Ballad of the Forgotten: Chapter 4: Part 2:

...

Fury, that was what was boiling inside him.

But what was this fury about? He wasn't jealous of his brother. In every sense, it was logical why his father would choose his brother over him, who was far savvier when it came to political matters, far more observant and clever. He was aware of this possibility himself, having joked about how he would call his little brother "His Majesty", or "His Grace", depending on what his brother preferred. Despite his brother being his shadow, there was a healthy rivalry between them that inspired both of them. It was generally accepted that no matter which brother took the crown; they would always be there for each other.

His anger grew. At first, he could hardly notice it, but with each passing day, he could feel it bubbling closer to the surface. Soon it began to show on his face, and he instructed his attendants to bring him blue butterfly pea tea at night. Although he went about his duties, as usual, there was a dryness at the back of his throat whenever he saw his brother.

Maybe he should have been more careful and dealt with himself with far more maturity.

Because birds came from all over his kingdom. They sang to him about growing unrest among the officials for the King's decision, how unprepared the younger brother was, and how there could have been foul play on the part of the younger prince. If he was in his right state of mind, he would have seen the lies, the web they were laying so easily around him, he would have thought through all of it because gradually he let the birds lead him to their owners.

It is alright, he kept saying to himself. He will see the light, he said to himself. If he had anything to do with Father, I'll just forgive him, he kept thinking.

He was lying on the hard bed, unable to sleep. The fury had suddenly come back and it made the skin itch he wanted to run from it, but he wasn't in any shape to do that.

He was so angry at himself. How had he not seen his brother before? He was there, wasn't he? He saw him. He was scared when their father told them about his wishes. He was scared when he looked at his big brother, searching for his anger. He was scared when he was crowned, the King. He was scared when the ministers looked at him for advice when he made his first decision as the King.

A fear that completely evaporated from his face the moment his older brother tried to betray him.

Of course, the Prince knew the consequences of going back to his home. His brother might have been simply looking for him to execute him, but he couldn't let that deter him. What if he wanted to talk to him? In any case, he wanted to explain himself, even if he couldn't get his brother's forgiveness.

The Storyteller wasn't that bothered about him.

Of course, it stung, it stung like hell, but he could hardly understand the depth of his attachment to this complete stranger, let alone the feelings of sadness that pinched him every time he saw her indifferent face.

Was it because she’d saved him? Was it because he was close to death? Delirious for so long that the only human being in close proximity to him became a breathing miracle for him? But he was getting better, and every time he looked at her, ran his eyes over her scars, heard her quiet voice speaking to him, noticed the shape of her earlobes, or saw her eating, he felt his breath halt. He had seen so many beautiful people, but she was the only person who had made him feel like that.

Nevertheless, she did let him know about some of her reservations. How his brother might execute him on sight. How the lack of mobility will certainly be a hindrance for his expedition, and how his emotional gymnastics with his brother will certainly require him to be in good health. How she might get accidentally dragged into his family problems and get executed, along with him. 

The questions, although perfectly logical, ruffled him enough to huff and tell her to leave him alone on reaching the palace gates. She simply shrugged and quipped,

"Who am I to stop a Royal Madman?"

Madman. Indeed, because he wasn't thinking with the barest minimum of rationalism, jumping here and there with his impulses, refusing to think about the matter practically. And he didn't care.

He could just walk about, with the help of his crutches and he frequently walked about the barn, which suddenly appeared tiny to him after getting out of bed. He could also bathe himself, although, she stood beside him while he did so. There were several exercises he did as well, to help himself recover. His strength was returning and by and by, he felt more like himself.

She did appear big to him when he was barely alive, but now she was small, barely reaching his shoulders. But he was the tallest in his family, so she might have been average-sized.

He noticed more and more little things. She would massage her neck a lot when she worked. When lifting heavy items, her hands trembled a lot. Gradually he took it upon himself to lift those things, although, she was very much against it. 

"You're going to break your legs again." She glared.

He was immediately irritated. "First of all, that's not how that works. Secondly, it was one leg. Thirdly, I am a man."

"A man who got stabbed in his thigh and almost died."

"And is recovering."

"But hypothetically, if it happens--"

"It'll not," he scoffed, incredulous that they were having this conversation at all, "and if it does, you're the last person I'll turn to."

"Yes, as if there are people just running around here."

They did not speak for the rest of that day. 

She didn't bother standing by when he bathed, didn't bother asking his proportions when serving him his food, therefore overfeeding him. When they fell asleep, she took her cot to the farthest corner of the room and fell asleep immediately. 

He took it well until she started pushing the cot far away from him. It was then the giggles started, although he was careful to hide under his ragged sheet, taking occasional peeks. It was only when he was sure that she was completely asleep that he started laughing. 

It was a long time since he had a little tiff with someone. He couldn't help but remember how her eyebrows scrunched together when she got annoyed.