The headache was a living thing. It coiled behind Finn's left eye, throbbing in time with the scratching of his quill.
Finn rubbed his temples, his fingers stained with black ink. The clock on the wall of the estate office ticked loudly—tick, tock, tick, tock—mocking him. It was three in the morning. Outside, the rain had finally stopped, leaving a silence that felt heavy and expectant.
He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small tin. He popped a dry, bitter herbal pill into his mouth and chewed it without water. Stimulant root. It tasted like dirt, but it kept the fog away.
"Focus," he muttered to himself. "Just move the numbers. Make them fit."
On the desk in front of him lay the ledger for the Ravenshade Estate. To anyone else, it looked like a standard accounting of assets and expenditures. To Finn, it was a work of desperate fiction.
He dipped the quill and carefully drew a line through the entry marked 'West Wing Roof Repairs - 200 Gold Crowns.'
With a steady hand, he moved that 200 crowns into the column marked 'Interest Payment - Silverwindcrest Bank.'
Then, he turned the page to the 'Staff Wages' section. He reduced the kitchen budget by 15%. Again. He hoped the cook wouldn't quit. He hoped the gardeners wouldn't notice they were being paid in promissory notes instead of coin this month.
Finn leaned back in his creaking chair, staring at the ceiling. He was twenty-four, but he felt fifty. He was the son of a diplomat, raised to be polite and orderly, but working for Lord Rowan Ravenshade had turned him into a professional liar.
The door opened.
Finn sat up straight, instinctively covering the ledger with a blank sheet of paper.
Rowan walked in. The Lord of the house looked exhausted, his velvet coat rumpled, but there was a strange, manic energy in his eyes. He wasn't walking with his usual slump.
"Finn," Rowan said, his voice breathless. "He's sleeping. Finally sleeping."
Finn blinked, the stimulant root making his heart flutter. "Who, my Lord?"
"Kael!" Rowan beamed. "He walked, Finn. He stood at the window and looked at the rain. The doctor says it's a miracle. His vitals are stable."
Finn forced a smile onto his face. It felt like stretching dried leather. "That is... wonderful news, my Lord. Truly."
Inside, Finn felt a stone drop into his stomach.
He's awake.
For seven years, Kael Ravenshade had been a line item in the ledger. Medical Supplies: 500 crowns a month. Private Physician: 300 crowns a month. Life Support Mana Crystals: 1000 crowns a month.
The coma had been expensive, bleeding the estate dry. But at least a coma patient didn't ask for things. A coma patient didn't need tailored suits for the winter gala. A coma patient didn't need a purebred horse, or sword lessons, or to host banquets for his noble friends.
"He will need new clothes," Rowan said, pacing the room, unaware of Finn's internal panic. "Everything he owns is for a child. And we must hire a tutor. He has missed seven years of education. We need the best. Maybe Master Elric from the Capital?"
Finn's hand tightened on the quill until the wood groaned. "Master Elric is quite... exclusive, my Lord. Perhaps a local tutor would suffice for now?"
"Nonsense!" Rowan waved a hand dismissively. "Kael is a Ravenshade. He deserves the best to catch up. I want him to have everything he missed. Everything."
Rowan stopped at the window, looking out into the dark. "I failed his mother, Finn. I won't fail him. Make it happen. Use the reserve funds if you have to."
Finn looked at the ledger under the blank paper.
Reserve funds.
There were no reserve funds. There hadn't been for three years. The reserve fund was currently an I.O.U. note from a sketchy merchant in the lower district and a prayer that the harvest would be good next season.
"Of course, my Lord," Finn lied smoothly. "I will make the arrangements."
Rowan smiled, a genuine, heartbreaking smile, and left the room, humming a tune Finn hadn't heard in a decade.
The door clicked shut.
Finn slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.
"The best," he whispered bitterly into his palms. "He wants the best."
He thought of Kael. He remembered the boy from before the coma—a thirteen-year-old prodigy who walked around with his chin held high, praised by everyone as a genius. A golden child.
Now, he was just a twenty-year-old man-child who had slept through the ruin of his own house. A spoiled heir waking up to demand a feast while the rats ate the crumbs in the cellar.
Finn hated him.
It wasn't a personal hatred—he barely knew Kael. It was the hatred of a man drowning, watching someone else ask for a glass of water.
"You have no idea, do you, Sleeping Prince?" Finn muttered, dipping his quill into the inkwell again. "You think you're waking up in a castle. You're waking up in a graveyard."
He turned the page of the ledger. He needed to find gold for a tailor and a tutor.
Finn looked at the entry for 'Heating Oil - Winter Reserve.'
He crossed it out.
Let them wear coats, Finn thought grimly. The Prince needs a new suit.