Chapter 11

THE PHYSICIAN, Abespectacled man with a nervous stutter, was able to extract the arrow with ease, applying adequate pressure with gauze. Thankful that he'd only had a field arrow handy, and nothing with a barbed tip, March had still felt guilt curling in his gut at the sight of blood soaking through the layered bandages.

The three of them agreed to keep the outlandish misunderstanding a secret, to spare themselves the embarrassment of ever recounting the story. Ramor, after taking a few pills to ease the pain, returned to his room with a slight limp, but no lasting damage. A little sad to see him go, March was eternally grateful for the larger man's handling of the situation. They'd been able to chat a bit before and during the simple procedure, and Ramor definitely seemed like the sort of person March could see himself becoming friends with.

"That lock is destroyed," Nero noted, after they'd gone back to March's room. Picking up a folder of notes that had been shoved off the desk in his frenzied escape, March tucked scattered papers back into it. "I'd just move you to another room, but… I think they might all be full. If they aren't, I wouldn't have a clue which ones are empty. Someone in charge of event planning would have that information."

"The tournament is that popular?"

"Unfortunately," Nero replied. "My dad will expect us to attend, but don't get excited. It's kind of a drag. My friends and I usually have a little get-together after, though."

"That should be fun for you."

"You're coming with me," Nero said flatly, watching the still jittery noble try and distract himself with tidying. "I want you there," he corrected himself quickly. "With me."

The blunt admission made March's heart flutter, but he only gave a nod. "I'll come then, I suppose. If that's what you want." He always felt dull and uninteresting at parties, but he could hardly refuse an invitation like that. Even if the thought of seeing Laurel again filled him with dread.

"I can get someone to fix this door tomorrow, but until then…" Nero trailed off, shaking his head wryly.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to get much sleep tonight," March said, agreeing with his unspoken sentiment.

"Come sleep in my chambers," he said suddenly. "It's guarded. And there's plenty of room."

Blushing, March rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "You truly believe now is a good time for one of your stupid jokes?"

"I'm not joking," Nero insisted. "Just grab your toothbrush and a change of clothes, and I'll have your lock fixed by tomorrow night. No one will even know."

"I've been cooperative with your truce, to the best of my abilities," March said stiffly, though he knew the bright pink of his skin hampered his attempted show at dignity. "That doesn't mean I'm going to toss away my morals and get into bed with you."

"I have a daybed, under the window," Nero reminded him. "I can sleep there. Even though we both know my bed is large enough to fit an army."

"I can only pray that knowledge doesn't come from personal experience," March said dryly, jerking his chin up. He was beholden to Neroki for leaping to his defense, and for comforting him when he'd been terror-stricken, but gratitude could only extend so far.

Nero's dimples winked into view as he cocked an eyebrow. "Rest easy, sweetheart. I prefer it one-on-one."

"How very reassuring, though I'm sure the number of ones there have been to your one probably outnumber an army, anyway."

"My sheets are clean," he promised, plucking March's toothbrush from a cup on the bathroom sink. "You can act as tough as you'd like, but I know you'll sleep better in my room. So just grab some clothes and come with me."

Knowing the cocky prince was right, and there was no argument he could make that would change that simple fact, March only huffed in response as he opened a drawer to gather a suitable outfit for the morning.

The bedroom was no less opulent, and no less tacky than it had been the day March had gone in to make his impulsive demands, though that felt like a lifetime ago. Because the light was on now where he'd only had the light of the window before, he could see a lovely little corner of the room was designed around a large stone fireplace. A plush rug lay before it, and cushy chairs were placed around a small table with a fancy tea set on it. It looked like a perfect place to relax with a book, though he didn't see any bookshelves.

In the bathroom, he ran cool water from the shiny faucet, splashing it onto his face to try and clear his brain and calm his nerves. When he'd finished, apprehensively peeking out from the doorway, he noted that Nero was sprawled on the bed, hands hooked behind his head.

"I thought you said you were going to sleep over there." March gestured to the smaller daybed across the room.

"I will. But there's no way either of us are going to be getting to sleep anytime soon. You're still shaking," he pointed out. "I just thought it'd be easier and more comfortable to talk like this." Because he could see that March wasn't entirely convinced, Nero sighed. "I'm upset, too. It'll help me calm down if we can talk a little."

Making his way to the center and focal point of the room, March hitched himself up and onto the soft mattress, careful to leave a good bit of space between himself and the prince, who'd lowered himself back into his comfortable position staring up at the ceiling.

"Tell me about your family," Nero suggested, hoping to soothe some of the nerves he could see in the noble's lovely eyes as well as his own. "They're coming for a visit in a couple of days, I know."

"My mother is easy to get along with. She's friendly. Everyone loves to be around her." For what seemed like the thousandth time in his life, he wondered what it would be like to socialize with such ease. "My motra is more thoughtful. She can be quiet, but she's so smart. She notices everything. I never could hide anything from her. Myca can't either."

"He's 15, you said?"

"Yes. I think he resents being young. He's in such a hurry to grow up."

"It's a weird age," Nero gave a shrug, understanding the younger male's sentiment. "I hated that in-between phase, too. Too young to really do anything, but old enough for responsibilities."

"He hates those, too," March mused, shaking his head. But his voice was getting softer, body language beginning to radiate relaxation. Nero wondered if he even realized he was already beginning to feel at ease, despite where they were at. "I worry about him."

"How come?"

"He won't accept an arranged marriage when he comes of age. I can hear it in his voice when we discuss it. He finds it degrading."

Nero tilted his head in acknowledgment. "It can be, I'm sure." At March's non-committal hum, he raised an eyebrow. "The idea never bothered you?"

"Not really. It's to preserve the noble bloodlines. And it's tradition."

"You didn't seem too happy about it when you first got here."

"That's because of you, not because of the circumstance itself." Maro said, eyes closing as he pulled a pillow to himself, clutching it in his arms and pressing his face into it.

Despite the insult, Nero found himself grinning. He wondered if he was the only man ever to see March Cesari in such a state, almost certain that he was. With his hair gently mussed from the pillow, lashes sweeping dark shadows over his pale cheeks, cherubic lips softly parted, he didn't look like such an uptight snob. But then, Nero was starting to wonder if he even minded that part much anymore either.

"You get along with him?"

"Mostly. He can be a little hard to take sometimes, but he means well. He's a big fan of yours, you know," March remembered suddenly.

"A fan?" Nero repeated back cautiously.

"He finds you, and this is a direct quote, totally hot."

"You don't think he'll get annoyed you told me about that?" The prince wondered, shifting onto his side to prop himself up on his elbow.

"Definitely not. He'll probably be telling you himself, so you should be prepared for that."

"Seriously?" Nero grinned again, dimples standing out in sharp relief. "Sounds like the two of you are night and day."

"You could say that." On his side now too, March realized rather abruptly that the space he'd deliberately kept between them felt small now that they were looking into each other's eyes. "In truth, you'll probably find him more pleasant to talk to than you find me."

"I doubt that." Charmed by the way the sleepiness was creeping into the noble's voice, intensifying the soft huskiness of it, Nero couldn't help reaching out to brush a tendril of dark hair from where it had fallen over one of his colorful eyes. "I find you very pleasant to talk to, actually."

"Since when?" he asked incredulously, once again unnerved by the casually tender way Neroki had stroked a light touch across his forehead.

"I'm not sure," Nero admitted. "One of life's great mysteries, I suppose."

"Much like the mystery of how half the nobles in the kingdom have turned out to watch armored knights on horses bludgeon each other with big sticks," March mused, shaking his head a little.

Snorting, the prince rolled his eyes. "That one's always been lost on me as well. I've never been able to get into sports, really. Though you might have sold me on archery. Watching, anyway." When March only stared at him, looking mildly confused, he went on. "Like I said before, I've never been jealous of a plank of wood before."

"What did you even mean by that?"

"The way you look when you're about to shoot, your eyes get so dark and intense. It's very sexy," he admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching at the noble's predictable reaction. "If you ever looked at me with that much power, with your eyes burning like that, I feel like I'd explode on the spot."

"You're ridiculous," March scoffed, embarrassed by the bluntly explained observation. "I have to focus on something if I want to actually hit it."

Injecting a mocking amount of wistfulness into a sigh, Nero laid a hand on his chest. "Maybe when I die, I'll be reincarnated as one of your targets, then."

"You're an idiot," he replied, but the prince could clearly hear the sliver of amusement lurking around the edge of his words.

"Maybe so, but I've got other good qualities, don't I?"

"Do you?" March asked thoughtfully, tapping a finger on his lips as he appeared in deep thought. "Nothing really comes to mind."

Chuckling, Nero gave a shrug. "And here I thought I'd already presented all my best attributes to you the last time you were in here."

"Last time?" he repeated, voice dripping with mild confusion despite the blush that had already risen to his cheeks. "Sorry, but I can't remember whatever you're referring to."

Lifting an eyebrow, Nero smirked. "I could refresh your memory," he offered, trailing a finger down to the button of his pants.

"Absolutely not." The words tumbled out in a harassed sputter. "And you aren't sleeping like that either, so just get that idea out of your head."

"Believe me, I was aware when I asked you to sleep in here that I'd be putting my comfort aside for the night," Nero said lightly, then frowned when March's expression sombered, his eyes lowering to the bronze pool of blankets. "Hey." He reached out, lightly cupping the noble's chin to nudge his face back up. "I didn't say that to make you feel guilty. You're not burdening me, alright? It's better for me if I don't have to worry about you."

Though his appreciation at the clarification kept him from feeling peeved, March twisted his face a bit to release himself from the prince's light grip. "You're starting to make a habit of that, you know."

"Touching you?"

"Yes."

"Just prefer showing my affection physically, I guess. You hate it that much?"

March opened his mouth to confirm the statement, but found the lie difficult to force out. "I'm not… It isn't appropriate for you to be grabbing me all the time."

"But we're courting," Nero pointed out, dimples winking. "Surely that has to grant me some leniency in your eyes?"

"Pretending to court," March corrected him automatically. "You're doing this for your father."

"I remember," the prince assured him, sitting up now. "It's impossible for me to forget what we're doing when I have someone like you in my bed and I'm not allowed to act on it."

"Someone like me?"

Nero stood, gathering up a few pillows and blankets from the massive stockpile to bring to the smaller daybed across the room. Before bunkering down, he turned to stare at March for a few moments. "You really don't know what it's like looking at you, do you? Being around you?"

"You're the only one that seems to be so affected."

"I doubt that," Nero mused, but let it go. "I'll pull the curtain back over here so you can see if you need to get up in the middle of the night."

"Thank you." March's answer was quiet as he reached over to click out the light, spreading velvety darkness through the room. The soft swish of the curtain cut through the dark before pale beams of moonlight from the window pooled in.

"Goodnight."

He wondered if it would be hard falling asleep in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by the unfamiliar scent clinging to the pillows. But he found himself entranced by the opulence, and the sensation of security that having Neroki nearby brought him. He fell into the deep kind of slumber one could only experience when their mind was completely free of worry, he slept hard, and with no haunting dreams of watching eyes to disturb him.