Chapter 3

STILL A BITgangly from the awkward phase of teenage puberty, 15-year-old March was made up of coltish legs and a narrow torso. His stomach was jittery with nerves, mind racing with the effort to recall all he'd read in his books about dinner etiquette.

They weren't the most rich or high-ranking family, but their blood was noble all the same. And because his mother knew the king personally, was a friend of his, they were sometimes invited to royal banquets, this one in particular celebrating the bicentennial of the independence of their kingdom. A lavish, glittering ball was to follow the meal.

There were many families there, dressed in opulent fashions. Gowns of satin and silk shimmered in the light tossed down from crystal chandeliers. The glimmer of jewels and buckles and buttons would sometimes catch the light, flashing brilliantly.

March glanced down at his own slim dress pants and coat with a bit of uncertainty. His build was slight, more compact than most others he went to school with, but at least the jacket had been tailored to flatter him. His mother and motra both looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen them. Being 10, Myca didn't seem to care much for the formal festivities, and had long abandoned the table to play with the other children in the courtyard.

Many of the adults murmured excitedly about the ball, gossiping predictions about who would dance with who. Glancing around, the young aristocrat could see that there were many boys and girls close to him in age. If someone asked him to dance, he was certain he would perish on the spot. Already planning his escape in his head, he tried to keep one ear on the conversations around him.

Amalie laughed at a wry comment from a man across the table, the diamonds she wore in her hair glittering madly with the movement. Smiling as well, Roman shifted to allow a servant to collect her empty plate.

The dinner portion of the night was finally ending, March realized with a vague sense of distress. But he fixed a polite smile on his face when he was spoken to, replying with appropriate responses. He'd studied up on current politics to make sure he'd appear educated and socially groomed. Grateful for his own foresight, he was able to navigate through the politely subdued small talk with relative ease as the meal finished out.

Once it had, it didn't take long for most of the party-goers to gather in the enormous ballroom. An elegant minuet strained from the musicians, filling the room with a hushed sort of glamour. People had already started pairing up, both young and old, to sway together on the dance floor. After seeing that his parents were engrossed in a conversation with another couple, March ducked out of the ballroom, relieved to see that the banquet hall was mostly empty, only a few stragglers sticking around to sample the fancy desserts.

He nicked a pretty little cake, taking the saucer with him as he wandered out of the hall and through a door that led outside. He could hear the gleeful shrieks of the children in the courtyard, and decided to wander in the opposite direction. The last thing he wanted was to get roped into some childish game. He was far too dignified for that sort of nonsense these days. Moving away from the sounds, he stuck close to the edge of the building so he didn't get lost.

He would only stay out for a few minutes, he reasoned with himself, then he would go back to the others, as was proper. He just needed a few minutes alone to catch his breath. It wasn't exactly suitable, he knew, but he'd rather shirk a few minutes of required mingling than collapse onto the ballroom floor in a stress-induced faint, humiliating himself and his family in the process. Preventative measure, he thought, as he discovered he'd wandered into a particularly lovely courtyard.

The cake was indulgently sweet, the candy bright frosting a delightful shock to his tongue. When some of it smeared on the edge of the plate, he dipped a finger into it, bringing it to his mouth to suck.

"You're sick of the party too, huh?"

March jumped, startled by the voice. He thought he'd been alone. Turning towards it, he felt his eyes widen at the realization of who it belonged to.

"Your Highness," March gave a slight bow, unsure of what to say or do next, ashamed to have been caught gobbling frosting like a starving caveman.

Nero leaned back a bit, surveying the young male. They were similar in age, though he was certain he'd never seen him in the castle before. He would have remembered a face like that, not to mention the wildly pretty eyes that swirled with ever-changing colors. He knew those eyes were exclusive to a particular family, to which this very lovely person must have belonged.

"And you are?"

"I'm March Cesari, Your Highness." He was cute, Nero decided. Very cute. He had the face of a painstakingly crafted doll. Creamy, unblemished skin with flawlessly sculpted features.

"Very nice," Nero commented. Reaching out, he pressed two fingers under March's chin to tilt up his face, enjoying the way the noble's eyes changed as the light hit them at different angles. "Like dragon scales."

Slightly appalled at the casual way he'd been touched, March could only stare for a moment before his brain started working again. Lowering his thick fan of lashes over his eyes and taking a defensive step back, out of the prince's reach, he cleared his throat. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen one in person."

"I could show you now," Nero offered, jerking his chin in the direction of the enclosure behind the castle. "Just you and me. You could even ride one, if you'd like."

The suggestion was bold, wildly inappropriate, and painfully tempting, made worse by the way the prince's warmed honey eyes seemed to pierce March's soul as he waited for an answer. The fact that the idea was even slightly appealing had March answering quickly and decisively.

"No." Upon hearing how forceful he'd sounded, March spoke again, hoping to smooth the rejection over. "I appreciate the offer, but no."

"Don't be afraid of falling off or anything. I'd hold onto you really tight."

The obvious implication in the prince's statement had the young noble's face burning hot. Knowing there was no way to hide his obvious embarrassment only intensified the discomfort. Could this boorish deviant really be the future leader of Ikronia?

"Falling off a dragon's back is the least pressing of the issues with your suggestion," March answered primly. At least he'd die in that case, and not have to live with the shame. "Not that I would ever mount one to begin with," he tacked on.

"Why not?"

March blinked, wondering if the prince genuinely thought that any normal, sane sort of person would jump at the chance to climb atop an unfamiliar beast with only the promise of a complete stranger that they wouldn't plummet to their death.

"My parents wouldn't want me pairing off with anyone without a chaperone." Even speaking the idea out loud had the heat intensifying in the noble's cheeks. He'd never been good about keeping a neutral expression when discussing delicate matters.

"You never do anything your parents wouldn't approve of?" Nero guessed, amused when March gave him a look so incredulous, it was as if he were from another planet entirely.

"I haven't had a reason to." Pride had March's spine going stiff as the prince cocked a brow at him, expression oozing superiority.

"In that case, what do you do when you want to roll around in the hay with somebody?" Nero couldn't help but grin at March's shocked sputter. "Sorry, I meant when you want to steal a few kisses after a date, or the like. You do it in front of them?"

"Deciding where or when I'd like to be groped and salivated over is the last thing on my mind." Or it had been, until that very moment.

"That's a shame," Nero murmured with a cluck of his tongue, doubtful that the pretty teen would have trouble finding any number of willing participants if he so chose. He watched March's fingers travel up to the collar of his starched white dress shirt, fidgeting nervously with a hem, eyes lingering on the fragile collarbone there, then up to the raven-haired male's mouth. A dab of frosting lingered just on the corner of the full bottom lip.

Heat began to tingle under March's skin as Nero stared at him. Feeling oddly exposed, he glanced away from the piercing gaze.

"Is that why you left the party? Too much groping and salivating for your liking?" Nero asked finally, after a stretch of silence.

"I just didn't want to dance with anyone." In that moment, March thought he would have been willing to overlook a public orgy in the ballroom if he could only return to his parents' sides, where he'd be safe from wolf-like stares that threatened to devour him whole.

"What if I asked to dance with you?" When the brunette took a step toward him, March felt himself take an instinctive step back. Feeling his back meet with the brick wall of the castle, he realized he was somewhat trapped.

Knowing there was no rule that said one had to agree if asked by a prince or princess to dance, but acutely aware of the courtesy expected of a noble, March hesitated. He was positive that not a single page of any of his much-scoured books on etiquette had ever given him any sort of clue on how to act in a situation like this.

"I… I suppose I would have to oblige you."

"You would oblige me with a dance, but wouldn't join me for a walk behind the castle?"

"Right." When Nero took yet another step toward him, nearly closing the minimal gap between them, March threw out a hand in instinctive defense. To his sheer amazement, the prince simply lifted his own, pressing their palms together. The simple contact felt as hot as a branding iron to his otherwise untouched flesh.

"You don't see the irony in that statement? Dancing means I'd have the opportunity to put my hands on some very interesting parts of your body."

"It's not about the dancing," March insisted. His pulse was fluttering, heart beating too hard in his chest. "If we were in the ballroom with everyone else, it would be alright. But I wouldn't go somewhere alone with you."

"We're alone now." The tone was casual, but the implication behind the statement was dangerous. "Does that worry you?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.The word flashed in his head like a beacon, but March couldn't quite force it out of his mouth. "No."

"You're lying." Nero reached out, fingers lightly cupping the noble's pale neck. Heat spread like a wildfire down March's whole body.

"We don't even know each other. You wouldn't really do anything." He spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster, but they sounded hollow, even in his own ears.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" The prince's words jammed into his ears like rusty knives wrapped in velvet.

"Of course I haven't."

Though he knew what was coming next, March froze, eyes wide, like a prey animal caught in the midst of a hawk's murderous dive as Nero leaned into him. More than the idea of being kissed, more than the idea of being kissed by the prince, the unfamiliar reaction of his body scared him.

Using his hand to tilt March's head back, Nero brushed their lips together once, the barest hint of a touch. He waited a moment, wondering if the prim male would push him away. When he didn't, he pressed their lips together again, firmly this time.

The sound of children playing in the distance, the cheery birdsong from the trees above them, ceased to exist over the buzzing in March's head. He wondered if he would slide to the ground, as all of his bones had been replaced with jelly, but Nero held him too closely for that. Though every cell in his brain screamed at him to pull away, to save what was left of his dignity, March felt his lips warm and part with gentle pressure.

The hand Nero didn't have firmly cupped at his neck teased a light touch along March's spine, sending nerves he hadn't known he possessed barreling into life and sensation. When the tip of the prince's tongue gently coaxed his into action, the noble could only whimper.

The small, muffled sound against his mouth had Nero lifting his head, searching those swirling eyes insistently. The desire and confusion he'd expected was there, but the stark fear had him pulling back in automatic recoil. Annoyed with himself, he cleared his throat, while the sugary taste of the frosting from March's lip sizzled on his tongue.

"You should go." Swallowing, Nero kept his hands stiffly at his sides. A kiss was nothing to him. Nothing but a pleasant prelude to more stimulating activities. It should have been nothing. But his blood was crashing in his veins like waves of bubbling lava.

Stomach churning with a mix of emotions he could hardly process, March wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to curse, or throw a tantrum. He wanted to tell Nero that he was scum, even if he was the Crown Prince. He wanted to be kissed again.

Keeping his eyes lowered to the ground, March pushed past him, hurrying back toward the party. Though he didn't dare to turn around, he could feel the prince's intense stare burning into him until he was out of sight.

HE SHOULD HAVEpunched the smug and arrogant bastard, March thought, the five-year-old memory tasting rancid in his mouth. He should have brought his knee up to crush the part of Nero's body that he so obviously cherished above all else.

They'd had exactly one more conversation, when March had visited the castle again the following year for another banquet. He remembered it very, very well. The prince had been staring holes into him from across the table, mouth tilted into a patronizing smirk. When the meal had concluded, everyone had been invited to the ballroom once again. March had politely excused himself to the restroom, but had detoured through the exit of the banquet hall, around the castle wall. Nero had been waiting for him there already, as he'd known he would be.

"Decided you couldn't live without me?" His voice had been just a degree deeper, his shoulders a touch broader. The realization gave March a jolt of annoyance. He wondered if he looked any more adult.

"I came for your apology."

"Remind me what I'm apologizing for, and I'll consider it." Nero's condescending tone had March's hands fisting at his sides.

"You kissed me without my permission."

"Are you asking me to apologize for the kiss, or for making you like it?"

Though his gut clenched with indignant embarrassment, March ignored the obvious bait. "You had no right."

"Again, do you mean I had no right to kiss you, or no right to make you like it so much?"

"Are you really so arrogant that you find it inconceivable for anyone to reject your advances?"

"You didn't reject me. You wanted me to kiss you, and I did."

March turned on his heel to storm back into the castle, letting out a sound of disgust. There was obviously no reasoning with him. But then…

"You're only proving my point by running away scared."

Freezing in place, March turned slowly, anger snapping flames into his bright eyes. "I am absolutely not afraid of you."

"I didn't say you were. You're just afraid of how I make you feel."

"The only thing you make me feel is disgust."

Scoffing at the statement, Nero gave him a long, appraising look starting down at his feet, all the way back up to his eyes. "If I kissed you now, you'd melt in my arms."

Because he was afraid that the prince was right, March's voice was lethally calm as he responded. "If you kissed me now, I would drive an arrow through your heart and end your reign of debauchery."

Feeling more insulted than he cared to admit, Nero moved a shoulder and matched the even tone. "I'm sure you would, provided you were able to form a coherent thought once I started. I shouldn't need to remind you that I'm the one who chose to stop."

"I would have stopped you."

He'd fled again then, back to the safety of his parents and the crowd. He hadn't seen the prince again for the rest of the night. The deep relief he felt at avoiding any further conflict both shamed and angered him.

He'd had the misfortune of being in Nero's presence only twice more after that, years apart. Always in a group. He'd vowed never to be alone with the audacious rake again. And now… He was to spend a whole season in his presence. There was no way around it.

March's thoughts bubbled with bitter resentment, but he couldn't have looked more serene, chopping vegetables into neat, even pieces and sliding them into a pot of bubbling broth. If his violent ideas made the knife clack down more loudly than usual on the cutting board, no one else noticed. Walking up behind him, Amalie gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, dear. I appreciate the help."

"It's no problem." He had nothing left to do, in any case. It would be his last night eating dinner with his family, sleeping in his familiar bed among his familiar possessions in his childhood bedroom. For three months, anyway.

His suitcases were packed, ready to be loaded into the land ship King Beritz had insisted on sending to pick him up. It was a kind favor, since the ship would get him there in a fraction of the time it would take by carriage. But since March had never ridden in one, it was just one more aspect of the trip to make his stomach churn with anxiety.

He was grateful when Myca entered the room, excitedly chirping about how some girls at school were paying him to do their makeup for an upcoming dance. Since he was already being forced to give the smooth-talking playboy prince an entire season of his attention, March decided there was no need to add to the sentence by keeping him in his thoughts. Shifting his focus to the lively conversation happening behind him, he did his best to savor the last few hours he would have with his family.