As the coachman brought the horse pulling the carriage to a halt before Fragrance Breeze Palace, Çetžak was the first to disembark in the courtyard lit by lanterns. As if the action had been ingrained in his muscles, he turned around and extended his hand toward the carriage. It startled him, because he couldn’t remember he had ever acted in such service to anyone. During his years in the Ažamür Cavalry, there had been nobody vain enough to believe they had the right to use a carriage, when even a general from the Kharanlar clan opted for travel horseback.

Fingertips of a pale, slender hand reached outward from the dim interior. Çetžak, afraid to offend by overstepping boundaries by touching royalty or offering support that one of the prince’s servants was supposed to offer, pulled his hand back. The prince’s hand paused, momentarily frozen in time. The fingers curled in the air, as if trying to grasp something, before the prince resolutely grabbed hold of the frame to support himself as he alighted the vehicle with no service to help him.

An alarmed servant, dressed in a brown coat with embroidery along the lapel and hem, a patterned sash and a leather belt, rushed forward to offer support for His Royal Highness down the steps provided for the passenger’s ease. The prince let the servant take his arm as he himself took hold of his robes and raised them with one hand, while the lower half of his face remain hidden behind the fan.

The servant, surely about the same age as the prince, spoke quietly to the prince, presumably asking questions of the prince’s well-being, until Çetžak heard the prince simply tell the servant, “That’s quite enough, thank you.”

His Royal Highness cast a glance at Çetžak before he gave command to the servant, motioning to the palace itself with his ornate fan. The servant acknowledged the order and moved to speak with someone else to relay the orders.

Çetžak studied the prince, whose expression had a resting smile, with none of the unhappiness from earlier seeming to remain, but it was nothing like the brief teasing face Çetžak had received during the short ride, nor the expression the prince had while amused.

Çetžak noted movement from the corner of his eye and grabbed the wrist of a person clad in green with precision. He turned to the startled guard, whose uniform was adorned with confronted winged tigers, much like Židad’s. The bodyguard’s eyes were momentarily wide, but he quickly returned to a calm exterior.

“Captain?” the man asked. “Is something the matter?”

Çetžak considered his words, then whispered, “How do I address this person? What are their rank and status? Are they of great importance?”

The bodyguard looked taken aback, then tentatively smiled. “Surely the captain is jesting? From what I have understood in my service under the Captain, you address His Royal Highness the Prince with simply ‘His Highness’ on almost every occasion since many years.”

“And otherwise?” Çetžak asked.

The bodyguard pondered this before replying, “Is it not simply adapted in whatever fashion each situation may call for, Captain?”

Çetžak let go of the bodyguard, who gave him a curious look before strolling to the prince, bowing and quietly relaying something. As the bodyguard spoke, two young boys, perhaps in their third cycle but surely close to their Sky Year, ran over to them with a cloak.

The prince’s expression warmed at the sight of these boys and the way they presented the fur cloak to their master. Despite the slight difficulty in putting on the cloak for the two boys, both shorter than the prince, he leaned forward so the two could put the cloak over his shoulders and fasten it for him. He thanked them warmly for their concern.

However, it would appear that warmth was only extended to these boy servants, as when the prince looked up once more, his expression had turned into a polite smile that put Çetžak ill at ease. It was not that the smile lacked warmth in any way, but the guard still got the sense that the chilly early morning hour had turned into the frigid nights of winter.

“Captain,” a man’s voice near Çetžak spoke up. There was a pause before the man repeated, “Captain?” The man coughed quietly and called out again. “Captain Züčan?”

With a jolt, Çetžak realised, he was the one addressed, and he turned to see Židad, still looking older than he remembered the man had been last time he saw him, standing a respectful distance away from him. He held his hand behind his back and looked at the scene, scanning the environment with his eyes.

“Yes, Židad, what is it?” He paused. “No, is it ‘Lieutenant’ now?”

“You still call me by name at this age, Captain,” Židad helpfully explained. “That has never changed, even after you left the Ažamür Cavalry at sixteen.”

Çetžak was left stunned by the revelation he had left the Cavalry when he was sixteen. He vaguely recalled his šüssad had mentioned that Çetžak might be transferred to a different military unit to improve his skill and rise in ranks, but he hadn’t got the sense that he was supposed to leave the Cavalry altogether, and that it was at a somewhat older age.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, at a loss for words.

Židad broke the silence between them, asking, “This may sound preposterous, but would the Captain not have a word with His Royal Highness? He was terribly anxious to find you upon we heard news of you seeing a healer. He refused to return to bed even though it was clear he had barely received any sleep, despite going to bed before the end of the first earth hour.”

“This person… His Royal Highness tends to retire so late at night?”

“Yes. His Royal Highness retires for the night when the morning hours begin. Could you not do something about this matter? You need not say much to him, I am sure. Just show concern.”

Despite the peculiarity of the request, Çetžak approached His Royal Highness. He swiftly thought through the interactions he had observed so far, and considered how his interactions with the prince had played out in the carriage.

The prince gave him a sidelong glance before dismissing the two boy servants, raising the fan once more after having let it rest in the palms of his hands. It was elegantly held, with only part of the royal’s jaw hidden behind it, allowing Çetžak to see the polite smile the prince granted him when the royal turned his attention to him.

It hadn’t been visible in the dim interior of the carriage, the light from the lanterns spilling in through the windows not enough to see many details, but now that Çetžak stood closer and the light was sufficient, he couldn’t help but study the beauty before him. He had assumed this person was attractive already in the carriage, but he had greatly underestimated the charm.

To believe that Çetžak was the Captain of the unit of Imperial Bodyguards that guarded this person was a difficult task.

But more so, how could Çetžak ever have entered this person’s bedchamber for any reason? He already struggled to believe such a thing in the carriage, yet it was even more difficult to accept now.

This was a mortal incarnation of a deity of beauty. There was a natural mischievousness to the expression, in the way the prince’s lips curved and at the tail ends of his eyes. Çetžak could tell that an ambiguous look and the wrong words uttered by the prince would easily be interpreted as flirtatious.

And yet, Çetžak did indeed see the signs of fatigue; redness at the rims of the prince’s eyes and a certain gloss that could not be hidden, a minimal twitch at the corner of the lips and a suppressed yawn.

The person before him looked up at him in silence, waiting for the guard to speak, not shying away from Çetžak’s prolonged stare.

Placing his fist over his heart, he bowed deeply. “Would Your Royal Highness please consider retiring for the night? It would be a shame to lose any more sleep over trivial matters.”

The prince gave the guard a hard look and then looked away from him. “Does the morning session of court not begin soon? As Žüčan is in no condition to come along with me,” he swept the courtyard with his eyes, considering the guards available, “who would be most—”

“Your Royal Highness, you ought to sleep.”

The entire palace courtyard seemed to freeze over in an instant.

Where Çetžak got the audacity to interrupt someone of royalty background, and with such a firm tone of voice, even he himself couldn’t say, but it earned him a sharp look, which made Çetžak pause for a moment. However, he could see it was not an offended look, despite the expression. Amidst the mask of suppressed anger, he could see a hint of hurt deep in his golden eyes, shown minimally between his eyebrows and how the smile ticked was forced further up.

“Your Highness,” he tried, with the intention to coax the prince gently.

His Royal Highness dropped his gaze away from Çetžak to a downward angle. What he looked at or saw was anyone’s guess, but he soon raised his gaze once more and silently walked away, crossing the courtyard to enter the palace.

The guard followed him with his eyes as activity started up again. Çetžak experienced a complexity of emotions he couldn’t explain. It was difficult to take note of the people around him, and the noise as the service and the guards returned to their tasks was no more than a hum in the background. He only noted how back dressed in an expensive brocade robe was getting further away from him.

How does one offer solace to a stranger, whose station is so lofty that no action is honour enough? he asked himself, but he had no way to respond.

He had never faced a problem like this while in the Cavalry, nor before the High General had picked him up from the roadside outside of Atnaš’ar. He wondered if he had known how to reply to that question, had he any of his memories after his time in the Cavalry. There were so many things he wished he knew, both about himself and about his charge.

How had he ended up in the Imperial Bodyguards at all? That was his greatest question. He had never had strong feelings about the royal lines found in the empire, nor the Imperial Clan, yet here he was, at an unknown age in an unknown future he had never been able to imagine, neither in his wildest dreams nor his most terrifying nightmares.

As the prince reached the gate of the palace, he turned slightly to look back, the ornate circular fan obscuring the lower half of the prince’s face and covering what expression His Royal Highness might have. The golden gaze fell straight upon Çetžak.

Çetžak swallowed.

No matter how he considered it, the prince did look at him in a… somewhat inappropriate way, did he not?

Author’s Note

Is this when I include a mini theatre for a story already in a non-canonical plot situation for no reason? Absolutely.

U’il: What’s that about being picked up from the roadside? I have not heard any sayings like that before. Does it mean General Kharanlar took Žüčan in because he was homeless and orphaned?

Çetžak: My family is not rich in any way, but I am still the eldest son of a farmer.

U’il: Oh! Your name does suit a farmer! A farmer would benefit from being ‘strong’ like an ox. That’s such an appropriate name. But what does it mean you were picked up from the roadside then? That the General took you from your presumed destiny?

Çetžak: While that is true, Your Highness, that’s not quite it…

U’il: Then what?

Židad: Your Royal Highness, the Captain was literally collected from the side of the road by the General at the General’s whim, when we travelled past a group of children, because his name is Züčan.

U’il: Oh, so his name isn’t related to the strength of an ox on the field, but the strength of a war horse!

Židad: Here I had assumed all these years that it referred to the strength of a warrior, but a horse might suit our Captain better. Your Royal Highness is absolutely correct in your assessment of the name Züčan.

Çetžak: …

Now, to explain something that isn’t clear if you don’t know about the world itself since before.

The third cycle refers to a period in a child’s life. The first cycle is either between infancy and age four or from four to eight, depending on the region. The second is the next four years, and the third is thus either age eight to twelve or twelve to sixteen. The third cycle is also known as the sky cycle.

How do we know if the boys are likely in their tween years or early teens then? The narration does give you a hint: while the cycles aren’t precise, the Sun Year is celebrated when someone turns 4, the Sea Year when they turn 8, the Sky Year when they turn 12 and the Soil Year when they turn 16.

You’re free to presume if they’re tween or young teens, but they’re around the age of 12 based on Çetžak’s observations.

As a side note, these boy servants are named Alik and Žúral. U’il-šanad spoils them a little, to be honest. He’s very fond of them and hopes they will grow up well. The canon story goes briefly into how they ended up with the Ninth Prince, but not in-depth, so I can just outright tell you the two were orphans without spoiling.

That was the more relevant worldbuilding. The interesting but really irrelevant worldbuilding notes start here.

Atnaš’ar, where Çetžak’s from, is a former city-state of the Atnaš tribe. It’s southwest of the Imperial Capital and is one of the main trade connections the Capital has to the south because Atnaš’ar is situated by the coast of Minaž Khaçar, also known as the Sea of Denaštür, Minaž-tal or Denaš-tal. Most of the trade from the east and west both go through the southern route.

The city-state has long since been under the Imperial Clan’s rule and the Atnaš main family — or ruling clan, really — has some distant familial ties with the Imperial Clan, but to someone like Çetžak, who is from a branch of the tribe who barely has any relation to the main family except being from the same tribe, it doesn’t matter at all.

Atnaš’ar is also an important post for the Ažamür Cavalry, because of the trade opportunities. The Cavalry isn’t a stationary army and actually can be divided into several responsibilities. The High General is usually a monarch’s most trusted person because they’re the sole part of the military that is directly commanded by the monarch, aside from the Bodyguards.

As another side note, the Imperial Bodyguards used to be part of the Cavalry and were assigned to protect the monarch by the High General from the elite among the Cavalry. Later they were more or less separated, with the Bodyguards being considered the Emperor’s sedentary elite forces while the Cavalry remained mobile.

The Ažamür Cavalry are in charge of the post stations all over the empire, as well as patrols, especially in areas with a higher risk of conflict, both between foreign parties and the empire, and internally, and either support or suppress depending on the situation. While not actually part of their duties, they collect intelligence and relay messages. They also sometimes handle laying out trade agreements, but it’s mostly when they need to acquire materials for themselves.

A majority of solitary personnel in the Ažamür Cavalry will be away from home for years because they seldom stay in one place long. Even if one is in charge of a post station, one ends up somewhere else after a while. This includes the High General as well, but the High General will also need to stay in the Capital for several months at times if the Emperor asks for that, meaning General Kharanlar will be at home for months on rare occasions. That’s why Çetžak said his šüssad might not be in the Capital in chapter 2. But he’s also very confused in chapter 2, since at 16, until he left the Cavalry, he was always with the High General.

U’il-šanad put the unlit handwarmer to the side, next to his leg. It would do him no good to hold it, and no good to bother anyone with it. The tips of his fingers felt cold and rigid, the chill causing them to turn a little pale, but he ignored it. Being slightly uncomfortable was always going to be part of being an idle prince, a paradoxical yet inherent part of his existence he had grown to tolerate.

Closing his eyes, the prince tried to find his centre point once more. Çetžak’s condition had taken him by surprise and he had found himself off-balanced. It caused him to be irritated in addition to the sleep deprivation that already caused his mood to be quite sour. He tapped his forehead with the frame of the silk painting of his fan, pondering thoroughly how to proceed.

Despite thinking this, he still felt his anger over the entire situation and its unfairness simmer beneath the surface, like an evil spirit ready to pounce as soon as something else was brought up as well.

The rocking of the carriage also caused him a lot of discomfort, yet it was still sleep-inducing. He slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the man seated next to him.

That was when he realised Çetžak was watching him, still, his dark eyes fixated on the prince alone.

He took in Çetžak’s unabashed look at him, the man’s eyes as piercing as always. The gaze was unblinking and evidently intrigued about the prince, and what he might be there for. Of course, U’il-šanad couldn’t say he was astonished by the man’s fascination.

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and his eyes curved somewhat, amusement and the innate trace of playfulness entering his eyes.

When Çetžak had first begun his guard duties at the Northern Residence many years ago, when U’il-šanad had yet to be decreed a prince publicly, the guard had been polite, but curious about the mysterious prince that the Ninthe Blood Prince had been. That had been the two things that struck U’il-šanad the most, his manners stemming from years in the military and his curiosity about the singularity.

So seeing the guard hold a similar fascination once more reminded him of a youth who had just entered the Imperial Capital to take a path different from the High General’s, an elite soldier in the making at the time.

He properly turned to look at the man, and moved closer, keeping the fan between them as he looked over it and up at the man. Çetžak tried to lean away slightly, seemingly a bit startled by the prince’s movement to get closer. But the guard said nothing in protest.

Even if the shortening of distance was not much, it still made the small carriage seem even more constricted, and it felt like Çetžak almost towered over U’il-šanad despite the height difference being less apparent when they both were seated.

“I shall bring you back to my estate. There I shall keep you like a precious treasure that I have collected. You cannot reject my kind offer.”

Çetžak paused for a split second before he gave U’il-šanad a sort of hopeless look that the prince had seen many times in private. “Yes, m’lord,” the guard replied, almost mumbling it. “I shall only agree to your whims.”

U’il-šanad responded with a hum and turned to face forward again, giving Çetžak space once more. The U’il-šanad, it would appear that Çetžak may be catering to his requests out of subconscious routine, and U’il-šanad grappled with a wish to determine how to truly feel about such a situation.

They had a few years between them and Çetžak had many times acted as the elder of the two. This felt natural. If U’il-šanad said he had never wondered what it would be like if Çetžak was younger than him, he would not be entirely truthful, and it was also a lie if he claimed he was not curious to see how this man would act at this time. And yet, the prince’s chest ached. He struggled to maintain a smile.

There were only so many people he could pick to replace Çetžak, and none could fulfil the man’s greatest role. A prince of the empire could only have so many people he dared trust, and U’il-šanad had his reasons to remain vigilant and suspicious of others.

“M’lord?” the trusted bodyguard asked tentatively, voice laced with concern.

U’il-šanad didn’t react at first. It was only when Çetžak repeated himself that U’il-šanad realised the address was toward him. It was incredibly foreign to hear Çetžak call him such, but he said nothing about it, just looked up at the man with a polite smile on his lips.

Çetžak’s brow was ever so slightly furrowed, and his dark eyes were trained on the prince. U’il-šanad felt the pressure against his arm and shoulder as the taller man next to him leaned a little closer, perhaps to see him better in the dim light.

This was the same man who had spent the past few years by U’il-šanad’s side. The prince could clearly see just how concerned the guard was, even if the guard’s expression was mostly under control. This was “his” Çetžak. His trusted bodyguard.

Yet it also wasn’t the same man at all. This wasn’t the man who had seen him grow into his role as prince, nor the man who would softly call him his name intimately when they were alone. It wasn’t the man who would have acted familiar with him.

“Do not mind it, Züčan. There is nothing to concern yourself with,” the prince said, his voice light to match the smile. He averted his eyes, and for a moment they fell on the way Çetžak kept his hands on his knees, polite and rather properly trying to keep some distance in a carriage where they barely fit side by side.

The prince then looked forward, maintaining a polite smile. It wouldn’t do to be too unsightly after all, and he needed to ensure the wrong people did not find out the wrong things either, some of his cousins and brother being rather ruthless people and who he was not fond of in the least.

The interior of the carriage fell into silence, the sharp creaking of the wheels, the quite synchronised steps of the guards, and the dull noise from the hooves of the horses filling the silence.

“Lieutenant Židad reporting…” a voice came through the noise, and a black horse came up to ride next to the carriage.

“Yes?” U’il-šanad acknowledged the bodyguard.

There was a pause, a slightly awkward silence of hesitation, before Židad said, “This Lieutenant reports to Your Royal Highness.”

U’il-šanad could feel the start of his trusted bodyguard at the realisation of the status of the person he shared a carriage with. The prince ignored it and waited for what Židad had to say.

“We will return to Fragrant Breeze Palace in but a short moment,” Židad announced, then awkwardly urged, “Please ensure the health of your royal self has not been negatively affected by this nocturnal journey.”

“There is no need for any concern,” the prince assured the guard. “The distance from the Outer City to the Inner City is not far. I would not succumb to a chill from this short distance.”

Židad was silent for a moment, and U’il-šanad could tell that the man was not sure how to express what was on his mind. Eventually, the Lieutenant simply said, “It is as Your Royal Highness declares. This Lieutenant only hopes that he will not be blamed for any negligence in days to come.”

“No one will blame you, Židad. Attend your other tasks. You needn’t consider me too much, lest I forget what my servants are actually for.”

Židad audibly smiled at the jest. “As you request, Your Royal Highness. I suppose I must allow your attendants to concern themselves with your well-being. I must have forgotten to extend my services to Your Royal Highness’ stables.”

The prince couldn’t help but chuckle as the lieutenant urged his horse forward, surely to announce U’il-šanad’s impending arrival to the palace to make sure the servants were prepared to attend to their master’s needs.

“Your… Royal Highness?” Çetžak asked tentatively.

“No.”

The prince hadn’t intended for the word to come out quite as sharp as it did, and it sounded irrefutably harsh. That was, however, not something U’il-šanad could amend once it was uttered.

A strangled noise escaped from Çetžak’s throat, causing the prince to offer him a sideways glance. The sound would undoubtedly linger in his memory for many moons to come.

Outside of the walls of the clinic, in the chill of the hour, was a small crowd of frowns and worried faces. One or two looked familiar, but most of them were faces Çetžak had never seen. To his knowledge, at the very least. 

Likewise, one or two wore green uniforms, while the rest wore civilian robes and looked like they may be passersby who got interested because of the green uniforms. That, of course, wasn’t something Çetžak believed. Having spent years in the Emperor’s mobile elite army, the Ažamür Cavalry as his šüssad’s apprentice, naturally, he could tell a man of the military apart from the commons. The straight, confident posture, the way they carried themselves like they had a sabre at their waist, even when not, the way the tokens were tied to the belt using that specific knot… He could, of course, see all of the small tells of people serving as guards, rather than spies.

None of these soldiers spoke to him, but all of them wanted to have a look at him. He wondered for a second if this was how someone in the entertainment houses felt when mostly men nearly tripped over themselves to have a look at the most popular dancers.

Židad stayed behind for a few moments to ask what could be done about the amnesia, but when the reply was naught of value, he followed Çetžak. As he did, the creaking of wheels and clopping of hooves approached. The group parted to open up the path for a sturdy horse with a brown coat that looked black in the late hour. Speckled in white, it was reminiscent of the night sky when stars shine bright. The carriage was inconspicuous, but the subtly carved wood showed off the wealth of the person owning the carriage.

The carriage came to a halt in front of Çetžak and the curtain of the carriage was raised with a circular fan. The frame in silver and wood caught light from the lantern held by one of the bodyguards, the wood giving off a dull warm reflection, while the silver was sharp and bright. As the light shone into the carriage, Çetžak saw the legs of someone wearing a pair of dark trousers and black leather shoes. The almost-obsidian fabric of the expensive robe had settled on the lap of the passenger. An unused ceramic handwarmer was in the corner of the interior, sitting near the feet of the passenger.

Çetžak looked back at Židad, who merely motioned for him to please board the carriage. Seeing that he intended to do so, Židad placed his fist over his heart and bowed, showing his respect to the Captain Çetžak apparently was.

Without many other options, considering his situation, Çetžak obliged, however unfitting he felt it was that he, who had spent the past the years from age ten on horseback in almost any weather, would be offered anything but a decent horse to ride.

As he moved forward, he placed his hand against the wooden frame to climb in, taking hold of the curtain. The passenger inside withdrew their fan. He raised his gaze out of habit and froze in his action.

The passenger inside may have been dressed in military-styled robes, as extravagant as they may be with the lapel and collar silverwork, but the fan spoke of a different side of the aristocracy. The way the person held the fan to obscure their face partially, with one hand on the foot-long handle and the other supporting the fan itself with a light touch of their finger, showed the elegance and reservation of the high nobility of Zuladiar.

The noble’s eyes shone like gold that reflected sunlight in the shadow of the carriage, as they peered at Çetžak with an unhappy expression over the fan.

Have I done this noble some wrong I know nothing about? he couldn’t help but ask himself, and his hand tightened at the post of the carriage door, the thick fabric of the curtain feeling soft against his calloused hand. What did I do? How do I atone for it?

Even as what he saw was the silk of the fan — painted with a lone branch of an apple tree that had a delicate and beautiful flower, with a butterfly perched near the featured blossom, and one fluttering around but seemingly not ready to land — he inherently seemed to know that this noble was one he found was almost outrageously beautiful. Just seeing their eyes, he could tell he found this person most attractive, in all states; donned in jewellery or in simple garments, with eyes tailed by red or a face left untouched.

When the gently curved eyebrows pulled together, Çetžak couldn’t but help lower his gaze, his heart galloping in his chest and his throat feeling dry.

He knew he couldn’t afford to offend such a wealthy, and important, figure by shamelessly staring for his own enjoyment.

Beyond any expectation, the stranger used the frame of their fan to raise Çetžak’s making the Captain look at his face again, now revealed in its otherworldly beauty. 

“Who, exactly, is so preferable to look at that you avert your eyes?” The noble’s voice was soft but stern. “I sit right here, within your field of vision, so is it that you look away in shame, or do I not compare to a surface one rests one’s feet upon? Or did we all, but you, perhaps, miss that someone is hiding ’neath the carriage, hmm?”

In all his years that he could remember, Çetžak had never experienced a stutter in his breath, no matter the situation. However, now he momentarily forgot how both inhales and exhales functioned and the airflow came out in small spurts. He swallowed.

“Young lord, I can only offer my sincerest apologies. I am, however, quite frankly unaware of with whom I have the benefit of conversing.”

The displeased expression made Çetžak heart’s already feel unsettled as it was, but as it further contorted and the corners of the noble’s mouth were pulled down, he felt his heart lurch. The noble caught himself quickly, and the lips were pulled into a tight line, but the frown between the brows was still more pronounced. Çetžak could have sworn he even noted a hint of hurt in those golden eyes.

The noble retracted his fan and raised it to obscure part of his face before he asked, “You are unaware of who I might be? Then, do you know who you are?”

“Çetžak Züčan, and I hail from Atnaš’ar found at the coast by Minaž Khaçar,” Çetžak replied, his voice steady. “I am of the Atnaš tribe.”

The stranger studied Çetžak over the fan. The sound of hooves and feet moving around the carriage mingled with the quiet breaths of the people in the carriages and the hammering of Çetžak’s heart. The noble shifted slightly in his seat, then motioned slightly with his hand for the soldier to finally enter the carriage . He turned to look into the dark hours of the early morning through the small window, his eyes looking at something distant seen only by this young noble from the empty street of the Outer City.

As Çetžak moved inside, letting the curtain fall, and shadows took over the interior, the noble made another small motion for him to take a seat on the floor without looking at him. Unwilling to offend, Çetžak adhered to the request.

He had yet to discern what his relationship with this young noble might be. The silver identity token was not of much help; it only showed that this person had some kind of position assigned by the Emperor or the court.

The noble used the handle to knock on the side of the carriage wall, still looking out of the small window. The coachman smacked his lips, and with a creak of the wheels, the carriage began rolling over the street, the metal of the wheels crunching against the sand and pebbles below. As the carriage shook, the noble put the fan down to pick up the handwarmer. It was a porcelain vessel that didn’t look as if it had been lit in a while, as there was not even a bit of glow in it. If it had been lit at all, there might at best be some lingering heat, but Çetžak struggled to believe that was the case.

He had a nearly uncontrollable urge to take the vessel out of the noble’s hands and light it up again with a lasting magic flame to ensure this person wouldn’t feel the chill of the night. His fingers twitched in his lap as he watched the noble stroke cup where the coal and flame went, and he had to hold back himself from simply taking this stranger’s handwarmer to heat it up.

“Do you truly not recall me at all?” the noble asked as they took their fan in hand again, raiding the fan like a barrier between the two of them.

It sounded more like the stranger simply spoke a thought aloud, with no expectations of an answer. There seemed to be a sort of defeat to it, as if being forgotten by Çetžak was the greatest loss in this world. Yet the voice was pleasant, and Çetžak got the sense that he would have been able to speak with such a person for hours, if they had just been on equal terms.

The soldier needed a moment to gather his thoughts, then replied, “That could be very possible. If I may ask, did we perchance meet when I was past the age of sixteen?”

The noble gave Çetžak a look. It wasn’t quite sharp, but almost had a hint of teasing in it. “You strolled into my bedchamber at that age,” the noble revealed. “You dare to forget who I am?”

Çetžak’s eyes opened wide, the first outwardly expressed emotion he had shows in a good while, as far as Çetžak knew. He had not expected to hear something so scandalous! Moreover, this young noble had not struck him as the kind that would indulge in those kinds of pleasures. Although, he also couldn’t quite say why he felt this so strongly either.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, but a lingering look of mischief could be seen in his, and the corners of the noble’s mouth ticked up.

“Naturally,” the noble added, “I offered my invitation to you, Çetžak, and you took me upon such an invitation.”

Çetžak was stunned.

Although the revelation was flabbergasting all on its own, what truly hit the man was what he was called. This person called him by his birth name. He could not remember when he last had been called such by anyone.

Yet, it did sound correct in his ears that this person should call him by birth name.

A small sigh, no more than an exhale, brought him back from his thoughts. The noble then patted a pale hand on the cushioned seat.

Çetžak took the stranger upon their invitation with some caution. He tentatively changed from being seated on the rug on the carriage floor to the seat. The carriage wasn’t precisely made for two people and there wasn’t quite enough room with two grown people. However, it wasn’t uncomfortable if they squeezed in a little and sat shoulder to…

The soldier noticed the noble was likely a full head shorter than him and so, although they reached past his shoulder while they were both seated, their shoulder touched his upper arm. Çetžak could help himself and looked at where his robe made contact with the noble’s.

He looked for a couple of moments before he moved his gaze to the noble’s face. They still held their fan, obscuring their face, but from the side where Çetžak sat, he could see the young noble’s profile quite well.

The size of this person, the minimal natural curve of their lips as if they smiled…

What a truly endearing person, the soldier inexplicably thought.

Author’s Notes

I just want to remind you all that Çetžak said there were eight blood princes, while U’il is the Ninth Blood Prince. I want you to keep that in mind.

Within the brick wall of a modest clinic in the Outer City, in an area of the lower of commoners of the Imperial Capital lived, a physician studied a young man closely.

This man wore expensive brocade in a pattern of blue and green, with intricate embroidery along the lapel, collar, and shoulders. The robe was closed at the right shoulder using silver fasteners, something only seen among the military nobility in recent years, while the sash had been matched to the vibrant embroidery, while covering the knots at the waist. The belt and wrist guards were in leather and bronze, and the young lord’s forehead was covered by a wide fabric band with a distinct tribal pattern matching the belt’s decorative pattern.

Even at this hour, he showed no fatigue and, though his black hair was wavy, it didn’t look dishevelled. It was secured in a bun with a single hairpin, and although it looked simple at a glance, the bone pin had been carefully carved and embellished with precious metals.

The young man returned the physician’s gaze unrelentingly, his dark eyes deep like night beneath his sharply arched brows that gave the man an unforgivingly cold air to him.

The physician gazed upon this young lord of high status and great importance, studying the man’s face colour. It was a slight tan, a colour that would be looked down upon by nobles, but seen as a good sign in the military. He took the man’s hand and placed two fingers on his pulse point, a light blue glow appearing at his fingertips, pulsing in time with the strong and healthy heartbeat.

The old man ran his fingers through his beard, which gave the physician a wizened look, as he took in what the pulse reading meant.

“Would you mind opening your mouth for me, young lord?” he requested, and the patient obliged by parting his lips. The elderly physician unceremoniously took the man’s tongue and pulled it out as far as it went, studying its colour and sniffing his breath. It was a healthy pink while there were no foul odours.

After this, he let go and his apprentice put a basin beside the physician’s stool and poured water from a large vase over the old man’s hands to rinse them off of any uncleanliness. The apprentice offered a worn but clean towel for the physician to dry his hands on.

“What year is this, young lord?” the elderly physician ask after having dried his hands, once again taking the patient’s wrist in hand, peculiarly tapping a few times on the pulse point.

The patient answered with certainty: “It is the eleventh year of Emperor Šerçian’s reign.”

The apprentice looked at the physician, eyes wide, but he took no notice of the young one, and simply nodded to acknowledge the answer he received.

“The earth energy within the young lord is stable and your heart is pumping the blood of Denaštür with great vigour. Your lungs contain all the energy of the wind that a person may ever need. Your life is not in danger and the young noble can return to his daily life once it’s comfortable. However, your fire energy seems to be confused, and it confuses your mind. That will make even the greatest warrior stumble over a pebble.”

The patient frowned ever so slightly, apparently not entirely unfamiliar with what this could mean, but remained calm.

“What is wrong with this lord’s fire energies?” the apprentice asked curiously.

The young lord extended his other wrist to the curious child, offering it for the apprentice to use for studies. The physician smiled slightly when the apprentice took a step away.

“I have a šüssad myself, and was once an apprentice of the bow and the sabre,” the young lord explained, urging the apprentice without force. “I understand reading energies and pulse is a matter of many years of practise to master the skill. It is better to observe the patients than to have it explained. In the military, our healers train for many more years than even the greatest soldier. It will not hurt to practise with Master Physician’s guidance.”

The physician nodded ever so slightly and guided the apprentice to what to do as the young lord sat with a straight back on the low stool. “Place your fingers as I have shown you before. Do you feel the stability of the energy in his pulse? That is the earth energy of the young lord, creating stability and strength that his body and mind relies on, giving him a calm demeanour, like a mountain. The flow os water lies beneath it, closely intertwined, proving his health is good and his emotions unwavering. Try to feel beyond these two, child.”

As the apprentice tried to read the young noble’s pulse, and quite visibly failing, the elderly physician spoke to the young lord in front of him.

“As I said previously, young lord, but this is still not the eleventh year of the emperor’s reign. The name of the emperor is correct, but it has been several years since His Imperial Majesty was of that age. Does the young noble know how many princes there are in the capital?”

“What an odd question. Eight Prince Rü’ia is the twenty-fourth of the Imperial princes and the emperor is already so old and it’s already so many years since Eight Blood Prince Çelut was born. There would be no more than eight of each kind of Imperial Prince.”

“You truly recall no one else, young lord?” the elderly physician asked.

The patient shook his head. “Other than the provincial princes, there are the Emperor’s brothers, the emperor’s eight sons, and the emperor’s eldest nephew from each brother. There are twenty-four.”

The physician stroked his beard again, considering his words closely before he spoke up once more.

“Young lord, as your mind is confused, I suggest you seek out your elders. If your parents are still alive, then they may be most suited to nurture your lost memories. Elders will guide you u til your memories properly return.”

“If so, what is my life now then,” the patient reasonably asked.

The physician looked at the young lord, whose situation could only be described as undesirable and unfavourable.

“Only Nükiž will know the truths of this matter. I am no shaman, diviner or oracle, and do not speak with the deities, and medicine is not aligned with the Sun. However, may I so boldly suggest that the young lord ask someone you know well? Is there anyone within the Capital to whom I could send word?”

“My šüssad is a general,” the young lord said, only now looking somewhat troubled as his brows pulled together, making him look stern and unyielding. “If I am in the Capital, however, he may not be here as he is frequently away, so I supposed it is his wife who is most familiar with me.”

The elderly physician glanced at the apprentice, who was still trying to read the energies. He turned back to the young lord. “Then shall I send word to the general’s estate? Which general are we speaking of?”

The young lord shook his head. “There is no need to worry about the matter. It is fine, Master Physician. I shall go there myself, if nothing else.”

The physician frowned. “Young lord, I am quite afraid I cannot send you away without confirming you truly know who you are and ensure someone will take care of matters for you.”

“Oh.” The young lord fell quiet, then opened his mouth to speak.

Loud knocking rattled the gate to the clinic. Both physician and patient turned toward the sound, one looking calm, the other frowning.

The young apprentice, however, had quite a fright and jumped back several steps at the first knock. It took a moment to find the mind to head over to the door and open it.

Behind it stood three imposing, uniformed men. They all wore green brocade that looked almost black in the dark hours before dawn. On the fabric covering their chests were the medallion of confronted winged tigers that only the Imperial Bodyguards could wear. The imperial bodyguard standing in front was somewhat shorter than the other two, with his black hair tied back instead of worn in a bun like the typical soldier, but the sabre at his waist made him just as intimidating.

Fearing that trouble may have arrived at their doorstep, the apprentice backed away and bowed without a word, allowing the three highly regarded guards to enter immediately.

The leader of the Imperial Bodyguards stepped inside first. The scent of medicine and dry herbs assaulted his nose, and Židad took in the interior of the humble clinic. It was divided by a fabric to separate the patient area between the shop in front and the unwell asking for help.

His eyes fell on a table to the side near the entrance. The table was made from bricks and a rock surface that had been carefully smoothed out. While the rock didn’t look local, Židad figured it must still have been cheaper than wood. However, it was the items on the table that caught his attention.

One was a familiar silver token that he saw almost every day. He had the fortune that the Captain wished to share guard duties with the bodyguard unit, so he could recognise the identity token of an Imperial Bodyguard Captain with ease. But there was also an accessory next to it. It was a silver, bead and silk string piece of jewellery. The silver was in the image of a flower, a delicately filigreed charm, with beads and gems to decorate the charm and braided string that ended in a tassel.

This was something Captain Züčan wore daily since the prince had personally purchased it at a market stall for the Captain.

“Where did you get those from?” he inquired as he pointed at the items. The child by the door shook his head, unable to answer out of fright. Židad didn’t blame the young apprentice.

The physician stepped out to through the fabric at this time to find what the unknown visitor was looking at. He paused when he saw the three imposing figures of three Imperial Bodyguards. Cautiously, he replied, “Those are from a patient.”

“Is that patient still here?” Židad hurried to ask.

The elderly physician stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Has the young lord committed a crime to be persecuted by someone of your high status?” 

Židad was silent for a moment, studying the old man to determine the purpose of the inquiry, before he replied to the physician’s question. “No, the owner is in the military. We are here to escort him back with us to his abode in the Inner City.”

The physician acknowledged this and couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, but said nothing. However, the young lord had naturally overheard and stepped through the fabric, habitually lowering his head. He looked at the bodyguards, taking in their uniforms.

“That is quite an achievement,” he then commented as he took his things. “Master Physician, I believe I can leave now. These people should be able to confirm my identity.”

The physician hesitated.

Židad saw this, and said with great respect, “Captain Züčan, your arrival is awaited, to ensure you are safe and sound. If you do not have a serious ailment, please come with us. And in the case that you do have an ailment that bothers you greatly, please let us seek the help of a renowned physician who knows the matter in great detail.”

Çetžak nodded, acknowledging this. He attached the token and the accessory to his belt.

The physician had to nod as well, unable to go against the Imperial Bodyguard’s thoughtfulness.

“Then, let us depart.” He took a few steps, but, ultimately, Çetžak paused and looked at the leading military officer, studying his face thoroughly. “I recognise you,” he said. “You are Židad, are you not?”

“Yes?” Židad looked at the physician, then back at the Captain. “May I inquire why you ask, Captain?”

“Oh, it is nothing,” Çetžak replied. “I worried you might be an older relative.”

Židad turned to the physician again for an explanation.

“The young lord has likely consumed an amnesia tonic. He does not remember the past few years.”

Even as his heart lurched, Lieutenant Židad only acknowledged this with a respectful nod and motioned for the Captain to leave first.

Author’s Note

More worldbuilding notes for the interested:

Creating the medical examination of this scene was… interesting. This isn’t the first time I write medical practices in this setting, but I have never had it so extensively featured. I tried to create something that fits the examinations and medical practices I have previously written into the canon story, while trying to expand it and show the ancient influences that would have affected how medicine in Zuladiar works. The Fubaž believe in four deities and divide the world based on four elements, including people’s alignment to elements by birth as well as what their divined name aligns to. Züčan (strength) is earth element, and Židad (darkness) is air element. Nür (sun, light) would be fire. Likewise a person has four elements: fire, water, air and earth. In this case fire refers to Çetžak’s intellectual and cognitive capatabilities (because Nükiž is the deity of knowledge and intelligence), water refers to health and emotions, air his general spirit, and earth to his demeanour and vitality. But there will be more on this later

It was also difficult to try have a humble physician be polite to a highly regarded military officer, who simultaneously is just as polite to the physician. I opted for Çetžak to call the healer “Master Physician” as a sign of respect, while the physicial calls Çetžak “young lord” because he assumes Çetžak is an aristocrat (in this case). In this setting “young master” is used for anyone who is the son of a master of the household, while “young lord” is irrelevant whether someone is the master or the son of the master of a household. Çetžak is significantly younger than the physician, so it’s only polite to say. The apprentice would be rude to call Çetžak “young”.

Wood in this setting is an extremely valuable commodity. It’s generally a very expensive thing to use as a material, especially in larger quantities. U’il-šanad having wooden furniture actually shows his wealth. Wood from lands further away can also be more expensive than both precious gems and precious metals at times.

This is a small detail but not actually irrelevant: silver is the colour/metal of Denaštür, and Denaštür is the deity of leadership. Çetžak’s position is shown with a silver token for a reason. I mentioned last chapter that a Captain is a honoured third rank, but his silver identity token really shows how incredibly important his station within the military actually is; he is the commanding officer of the entire Butterfly Unit of the Imperial Bodyguards and all of U’il-šanad’s bodyguards, and people would be hardpressed to go against his command of this highly specialised unit and is directly under the Commander. A Division General (also third rank) usually doesn’t have a silver token because a General (second rank) essentially has the same commanding power as an Imperial Bodyguard Captain, even if an army (and a division of an army) is larger than the entire bodyguard unit in charge of a single prince’s safety. But like I also said, within the army as a whole, a Captain is still a third rank, with the same level of power as a third rank, even if the material benefits (like salary) are that of a second rank officer (hence the honoured third rank status).

Knocks reverberated through the heavy wooden door, the sound echoing through the halls of the palace of the Ninth Blood Prince. Startled awake, U’il-šanad sat upright in his bed, eyeing the silent door to his bedchamber. Yet, stillness followed, and the prince laid down to rest once more, believing it must have been a mere dream. Closing his eyes, he thought, I have truly had too much on my mind as of late, if even my dreams won’t let me remain idle.

He inhaled deeply, letting the fatigue of the previous day overtake him, and with an exhale, he allowed his body to relax into the warmth of his blankets.

“Your Royal Highness!”

The prince’s lashes fluttered at the muffled call. He opened his eyes once more when the knocks persisted, falling heavy on the wood. With each hammer on the solid surface echoing, he grew more irritable about his disturbed sleep. After several loud bangs, he swept his beloved blanket aside and flung his legs over the edge of the bed ungraciously.

Using the limited light from the glow of the small brazier in the corner of his bedchamber, he felt his way to the racks where he found an outer robe that felt thick enough for some semblance of decency.

Seeing as no one had yet to answer the door to his chambers, it could be naught but an ungodly hour. If Kasrei was not even up yet, then U’il-šanad had surely not even slept for the full hour.

Who has the gall to dare to awaken me at such an absurd hour?! he wondered as he opened left his inner chamber.

As he placed his hand on the handle of the door to his chamber, the chambermaid scrambled out of her adjacent room, holding a lantern in one hand and securing her skirts with a decorated belt using the other. He gave her a glance as he pulled the door open to see the guard dressed in green brocade and with a bronze token at his waist. The dark leather wrist guards were embellished with butterflies, while his chest had a medallion of confronted winged tigers; one the symbol of the Ninth Blood Prince’s bodyguards, the other the proof of the Imperial Bodyguards.

“What’s so urgent at these early hours of the morn?” he asked, his voice laced with the frustration os someone deprived of his greatest pleasure. He looked the bodyguard up and down, taking in the familiar appearance of the bodyguard, and added with further displeasure, bordering on sounding cold, “And why exactly is it you?”

Nür had the mind to look ever so slightly offended by the prince’s obvious dissatisfaction with it being him specifically, but thought the better of commenting on it.

“Your Royal Highness!” the bodyguard repeated urgently in lieu of a proper greeting. “I cannot find the Captain anywhere!”

U’il-šanad’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, as looked at Nür like the man had sprouted a second head. “Did you truly think you would find him in my bedchamber so late at night?” he asked, his voice incredulous.

“No…” Nür hesitantly began, then hurried to add, “But, Your Royal Highness, what I say is that the Captain is nowhere within the walls of your royal self’s palace!”

Now the prince looked at his bodyguard as if he had sprouted yet another three heads. “Züčan does not reside here. He has his own estates. Why would he be here at all?”

Now it was Nür’s turn to look at This Royal Highness in front of him as if he had grown more than one head. Perhaps even a tail or two as well.

Excuse this insolent fool, but if the Captain does not reside within the walls of Fragrant Breeze Palace, why does he only return to his own estates once or twice a moon cycle and remain at the palace the remaining days of the month? Why has Your Royal Highness the Ninth Blood Prince seen fit yo assign a room for the Captain specifically, instead of making him sleep with the rest of us bodyguards?

If Kasrei hadn’t stood behind U’il-šanad and glared fiercely at Nür, perhaps he might have even voiced those thoughts aloud.

“I am aware,” Nür squeezed out, his voice choked.

“Well then, go seek him out at his private abode,” U’il-šanad told him in exasperation.

Nür opened his mouth to speak, but close it as running steps quickly approached.

“Your Royal Highness!” another familiar voice called out.

U’il-šanad looked past Nür to see Židad run through the corridor with a palace guard carrying a lantern, barely keeping up.

“What is it now?” the prince couldn’t help but ask.

Židad instantly stopped in his step and placed his fist over his heart. “My apologies for disturbing Your Royal Highness so late at night, when i am aware that Your Royal Highness’s sacred hours of sleep are from early morning to late midday,” the guard bowed respectfully, his chest heaving up and down, “but I received word that the Captain was taken to a healer somewhere in the Outer City, although I have yet to find out which one. What would Your Royal Highness like—”

“Why even ask?!”

Both of the lieutenants winced at the uncharacteristic way that the prince snapped at Židad. U’il-šanad himself took a deep breath, realising his mistake as well.

“Find out where Züčan is immediately!” he ordered Židad, and then turned to Nür, “Make yourself useful for once and call for an Imperial Physician! One who will not blabber about my estate’s matters to the others.”

“As you command, Your Royal Highness!” the two bodyguards spoke in unison, moving with the haste and discipline that had been instilled by them from the Captain’s strictness and expectancy of immediate action.

Kasrei, understanding her master’s unspoken intention, had already quietly sent a maid to wake up the steward and the prince’s closest attendant. As the Prince returned to his inner chamber, she brought robes better suited for the occasion. She put them to the side as she lit a couple of lanterns more and gathered the prince’s bronze mirror and comb. She wordlessly helped U’il-šanad to remove the robe he had hurriedly put on and quietly began to comb his dishevelled hair, knowing better than to voice her thoughts.

The prince would not be able to rest at ease before he saw that the Captain was well or received what care the man may need to be so.

He quietly wondered how it could have turned out this way. While Çetžak’s bodyguards naturally were not on par with the Imperial Bodyguards that the Captain commanded, they were still not to be underestimated. Yet, despite this fact, now it seemed not even they knew with certainty where exactly the man had disappeared to. Their failure to protect the Captain was as unprecedented as it was alarming.

When U’il-šanad emerged from his chambers, he was clad in a military-styled robe in a dark brocade with silver embroidery along the lapel and the standing collar. His hair had been put up in a simple bun, unlike his usual half-updos, fastened with a silver crown and indigo ribbon. The narrow sleeves of the knee-length robe were tucked in a pair of decorative silver wrist guards and his waist was cinched by a narrow sash and a bronze and glass belt. The earrings were simple hoops in silver with a handful of beads from green gems and bone and the identity token at his waist had been changed to silver to make the prince less inconspicuous as well.

The usual mischievousness in his eyes had dimmed, and his expression looked grim. He seemed nothing akin to the prince who idled his day away with reading poetry or painting. Erian hurried over to U’il-šanad and presented him with a silver and wood-framed fan. The prince took it in hand and studied the painted silk as he grimly asked, “Any word from Nür or Židad yet?”

The bodyguard closest to U’il-šanad shook his head solemnly.

Author’s Note

This story is set in the canonical alternate historical universe, but the plot is not part of Blood of Destinies Rewritten. I wanted to write about Çetžak not remembering U’il and what that means for both of them.

Çetžak Züčan’s name isn’t revealed in the first arc of BoDR, and he’s not Captain in that arc either, so chronologically, this happens an unspecified amount of time after chapter 75 or something like that, but there’s not really anything that would spoil the main plot of the original, so you can read it just fine. without much spoilers offered whatsoever.

I originally always wrote U’il-šanad as Prince U’il, but I started changing that to conlang a while back because I felt it was better. He’s still a prince (šanad), it’s just that when it’s not the title (Ninth Blood Prince) but used with his name, it uses the conlang suffix instead.

Also, for those really into worldbuilding, some additional information for context that isn’t super relevant:

• A captain in the Imperial Bodyguards is a very high station. Military ranks go from first (such as the High General of the army under the Emperor’s direct orders) to tenth. A Captain in the Imperial Bodyguards is basically two and a half, and it’s called an honoured third rank. That is, third rank with the material benefits and social status of second rank (most army generals), but military power and status of third (like a general of a division in an army). The Commander (and Vice Commander) of the Imperial Bodyguards would be a Captain’s direct superior.
• U’il in conlang translated to “butterfly” and is his imperial name, not his birth name. An imperal name is given by the Emperor in lieu of a divined name. You can’t have both a divined and an imperial name. He’s the youngest of the Emperor’s 9 children. He’s referred to “Royal Highness” by his own servants and guards for reasons I won’t explain here. You just need to know that his older brothers are never referred to that way, and in official settings U’il generally is referred to “Imperial Highness” as well.
• Züčan in Çetžak Züčan translated to “strength”, and is his divined name. A divined name is given through divination and is considered a blessing given by the deities. They’re alwas a word with a meaning, and act as a guide to a good fate, sometimes determining what path someone ends up taking in odd ways.
• Nür translates to “light” or “sun”. Židad means “darkness”. They’re Çetžak’s direct subordinates and only take orders from him, usually. They are the ones who take over if Çetžak’s not on duty and they generally rotate shifts. Židad is older than the Captain, and Nür is younger, and they have different skills and backgrounds.
• U’il has a chambermaid (Kasrei), not a chamberlain, because U’il has no third-gender servants, and was assigned a chambermaid when he was thirteen. The steward wasn’t named here, but it’s Kakir. Erian is his favoured attendant. Kasrei and Kakir means “to dress lavishly”, and “scroll” (noun) respectively. Erian is a foreign name and has no meaning, because he’s a foreigner.