Chapter 6

EVEN IN THEshort time he'd stayed at the castle, March had already observed one trait in the arrogant prince he couldn't complain about. The man followed through on his promises. For that reason, he hadn't been surprised when Neroki had showed up at his bedroom door an hour later, ready to show him around the forest trails behind the wall. Though he was privately grateful for the prompt response, March wished he'd had a little more time to let the sting of abject humiliation from the bedroom incident fade out before having to face him again. Still, even that annoyance was forgotten as the guards at the stone doors nodded them through and they emerged into the enclosure.

"Wow," March heard himself breathe out at the sight. Though he'd suspected it would be roomy, he understood now he hadn't had a clue.

The enclosure was absolutely massive, sprawling out before him in hills covered in thick wedges of forest, farther than even his eyes could process. Pale-capped mountains towered like sentinels in the far distance, creating a majestic skyline. He could see a clear and coolly placid lake nestled in a cozy dip between hills, surrounded by lush shrubs dotted with bright and inviting berries.

Surprised by the soft awe in the raven-haired male's voice, Nero glanced back at him. The snarky comment about finally finding something capable of silencing the prim noble died on his lips. With nothing to shade them from the sun, rays poured onto them in waves, illuminating the hauntingly prismatic eyes Nero made a general rule of not looking too deeply into. Tiny flecks of silver, only visible now in the strong light, were strewn across the ever-morphing kaleidoscope of hues, like stars hanging in the universe's most enchanting galaxy.

"What are you staring at?" Uneasy, March felt the sensation that was becoming all too familiar while in the presence of the prince, a telltale warming of his blood.

"Your eyes." The more Nero stared, the deeper they seemed to become, like infinite pools of color. He could see his reflection in them, imagined himself trapped in them.

"Stop it. You've seen them plenty by now, anyway."

Because looking into them was beginning to give him an uncomfortable sense of vertigo, as if he were looking down from a cliff into a whirling star-sprayed sea, Nero shifted his gaze to the nearby woods. "This way."

Chalking up the mad fluttering of his stomach to the imminent danger of strolling through a dragon-infested forest, March followed closely behind as they made their way down the well-worn path. The dirt was a pleasant shade of russet, densely packed from generations of royal and royal-adjacent boots tamping it down, lined on either side by a charming mix of colorful wildflowers and fat toadstools.

The trees were tall with thick trunks, generously shading them with a dense canopy. The pleasant symphony of birdsong paired with the intermingling scent of healthy leaves and budding flowers made March feel a bit wistful, as if he'd somehow wandered into a bubble of contentment. He found himself wondering what a place like this would look like in the fall, surrounded by flaming, riotous color and the earthy scent of autumn. But then, remembering that the last thing he wanted was to be stuck here at the castle for that long, he stubbornly pushed the thought away.

"Nursefern," Nero piped up, jerking his chin down toward a bunch of bright fern plants. "Smells terrible, but if you crush it up into a paste it's great for healing burns and preventing burn scars," he added, when the pretty noble glanced down to them.

"Interesting," March admitted, kneeling down for a closer look. Carefully raising one of the stalks up to his face, he found himself recoiling back a bit from the surprisingly strong, bitter scent. "Where are the dragons?" He wondered, raising back up to a standing position.

"Around," Nero answered with a broad wave. "Most of them have nests over near the mountains, but there's a few settled down around here." Noting the obvious caution in March's body language and voice, he felt his mouth purse into a light frown. "You won't have to worry about stumbling across one by mistake. They're telepathic, you know."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"They can tell you're afraid," the prince explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Shouldn't I be?" March demanded, Nero's condescending tone immediately putting him on the defensive. "I mean, we are talking about dragons here. I'm aware they're loyal to your family, but how should I know how they'll feel about me? I'm an outsider, after all."

"My friends come in here all the time. We've had building teams come in to construct habitats. Alchemists, biologists. My father married my mother here," he added thoughtfully. "Anyway," Nero went on, shaking his head. "My point is this isn't some sacred holy land where only dragons and Aracovins can tread. They aren't dumb animals that can't discern the difference between friend and foe. As long as your thoughts make it clear you don't mean any harm to them or my family, then you'll be fine to take your morning run here."

Because for once the prince's tone didn't sound so much patronizing as it did genuinely offended, March shifted his weight onto the heels of his functional shoes a bit as he walked. Guilt tended to make him squirmy. The silence stretched out between them for a bit as the raven-haired noble collected his thoughts, a feat he thought would have been much easier if he wasn't being crushed by Nero's warmed-honey gaze.

"Sorry," he finally managed to force out. "I don't mean it as an insult, or to suggest that they aren't intelligent." And though he despised admitting that his knowledge was sorely lacking in the subject, March took a deep inhale before continuing. "You wouldn't know this, I'm sure, but information about dragons isn't exactly accessible to someone who grew up where I did."

Softened a bit by the genuine remorse, Nero moved a shoulder before responding. "It's fine. They wouldn't feel insulted by your feelings, I'm sure."

"But you do."

"Your excuse makes sense, though," he admitted. "If you haven't had the opportunity to study them, then I couldn't expect anything else, really."

"I'm willing to," March insisted, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he kept his stride as steady as possible. He could still feel Nero's stare burning into him, though he kept his eyes straight forward, focusing on the trail. "I don't know if it matters to you or not, but it's not as if I'm opposed to learning about them."

After all, he was certain that the vast majority, if not all of his potential marriage suitors were from Ikronia, and the mystical winged beasts were notably revered all over the country. There were even holidays devoted to honoring the alliance between them and the royal family, and a dragon-themed festival that took place towards the end of summer. Being educated on his future home's national symbol couldn't hurt.

Giving a non-committal hum to acknowledge March's statement, the prince stopped at a particularly thick tree, the base of which was surrounded by a ring of pale mushrooms. "See these?" He asked, carefully plucking one up by its fat stem and holding it up for March to examine. "These are honeycaps. They're sweet, like candy." When he was only given a suspicious look in response, Nero grinned, breaking off a small piece and tossing it into his mouth to chew.

"I'll pass," March said when the rest of the fungi was held up to him expectantly.

"You think I'm going to poison you or something?" Nero asked, snorting a little at March's dry look. "You know my dad would kick my ass if I let anything happen to you, right?"

Because it was a fair and undoubtedly true statement, March reached out and pulled off a miniscule chunk, surprised when it melted in his mouth like warm butter, coating his tongue in a delightful sugary flavor.

"It's good."

"Okay, now see these?" Nero pointed the toe of his boot toward a cluster like the one he held in his hand.

"They aren't the same?" March asked, squinting a bit as he looked back and forth between them."

"False honeycaps," he explained, kneeling and gesturing for March to come closer. "You might survive a nibble of these, but I wouldn't count on it."

"Neroki!" Suddenly feeling a bit queasy, March glared. "You better be joking."

"Not at all," Nero shook his head, dimples twitching as he tried not to laugh. "Relax. Look again."

Because his life may very well have depended on it, March leaned in even closer, glancing back and forth between the one they'd eaten from and the ones springing up from the ground.

The humor in the situation suddenly seemed a lot less funny to Nero as he watched March's face contort into an expression of concentration, sucking his plush lower lip in between his teeth. With their heads so close as they leaned in together, the clean, light scent of the pretty male's shampoo seemed to blast his senses. Of course it would be vanilla, the prince thought wryly. Why would it be anything else? He'd always thought it to be a boring, plain sort of scent, but as it pushed itself unrelentingly into his nose, he had to admit he could suddenly appreciate the warm notes in a way he hadn't before.

"Oh," March finally let out a sigh of relief. "The lines." Barely visible lines of the palest silver scored a criss-cross pattern across the fat top caps of the ones below.

"Right." Nodding, Nero stood and gave a stretch before resuming their walk. Anything to untangle himself from the dangerous trap of deep eyes and soft vanilla. "Not bad. For a beginner."

"Oh," March realized suddenly, shaking his head a bit. "That's why you're showing me all this."

"What do you mean?" Nero wondered, voice dripping with innocence.

"You just want me to say you don't have to come with me to that botany lecture tomorrow morning."

Heaving a sigh, the prince could only raise his palms in surrender. "You still think I need it?"

"I never said you needed it. I just said we don't do anything together. For your father's liking, I mean. Probably," March tacked on, hoping the edge in his voice would be interpreted as testiness and not embarrassment.

"If you're that eager to spend time with me, can't you think of anything more fun than sitting in a cold room listening to some old geezer drone on about plants?"

"I'm not eager to spend time with you," March corrected irritably. "I'm here because of your father, and that's all. I just want to do what I can to ensure I'm not taking advantage of his kindness in providing me the opportunity to stay here."

"I get it, sweetheart. No need to get riled up."

"Stop calling me that." Despite the prince's suggestion that he keep his cool, March could feel himself becoming flustered. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

"Me?" Nero let out a bark of amazed, derisive laughter at the question. "My life's been rainbows and sunshine until now. If it weren't for my dad's insane plan to cage me into some hellish puritan nightmare, I could actually enjoy my summer instead of tiptoeing around on eggshells to please you."

Offended, March whirled around to face him. "Don't take it out on me just because His Majesty commanded you to stop screwing everything with a pulse. You'll survive a few months without it, I'm sure."

"My father didn't command me to stop doing anything," Nero corrected him bitterly, rolling his eyes up to the verdant canopy. "You really think you know everything, don't you?"

"Then why aren't you sleeping with anyone?" March was so shocked by his own statement he forgot to hide the surprise in his voice and gather his thoughts before they tumbled from his mouth.

"How do you even know that?" Nero demanded, raising an eyebrow.

"I…" Even the briefest flash of the memory was too humiliating for March to mention. "People just talk," he insisted, blushing.

Resisting the urge to groan, the prince dragged his hands down over his face. "Look. I know you think I'm your mortal enemy or something right now, but I'm aware you don't want to be doing this anymore than I do. There's no reason for me to make it any harder for you. Or myself."

Because his words were vulnerable and raw with truth, not coated in a sticky coat of charm and charisma, March felt himself relax a bit, allowing a twinge of guilt to seep through.

"But I haven't made things easy for you."

Rather than answer right away, Nero settled down onto the forest floor, leaning back against a convenient tree.

"Lashing out in retaliation isn't really my style. Anyway, I know your reputation is more important to you than anything. Just because you're a nagging pain in the ass doesn't mean I want to ruin your life."

"You just want me out of yours."

"As quickly and painlessly as possible. Preferably for both of us."

March gave a nod. It was a statement he could agree wholeheartedly with, but the placid and accommodating attitude felt foreign coming from the prince, blooming a strange sort of tension into his stomach and chest.

"Well, then as long as you know what I want from you and you think you can meet it, we shouldn't have any problems." March paused, glancing sidelong at Nero, who had his eyes closed. "Your father… He would be satisfied with that, right? I mean, he doesn't actually expect us to…"

"No," Nero answered quickly, cracking an eye to meet March's worried gaze. "This is just his way of putting me on what he thinks is the right track, I think."

"He won't hold it against me when I leave, then."

"Nah. If anything I think he'll just be happy that I'd have managed to behave all season. Might get him off my back about the whole marriage thing for awhile. As long as you can act like you don't despise me and actually make people think we're feeling each other out then it'll all be fine. When you leave, I'll just make it clear we didn't suit and there are no hard feelings between us. It shouldn't mess up anything with your real suitors."

"No, I don't think it will." March agreed, with a shake of his head. "But you make it sound so easy."

"I like when things are easy. You're the one who wants to fight all the time."

"I don't want to fight all the time," the noble corrected him, frowning. "You're the one who finds it funny to deliberately irritate me."

Because he couldn't deny the statement, Nero could only grin, sending his dimples flickering. "If you wouldn't give me such over-the-top reactions, I might be better at resisting."

Though he had his doubts about the truth of that statement, March only lifted his chin, giving a wry look dripping with his disbelief.

IN THE END, March decided to spare the impetuous prince the ordeal of attending the botany lecture. Mostly because he'd never intended Neroki to accompany him anyway, and had only sputtered out the demand in a moment when he'd been struggling to think of anything other than how he was standing in a dark bedroom with a naked man. But their talk in the forest had been productive, and very nearly pleasant in his opinion, so he hoped Neroki would take it as a sign of good will that he could sleep in.

For himself, March had taken full advantage of his newly gained permission to utilize the enclosure and taken his first run in weeks. Though his out-of-practice muscles protested, he finished three laps around the forest trail, which more or less equaled out to his normal distance. He hated to admit it, but there was something pointedly more pleasant about the cool shade of the forest and the cheery call of birds in the morning. Though he knew he couldn't let himself get used to it, he couldn't help but feel a wistful tranquility in the complete solitude of the woods. He hoped it was a sign that his nerves about staying in the castle were fading out, and that he could find some enjoyment in the months to come.

Garden tea parties weren't a new or particularly exciting concept for March, but he'd never attended one with a date. In fairness, he'd never attended any event with a man. When the thought occurred to him that the closest he'd ever come to any real sort of date was the forest outing the previous day with Neroki, he sourly pushed it from his mind, unwilling to ponder it further.

Though he'd been nervous that he would appear obviously out of his element among the refined crowd of aristocrats, the challenge was lessened by Nero's surprisingly smooth social graces. So he could behave in a way that was befitting of his royal title, March thought. It almost made his private personality seem even more vulgar.

Grateful that he'd had the forethought to pack all the nicest pieces of formal clothing he owned, the raven-haired male resisted the urge to glance down at his outfit again to compare it to the other attendees.

"Will you relax? You look fine."

The soft voice, entirely too close to his ear, had March hurriedly glancing up, heat blooming in his face. "I'm relaxed."

"You're fidgeting with your clothes. You only do that when you're worried you don't look good enough."

Because it was humiliating to be called out with such sharp accuracy, March could only glare and move a shoulder defensively. "Since you claim to know me so well, then you should know I'm always nervous at these sorts of things."

"I do know that," Nero assured him, slightly amused. "But I can tell you with complete certainty that you have absolutely no reason to be."

"Meaning?"

"You're the poster boy for proper nobility. Believe me, no one here has any reason to think you look out of place."

Neroki's words, exactly what he'd needed to hear at that moment, sent an uncomfortable warmth shooting through March's body, throwing him into the heady sensation of relaxation and mild panic.

"T-thank you."

Recognizing and understanding the reaction, Nero cleared his throat. It was annoying enough to have to deal with the pretty male when he was in a bad mood, but did he have to react so cutely when he was flustered or grateful?

"Let me get you a drink."

From his spot in the crowd, March watched Nero mingle a bit on his way to a table that held drinks. Upon returning, Nero placed a thin flute of beige liquid in March's hand. "Champagne for you."

Leaning in close, March kept his voice low. "I've never had something like this."

"Sip it slowly," the prince replied softly. "It'll help with your nerves."

Struggling not to feel indebted, March brought it to his mouth, surprised when the bubbles tickled his tongue. He'd been introduced to everyone at the party, though he'd already met some of them at other events. Even so, mostly everyone's eyes raked over him with blatant curiosity and occasional envy.

The unique tension of introductions had faded a bit as groups had broken off into clusters. The small, intimate table Nero guided him to seemed to be comprised of those that the prince considered to be close friends. March had always felt awkward and unsure in social situations, so he was grateful when Ingrid, a chubby-cheeked young woman with wheat-colored hair asked him about his home life. She seemed sweet and genuine, her pale eyes lighting up with obvious joy when she laughed at a joke or an amusing anecdote.

She and her brother, Laurel, were named von Isildor. Their house was one of the few families that passed down the predilection for magic and sorcery. Families that possessed the gene for spell-casting were admired and revered within their society, a holdover from how their ancestors had helped to defend and protect the royal family in the ancient times of hard war.

Like Ingrid, Laurel had light hair, but his attractive features were sharp, and reminded March of a mischievous cat. A cat with a somewhat predatory grin that would sneak up on birds and fish to devour them. Feeling very much as though he were being appraised, March found himself avoiding eye contact with the blonde male.

The others at the table included Ramor, a powerfully built man with a surprisingly soft voice and dark, smooth skin. His hair was long, separated into neat braids, and pulled back into a leather tie. His family, of the house Oriolan, owned many of the high-end businesses throughout Ikronia, including luxe hotels that catered to only the most elite nobility. To March's surprise, he had a humble, good-natured way about him that made him easy to talk to.

Cedar was an androgynous, olive-toned brunette with a style March couldn't think to call anything other than odd. Though his clothes could technically be called formal wear, there was a slight edge to them that made them stand out among the others. Along with the metal bar pierced through the upper cartilage of his ear, there was a round stud winking from the back of his tongue when he opened his mouth to speak. He had a blunt way of speaking, seeming comfortable to exchange playful insults with his friends at every opportunity, but March thought he could sense a sort of shyness from the brunette directed toward him.

After clarifying his age, March barely avoided wincing as Laurel questioned why he hadn't attended finishing school with them.

"I live outside of Ikronia," he explained, shifting in discomfort.

"Where?"

Because he'd been dreading the question, and had tried on many occasions to formulate a response in his mind that wouldn't make him sound so pathetic, failing miserably each time, March resigned himself to the only answer he could give.

"My family lives in Kesmos. It's a small town just outside the kingdom proper."

"It's a farming town, right?" Ramor inserted, though his tone lacked the judgment of Laurel's patronizing little questions.

"Yes."

"I guess that would explain why I've never really seen you at a wedding or coronation either. This must be quite a thrill for you, staying at the castle." The blonde's tone was mockingly mild, but made his feelings clear. March's family, though technically noble, ranked many notches lower than his own. "How is it that the king was able to approach you?"

"My mother attended finishing school with King Beritz." It was the only defense March had.

"And what finishing school did you attend?" Laurel wondered, tilting his head curiously as he rested his chin on his hand. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your area."

"I… I had a private charm tutor for a year after I graduated from academics. There wasn't a finishing academy near enough to my home for me to attend."

"How difficult it must have been for you, under such limiting conditions," Laurel noted, eyes flashing in satisfaction when March blushed, glancing back down to his own lap.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Nero rolled his eyes up to the sky, where he privately wished a very large bird would scoop him up in its talons and carry him off anywhere but there.

"I'm sure any condition that doesn't involve swallowing the instructor's dick for a better grade must seem restrictive to you, Laurel," Cedar stated coolly, flicking a speck of dust from the lace at his wrist, the edge of a dark tattoo peeking out at the motion. March felt his mouth drop open in shock at the harsh words, but no one else at the table gave much of a reaction.

"If only you'd thought of it, then perhaps you wouldn't have had to attend remedial classes in the summers while the rest of us were on vacation enjoying ourselves. Then again, I suppose that was a blessing for your family, not having to struggle to come up with the money for the trip."

"Mm," Cedar acknowledged with a bored hum. "Apologies if my absence affected you that much back then. I'd offer to make it up to you, but I doubt the myriad of married men who enjoy your company would appreciate me cutting in line."

Fluttering his lashes in a mock display of politeness, Laurel took a long, slow sip of his drink. "Popularity is a curse, isn't it? Actually, sorry, I guess someone whose fiancé cheated on them and left them wouldn't know about that."

Ramor, looking wholly unimpressed by their exchange, sighed. "Can't we just sit here?"

"Let them go at it," Nero suggested, though his voice held the same irritated edge as Ramor's. "Maybe they'll kiss and make up after."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Laurel asked, glancing over to Nero with a look so brash that March felt his own face turn pink.

"Men," Looking exasperated, Ingrid shook her head, taking a swallow of her drink. "Why don't you tell us about your family, March?"

Still feeling slightly in shock at the vulgar conversation, March hesitated, stumbling over his words a bit. "Oh. Well, my mother i-is a lawyer. She works with, um… lower income clients. At-risk youth, usually. My motra is a curator for an art museum."

"Respectable professions," Ramor mused, though he'd never had much of a love for the arts. "I don't really have the kind of mind to enjoy art, I think. I prefer sports."

"March is a nationally ranked archer," Nero interjected smoothly. The raven-haired male's lips curved at the statement, surprising them both. For a moment, Nero remembered all too vividly the overwhelming urge he'd had as a teenager to possess those lips, and how he hadn't quite been able to repress the urge then.

"Archery!" Ramor repeated, sounding impressed. "I gave it a try, once upon a time, but I'm afraid my fingers lacked the necessary grace. I prefer fencing. Have you tried it?"

"Once or twice," March admitted. "It was fun, but archery takes too much of my attention for me to commit to anything else."

"You'll have to give me a lesson sometime," Ramor suggested. The pretty noble nodded, giving a small, grateful smile.

"You must be talented indeed, to have pierced our dear Nero's heart with an arrow as well," Laurel observed. "I never thought I'd see the day where he'd actually court someone. Well, publicly, anyway."

Shooting the blonde a warning look from across the table, Nero mirrored his mild tone. "Stranger things have happened."

"I'm not so sure about that," Laurel speculated, but gave a shrug. "At any rate, I'm sure King Beritz must be thrilled."

They chatted for awhile longer, March steadfastly enduring a few more questions about his home life, unspeakably grateful for the respites when the subject changed to someone else.

Once the party was over, proper goodbyes were had, relief flooding through March as he watched more and more guests exit. He had kept it together, mostly, in his opinion, though he was certain Neroki's friends considered him one shaky step up from a starving peasant. The bitterness of having to answer Laurel's pointedly rude questions had him feeling exposed and irritable, like he'd been systematically scraped with sandpaper over and over until he was raw and abraded.

As Nero led him through the elaborate pattern of tables toward an exit of the courtyard, March felt the press of fingers against the small of his back, just under where his cropped jacket ended.

"What are you doing?" He hissed. Through the thin cloth of his shirt, Nero's fingers felt uncomfortably hot.

"Just keeping up the illusion," Nero murmured. "Don't make a scene." Exhaling in a huff, March silently endured it, wondering how a simple touch could feel so possessive. And how that possessive touch could make his stomach feel like it was filled with madly fluttering butterflies.

"I can find my way back to my room on my own, you know. I'm not an imbecile."

Blowing out a breath, Nero struggled for patience. "Haven't you ever heard the expression that you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?"

"Are you supposed to be the fly in that scenario?"

"Flies have their place in the world too, you know. If there were no flies to eat decomposing bodies, we'd have carcasses all over."

"You're right, which is why your metaphor doesn't work. You're more akin to a mosquito. Irritating, and mildly painful."

"You sure it's not just because I give you an itch you really, really want to scratch?" Nero asked. Snatching away from the prince's fingers with a growl, March sped up his pace, hands knotted into fists. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he amended, speeding up to stop March's attempt to escape. "I'm only joking."

"Your jokes aren't very funny."

"Everyone's a critic," Nero mused. "What sort of jokes do you find funny?"

"Comedy is not a genre I enjoy very much." March's answer was deadpan.

The urge to reply with a sarcastic remark was difficult to repress, but Nero tucked his tongue into his cheek before replying. "Did you enjoy the party, at least?"

"Your friends are very strange."

"They can be," Nero agreed. "You'll get used to it."

March doubted it, but only gave a sniff. "Laurel despises me. He obviously doesn't think I belong here."

"If he holds ill will against you, it's only because he thinks there's one less highborn cock in the world for him to use to further his social standing."

"Actually, it doesn't seem like that part matters to him," March muttered darkly, forgetting himself. If there was anything he considered to be the lowest of the low, it was the thought of seeking out a lover who belonged to someone else. "It's disgusting."

"Forcing your own moral standards on someone else is only going to disappoint you." They'd reached the stairs up to the hall. As they climbed, Nero found himself wanting to put his fingers back on March's back.

Shaking his head, the raven-haired male let out another huff. "There are many choices people make that I don't understand, but that I can accept. But to give ones body so freely, with no care for…" Trailing off, March suddenly remembered the look Laurel had exchanged with Nero across the table. At the time he'd found it audacious and brash, but he wondered now if there was a possessiveness there, like how Nero's fingers had pressed so insistently into his skin as they'd walked. "You never… You haven't been with him, too, right?"

Despite the unfamiliar twinge of dread and guilt that sprouted in his gut at the question, the prince inhaled, casting his eyes skyward. "What did I just say about applying your own morals to someone else?"

"Have you been with him or not?" March demanded, suddenly angry, though even he wasn't completely sure why.

"Can you be more specific?" Nero wasn't sure why he even bothered to stall. He only had two choices. Lie, and hope that the stuffy little noble would believe him and not find out from another source, or tell the truth.

"Have you slept with him?" March grit out the words from between his teeth.

"It didn't mean anything. It was just sex." At least, it had only been just sex for one of them. It had taken Nero a bit too long to understand exactly what Laurel had needed from him, and even after understanding, he'd been entirely unable to give it, leaving them in a strange, awkward sort of place filled with uncertainty and resentment. Repulsed, March lifted his hands, shoving Nero away from him. "It's not like it was last week," the prince insisted. "Why do you even care who I've been with? You know I haven't done anything since you've been here!"

"Don't touch me," March snapped out, eyes flaming with wildly shifting colors. "I don't know how you can fetch me drinks and brag about me and put your hands on me and keep this stupid charade going, while you're sitting across from someone who you've- you've… fucked." And he'd had absolutely no idea. As if he hadn't appeared pathetic enough stuttering and struggling to answer Laurel's questions.

"God." Nero winced at the vitriol. The word sounded so severe coming from the mouth of the fastidious priss. "Why are you so mad? Are you jealous or something?"

"Go to hell." March punctuated the sentence by slamming the door of his room, leaving Nero alone in the hall. He heard the click of the lock engaging from the other side, a clear message that the steaming noble didn't want to be followed.

Groaning, Nero dragged his hands through his hair. "Go to hell," he grumbled, resisting the urge to kick the door. "Believe me, sweetheart, I'm already there."