Disclaimer: I do not own "Hollow Kingdom." It's Clare B. Dunkle's brilliant piece.

AN: Happy Quarantine! This chap is dedicated to the three readers (who might still be) following this fic! XD

NEVER. I NEVER abandon a fic! THUNDERCLAP!

Chapter 4

Catspaw sighed as he stared up at the mosaic tiles of his ceiling; it was an intricate pattern of shapes and colors made from inset gems and precious metals—dwarf work, very beautiful, but he'd seen it his whole life!

The books piled on his side table were a mix of novels he'd already read (having inherited his parents' voracious appetite for literature, he'd made quick work of them) and dry history texts his tutor wanted him to review for a writing assignment Seylin had planned to be due at the end of the month.

He was only three chapters into the larger one his father had lent to him from his personal library on hearing of the essay. He'd brought it to him yesterday and had mentioned that they might discuss it at length before Catspaw put pen to paper. He'd readily agreed because he enjoyed father's company in any capacity but…ugh…the style was so…tedious he kept falling asleep mid chapter. It didn't occur to him that his father selected the tome with that in mind.

Convalescence was boring, he decided. It was his third day of bed rest following his disastrous night out. The cracks on his human hand had healed fairly easily and just the faintest lines could still be seen. The fur on his right limb protected it altogether.

If he was ever out in midday again, he'd be sure to take an animal form. So, that was a helpful thing to know for the future…maybe thirty or forty years from now…when he was a king himself.

He sighed again and fiddled with the fringe of a decorative pillow.

Supposedly, his father had been bedridden following his heroic defense of his mother against a goblin-soul-stealing sorcerer. Catspaw didn't quite believe it. His father injured? His father needing several months to recover? It had to be an exaggeration.

When he sat up and readjusted his pillows, he noticed that he'd left blood on them. He had several deep breaks in his skin along his jaw and on his scalp and neck. Since head injuries (even ones as shallow as these) were known to bleed freely, his parents had instructed him to take the matter seriously. They didn't want him tending to it himself because healing the skin would do no good if an infection had already occurred—he'd just be sealing it in. Father said so.

He could've summoned a servant and instructed them to fetch his father or practiced a parchment charm and let his note find him, but…

But he was so bored! On determining that that was a good enough reason to escape his bedroom, he threw his bedcovers, dressed (albeit a good deal more gingerly than usual) and traveled down to his father's workroom since Court should've finished up an hour ago.

Granted, the trek there was somewhat more tiring than usual…and the back of his neck felt strangely tight until it abruptly didn't…but…the mosaic on his ceiling had lost all its appeal and the workroom always boasted something new and interesting!

He did quietly lament that the palace had quite so many stairs though.

He rested against the door frame to catch his breath (more than a bit embarrassed to have lost it) and he became aware that he seemed to be sweating—his back felt wet.

"Why hullo there, Cat!"

What was that clothes drying charm again?

"Cat?" Richard's voice called. "Catspaw?" he faltered. "K-king-sir? I-I think he needs you more than-"

Catspaw stared at them blankly for a beat.

Right. This was Richard's weekly dose of medicinal magic to help heal his back. Marak was determined to offer the same assistance his own father had given him with his spinal issues as a child. While Richard also sported a twisted shoulder, he stood far, far straighter now than he had on arriving to their kingdom.

The goblin Prince had attended several medical interventions of this sort since his father wanted him to understand the variety of tasks he'd be helping his subjects with during his future reign. In another year or three, Richard would likely no longer need these sessions as he would have (more or less) achieved his adult height.

At each session, Catspaw had openly admired how his father worked the magic so artfully it didn't cause pain.

He'd also quietly envied the easy way healer and patient spoke to one another. Marak seemed to genuinely like Richard and teased him a lot more gently than he did Catspaw.

Not that he held it against the other goblin; they'd become fast friends when Marak had Catspaw act as a guide. He'd been five at the time and Richard (nearly ten) had been newly brought in from the outside realm. Catspaw had felt terribly important to have been chosen for the task. He'd trotted them about, hand in hand, all over the kingdom as he showed Richard things he thought were important; mostly, all the best places to get food or hear music or be told silly stories.

And then, there was the fact that he'd loudly introduce him to anyone and everyone they met along the way as "my friend and subject, Richard. He likes apricot pastries."

Sometimes, to tease him if he was in earshot, Richard would still include that detail in introductions made between him and other Pages of the realm.

It was really rather embarrassing to reflect on. He'd been largely ignorant then of the hardships his friend had experienced on the streets among an uncaring race.

Looking back on it now, he could see how his upbringing and obliviousness could've stoked hostility and resentment in the other…except, somehow his own absurdity had won Richard over and the older boy adored him.

He'd happily given him piggyback rides despite Father's warnings that they needed to be mindful of Richard's hunched spine and constantly indulged him whenever he felt lonely and wanted a playmate, or needed an ear, or longed for an adventurous story about the world beyond their borders.

He'd wondered aloud more than once if this was what it would've been like if Til hadn't hated him. And that always got Richard to dote on him even more.

Maybe he'd helped fill a space after Lore master Ruby adopted Martha and Jack and Richard needed someone to care for? Richard refuted that theory when he'd asked and ruffled his hair; he only did that when it was the two of them: arguing something pointblank or ruffling his hair. He half-expected Richard would die of mortification or combust if the King or the King's wife witnessed such things. He held them in such high esteem.

It was peculiar though because the door had informed Catspaw that Richard had both argued and embraced the king on his arrival. Doors saw lots of things like that. It was what made them interesting company when everyone was busy and he didn't feel like starting on an assignment right away.

Recently though, as Catspaw matured, he broached the subject of his and Richard's meeting admitting that he felt poorly about it. He hadn't handled it with the tact and grace his mother would've expected.

"I just didn't understand your circumstances…if I did cause you distress, I regret doing so-"

"Cat!" Richard interrupted, staring at him with round eyes. "Cat…what are you goin' on about? I'd never felt more welcome in me life than with you…leadin' me 'round like…like…not even as a guest, but family!"

Catspaw blinked at him—not understanding. "We're goblins. We're family by race and magic."

Richard got a little teary at that and embraced him tightly.

Since Mother was too reserved, Til was too hostile, Seylin was too decorous, M was too exhausted, his cousins were too small, Father was too busy, Catspaw was too old for a nanny, and the kingdom at large respected his position as Heir and therefore kept distance out of homage…he didn't get many hugs.

It would be childish to complain about that though…to make demands for something comically simple like that when they all had duties and responsibilities and lives to carry on.

A pang went through him as he thought over the last few miserable days and the lack of comfort he'd received. Maybe Richard would take pity on him if he explained just how beautiful the music had been? How much it hurt to be without it?

He moved forward. But the world felt insubstantial beneath his feet as he left the door frame and he hastily leaned back against it to steady himself.

Quite suddenly his father was before him. He wasn't smiling. "Why didn't you send someone?"

"…I…wanted to walk."

"You should be resting."

It felt like everyone in his family was determined to decide for him what he should and shouldn't be doing since the spectacle.

When he couldn't give a sound reason as to why he'd disregarded his father's orders, Marak had told him quietly and to the point that such reckless disobedience would not be tolerated for an instant. If he couldn't prove himself able to handle such privileges as being outside and unleashed, he wouldn't be afforded them.

And so that he'd be more conscience of the amount of fates twined to his, he'd be expected in Court for the next three months, where he would stand before his subjects.

"Maybe by seeing their faces, you can better remember them and what's at stake?"

And there would be rules upon rules to follow. And he'd be expected to jump to service at his father's every command or scandalize everyone.

It felt like goblin revenge. Effectively confined to the castle for royal duties of this sort, he would better appreciate freedom when given an opportunity for it.

"Really, Son, can you imagine? The scholars recording that the downfall of the goblin kingdom came about because its prince wanted to better hear a musical refrain. That's the danger of elf blood."

Usually, his father was proud of that blood—his mother's contribution to his magic…

Mother…

Her words weren't as harsh but there was disappointment in her eyes that lingered longer than it ever had before.

"Catspaw…you took advantage of your father's trust and…something terrible could've happened to you…"

Seylin's shock and outrage was predictable because he'd "disregarded the king's orders" and blah blah blah clutched his pearls.

Aunt M, ever contrary, was surprisingly forgiving. Having broken plenty of rules and disregarded other's advice on many occasions, she merely said, "I'm glad you're alright, Cat. I couldn't bear it if you'd been hurt." And there was no lie in that. No exaggeration.

His mother was too reserved to ever say anything quite as plainly as that. His father was too goblin to be so sentimental.

No one else had said that. No one. Just recalling it put a lump in his throat.

Everyone cared about the goblin prince failing in his duties.

Aunt M cared about Cat, her nephew. But her arms were full with her new baby, and her son and daughter.

Still, she cared.

It was incredible that humans could care so much…or so little. On the other end of the spectrum, Til relished his fall from grace and took every opportunity in the gap between her classes to rub it in his face until the servants barred her from his rooms altogether with threats of telling the king she was bothering him.

Now, he could've endured the lectures and the teasing and the scandal—considered it his due for senselessly giving into his impulses had they occurred once and been over with.

But everyone's consternation seemed to revive each time they saw him and his tolerance was wearing thin.

So he made a mistake! Was he to be bound to it for all time?!

He looked up.

Did his father's expression have to be so stony?

"I'm bleeding again."

Marak frowned and inspected him carefully. When his fingers reached the back of Catspaw's neck, the child felt a bit of a sting and winced. His father's fingers tightened and magic was pressed into the skin with an almost sizzling tingle.

Usually, Father was gentler than that when he tended to him. Catspaw bit back a cry.

"Richard," the king intoned quietly. "Fetch the jar in the third drawer of my desk. Right side."

The sound of nervous rummaging had Catspaw starting to turn—intent on helping guide his friend—his father kept that jar at the far back corner of the drawer, but his father hissed a firm, "Stop" in Goblin. "Richard, quickly now."

The older boy hastily pulled it out and rushed over, unscrewing the cap as he neared.

Marak took a generous amount and began applying it liberally to Catspaw's neck.

"Richard, there's an elixir in the violet bottle on the first shelf to your right. Unstopper it. Offer it to him."

He half expected this to be an orchestrated show of what an obedient goblin was supposed to look like. But not even the ghost of a smirk settled on his father's face.

"Drink. Two swallows."

He wrinkled his nose and did as bid.

"Good."

Yes, he could've sent someone but…but his father was seldom so…so…

Was he really still angry with him? Through and through?

Marak repositioned his hands, one slipped behind Catspaw's back the way he had when he'd been teaching him to ice skate two winters ago. Did he expect him to fall?

Six fingers were laid across his brow and his father frowned. "You're fevering."

"Why does he get to stay in here, Papa?!"

Marak made a sign in the air and Matilda's shrill voice left her completely and the goblin King smiled his relief.

Kate emerged from her dressing room in her night gown. His wife sent him a powerful look of disapproval but didn't demand him to reverse course. Nor did he expect her to. He'd seen her flinching at the girl's escalating noise all evening.

"I want him close."

The girl's lips trembled furiously at this truth.

Catspaw was to stay in their bedroom this night, the next, or at least until Marak had a better idea as to what manner of affliction their child was suffering. The possibility that he could've bled out alone in his room…and Marak wouldn't have sensed it…

No, the child was to be attended at all times until the King had the situation under control.

The Heir's innate magic should've either begun healing the injury or called to Marak. Something beyond sun exposure was at work…tampering with it. Something had been done to him. Either by the human directly or through the instrument he'd wielded.

The child had given his father quite a fright and he was under no urge to relive it; standing there, at the threshold of Marak's workroom, pale beyond belief because his lifeblood had been streaming all down his back. Marak had been forced to use a great deal of magic to stem the flow and hold the flesh long enough for Richard to fetch the supplies he needed to knit the skin and replenish the child's blood supply.

Marak sat down on the mattress and absentmindedly began stroking his son's magic hand. He couldn't sense an enchantment on the boy's body, though that didn't mean there wasn't one.

And he'd had half of his library delivered up here so he could better research the problem.

"Marak, can't she stay?" Kate sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple—wanting to end the conflict as peaceably as possible.

Til faced him with an expression mired in half hope and half fury.

"Just tonight?"

But Til would never be so easily mollified; one night would become two and then three. Best to nip it before even letting it root.

"No," he replied cheerfully. Besides, Til was known to kick and pinch her foster brother even when she was in the best of moods and considering how jealous she was of the sympathetic attentions he was getting right now, he didn't trust her to reign in her wrath.

Also, while he might be curious to see how Catspaw's defense magic might react under these circumstances, Kate would likely be horrified by the result.

And bearing this all in mind, it was as much for Kate's compassion for Matilda as it was his own wish for his son to escape needless discipline (Kate had a tendency to hold their poor son to human standards), that he used magic to open the doors to their room and levitated Til out—she still managed to get handfuls of their duvet and drag it out with her into the hall.

He closed the doors in her face as she raced to get back inside.

"Marak," Kate scolded levelly and then jumped at the sound of flower vases being smashed outside in the corridor of their family wing.

Marak declared, "Til, if you're not headed back to the Pages' quarters by my count of 5, I'll root your feet to your bedroom for three days-"

"Marak!" his wife protested.

"1…2…3…4…" He waited a moment, nodded to himself approvingly, and then turned to regard his son once more.

Usually, the two children went tit for tat in their rivalry. Even if he'd largely curbed his son's tendency to use magic against her, he just didn't see the sense of not allowing his son to argue. Kate might think such things beneath a budding gentleman, but warring with words was a valuable skill for a king.

Only Catspaw wasn't up for arguments. His gem bright blue and green eyes were closed and he moved restlessly from his place in the center of the large mattress. Marak set his thumb through the furrow setting between those little eyebrows and sent dreamless sleep. He then took to stroking the child's soft curls and watching the small chest rise and fall evenly.

"Oh Marak, what could it be?" his wife fretted softly as she settled to Catspaw's left—having agreed long ago that when their child stayed with them, his magic hand had to be on Marak's side.

Catspaw sometimes spell-casted while dreaming and once, whilst on Kate's side (because Til had commandeered Marak to spite her foster brother and his wife ignored his cautions about their child), he'd enchanted all the pillows to shoot off the bed and knocked various breakables off their dressers.

Marak had been greatly amused by this, his wife was not.

"Can a goblin catch human illnesses? Was the man contagious?" Her tone didn't waver but her eyes were red and it was likely she'd cried in her dressing room.

His poor little wife.

She dipped a small towel into a basin of water she'd enchanted to stay cool. While military magic made up the abundance of her gift, she'd made a point to learn a variety of spells from her husband. She wrung the towel and then wetted down their son's forehead and neck.

"My son," he murmured, cupping the boy's cheek and feeling the warmth of a fever that defied goblin, elven, and dwarven remedy.

"Is he ill, Marak?"

No. No, he didn't think so. This was…something else.

He struggled against the frustration building in him for their sake, his wife and son. He needed to remain clearheaded…even though his vast wealth of knowledge and collection of medicinal potions was falling short and the Stamp of Truth hadn't yielded many useful answers out of their prisoner. But maybe he wasn't asking the right questions?

His wife's breath hitched and he made answer.

"His magic is tied up fighting something," Marak speculated. "I'll question the human, Sam, again. And I'll dismantle that object."

It was testament to how worried his little elf was; she didn't voice her usual supposed reticence of violence (despite having personally beheaded the sorcerer that had threatened them, their child, and their kingdom).

Instead, her blue eyes gazed steadily into his mismatched ones. "Make him well."

"I will."

He leaned over so they could share a kiss. She then settled in and stretched an arm across Catspaw. He reclined as well and twined the fingers of his left hand with hers.

She was trembling.

His eyes blazed as he doused the lamplights in their room with magic.

He would make their child well. He would. He certainly would.

And that human and whatever master he served would experience the full might of the goblin King's revenge.

He flexed his magic hand and purple sparks lit up the dark.

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