While his face may have been a mask of interest and solemn curiosity, Raglan's mind was racing within his bejeweled skull. It wasn't as if the lad had never seen injuries - he had seen things among smog choked streets that could turn a warborn veteran into a squealing filly at his dam's teat. But the solemnity with which Camdis spoke, the responsibility that he lay out before the youth took him by surprise; he had never thought about the emotional turmoil that might accompany such a position within Denocte. No, the silver haired yearling hadn't taken the time to consider the possibility that his heart could be hurt in the line of duty. He swallowed and felt his jaw tighten as worry slithered down his spine and questions battered themselves against the confines of his skull. 

Am I strong enough to be their shoulder? Can I withstand the emotional drain? How can I know? Will I dash myself upon the rocks of my dreams? If I fail, will they hate me?

On and on they circled, nearly blinding him as he stared at the blank anatomy chart that Camdis had placed before him. In truth, before the lad had come to the Palace, he had been illiterate to the fullest extent - he hadn't even been able to identify his numbers. Despite that, though, Camdis had sat with the winged youth for hours on end, building memory through repetition and application. He had even trusted Raglan to read court documents aloud, stating that if he were to be a message runner for the crown, there was no reason he couldn't be privy to the knowledge that came with his station. With a glance at the feather quill that he had plucked from his own wing during his last molt, Raglan's mouth went dry. 

If he wrote on that sheet, if he began his education formally as a caretaker, he wouldn't be able to look back. He would have committed himself and Camdis to this future that he wasn't even sure he could withstand. Raising his pale gaze to the similarly moonlike eyes of his teacher, Raglan heard the plea in his voice as he spoke, "Camdis Lohir, I don't --" his words were cut off, however, when he noticed his guardian's attention shift from his face, to something behind him. 

Cocking his head to the side, Raglan watched the scarlet stallion transform; the muscles about his eyes and mouth softening, his small smile growing ever so slightly, nostrils flaring as if to catch a scent. Raglan noticed the sudden tension in the musculature of his tutor's chest, as if it was suddenly hard for the stallion to breathe. All of these changes were minute, nearly unnoticeable and surely unknown by Camdis himself, but the Young Crow had become accustomed to seeing that which others did not. Distantly, he wondered if Reichenbach (for who else could elicit such a response from the Regent? The heat between the pair was blistering and unrequited) ever noticed the change in his Second when he came around. After all, the King had been fostered among the orphans of Denocte as well. 

Without turning, Raglan nodded to his King and felt a smile blossom over his dark lips at the sound of his hero's voice. As the orphan sovereign made himself comfortable at the page's side, his velvety voice contending with the crackling of the hearth, Raglan felt a rush of confidence; if Reichenbach could go from orphan to warrior to King, the bloody bay lad could go from Crow to page to Caretaker. Stretching a wing out to brush against the sovereign's side in greeting, Raglan concentrated on the diagram before him and began to fill in the blanks. 

He would rise even if it killed him. 

---

Camdis Lohir had never been a good father. No, his chances to assume the mantle of doting dad had been dashed by his own fear and cowardice, and he knew that he would never be able to make it up - not to his wife, not to his children, not to his abandoned kingdom. He thought about them less, now, but when they did enter his mind, the sting cut as deep as ever. He wondered if that was why he had decided to keep Raglan on as his page and ward, if some part of him was searching for that unattainable redemption through attempting to be a father to a child that had grown up without one. 

Regardless of whatever subconscious motivations he may have had, the horned stallion took a nearly obscene amount of pride in his charge; in the boy's quick wit, in his almost ethereal beauty, in his physical prowess, and in his silver tongue. In the weeks since he had taken the lad in, the pair had become close, though not exceptionally so. Camdis had witnessed the bruises and scrapes that littered the red tinged pelt of his ward and come to the conclusion that Raglan had yet to leave his Crow's life behind - but that was of no matter to the scarlet Regent, he had decided to allow the boy his youth and his freedoms. 

Caligo knew that Camdis had never been given his. 

So between conspiratorial winks and amusement hidden behind false frowns, Camdis Lohir watched as his clever page advanced in both his worlds. Plus, the Regent had reasoned, it couldn't hurt to have eyes on the inside of the common folk's lives, both for curiosity's sake and for the protection of Reichenbach's position. Taking another sip of tea and enjoying the scent of jasmine incense that he had purchased from the bazaar, Camdis took a deeper breath and allowed his mind to be flooded with the images of Reich that were conjured up by the mixture of jasmine and woodsmoke. 

It seemed a dangerous game his heart was keen on playing, this undeniable attraction between King and Hand. Camdis wondered how long he would be able to hide his affections, and what would happen if he failed to do so. His musings were interrupted, however, by Raglan's tentative and shockingly vulnerable expression. Focusing his attention on the lad, ears perked and head cocked, Camdis' eyes were then drawn from the page by the svelte form of Reichenbach stepping from the gloom that surrounded the little  reading nook. The bay felt himself swallow as he watched the shadows slip from bruised skin and cling to silky locks, his heart beating its way into his chest. 

A smile broke across the Exile King's face, though he did his best to hide the absolute and all-consuming joy that filled his chest at the presence of his friend and sovereign. As the handsome patriarch settled down at Raglan's side, his velvety baritone brushing over Camdis' skin with the same sensation as a lover's caress, the Regent noted the newfound diligence with which his charge began his work. With a slow blink and a nod, Camdis left Raglan to his assignment and eyed Reichenbach over the rim of his mug as he took yet another drink of tea. 

As he straightened, his reply rolled from his tongue unbidden, "Instruction is only valuable when the pupil can retain the information and apply it without guidance - our Raglan is quick as a whip, but is his memory as good as his ability to scheme?" He gave a low chuckle, glancing at the yearling and feeling affection bloom in his belly, "What brings you to our lessons, my friend?" Camdis dare not say his sovereign's name, not with the stallion cloaked in the golden light of the fire, not with his scent surrounding the scarlet stained gent, not with his control stretched so thin. 

"Have you a care to learn the healing arts?"

---