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I have found him again. At last, yes: I am learning all his tricks.
The waiting warmth of a body beside him, seated on the side of the bed - this is what woke Sam in his dark room, at the back of a hidden house.
It had been three months this time.
He kept his breathing relaxed and his eyes closed - he tried to - but he felt that undeniable static in the air, that terrifying, teeth-on-edge sensation that let him know a magic user had bound the room already. There would be no escape.
A shudder ran throughout his whole body.
He heard the sound of a quill cease its writing; then a low sigh; the puff and pat of a thick book closing. With a low exhale of breath, he opened his eyes.
Steven was already looking down at him, tapping a violet leather-bound book against his knee. Sam refused his gaze; instead, he assessed the room.
The worn wooden table he'd eaten so many meals at had been expanded unnaturally in the corner, and was now covered in a heavy red cloth, and set for two. Two sturdy wooden chairs replaced the single stool he'd been using as his seat. Across the table, he saw all manner of pastries and carved gleaming meats, whipped eggs and delicate cakes, pickled garnishes, broths and soups, colourful salads, and steaming small bowls of that creamy purple grain so peculiar and precious to this world.
And hanging over it all, a single crimson rose, magically suspended in the air.
Sam felt his mouth begin to water - a sign of hunger and nausea both.
On either side of the single door - closed, and likely locked - were two unfamiliar knights. In full familiar armour, they appeared, resplendent, their long blue cloaks brilliant at their backs - lesser versions of the ornate one hanging from Steven's.
On the coatrack where Sam had placed his meagre coat instead hung a military uniform. Something withered inside of Sam again at the sight of that crisp, pristine prison garb.
In his periphery he saw a dim glow of light, felt that teeth-rattling sensation again - he saw Steven vanish the leather-bound book somewhere he could not see. He pulled all of his body as far back from Steven as he could.
'... I'm not going to wear the spell again,' he said. His voice came out rough, croaky - he hadn't spoken much, these past few months. He sat up, his back against the wall, folding his legs up so that they no longer touched Steven.
Three months only, he had managed this time. He wrapped his arms around his legs and squeezed.
Outside the house, all was quiet but for the birds - behind the sheets he'd hung over the windows, he saw a thin cool light peeking through. Springtime.
Sam lowered his head over his knees, between his arms. His mind carded gently through all the mistakes over the past few months that must have led to this moment.
He felt Steven staring - he felt his shoulders tensing, anticipating Steven's never-ending promises about what would happen if he kept escaping the consort's palace. For it was beneath the Emperor, to make threats.
But Steven said, 'I won't ask you to.'
Sam whipped his head up. Steven simply stared back.
There was nothing familiar to be seen in the expression on his face. There was none of the desperation or disbelief from when he'd first seen Sam in person; none of the careful, teeming infatuation, when he'd first tried to convince Sam that he had to be suffering from amnesia, no, from ill-humours, if he actually thought he'd somehow switched universes with the beloved Emperor's consort, spirited away in the middle of the night some five years ago... there was none of the fury or the panic, from the first, the second, the fifth, the tenth time that Sam had escaped.
But this time... this time he simply gazed at Sam.
Sam felt his eyes grow hot and tight under the man's regard. 'You've always known that I wasn't him,' he said bitterly, cutting his eyes down and away. His voice came out soft and worn. 'Why can't you just let me alone.' Again he lay his head against his knees.
The bed dipped - Steven leaning closer - he put a gloved hand on the bed beside Sam's legs. Tremors raised all along Sam's thighs.
'My husband would've never run from me like this,' Steven said quietly.
My husband. Sam closed his eyes in misery. There wasn't enough magic in this strange world to reunite him with his own husband. Nor with his own sister - nor his own mother - nor his own home.
'--not, unless,' Steven continued, in that quiet, relentless voice of his, 'he didn't know me. Not unless he couldn't trust me.'
Sam sighed. What trust could a wave build with a shack? 'I know you well enough by now,' he said, 'your imperial highness.'
Steven pulled his hand back - Sam heard him pull his gloves off - he felt the bed dip further - felt the warmth of Steven's cloak, smelling of the wood and the sun outside, as it was draped over his back. He let Steven pull him closer - trembling, he hid his face in the other man's neck. His body remembered again the ways in which he did not close himself off.
Yes - he surely knew Steven well.
'You don't have to stop running. As long as there is something of you in this world,' Steven promised, 'I will never stop chasing you.'