Once Upon a Time

第48章 Chapter 25

Jamil was playing with Tmynne when he heard themotion. “Your Highness! Your Highness!”

Frowning, he looked at the maid that practically burst through the door. “What is the matter?”

The maid was flushed, her eyes wide. “He’s back, Your Highness!”

Against all logic and rationality, Jamil’s heart jumped. “Who is back?”

The maid grinned. “Your husband, Your Highness! He isn’t dead!”

Jamil nearly dropped Tmynne.

“Apparently he just lost his memory and has been living with some hermit who had no clue who he was! Can you believe that? Oh, you must be so happy, Your Highness! Your Highness? Are you all right?”

Jamil sat down heavily, staring unseeingly in front of him. Probably feeling his shock, Tmynne became fussy, trying to wriggle out of his arms. Instinctively, Jamil pulled her closer, his mind still unable to process what was happening.

Mehmer was alive? How? Why— Mehmer was alive!

The shock finally receded, changing to disbelief and joy.

He started smiling, but his smile died before it was fully formed.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

If Mehmer was alive… if Mehmer was somehow alive, he was still Jamil’s husband. All this time, this past year and a half, he had been Jamil’s husband—which meant Jamil had cheated on him, repeatedly.

Nausea rose to his throat. Setting Tmynne down, Jamil staggered to the bathroom and locked the door with his trembling fingers.

The urge to throw up passed, but he didn’t feel any better. The man he saw in the mirror looked on the verge of passing out, his eyes dazed and his face deathly pale.

He slid down to the cold floor and breathed.

He could hear Tmynne’s confused crying and the maid’s attempts to calm her down. He could hear his own labored breaths. He could feel his body, trembling uncontrollably. Was he having a panic attack?

Get a grip. You’re the Crown Prince.

But this time, this mantra didn’t work.

You’re a father. Your daughter needs you to take care of her.

That worked, somewhat, but not entirely. He didn’t feel like he could take care of anyone at the moment. He wanted to be taken care of.

He wanted Rohan.

The thought made him physically ill, but Jamil couldn’t erase it—just like he couldn’t fight the hot tears that burned his eyes until his vision became blurry as his heart broke all over again.

He closed his eyes and wondered what he’d done in his past life to deserve this.

* * *

Oh, you must be so happy, Your Highness!

Jamil heard a variation of it probably a hundred times as he walked toward Mehmer’s rooms at the other end of the Crown Prince’s wing of the palace. Servants were grinning at him—even the guards had smiles on their normally stoic faces—and the Queen-Consort was beaming at him from the door to Mehmer’s rooms.

“Oh, honey.” She hugged him tightly. “I’m so, so happy for you!”

His mother was still saying something, but Jamil could barely hear her, mostly numb on the inside.

“Jamil?” His mother pulled back and frowned at him. “Are you all right? I know it must be quite a shock, but—”

“I’m fine, Mother.” Jamil forced a smile. “Just shocked. Is he there?”

The Queen-Consort nodded, still frowning.

Wanting to escape her probing gaze, Jamil entered Mehmer’s bedroom.

The room was as familiar to him as his own. He’d often spent the night here, falling asleep with Mehmer in his arms. He had been happy in this room.

He tried to feel it again. Happiness.

He felt a flicker of it when he saw Mehmer on the bed, tended by the royal physician. Mehmer’s familiar, dear features were slightly sunken and his skin was uncharacteristically pale, but it was undoubtedly him. Until this moment, part of Jamil had thought it was some kind of twisted, sick joke. Now he knew for certain that it wasn’t.

Mehmer was alive.

Mehmer was back.

Everything was now going back to the way it used to be.

Mehmer lifted his hazel eyes and smiled widely when he saw Jamil. “Hi there,” he said softly, stretching his hand out.

Jamil walked over, took his hand, and then collapsed by the bed, his legs no longer holding him up. He buried his face against Mehmer’s chest, breathing raggedly, as if there was something wrong with his lungs.

Mehmer squeezed his hand and let out an uncertain laugh. “Hey, there’s no need for that. I’m here now, love.”

Jamil flinched at the word. The voice was wrong, everything was wrong—Mehmer’s scent, the shape of his hand, the feel of his chest—it was all wrong. Nausea rose to his throat again. What was wrong with him? Did he actually want Mehmer to be dead? On Calluvia, marriage was for life. Mehmer was his husband. He was Jamil’s trusted, lifelongpanion. They’d been best friends since before they could talk. He loved him, for heaven’s sake.

Mehmer was alive. That was the important part.

Jamil lifted his head and looked into Mehmer’s eyes. “What—what happened?” he managed. “Where have you been all this time?”

A wrinkle appeared between Mehmer’s brows. “It’s all a little confusing in my head, to be honest. I didn’t even remember my own name for a long time. The old man who found me in the woods said I got a head trauma and was delirious for months. Apparently I couldn’t even keep my short-term memory—I kept etting what happened the previous day.”

“And he didn’t recognize you?” Jamil found it hard to believe. Something felt off about this whole story. Why was Mehmer’s aircraft disintegrated, then? Who disintegrated it? And could a head trauma explain their childhood bond being torn as if Mehmer had died?

Mehmer shook his head. “He’s a two-hundred-year-old man who lives away from civilization. He doesn’t exactly follow the gossip magazines on the members of royalty. He didn’t even have ess to the GlobalNet. He had no clue who I was until I remembered it myself.”

Pushing his doubts away, Jamil squeezed Mehmer’s hand and adopted an encouraging smile he usually used around Mehmer. It felt unnatural on his face, after so long. “Okay. You’re here now. That’s the important part.”

Mehmer smiled back and winced, grabbing his head. “Do you mind if we talk later? My head is still killing me.”

“Of course,” Jamil said, hiding his own relief. “You should rest.” He gestured to the royal physician to follow him out of the room and turned to him once they were outside. His mother was nowhere to be seen, probably gone to tell the news to the Queen.

“How is he?” Jamil said.

“The prince-consort is in satisfactory health, Your Highness. His head trauma healed rather badly under unprofessional care, but it shouldn’t have long-term consequences for his health.” He hesitated. “Obviously I also ran security tests. It is a normal procedure when someone who was declared dead is suddenly found alive.”

Jamil nodded, wincing a little. There had been precedents of clones of deceased political figures being sent to assume their position. It happened rarely but often enough to make security tests the normal procedure in such cases.

The physician smiled. “I’m happy to report to you that the prince-consort is indeed back, Your Highness. It is undoubtedly him.”

Jamil thanked the physician and left.

All the way back to Tmynne’s room, he was stopped by the smiling, excited people eager to tell him how happy they were for him. Jamil smiled back, thanked them, and continued walking.

He dismissed Tmynne’s nurse and locked the door behind her.

He pressed his forehead against the door, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

Tmynne made a demanding sound.

Slowly, Jamil turned around and stared at his five-month-old daughter.

Rohan’s daughter.

His throat aching, he took Tmynne into his arms and cradled her to his chest.

Closing his eyes, Jamil breathed in her sweet scent, and keened like a wounded animal.