Chapter 5 - The Regent

“We’re going to be leaving tomorrow. You need to learn this.”

“Why do I have to know this. You’re the one who’s going to be talking to them.”

“Yes, but if they for some reason happen to address you, you need to know who the hell you’re talking about.”

“I call them ‘my lord’ or ‘my lady.’ What else is there to know?!”

Aven and Lucian were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the Prince’s expansive bed as they poured over scrolls. Morning light peered through the curtains and Lucian rubbed his face tiredly. So close to the day they were to leave, he had gotten hardly any sleep, preferring to study rather than rest. “Not all of them are referred to as Lord and Lady,” he said shortly. “There’s only five of them, surely that can’t be impossible for you to memorize.”

Aven scowled and leaned back. “I suppose not,” he grunted.

“Good. Now pay attention. There are five positions within the Council of Five. The Meisarch, the Tessarch, the Namarch, the Iltarch and the Pommarch. Each of them are among the Cowled Wizards and-“

“I thought magic was outlawed in Amn?” Aven asked.

“It is. Only members of the Cowled Wizards are licensed to practice magic.”

Aven wrinkled his nose with exasperation. “That’s rather hypocritical.”

“Agreed. Magic is a benefit that should be licensed to all, not just the wealthy. But not every nation is as advanced as Aeliorn. As I was saying. The Meisarch is the highest ranked member of the Council of Five and is the undisputed authority of all decision making. The former Meisarch used to be held by my uncle’s second hand man, Ceril Trevellion but it is now held by Thayze Selemchant. Thayze-“

Lucian was interrupted by a knock on the door. Relief washed through Aven. “I’ll get it,” he said, easing himself up off the bed and made his way to the door.

“Send them away,” Lucian grunted.

Aven pushed the door open. “The Prince asks for privacy-” Aven’s blood went cold.

“I’m afraid the Prince doesn’t have a choice in the matter.” Pale skin was drawn tight over a handsome face, dark brown hair fastened behind his head. His King’s Guard crimson armor glittered opulently in the candlelight. But his eyes - grey and empty simply passed over the slave like he was nothing as he pushed into the room uninvited. His plated pauldron bumped against Aven’s shoulder. “Prince Lucian. Your uncle instructs for you to join him for supper tonight to discuss your voyage.”

“Sir Jaheron. I don’t remember inviting you inside my room.” Jaheron didn’t answer. He simply locked Lucian with a cold look. The Prince scoffed. “My uncle has been absent for three weeks, and suddenly he expects for me to waste time that I could be spending on preparations to sit and dine with him?” Lucian sneered. “I don’t think so. Slave - a glass of wine.”

No answer. Lucian swiveled around to stare at Aven. “Did you hear me?”

He didn’t.

Aven didn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in his head, and his heart slamming against his chest as he stared at the back of Sir Jaheron’s head.

It was him.

“Slave.” Lucian’s voice snapping through the room drew Aven’s attention. He dragged his gaze from Jaheron’s face. “Yes, your highness.”

“Wine.” Lucian eased himself down lazily onto his bed, without offering Sir Jaheron even a seat. “I’m aware my uncle must miss my company dearly, but I am following his advice and preparing myself. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“The Regent suspected you might refuse. And that I was to inform you that he-”

Lucian cut him off with a yawn. Aven could have sworn he saw the veins on his forehead bulge in irritation. “Inform me that he’s withholding information from me lest I visit him for dinner? How very like him. Very well. Please inform my uncle that my slave and I will greet him at dinner tonight.”

“You are to come alone.”

“That’s not happening.”

Jaheron’s jaw ground together. He took a step forward. “The Regent says-”

The moment the knight took a step forward, Aven was moving. He got not even an inch closer to Lucian before the gladiator was between them, eyes narrowed to slits. Heat lifted off of his skin and coiled in his stomach.

“The Prince gave you his answer.” His voice was low and rumbling. “Step outside.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Jaheron snarled. Aven’s body tensed as his hand rested on the hilt of his blade. “I’ll cut you in half if you command me again.”

“Sir Jaheron,” Lucian purred. He seemed amused by the encounter. “I’d like to introduce my new slave and guard. I assume you’ve heard of the Beast Tamer.”

He had. Aven could immediately see it in his eyes, in the way Jaheron paled. Jaheron ground his teeth. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Yes. Do it. Give me any reason.

Jaheron’s sword never left its sheath. The man’s fingers uncurled from the hilt. “You will meet your uncle tonight,” he hissed out. “Make sure your slave is at least appropriately dressed.” He said not another word before he swept out of the room, closing the door behind him so hard a frame fell from the wall, caught by Lucian’s magic seconds before it shattered.

“That man really is appalling,” Lucian muttered, waving his hand to ease the picture up onto the wall.

“Who was that.” Aven’s voice shook. He hadn’t moved, eyes staring at the closed door.

“That was Sir Jaheron. First Knight of my uncle.”

“First Knight?” Aven turned. “First Knight is the captain of the King’s Guard, and the sole protector of the ruling monarch. And only the King can obtain a King’s Guard.”

Lucian shrugged his slim shoulders. “The Council found my uncle prestigious enough to be appointed one. You know quite a bit about our King’s Guard.”

Aven ignored the statement. “You called me your guard.”

“Half of the reason I bought you was because you’re pretty. The other half was because you’re quite strong.” Lucian frowned. Blue eyes searched Aven’s face. “What’s wrong. You’re trembling. If you’re going to be sick, do it over the balcony.”

“No, your highness. It’s nearly noon. You need to meet with Caesar.”

Lucian jolted. The Prince swiveled about to look outside and cursed, pushing to his feet. “You’re right. We’ll continue our lesson once we’re finished with this dinner.” He grunted and rolled his eyes. “Should be absolutely delightful. I’ll have the servants lay an outfit out for you to wear tonight. I’ll see you tonight.”

Lucian said not another word, shrugging into a white coat with gold trimming before disappearing through the door.

Aven stared at the door. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, nails cutting into his palms. Blood slipped between his fingers. With every muscle screaming with tension, he tore forwards and made his way down towards the training arena.

—————————————-

One savage strike was all it took for the longsword to cleave the dummy in half. Straw exploded at Aven’s feet, fingers trembling violently around the hilt. Sweat dripped down his face. His legs shook. With a vicious snarl, Aven spun, his sword masterfully cutting through the air and decapitating the dummy.

Hours. He’d been down in the training room for hours, his body a machine as it worked non stop. Every time a dummy was destroyed, it fixed itself in seconds, granting an endless amount. That was fine with Aven. It gave him something to do.

One of the dummies behind him rearranged. Its head hadn’t even finished sewing itself together before his sword swiped down diagonally, the top half of its straw skull crumbling to the ground.

Anger. It surged through him. He practically choked on it. Every breath was labored and heavy as he twirled around, stabbing his sword into the gut of a dummy and wrenched it upwards, tearing it in half.

That man.

Sir Jaheron.

The first and last he’d seen him was so long ago. He’d been just a boy. A boy on his birthday, waiting for his father to come home. He’d waited, waited at his door until a group of knights arrived, to tell him his father had been-

The splintering of his thoughts came to a crashing halt as something wet dripped down his cheeks and onto his palm. His heart slammed against the cage of his ribs. A calloused hand reached up, pushing the tear back away from his face, teeth grinding until they ached.

He promised himself even then that one day, he would push a sword through Jaheron’s heart. And yet, he couldn’t do a damn thing. He just stood there and watched as he left, just like when he was a boy.

It seemed nothing had changed.

With a roar, Aven spun, every ounce of strength funneling into the single strike that carved a dummy in half, straw exploding over Aven’s clothes, his hair. His muscles screamed. Fight. Fight. Fight-

“E-excuse me?”

Aven turned. Tears ripped down his cheeks. His features were contorted in fury. The poor young servant was frozen like a startled rabbit in the door, cheeks flushed and she took a wary step back. “His… his highness instructed me to find you… you have clothes laid out on the bed and you’re to meet him in the dining hall.”

“What?” Aven turned. He’d lost track of time. He was sure he’d only been training for a couple hours, but when he looked out the window, there was a red glow as the sun began to dip over the horizon. Aven grimaced. “Then I’d better get going,” he murmured. “Thank you for telling-”

There was no one to thank. She was gone. Aven pushed a tired breath out from between his lips and hung his sword up on the rack.

Surely dinner couldn’t be any worse than this morning.

———————————————

The Regent dined separately from his nephew and the rest of the palace. Within his palace suite, the dining hall was lavish and luxuriant. The zalantar table was filled to the brim with pike and mouth watering venison, plates of bountiful fruits that were bursting with colour. A pitcher of delicious Calishite wine was poured into their crystal glasses.

Across from them sat Ceril Trevellion and his son, Icarus. Icarus played the perfect son, back straight and picking at his food delicately. Unlike the Prince. The Prince was sprawled out lazily, a boot kicked up on the table as he reclined back in his seat, helping himself to his third glass of wine, cheeks flushed.

Darrien and Sir Jaheron had yet to arrive.

“I thought,” Lucian sighed. “That we were to be attending to dine with my uncle.”

“The Regent is dealing with matters regarding the diplomatic voyage,” Lord Ceril hummed. “He will deal with you presently.”

Deal with you. Lucian’s glare sent Ceril’s eyes timidly back to his wine, sinking back into his seat. Lord Ceril was a man that Aven decided upon first meeting that he didn’t like. Tall and lanky, rather than a fair tone like his son, Ceril’s skin was touched with a deep gold, a black moustache twirled exquisite above a pair of thin lips, long and greasy black hair straight and cascading down his robes. Lucian had described him earlier as an ‘opulent pet weasel.’ The descriptor wasn’t as exaggerated as one might think.

Aven stood behind Lucian, dressed in a lavish outfit of golds and crimson, hands clasped behind his back as he observed the nobles. At times, it was hard to keep up with them. So many conversations and idle chatter that was masked with insults and subtle affronts. He was almost glad to be standing, separated from the pit of vipers.

Until Lucian turned. His cheeks were tinted red and he stared at Aven until he shifted with discomfort. “…yes, your highness?”

“Come here.”

He obeyed. Aven swept forward and Lucian waved a hand. “You,” he called to a passing elf. “Pull up a chair. My slave will be dining with us tonight.”

Ceril choked on his food to glower at Lucian furiously. “You can’t be serious,” he hissed. “Get it off the table.”

“He is my personal property. And I will have him wherever I like him. Even if it means at my uncle’s fine table. Sit.”

Aven almost didn’t want to. He had a sinking suspicion this was about more than a slave being permitted at the table and he pushed out a breath. “Yes, your highness,” he murmured.

The elven servant pulled up a chair for him, and he eased down next to Lucian.

An assortment of silverware lain out in front of Aven. Small spoons, big spoons, forks that looked as though they’d been crafted for pixies.

Aven leaned over towards Lucian. “I don’t know which ones to use,” he whispered.

“Use your fists for all I care,” Lucian snorted, another sip of wine disappearing down his throat.

The doors opened. Aven saw it in an instant. The tension of Lucian’s shoulders. The alertness in his eyes as they shot towards the end of the room.

Two figures swept into the dining hall. The first, being Sir Jaheron. Aven tempered the quickening of his blood. And behind him - was who could Aven only guess was the Regent. The man he’d heard so much about. Lucian’s last living family.

They looked alike.

Both with stark blonde hair and fair skin, they said you could pick out an Arceneaux in a crowd within seconds. Their features were sharp and poised, gaze intelligent. And yet…as Aven watched the Regent make his way wordlessly to his seat, without a single apology for his tardiness - he could see the differences between Darrien and his nephew. His skin held a sickly shade and his thin lips were pale white. His coarse blonde hair fell down to the small of his back. But it was his eyes that set him apart from his nephew. Lucian’s eyes were blue. Blue like the sea on a starlit night. Alert, attentive.

Even beautiful.

Darrien’s eyes were cold. Vacant. Like slates of lifeless ice.

It set Aven into an unease he’d never felt. He watched carefully as the Regent lowered himself into his seat at the head of the table. Lucian sat at the other end, the short distance between them seeming even longer as the silence stretched on for another painfully prolonged minute.

Lucian leaned forward. “Uncle,” he said. “So nice of you to join us. I was almost afraid our only entertainment for tonight would be your manservant.”

Ceril’s lips twisted into a frown. Darrien didn’t answer. He calmly took a bite of steak and lowered his fork down delicately onto the plate.

“I was conducting business,” Darrien said. His voice was reminiscent of his eyes. “I spoke with the diplomat who will be accompanying you to Amn about the nation’s interests and what we hope to accomplish.” He took a sip of wine. Red stained his white lips and his gaze locked onto his nephew. “A task that was meant for you to carry out.”

“I was busy,” Lucian purred. “A trip this extensive, it requires tedious care, uncle. Especially under such short notice.”

“And yet you have been neglecting your duties.”

“Not at all. I’ve simply left them to the man who is clearly more capable. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Ceril?”

Lord Ceril paled. He looked back and forth between the Prince and the Regent and tugged on his collar. “I- the Regent is certainly efficient in-”

“Oh, shut up,” Lucian spat with a roll of his eyes. Ceril stiffened as though he’d been electrocuted. “You continue to be dreadfully dull, Lord Ceril. You might as well just start sucking my uncle’s cock and that will speak just as well for you.” He took a long sip of wine.

Darrien’s jaw tightened. “Lucian.”

“Forgive me, uncle. One mustn’t insult one’s pet. And speaking of pet. Uncle, may I introduce you to the Beast Tamer.”

It was the first time Darrien had ever regarded him. He turned and upon noticing Aven, his features withered. “Why is he at the table.”

“Because I asked him to be. I bought him as my pleasure slave. He keeps my bed warm at night, uncle.”

For a moment, Aven could have sworn he saw a flicker of fury in the Regent’s eyes. “Lucian, this is utterly inappropriate,” Darrien hissed. He leveled his gaze on Aven. “What is your name, boy.”

The Regent was speaking with him. Aven swallowed the lump in his throat. “…Aven, your highness.”

“Aven. And my nephew has purchased you as a pleasure slave, has he? How has he faired in bed.”

The entire table was dead silent. Lucian had gone white. He watched Aven closely, every eye locked on him. Confusion coiled in him. Guard. Slave. Whore. What the hell was he supposed to be. What did Lucian want him to say? He hesitated a moment. “…I’ve had many partners in my life,” Aven says slowly. “Most nobles who purchased me for a night. Some good. Some bad. The Prince….” he paused. The edge of his lip lifted as he brought his own glass of wine to his lips. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He wrinkled his nose at the disgustingly fruity flavor.

Wrong answer. Right answer. Aven couldn’t tell. Lucian’s face was slate blank and he turned to regard his uncle. “And there you have it. One’s sexual affairs are private, after all. Who knows what a man gets up to behind closed doors.”

Darrien’s eyes narrowed to slits.

The tension in the room was suddenly stifling hot. No one dared to move, speak or even breathe as the uncle and nephew stared one another down. Until Icarus cleared his throat. “So, Lucian!” He said with a smile, leaning over the table. Aven had nearly forgotten he was there. In a room of such dominating figures, young Icarus was rather small. “Are you excited for your trip?”

Lucian frowned. As though he didn’t understand the question. “Am I excited?”

“Yeah, are you happy to be leaving? I remember when we were kids, we used to always talk about visiting Faerun. The Bay of Dancing Dolphins, the Spire of the World, Waterdeep-”

“This isn’t a vacation,” Lucian snapped. “It’s business. Of course I’m not excited.”

“But it’s an honor.” Icarus pushed his food around his plate. “I wish I could come. You’d think as your future First Knight, I’d be expected to, but…”

“But you have your studies,” Ceril said, voice low. “You will not be galavanting about in Faerun when you have to further your abilities. How else could you protect the Prince.”

“I know, I know,” Icarus said quickly. “I know, father, I just…I was hoping to go. I know Amn is rather brutish, but the country is still filled with so many beautiful things! Port Nyanzaru, Athkatla, the Snowflake Mountains, I’d love to see-”

“The Snowflake Mountains,” Lord Ceril mocked. Icarus’ features fell. “Do you know how childish you sound, boy. You have your duties here to tend to. Focus on them.”

For a moment, Aven was sure he saw a flicker of sympathy in Lucian’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Icarus,” the Prince hummed. “It will be dreadfully dull. I’ll be alone save for a slave who doesn’t make for very good conversation and the snake lords of Amn.”

Darrien looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, Uncle. I decided to bring him with me. A voyage like that is quite long and I’d like to have my slave by my side to tend to me.”

Darrien lowered his glass of wine. “You are not bringing your whore with you on a diplomatic assignment.”

“As future king, I’d say I can do whatever I want.”

“Future King?” Darrien repeated slowly. His voice was lowered. “No. That’s not what you are.”

Silence followed. Aven’s eyes were locked on Lucian who simply ate another piece of his meal absently. “I question your logic, uncle. My father was the King, who, by the way, is no longer alive. Which means now-”

“Which means you’re a disgrace.”

It was the first time Aven had ever seen Lucian tongue tied. Before the boy could respond, Darrien was pushing up from his chair, hands locked behind his back as he made his way around the table towards Lucian. “Your father embarked on his first diplomatic journey alone when he was sixteen years old. He defended our allies from common enemies and fought in his first battle a year later. By the time he was your age, he was the unrivaled sovereign of Aeliorn. And look at you. His only son.” He stood behind Lucian now. Icy eyes cut into the back of Lucian’s head. “…you are nothing but a shadow of your father. Eighteen years old… and what have you done.”

Lucian didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, eyes drawn towards the corner. Darrien’s hand slammed down on the table and the Prince jolted, knee smacking against the bottom. “Answer me.”

“I’ve survived.”

“You’ve survived. How impressive. You’ve survived within your castle with your fine dining and servants and education from tutors of the highest quality.” Darrien clicked his tongue. “You are an embarrassment. An embarrassment which will no longer be tolerated in the Palace.”

His hand lowered onto Lucian’s shoulder. Lips down to the boy’s ear. “You will embark on this journey. You will learn how to be a King. Or you will be nothing.”

Lucian’s face was white. He didn’t meet the Regent’s eyes, fists clenched so tight, Aven could see a drop of red slipping down his slim finger.

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Good. Take your slave and leave the adults to their work.”

——————————————

Lucian didn’t say a single word that night. As they made their way into their room, he gave no orders. No, ‘attend me.’ No, ‘get the lights.’ He simply drew off his coat, threw it onto the floor and closed himself into the baths.

Aven tried to swallow his pity. Prince Lucian was a prick, plain and simple. He didn’t deserve his sympathy. And yet…

Aven looked towards the door. Lucian had drawn himself a bath and had been in there for nearly an hour. Certainly longer than usual. Aven’s features softened. “Pompous brat,” he muttered under his breath, pushing up. He drew a glass of water for the Prince, setting it on the table beside his bed. Filled the ceramic bowl with sweets - it seemed he favored sugar tarts from Oremvrar - and made up his bed, fluffing pillows and drawing back the covers slightly. Once he was satisfied with his work and head ringing from the night’s alcohol, crawled under his own blankets and closed his eyes.

Aven was woken several hours later by flickering candlelight.

He sat up, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes and glanced over. “…Lucian?” he murmured.

The Prince sat next to him… ass naked. His knees were drawn up into his chest as he leaned back against the bed stand, hair undone from its usual braid and flowing down one shoulder. His eyes were heavy and bags bloomed beneath his blue eyes as he dumped a glass of wine down his throat. The water was untouched.

“Aven.”

“You’re still drinking?”

“Yes.”

Aven grimaced. He pushed up and stretched until his bones cracked. “Come on. Why don’t we give you some water and-”

“Where have you met Jaheron?”

Aven’s voice died in his throat. “….what do you mean?”

“Please.” Lucian glanced over. “I’m not blind. Nor am I stupid. I saw the hatred in your eyes when you looked at him. I’m going to ask again. Where have you met Jaheron.”

Aven stared at him. He didn’t know Lucian watched him so closely. He sat back. “…he killed my father.”

“Explain.” Lucian reached over to pour himself another goblet.

It felt like there were shards of glass in Aven’s chest. He watched Lucian for a long moment before he rubbed the back of his neck. “…you said before that I knew a lot about knights,” he said. “That’s because… my father was a knight.”

Lucian stilled. He stared into his cup for a long while. “…when was he killed?”

Aven watched the Prince, eyes searching his face. "When I was seven. It was my birthday. I was waiting for him to come home, like he did every night. But he never did. Jaheron came. Him and the other…” Aven wrinkled his nose. “…knights. They told me they killed my father.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Lucian fingered his glass thoughtfully. “Jaheron is a monster. But he’s not the kind of man to murder another knight for no reason.”

“He had a reason.”

“And what would that be?”

A fresh surge of anger swelled. Aven bit his rage down and exhaled. “Hatred.” He looked to Lucian. “My father was different. I’m different. We have no magic. And because of it… the rest of the knights hated him. Disrespected him.” He paused. “…when I was young..he always told me the bruises he came home with were from protecting people. From protecting his King. I’m sure some were. But most were made by his brothers in arms.”

Lucian said nothing for a long while. They were both sitting up, and his head was tilted against the headrest, looking out across the length of the room to the starry sky glittering beyond the window. “That does sound like him,” he murmured. “Hateful and spiteful. I’m sure your father was twice the man Jaheros was. Perhaps when I’m King I’ll find some reason to see him hanged.”

“Why do you hate him?”

Lucian scoffed and down another sip. “That’s a bold question.”

“I answered yours. Now you answer mine.”

“I don’t think it works like that. But..” he paused. “…he’s hurt me, too.” It was the only answer he gave. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Aven had half a mind not to trust the order. But he did as was commanded, easing his eyes shut. He felt a weight as Lucian climbed on top of him. Felt arms wrap around his neck. And then felt his lips pressed to his. Instinct would have reared his head back. Demanded to know, why.

He didn’t. He never had the pleasure of asking questions and wondering why. So as always - he went with the motions. He could taste wine on Lucian’s lips. Could feel the bite of teeth on his lips as Lucian’s fingers curled into his hair, tilting his head. The kiss was slow, deep, purposeful. With an edge. An edge of wanting more.

A shift of weight and Aven was guided on top of him, Lucian’s back on the bed. Below him, he looked disheveled and vulnerable. Nothing like as he did during the day, poised and proper and guarded. Blonde hair was fanned out. His heartbeat was rampant in his chest.

Certainly prettier than most of Aven’s clients in the past.

Aven knew what he had to do. His mind went blank as his lips traveled downwards. They sucked on fair skin, beginning to leave a bruise before Lucian pinched him, hard. “No,” he hissed out. “Nowhere visible.”

He lowered his lips to his stomach. Teeth dragged over delicate skin. His hands drew rough up Lucian’s sides and the Prince shuddered beneath him.

Why. Why now.

Attentive. He made sure no inch of Lucian’s body was untended, be it from his gentle, stroking hands to his mouth, sucking, biting and kissing.

He felt Lucian’s creamy thighs hook around him. Impatient. Dominating. He dragged Aven up from his foreplay, arms curving around his neck. “Don’t screw around,” Lucian whispered. “Just fuck me.”

I thought you didn’t want this.

Aven did as he was told. A tender lover, even when paid for, he was gentle. He kissed the Prince. Lucian was unpracticed. Like he didn’t know what to do with his mouth. He was even clumsy, as their teeth knocked together. And yet, desperate.

Aven was taking too long. As he drew down his silken linens, Lucian thrust his hips forward, grunting under his breath. “Hurry,” he whispered. “Get it over with.”

Get it over with.

Aven could relate with that sentiment. Every time he slept with a noble, all he could do was simply get it over with. And it was no different here. Aven lowered down, teeth nipping at Lucian’s ear. Slow. Careful. “Yes, your highness,” he whispered, his hand dragging down between Lucian’s thighs to grasp…

And paused.

No. This was different.

Aven had fucked enough people to know when a lover was enjoying themselves. The gasps of pleasure. Bodies soaked with sweat. And of course - rock hard cocks.

Lucian bore none of it. In fact - he looked almost pained. His head was turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut. The flush of alcohol in his cheeks was gone, now a pale and sickly white. Tense.

“No.”

Eyes snapped open. Lucian glowered at him, still pinned underneath him, hips rutted up together and nearly joining their bodies. “The fuck do you mean no?” he hissed out. “I told you-”

“And I’m telling you no.” Aven eased off of the Prince. “You don’t want it.”

“How dare you presume what I want.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Aven snapped out before he could stop himself. “I’ve been fucked against my will my entire life. I know what it’s like when someone doesn’t want it. So why bother?! What the hell do you want from me?!”

Lucian stared. The brief shock was swiftly overtaken by usual coldness as the Prince grit his teeth, reaching for another glass. He missed. Clumsy, drunken fingers knocked it off the table and the cup shattered to the ground and Lucian merely stared at it, silent for a long while.

“I don’t know.”

Aven squeezed his eyes shut. Confusion coiled in his stomach. “….I think,” he dared to say, his voice low and careful. “You’re drunk and it’s late. And something tells me you’re going to be regretting this tomorrow.” He pushed himself up. He stepped around the shards of broken glass to hand the Prince his water. “Please drink this.”

“Why.”

“Because you’re drunk and-”

“No. Why are you like this.” Lucian flicked his gaze up. “Why are you taking care of me.”

“I’m the one that has to shadow you. Don’t you think if you’re miserable I will be too?” Aven hesitated. “Besides, I don’t agree with attacking someone unable to fairly fight back.”

Lucian said nothing for a long while. His knees were drawn up into his chest. When he spoke, his voice was shallow. “I know what I want.”

“What do you want?”

Lucian leaned over. His head touched Aven’s shoulder. His slim and cold body pressed to his own. “I want to sleep.”

A strange warmth twisted in Aven’s chest. His breath left him like it had been punched from his lungs. He reached over, drawing the blankets up around them and encircled the Prince in his arms. Warm. Careful.

“…then sleep.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t. I swear it.”