Chapter 4

ALONE IN THEprivate room he'd been led to by one of the uniformed ship attendants, March watched his familiar world slip away through a large window. He'd already asked, in a way he hoped had been subtle, if His Royal Highness was aboard the ship as well, to which he'd been assured that Nero hadn't come on the trip. He'd been relieved, but also knew that the dread in his stomach would have to congeal for a few more hours before meeting the lecherous prince face-to-face.

Glancing over to the neat stack of his suitcases, he recalled how the friendly attendants had hauled his luggage for him. He'd been offered drinks and food, asked if he wanted music played for him. He'd even been offered a massage, to his acute embarrassment.

He'd expected to be catered to a bit, being a guest of the king himself, but the degree of pampering he was expected to endure was remarkable. It was true that he wanted, and expected, a particular quality of life for himself, but this was beyond even the fantasies he held closest to his heart.

Though he'd been sorely tempted to accept a few of the offers, he'd turned them all down, afraid that his nerves would be obvious on his face and in his body language. It was true they were only servants, but he knew very well that servants gossiped. It wouldn't do to have the staff of the castle pegging him as a jittery, uncultured mess. Even if he would only be staying for a handful of months, it wouldn't do him any favors in high society to be perceived that way.

A knock on the sliding door to his room pulled him from his musings. To his surprise, as his eyes refocused on the bright world whizzing by, they'd already made a good bit of distance from Kesmos. He would sorely miss his family, and the familiarity of his home, but as far as he was concerned about the small town they took up residence in, the more distance the better.

Assuming the knock had come from yet another attendant to offer him some indulgent treatment, March called for them to come in.

"Good morning," Beritz greeted him cheerfully, sliding the door closed as he entered. Blinking once in shock, March sprang up from his chair, mentally cursing the attendant who hadn't told him that the king was on the ship when he'd asked about Neroki.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," the raven-haired male chirped, sinking into a polite bow. Waving off the formal gesture, Beritz dropped into one of the lushly cushioned chairs, his broad frame taking up every inch of space available. His thick waves of brown hair tumbled to his shoulders, tossed about by his animated way of speaking.

"No need for formalities, boy." The king patted the seat across from him, waiting for March to sit before continuing. "It's been a smooth ride for you so far?"

"So far, yes."

To March's surprise, Beritz laughed.

"Bit of a pessimist, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am," he admitted, wishing he could think of a way to phrase it to his advantage. "I just like to be prepared." For the worst, March thought, but didn't voice it.

Nodding sagely, the king considered the words. The cautious, calculating young noble was the perfect opposition to Nero's careless impulse. A ruler had to be prudent, always concerned with appearance, and never leave themselves open to ridicule or vulnerability. March Cesari fit that mold, as far as Beritz was concerned. Still, he'd have to show some flexibility if he was going to keep the attention of the shallow prince.

"Stay too prepared, and you'll miss out on the fun of being taken by surprise," Beritz pointed out, tapping a cheerful beat on the arm of his chair.

"I'll take your word for it, Your Majesty." March replied politely. Not that he would ever contradict the king, but being taken by surprise wasn't exactly his idea of fun. Laughing again, Beritz shook his head.

"Your mother and I were great friends in finishing school, you know. Worked together on a lot of projects after, too. You don't favor her much in your looks or in your personality, do you?"

"No," March admitted, lowering his eyes. He'd often wished he'd inherited her lighthearted attitude, and her ability to adapt to unfamiliar situations.

"But then I hear about how you were always in the top of your class, like she was. She has a voracious sort of work ethic, another trait of yours I've observed. I imagine she must be very proud to have instilled those in you."

"She is, yes." His parents had never been shy about showing he and Myca affection, or praising them. He couldn't imagine growing up in a home having to wonder whether or not he was loved and cherished.

"And it's a good thing you're your own person. We don't want our kids to be little copies of us. Probably be a hell of a lot easier that way, though." When March only nodded cautiously, he continued. "My own frustrates me to no end at times. But he's got a good heart, so I suppose I'm blessed as well."

Having seen the segue coming from a mile away, March composed his face in a way he hoped wouldn't betray his feelings. Watching the young noble closely, Beritz contemplated the choice he'd made for Nero's engagement. Though the fair-faced male had the look of a rabbit in his eyes, Beritz gave him the benefit of the doubt and opted for honesty.

"Do you know why I asked you to come stay at the castle?"

"I imagine it's because you want the chance to convince me to consider your offer."

"True enough. You're exactly what my son needs." In March's opinion, his son needed a good kick, but again he only nodded politely. "You're trustworthy, responsible, and you come from good stock." There were other aspects to the boy's personality Beritz knew should appeal to Nero as well, but the last thing he wanted was to embarrass his guest. Very much, anyway, he reasoned. "But there are plenty of nobles that come from good stock with a decent head on their shoulders, aren't there?"

"I suppose there are."

"I doubt you need to be told this, but my son can be a tad shallow. I wouldn't have a hope of sticking him with someone that didn't keep his fancy on the basic level of attraction." Finding the blush that rose to March's cheeks endearing, Beritz gave him a soft clap on the shoulder. "You do know you're easy to look at, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Never cared for false modesty. Things are what they are, no need to step on eggshells over it."

March didn't mind. He hated lying, though he often felt forced to sugarcoat his words. It seemed there would be little need to do so with the jovial king.

"That makes things easier for everyone."

"He's an arrogant little shit, my Nero. I know it as well as I know my own name."

"I don't know him very well," March answered, though he privately agreed with the king's assessment. Arrogant and entitled, as if he owned whatever he laid eyes on. "We've only spoken a few times." It was technically the truth, which made it all the more infuriating to March that the prince knew him in a way no other man did.

"But something happened," Beritz insisted. "He's rubbed you the wrong way, hasn't he?"

Pulse quickening at the horrifying thought of recounting the story of how his first and only kiss had been snatched from him, March rubbed his hands over his thighs self-consciously. "There was a misunderstanding between us. That's all."

Though he'd hoped for an explanation, Beritz gave a nod, understanding now that he was extremely unlikely to hear the story from either of the young men. He'd only have to hope that Nero could smooth it over with the gift of his staggering charisma. "Well, I hope you'll give him a chance to set it right, whatever it was."

March's muscles relaxed slightly, grateful that Beritz hadn't demanded details of the situation. "I'll try," he said honestly.

"That's all I can ask of you, then. I'm pleased to have you as a guest, and I hope you enjoy your time at the castle."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you, Your Majesty."

Beritz lifted himself from the chair and moved toward the exit. Turning back, he gave March a final look. "Oh, and do let me know if you find Nero to be difficult or uncooperative. I've made it clear to him that I'll be shipping him off to a military base if I find his behavior unsatisfactory. Just thought it'd be fair to let you know you've got some leverage in the situation."

Eyes wide, March didn't have the time to formulate a suitable answer before the door slid closed, leaving him alone again.

THE CASTLE WASan immaculate pale grey, with elements of marble all throughout. It had towers and turrets with flags that shimmied in the wind, complete with courtyards and gardens bursting with fragrant flora.

Through the window in his private room on the ship, March watched it come closer and closer, until he felt everything around him come to a stop.

He was led through the castle on an informal sort of tour by a woman wearing what he already recognized as the uniform for the royal staff. She had a perky attitude, and gave enthusiastic anecdotes about the various wings and rooms. Despite the existential dread that whirled in his stomach like a hive of agitated bees, March nodded politely and gave convincingly interested sounds as she pointed out landmarks on the way.

His room was on the second floor, at the start of a long hallway, just by the main stairs, making it easy for him to reach the common areas of the castle. When she opened the door for him, he was surprised to find it more like a suite than a bedroom. It had a large bathroom, complete with an ornate tub and separate shower, as well as a spacious balcony reachable through a pair of fanciful doors. When he stepped out onto it, he was delighted by the cool breeze that rifled through the trees to reach him, and then slightly horrified by the fact that it looked down directly onto the courtyard where he'd been kissed by Neroki. Had the prince picked his room out?

Hoping his irritation didn't show on his face, March stepped back into the room, though he couldn't bear to close the doors and block out the gorgeous breeze. Well, he didn't have to think about that part of it, did he? He could enjoy a lovely evening on his balcony without giving a single thought to whatever had happened down there.

She explained to him that a formal breakfast, lunch and dinner would be served punctually in the morning, afternoon, and evening, in a smaller and more intimate dining room than the one she'd led him through. If he desired any other meals or snacks, he could put in an order with the kitchens through any servant. Wondering if he and Nero were expected to eat their meals together, he could practically feel the awkwardly forced conversations he would have to endure. He thanked her for all her help, and promised her that he would seek someone out if he had any other questions.

When he was finally alone again, he sighed forlornly. He missed his family already. He didn't want to be in the castle, alone and with no support system, and uncertain of what would be coming next. He hated uncertainty. He hated surprises. He wanted his familiar room, and his familiar routine, and his familiar life. Feeling miserably pathetic, and very, very small, he wriggled to the corner of the bed. With his back to the wall, March pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them.

FEELING SOMEWHAT LIKEhe'd already been sentenced to the service of the royal military and was currently facing a squad of enemy combatants, Nero ascended the stairs to the room he knew March would be staying in. He'd watched the ship reach the castle, from Perrin's back, perched on a craggy mountain in the enclosure. He wished he'd been close enough to make out March's image as he'd left the ship. At least then he would know what to expect.

His ride had pushed his hair back from his forehead, giving it a messy, windswept look. He didn't bother to brush it, as he'd been told that the effortlessly casual look suited him. Not that he cared to impress March Cesari with his looks or anything else.

He could practically see the smug, pompous look on the melodramatic brat's face now. He knew his father would have been open about the threat of casting him out of his comfortable palace life. Nero imagined March found it very funny that he would have to more or less cater to him all season.

Part of him wanted to forget the whole thing and just tell his father to ship him off now. He wasn't entirely sure that he could meet the prissy noble's expectations at all, even devoting all of his time and energy for the three months. For all Nero knew, he could make one single slip-up, and March would go running to his father to punish him.

Reaching the top of the steps, he saw that the door to the guest room was wide open. Wishing he'd rehearsed a greeting, he walked to the door, preparing himself for March's wrath and ridicule. Then, taken aback, the prince could only stare, heart giving a hard knock against his ribs.

He'd done his best to avoid the Cesari heir in recent years, a decision he was certain had been mutual. Now, he couldn't help but feel slightly regretful. Perhaps if he'd seen the change gradually, instead of all at once, it wouldn't feel quite so much like he'd been smashed over the head with a rock.

The description Nero had once thought to apply to the fair noble, a lovingly crafted doll, no longer applied. The final years of his transition to adulthood had only sharpened his features, polishing them, so now he was more akin to the marble statues that even the most seasoned artists could take years to perfect.

Leaned against the wall with his knees hugged to his chest, staring forlornly out of the bay windows onto the balcony, March looked lonely and lost and terribly lovely. Were his eyes wet, or was it a trick of the light?

He wasn't happy, Nero realized, once he could begin to process something other than the ethereally perfect features. March was miserable. That was something, at least. Despite everything he knew about the fastidious prig, the rather intrusive thought of crossing the room to gather the gorgeous noble up into his arms and assure him everything would be okay burst to life in his brain.

Clearing his throat, Nero crossed his arms, leaning his side onto the door frame. Startled, March turned to him. Any semblance of sympathy drained from Nero as he was regarded with a look that suggested he was a disgusting insect to be squashed under a shoe.

"March Cesari."

To March's eye, the prince looked rough and unkempt and highly dangerous in his fitted trousers and leather riding boots that came up to his knee. He looked more like a brigand who'd thunder through a town on horseback, pillaging and thieving, than the future ruler of the country. He also wished the prince wouldn't have left the top button of his shirt undone to show the vaguest hint of a smoothly muscled chest.

"Your Highness." As March peered up at him through mile-long lashes, Nero realized that he'd never actually heard his name from the noble's mouth.

"Do me a favor and drop the honorifics. We're going to be spending way too much time together for that."

"I'm not in the mood to do you any favors," March replied, shifting in a petty gesture so his body was turned away from Nero. The contorted position caused the back of his shirt to rise up a bit, revealing an expanse of lovely, smooth skin. Finding it entirely too difficult to tear his eyes away from the sight, Nero squeezed his eyes closed for a moment to gather his composure.

"Believe me, I wouldn't want any from you. Consider it a favor to my father."

"A favor to your father," March mused. "For all of his wisdom, I don't know where he came up with this ridiculous idea about the pair of us making some sort of influential power couple."

"I could see it," Nero admitted. "On paper, at least." In a practical day-to-day setting, it would never work.

For himself, March couldn't see it at all. He'd worked hard for his gleaming achievements and reputation. He didn't mind that the prince had been born into his prestige, but was more unnerved by the fact that it seemed like he didn't care to polish it. Privilege by circumstance, with absolutely no effort to earn what he'd been given, practically squandered on a daily basis by his lack of behavior appropriate for a royal.

When it became obvious March had nothing to say to his observation, Nero sighed. He wanted to be mad that the prissy male was being so difficult right at the start, but found himself transfixed on the way he looked with his rosy, sculpted mouth in a pretty little pout. Unsure of what would be the best approach to break the tension, he took a step into the room and sat, hoping putting them at eye level would help.

"Honestly, I thought you would find this whole situation hilarious."

"There's nothing funny about this."

"I agree, but I wondered if you would see it as a way to make my life hell for the next little while. Karmic punishment and all that."

He was too close now, March thought, preferring when he'd been at an appropriate distance across the room in the doorway. No longer comfortable with his back turned to the prince, March regarded him with a wry look.

"I don't care enough about you to punish you. I'm going to absorb as much knowledge as I can about Ikronian customs and royal politics while I'm here, and then move on with my life." Then, because he couldn't resist, he moved a shoulder. "If there's anything to be gained from this miserable endeavor, I'm sure my husband will end up appreciating the experience and insight I can acquire here."

"Oh?" Nero cocked a brow, a note of mock interest dripping from his voice. "And who is the lucky gentleman?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't had a chance to consider my offers. There are so many of them."

"I don't doubt it," Nero murmured, glancing around the room, hoping something could take his focus off the uncomfortable thought. His eyes landed on the only thing of March's that wasn't packed into a suitcase, a beautifully crafted bow. Picking it up with care, he turned it over, letting the light play over the ornate features.

"Be careful with that," March ordered, eyeing him with obvious disdain. "It's very special."

"Looks expensive."

"I wouldn't know the cost. It was a gift from my parents, crafted specially for me."

"Do you know how to shoot it?" Nero asked, placing it down tenderly. March stared at him incredulously for several moments before responding.

"I started training under an instructor when I was ten. I've competed in dozens of archery tournaments, and won a few of them. I'm nationally ranked. So yes, I know how to shoot it."

"Ah."

"Don't you know anything about me?" March couldn't help but snap, irritated.

Smirking, Nero propped his boots up onto the coffee table in the center of the room. "I know a few things about you, sweetheart. Nothing you'd want to hear me say out loud, I imagine."

Cursing his fair complexion and how easily it showed his embarrassment, March snarled. "I'm not your sweetheart."

"Remind me to give thanks when I say my bedtime prayer tonight."

"And don't refer to me like I'm one of the whores whose name you've already forgotten after rolling off them and zipping up your fly. Call me March, or don't speak to me at all."

"Sheathe your claws or risk breaking them, kitty cat," Nero suggested coolly, buffing his nails on the front of his shirt. He wouldn't have his sex life thrown in his face by a terminal virgin. "I'll agree to use your name if you agree to use mine."

"Fine." March decided he could do that much, at least. It wasn't as if the arrogant bastard deserved the royal honorific anyway, really. "Neroki, then. Why are you here, anyway?"

Much to Nero's displeasure, he discovered that the full version of his first name, a formal name he'd never particularly cared to be called, sounded unbelievably sultry coming from the pretty male's mouth. Despite the noble's prim and proper snobbery, Nero had always considered March's soft, breathy voice pleasant to listen to. At 20, it seemed to be drizzled in some sort of warm honey, edging it from pleasant to sexy.

"My friends call me Nero."

"We aren't friends," March replied shortly, his expression making it clear he had no intention of relaxing into any sort of informal address. Nero supposed he would have to bear it. Surely he'd get used to it and it wouldn't shoot a hot little spark in his gut every time he heard it, right? "Was there something you wanted from me?"

Scraping his tongue over his teeth, Nero considered the question. "I suppose you're aware that I'm sort of under a microscope right now."

"You're referring to your father's threat of sending you away if you don't cooperate with this… situation."

"Right."

"I'm aware. What about it?"

"I thought I should make sure I know what your expectations are, so I can try and meet them. When I feel like it," Nero tacked on, feeling as if he were trapped in a cage already, rattling the bars.

"Never worry, dear prince," March started, eyebrows drawn together in a look of annoyance. "My expectations were that you would behave like a complete imbecile with absolutely no manners, and you've done very well in meeting those already."

Raising his gaze to the ceiling, Nero wondered if he would be qualified for sainthood after the season was over.

"Just tell me what you want from me."

"I don't want anything from you."

"That's not going to cut it. My father wants me to court you. Just make it easy on both of us and tell me how you want me to go about doing that."

Pointedly ignoring the unpleasant flutter in his stomach at the prince's phrasing, March cleared his throat, glancing down to the bedspread. "How should I know? Just do whatever you've done with the other people you've courted."

"See, that might be problematic for you and your future husband endeavors."

Blinking in confusion at Nero's words, March tilted his head a bit until the meaning sank in.

"Are you truly so twisted that you can't hold a single conversation without bringing up your deviant activity?"

"Maybe I think your way is twisted," Nero replied, raising an eyebrow. "You know you want to do it. It's human nature to want it. But you deny yourself on the grounds of, what? Some guy you don't even know yet, but you're so absolutely sure that he won't accept you unless you're an untouched beacon of purity?"

"I'm not like you," March spat out, unnerved by the very notion that he was a libertine barely holding himself back from engaging in lewd acts. "I have absolutely no intention to ever demean myself by letting some random lecher paw me on the grounds of human nature. It's normal to want to save yourself for your future spouse. Not that you'd know anything about that, obviously."

"Obviously," Nero agreed, both amused and irked by the vitriol in the noble's voice. "Anyway, you can relax. It's not like I expect to get in your pants. I wouldn't want to." It'd hardly be worth it in any case, he thought. No matter how hot the raven-haired male's looks burned, the prince was absolutely sure he'd be the most dreadful sort of lover. High-strung and unresponsive, and so repressed he'd probably be prone to a crying fit afterward. Better to avoid it altogether.

"Yet you seem incapable of being in my presence without bringing it up," March said, resisting the urge to grit his teeth.

"Forget I said anything," Nero suggested, heaving a sigh. "Anyway, I'm off the hook for a few days, at least. My father thinks you need time to get your bearings before I start dragging you around to formal events. But just so you know, he's planning some uppity tea party and wants me to bring you. As my date."

Though he would have preferred swallowing a mouthful of corrosive acid, March knew his duties well enough.

"Fine." At least he'd have the rest of the week to sulk in peace about the humiliating ordeal of being paraded around like Neroki's personal show dog. He wondered how his future husband would feel about his very public, albeit fake, courting with the crown prince, of all people.

Nero stood, walking to the door. "It's likely to be a formal brunch deal, so there shouldn't be any dancing. I remember you don't like it. Or was that only with a stranger?"

"I won't like dancing with you either," March affirmed flatly, already weary of having unpleasant memories forced onto him. "So forget whatever weird fantasies you have of putting your clumsy hands all over me and whirling me around the room."

"Sweetheart," Nero started, enjoying the quick snap of temper that kindled in the raven-haired noble's swirling eyes. "You can ask around. My hands are very, very adept. And for the record, I can promise you any fantasies I have about you wouldn't involve us being in a crowded ballroom."

"You're revolting." The obvious implication in his words paired with the cocky smirk had March's blood heating, rising again to the surface of his skin.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll head to the kitchens to make a request. For some very strange reason I have a sudden craving for something sweet, like… Cake, with pink frosting."

Grateful for his quick reflexes, Nero managed to close the door just in time to hear a decorative wooden bowl smack against the other side and clatter to the floor.