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“You’re going to wear a path in the floor if you persist in your pacing,” Aaron says, glancing up from his book as Kevin does yet another lap around their drawing room. “Come. Sit.”
“Can’t sit. Too much to do.”
“And you’re doing none of it walking circles around me. Sit. Don’t sigh at me like that, Kevin. I’m not the cause of your irritation.”
“I know.” Kevin drops down onto the couch beside Aaron, but his leg immediately starts bouncing with nervous energy. Aaron closes his book over. He sets his hand on Kevin’s knee.
“Steady. There’s still three days until the games. Everything will be fine. It always is. I’ve already spoken to the chefs, the banquet preparations are in order, I’ve organized the responses and planned the seating arrangements, I’ve confirmed the decorations. All you have to do is nod when people ask you if they’re alright.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Kevin says gravely.
“No. Yet here I am.” Aaron smiles despite his words, leaning in to kiss the corner of Kevin’s mouth. Kevin follows him when he draws away, catching his jaw and kissing him more firmly.
“I am thankful for our union everyday.”
Kevin is. Though he was not always.
*
When his father had raised the subject of an arranged marriage to join with the neighbouring kingdom, reducing the risk of war and strengthening their trade agreements, Kevin had balked. The idea of marrying a Minyard had skyrocketed his anxiety. They were not complete strangers, but their presence at royal events was often silent and stony faced, and they had been the source of scandalous rumours for years.
No one knew who their father was, and their mother had mysteriously passed when they were still too young to inherit the throne. Between a titleless cousin they’d taken in after his family disinherited him, and a natural healer who Andrew had taken a shine to, they’d been supported in the years up until their eighteenth birthday, when responsibility was split between them due to no one knowing for sure who was the eldest.
The twins were twenty when his father suggested the union. Kevin was a couple of years older, but he still felt scarcely out of his teens. Hardly old enough to settle down.
“They’re struggling,” Wymack said. “They are just to their people, but lack networking skills, and with the split responsibility, I have reports from the court that they’re often at odds with each other over policies and laws. I don’t think their mother adequately prepared them for taking the throne. If they keep going this way, they’ll be an easy mark for invaders. It would be trouble for us to have war so close to our doors. If you take one as your prince, it will leave the other clear leader. It will put our power behind them as allies. It will mean any assistance we offer them would be justified and not seen as favouritism over the other kingdoms.
I won’t force you to do this, Kevin. It would have many benefits for both our kingdoms, but your happiness is more important to me. Just think about it, son.”
“Okay, father. I will.”
*
“Oh, shit,” Jeremy said when Kevin told him. Then he glanced towards the door to make sure no one was around to see him talking so disrespectfully to the prince. He had been Kevin’s gentleman in waiting since they were both in their teens, and friends from before that; his mother Queen Abby’s lady in waiting for over a decade. There was little formality left between them, but they still had to act accordingly under public gaze.
“Yeah,” Kevin said with a sigh. Jeremy was Kevin’s closest confidant. He was also the person he’d harboured a secret raging crush on for almost a decade. The idea of having to marry a stranger made him feel sick. He wanted this. This easy connection, this friendship, this trust. “I don’t know what to do. Father won’t push me, but I know there’s a lot of weight resting on this decision. What I want to do is selfish. My responsibility as the prince is to do right by my people.”
“And your responsibility as Kevin is to do right by yourself,” Jeremy said softly, loosening the corset strings at the back of Kevin’s waist jacket.
“And if we end up caught in war as a result of this, those deaths will be on my hands.”
“You can’t think like that.”
“I must think like that. That’s my duty.”
Jeremy eased Kevin’s jacket off and folded it. Kevin started undoing the ties on his shirt, loosening it enough to pull over his head. Jeremy came back and rested a hand on his tense shoulder.
“Whatever you decide, you’ll find a way to make it work,” Jeremy said softly, and Kevin wished he could just have this. Wished he was not duty bound to live for a whole nation rather than just himself.
“We’ll see.”
*
“No,” Andrew said immediately, when the invitation came from King Wymack.
“He makes good points. This would be a strong alliance for us,” Aaron said, frowning as he took the letter from Andrew.
“No. I shall not be forced into a marriage.”
“No one is forcing you. It’s an offer, and there are two of us.”
“I won’t let you be forced either.”
“Our court is at unrest. The nobles speak poorly of us.”
“I care not what they think.”
“It’s not a matter of caring. It’s a matter of it undermining our rule.”
“Aaron’s right. A union with the prince of the Daylands would be extremely beneficial, and it’s not like it’s such a hardship,” Nicky said. “He treats his subjects well, public opinion of him is high, he excels athletically, and he’s not sore on the eyes.”
“Why don’t you marry him?” Andrew asked. Nicky sighed woefully.
“But if I could. I’m not the one with a title, and alas, I already have my beloved.”
“Speaking of, has Erik gotten those livestock trade demands back yet?” Aaron asked.
“The prices are still more than our farmers can afford.”
“See.” Aaron waved a hand in Nicky’s direction as he looked at Andrew. “Our leadership is not solid. Our people suffer. The Daylands has more sway with further nations than we ever will.”
“I care more for you than them.”
“I’m writing back. The least we can do is meet with him.”
“I forbid this.”
“And you are only one half of the throne, Andrew. We both bear the title.”
Their bickering had gone back and forth for a week, but Andrew could not stop the letter once Aaron had sent it, and so they had to face the consequences after that.
*
The courtship had been a mess.
Kevin was nervous and anxious. The twins clearly no more genuinely interested in this proposal than him.
“I can’t imagine being wed to either of them,” Kevin told Jeremy, tucked away in an alcove to catch a breath from what thus far had been a truly awful dinner arrangement. “They are as sour tongued as they are faced.”
“Good to know that’s what you really think of us, your highness.”
Kevin and Jeremy’s heads both snapped round to find Aaron Minyard standing at the opening of the alcove, face flushed with indignation. Kevin opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. Jeremy waved a hand at Aaron like he was trying to settle an unruly stallion.
“Kevin didn’t mean that, he’s just a bit stressed at the moment, and-“
“You may take such a casual tone with your prince, but don’t take it with me.”
“Don’t speak to him like that. At least Jeremy has manners. Perhaps your kingdom would not have such tense relations if you remembered yours.”
“You’re a pretentious, arrogant, egotistical-“
“Hey, Aaron, there you are.” Nicky swooped in, linking an arm around Aaron’s shoulder and covering his mouth. “Forgive us, your highness.”
Nicky gave a little bow, forcing Aaron down with him, but Aaron glared daggers the whole time. They barely spoke a word for the rest of the dinner.
*
The next meeting it was Andrew who met with him for a ride along the borders of their land. He was steely and silent. He upset Kevin’s horse and almost had him tossed off. He disagreed with Kevin on nearly every subject. Kevin was glad when they rode back and he could be away from him again.
Kevin’s next meeting with one of them was at a royal event, a celebration for the queen’s birthday. Abby’s excuse to open the castle and make sure the locals were well fed. Neighbouring royalty was invited, but none from further afield.
Kevin had been overwhelmed by the press of people and escaped to the garden. He slipped through the hedges and made his way down to the lake. His mother was buried here, a gazebo built to house her grave. Kevin climbed the stone steps and sat on the stone bench by her tomb.
Aaron didn’t see him when he first came in. His eyes were on the grave as he came up the steps from the other side, and Kevin watched as he reached out to touch his fingers to the stone. He cleared his throat. Aaron jumped back like he’d been struck.
“I didn’t see you there.”
“Not this time.” Kevin smiled wryly. Aaron folded his arms, angry at being surprised.
“Shouldn’t you be at the party?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
“I asked you first, and it’s your home.”
“My father and Abby are the real centre of attention. I needed a break. So many people wish to dance with me, it can be overwhelming.”
“Oh, yes, I imagine it’s very exhausting being so in demand. A consequence of your beauty, perhaps. I wouldn’t know, what with my sour face.”
“I did not mean-“
“You said it. You must have thought it.”
“It was not a commentary on your appearance, but your attitude. You always look so angry and closed off.”
“Some of us have little to smile about.”
“If you do not wish to marry me, then don’t.”
“You know there are things more important than our personal desires.”
“Yet you sent your brother to meet with me last time. So is he to marry me now? Not that it makes much difference, I suppose, but I’d prefer to know for sure.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Kevin huffed a laugh.
“He may have went by your name, but I know the difference. It was Andrew who rode with me last month. It is Aaron talking to me now.”
“We’re identical.”
“You’re softer.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“In your face. There’s something less hardened.”
“Oh fuck off.”
Kevin frowned. He looked down at the tomb. He knew his mother was dead, that she couldn’t hear Aaron’s words, but this was where he came to talk to her. This was where he came when he needed a break from everything. He didn’t appreciate Aaron speaking to him as such here.
“Sorry,” Aaron said, his voice softer, and Kevin glanced up to find him reading the name on the tomb. “I shouldn’t have said that over your mother’s grave.”
Kevin shrugged, but something relaxed in him.
“It’s okay. She’s been dead a long time. I’m sure she can’t hear.”
“Still.” Aaron came around to Kevin to sit by him on the bench. He left as much room between them as possible, but Kevin hadn’t expected him to sit at all.
“I’m sorry that I insulted you. I didn’t expect to be overheard, but… One should talk as if they are always being listened to.”
Aaron snorted.
“Yeah, no one does that. And you’re not wrong. Neither of us are happy about this. Andrew wanted to point blank refuse you.”
“But not you?”
“I know this is too beneficial to turn down, but it feels like a sacrifice for you. You have much less to gain from this.”
Kevin shrugged. Aaron looked back to the tomb.
“Do you still miss her badly?”
“Not as badly. I think I’m starting to forget her, which saddens me. I’m sure you’ve heard the story. I was very young when the Evermore spy assassinated her.”
“They abducted you, didn’t they?”
“Yes. It was lucky we had such strong relations with the Moreaus. Without their extensive checkpoints, they’d have never caught me in Soleil, and once we crossed the ocean to Evermore it would have been much more difficult to ensure my return. No one could trace it back to the Moriyama royal line, but everyone knows. That’s why they’re never invited to royal events now.”
Aaron huffed, folding his arms and glaring ahead.
“They’re lucky they didn’t start a multi nation war.”
“Yes. Well. I was kept quite closely under wraps for a while following that. I missed her very terribly those first few years. I don’t know that that grief eases with time, but I think you just get used to carrying it with you. I’m glad father remarried. I like Abby very much so, and it felt like before her he had forgotten how to smile. At first it felt like we were replacing her, but I know now that’s not it.
Do you miss your mother?”
“Yes, and no. She was not the leader that yours was, nor the mother, by the sounds of it. She cared little for the happiness of her people, and less for the happiness of her sons. A part of me loved her in spite of everything, but I think a bigger part of me hated her. Guilt is all mixed up with the grief, because it felt like as much a relief when she passed as it did a pain.” Aaron paused, blinking out of his memories, looking surprised. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to speak so openly.”
“No need to apologise.” Kevin reached across and put a hand on Aaron’s arm. Aaron stared at the place his fingers rested for a long moment, until Kevin withdrew his hand with an uncertain frown.
“The stars are plentiful tonight,” Aaron said eventually. “Would you like to go for a walk around the lake?”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “I would like that very much.”
*
That had been over a year ago. There had been plenty of meetings since then, both official public courting, and clandestine moments stolen away from other people’s gazes. A risk of scandal if they had been caught, but all the more exciting because of the risk. Andrew had tried to infiltrate and destroy the bond building between them a few times, but Kevin’s ability to always recognise him gained him grudging respect.
Aaron was well read. He was quick witted; sarcastic and biting, but amusing when he was on your side. He loved the stars, music, horse riding, swimming. Kevin let him explore his library, brought him along to concerts, rode out to meet him for late night picnics lit by the stars, snuck them away to the hidden depths of the forest where they went skinny dipping in a small, clear lake with a crashing waterfall, laughing as they ducked and splashed each other.
By the time the date of the wedding rolled around six months ago, Kevin and Aaron’s adoration was genuine.
He allows his forehead to stay resting against Aaron’s now, and Aaron takes deep, even breaths until Kevin matches them. His hand cups the side of Kevin’s neck, rubbing a soft circle with his thumb.
“It’s a week. There is only so much that can go wrong.”
“And what if it all does? It’s the first royal event I’ve been trusted to organize. If this goes poorly-“
“Are you doubting my skills?”
“Never,” Kevin says, his mouth tilting in a smile. Aaron kisses him again; brief but sweet. “Even when I doubt myself, my belief in you is unwavering.”
“Sap.”
“Only for you.” Kevin lays his hand over Aaron’s on his neck, turning his head to kiss the soft flesh of his wrist.
“Besides. The biggest trouble stirrer on the guest list just so happens to be my brother, and he’s promised to behave, so rest easy, love.”
“We’re not due anywhere for a few hours,” Kevin says, leaning in to trail his nose along Aaron’s cheek, pressing a kiss to the line of his jaw. “You could help settle me.”
“You are insatiable,” Aaron says, but there’s a smile in his voice as Kevin’s hand runs up his leg. He grips the underside of Aaron’s thigh and pulls him across to straddle his lap, tilting his head back to smirk up at him.
“I think you sate me perfectly well.” Kevin’s hands run up along the backs of Aaron’s thighs.
“Here? Really?”
“We’ll just have to be quick, won’t we?” Kevin presses his mouth in a hot line up Aaron’s throat and Aaron softens in his arms.
“You’re a bad influence,” Aaron says, but after a quick glance to the door, he leans in to kiss Kevin heatedly, pushing them both down on the couch.
*
Aaron’s thought that Andrew would be the biggest trouble stirrer would usually be fair enough, but what Aaron doesn’t know is that as he strips away Kevin’s anxiety along with his layers of clothing, Neil Josten is making his way across border lines into the Daylands.
Neil is tired. He’s been moving for days, and the wintry conditions have not made travel easy. There’s been no snow as of yet, but the nights are harsh and frosty, and finding someplace adequately sheltered to rest has been a challenge. His clothing is not nearly thick enough for these conditions. After all, it doesn’t serve a thief well to have heavy layers to hold him down, and a thief Neil is. A mighty good one, at that.
Perhaps it is immoral of Neil to take some pride in his quick fingers, but fate forced his hand. Since his mother’s death, he’s had to fend for himself, and when you’re a foreigner who’s been running almost as long as you can stand, honest work is hard to come by. He’s been settled in Sojourn, a western city of Soleil, for half a year now, and the city has been good to him. He already misses the tavern room that had started to feel like his , but loath as he was to leave, some opportunities are too large to overlook.
Tucked into the inner pocket of Neil’s jacket, well hidden and well cloaked from the elements, is a stolen invitation to the Royal Winter Games brandished with the name Dareau Rousseau.
*
It’s Rousseau’s own fault, really, Neil reasons. His tavern room may have been comfortable and secure enough for him, but the greater establishment was of no great renown. To run your mouth of something so valuable in that kind of place was like slapping a notice on your forehead to thieves, but Rousseau had been so eager to impress the pretty ladies.
Unnecessary, really, they only tittered and fussed over their marks for coin, often complaining about them to Neil when the tavern started to empty out. They liked him. He never took any interest in them that way, and so they spoke freely around him. Neil thinks some of them took pity on him; young man on his own with no family to speak of, and no past that anyone knew. They didn’t pry, but they’d sometimes bring him treats from the market, smooth his hair, Lady Ria had knitted him a pair of thick woollen gloves when the winter had started to creep in.
He’s wearing those gloves now, as he makes his way towards the Daylands’ capital. Monsieur Rousseau is making his way in the opposite direction, loaded into a cargo ship heading east. They won’t risk making their delivery late to return an accidental stowaway, and though they might question how he managed to get on the ship in the first place, Rousseau will have been far too intoxicated to remember. Funny the kind of situations ale-drunk men get themselves into.
Not one of Neil’s more honorable heists, true. He tries to avoid harming anyone, and he doesn’t like to steal from anyone who can’t do without it. Those with deep pockets don’t always notice when you skim the top, but someone with little to begin with misses every coin. He does not fool himself. There is no moral thief. He has done plenty to be ashamed of, but this may have been his most purposeful act of selfish intent, because this is not a case of survival, but desire.
The Royal Games run year about; the Summer Games one year, the Winter Games the next. The five kingdoms of the isle taking turns to host; the Daylands, Soleil, Lilliput, Caltro, and Morski. Evermore, though an island and not connected to the mainland, also used to partake, but due to their royal’s bad relations with other leaders, their invitation was revoked. Though hosted by the royals, invitations go out to anyone of athletic renown. It’s supposed to be an opportunity for everyone, an equal chance for people to be judged by their talent and not their station.
Except you need to come from a certain level of privilege to be recognised. People spending their days trying to scrape by don’t have the means to be playing sports in their spare time, let alone at a level which would gather enough attention for a royal invite. The claim of equal opportunity just one more lie in their unfair hierarchy.
The games change depending on which kingdom is hosting, but the Daylands are always the same, always the game Kayleigh Day herself invented. Exy. A sport Neil has not played on a team in years, and never beyond hitting a ball around the street with other rough and tumble youths, but he has an old stick and ball he kept in his tavern room. He used to do drills by himself. He might not have the best odds, but at least he’ll have the chance to showcase himself.
He doesn’t believe in the best case scenario. Even if he did get offers to sign on as a kingdom player, he won’t be able to accept under his false name. That’s fine. He doubts his playing is strong enough for that, anyway, but if Soleil’s team win, he’ll get a share of the prize fund. The idea of not living pocket to pocket is inviting enough to take the risk.
If he’s honest, just the idea of getting to play on a real court, with other players of renown, is inviting enough to take the risk.
*
“Ah. Here again,” Andrew says.
“It takes more strength than I have to draw him away,” Aaron says, not looking up from the documents he’s glancing over.
“Perhaps it is not strength required,” Nicky says, tone suggestive. Aaron does look up now, him and Andrew sending Nicky identical flat, unimpressed looks. Nicky laughs it off. Andrew looks out towards the court, where Kevin and Jeremy are doing drills together. Royals are generally not permitted to play in competitive games; it’s too high a risk to have your leader on a team, mixing with the lower class athletes. Not to mention a distraction from their duties. The Royal Games are the only chance they get to play publicly. This is a show of sportsmanship and camaraderie for most, but carrying the weight of his mother’s legacy on his back, Kevin Day is competitive through and through.
“How long?”
“An hour, thus far today. Jeremy tries to cover for him, but he’s a poor liar. I have to watch, for they get as carried away as each other, and he’s going to end up damaging himself before the games even begin.”
“How tiresome marriage sounds.”
“Well, it certainly is-“ Nicky starts.
“Stop,” Andrew and Aaron say together.
“How has Erik taken to the game?” Aaron asks after a moment.
“You’re trying to get inside info on our players? For shame,” Andrew says. Aaron flips him off without looking away from Nicky.
“Very well. He’s got strength from the farm, and good reflexes.”
“His dexterity could use work,” Andrew says. Aaron does glance to him now.
“Have you been training?”
Andrew huffs a sharp exhale through his nose that Aaron takes to be amusement.
“I will show up for necessity, but don’t fool yourself into believing I care about this frivolity.”
“I long gave up trying to fool myself you care about anything, Andrew,” Aaron says, folding his documents back into an envelope and standing. He steps down to the barrier of the court, banging his fist a few times against the protective surround to get Kevin and Jeremy’s attention. “Be ready for dinner. Twenty minutes. I mean it, Jeremy, I want him at the table by then.”
Jeremy gives Aaron an exaggerated salute. Kevin starts to say something, but Aaron holds a hand up to silence him.
“Twenty minutes, Kevin.”
Andrew keeps his expression neutral, but watches them with amusement. Aaron is wrong. There are few things he cares about, but his brother is one. He would have burned the world down to resist this union had it turned out any different. While he may not voice it, it’s a comfort to see Aaron happy. Perhaps a little overworked at times like these, but he’s carrying more weight, has a healthier glow to his face, shows no sign that he’s dipped back into the use of powders. Andrew often makes his visits unannounced so if there’s any hidden unhappiness he may stumble across it, but though they may bicker, Aaron and Kevin still click together into a solid unit, their affections subtle in company, but still disgustingly enthralled with each other.
Sometimes Andrew wonders, had he given Kevin the chance initially, if they would have at all resembled that. He doubts it. He can’t imagine himself in any partnership, nevermind one such as theirs. Andrew has been broken down too many times. Crushed under the feet of people who had power over him when he was powerless. He’s been shattered and pulled himself back together; edges jagged glass. Even if someone wanted to hold him, they’d cut their hands to ribbons.
“We’ll be lucky if we see him in a half hour,” Aaron says, climbing the stalls to them again. “But I won’t hold dinner for him if he’s not there.”
*
Andrew leaves the dining room after dessert, shaking his cigarette case at Aaron in explanation. Kevin had indeed been late, and despite his big talk, Aaron had waited for him. They are quite chaste with each other in company, but Andrew doesn’t miss the constant glances, the quiet half smiles, the touches beneath the table, their own silent conversation taking place even while they host the others. He needs a break from their happiness, and from the noise of the room. His family are more bearable than anyone else, but still the desire to be alone rises after a time.
It’s starting to snow as Andrew steps out onto the balcony. First snow of the season, a weak flurry spiraling down. He glances around, makes sure there’s no one to see him, then steps forward, tilts his head up, and sticks his tongue out. There’s little taste to the flakes that land on his tongue, and he’s more aware of the cold pinpricks hitting his cheeks and forehead, but for a second there is a spark of childlike joy.
Andrew quickly steps back against the wall for shelter, huffing a cloud of breath in front of him. A fleeting, foolish impulse. Good no one could see that. He lights up his cigarette and takes a drag, holding the smoke in his lungs until it burns, then exhaling slowly. A better employment of his time.
He’s halfway through his cigarette when he sees a shadow moving at the edge of the palace gardens. At first he thinks it’s an animal, perhaps a rabbit, or a fox, but then he sees it again, and it is too big to be either. Andrew slowly presses his cigarette out against the bannister, something Aaron hates, dropping it off the balcony before he himself swings a leg over.
He stealthily scales his way down to the ground, landing with a quiet rustle in the grass. Andrew draws his cloak tighter around himself so it won’t billow with the wind, and slowly makes his way towards the shape. He sticks close to the hedgerows, obscuring himself. When he gets closer, he slows his movements, trying to disguise his footfall.
He’s quietly easing himself around one of the hedges when someone with a similar idea comes from the other side. They bump into each other, Andrew too stunned by the sudden appearance to shift back. The shape starts, slips on the damp grass, and crashes down with an oomph . Andrew draws one of his hidden blades.
“Who are you?” He crouches, putting the blade below the figure's chin and tipping their head up. Their hood falls back from their face, and in the strange brightness that snowfall gives to night time, Andrew sees the man’s face come into view.
The first thing he notices are his eyes; glacier blue like a frozen lake, a darker ring around the pupil, dilated by the dim light, wide with surprise as they stare back at Andrew, looking even brighter set against the darker tone of his skin. Snowflakes catch on vibrant red curls, left unruly from the hood falling away. There’s a splattering of freckles across his nose, a scar cutting through one eyebrow, and another over the plush bow of his top lip. Andrew’s gaze gets caught on that scar for several seconds longer than he’d like to admit.
“Rousseau,” the man says, his voice lightly coloured with the Soleil accent, and Andrew almost forgets what it’s in answer to. “Dareau Rousseau.”
“What are you doing here?” Andrew tilts his blade further, lets the point of it poke into the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath Rousseau’s chin. Rousseau swallows.
“I’m here for the Winter Games.”
“They do not begin for another two days.”
“Yes. I arrived early, so I just wanted to have a look at the palace. There were no guards stationed, so I thought it was permitted to walk here.”
“You thought you would just skulk around the palace at night and no one would find you suspicious?”
“I have my invitation,” Rousseau says. Andrew presses his blade firmer when he reaches for his pocket.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Rousseau looks up at him, and then one of his eyebrows raises in a wry arch. The corner of his mouth shifts up in a coy smirk.
“Would you like to check it yourself then, sir?”
Andrew blames the flush that goes through him as a reaction to the cold; his skin heating to counteract the winter chill. He huffs, leaning closer. Those blue eyes never leave his, sparkling with amusement as Andrew roughly reaches into his pocket. No weapon, just an envelope. He pulls it out, and the Day seal is on the back of it. It is, as claimed, an invitation to the Games addressed to one Dareau Rousseau.
“Still, you think you would have the sense to realise how badly it reflects on you to be sneaking around the palace after dark, Monsieur Rousseau.” Andrew withdraws his knife.
“And yet, you are doing the same.”
Andrew briefly considers returning his knife to Rousseau’s throat, but continues to tuck it away again. He throws the envelope down on top of the man and rises out of his crouch, standing over him.
“I am King Minyard of Lilliput. I am here by invitation.”
“Apologies, my grace,” Rousseau says. He sounds perfectly polite, but there’s a hint of something in his tone, like Andrew’s title fails to impress him. Rousseau brushes himself off as he gets to his feet, then gives Andrew a small, brief bow. “I didn’t realise I was in the company of royalty.”
“You were just content to trespass on their land.”
“Again, there were no signs I could not be here. Perhaps it is different here to Soleil, but it could be clearer, non?”
“Leave,” Andrew says, because the barely concealed mirth that Rousseau is looking at him with is giving him a strange feeling in his stomach. “And don’t come back until you’re due.”
“Of course. Merci for your mercy, my grace. May I ask one question before we part?”
“I doubt I could stop you.”
Rousseau laughs. It’s a pleasant sound. A little sharp at the edges, like perhaps it is a rarity, and brief, catching himself and closing it down after a moment.
“What position do you play?”
“Goalie,” Andrew says with a frown. It is not the question he expected. Then, he does not know what he expected from this strange man.
“Goalie. Perfect. I’m a striker.” Rousseau’s smile looks more like a vicious baring of teeth. “Perhaps we shall meet again on the court then.”
Andrew folds his arms and glares at him, lacking any retort that would have a satisfying wit or sharpness. Rousseau watches him for a moment with those pretty eyes, unaffected by the anger of his stance.
“Au revoir,” he says eventually, leaving a cloud of breath on the air as he turns and strides away into the night.
*
Neil affects a casual stride until he’s safely outside palace grounds. Only then does he press a hand to his rapidly beating heart, panic spiking through him. It was a risk to scope out the grounds, and already he’s almost got himself in trouble. He’s sure King Minyard will report to Prince Day and they’ll be keeping an eye on him in the games. He’ll just have to lay low until then. He can’t afford the suspicion, lest someone realise he’s not who he claims.
Neil jogs back to town. He’s taken a room in a tavern so he can adequately rest a few nights before the games, and he’s glad of it now, as the snow comes heavier. By the time he reaches town, there’s a layer of it coating the ground. He gets the fire going in his room and stays close until the chill is warmed from his fingers, then he takes out his exy stick and ball, and starts doing keep ups.
He can use all the practice he can get.
*
Jean arrives a day before any of the other guests. As a close companion of Kevin’s, he’s come a day early to help with the opening ceremony preparations. Aaron can see Kevin’s anxiety falling away the moment it’s announced that Prince Moreau is approaching. He’s the official royal presence for Soleil this year, standing in on behalf of his father, whose health is failing.
“Jean!” Royal courtesy is forgotten when the doors open to reveal Jean, Kevin taking off in long strides to meet him, Jean clasping him close in a hug. Jeremy comes to Aaron’s side, smiling as he watches them.
“It is good to have Prince Moreau back in the castle. Kevin is always so much brighter in his presence.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Oh. My apologies. Have I spoken out of turn?” Jeremy looks at him, eyes creased in concern. “I did not mean to suggest he does not flourish in your company.”
“It’s okay, Jeremy. I can see for myself.”
“You don’t envy them, do you?”
“Not truly. I like Jean. He sent us half a library as a wedding gift.”
“He is very generous,” Jeremy says, a dreamy note to his voice. This time Aaron looks at him, brows raised.
“You speak most favourably of him.”
“I- Well- Yes. Of course. I have no ill word for him. He’s patient, compassionate, kind. He has helped Kevin through so much, and he never gets offended with my presence, or when I do not speak formally, and-“
“And he’s very handsome.”
“Yes, definitely, incredibly handsome, and- Wait.”
Aaron smiles; a small, wry curl at the corner of his mouth.
“Very fond of him indeed, hm?” He feels a little cruel for how Jeremy flusters at his words, but not enough to taint his enjoyment. Jeremy eventually shrugs, sheepish but good natured, rubbing the back of his neck.
“We cannot choose where our affections lie, it seems,” he admits. Aaron looks from Jeremy, back to Kevin, grinning brightly as he looks up at Jean. Aaron puts a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and squeezes lightly.
“No,” he says. “No, we cannot.”
*
Kevin grips his racquet tighter, his grin hungry as he meets Jean’s gaze. Jean smirks back at him lazily, twirling his own racquet between his fingers. Kevin flicks his racquet and shoots, going low. Jean was expecting high. He can’t get his net around in time. It’s Aaron who stops the ball. Kevin realises he was so distracted by Jean he didn’t notice Aaron shifting positions. He frowns.
“Good save, Aaron!” Jeremy is at Kevin’s side; strikers against backliners. Aaron brings his racquet up and sends the ball sailing down the court. Jeremy takes off after it.
“Eyes on the prize, Kevin,” Aaron says. Kevin’s disappointed in himself for making such a stupid mistake. The next time Jeremy sends the ball his way, he sends it hard, calculating the space between both Aaron and Jean’s reach. Aaron stretches out his racquet, but the ball is too close. It clips where his hand is clutching his stick. The ball continues towards the goal as Aaron drops his stick, drawing his hand to his chest with a hiss.
“Are you okay?” Jean is closest, so he reaches Aaron first, voice low and warm as he touches Aaron’s elbow. Aaron nods through a grimace.
“Just clipped me. Hurts, but it should be okay.”
“That was too close for you to block. You shouldn’t have tried,” Kevin says. Aaron glares at him from beneath his helmet.
“Kevin,” Jeremy says softly.
“I’m done for tonight,” Aaron says. “Jeremy, can you bring my stick in?”
“Of course!”
“Perhaps we should all retire for the evening,” Jean says.
“What? But we haven’t even been playing that long!”
“Kevin,” Jeremy says again. Kevin looks at him, expression stormy.
“What?”
Jeremy inclines his head towards the shape of Aaron, figure getting smaller as he leaves the court, before he’s swallowed by the shadows of the tunnel. Kevin sighs.
“I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Jean says frankly. Kevin glares at him, but he’s already taking his gloves off. He removes his helmet and puts them inside.
“Will you-?”
“Of course,” Jeremy says, taking them from him. “Go.”
Kevin leaves Jeremy and Jean on the court, jogging after Aaron. Aaron is in the waiting room beyond the tunnel, sitting on the couch. He’s taken his glove off and is examining the angry red around the knuckles of his right hand.
“Hi,” Kevin says quietly, not wanting to startle him. Aaron glances up briefly but says nothing. Kevin kneels in front of him. “May I?”
Aaron shrugs, but doesn’t pull away when Kevin takes his hand. Kevin examines it for a moment, before pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.
“I am sorry, Aaron. I didn’t intend to hurt you.”
“You never intend to, Kevin.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know this game is important to you. I know you hate that you cannot play competitively outside of royal events. I know, but you have put so much focus into training, you neglect your other duties. I have seen so little of you the past month. You stress about organisation of your first big event, yet you’ve left most of the details to me. I want you to be happy, but I am tired, Kevin. I am trying to do best by a kingdom that I am new to, and it should be your responsibility. I don’t protest, because it pains me to see you unhappy, but you appear to care little for my happiness.”
“Aaron.” Kevin feels devastated. He knows he gets distracted, that he gets hyper-focused in on things. He’s never had anyone that it would impact before. He fails to consider how it might affect Aaron. “You can’t truly believe that.”
“It’s not about what I believe. Your behaviour reflects that. Did you even choose to follow me, or did Jeremy tell you to come?”
Kevin tries and fails not to look guilty. Aaron sighs and draws his hand back.
“It breaks my heart to think of you unhappy here,” Kevin says, emotion bleeding into his tone. Aaron rubs his uninjured hand over his face.
“Finish your game. I’m going back to the house.”
“Aaron.”
“We’ll speak later.”
*
“You don’t have to help,” Jeremy says. “I can take your things for you, if you want to go on ahead.”
“Even if I didn’t want to avoid watching Kevin’s fumbling attempt at apologising, I wouldn’t leave you to carry four people’s gear alone.” Jean takes one of the helmets from Jeremy. Their fingers graze together. Jeremy marvels at how pale Jean’s skin is against his, before Jean is taking the helmet, hooking his fingers loosely through the grid to hold it.
“He doesn’t mean it.”
“I know. Kevin has no cruel intentions, he just does not always consider how other people’s passions do not align with his own. This is why you are so well suited.”
“Me?! Kevin and I are not- Have never-“ Jeremy almost drops the sticks he’s holding, terrified that he has somehow betrayed the old spark between him and Kevin. It was just a teenage crush, and it’s been dormant for years, but the certainty in Jean’s low, deep voice makes him feel like he must know that they had shared clandestine kisses before, both curious, and Kevin, as a prince, unable to experiment with anyone else. His panic is a blend of not wanting Kevin to get in trouble for inappropriate conduct with a servant, but also in Jean thinking his affections lie with Kevin. Not that he can act on anything with Jean, but still . And that’s even before the implication that Jeremy would ever betray Aaron’s trust like that comes into play. Actually, he’s a bit indignant Jean would even suggest such, now that he thinks about it. “And I would never betray Aaron like that!”
“I was not implying you would,” Jean says, eyes crinkled with amusement, smile soft. “I didn’t mean in a romantic sense. Just that you are both so in love with this game. You encourage each other.”
“Oh.” Jeremy's cheeks are warm. He feels foolish. “Are you saying I am to blame?”
“No, not at all. It is not your job to control Kevin, not that you could. I just mean it has never been an issue with you, for you share the passion. Aaron does not, nor have I ever, and sometimes Kevin can make you feel very secondary to exy. I mean, if I did not know Kevin so well, I would not have anticipated ending up on the court a day before the Games, but I do know Kevin. I came to help settle him, and he is more settled here than anywhere else.”
“Yes.” Jeremy smiles. He has passed many a night down here with Kevin, both of them sneaking out of the palace after dark. “It was nice of you to come down early. You’re a good friend.”
“Kevin is important to me. I am only sorry I cannot see him more often. Glad he has friends like you at his side, though, and he has chosen a good partner.”
“Oh, yeah, things have been way better since Aaron came around. He still has bad spells, but he’s managing them much better. Before, an event like this would have spiralled into several panic attacks daily. We’ve only had three bad ones in the past week!”
“That’s good, but, ah! I have just had you standing here talking. Your arms will be tiring holding all this. Come, we shall put it away and then see where our hosts have gotten to.” Jean touches Jeremy’s elbow. It is just a brief press of fingertips, but Jeremy feels like his touch is burning right through to the bone.
“Right,” he says, admiring the way the muscles in Jean’s arms and shoulders tense and flex as he lifts up the rest of the gear. “Lead the way, your grace.”
“Please. Jean is perfectly fine while we are alone, Jeremy.”
“Oh. Of course. Jean.” Jeremy beams, shifting the sticks in his arms. Jean gives him a warm smile and steps ahead. Jeremy follows, trying to ignore the giddy rush in his stomach.
*
Dinner is a tense affair. Jean ends up speaking more to Wymack and Abby than Kevin, who is in a sullen, withdrawn mood. He keeps looking towards Aaron, who is steadfastly ignoring him.
“All ready for tomorrow?” Wymack asks. Jeremy clears his throat by Kevin’s side to get his attention. Kevin glances up from staring at Aaron’s right hand.
“What?”
“Tomorrow. Are you ready?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“All the preparations are in place,” Aaron says.
“And you’re feeling okay about your speech?”
“Sure,” Kevin says. Recognising he’s distracted, Wymack lets the topic go.
It’s Jean who catches Kevin in the corridor afterwards.
“Ah, I can give you privacy,” Jeremy says, but Jean shakes his head.
“This is nothing secretive, Jeremy.”
“What?” Kevin’s tone is sullen. He frowns at Jean’s hand on his arm.
“Make peace with your husband, Kevin. You’re relying on him to carry you through this. It will be easier without the silent treatment.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“I know, but it’s more than his hand, isn’t it? You have a history of getting preoccupied.”
Kevin sighs heavily. His forehead tips forward to rest against Jean’s shoulder.
“I am making a mess of this, like I do of so much.”
“Hush. Rather than extending energy on self pity, why don’t you go speak to Aaron?”
Kevin mumbles something. Jean gives him a light poke in the side.
“You can’t avoid him all night.”
Kevin sighs, but nods against Jean. Jean embraces him once more, then pushes him away.
“Go.”
Kevin gives him a rude gesture. Jean laughs it off.
“Good night, Kevin.”
“Whatever. Jeremy, you can help Jean tonight, I think it’s best if we have the room to ourselves.”
“Oh, uh, of course,” Jeremy says.
“Don’t worry,” Jean says, once Kevin is gone and they’ve started to walk towards his guest room. “I’m capable of undressing myself, I won’t need assistance with that.”
A shame , Jeremy thinks.
“But I wouldn’t mind the company for a while, if you’re not ready to retire yet.”
“Oh, no! I'm not tired at all.”
“Excellent.” Jean gives him a warm, slow smile. “Perhaps you could bring us some things for tea and we could have a cup together?”
“Of course, your highness. Jean. Sorry. Right away. I’ll be back in haste.”
“No rush,” Jean says, but Jeremy is already speed walking off to fulfil his request.
*
Aaron is fumbling with the buttons on his waistcoat when Kevin comes into the room. His ears flush at Kevin catching him in a moment of weakness, and he tugs at them more insistently.
“Allow me,” Kevin says softly. Aaron glares at him. “Please.”
Kevin works his buttons open with precise, nimble fingers.
“Where is Jeremy?”
“I let him go for the night. No one will be interrupting us.”
“There is nothing to interrupt.”
“Aaron, my prince, please. Tell me what I can do to please you.”
“It’s not about-“ Aaron’s flush depeens, streaking down his cheeks to his neck. Kevin is close to him, his voice low, gaze boring into him. Old instincts want Aaron to just give up the tension in his body and melt into that hold. “I don’t want you to just do what you think will make me happy now. That doesn’t address the issue.”
“I’m sorry if it feels like I’ve taken you for granted. I appreciate you every day. Perhaps I don’t voice it enough. I’ve been stressed, and panicking, and I trust you so wholly to hold me up when I am crumbling, I forget to check in on how you are doing. You are always so strong and reliable, I forget you are only human, too.”
“You try and flatter me.”
“I am speaking my truth. If it flatters you, that is merely an unintentional bonus.”
“You’re an idiot,” Aaron says, but he softens. Kevin is earnest, honest. His clumsy affection is not some guise to sway Aaron from his irritation, and Aaron has never been good at staying angry at him, not since that night by his mother’s grave.
“But I’m your idiot,” Kevin says, a hopeful note to his voice that catches his words halfway between statement and question.
“You are,” Aaron agrees, and Kevin leans down to kiss him firmly, those nimble fingers working the ties of Aaron’s shirt open as well.
“Does it hurt terribly?”
“It aches, but Abby says the swelling will not last. I’m to ice it, and hope we are not drawn for the opening match. I should still be able to grip a racquet, but I’d prefer the extra day’s rest.”
Kevin takes Aaron’s hand. He ghosts his lips along the swollen knuckles, then presses firm kisses to the rest of them. He turns Aaron’s palm to face him and kisses the centre of it. Aaron strokes his cheek, smiling at him, soft with affection. Kevin smiles back, then leans in to press a kiss over Aaron’s heart.
“Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” he murmurs, mouth moving along Aaron’s shoulder and neck, fingers working open the ties on his trousers.
“How do you intend to do that?” Aaron asks, his breathing coming heavier.
“Hm,” Kevin says, sinking to his knees, trailing his fingers down over Aaron’s chest and stomach. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
*
“Come in,” Jean calls, when Jeremy knocks his door with the side of his head.
“Uh, I can’t.” Jeremy’s arms are currently laden with a tea tray. He thought it would be quicker to carry it than get a trolley to push it on. The door opens a few moments later, and Jeremy nearly drops the tray. Jean stands shirtless in the doorway. Jeremy stares, then realises he’s staring and tries to look anywhere else. “Ah. Tea delivery!”
“Perfect. You can just set it on the table, Jeremy. Thank you.”
“Of course! What I’m here for.”
“I doubt you’re here to fetch me tea.”
“Well, Kevin told me to help you, so.”
“And you’re incredibly helpful. Do you know how to play chess?”
“Yes. Kevin taught me, but I’m not very good at it.”
“Indulge me a game anyway? I struggle to settle my thoughts before bed. Having something engaging helps.”
“Sure,” Jeremy says, serving them tea as Jean preps the chessboard. “Is there anything particular on your mind?”
“My father.”
“How is he?”
“Not well, Jeremy, and his condition has not improved since the last full moon. I think he might be on his way out.”
“Oh, Jean. I’m sorry.”
“It’s the destination we’re all heading to, he’s just getting there a little earlier than we would have hoped. My mother is not coping. I don’t think she’ll be able to handle the crown when he goes, so the duty will fall to me. Again, something I have always known was expected, but a much closer deadline than I had anticipated.”
“I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” Jeremy puts his hand on Jean’s forearm. His skin is a lot cooler than Jeremy’s palm, his arm hair soft beneath Jeremy’s fingers. Jean manages a tight smile.
“It is not an easy task, balancing grief with the grace of stepping into responsibility. I am not looking forward to it.”
“I am truly sorry about your father, Jean.”
Jean sniffs. He nods. He looks down at the tea on the table. Jeremy steps around to his side and loops his arms around Jean’s shoulders. Jean blinks up at him.
“My apologies, have I crossed a line? I only thought-“
“No.” Jean stops Jeremy as he starts to pull away. “I- No.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but Jeremy understands. He’s been around Kevin enough to know when someone is struggling to communicate feelings in words. He hugs Jean again, holding his head to his chest, smoothing his fingers through Jean’s hair. After a moment, Jean’s arms come up to link around Jeremy’s waist, holding him back.
*
Jeremy smells fresh and salty. It’s probably partially sweat, but there’s something clean and crisp about him, like the ocean. Jean breathes him in, the scent almost as soothing as the slow drag of Jeremy’s fingers through his hair. Forget chess, he could spend all evening like this, soft in Jeremy’s embrace, but eventually Jeremy moves away.
“Perhaps you should wear something warmer.”
“Is that your polite way of telling me to cover up?”
“Not at all. Though I’ve already told you I’m bad at chess, I’ll be worse with you distracting me.”
“You find my undress distracting?”
“Well, yes, you’re very handsome,” Jeremy says, then flusters and tries to backtrack. “I mean- Well, I did mean that, you are handsome, but I was not suggesting- I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”
“Settle, Jeremy. I am not uncomfortable. Though I shall don a robe, since I want our match to be as fair as possible.” Jean’s mouth tilts in a teasingly sharp smile. He shouldn’t, but he enjoys that he can cause Jeremy, always so easy going and relaxed, to falter and flush. It’s adorable.
He has always found Kevin’s sunshine shadow endearing, but had thought for years that Kevin’s sentiments might lay there. Now that Kevin is taken, it feels even more risky, being around Jeremy alone. Feels like the air between them is charged. If Jean were more sensible, perhaps he wouldn’t invite him alone to his room, but he doesn’t feel like being sensible. He is having so much responsibility pushed on him so quickly as of late, with neither time to process his own emotions, nor time to grieve. So he wishes to pass an evening with a cute man in his room. Who can begrudge him that?
Probably a list of people, his stubborn and conservative father heading the list, but he’s choosing not to think of them.
Jeremy is as bad at chess as he claims, but his conversation flows as warm and easy as the tea. Jean finds himself laughing effortlessly several times, something that has become a foreign feeling as of late. He wins two games, and during the third begins to yawn.
“You’re tired,” Jeremy says, his brow softening in concern.
“I’m alright for another while.”
“The hour must be getting late, and no doubt Kevin will be demanding your presence from dawn tomorrow.”
“Both our presences,” Jean says. “We haven’t finished our game.”
“We both know you’re going to beat me again.”
“Best of three. Do I get a prize?”
“I don’t know that there’s anything I could give you, Jean.”
“I think there is so much you could give me, Jeremy. It’s just nothing I would ask for. Nothing that should ever be demanded.”
“…What?”
“Nothing. I speak tired nonsense. Don’t let it trouble you.”
“Uh, okay. Well. I should probably get this tray down to the kitchens.”
“Thank you for your company, Jeremy. It was more prize than anything I could ask for.”
“Of course.” Jeremy's smile softens. His eyes crinkling at the edges, two deep blue pools, and maybe if he were not a prince, he would reach out and brush some of the curls from Jeremy’s forehead. Would let his fingers trail along his cheeks. Maybe he would dare ask Jeremy as a kiss for his prize, if he were willing to give it. Maybe if they were just two men, things would be different, but Jean has the weight of the crown bearing down on him, his father’s harsh expectation, and there is no space for casual dalliance. “Good night, Jean. I hope you sleep easy.”
“You too, Jeremy. Good night.”
*
Neil surveys himself in the mirror once more. It does not matter how many times he smooths out his cloak, he cannot make it resemble a nobleman’s any more. It’s not a poor cloak; but it’s been several seasons since he stole it from a lord, and age is starting to show on it. He hopes it’s only obvious to him because he’s giving it such scrutiny.
No turning back now , Neill thinks, steeling himself. He takes his leave of the tavern and makes his way to the palace. It is much livelier now, lightened by the day and surrounded by the influx of arriving guests. A guard takes Neil’s bag - with some reluctance, he allows them - and ushers him on towards a large ballroom. People cluster in groups, drinking champagne and grazing from the tables of food laid out, talking among themselves. Neil circles his way around the room, catching snippets of conversation on where people are from, their positions, their journeys here.
“Hi there,” a woman says, stepping into Neil’s path. “You look like a bit of a straggler.”
“Ah,” Neil says, not wanting to give too much away.
“Did you come alone?”
“Oui.”
“Ah, from Soleil. Allison is from there.” The woman gestures to a tall woman in an impressively tight corset, her breasts displayed spectacularly in a way the ladies at Neil’s previous tavern would have envied.
“Which part are you from?”
“Sojourn,” Neil says.
“Ah. I'm from the far side.”
“Where are you from?” Neil asks, glancing back at the initial woman.
“We’re both from here,” she says. “I’m Danielle Wilds, and this is Matthew Boyd, though Dan and Matt are fine. We’re actually on the royal guard usually, but Prince Kevin has granted us the week off to play.”
“My wife undersells herself. She is the captain of the royal guard,” Matt says, squeezing Dan’s shoulders. “Youngest in the history of the Daylands.”
Neil does his best to school his expression. He’s running risk enough without getting entangled with the royal guard, but on the other hand, if he wins their favour they may be less likely to regard him with scrutiny.
“That’s impressive,” he says evenly.
“Pray, we didn’t catch your name,” Dan says.
“Dareau Rousseau.”
“Reynolds,” Allison adds in a bored tone, downing the rest of her champagne. “I do wish the royals would hurry up and make their appearance. It’s the only interesting part of this ceremony.”
“I don’t know, I like meeting the people,” Matt says.
“But have you heard, Queen Alvarez has officially married her secret sweetheart? Not even a member of nobility, at that.”
“Good for her,” Dan says. “They’re under enough stress running the kingdoms, I say they should be free to marry who they like.”
“Didn't your prince form an arranged union?” Allison raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Dan folds her arms across her chest defensively.
“ My prince is perfectly happy with his husband. He’s been quite content since their union, and I’ve no doubt if they were truly unhappy they would not have gone through with it, as they shouldn’t.”
“Speaking of which,” Matt looks towards the balcony as the room starts to quiet.
“Finally,” Allison mutters.
Neil follows their gaze, watching as Prince Kevin steps into view. A familiar figure steps out alongside him, and for a moment Neil feels something confusing and uncomfortable.
“Is that King Minyard?” he whispers to Matt.
“Not anymore. He was one of them, but he’s taken Kevin’s name with his shift in kingdom.”
“One of them?”
“The Minyard are twins. Did you not know?”
“I don’t pay much attention to royal affairs,” Neil admits.
“Shh,” Allison hushes them.
“Hello, everyone,” Kevin says, his voice is low and steady, with a pleasant lilting, lyrical quality to his accent. “Thank you for joining us for another year of Royal Games, and congratulations to each and all of you. The fact you are in this room means you have displayed impressive enough athleticism for the renown to reach your leaders. Regardless of how the games play out, that alone is worthy of acknowledgement. Give yourselves a round of applause.”
There is a splattering of applause across the room. Neil joins in unenthusiastically just so he doesn’t stick out. Kevin continues to give a rousing speech about the joy of friendly competition and trying their best and while the teams may be against each other, events like this unite them. Neil’s only half listening, glancing around at the other faces in the room, wondering who else will be on the Soleil team.
“That’s enough from me. I’m sure you’d rather get to our opening party than listen to me prattle on. Though some of us won’t be partying too hard; we’ll have the draw tonight for which teams will be playing our initial match.”
“Before that,” Prince Kevin’s husband steps forward. “I’m Prince Aaron, Kevin’s husband. Together, along with King David and Queen consort Abby, we would like to extend a warm welcome to the visiting royals of the other kingdoms. Starting with my brother, King Minyard of Lilliput.”
Neil knows the moment he steps through the door that it was this Minyard that met him in the gardens. His expression is guarded, bored. He pays little mind to the applause that he receives, strolling in along the red carpet and making his way up one of the staircases. He sighs heavily before allowing both Aaron and Kevin to shake his hand. Aaron whispers something to him. The king rolls his eyes.
“Next,” Kevin steps in, drawing attention from the twins. “A close friend of mine stepping in for his father this year, Prince Moreau.”
Neil makes a show of clapping along, as he feels it’s expected of someone representing Soleil. Prince Moreau makes his entrance with much more grace, smiling warmly as he steps in, bowing his head in recognition to the people who call out to him. He takes the other staircase up to the balcony, coming to stand at Kevin’s side. Kevin takes his hand and clapses his arm. Prince Moreau holds his gaze as he shakes, expression terribly fond. He gives Aaron a briefer but no less friendly shake, then falls to standing at Kevin’s side.
“And all the way from Caltro, Queen Alvarez, and her new wife, Princess Alvarez-nee-Dermott,” Aaron says. “Our congratulations. We hope married life is treating you as well as it is treating us.”
Everyone else looks towards the door, but Neil’s eyes are on the balcony. He’s watching King Minyard, mostly, but because he’s looking up, he sees the slight grimace in Kevin’s expression at those words. Aaron keeps his gaze ahead.
“Oh, her wife is so cute,” Dan says. Neil finally looks towards the newcomers.
Queen Alvarez is tall, graceful, and strikingly beautiful. Her hair is thick and dark, and falls in waves down her back. She’s wearing gold jewellery, including a gold chain headpiece, that contrasts perfectly against her dark skin. Her eyes are also dark, but practically glow when they catch the candlelight.
In contrast, her wife is a tiny, pixieish thing. She can’t be far off Neil’s height, and her short hair has been coloured a brilliant pink. She’s wearing pastels as opposed to the queen’s strong, bold colours, and basically floats along beside her steady, purposeful strides. They are not people Neil would have envisioned as a couple, but the way they share space seems effortless. They walk in sync despite their different strides. Alvarez pauses to offer her wife a hand on the stairs, and she beams back at her before they ascend together. Kevin greets Alvarez, while Laila enthusiastically shakes Aaron’s hand. They swap, before the pair of them come to stand near King Minyard, who gives them a bored side glance.
“And finally, representing Morski, appointed heir of the late King Wesninski; Queen Malcolm.”
A sharp, pale woman makes her entrance, but Neil is scarcely paying attention. Something in his brain is ringing at Wesninski , like the name is familiar but he can’t place it. He strains his mind until he’s got a tension headache building, but can’t find any connections in his memory. Maybe he’s just overheard the name of the late king somewhere before. Morski is where they were from originally, after all, according to his mother; though he was too young to remember much when they left.
Queen Malcolm has already joined the rank of royals on the balcony by the time Neil comes back from the distraction of his thoughts, and Kevin is talking again.
“We’ll draw the first two teams to play shortly, but for now, meet your teammates and competitors and enjoy yourselves.”
A cheer goes up. Neil shifts, uncomfortable with the noise level, with the sheer amount of people in this room. He wants to leave, but as a competitor, it’s expected he be seen at these events. Unnecessary spectacle. He’d rather just show up for the games.
He looks up towards the balcony again, just a brief glance. Nosiness more than curiosity or admiration. He doesn’t expect to find King Minyard gazing back at him. He’s come to stand close to the edge, leaning on the marble railing, and is staring right at Neil. Neil swallows, wondering if he’s realised already that Neil’s not who he says he is, if he’s going to rat him out. Neil tilts his head, challenge in his gaze. The king just smirks, raising a hand to his temple and giving Neil a two fingered salute.
*
Neil eventually manages to dodge his new friends who have taken a shine to him, Matt especially. He excuses himself to the bathroom, but then slips out a side door instead and makes his way down to the gardens. He sighs out a breath of relief and it fogs on the air. He starts to move, but has only gotten a few steps when a snowball splats against the back of his head.
Neil turns sharply. It’s just a snowball, but all his nerves are immediately on edge, defensive against an attack. King Minyard stands several paces behind him, smirking as he scrunches another snowball in his hands. He tosses it from his right hand, to his left, then back again.
“It’s just a snowball, Rousseau. Why so skittish?”
“I did not expect to be accosted-“
The king sends the other snowball towards him while he’s talking, but Neil is quick enough to bat this one down to the ground.
“Not bad,” the king says. His expression is serious, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“I would pelt you back, but I think it’s illegal to attack a king.”
“Aw, are you scared, rabbit?”
“Rabbit?” Neil raises a brow.
“I keep finding you scampering around these gardens in the dark.”
“It is not my fault the sun fades early on these winter eves.”
The king crouches to gather more snow. Neil glances to the side, then makes a run for the hedgerows, hiding himself among them.
“See? You flee like prey, rabbit.”
“I am not frightened of you, pocket sized king.”
“As if you are so towering.”
“Taller than you.”
“Barely.”
Neil can hear the voice on the other side of the hedge, so he reaches up and presses his hands into the branches, shaking it towards the king so the snow piled on top falls off on his side. From the quiet cursing that follows, he guesses he hit his mark.
“You’re going to regret that.”
“Only if you can catch me. Rabbits are quick.”
“But I know this maze by heart,” he says, and Neil realises what he thought to be rows of hedges are actually a hedge maze. He bites his lip as he comes to a dead end, then backtracks quickly to take another route. His face and fingertips burn from the cold, but the movement keeps him warm. He’s grinning broadly as he races his way through the hedges, feeling young again, feeling like he’s playing a game of chase.
Neil hits another dead end. He starts to backtrack, when King Minyard comes around the corner. He’s got an armful of snowballs held against his chest with his left arm. He lifts one with his right hand.
“Uh oh. Looks like I’ve got you cornered,” he says, faux sympathy. “Told you I’d get you.”
Neil takes a step backwards, but the hedge is at his back, small branches poking into him. The king tilts his head, a slow smirk brightening his face for just a moment, before the neutral expression returns and he starts to pelt Neil with snowballs.
Neil bats the first one and it bursts into a spray of snow. He manages to dodge the second one, but the king sends the third fast and it hits him in the shoulder. The fourth one he catches, and only hesitates for a moment before throwing it back at the king. The king lifts his arm to block it, snow spraying over the front of his formal clothes.
“Oh,” he says, lowering his arm, a glint to his eye. He starts throwing the snowballs harder and faster, until Neil is forced to just duck, shield his face with his arms, and wait for him to run out. “You can stop cowering now. We’re done.”
The king is breathing slightly harder from the exertion. Neil’s breathing has picked up a bit too, from running. He stands slowly and dusts himself off, and between them they cause a cloud from their warm exhales against the frigid air. Neil meets the king’s gaze; flat and steady, pupils blown wide in the dim lighting. The king stares back. Neil huffs a laugh. The king’s mouth twitches. Then Neil is laughing at the ridiculousness of it. The king touches his knuckles briefly to his mouth, like he’s trying to hide his amusement.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay at the ceremony, your highness?”
“I was investigating a suspicious figure.”
“Surely that’s the guard’s job.”
“I’m a hands-on ruler.”
“So I see.” Neil looks at the snow still encrusted on the sleeves of the king’s jacket. He follows Neil’s gaze, lazily brushing it off.
“What’s the verdict on that suspicious figure?”
“I still haven’t made my mind up,” the king says, then turns and starts to walk away. Neil jogs after him, not wanting to get stranded in the maze.
The king does not expend any further energy on conversation as they make their way back to the palace, but the silence between them is not an uncomfortable one. The lanterns on the building have been lit now, and it shimmers and shines through the evening dim. The warm glow is misleading; like a moth draws close to the light of a flame, Neil knows every moment spent here he is at risk of getting burned. He just hopes the risk is worth it.
*
Aaron is standing outside the main ballroom. He spots Andrew and folds his arms, but grows impatient as Andrew continues his slow saunter and comes to meet him halfway down the hall.
“Where have you been?” Aaron hisses.
“Out,” Andrew says, taking in the signs of tension in his brother’s body. His mouth is pinched tight, shoulders tensed, eyebrows slanted in displeasure. His fingers are scabbed around the nails. He’s been picking them raw again.
“Clearly. We’ve been waiting for you. We had to postpone the draw. Renee didn’t know your whereabouts.”
“Considering Renee is here as a player and not my guard, my whereabouts are none of her concern.”
“Your whereabouts are always a concern, to most of us,” Aaron says dryly. Then his eyes flick to Rousseau, and his frown deepens. “And who is this?”
Andrew also turns his gaze to Rousseau, leaving him to introduce himself.
“Monsieur Dareau Rousseau, your highness.” Rousseau tips his head in a brief bow. Aaron looks unimpressed. His attention returns to Andrew.
“Why were you sneaking off with a Solesian?”
“Making sure he wasn’t poking around the palace.”
“I only went out for some air,” Rousseau says, a note of offence to his tone. His eyes narrow, the blue bright and vibrant when he glares across at Andrew.
Aaron shakes his head. Andrew presses his lips into a thin line to disguise how much he is enjoying this exchange.
“Come. We’re late enough as is.”
“Surely you could draw without me?”
“You know a representative of every kingdom must be present for fairness, Andrew.”
Andrew catches the way Rousseau’s head tilts, like a dog catching hint of a distant sound. He’s looking at Andrew again, or perhaps he never stopped, perhaps his glare just softened back into that intent stare. The stuffy collar of Andrew’s jacket suddenly feels too hot; tight, the back of his neck prickling, pressure on his throat too much.
“Very well,” he says, inclining his head down the hall. “Lead the way.”
Aaron huffs, but does so.
*
Andrew. Finally a name beyond King Minyard . Neil has to press his tongue to the back of his teeth to keep the name from spilling over as he watches the twin royals walk ahead to the ballroom.
“Until we meet on the court, King Minyard,” he says instead. Andrew glances over his shoulder. His expression is unchanged, but his eyes sparkle with unspoken amusement. He lifts two fingers to his temple and gives Neil a salute before he and Aaron pass through the doors of the ballroom and are swallowed into the crowd.
*
It was easier, when Evermore was still involved with the Games. Six teams was a much handier number to split for a tournament than five. Due to the uneven number, there’s an initial knock out match between two of the kingdoms, drawn from a chalice for fairness. The winning team moves forward and the four remaining kingdoms are split into two matches, with their winners competing in the final match.
While it is a shame to be eliminated from the Games so early, the first team to lose gets to enjoy the rest of the week without the stress of competition; free to party and feast to their contentment.
They’re drawing the names now. Kevin and Aaron, as the hosts, pick the first two teams. Kevin’s got his charming public smile in place by the time Aaron gets back to his side, but Aaron can see the strain at the corner of his eyes, fatigue and anxiety setting in. He gives Kevin’s hand a brief squeeze and Kevin leans momentarily against his side, like he wants to let his whole body sag into Aaron, let Aaron hold him, but he cannot, and a second later he stands tall again.
“And the first team playing in our opening match,” Kevin says, when they’ve gathered for the draw and the crowd’s attention is once again focused on them. “Is Soleil.”
Jean sends him a wry look. Aaron can basically hear the unspoken conversation between him and Kevin.
Ah, you draw us on purpose to tire me out, make it easier on yourself.
As if I could not beat you one handed, Jean.
Kevin’s mouth twitches, a flash of his true smile coming through before the practised one falls back in place.
“Let’s see who they’ll be playing against,” Kevin says, and steps back to allow Aaron to reach in and draw the second name.
“Morski,” Aaron announces, reading the name from the slip. Murmurs from the crowd, growing louder as they start discussing the teams. Kevin thanks them and allows them back to their feast, while Jean crosses to Queen Malcolm.
Jean is smiling, but it’s not the smile he gives to Kevin, to Aaron. Nathan Wesninski played with a viciousness in previous Games, and Lola Malcolm has been his right hand for years. Jean is probably expecting the same kind of violence from her, and while other kingdom games might offer shelter from it, the exy court does not.
“I am sorry to hear of your king’s passing,” Jean says, and manages to sound genuine even though Aaron doubts it is true. No one was fond of King Wesninski. “I am sure you will do his memory proud. I look forward to our match.”
He offers her a hand. She looks at it for a long moment, before extending her own. Lola shakes Jean’s hand as if it is something unpleasant she does not want to touch. Stiff, fleeting, her arm tilted up and away from him.
“We shall see,” she says, her accent thick and cold, and then she turns away. “I will retire now. Rest for training tomorrow.”
“She’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t she,” Alvarez says once she’s gone. Aaron looks at her sharply. She grins, sharp and unashamed. “What? She is.”
“We are being diplomatic,” Jean says. Andrew snorts. Kevin sighs, sinking into a chair.
“One day almost done,” he says. “Six days to go.”
*
An added challenge to the Games, especially in the Daylands where it is insisted that they play a team sport, is bringing together a group of people who have not played together before. This is another thing that tips the balance of equal opportunity when it comes to who is hand chosen, for the royals often select a handful of people they’re familiar with, so there is some foundation for teamwork.
Thus, Andrew’s guard Renee. Thus, Dan and Matt from Kevin’s royal guard. Neil is sure the other kingdoms will also have faces familiar to their royals on their team.
The first day after the opening ceremony is set aside for practice and training. Neil is one of the first to arrive, and finds Jean already dressed down from his royal clothes into exy gear, uniforms waiting for the rest of them. He had not considered this. Neil is slightly slimmer than Rousseau was, a side effect of inconsistent meals, but there’s ties on the shorts and the armour bulks out the shirt anyway.
“Bonjour,” Jean says, greeting him in Solesian, smiling easily when Neil comes through to the waiting area after changing.
“Your majesty.”
“None of that. For this week, we are teammates. You need not bow to me. I fear our fellow teammates may have drank too deeply last night, not you?”
“I’m here to play, not to party.”
“Rousseau,” Jean says, reading Neil’s fake name from his shirt. “We haven’t met. I think you were one of the invitations my father extended before his illness.”
It seems, for once, luck is on Neil’s side. He paints on a smile, tries not to let his absolute relief show on his face.
“Yes. I’m sorry to hear about your father’s condition.”
“Thank you,” Jean says, voice carefully neutral. “So, you’re one of our strikers then.”
“Yes.” Neil had not known when he stole the invitation what position Rousseau played, not until he read it. He used to play backliner more often in his street games. Striker is okay, though. He can work with that.
“Then you’re in luck,” Jean says, his smile shifting from formal to a little mischievous. “I'm a backliner. We can practice without the team.”
Neil tries to mask his excitement as they step out onto the court, stretching long and large on either side, far more impressive than any chalk stained street. He’s on a real court, holding a real racquet, in real gear. His heart beats hard in his chest, until Jean calls him in and sets them up for a shoot out. Then Neil’s focus is on playing.
Jean is good . Neil has speed on his side, but Jean has precision. Neil can’t get a shot past him for the first twenty minutes of their play, but part of being a thief is getting a read on people, and as they play he starts to learn the cues of Jean’s body. Small signs on which direction he’s going to move. By the time the other Soleil players start to show up on the court, Neil has managed to score around him.
“Not bad, Rousseau,” Allison says, leaning on her racquet as she watches them.
“You have good instincts,” Jean says. “It’s a shame your position doesn’t let you head off against Kevin. That would be interesting.”
“Why?” Neil asks, panting a bit from exertion.
“He has good instincts too. Use them.”
*
Jean comes to the baths late that night, body aching from training. He knows Kevin has his own private baths, but when he finds the room steamy, he wonders if he’s had a fresh fall out with Aaron and is partaking in the classic Kevin coping mechanism of hiding and ignoring the issue. Until he gets close enough to see that it’s a head of blonde curls leaning against the edge of the sunken bath.
“Oh, am I interrupting?”
Jeremy’s eyes snap open, a deeper blue than the water, the sky after a summer storm, bright and clear with a darker ring around the edges.
“Shit. Sorry, forgive my language- I- Kevin allows me to use these baths, I didn’t consider-“
“Jeremy,” Jean says; soft, soothing. Jeremy starts to apologise again, but as Jean slips out of his robe, he falls silent, lips parted. Jean shouldn’t enjoy that as much as he does. He flushes at his own brazenness, pretends it’s the heat of the room as he steps into the water. “No need to apologise. Besides, you know I enjoy your company. I was just surprised. I thought Kevin was sulking again.”
“I don’t know if Kevin has even left the court yet. We were last on the schedule, but he had us out training in the snow all day beforehand.”
“I’m sure his team all adore him for that.”
“Aaron let us go not long ago, but they were still there. How did your day go?”
“It was okay. Tiring.” Jean sinks lower in the water. His leg brushes Jeremy’s, and Jeremy shifts away from him. Jean knows he should keep his mouth shut. Knows already he is crossing a line by being alone in a bath with a servant. Not that he thinks there any shame in what Jeremy does. Like Kevin, he’s never viewed him as less, but if word got home about this, it would be a different story. He knows he should swallow his words and let Jeremy keep space between them, but in these stolen moments, with these fleeting touches causing his heart to flutter in his chest, he feels a thrill, a high he wants to chase. So chase he does, skirting the edges of danger with his coy flirting. “Is my touch so offensive?”
Jeremy’s mouth opens and closes a few times, stumbling over words.
“No,” he says eventually, and his leg comes to rest against Jean’s again, firmer this time. Jeremy sinks down until only his head is visible above the water, cheeks dark with the heat. “Not at all.”
For all his daring in so bold a statement, Jean doesn’t know how to react to Jeremy’s response. His smile is pleased and a little bashful. He glances at the water to stop from staring at the way Jeremy’s damp curls stick slick to his forehead.
“Good,” he says softly, goosebumps rising on his skin despite the heat as Jeremy’s foot trails against his calf. It’s little more than a tease, but Jean still feels giddy with it. Between Jeremy’s touch, the heat of the water, and the heavy scent of bath oils, his head is light and fuzzy. His aching muscles rejoice at the warmth soaking through his skin, and he sighs, tired but blissful, leaning his head back against the edge. “This is nice, after exerting myself all day.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy agrees. Jean closes his eyes and for several minutes everything is still and quiet, just the soft lapping sounds of water moving whenever Jeremy shifts. Then a splash, and water hits Jean in the face. He splutters, squinting his eyes open as Jeremy giggles.
“Oh. So we’re doing this now?” Before Jeremy can answer, Jean splashes water back to him. Jeremy laughs delightedly, and then they’re shifting closer to each other, and somehow they move from splashing to play wrestling, struggling to get a hold on each other’s slick arms. Then Jeremy slips, and Jean catches him against his chest, and he’s certain he can feel Jeremy’s heart beating just as hard as his. The laughter fades from Jeremy’s face as he gazes up at Jean; stunned, tentative, and longing. Jean’s gaze falls from those blue eyes to his damp lips, tongue automatically coming out to wet his own.
“Kevin says I’m to do whatever you want for you while you’re here,” Jeremy says, voice scarcely above a whisper. Jean blinks. He realises he’s been leaning in and catches himself just in time.
“I would never ask anything of you.”
Jeremy sighs. It sounds like disappointment.
“I know.” His hand touches Jean’s chest, the whole palm pressing over the space of his heart, and then Jeremy moves back. There’s water droplets on his eyelashes. Jean can’t stop looking at them. “Do you want tea tonight?”
What he wants is to tell Jeremy that he wants to kiss him, but only if it’s by Jeremy’s choice, not because it’s something Jean asked for. That he wants to spend another night with him, and they don’t have to use chess as an excuse, just curl up together on the couch and talk until they’re too tired to keep their eyes open. What he wants, more than anything, is more time. Time away from his kingdom, time away from his responsibilities, time to spend with Jeremy, like this, getting to know each other directly and not just through Kevin.
But Jean can’t want things like that. It would be too messy, and bring Jeremy more trouble than Jean is worth, so he just keeps his mouth shut.
“No, I should probably get an early night, what with the match tomorrow,” is what Jean says. Jeremy’s face falls, and that is the last thing he wanted.
*
Aaron has already bathed by the time Kevin gets back to their room. He’s a little hoarse with how much shouting he’s done today, and frustrated that his mismatch team isn't playing as smoothly as he’d have hoped after day one.
“I brought dinner up for you, since you didn’t bother to show at the table,” Aaron says, not looking up from his book. Kevin glances at the covered tray on the table, but he has little appetite.
“Not hungry.”
Aaron’s brow pinches in a tell tale sign of irritation. His glasses slip down his nose with the movement. It’s endearing, even when Aaron’s annoyed gaze flicks up to land on Kevin.
“You have to eat. Particularly after exerting yourself all day.”
Kevin sighs and drops beside Aaron, resting his forehead against his shoulder. Aaron tilts his head away.
“You’re all sweaty.”
“Tired.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“My terrible players.”
Aaron scoffs, shaking his shoulder beneath Kevin until he moves off. Kevin sighs and sits upright. He takes Aaron’s hand, checking the knuckles. They’ve gone dark with bruising, and they’ve puffed up again a bit with Aaron handling a racquet in practice.
“I’m fine,” Aaron says, before Kevin can ask, drawing his hand away. “But you smell like a pig sty. Go. Bathe.”
“Would prefer you with me,” Kevin says, fingers skimming Aaron’s thigh.
“Then you should have come in on time, shouldn’t you?” Aaron bats Kevin away with his book, and with another heavy sigh, Kevin goes.
*
A thrill runs through Neil as he steps on the court again; tense with anticipation, jangly with nerves, an electric current of excitement buzzing beneath his skin. The crowd cheers and stomps and Neil swears he can feel the vibrations moving up through his feet. Even if he is found out, he thinks it will have been worth it, for this moment.
Morski’s team do not have the precision of Soleil’s, but they are far more aggressive. The game plays in starts and stops, the ref constantly whistling them to pause to card for overly aggressive checks, tackles, one outright swing of a racquet. Neil is small and fast, manages to duck around a lot of the violence, but he’s been shoved right to the ground by a towering backliner and clipped several times in the ankle by the midway point.
Jean gives him a quarter off to recover, and as Queen Malcolm is passing by their box, she pauses, staring at him through the clear protective wall. Neil’s brow furrows, prickly and defensive at being gawked at, but she doesn’t seem to notice, expression slack and surprised. Neil doesn’t know why. Then someone shoulder bumps her and her attention goes back to the game.
“What was she staring at?” Allison asks, holding out a tankard of water.
“No idea,” Neil says, taking it from her, and for once it is not a lie.
He’s restless to be on the court again, eagerly awaiting a call back for the final quarter. The end is in sight now, and so he doesn’t need to pace himself, plays hard and fast until his lungs are aching and his legs are heavy. He notices several more of the Morski players pausing to stare at him, and it’s confusing, annoying. He wonders if this is some tactic of theirs, but it backfires, because Neil just uses their moment of pause to duck and dive around them.
Soleil win by one point, and when the final whistle blows, the crowd goes wild. Mostly cheers, with some booing mixed in. Neil’s heart pounds a heavy rhythm, and despite his tired limbs, he feels weightless as he’s dragged into a celebratory group hug.
*
Neil doesn’t care for the fuss of the banquet afterwards, draped in Soleil colours to celebrate their win. A member of his team presses a drink in his hand and says something in rapid fire Solesian. Neil smiles politely and abandons the drink on a table. He’d have avoided this altogether if he could, but expectation and his rumbling stomach have led him down.
“The rabbit is fast,” a voice murmurs by his ear, and Neil stiffens in the millisecond before he recognises Andrew’s voice.
“Maybe I’ll be fast enough to get past you,” Neil says, because there’s been plenty of gossip about the royals and other teams in the changing rooms, and he’s heard of Andrew’s immovable goal keeping. Andrew hums, unconvinced, and Neil watches him move to the raised Royal table. He’s so distracted he gives opportunity for someone else to slide up behind him.
“Who are you?” The voice is Morski accented and unimpressed. Neil turns his head slowly to find Queen Malcolm standing far too close for his comfort.
“Dareau Rousseau,” he says, automatic instinct now. Neil’s used to slipping into new names the way people change their clothes. Queen Malcolm grips his arm, fingers biting into it.
“I think you’re lying,” she says. Neil’s blood chills.
“I’m not.” He tries to tug his arm free, but her hold only tightens.
“You might have your mother’s complexion, but you have your father’s eyes and hair.” Then she leans in closer and lowers her voice, and the next word cuts through Neil like a knife. “ Nathaniel. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Neil’s tone is steady, almost deadpan, but his heart rate has shot up frantically and his chest is cold and tight.
“Sure you don’t.” She smiles fake sweet at him before she steps away, and Neil rubs the ache from his arm. Before she has the chance to look back to him, he ducks through the crowd and escapes outside.
*
When Andrew finds Neil, he’s crouched down in the snow, each breath cutting in and out of him. For a moment Neil is convinced it’s Lola Malcom that followed him out, but then an excessively large bowl of ice cream appears in his line of vision as Andrew sets it on the ground. His cold hand presses to the back of Neil’s neck instead, gripping firm, the chill of it a shock.
“What are you doing?” Neil gasps out.
“Grounding you. You’re having a panic attack.” Andrew’s fingers tighten and he tugs Neil’s head back. Neil doesn’t want to be upright, he wants to be small, curled into himself, but his shaky breaths do come easier like this.
“Why are you here?”
“You left before dessert,” Andrew says, and Neil realises on second glance that there’s two spoons in the bowl.
“It’s too cold for ice cream.”
“It’s never too cold for ice cream.” Andrew’s tone doesn’t really change, but there’s a minor inflection Neil thinks might be offence. Perhaps in his rich clothes Andrew feels safe to tempt the chill with cold treats, but Neil is shivering as is. Andrew grabs a fistful of his cloak and pulls him to his feet.
“Come.”
“Where?”
“Just come.”
Neil does not make it a habit to follow people places alone, but considering Andrew’s had him isolated several times and never done more than pelt him with snowballs, he follows after him, placing his feet into Andrew’s footprints in the snow so there’s only one trail of them leading back to the palace.
*
The corridors are quiet and empty, almost everyone down in the hall. Andrew is glad he’s seen Aaron calm Kevin from enough panic attacks to steal a vague technique. Rousseau’s breathing is still uneven as he follows along, padding so quietly his footfalls are nearly silent, but a lot calmer than it was.
Andrew doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t like to be around people in general, nevermind alone with someone, but when Rousseau looks at him with those pretty blue eyes his brain seems to flash out of service for a few seconds.
And he’s never tried to touch Andrew. Not once. Not a handshake, not to steady himself when he slid in the snow, not when they were pelting each other with snowballs. A little detail, but so many people are so casually tactile. Andrew has learned how to shift and dodge away from touches, how to put steel in his tone when he’s been unable to avoid them, but Rousseau never reaches. Just allows Andrew to make contact.
Andrew has eaten half the bowl of ice cream by the time they get to his quarters, and wishes he had brought more. He sits the bowl down and pushes the extra spoon across to Rousseau. Too cold for ice cream. Yeah right.
“Despite your stupidity, I’m still willing to share.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“The sugar will help.”
“I didn’t realise you were a doctor.”
“Sit,” Andrew says. That Rousseau obeys, at least. Andrew stares him down, and after a long stretch, he lifts the spoon and takes a mouthful of ice cream.
“Happy now?”
“No. I’m having to share my ice cream.”
“You told me to eat it.”
“Details.” Andrew ends up eating most of the rest of the bowl anyway, Rousseau only poking at his side. Though he does spend a while just sucking on the spoon, and he’s either a good actor or entirely oblivious to how this draws Andrew’s attention to his plush lips. The cold of the ice cream is quickly fading to the building heat low in his stomach.
Rousseau does not appear to be warmed by desire in the same way Andrew is, for he moves to crouch by the fire the servants keep burning to maintain the warmth in Andrew’s chambers. He holds his hands over the flame, then rubs them together, and Andrew has longer to look at him now that his eyes are on the flame. At the curls of dark red hair that match the deepest shades of the fire, the sloping lines of his cheekbones, more sharp and dramatic cast in the flickering light, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the fan of tawny eyelashes over those blue eyes, and the serious frown currently darkening those pretty features.
“So, why were you having a breakdown in the snow?” Andrew asks, and watches Rousseau’s tense body language become even more guarded. He shrugs without glancing back at Andrew.
“Don’t like groups of people.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t.” Rousseau does look back now, expression furrowed in irritation.
“Perhaps, but that’s not the reason.”
“Why did you follow me? I doubt it was just to bring me ice cream.”
“I’ll trade you. Truth for a truth.”
Rousseau tilts his head, like he’s weighing this up.
“I heard a name I hadn’t in a long time. It upset me.”
“Why did it upset you?”
“Isn’t it your turn?”
“You’re always skulking off. I wanted to see where you’d gone.”
“Still don’t trust me?”
“Not at all.”
“And yet you’ve brought me back to your quarters. Alone.”
“Just because I don’t trust you, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you,” Andrew says, keeping his tone and expression even. Betraying his desire would be showing weakness.
Rousseau is, for the first time since they’ve met, wordless. He wobbles in his crouch, thrown off balance by Andrew’s words. His mouth opens, then pinches into a line. It’s not anger or disgust, but it’s not a promising reaction either, and Andrew thinks he may have missed the mark on this one. A shame.
“Are you propositioning me?” Rousseau finally asks.
“No. I’m just letting you know where I stand. You don’t have to act on it.”
“I’ve never,” he says, brow furrowing, but then trails off into silence.
“Never been with a man?”
“With anyone.”
“Oh.” Andrew tilts his head a fraction. His only sign of interest.
“I’ve never had the desire.”
“Okay.” Andrew shrugs, like it’s no big deal, and it’s not, really. Just because he wants something, doesn’t mean he has to have it. He runs a finger along the melted remains of ice cream in the bowl and then licks it clean.
“You’re a king.”
“Are you just working that out? Terribly perceptive.”
“I’m… Nothing.”
“Gods, Rousseau, I wasn’t asking for your hand. What name?”
“Huh?”
“The name you heard. Whose was it?”
Rousseau shakes his head. Andrew lounges back on the couch and fixes him with a blank gaze.
“Fine, but you get no more answers from me. That’s the game.”
“Okay.” Rousseau stands. He rubs his hands together. It’s no wonder he’s cold; he’s such a slight thing, but Andrew knows there’s lean, compact muscles hidden in that thin frame, watched how he darted around on the court like there was fire beneath his feet. “I should go.”
“You missed the draw for the next match in your haste,” Andrew says, and Rousseau’s eyes fix on him immediately. He reminds Andrew of Kevin in his intensity for this silly game.
“Who is it?”
“Caltro against our hosts tomorrow.”
“Which means we will face off the next day.”
“Yes.” Andrew stands. There’s still space between them, but Andrew swears he can feel Rousseau’s heat, the warmth of the fire carried on him like a second cloak. “We’ll see then if you can manage to get past me. I might even try.”
Andrew flashes his teeth briefly, a fake burst of a smile, but Rousseau’s returning joy is real, lighting up his eyes.
“We will,” he says, lingering for a moment before remembering he stood to leave and stepping around Andrew. He casts a last glance back over his shoulder. “Good night, your highness.”
“Good night,” Andrew says, and watches the door swing closed behind him.
*
Neil’s panicked mind should be circling around Nathaniel Nathaniel Nathaniel on a loop, but now there’s a tangle of Andrew in the mix, the confusing knowledge of his interest. Neil doesn’t understand why. They’ve only met a few times, and the first time he was accused of being a thief on the grounds.
And yes, he is a thief, but Andrew doesn’t know that.
He pushes those thoughts aside for now, ignores the weird twist of nerves in his stomach, and focuses on the more pressing issue of being recognised. His mother had always warned against it, had kept them moving, kept them in disguise, but nothing had ever come of it and Neil sometimes wondered if the threat they were running from was as large as she made it out to be, or if her memory was tainted by personal experience.
Neil does not know his father. He had been three before his mother left with him, so badly beaten he had to be carried. She had taken him from the infirmary, wrapped in blankets, and fled into the night. Or so she says. Neil was too young to have any solid memories from that time. He remembers anger, he remembers fear, and he remembers pain, but he does not remember his father’s face. Years of nightmares had only provided shadow figures with a Morski accent.
Because Morski is where they came from, where his mother made him promise never to return to when she left him at the start of the year.
“I might not make it back from what I have to do,” she had said. “But if a month has passed and I have not, you move, but you do not go there. Never. Promise me.”
Neil had promised, because he learned that it was easier to do as his mother said than to argue. He had stayed away from Morski, from whatever past secrets laid there, but it seems they may have found their way to him.
You might have your mother’s complexion, but you have your father’s eyes and hair.
The room Neil has been assigned in the palace is nicer than any of his previous lodgings. There’s a large oval mirror on the wall, and he stands in front of it now as he strips his layers off. His body has recovered well as it grew. What were once large, gaping scars on his tiny body now look smaller as his skin stretched out around them, have paled with age, though the white of scar tissue still pops against his darker skin, shiny and bright. The most prominent is a circular scar burned into the space above his hip Neil does his best to ignore.
Neil is not looking at his faded scars now. He’s looking at his eyes. The blue looks darker with only a weak fire lighting his room, his pupils blown wide and swallowing the iris. His hair is darker in the dim too, looks almost brown, but the ends are still their bold burned copper. His mother had been dark; hair and eyes. He supposes he could have guessed he inherited these features from his father, but there is more impact in hearing it from a stranger.
He hates his reflection a bit now, tainted by the memory of a man his mother passed on to him. Stories of violence and anger. Stories to ensure Neil never went looking for him.
Neil thinks of how the name Wesninski felt strikingly familiar, and wonders if his father was somehow connected to the Morski crown.
He has so many questions, and no way to get the answers, not anymore, not since his mother disappeared.
Turns out she’s good at that.
Neil sighs, weary now not just from his aching muscles, but from his circling thoughts. He collapses heavy limbed into bed, but it takes him a long time to fall asleep.
*
There is a knock on Jean’s door, and he opens it to a kindly looking woman.
“Your tea, your highness. Jeremy asked me to make sure I brought it up to you before bed.”
“Ah, right,” Jean says, his throat suddenly tight like a vice. “Thank you.”
He steps back to allow her to push the trolley in, a horrible, aching feeling in his chest that he’s scared Jeremy off. It didn’t even take him a week.
*
Neil gets to the court early so he can get a seat near the front, as interested in watching the game as he was in playing his own. If Soleil manage to beat Lilliput, it will be good for him to have an idea of how Caltro or the Daylands play.
He can see Andrew hoisted up in the Royal box. He, Jean, and Queen Malcolm are spread out across the box with their entourages. Andrew is talking to a woman with multicoloured hair, and two men linger by his side, one dark, the other pale and large; bulked out with the kind of muscle one only gets from physical work. Neil wonders who they are. His eyes cut sideways and he finds Queen Malcolm staring at him again. Frowning, he looks away.
He’s soon distracted from his concerns by the game starting, and Neil presses close to the clear protective barrier, eager to see Kevin Day in action. He does not know much about royalty, but he knows about Prince Day, Son of Exy. Despite not being allowed to play professionally, Kevin’s skill is on par with the best players. He’s fast, precise, not afraid to get in the middle of the action, and when he swaps his racquet across to his right hand and scores a trick shot past Laila, Neil is on his feet yelling with everyone else.
It is not that Caltro play badly. Queen Alvarez is, as she seems to be in most aspects of her life, a force to be reckoned with. Her long legs give her speed, but she is pure fire, heat and perseverance, and many of her team matches her. For her daintiness, Laila is quick and sharp at blocking goals. They may have given Soleil a run for their money, could have outstepped Morski, but they pale compared to the Daylands. Everytime Aaron or Matt get the ball, they send it halfway down the court to Dan, who forwards it to either Kevin or the player with KNOX on his back. They’re relentless in their shots, quickly recovering when they’re blocked and falling into a fresh play. The other players must be outside picks. They’re good, but they don’t seem to have the effortless teamwork as those four. Strong choices on Kevin’s behalf.
The Daylands win by a five point lead. A landslide win that Caltro have been trying to claw back from the entire second half. Neil has been on the edge of his seat, buzzing with the energy of such an intense match, already excited to see the Daylands again in the finals. Or play against them, if he dares to dream.
Prince Day’s hair is matted when he pulls his helmet off. He clears half the court in moments and pulls Aaron to him, dipping him down and kissing him deeply. Aaron’s helmet drops from his fingers and he curls his arms around Kevin’s neck. Matt and Dan cheer at them from their own embrace, and Aaron’s flushed when they finally part; his ears dark crimson, pink spilling down his cheeks. Neil’s not sure he’s ever seen them display public affection before. He wonders if Andrew blushes like that too.
Not that it’s any of his business.
He stays seated as everyone starts to clear out of the court, letting the crowds thin out before he makes his way back to his room. He gives the box one last glance when he does stand, hoping to catch a glimpse of Andrew, but it’s just Queen Malcolm stood close to the window, her gaze settled on him.
*
There are secret passages in the palace. Kevin’s not sure of their initial purpose, but he’s told Aaron they’re mostly to make servants' journeys quicker and easier than having to circle around all the main corridors. He also told Aaron how he made it his mission to explore them all as a child. It’s one of these passages he draws Aaron into now, hidden behind a tapestry.
Kevin is riding a victory high; buzzing with adrenaline and endorphins. He’s had at least one hand on Aaron since they left the changing rooms, but they have no chance to be alone, not with the palace so full. Even in their chambers, they can’t go long without being disturbed with a question about this, a message about that, a summons to here or there. Only at night are they free, and often exhausted from the hosting.
Plunged into the darkness behind the tapestry, they are alone now, and Kevin’s mouth joins his hands on Aaron, trailing open mouthed kisses up along his throat.
“Kevin, we can’t.” Aaron’s half breathless already. Kevin catches him behind the thighs, hoists him up, the wall behind him steadying his back. It’s half complaint, half a gasp when Aaron repeats: “Kevin.”
“They’ll not miss us for a bit,” Kevin says. He finds Aaron’s wrist by feeling his way down his arm, so used to each other’s bodies by now they can easily map them out in the dark. He brings Aaron’s hand, throbbing a little from the two quarters he played, the bruising fading but slightly swollen again from use, to his lips. “How is your hand?”
“A little aching, but bearable.”
Kevin kisses it again. Aaron cups his cheek, then slides the hand into his hair and pulls until Kevin’s head tilts back. Kevin whimpers, his hips pressing firmer against Aaron where he’s holding him up.
“We don’t have time,” Aaron insists.
“We don’t have to do more than this. I just wanted to steal a few moments with my prince.” Kevin’s lips against his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Aaron turns his head and kisses him back, his chest swelling full and almost painful with a sudden throb of intense affection.
With Kevin so distracted lately, it’s been a while since he’s been under the full focus of Kevin’s passion, because Kevin feels intensely in all matters important to him. Aaron sometimes forgets that includes him when Kevin’s attention is elsewhere, but Kevin burns the doubt out of him when he turns the heat of his passion back on Aaron.
“A few moments,” Aaron relents, and he can feel the curl of Kevin’s smile against his mouth when their lips meet again.
*
Again, it is hunger that drives Neil to the banquet rather than desire. Allison gives him a wave from across the room. She’s attached herself to a towering Morski striker with buzz cut hair. He’s smiling at her, but when he sees Neil waving back his expression furrows. Neil casts him a cocky smirk, but he’s getting very tired of the Morski nonsense.
He hopes they don’t know the real Dareau Rosseau, but he feels he’d have been outed by now already if they did.
Dan and Matt find him tucked into a corner and drag him into their conversation. Neil excitedly commends them on their playing until the topic shifts to gossip of the other guests, and he starts to tire of it. He steals glances of Andrew at the Royal table, sucking a candy cane onto a sharp point. When he sees Neil watching, he hollows his cheeks and lets the candy cane bulge against one side. Neil, curiously, feels a flush of heat run through him.
It’s he who follows Andrew outside this time. He circles around to the side of the palace and finds him smoking on a balcony.
“Skulking around again?” Andrew calls down to him. Neil grins. He can’t help himself; it cuts across his face like a wound in response to Andrew’s voice.
“It’s what’s expected of me,” he says. Andrew huffs a cloud of exhale. Neil touches his fingers against the stone of the wall.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel-“
“Stop,” Andrew says flatly, but he doesn’t sound annoyed, which Neil is learning is as close to amused as he gets.
“Alright. I’ll leave you be, then. I thought perhaps we could continue our tradition of skulking together, but…” Neil shrugs. Andrew puts his hand on the balcony, slides it along the snow.
“Can’t climb over this. Meet me by the west fountain.” He flicks the end of his candy cane down to Neil’s feet. It lies on the untouched snow, just the rounded end left, sucked into twin sharp points. Feeling bold and cheeky, Neil lifts it, slides it into his mouth.
He glances up towards Andrew, mimics his two fingered salute, and starts off towards the fountain.
*
Andrew’s stomach feels molten as he watches Rousseau lift the end of his abandoned candy cane and place it in his mouth, the previous rejection feeling a lot softer than Andrew initially thought. He does not run through the palace, because he does not run for anyone, but perhaps he walks swifter than usual. It’s fine. No one can see him.
“You bring me to your level,” Andrew says when he gets outside.
“It’s not suspicious if I have a royal escort.”
Rousseau smirks at him, that sinful mouth quirked in a slanted line, and Andrew wonders if his lips taste like sugar and mint. He swallows, then strides ahead.
Andrew takes them down to the lake. Not cold enough to be frozen yet, but pretty and dark beneath the lazy flurry of snow.
“What’s that?” Neil says, pointing towards the gazebo.
“It’s a tomb, for the late Queen.”
“Oh.”
Andrew starts walking around the lake. Rousseau jogs after him until he falls into step beside him, watching Andrew as Andrew watches the water.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“You have snow on your eyelashes.”
“So?” Andrew blinks. Rousseau shrugs.
“What are those?”
“Snowmen,” Andrew says, looking to where Rousseau’s pointing, up closer to the palace. “I guess some of the others must have built them.”
“Oh. I’ve never made a snowman.”
“Never?” Andrew arches an eyebrow. Neil shakes his head. “Snowmen are boring.”
“Oh.”
“We could make a snow dragon, though.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“Exactly.”
Andrew’s fingers are numb by the time they’re done packing snow up. Rousseau leans in close as they build up the shape of a body, but leaves a safe area around Andrew. There’s snow on his lashes too, in his hair, on his upper lip. Andrew licks his own lips and looks away.
“It looks more like a bear,” Rousseau says, when they’ve shaped the head.
“Needs a longer snout.” But when Andrew tries to lengthen the snout, some of it drops off.
“We need some more below it for support,” Rousseau says, and they start packing snow on again.
When they’re done, it does not exactly look like any depiction of dragons that Andrew has seen, but given there is no physical evidence of what a real dragon would look like, no one can really tell them their version is wrong. Wonky and lopsided as it is. Rousseau has drawn wings on the side with a stick, carving them into the snow with curving scales along them. Andrew finds rocks for the eyes, and colours the nostrils with mud from the edge of the lake.
“Well, he looks… Hm,” Rousseau says.
“He gets his looks from you,” Andrew says, and Rousseau barks a laugh. He rubs his hands together to try and warm them.
The banquet has wound down by the time they make their way back to the palace, a few stragglers out for walks before bed. They pause at the edge of the hedgerows.
“Well,” Rousseau says. “I should go this way.”
Andrew hums acknowledgement, but doesn’t speak.
“I’m looking forward to our match tomorrow,” he says, and Andrew shouldn’t be surprised, he’d babbled on about today’s match while they built their snow dragon.
“I think you may be as much of an addict as Kevin after all.”
“Worse things to be addicted to,” Rousseau says, and doesn’t Andrew know, hasn’t he seen that first hand via Aaron, doesn’t he bear his own scars.
“I suppose,” he admits.
“Good night, your highness.”
“Good night, you hindrance,” Andrew says, and Rousseau’s colourful burst of laughter carries after him on the frosty night air, warms him from the centre of his chest.
*
Jeremy is a touch nervous as he takes the tea tray to Jean’s room. Just a teensy tiny bit. Jean has not spoken to him today, barely looked at him, only given him one tight lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and Jeremy wonders if he did something wrong. If he went too far in the bath.
He takes a steadying breath, then headbutts the door twice, because once again his hands are too full to knock. Jean is wearing the same robe he wore the first night when he opens the door, still fastening the tie, until he sees Jeremy and pauses.
“Oh.”
“I brought tea?” Jeremy doesn’t mean it to be a question, but it sounds like one. He bites his lip; a sheepish, nervous smile.
“I didn’t think you’d want to be alone with me again,” Jean says, and Jeremy’s brow furrows.
“What?”
“You sent someone else last night.”
“Oh, yeah, Kevin had us out for last minute night training, and I didn’t want you to be without your tea, so I asked one of the kitchen staff to run it up for you.” Jeremy smiles brightly. Jean looks briefly pained, before he rubs his fingers against his eyes, and Jeremy’s smile falters. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Jeremy, just foolish. I thought you were avoiding me.”
“What? No! I wouldn’t do that.”
Then Jean does smile; that soft, genuine smile that makes Jeremy feel warm all over.
“I’m realising. Thus the foolishness.”
“I thought I had done something wrong. You didn’t speak to me today.”
“My apologies, Jeremy. Truly. I was trying to respect your wishes, or the ones I invented you having. And here I am, talking away in the door while you’re holding this tray.” Jean reaches out to take it, his fingers brushing over Jeremy’s as he does. “Let me.”
Jean takes the tray in and sets it on the table. Jeremy lingers in the doorway, unsure of his welcome, until Jean waves him in. He closes the door behind him and Jean sits on the couch, wincing as he rolls his shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
“Just a tired muscle, I think.”
Jeremy comes to stand behind the couch and lays his hands on Jean’s shoulder.
“May I? I help Kevin rub out his pains all the time.”
“Well, I- Okay.” Jean’s pale cheeks look darker, but Jeremy doesn’t dare let himself believe he could be the cause of that flush. Probably the heat of the fire. He presses his fingers into Jean’s shoulder, working the muscle beneath them. Jean sighs, shifts, sinks further back into the couch. He says quietly: “That is nice.”
Jeremy bites his tongue, all aglow with the praise, not wanting to sully the moment by saying something stupid. When he’s done, Jean rolls his shoulder a few times more.
“Ah. That feels a lot better. Thank you, Jeremy.”
“I have many uses,” Jeremy says, and then his brain catches up with his mouth and he wants to sink into the ground. Jean looks up at him from beneath his lashes, but he says nothing, just gives a low hum that makes Jeremy’s legs feel weak.
He doesn’t think he’s imagining the tension, thick and heavy between them, even though he keeps telling himself a prince would want nothing with him. Telling himself doesn’t make the air feel any less charged when he’s this close to Jean, like they’re on a precipice but both of them are aware it’s too dangerous to jump.
“Do you have time for a quick game?” Jean asks, standing to pour two cups of tea.
“Of course,” Jeremy says, and takes his seat across from Jean.
*
Neil wakes early, all excited anticipation, and goes for a light run around the palace, pace steady and much slower than usual so he doesn’t tire his legs.
“Are you serious?”
Neil slides to a halt at Andrew’s voice, and looks up to find him at a different balcony from last night. So maybe Neil ran a route beneath where he knew Andrew’s chambers would be, and maybe there was a small chance he thought he might be out smoking, but it was only a background thought.
“Was restless. Wanted to do something.”
Andrew shakes his head, exhaling a line of smoke.
“Come up here. Have breakfast with me.”
“Okay,” Neil says, surprised but pleased. He picks his way through the palace, until a guard stops him at the end of the corridor.
“Let him through,” Andrew’s bored drawl carries down to them when his door opens. “I invited him.”
They eat in front of Andrew’s fire; pancakes piled with fresh fruit. Andrew prompts Neil to drink from his cup, a deep and sweet burst of chocolate melted down to drink. It’s delicious, but a bit too rich for Neil. His stomach is used to a simpler palette. Neil licks the remains of chocolate from his lips and glances up to find Andrew’s gaze on his mouth. It makes him feel hot and cold at the same time, a foreign sensation, pleasant and alarming in equal measure.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asks.
“Yes or no what?”
“I can kiss you.”
Neil swallows. He should say no. He shouldn’t be here at all, let alone daring to toe this line with a king, but then, he will be gone in a few days, and Andrew will be a memory. Just like the rich food, the sweetness of the hot chocolate, the sensation of an exy court beneath his feet. Why not savour the experience before he goes?
“Okay,” Neil says, his voice catching in his dry throat. He clears his throat, and catches the briefest glint of amusement, Andrew’s eyes creasing momentarily at the outside. “Yes, but first, it was mine.”
“What?”
“The name. It was mine.”
“Oh.” Andrew’s eyes are the colour of sunlight through honey in the early morning light, bright with interest.
“In case that changes your mind.”
Neil thinks he sees the briefest curl of a smile at the corner of Andrew’s mouth, but then Andrew is kissing him, firm and sure, and Neil feels totally clueless against him. For someone whose expression betrays so little, Andrew kisses like it’s his last act on earth. Neil is breathless and flushed by the time he draws away.
“For luck,” Andrew says, smirking as he takes in the sight of Neil.
“Why?”
Andrew drags his gaze down over Neil as if that should be answer enough, and the heat beneath Neil’s skin stirs again.
“And you’re a question mark. It gets boring, always stuck in the same routines.”
“So I’m a novelty?”
Andrew lifts one shoulder in a brief shrug, but his expression doesn’t match the ease of that movement. His eyes have darkened to a caramel brown, pupils blown out.
“Alright,” Neil says, getting to his feet, feeling only a touch woozy. “Thank you for breakfast. I’ll see you on the court.”
“Not going to tell me why you changed your name?”
“Beat me, and I’ll think about it,” Neil says, and leaves before Andrew can ask again.
*
The first half of the match, Neil thinks they have a chance. Allison has a solid arm, a way of punting the ball from half court right down to the goal, and as the fastest striker, Neil has caught a fair few of these passes. He’s only managed to get one goal past the multicoloured hair goalie in the first quarter he plays, but between them all they’ve got three goals to Lilliput’s one.
Neil’s off for a quarter before half time, and when he comes on to the court again, it’s Andrew slowly making his way to the goal. He leans on his racquet, looking bored with the whole ordeal, and Neil wonders briefly if the rumours of his skill are just hearsay. Positive chat about the king.
He stops wondering when he gets his first shot at the goal, and effortlessly Andrew blocks it, even though Neil swore he was going to go the other way. Andrew tilts his head, and Neil can just about make out his eyes through the grate of his helmet, bright and amused. He answers with a sharp edged grin, feeling the competitive fire rise in him.
Neil loses count of how many shots he gets in the second half. Andrew blocks all but one, and Neil’s quite certain he let the last one in. Soleil are down two points by then, and Andrew watching that ball sail in doesn't change the fact that his team have won.
It’s probably for the best. Neil knew this could never go any further than the Games, that his lie had an expiration date, and still. Disappointment is a bitter taste in his mouth. You’d think after all this time he’d be used to not getting what he wants.
Neil trails off the court. His legs and fingers are slightly numb, and when he stops moving, the pain starts to set in everywhere else within minutes.
“Good game, everyone,” Jean says. “I know losing is disappointing, but you all did your best out there. You’ve done Soleil proud.”
He pats Neil’s shoulder when he passes him.
“You were on fire out there, Rousseau. Good game.”
Neil manages a half second smile; tight, brief, aching. He takes off his gear for the last time, holding each piece for several seconds, lamenting having to give it up.
“We can still party tonight,” Allison says, bumping his shoulder with hers when she sees him staring sadly down at his helmet.
“Yeah,” he says, with little intention of heading for the banquet. “I’m just going to get changed in my room.”
*
Andrew is not loitering. Or lingering. If anything, he’s just lounging. It’s definitely not stalking behaviour. Whatever. He drops the end of his cigarette and folds his arms over his chest against the cold, having sped out after the game, and he wonders if Rousseau is just going to head straight to commiserating with his teammates. Except Andrew has seen him, and he knows he does not like to be the centre of crowds, so-
And then there he is, proving him right, Dareau Rousseau coming up through the snow alone. Jogging. Because of course even after running around for most of a game, this guy is still jogging. Ridiculous.
Andrew hates himself a little for how much he enjoys the sight of those legs working beneath his shorts. And what imbecile doesn’t even change out of shorts to come through the snow? At least Andrew pulled on layers. He’s letting his standards slip. He definitely needs to catch himself on that.
Later.
“Finally,” Andrew says.
“Hi. Good game,” Rousseau says. “You were amazing.”
The words are genuine, even if the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and Andrew is glad the cold has already darkened the tips to his ears, because he feels like he might be blushing. Impossible.
“Whatever.”
“Why were you waiting for me?”
“I want something other than your name, but only if you’re willing. This isn’t an order, or something you owe me for winning. It’s just a request.”
“Which is?”
“Bathe with me.”
Rousseau is quiet for a moment, but Andrew doesn’t miss the way his eyes drop briefly to Andrew’s mouth. It suddenly doesn’t feel as cold.
“Okay,” Rousseau eventually says, little more than a breath, misting between them.
Andrew definitely walks back towards his chambers at a reasonable pace.
He had requested the bath to be drawn for him ahead of the game, so the room is already heavy with steam and the scent of essential oils when they enter. Andrew stands for a moment, facing away from Rousseau. His top layers come off easily enough, but he stumbles on the intimacy of baring his entire body. He hates that, but he does. He glances back at Rousseau, but he’s also facing away, slowly pulling the base of his shirt up. Andrew watches the muscles in his back shift beneath his skin, before forcing himself to turn away. He sheds the rest of his clothes in a rush and sinks into the water before Rousseau turns back to him.
Andrew stares unabashedly as Rousseau steps into the bath. He’s holding a hand over his hip, rather than covering any of the rest of his body. He gives Andrew a hard stare, quirking one brow, but Andrew doesn’t look away. Rousseau shakes his head and sinks into the water, his expression softening as his body is submerged. Andrew gives him a while to get comfortable, to get accustomed to the hot water, to soak his aching muscles. Then he shifts closer, until their faces are only a few inches apart, his chest almost brushing Rousseau’s shoulder.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes,” Rousseau says, with only a second’s pause, and Andrew’s body feels warm and electric. He tangles a hand through those damp curls and guides Rousseau closer, licks into his mouth like he’s the sweetest dessert Andrew has ever had.
“You were incredible today,” Rousseau says between kisses. “Not a single goal got past you until you let it. You’re immovable.”
“Shut up.” Andrew bites Rousseau’s lower lip, and the answering whine goes right through him.
He wants. So intensely, it makes him dizzy, and he could blame it on the hot water, but that would be a lie. His nerves endings are sharp and bright, his stomach is hot and molten, and he wants this stupid, pretty, obsessed, mysterious man more than he has ever wanted anyone in his life. Andrew presses two of his fingers to Rousseau’s thigh.
“Can I touch you?”
“You are touching me,” Rousseau says. He looks kiss dazed; his eyes glassy, his lips damp. Andrew slides his fingers a few inches higher and looks at him purposefully. “Oh. I-“
Rousseau licks his lips. Andrew draws his hand back, and Rousseau reaches for his wrist.
“It’s not- I just-“ He pauses, brow furrowing as his thumb presses against the raised lines on Andrew’s wrist. Rousseau looks down between them. Andrew huffs, but turns his arm over in response to the unanswered question, baring line upon line of scar tissue. Rousseau looks between his arm and his face, but there’s none of the pity or discomfort Andrew usually gets, just the click of understanding. Like the pieces of a puzzle coming together.
He doesn’t ask, and Andrew wants him even more.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to, I’ve just-“
“Never done this, I know.”
“No. Well, yes, but not just that. I’ve never felt like this. No one has ever made me feel…” He dips his head towards the water, and it might be a comment on Andrew’s ego how much he likes hearing that.
“So, yes or no?”
Rousseau’s lashes flutter. He sucks his lower lip in, rolls it between his teeth. He lowers Andrew’s wrist until his fingers are pressed high on his thigh again. The anticipation is burning through Andrew like a forest fire.
“Yes.” Rousseau releases his wrist.
“You can touch my arms, or anywhere above the shoulders,” Andrew says. “Nowhere else. Don’t pull my hair.”
Rousseau’s face is intent concentration as Andrew talks, then his expression softens to a smile.
“Okay,” he says, before his face shifts again, this time going slack with pleasure as Andrew’s hand moves beneath the water.
Dareau’s fingers come to his hair, carding gently through it. The soft sounds he makes echo in the room, and as delicious as they are, Andrew muffles them with kisses. Just in case.
*
“So. Jeremy,” Aaron says. Jean’s gaze cuts sideways to him, then glances around them. “No one is close enough to hear.”
“What about Jeremy?”
“You’ve been staring at him all evening,” Aaron says. Jean starts to protest, but Aaron quiets him. “Don’t deny it. I have eyes.”
Jean sighs.
“It is a foolish infatuation.”
“What’s foolish about it?”
“Nothing can come of it. There are expectations, especially with my father how he is.”
“Alvarez married outside of nobility, and she seems perfectly happy with her wife.”
“It’s different.”
“Jeremy likes you.”
“I- It doesn’t matter. My father… It wouldn’t be approved.” Jean frowns down at his lap, his chest feeling heavy and painful. Hard enough to hold his own fondness for Jeremy secret, even more painful confessing it out loud.
“I understand,” Aaron says, lowering his voice, shifting closer to Jean. “The weight of a parent’s control like that. Kevin does not; his family have always given him his freedom. Even when they go, you do not feel free of their control. There is a voice in your head that keeps repeating their words, insisting you follow old behaviours, but eventually it does fade. Eventually you get to be free. To make your own decisions.”
“I am not worth Jeremy waiting for.”
“Have you tried asking Jeremy how he feels about that? And perhaps you won’t get married. Perhaps it won’t work out, but if you never try, won’t you always wonder what if?”
“Kevin will be devastated to lose Jeremy.”
Aaron smiles; a small, wry twist of his mouth.
“Kevin will live,” he says, squeezing Jean’s shoulder. “And he will be glad to see his two closest friends happy.”
“Perhaps.”
“Talk to him.”
“I don’t want to distract him from the match tomorrow.”
“And tomorrow night, he’ll be celebrating if we win. Then it’ll be the closing banquet, then you’ll be travelling home. See how there’s always some excuse?”
“I didn’t realise you were so wise.”
“Oh, yeah, real genius me,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes. Jean puts a hand over Aaron’s on his shoulder.
“You’re a good friend, Aaron. Thank you.”
Aaron smiles, and gives his shoulder one last squeeze.
*
Neil is wearing one of Andrew’s robes, sitting on the plush rug in front of his fireplace. Andrew had food brought up for them, and they eat cheese and bread and cold cuts of meat while they dry off by the flame, then eat profiteroles and drink hot chocolate for dessert. Andrew leans over to lick whipped cream from the corner of Neil’s mouth, and Neil wonders if something has been switched on inside him. He’s gone years without any real desire, but even that simple touch warms his tummy and makes his skin tingle.
“So you‘re really not going to ask about my name?” Neil’s been avoiding the topic, not wanting to sully the mood, but he has to address it at some point. Andrew looks across at him, the fire reflecting in his eyes, and shakes his head.
“I think if you choose to go by a name, then that should be your name. Sometimes people grow out of the ones they were given. Sometimes they never fit in the first place.”
“And if you didn’t choose the name you’re going by? If you’re borrowing it from someone else?”
At this, Andrew’s eyes narrow. The only sign of his expression getting more serious.
“You’re not Rousseau, are you?”
“No,” Neil says with a sigh, dropping the Sojourn accent. “No, I’m not.”
His own accent is a mismatched mix of different kingdoms and cities; a blend of everywhere he’s lived over the years. Soleil is predominant, but there’s the old clipped edges of Morski, the slight drawl of Caltro, even the odd lilt of the Daylands. He never made it to Lilliput, though. Doesn’t have their prim, neat tones.
“And where is the actual Rousseau then?”
“Possibly still on a ship east. Possibly making his return trip.”
“Who are you then?”
“Most recently, Neil Josten.”
“Is that a borrowed name too?”
“No. I picked that one myself,” Neil says, and Andrew hums, satisfied. “Are you going to report me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I lied. I stole an invite to a royal event.”
“To play a stupid game.”
“Yes.”
Andrew huffs, shaking his head, but he seems more amused than angry.
“You haven’t harmed anyone, and your team is already out. I don’t see the point in causing a fuss.”
“I didn’t plan this,” Neil says. “I didn’t imagine- I wasn’t lying to mislead you into anything.”
“What does it matter? Your identity doesn’t factor into what we’re doing.”
“So I’m… replaceable. Just the person you happened to pick from the crowd.”
Andrew says nothing, a slight furrow between his brows.
“That’s- Good. Right. I’m no one, nothing, a shadow with a fake name. I’ll leave tomorrow and you’ll never have to be stained by my reputation.”
“You’re having a conversation with yourself.”
“I’m being honest. For once.” Neil stands, gathering his own clothes, starting to dress. “Thank you, your highness. For everything.”
“Why are you leaving tomorrow? The closing banquet isn’t until the next day. No one will be leaving until the day after.”
“I’ve already tested fate, but… I’d like to see your final match.” Neil manages a small smile. He knows it’s foolishness to stay, especially since he’s told the truth now, but he desperately wants to see Kevin and Andrew go head to head. He knows it’s going to be a good game.
“Addict.”
“That’s me.” Neil finishes pulling on his clothes. He folds Andrew’s robe and sets it on his abandoned space on the rug. He glances at Andrew, and realises he desperately wants him to stop him leaving. Wants him to say something else, but Andrew just watches him with that level gaze. Of course, because Neil is nothing. Just like he’s always been. What would a king want with street trash like him? “Well. Goodbye.”
Andrew’s mouth pinches into a thin line, just barely curved down in a frown. Neil hesitates. Just a moment. When Andrew still doesn’t speak, he forces his feet to carry him to the door. He doesn’t look back.
*
Deciding to tell Jeremy and actually telling Jeremy are two separate things. Jean feels fine until he’s alone in his room, waiting for Jeremy to come with the tea, his stomach in knots and his nerves all jangled. He hopes Kevin hasn’t dragged them down for another last minute practice, though he thinks Aaron would probably run intervention on his behalf.
Jean feels like his heart stops when the bang finally comes to the door. He crosses the room in long strides, feeling flushed and anxious, and opens the door. Jeremy beams up at him.
“Tea time!”
“Come in.” Jean holds the door for him. Jeremy goes to the table and starts to pour them cups. Jean shuts the door quietly and leans against it for a moment, steadying himself as he watches Jeremy.
“Do you want to play chess?”
“Actually. I want to talk to you,” Jean says. He steps across to stand in front of Jeremy, taking his hands. Jeremy tilts his head, his smile softening at Jean’s touch, and Jean takes a shaky breath. “Ah. I do not know how to say this. Jeremy.”
“Yes?”
“Okay. Perhaps we should sit.”
“Is everything alright, Jean?” Jeremy sits with him on the couch, his hands still between Jean’s.
“Ah. Oui. Everything is fine, I just have something to confess. Jeremy.”
“Uhuh?”
“I’m… very fond of you.”
“Oh,” Jeremy says, his cheeks darkening. “I’m fond of you, too.”
Jean leans in closer, staring into the deep blue of Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy’s exhale comes swift. Jean can feel the heat of his breath against his chin.
“I mean, in a romantic sense. I adore your companionship, but I am also… Very attracted to you,” Jean says, and Jeremy’s eyes go wide and bright. “Ah. So. Yes. That is what I had to say.”
*
Jeremy’s ears are ringing. The sound so loud he almost can’t hear the hard beat of his heart over it. He thinks he’s misunderstood, or it’s some kind of joke, but Jean just keeps watching him with that open, honest gaze. He would never be so cruel to tease like that.
“Ilikeyoutoo,” Jeremy says all in one rush. He takes a big breath, squeezing Jean’s hands. He forces himself to talk slower: “I have for a long time. I think I’m half in love with you, if I’m honest.”
“Jeremy.” Jean’s forehead comes to rest against his, relief shuddering out of him. He says again: “Jeremy.”
Then Jeremy is surging forward to kiss him. Their teeth click painfully. Jeremy flusters, but Jean just laughs. His long, thin fingers come to Jeremy’s jaw, touch soft as he tilts his head up, as he guides their lips together. Softer, this time. Gentle and sweet to start, then easing Jeremy’s lips open, licking into his mouth, and Jeremy melts against his chest. He gives a soft moan as Jean’s tongue brushes teasingly against his.
Jean pulls back. Jeremy tries to follow. Jean holds his face in place. He kisses him again briefly, then his nose, then both of his cheeks. He peppers Jeremy’s face in kisses until Jeremy is beaming with delight beneath him, giggling and giddy. Until Jeremy catches his face and drags him back in for a proper kiss.
“Jeremy,” Jean says, soft and low and reverent. Jeremy loves how Jean says his name. “That is just one part of what I had to tell you. We can’t be together-“
And there goes Jeremy’s heart, tearing like tissue paper.
“Right, yeah, cause I’m just- And you’re- Of course, why would you ever-“
Jean’s finger comes to his lips, a soft press.
“Never doubt that I want you. It is not that. We cannot be together while my father lives. He is stubborn, and stuck in old tradition. Too proud to ever admit he’s wrong. He will never allow this. But… His health is not improving. It may be another year, or it may be three, or it could be but a few weeks. Whatever it is, he is on his way out in the near future.
I would never ask you to wait for me, but if you wanted to… I would be honoured to have you by my side when it is safe for both of us. In the meanwhile, I would like to spend as much time as I can with you. Let us get a feel for this. See if it is something you want.”
“Jean. You are something I want. I know that already.”
“Time may change your mind.”
“I don’t think it will.”
“So… You are saying you don’t mind a quiet courtship with me?”
“I would be very happy to enter any kind of courtship with you.”
Jean hugs Jeremy to his chest. Jeremy loops his arms around Jean’s waist, holds him back firmly, squeezes him close. Jean’s lips press to his hair, his forehead, his temple.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs. “Not to do anything. Just let us share a bed. Let me hold you, kiss you, listen to your breathing, wake to your face in the morning.”
“Of course,” Jeremy says, tipping his head up so their lips meet again, words brushing against Jean’s mouth. “Nothing would please me more, my prince.”
“Yours,” Jean agrees, linking their fingers together and kissing Jeremy once more.
*
Neil has packed all his belongings. His one sparse bag sits in the corner of his guest room, ready to go. He’ll slip out while everyone’s at the banquet tonight, be gone before they realise. Just like he intended. Returning to his old tavern is too much of a risk. Perhaps he’ll cross the border, finally explore Lilliput. Wherever he goes, he’ll go back to being Neil, to being no one, to being a thief without connections.
It’s fine. It’s how he was raised to be.
It doesn’t matter that Andrew makes him feel like no one else has before. He was a fool, like one of the men who trade coin for the companionship of the tavern ladies and convince themselves it’s true love, to think that there was anything more to their fling. He was just a passing interest. Just an outlet for a king’s boredom.
If that hurts, then it will make Neil think twice before he ever lets anyone in again. Lesson learned.
Burying those thoughts for now, Neil takes leave of his room and heads down for one last walk of the palace grounds before he heads to the court.
*
Jean has spent all morning kissing Jeremy. Soft, sweet kisses peppered over his face to wake him, then slow morning kisses shared between them, shifting into more heated kisses, before Jean had to remind Jeremy they were expected for breakfast. That he had a game today.
Despite this, he wants desperately to kiss Jeremy again now, feels starving for it. He’s hardly touched his food, and he keeps catching himself following Jeremy with his eyes.
“So,” Aaron says, pulling up a chair much closer to Jean than necessary. “You’ve been smiling all morning, so I must assume you’ve spoken to him and it went well.”
“Perhaps.”
“You can play coy all you want, Jeremy beaming every time he looks at you betrays you both.”
Jean glances across to Jeremy. He happens to meet his eye, and Jeremy smiles so brightly that Jean can’t help but smile in response. When he turns back, Aaron is giving him a purposeful look.
“Yes,” Jean admits. “We spoke.”
Aaron’s eyes crinkle in a smile, and joy is contagious this morning, for Jean cannot stop smiling.
“Good. I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you.” Jean puts his hand on Aaron’s shoulder, squeezes gently. “For talking to me. For giving me permission to choose happiness when I couldn’t give it to myself, when I couldn’t even consider the option. You truly are a good friend, Aaron.”
“Yeah, well. I’m a man of many talents,” Aaron says.
“What are we laughing at?” Kevin asks, when he joins them both giggling. Aaron and Jean glance at each other, then shake their heads, Kevin frowning at being omitted from the joke.
*
The match is as good as Neil thought it would be. He’s glad he stayed, now, watching the Daylands effortlessly work the ball down to Kevin, like well oiled parts of a machine working in tandem. Kevin takes the shot, and while Walker makes a good dive for it, it lands firmly in the top left corner of the net. Kevin lifts his racquet in the air. The crowd cheers. The Daylands are leading by three points. They get up to six before the second half.
Then Andrew trades out with Renee.
Neil sits on the edge of his seat, watching as time and time again the Daylands team work the ball back to Kevin, who seems to be playing the whole game rather than taking a break for a quarter, as Kevin takes his shot, as Andrew blocks it. Again, and again, and again.
Neil’s heart pounds in his chest, and there’s a strange heat in the pit of his stomach, similar to when they were in the bath together. Neil doesn’t think too hard about that now, watching as Andrew stops another goal, as Kevin’s hand clenches tight in irritation around his racquet. Andrew sends the ball right down to the other end of the court.
The whistle blows for the last quarter. Knox jogs over to put a soothing hand on Kevin’s shoulder. Neil can just make out Andrew pulling a face at Kevin from under his helmet. Despite the way he storms off the court, there’s a vibrant smile on Kevin’s face.
Andrew’s head turns towards him. His eyes are shadowed by his helmet, but Neil swears he’s looking at him. He feels like the air has been punched out of his chest. He looks back until Andrew turns to head off his side of the court.
The Daylands are still one point in the lead by the time they step on the court for the final quarter. The dark skinned man Neil’s seen with Andrew before spins his racquet around and says something to Kevin, grinning brightly. It doesn’t seem to be in bad spirit, but Kevin knocks the racquet from his hand anyway.
Then they’re lining up in position, and Neil feels as tense as the players as they wait for the whistle. It’s been a high stakes, fast paced match, but quite clean. Neil supposes the teams must be on friendly enough terms, considering Kevin and Aaron’s union. It means the play hasn’t had to stop for many cards or penalties, has kept the action going.
Neil knows from experience Kevin must be feeling exhausted by now, that his arms must be starting to ache, his legs must be numbing; but Kevin Day doesn’t show it. He goes at it with first quarter energy, but last quarter desperation; hungry and determined. Still, Andrew blocks and blocks and blocks, until-
Kevin catches him off guard by switching his racquet hand at the last second, sending the ball in a different direction than anyone had expected. Including Andrew.
It’s a small victory in comparison to all the blocked goals, but Kevin celebrates like he’s just won the match. Which Neil supposes they have. Andrew’s goalkeeping has kept the score closer than it would have been, but it’s been a challenge for the rest of the Lilliputians to keep possession of the ball for any length of time.
When the final whistle blows, Neil’s hoarse from cheering. The Daylands win by two points. Kevin tosses his racquet aside and pulls his helmet off. Aaron is still getting his helmet off by the time Kevin has raced the length of the court. He knocks it from Aaron’s hands and lifts him below the thighs. Aaron laughs, balancing his hands against Kevin’s shoulders, and then Kevin is pulling his head down and kissing him. Neil only sees them for a few moments before their team crushes in around them in a celebratory hug.
He dares to glance back to the goal just as Andrew is pulling his own helmet off, sweat damp hair sticking to his head, a few lines of it poking up where the helmet dragged them with it. His eyes are on Neil, and Neil swallows as he meets that gaze. He starts to lift a hand to the protective barrier between them when someone else’s hand lands on his shoulder.
“Dareau.” Allison is suddenly beside him, the Morski striker at her side. “We have to talk to you. It’s important, but not here. This is something you should know, but we don’t need an audience.”
Neil’s stomach drops. He’s been caught out, that’s all that it can be, but at least Allison isn’t going to out him in front of everyone.
“Okay,” he says softly, and follows them outside.
*
Andrew watches Neil Josten’s back as he makes his way up the stands, thinking that this might be the last glance he gets of him. He shouldn’t care. Neil already made it clear he has every intention of leaving.
And yet.
Andrew glares after him, then at the court, then at his cousin, as Nicky makes his way over to him.
“Wow, Andrew, you were on fire out there. I’ve never seen you play with that much focus!”
“Yes, well, it annoyed Day, didn’t it?”
“I think Kevin rather savours the challenge, but if that’s what you want to believe.” Nicky winks. Andrew punches him in the arm. Nicky laughs it off, rubbing his arm as he makes his way over to Erik. “And you, my love, you played spectacularly!”
Andrew looks away as they embrace, an ache in his chest. He twists his hands around his racquet like he’s wringing a neck; once, twice, three times.
Fine. He’ll clean up and change, make his stupid expected appearance at the banquet, and if Neil Josten has left by then, well, he’ll be spared the embarrassment.
And if Neil Josten is still here, Andrew will decide what to do then.
*
“This is Seth Gordon,” Allison says.
“Hi,” Neil says.
“Shush. We don’t have time for small talk. Seth is one of the royal guard. Have you noticed how the Morski Queen keeps staring at you? It is, like, super creepy, non?”
“Ah, I had noticed that-“
“She thinks you’re the son of their late king.”
“What?” Neil takes a step back, but he hits a hedge. The three of them have ducked into the hedge maze for privacy. “That’s lunacy.”
“Seth, explain.”
“Wesninski had a son, must have been about two decades ago. The queen fled with him when he was still a child. Fast forward to earlier this year, and the king’s passing. It was announced as an unexpected illness, but inside the castle, we know the truth. His wife came back. She killed him. She was caught before she escaped, and Lola herself executed her. In private, obviously, to keep the true cause of Wesninski’s death secret.”
His mother, disappearing, not returning, warning she might not come back. The ground feels uneven beneath Neil.
“Malcolm’s afraid that the wife was getting Wesninski out of the way so his son could claim the throne. He’s the rightful heir, after all. He would overrule her appointed leadership.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Neil asks, feeling breathless, chest tight.
“Because she’s a deranged bitch. She’s got it in her head that you’re his son, and she wants to kill you off before you make a move on the throne.”
“But you’re part of the royal guard. You could be tricking me.”
“Listen,” Seth says, his scowl dark. “I took this job because there’s seven of us at home. My father left, and it’s a struggle to feed that many mouths. The guard pays well, but I have no loyalty to the queen. Wesninski was a cold leader; Malcolm is worse. They care for power more than their people, we are just pawns they are happy to sacrifice. Being inside the castle has only driven that further home for me.”
“So what do I do?”
“You run before she has a chance to make a move,” Seth says, and Neil exhales a breath. That was his plan, after all.
“I mean, it’s just a stupid mistake, right? You’re not the stolen prince,” Allison says, but she’s looking at him like she can see through him, and maybe she can. His panicked breathing and wild eyes certainly aren’t doing him any favours. Then she adds in a suggestive tone: “ Rousseau. ”
“I have to go,” Neil says, moving past them.
“We’ll keep an eye on her movements at the banquet,” Allison calls after him. Neil doesn’t look back.
It’s snowing heavier today, cotton waves billowing down, soaking into his clothes, biting at his skin. Neil is in such a hurry that it takes him a moment to realise he’s gone deeper into the maze.
“Fuck.”
*
“We can’t keep doing this,” Aaron says, voice breathy, as Kevin presses him to the wall of the passageway and slides his hands beneath his shirt.
“No one will find us.”
“People will notice the champions missing.”
“Champions. That’s us.” Kevin is kissing him again, all heated enthusiasm, and Aaron’s argument is lost in the warm press of his mouth.
He supposes their presence won’t be missed for a little longer.
*
Neil’s got clumps of snow clinging to him and is shivering something fierce by the time he makes his way out of the maze, trudging up through the snow to the palace. He tries to shake the worst of the snow off before he slips in, striding swiftly to his room, checking over his shoulder every few steps.
He fumbles to open the door with numb fingers, sighing in relief when it is shut behind him. Neil steps to the fire to briefly warm his hands. His eyes flick across to where his bag is waiting, and only because he’s been on high alert his whole life does he notice the vaguest shift of shadow.
Neil draws a sharp breath and takes a step back. The curtains around the four poster bed he’s been sleeping in pull back, and there is Lola Malcolm, cloaked in shadow, illuminated only by the flickering light of the dying fire.
“Hello, Junior,” she says, voice low and dangerous. Neil slowly shifts himself towards the door. “Although you probably don’t remember that name, do you, Nathaniel?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, and makes a dash for the door, but when his hand closes around the doorknob, it doesn’t shift. Someone has locked it from the outside. He left the key in the door. Like a fool.
“Tsk, tsk. Nowhere left to run, Junior. No mummy to save you now.”
“You have to wrong person,” Neil says. He tries to move past her, but she slams him back against the door, and the fire glints off the blade in her hand. She holds it to Neil’s throat as she pulls his shirt up. He’s embarrassed, confused, angry, frightened; all blending together into one mess of feeling.
“There,” she says, her fingers pressing to the old scar above his hip, and Neil’s blood goes cold. It’s the circular burn mark. He barely remembers that day. His father had been touring… somewhere. Loud, dark, there were animals, and Nathaniel was bored, so bored. It was hot, there was nothing to do, he wanted to play with the animals.
He must have been barely three, but in his fathers eyes he had misbehaved, and age didn’t matter. Bad behaviour always got punished.
He remembers being held down. Remembers a pain so bad he can’t even shape the feel of it in his mind. There’s just a hazy gap of memory, just the knowledge it was terrible. He hadn’t recognised at the time that the awful smell was his own burning flesh.
“Our cattle brand. A W and M intertwined; Wesninski and Morski. The tradition of our royal line. Until me, because someone ran away.” She digs her nails into the brand, and it’s an old scar now, but Neil feels phantom pain alongside the sharp press of her nails. “You gave up your claim to the throne.”
“I don’t want it,” Neil says. She’s too close. The scent of her perfume is cloying, he breathes it in with every breath. A chill streaks across the room. Neil’s eyes cut to the side. The window. That must be how she got in. It’s still open a few inches. She didn’t lock it back in place.
“I will not be taking that risk, your highness.” She spits the title like an insult. Neil moves before he has time to hesitate; barely thinking, just running on instinct. He brings his arm between them, slams it sideways into her wrist holding the blade. There’s a sharp cut along his throat as he knocks it aside, but it’s only shallow. He pushes her shoulder with his other hand, then leans back against the door and brings a foot up to kick her solidly in the stomach. Malcolm stumbles backwards, and Neil makes a dive for the window.
*
Andrew’s definitely going to the banquet, as he promised himself. He’s not going to pine around Neil until afterwards. He’s just having a smoke, and he’s just walking to keep himself warm, and circling around Neil’s side of the palace is just a coincidence. He’s telling himself it’s just a casual glance as he looks up to Neil’s window, but then he pauses as a small shape scarpers along the roof. It’s Neil. There’s no one else it can be. Then another shape climbing out after him, and Andrew knows even from here what a blade looks like, that the second figure is holding one.
His cigarette drops to the snow.
“Andrew? Where are you going?” Aaron asks, as Andrew passes them on his way into the palace. Andrew gestures vaguely towards the roof.
“What the-“ he hears Kevin start, but then he’s moving away, his feet on the stone floor blocking out the noise.
Andrew runs.
The tapestry is still shifting slightly when he rips it aside and dives into the hidden passageway, saving him time as he cuts through the building. He races his way down familiar halls and up stairs, only slows when he’s closing in on Neil’s room. He presses himself to a wall, breathing coming swift, and glances around. Two large, hulking guards stationed outside the door. He recognises one as Queen Malcolm’s brother, Romero. Andrew takes a big breath. He doesn’t have time to hesitate. He pulls one of his blades and sends it soaring down the corridor, then he runs out after it.
The knife catches Romero in the side of the throat. He staggers back with a gasp, reaching for the blade. In the split second the other guard is caught in surprise, Andrew jumps. He hooks his arm around the man’s shoulders, uses his other hand to draw a fresh knife across his throat. There is a sound like Velcro pulling apart, and blood splatters the wall. Andrew hops off the man as he staggers and gurgles, hands pressed to his throat like he could somehow will the wound closed.
Andrew turns his attention back to the Romero, now storming towards him, even with Andrew’s blade still sticking out of the area between shoulder and neck. Andrew grits his teeth as Romero slams him back against the wall. His head knocks against the stone, and it hurts, but it’s familiar. He’s been knocked around plenty in his life. He’s gotten used to closing the pain off in a corner of his mind to process later.
So as Romero reaches for Andrew’s throat, he makes the mistake of overlooking his hands, of underestimating the advantage of Andrew’s short height. He’s at the perfect level to drive the blade into Romero’s crotch. He does so, with delight, pulling it back before he falls. He takes this opening as opportunity to pull his other blade from Romero’s throat, and his blood shoots out like a scarlet fountain. Andrew’s sure there’s flecks on his face, but he ignores it, reaching to quickly unlock the door.
The room is in disarray. Furniture is knocked over, the curtains around the bed billowing fiercely in the breeze from the open window, the fire reduced to embers. Andrew can still see the shape of them out the window, Neil forced right to the edge of the roof. He jogs across and throws a leg out the window, hauling himself out into the snow. The wind is blowing hard, and the snow is still falling fast, even if it’s not as thick as before. Andrew blinks it from his lashes and starts to move forward.
“Whether it’s my blade or the fall that kills you, doesn’t matter to me,” he hears Malcolm saying.
“Stop, Malcolm,” Andrew calls. “Are you trying to start a war?”
She glances over her shoulder.
“This is none of your concern.”
“Kill a guest at a royal event? I think that would be quite the slander against Prince Day, and he will have my backing for whatever move he takes. Not to mention Moreau’s. Who do you think Alvarez will side with? The moral majority, or the murderer?”
“I will kill you too, if that’s the cost of silence,” she says. With her attention distracted, Neil has been trying to move himself away from the edge of the roof, but it’s cloaked in snow, and as he crouches past her, he loses his footing.
Andrew’s heart is in his mouth as Neil slides down a sharp slope of roof, feet and hands ineffectually dragging through snow, leaving helpless paths in their wake. Then, miraculously, his foot catches something beneath the snow and he stops. Andrew exhales a cloud of relief on the air, his gaze going back to Queen Malcolm.
“You’re going to regret interrupting,” she says, holding her weapon up. Andrew smiles, wide and sharp, holding both his blood stained blades up.
“Oh, I really don’t think I am.”
*
Neil doesn’t dare to move as he catches his breath, adrenaline making his body tremble. His fingers are raw from trying so desperately to scrape a grip in the snow. His body aches. His legs feel weak, the certainty of death not yet faded.
But he looks up, and there’s Andrew, grin looking too wide for his face. Andrew who came back for him. Andrew who is risking his life to protect Neil.
Fuck. He has to move. He slides his hand across the snow, trying to find somewhere he can grip beneath it, but it’s all smooth. He tries his foot next, and finds that he’s on some kind of ledge at the base of the roof. If it goes right across, he can get to the tower his room was in, maybe get a hand hold in the stones to pull himself back up.
He can’t hear what Malcolm and Andrew are saying above the howl of a wind, but Andrew’s smile cuts across his face, sharp as a knife. Malcolm moves towards him, and he lunges closer. Her knife cuts through his armband, but Andrew doesn’t react, slashing his across her ribs. She grips his bicep, tries to shove him off balance, but Andrew is sturdier than her. He pushes back. She slips. She pulls him with her. They both hit the roof. One of Andrew’s blades slides away from him, speeding down the snow. Neil manages to catch it before it passes him.
Gripping the blade in his mouth, he ignores the ache of cold metal against his teeth and continues his slow path across the roof. He glances back to the tussle, and there is blood in the snow. Neil doesn’t know whose it is.
He isn’t going to make it on time.
Then Andrew kicks out, catches Malcolm in the jaw, and she plummets down. She catches his leg, and her velocity pulls him with her. Neil doesn’t have time to think. He pulls the blade from his mouth, and as they slide past him, he plants it hard into the material of Andrew’s jacket, pinning his shoulder to the roof, praying he didn’t hit skin. He didn’t feel the resistance, either way. The blade strains under the momentum, but it gives Neil enough time to get an arm around Andrew’s chest. They both jolt towards the edge of the roof, Malcolm’s weight still dragging them.
“You,” she hisses, one of her hands gripping Neil’s knee. “You will not take my crown.”
“Fuck off,” Neil says, and kicks her square in the face. He hears bone crack beneath his boot. She instinctively reaches for her nose, a mistake. Once her grip is off Andrew, her body slips the last few inches off the roof. Her scream echoes through the air, and the snow probably would have padded her fall enough to prevent fatality, but she clips her head on the edge of a balcony on her way down, splits open like an egg.
“Fuck,” Neil says, daring to glance over the edge, watching the red mess blot across the white of the snow. Then Andrew is grabbing him roughly by the back of his shirt and yanking him back onto the roof.
“After everything, can you not go and fall?” His words are sharp and angry, but his expression is, for once, open and vulnerable, relief carved into every line.
“You came back for me,” Neil whispers, like he doesn’t dare speak the words louder, like he doesn’t really believe them. Andrew hesitates for a moment, and Neil wonders if he’s going to deny it.
“I did,” he finally says, some of the stiffness coming back to his voice, cloaking emotion.
“Yes or no?”
Andrew smiles.
“Yes,” he says, and then Neil is kissing him, both of their hearts beating hard against each other’s chests, proof they’re alive.
*
Neil doesn’t know how to rule. Doesn’t know anything of leadership, doesn’t know what’s expected of him, feels suffocated by the idea of being chained to one place.
“We don’t have to tell them,” Andrew had said, but Neil has lied enough. He’s tired, and after he has caused so much trouble for Prince Day, honesty is the least he can offer.
So he tells them it all. With Andrew, Allison, and Seth’s words to back him up. With the rest of the Morski team in holding. With the eyes and ears of every ruling Monarch on him. Except Morski’s crown, because apparently that is him now.
“You have a choice to make,” Kevin says.
“You could just appoint someone else. Keep running. You’re good at that, rabbit,” Andrew says. Aaron glances between Andrew and him, and even without speaking, Neil knows he’s made some connection.
“If you have Lilliput’s backing, then you also have ours,” he says eventually.
“And mine,” Jean says. “You were a good team player, even if you were not fully honest. Though I will request you issue Monsieur Dareau Rousseau with a genuine apology when he returns.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll back you if you go for the crown, too,” Alvarez says. “Morski is on our border, and while we’ve sustained peace, Wesninski made it fraught. We’re certain Morski maintained connection with Evermore. They are a constant security risk. The security will be nice, but having all our kingdoms led by young, open minded rulers will be even nicer.”
“It’s up to you, son,” King Wymack says, putting a hand on Neil’s shoulder.
Neil looks at Seth, face haggard with exhaustion and hardship at his age already, who had been willing to cross his own queen to save Neil. How many more like him in Morski? How many good, honest people crushed beneath the corrupt power of their leaders?
He looks around at all the eager faces of the Royals. Kevin’s serious expression, Jean’s warm smile, Alvarez’s eyes lit with fiery challenge, Laila’s bright and friendly grin, Aaron looking towards Andrew, and Andrew watching Neil with that level stare.
“I don’t know how to lead a country,” he says, and watches as they start to deflate. “So I’ll need your assistance.”
The answering cheer feels like being back on the court.
*
“When you asked me what was the worst that could happen,” Kevin says, head in his hands, crouched over himself on the bed. “I would never have imagined this.”
Aaron hums to him softly, rubbing his back, stroking his hair.
“This is what I’ll always be remembered for.”
“This will fade with time, as all things do,” Aaron says. “And it was not your fault. It reflects poorly on Morski, if anyone.”
“I let the wrong person in.”
“How were you to know? And it has worked out for the better in the end. We are down a power hungry queen, a potential future conflict. The throne has been returned to the rightful heir, and he’s untouched by his father’s prejudice and corruption. This is good. Not just for Morski, but for all of us.”
“Someone died at my first event.”
“An accident,” Aaron says, smoothing a hand down Kevin’s cheek.
“Two of them were murdered.”
“Self defence. We should be grateful they were the only casualties.”
“You’re right.” Kevin sniffs, rubbing a palm beneath his eye. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“That could have been Andrew.”
“But it wasn’t, and while he may be a little scratched up, he’s fine. We’re all fine.”
“Aaron.”
“Yes, love?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Aaron’s expression softens, like he hadn’t expected to hear those words, and Kevin’s chest hurts. He hates how his affection seems to take Aaron by surprise. He makes a silent vow to be better at showing his appreciation. Starts by taking Aaron’s hand, ghosting his lips over his knuckles.
“How are you feeling?”
“It’s fine. The bruising will fade in another week.”
Kevin hums acknowledgement. He turns Aaron’s hand over and presses a kiss to his palm.
“I am blessed to have you by my side, even more so to have you as my husband. I shall cherish you as long as you’re here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron says softly. Kevin pulls him closer, tugs Aaron down onto his lap and cradles his face in his hands.
“Good,” he says, and kisses him firmly. Aaron’s fingers card through his hair, soothing him, and Kevin tightens his arms around his waist.
“You managed to score against Andrew,” Aaron says, voice low. “You played so well, my champion. You were so good.”
Kevin groans, pressing his face to Aaron’s shoulder.
“But then, you’re always good for me, aren’t you? My good boy.” Aaron’s hold tightens in Kevin’s hair, tilts his head up.
“Yes,” Kevin exhales, catching the lobe of Aaron’s ear between his teeth, drawing a soft moan from him that goes right to Kevin’s core.
“How about I take your mind off everything for a while?”
“Yes,” Kevin says, hands clutching desperately at Aaron’s hips. “Please.”
Aaron grins, hands to Kevin’s chest as he pushes him down into the sheets.
*
It has been six months since Neil took back the Morski crown, and it hasn’t been an easy transition. There’s more work to ruling than Neil ever expected, and clearing out the old, corrupt royal guard has made him many enemies. He’s had several attempts on his life already, but the new head of his royal guard has had his back so far.
“Anything to report today, Seth?”
“All quiet today, your highness.”
“I told you, Neil is fine.”
“Old habits,” Seth says.
“But look at his little baby face,” Allison says, pausing in her adjustments to his jacket to squeeze Neil’s cheeks between her hands. “You’ll always be Neil to me.”
Neil scowls and bats her hand away, but he’s not truly offended.
“There.” She snaps off the thread and tucks her needle into her own dress. “Done. Now you’re all pretty for your date this evening.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Of course. King Minyard just comes all this way to take in the scenery. Perhaps if he didn’t come from your meetings with his neck covered in bruises, I could believe that.”
“Don’t you have other work to do?” Neil asks dryly. Allison rolls her eyes and gathers her kit. “Did you send the sympathy card to Soleil?”
“Of course. Slipped a little congratulatory note in for Jean as well. Reminded him to include us in the wedding invite.”
“I hope for her sake his mother does not open that.”
“Would serve her right for being so nosey.”
“Ah, because none of us here are guilty of that,” Neil says. Allison just smirks. Neil sighs and glances to Seth. “Take a few hours, but I need you back for when Andrew arrives. Just in case.”
“The dwarf can handle himself just fine, but sure thing, Neil.” He grins, letting Allison link their fingers and drag him out of the room. Neil shakes his head as they leave, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
He checks himself in the mirror. The outfit really does look nice on him; a shame it will barely last long enough for Andrew to appreciate it. Oh well. There’s worse problems to have.
*
“How has it been?” Andrew asks, after they have all the official business in bed out of the way. Neil has barely caught his breath, sweat still drying on his skin. He rolls his head towards Andrew, presses his face to his hair. Andrew bites his shoulder. “Neil.”
“Fine. Only one assassination attempt this month. I’m tired all the time, but the people are better fed, good relations with Caltro have given us better trade deals, and I’m thinking we could afford a court at the east of the gardens. We have the space. Kevin could come visit.”
“Addict,” Andrew mutters, biting his jaw this time. His fingers trace over the circle on Neil’s hip. He’s tattooed over the scar, the initial intersectional lines of the M and W darkened to make an A , the remaining lines of the W darkened into N. The other lines are faded and barely visible beneath the ink, the circle freshly outlined to further enhance the contrast. A bad memory painted over with a happy present. Neil huffs a laugh. He catches Andrew’s chin and tilts his head up.
“Not just for exy,” he says.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asks. A pointless question, considering they’re already a tangle of naked limbs in Neil’s sheets, have already done far more than kissing.
“It’s always yes with you,” Neil says, and when Andrew kisses him, he can feel his smile against his mouth.