“Edward,” the man said again, more firmly this time, making him stick his finger on the page to hold his spot while he looked up. The man he’d known his entire life was looking at him with nothing short of awe, as though he’d grown a full foot taller overnight. Mister Finch was well into his fifties now, but usually didn’t show his age. He was handsome in the traditional sense and would’ve surely had a queue of women hoping to catch his eye if not for the fact that he was married to the Kinkallian throne with no interest in romance of the conventional sort. His tidy, black hair was typically neatly combed from one side of his head to the other, his goatee trimmed and well-kempt. Everything about the man had always been a picture of order and cleanliness, setting the perfect example for a young prince who cared little and less for such things.

Until now. Now his hair stuck up in at least a dozen places, as if he’d been habitually pulling on it. His goatee hadn’t been trimmed in far too long, bits sticking in odd directions and multiplying across the entirety of his cheeks. The white shirt beneath his black vest was crinkled and untucked. Untucked, for gods sakes!

“You look…” He searched for a polite way of saying Like shite and ended up choosing, “…haggard. Also, you’re late. Not that I mind the sleep in, but it would be good to let me know when you plan to oversleep next time. That way I know I can read in bed for a while before your army storms the gates to fuss over me.”

“Thank the gods you’re alive. Where have you been?”

Edward raised an eyebrow, wondering if the man had suffered from a knock on the head that had affected not only his hygiene habits but also his logical reasoning. He hadn’t even used an appropriate honorific when addressing his monarch. “In bed. At least, mostly. I did pop my head out to look for you and I’m afraid I scared one of the maids halfway to the void and back again. I also sat in that chair for…thirty seconds? A minute at most.” Edward stopped to catch his breath. He wasn’t used to talking this much. For some reason, on this particular morning, he felt energized, like he had a million words trapped in his head just waiting to come spewing out. He wondered if this was how the socialites of the court felt all the time, like breaking the silence with their own voices was akin to a gift from the gods. If so, he wanted no part of it, clamping his mouth shut and vowing not to speak again unless absolutely necessary.

The man shook his head. “Edward, you’ve been gone for days.”