Clarus had left him with relatively simple instructions: stay with Regis as long as you are able and do not, under any circumstances, leave him alone with Cor.
As much as Weskham thought the renewed feud between Clarus and Cor was childish, he was inclined to agree with Clarus' assessment in this case. Cor was young and prone to being too harsh. Perhaps time would mellow him, someday, but for now it was best to keep his stern opinions from Regis. This wasn't as hard as it might have been under other circumstances. Cor may have been too honest at times, but he rarely, if ever, offered his opinions unsolicited, anymore—though he certainly had done in his younger years. Now, he believed in his duty and he believed in Regis. His concerns were, just like the rest of them, driven by worry for the king and disappointment at seeing him fall short of his potential.
At his heart, Cor was devoted and loyal. He didn't want to cause trouble for Regis; he wanted to help as much as the others. They just all disagreed about how best to do that.
So, for that day, Weskham set aside his other duties and sat up with Regis. He found Regis in a peculiar mood; he was desperate not to be left alone, for one reason or another, and seemed to be looking for a distraction, but though he begged conversation from Weskham, he dodged all attempts to talk about Aulea.
Weskham relented, bowing to the king's unspoken wishes. He guessed that Regis was searching for a distraction expressly because he didn't want to think about Aulea. This, likely as not, was the same reason why Regis had been working without pause for nearly two months. Now he was unable to fall back on the distraction of work and the kingdom; now he had nowhere else to hide from his grief and he was afraid of being left alone with it.
If he wasn't ready to face it, Weskham couldn't think what to do except wait. Hopefully soon he would fold and accept that he needed to discuss it. Until then, Weskham sat with him and provided a distraction.
He read aloud from a book. It was vaguely reminiscent of a time in the past when a much younger Prince Regis had sheepishly asked for a bedtime story in spite of—in his own words—being much to old for such things. It was Regis, himself, who pointed out that the last time Weskham had read to him, he had been twelve.
"You own choice, I believe," Weskham observed.
"My own choice not to be read to?" Regis asked, opening just one eye to look at him.
Weskham inclined his head.
"I suppose you may be right," Regis' voice was but a whisper. It had worn away, hour by hour, as the day progressed. Every cough seemed to weaken it further. "I tend to avoid that which makes me appear childish… and I daresay it is an undignified way to squander your skills."
"To the first I would respond that, as the King of Lucis, you are permitted to take whatever relaxation you can—no matter how unconventional," Weskham removed his monocle and looked down his nose at Regis. "And to the second: I can make most anything appear dignified."
Regis managed a smile at the last as both eyes drifted shut once more.
"Besides," Weskham said, reaching forward to grasp one of Regis' shoulders. "All of my skills have always been best put to use at your service—whatever service that may be."
Regis opened both eyes to look at him, this time. The smile that had flashed across his face before returned, but this one was smaller: less amused and more grateful.
"Thank you, Wes."
"Of course." Weskham squeezed his shoulder and sat back in the armchair.
The story resumed. They covered nearly three-quarters of the book in this fashion, though Weskham was certain Regis had missed more than half of it. He watched as Regis slipped in and out of consciousness, but he never stopped reading. Regis latched onto the distraction whenever he was awake; it provided him with something to focus on besides his pain, enough that he could fall back asleep again. Without it, Weskham doubted very much that he would have slept at all.
Several times throughout the day, Weskham sent down to the kitchens for food—something Regis could eat without thinking about, whether it be another smoothie or some sort of soup. Weskham managed to coax him into eating no less than six small meals throughout the day in this fashion, and he supplemented them with a constant supply of water and tea whenever Regis was awake.
The room was stifling; he kept the curtains drawn and the fire blazing all day, though winter was beginning to thaw, outside. In spite of the heat, Regis shivered beneath his blankets and Weskham called more than once for extras to be brought. If the fever didn't break, soon, he feared they may have to send for a doctor.
Past dinner time, Clarus returned, evidently having dealt with everything on his schedule for the day. He looked weary after handling not only his own, but the king's responsibilities, but he smiled at the sight of Weskham reading to Regis, all the same.
"Have I missed storytime?" He asked in an undertone, shutting the door behind him and slipping inside.
Regis' eyes flicked open at Clarus' voice. He hazarded a smile at the comment.
"Clarus," he rasped in that whisper that his voice had dwindled to. "How fares my kingdom?"
"Holding together, somehow," Clarus said, though Weskham caught the flash of concern in his eye at Regis' voice. He sat down on the edge of the bed and caught Regis' hand when Regis reached out to him. "I managed not to kill any of your council."
"It is a struggle I face daily," Regis whispered.
"How are you feeling?" Clarus asked.
Regis grimaced, shutting his eyes and resettling his head among the pillows. "Do you recall that time when we faced a gargantua and I was too slow on the roll and ended up sorely walloped?"
Clarus grinned. "I do."
Weskham recalled it, as well. Regis must have been about eighteen at the time. Perhaps a little older. Old enough, at least, to know he shouldn't have been where he was. It was a lesson he wasn't likely to ever forget.
"It is much worse than that," Regis said.
Clarus squeezed his hand before looking up at Weskham. "I can relieve you, if you like, Wes. My reading voice may not be as nice, but I'm sure we can make do."
Though he had been sitting there all day, Weskham wasn't overanxious for a break. It wasn't exactly the most taxing work and it was ever so gratifying to find Regis smiling. In spite of the evident pain, he had been smiling more that day than Weskham had seen him do in the last three—nearly four—months outside of his visits to the nursery.
Still, it did concern him as to what would be done overnight.
He glanced over to see what Regis made of the suggestion.
"No, Clarus," Regis murmured. "You must go home. Your family is waiting for you."
Clarus made a face. "My family will survive without me for one night."
"As will I," Regis said. In spite of his words, when his eyes drifted shut again a furrow formed on his brow. Weskham didn't think it was entirely from the pain.
Clarus caught Weskham's eye. Weskham shrugged. They would make do, one way or another. Regis was in pain but his life wasn't in danger. As difficult as it was to watch, Weskham understood that it was worse not to do anything.
Weskham watched the struggle on Clarus' face, knowing Clarus wanted to help as much as he did.
Finally, Clarus squeezed Regis' hand once more and leaned back. "I'm staying."
Regis' eyes snapped open. He opened his mouth, apparently intent on arguing, but Clarus silenced him.
"No. No objections. I'm not leaving and that's the end of it." Usually it was Regis who put his foot down and got his own way. In fact, Weskham couldn't recall the last time it had happened the other way around, but he watched, amazed, as Regis backed down.
"Has he eaten?" Clarus asked Weskham.
"Several times," Weskham confirmed.
"Good. I'm going to change out of these robes and get something, myself." He squeezed Regis' hand once more before releasing it and rising to his feet. "I'll be right back."
"Clarus—wait," Regis said, struggling to push himself up.
Clarus paused, having taken only half a step toward the door. Weskham leaned forward to help Regis put his back against the pillows and settle in a more or less upright position.
"Are you going to the kitchens?" Regis asked, licking his dry, cracked lips. Weskham handed him the glass of water.
"Yes, why? Can I get something for you?" Clarus asked, eyebrows lifting.
Regis hesitated for a moment, holding the water but not taking a drink. The hesitation, Weskham guessed, sprang from the peculiarity of his request. All this time with no interest in food and now…?
"Chocolate cake."
In spite of his surprise, Weskham kept his features carefully neutral. The last thing he wanted was to frighten Regis off from making further requests for food, however unusual.
Clarus was less controlled. "You don't even like sweets," he observed, clearly taken aback by the request.
"Not often," Regis agreed. "But just now, it does sound good."
Weskham caught Clarus' eye. The first thing that sounded good in four months? It was a step in the right direction, however unorthodox.
"Of course. I'll see what I can do," Clarus said.
Weskham caught the look they exchanged and the nod that Regis gave to Clarus, and he couldn't help the twinge of envy he felt. Clarus was Regis' oldest friend of their group—of anyone at all, in fact, now that Aulea was gone—and sometimes it showed more starkly than others, like when Weskham had spent the full day ensuring that Regis was kept company and cared for but, at the end of it all, Regis just wanted Clarus to stay with him.
Weskham sighed, letting the feeling go. It was a poisonous thought; he knew it wasn't necessarily that Regis preferred any one of them to any other, but that they each had something slightly different with him. Just then, perhaps, after being mothered by Weskham all day, what he really needed was his brother in arms to bring him chocolate cake.
He leaned forward to rearrange the blankets that that been dislodged by Regis' shifting and settled back in his chair.
"Shall I continue?" He asked, lifting the book off his lap.
Regis looked at him for a moment before giving his approval by way of a nod.
Weskham resumed his reading, though they stopped more frequently as Regis asked to be filled in on what he had missed. Eventually Weskham skipped back, as they had done several times that day, to the last thing Regis could remember hearing. By the time Clarus returned, changed out of his council robes and bearing a meal on a tray, Weskham and Regis were both absorbed in the book once more.
Reading paused as Clarus joined them. He sat down on the foot of the bed and passed a plate containing an individual chocolate cake to the king.
"Thank you, Clarus," Regis rasped, managing a smile as he took it.
"It's your kitchen staff you should be thanking. They made that expressly for you when I delivered your request," Clarus said as he set his dinner tray across his knees and made himself comfortable on the opposite end of the bed.
"Weskham will have to see to it that my gratitude is sufficiently expressed," Regis said.
"I will," Weskham affirmed.
With Clarus' presence, Regis' mind was wholly derailed from the book still open in Weskham's hands. Eventually, Weskham admitted to himself that it was unlikely they would continue any time in the near future, as Regis now had both cake and Clarus to occupy his mind. So he marked the page and set the book aside, refilling Regis' glass of water when he coughed and handing it to him.
Weskham was pleased—and a little surprised—to see that Regis finished the whole cake without appearing to struggle. It must had been the first thing he had eaten voluntarily in months. All that time they had spent trying to decide how to prevent Regis from wearing himself ragged and falling sick and yet, in the end, perhaps it had done some good for him after all. Perhaps this would be where things began looking up.
"Are you staying, Weskham?" Clarus asked between bites of his dinner.
Originally he had intended to. Yet, seeing Regis with Clarus had made him think twice. Perhaps Regis would have preferred a change in company.
Weskham glanced at Regis, opening his mouth with the intent of excusing himself. The look on Regis' face, however, stopped him.
Regis could be stoic and unreadable with the best of them, when it suited his purposes. It was a skill he had honed over a lifetime as heir to the throne before he even took the crown. Now, however, his thoughts were clear on his face—openly entreating: please don't leave.
"I thought I would stay, yes," Weskham said, glancing back at Clarus.
"We'll be a whole merry crew, then," Clarus said.
"I'm not certain about merry," Weskham said severely.
He turned his eyes back to Regis and found Regis smiling at him.
"Good," Regis said, reaching out to Weskham until Weskham took his hand. "I wish to hear the end of the book."
Weskham smiled, squeezing Regis' hand affectionately. "Far be it from me to refuse."
He had been right before, of course. It was just different, not lesser than, what Regis had with Clarus.
And that he could accept.