The Prince's Caretaker

Chapter 1

Three Months Later

Mitch was sick for a few weeks, but he got better before too long.

And during the time when he was better, he and Scott strengthened their friendship. They were happy together.

But one day, Mitch was really tired and irritable for no apparent reason.

"Did you sleep enough?" Scott asked.

"I did," Mitch said. "I always do."

"Then what is it?" Scott asked.

Mitch sighed. "This feels like when I was sick," he said sadly.

Scott stopped. "Should you go to a doctor?"

Mitch sighed. "Will you come with me?"

Scott nodded. "Of course I will."

_

The two of them went to a doctor in the palace.

"We think he might be sick again," Scott explained.

The doctor nodded. "I can see."

"Thank you," Scott said, following Mitch to where the doctor said to go.

The doctor had Scott leave, but Mitch came from the room only a couple of minutes later.

"It is back, and worse," he said. "I have to go and tell my parents."

Scott watched him leave sadly.

_

Two Months Later

Mitch had gotten much, much worse than he did before. The doctors said he would die young, never seeing the age of forty. 

Mitch didn't have much energy anymore, and he had to spend almost all of his time in his room. Scott hadn't seen him in weeks.

One day, Scott went to Mitch's wing.

"I'm a friend of the prince's," he told one of the guards.

"We were told not to let anyone into the room without good reason," one of the guards said. "Give us a better reason, and you can see him."

"This is not even the room?" Scott asked. "This is the door to his tower."

"Find a reason for us to let you in, and we will," one of the guards said.

Scott sighed, leaving.

_

Mitch was lying on his back when he heard something hit his window.

He groaned, getting off the bed and walking shakily to the window. He was so weak.

He knelt beside the window. Another pebble hit the glass, and he smiled, opening it. He could see Scott standing with a lantern on a tree branch several meters from the window.

"I cannot get in!" he called.

Mitch rolled his eyes, going to get a piece of paper. He didn't think he could call to Scott and be heard, so he wrote a message and tied it to a rock, throwing it to Scott.

Bring me something, idiot. Tea. Some fruit. A hot towel. Thank you.

He watched Scott read the message, then laugh.

"Okay!" he called. "I will return."

_

A few minutes later, Scott entered the room. He had a tray with tea, apples, strawberries, peeled oranges, and a hot towel.

Mitch smiled as Scott sat on his bed.

"Just bring me these kinds of things every day," he said. "Every day at evening should work." He took the towel, wiping his face with it. It felt good on his skin. He had been sweating a bit, not just from his slight fever, but also from his exhaustion, and the effort he had to put into every little thing.

Mitch dropped the towel on the tray, and settled the tray on his lap, drinking the tea and eating.

"So, what do you do every day?" Scott asked.

"Sit around and pity myself," Mitch replied, and they both laughed.

"The servants have been worrying about you," Scott said.

"I know," Mitch replied. "Tell them that I feel weak and warm, but I am alright."

"Okay," Scott said.

The pair talked for a while longer, then Mitch needed to rest. Scott left the room, and finished what he had to do every night before going to bed.

As he was lying in bed, he thought about Mitch. The poor thing had seemed so shaky and pale, and skinny too. He had always been slight, but Scott wondered if the illness he had was simply taking too much energy for his body to fight.

He sighed, turning onto his side. He was tired. He just needed to sleep. He would feel calmer in the morning, surely.

***

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