The Apothecary and the Cursed Prince

Eleonora helped the stranger sit against the wall of her cottage. He had his eyes closed; the poison had started to take a toll on his body.

They had hardly talked to each other on their whole journey back from the forest, except a few words here and there by the stranger instructing her with the directions. She was totally unaware how this man would know which way to go at every turn, how he would know where the woods would be dense or sparse, but Eleonora had decided to stop questioning his judgement.

There was a lot about him that was a mystery to her.

And it seemed there was no mystery deep enough that he hadn't unraveled already.

It was a dangerous combination, she understood that. But then, her danger-scale had already burst itself in the forest when he took down two trained royal soldiers while himself being infused with one of the most dangerous poisons there ever was. Now all there was left to do was cure him and sent him away. And hope that Heaven would be so kind to never make her cross paths with him ever again.

'Don't fall asleep,' she said, her voice melodious and soft. Fear and caution were both standing at the threshold of her mind, ready to pounce and take over at any time, but Eleonora put the fences around, barring them out of reach.

When saving a life, there was nothing more significant than the calmness of the mind. What happened before and what was going to happen after was out of her control; it was only what was happening right at this moment that she had any influence over. That was all she could control. That was all she needed to concentrate on.

His body had started to burn with fever and Eleonora could see the skin around his wound turning black through the torn opening of his blood-drenched shirt.

'Bloodwake makes you drowsy and that's how it kills. You need to stay awake until it's cured. Can you do that?' she asked.

A frown appeared on the stranger's face as he slowly opened his eyes. 'You talk a lot.'

'Your eyes-' gasped Eleonora. They were blue. So it wasn't an illusion before. But how? 

She stopped herself just in time to demand an explanation from him. First thing first. The cure. He was running out of time.

'Don't sleep.' Eleonora instructed him as she hurried to her feet and rushed to her mother's — now hers — herb cabinets. The faster she heals him, the faster he would be out of her cottage. Her curious mind poked her to ask him more about it, about his eyes, about how he seemed to know about everything, about how everything about him made her question her knowledge on the things she had thought herself to be well-versed in.

But inquiring leads to understanding, and understanding breeds familiarity.

And sometimes it was wiser to stay uninformed than ask the questions you wouldn't like the answers to.

'I'll prepare the cure first. I already have most of the components prepared from before. It won't take long. Just try to keep your eyes open,' she called back to the stranger while scouring her cabinets for the right ingredients. 'Can you hear me?' She asked when she heard no movement at his end.

'Loud and clear,' he said, his voice sounding tired. 'Can you keep it down? I'd like to die in peace.'

'If that is what you want,' called back Eleonora as she ran into the kitchen and threw the herbs in the mortar, grinding them with hurried pestle stabs. 'You are allowed to walk out. Just shut the door behind you when you leave.'

'And let all your efforts to save my life be in vain?' he shifted so he could watch her prepare the cure on the kitchen table. 'I have a heart, Apothecary. Moreover, not to scare you more or anything, but you will bring a lot of trouble for yourself if I die at your hands tonight.'

She looked up from the mortar to him. 'You think the guards might come for me? The one I hit with the needle?'

'He won't. He is going to have bigger problems to resolve.'

'Then are you someone important?'

'You won't need to worry about that if you're capable,' he said.

Eleonora transferred the herbs into a cup, added in the required elixirs and carried it over to the stranger and let it rest beside him. 'It will take a few minutes to infuse,' she said, then looked at him in his sparkling blue eyes.

'Are you a royal spy, perhaps?' she whispered like it was a forbidden secret. Which, somewhat it was. They existed in only rumours, as owing to their exceptional skills, they were hardly ever seen or heard. 'Is that why you are in a disguise?'

'I will have to kill you if I let you in on my secret,' he whispered back, amused. 'Do you want that?'

Eleonora shook her head. Not even the poison or the fever seemed to hinder his intolerable arrogance.

'Drink this. It's done.' She handed him the cup and went back to her cabinets to fetch the needle to suture his wound.

'The fever will take time to go down, but your pulse must have stabilized instantly after the cure you drank,' she said, coming back and sitting in front of him. 'Your wound cannot be cauterized because it will trigger the Bloodwake again. I'll have to sew it up instead. It will be painful,' she warned.

'Go ahead,' he said, 'I've had worse.'

Eleonora nodded. For her, it was one of the most painful procedures to go through. Despite never being the one to receive it, the cries of the injured she treated were enough to craft nightmares at night. But there were a lot of things about this particular injury that differed from others. Besides, being a soldier or a spy he might have indeed experienced things that were much worse than a needle repeatedly prickling the skin.

'Um..' Eleonora bit down her lower lip, not sure how to phrase the next sentence.

The stranger raised a brow in question. There was amusement swimming in his eyes which made her question his humour. Previously, she had blamed his state of mind on his injury, but she wasn't sure about it anymore.

'What is it?' he asked.

'I need to treat your wound,' she pointed to the hole in his chest.

'I'm certain you do,' he replied.

'Well,' she cleared her throat. 'I can't do that over your shirt.

'Ahhh, I see,' he nodded as if it was brand new information. 'Would you want me to do it for you or would you prefer to take it off yourself?' he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

She would prefer to smack that amusement off his face, that was what she would like to do.

Eleonora opened her mouth to say that to him, then closed it grudgingly, unable to form the physical words to do so. Her voice might betray her too if she spoke. Not because his brazen words meant anything to her, but because they had caught her with great surprise at the insolence.

'Your hands seem to work perfectly well. I'd like you to put them to some use,' was what she said at last.

He chuckled softly, even as the movement caused him to wince after.

Let's hear you laugh after I put this needle in your skin, Eleonora murmured to herself.

This was not her usual self. Eleonora prized herself on thinking she was a patient and calm young lady. Years of hearing people call her whatever to her face and her father telling her not to retaliate had made her strong-willed and indifferent. And yet there was something about this man that bothered her to no extent.

Maybe it was her expectations that after everything he made her go through in the forest — albeit her own recklessness — he would cut short the arrogance and teasing. Especially when she, quite literally, held his life in her hands. Or maybe it was just because, contrary to their roles at the moment, he was the one who looked perfectly at ease while it was proving hard for her to put reigns on her emotions. Not to mention, how unnerving it was to sit in front of someone who looked like he could read every thought passing through your mind while there was nothing she could do to change it.

'Do you have a name, Apothecary?' he asked as he shrugged out of his shirt.

Eleonora kept her eyes restricted to the cloth dipped in the bowl of alcohol. 'I do not.'

'Why is it that you live in the middle of nowhere?' he asked, picking out the alcohol-drenched cloth from the bowl and wiping the blood off his chest himself. 'Would not living in the center of the town be more beneficial for your work?'

Eleonora thought about evading the question, then shrugged. 'It's not safe.'

'And is it here?'

'Your wound does not look deep,' she said, raising her eyes to the opening in his chest. There were several other old scars all over his body — some sutured, others cauterized — she could tell. That explained why he appeared to be so immune to the pain.

Eleonora shifted closer, ignoring his piercing gaze, to look at the wound better.

He had lost a lot of blood since pulling out the dagger, but with a poison like Bloodwake, it had to be that way. The wound had to be left open for the poisoned blood to drain out. However, the cure was starting to take its effect, Eleonora noticed. The fresher blood has turned back to red. She could start working on it now.

'Do you want something to bite down on for the pain? I'm going to start now,' she looked up at him as she said it. Then looked away instantly realising just how close to his face she was.

'You look more nervous that I am,' he said. 'Have you not done this before?'

'I have!' she glared up at him, defiantly. Then realising her mistake once again, turned her face back to the wound she needed to fix. How dare he doubt her abilities!

'Shut up!' she ordered, even though he had hardly said anything.

With deft hands, Eleonora started suturing his torn flesh. All the while, he didn't make a sound.

'It looks deliberate, your wound,' she said, her fingers masterfully guiding the needle through his skin.

On closer look, it was definitely less severe than she had expected it to be. It wasn't much deep and it had missed every vital nerve, every muscle that could have hindered his movements, missed breaking any rib or puncturing his lung.

'The brewmaster stabbed me,' his voice was strained. 'I merely guided it to a less severe part. It was only when it started to burn did I figure he had poisoned it. I should give him credit for not being predictable.'

'You could have avoided it.'

'I couldn't.'

'Why?'

'How else was I going to play a believable victim?'

'So it was all an act? You had it all planned?' she asked, more focused on the suturing than on the conversation.

'I improvised a bit,' she could hear the proudful smile in his tone of speech.

Eleonora finished the last bit of her work and shifted back to admire the neat stitches. 'All done,' she smiled. 'You did well,' she said to him.

He looked down on his chest and nodded, satisfied. Then reached for his shirt and stood up as he pulled it over his shoulders. 'You did well yourself.'

'Are you leaving?' Eleonora asked, eyes wide. 'You lost a lot of blood. You need rest.'

'I need to fix a few things,' he replied, buttoning up and ready to leave. 'The night's still young, Apothecary.'

'Eleonora,' she blurted out.

'Eleonora,' he said, looking into her eyes. Her name rolled over his tongue like butter on a hot pan. 'I didn't think I'd be saying this when I finally saw you, but it was a pleasure to meet you.'

With that he walked out of the door, leaving Eleonora standing with a deep frown etched across her face.

What did he mean by that?