Chapter 5
MARCH'S FIRST WEEKin the castle came and went in a whirlwind of decreasingly timid introductions. He spent hours at a time in the royal library, thumbing through rare books on Ikronian history, flora and fauna, and regional customs. He sat in on lectures about weapons maintenance for the royal military, horsemanship, and hunting, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.
To his flattered amusement, the instructor leading the class on the basics of hunting and archery seemed to know who he was, and asked him to demonstrate several shots for the younger nobles. Another benefit of attending the class was that he discovered that the castle had its own little outdoor archery range, tucked into a private courtyard surrounded by tall hedges. Spending time alone, the silence only broken by the thwick of his bowstring and the clunk of targets being pierced, felt like meditation after enduring so much anxiety-inducing change.
He still hadn't found a suitable place for his desired morning run, so he doubled up on archery. By the time he would finish, he could feel the sweet burn in his shoulders, back, and core that indicated a great workout of his muscles. There was a place to store his bow, but the idea of leaving it in an unfamiliar place gave him chills. As a result, he carried it with him back and forth each morning.
He had a sneaking suspicion that the gigantic stone wall he could see from the balcony in his room housed a large space that would probably be perfect for running. But when he'd walked around it to discover large stone doors, there'd been a pair of bored looking guards there. Guarding the dragons' home from unwanted visitors, he imagined. And though he desperately wanted a space where he could stretch his legs and run, he couldn't bring himself to ask Neroki for any kind of favors yet.
Even if he had been keen on the idea, the idea of walking amongst the dragons gave him more than a lick of anxiety. They were supposedly quite intelligent, but would they take kindly to someone who wasn't an Aracovin wandering around their stomping grounds? The idea of ending up a charred corpse or impaled by rows of gnashing teeth should have been enough to deter him, but the food served at the castle was far more indulgent than he was used to. He was afraid if he couldn't resume his familiar morning exercise routine, he'd end up ruining the physique he'd always been such a stickler about maintaining.
He would usually eat at least one meal per day with the prince. They would sometimes make small talk, or discuss philosophy or the arts. Often after a particularly interesting book or lecture, March would ask for Neroki's perspective on the idea. To his surprise, the prince was articulate and well-spoken on a myriad of subjects, even the ones he seemed somewhat bored discussing. March privately wondered how someone could be so well-cultured, so well-educated, and yet still such a completely shallow hedonist. Even their most innocuous conversations tended to end with Neroki making a completely inappropriate observation and setting off March's exasperated temper.
Part of March wanted to forget all of the things he knew about the arrogant male that made him so uncomfortable and angry and confused, but he knew he couldn't do that. Sometimes the prince would stare at him so intensely that it felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. He was innocent, but he wasn't completely naive. He knew what those fierce stares were meant to portray, and to plant in his mind. But he'd be damned if he would ever be a notch on the bedpost of someone like Neroki.
ONE EARLY MORNING, just a single day before Beritz' planned party to welcome him to the castle, for the first time March found himself at a loss for what to do. He'd finished his improvised exercise routine, still privately lamenting the lack of space to run, and had already showered and eaten. For the first time since he'd arrived, there was nothing for him to sit in on, no classes for him to attend. He'd walked around as much of the castle as he cared to without an attendant, afraid of how stupid he'd look if he were to get lost and need assistance finding the way back to his room.
Wandering aimlessly wasn't his first choice for productive activity, but as his mind drifted through the various topics he'd begun to breach since arriving at the castle, his legs seemed to have a mind of their own. Should he keep branching out, he wondered, or try to focus on areas he thought would prove to be more useful to him in the future? Was it better to have a broad range of general knowledge, or would he seem more well-educated if he dug into a few specialized topics?
It was hard to know, March realized, without knowing what kind of man he would marry. Would his future match be the type to collect unique swords and bows, conversational pieces that he could toss out interesting anecdotes about at parties? Or would he be more inclined to softer interests, like music and art? Would he keep up with fashion trends, or would he prefer functionality over aesthetic? Would he be a scholar, prone to excited rambling about facts and statistics, or more of a calm and dignified proper type?
It wasn't until the sound of laughing chatter hit his ears that the dreamy sequence of his future marriage dissolved out of his head like handfuls of sand, nudging him back into the present time and place. Biting down on an initial wave of slight panic, he wasn't entirely sure where he was or how long he'd been daydreaming. The piles of freshly washed and folded linens paired with the familiar scent of laundry soap clued him in that he must have wandered into an area that wasn't meant for him to be in.
When the voices began drifting closer, March ducked down behind a pile of crates, fervently hoping he wouldn't be caught by whoever they belonged to. Cautiously peeking through a gap between the boxes, he watched a pair of middle-aged women set down baskets heaping with more snowy-white cloth.
"Where's Ely?" The blonde woman asked, her plump fingers maneuvering the soft cloth with practiced efficiency as they continued to chat. "That daft cow better not be lazing around sleeping in again."
The thinner woman shook her head of dark brown curls in response as she folded as well. "She's one of those His Majesty has working on setting up for the party in the west courtyard tomorrow."
"Oh, right," she acknowledged with a sniff. "That. The debut of Prince Nero's new little darling, eh?"
The words sent heat rushing to March's face, nearly had him stumbling forward to topple the crates over. The humiliation of witnessing one of his fears unfold in his face, being gossiped about, was intensified by the terrifying possibility that he'd be discovered.
"You don't approve? The king seems thrilled about it."
"Well, of course he is," the blonde scoffed, stacking another folded sheet onto the growing pile in the basket. "I heard he handpicked that boy personally, all the way from Kesmos, of all places. God only knows what he does all the way out there."
"But his mother went to school with His Majesty, you know," the brunette countered diplomatically. "If what you're saying is true, King Beritz must see something quite special in him. And His Highness seems happy with the arrangement as well."
The rounder woman gave a derisive snort. "You think so? I know he won't be the type to settle down quietly. Especially, I'd think, with a soft little wallflower type like that. Even if he was handpicked by the king."
Struggling not to seethe at the comment about his introverted tendencies, March felt his hands clench into tight fists before deliberately relaxing them. It wasn't as if he cared about whether Neroki was happy with the situation or not, anyway. But to be referred to like he was an unsophisticated hick from Kesmos who'd only lucked out being picked by the king for this silly and stupid arrangement was mortifying. However, he knew there was nothing to be done about it in the moment, unless he were to pop out from his hiding place and chastise them for daring to speak about him in such a manner.
The darker-haired woman gave a shrug, though her tone remained light and casually optimistic. "Well, you know Jo works over in the east wing at night, just outside where the prince's chambers are, right?" When the blonde woman gave a sound of confirmation, she continued. "And you know how His Highness is always bringing around different, er…" She trailed off, seeming to struggle with respectful wording that didn't paint Nero out to be a complete dog. March nearly scoffed at, wishing her the best of luck.
"Conquests," she offered, with a somewhat judgmental smirk.
Sighing a bit, the thinner one gave a shrug. "Anyway, he hasn't had anyone over at night, and he hasn't been leaving either. Just sleeping alone in his bed like a good and proper devoted sort of man should be."
"Well, we'll see how long that lasts."
March watched them hobble away with their arms full of teetering baskets with a mixture of nausea and some other unidentified emotion churning in his stomach like a rolling tide. As soon as they turned the corner from his line of sight, he scrambled up from his hiding spot, hurrying out the door he'd floated in through.
Hoping the long, lushly carpeted hallway would lead him out to an area he was more familiar with, March tried to ignore the way the conversation echoed in his head. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Neroki would sleep around while they were pseudo-courting, and how absolutely pathetic and laughable it would make him look to be courted by a man who still kept other lovers. Having the idea thrust into his brain immediately followed by the knowledge that Neroki apparently hadn't been screwing around, even if it had only been a week, was the emotional equivalent of being smashed by a falling brick only to collapse onto a bed of feathers.
He'd been an idiot not to request, to demand rather, that the prince not indulge in his more vulgar activities when Neroki had approached him about his expectations. Thank the gods that Beritz must have ordered it explicitly. But just because he'd gotten lucky with that aspect didn't mean he was in the clear when it came to protecting his much-treasured reputation.
He'd been an idiot for thinking he could navigate this three month sentence with relative ease as long as he kept his nose down and out of trouble. No matter what he did, Neroki's actions would still reflect on him if the public perceived them as a couple. A lifetime of carefully structured behavior and meticulously laid-out plans dashed by the careless actions of one impulsive moron who couldn't keep it in his pants. No, that simply wouldn't do.
But he shouldn't have to be afraid. Beritz had been clear about that. He had leverage. Even Neroki had seemed to be acutely aware of that fact, though March hadn't had much of a clue how to utilize his advantage in that moment.
Emerging back out into the courtyard from the long hall, he blinked as the strengthened sunshine washed over him, coaxing a bit of the chill from his skin. Feeling invigorated now, he stretched, feeling the lithe muscles in his torso tighten a bit before relaxing. He knew exactly how he was going to spend his free day. Once he found his way back to his room, in any case.
ARMED WITH NOTHINGbut the mental list of requirements he should have given when he'd originally been asked, March made his way through the castle to where he'd been shown Neroki's room. An armored guard, looking somewhat bored, guarded the large wooden doors. March supposed it was probably industry standard to have at least one guard in the way of where the prince slept, and probably where the king slept as well, even in a time of peace.
"Um, excuse me." Feeling incredibly awkward and judged, though he'd hoped to exude absolute confidence, March tucked his hands behind him. "Is the prince in? I need to talk with him."
"His Highness would still be sleeping for a few hours yet."
Eyebrows furrowing together, March glanced out of the high window to their side, where sunlight poured in a steady stream to spill rays all over the stone floor.
"But it's past noon." When she only continued to stare at him, he felt his confidence waver even more. Recalling the way the legitimacy of he and Nero's fake relationship had been dismissed in the conversation he'd overheard, he took a deep breath and barreled on. "I really need to talk to him, though, so I'd appreciate if you'd let me in."
"I can send him to you when he wakes up."
It was a perfectly reasonable compromise, but March wasn't feeling particularly reasonable at the moment, so he only shook his head.
"I need to talk to Neroki now." And though he felt petty for saying it, his voice was firm. "Unless you think I'm some sort of threat to the safety of the crown."
Only raising a brow, she kept her eyes locked on his as she heaved a slow, deep sigh. Though she obviously didn't think it was a good idea, she pushed open the heavy door, carved with ornate filigree, and waved March through.
As the door closed behind him with a quiet, but somehow irritated snap, he realized he was in a tiny, dimly lit hall with only one enormous door at the end of it. It was upholstered with red velvet and a large brass knob. It was tacky, and inspired ideas of what March thought the decor in a brothel might look like. Not that he'd ever been in one.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. The cushioned exterior muffled any sound he might have made. There didn't seem to be a knocker or a bell device either. Would he really have to walk in? He'd never been in another man's bedroom.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he squeezed his eyes closed, and pushed one side open. It closed behind him with another soft click, plunging him in darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he noted the soft snores coming from the center of the room. How could a room have such a dungeon-like quality in the peak of daytime? Making his way carefully to the barely-there rectangle of light to his side, March felt around until his hand reached the window, so he could pull the curtains aside.
Nero's bed was massive, topped with a silk canopy supported by four sturdy iron columns. His bedsheets were fine silk, and a deep bronze in color. To March's immediate embarrassment, he could see that the prince slept in a wild sort of eagle sprawl, his arms flung out above and beside him, on piles of lush pillows. The sheet had been tugged down to his waist, leaving his upper body bare.
Mouth dry, March flicked his eyes up to the ceiling, wondering if he should just forget the whole idea and leave. But if he did that, the guard would tell Neroki he'd been there, and then the prince would want to know why he'd left in such a hurry. Willing himself to be brave, he let his gaze travel downward again.
He had to admit, in his mind only, that despite his many, many personality flaws, Neroki Aracovin was attractive, in a rakish sort of way. He had a gorgeous face, with strong features and an expressive mouth. The dimples were overkill and practically cheating.
He was sleekly built, with subtle ridges of muscle banded across his stomach. The chest March had gotten a hint of in the shirt he'd worn that first day was built well, tapering down to a trim waist and hips. And over all that lovely, lean muscle was skin already tanned summer gold. A light trail of fine hair dusted the area under his navel, disappearing into the line of the sheet.
Feeling like his head was going to explode, March bit down on his lower lip hard enough to leave a mark. Why would he even look down there?
"N-Neroki," he hissed out in a slight panic. He would have preferred composing himself before waking up the prince, but in his current flustered state March was doubtful he could even do that. At least if the moron woke up, he would put on some clothes.
Mumbling out an incoherent stream of words, Nero shifted a bit. To March's horror, the motion caused the sheet to slip down another half inch or so. Taking deep breaths to quell the mad pounding of his pulse, he turned away completely.
"Neroki, wake up!" He couldn't stand it anymore. He regretted everything and only wanted it to be over. Though he was facing away and couldn't see the prince, he heard rustling, followed by Nero's groan of being awoken to the bright sunlight.
"God, will you close those curtains?"
"No. I want you up."
"What are you even doing in here? Sneaking in for a quickie or something?"
The crude terminology shocked his ears, knocking March out of the mortifying trance that staring at Nero's body had put him in. It reminded him where he was, the things that probably had been done in the room. Surely an extravagant room like this, with such a large, luxurious bed would be the perfect place to bring lovers back to, March thought bitterly, preferring the grinding heat of anger and repulsion in his stomach to the arousal he'd staved off.
"There is no universe where I would ever come to your room for that," he spat out. But now in the center of Neroki's plushly furnished room, his resolve seemed to crumble inside him. He realized barging in with a list of conditions was a stupid idea. And that wasn't even yet to mention the idiocy of demanding to do it right that moment, even knowing the recipient was sleeping. The knowledge that he was acting moronically out of character stung. And because the last thing he wanted was for Neroki to figure out that he was spiraling in confusion, March's mind scrambled for something to say.
"Then what do you want? And why are you looking over there?"
"I… I want you to come with me to a lecture tomorrow before the party. It's about the botanical properties of herbs and flowers native to Ikronia. We don't do enough together," March added, hoping Neroki wouldn't pick up on the edge in his voice as made up a lie on the spot. "I promised His Majesty that I would consider his offer of our engagement." Or at least, he wanted it to look like he was considering it.
"Much like the universe where you would sneak into my room for a quick fuck, the universe where I would accompany you to some stupid class tomorrow when the sun is barely up doesn't exist either. Get out."
"No." Though he no longer desired to be in Neroki's presence, there was nothing that would make the pretty noble back down from the dismissive tone in his voice. "I intend to keep the promise I made to him."
"I'm not going to any damn lecture, so either get out of my room or get in bed with me. I don't care which at this point."
"Fine," March snapped, red all over. "I'll just tell your father that despite my best efforts to acclimate to your culture and spend time with you, you're rejecting me at every turn."
Nero groaned, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. Wrapping his arms around a plump pillow, he let out a frustrated scream into it.
"Fine! Fine. I'll go to your fucking lecture. Can you leave now?"
"And I want to run," March forced the words out, deciding there was no reason not to push his luck now. "But I don't have anywhere to do it. Can you show me where I should go?"
"Run?" Nero repeated the word back at him as if it were a foreign language. "You mean for fun or something?"
"Exercise."
"There's a few marked trails in the woods past the wall. I'll tell the guards to let you through whenever you want."
"You want me to run with the dragons?"
Heaving another sigh, Nero pinched the bridge of his nose. "They don't bite. They'll know who you are."
"I…" Feeling pathetically uncertain, March resisted the urge to wring his hands together.
"Look, I'll take you out there later. Show you there's nothing to worry about. Then you'll stop hounding me, right?" Tossing the sheet aside, Nero stood, stalking past the shocked noble to a vanity table in the corner of the room.
"S-stop!" March couldn't help but stutter out the word as Nero's body was slammed into his direct line of vision. "You actually sleep naked?"
"Why else would I have silk sheets?" Nero shrugged, comfortable in his nudity. If he had to be up, the least he could do was torment the nagging little prude into a fit of hysteria. Or more of one than he was already in, in any case. "There's nothing to see, anyway. I wouldn't have a hope of keeping an erection with your shrill voice drilling into my ear."
Now facing the other side of the room, March prayed for the image of Nero's lean, bronzed body to fade from where it had been burned into his mind. "I'm hardly concerned with whether I can coax you into maintaining an erection." Hearing the words, even in his own voice, set March's blood to boiling.
"A fascinating deviation from my own interest of coaxing you into maintaining yours."
"That's not funny. You're… You're completely vile."
"Are you going to be okay? You're really red, even on the back of your neck." Though his words suggested concern, Nero's voice dripped with obviously smug amusement.
"Just put some clothes on, or I really will go to your father," March threatened, regretting every moment of every day of his life that had led him to this point.
Nero didn't answer verbally, but to March's immense relief, he heard the sound of clothing rustling as it was put on.