The Gentleman's Agony

Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. Silas became aware of sensations one at a time—the softness of a bed beneath him, the warmth of blankets, the distant sound of voices, and pain. Always pain.

But this pain was different. It wasn't the sharp, immediate agony of broken bones and ruptured organs. It was duller, more manageable, the kind of pain that came from healing rather than breaking.

He opened his eyes and found himself in a room he didn't recognize. It was larger than the room at Madame Thorne's boarding house, with tall windows that let in afternoon sunlight. The furniture was expensive, the walls were decorated with paintings, and there was a distinct smell of medicinal herbs in the air.

"You're awake." A woman's voice, unfamiliar. "Don't try to move. You're still healing."

Silas turned his head—slowly, carefully—and saw a woman in her fifties sitting in a chair beside the bed. She had gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, and she wore the practical clothes of a healer.

"Where am I?" His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper.

"Duke Ravencroft's estate. You've been unconscious for two days."

"Elara—"

"The Princess is fine. She's in the next room, recovering. The bond kept you both alive, though it was a near thing." The healer stood and moved to a table where several bottles and instruments were arranged. "You cast a spell that should have killed you both. The magical backlash was enormous. If the Duke's guards hadn't found you when they did, you would have died in the street."

"The Duke's guards?" Silas tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. His body protested violently, and he fell back against the pillows. "But we were being chased by the Chancellor's men."

"You were. But the Duke had his own guards following you, just in case. When you collapsed, they drove off the Chancellor's men and brought you here." The healer poured something into a cup and brought it to him. "Drink this. It'll help with the pain."

Silas drank, and the liquid was bitter but effective. Within seconds, the pain began to recede to manageable levels.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"Bad. You had multiple fractures, internal bleeding, and significant nerve damage. The Princess had similar injuries, though not as severe—the bond distributed the damage unevenly, with you taking the larger share." The healer sat back down. "You're healing remarkably fast, though. The bond is accelerating your recovery, using the Princess's vitality to repair your body. It's fascinating from a medical perspective, though I imagine it's quite uncomfortable for both of you."

"That's an understatement." Silas closed his eyes, reaching through the bond to check on Elara. He could feel her presence, distant but steady, and he could sense that she was sleeping. "Can I see her?"

"Not yet. She needs rest, and so do you. The Duke wants to speak with you when you're strong enough, but that won't be for at least another day."

"We don't have another day. The Chancellor's coronation is in three days."

"Two days now," the healer corrected. "You've been unconscious for forty-eight hours. But the Duke is aware of the timeline. He's been making arrangements."

"What kind of arrangements?"

"That's for him to discuss with you, not me. My job is to keep you alive long enough to have that discussion." She stood and moved to the door. "Rest. I'll check on you in a few hours."

She left, and Silas was alone with his thoughts.

Two days until the coronation. Two days to recover, to plan, to figure out how to stop the Chancellor from seizing the throne. It wasn't enough time, but it was what they had.

He closed his eyes and let himself drift, not quite sleeping but not quite awake. Through the bond, he could feel Elara's dreams—confused, fragmented images of the bombing, the escape, the constant running. She was reliving their trauma, processing it in the only way her mind knew how.

He sent a wave of calm through the bond, trying to soothe her nightmares. It seemed to help—her dreams became less chaotic, more peaceful.

Hours passed. The healer returned periodically to check on him, to give him medicine, to change his bandages. Each time, Silas asked about Elara, and each time, the healer told him she was still sleeping, still healing.

It was evening when Elara finally woke. Silas felt it through the bond—a sudden surge of consciousness, followed immediately by panic.

"Silas!" Her voice came through the wall, muffled but clear. "Silas, where are you?"

"I'm here," he called back. "In the next room. We're safe."

He heard movement, the sound of a door opening, and then Elara burst into his room. She was wearing a nightgown that was too large for her, her hair was disheveled, and she looked like she'd just woken from a nightmare.

"You're alive," she said, moving to his bedside. "I thought—when we collapsed, I thought we were both going to die."

"We almost did. But the Duke's guards found us in time."

"The Duke?" She sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. "We're at his estate?"

"Yes. He's been protecting us while we recover." Silas reached out and took her hand. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was hit by a carriage. Multiple times." She managed a weak smile. "But I'm alive, which is more than I expected. What about you?"

"The same. The healer says we're healing faster than normal because of the bond."

"The bond." Elara looked down at their joined hands. "Silas, what we did—that spell you cast—I felt everything. Every bone breaking, every organ rupturing, every nerve firing in agony. It was the most horrific thing I've ever experienced."

"I'm sorry. I didn't have a choice."

"I know. And I'm not blaming you. I'm just... I'm trying to process it. Because that's what you've been feeling for fifteen years, isn't it? Maybe not all at once, but accumulated over time. That level of pain, over and over again, day after day."

"Yes," Silas said simply.

"How did you survive it? How did you stay sane?"

"I didn't stay sane. I dissociated. I built walls in my mind and hid behind them. It's not the same as being healthy, but it kept me functional."

Elara was quiet for a moment, and through the bond, Silas felt her processing this information, trying to understand what it meant.

"I can't do that," she said finally. "I can't dissociate the way you do. When I feel pain, I feel all of it. Which means if we keep using magic the way we did, if we keep pushing the bond to its limits, I'm going to break."

"I know. That's why we need to be more careful. We can't cast spells that cost more than we can afford to pay."

"But what if we don't have a choice? What if stopping the Chancellor requires us to push beyond our limits?"

It was a good question, and Silas didn't have a good answer.

"Then we'll deal with that when it happens," he said finally. "But for now, we focus on recovery and planning. The Duke wants to speak with us when we're strong enough."

"When will that be?"

"Tomorrow, probably. The healer says we need at least one more day of rest."

"We don't have one more day. The coronation is in two days."

"I know. But we're no good to anyone if we're too injured to move." Silas squeezed her hand gently. "Elara, we need to trust the Duke. He's been making arrangements, preparing for the confrontation. We need to let him do his part while we do ours."

"Which is what? Lying in bed and hoping everything works out?"

"Which is recovering enough to be functional when the time comes. We're going to get one chance to stop the Chancellor, and we need to be ready for it."

Elara nodded, though she didn't look happy about it. "All right. One more day. But then we move, whether we're fully healed or not."

"Agreed."

The healer returned and insisted that Elara go back to her own room to rest. Elara protested, but the healer was firm—they both needed sleep, and they would heal faster if they weren't constantly worrying about each other.

Reluctantly, Elara left, and Silas was alone again.

He spent the night drifting in and out of consciousness, his body working overtime to repair the damage from the spell. Through the bond, he could feel Elara doing the same, her vitality flowing into him, helping him heal.

It was strange, this connection between them. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with romance or physical attraction. They were bound together at a fundamental level, sharing not just pain but strength, not just suffering but survival.

He wondered what would happen to them when this was all over. Would the bond remain, or would it fade once the immediate crisis passed? Would they stay partners, or would they drift apart once they no longer needed each other for survival?

He didn't know. And for now, it didn't matter.

All that mattered was surviving the next two days.

*

The next morning, Duke Ravencroft came to visit.

He entered Silas's room with the bearing of someone who was used to being important, but there was a warmth in his eyes that suggested he was more than just another aristocrat playing political games.

"Silas Vane," he said, settling into the chair beside the bed. "You've caused quite a stir in the capital."

"That wasn't my intention, Your Grace."

"I'm sure it wasn't. But intentions matter less than results, and the result is that you and the Princess have become the most wanted fugitives in the kingdom." The Duke pulled out a newspaper and showed it to Silas. The headline read: "FUGITIVE PRINCESS AND ROGUE PROXY STILL AT LARGE - REWARD INCREASED TO 30,000 GOLD CROWNS."

"Thirty thousand," Silas murmured. "The Chancellor is getting desperate."

"He is. And desperate men make mistakes." The Duke set down the newspaper. "I've been making inquiries over the past two days. Quiet inquiries, through channels the Chancellor doesn't monitor. And I've found something interesting."

"What?"

"The Chancellor's support among the nobility is not as solid as he claims. Many of them are uncomfortable with how quickly he's moving to consolidate power. They're scared, yes, but they're also suspicious. If we can give them a reason to stand against him, they might actually do it."

"The evidence we have—is it enough?"

"It's a start. But we need more. We need witnesses, people who can testify to the Chancellor's crimes. And we need a plan for what happens after we expose him."

"What do you suggest?"

"I've been in contact with General Blackwood. He's willing to bring a contingent of loyal soldiers to the capital for the coronation ceremony. If we can expose the Chancellor's treason in front of the court, the General will have the military backing to arrest him."

"That's a big if," Silas said. "The Chancellor will have his own guards at the ceremony. It could turn into a bloodbath."

"It could. But it's the best chance we have." The Duke leaned forward. "Silas, I need to know—are you and the Princess prepared to see this through? Because once we start this, there's no going back. Either we succeed and the Chancellor is arrested, or we fail and we're all executed for treason."

"We're prepared," Silas said without hesitation. "We've come too far to turn back now."

"Good. Then here's the plan." The Duke pulled out a map of the palace. "The coronation ceremony will take place in the Grand Cathedral, which is adjacent to the palace. The Chancellor will be there, along with most of the nobility and the high-ranking members of the clergy. Security will be tight, but I can get you inside as part of my entourage."

"And once we're inside?"

"You wait for the right moment. The ceremony has several parts—the anointing, the oath, the crowning. The best time to interrupt is during the oath, when the Chancellor swears to uphold the laws of the kingdom and protect its people. That's when you present your evidence and accuse him of treason."

"He'll deny it."

"Of course he will. But if we have witnesses ready to corroborate your claims, if we have General Blackwood's soldiers ready to act, he won't be able to simply dismiss the accusations."

"What about the Princess? Where will she be during all this?"

"With you. She needs to be visible, needs to show the court that she's not under magical compulsion. Her presence will lend legitimacy to your accusations."

Silas thought about this, running through scenarios and contingencies. It was a risky plan, with a dozen points where things could go wrong. But it was also their best chance.

"All right," he said. "We'll do it. But Your Grace, I need to ask—why are you helping us? You're risking everything for two fugitives you barely know."

The Duke was quiet for a moment, his expression distant. "Because I had a son once. He was bonded as a Proxy when he was twenty, to pay off a debt I'd incurred. I thought it would be temporary, that I could buy his freedom within a year or two. But the law doesn't work that way. Once someone is bonded, they're bonded for life."

"What happened to him?"

"He lasted six years. Six years of constant pain, constant damage, constant recovery. And then one day, his master pushed him too far, and he died. Just... stopped breathing in the middle of a spell." The Duke's voice was rough with old grief. "I tried to get justice, tried to hold his master accountable. But the law said it was an accident, that these things happen sometimes with Proxies. No charges were filed, no punishment was given. My son died, and the system called it acceptable losses."

"I'm sorry," Silas said quietly.

"So am I. But sorry doesn't bring him back. All I can do now is try to make sure no other father loses a son the way I did." The Duke stood. "Rest today. Tomorrow, we change the kingdom."

He left, and Silas was alone with his thoughts.

The Duke's story was familiar—Silas had heard variations of it dozens of times over the years. Proxies who died young, families who grieved, and a system that ground on regardless, treating human lives as acceptable costs in the pursuit of magical convenience.

But maybe, just maybe, they could change that.

If they survived the next two days.

*

Elara came to visit in the afternoon, looking stronger than she had the night before. The healer had given her clothes that actually fit—a simple dress in dark blue that made her look like a minor noble rather than a princess.

"The Duke told me the plan," she said, sitting on the edge of Silas's bed. "It's insane."

"Yes," Silas agreed. "But it's also our best option."

"We're going to walk into a room full of the Chancellor's supporters and accuse him of treason. In front of everyone. With no guarantee that anyone will believe us."

"We have evidence. We have witnesses. We have General Blackwood's soldiers ready to act."

"And we have a bond that nearly killed us both the last time we used it for anything significant." Elara's voice was tight with worry. "Silas, what if we need to use magic during the confrontation? What if the Chancellor attacks us, or his guards try to arrest us? We can't defend ourselves without risking our lives."

"Then we'll have to be very careful not to need magic," Silas replied. "Elara, I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But we don't have a choice. If we don't stop the Chancellor tomorrow, he'll be crowned King, and everything we've fought for will be lost."

"I know. I just..." She trailed off, and through the bond, Silas felt her fear and uncertainty. "I just wish there was another way. A safer way."

"There isn't. Sometimes the only way forward is through the danger, not around it."

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "All right. We do this. Together."

"Together," Silas agreed.

They spent the rest of the afternoon planning, going over every detail of the Duke's strategy, discussing contingencies and backup plans. The healer brought them food, and they ate while they talked, their bodies demanding fuel for the constant healing process.

By evening, Silas was feeling stronger. Not fully healed—that would take weeks, maybe months—but functional. He could walk without limping, could move without obvious pain, could think clearly without the fog of exhaustion.

Through the bond, he could feel that Elara was in a similar state. They were both damaged, both operating at less than full capacity, but they were alive and mobile.

It would have to be enough.

That night, Silas couldn't sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind running through scenarios and possibilities. What if the Duke's plan failed? What if the Chancellor had anticipated their move? What if the nobility refused to believe the evidence?

What if they died tomorrow?

It was a real possibility. The Chancellor was desperate, and desperate men were dangerous. He wouldn't hesitate to have them killed if he felt threatened.

But Silas had spent fifteen years living with the constant possibility of death. It had lost its power to terrify him.

What scared him now was the possibility of failure. Of coming so close to changing things and then falling short. Of dying without making a difference.

He reached through the bond to Elara and found her awake as well, her mind churning with similar thoughts.

"Can't sleep?" he asked through the bond. It was something they'd discovered they could do—communicate directly, mind to mind, without words.

"No," she replied. "Too much to think about."

"Same here."

"Silas, if we don't survive tomorrow—"

"We will."

"But if we don't, I want you to know something. These past few days, running with you, fighting with you, learning from you—it's been the most real I've ever felt. My entire life before this was a performance, a role I was playing. But with you, I don't have to pretend. I can just be myself."

Through the bond, Silas felt her sincerity, her gratitude, her affection. And he felt something in himself respond—not the absence of emotion that had defined him for fifteen years, but actual feeling. Warmth, connection, maybe even the beginning of something that could be called friendship.

"Thank you," he said. "For seeing me. For treating me like a person. For caring."

"Always," she replied.

They stayed connected through the bond for hours, not talking, just being present with each other. And slowly, gradually, they both drifted into sleep.

Tomorrow would bring danger, confrontation, possibly death.

But tonight, they had each other.

And that was enough.

*

End of Chapter 9