The road to Norwich Palace climbed through the Blackthorn Hills, narrowing to a rocky thread between granite boulders and wind-scoured pines. Julian guided the black gelding with a light hand on the reins, eyes sweeping the slopes for the telltale green of moonwort and lady's mantle both at peak potency after the spring rains. He needed them fresh; a few sprigs could tip the balance between royal success and failure.
Sunlight beat down hard, drawing sweat beneath the tight linen bindings across his chest. He had left Lowmere at dawn; the palace lay hours ahead. Near the ridge's crest he dismounted, tying the horse to a gnarled hawthorn, and knelt in a sheltered crevice where the herbs grew thick. His small silver knife flashed as he clipped stems, murmuring quiet thanks to each plant the way his mother once taught him.
Then came the sound soft, breathless moans drifting from behind a tumble of boulders twenty paces off. Not pain. Not sickness. Pleasure young, clumsy, unmistakable.
Julian paused, knife still in hand. He exhaled slowly through his nose. Not his concern. Not truly.
But he had buried too many consequences of moments like this: girls abandoned with swollen bellies, families broken, infants lost to fever or shame. Knowledge was the only shield most never received.
He rose quietly, boots deliberately crunching gravel to announce his approach.
The pair sprang apart like startled hares. The girl sixteen at most, freckled, skirts hastily yanked down stared with wide, mortified eyes. The boy fumbled with his breeches, face scarlet, terror flashing across features still soft with youth.
"Easy," Julian said, voice pitched low and steady, the masculine timbre he had practiced for years. "I'm no priest here to curse you. I'm a healer."
The girl stammered, clutching her bodice. "We -we didn't—"
"I know exactly what you were doing," Julian cut in gently, crouching to their level but keeping a respectful distance. "And I'm not here to shame either of you. But listen carefully, both of you."
He met their frightened gazes without flinching.
"Desire feels like fire now bright, safe, unstoppable. But fire burns more than hearts. There are diseases that travel the same roads pleasure does burning sores, fevers that linger for years, barrenness that never lifts. And pleasure without protection can plant a child before you're ready to raise one. A babe born in secret, in disgrace, or not born at all because the mother bleeds out alone somewhere no one can hear her cry."
The boy swallowed, hand still hovering protectively near the girl's arm. "We… we tried to be careful."
Julian's expression softened, but his tone stayed firm. "Trying isn't always enough when bodies are young and eager and the world forgives nothing. If you intend to keep doing this and most do learn how to shield yourselves. Herbs exist. Timing matters. Knowledge saves lives. One day, come to Lowmere. Ask for Julian Morre. I'll teach you both. No sermons. No payment. Just truth."
The girl's eyes brimmed suddenly tears of relief, perhaps, or simple gratitude. "You're… you're really him? The one who saved Meg's twins? Who healed Widow Crane's leg when the barber wanted to take it?"
Julian nodded once. "That's me. Now go before someone less forgiving finds you."
They scrambled up, murmuring awkward, fervent thanks, the boy tugging the girl's hand as they hurried down the slope toward the village track.
Julian watched them disappear around the bend, then turned back to the herbs. He clipped a final sprig of lady's mantle, tucked it carefully into a pouch, and rose.
The ridge wind tugged at his hood, carrying the clean scent of pine and distant rain.
He had given them a chance few ever received.
Now he had to offer the same fragile chance to a queen who might never ask for it and a king who might never understand the true risks in the bed he shared.
Julian swung back into the saddle, settled the satchel across his lap, and nudged the gelding forward.
The palace waited glittering, treacherous, full of eyes that would search for any crack in his disguise.
But he carried more than herbs and instruments.
He carried a vow.
To heal.
To teach.
To change what he could.