[BL] Accidentally Becoming the Healer of the Deranged Archduke
Chapter 88: Intoxication

Chapter 88: Intoxication

"How long do we have to stay here?" Xion groaned as he slumped onto the bed. The red robe was still draped over his body, carrying the faint yet pleasant scent of herbs.

It was subtle but soothing. He sniffed the collar, letting it calm him just a little.

"I don’t know. It was supposed to be three days, but now... I’m not sure," Ray muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Knowing His Grace’s temper, Ray was certain they would be leaving early, after giving Lord Klein a little shock, of course.

And then, there was his own punishment.

Ray exhaled slowly. In all the years he had served under the archduke, he had only ever defied orders twice.

This was the third.

And this time, he knew, there would be no easy forgiveness.

But... it was for your sake, Your Grace.

Darius had ruined the churches in the north. Not all of them though. He had only destroyed the ones built under Theodore’s command.

To those hypocrites draped in saintly robes, Darius was nothing short of a devil. For them, supporting the Archduke’s decisions was out of the question.

Ray wouldn’t have paid it much mind, if not for the sudden royal summons.

The last time they had done something like this was when a young Darius first took the leash of the Darkhelm lineage in his hands.

Then, they sent him to the battlefield. No mercy was spared for the boy who had barely reached his adulthood.

Fourteen. That was how old Darius had been when he first painted the earth with the blood of his enemies.

It took them three long years to conquer the neighboring territory and return alive.

What awaited them was a victorious march. It was grand, lavish even.

Yet they all knew it had been fake, a fluke to divert the attention of the civilians as they had begun to see Darius as their hero.

How could they not when he had saved them from the monsters lurking in the west?

And yet, the lands he had bled for were not his to keep.

They were gifted. Handed over to Duke Nocturne in a ceremonial gesture of gratitude. A "gift," they had called it.

This was one of the reasons why Claude Nocturne was willing to go to such lengths as to find the holy relic and give it to the archduke rather than to the church.

Now, with the book in their hands, even if the Holy Order tried to force anything on his grace, they would have leverage. They would have something to bargain with.

Ray glanced at the boy who had been staring at the ceiling.

The red robe was draped loosely over Xion’s small frame, its rich fabric swallowing him whole. Beneath it, his white clothes barely peeked through.

It reminded Ray of how His Grace had held Xion earlier.

"I need to meet someone at midnight. Can you come with me?" Xion drawled. His soft voice came out drowsy, lazy even.

"You look unwell." Ray pursed his lips. He was feeling more guilty than he let out. After all, he had started to like the way Xion shuffled around with them like he belonged there.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Ray hesitated, then sighed. He really wanted to say that if he let the healer get hurt again, he might as well kiss his limbs goodbye.

Reconnecting his arms would be very painful. Even more so when Allen was the one doing it.

The Alchemist would never let him off for hurting his beloved Teacher.

Suddenly, he felt like some lowly bandit trying to harm Princess Xion while Allen played the righteous hero. How absurd!

Then again, there was something absurd about Xion too. It had been almost half an hour since he had collapsed onto the bed. Yet he hadn’t moved an inch.

Was it the wine working its way into his nerves, or the remnants of fear still clawing at him? Xion couldn’t tell.

The buzzing in his head had only grown louder, sharpening into an unbearable static. Over time, it became an incessant hum, like white noise filling every corner of his mind.

And then came the pain. It was slow at first, like a dull ache, but soon, it started to gnaw at his senses. It was devouring his sanity piece by piece.

"Is it so important that you have to go there looking like dead-"

"Such care is not your forte, Sir, Knight Captain." Xion knew his voice was coming biting, and far from the usual mild tone he usually spoke in. But he was in no mood, or in his right senses to care.

Ray’s jaw clenched. It wasn’t often that someone spoke to him like that, let alone Xion. But the healer was not done yet.

"You promised to keep me safe and then left for your important work." Xion tilted his head, just enough to cast Ray a fleeting glance.

His blue eyes burned faintly, and Ray recognized the emotions. Anger.

"Your work is oh so important. But mine is not?"

Ray took a step closer. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell Xion that it wasn’t the same. But deep down, he knew that, to Xion, it probably was.

"That’s not what I mean, Xion. His Grace does not want you to get in troubl-"

Once again, the knight was cut off midsentence.

This time, though, it was by the laughter. Not the shining one that would make others happy, but the type that made one’s scalp tingle with how devoid of warmth it was.

"It is always Your Grace to you. You might have sworn your loyalty to the archduke, but I have not. Stop putting me in danger! Stop using me for the sake of your Grace!"

Ray remained silent. Because Xion was right. Absolutely right.

And in hindsight, Ray had already noticed it; how he had been treating Xion as some sort of collateral.

Something to be used for the archduke’s benefit. Something to be discarded if it proved useless.

However, what else could he do when all he had ever known was to put Darius above everything?

"Get out." This time Xion did not bother to give him even a fleeting glance.

Xion was getting high again. Whether it was from the lingering sweetness of alcohol or the slow-burning irritation bubbling in his chest, he didn’t care to figure out.

He had more pressing matters to deal with. Like wanting to kill Klein.

And Caspian.

And Soren.

If killing them was not an option, then a punch or two would do just fine to satiate his rage.

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