Author's note: Does anyone else feel like their brain has turned to mush? Mine has. I'm on week 12 of working remotely and my kids being home from school. I most certainly have mush brain; it makes editing so much fun.

Touch

Chapter Three

Convincing Baileywick that he need not stay proved every bit as difficult as Sofia could have guessed it would be. Not that she minded his company, just that there was nothing much for the elder man to do except glance at his pocket watch unobtrusively and sigh. She tried not to take his presence personally, but at twenty she felt far too old to need a babysitter, and the idea of having a chaperone with an unconscious, ill man was laughable.

Before taking his leave, Master Nivius had not given her instruction so much as impressed upon her the seriousness of the duty she was undertaking. His brusque manner suggested he took some amount of umbridge with her, though whether with her position as a royal, her sex, or her age, she couldn't tell. He appeared unconcerned with any skill she did or did not possess as a mage. Rather his indifference denoted a lack of importance on her part. Cedric's body, he assured, was doing the brunt of the work, drawing magic from her; she was merely a vessel at his disposal. Her importance, he repeated, lay in her willingness to see the job through. She was permitted to take brief breaks, encouraged even to rest, but under no circumstance was she to change her mind nor grow bored and abandon the treatment. She was to see it through until Nivius returned on the marrow at the earliest.

Though she nearly bit her tongue bloody at his veiled insults, she tried to soothe her wounded ego. The man obviously did not know her if he believed her capable to abandoning someone in need, and a friend no less, on a whim. He was a healer and his patient's well-being should be his primary concern, not tip-toeing around her feelings. In the end she gave him a very serious look and a nod, showing how well she understood. Only then did his pinched brow soften, giving her a nod in return. Then he swept out as loftily as he'd arrived.

The king had retired shortly after, leaving Sofia seated beside an unconscious sorcerer, and one impatient steward too polite to show that there were several dozen other things he should be attending to at that very moment.

"Go," Sofia said, without turning from her task.

"Excuse me, your highness?"

Sofia looked towards him, a wry smile softening her lips. "I know you have far better places to be than babysitting me, Baileywick. I imagine watching over this, it must be a bit like watching paint dry."

Indeed, there was nothing to see except Cedric unconscious in the bed, Sofia seated beside in a chair, their hands clasped on the bed spread. There was not even a visible trail of magic to signal the steady flow absorbed into his thirsty skin.

"Be that as it may," the man sniffed, lifting his chin and clasping his hands behind his back, "it isn't proper nor permitted for an unmarried young lady such as yourself to be left alone in the bedchamber of a man."

This was simply too much and for the first time in that long, taut evening Sofia laughed aloud, unable to hold it in. "Baileywick," she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes, "first of all this is Cedric. I've been alone with him in his workshop hundreds of times. Anything untoward could happen just as easily out there as it could in here—" The steward's high cheeks reddened, though whether from indignation or embarrassment she could not tell. She continued on, still finding the fuss most unnecessary. "Second, he's unconscious and bound to remain so until daybreak at the earliest. We both heard Healer Nivius pronounce it to be so."

He appeared tempted despite himself. The staff must certainly be in need of direction after the truncated ball, not to mention assurance having seen one of their own collapse. Cedric was not well-loved of the staff, but he was well-known, his reputation as royal sorcerer proceeding him.

"But who is took look after your health, Princess? What if you fall prey to this disease yourself?"

"Now you're just being stubborn," she teased in a good-natured way. As if to prove her following words, she disentangled her hand from Cedric's, her skin losing a bit of its warmth, but otherwise suffering no ill effects. Rising, she spun a dancer's circle, keeping perfect balance, then did a quick series of little exercises, touching the tip of her finger to her nose while balancing on one foot. "See? I'm perfectly fine, and we both hear Master Nivius say it was most unlikely, nearly impossible, to fall ill unless drained of magic in one great rush or slowly over weeks and days. One night of healing is not enough to do me in."

The steward tried to keep up his cool shield of aplomb, but she saw the twitch of his fingers towards his pocket watch. A bead of sweat dampen his brow. She leaned close to whisper, feeling almost devious.

"I bet the kitchens are just ghastly. The cooks never even got to serve the dessert course."

He broke. Though his calm exterior never chipped, his voice paled from its usual assurance. "I do suppose this is a special case."

She nodded encouragingly. "And father did not order you to stay. Did not even suggest it as I recall."

Indeed he had not. The elder man's own sense of propriety had led him to remain on guard.

"If you think you'll be quite safe, Princess, I'll just pop out for a bit and return with some refreshments for you."

"That would be lovely," Sofia smiled, though not so wide as to give herself away.

Once the door closed behind Baileywick, Sofia found herself faced with the unmistakable reality of being alone in Cedric's bedroom. She turned to the man lying unconscious on the bed, her palms hot and clammy. She wiped them on the folds of her skirt, suddenly reluctant to take up his hand again. Without an audience the action felt too forward. She batted the thought aside, feeling foolish. Cedric was ill and in need of a cure she could easily provide. This was an act of healing. Nothing more.

Sliding back into the chair, she took an inordinate amount of time shifting around to find a comfortable position. Her eyes darted to his hand as if drawn by a magnet. It lay there open and indecently bared. The lines etched across his palm told the story of his life, but she'd never had the mind nor skill for reading them. His fingertips bore subtle callouses, his nails efficiently blunt from use. The glossy scar of a long-healed burn curled down the length of his thumb and she wondered at the story behind it. From there it was natural to trail her gaze up the length of his arm, to take in the masculine shape of his long, trim muscles, the dusting of dark hair along his forearm. She baulked from holding his hand, but her finger itched to trace a path of gentle lines over his skin. For a scandalous moment, she realized she could lift the coverlet and peek down at his entire naked torso; there was no one to stop her or even know.

Her cheeks flames in a painful blush the likes of which she hadn't suffered since her days as an adolescent. Shame washed all through her. People were counting on her, people were trusting her, Cedric's life was in her hands and she was wasting time daydreaming about peeping at his unguarded body. She shuttered to think on what he would say if he knew.

Abruptly she snatched up his hand with her own, as if to prove her intent on healing and nothing more. Such haste proved imprudent. The pull came at once, fierce and unrestrained as if his magic had hungered for hers during the small intermittence. She gasped aloud, glad that there was no longer an audience to hear. A close cousin to pain, the sensation burned up the length of her arm and into her shoulder, even flickering across her chest. She tried to ignore how the feeling tingled through sensitive parts of her skin, making her extra aware of her whole body.

"Steady, Sofia," she whispered to herself. Nivius had told her that if she concentrated, she could push the feeling back, limiting the transfer to a more appropriate level. The burn receded to a hum, creeping down to her elbow before she felt secure enough to let her concentration ease. Her heart took much longer to calm. The unrestrained intensity of the draw made her appreciate for the first time the severity of the situation. Yet, she feared not for her own safety, but for his. Before, her sense of embarrassment had her feeling relieved that he was to remain unconscious for the healing, now she wished he could wake so that she might comfort him with words as well as touch. He must have disregarded his health greatly to create such a desperate hunger for magic. Though successfully holding it at bay, she could still feel the pull for more.

She took a deep breath, denying the temptation to open the channel between them wider. If she gave too much too fast Baileywick, or even her father, might demand she stop and she did not want that. Despite the healer's assurances, she understood that Cedric's very life was at stake. The thought caused a shiver of panic that nearly ripped the transfer stream wide open again, but she held firm. Cedric's life wasn't in danger yet, not if she could help it.

Tightly mastering any wayward thoughts, she settled into the chair, covering their joined hands with her other palm completing a circle of magic that wound from the strong beating of her heart, down her arms and into him. She was pleased to feel his skin warm beneath her touch.

As promised, Baileywick came to check on her often, bringing plenty to drink and little nourishing tidbits to eat. She wasn't extraordinarily hungry, but she followed his every instruction. When he advised her to take a break to walk about the room, she did so, not entirely ungrateful for the opportunity to stretch her cramped back. The night dwindled away, cresting the pre-dawn hours of morning. When Baileywick shuffled in for a third time, Sofia could see the subtle shadows beneath his eyes, belying his erect posture. She took a turn about the room as he requested, but sat resolutely down where he suggested she return to her own bed. Here she found her resolve.

"The healer said he needs a steady transfer of magic, especially in these early stages. I'm fine, Baileywick." She spread her arms wide to indicate her own steady posture and even countenance. "Get some rest. We both know you'll be awake by dawn. When the healer returns, I promise I'll get some sleep of my own, but until then I'm in no danger."

The steward wavered. The promise of sleep was not enough to sway him, but a good common-sense argument usually did. He looked her over, even checking her pulse against his pocket watch.

Finding her in perfect health despite hours at this unorthodox cure, he was forced to admit she appeared unharmed and sure to remain so. Relenting with some reservations, he headed off to seek a few hour's rest after extorting the promise that Sofia would hold to her word upon his return. Left alone once again with only an unconscious man for company, she rested her chin in the cup of her free palm. The stream of magic flowed on, a brook bubbling untroubled beneath the skin no longer surging against her boarders like an unruly tide. Cedric had regained some color, his complexion no longer death-pale and his skin almost hot to the touch. His face was softer in repose, younger looking, and she wondered how old he was. Magic could prove tricky in that regard. He'd always inhabited that echelon of "older than her" all her life, but as she'd grown up, he'd barely changed. They resembled peers more than elder and youth.

She got up once to heap more logs onto the fire and stretch her protesting muscles. Nivius had told her that sleep was permitted. She could continue her healing work even at rest. The body knew what to do, as he had said. Sofia took up Cedric's hand again, this time weaving her fingers through the gaps in his own. Laying her head down, she meant only to rest her eyes for a moment.

Cedric's entire body ached as if he'd been hit by a run away carriage. He groaned when he tried to move, a throbbing in his head protesting the action fiercely. He lay still, eyes shut tight, simply trying to breathe through the pain and the tightness in his lungs. After a moment, both began to lessen and other sensations started to make themselves known.

His body felt heavy and not at all inclined to wake. Only the lambent haze of morning sun through his closed lids and the distant twitter of bird song pushed him to acknowledge the morning. He must get up; there was too much to be done and not nearly enough time to do it in. He told his limbs to move, but they did not obey the command. Only then did he realize the curious sensation moving all through his body, slipping through the spaces normally reserved for things like blood and bone and muscle and organs. It filled him up like liquid sunshine, golden and sweet and almost too hot to bear. A pleasurable sensation very close to pain that made his skin feel tight a shade too tight.

He tried to breathe evenly, letting his hazy thoughts resurface from what dark place they'd fallen into. On the air he found another mystery. A scent. Something familiar, comforting, and utterly wrong. A breath of fresh island breeze in his stifled chambers, coconut and hibiscus tickling his nose. He only knew one person who had such a scent, imported from one of her island-dwelling friends. But it was all wrong as in it shouldn't be here, in his chambers, in his bed, whispering through his senses, tangled up in his veins. Cautiously cracking open an eye, he squinted against the incoming light.

A wave of auburn curls spilled across the dark of his bedspread. A few stray skeins rippled over his arm, teasing his skin with its silken softness. Sofia lay half across his bed, her head pillowed on her own arm. Half seated in a chair pulled up close beside the bed, the position looked abysmally uncomfortable. He also discovered that his hand was gripped firmly in hers, their fingers linked together. On reflex, he tried to ease his hand from hers, but found himself drawing in a sharp breath. His eyes closed against the intimate feeling of her magic flowing through his veins. In sleep her fingers tightened reflexively, not only her grip protesting but the interwoven mesh of her magic sliding in between the gaps of his own. He'd heard of such things but never experienced them first hand. Shock momentarily overtook him that she'd initiate such contact until better sense interrupted those thoughts, pointing out that she must have had a damn good reason. The aches and pains still making themselves known strongly suggested that he was injured in some way.

He tried to think, ignoring the kitten-soft warmth of her healing. Even harder to ignore the way his body drank of her, drawing strength effortlessly, eagerly even. His last clear memory was of the ball, performing feats of magic painted across the night's sky to the amazement of the royal guests, and then … nothing. Only a blank space presented itself from that moment until this one when he woke with the princess's hand clutched in his own. One night had passed at the least; he hoped no more.

Ignoring the warnings from his body, he pushed himself up into sitting as best he could. Adding insult to injury, the coverlet slipped to his waist, proving him shirtless. Despite what protest his magic gave, he pulled himself from Sofia's sleeping grasp. A coldness swept through him, that sunshine liquid heat dimming in all his limbs. Finding his shirt folded across the dresser, he slipped from the bed (thankfully his pants were still with him) and made his slow, stiff way over to pull it on. He was just doing up the last buttons when the Sofia groaned, a surprisingly effective sound in grabbing his attention. She blinked slowly, her open fingers grasping sleepily at the blankets. When their search yielded nothing, her head jerked up, eyes wide when she realized that the bed before her was empty.

Her gaze sprang to his standing frame, taking in an unabashed sweep of him from head to toe. She sagged, the relief in her whole body palpable. He looked away, uncomfortable as always with such open displays of emotion. Sofia always confounded him with how she refused to guard her emotions.

"You're awake," she said, sounding nothing shy of astounded.

He did up the last button, swallowing. His voice croaked a bit, his throat dry. "What happened?"

Sofia sat up, stretching her arms over her head and arching her back in a gesture that reminded him of a napping cat. Subtle shadows shaded the crescents beneath her eyes. She yawned largely. "You collapsed," she said when she was more awake. "The physician didn't know what to do so we had to send for a healer."

She told him then of this Master Nivius and his assessment. He'd heard of Magic Wasting Disease, every serious student of magic had whispered the tales of wizards over taken by hubris, a trait of their species it would seem, attempting magics far too powerful. Dark magic was the most likely to turn on the caster, literally burning them up from the inside out. In less spectacular versions, the magic would suck a magician dry, leaving them a withered husk like the victim of some vampiric fiend. That he'd even brushed up against such a fate left him shaken.

But surely it could not have been that serious if the healer had not thought even to stay.

"What did he prescribe for this sickness?" he asked cautiously, seeming only then to register the strangeness of her presence here in his room and the echoing tingle of her touch.

"Magic," she said. "A transfusion of magic, that is. The magic inside you needed an external source to feed upon, something other than your life." Her cheeks colored and she looked away. "I volunteered."

He stared, unable to think of anything to say for a long time. Sofia had given him her magic. She had no way of knowing , of course she didn't, of how intimate the gesture. He felt an unbidden dislike for this unknown healer for not better preparing her. The anger helped cover the heat of embarrassment that he'd been weakened to the point of being indebted to her.

"You should not have done that," he said lowly.

Her head jerked up, her eyes reflecting bewilderment mixed with hurt. "But the healer said you needed magic so that things did not take a more serious turn."

"I understand that, but you should not have done it. You always do that, put yourself in danger needlessly."

"Needlessly?" She straightened sharply. "You could have died."

"And you could have made yourself just as ill." He turned away, dismissing her, and began pulling on his robes.

Sofia was silent a long space. His back was to her, but he was certain that if looks could kill he'd be a dead man many times over.

"What are you doing?" she said, admirable restraint allowing only a hint of peevishness into her voice. "The healer said you need rest."

"I have rested. I feel much better," he lied. He felt exhausted, but no more than usual. "The induction ceremony is tomorrow and I've lost a whole night and morning of work. Today I am tasked with surveying the preparations."

"Can't someone else do it? Cordellia? Or your mother?"

"No," he said simply and no more.

"You mean you won't let anyone else handle it," she grumbled behind him.

Having tied on his robes and combed his fingers through his hair, he turned to find her glaring with hands on her hips giving him the spooky impression of his own mother in her most disapproving moods towards his father. "There is no need for anyone else to handle it," he said.

"Master Nivius said he wanted to see you first thing when you woke."

"I can see him after."

"Cedric!" Her blue eyes widened with incredulity. Something about his name in her mouth flickered like a flame in his belly. "You collapsed in the middle of last night's ball. You've been unconscious for hours. I've—We've been worried sick all night. The least you can do is wait for a healer to check on your condition."

Despite the evidence of a poor night's sleep, color flushed her cheeks and lips. He could still feel her magic working all through him, still doing its dogged best to heal him even without her touch. He wasn't sure which was worse: having a perfectly reasonable excuse to touch her again or knowing in painstaking detail every reason why he shouldn't. He didn't need any encouragements there, and now her magic was filling his body, singing through his head like a gods' damned song he couldn't forget. It made him unaccountably annoyed. "Merlin's Mushrooms, I don't have a condition! Healers are notoriously dramatic. I'm sure I just needed a good night's rest."

He marched out of the room and into his workshop. She followed. It was easier to face her without the distractions of his beckoning bed enticing him to lie down and sleep for days. His body seconded the notion, but he ignored it as always.

She planted herself in front of his door, arms crossed under her breasts. "I gave my word to Master Nivius that I would not leave your side until his return. And you of all people know I never break a promise."

"Well, there is a first time for everything, Princess. Unless you plan on dogging my steps everywhere I go," he nearly growled.

Sofia blinked before brightening suddenly. "What a wonderful idea. If you insist on going, then I am coming with you. And you will eat some breakfast before we go."

A fresh denial danced on the tip of his tongue, but by her posture he knew she would not relent on this, no matter how stubborn he wanted to be. As if to take up her side, his stomach grumbled in loud approval. He sighed, knowing he'd been bested. "Fine."

Author's Note: This chapter just keep begging me to add more and more. Hope you enjoyed it.

Reviews, please! As always.