Sliding quietly down to sit at the base of the tree, he fidgeted with his silly gear as he listened to that beautiful story tell a story of a stubborn knight on a quest to rescue his beloved from the grip of an evil tyrant.
Sadly, the moment didn't last long, as guards came striding through the garden bearing lanterns and clearly searching for him. Bakhtiar sighed, stood up and brushed himself off, turning to the man and young woman—sister? Friend? Promised?—and smiling. "You have a beautiful voice, thank you for letting me enjoy your storytelling for a time. I apologize for disturbing your space. Goodnight." Then he walked over to the guards. "I'm here. Where do my parents expect me?"
"Expect you? They said only we were to be certain you were all right and reached your room in peace to get some rest."
Wow, they were so fed up with him they didn't even care to yell at him. He hadn't thought he had any lows left to reach, but here was a new achievement. "Thank you, I'll return to my room now, please."
"Yes, Your Highness."
When he reached his room, it was empty, another twist to the heart. Where were Farrokh and Kurosh? Speaking with his parents, likely. Seeking permission to leave? Handing over information about him so he could better be dealt with?
Heart aching more than ever, he stripped off his clothes and jewelry, washed away his eye makeup, loosely bound his hair, and then finally limped over to the bed and crawled into it, telling himself he'd fall asleep long before he did something as stupid as cry.
*~*~*
When he woke some time later, everything was dark, cool, and quiet. A glance out the window showed it was still dark, so it must be some early hour of the morning.
His heart sped up to see that Kurosh and Farrokh were asleep on either side of him. Not leaving him after all? Or was there some waiting period his father had required so they were going through the motions until then?
Suppressing a sigh so he wouldn't accidentally disturb them, especially Kurosh and his notoriously light sleep, he crawled out of bed and drank the cold tea still sitting on the table. He was awake, he wouldn't be going back to sleep, and who knew what would happen to him when his parents woke up. He may as well get some work done in the meantime.
Not in the mood for the faintly oppressive nature of the secret passages he pulled on comfortable pants, a loose, sleeveless shirt, and wrapped up in a warm shawl. Unbecomingto walk around so casual, but when you were already as low as you could go, what did one more broken rule matter?
When he reached his office, he paused outside it to greet Reza like usual. "Good evening, faithful protector. Any visitors while I was away?"
"Only Kashi and another servant with him to fetch some papers. There was a brief disturbance in the hall, a group of stupid drunks who wandered this way somehow…" Reza rolled his eyes, which would get him in so much trouble should Captain Queria hear of it, "…but that was all, Your Highness. We're still sorting out how they were able to get this far. I'll keep you informed. I hope you're feeling better?"
Huh, he hadn't thought there was anything in his office anyone would need. But what did he really know anymore. "Much improved, thank you. I don't suppose you could find a servant willing to bring me fresh tea?"
"Of course, Your Highness."
"I appreciate it." He stepped inside, slid the door shut, and moved through the dark room with familiar ease to light the lamp on the corner of his desk—
And was grabbed from behind, a hand slammed over his mouth. He tried to scream anyway, throwing his weight backward—and only getting thrown into a wall for his trouble, his head slammed back down when he tried to lift it. "Guar—"
He went down, eyes stinging with pain, curling in on himself where he'd been punched in the gut. There was a crashing sound, like his bookcase had been knocked over or something, but then he was being kicked and hit and thrown around again, cut and scraped as he struck things around the room.
Out in the hall, he could hear Reza screaming his name. NotYour Highnessor evenPrince, but his actual name. Alongwith banging and breaking and tearing. Reza was fighting to get to him past whatever barrier was in the way.
Despite his efforts to stay aware, get away, soon all he knew was pain and the taste of his own blood.
Then everything stopped, and he heard the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor. The door opened, light spilling inside at last, and he could just make out Reza and Kurosh's worried faces as he knelt beside him. "Bakhti, stay with me, you'll be all right."
Bakhti laughed, half-hysterical, half-bitter resignation, his head aching, the room spinning. "At least I won't be an annoying burden anymore."
He passed out as Kurosh and Reza screamed his name.
*~*~*
When he woke up, it was in his own bed, in pain and dying of thirst. "Fuck."
"Bakhti!"
He froze, dread filling his chest, desperately wishing he was still unconscious. Unfortunately, he was awake, and too sore and thirsty to go back to sleep quite yet, so he turned his head to face his father sitting by his bedside. "Father."
Shahjahan reached out to cover his hand with both of his his. "You're finally awake, thank the gods. W-we were starting to fear the worst."
Bakhtiar had once found so much comfort in his father's touch—a hand on his shoulder, resting on his forehead when he was sick in bed, on his back in encouragement or pride. But the touches had faded, as had the encouragement and pride and comfort, replaced by sighs and reprimands and lectures. "Water?"
