The Mistake

Neal didn't seem to handle stress very well. He felt like hitting someone all day, and when that pressure came to its peak, well...it wasn't pretty. Neal had managed to control the stress and his temper the rest of the day, training having gotten his mind off of most of it and reading after supper, alone and in his rooms. However, the morning following brought a dream in which he had almost engaged in the act of procreation with Kel. That stressed him at first. Then, he had had to cope with Kel in a bad mood, Owen pouting because no one would hold a good conversation with him, and Cleon prodding him in the back and whispering to him about Kel.

Afterward he had gone to the infirmary to help out his father again, only to get turned away after three hours of service. He hadn't known what to do with himself, so he had gone out to the training yard to find that it had rained while he had helped out in the infirmary. He couldn't train properly in mud, especially as out of practice as he thought himself to have gotten. So he turned tail and went to the practice gym to spar with anyone there. He found himself alone, as everyone in their right mind had either gone to the library, gone to the stables, gone into the city, or had used this opportunity to nap. Pages sat in class and probably snoozed or paid attention, depending on whatever class they sat in.

Neal decided he wanted to act foolishly and pummel the dummy Kel had cracked her head open on the day before. He hadn't gotten far when he realized that this type of training didn't seem to aide him in any way, so he walked off to try and do something productive. He couldn't think of anything that didn't involve going back to the infirmary and begging for Duke Baird to let him help, so he trod back to his rooms. He would read a book or something, he had decided. Maybe he would take a nap. But no. Every time he drifted off to sleep, it would start to rain, or Cane would come wake him up, or he would have a dream about Kel that startled him awake. This seemed to stress Neal out even further, so he decided to write an apology letter to Yuki again.

He wrote four of them, each saying the same thing in different ways, and decided neither of them expressed what he wanted to say without sounding harsh, cruel, nonchalant, rude, or indifferent. He wanted his letter to express sincerest regret without sounding phony and he wanted it to sound kind and logical. He wrote a fifth letter that sounded crueler and harsher than the rest of them, and threw all five of them into his fireplace. So when midday rolled around, Neal felt just about ready to tear his hair out. Presently, he snapped at all four of his companions, resulting in Kel snapping back at him. They had a little spat that grew into a medium spat that almost grew into a full-out argument, had Roald not walked over and suggested Kel escort herself from the mess in his regal tone. She followed his command, and Neal had to bite his tongue not to yell at Roald for talking to her in that tone of voice.

At this point, Neal refused to apologize to Kel. He had apologized to her in their last fight--he didn't count her coming into his room and apologizing while he "slept" because she didn't tell him to his face, whereas Neal had approached her and apologized--and he wanted Kel to come to him. However, the afternoon progress onward and Kel still didn't come back. So Neal went back to the practice gym and found her there, sparring with the dummy. He picked up one of the staffs hanging on the wall and went through drills with it, watching Kel out of the corner of his eye. She didn't even seem to notice he had entered the room, let alone stood not twenty feet away from her. This only served to stress Neal further, so after an hour of practice drills with the staff and his sword, he left the gym with Kel still sparring with the dummy.

He wandered aimlessly about the palace until he found Cleon, who decided he would say something ignorant, crude, and teasing about Neal and Kel.

This served as Neal's breaking point.

Rather than Neal simply walking away, he pulled back his arm and punched Cleon in the nose.

"Ow!" Cleon yelled. "You bastard! I was only teasing you!"

"Have I mentioned I don't like to get teased?" Neal asked, eerily calm as he proceeded to pummel the taller knight. Cleon, somewhere near the middle of the fight, seemed to realize what had happened. He began to fight back then, ultimately resulting in Neal having a broken arm and a black eye. Cleon, however, fared far worse: two black eyes, a most likely broken bloodied nose, a split lip, a broken thumb, and a broken wrist.

On the bright side, Neal felt much less stressed.



Later that afternoon, approximately an hour later, Cleon and Neal both sat in a conference room with Jonathan. For the first ten minutes or so, they all sat in silence. Jonathan just glared at them, thinking of what to tell them and what he should do about them. Neal, however, felt somewhat bad about all the damage he had done to Cleon. Cleon just wanted to get back to trying to win the fight, which had only stopped because Neal's arm had popped in two places and he could no longer use it.

"Who won?" Jonathan finally asked.

"Me, your Majesty," Neal answered quietly.

Jonathan looked at Cleon, then turned to Neal. "Yes, I suppose you did. Surprisingly so. Had the fight gone on, would Kennan have won?"

"Most likely, sir," Neal confessed. "He could still use both of his arms by the time mine broke."

Cleon seethed silently at Neal, his thumb, wrist, and nose throbbing painfully. His black eyes had faded somewhat under Duke Baird's careful hands, but he still couldn't see exactly clearly. He decided, however, to keep quiet unless Jon spoke directly to him and let Neal's mouth run away with him.

"How did this happen?" Jon wanted to know. Neal closed his eyes and tried to figure out a way to answer that question without sounding ludicrously pert. Maybe Cleon would speak up, but Neal doubted it. The king of Tortall watched them expectantly, hoping to get an answer out of them without forcing it. Finally, he clasped his hands together on top of the desk and tried again. "Well?"

"He insulted my honor, and Mindelan's honor as well," Neal admitted, deathly quiet. "I realize that doesn't excuse what I've done."

Jonathan sighed. "Well. I'll neglect to ask exactly what passed because, quite frankly, while I care I find that knowing details will just serve to anger me. The only thing I'll tell you is this: go back to the infirmary, both of you. Heal. I'll decide what to do with you two disruptive knights when you can physically handle it."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Neal and Cleon said in unison. Neal hauled himself from his chair, carefully holding his pulsingly painful arm so Cleon wouldn't hit him with his large, hulking mass. Cleon, however, had another agenda in mind. He "accidentally" jostled Neal as he left the room, silently avenging his bruised ego. Neal winced, training his fiery green gaze upon the flame-headed brute shortly after.

"Kennan!" Jonathan barked. Neal looked at the king, surprised at the display of anger that he had promised later.

It does seem to be later, Neal thought wryly, his mouth twisting into a smirk as he edged past Cleon, who had just returned. Cleon wore an innocent expression on his face, and Neal left him to fend for himself as he walked back to the infirmary.



Neal had just lied himself down in the bed his father had assigned him too and slept the moment he came back. Walking without jarring his arm had proven quite a task, and despite how carefully he stepped he managed to move it. He had also made his bones numb in that arm about halfway to the infirmary, and that took quite a lot of energy. So he had flopped into bed.

He hadn't slept long because every time he got comfortable and into a somewhat deep sleep, he would do something to disturb his arm and jerk awake. So eventually he gave up on trying to sleep too deeply and had taken to resting his eyes. He didn't realize how much time had passed until the bell for supper rang, setting off Neal's internal clock. His stomach growled angrily at him, to which Neal just patted it awkwardly with his left arm, "Okay, okay, stomach. Calm down. We'll get you fed well soon. I hope."

Neal didn't even consider eating the health-concious food that the healers insisted upon everyone consuming. He hoped and maybe even prayed a little that perhaps Kel, Owen, Seaver, or even Roald would bring him a plate of food from supper, or something. His stomach wouldn't let him go without food for much longer, and the bland-tasting, cardboard-like healer's food had started to look appetizing.

"Food..." he moaned. He hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning.

Suddenly, something fell on his lep. He blinked at it, recognizing it as a plate from the mess hall, and someone had thought enough of him to pile some of supper on it for him. He looked up and had greedily started to thank whoever had brought it, finding himself looking straight into a pair of deep green-hazel eyes, and Neal found himself floundering. "Thanks..." he breathed.

Kel grunted. "I know you usually eat more," she told him gruffly, "but they wouldn't let me out of the mess with anymore than that." She sat on the edge of the bed and fiddled with the blankets. "Couldn't tell them I brought it out for you either, your father would have pitched a fit."

Neal managed a chuckle. "I don't doubt it. If I hadn't--"

"Why did you fight with Cleon?" Kel asked suddenly, her eyes suddenly much more extreme than they had seemed two minutes ago.

Neal paused with his vegetables halfway in his mouth. He slowly lowered the bottom half back onto his plate and swallowed what he had in his mouth. He covered one of her hands with his free one, drawing her attention away from his face. "He accused me of sleeping with you behind Yuki's back. 'Taking advantage of my fiancee's inherent absence,' he said. He--" Neal stopped. "Well, that's all he said, really."

Kel looked back up at Neal, noticing his gaze had dropped to their hands as well. She reached up with her other hand and tapped underneath his chin with her index finger. She pretended not to notice the way his cheeks turned pink when she touched him. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing, Kel," Neal lied. "Really. Just something about my mother and father that I had to avenge."

Kel studied him for a moment, his cheeks growing to a light red as she did, and decided he had told her the truth. She noticed how cold her hand felt when Neal took his back, though, and that scared her. Since when had she cared whether or not Neal touched her? Well, since her page years, that is. Really, had she ever grown out of that? Or had she only deluded herself? Thinking back, Kel realized that she had liked Cleon because he flattered her and liked her for who she truly was; like Neal did. She liked Dom because he had the same sense of humor that Neal did. She had liked men with different facets of Neal's personality after she had supposedly talked herself out of the crush, or whatever it was.

She couldn't possibly...

"Thank you again," Neal said quietly. He had cleaned his plate while she had wrapped herself in her thoughts. "I would have starved if you hadn't thought of me."

"I always think of you," Kel blurted out before she realized the thought had even formed. Her cheeks colored and she looked at the floor, not noticing that Neal's had done the same. They stayed that way for a few moments, before Kel finally broke the silence, drawing her body entirely up on the bed by taking her shoes off and hugging her knees to her chest. She looked at the blankets or his hands or the wall or the table next to him. She said, "I'm sorry."

"For saying you always think of me?" Neal asked.

"That and the fact that I've ignored you for the past day and a half," she continued softly. "I'm sorry I pissed you off at midday yesterday. I'm sorry I didn't apologize until just now. I meant to apologize earlier, I just kept getting side-tracked." She felt the tears coming on again. Everything and almost everyone had been ripped away by the Master. And now that she had apologized to Neal, she showed that she cared about him, and he became another potential target for the Master to use against her. "I'm sorry, Neal. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry, Kel," Neal told her. She had buried her face in her knees, and he could see her shoulders tremble ever so slightly every few seconds. He frowned, took her gently by the elbow and pulled her closer. He stroked her hair, "Kel," he murmured. "Kel," he said, just as softly, his voice enticing like a warm fire on a cold winter's night. She raised her head slowly, looking at him with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. "Mithros," he breathed. He cupped the side of her face, his eyes full of concern and that damned longing and all the love he should of felt for Yuki but felt for Kel instead. He gently wiped away some of her tears with his thumb. "Did I make you cry?"

"No," she answered, leaning unconsciously onto his hand. "No, Neal. You...you would never make me cry."

It took all of Neal's willpower not to kiss her right there, their faces so close already they could feel the other's breath caressing their cheeks. Kel tilted her head up, angled to capture Neal's lips as they began their agonizingly slow descent.

"Neal..." she murmured, leaning a little forward herself.

They both jerked to look for the source of the crashing noise they heard outside. "What the hell?" Neal voiced their thoughts.

"I'll go look," Kel offered, scrambling from the bed and running out of the infirmary, leaving her boots sitting on the floor next to Neal's bed. A little way down the hallway, the dark haired servant who had taken Kel's letter to the master had found himself shoved rather rudely into a suit of armor standing against the wall. She ran down the hallway, footsteps muffled and nearly silent without her shoes. As she came closer, she heard voices.

"...right now," the attacker commanded.

"I-I don't know!" the servant wailed. He whimpered pitifully.

"Take me to her. Now, you insolent, foolish knave!" the attacker demanded, kicking the servant in the leg.

"I d-don't know where s-she went to," the servant cried. He began to mutter a fervent prayer.

"Don't pray, you fool," the attacker hissed. "Tell me where you saw her last."

"She w-w-was in the m-mess hall," the sevant told him, cowering. "I s-swear, Master G-Garvey, t-that's all I know!"

"Garvey!" Kel yelled suddenly. The attacker looked up, his hood falling off to reveal the face of Garvey of Runnerspring. "Garvey, leave the poor man alone. He obviously doesn't know anything."

"Ah, Kel," Garvey's mouth curved up in a sadistic smile developed only through killing and enjoying the pained and tortured look on his victims' faces as they died. "Just the lady knight I wanted to see."

"What do you want," she asked flatly. "I haven't got much free time on my hands, you see, Garvey. I actually happen to *serve* the realm of Tortall--"

Garvey laughed the sick and twisted laugh that only came from having a smile such as the one he had. "Have you honestly deluded yourself into believing that by serving Our Great Lord and Master you actually serve Tortall? My, my, my. Well, if the incentive works. You have one month, two weeks, and five days, by the way, Kel. If you don't find our Scroll by then, it's lights out for Sir Hollyrose. You wouldn't want that, would you, Kel?"

Kel neglected to answer his question. "What do you want, Garvey?"

"Here," Garvey replied nonchalantly. He handed her a rolled up piece of parchment. "Find the Scroll, then find me. I'll be around. All you need to do is look."

Garvey turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, shimmering and finally disappearing completely. Kel knew that he either still walked down the hallway or had stopped to see what Kel would do after he had cloaked himself, so Kel helped the dark haired servant to his feet. He scrambled away from her and ran down the hallway the opposite direction of Garvey, and Kel stood in silence for a moment.

"Garvey."

"Yes?" he answered, his voice sounding hollow and bouncing off of the walls.

"Go away. Leave me to my privacy. If I need you, I'll find you," she snapped. She heard his footsteps retreat further down the hallway and heard him turn around the corner. Kel ran back to the infirmary, but by the time she came back, Neal had fallen asleep and Duke Baird had returned from his supper.



"Neal..." Kel sighed, cuddling up to him.

"Kel," Neal murmured, kissing the top of her head. He slid his arm snugly around her waist--he couldn't stop amusing himself with the fact that he had never noticed how perfectly his arm came around to settle on her hips. They sat against the wall on his bed in his quarters, content to just sit with each other. "I love you. You know that?"

"And I you," she answered, trailing small butterfly kisses up his neck and jaw.

Neal turned his head and caught her lips with his, finding himself on all fours above her and she lied back. She grinned mischievously up at him, her hands dancing from the nape of his neck, down his chest, and to the hem of his shirt, and Neal found himself without a shirt. Kel made an appreciative noise at Neal's broad expanse of chest, and trailed a pattern on it. She decided she rather liked kissing him rather than drawing invisible patterns on his chest, so she slipped her hands around to the back of Neal's neck, pulling his head down to kiss her again.

Neal couldn't quite figure out how, but soon his pants, Kel's shirt, and Kel's breeches joined his shirt on the floor.

He fingered the edges of her breastband, tracing the curve of her breasts under the material, and took to trailing his fingers lightly down her flat, smooth belly.

"You are exquisite," Neal whispered, burying his other hand in her hair and pressing bruising kisses to her mouth.

Neal woke up and groaned. Another dream...and on top of that: his arm hurt. Badly.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaa..." Neal whined, sounding like Daine. "Daaaaaaaaa..."

The faint beginnings of sunlight had just begun to filter their way into the room. The sky still seemed gray and fuzzy, pink and the faintest shade of orange shaded the edges of the horizon. "Father!" Neal called again. He heard no answer. "Hello, healer people! Patient in pain here!"

No one answered.

Neal grumbled, hauling himself out of bed--careful not to jar his arm too much--and made his way over to the medicinal potions cabinet. His fingers skimmed the bottles lightly, reading the labels on them; the words would look foreign to one who didn't practice healing. He found the pain medication he had wanted and grabbed it from the shelf, then looked for the potion used to sped bone growth and grabbed that from the shelf as well. Taking the bottles by the necks near their caps, he hurried over to the cups used to administer the potions. He measured out dosages for himself, grumbling about fathers who didn't keep an eye on their sons, and quickly downed both of the potions. Within moments, Neal felt the pain calm to a dull ache, and he could feel the bones start to grow, however minuscule. Quite an odd sensation, he mused. He had never used the potion on himself, but while working at New Hope he had used it for a man who had gotten every bone from his humerus to his carpals magicked away in his left arm.

Neal just hoped his father's potion would work as well as Neal's had. He also hoped it didn't work faster, or else Neal would have a very large bone in a couple days.



"Good morning, Meathead!"

Neal had watched the sun rise over the closed shutters in the window and hadn't noticed when Kel entered the infirmary. Now he did, though, as she set a plate of breakfast on his lap. "Good morning, Lady Knight." He looked at the food on his plate and grinned. "I see you managed to sneak out with more this time. A fellow could get very used to this."

"Quiet," ordered Kel. She grabbed a piece of sausage off of the plate and bit into it. "I didn't eat because the only way I could sneak out enough food for you was to tell them that I planned on eating in my room. I told them I felt particularly tired today and would like to eat in my room so I could have some peace."

Neal frowned at her. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Lied?" Kel asked, taking another piece of sausage and noticing that Neal hadn't eaten anything yet.

He shook his head. "Skipped breakfast."

"It won't kill me, Neal," Kel rolled her eyes. "I bear the title 'Lady Knight' you know, and that didn't just happen to plop down in my lap one day."

"But look at you," Neal argued. He reached out and grabbed her small waist. "You lost so much weight since I saw you last..."

Kel shifted, trying to get him to let go of her without prying his hand off. "I'll eat, Neal! Seriously, why do you think I brought so much?"

Neal, rather than answering, made room on the plate of cardboard-tasting food and plucked a few pieces of food from it. He set the rest in front of her. "Eat."

Kel's face twisted into a sort of half-grimace, half-scowl and she demanded, "Do you always have to act so stubborn?!" She grabbed a few pieces of food from the original plate and dropped it onto Neal's. "You need to eat more than I do."

"I'm not sick, Kel," Neal retorted. "And yes, I need to be stubborn." He took the food she had forced onto his plate and returned it to hers.

"Insufferable," Kel growled at him, neglecting to form the rest of her sentence as she put the food back on his plate.

"Willful," Neal shot back. He once again deposited the pilferred food onto her plate.

"Pig-headed," she accused. She wouldn't let him win their fight over the food.

"Scoundrel," he informed her.

"Brat!" she reminded him.

"Shut up," he commanded.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Fine. Make me."

Neal leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

Kel froze and looked at him with wide eyes when he pulled away. It had been the lightest, barest grazing of their lips. So why do my lips feel like they've caught on fire? Kel wondered dazedly. She rubbed her temples, closing her eyes.

"Kel?" Neal whispered. He felt an incredibly sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach, something he didn't like. She looked...pained. "Kel...?"

She didn't look up at him as she stood up. She muttered something about the library and meeting someone there, bade Neal farewell briefly, and took off.

Neal buried his face in his hand. He didn't notice that Kel had abandoned her plate on his bed, just that he had made a horrible mistake.



Domitan of Masbolle, known most around the palace at Corus as Dom, rode onto the familiar grounds at close to two o'clock that afternoon. He had just ridden up from the incredibly warm desert to the chilly city, and he had news to report to Raoul. Nothing much, he just had to come up on the monthly report. They had decided to report in the third week of every month, and...well, Dom had arrived a little earlier than expected, but he hadn't know what the trip back would have gone like. He normally didn't go down to the desert, and because of that, he hadn't known how long the trip would take.

He pulled onto the King's Own's grounds, hopping off of his horse and leading it to their stables. One of the hostlers took his horse and Dom left, walking towards Raoul's office. As he entered, he wondered if his cousin had found Kel yet...

"Dom," Raoul said, startled. "You...came early."

"Almost," Dom agreed. "Technically it's the third week of September because the month started on this day three weeks ago."

Raoul rolled his eyes. "Well, what have you to say?"

"Firstly, so I don't worry the entire conversation--did Neal find Kel?" he asked outright.

"Yes, and right now she has gone out to the fields to help the pages train," Raoul replied. "Seems a bit distracted, but she'll get her act together soon."

Dom nodded, sighing with relief. He sank into the chair in front of Raoul's desk and told his commander of the proceedings in the desert with the Bazhir. Apparently, they had gotten ahold of some sort of scroll and wouldn't let a soul touch it unless they belonged to the specific tribe. They did, however, seem to want to sell it on the black market, and apparently everyone and their brother involved with the dark arts had tried to pay them more than the asking price: even double or triple. One bidder in particular had tried to pay them much, much more than the asking price. He called himself the Master Wizard, and offered the Bazhir tribe six times the asking price.

The Bazhir had begrudgingly begun to consider his proposal.

Raoul listened stoically and finally nodded in satisfaction at the end of the report. "Thanks. Why don't you go catch up with your cousin and Kel? Neal's landed himself in the infirmary with a broken arm and black eye, if you care to go visit him."

Dom refrained from laughing. "Right. Thanks, Commander."

Raoul just nodded and waved Dom off.

He rushed off to the infirmary first to check on his cousin. He knew that Neal had most likely gotten himself into a fight, but he wanted to know who the poor soul was that decided to mess with Neal. Dom entered the infirmary to find Neal snoozing, a half eaten plate of food from the palace mess set on the table next to him.

"Hey, Sir Meathead," Dom said loudly, tapping his cousin on the uninjured arm.

"Kel..." Neal murmured softly in his sleep, so quiet that Dom had had to strain to hear it.

"Oh, dreaming about our fair lady Kel, are we?" Dom surmised. "Wake up, Meathead." He knocked him on the head.

"Ow!" Neal jerked awake. He glared at Dom angrily and told him something rude.

"Now, is that any way to greet your cousin?" Dom teased.

"What do you want?" Neal asked irritably. "I had just gotten to sleep--"

"Dreaming about Kel?" Dom inquired, smirking. He saw his cousin's cheeks flush. "Thought as much. Anyway, see you hauled off and got your arm broken. Raoul said you had a black eye, but that seems to have vanished like the rest of your head. What happened?"

"None of your business," Neal grumbled.

"Touchy this afternoon," Dom guessed. "Well, I'll just go ask Kel then..."

"Do what you want," Neal mumbled. "I want to sleep."

"All right, all right," Dom conceded. "I'll come back later though, after supper. If you don't have plans."

Neal made a rude gesture at Dom and glared until the sergeant left the infirmary. Dom whistled congenially as he made his way out to the page practice fields, spotting Kel a mile off because of her height compared to the others on the fields. He waved when she looked up, and she waved back uncertainly, hurrying back to helping a page with his staff technique.

He approached the fields and helped the page opposite of the one Kel had decided to help. They improved their fight greatly, but soon began to lose their balance. Kel sighed and rubbed her temples, looking up at Dom. She blushed, seeing too much of Neal in his face for her liking. Especially after what had transpired that morning. "What do you want, Dom?"

"...Did something happen with you and Neal?" he asked, concerned. "He snapped at me and now you seem to not want to talk to me. You didn't even say 'hello.'"

Kel sighed. "Sorry. Hello, Dom. What do you want?"

"A conversation. Do you think you can leave the pages alone and let their instructor do her job?" he asked innocently.

Kel glanced at the pages, at the instructor, then at Dom. She yawned and told him to wait there while she told the instructor that she had tired out--because she had, her yawn testament of that. She came back to where Dom waited for her and followed him into the palace, drying her forehead off with a towel. "So. Where have you gotten off to?"

"I came here to report to Raoul what was happening in the south," he answered, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"Oh? Why did you go south?" Kel wanted to know.

"Bazhir rebel upheavals," Dom explained. "Apparently, they've gotten ahold of some scroll and are trying to sell it on the black market. Strange happenings. I'll bet that scroll thing is powerful though, seems everyone and their mothers want to get it from them."

Kel stiffened. She had no doubt that the Master had found out about it and had already placed the largest bid on it. "Really?"

Dom nodded enthusiastically. "I got a look at it, even though they didn't want anyone to see it. It's in a purple tube with a red cap."

The Abscador Scroll.

So the Bazhir had gotten hold of it?

Interesting...

"Ah!" Dom said suddenly, rubbing at his eye.

"Dom?" Kel frowned. "What happened?"

"I think something flew in my eye..." he cursed.

"Let me see," Kel pulled his hand away from his eye and peered at him. "I don't see an--"

Dom kissed her.



Neal felt bad. He felt bad for calling Kel names that morning and kissing her, and he felt bad about snapping at his cousin. So he had managed to pull on a clean pair of breeches and most of a shirt, then sneaked out of the infirmary. He knew that Dom couldn't have gotten far, seeing as Kel's rooms were all the way across the palace from the infirmary, and as far as he knew she had gone to her rooms after midday and had stayed there.

However, Neal rounded the corner after the entrance to the palace coming off of the practice fields and saw something quite disturbing.

His cousin and his best friend, who he had hoped to some day be something more, stood in the hallway, making out.

Heartbroken, Neal retreated to the infirmary.