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Though Elizabeth had already known deep down what the diagnosis would be, nothing could have prepared her for the moment the crow-faced doctor utters the word, the disembodied voice devoid of feeling. As her world shatters around her, the prince storms out of the room, unable to face his sister’s condition any better today than he has in the days since she first fell ill.
“I’m sorry,” Constantin whispers, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand reflexively as the door slams closed, the loss of Oscar clearly still fresh in his heart and mind.
Elizabeth meets her mother’s solemn gaze, her blue eyes slightly cloudy, already showing signs of the early stages of the disease. In time, her porcelain complexion will be marked by the red rash and pallor of the malichor, her eyes milk-white and unseeing. And then…the pain. Unbearable and untreatable.
“Out. Everyone except for my daughter and my nephew.” When no one moves to leave, she adds, “Now!” her voice ringing through the parlor and echoing back sharply.
The few servants in the room straggle out with the doctor close behind them.
“Aunt Livie, are you sure?”
“Come and sit beside me. Both of you,” she says, patting the cushion on either side.
Holding her emotions in check, Elizabeth sits on one side while Constantin sits on the other, Livie taking each of them by the hand.
“Constantin, I have tried in vain to mitigate the situation between you and my brother and I wish I could have done more, but now I must ask something of you.”
“Anything,” he says, a curious glance passing between the two cousins.
“Look after my Liza when you leave for Teer Fradee.”
“Of course-”
“Mother,” Elizabeth says, interrupting Constantin midspeech, “how can you expect me to leave now?”
Turning to face her daughter, Livie gently cradles her face in her hands. “This changes nothing, my child.”
“This changes everything!”
“Constantin, please leave us.” She waits until the door closes softly behind him to continue. “Finding a cure for our people is your duty.”
“I don’t want it,” Elizabeth mutters through a shuddered breath, shaking her head in her mother’s grasp.
“This is not up for discussion. You are no longer a child. You must be strong now.”
As her mother’s hands fall away, Elizabeth collapses in on herself. “It’s not fair…”
“Who said life was fair?” Livie asks, a hint of levity in her voice. “Now, go.”
“Yes, Mother,” she says, leaning in and pressing her lips to her temple, her mother’s words weighing heavily on her heart.
Once the door closes behind her, Constantin slips his hand around her arm, lightly gripping the fabric of her waistcoat. “Dear cousin, believe me, you do not want to be here to watch your mother…” he trails off, drawing in a long breath. “She would not want you to witness it.”
Elizabeth remembers the few times she saw Oscar after his diagnosis. How he begged Constantin not to come. How her cousin insisted on spending every moment he could by his lover’s side. How absolutely ruined he was when he lost him. How he’s still grieving, which is obvious to those who know him.
“Tell me, Constantin, do you regret a single moment you spent with him?”
The twitch of his mouth gives him away. “Come along, Liza, I know what you need,” he says, pulling her towards the palace gate.
Kurt follows a short distance behind Elizabeth and Constantin as they weave their way through the maze of streets headed south though he can guess where they might be headed. It’s no secret after all that the prince's son spends much of his time consoling himself in the arms of handsome strangers and drinking himself blind, hiding his grief behind a mask of hedonism, but it’s there and it likely always will be.
Now tongues wag again, rumors about the princess’ illness and her unfortunate diagnosis circulating among the staff. He had known it was just a matter of time until the malichor breached the palace walls, but for it to come so close to Elizabeth and Constantin, and to touch someone so important to both of them, the unfairness of it stings.
The fact that it comes on the heels of the prince’s announcement of Constantin’s appointment as governor of New Serene and Elizabeth as his emissary is yet another wound. He has done his job and trained his charges well. They no longer need his protection. Still, despite knowing his contract would one day end, and sometimes even looking forward to the day, now that it’s here, Kurt can no longer deny his feelings.
Much as he tries.
When Constantin and Elizabeth slip into the port tavern, Kurt takes up position at the open window closest to the door, watching for signs of trouble. At first, she only sips at the mug of ale in her hand while her cousin seems determined to drink his cares away as quickly as possible, her shoulders heavy with grief. As the night wears on and she begins to work through fill after fill of the drink, her posture shifts, the weight falling from her body and mind.
Not for the first time, Constantin makes eyes with some young sailor who follows him up the stairs, leaving Elizabeth on her own. When two older men begin to glance in her direction, Kurt rushes through the door and drops to the bench across from her, immediately thwarting their plans.
“Kurt!” she exclaims, her eyes brightening at the sight of him. “I should had known you would follow us.”
“Are you drunk, Greenblood?”
“No…”
“Are you sure?” he asks, disbelief written across his face.
She crosses her arms over her chest in frustration. “Fine. Don’t believe me.”
“I don’t doubt your sincerity.”
“No, just my reliability.”
“Never, your Excellency.”
Maybe it’s the mischievous smirk of his mouth or the playful tone of his voice, but Elizabeth looks at him in a way she never has before. Gone is the girlish flush. Instead, a smile creeps up her face, and she laughs.
Not a practiced, appropriate and false thing taught to her by some etiquette instructor that she might offer in exchange for a slightly off-color joke told by some noble inside a stuffy ballroom. Leaning too far over the stone floor for Kurt’s peace of mind, she tosses her head back and laughs with the rounded tone of a bell ringing out from a steeple, capturing the attention of every Naut in the place.
But this is for Kurt alone.
Without her saying as much, he knows it’s true. Knows that he’s the one who put that gorgeous smile on her face. The one who coaxed that expression of mirth from her grieving heart. And it both pains and comforts him in equal measure, knowing this might be the first and last time he ever gets the privilege of such a rare and delicate gift.