Phobos had stared at the bloodstain on his floor that should not have existed for hours. It must have been well past morning before he even noticed how far his mind had wandered. He vaguely remembered one of the servants coming to fetch the knife, but he did know if they spoke to him and if they did, what was said. He knew it was still storming as he'd watched the lighting strike off the other towers for what seemed like days. He knew that Cedric's spilled blood was slowly losing its luster as it congealed on the floor and that someone had offered to clean it, but he'd only stared at them blankly. At some point, he dimly recalled, the storm passed and was replaced with a small shower of too-gentle rain. He was both consumed by and devoid of any thoughts. He'd been slapped with a harsh reminder of his own fragile mortality. That bloodstain had been just one lazy, unconscious decision away from being his own. After all, despite their relationship, Phobos still spent plenty of nights alone in his bed, and that night could have easily been one of them. He was supposed to be safe in his chambers. He'd made sure of it! What was the point of absorbing all that energy and throwing Meridian into chaos if he was not even powerful enough to protect himself from the most rudimentary of assassination attempts? A poisoned knife while he slept!? It should have been child's play to prevent such a haphazard attack, and yet all his carefully crafted defenses had done nothing to stop it. Not his guards or his wards or even Cedric's own biology. Suggesting the straightforward attack was indeed anything but. The thought that he'd missed another vast conspiracy against his reign was a terrifying notion.

Phobos was no stranger to committing violence, but it was another matter entirely to be the victim of it. As the Prince, he could cherry-pick what acts of butchery he did and did not wish to witness and thus would never have imagined he could be so affected by what was by even his standards, a fairly tame display of savagery. He'd witnessed Cedric do far worse to former members of his Council with a smile on his face. And yet, he could not stop the scene from replaying in his head. Every time he closed his eyes, drops of vivid red blood dripped off Cedric's lips, and when he opened them, there was nothing but a marble floor marred with the precious liquid. And when it was not Cedric's face leaking blood in his visions, it was his own. Phobos was not sure which was worse. At this point, being the one left behind seemed like the worse agony. He faltered and fumbled for hours, almost as lost as when his sister had been taken. And even then, taken left so many options for return, dead did not.

Then, a fair time after the dulled sun had cast its green light onto the land, a trickle of his senses returned and suddenly it felt as if ants were crawling under his skin. Everything in his chamber was wrong and warped, and looking down at that horrible red stain made him feel as if he were being asphyxiated. He could no longer hold himself still. Every fiber in his being needed to do something...anything. He tore through his closet, dressed, and fixed his hair the same way he did every day whenever he finally chose to wake up, but with wild, unhinged energy. Magic crackled and snapped around him as he moved, and his fingers twitched violently of their own accord as if the storm from earlier had redirected into his own body. He needed something to focus on, something to calm him, something to reassure him he was still in control of this castle and everything else.

The first thing he did was rip off the mystic overlay on his door, exposing the wards hidden beneath the illusion. The tick that formed in his eye as he examined his failed protections was near unbearable.

Not a single spell remained intact. Not a single one! Runes were broken, magical bindings severed in two, and many spells were removed entirely. Mystic energy practically poured out from the broken enchantments before him. He stared at the scene, dumbfounded, his mouth voicelessly hanging ajar.

Not possible.

With the power of the very land at his fingertips, he outclassed all other sorcerers in the world. There was no one left on Meridian who could match his magic now! He was certain of it!

Or was there?

His cousins had come close, but they'd killed themselves bickering over Weria's empty throne while he was still gathering his army. His sister? Had she been returned to her world without him knowing? No, and even if she had, she would be much too young to perform such complex magic. Whoever had done this was a mystic veteran and well versed in occult magic, no less. But...who could possibly challenge him now, and why wait so long to do so? Was it because of the food shortages? Perhaps, and yet...

This was simply impossible. Everything about it was impossible. The magic, the poison…

The blood starting to boil under his skin, he pooled all his stolen energy to rework the enchantments. He re-etched runes, reforged connections, and carefully knitted together torn pathways and channels. Performing such magic was a labor-intensive process that left him with beads of sweating rolling off his brow and took well over an hour. Changing and fortifying every spell multiple times till he deemed it worthy once more. But as he finished, he hesitated. He thought it was impenetrable last time as well.

Hoping to salvage something out of this nightmare, he pressed his hand against the door once more, checking for any hints of residual magic his assailant may have left behind, now that his own broken spells could not throw off his perception. Phobos did not believe the man who'd actually attacked him possessed any magic himself, or he would have used it to defend himself against Cedric and was most likely merely serving someone else's whims. Perhaps he'd been aided by a talisman or other such means of magical transference. And if that were the case, that meant the man would not know to cover his mystic footprint as a proper mage would and might have potentially left a clue to his Master's identity.

His hand lit up as he called forth any traces of magic to reveal itself, and just he suspected, tiny wisps of ethereal fog appeared around central points on the door. He reached out and grasped the swirling energy, and it instantly dissipated into nothing as he absorbed it. His eyes narrowed in furious confusion. The magic was unfamiliar to him. It was fierce and hot and vital, not unlike pure, unfiltered life force, but far more...primal, if that was even possible. It was not the refined and perfected magic of Escanor mysticism or even the wild natural magic that coursed through the native's blood, but something far older, primordial even. The well-versed Prince had never felt anything remotely close to it before, and that unnerved him further still. He broke contact with the magic sharply, his fingers and eye twitching once more, or maybe they'd never stopped. He didn't know anymore.

He moved to return to the maybe-safety of his chambers, but the waft of air that greeted him was foul and metallic smelling. His stomach churned, and he slammed the doors shut no sooner than he'd opened them. The Prince pressed his forehead against the cool stone door, desperately trying to regain a hold on himself. He was a monarch! What ruler had not survived an assassination attempt before? Even his well-beloved and perfect mother had faced one! It wasn't as if he did not know people wanted him dead. He was a tyrant in the eyes of his people; of course, they wished him ill! He and Cedric had even undercovered a few such plans and nipped them in the bud. Oh, he knew what the people wanted to do to him.

But no one had ever come close before…

Stealing a helpless infant in her crib while the castle was already in turmoil was one thing, but this was a different matter entirely. No one had ever outsmarted them like this before. No one had ever ripped through his own defensives like they were silk ribbons and brought his invincible general to his knees with nothing more than a simple knife. No one on Meridian anyway.

His mind instantly and involuntarily returned to the sultry jungles of Zamballa, where he'd been thrown face down in the mud, bruised and drained and terrified. That humiliation, that defeat, that fear had been the driving reason for his energy absorption. So that he might be the unchallenged ruler of Meridian, even without the Heart, and yet, it appeared it was all for naught. Someone out there in his own world had just made a fool of him in his own castle. Their goon had waltzed into his stronghold and humbled him far more than even that dreaded Guardian had. Proved he was not almighty and untouchable. He was still nothing more than a simple man. One made of perilous flesh and blood, weak and powerless to stop his assailant, no safer than the peasants in their shanties despite all he'd done to secure himself.

The realization of that was...unnerving.

He glanced down into the dark stairwell below him nervously. The Prince was alone, but that gave him little confidence. Why had Raythor not returned to him, at the very least? Had Cedric passed, and no one was brave enough to inform him? Had the Captain been attacked as well? Phobos was unsure if he actually wanted to know the answers to his concerns. He tried to gather his breath, to calm himself, but knew no breathing exercise would relieve his troubles…

He needed power.

However, the walk to his nexus was just as agonizing as cowering in his chambers. Constantly checking around corners, whirling around mid-step to make sure no one was following him, stretching his magic out in front and behind of him to look for traps or ambushes. All the while desperately attempting to appear like he wasn't doing any of these things, that he wasn't terrified to walk in his own castle, and he was not deeply distressed by the events of the night before. He caught sight of a few of his guards, but they did not seem any wiser to his plight or even that unsettled in general. Phobos moved to chastise them but then wondered if they were even aware of what had transpired. It was sensible to keep the matter under wraps for the moment, to avoid panic until they knew what they were dealing with, but he'd been so discombobulated he did not remember giving any such shrewd orders. He supposed it must have been Raythor's doing since he was the only one capable of forming coherent thoughts at the moment. Or his guards were even more incompetent than he first believed. Phobos would hardly be surprised at this point.

He finally made it to the spring, locking and magically barricading the door behind him for good measure. Phobos did not risk further exposing himself by undressing or even stepping fully into the water. Instead, he simply knelt at the water's edge, his hand outstretched over the pool. He paused, suddenly taken aback. His trembling hand was still covered in dried and flaking blood. How had he not noticed that until just now? He signed in exasperation with himself and then placed his palm against the water.

Lifeforce instantly pooled inside him, and as it did, the chill, the shaking, and the ache that had plagued him all night immediately left his body. But the blood did not. Curling his lips in disgust at the sight, he reached his other hand into the water and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until the red stain had dissolved into the water. He watched the last remnants of it dissipate into the spring, wishing all his problems could disappear so quickly. He scratched at his robes, suddenly anxious once more despite the comfort the water always brought him. Had it always been so hot down here? Warm water, warm stones, warm air. Why was it all so warm?

It was suffocating.

And thus, Phobos did not linger in the relative safety of the cavern. Afraid if he stopped to ponder the matter, he would be consumed by it once more, as he had been in the immediate aftermath. He did have the luxury of waiting for the chaotic state of affairs to sort itself out while he brooded. That would lead to a bigger disaster than they already faced. His general was incapacitated, and Raythor could not be left in charge of the situation by himself.

He had to gain control of this. He wasted enough precious time as it was. Now was the time to act.

Before taking his leave, however, he put his hand back in the water, gathering more and more and more power, more than he'd ever attempted before, into his body. His limbs quivered feebly again, but this time from the sheer force of energy he was trying to contain within himself. Phobos ignored that. He took on life force until there was nowhere left to store it until the power could literally be seen pulsing under his skin like bioluminescence. It was...not a pleasant sensation to endure, but it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore but finding answers and reclaiming his castle from whoever dared to invade it. They would not take what rightfully belonged to him. He was not going to lose anything else to the traitors lurking in the shadows.

Phobos sauntered into his throne room, knowing it was no safer than anywhere else in the castle but also forcing himself to no longer care. He'd finally calmed down enough to realize that if his chamber had been compromised, then everywhere was compromised, and thus where he went made very little difference. But he certainly wasn't going to abandon his stronghold because of that fact. Whoever had tried to kill him meant for him to feel unnerved in his own sanctuary, but he would not give them that pleasure. He'd pulled up defensive wards around his person in the event he was ambushed but convinced himself to remain calm. He was still the Prince of this Castle!

To his slight surprise, Raythor was there waiting for him. Phobos reached out and silently tested his aura with his magic, looking for signs of a Glamour. He could not stop the sigh of relief from escaping his lips when he found none. He then brushed past the Captain, and with a forced air of leisure, he made his way to the top of his throne. The Prince looked down dismissively on the kneeling man, who looked even more exhausted than Phobos had previously felt. It seemed the only one who was getting any sleep was Cedric, he thought drily. With his jest, his mind unbiddenly conjured up a pool of blood staining the ground. Phobos shook his head sharply to shake the thought.

"Report."

Raythor's reports were always straightforward and dull, not unlike the man himself. Today, however, Phobos found his drollness almost comforting. The smallest sense of normalcy amidst the pandemonium.

"I have put the castle into lockdown, demanded all the dignitaries stay in their rooms and ordered all other non-essential personnel to leave. The Castle is aware there was a situation, but no one knows the full extent of the matter, but for the alchemist and the healer who I thought needed the full story to conduct their business properly. I have searched all night but found no other signs of trespassers, your Highness. However, the would-be assassin is in the dungeons, along with the guards who failed you. I am having him interrogated as we speak. The last time I checked in on her, the alchemist was studying the poison remnant left on the knife, but she had nothing to tell me yet. The healer is-" Raythor fidgeted with his helmet held in the crook of his bent arm as he gathered his will to continue. "He is not hopeful."

"I see."

There...was a lot to absorb in that statement. However, Phobos was unsure of whether he actually could absorb it. He considered ignoring the last part of the report entirely to focus on the more critical tasks at hand, but...he just had to know.

"Did the healer say why he is not hopeful?' Phobos finally dared to ask.

Raythor seemed reluctant to answer. "He says he's never seen anything like it. And...he does not know Lord Cedric's body as he knows the human one. His medicines and antidotes do not take to his blood, apparently."

Phobos snorted out loud in derision. His healer was supposedly the best in practice, but clearly, his knowledge was limited only to those of his own species. It had just never occurred to Phobos to have someone on staff who could treat his general. He'd only ever been concerned about if he was wounded because his skin was not made of nearly impenetrable scales that could stitch themselves together of their own accord from even the most grievous of injuries.

"That idiot is wasting his time. Shapeshifter's blood burns through Escanor elixirs like acid. It's why they are supposed to be immune to poison in the first place."

Phobos pressed his fingers into his temples and signed. Did no one in this castle have any sense? Raythor faltered as if he was unsure of whether he should continue but then decided to do so anyway.

"I've heard stories of a shifter woman who lives on the outskirts of the Capitol, who used to treat their kind in secret during the Queen's reign; she is not classically trained, but she still might be useful. I do not even know if we could even find her, but it might be worth looking into, your Highness."

Phobos considered that idea. He did not know if he should risk sending precious resources off on a potentially fruitless endeavor when everything else was in such disarray. After all, even if they did find this healer, it was not as if Cedric was some garden variety arachnid or amphibian shifter. His kind was so rare now...it was just as likely this shifter woman would have about as much clue what to do with him as Phobos' human healer, and that was not even taking the oddness of the situation into factor.

But…

This was Cedric's life he was gambling with. And despite feeling the Lord was responsible for his own fate, he couldn't just sit and do nothing, not when there was still a chance, however small.

"Have a few soldiers go look for this woman, but do not let them or her know why. I do not need the whole Capital to know my greatest asset is incapacitated."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Now, Lady Amelda's staff. It's possible the assailant may have slipped in with them. Her entourage will need to be interrogated as well, but the Lady can not know this until we are done with them, or she will never allow it. I have enough to deal with without her kicking up a fuss on top of it. Of course, the main focus must remain on the assassin. Make sure the most talented torturers stay with him until he gives up his information."

Raythor stood up and started to the door, but thoughts of Cedric's fate and the man who'd sealed it brought up another concern in Phobos' head. Again, his clenched fists started to tremble for what seemed the hundredth time today, but this time, it was with rage. This whole fiasco could have been avoided. It should have been so simple.

"One more thing, Raythor."

The Captain stopped and turned back around to regard him.

"Your Highness?"

"You are...popular among the common folk, aren't you? As well as anyone who serves me can be, I suppose," Phobos drawled. Raythor liked to play cards in town with retired veterans from the Royal army. The Prince had always found Cedric's habit of spying on the Captain (and anyone else he disliked) a waste of his time, until now.

Raythor looked cautious. "I know many of the prominent villagers, if that is what you mean, your Highness."

"And the people who were protesting yesterday, did you know any of them?"

"Yes, your Highness, I know most of them."

"Excellent, I want them brought to the dungeons for questioning about the events of last night. You will drag them out of their homes if you have to. If they refuse to speak, they will be tortured until they break or until their last breath, whichever comes first. On the slim chance they do not know anything about the matter, they will still be publicly executed. If anyone tries to stop you or stirs up trouble during those executions, you can add them to the chopping block. There will be no more of this nonsense, for they used up the last of good graces when they sent a man to kill me in my sleep!" Phobos' voice practically broke at the end of his order. This should have been done after the very first of their little displays, not…

He shook his head again, refusing to dwell on the matter.

"Yes, your Highness," Raythor's face was distressed and conflicted, but he bowed and obeyed all the same. That was the difference between him and Cedric. That was why Raythor was up and moving, and Cedric was…

Was…

He did not even know who to be upset with. While Cedric's feeble lenience was the major contributing factor to this ordeal, Phobos had known Cedric was ignoring the problem and let him continue to do so rather than risk a petty fight. His feelings had overridden his logic. And unfortunately, they'd both been wrong, and rather than acting as each other's failsafe as they should have, their complicated mess of emotions had once again led them into disaster. Phobos might have forced himself to contemplate what their relationship had cost them, but…

"He is not hopeful."

Did it even matter anymore? It seemed one of them was going to pay the ultimate price for their mistakes.

Phobos did anything and everything he could to keep himself occupied over the next few hours. Stopping to think was too painful, too distracting, and he wanted nothing more than to avoid another breakdown at all costs. Everything he did was now focused on returning things to normalcy. He re-checked his wards on his chamber door, watched the first round of traitors dragged into the castle from his balcony (where he placed new magical protections, despite it being higher than any man could ever hope to climb), and even held a terse and deeply unpleasant conversation with Lady Amelda, assuring her the talks would continue at the earliest convenience. To his surprise, the Lady was more than happy for the reprieve despite only enduring a single day of debate. The empty-headed woman had not even noticed her dwindling staff as they were pulled away for interrogation, as she was too busy laying her troubles from the day before at his feet. Typical nobles. After that, he re-checked his wards in his chamber again, then placed more new wards on the entrance to his spring (no longer believing it simply being hidden protection enough). He had no concept of how much time had passed from the events of the night before and did not care to. There was nothing left to do but wait, wait for information to slip from the prisoner's lips so they could plan the next course of action.

However, the Prince had vastly underestimated how much power he'd been pouring into his wards and the toll that his untended tension and anxiety had taken on his body. Phobos had been halfway through placing an intricate spell on the hidden door when the trembling and jitters returned all at once. There was no warning; one moment, he was focused and intent, the next, his knees gave out, and he was lying on the ground, his life force wholly exhausted. He was painfully aware of every muscle in his body quivering and aching and cramping in protest from the lack of sleep and his hours of overexertion with his spells and the pure stress that had robbed him of his senses since Cedric had first dug his nails into his chest. The Prince of Meridian had to literally crawl on his hands and knees back to his source of power. But despite the wave of overwhelming fatigue, Phobos fumed.

Was the entire universe currently out to get him? He'd not completely drained himself since warping the appearance of his castle. But, of course, today would be the day he managed to do so again. After all, what else could possibly go wrong?!

Phobos finally dragged himself to the side and then collapsed on the edge of the pool, listlessly dangling his arm into the water once more. He could feel the energy flood into his veins, but the water did not bring relief to his sore and spent body. The Prince stared out at the water, completely disorientated. That had never happened before, and it was one of the strangest feelings he'd ever endured. His head was filled with resolve and vigor, and yet at the same time, his muscles screamed out in protest as he tried to lift himself off the floor.

But he couldn't stop. He couldn't go back to his chambers, or go back to sleep, or sulk in the library. If he did, his thoughts would devour him once more. So he must keep busy, keep moving, or he would…

He might have started taking control of his castle and his security, but there was still one problem he'd ignored entirely.

Phobos was unsure if he could ignore this problem away. He could, he supposed. Cedric would die, and Phobos would replace him. That would surely be a simple enough process. But then the same mind-numbing realization that struck him when Cedric had left him the first time reappeared. Who would replace him? Especially after this?! Who on Meridian could he ever hope to trust again? He was going to be alone. Alone with no one to depend on, no one to stop the next knife.

He had to do something.

But just the thought of going up there made Phobos groan in misery. He did not want to see Cedric. He wanted to avoid that aspect of the horrific affair more than anything else. His shifter's near-death experience had been what set him off in the first place. Phobos had never been as...lost as he'd been when Cedric had started spasming on his floor, choking on his own blood. Phobos unable to do anything but sit there and watch it happen like a slack-jawed fool. If he saw him again, would that same feeling come back? The feeling he'd been trying desperately to chase away all day? The feeling of being completely and utterly powerless?

Could he come to terms with that horrifying realization? That there might be nothing he or anyone else could do?

And yet, when had Phobos ever sat back and let fate do as it willed with him? He was still the most powerful man in Meridian, regardless of what had occurred. So, there must be something he could do for his pet. His idiot doctor didn't even know all his hours of effort had been pointless. Phobos was no healer, but at least he knew that. And while he could hardly be considered an authority on shapeshifters, he had poured over every book in the castle about them once he'd started courting one, and he'd been around Cedric for many years now, that must count for something.

He would not sit by and do nothing again.

The walk up the Northern Tower, where the medical ward was, was one of the longest and most awkward of his life. Every second step, he had to stop and catch his breath even though he was filled with spiteful determination. The glances he took out the window told him it was sundown once more. Phobos did not know where the time had gone today. It seemed like no progress had been made, despite his obsessive tinkering with his spells and his orders to Raythor. As far as he knew, the man still had not broken, nor had the other rebels, and Cedric was still unconscious.

At least one of those facts needed to change.

The Medical Wing was not a large space by any means. It was reserved for the Royal family and the highest-ranking members of their Court. And since Phobos' Court had abandoned him six years ago, the ward was rarely used. The doctor had been called to his own chambers once while he suffered from an exceptionally unpleasant head cold one winter. Otherwise, he'd never really earned his keep. Phobos, fueled by the lifeblood of the planet, rarely fell ill, and Cedric would quote 'rather die' than have the neurotic and fidgety healer (or really anyone he did not know) touch him, no matter how terribly wounded he was, and usually just hid away to lick his wounds. Unfortunately, the poor shifter did not have much choice this time around.

Upon entering, Phobos glanced around the chamber, momentarily disoriented. There was no sign of the doctor or his staff, nor anyone else. There was only one bed at the end of the hall, hidden away with heavy, teal, and gold drapes. A chill crept up his spine from the sight.

His instincts wanted nothing more than to flee and pretend nothing had happened rather than admit how much this disturbed him. But, instead, Phobos swallowed thickly as he fought down the haunting memory of Cedric's strangled gasps for air.

Instead, Phobos marched pointedly in that direction, knowing if he paused to ponder the situation or hesitated in the slightest, he would lose his carefully built-up nerve.

He again took a quick survey of the room, but there were still no signs of the healer or anyone else. However, the displeasure he normally would have experienced at their negligence had been buried with all his other feelings. No matter what, he would remain calm and dignified. No matter what. So, Phobos pushed aside the drapes that surrounded the bed, pointedly ignoring the distinct tremble of his hand as he clutched the curtain.

Once again, Phobos was struck by how different reality was from the romanticized version he'd enjoyed reading. Cedric did not look 'eerily beautiful' or like he was 'peacefully slumbering,' although he was lying completely still on the bed. Instead, he looked like, well…he looked like exactly what had happened, like someone had come extremely close to killing him. There were patches of dried blood around his nose and mouth though most of his face had been cleaned off, his closed eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles, and there was a massive, ugly bruise on one side of his face where he must have bashed it against the floor during his thrashing. His golden hair lay in a disheveled heap under him, matted with bits of dried, clumped blood, and it seemed no one had been brave enough to dress him, as he was still covered with Raythor's cape and the bloodstained linens of the bed. It occurred to Phobos he'd never seen Cedric just...laying flat while asleep like that. He was always curled up tightly around a pillow or himself, or buried under blankets, or coiled up in his true form, or at the very least, sprawled over Phobos in some ridiculous manner. It was strange that something so simple could unnerve him so.

His stomach curdled at the horrific sight, though he'd not really expected much different. He was, at the very least, still alive. Phobos could see the labored, erratic rise and fall of his chest clearly now. However, as his eyes fell from his face and traveled further down his body, something caught his eye. Tentatively but filled with a morbid desire to understand, Phobos carefully pulled down the blanket that covered Cedric's body away from his shoulder to look at where the knife had struck him, something he'd considered no more harmful to Cedric than a needle prick at the time. He recoiled as it was uncovered, exposing a hideous, discolored, open wound. The edges of the laceration were blistered and actively weeping clear fluid as if it were a severe burn. Yet, streaks of highly inflamed vividly red tissue branched off from the injury like it was a festering infection.

Like everything else that had occurred over the last twelve hours, the Prince did not know what to make of the strange effects of the poison. He'd reached his threshold of frustration and fighting the urge to lash out at someone, anyone. Shouldn't the magical properties in Cedric's blood have burned away all traces of the poison already? Escanors had used their blood as the base for a myriad of antidotes for centuries because of its potency. So, why-how was it still lingering?

He just didn't understand. He didn't understand any of it! All his carefully constructed mental barricades collapsed to his wave of fury, desperation, bewilderment, and grief. He could feel his treacherous eyes start to water and had to fight to keep his breathing even, and his magic from spiraling out of control. The irony of being the most powerful man in Meridian, and feeling just as helpless as everyone else in the face of catastrophe was not lost on him. He was not nearly as removed from their relationship as he believed himself to be. But it was too late to examine that revelation now, he'd let it go too far and now it threatened to drag him down with Cedric unless he intervened.

Phobos, not wanting anyone to see him in his moment of weakness, ensured for a final time no one was anywhere near him with a wave of outstretched magic. He needed to be alone. And seeing that he was, he cupped Cedric's head gently in his hands. The left side of his face was mercifully cool once more, but the right side, where the tracts of the burning redness ran up from the knife wound, was not. It seemed even hotter than before, in fact.

"Cedric, you have to wake up." He ordered him, trying to be as indifferent as if he were rousing him from his nest on any other dreary day. Cedric, of course, did not move. Phobos had not really expected him to, not with mere words anyway. This wasn't some ridiculous children's tale, after all.

"Wake up." He repeated himself, but this time, pathetic desperation leaked into his harsh demand. Magic pooled in his fingers, and he poured the energy into Cedric's head, sharply shocking him in an effort to startle him awake. He still did not move.

"Wake up!" Phobos finally snapped, letting loose an immensely powerful bolt of energy fly loose from his fingertips that was fueled entirely by his precarious emotional state rather than a real sense of reason. Cedric's body convulsed from the massive rush of magic he'd unleashed but then fell perfectly still once more. Phobos swallowed thickly, and that helplessness crept back into his bones. And then; fury.

He slammed Cedric back into the bed and promptly stood up in order to collect himself elsewhere. The calm he promised he would maintain was shattered. He was being foolish. Stupid. Pathetic. He was more knowledgeable than anyone in this castle, and that was what he tried? All Phobos had done was start another trickle of blood from Cedric's nose.

The healer chose that moment to enter, pushing aside the drapes and then promptly dropping all the tinctures and the pile of damp towels he carried as he caught sight of the Prince. Glass shattered across the floor in a thousand jagged pieces, and the liquid inside hissed and boiled when it made contact with the ground. Phobos glanced down dully at the mess, the corners of his lips starting to raise into a hateful sneer, and then looked up at the idiotic lead healer.

"Your Highness!" The man stammered. Then, his eyes drifted to the shifter, and his face paled instantly. He brushed past Phobos with no regard for presence, despite his earlier horror at seeing him, and kneeled at the side of the bed in obvious distress.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," he fussed, frantically reaching into his pocket to pull out a square of soft fabric that he dabbed at Cedric's bloody face. The man hovered over the shifter nervously, seeming to be waiting for something to happen with bated breath. However, Cedric did not so much as twitch. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the doctor exhaled loudly and leaned back in relief, and then instantly tensed up again as he remembered he was not alone. Phobos raised an eyebrow expectantly at the poor fellow, who was tripping over his tongue in his presence.

"The-the seizing starts up again randomly. It usually comes with the blood, your Highness. I believe it stems from the inflammation, but nothing seems to cool it."

Phobos looked down at the fool with a look of distaste and the doctor visibly gulped.

"Yes, Captain Raythor told me you'd tried a large number of medicines, and none have taken. I do not suppose you know why that is?"

"No, your Highness."

"Then you are not aware Escanor medicine has little effect on shapeshifters, and you have wasted both your and the Lord's limited time."

The doctor's eyes bulged in terror at the implications of that statement. He fumbled over his next thoughts as he picked up his towels, shaking bits of glass from them, and carefully placed them on Cedric's neck and shoulder, where the inflammation was the worst. Phobos had to clear his throat impatiently to get him to continue.

"I've...heard stories. But I thought if the poison had weakened his resistance enough for it to have an effect, perhaps other tonics would as well."

Well, Phobos couldn't fault that logic, at least. Now, if only Cedric's body had agreed with it.

"And do you know what manner of poison this was? No antidotes have been administered?"

"No, your Highness, Alchemist Forza has narrowed the suspect list but has not confirmed anything yet. Whatever it is, it's been heavily modified."

"Obviously," spat Phobos.

The healer flinched at his antagonistic tone but Phobos ignored the man and looked back at Cedric. He looked as if every labored breath might be his last.

"Do you have any sort of plan then?"

"I…I am just hoping to keep him cool and alive long enough for Forza to find or make an antidote."

Phobos honestly considered throwing the man out the window with his magic. He barely managed to fight down the impulse, instead stood up and loomed menacingly over the pathetic wretch.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly, doctor. Your patient is the crowning jewel of my army, my general and only advisor, a being who stopped a poisoned knife from stabbing me in the heart while he slept in my bed, and your plan to keep him alive is nothing but a few cold rags?!"

The doctor, panic-stricken, repositioned himself, so he was kneeling before the livid Prince. Phobos drew back from the repulsive sight of the man's watering eyes and trembling lips.

"Please-please understand, your Highness, I have already tried everything I could think of! Poisons require an antidote! And if Lord Cedric's blood will not provide him with a natural one, then there is nothing I can do but wait for an artificial one to be found while I try to manage the symptoms! Please, go speak to Madame Forza and check her progress!"

"I wonder if any other Escanor has had to deal with such utter incompetence!" The tinted bottles of medicine sitting on shelves above them shattered as the Prince raged.

"Your Highness, please! I do not feel it wise to be throwing around magic!" The doctor managed to warn him, even as he cowered pathetically before him.

"Ah, so you are confident of that fact, and yet you do not seem to know much about anything else, do you?" Phobos questioned callously, ignoring the fact that he had no more answers to the problem than the doctor did.

"I-I just-"

The sound of the bed scraping against the floor startled them both. True to the healer's word, Cedric had indeed again started seizing. However, it was not nearly to the level of intensity that the first one had been. These were far smaller and only produced a series of small, erratic jerks. Phobos watched them with a facade of indifference, the memory of the first attack still painfully fresh, but the doctor instantly seemed to forget his terror with the Prince and leaped to the bedside once more.

"Nicolas! Bring more ice and towels!" he shouted to the back of the infirmary, where his assistants must have been hiding.

The doctor, who, despite his earlier timidness, was apparently braver than the Prince, grasped Cedric's shoulders and turned him onto his side so the renewed flow of blood could safely spill from his nose.

"You're alright. You're alright," the man repeated, absentmindedly stroking the shifter's tangled hair from his face, more to reassure himself than the unconscious Cedric. The panic in his tone was unmistakable.

Phobos, however, found he was more in control of himself this time. Instead of soul-crushing helplessness, there was only that deep, boiling rage. People out in his world thought they could just march into his castle and take whatever they wanted from him. His birthright, his life, his sister, his pet. Well, they were wrong, weren't they?

Emboldened by that fury, Phobos also reached out and touched Cedric's shoulder, right above his wound, and let a wave of frigid magic creep from his palm, where it formed a layer of frost on Cedric's feverish skin. It was not a cure by any means, but it was more effective than the doctor's damp rags. Cedric stilled almost instantly, but just as quickly, the streaks of inflammation melted the coating of ice and throbbed faintly as if they hadn't even been cooled.

"I don't understand," Phobos, primarily to himself, repeated the thought that had been lingering in his head all day. "If it is that virulent, why hasn't it killed him already?"

The doctor looked up at him warily, but Phobos cut him off vindictively.

"Don't bother. I'm well aware you have no idea why."

Phobos took one more solemn glance back at his oldest and only confidant. In Phobos' mind his bloody, drawn face morphed into one of a young servant boy looking up at him with wide, adoring violet eyes as if the Prince was the most impressive thing he'd ever seen in his life. Even though Phobos performed only a paltry bit of magic for him.

It was a potent memory.

"Luckily for you, I know where I can find some answers."

Prince Phobos had only been down to the dungeons below his castle once before. Ironically, for almost the same purpose. The young, distraught Prince had cradled the beaten and battered, nearly unconscious shifter in the same way he had in the Royal Infirmary, hoping against hope his magic would be enough to fix everything he'd broken. And here he was again. Sometimes Phobos felt his life was nothing more than a terrible, vicious cycle of his own making he would never escape. And yet, he knew, just as he did then, the only choices he had were to let Cedric go to his fate or intervene and accept the consequences. And Phobos was done with having his possessions stolen from him.

At least, he was not entirely to blame for this particular disaster. The Rebels and Cedric himself bore the brunt of the fault for his condition; Phobos had only enabled it this time around...

The Prince had barely made it halfway down the stairs to the dungeons when the cacophony of screams, cries, and wails of torment reached his ears. It seemed his interrogators were hard at work. Perchance, they might already have the information he required. Then he snorted at the thought. He'd never been that fortunate.

They were so engaged in their business that no one in the chamber even noticed his presence. Questionings were happening in every cell, and with varying rates of success, it seemed. Some people were so terrified they did not seem to need any encouragement to talk, and others were enduring full-blown torture to loosen their tongues. Phobos observed the scene passively, uninterested in anyone but the man who'd been sent to kill him. Finally, he caught a glimpse of Raythor, and a few of his other lieutenants congregated around one of the cells, bickering over some matter, and sauntered over to them, all of them still unaware of his arrival.

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

"Several, in fact."

"Like what?"

"Starvation!"

"We don't have time to wait for him to starve, you fucking moron!"

Urg. Soldiers. So uncouth.

"What are we discussing, gentlemen?"

In spite of everything, Phobos still found it the tiniest bit amusing to watch his servants panic and fall over themselves as he intruded into their conversation. Only Raythor remained stoic, his face ragged and worn. He doubted his 'honorable' Captain was enjoying carrying out his orders as some of his other soldiers were. And yet still, he obeyed. He was nothing if not devoted.

"The assassin," Raythor answered him, casting a nasty look to the cell behind him. "He's been worked nonstop for the last few hours and hasn't even told us so much as his name."

"Nothing?" questioned the Prince. Raythor shook his head.

"I did not expect him to spill his guts immediately, but I did expect something, " the Captain continued.

"As did I." Everyone close enough to hear him stiffened at that comment. "But it doesn't matter now. He will speak to me."

"Your Highness?"

Phobos merely raised an eyebrow in response to the Captain's tentative tone of voice. The soldiers glanced at each other warily. None of them could remember the last time the Prince had taken any matter into his own hands. But, not wanting to risk the Prince's ire, the men lowered their heads and promptly moved out of his way. Phobos briskly strolled into the opened cell and again was instantly struck with the metallic smell of freshly spilled blood. He took a deep breath and forced himself back to the present. What he planned to attempt would require absolute focus.

The man was lounging in the corner of his cell, seemingly unbothered by everything that had already happened to him. Like his back hadn't been completely torn apart by whips, or his fingers crushed, or that pins had been forced under his skin. His arms hung uselessly at his side, where Cedric had broken them right above the elbow, and his eyes wandered unconsciously in their sockets from his head trauma, but an ugly smirk still graced his face as he looked up at the Prince.

"Prince Phobos, what an honor to see you again. I would bow but," he shrugged his shoulders uselessly and then chortled. His sneer widened into a full, deranged smile as Phobos curled his lips in distaste at his behavior. "Tell me, did I kill your little worm? I've asked, but they won't tell me. That's the real torture here if you ask me."

Phobos bristled at that comment. He seriously considered turning the wretch inside out to watch him flop about like a fish on the floor, but no, he must be patient. Learning the truth must come first. But the man then chuckled darkly, taking his raised hackles as a sign to continue his prodding.

"Ah, I did, didn't I? And now you're down here to exact your revenge instead of crying by his bedside like the grief-stricken maiden I thought you were. Well, that's a pity because we have bets in the tavern, you know, about who fucks who? Now, most people think you're the boss since you're the almighty Prince and all, but I always thought it was the other way around. After all, we all know how much our Prince Phobos wishes he was a Princess. So, I thought you'd quite enjoy having a snake slithering up your skirts. But I guess I was wrong, ah well, at least I won't be alive long enough to have to pay up."

Phobos painfully grit his teeth in absolute fury but did not dignify that vulgarity with a response, though being silent while being subjected to such an indignity had started the tic in his eye once more. Instead, he composed himself and looked down at the man with an aloof expression while summoning a gossamer strand of azure magic in his hand.

"You are going to tell me what I want to know, rebel."

The man leaned his head back and laughed once more. "Do you think so?"

Phobos's lips curled into a sneer at the man's bravado, his innate magic sparking around him as his temper continued to build, threatening to bubble over once more. He'd almost been murdered the night before, watched his companion bleed out on the floor, had all his defenses stripped, and was now being insulted on top of it all because of this man. Only the fact that his vengeance was at hand stopped the coming explosion. This insolent fool had no clue what was about to transpire.

Phobos did not typically dirty his hands with such menial and vile tasks as interrogation. In fact, in-depth interrogations like this one were not usually needed at all. Normally all Cedric had to do was surround prisoners in his coils and flash his fangs, and men came unglued, but there was always one or two who refused to break for even the most atrocious of their methods. And if those stubborn few held truly vital information, they were treated to Phobos' unique form of questioning. A rather gruesome affair if there ever was. It had been his mother, of all people, who'd taught him the spell. Not directly, of course, but through her journaling in the Book of Secrets. Her paranoia had led to some…questionable acts, including the creation of this spell.

The Prince held up his hand and allowed the strand to float over to the man, who observed it with narrowed, wary eyes. The air rippled like water, and the magic latched to the other man's face, and Phobos' and the man who'd tried to kill him consciousnesses connected seamlessly.

The spell was complicated, meant to be performed by one who held the mystic energy of the heart. Mental manipulation was the darkest and most treacherous sort of power and drained life force like no other magic did and thus was especially dangerous to average sorcerers. An incredible prize for a steep price, as it was with all occult magic. Phobos' unique powers allowed him a workaround to drain the life force of the victims themselves to power the spell, but that meant his time was limited to how long they could sustain their own torment.

The first wave of emotions, especially on one who'd already been tortured, was usually overwhelming and chaotic, making it easy to pull out whatever answer he was seeking, but not so with this man. His mind was as calm as still water and full of barriers. The man seemed completely unbothered by his invasion, the ugly smirk still on his face. Furthered incensed at the man's nonchalant reaction to his onslaught, he mentally dug his fingers into the man's subconscious. Finally, the would-be assassin lurched forward in agony, jaw clenched as he held in a scream.

"That's better. Now, what was the name of the poison you used?" Phobos sent telepathically, his phantom voice thunderously loud.

The man looked up at him venomously, face red and clenched. "Fuck you."

"Very well. The name of your leader then?"

There was no response but the sound of his labored breathing. Phobos could feel himself shaking; how dare this scum defy his will? The Prince twisted and pulled on his very being, and the man, unable to hold himself up, collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain.

"I highly suggest you tell me something."

But there was no answer, only the man's rhythmic, almost methodical breathing. Phobos raised a brow, suddenly curious as he prodded at one of the man's remarkably study mental barricades.

"Someone has trained to resist this sort of magic, haven't they?"

Even though his torment, the man managed to look up at him with a crooked, cocky grin. "Yes. You're wasting your time Princess."

Phobos warped his mind once more for the insult. He received the slightest bit of satisfaction as the man finally screamed. "Mmm, I do not believe I am. Everyone breaks, eventually."

"Your soldiers have been torturing me all day…" He stopped to catch his breath. "Half my blood is spent on the cell floor. How long do you think you can pry into my head before I die and take my answers with me?"

"As long as I have to!" he snarled. Had the Prince not been so enraged and exhausted and worn, he might have pulled back. He might have considered the dire implications of that statement, but the man's constant barbs had sent him over the edge he'd precariously balanced all day. Instead, Phobos supplemented some of his own life force to the spell, ripping apart a few of the assassin's defenses and sending the vermin into another fit at his feet.

"You will tell me what I want to know. Who you work for, the plans, the poison, all of it!"

"I really think your time could be better spent preparing funeral arrangements for your whore." The man finally managed to choke out, eerily familiar trails of blood beginning to spill from his mouth.

"Enough!" Phobos bellowed. He poured the stolen energy he possessed into the spell, the magic wildly tearing apart the man subconsciously and physically. His screams echoed off the walls as muscles unwound themselves, skin split, and his bones broke. Finally, his smugness was dashed, and all that was left was the ravings of a man who was clinging to his last bit of sanity.

"I serve the true leader of Merdian! A visionary! A-" The man writhed in anguish as Phobos peeled back another layer of his subconscious.

"And who is that!?"

Suddenly the man's body stilled completely, and he looked up at him darkly. There was a menace in his eyes that brought a chill to even the fearsome Prince's spine. He spoke his final words to him in a low, eerily whisper.

"The Rebellion and its leader are coming for you. They are going to tear you down and cast you into the streets where you will answer for everything you've done. Your precious throne is going to be ripped from you. You will be nothing-"

Phobos had lost his self-control with devastating results before, and this was no different. Just like when he'd learned the Heart would be out of his reach for over a decade or when his sister was taken. His magic was perilously fueled by his emotions, and when he snapped, it did as well. There was no controlling it.

The man jerked up once, like a puppet whose strings had been pulled, and then he collapsed to the ground, blood spilling from his mouth and nose in the same manner that he'd caused Cedric to suffer the night before. Phobos stared down at the corpse in wicked satisfaction, pleased that his infernal mouth was finally shut.

Then the smirk fell from his lips.

This man held all the answers. The answer to every single problem plaguing the castle and himself. The only link he had back to rebellion and its mysterious, magical leader. Their location, their plans, the poison. And he'd burned it all in a fit of childish rage. Phobos could only stare in horror as the last of his hopes seeped into the floor with the man's blood.

AN-

Sort of another fakey!cliffhanger. Sorry! As I said before this meant to be all one chapter with one bad 'cliffhanger' but then the chapter got split into two rather than have to deal with a 25,000-word chapter. As always, a thank you to all my readers and reviewers! Your support is greatly appreciated.

-RoR