As the doors closed behind him, he couldn’t help but feel nervous for the young man. The poor commoner was being fed to the wolves; he only hoped that Percy would either keep his mouth shut or stand his ground well enough. He did have Philip in there with him, although he wasn’t quite sure if the crown prince liked Percy or was intimidated by him. After the hunt, he had stormed into his chambers and went off on a tangent about Aryn, talking about how he cared more for this baseborn nobody than his own brother. His jealousy was painfully obvious.

As he descended the stairs, his mind continued to wander. A small smirk grew on his lips as the scene he had walked into at the estate popped back into his head.

Those two need to be more careful.

He understood it; they were now going through their own strange, secret honeymoon. They had true privacy now, although believable lies would still need to be weaved if others came knocking at the door. Philip had already begun to grow irritable and skeptical at all the time they seemed to be spending together; thank God his father couldn’t give more than two shits as to Aryn’s whereabouts most of the time. If the King ever found out about what the two of them really were…

The fatal thought was pushed out of his mind as he reached the end of the staircase. His hands itched to move, to hit something, to have a focus, so he made his way to the back courtyard. A small training ring occupied one corner of the large, landscaped space, thankfully covered to keep out the elements. Subconsciously, he moved to retrieve a shortsword from one of the various weapon racks. He tested the weight of it in his hand: light and agile, just how he preferred. Backing up to the center of the space, he began to go through a series of movements, warming up his muscles and running through basic technique. He stepped on his back foot and pivoted, extending the sword outward in a lunge.

Aryn stood at the entrance of the ring, lips pressed together anxiously as he was wrapped in a dark grey cloak. The sword had stopped a couple yards away from him, and his blue eyes darted between the blade and his own amber irises.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I can go–”

He shifted into a neutral position, lowering his arm. “No, you’re fine. Did you need something?”

Their breaths materialized in the air as they spoke, cold nipping at their skin. A coy expression grew on the prince’s fair face as he shrugged.

“I was bored.”

He could see it in his eyes, feel it radiating off of him. Aryn was unbearably anxious. He understood; idleness made him want to jump out of his skin too. A small, warm smile spread across his lips.

“Worried about Percy?” he guessed.

The prince’s countenance shifted, telling him everything he needed to know. The one person he didn’t abhor dealing with in this castle was Aryn. Whether he knew it or not, he wore his heart on his sleeve. It was refreshing not having to decipher someone for once.

“I have every confidence that he’s doing fine,” he reassured. His movement hesitating briefly with thought, he strode over to the weapon rack and grabbed another shortsword. “You want to practice while we wait?”

Aryn looked as if he’d asked him to murder someone. With an eyebrow raised in amusement, he made his way over to the prince and flipped the blade around, facing the pommel towards him. His slender hand did not move.

“I-I… I’ve never been one for using a sword.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Come on, I’ll teach you some basics. At the very least you should know how to defend yourself,” he goaded, pushing the pommel further in his direction.

Extremely hesitantly, Aryn reached out and took hold of the sword. The blatant discomfort written across his face was comical, and it took everything in him not to laugh. He didn’t want to discourage him.

“Would you like me to show you how to hold it?” he offered first, trying his hardest not to make the question sound condescending.

It took the prince a moment to nod, embarrassment consuming his soft features. With a gentle smile, he took up place next to Aryn and held out his own sword. “Depending on the sword, the ideal grip will change due to the weight balance. With any sword, you should grip the hilt firmly but not too tightly, otherwise you won’t be able to move it fluidly.”

He watched as Aryn adjusted his grip, but it seemed horribly awkward.

“Does it feel uncomfortable?”

The prince sighed frustratedly. “No I just… I’ve never been very good with my right hand.”

“So use the left.”

“Philip always told me that was wrong,” he added irritably.

“The only thing wrong about this situation is you using the hand you’re worse with. You could use your feet for all I care if it makes you wield a blade best you can.”

Reluctantly, Aryn switched the sword to his left hand. He noticed the difference immediately, the grip far more articulated and comfortable. The concentration and insecurity on the prince’s face was extremely endearing.

“Good. Make sure the hilt is aligned with the bones of your forearm. You want it to feel like an extension of yourself, not its own entity. Now place your thumb along the flat of the–yep, you got it.”

“How’s this look?” Aryn asked unsurely.

He nodded in approval, unable to fight back the smile growing on his lips. “Looks great. Does it feel like you're clenching your fingers too hard?”

“No. I’m thinking of it as a really big letter opener.”

A chuckle made its way out of his chest. “Good. I like that. Now just follow me for a second, alright? So this is a defensive position–” he shifted his stance so that his dominant foot was in the back, therefore allowing him to pivot or shift his weight confidently. “See where my feet are and how my sword is positioned?”

Aryn copied, his limbs moving surprisingly effortlessly, but the sword part was not nearly as natural. The blade was not positioned in the right way.

“Okay here, stay there. I’ll help you.”

He let his own sword drop to the dirt as he stepped closer to the prince, taking a gentle hold of his sword arm. Slowly maneuvering it into the right position, he glanced back and forth between his work and Aryn.

“Do you see how that feels?” he prompted.

“Mhm,” he mumbled distantly, a focused expression plastered on his face as blue eyes blinked and darted about, absorbing information.

He had forgotten how his arms felt. He was so lithe, so gently featured.

Stop.

The prince held his arm on his own now, and as he let go, the correct position remained. He smiled again.

“You’re a quick learner,” he complimented lightly.

Aryn shrugged, dropping his form. “I suppose. It probably won’t stick.”

“Well certainly not with that attitude,” he jested.

Please take this seriously, Aryn. For both of our sakes.

Noting the shift in expression on the prince’s face, he decided to change the subject. “How are you and Percy doing?”

“Quite well. His healing is continuing to be successful thankfully.”

“You know, I never properly thanked you, for making me his advisor,” he started. Aryn’s deep blue eyes connected with his. “You solidified my place here at court. I’m very glad to be able to stay near my sister’s side. You have me in your debt.”

The prince scoffed lightly. “I don’t do debts, Oliver. I simply thought you were the best man for the job. And I know Percy and I can trust you.”

His heart sank into his stomach.

“I’m sorry we haven’t spoken much recently,” Aryn continued, turning to face him straight on. “I hope you didn’t think I was upset with you or didn’t enjoy your company anymore.”

“Aryn, there’s no apology necessary. I know you’ve been busy–”

“Yes but… it was rude. I should have at least communicated that to you.”

He scoffed gently. “You don’t have to do anything for me, Aryn.”

“I don’t believe in that philosophy. What I’m trying to say is…” a hesitant expression grew on his fair features as he fidgeted with his own thumbs. “I like you. You’re one of my only friends. I feel safe around you, and I know I can just be myself, unapologetically. Everyone around here is so serious and stuck up. You were the first person to show me that I could actually have fun, and I don’t want to lose that. I really value you, Oliver. And I’m sorry that I haven’t made that clear.”

A quiet sigh escaped his chest. Why did he have to be so kind? He didn’t deserve it, any of this. Even though none of this had been his plan, he was still part of it. And Aryn of all people did not deserve to be a pawn in his father’s game. The best thing he could do was distance himself from the prince. After the last night they had spent together, he refused to be the cause of Aryn’s pain.

Or maybe distance wasn’t the answer. Distance meant having no control. Maybe if he stayed close to Aryn, to Percy, he could play both parts. He could protect them.

So instead he gave the prince a warm smile. “I like you too, Aryn. And I agree. I feel as if I can be myself around you as well. You just have to promise me the three of us will get together at the estate every once in a while; we’ll drink and play charades and talk about things we shouldn’t.”

Aryn chuckled softly, a light pink rising on his cheeks. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Deal.”

As he looked at the prince, he couldn’t help the deep pang of jealousy that hit his chest. Sure, at first his pursuit had been purely strategical, a calculated shot in the dark about how to rope in and control the last wildcard in his father’s plan. But he’d been so innocent… it was nothing like he’d expected when they went to his chambers. It seemed to begin to heal something in him, as preposterous and disingenuine as that sounded.

Ever since he’d entered manhood, he had been, frankly, used. He hadn’t minded it at first, not really. The physical endeavors excited him, and dare he say he was pretty goddamn good at it. The first time had been an accident. A spur of the moment whim of curiosity and passion that his father had turned into an opportunity to secure more wealth and power. He was sixteen, she was fifteen… He’d stolen her purity. Well, not stolen. It had been given.

She had hailed from a much more prevalent household. When her father found out, threats were made. Chaos ensued. He did not want to marry her to him; their house was deemed unworthy. The man had threatened to destroy their reputation, so in return, Father threatened to tell every noble house he knew that his daughter was ruined. No one would marry her then. Hush money was involved, status was increased, the usual works.

And so it had began.

So when he’d taken Aryn up to that room, and he backed out, the amount of relief that had washed over him almost led him to tears. When he realized there was a different way to insert himself in the prince’s life, the overwhelming guilt hanging over his head had been washed away. For the most part anyway. When Aryn had wanted to savor him, to treat him like a real human being, old wounds had been wrenched to the surface. But he’d felt alive again, valued, respected.

A selfish part of him did wish, after witnessing who the prince truly was, that it had been him. He had been given a taste of something he so desperately longed for, something he hadn’t experienced in such a long time. But he knew Aryn deserved much, much better. He deserved someone who was honest, and loyal, and unconditional. And that someone was Percy.

“There you two are!”

They both turned to spot him carefully limping over the frozen ground towards them. He made sure to change his expression quickly.

“Percy! I am so sorry, I didn’t think it would be done so soon. I hope you didn’t have trouble with the stairs,” he called apologetically.

The young man chuckled lightheartedly. Well thankfully, whatever happened in there, it had gone somewhat well. “It’s all right. The walls held my hand for me well enough.”

“Well good. Don’t mind us; I was just teaching His Highness here some sword technique,” he explained, his voice quieting more as Percy drew nearer.

He laughed again, a warm expression on his tanned face, as he stared lovingly at Aryn. The prince looked back at him with flushed cheeks, attempting to hide his embarrassment, and that funny feeling spiked within his chest once more. He just wished for once someone would look at him that way.

“Maybe you can give me some lessons once this arm stops giving me grief.”

An amused smile forced its way onto his lips. He didn’t dislike the idea; Percy would certainly have an easier time grasping the concepts of sword fighting, and it would give him more opportunity to be near him, to bond with him. To protect him. And hopefully the lessons would help him protect Aryn, if it came to that.

“I would love that. Philip is far too… busy with my sister to spare me a moment these days,” he complained in jest.

Aryn now turned to him. “How is that going, actually? I seem to be in a similar boat of being left in the dark when it comes to my brother’s endeavors recently.”

“Quite well, apparently. Although the crown prince and my sister’s marital pursuits are the last thing I wish to think about. I would much prefer perhaps debriefing on the council meeting back at your home, if that’s alright with you, Percy?” he suggested.

The young man nodded amicably. “I don’t see why not. I’d rather enjoy the company, actually.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Then it’s settled,” Aryn jumped in. “Shall we head there now or–”

“What are you boys doing out here?” a feminine voice called from the castle doors. “It is freezing.”

They all turned to spot the owner of the shouted words. His sister was dressed in a beautiful lilac dress and matching cloak, her thick, dark hair cascading down her shoulders save for the small braid that encircled her head. Darker purple gemstones dangled from her ears, and an intricate silver necklace with similar adornments rested on her upper chest. A ginormous diamond decorated her left ring finger in the shape of a teardrop (her favorite cut). He had to hand it to Philip; at least the man had learned a few things from his mother before her passing.

A gentle smile unconsciously began to spread across his face. “Doing boy things. Where’s your husband?”

She scoffed and rolled her hazel eyes, crossing her slender arms. “With his father. I swear, that man is such a daddy’s boy.”

“Well don’t let him catch you talking about him like that.”

“Catch me? Brother, I’ve said it to his face. The man has no shame,” she exclaimed exasperatedly.

A hearty chuckle reverberated in his chest. She was nothing if not witty. “Well, if you find yourself in need of company, the three of us are heading to Percy’s estate. Care to join? It’s been an eon since we’ve gotten to spend some time together.”

“Oliver, it’s been a week,” she pointed out dryly, although he could see the cheeky smirk forming on her fair face. “I’m supposed to be honeymooning.”

“And yet your groom has left you for his dreary father. Please, Sister. Just one evening,” he begged playfully.

A heavy, dramatic sigh escaped her chest. “Fine. But I must return tonight.”

This was good. If he could form bonds between the three of them, begin to create their own little circle, it would be easier. They needed to stick together. Closely.

He gathered their blades from the ground and swiftly returned them to their respective racks, striding back over to Aryn and Percy. Clasping the larger man’s shoulder, he turned and gave him a curt smile.

“I assume you have somewhere private in the house where we could discuss?”

“My drawing room would suffice,” he offered.

A drawing room? Aryn really does love him.

“Perfect. Well, shall we?”

The four of them departed from the castle and made the small trek towards Percy’s new home. A fire was still blazing within the large hearth, keeping the house comfortably warm while they were away. Dahlia gasped and placed a delicate hand to her chest as they entered.

“Percy this is marvelous! Did you design this?”

The former smith chuckled lightly. “No, my lady, Aryn did it for me. I was a bit preoccupied stuck in my recovery bed,” he explained playfully.

“Wow, Aryn this is fabulous. You have such an eye for aesthetics,” she continued, slowly stepping into the main entrance area.

Her dress swished rhythmically as her short heels thumped on the ornate rug occupying the wooden floor. Hazel eyes darted about, taking in the extent of the place from what she could readily see.

“I just wanted it to feel warm and quiet,” Aryn explained shyly.

“Well, I just might have to convince your brother to let you give our chambers a makeover.”

He sauntered over next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “While you and Aryn discuss the details of that remodel, we’re going to head upstairs for a moment.”

“Of course. We’ll see you two soon,” she dismissed with a smile, eagerly turning to the prince before beginning to ramble excitedly about color matching.

With a bemused smirk, he motioned to the stairs, waiting for Percy to begin his ascent. They made their way to his study slowly, and what he saw left him nothing short of impressed. Maybe even slightly moved.

“Wow this is…” he searched for words as he closed the door behind him. “You are very lucky, my good sir.”

Percy placed himself in the only chair. “I know. I feel as if I deserve none of this.”

A twinge of sadness plucked at his heart. “Let’s get one thing clear: out of all the people in this house right now, you are the most deserving of the current circumstances you find yourself in.”

And he meant it. Contrary to his father’s beliefs, he had no aspirations to be on the council. He wanted nothing to do with all of the politics and the bootlicking and scheming; he had simply been cursed with a gift for it. Percy deserved to be on the council, to be able to make change. Or at least attempt to.

A sad smile made its way to Percy’s face. “Well, the council meeting was very interesting. Apparently there have been riots in the border towns, unsurprisingly. I suggested sending resources to support reestablishment efforts, and the King agreed. That was pretty much it.”

He nodded in approval. “Very logical reasoning. I don’t understand why no one thought of it beforehand.”

“Not to be that way, but the council seems a bit… inept at the moment. I was rather surprised,” Percy admitted hesitantly.

“I’m not. All of the best strategic minds on the council are at the border or in Farmond, helping wage the territory war. All that’s left are soft, entitled boys who haven’t seen a hard day in their lives.”

The former smith chuckled and pressed his lips together. “That explains a lot.”

“Did anyone give you trouble?”

Percy shrugged. “Just some Benjamin Poulter. Although I metaphorically pulled his pants down in front of the entire council.”

“Ah, him. His family owns several mines in the hills outside of Oxmore. He thinks money buys everything.”

“Clearly it doesn’t buy intelligence,” he mumbled with a smirk.

It had rather shocked him at first just how articulated and learned Percy was. He blamed it on his own ignorance, but commoners with such education were few and far between in his experience. But he knew Aryn would never risk so much for a moron.

“No it does not,” he agreed with an amused smirk. “Forgive me but I wanted to ask: how is everything going? Just… in general. I asked Aryn, but you know how reserved he can be.”

The man’s face fell slightly. “All things considered, my circumstances are better than they’ve ever been. But… I feel saddened. Angry. I know this will come to pass, but I just feel like my life is completely out of my own control. And Aryn has been so gracious and patient. It kills me that he still feels guilt for what happened. The other night, I fell and… I shouldn’t have snapped at him. I was just in so much pain.”

He suddenly went quiet, a more guarded look in his eyes. It was clear he had admitted more than he wished to. Good. He wanted to know everything. The more he knew, the better he could keep them safe.

Percy shook his head. “But you don’t need to be worrying about that. Those are our problems, not yours,” he smoothed over, disguising his insecurity with politeness.

A sigh escaped his lips as he stepped closer to the former smith, and sat on the floor. The man’s eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, and he could clearly read the surprise entering his green irises.

I need him to trust me.

“You are not required to tell me anything. I understand how all of this is very personal for you. But I just want you to know that if you ever need anything, I am here. Men are not always the best at asking for help.”

Percy’s face softened, and for a moment he truly felt appreciated.

“Thank you, Oliver. That means a lot.”

He smiled back at him gently. “Of course. Now, shall we go rejoin those two? I fear my sister might start rearranging your entire home if we do not hurry.”

Percy chuckled lightheartedly and grabbed his crutch, situating it under his arm and pushing himself to a stand. “Yes, we should.”

They exited the drawing room and carefully made their way back down. The heartwarming sounds of chatter and a fire softly blazing greeted them as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Turning the corner, he spotted Dahlia and Aryn lounging in the matching armchairs. His sister was rambling on excitedly about something, her hands flailing about in front of her as she spoke. The prince was far more reserved as he sat back in his chair, one leg over the other, with a soft smile on his face.

Her head whipped around at the sound of their approaching footsteps, and she shot to her feet with a gasp. “Oh, Oliver! Come, you simply must see something in the dining room.”

She scurried forward with a hand outstretched, her beautiful face filled with child-like excitement. Unable to resist, he accepted her grasp and let her drag him into the other room. It was quite a marvelous dining room: a long, dark oak table stretched most of the length of it with ornately carved legs, matching upholstered chairs, and thick mossy green curtains framing the grand window that naturally illuminated the space. But he assumed what she wanted to show him was the gigantic wine rack fixated to the wall.

“I’ve never seen one so large in my life! We have to open one,” she declared, turning her attention to Percy as he made his way into the dining room behind them. “What better way to break in the house than sharing some wine with friends. Oh please, Percy?”

The young man chuckled heartily, a wide grin spreading across his tan face. “Of course, that’s an excellent idea. You can pick.”

Her face lit up once again as she perused the rack, settling on a glass flask that contained a deep, rich, dark red liquid. She lifted it up to the light and looked at the bottom to spot the spices that had settled. “This one looks like a good winter wine. Let’s do this one.”

She eagerly handed it to Percy before grabbing a small hooked instrument dangling from the rack, passing that off as well. He strode over to where the wine glasses hung and procured four of them as everyone gathered around the dining table. Percy dug the hook into the cork with his left hand while gripping the bottle in his right, and with a deep, loud thunk, the cork was removed. Glasses were poured, and they all made their way back into the lounge room.

He decided to claim one of the armchairs, along with his sister, as Percy and Aryn sat on the daybed. It was rather comical to watch as they sat as far from each other as possible. Perhaps he should tell them that Dahlia also shared differing views on the traditional concepts of relationships, after she’d walked in on him with that stableboy a few years ago.

“So, Percy,” she began, crossing her legs as she sat back into the cushions. “I have yet to know much about you. My brother tells me he’s your advisor, but no one shares anything of importance with a woman. I would like to get to know the man that Oliver has been ignoring me for.”

He gave her a look of playful warning, but it was met only by challenging hazel eyes. Thankfully, the former smith was a good sport, and a light chuckle escaped his broad chest.

“Well, what would you like to know?”

“Everything,” she demanded confidently, taking a sip of her wine.

Percy raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath, following suit. “Okay then. Well, I come from a long line of blacksmiths; that’s what I was pursuing before my accident. I’m far more passionate about art though. Let’s see… My favorite colors are green and blue. I have an older brother; he was drafted last year. I prefer autumn to any other season. I actually prefer cats over dogs. What else?”

“When’s your birthday?” she prodded.

“The 30th of October.”

“Oh, that’s not too far away from Oliver’s,” she mentioned cheerily, taking another sip of wine.

Now Percy turned to him, a relaxed smile on his tan face. “Really? When’s yours?”

“The 13th of November,” he offered. “Dahlia is a sweet summer child, if you couldn’t tell.”

She rolled her hazel eyes playfully before turning her attention to Aryn. The prince had been sitting in comfortable silence, watching the conversation as he sipped frequently on his wine. Although he had noticed the way his blue eyes stared at Percy while he talked.

“You’re just jealous you were born during a sleet storm while I got to play in the springs with Mum. And when is your birthday, Aryn?”

He glanced up from his glass and blinked a couple times, his mind clearly residing elsewhere at the moment. The boy was always so inward. “Oh, uhm, I was also a summer baby. 25th of June.”

“I knew it,” she declared. “You have the right temperament.”

“Oh Dahlia please, not with this sun and moon nonsense again,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Someone take away her wine.”

Aryn’s brow furrowed as a curious, confused smile found its way to his lips. “What nonsense?”

“Don’t–” he started. It was too late.

Dahlia leaned forward in her chair, a new sense of fervor coming over her. “So there’s this thought concept that, depending on when you’re born, it determines aspects of your personality, who you are. It has something to do with the alignment and location of the sun, moon, and stars at the time of birth, and there are patterns to it. So take late June for instance: you’re deeply emotional, sometimes irrationally so, introspective and quite reserved, empathetic. You tend to internalize, taking a bit too much to heart things that maybe people say about you or point out.”

Aryn’s face began to turn red as he took a deep drink of his wine.

“And you, Percy, are not horribly different from my brother, at your cores. But on the outside, your extrinsic personalities are very different,” she went on excitedly. “I feel I can safely assume that you are very protective, mayhaps a bit stubborn and headstrong, and are very intense and passionate about the things you care for. Correct?”

A disbelieving smile grew on the young man’s face. “Well… yes, you’d be correct. How do you know all of this? It seems like witchcraft to me,” he pointed out playfully.

“No, not witchcraft. Just the combination of astronomy and studying people,” she explained cheekily, taking another sip of wine.

“And Oliver?” he prompted, a smirk growing on his face as his green eyes flicked towards him.

She grinned deviously. “Well, he has similarities to you, in terms of intensity and passion, and he’s too protective in my opinion–”

“Hush.”

“But while your charisma stems from your openness and warmth, my brother’s charm is… well, you’ve all seen him.”

“Mysterious and broody?” Aryn chimed in, giving him a smirk behind his glass.

“He can also be such a spiteful little creature. I mean seriously, I have never known someone to hold a grudge longer than him. I remember one time, there was this stupid boy who had embarrassed me when I was nine, nine. Called me ugly, made me cry. And the next time we saw him, some eight years later I think? Oliver walked right up to him, without a word. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone drop to the ground from a punch so fast–”

“Alright, I think they get it, Sister. I’m an insolent bastard. Could we move on from hypothesising about the stars?”

She pouted mockingly at him. “You’re no fun. Fine, what shall we do instead?”

“Oliver had mentioned playing charades earlier,” Aryn suggested as he reached for the glass flask on the low, oval-shaped table situated in the middle of the room.

“Oh I love charades!” she squealed excitedly. “Should we do teams? I want to play with Percy.”

The former smith chuckled shyly at her eagerness. “Sure, I don’t mind doing teams.”

“Dahlia why don’t you start?” Aryn offered as he sunk into the cushions a bit more, clearly less confident in the game than she was.

“Alright,” she answered, rising from her chair to stand in front of the others.

Wine glass in hand, she cleared her throat. After a moment, she began to move animatedly, attempting to act out whatever word or scenario had come to mind. Percy’s face was plastered in concentration and a bit of confusion, but when she began imitating a sawing motion, he sat upright.

“Oh, lumberer?” he shouted.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Okay, Oliver it's your turn.”

He sighed and hoisted himself up from the chair, meandering to the center of the room. What was something Aryn would be able to get? He began to imitate the act of eating.

“Oh, okay uh… food, eating?”

Then he stretched and yawned.

“Uhm… Oh! Breakfast?” he shouted out uncertainly.

He smiled and nodded, going to sit back down. Aryn’s skin flushed slightly; even the act of raising his voice was uncommon territory for him. He watched as Percy nudged him reassuringly, giving him a soft smile before he went to refill his glass. Dahlia giggled from her chair.

“You two are adorable.”

They both froze and whipped their heads towards her, their faces going pale, which only caused her to giggle more as she covered her mouth. “Sorry, the wine has made me bold, it seems. You two are… partnered, are you not?”

Now they looked in his direction, either sporting very different expressions. He smiled coyly and lowered his eyes, swirling his wine glass. “I didn’t say anything, I promise.”

“You’ve no need to worry,” she butted in, reaching out a hand in an attempt to settle them. “I just have a knack for spotting such things. I’ve learned the hard way from my brother. He’ll bed anything as long as it’s pretty–”

“Dahlia,” he warned.

She pressed her lips together shyly and sat back in her chair. “I kind of figured when you told me you had put together this entire place for him,” she explained sheepishly, her words directed at Aryn. “Men do not do that for other male friends. And I promise I will not tell your brother, Aryn. I may be his wife, but that is simply none of his business.”

Their demeanors relaxed as Percy shifted himself closer to the prince now. “Well, thank you, Dahlia. It’s nice to have more friends we don’t have to pretend around. We should all get together often. I’m quite enjoying this evening,” the former smith stated with a warm smile.

Aryn proceeded to lean his shoulder against Percy’s, turning his body towards him more. The way they gravitated towards each other pulled at his heart. They truly were meant for each other. He could easily see that Percy was his peace. Whenever the two were together, Aryn was different. Or maybe just more confidently himself. And the hardness that he could tell had been instilled in Percy seemed to melt away when he was near the prince.

Fuck my father.

“Oh my goodness, so am I,” Dahlia declared. “This is the most fun I’ve had in months. Shall we continue our game?”

They all nodded in agreement, and thus spent the better part of the evening miming and talking and laughing and drinking. In between it all, Percy and Aryn snuck small intimacies, whether it was kisses of the cheek or the murmurings of secret words of adoration in each other’s ears. Even just the way they looked at one another sometimes felt as if they were intruding. As he and Dahlia departed, saying their goodbyes and wishing the two a good night, a horrible pit formed in his stomach as he wondered just how many good days they all had left.