He raced out of the town, ignoring the guards and others who called after him demanding answers, ignoring the wind slicing into his face, the snow that had begun to fall in earnest, the heavy clouds that promised the weather was not going to get better.
Nothing and no one would keep him from fixing his mistake. He would not return in disgrace, a failure on his first mission as a royal knight. How could he have been so—
Leonine cried out in pain as an arrow struck his shoulder, causing him to jerk, startle his horse, which resulted in him flying out of the saddle and to the ground.
Vivid red splashed across the snow and grime. Snarling in pain and frustration, Leonine heaved to his feet and drew his sword. Four men came running at him, and Leonine cast out his magic, turning the snow to ice, sending them—
He jerked at the sound of running coming up behind him, just in time for a fist to slam into his face. Leonine went stumbling back, and another two were on him. Someone grabbed his wrist, snapped it, and Leonine screamed.
After that, he didn't remember anything.
*~*~*
He woke with a gasp, tried to sit up, and was immediately halted by a warm, heavy hand on his chest. Leonine shuddered and collapsed, staring up at the ceiling. The inn. How had he gotten back to the inn?
Turning his head, he stared into Everard's somber face. That made even less sense. They should be back at Odilia's old house, or headed home, or something. Not here. With him. "What are you doing here?"
"We went looking for you," Everard said. "After… after everything. Found your horse wandering the town center, scared and exhausted. He managed to lead us to you, don't know how. That's a good horse you've got, Lee. Saved your life."
Leonine swallowed. "I should hope so, given how much I paid for him." The joke felt flat. "Help me sit up. Is there anything to drink?"
"Got some tea here, though it's gone cold."
"It's fine." Leonine whimpered slightly as Everard gently helped him sit up. To judge by his headache, he'd undergone extensive healing, but there were some things only time could fix. "The bastards who got me, where are they?"
"Long gone, I'd imagine. Be careful, the healer fixed your wrist, but she said to use it minimally for a couple of weeks so strain doesn't undo her work."
Leonine grimaced and sipped at the cold tea. Chamomile and honey. Cheap and easy to come by. He'd drunk it a lot in the orphanage, all the other houses that had never wound up being home. It wasn't his favorite thing in the world, but it was familiar, and right then he really needed familiar. "Thank you for the help."
Everard snorted. "You paid for all of it; Odilia found your coins. We also ensured you'd have this room for as long as you needed it and arranged firewood and food aplenty. Horse is stabled and getting all the oats and carrots he could ever want."
"Thank you," Leonine replied. "You didn't have to do so much for me. I'm not your problem anymore." You're not my problem anymore. How many times had he heard those words growing up? Too many to count. He preferred not to think about it, but like any old wound, the ache was always there, especially when hard times stirred it up.
Anguish and shame filled Everard's face, and he reached out to brush Leonine's hair from his face, thumb tracing his cheek in a caress that Leonine had desperately missed. He wanted to scream for Everard not to touch him and beg for him to never stop.
"As to that… we were hoping to talk, Lee," Everard said with a soft sigh. "There's something we need to confess."
"Confess?" Leonine suddenly wished he was still unconscious. "How long have I been out?"
"Just a few hours, thankfully. Healer said if you didn't wake up by morning to fetch her again, but she said you'd probably wake up before dinner. Glad she was right." He dropped his hand and covered one of Leonine's with it. His hands were so big and warm, always a steadying presence, a strong and gentle touch Leonine had come to depend on. He'd fought so hard and long to be a knight, to be somebody that nobody could knock down—at least not easily.
It was still nice, though, when he could set his sword aside and rest, rely on someone else's strength for a little while. A weakness. A mistake. When would he ever learn?
He'd been so certain, though… confident enough to invite them to his knighting, to plan his future with them a major part of it. He'd been so happy.
Until he'd proven to be more trouble than he was worth. Again. Why had he been stupid enough to expect this time, this relationship, would be different?
He pressed the heel of his left hand to his forehead, wishing the headache would ease off. Wishing his stupid fucking thoughts would just stop for a little while. "Where's Odilia?"
"Went to get food, should be back shortly." Everard took the mug as Leonine emptied it. "Get some more rest, Lee. We'll be here when you wake up."
"I don't have time to lay around here. I need to go after those bastards. They were the assassins. I can't let them just get away. If I hadn't been so stupid—" He stopped as Everard's hand landed on his chest, holding him in place gently but firmly. "What?"
"Lee, you need rest, and even if you were in fighting shape, there's a blizzard raging outside. It's not safe to cross the street, let alone go chasing after assassins. If they're out there in this weather, they'll be lucky to survive the night. If you're really set on hying off after them, at least wait until the storm abates."
"Damn it." Leonine wanted to cry. He'd been played for a fool. Had been ambushed. Nearly killed. He was supposed to be a knight, had been trained for years by Cimar, and the moment he was on his own, he was an incompetent buffoon who couldn't do anything right. The best training in the kingdom, years of practice… and still not enough. Never enough. "I think you're right," he choked out. "I should just go back to sleep."
"Lee…" Thankfully, Everard fell silent, though his hand remained on Leonine's as he settled down and closed his eyes.
What were they even doing here? Wasn't this one of the reasons they'd severed the relationship? Too much trouble, too much risk. What had Everard meant by something they needed to confess?
He faintly heard the door open, Odilia's soft voice, but exhaustion was winning out by that point, his eyelids too heavy to drag open, and he fell asleep wishing with every part of him that this wasn't some strange, temporary thing, that they'd always be…
*~*~*
When he woke again, it was to hazy morning light, like it was struggling to make a dent through the heavy clouds that persisted, at least to judge by the snow piled on the window ledge and the chilly room.
The fire had all but died down and… he was alone. Had he imagined Everard? Probably. But then, who had helped him? Had he just been talking to himself last night, some fever dream? That certainly made more sense that Everard and Odilia helping him after he'd nearly gotten himself killed, when they'd thrown him out precisely because his life was too dangerous, not worth the risk.
Leonine drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, ignoring the twinges in his chest that spoke to bruised ribs. How many mercs had jumped him? At least… He pressed the heel of his hand to his head, willing back the lingering headache as he tried to think. Remember. One had shot him. Four had come at him directly. At least two had come from behind. One of them had snapped his wrist like a twig, which was alarming. Wrists didn't just snap like that. It took significant force and leverage.