Chapter 8: Princeling, Part 3
He woke with a scream on his lips, cut short by the rough hand that clapped over his mouth. "Shh, Prince," a vaguely familiar voice said. "The pain will ease with feeding."
Raffé didn't know what that meant, but when his mouth was held against something soft and warm, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to bite down and drink. Hot liquid filled his mouth, sweet with a hint of wine and mulling herbs. A sharper flavor, and after a few moments of fuzzy thought, he realized what it was: blood. The thought snapped through him but immediately slid away again, exhaustion and his own pain and the marvelous taste in his mouth blotting out everything else.
After a couple of minutes, he was pushed away and settled back down on his bedding. He licked traces of blood from his lips and let sleep overtake him once more.
When he woke again, it was to searing sunlight across his face. Raffé grunted in displeasure and dragged his pillow over his face to block it. Soft laughter filled the room, followed by the sound of footsteps, the familiar jangle of a sword belt and armor. The warmth of the offending sunlight vanished, and Raffé slowly removed the pillow. He stared up at the face of Prince Telmé, the king's youngest son and Commander of the Princes of the Blood and the Legion. "Fair morning, Princeling. The sunlight is going to bother you for some time until your over-sensitivity eases."
Raffé stared blankly at him. "Pardon, Highness?"
"Telmé is fine," Telmé replied. "We Princes tend to be informal with each other."
"We I don't understand."
"No?" Telmé laughed. He cocked his head and stared down at Raffé with gentle amusement. "Generally when one survives a Blooding, one becomes a Prince. Though you're new, and we do like to put our new Princes through their paces, so I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with 'Princeling' for some time."
"Prince " Raffé's eyes popped open wide, and he gaped at Telmé. "I'm a I survived?" But even as he asked, he could remember bits and pieces. He could also feel that his mouth was different, especially the shape and weight of his teeth. "I survived," he said again, more softly.
Telmé laughed again and sat down beside him on the bed as Raffé shoved away his blankets and sat up. "Yes, and you did quite well. Even Dalibor did not stay on his feet the whole time. He is very irate; the others are teasing him mercilessly."
Raffé stared at him, confused and a little lost.
"Are you well?" Telmé asked, laughter fading, replaced by a puzzled look.
"I'm fine, just surprised." He also wasn't used to people being so open and friendly with him. "My family?"
"Gone. Left three days ago," Telmé said. "We prefer they leave as soon as possible; it's easier for all parties. This is your life now; you answer only to the King, the High Priest, and your fellow princes."
Raffé nodded, thoughts spinning wildly through his head. He was alive. He was not human. His family no longer had any bearing on his life. He was meant to fight the greatest threats and terrors plaguing the kingdom. It was too much to absorb, so he latched onto thoughts he could handle. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Not quite a week. Come on. Acting is better than idling. Now that you're on your feet we'll get you better acquainted with the castle and all. You're probably also hungry, and I could use a bite myself, so we'll head for the temple first." He winked.
Raffé surprised himself by laughing. A bite, indeed. He supposed it was hard not to make a joke of that. He stood up, feeling a little unsteady on his feet but not so bad he wouldn't be able to manage.
Telmé reached out and lightly touched his shoulder where the shadow of a bruise still lingered. He smirked. "Have a bit of fun before your execution, Princeling? There was more than a few of those on you. Be aware, a few of your new brothers have bets going as to who put them there."
Raffé flushed at the teasing words even as sadness washed through him as he realized that most of the marks were gone. Soon no sign would remain of the man who granted his last request, provided comforting thoughts as he stood freezing in a dark room certain he would die. He wondered if he would ever know Cambord's real name.
Chuckling, Telmé said, "Best get used to the teasing, Princeling. We're not a very shy or well-behaved lot."
Whatever Raffé had expected, it wasn't teasing, or so much easy laughter. He hadn't expected the Princes to be nice. They guarded the kingdom from the shadows, fed on the blood of pures; they were regarded with equal parts fear and awe. Looking upon them from afar, they had seemed cool, remote, fierce.
Nobody had ever said they were so normal. Even if he'd known that, Raffé wouldn't have expected to be treated like one of them. He was used to being ignored or tolerated where ignoring him was not possible. No one ever included him. He ducked his head, suddenly overcome by it all. He was alive, he was a Prince of the Blood, he wasn't being held in contempt or coldly ignored.
"All right, there?" Telmé asked quietly, and his hand slid over Raffé's shoulder, gripping it firmly. "Let it go, Princeling. Let them go. You'd be surprised to learn what we all thought of you that day, what we thought of your family."
"I" Raffé choked the words off, afraid he really would embarrass himself by crying. "Everyone assumed I would die. Everyone. Even I did not think I would live."
Telmé squeezed his shoulder again and said, "Not everyone. Come, it's time for your first proper meal. Then you will have to meet the otherswell, the ones who are here. A few were sent out shortly after your Blooding to address various problems. Here are some clothes, though the castle tailors issued orders that you were to visit them for proper fits. They're very demanding, tailors. Best to do what they say, but it can wait another day or two."