“So, how are you feeling today, your highness?” Dr. Foster asked. The time was now a few minutes past nine, and the psychiatrist had set herself up in one of the offices in the manor. She reclined behind the maple wood desk with one leg crossed over the other and a pad of paper resting loosely in her lap. Her narrow glasses were perched on her thin nose as she observed her patient, and she held a pen in her hand, ready to take notes on their visit that day.

Across the desk, Caspian was seated in a cushioned armchair, not nearly as poised as the doctor. He slouched lazily and had pressed his cheek against the palm of his hand in obvious disinterest. Not even five minutes had passed, and he was already finding the appointment torturous. He would have much rather been spending his morning with Miles and Iris, far away from the woman who seemed convinced that he wasn’t mentally stable. He studied her quietly. To him, it was a little strange that she had diagnosed him with Stockholm so quickly when they’d only spoken for an hour once before, and he wondered if she really thought he was sick in the head or if she was just siding with his father to get on the king’s good side. Knowing how much the other high borns pandered to Atlas for special favors and approval, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the latter was true.

“Your highness?”

The prince stiffened as he realized he’d gotten lost in his thoughts. [color=#b97703]“Um, fine,”[/color] he coughed into his sleeve. [color=#b97703]“I’m just a bit tired.”[/color] He fought the urge to grimace as he watched her jot something down on her notepad; probably something along the lines of: “subject is absentminded and slow to respond.” He averted his gaze irritably. It was frustrating to feel like he had to constantly defend himself to keep from coming across as insane. The fact that she had already diagnosed him with a disorder that he didn’t even have was proof to him that she wasn’t on his side. She was just here for the paycheck and the chance to get in his father’s good books.

“Why are you tired?” Dr. Foster probed.

[color=#b97703]“I was out late, and I got used to sleeping in during the lockdown,”[/color] Cas answered truthfully.

The psychiatrist nodded and wrote something else down on her pad, causing him to shift his weight. “I’ll try to make this visit as quick as possible then,” she assured him with a thin smile. “Why don’t you tell me about Iris again?”

Inwardly, Cas groaned, but he did as she asked, repeating the same information that he had told her during their last meeting. He already knew she was hoping that he’d changed his mind about her. If he said he thought she was just a soulless rebel like all the rest, Dr. Foster and his father would win. If he was completely honest, a part of him was tempted to lie and tell her that he no longer cared for Iris—platonically, of course—just to put an end to the time-eating appointments. However, he couldn’t do that. He loved her, and he wanted her to be able to come out of hiding eventually. Flip-flopping his stance on whether she was a good person or not would only hurt her reputation. If he wanted to be with her, he was going to have to hold fast to his decision to take her side and keep enduring the psychiatric visits until Atlas realized that he was telling the truth about her. It was the only way she would ever be accepted in the capital.

Throughout the appointment, Dr. Foster continued to challenge him on his beliefs. She asked him how he knew Iris hadn’t just been stringing him along or why he thought she would help him in the first place. Each time, he insisted stubbornly that she had been a victim of the Scourge too and that he had no reason to doubt her motives. The response didn’t go the way he’d hoped, and by the end of the meeting, he was sure the psychiatrist was going to report to his father that there were no improvements in his condition.

As soon as the clock struck ten, he left the office to return to his bedroom, wanting to get away from Dr. Foster. Talking with someone for an entire hour who didn’t believe a word out of his mouth was ridiculously exhausting, so he needed some time to hole away in solitude and relax after getting worked up. He locked his door behind him and collapsed on his bed, choosing to spend that time alone by taking a nap. Hopefully by the time lunch was served, he would be in a better frame of mind to interact with the help.