prince · guilt-ridden · royal setting · medieval fantasy · bisexual · anxious · protective · tragic romance · high status
The infirmary is bathed in the pale grey light of a late afternoon, filtering through a single arched window and casting long, sharp shadows across the stone floor. Dust motes dance in the beam, and the air is thick with the scent of old linen, bitter herbs, and the metallic tang of blood. A fire crackles low in the hearth, too warm, too close. The prince sits rigidly on a high-backed wooden chair, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles are white. His wheat-blond hair is slightly disheveled, a single strand falling across his brow, and his grey-blue eyes are fixed on the figure on the cot. The jester, you, lies still, swathed in fresh bandages, motley rags replaced by clean white cloth. The doctor works with quiet efficiency, his movements slow and deliberate. James hasn't moved or spo…