Chapter 13

"WHAT ARE YOUwearing tonight?" March asked, lips pursed together as he considered the limited choices he'd packed. Not that he had anything particularly awe-inspiring at home, either. He was always methodical in keeping himself perfectly groomed, but fashion had never been a strength of his. Too much guess-work, and trends were too flighty and unpredictable.

"Nothing special." Nero shrugged, flat on his back in March's bed, staring up at the ceiling as the noble dug through drawers, tossing pieces of clothing about. "It's not really a party or anything. We just get together and talk and drink." He was shocked March hadn't objected to him lying there, but perhaps he'd reasoned that it would only be inappropriate if they were both in it at the same time. More likely it was that he was too distracted to really notice. Shifting to his side, Nero propped himself up on one elbow to watch the noble pace somewhat frantically. "Are you worried about what to wear?"

Barely sparing him a glance, March nodded, chewing at his lip nervously. "I didn't really bring anything other than formal wear and casual things to be comfortable in."

"You could wear rags and still shine more brightly than anyone in the kingdom."

"Stop that." March's voice was stiff and prim. "You're just trying to get me worked up."

"Trying?" Nero asked, amused when a balled-up shirt was lobbed at him. "I could lend you something, if it's that important to you."

"I don't know…" March hedged, feeling awkward. "I don't think your style would really suit me."

"Get out that frilly cream tunic, and the leather vest that goes with your formal suit."

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, March did as he asked. "I wasn't aware you had my wardrobe so very memorized."

"If it's been on your body, believe me, I've studied it."

"You should spend your time studying things that will improve the future of Ikronia, and make you a better king, instead of my body."

"But that isn't nearly as fun. Now, the black pants that fit down to your ankle. The tight ones," he added, smirking when March gave him a look ripe with irony.

"Of course." But he had to admit, seeing them all pieced together in a vaguely human shape on the floor, they did make an intriguing outfit. He would look sort of sexy, but effortlessly so. "Thank you. This was helpful."

"Anytime," Nero replied. "And don't lace that tunic all the way up. Leave it just a little undone at the top."

"I don't think so."

"Do you think there's ever been another 20-year-old who could compete with you in levels of prudishness?"

"Perhaps one raised in a monastery."

"I'm only partially convinced they would outrank you in that category," Nero mused. "Why bother sticking so closely to an exercise regimen if you're only going to hide that very lovely, toned body of yours?"

"I exercise for my health," March retorted, a standoffish tinge to his words. The conversation was beginning to make him feel hot and twitchy.

"Ah," Nero acknowledged. Absolute bull if he'd ever heard it, as the dark-haired male spent more time primping in the mirror than a teenage girl. "My mistake."

"And do you think there's ever been another 20-year-old who obsesses over sex as much as you?"

"Most of them, I'm sure," Nero said, entertained by the question. "We young people have this thing called a libido. You probably haven't heard of it."

"I know what a libido is," March snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just don't let mine influence every aspect of my life."

"Never thought you'd admit to actually possessing a sex drive."

"I'm not medically frigid," the noble hissed out. "Just because I can go a single minute without entertaining some pornographic fantasy in my head."

"You got me," Nero shrugged, but grinned without repentance. "I'm sure you'd be horrified at the things I've imagined even just in the last half hour or so." When March only glared, he pressed his luck, trailing a hand down his stomach to tap his fingers suggestively on the button of his pants. "You can hardly blame me for considering what manner of naughty things you've done in this bed."

"I would never answer that," March ground out, for the second time that day wishing he would be swallowed up by some sudden and lethal natural disaster.

"I think maybe you just did."

"If you think your royal title gives you some kind of immunity from being kicked out of my room, please reconsider."

"Don't bother," Nero stretched lazily, tossing his legs over the edge of the bed to stand. "I have to go and get ready anyway. We're meeting them in a section of the castle you haven't been to before, so I'll swing back around to pick you up in a bit."

"Fine." March watched him make his way to the door, mentally debating whether he should bring up his next question. "Neroki?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know someone named Pavel?"

"Pavel?" The prince looked visibly confused as he pondered for a few moments. "Doesn't ring a bell. Why?"

"When I went for a walk earlier, there was this guy named Pavel that came up to me. He asked me some weird questions."

Eyes narrowed, Nero's voice became serious. "Did he make you uncomfortable?"

"Well, yes, but not because…" Shaking his head, March decided to start over. The intensity that the prince could exude from his eyes and voice always flustered him a bit. "He was strange, but really the questions were more about you and the castle."

Visibly relaxing at March's explanation, Nero waved a hand dismissively. "Probably just some nosy aristocrat looking for gossip he can spread at his next party. Don't worry about it."

Soothed by the non-reaction, March gave a small nod. "I'm sure you're right."

"Oh, almost forgot." Nero gestured to the shiny new locking mechanism that had been bolted to the door. He tossed a key to March, who caught it reflexively. "You can lock it from the outside now, too. For when you leave the room."

"Thank you," he said, still unused to the emotional whiplash that constantly plagued him in Nero's presence. How could he be so incredibly insulting, offensive, and then so thoughtful?

"There are only two of those keys, so don't lose it."

"Where's the other key?"

With a light smirk, the prince patted his pocket. "Hoping to keep the lock intact if I ever crave a nighttime visit."

Though the idea had his pulse quickening, March kept his voice casual. "I'd urge you to show some restraint on that front, or you might find yourself pierced with an arrow next."

"I'm afraid that doesn't align with my interests at all, when it's you I would prefer to have pierced. By an arrow of sorts, anyway."

March blinked once, then twice, temperature soaring to unhealthy levels of heat as the meaning of Nero's words sank in. Body more or less moving purely on instinct, his fingers spread over his face as he turned around to face the wall.

"Get. Out."

The sound of Nero's husky laughter echoed in his ears long after the door closed behind him.

CAREFULLY MOVING DOWNa worn staircase through the entrance to a cellar, March hesitated at the sight of Nero's friends seated around a table. Nudging him forward a bit with a light stroke down his back, Nero called out a greeting to the four of them.

Relieved to see the table littered with cards and poker chips and nothing too strange, March slipped into one of the empty seats, next to Ramor. Nero sat beside him, to Cedar's left.

"Good to see you again." Ramor spoke in a low, naturally soothing voice, giving him an easygoing grin. The absurd situation they'd endured had bonded them in a strange sort of way.

"You, too," March answered honestly.

"Finally," Cedar complained, somehow speaking clearly despite the rolled cigarette clamped between his teeth. He tossed a mediocre hand onto the table with a dismissive gesture. "I fold. Never had anything, anyway."

"You raised the pot twice!" Ingrid laughed, but dragged the pile of colorful chips toward herself and began stacking them methodically.

"Bluffs," Cedar admitted, shaking his head. Nero reached over, plucking the lit roll out of the brunette's mouth before sticking it to his own lips and inhaling. Pale purple smoke snaked up from the glowing ember, ending in a fancy little curlicue.

Brow furrowed, March sniffed. The scent coming from it was spicy and sweet, lingering in the air like a sticky syrup.

"That isn't a cigarette," he realized aloud.

"Loveleaf," Ramor supplied helpfully. It was a rare and expensive herb, usually only afforded to the elite. Inhaling the smoke in small portions was said to cause feelings of relaxation and lower inhibitions. In larger portions, it could be used to invoke hallucinations and open someone's mind to spiritual experiences. March knew that it could be used as a tool by those who had predilection for divination and fortune telling. He'd never seen any in real life, and didn't have any particular interest in trying it.

"Don't tell me you've never had it," Laurel simpered, raising an eyebrow. He, too, reached across the table and plucked the treat from Nero's mouth. Taking a deep drag from it, he turned to March and blew the smoke lightly but directly into the raven-haired male's face.

Coughing a bit, March heard Ingrid chide her brother. Nero leaned close to him, giving him a light pat on the thigh. "Don't worry, it'll just give you an airy kind of feeling." Trying not to feel violated, March gave a nod, hoping his annoyance didn't show on his face.

Plunking a pair of wineglasses down before them, Cedar tilted a bottle of fragrant liquid to fill them. "Drink this, it'll cancel everything out."

He hadn't noticed before, but now that the odd brunette wasn't wearing a formal coat to camouflage his frame, March could see he had a delicate, fine-boned build that matched his pretty face, but not the metal piercings or dark tattoos. When Cedar glanced over to him to catch him staring, they both flushed a bit and instantly turned from each other.

March had wondered, and worried, what sorts of things the privileged aristocrats might do in a private setting, but found that much of their ‘party' was simply indulging in alcohol and telling stories. Amused by some, and horrified by others, March found himself feeling lightheaded and floaty as a few hours ticked by. Surprised to find his cup empty again, he tilted his head as Nero absentmindedly filled it.

"It was eleven," Ramor swore, holding up all ten of his fingers, then frowning. Ingrid, with a soppy sort of look in her eyes, leaned over, sticking up one pale, somewhat pudgy finger next to his darker ones. "Eleven," he said again, pleased with the addition.

"There's no way," Nero laughed, shaking his head at the story involving a mutual acquaintance of theirs, a rather dopey sounding man of awkward social graces who'd apparently rented a suite in a hotel owned by Ramor's family earlier in the year. "What could possibly entice eleven women into the bed of that simpleton? Even one woman, for that matter."

"Money," Laurel gave a shrug, his pupils dilated into round, dark circles. "Or perhaps he possesses a cock of proportions the rest of us can only dream of."

"Maybe the women were all just making love to each other, and he only paid them to watch," Ingrid suggested soberly, sucking from the roll of ground loveleaf as it was passed to her.

"I think I prefer to believe he was blessed with at least one above average trait, even if it's only in the form of a monster cock," Cedar pondered thoughtfully. "The alternative is just too sad."

"Imagine paying for sex, only to be confined to a corner to watch," Nero agreed. "Unfathomable. What were the noises like, Ramor?"

"Like what you'd imagine eleven moaning women to sound like."

"But did you hear him at all?" Laurel pressed, to which Ramor gave a slow shake of his head.

"Tragic," Cedar decided, propping a slender leg up onto his chair. "I actually feel a little guilty now for how we'd always poke fun at him. Well, almost," he amended.

"You feel guilty now, after learning he got to sit in a room with eleven gorgeous, naked women?" Ramor asked incredulously.

"What's to brag about there?" Laurel scoffed, tossing back the last of his drink.

"I could be sitting in a room with the world's finest buffet, but that doesn't mean my stomach is getting full," Ingrid agreed.

"Sitting next to a buffet is a fair bit removed from his situation, though," Ramor insisted. "He may have only gotten himself off, but it's still quite a fantasy. You can't deny that."

"Some of us have imagination," Nero pointed out with a laugh. "There could be any number of beautiful people in my bedroom at any given time. Doesn't have to be real."

"And get yourself off for free, at that," Ingrid nodded. "Don't forget that the room must have been pretty spendy."

"Our most expensive suite," Ramor admitted, but looked unconvinced. "But still, it's the type of thing I think you'd want to do once in your life. Just to say you've done it."

"Pass," Cedar deadpanned. "Like Ingrid said, I'll get myself off for free, if a show's all he was getting."

"What do you think, March?" Laurel asked suddenly, tilting his head in curiosity at the silent noble.

The shock at the casual way they all spoke of sex had been somewhat dampened by the fragrant smoke drifting from the loveleaf, and the sweet alcohol he'd been draining all night. But still, March felt his heart pound a little faster as he pondered an answer.

"Perhaps he's just a silent sort of lover, so you couldn't hear him."

"Ha!" Nero shook his head, pounding a fist down onto the table. "Unlikely. He gives me the look of someone who would moan like a wildebeest in bed."

Gagging, Ingrid held up a hand to stop him from going further. "Please, you'll make me vomit from trying to conjure up such a horrendous image."

More time passed, though March was unsure exactly how much. The room had no windows, and no clock that he'd been able to find. The walls were lined with rows and rows of bottles of wine. Many had been plucked out, leaving an odd empty space here and there.

The conversation veered into a more personal direction when Cedar mentioned another acquaintance of theirs, who'd gotten married recently. The wedding had been forced by both their families, and performed in a great hurry.

"A baby out of wedlock," Ingrid considered, shaking her head. "Can you imagine?" She breathed it out, glancing at Laurel, who snorted.

"No, but I can imagine Vatra putting either of us in an early grave to keep from squandering the family name," he said, referring to one of their fathers.

"You're telling me neither one of them had gotten the shot?" Nero asked doubtfully, looking puzzled. "How is that possible?"

Cedar shrugged, but looked as though he agreed with Nero's sentiment.

The shot, March knew, was a procedure that involved injecting the recipient with a cocktail of highly expensive chemicals to halt production of the hormone needed to create children. It was ridiculously expensive, but it was undeniably the social norm within the upper class. It lasted until it was reversed with another injection, usually once the noble was married and ready to have children.

He'd never brought it up to his parents because he'd never planned on having sex before he was cozily settled into marital bliss. He imagined they must have been relieved to be spared the financial burden of it. He was certain Neroki must have gotten it at some point, or there would have been a large brood of illegitimates running around Ikronia, but the thought of asking made his skin feel hot.

After hearing a retelling of a story involving when Nero, Laurel, Cedar, and Ramor had tried sneaking into one of the lavish hotel suites owned by the latter's family when they'd still been kids, March found himself wondering how long everyone had known each other.

"So you all went to school together, then," he determined. He felt a twinge of envy at the idea of having such a loyal handful of friends to look forward to seeing every day.

"Well, I'm two years behind," Ingrid pointed out. "So I wasn't in the same classes as everyone else."

"But we knew you from when we'd come to see Laurel," Ramor said.

"True," she said, smiling. "And you would all let me play with you, though I'm sure I was annoying."

"You weren't," Laurel interjected flatly. "You've never been annoying."

"True, actually," Nero agreed, while Ramor gave an encouraging nod. "We liked hanging out with you, Ingrid."

"That's right," Cedar reiterated. "If anything, we tolerated Laurel just so we could see you."

Turning to face him, Laurel gave the pierced brunette a wry look, though to March's surprise he could see obvious affection in the expression. "Which begs the question, what is it we tolerate you for?"

"My stunning beauty and rapier wit."

"They're sweet, aren't they?" She said, turning to March, with beams of joy pulsing from her pale eyes. Her sincerity was infectious, and he found himself grinning despite himself.

"Seems like it."

As more time passed, more tales involving mutual acquaintances were discussed. Keeping an ear on the conversation, in case he was pulled into one to give his perspective as he'd done a few times throughout the night, March found his mind wandering to the prince beside him. His handsome, dashing, exciting prince.

Blinking as his vision wavered, he reached out, stroking his fingertips through the prince's thick waves of sun-lightened hair. Nero turned to him, giving him a surprised look. "March?" His voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel. Because the thought frightened him a bit, March trailed his hands down to stroke over Nero's prominent cheekbones, then over his lips, to make sure he was really there. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." His own voice sounded as though it were coming from far away as well, he realized. "It's just that you're very handsome to look at, so I wondered if you felt nice to touch as well."

Cedar snorted. "I think your boyfriend might be a tad plastered there, handsome prince."

"How much have you had to drink?" Nero asked, bringing his own hand up to cup over March's, holding it against his cheek.

"I don't know," the noble admitted, blinking a bit rapidly. Before Nero could begin to formulate a response, March's eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp, rushing toward the floor like a rag doll.

From the other side of the table, Ingrid shrieked. Throwing out an arm with impressive reflexes afforded to him from his fencing, Ramor caught the raven-haired male just before his skull would have cracked onto the stone floor.

"God," Nero groaned, feeling his stomach rise up to his throat to make room for the copious terror thrashing through his guts. "Alright, enough. I've got to get him in bed."

"I'm spent as well," Cedar said, panting a bit from the rush of anxiety. "I think it's time to call it." Laurel and Ingrid nodded in agreement. Coming around the table on unsteady legs, Ingrid gave March's unconscious head a slight pat.

"Poor thing," she clucked her tongue.

"I don't think I can carry him alone," Nero admitted. He was certain he could have managed it if he'd been sober, but the last thing he wanted to risk was dropping him down a flight of stairs or something. He glanced up at Ramor beseechingly, who nodded.

"No problem, I can help."

"You," Nero said, turning to Cedar. "My room. We need to talk. Just wait for me there."

"Am I in trouble, Daddy?" Cedar asked, injecting a note of mock fright into his voice, though his expression was light.

Snorting, Nero shook his head. "Just wait for me, alright?"

"Whatever you say."

They all parted ways with Nero, Ramor, and March heading one way, Laurel and Ingrid another, and Cedar in the direction of Nero's room.

MARCH CAME TO, somewhere around the stairs. Again blinking rapidly, his mind scrambled to understand where he was, and what was happening. He had Ramor on one side, and Neroki on the other, his arms wrapped around the necks of both. He was being carried, he realized in embarrassment.

"Um," he mumbled out a word, but wasn't sure what to say.

"You're awake," Nero said, relief coursing through his words. As they reached the top of the stairs, and March's room, he dug in his pocket for the key. After unlocking it, they carefully nudged him forward, dumping him gently onto the mattress.

"Goodnight, bow-less angel," Ramor said, sounding somewhat amused. Groaning, March turned onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow to hide his shame. "Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us."

"Thanks again," Nero said, patting the larger man on the shoulder as he walked out.

"Anytime. My leg doesn't feel so bad at the moment."

"Guessing all that wine had something to do with that."

"I'll be feeling it in the morning, no doubt," Ramor said, waving off the prince as he retreated down the hall.

Slipping back into the bedroom, Nero knelt next to March's bed, eyeing him with concern. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I should have been paying more attention. I'm an asshole."

"No," March denied. "You're very nice. And funny. And exciting."

"Thank you," Nero replied, his mouth twitching into a grin. "I don't think you quite mean that nice part, though."

"I do mean it," March insisted. His head and stomach were swimming. "And I wanted you to kiss me so badly today."

"I know you did."

"But I also didn't, you know? You scare me. You were right about everything. I'm so scared of how I feel when I'm with you."

"Don't be scared of that. You should know I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm not afraid that you'll hurt me. I'm just afraid that…" Trailing off and shuddering out a breath, March wiggled to one side of the bed. "Will you lay with me? Please, Neroki."

Feeling the muscles in his stomach tense at the words, Nero lifted himself up onto the bed, careful to leave a gap between their bodies. An effort that immediately proved fruitless, as March rolled into him, tossing an arm over his chest and nuzzling into his side. Lifting his head after a moment, he regarded the prince with shimmering eyes. As always, Nero found himself awestruck by the unique colors. "Do you really find my voice shrill?"

"No." Swallowing, Nero tried to shift into a position where March's warm body wasn't plastered so tightly to him. He was only human, after all.

"You said it was. You said you wouldn't be able to stay aroused if you had to hear my voice." Seemingly of its own accord, March's hand began drifting across the prince's torso, sending his muscles into a quivering mess.

"I was lying."

"Were you?" March asked, voice dripping with mischief. Trailing his hand down past the prince's navel, he let out a sweet laugh at the feeling of Nero's stiff member straining against his pants. "Oh, I guess you were."

Letting out a groan, Nero reached down, peeling March's hand off him. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Yes, I do." Heaving himself up, he positioned a leg on either side of Nero's hips, before sliding down to press his face into the prince's neck. Their bodies lined up, center to center, like puzzle pieces destined to be fit together. "See?"

"You really, really don't," Nero said, raising a hand to stroke down the noble's slender back. The unmistakable feeling of March's stiffened cock pressing insistently against his hip was maddening. Hoping he'd be forgiven for his sins, Nero let his fingers slip just the slightest inch under the flowing cloth of March's shirt, rubbing the skin there. It was hotter than a flame, but softer than satin. Lust like he'd never experienced roared through his bloodstream, giving him an unpleasant throbbing sensation between his thighs. "I have to go."

"You're leaving?" Sounding injured, March's head whipped up.

"Yes." He felt like he was navigating a minefield.

"Because you don't want me."

Nearly laughing at the absurdity of the statement, Nero could only blow out a breath. "That's not true, March. You know that's not true."

"It's because I'm not like you and your friends, isn't it?" His voice was beginning to sound watery, and weak. "Because I'm not good enough for you."

"You're good enough for me. You're too good for me," he added. When March shifted on him, grinding their hips together, he hissed out a breath between his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed. "You're drunk, okay? What you're feeling isn't real."

"I knew you were only making fun of me," March realized, rejection and humiliation washing over him like sticky, black tar. "You never actually wanted me at all, you just think it's funny to torture me."

"No," he denied. "I want you more than… It's different with you, March. You're more than that to me."

"I don't blame you," March went on, the prince's words bouncing off his self-imposed wall of misery. "You could have anyone. I'm not even good enough to be here. I didn't even go to a finishing academy," he said, bursting into tears. Wracked with loud sobs, he flung himself to the side of the bed, curling into a tight ball.

"Oh, god. I'm sorry." Starkly shocked and horrified by the tears, Nero could only shake his head. "I'm really, really sorry. I don't care that you didn't go to finishing school. You should know I don't care about that kind of thing."

"Please just get out," March begged, sniffling as he pulled a blanket over his head. "You're right, this would never work. We're too different."

"March…" When he was only answered with more sobs, Nero backed up into the door, running a hand through his hair. Feeling like the lowest, most miserable scum on the planet, he left the room. With shaky hands, he engaged the new lock from the outside, shoving the key back in his pocket after.

Inside, March wept bitterly into his pillow, hating himself more than he ever had.