred.

"You also have traces of frostnip," Avel goes on. "But like the lovely lady it isn't too terrible."

Leda tenses, her hands flying to her ears. She hadn't told him about herself.

But Avel doesn't pay her shock any mind. "You've kept bundled and warm so it's subsiding quite well," he says. "It's almost gone, so it's not too dire of a concern."

He tilts his head, letting his hands fall from Orian's. He's working fast, raking him over with his eyes, calculating every problem with ease.

"Now, as for anything else..." His gaze shifts, and he's reaching for his ears. His face softens goofily. "Ah, they truly are real. So fluffy, too. Like a cloud..."

Orian gains a warm blush against his brown skin, unable to retreat from the strange man as he fondles his ears.

Leda is unsure whether to be amused or not. Everyone they've encountered are always sure to treat Orian like some exotic fruit, rested on a forbidden tree. Is it that rare to see someone from Dia?

"But even with your cloud ears I'm not losing Leda to you."

"Losing?" Orian repeats as Avel unhands him.

"In winning her heart," he responds, smiling crookedly. "For my coming here, Leda has promised to be my bride."

"Did not!"

Orian's head whips his head towards her. "Y-you would go so far for Master Ro?" She spots his green eyes gloss over from beneath his mask. "Master, you're so selfless..."

"Orian, don't believe him!" Leda hisses as Avel chuckles. She resists the urge to knock him upside the head. It's impossible to disregard the nervousness that has slipped into her pulse. "Ignore him. He's psychotic—a quack—through and through!"

By the way Orian's mouth falls, he's riddled with slight relief. Relief for what? She doesn't have the leisure to pry because Avel is back up on his feet. His gaze settles on the furthest room in the lodge.

"He's in there, isn't he?" he says it in a manner that tells her he already knows the answer. "If he's to die, take me to him at once."

Leda fights the hitch in her throat and does as told. She guides him towards the back and Orian painfully follows. Her fingers waver over the handle long enough for Orian to kindly take lead and open the door in her stead.

Avel enters before the two of them can. When his attention lands upon the body lying in the red soaked sheets, every speck of his nonchalance vanishes.

Leda instantly veers her gaze from the sight, her stomach lurching again.

He asks Leda and Orian to step outside. Although she wants to resist, Orian submits and grips her by the shoulder to usher her out. After what happened the last time she stayed in here is enough reason to keep her away.

They leave Avel in there alone but keep the door open a crack. It allows them to bear witness to countless screams and groans Ro emits the more thorough Avel's examination becomes.

After ten agonizing minutes, and the yelling has stopped, tears have already left Leda's eyelids.

Avel exits the room, gingerly shutting the door behind him. His back is hunched, but he's not hopeless or despairing like Leda anticipated. Not like Mavix.

Calm, collected, detached. As if he's used to it.

Used to the impossible.

A flourish of undeniable relief washes over Leda, rolling like rivulets through her nerves. Her knees threaten to buckle but she hangs on for the life in her. She forces back the lump that has wedged itself in her throat.

"So?" she demands, ignoring the squeak of her voice. "What did you find?"

Removing the stethoscope from his ears, Avel once again brings his lips together. He folds his arms behind his back. Then hums.

"Just that—"

"That?" Leda echos, giddily sparing Orian a look. "That," she prods on.

"This guy is going to die." The shrug that follows is like a punch to the gut. Hard enough to send her gasping for air. "Tomorrow, most likely."

"H-huh?"

"Three days at most," he rambles on, gathering his belongings. "You might as well say goodbye now, and maybe even marry me—"

She snags him by the collar before she realizes it. "Hold on just a minute!"

"Master," Orian interjects, but her mind is no longer on its regular tracks.

"Did you just say he's going to die?" Leda presses. So easily like he did?

Though, deep down, she's praying for this to be one terrible nightmare, Avel doesn't succumb under her hold. With a one-shouldered shrug, he chirps, "Yup."

"What kind of doctor are you?" she exclaims, her grip tight enough to choke him. "Why are you giving up so easily? We came here because the Straeh Kingdom excels in magic! Isn't there a way to cure this?"

"Nope."

"Orian, hold me back. I'm going to shove my fist so far down this bastard's throat it'll come straight out of his ass—"

Avel breaks out into a fit of laughter. "You speak a little funny, Leda. You should definitely marry me."

"I asked for a real doctor!"

"And I am one. The best in Straeh, anyway. And no matter who you go to, they can't treat this either."

"Who made you the one to decide that?"

"Listen, it's a miracle in itself that he's still alive. Barely, but still." He shuts his eyes, as if grimly recalling the state of Ro's body. "Considering the scale of his sickness and the damage it caused, he should've been dead months ago. Not only his skin and flesh, but most of his internal organs have been eaten away at as well. He's lost a tremendous amount of blood, some of his organs have begun to fail on him, and I don't even want to get started on how many fractures and broken bones he has in his system. Not to mention the high risk inflammation and frostbite that's penetrated every inch of his body."

Hearing the words come out of his mouth punctures Leda's heart like a knife.

"I may be a wizard doctor," he goes on, not the tiniest amount of nonchalance in his features, "but I can't cure this. A sickness I've never seen or even heard the likes of, much less before tomorrow. It's a too little time frame for me, even if I regard myself a genius." The corner of his lip tilts up, wryly. "Don't you see, my lady? There's no other choice but to give up on him. And marry me—"

"Give up?" Leda grounds her teeth. Even if she knows deep down he's telling the truth, she can't breathe. It hurts. Scowling through the hot tears threatening to fall from her eyelids, she spits, "Do you even know who this is?"

"Master Leda—"

But Orian doesn't have to interject for her to know not to say it. Not in front of a Heart. Let alone a prince.

She gnaws at her lower lip until she can taste blood. If Avel discovered he was a Spade he'd probably send guards to kill him. Everything would be over. Everything is over, isn't it? But can it be this easy? The entire population of Edaps is counting on them. And Ro, a Spade, a mortal enemy of these people, even agreed that the only ones who can help them are these Hearts.

And yet here a quack is, telling her that it's impossible. Even though he works countless magic beneath his fingertips. Even though everyone else in this kingdom uses it like breathing. And despite being able to order all of his people to partake in this cure-search considering he's the prince...

"Leda," Avel says, as if seeing her begin to crack. His hands takes hers, mint eyes sincere. "Forget about this dead man and come with me. Marry me. I'll make you a whole lot happier."

She recoils before she can help herself, yanking her arm back. She hardly cares that her tears have ended up soiling her cheeks. "I'm not going to— Who the hell do you think you are?"

He's too easygoing. He has to be lying. He has to be. Accepting death like it's a dish. This guy is trying to gloss over everything for his delusions. The reason he was strolling through the marketplace, how he ended up being a quack when she needed one most...

Even Mavix, though she owes him dearly, shared this flippancy she absolutely detested.

The Hearts were liars.

They had to be.

Though her mind screams it, Avel doesn't carry an inch of fraudulence as he bows. "Avel Hestia, certified quack and royal prince—"

"You already told me that!" Leda's voice shakes. "You're lying. You have to be. There's no way someone like you can..."

Orian is wide-eyed all the same. "Prince?"

Avel proudly gloats. "Of the Straeh Kingdom. Avel Hestia."

"Hestia?" Orian recognizes it. "But that's the Queen's surname. What happened to the Saga's lineage?"

Avel adjusts his priest cap. Everyone in Straeh seems to have a particular headwear. "That passed when the king did."

"The king..."

"I'm the one that's going to take over for him," he says, smiling as he leans against the island in the kitchen. "I'm a very important man. Who needs his princess..."

He winks at Leda as he says this but she can only veer her gaze.

Orian's jaw plummets. "King Saga is dead?"

"Since last month," Avel dismisses.

He combs through the nearest vase and approaches Leda, offering her more flowers she can't name for the life in her. She merely scoffs. He deflates, frowning heavily in disappointment.

"But—but there's been no news." Orian fumbles for words as he slips his mask off, revealing nothing but pure fright. "There's no way he'd passed more than a month ago and nobody to hear of it..."

"Death sneaks up on everyone." Avel shrugs, twirling to face him with a hand propped on his hip. "Besides, we're waiting until I'm of proper age to disclose this information past Straeh borders. If the Spades are to learn that we've weakened before I can officially receive the Divine Right, those barbarians will come at us, demanding war."

The way he spits the word 'Spades' is similar to the way Ro spoke of the word 'Hearts.'

"How did he pass? In the trenches down south?"

"You wish it was that heroic," Avel sneers. "The Queen had him beheaded for treason."

"Treason?" Orian gapes. "King Saga?"

"He was a loyal man," Avel agrees, smile tight. "Strict, but kind. But he chose his pride over his Queen. Nobody crosses the Queen. Nobody. And since he did, he was a dead man."

Silence hangs in the air.

Avel properly ascends to his feet. "Anyway, I should get going. I have things I must attend to—"

Leda seizes him by the collar, planting her feet firmly on the ground. She glares into his eyes. "Wait."

His features soften for a brief moment. "Leda. I know it's unfair, but like I've already told you—"

"Fairies."

Avel and Orian are at a loss of words. The thoughts tossing and turning in Leda's mind are crazy, and she knows it, but it's the one thing she has left.

"I've been told that fairies shed their skin and flesh once a year to emerge as stronger creatures. If fairies can do that, isn't there the chance the people of Annadia can?"

She watches as Avel's thick purple eyebrows rise to the moon. Orian emits a gasp as if she's hit uncharted terrain.

"Ro's skin and flesh is affected," she goes on, clenching his silk fabric even tighter and forcing him to concede a step. "If it's only eating away at his skin and flesh... If he can somehow shed that disease and emerge as a stronger and healthier version of himself..."

Orian speaks his mind first. "Master Leda, that's impossible."

Her heart sinks in her chest. She understands Ro's not a butterfly or snake. There's no chance...

Avel's next words flip that entire belief on its head. "It's impossible, yes, but definitely an idea."

She jerks her head upwards. Avel's eyes have gained a glimmer as he places a finger to his chin.

"Fairies have bestowed us many blessing, especially the Land of Straeh. The Embres fairies have granted Hearts immense magic the rest of Annadia can only wish to hold. They share remnants of their shedding to fuel our economy and our magical inventions. If I can study the data of their shedding and somehow form an antidote..."

Leda can't help the swell of hope his next smile floods her with.

"Your theory is genius, Leda. I will look into it straightaway."

"Can it be done by tomorrow?" she asks him as she loosens her grip around his collar.

"That, I'm not sure," he confesses. She tenses but his palm falls onto her head. He bends to properly meet her eyes. "It will be a race against time, but I have the use of magic beneath my fingertips. And quite a fast-tracked mind to work with it. I'll return to the palace and do the best I can."

Leda's lips spread back, about to voice another question, but he reels away.

"All for a price, of course."

Her voice lodges in her throat.

"A price?" Orian inquires.

As Avel steps away, he leans his torso forward, hand outstretched to scoop up hers.

"I wish to receive your heart." His offer shouldn't have been so surprising, but it leaves Leda shellshocked anyway. "It all depends on whether or not you decide to take my hand in marriage."

"Why—why me?" she sputters.

"You are a gem that has graced Straeh." He smiles charmingly, like the prince he is. "I can't place it, but there is something different about you. Different than any other girl I've met, or any of the candidates assigned to become the next Queen of Hearts. Something that's telling me to give myself to you."

"Master Leda is being proposed to by a prince..."

Orian's disbelief mirrors Leda's.

"But you're a prince," she stammers. Great going, her mind reprimands. "And I'm just—I'm not even from Straeh." Or anywhere in Annadia for that matter.

"Are you from Edaps?" he asks.

She feebly shakes her head. His grin expands. He tugs her closer to him, giving her an up-close view of his handsome face.

"Then, it's fine. Nothing will change the fact that I desire you."

Though she doesn't want to admit it, her heart succumbs into a strange rhythm. She wants to look to Orian for help, scream out a no, but this is Ro they're discussing. Can she really throw away the one opportunity she has for saving him?

Jeez. Why is this escalating faster than the plot of Romeo and Juliet? This is way more intense than any other instalove Leda's ever heard or read about.

"Time doesn't wait for anyone, my lady," Avel says, keeping her entranced in the blue flecks of his green eyes. "What do you say?"

"That..."

"That?" he prods, giddily.

"I'll consider it," she faintly finishes. She winces as soon as she does. A part of her doesn't want to stick around to see his reaction. But when she finally gains the courage after a pregnant pause, she's pleasantly surprised to find him mouth-dropped.

"You—really?" He flutters his eyelids. "Wouldn't a lady usually run from me—a weird man, making claims of forever...?"

"Master Leda is so selfless..."

She can't halt the heat blossoming against her cheeks. Tugging her arm from Avel's, she winds as far back as she can. She glowers at both of the males, hard.

"You're the one leaving me no choice!" she snaps. "'I'll consider it' is all you're getting from me, all right?"

Avel wakes from his daze before long and produces a boisterous laugh.

"'I'll consider it' is enough," he reassures her. "That means I've still got a chance to sweep you off your feet."

She wants to tell him he never will but stops herself. She can't risk what she's been given. As much as this deal discomforts her.

Patience. She must have patience.

"Now, then," Avel beams, seizing all focus. "Why don't we head to the palace?"