Strong people...?

Arzhen’s mind halted and the growl died in his throat.

At that moment, Roarke saw the bait land.

Heh. The prince’s tired, fractured mind latched onto those two words like a drowning man grasping a rope. Strong people.

Of course. Arzhen Vasiliev was many things, but above all, he was proud. The pride of the Vasiliev bloodline, the Tiger Prince. He would never, ever admit that he had fallen.

"Everyone with grief, responsibility, and crushing burden... leaders, elders, people who carry the weight of others, often lose sleep from their fears and guilt."

Roarke’s hand was still on Arzhen’s forehead. Checking his temperature. Then, he moved to check his pulse.

"I am not one to tell the story, since I am but a healer... but, well." Roarke paused with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I understand a little bit. I too have my own regrets. And my own fears."

"What do you know?" Arzhen’s hiss was weak now since the fury had drained out of it.

Roarke chuckled, sad, like someone who was laughing at his own mistakes. "It is a long story. A long time ago, I was not as alone as I am now. Whose fault was it other than my own?"

Arzhen frowned. He did not want to hear a story about a mere healer’s regret. He couldn’t care less. What he wanted was medicine and control. To understand where this man’s audacity came from.

Apparently, that question was being answered. The little background story explained something. The lack of fear and sincerity was because Father Rohan had already faced the worst thing in his life. Himself.

And Roarke noticed that Arzhen was convinced.

Good.

"I am telling the truth that it will be difficult to produce medicine without the temple’s or anyone’s knowledge. It will not be ideal to take me away from the temple whenever you need help." Roarke released Arzhen’s wrist as he gently smiled. "So, how about we meet in the middle?"

"What do you mean?" Arzhen’s hiss was almost tired now. The fight was draining out of him.

"Well." Roarke shrugged. "Simply come to the temple before you need help and before your condition gets this bad. I will report your medicine use by the ingredient used, not the concoction name. This way, no one will know what the medicine was for. Yes?"

This... actually gave Arzhen what he wanted while technically following the temple’s reporting requirements. The ingredients would be logged. The purpose would remain obscure.

Arzhen stared at him, but Father Rohan’s face was open. Like he had nothing to hide and nothing to fear.

And Arzhen, who had not slept properly in days and could still see the Dragon Lord’s face every time he closed his eyes—

"...Fine. But if anyone finds out—"

"Let us hope that no one will find out, my prince." Roarke rose smoothly to his feet, his healer’s robe settling back around him. "I do prefer that the patient’s predicament be something completely private between him and his Healer. It is as it should be."

Since it sounded professional, with him invoking the very ethos of his calling, Arzhen was convinced. The prince drank the muddy liquid in the vial, and his complexion slowly turned just a bit better than before.

Meanwhile, Roarke wanted nothing more than to leave.

He still needed to return to the temple and retreat to Father Rohan’s modest quarters. Then, he must pose as a sick man requesting undisturbed rest, and slip out under cover of darkness with the Presence Concealing Ring heavy in his pocket.

The midnight birthday celebration was waiting. His Rinne was waiting. That damned window was waiting. This was his first ever chance to be with the family he had failed.

After all, tomorrow, right past midnight tonight, was the Winter Solstice. Arkai’s actual birthday.

He could not be late.

"Now, if I may—" he said calmly. "—let me excuse myself to return to the temple. To be quite honest with you, I was actually looking forward to resting today. I do not feel so well myself."

Come on. Let him go.

But unexpectedly, Arzhen started to look at him strangely.

"You look fine," he said.

Are you the healer here?

Roarke cursed internally. Why was this bastard so intolerably unlikeable?

"Rest here." Arzhen ordered.

"Tell the temple the healer is staying for the night because he does not feel well. In the meantime," Arzhen settled back into his couch, "write the ingredient list needed for the medicine. I will expect it tomorrow morning."

Ah, fucking bitch.

Of course the curses didn’t escape Roarke’s lips. They didn’t even flicker across his face. Father Rohan’s expression remained placid, just a humble healer processing a slightly unexpected request from a man who was, after all, a prince and entitled to his eccentricities.

Internally, though. Well.

Roarke could not protest. The role he played, Father Rohan, did not allow for protest. At most, the good Father could show a mild, puzzled confusion. Demanding or arguing was off the table.

But as expected of Arzhen Vasiliev. The man did not even have to try hard to be this unlikeable.

"My prince, I can’t possibly bother you to host me here." Roarke said patiently. "I can also send you the ingredient list in the morning from the temple. What is the problem with that arrangement?"

At least he had to try to be reasonable about it.

Arzhen’s eyes, still bloodshot, fixed on Roarke. He looked amused, the corners of his mouth twitched, but there was no warmth in it. He said, "You are a werewolf with a near-perfect humanoid form."

"You are also a healer. Now—" Arzhen settled deeper into his couch, pulling the tangled blanket up to his chest. "—’not feeling well’ is not a very good excuse for someone like you, is it?"

Ah.

Yes, a werewolf with a near-perfect humanoid form was, by definition, physically powerful. His body should be a body that shrugged off illness the way ordinary humans shrugged off mild inconveniences. Add to that the knowledge of a trained healer.

The image of Father Rohan asking to go home early for a rest became suspicious. A lie, perhaps, or at least an omission.

Roarke shrugged self-deprecatingly. "But not all illnesses can be fixed with a strong body and medical knowledge, yes?"

"My prince, as you know," he said, voice dropping slightly, "even my species has its rut and rampage periods. If the trigger is right, even the strongest wolf can be laid low."

There. It acknowledged Arzhen’s suspicion without denying it while offering a plausible explanation. Yes, Roarke was strong, but even the strong have their vulnerabilities. Also, hey, he simultaneously and successfully implied a shared understanding of Arzhen’s own condition.

Arzhen narrowed his eyes, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

"Good then." He said coldly, unconvinced. "You see my weakness and I see yours. Stay." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

It was final, huh?

Balls.