Page 47 of The Frog Prince

He sat down heavily and picked up the vial that had held the cure. It was empty, he knew that, but he’d kept it anyway, hoping it would provide some answers if he just looked hard enough.

He uncorked it carefully, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply before putting the cork back in. He had vapors to work with, a phantom of the cure that used to be in there, and he couldn’t afford to waste any of it.

The scent gave nothing away. It was so subtle and soft, barely a scent at all. Otto closed his eyes, trying to block out unnecessary sensory input and focus only on the smell. There was a hint of something familiar beneath all the nothingness tickling his nostrils. Something almost sweet.

He pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote it down, meager and pointless though the information seemed, solitary on the expanse of white.

“Hard at work?” The voice came from behind him, and he swiveled around in his chair to find the prince standing in the doorway, awkwardly gripping the wood with his fingers, hunched and shifty on his bare feet.

Otto hadn’t been prepared for what offering his clothes to the prince would actually do to him.

He was wearing Otto’s stiffest collared blue shirt, buttoned all the way up so that it hid his neck as his own did. While decent in length, it swallowed the rest of him. Otto was much stockier and wider, so the shirt billowed around him, making him look smaller. The blue contrasted with the green tinge of his skin, making it appear deeper and richer in color, bringing out flecks of greens Otto hadn’t noticed before.

It was oddly…beautiful.

Otto swallowed, his eyes dropping to those long, gangly legs encased in the too-wide breeches he had chosen, held up by what looked like a scrap of his old shirt tied around his narrow hips. A flash of those legs wrapped around Otto’s waist made him choke on his spit, and he coughed violently, doubling over in his seat.

“Otto?” the prince called, walking over and reaching out for him, hand hovering over his back.

“I’m okay,” he croaked out, eyes watering as he held a hand up to stop the prince from touching him.

He couldn’t trust what he would do.

What in the name of god was wrong with him?

“Are you sure?” the prince asked, scanning him.

Otto nodded, sitting up and covering his mouth against the last of the coughs that escaped him.

“I’m fine,” he said, turning back to his desk. “Just doing some…work.”

The prince leaned in over Otto’s desk, his eyes turning unnaturally to the side as he looked at Otto. “This is the vial I gave you. Are you trying to work out what was in it?”

He was standing close, so close. Otto could see every detail of his skin.

“Yes,” Otto said, breathing shallow, the hairs on his nape standing up. “I want to try, anyway.”

“But Gisela is healthy. And you are upholding your end of the bargain, so there is no reason to believe she will fall ill again.”

Otto pressed his lips into a thin line before nodding tersely. “That’s not a guarantee. And she isn’t the only one sick. The people in this village have been falling ill and dying for months now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“None of them have the same symptoms, or the same progression of the ailment.” He pulled out a worn notebook that contained all of the information he had about the patients. “I have so much written down, and none of it makes any sense.”

The prince scanned the book. “What does your mentor have to say?”

Otto shrugged, a bitter laugh fighting its way to freedom. “Sadly, my mentor is not one for research.”

Otto watched the prince touch a few items on his desk. A pencil, a paperweight, the strap of Otto’s bag. The touches were barely there, featherlight but sticky, and Otto found himself transfixed by them. By how gentle those fingers seemed to be. How careful about touching Otto’s possessions.

Dreams aside, would that actually be how he’d touch—

“What makes you say that?” the prince asked, and Otto startled in his seat guiltily, eyes snapping back up. “You seem awfully jumpy this morning.”

“I am not.” Otto’s ears were burning. “Just thinking.”

“About your mentor not being a good researcher?”