Prince's Master (Calluvia's Royalty 4)

Except Eridan didn’t look like he was suffering. He gasped, his eyes glazing over, his cheeks flushing. He looked absolutely blissed-out.

Warrehn averted his gaze, too uncomfortable to watch any longer. He looked at Rohan and found him staring at the pair strangely.

“What?” Warrehn said, stepping closer to his friend. “Can you sense anything?”

Rohan didn’t look away from Idhron and Eridan as he murmured, “Your brother is in love with him, War.”

Warrehn glared at him, hating him a little for saying what he’d been trying very hard not to think about. “That’s just… some childish infatuation, that’s all. It’ll go away when Idhron blocks the throwback part of his brain.”

Rohan hummed, his dark eyes full of skepticism.

Before Warrehn could say anything, he felt the shift in Eridan, felt his brother’s mind clearing from that strange inebriated state.

“Master?” he said, this time sounding a little cautious—and something else.

Warrehn walked back to him. “How are you?”

Eridan’s gaze flickered from Idhron to him, and Warrehn was relieved to see that his eyes were clear and more guarded.

“I’m well,” Eridan said. “What happened?” He returned his gaze to Idhron and flushed, as if only now realizing that he was in his lap. He scrambled off it, avoiding Idhron’s eyes.

“Don’t you remember anything?” Warrehn said.

“I do remember, but it’s all a little hazy, to be honest.” Eridan licked his lips and made a face. “Did I really have a panic attack in public?”

“I wouldn’t call it a panic attack,” Warrehn said. “You looked like you were moments away from a cardiac arrest.”

Eridan shrugged, dropping his gaze. “You are exaggerating, War. It was just a panic attack. I’ve been prone to them since I was a child. We should return to the reception or I will be the talk of the gossipmongers.”

Warrehn snorted. “You already are, kid. With the way you clung to him, it’s unavoidable.”

“It does present a problem,” Rohan cut in, his voice thoughtful. “We have simply told everyone that you were raised in the monastery. Until now, people had no idea that you were close to the Grandmaster.”

Eridan didn’t seem to be willing to look anyone in the eye. “Not all that close,” he said with a faint smile. “It doesn’t matter. We should return to the reception. I can handle gossip.”

He had turned to leave when Idhron said, “Eridan.”

Warrehn didn’t like how that single word affected his brother. Eridan stiffened, his face going unnaturally blank. He took a deep breath before finally turning back. “Yes?”

Warrehn frowned, sensing something off in Eridan’s speech pattern. It took him a moment to realize that it seemed as though there should have been a word after Eridan’s Yes, but Eridan had cut himself off at the last moment.

Right. The blasted Master was missing; that was why Eridan’s speech pattern sounded so strange. Warrehn wondered if Idhron noticed.

Something shifted in Idhron’s expression, but otherwise his face remained unreadable as he and Eridan glared at each other.

“You cannot simply pretend that the problem does not exist,” Idhron said. “You might feel better now, but you are going to have another such episode if the issue is not handled.”

Eridan crossed his arms over his chest. “The issue? I do not know what you are talking about, M—” He cut himself off again. Warrehn didn’t know why he even bothered when it was so obvious.

“Cease feigning ignorance.” There was noticeable irritation in Idhron’s telepathic presence now. “You are smarter than that. I taught you better than that, Eridan.”

“Your Highness. I’m not your apprentice anymore, Your Grace.”

A muscle twitched in Idhron’s jaw.

Warrehn had never seen that man being so expressive with his emotions.

“Stop being a brat, Eridan,” Idhron said. “And your attempt to change the subject is very transparent. This is a matter of your health.”

Eridan lifted his chin, his full lips pursing. “My health is no longer your concern. My brother and I will handle the issue. Good day to you, Your Grace.” He turned back to the door, but Idhron’s voice stopped him again.

“It is nothing to be embarrassed about, you foolish boy,” Idhron said, his voice tinged with irritation. “Do you think you are the first throwback who has imprinted on their Master?”

Two spots of pink appeared on Eridan’s cheeks. “I’m not embarrassed,” he said, glaring at Idhron. “It’s hardly my fault that you were pretty much the only person I spent time with. When the choice is so limited, one cannot be faulted for their poor taste.”

Idhron’s face remained blank, but in a way that made it obvious that he put effort into making it so expressionless. There was a tightness around his mouth that looked unnatural. “Be that as it may, you need treatment,” he said. “Now that you publicly called me Master, if anything happens to you, it will reflect poorly on me—and the Order.”

Eridan scowled at him. “Fine,” he bit out. “What kind of treatment?”