Chapter 21

DAYS LATER, BLOWINGout a breath, March glanced out of the open doors to his balcony, watching the leaves tremble in the breeze. It would be giving way to autumn within a few weeks, he knew. The verdant green of the forest would fade to eye-watering bursts of warm color, and animals would begin nesting for the winter. Would he be here to see it? Or would he be back in Kesmos, where his family waited for him?

He placed his quill back in its designated little cup, waiting for the ink on the letter he'd finally finished to dry before folding it into an envelope. Turning a bit in his chair, he saw Neroki, on his side, thumbing through a book that lay open on his bed.

It was only a few seconds that he could stare before the prince's eyes flicked up to his. But in that brief moment, the image seemed to burn into March's mind, quickening his pulse and sending his heart racing.

The sunlight from the balcony washed over the prince, giving his tanned skin a healthy glow. His hair, thick with waves, fell over his brow as he leaned over the book. Though his features were relaxed, his bone structure gave him the stark look of a warrior, or a god.

He wasn't perfect, but March didn't want him to be. He was daring, and reckless, but thoughtful and compassionate. He was loyal, and smart, despite his unwillingness to pursue academics any more than he absolutely had to. He had a giving heart. A heart that March was fairly sure belonged to him now, as much as his own heart was now in the possession of the cocky prince.

He recalled an argument he'd had with his parents only a year or so before, around his 19th birthday. He'd been throwing a tantrum, a rather petulant one, where he accused his mother of sabotaging the life he'd been meant to have. Though he'd seen the hurt in her eyes, he hadn't let up, accusations pouring from his mouth like black tar, filling up the room with his bitterness. By the time he'd finished, he'd had his head buried in his arms on the table, sobbing pitifully. Remembering it made him cringe.

"Neroki."

"Hm?" He closed the book, placing it aside, as he stared up at the fair-skinned noble. When March seemed hesitant, his slim fingers curling into knots on his thighs, Nero couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He only had that look when he was struggling to voice something he found awkward, or embarrassing. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"I need to apologize to you."

"If this is about you stomping on my foot earlier when I asked to join you in the shower, forget about it. You hardly weigh enough to cause me any pain."

"No," March said, giving a weak laugh. "I won't apologize for that. I'm serious about this."

Intrigued, Nero sat up, leaning back against the wall. "I can't think of a single thing you've done that warrants an apology, but if you insist on groveling for my favor, you could start by getting down on your knees. The image would put me in a more forgiving mood." When March only glared, he sucked his teeth, raising his hands in a submissive gesture. "Sorry, go ahead. I'll be quiet."

"I grew up in Kesmos. I've never known anything else, until I came to stay here. I love it, but I hate it, too." With as much neutrality as he could manage, he explained how the sovereign state worked, how it was mostly comprised of agricultural enterprises, and how his family was the only nobility that lived there.

"I didn't fit in. I don't fit in," he revised. "I wanted so badly to portray this image, an image that I thought was worthy of my heritage. I only ended up alienating myself, and pushing people away. I didn't mind that much, because I knew they couldn't relate to me anyway. And I certainly couldn't relate to them." Relieved when Neroki's eyes didn't register any judgment, March sighed, and continued to speak.

"It would have been possible, I suppose, to make friends and meaningful connections. It was always easy for Myca, and we come from the same blood, obviously." Myca, who had always cared little to ponder their lineage, and even less to live up to the lofty denomination, had never had any issues making friends. Though he'd been envious, at times, of his younger brother's ability to adapt to the life they'd been born into, he'd also been a bit unnerved by it. His own identity had always hinged so firmly on the blood running through his veins.

"You and Myca are different people. It doesn't mean one of you is better than the other."

Neroki was giving him an out, he realized. Trying to tell him that he didn't need to apologize. Bolstering himself, March inhaled. "In Kesmos, because nobility isn't really present there, people date socially. Casually. Arranged marriage is considered somewhat of a joke there, or at least an archaic practice. I would get approached by men all the time."

Thinking that he would have been completely shocked if it had been any different, Nero declined comment. He wasn't sure what March was leading up to, but he bit down on his urge to comfort.

"Some of them were polite, but more of them weren't." He remembered how affronted he would feel when confronted with their obvious desire of him, and their brazen flirtations. Couldn't they look at him and see that he was above them, beyond their approach? "Men there are mostly farmers and laborers. It made my skin crawl to think of giving myself to someone like that." A mocking light shined in his eyes for a moment, scorn directed at his own vapid confession.

"There was this one day, right about a year ago, I'd gone on a walk, and a man came up to me. He said really disgusting things to me, things he wanted us to do if I'd go back to his house with him. I won't repeat them, but I'm sure you can imagine."

"Yes, I can imagine." Guilt flickered in Nero's guts as he recalled some of the things he'd said to the innocent noble himself, thinking it funny to see his horrified reactions.

"Not like what you do," March clarified quickly, seeing the flash of remorse in Neroki's honey eyes. "He wasn't trying to be funny, or embarrass me or whatever. Anyway, it upset me. I couldn't stop feeling sorry for myself, and thinking about how hard my life was."

"By the time I got home," he continued, "I was fuming. I started throwing a tantrum, yelling at my mother almost as soon as I walked in the door." Sighing, he tried to back up a few steps in his mind. "So, you know my mother grew up in the same social circle as your father, went to the same finishing academy as he, and you, did. I'm sure you can surmise from that that she grew up in a very high-ranking family, with a very prestigious bloodline."

"I'd figured," Nero said.

"She'd married a tad lower than her status, but not enough to cause a stir. My motra is from the house of Cesari. Noble, but not terribly distinguished. It didn't matter, because they were happy. My mother became a lawyer, as she'd always wanted to. She left the kingdom so she could help people who didn't have the money to defend themselves from injustice. I knew that, but in that moment, I couldn't have cared less for her philanthropy." Shaking his head at his own self-serving anger, he nearly wanted to stop there, but forced himself to keep going.

"I couldn't understand why she would force me into this life that I was having so much trouble navigating. I blamed her for my awkwardness, the fact that I couldn't fit in with my peers, or with the nobles I'd grown up away from. In truth, I was too haughty to fit in with the commoners in Kesmos, but too clumsy and inelegant to fit in with the nobles in Ikronia. It wasn't her fault."

"Clumsy and inelegant is the last way I'd think to describe you, March," Nero said honestly, furrowing his brow. March let his eyes flutter closed, giving a mocking sort of nod.

"I told them then, that I would be marrying a man of substantial means and influence. I meant it with more conviction than maybe anything I'd ever said to them. I didn't have much to offer an aristocrat, other than my looks. But I knew that would be enough."

He had fancied himself the ideal, submissive husband, then eventually a devoted father to at least one child. A child that would never, he swore, be looked at as if they were an oddity, a puzzle to be solved, by peers that could never begin to understand them.

"I think that's part of why I hated you so much for kissing me," March admitted, considering it now. "I thought the purer I was, the more desirable I'd be to potential suitors, and it would be easier for me to pick out whoever was the most important."

"Didn't it occur to you that as a prince, my wealth and influence far exceeds any other suitors you might have been approached by?"

"That's true, but your reputation preceded you, unfortunately. I knew you'd never actually court me. If anything, I'd have been another name on your ever-growing list of lovers, and that would have been it."

"Probably true," Nero admitted. "Back then, anyway. I was a greedy little narcissist. Completely self-centered. I'm sorry you were hurt by it."

"No," March said, shaking his head. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I judged you too harshly, when I was every bit as shallow and self-serving as you. I called you a crude, lackadaisical playboy when my parents told me about how His Majesty wanted me to come stay at the castle. I only saw you as a conceited, arrogant pervert."

"You hardly need to apologize for that, since I only saw you as a pompous, preening puritan whose identity revolved around the fact that there'd never been a cock inside you."

Choking a little, March could hardly stammer out a response. "Neroki!"

"Just being honest," he said, scooting to the edge of the bed so he could grasp March's hands in his. Giving the raven-haired male a repentant smile framed by handsome dimples, he brought one of the hands to his mouth, kissing the knuckles gently. "Of course it's not how I see you now. You know that."

"I know," March said, though his brow was still furrowed at the shock of the prince's vulgar words. "Well, now I'm not even sure I'm sorry at all."

Throwing back his head, Nero let out a loud laugh. "How about we just admit that we're both shallow, and agree it's lucky you're so devastatingly beautiful, and that I'm the Crown Prince, otherwise we might never have come to know each other."

Though he tried, March couldn't quite stop the smile from blooming through. "I suppose I can agree to that." His fingers were still gripped in Nero's hand, the prince's lips pressing increasingly firm kisses to the skin there. When arousal began to spark in his belly, he pulled his hand back, tilting his chin to the open balcony doors, where the sun was beginning its descent into the horizon. "That council meeting is tonight, so we'll need to get going soon."

Groaning in displeasure, Nero resisted the urge to cross his arms like a cranky child. "And just when I was going to show you how incredibly shallow I can really be."

Though Neroki's frustration made him feel wonderfully wanted, March only moved a shoulder, giving him a wry look. "Don't worry, you've shown me that many times over, dear prince."