Royal Rescue

by A. Alex Logan

  He settled for wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, and only then did he look at Omar and shake his head. “If I start talking, I’m going to start crying. You saw that before. I’m not good at talking about this.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t care if you cry.”

  “Well, I do!” Gerald said. But the tears were already starting to spill over. He swiped at his eyes impatiently. “It’s just…there’s no way out. Erick’s right. They would never let me abdicate. They’re exactly like he is. They think I’ll grow out of this, and I won’t.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Omar said gently. “I believe you.”

  “So what are you doing here, then?” Gerald asked. Then he made a face. “That sounded meaner than I meant it to. But…if you believe me. If you don’t think I’m going to change my mind. Why do you want to…I mean, what are you expecting from me?”

  “I like you. A lot. I care about you. I want to be around you. I’m not expecting you to do anything with me, anything physical. I’m not here with an ulterior motive! You’re my friend, you’re upset. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  Gerald just shook his head. He swiped at his eyes again and tried to change the subject. “What are you doing for the showcase?”

  Omar gave him a crooked smile. “There’s not much point in me doing the showcase either. I don’t want to impress any of the other royals.”

  “I don’t understand why not. Even if you like me… I can’t like you back. Don’t you want to find someone who can be in a normal relationship with you?”

  “I want to be with you.”

  “I can’t!” Gerald was crying in earnest now, the tears running down his face too quickly to be swiped away. “I can’t be with anyone, and it’s not fair to you to make you settle for the little I can give you. It’s not fair to you. It won’t be enough.”

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Omar sat on the bed next to him and cautiously put an arm around his shoulders. Gerald tensed but then relaxed and leaned against him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone else had cared enough to try to comfort him, and Omar’s shoulder was more comfortable than the rock wall. “Shh, shh,” Omar was saying soothingly. “It’s all right. Just listen for a minute, okay? Here’s what I don’t understand. I believe everything you’re saying. I trust you to know yourself, to know what you feel or don’t, what you want or don’t. Why can’t you trust me the same way? If I say you’re enough, why can’t you trust me to mean it?”

  Gerald turned his head to look at him. He didn’t have an answer. I hate when people act like I’m going to change my mind. Why am I doing the same thing to Omar? “I… I… I guess I wasn’t thinking about it like that,” he stammered.

  “Well…if you do think about it like that, does that change things for you?” Omar asked. “I mean, are you afraid I’m going to change my mind and try to make you do something you don’t want? Or do you really not want to be in even a platonic relationship with me?” He rubbed his nose. “Look, I know you don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what I’m doing either. This is kind of uncharted territory for me too. But I’m… I want to try. But not if you’re against it. Not just worried about what might happen in the future, but really against it.” He trailed off and looked at Gerald, waiting for him to make eye contact, waiting for him to respond.

  It took Gerald a minute to gather his thoughts. He was thinking half a dozen things at once, his mind a whirl of confusion. Finally he said, “I think… I think I can do platonic. I can’t do anything more. But, Omar, I don’t know what that means. If we’re in a platonic relationship, what makes us more than just friends? What makes this acceptable to our parents?”

  “Well, that’s something we’ll have to figure out, what it means for us. My parents won’t care, Gerald, honestly. And yours, well, from what you’ve said…it seems like they might not want to ask too many questions. It seems like they want you to follow the rules…if you do what you’re ‘supposed to’, I don’t know that they’d quibble about the details.”

  Gerald snorted. “That’s true. Sometimes I think they’d be happier if I didn’t have a mind at all, if I were just a construct. And they can hardly be more disappointed with me than they already are. They’re not going to like this, though,” he said, gesturing to his leg. “Maybe they will let me abdicate after all, if they see I can barely walk anymore.”

  “Do you really want to abdicate?” Omar asked curiously.

  Gerald sighed. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve never been much good as a prince. I’ve always been better with animals than with people. But Lila’s the heir; I don’t really have to do much as a prince, I mean, diplomacy or foreign affairs or any of that. I’m not sure they really want me representing Andine, frankly.

  “I tried to convince them I could do something else when I was trying to convince them I didn’t want to marry, and they essentially said I could do whatever I wanted after I got married. So whether or not I abdicate won’t really affect my life…except if I abdicate, I won’t have to marry.”

  “Well, you’ve made it very clear you don’t want to marry,” Omar said. “So if that’s the only difference—if they let you abdicate, would you?”

  “Yes,” Gerald said, without the hesitation this time. “But Erick’s right. You don’t know my parents. Mum might come around, eventually, but Mother never would. They drugged me, enchanted me, and put me in a tower… They’re not going to turn around and say, ‘All right, never mind, you don’t have to get married, we’ll let you abdicate’.”

  “Well,” Omar said, picking his words carefully, “if you don’t really have a choice, then…if you have to marry someone…wouldn’t it make sense to marry someone without any, um…”

  “Expectations?” Gerald suggested.

  “I was going to say ‘misconceptions’,” Omar said. “But in all seriousness. I understand it’s going to be platonic, but honestly that’s a lot better than some marriages I could name.”

  “That’s true,” Gerald admitted. “But that’s…that’s still not what I want. I don’t want a marriage at all, even if it’s a marriage in name only. It wouldn’t be honest, and it would still carry…a weight, I guess. The word itself means something… People would think they knew something about me, and they wouldn’t, they’d be wrong, but they’d still think it. And my parents, they would look at it and think they were right all along. That it was a phase, or I simply needed to find the right person.”

  “You’re right,” Omar said. “It wouldn’t really solve anything for you, would it?”

  “No. And—” Gerald went dead white as the thought occurred to him. “If I got married, even if it wasn’t real, they’d think it was—and they would—they’d want heirs.”

  Omar shook his head. “Don’t even start worrying about that! You’re not getting married, you’re sticking to that, and so it’s not relevant. You are going to have to convince them to let you abdicate, though. And… I mean, just to clarify, are you still okay with me—with us—trying…to be something? Not as cover for your parents, not as an excuse for anything, but just as us, for us?”

  “I still don’t know what that means. But…” He shrugged. “I guess there’s no reason not to try. As long as it’s completely clear it’s never going to be anything other than platonic. And you should still do the showcase, if only to keep Nedi from having a fit.” And so you can be sure you won’t meet someone else. Someone who will marry you. Someone you can have a normal relationship with.

  Omar shuddered theatrically. “All right, if only for that reason. And Gerald…it’s clear. Trust me. It’s clear and I’m not going to try to change that. And…and don’t worry about not knowing what it means, okay? I don’t know either. We can figure everything out as slowly as we want. We can figure out what works for us.”

  Gerald swiped at his eyes one last time. “Well, one thing’s for sure,” he said wryly. “I’d like it to involve less crying. All this crying is not working for me.”

&nbs
p; Omar dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and dried the last of Gerald’s tears with it. “I don’t mind. I mean, I’d rather you weren’t sad, of course, but it’s okay to cry.”

  “You shouldn’t encourage me,” Gerald said. “I feel like all I’ve done since I’ve met you has been cry about relationships and whine about my leg.”

  “And yet you still managed to find time to ‘disrupt the backbone of peace in the Thousand Kingdoms’,” Omar said with a grin. “If you’re going to cause a revolution whenever you’re upset, at least I won’t ever be bored.”

  “You’re going to be bored in a minute,” Gerald warned him. “I think I’m about to fall asleep.”

  “Do you want me to get up?”

  “Well…no, not really,” Gerald said cautiously. “I like sitting here with you. Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

  “Of course.”

  Gerald closed his eyes and fell asleep feeling the steady rhythm of Omar’s heartbeat against his back. This isn’t bad, he thought as he drifted off. This is nice. Warm and safe…

  He dreamt of the purring of the palace cats.

  GERALD WOKE UP alone and confused by it until he realized he had just dreamed of the cats. They had been the one good thing about waking up in the castle, coming back to consciousness with warm bundles of fur curled up against his lower back or perched on his side or sharing his pillow. The cats never cared that I never took another person to my bed. In fact, they probably preferred it!

  That thought reminded him of how he had fallen asleep, and what had prompted the dream. He sat up quickly to look for Omar and saw him right across the room, in his own bed, still asleep. His blanket was pulled right up to his chin and all Gerald could see was his curly hair, tangled and sleep-mussed. There was something comforting about simply seeing him there. Gerald had half expected him to be gone, to have decided Gerald’s idiosyncrasies were too much to deal with, no matter what he had said last night. I’m too used to people changing their minds.

  He sat there, rubbing absently at his stiff knee, and watched Omar sleep. Could I really be in a relationship with him? His stomach tightened at the idea, not of being in a relationship with Omar, but of being in one at all. He still couldn’t quite believe they could stay friends—just friends—if they took that step. Omar’s not like me. He would bed me if I wanted to. He said to trust him, and I do, and I want to believe him, but how can I ever be enough for him?

  But under all the doubt was hope, a tiny seed of hope he was nurturing almost against his will, and certainly against his better judgment. But he remembered everything Omar had said, ever since Gerald had first confessed his feelings—or lack thereof—in a flood of tears and self-loathing. “I don’t think anything’s wrong with you…there are different ways to like someone…you can love someone without going to bed with them…traditions change…do you need someone like you or just someone who understands you?”

  They hadn’t been empty words, either, Gerald had to admit, at least to himself. Omar had never done anything to try to make Gerald doubt his convictions. He hadn’t tried to act on his own feelings, either; he had even hidden them, out of fear of disrupting their friendship. He hadn’t so much as hinted Gerald could or should do anything he didn’t want to, had in fact been quite adamant it was all Gerald’s choice.

  Maybe we can make this work.

  Or maybe he’ll meet someone normal in the showcase…

  Gerald could have sat there all morning, going around in circles in his head, and he may very well have if Calin hadn’t come bustling in without so much as a knock.

  “Good, you’re awake,” she said briskly.

  Gerald shushed her or tried to. “Omar’s not,” he whispered.

  “Omar’s not my patient. How’s your leg this morning?”

  “Stiff. As usual.”

  “No pain, though?”

  “No. But that’s only because of Erick’s spells. When they wear off again…” he trailed off. “I can’t spend the rest of my life having him cast spells on my leg.”

  “No, you can’t,” Calin agreed. “Not least because the more you use healing spells, the more resistant you become to them. Once the infection is cleared up, the spells will go.”

  “And the pain will come back.”

  “You weren’t in pain before until you overdid it,” Calin reminded him. “Go slowly this time. Rebuild your strength.”

  Gerald shook his head in frustration and threw aside the blanket. “It’s not about that. Look. I can’t straighten my leg. That’s why it hurts to walk, because I have to twist my back and my hips to get my foot flat on the ground. It doesn’t matter how much I rebuild my strength if my leg is always going to be two inches shorter than the other.”

  “A cobbler can make you special shoes,” Calin said. “Or you can use crutches instead of canes. Or you can use your canes sensibly and for short distances. And you can work on restoring flexibility to your knee. Now, let’s take a look.”

  Gerald didn’t bother to argue. There was no point, with Calin, and he knew she didn’t care at all about anything other than the injury. He was still internally reluctant, but he unbuttoned his pant leg without objection. Calin unwound the bandage around his knee and examined both the cloth and the joint.

  “There’s much less discharge,” she noted. “The swelling is improved as well.” She probed his knee carefully with her small gray hands; they felt cool against his skin. “Not as much heat, either,” she said with satisfaction. “The infection is clearing up nicely.”

  She briskly cleaned the cuts she herself had inflicted to lance the swelling and coated them with yet another sharp-smelling ointment. She deftly wrapped his knee up again and Gerald couldn’t help but ask, “How am I supposed to work on flexibility when you wrap it up so I can’t move?”

  “It’s not that tight,” she said firmly. “You can still flex your knee. Now, look here,” she said, tracing a finger against one of the worst scars on his thigh. “Look how the scar tissue is pulling at your knee. That’s part of the trouble.” She produced another jar of ointment from one of her many pockets and handed it to Gerald. “Massage a grape-sized dollop of that into the scars twice a day, until there’s no residue left on your skin, and work on bending and straightening your leg when you do.”

  “But not right now,” she added as she turned to leave. “Right now, I’d advise you wake your prince and get to breakfast before Nedi comes charging in here carrying on about her showcase schedules.”

  Gerald couldn’t help but grin at that—he thought Calin was just as imperious as Nedi was, if not more so—but he did as he was told as the piedling swept out of the room to her next self-assigned task. He didn’t even quibble with her about the possessive she had assigned, although to himself he thought, He’s not my prince.

  NEDI AND ERICK were waiting at the breakfast table when Omar and Gerald came in, Omar pushing Gerald’s chair. The dragon was there as well, and it raised its head away from its own meal to scrutinize Gerald. “I’m okay,” he mouthed at it, but the truth was his stomach had knotted when he saw his cousin. The piedlings had already piled the table with food and drinks, but Gerald wasn’t sure he could stomach any of it. Nedi caught his eye and smiled brightly before looking at Erick expectantly. When he turned away to stare at his plate, she elbowed him in the ribs.

  That prompted him to actually look at Gerald, and he flushed. “Hey. I’m sorry about last night. About what I said. Omar was right. I was out of line. I don’t… I don’t understand how anyone can—” Nedi elbowed him again, harder, and he cut himself off with a wince. “I don’t understand,” he said to her, before turning back to Gerald. “But, you know, I don’t have to. I shouldn’t have argued with you. It’s your life.”

  Is it? Gerald wanted to ask. Is it really mine when all I’m doing is what other people want me to and tell me to? But he didn’t want to start another fight, so all he said was, “Thanks.”

  He still only picked at his breakfast.
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br />   Nedi hardly touched her food, either, too excited or nervous about the showcase to get anything down. She was talking nonstop about all of it, about which royals were performing today and which skills she was most interested in seeing. When she paused for breath, Gerald asked the question he had been wondering about.

  “How are they going to pair up? I mean, with the rescue system, there was that whole booklet of rules about what the rescuers had to do and what the rescuees had to do and how they both had to agree and all that. Are there rules here, or is it just…I don’t know…talking to people?” He shrugged self-consciously when Erick raised an eyebrow at him. I don’t know how this works, he wanted to remind his cousin. Not just here. At all.

  “It’s less structured than the rescue system, certainly,” Nedi said. “It’s more, hmm, I don’t want to say casual, but more…natural, maybe? We want to take the artificiality out of it, and really let people find someone they’re truly compatible with. The only hard rule is no formal declarations can be made until each group has had a chance to perform. We don’t want anyone making a commitment on the first day and then meeting someone they fit better with on the second. And of course, both parties have to be agreeable.” She reached into a pocket and came up with half a dozen little wooden discs, like unfinished buttons. “We’ll be handing these out. Erick enchanted them; if you hold one between thumb and forefinger, pinch it, and say your name, it will engrave itself on the disc. Every booth and station will have a jar with the performing royal’s name; when you see someone you want to talk to more, you can drop one of your discs in their jar. That indicates your interest, which can be returned or…not.”

  “Clever,” Gerald said, but he shook his head when Nedi offered him a disc.

  She didn’t press the issue, simply nodded and offered it to Omar instead. He glanced at Gerald, who nodded slightly, before taking it.