♡

Some people are willing, Y/n, to kill for you.

The L/n manor was in a mess. The crown prince had came teleporting right in the middle of the dining hall (and teleportation was a skill that required an obscene amount of mana — it could kill the person who was trying to attempt the spell), sending plates and cutlery smashing into the ground. But with just a look at him, one would be able to tell that Isidor Sierra was clearly not in the right state of mind — his eyes were darkened, seemingly pitch black — and his magic radiated off him in deadly waves, making the flowers around the estate wither.

Lady L/n gave a sharp gasp.

In his hands was Y/n — dead —

"Y/n is not dead," Isidor rushed out desperately, his words lapsing onto one another, "he isn't, but he could be, if he isn't administered medical help immediately. I tried my best to stem the bleeding, but the blood obviously comes from an internal wound. And magic doesn't work on him..."

Magic doesn't work on him. It was this very fact that has caused this situation. It was this very fact that would cause Y/n to suffer, to be tortured, to...

Oh, that lady. S-A-S-H-A. She was not yet dead: Isidor had specially made it so that she would rot in agonising pain — no — she would go through ten times more pain than Y/n before Isidor would ever allow for her death. To let her die would be too much of a blessing towards her. After all, was she not the one who had given his beloved so much pain? Who had tormented him?

Y/n's clothes were completely stained with blood. Crimson, carmine — plain rich red dripped from his mouth. Viscera had burned their way up his throat to spill from his lips with a splash, and Y/n's vision has tinted red for a few seconds. Y/n's cheeks had a rampant flush and his hair lacked the usual bounce, instead now flat and sticking to his neck. Y/n was panting heavily, making pained noises whenever Isidor shifted him — it was obvious he was violently sick. His eyes were squeezed shut, forehead creased so tightly he looked extremely uncomfortable.

"It's too cold..." Y/n whispered softly in a cracked voice. He had since regained a little consciousness from collapsing earlier on, but now he was in immense discomfort— "someone, make it hotter. Warmer," then the (h/c)-haired boy clutched at the fabric of Isidor's clothes, trying his best to snuggle his face into the prince's chest.

"Oh, Y/n," Isidor said quietly, "bear with me a little longer, alright?" He took careful note not to touch Y/n's burnt (though technically now healed) hand. "I'm sorry. It must hurt a lot. You're doing well. You're doing so, so good, Y/n..."

"Sorry I disturbed you," Y/n croaked out. Isidor's heart gave a little squeeze, furious at Sasha again — how much did she abuse Y/n for him to be so apologetic for everything? — "I don't know why I'm —" his words was punctuated by another cough of blood, another wheeze, "if I had magic —!"

Y/n was cut off once more by a brutal surge of blood from his windpipe before the blood splattered onto Isidor's attire. "Ah," Y/n said weakly, trying to wipe the blood away. He only succeeding in smudging it. "I'm sorry."

Stop apologising. Please. Please, Y/n. I beg of you.

"Mother," Y/n's eyes trailed to his horrified mother, who was frozen in shock, trembling all over, "I..."

"Spare me the details," Lady L/n said feverishly, "someone! Call for a team of doctors now! Your Highness, if you would follow me to lay him down on his bed."

Y/n stubbornly clutched Isidor. "Warmth," he kept repeating deliriously, "I want warmth."

I want magic. I don't want to be useless.

"Yes, Y/n," Isidor stroked his hair softly; hating how his red-soaked hand matted the (h/c)-haired male's hair, "I'm here. Don't worry."

"You won't —" Y/n opened his eyes fractionally, before he blinked and struggled to keep them open — "leave, right?"

"No," Isidor softened, cradling him. "I won't. Never."

Really? Y/n knew deep down that really, it was immensely hard to take care of him. His body didn't respond to magic: he had to heal the traditional way. And in a world where the world was so advanced by magic, traditional medicine had long been abandoned, making it extremely expensive and rare to find. Doctors, not healers, were hard to hire. In the end, this ailment of his caused a great waste of time and money.

Y/n knew he was being selfish now. He knew. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

Y/n wanted the prince...

...'s company.

"It's alright," Isidor murmured, his voice cracking, "you're alright. It's alright to be sick. Everyone gets sick. I get sick too. It isn't your fault; none of this is."

"Liar," Y/n mumbled, "you don't get sick."

"I do," Isidor cajoled, tenderly grazing Y/n's cheek as he spoke. "I do get sick, Y/n."

"Really...?" Y/n couldn't think now. Pain — red, hot pain was searing through go his whole body — his body slumped and his head dipped. "Huh."

Isidor made his way to Y/n's bed, before he tucked the panting male under the blankets. Y/n fisted the blankets and started to toss and turn, shaking his head. "Now it's too — warm," Y/n trembled. "Sorry. I know I'm making a lot of demands —"

"No, honey," Lady L/n clasped Y/n's hands — why were they so cold? All over again, Y/n was her little boy (he was still her little boy, her dear son) her youngest son, at death's door again, battling between life and death — "just rest well. Everything will be alright, sweetie. Your brothers are making their way back from the academy. Your father is coming back from a meeting."

"No," Y/n said in alarm, "no, please — no, I don't want them to rush back for this. They must be busy."

Lady L/n's eyes widened. "How could you say that? You're extremely precious to us, Y/n."

Y/n wanted to cry. It was all his fault. This was all his fault. "Don't say that."

"Don't worry about it, Y/n," Lady L/n said gently, "close your eyes. Sleep, my child. It will be over soon. His Highness will be here for you."

"I can't — sleep," Y/n choked out, "I told you. It's too cold — then it's too warm..."

"Lady L/n! Your Highness!" The family doctor, Lady Belle, rushed into the room, suitcase in hand. Her face morphed into one of horror as she looked at Y/n. "No one told me that Young Master was in such a deadly state!"

"Deadly?" Isidor snapped his head to look at her, "what do you mean deadly?"

"A-Ah," Lady Belle stammered as she started to dig through her suitcase. "I know his symptoms. Did he ingest something from the Basilican Tree, by any chance? Vomiting blood, a high fever, huge discomfort, occasional black outs — this all point to the Basilican Root. Some say the root has medicinal properties and can even help awake mana levels, but those is a myth. In actuality, it is deadly. It can kill."

"Then do something," Isidor said desperately, "I've fed him the basic tonics and medicine. He has thrown it all up."

The prince had never looked so terrifying before. Now as Lady Belle looked at him, she could see the bloodlust that emanated off him; she could see the worry and fear in his eyes so evident and so rampant that they were nearly clouded over — she could see the way his fingers trembled slightly when they moved to touch Y/n tenderly. Lady Belle could see pure, maddening obsession— so intense it could suffocate her.

Lady Belle wordlessly went over and uncorked a small bottle, pouring the liquid into a small spoon. "It's a painkiller," she said hastily, "the young master might feel great discomfort later on. The cure to the problem can cause pain. It will get worse before it gets better."

Isidor took the spoon from her and pressed it to Y/n's lips, helping him sit upright. Y/n felt so limp and listless in his hands; so terrifyingly weak. Y/n's cheek pressed to Isidor's collarbone, head resting in the crook of the prince's neck. The (h/c)-haired male resisted for a bit, before his mother reached out to pry his lips open. The liquid went pouring down his throat and Y/n choked a little, seemingly bothered by the taste.

"Is it bitter?" Isidor asked anxiously, "if you want anything sweet to curb it..."

"Can't — can't taste anything...it's cold..." Y/n closed his eyes. The warmth was leaving Isidor's hands.

Don't go, Isidor thought, please don't. Don't die. Please — I can still feel and remember how warm your hand is in mine. I only ask for a soft, sweet peace: I only ask for the peace I find in running my fingers through your hair, in being with you...

"Doing alright? Is the painkiller working well?"

Y/n hummed weakly. Isidor knew immediately it meant no, but I don't want you to fuss — and Y/n started to dry heave, eyes tearing up. He looked like he was in so much pain and agony and the prince's heart felt like it was being ripped apart once again. Y/n was breathing hoarsely, his breaths rattled. Isidor glanced at the doctor.

Lady Bella clicked her tongue. "He needs to sleep for at least six hours first before ingesting the medicine. His body is not well-rested now — he wouldn't be able to combat the strong medicine."

"He can't sleep," Lady L/n said worriedly, "when are the painkillers supposed to settle in?"

"In about a few minutes time. Your Highness, I advise you to continue to holding him. Young Master seems to find great comfort in you," Lady Belle said anxiously, biting her lip, "what caused this?"

Isidor shot the women a glance. I'll tell you later, his gaze read, but not in front of Y/n.

Lady L/n and Lady Belle nodded their heads. "I'll go fetch my husband and sons," Lady L/n said. Similarly, Lady Belle also announced her departure, not after leaving more painkillers by the side. She bowed to the prince and left, worry etched on her features.

Y/n shifted. His throat felt raw and his gullet felt like bile had been shoved in. Y/n could feel the blood resting on his tongue, crimson squeezing in between his teeth. The pain was subsiding a little, but he felt so drained that he could collapse any moment.

"Wanna sleep," he managed deliriously, "but it hurts."

"You're doing so well," Isidor murmured quietly, tracing circles around Y/n's palm. "Deep breaths. Slowly."

The prince wanted to give Y/n more of the painkillers, but feared that he wouldn't be able to keep it down. So instead the prince continued to speak to Y/n, voice low and gentle. To Y/n, it felt like a steady stream of warmth flooding in his ears — he could not make out the words, but it was reassuring. He hiccuped and sniffed. The painkillers were working well now — the pain thrummed beneath Y/n's skin, still there but no longer fighting angrily with him.

Y/n. My beloved; Isidor thought, you were the first rain after a drought, the warm sunlight after an endless winter, the beautiful sunbeams streaming in through the windows after a heartless day. I adore you. I love you so much. Everything you do is so endearing to me. Everything. I love you so, so much it physically hurts me.

Isidor felt like ripping his own heart out, smearing the rich red on the ridge of his throat, then making Y/n kiss it: making Y/n dye his lips with the blood. He would kill himself the minute Y/n drew his last breath. He was convinced of that.

Ah, Isidor thought, burying his head in his hands, what should I do? I love you so much, Y/n. I really don't know what to do without you.

"T-Thank you, Your Highness," Y/n managed a shuddering smile, "you really didn't have to do this."

"Isidor," The prince murmured, "that's my name. Call it."

Y/n stared at him. "I couldn't possibly..."

"Y/n," Isidor said softly, "do not listen to that wench's words."

But how can I not?

Isidor seemed to read his mind. "Just remember, Y/n. Like what your mother said — you, Y/n...you are unimaginably priceless to all of us. We love you."

Y/n's breath hitched. We? Him?

But he couldn't dwell on it. Y/n was lethargic and could feel the heaviness settling in his bones. After a while, Y/n could feel the last of his energy ebb away, and he soon became hardly responsive, breathing slow and quiet. Isidor wrapped the blanket tighter around Y/n and he gave a noise of confusion, before feeling lips press to the bridge of his nose.

Y/n blinked in pleasant surprise. What was that?

"You will live," Isidor whispered. "If the doctors can't save you, I'll search through the whole continent until I find a treatment for you. Don't think about dying alone or leaving me — even death..."

Isidor was desperate now.

Even death cannot take you away from me.

♡

ooh yeah sick fic time 😝 just fluff fluff fluff unless I decide to nuke to plot armor lol heeeheee so close to 6k followers I love you all

just realised there are like three bots of father anton on character AI btw... anyways I don't use that app so alls GOOD 💜 I wouldn't have to face him (I want to write more about him)

But let's not talk about anton in the face of glorious prince Isidor I love them sillies

but :) hope you enjoyed it! do remember to vote and add to your library for notification of updates. commenting always aids in quicker updates too!

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