Chapter 27 - Diplomatic Belligerence

Morning light glittered in through the single stained glass window positioned on the far wall of the Netyarch’s private infirmary. Through its grand depiction of a mage’s blinding spell cast from upturned palms, fractures of color splashed across Lucian’s porcelain skin, tickling the lids of closed eyes and emanating a warm glow throughout the room.

His delicate features wrinkled to a wince as lips pulled down with discomfort. A single blue eye blinked open, immediately whelmed with burning light. He jammed it shut again, a groan bleeding from his lips, and he rolled onto his side. The blankets bunched around his legs as he began to settle once more.

Everything ached.

Lucian’s throat burned with rawness, his tongue sandpaper dry. He could feel the stick of sweat still clinging to his skin as a headache blared like a siren in his head, the weight of a dagger holding between his eyes.

He ignored it for the warmth of the bed and the plush fur blankets swathing his minimally clothed frame. It seemed he had been changed into fresh linen, a white tunic and simple trousers flowing over his lithe build. With blonde locks cascading down into his face, a warm air blew several strands back.

Lucian had enough. With a scowl, he snapped his eyes open to find the source of the disgusting heat against his already warm skin, and froze. An icy blue gaze latched to the sleeping frame stubbornly squished to the edge of the bed. Not a single inch of the blankets draped over Aven’s frame, his leg hanging over the side from lack of space.

The Prince felt his breath catch if only a moment.

“…You are so pathetic,” his voice pushed out. The words nearly strangled in his throat.

He slowly eased himself up onto an elbow, twisting until he could feel his back lean against the neat stack of pillows strewn at the head of the bed. It took him several minutes to gather himself. He knew he was in Halruaa. He’d been healed, likely no thanks to Marcello’s benevolence, either. The fact he was awake at all meant it had worked. Good.

His fingers raised to run through platinum blonde hair, snagging on the first knot bunched up in a rats nest atop his head. Lucian’s breath filtered free in irritation and instead he took to allowing his gaze to wander about the room.

Certainly not modest. Cabinets lined the first wall filled to the brim with vials and tonics, the walls themselves made of clean cut marble pillars and draped in a loose layer of paint. There was only one bed in the massive room, flanked by a bedside dresser with drawers labeled of various equipment. A grand chandelier with flickering candlelight hung at the room’s center.

He was no stranger to the expansive layout of Halruaa’s prized palace and were he not so focused on scorning anything to do with Marcello Silvercrest, he might have found admiration in the handiwork.

“You’re up…”

Lucian’s gaze panned down to where Aven stirred, those big brown puppy-dog eyes latched to him in relief. “It would seem so.”

Aven pushed upright, shifting his body to the center of the bed to meet Lucian’s as a large, calloused hand molded to the Prince’s cheek. It lingered for a moment before rising to his forehead. The palm flattened. Then it withdrew.

“Your fever went down,” he whispered. “Can I get you anything? A drink? Breakfast? A-”

Lucian’s finger shoved to Aven’s lips, silencing the man. Behind his cool expression, the soft beginnings of a smile held the corners of his mouth.

“A drink. And for you to keep your talking to a minimum, my head hurts.”

Aven smiled right back against the finger pushed to his lips, the grin extending ear to ear. He brought up a hand, curling fingers delicately around the blonde’s wrist to brandish a kiss against his knuckles.

“I think I can manage that.”

In a flash, he was gone. Aven swung his legs over the bed, bowing his body to retrieve the pitcher of water and a fresh glass from the bedside table. The water sloshed and swirled around the cup as he poured it to the halfway mark. As promised, he said not a word.

The entire time Lucian remained propped against his pillows, letting icy blues skim over the former slave’s frame. He took the glass when it was stretched towards him, curling it into his palm. His first sip was reserved, as if determined to carry himself with usual eloquence. The water splashed against his tongue, cooling his scalding throat, and he caved. He turned the glass back, washing down several more gulps before polishing it off and hoisting it back to Aven.

With a hand pressing to cover glistening lips, patting them dry, Lucian froze.

A brow tugged upwards, keenly aware of the way his lover leaned towards him like he were at the edge of his seat. He sighed.

“Go on, get it out of your system.”

“Thank you.”

Aven lashed his hand forward, scooping up Lucian’s and lacing their fingers with a squeeze. His dark features turned fretful. “I was worried about you… They said you’d either make it through the night or you wouldn’t.”

Lucian allowed himself to squeeze back.

“Well I made it, so you need not worry.”

“…You look a lot better. How are you feeling?”

A coy smirk curled the Prince’s features. “As gross and hideous as you were when I first pulled you from that forsaken arena.”

“I thought you bought me because I looked nice.”

“You looked doable.”

That had Aven laughing. It started as a deep rumble in his chest before belting out in an intense roar that could be heard vibrating even his stomach. He needed this. Needed to see Lucian mostly well, to feel him close, and endure his banter. They hadn’t had a moment’s rest since the Tower where Aven gave his own life.

The laughter quieted and he dipped his forehead to press down to Lucian’s.

“Don’t,” Lucian uttered.

“Don’t what?”

“You know what, Aven.”

The barbarian grimaced, letting his own gaze sweep over Lucian’s thin-pressed lips. They always strained at the corners where a frown often sat. Always frowning. Defiance surged in his chest and a finger tipped the Prince’s chin upwards.

Before Lucian could draw away, lips brushed surprisingly soft against another. His hand pushed Aven’s chest back for only a second and then went slack as he eased to the kiss.

When they parted, Aven remained close, searching the man’s face. I love you.

“I know you do,” Lucian answered aloud.

He sunk back from the man, withholding any hint the feelings could possibly be shared as another sigh blew out. “Well now, how about you get me to the baths. I have to do something about my hair.”

Aven’s gaze lingered on him. “Of course.”

—————————————

By the time dinner rolled around, Lucian had continuously improved. A long soak in the bath removed any remnants of illness beyond the telltale sign of healing that flushed his skin more yellow than usual for his porcelain complexion. Beyond that, a fresh set of clothes and some spoon fed soup from Aven had done wonders paired with the day to rest.

He stood in front of a grand mirror, fingers twisted up as he threaded a button through its proper slit to top off the showy robes that hugged his neck and connected down into a shortened cape. His hair was once again swept back in a long, tight braid.

“Do I have to join?” Aven sputtered uncomfortably from behind. He tugged at his own outfit that hugged his form tighter than usual. Rather than dressed in attire suiting a slave or the armored garb he donned when traveling, he too was swathed in expensive materials of reds and golds.

“You will not leave me alone with that man. Yes, you have to join.”

Aven looked ready to argue when he caught the faintest sway to Lucian’s stance. He was still weak. A short breath blew from his lips and the larger man let his arms fall to his sides. He stepped until an arm fit easy at Lucian’s waist, drawing him steady as he gave himself one final look-over in the mirror.

For once the prince boasted no argument, sagging into Aven’s touch for support.

“I’ll join so long as you let me help you get there.”

“…Alright, just not around Marcello. We need to be going, he’s likely already waiting.”

With Aven’s help, Lucian spun from the mirror, taking care to straighten his posture as they made for the door and out into the halls. Two guards stood at either side of the door coming out of the room. Dressed in full plate polished a glittering silver with the Silvercrest emblem attached to their cloaks and chest pieces.

Neither paid the two any mind.

“You know, he doesn’t seem all that bad, Lucian-”

“Your Highness,” Lucian corrects swiftly.

Aven huffs a breath. “Your Highness. Netyarch Marcello doesn’t seem all that bad, perhaps maybe just overwhelmed. But they were saying he lost his brother?”

He addressed it idly while they made their way down the shifting halls of the palace. Each hall if not lined with windows had doors leading into all sorts of void rooms that couldn’t possibly fit into one castle. Servants and nobles showed no signs of being lost or off put by the design in passing, as if overwhelmingly used to the sequence it functioned on.

“Of course he doesn’t seem all that bad. You barely know him. He’s abhorred my very existence since we were kids. And regardless of what happened to his brother, we’re all overwhelmed, he’s got no excuse.”

“Well at least try not to go throwing water in each other’s faces. That’s a mage fight I can’t involve myself with.”

“I won’t if he won’t.”

The two stopped right outside a grand archway leading into the dining hall.

“Here, in front of Marcello Silvercrest, our relationship is formal. You are my servant and my bodyguard. You will address me as Your Highness, and treat Marcello with respect.” He paused. “Unless I deem otherwise.”

“Yes, yes,” Aven muttered with a wave of his hand. “I understand.”

“Good.” He exhaled a short breath. “Then let’s get this over with.”

The Netyarch’s private dining hall was as lavish as the rest of the palace. Streams of purple curtains fell in front of the windows and were pulled to the side, boasting a magnificent view of Halruaa’s capital. Morning glory crawled along the edges of the window and the table was built of ebony black zalantar wood embellished with golden decor along its sides. The room’s walls were decorated with flowers that bloomed from pots sitting atop pedestals and were adorned with paintings of former Netyarchs, now passed.

Lucian couldn’t help the churn of his stomach as his eyes passed over a painting of Theseus Silvercrest.

Marcello Silvercrest sat at one head of the table, Kendyll at his left side. His right was empty.

“I understand I have you to thank for the fast initiative in regards to saving my life. Your physician and cure worked its magic. You have my thanks.” Every word was pushed out with force.

Marcello waved his hand. Several servants were summoned from the edges of the room and began filling the table with platters of food. “I’m inclined to say you’re welcome, but it was not I who saved you. It was thanks to my sister and your sl….” Marcello clicked his tongue, trying to find the word. “Assistant. I hope you don’t mind, I dare not use the ’s’ word."

"No matter,” Lucian said. “I’m sure it’s just shy of your vocabulary. And for the record, Aven is my servant. Not a slave."

“Oh? I didn’t think Aeliorn was self sufficient enough to deviate from forced labor. Congratulations.”

Aven could feel the electric crack of two opposing minds clashing as Lucian took his seat - at the other head of the table. Aven lowered down beside him, akin to a lost puppy.

"This dinner has been prepared in honor of your arrival,” Marcello said. “Whatever is not shared between us will be passed out later in the Commons. Please, enjoy."

Of course it will be.

Perhaps Lucian did not mean to let his mind slip away from him, allowing his thoughts to penetrate his bond with Aven. The Prince’s eyes were locked on Marcello, jaw set before he snapped his fingers.

Aven stood and moved to begin preparing Lucian’s food when Marcello pushed to his feet.

“One moment- Aven, was it?” He looked to the servants, lined up obediently against the wall. “Thank you, we can serve ourselves. You’re all dismissed.” They parted from the room. Marcello, while yesterday he looked just shy of enough energy to carry himself, was poised. He stood tall as he made his way around to the other end of the table. “I hope you don’t mind, I’ll be stealing your job for a moment and tending to Prince Lucian’s plate."

Aven hesitated. He looked to Lucian, and was surprised to see instead of gratitude, or appreciation, the Prince was glaring daggers at Marcello. Such a look would have been all but indiscernible to others - but for Aven, who had been on the receiving end of it far too often, could see the loathe in his eyes.

And yet, the Prince gave a smile. “Of course. Thank you, Netyarch.”

Aven blinked, confusion washing over him as the Netyarch smiled back and began scraping food onto the Prince’s plate. Salbread, pumpkin pie, crumblecakes, steaming venison and vibrant fruits that tumbled from its bowl were picked up by Marcello and pushed onto Lucian’s plate.

“I chose a banquet with food reminiscent of Aeolian cuisine,” Marcello said. “My apologies if it does not meet expectations, I simply remember you’re quite the picky child.”

“My tastes have had to somewhat broaden in the last several months.”

“I’m sure. I thought for sure you would have withered away had you not been able to dine on venison and freshly picked grapes.”

“I’m full of surprises, Netyarch Marcello. Those grapes aren’t lush enough. Try the ones on the other plate.”

Marcello glanced over. “I thought you said your tastes had expanded.”

“In survival scenarios, yes. But I am now here, in your beautiful home and you have extended your hospitality to me. The other grapes, please.”

Marcello stared at Lucian for a second too long before he gave an easy smile. “Of course, Your Highness.” He drew to the furthest plate on the table and began plucking up grapes. “I’m sure your uncle will receive the surprise of his life when you finally return to Aeliorn. Which I imagine you intend to do.”

“One day.” Lucian picked at his food as it was set in front of him.

Aven and Kendyll glanced to one another in exasperation as they wisely kept quiet.

They ate in silence, silverware clinking against the plates and the sound of the city echoing in from the open balcony. “I understand things are not going well in your country,” Lucian finally said.

“I see Kendyll explained our situation to you.” Marcello’s eyes flicked accusingly towards his sister, who promptly ignored him as she shoved food into her mouth. He turned his attention back to Lucian. “We are at war. With war comes struggle. But our walls are stronger than ever, and our people are well cared for. Regardless of our conflict with Dambrath, you will be safer here than any other place in the world, I assure you.”

“Promises of safety as of late have failed to meet their mark."

"I imagine you speak from experience."

"I do.” As Marcello turned to pour a glass of wine, Lucian swiftly popped a grape into Aven’s mouth and kissed his cheek, resuming his regal pose like nothing had happened as Marcello returned his gaze to the Prince. “Speaking of a breach of safety…” For once, Lucian’s expression softened. “I am..sorry about Theseus.”

Aven’s happy munching ceased as the shadow of tension settled over the room.

It was the first break of Marcello’s composure. Grief swallowed his gaze and against his own will, turned his eyes up towards the portrait hanging from the wall. “…he and his lover were assassinated, by the Crinti.”

“He was a good man. And kind to me, when we were younger. He didn’t deserve that.”

“No. He didn’t. And I imagine you didn’t deserve being cast out of your kingdom and winding up at my door half dead with no banner at your back.”

“Unfortunately, our woes don’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.”

“Which are you?”

The edge of Lucian’s lip lifted. He tipped his glass towards Marcello. “Sinner. Saint. It all depends on my mood, really. It is because of my servant that I’m still alive. My uncle was incredibly methodical in his plan to have me killed by pirates in what he would have claimed a freak accident. Aven was the wrench in the gears of his plot, as well as the greed of his own men.“ He paused. ”…I do not yet know who to trust in my homeland.“

A chuckle spilled from Marcello’s lips. "So the ass really did try to kill you. I knew he was a power hungry coward, but I wouldn’t have bet on him following through."

"Seriously?” Lucian snorted. “If that’s surprising for you, you have to be as dense as you are pompous."

"Oh, forgive me, Your Highness. Clearly I’m just surprised anyone actually tried to harm a single hair on your pretty little head.” Marcello was grinning now, shifting up in his chair with interest. “It seems, Lucian, that we both have quite overbearing problems on our shoulders. How in Mystra’s name do you plan on dealing with this mess?”

“I’ve been gathering allies. The mages that we saved from Spellhold have promised us their allegiance, and the Mindulgulph are indebted to us. When I have acquired enough resources, I will purchase ships and travel West to Aeliorn.”

Marcello studied Lucian, quiet until he gathered himself. “So you prepare for war without intel? With no knowledge of other plots that man could be concocting?"

"We’re left with little choice. The longer I am away, the stronger my Uncle’s claim on my throne becomes."

Marcello heaved a sigh. "Before you sail anywhere, I’d highly consider figuring out what could be waiting for you. I’m beginning to gather he’s sent people for you, what with that poison in your system. His reach is far."

Lucian didn’t answer. He stared at his hands.

Something akin to sympathy passed over Marcello. ”…here.“ He waved his hand. A soft spatter of purple dust scattered across the table, all of it dissipating aside from what landed in their cups, turning their drinks. "Something a little stronger."

Aven was fast to dump it down his throat. Nobles were very stressful.

Lucian sipped on his own. ”…I need something from you, Marcello.“

“Oh?”

“Your aid.”

The edge of Marcello’s glass stopped at his lip. A black brow arched. "Excuse me?"

"Halruaa was one of Aeliorn’s most prominent trade partners. I’m sure your resources are limited due to your war… but if you would provide manpower to serve in the coming battles against my uncle, I can promise that we will in turn assist in your conflict with Dambrath.”

Marcello’s next drink was far more generous. The cool flow of wine coated his throat and partially stained the edges of his teeth.

“No.”

Kendyll immediately lurched forward in her seat to object and Marcello threw out a hand to silence her.

“Don’t, Kendyll. Our family has lost enough. We need to focus on ourselves and our own war before I can even consider opening up to help others in the future. All our men and resources are needed here.”

Marcello’s gaze leveled on Lucian, and the prince sat back as if having expected such an answer. “I’m sorry, but your family matters need to stay exactly that. Gods forbid I step between you and your uncle ever again.”

Lucian’s jaw scrubbed as he swallowed a sip from his glass.

“That’s alright.”

“What?” Kendyll pushed to her feet, glaring down both the noblemen. “You two are joking! This isn’t about petty things you hold against one another, these games are childish. Marcello! We need allies. Aeliorn is the only country aside from Dambrath we’ve continuously traded with. No one is going to grant us anything.”

“It’s not worth the risk.”

“Then what about the worth of the return of your sister?”

“Kendyll,-”

“I’m not done.”

The young woman’s cheeks blazed. “Lucian, whether you like it or not, you need us, too. Aeliorn may be better allied but they’re all allied to the crown, whoever wears it. Right now that’s your uncle. I didn’t lose my brother and suffer at the hands of Cowled Mages to sit here and watch you two waste away the potential to solve both of your problems and finally have a win!”

By the time she finished, her chest heaved, fingers curled into the dark wood table. Aven sat stunned to silence, a bite of food hanging half out of his mouth like a deer in headlights. I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here.

Lucian pretended as if he weren’t even there, lowering his wine glass with a soft sigh. “Marcello, perhaps we should set aside our differences and think of what this could do for our countries and people. I like it no more than you.”

The Netyarch’s gaze was latched onto his sister’s, the siblings waging a silent war with their stares as if with their own telepathic bond.

The mental skirmish was broken only by the entry of another into the room. An older man, lanky in stature and supporting a great dish in both hands.

“Your majesties,” his voice purred coyly from behind. Candied ginger, fruit pies, cakes, pastries and other desserts stacked the platter high with sweets. “Am I interrupting?”

Marcello tore his glare away from his sister. “No,” he said shortly. “This conversation is done.”

“So you say,” Kendyll muttered into her drink as he lowered the sweets.

Marcello shot her a look and glanced over to Lucian. “This is the Castellan. He has been tending to my family for generations.”

“Generations?” Lucian’s eyes swept over the man, who couldn’t have been older than fifty. “You’re looking quite spry for your age, You must tell me your secret,” Lucian said as he extended his hand for a shake.

The Castellan took it. Silvery eyes glittered with amusement. “I would suggest a healthy diet and a stress free life, Your Highness.”

“Stress free?” Lucian said. “Tending to the Silvercrests, I figured you’d be six feet under after the first year of service. Thank you for the desserts, Castellan..?”

“Just Castellan.”

Lucian cocked his head. “No name?”

“Trust me,” Marcello snorted. His mood had fouled considerably as he swished his glass about, cheeks now coloured a light pink. “It’s as infuriating for me as it is you. In all his years of servitude, the Castellan has never given his name.”

“And I imagine I never will,” the Castellan responded easily. “I have been tending to the Netyarch since his birth. He used to be quite fond of you, Lucian. When he would return from Aeliorn in his youth, he would tell me all about your adventures in the gardens and-”

“Castellan,” Marcello hissed.

The Castellan lifted his hand, a smile tugging at the edge of his lip. “Yes, my apologies, your Majesty. I’ve forgotten that you were never a child like everyone else.”

Netyarch Marcello and the Castellan, Aven thought towards Lucian as he eyed the two. Are quite close.

I imagine they would be, came Lucian’s response. His father, Netyarch Murdock was a cunt. The Castellan took on the role that Murdock should have.

“Yes, we all know how much you enjoy teasing me,” Marcello grunted, waving his hand. “Don’t you have something to do.”

“Many things.” The Castellan sweeped into a low bow before Lucian and Aven. “Your Highness. Aven. It was a pleasure.” The Castellan left, and the door closed behind him.

Finally, Marcello tore his eyes away, a hand raised to pinch the bridge of his nose under the plague of an oncoming headache.

“Lucian,” he murmured. “It isn’t just about what I want. I may have final say, but the council is able to weigh in on a decision like this. I need more than just faith and trust to go off of. I need presentable proof and reason to support you, Lucian. ‘I think this is the right call’ won’t do it,” he finally replies.

“Then we’ll find something.” Lucian didn’t touch his food. He leaned forward towards Marcello. “I swear it.”

Marcello dared a look back towards his sister who’d sat once more, her arms folded over her chest.

“…I will see what I can do, but I make no promises.”

“Thank you.”

——————————————

After dinner, Marcello sent several guards to escort the Prince and his servant to their chambers. Aven shadowed Lucian’s steps, ghosting a hand at his back, not touching but supporting silently.

Lucian barely registered.

As soon as they were inside the guest rooms, he slammed the door shut and put his full weight on Aven with an exhale. “See what I mean?” He muttered. “Completely intolerable."

"I couldn’t understand half of what was going on,” Aven replied honestly.

A great bed with purple sheets was beside an open window, a balcony overlooking the expanse of Halruaa.

Lucian sat on the bed and dragged his fingers down his face. “Politics, Aven."

"Are politics always so…” he paused. “…passive aggressive?"

"Always.” Lucian reclined until his back hit the bed, forearm sprawled across his eyes.

Aven studied him and crawled up onto the bed, curling to Lucian’s side. “I’m glad you’re doing better,” he murmured. His voice was shallow, and a hand came to rest on Lucian’s stomach. “It hurt me so much to see you like that."

"Yes, at times it hurts to see you as well,” Lucian teased. The humor was heavy with the shadow of exhaustion, and a hand dropped down to rest upon Aven’s. “On a scale of one to ten, how pathetic was I?”

Aven pushed his lips to Lucian’s temple. “You kept calling for me and dragging me closer to you right in front of Marcello."

"…I broke the scale.“ Lucian rolled onto his belly and buried his face into a mountain of pillows. "Just kill me now."

Aven laughed. "Don’t worry. I was very respectful.” He drew over to hover his body over Lucian’s, arms keeping him up from crushing the Prince. “Before we leave, we should show off a bit. Do a bit of sparring. Maybe he’ll join, and you can knock him on his ass."

The very idea of knocking Marcello Silvercrest onto his ass was enough to create pause in Lucian’s brooding. An involuntary wave of comfort rolled through Lucian and he chuckled. "It is customary to throw gladiatorial games at the coming of visiting nobility,” he purred.

Aven’s lips pressed warmly against the back of Lucian’s neck. “Give me a reason to use my axes. Please. I think I’m going through withdrawal with all of this diplomacy."

Lucian twisted around to press his lips up against Aven’s. "Tomorrow. Tonight… I need rest."

"Then rest.” Aven’s fingers pushed through silky strands of blonde hair. “I’ll be right here.”

———————————————

The moon had reached its highest peak in the night sky with several hours of sleep having already ticked by. Lucian tossed uncomfortably onto his other side, the great arm draped atop him blazing warm. The blankets did little but trap Aven’s stifling heat between the two of them, and still fresh out of a fever, the Prince was suffocated.

He kicked the blankets from his feet, curling his toes out to drink in the miniscule breeze drifting in from half-cracked balcony doors. Soft satin curtains swayed evenly with each current.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Lucian blew out, the breath sweeping blonde strands from his immediate face, and with a single squirm he popped out from beneath Aven’s embrace. Legs swung over the side of the bed, bare feet pushing eagerly to the cool marble floors. He heaved himself up and threw out a hand to catch his weight on the bedside table, summoning a soft ball of light in his palm to illuminate the room.

Glancing back, his gaze befell the sleeping man. Aven’s head was thrown back on a pillow, his body curved in a forward arc where it had previously wrapped around Lucian’s. The glow of the light casted a warm ambience down across gorgeously tanned skin left shirtless for sleep. It was the raised scarring of lashes that curled around his arms, sides, and neck from a focal point on his back that drew the blonde’s attention.

An ache of guilt twisted in Lucian’s stomach. He tore his gaze away and straightened his posture to make the walk for the balcony.

With each step, more of the subtle breeze met him, sweeping back the remains of his messy braid. His hand curled to the knob and he eased through the gap between the doors, opening out into the beautiful Halruaan night sky.

Stars and constellations not always seen in Aeliorn drifted above head, twinkling beyond the visible sky’s reach. The city itself was mostly quiet, most if not all lights dimmed with the fall of night as every mage and not slumbered away.

Lucian leaned out over the railing, his arms folded and hands splayed out. He shook the rest of his braid free, allowing the wind to rush through it with the calming sounds of the flowing rivers feeding into Lake Halruaa, its powerful currents creating a cascade of waves in the distance. Ice blue eyes fell shut in quiet enjoyment, the stress and sick of his recent life melting away.

He ignored the first sound of a door slamming shut down in the courtyard below. Voices followed, too far away to make out. It quieted for several more minutes before erupting into the blast of lightning cracking out to his left.

An eye peeled open with a mixture of dread and curiosity.

Down below in the swaths of the lush Silvercrest gardens that shot off down a path from the courtyard, he caught a similar blue glow that emanated electricity curling around the form of a cloaked figure.

Lucian couldn’t help the surge of danger that struck his chest, involuntary panic driving some instinctual need to make sure all was in order. Despite Marcello’s assurance the palace was the safest place one could be, he hadn’t felt safe anywhere as of late. Save for maybe with Aven.

The man’s cheeks burned at the thought as fingers coiled to fists. Focus. Lucian sucked in a breath of cool air into his lungs and directed his flow of mana into his fingertips. A rippling void bloomed in his palm, expanding around him until entirely consuming him. He teleported with a single step through to the other side, his feet meeting a smooth stone path leading to the gardens.

“Not too shabby,” Lucian purred to himself as he stood without wobble.

Another crack of electricity shot across the way, striking into a stone statue that stood motionless up against a freshly trimmed hedge. Closer now, he could make out lush purples fanned throughout the cloak. The tall figure staggered back, shoulders trembling as another spell crawled along fingertips.

Lucian paused in his approach, narrowing his gaze.

“Marcello?”

The spell flickered and the figure immediately went stiff. He turned, a single golden eye glinting in the dark. It was the only distinguishing feature until he stepped forth into the faded glow beaming down from the courtyard.

Marcello looked disheveled. Static had crawled through normally well-groomed raven hair, his clothes rumpled from activity. But Lucian stalled for another reason. The golden eye. Normally concealed by an eyepatch, it held a luminance in the dark that suggested magical nature, and cutting right down the middle of his eye socket in jagged grooves was an unmistakable scar.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” the Netyarch replied, attempting to quell his uneven breaths.

It took Lucian a moment to avert his attention from the scar, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

“I needed some air. Why are you maiming your statue? That is a statue and not a golem, I assume?”

“It needed some remodeling.”

Both of them turned their gazes to the smoldering stone whose face and arm had been fractured off and reduced to crumbled pieces across the grass.

“…Right. You should leave it to the professionals.”

“Any other unsolicited advice you have to offer?”

“Actually-” Lucian clamped down on his own tongue, his features pinching with effort as he eyed the man. “Yes, you should walk with me.”

Surprise swept up Marcello’s expression and his lips darted down in a brief frown.

“You want me to walk through the gardens with you? I hope you’re not thinking just because we may ally that we can go back to tromping around like we used to.”

Lucian bit back another scalding retort and scoffed, beginning to walk down the path winding between flowers, bushes, and sculpted trees flanking either side. “As if. Move your ass, Silvercrest.”

He didn’t look back to watch Marcello reluctantly follow at his side. Tension still lined his shoulders, a hand sweeping through ebony hair as he caught up in step. They walked in begrudging silence, passing by the beauty of winding vines and high risen arbors providing shelter from the sunlight during daytime hours.

Every twenty feet, a hedge rose up among beautifully arranged stones and flowerbeds, all detailing different shapes of magical beasts. Where holes were carved for eyes an empty, nearly invisible orb floated, inactive.

“Your eye. What is it?”

“Do you really think you’re entitled to that answer?”

While Marcello had calmed, it was clear the stressor had left him in a more openly foul mood than per usual when crossing paths with the Prince.

Lucian sighed. “No. But this is the first time I’ve seen it. I didn’t know.”

“It’s enchanted with Arcane Sight. My father had it surgically implanted after I lost the real one.”

Lost.

“…So you can distinguish magical auras simply by looking at someone.”

“At least it comes in handy, hmm? My father thought so as well.”

They came to a stop as Marcello hopped up the single step rounding into a gazebo. Two weather durable couches lined the inner railing, a soft fireplace burning unattended at the center, surrounded on all sides by beautiful marble blocks. He quickly fell into a seat, reaching past the railing to pluck a white rose up from the bush winding up the post.

Lucian settled at his side with a frown. “I’m sorry, Marcello.”

“I know. How does it feel to harbor feelings for a commoner?”

“Excuse me? Aven? No.”

The Netyarch rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh please, give me a break, Lucian. I am not stupid.”

“…Well-”

“Don’t be childish.”

“He was simply my slave. Now he is my servant, nothing more.”

“Regardless, consider me impressed, I thought you to be heartless. Whether you’re anything more or not, you cared for him enough to free him from slavery. If I’m not mistaken, you grew up with an abundance of slaves and never batted an eye.”

“I noticed Halruaa has no slaves.”

“Nearly all of our population knows some form of magic prowess and between that and those rich enough to afford slaves in the first place, it was decided giving jobs to the common people was far more productive than stripping them of human rights.“

Marcello dared a look towards Lucian, clicking his tongue. "I’d have thought your family quicker to follow such steps.”

“Every country has its flaws. Even with Aeliorn being as forward with magic as Halruaa, we trade luxury clothes and gems for unpaid help. Of course, my own opinion has been quite conflicted as of late.”

For once, Marcello’s gaze twisted with sympathy.

“…Theseus was seeing a horse breeder in Zalazuu. He planned to marry her when the time was right, that’s where he’d gone when he was murdered. It is not a sin to love someone less fortunate than yourself. Life is much too short to fret about how much status and money someone has.”

Lucian grimaced and turned his gaze down to his hands. “I’ve found that my life can be stretched quite far.”

“Then it sounds like you have nothing to fear. Use it to deal with your conflict.” He waved a hand. “Now. Surely you haven’t brought me here just for small talk.”

“No. And actually, it was Aven who reminded me. You likely haven’t had to arrange anything of the sorts given Halruaa’s seclusion, but it is typically customary the ruler of a kingdom throws an event in honor of the visiting nobility.”

Marcello leaned back, twisting the white rose between his fingertips, narrowly avoiding the thorns creeping up the sides.

“I’m listening.”

“The Trial of Kings was always a particular favorite of mine. I’ve trained for it with my father and I’m sure Aven’s natural physical prowess will prove quite beneficial for him. As nobility you, too, would join as well. Perhaps….a competition of arcane might and a competition of physical might.“

The Netyarch considered it a moment.

“I will… bring it to the council in the morning. I’m sure Kendyll would appreciate a chance to shine in front of a crowd again. She’s been gone too long. The process shouldn’t take more than a few days to fully set up the games.”

“Then it’s settled.” Lucian pushed up from his seat. “That will give me enough time to fully recover so I may participate. I’m going to retire now.”

“Wait.”

Marcello’s grip circled around Lucian’s arm, tugging his hand back to shove the rose into his grasp.

“Give this to your servant. Perhaps he’ll give you a reason to loosen up. You seem tighter wound than my sister in a corset.”

“Oh? Have you seen your sister in a corset? I suppose I should consider myself lucky that slavery is Aeliorn’s most taboo practice.”

“You’re still intolerable.”

“And you’re still insufferable. Good luck at court, Marcello,” he pushed dryly, spinning on his heel to turn back towards the castle with merely a wave in parting.

“And you heal up soon! I know how awfully drained you must be.”

Marcello’s quip stabbed like a knife in the Prince’s back, his shoulders squaring with irritation as he tromped back down the path and muttered obscenities beneath his breath.

His foul mood clung to him all the way back to his room where he slammed the door. "Netyarchs…fucking man children.. god damn corsets..” He muttered under his breath as Aven pushed up sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s going on..?” He said.

Lucian face planted into bed. “Romance.” Without lifting his head from the pillow, he stuck out his hand, rose clutched tight in his fist.

Aven stared at it in confusion. “Romance…? You brought me a half crushed flower."

"It’s a symbol of my affection now fucking take it.” Aven took the flower from Lucian’s dainty fingers and twirled it for a moment.

“I…” His gaze softened. He picked his Lucian’s head up. “Thank you."

"Welcome.” Lucian turned on his side to face his lover. “You got your wish. In several days, the Trial of Kings are going to be hosted. I expect you to represent Aeliorn well."

"I’ll represent you.” Aven pressed a kiss to Lucian’s cheek.

It burned red and Lucian groaned, twisting around to face the other way so that Aven didn’t see his face heating. “Good. Now get some sleep, Aven. We have a tournament to plan in the morning.”