You were dying.

Or, if you weren't, you found yourself wishing that you were.

You had not even opened your eyes yet, and still the light that came streaming in through the windows was searing through your eyelids and making the pounding in your head even worse. You groaned, and rolled over in order to seek refuge in the cool darkness of your pillow, but the movement made you suddenly and painfully aware of your churning stomach. And your whole body ached, particularly your legs and between them, and you would have moaned if you were not afraid that doing so would alert you to a sore throat, or perhaps a swollen tongue. If this was what your father awoke to every morning, then you could almost forgive him for his foul moods.

Your mouth was very dry, but getting up for water was out of the question. So you stayed there in bed, trying not to move or breathe or even think very much. With any luck, you could fall asleep again and sleep through this sickness. And then never, ever drink again.

But it was not to be. The door creaked open, echoing like a scream in your ears. You whimpered before you could stop yourself, but at least that showed you that your throat was intact.

"My lady?" It was a cautious whisper—Sindri, of course. Had Loki put out word that you would be unwell this morning, or had the story of your inebriation simply spread on its own? The smell of the food on the tray she carried reached your nose and made your stomach clench miserably. You were hungry, but could you trust your body to keep from rejecting whatever you tried to eat?

The girl crept closer, the thin soles of her sandals not quite noiseless on the thick carpet, and placed the tray on the small stand beside the bed so that she could touch your forehead. Her touch was light, hesitant, but you could feel the roughness of her skin. She was so young to have such calloused hands. You opened your eyes partway, trying not to groan at the brightness of the room as you peered up at her. Before she met your eyes, her features were creased with concern, but when she saw that you were awake, her face melted into a shy smile.

"My lady, it is best to eat something. You'll find it'll make you feel better. Do you need help sitting up?"

"No." Your voice sounded about as terrible as you felt, and you cleared your throat to try to rid yourself of the hoarseness. "Thank you. You are sweet to be concerned, but I am not sure I can eat anything."

"You must!" She was insistent, and picked up the mug of tea to press it into your hands. "Please, my lady. I know it sounds crazy, but you will feel better, I promise." She looked around the room and lowered her voice. "You should see how much food Prince Thor eats for breakfast when he's had too much to drink the night before." She grinned, and for a moment she looked like a girl—a girl like Sigg, or the sister you had never known—but that passed an instant later, and she looked like the guarded, cautious servant again.

You weren't sure what to say to her—whether you should apologize or thank her again—so you took a bit of fried meat. It was greasy, but delicious, and (best of all) your stomach seemed to accept it without threatening to rebel, and so you ate with growing gusto. You stopped only to urge Sindri to take what she wanted. There was far more food on the tray than you could eat even with this renewed appetite, and you could not help but wonder if someone was sending this much food on purpose. Maybe other people were looking out for the girl as well?

You were feeling marginally better already, you decided once most of the food had disappeared from the tray. Your head was still throbbing and your limbs still ached, but you did not feel quite as ill. Sindri was fidgeting hesitantly, and you could tell that she had a question that she did not want to ask. Bracing yourself, you offered her a warm smile.

"What is it?"

She remained silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was guarded.

"My lady...are you going to marry Thor?"

"What?" Your voice was too loud, and you winced as soon as you had finished speaking. Once the renewed aching in your head had passed, you laughed weakly and looked over at the girl. "What in the world are you talking about?"

She shrugged and pulled off a piece of the roll in her hands. When she spoke, she did so quietly. "Some of the other servants are saying that you danced with him last night at dinner. He will be king someday, so...some are saying that you will go to him instead of Loki. Will you?"

"No." Your voice, thankfully, sounded stronger than you felt. There was so much you wanted to ask this girl, but already she looked as though she wished she could fly from the room, and you did not want to frighten her, so you chose your words carefully. "I have no intentions of marrying Prince Thor." That was true enough, anyway. "I have seen nothing to suggest that either of the princes would wish to marry me in the first place. And it is a bad idea to listen to gossip." You offered her another smile, though this one was certainly more wavery than the last.

"Good. Between us, my lady? I do not like him very much." She looked around the room and leaned in closer, as though sharing a secret. "He used to pull my hair when I first arrived."

It was hard to imagine Prince Thor terrorizing a young servant for no reason, but you held your tongue. If she said he pulled her hair, he pulled her hair. You thought about reaching out to take the end of one of her braids between your fingers—not to pull, of course, but just to touch—but refrained. It was a little inappropriate. "How long have you been here, exactly?"

Sindri had to think for a moment. "Four years, I think. No, I'm nearly...thirteen now, so it would be five. Five years working for the Queen and Prince Loki." She smiled proudly, but all that did was make you want to pull her into an embrace. She was still so young, a child, and yet had already spent so much of her time in servitude to the royal family. And to look so proud about it! What was there to say to her?

Either she picked up on your discomfort, or the Fates smiled upon you, because after only a few more moments, she hastily wiped her mouth and, as always, tucked a roll of bread into her apron. "I have to get to work, my lady," she said, though her eyes lingered wistfully on the rest of the food on the tray. "The princes have left, so should I send Rowan to you?"

The thought of nursing your illness in the sanctuary of the library was tempting, but you shook your head. "No, thank you. I think I should take some time to learn the corridors of the palace. I have been here a while now and I am still never completely sure where I am going." Sindri nodded, and you imagined her as a child of eight trying to find her way through the palace. Had the other servants been accommodating?

"That is a good idea," she agreed with another little jerk of her head. "If you find yourself lost anywhere, you can ask any one of us. Helping the royal family is our most important order, so anyone will help you."

And before you could get over your surprise and remind her that you were not actually a member of the royal family, Sindri had slid off of the bed and hurried from the room. You picked at the tray for a little bit longer, but soon stood up to bathe. You stumbled, just once, as your head spun, but you quickly regained your balance. Maybe even drinking one serving of wine would be too much, you decided. Maybe you just did not care for the stuff at all, and you would not be touching it again in the future. Surely that was easier?

When you came out of the washroom, you were relieved to find that a dress had been left for you on Loki's bed. To be honest, you'd been dreading seeing the older servant—she would certainly have something to say: some snide, judgmental remark about overindulging or dancing with Prince Thor or something along those lines. But the room was empty, and the dress was perfect: soft and comfortable against your skin. It wasn't too restrictive, and it wasn't too heavy, but sat against your skin like the dresses you wore when you were a child.

You were tempted—sorely tempted—to crawl back into the bed and sleep the rest of the day away. Who would dare say anything to you? But the fact that you had yet to learn the layout of the palace was really getting to be a problem, so you steeled your resolve and ventured out through the ornate doors of Loki's chambers.

You spent most of the afternoon wandering the palace and committing the labyrinthine corridors to memory. By the time evening fell, you were feeling downright comfortable with the paths you'd taught yourself. It was a huge palace, of course, and it would take you much longer than one day to memorize the entirety of it, but you could find your own way from the prince's quarters to the library, the great hall, the throne room, and the garden and stables. Not too bad for one afternoon's work.

Loki still had not returned by nightfall, but a servant appeared in the doorway to bring you to dinner anyway. Walking into the hall by yourself was a little nervewracking, but once you were in your place at the table, surrounded by the Queen's ladies, you found yourself feeling...well, almost as though you belonged there. Tonight there was a new face sitting amongst the familiar ones: a woman with rich dark skin and fathomless brown eyes. You could not tear your eyes away from her, though she remained practically silent throughout dinner. She caught you staring once and you would have looked away with flaming cheeks, but something in her gaze held yours even as she smiled faintly at you.

Eir, some of the other ladies called her in passing, which told you that she had clearly been to the palace before. There was a stillness about her that went beyond her reticence and put you in mind of some of your village's elders. She seemed very wise. There were things that she knew that you could never hope to understand. Perhaps that was why she kept quiet: she had no one to discuss her thoughts with.

You sat with the ladies until the majority of them had excused themselves, at which point it no longer seemed rude to do the same. When you got back to your quarters, you fell into bed almost immediately, and dreamed of your prince sitting astride his horse with a stony face, riding fiercely despite the biting rain that fell around him.

The next few days were largely the same. Sindri came and shared breakfast with you, and then you wandered around the palace for the rest of the day. By evening on the fourth day, you could take yourself nearly anywhere in the palace you needed to go, and usually without stopping a servant to ask for directions. Attending dinners by yourself was also becoming commonplace, though the empty seat beside you was starting to make you miss Loki. How you would have scoffed at the idea—missing Loki, of all people!—when you had first arrived, and yet here you were.

Most of the dishes had been cleared away on that fourth night when Prince Thor burst into the room, followed by a few of his soldiers. Silence fell as he strode purposefully toward the table and leaned to whisper something in Eir's ear. Her face showed nothing, but she stood to follow him out.

"Thor, what is it?" Even the Queen could tell that something was wrong. "Where is your brother?"

But the prince did not stop to answer her, and in fact gave barely any indication that he had even heard her in the first place. The two of you shared a worried look across the table and, before you realized what you were doing, you had jumped to your feet to follow the others.

Loki was standing there in the hallway, between two unfamiliar soldiers who were each supporting his weight. His clothing was soaked, as was the rest of the party's, and already there was a small puddle at his feet. The difference was that his puddle was tinted red. He was bleeding somewhere, enough that his blood was dripping from his clothing like the rain. He seemed to grow weaker by the second, and you had to tell yourself that he was not growing paler before your very eyes. It was simply not possible. Before you could gather your wits to ask what had happened, Eir was springing into action, barking orders and sending the soldiers scattering throughout the palace. She and Thor hurried Loki towards his chambers, and you did your best to keep up.

They lowered him onto the bed and, in a matter of moments, Eir had stripped him of his clothing. The sight of his body, covered with dirt and blood and bruises, made you gasp, which seemed to finally make them aware of your presence.

"My lady, you do not need to be here," she said, addressing you for the first time since you'd laid eyes on her. She did not stop working as she spoke: a soldier had brought her a pot of water, and she dumped the contents of a small velvet bag into it, then began soaking the clean rags that another had brought. "You should go."

"I can't," you answered, and immediately felt as though you had never spoken a truer sentence in your entire life. "Let me help."

A look passed between Eir and Thor, as though they were communicating telepathically, which of course was not possible, and finally she shrugged. "Fine. Use these cloths to clean the prince's wounds. When one cools, or becomes too dirty, take a new one."

You climbed onto the bed to sit on the other side of Loki, and did as the woman instructed. But each time you slid the cloth over your prince's wounds, it seemed to reopen them, and his blood poured out of every crack in his skin. You were no physician, of course, but even you could tell that he was losing too much blood. But you would not allow the panic to hold you back, and instead forced your mind to shut off as your hands worked seemingly of their own volition. When all of the dirt had been cleaned from Loki's body (and his skin was almost certainly paler now than it had ever been before, there was no doubt), Eir poured a new bag's contents into a fresh pot of water, and soaked some bandages in it.

"Put your hands on either side of these wounds here, princess, and hold them closed. Quickly!"

You did as she ordered without hesitation, though the fear of hurting the prince was ever present in the back of your mind. It was not until the healer had completely wrapped all of your prince's wounds that you even realized what she had said. The urgency had passed—she had fallen silent again in lieu of delivering commands, and most of the soldiers had left the room. Thor was standing near the door, a silent sentry, and Eir ran her filthy fingers through her hair.

"My lady, I..." Was it worth it to correct her? You had made Loki so angry when you had tried correcting him, but that could be blamed on any number of other things. But she was looking at you already, so you could not very well remain silent. "I am not a princess."

She cast a look over her shoulder at Thor, who nodded as though to verify that what you said was true, and then looked back at you. "Apologies, my lady. I spoke without thinking. I meant no insult."

"No, I—I know. I just—I did not wish to mislead you." You dropped your eyes to the prince's face. A deathly pallor had sunken into his skin, and his eyelashes did not so much as flutter against his cheeks. He was more still, more lifeless, than you had ever seen him before. "Will he—?" Will he what? Survive? Awaken? Die? You could not finish your sentence. The possibilities were too frightening, no matter which word you chose.

"Aye, he should be fine. Nothing I haven't seen before. My mixes will have him stitched together by morning, and as long as he wakes up tomorrow, he should be on the mend quickly." She rose to her feet and stooped as though to stretch her back. You did not ask her why he might not wake up tomorrow—because you were not certain that you wanted to hear her answer. "Keep an eye on him tonight, my lady, and find me if his condition should worsen."

With that, she and Thor left the room, leaving you with what could very well have been the corpse of your prince. It was not until the doors had been pulled shut behind them that you realized that you had no idea how to find her. The alternative, you decided, was to keep an incredibly sharp eye on him, because that way surely nothing could go wrong, could it?

The first time he groaned, it made you jump in the stillness of the room. You sat frozen for a moment, your eyes fixed to the prince's face as you waited for something else—anything else—to happen, but he did not move, or awaken, or even moan again. Your hands were growing stiff with whatever concoction Eir had mixed into the water, and your dress was stained and filthy, so you stripped it off and went to wash your hands in the washroom. The whole time, you strained to listen for any noise from the prince, but it was as though the spectre of death had fallen upon him again. So made your way back to the bed in nothing but your shift, a thin white length of fabric that pooled around you as you knelt beside Loki on the bed.

The longer you sat there staring, the deeper the weight settled in your stomach. Death was not just upon your prince: it filled the room. Your skin grew cold in the flickering torchlight, and so you drew the blankets around the both of you. Even if he was asleep, surely the prince could still feel the cold, and it would not do for him to catch a chill, not while he was already facing so much danger. You alternated between willing Loki to make some kind of noise, to show you that he was still alive, and willing him to remain quiet, to show that his condition had not worsened.

At some point during the night, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were being ripped back into wakefulness by your prince as he groaned and twisted in his sleep. Fearful that he would rip through the bandages and reopen his wounds, you pressed against his shoulders in hopes of holding him to the mattress, but that seemed only to make things worse. He fought against your restraints and began to tear at the bandages holding him together.

"Loki, stop!" You cried. Had you ever felt this useless before? You clutched at his wrists, but managed to hold him for only a few moments at a time before he yanked his hands away and resumed his clawing.

"Fire," he was muttering, eyes clenched shut as he dragged his fingers along his sides. "There's fire. Itching fire. Make it stop." His voice was a rasping whine, which only served to increase your terror. You had never heard him sound like this before. He worked the fingers of one hand under his wrappings and started to pull. He had unraveled a good portion before you managed to stop him, and would not stop mumbling about the fire. Clearly you needed to go find Eir, but how could you leave him alone like this, when he would undoubtedly tear himself open again?

Finally you spied one of your stockings, abandoned on the floor beside the bed. "Forgive me, my lord," you murmured as you retrieved it, and used it to bind the prince's wrists together. You wrapped it tightly around one of the bed posts and took a moment to inspect your work. Although Loki struggled against these restraints as he had struggled against your hands, these held tightly. They would have to do.

So, temporarily satisfied that Loki would not hurt himself in your absence, you slid off the bed and skittered out of the room. If you could not happen upon Eir's room, you might find a servant who would know where to find her. But the corridors were deserted, and soon you found yourself in an unfamiliar wing of the palace altogether. How were there no servants about? How was there *nobody* about? In a panic, you threw yourself upon the nearest set of doors and knocked as though to summon the dead. You were prepared to beg forgiveness from the person on the other side—you would even throw yourself at the mercy of the King himself, as long as he might help you find someone who would help the prince.

The doors swung open, and a broad bare expanse of a chest greeted you. If you were feeling less frantic, you might have groaned at your luck, but as it was, you barely even noticed the way Prince Thor's eyes raked along your barely-concealed body. "What is it, my lady?" He asked. "Loki?"

You nodded, struggling to find the words. "I think something is wrong. He says he is on fire."

"It'll be the medicine, then," came another voice—a familiar voice—from inside the prince's chambers. You felt your cheeks burning as Eir came into view. She was fully clothed, which suggested nothing..untoward, but the thought that you might have been interrupting something was still enough to make you blush. "Sometimes people cannot handle the healing."

"My lord can handle a lot," you shot back, and instantly regretted it. This woman clearly knew what she was doing, and you were going to pick a fight with her while Loki waited in his chambers in distress? Idiotic, prideful girl.

But Eir was nonplussed. She gave you a gentle smile and inclined her head. "Of course, my lady. Come, I will check on him."

So the three of you tramped back through the corridors to Loki's chambers, and Eir perched on the edge of the bed. Your stocking had held, though Loki still struggled against it. He was fighting harder now, and the angry words that now fell from his lips nearly set your ears aflame. Again, Eir was not rattled in the slightest. Instead, you heard her laughing and murmuring something as she stroked the prince's face and checked his bandages. Whatever she said, it served only to further incense the prince—he pulled so hard on the stocking that the entire bed began to rattle. Finally Eir drew something from her breast—a small glass bottle, probably, though her back was to you so you could not be certain—and pressed it to the prince's lips.

Soon he began to settle. Eir continued to stroke his forehead, and you did your best to ignore that strange, petulant emotion rising in your throat. Now that the danger (such that it was, in any case) had passed, you began to notice Prince Thor's eyes drifting towards you again, and you remembered that you were still wearing nothing but your shift. Trying (and most likely failing) to look nonchalant, you bent to retrieve Loki's cloak from where it had been dropped onto the floor. The material, though once soaked with rainwater, had dried quickly, and it was hardly even damp when you fastened it around your throat. And just there, beneath the slightly-musty scent of clothing worn for too long in too much weather, was the now-familiar scent of your prince. You held the cloak against your face and breathed deeply before remembering yourself. The other two in the room did not seem to have noticed.

You wanted to join Loki on the bed, but Eir was still whispering to him, and, uncertain whether it was some kind of healing chant or merely words, you held back. Thor stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms for a rib-crushing hug.

"Eir is a great healer," Thor said against the top of your head. "He will be fine in the morning. You will see." It might have been more reassuring had that night (the one with too much wine) never happened, but as it was, you merely stood there with your back achingly straight and waited for him to be finished.

It seemed like years before Eir stood up and turned to face the two of you, but when she did, Thor finally released you. You gathered the cloak up closer to your neck, holding it closed in the front to cover as much of yourself as possible, and she inclined her head at you once more. It was a kind of bow, you now recognized—nothing like a curtsy for the Queen, but certainly something that wasn't necessary for someone of your position.

"He will sleep through the night, my lady,:" she said. "I have given him something to make sure of that. You should sleep as well. The fire in his skin will trouble neither of you tonight, and by morning it should be more bearable."

And then, for the second time that night, the two of the disappeared together through the chamber doors. You stood there, looking at your prince. It was true, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully now—at the very least, he was no longer thrashing about. Perhaps you should untie him.

With a shyness that made no sense at all given the situation, you approached the prince and struggled with the knots (all of his tugging had made them all the tighter). When they were finally undone, you let the stocking drop to the floor again and held his hands against your chest until they felt warmer. His skin was, of course, still cool to the touch, but they felt more...right, anyway. Emboldened by his lack of response, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles and placed his hands carefully on his chest.

As soon as you did, it was as though all of your remaining energy was completely drained from your body. All of this worrying, all of this exertion, all of your panic and fear, had taken its toll on you, and you just barely managed to climb into the bed. You were asleep even before your head landed on the prince's shoulder.