After a night of less than restful sleep, Caspian awoke the next morning to a splitting headache that made him want to crawl into a hole and die. He groaned painedly and refused to open his eyes, hoping that if he tried to go back to sleep, he would wake up the next time feeling a little better than he did now. He no longer felt the urge to vomit, but his stomach was still tender, and his whole body ached in tandem with the migraine. It had been a long time since he’d last made himself this miserable by drinking excessively. Usually when he went out, he cut himself off earlier to avoid getting so sick. Unfortunately, his friends had already roped him into it this time, so he could do nothing but wait for the agony of the hangover to pass on its own.
He let out his breath in a slow exhale and burrowed further beneath the duvet, starting to drift off again, only to be interrupted by a crisp knock on his bedroom door. The sound made him hiss, sensitive to any noise in his current state, and he mumbled, “Not right now.” Assuming the person on the other side of the door was a maid, one warning should have been all it took to ward her off. However, in the next moment, he heard a male voice call out from the hallway.
“Your Highness, I need to speak with you now,” Jacob said, folding his arms impatiently over his chest. It was already eight o’ clock, and he didn’t want to wait any longer to question the prince about his involvement in the prisoner’s escape. Atlas would most likely be waking up within the hour, so he needed to find out where she had gone as soon as possible.
At the sound of the guard’s familiar voice, Cas furrowed his brows and cracked open his eyes, then grimaced immediately as the hazy morning light seared his overly sensitive vision. He didn’t know what Jacob wanted, but surely it could wait. “Come back later,” he moaned, closing his eyes again and pulling a pillow over his head. “I’m hungover as fuck.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” Jacob replied, bracing himself to face the moody royal as he took the knob in his hand and opened the door. “It’s about something that happened last night.” In truth, he was already convinced that Caspian had everything to do with Iris’s disappearance. After he’d seen the way the prince had spoken about her and even interacted with her before the abduction, he felt certain that Cas had let himself get closer to her than he should have. He had a motive, he had the time to get away with it, and he was clever enough to do so. Last night, the guard had also found that the master key to the hospital was, in fact, missing from its hook. However, he wasn’t about to reveal his hand this soon. He was going to make the crown prince sweat first and see how he would react to the “news” that Nox-Fleuret was gone.
As soon as Jacob mentioned that he was here because of an incident that had occurred the previous night, Caspian stiffened involuntarily. He had thought the guards wouldn’t make him a suspect. It was more likely that one of the other members of the rebellion had broken into the capital to rescue her after all… wasn’t it? His heart stumbled with nervousness, and he was thankful for the pillow he’d thrown over his head that concealed the flicker of worry that crossed his features.
Calm down, he chided himself sternly. I’m jumping to conclusions. Jacob doesn’t know anything. He’s probably just here to tell me that Iris is gone, so I can’t let him know that I already knew that. I have to convince him that I was really out at the club all night, and I’m just hearing this for the first time. He forced himself to take a slow breath and sat upright, wincing again and pressing an open palm to his head as the motion made him feel like he was being slammed over the head with a chair. He wished he didn’t have to have this conversation when he was feeling so horrible, but there was no way out of it now.
“What are you talking about?” he asked groggily, glancing at Jacob with a frown. At least he didn’t have to fake how physically and mentally exhausted he was. His hangover was no joke.
The guard studied him closely as he replied, “I came to inform you that Iris Nox-Fleuret escaped from the hospital last night. She’s gone.”
Cas stared at him, feigning surprise to the best of his ability, “What? Do you know where she went? How did she get out?”
“I’m not sure where she’s gone, but she was assisted by three men,” Jacob answered coolly. Stepping over to chair by the window, he took a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was hoping you might be able to help me narrow down our search, since you spent a week among the rebellion. How do you feel about answering a few questions for me, Prince Caspian?”
--
That morning, Miles was reluctant to get out of bed. Sometime during the night, he’d tossed from his side onto his back, sprawling haphazardly with his jaw hanging slack and quiet snores emanating from his open mouth. He had always been a deep sleeper, and even strong alcohol often wasn’t enough to change that. He snoozed for a few hours after the sun came up, only stirring from his near comatose state when someone knocked on the door of his bedroom.
“Sir, I’ve brought breakfast,” a maid called. “May I come in?”
In an instant, he went from ‘practically dead’ to wide awake, jolting upright and turning his head toward the door. He had a moderate hangover from the vodka, but he wasn’t nearly fog-headed enough to have forgotten everything that had happened before he’d passed out. He also remembered that Iris was still in the room with him. He glanced toward the sofa, finding that she was still there, swaddled in the blanket he’d given her before they’d gone to bed. For a split second, he noted how cute she looked all wrapped up in the oversized covers, but he didn’t have time to ogle when someone else was standing right outside the room.
“I’m naked!” he called back to the maid without thinking.
“O-Oh,” she fumbled, unprepared for his unabashed reply. “Should I… come back later?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Miles agreed, climbing out of bed. “Thanks, Cindy!”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Once he heard the sound of her footsteps receding from the door, he turned back to Iris shoving one hand into the pocket of his pajama bottoms and using the other to tame his unruly hair. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, brushing off the odd interaction with the servant as if it hadn’t happened. “I hope you’re not as hungover as I am this morning.”
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