wherever you stray, i follow

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter one

In a kingdom far, far away—past the red-purple boysenberry bushes and golden wheat fields of Kurain and over Gramarye’s lush green hills—Prince Apollo is being chased by an angry mob.

Well, angry is a bit harsh. They’re more like an irritated mob.

“You’re going to run this kingdom into the ground, you slug!”

Alright, maybe they’re a teensy bit angry.

Apollo tightens his grip on the reins of his beloved tri-color horse, Dusty, and snaps them, urging her to gallop faster. He’s lucky she’s a thoroughbred with an impressive pedigree, a horse made to outpace a normal working horse with ease, but that doesn’t dissuade the three men following him from continuing their chase.

The worst thing about all this is he can’t exactly blame them for their ire. Though it isn’t exactly his fault that all the crops are dying, trade is tanking, and a mysterious illness has plagued the land, it’s kind of hard not to blame the only living heir to the kingdom. Not for the first time, Apollo wishes his parents were still here. They’d know what to do.

If they were here, he certainly wouldn’t be running for his life by the people who should, by all accounts, respect his rule. Not that he’s in power. Yet.

Dusty races through the forest that separates the castle and the capital city, as Apollo desperately hopes he can find help before these men do anything truly egregious.

Just as he has the thought, one of the horsemen lobs a ball of water at Apollo’s head, its shape held together by magic. Apollo’s just quick enough that he’s able to summon a barrier to surround him, the translucent wall of his magic gleaming gold in the sunlight. The water ball splashes against the barrier hard before it loses its structure and pours to the ground. Apollo huffs. These men are really trying to hurt him.

But if that’s the extent of their magical power, then he should be fine. One of the perks of being the crowned prince of Lamiroir is he’s an adept magic-user. Most people can only master one kind of magic, usually elemental, if they can use it at all. There is the rare person that can master two, but the royal blood coursing through Apollo’s veins means he’s capable of three—ice, healing, and barrier magic. All that is to say, he can take care of himself.

Which is totally true until he’s hit with a gust of wind magic. Although his barrier has no problem protecting him from projectiles, it’s still weak to inertia. He topples right off of Dusty and onto the harsh earth. Great.

Apollo stands, keeping his barrier up, but readying himself to use his ice magic, which he very much does not want to use. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, and his ice magic is offensive by nature. But the horsemen are circling him and he can’t be certain of their plans. Two of the men have a free hand ready to throw magic at him, while the other one holds a spear at his side.

I’m guessing they’re not here for a friendly chat, Apollo thinks miserably. He was so close to the castle grounds, too…

“My kids are starving because of you,” one of the men grits out, face red. Apollo winces internally before he reaches up and removes the dangling ruby earrings from his ears.

“Here.” Apollo wraps the earrings in a small bubble of his golden barrier and lets the earrings float toward the man. “Sell these to feed your family, alright? We don’t have to fight—”

Before Apollo can finish the sentence, arrows rain around the three horsemen and startle the horses. Apollo whips his head toward the direction the arrows came from. There, on the hill that leads right to the castle grounds, a flock of mounted guardsmen ready their bows. At the center of the line is Kristoph, glowering down at Apollo’s pursuers.

“Kristoph—” Apollo starts in warning. It’s Kristoph’s job as King Regent to keep Apollo safe, but he knows how Apollo feels about harming subjects, even hostile ones. Apollo needn’t have worried though, because the men take one look at Kristoph and retreat back to the capital city without even taking Apollo’s earrings. It’s no wonder why; Kristoph’s lightning magic is notorious in Lamiroir. Apollo pulls the earrings back to him with his magic and grasps them tight in his palm. All’s well that ends well, but he knows the encounter will haunt his dreams—“My kids are starving because of you.”

Apollo places his earrings in his satchel, wishing Kristoph and the guards could have shown up just a minute later. If they had, Apollo could have helped that man. At least for a little while.

“Your Highness.” Kristoph’s voice is firm and disapproving. Apollo’s gone rogue again and Kristoph isn’t pleased, which is… fair. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

Apollo rubs the back of his head. “Um, yeah, thanks for the save there.”

“Is there any particular reason you skipped our magic lesson today?” Kristoph asks, his spectacles reflecting the sun’s rays. “I don’t think I need to ask where you’ve been.”

Apollo winces. He’s been caught red-handed. Apollo just doesn’t know what else to do. His people are suffering, so he often goes to the capital city to see how he can help... though it often ends in him being chased off, much like how he was today. Kristoph has told him repeatedly to stay in the castle, but he’s restless. He needs to do something, to help. For all his studying, none of his ideas on how to fix the kingdom are ever any good. At least not good enough for Kristoph to actually integrate them into law.

Because it’s Kristoph who is the true ruler of Lamiroir for now. When Apollo’s parents were killed ten years ago, Apollo was too young to take control, so power was given over to the King and Queen’s right hand in the interim until Apollo comes of age on his 25th birthday. Six months from now…

“Come,” Kristoph says, turning his horse toward the castle. “I have something I wish to discuss with you at length.”

Apollo grabs Dusty’s reins and swallows the fear lodged in his throat. Kristoph’s “at length” discussions usually means he has bad news––and with the way the past couple of years have been going, Apollo is very sick of bad news.

Kristoph is silent as Apollo follows behind him to his office. Apollo reminds himself that he’s an adult prince. He shouldn’t be hanging his head like a mischievous child that got caught dipping his finger in the lavender honey, but no amount of pomp and title has made him immune to the terrible dread of a superior being disappointed in him. Not that Kristoph is his superior, per se, but he’s the only person whose status is higher than his own in the kingdom.

Servants open the classic ornate doors to the office, then promptly close them with a heavy thud once Apollo and Kristoph are inside. It feels like the metallic slam of a prison door, though. Whatever Kristoph’s about to tell him, Apollo’s sure he won’t like it. Not that he doesn’t like Kristoph or anything. He’s been like a protective older brother and trusted mentor ever since his parents died, but Kristoph isn’t exactly a push-over.

Kristoph makes his way behind his heavy golden oak desk and rifles through a couple papers. “Sit, Your Highness.”

Apollo takes a seat and fidgets with the end of his riding glove. “Is… everything alright?”

Kristoph lets out a disappointed sigh. It’s a sound Apollo’s well acquainted with since he’s… very bad at this whole monarch thing, even though he was born to do it.

“How many times have I asked you not to go into town?” Kristoph asks, ignoring Apollo’s question.

Apollo shrinks in his seat. “A fair amount.”

“I have tutored you for ten years, Your Highness.” Kristoph folds his hands neatly over his desk. Something about his cool composure is even more unsettling than if he were yelling. “I know I’m hard on you, but I do it so you’ll learn and become a powerful king someday. And yet, you can’t even fulfil my simple request for you not to visit town.”

Apollo shoulders hike to his ears. Kristoph’s words always have a way of cutting to Apollo’s core, right where it hurts. Apollo knows that he’s been a disappointment to Kristoph as a student, especially when it comes to the politics of running a Kingdom. Apollo has, what Kristoph would call, “outlandish ideas” that would only fix the Kingdom’s issues in the short run and bring ruin in the long one.

The only thing Apollo is good at is magic, but he doesn’t feel like he can take any real credit for it. He has an innate ability. It’s not so much the product of hard work. Magic is as natural as breathing to him, and always has been.

Kristoph stares at him with a gaze that could shatter glass and Apollo steels himself. “I’m sorry, Kristoph, but I hate being cooped up in the castle when I can be out there helping people.”

“Yes, those three armed horsemen all seemed very grateful for your help,” Kristoph says. Apollo does his best not to flinch. Everytime Apollo goes out to town to offer a lending hand to a random family, there always seems to be a team of people who chase him off with torches and pitchforks.

“I want the people to know me.” It’s an old argument at this point, but Apollo keeps bringing it back. “I want them to know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, that I’m trying to help.”

Kristoph scoffs. “When have any of your outings ever helped anyone? Honestly, Your Highness, how will you ever be king if you never think things through?”

Apollo bites the inside of his mouth so he doesn’t snap: I’m always thinking things through, because he’s not an impulsive person. Every time he’s gone out to the capital city, it’s always been on days Kristoph has a particularly packed schedule. That way, he can spend as much time as possible among the people before he inevitably is caught (or chased off).

But as for how helpful Apollo actually is… Kristoph has a point. He’s done some manual labor, lightening a couple families’ loads here and there, but that’s not what his people need. What they need is change. And Apollo can’t do anything to help them until he’s on the throne. Even then, he worries he’ll make the wrong decision at every turn. Kristoph certainly seems to think he will.

“I’m doing everything I can,” Apollo says, voice just above a whisper. “I swear I’ve read nearly every book in the library about foreign diplomacy and trade agreements. I’ve talked with citizens and tried to get their perspective on how we can help. But Kristoph, I can’t seem to do anything, so the least I can do is help a family of farmers collect their wheat once a week.”

Kristoph’s eyes flash with frustration. “And what if you get killed out there when you’re ‘helping’? Did you happen to produce an heir when I wasn’t looking?”

“Kristoph—”

“It is already taking us a blasphemous amount of work to keep the northern kingdom from attacking. They see how vulnerable we are, they know there’s no current monarch on the throne. Do you know the kind of catastrophe that will befall the entire kingdom if Lamiroir’s crown prince dies?”

Apollo’s hands grip tightly around the end of his chair’s arms. “They hate me because they don’t know me. Because they can’t see all I’m—we’re—trying to do to help. If you let me speak with them more, if we were more transparent—”

“The country is being sabotaged, Your Highness,” Kristoph says, calmly taking off his spectacles. “The King and Queen’s murders, the plague on our crops, the foreign trade agreements that keep falling through… we are being watched and dismantled, which means we must play all our cards close to our chest. You know as well as I that’s why my regency was never announced. We all agreed that I would run this country in secret until you were of age to keep our enemies in the dark. It is out of necessity that we do not share our plans with the subjects and this is something you know well.”

Apollo does know this well. The decision has haunted him since he was fourteen. Without a public announcement of a King Regent, the people had to blame someone for all their troubles and that person was their Prince: the only true figurehead they had left. No one could have predicted the misfortune that would befall their kingdom or the subsequent (and justifiable) outrage of Apollo’s subjects.

Kristoph’s never offered to reveal himself as the Lamiroir’s mysterious King Regent, though, and Apollo’s never asked. He can’t be exactly sure how the kingdom would react, but his guess is they’d be even more ruthless with him than they are with Apollo. Kristoph is technically the one in charge, so Apollo suspects the people would be even less forgiving to Kristoph than they are with him. As it is, Apollo really is only a figurehead while Kristoph is the one at the helm, but without a name and face to attach to the actual person in charge, it all falls on the Prince.

I just need to get to my birthday. It’s Apollo’s second favorite mantra after “I’m fine.” For the past couple of years, as the hostility towards him has grown, he’s counted down the days until his coronation. It’s not that Apollo craves power—in fact, the massiveness of the responsibility terrifies him—but him being on the throne would at least give him some control of the situation. As much as he respects Kristoph and his counsel, Apollo’s come to realize that they have… differing visions for Lamiroir.

“I do know,” Apollo finally says, eyes lingering on Kristoph’s desk. “But I think we need to change up our strategy.”

Kristoph sighs and stands from his desk, hands flat on its surface. “Prince Apollo, with all due respect, it is my strategy to change up, and I am choosing not to do so. That’s all there is to it.”

Apollo meets Kristoph’s unwavering gaze, and does his best to hold it, to stand up for himself even in this small way. But he breaks, his head turning to the side. He curses himself. But, really, what can he do? Kristoph, for all intents and purposes, is king for six more months. Apollo has to follow his rule just like everyone else.

“However, there are areas I think would be improved upon with some change,” Kristoph continues, straightening to his full height.

Apollo perks up a little and dares to hope that Kristoph wants to discuss some of his ideas on relief initiatives. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve decided that it is too unsafe for you to be allowed to gallivant across the kingdom as you do by yourself.” Kristoph presses the bridge of his spectacles higher up his nose. “I’ve been in contact with Kurain, and they’ve agreed to assign their kingdom’s most gifted knight and a few of his men to Lamiroir in the interest of keeping you safe. They’ll be with you around the clock, 24/7.”

Apollo shoots up out of his chair. This time, Kristoph has gone too far. “You asked our most trusted ally to give up their most skilled knight to babysit me?”

If Kristoph even registers Apollo’s anger, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he just walks to his window overlooking the countryside and gazes at the horizon. “It’s an elite guard, Your Highness, and it isn’t babysitting. It’s protection. You’ve had far too many close calls as it is.”

“We have plenty of trained knights here. Why do we have to get some from a different kingdom?” Apollo asks, shaking his head.

“Because whenever you pout at the Lamiroir guards, they do whatever you tell them to.” Kristoph gives him a pointed glare. Apollo admits it, he’s brought out the puppy-dog eyes to the royal guards before and they tend to listen to him. One of his favorite guards, Ema Skye, has told him before that it’s “never felt right to not take orders from the prince.” And then she ate a snack and let him go about his business into town. “These guards will be on order from King Phoenix and King Miles and report directly to me. They won’t be letting you off the hook simply because of your title, which means they’ll be far more effective in keeping you safe.”

Because their actions won’t be based on my decisions, Apollo thinks. Because at the end of the day, that’s what nearly every one of their conversations comes down to: Apollo not making the right decisions.

And again, what can he do? It’s Kristoph's decision to make and Apollo has no authority to stop him.

“I still think this is unnecessary. I’m not a child.” Apollo’s fists tighten at his sides. But no matter what he says, Kristoph won’t change his mind.

“Then, perhaps you shouldn’t act like one.”

Apollo’s teeth grind against each other, the pang of anger and shame cutting across his chest sharper than any sword. He’ll never be good enough for Kristoph—Apollo’s disappointed him so much—but he needs to be good enough for Lamiroir.

And that starts with him living long enough to become king.

So, he concedes. “When will I meet this knight?”

“Tomorrow,” Kristoph says. His voice, while not warm, is a little less cold than it was before. “His name is Klavier. I’d like you to take a carriage and thank the Kings personally for their generosity. Won’t hurt to strengthen our relationship with them, besides.”

“That’s fine… but won’t you go, too? Kurain is where you were born, right?”

Kristoph looks back out the window. “Our correspondence remains anonymous, and I don’t plan to reveal myself to them. I’m sure your presence is more than enough to show our gratitude.”

It’s the first win Apollo has felt during this whole conversation. Kurain Castle is an hour ride by horse or carriage and Apollo’s not sure his sanity would survive two whole hours of Kristoph at the moment.

“Well, then, if that’s all…?”

“You’re dismissed,” Kristoph says with a wave of his hand. Apollo all but runs to the door.

The guards open the door for him all the way, but he stomps past them, finding an empty hallway for some privacy. He leans against one of the walls, pinching the bridge of his nose. How is he going to get anything done if he’s being monitored constantly? And by foreign knights he has no rapport with?

It’s humiliating. It’s infantilizing. It’s a disaster. But what Kristoph says goes, and that’s true in this instance, too.

Six more months, Apollo thinks. Six more months.

It’s early morning when Apollo sets out for Kurain in his official carriage. His party is humble, but the guards he brought with him are the sturdy kind. He’s usually fine on his own, but to keep Kristoph off his back, he made sure to organize a party to escort him. Kristoph was pleased with the amount of protection he brought, which is a small miracle in and of itself since Kristoph is never pleased. Especially if it’s concerning Apollo’s judgement.

The ride is pleasant enough. The border between Lamiroir and Kurain is beautiful in the spring, with the plum blossoms blooming and the wild grass reaching as high as Apollo’s knees.

Kurain itself is a small but peaceful nation. They don’t have many war accolades under their belt, but their people are thriving and happy, and that’s all Apollo cares about. Plus, the kings are good, kind people. King Miles was crowned not long after Apollo’s parents were killed and he married one of his most trusted advisors, Mage Wright, now King Phoenix, shortly after.

The two of them have visited Apollo often, offering words of encouragement and support throughout the years. On numerous occasions, Apollo has wished he could have told them about the situation with Kristoph, but he couldn’t. Kristoph’s position as King Regent has always been top secret. Apollo got the impression the Kings knew anyway sometimes. They’re both clever men, and every so often they’ve asked a particularly pointed question that made Apollo think Kristoph’s secret isn’t so secret. They’ve both known Kristoph since well before he came to be of service to Apollo’s family, so perhaps they have their own theories. But they’ve never said anything, which Apollo takes as a good sign.

Apollo’s carriage nears Kurain’s castle—a beautiful traditional building made of white stones and fortune talismans hanging out of every window. King Phoenix told him once that every talisman was personally blessed by the Kingdom’s high priestess, Maya Fey. Her power is fearsome and beyond reproach, since the matriarchal bloodline in her family passes down a rare kind of magic: fortune telling and spirit channeling. The Feys’ impact on Kurain is well documented in history books. According to most scholars, the monarchs’ relationship with them has brought the kingdom long periods of peace and prosperity.

Apollo is more eager to see her than he is the Kings, if he’s honest. Though, Priestess Maya… doesn’t match the image he had in his head when he thinks about the great Fey matriarch. She is kind, though. She’s also powerful, despite her silly nature and her—quite frankly—insatiable appetite.

The carriage passes the castle gates after some guards check their paperwork and allow them entry. Offhandedly, Apollo wonders if the Knight checking their invitation is his new personal guard. He wonders what kind of person they’ll be. Stuffy and aloof? Strict and rude? Earnest and noble?

He supposes it doesn’t matter. He doubts Kristoph would hire anyone who wasn’t perfectly obedient to his orders. Whoever his new knight is, they’re going to be holding him back from every small instance of help Apollo can actually offer his people. Hoping for a friend or even a civil acquaintance is a pipe dream.

When they finally reach the entrance to the castle, he’s escorted inside, past lush purple carpets and beautiful paintings of Kurain history, until he’s finally taken to King Miles’s throne room.

There’s a sprawling purple rug that leads to the two ornate thrones at the end of the long room, pointing directly to the Kings. The ceiling is so high that even Apollo’s steps on the carpet echo out and reverberate throughout the entire room. It would be pretty intimidating if King Phoenix and Priestess Maya weren’t grinning so widely at him. King Miles, despite always being kind to Apollo, is one of the scariest people Apollo’s ever met, so he’s still a little intimidated.

When Apollo reaches the base of the dais, he bows low in respect. “Your Majesties, Priestess Maya, it’s good to see you all in such good health.”

“Aw, c’mon Apollo, you don’t have to be so formal,” King Phoenix says. “You’re like family.”

King Miles harrumphs at this. “Some of us value politeness, Phoenix.”

“Hey, I’m polite!”

“I hope your trip was pleasant, Prince Apollo?” King Miles says, decidedly ignoring his husband.

“Kurain is lovely this time of year. The time flew by.” Apollo raises from his bow and smiles, genuinely glad to be in their company again. He loves his kingdom with all his heart, but it can be… a bit lonely. Everyone hating you will make you feel that way. “Thank you for having me, and thank you so much for your generosity.”

“Of course. When we got word from your…King Regent that you were being attacked daily, we replied immediately offering our best knights for the job.” King Miles’s brows furrow tightly and Apollo gets the impression he’s not a fan of the mysterious King Regent in question. He wouldn’t be surprised. A lot of nations expressed their distaste for an anonymous ruler when Lamiroir’s King Regent was announced.

“Interesting how the regent wanted that knight in particular,” Priestess Maya says, her fist gently pressed to her cheek. “Huh, Nick?”

“You probably shouldn’t call me Nick in front of the prince of an allied Kingdom, Maya.”

“But you said he was like family!”

King Miles raises his hand to silence them. “The Regent probably requested Klavier since he’s our best. There’s no evidence to suggest the contrary.”

King Phoenix and Priestess Maya share a look that makes Apollo think they believe otherwise, but he doesn’t comment on it. He’s not sure what he’d even say. He knows nothing about this knight other than his first name and that he’s the best. Perhaps they know each other and Kristoph thinks he’ll be loyal.

“I’m sure our Regent has his reasons.” Apollo tries not to grimace at said reasons. “Still, the Kingdom of Lamiroir is deeply grateful for your aid.”

“How is Lamiroir, Prince Apollo?” King Phoenix asks, his face filled with genuine concern.

Apollo’s face falls at the question. He wishes he could change the subject or lie, but he has far too much respect for everyone in the room to do such a thing.

“The kingdom has seen… better times.” Even to himself, he sounds defeated. “It feels like a new crisis pops up every week and the people… my people suffer. I’ve been doing everything I can to change things, but the Regent won’t listen and—”

Apollo snaps his mouth shut, embarrassed by his own outburst. He shouldn’t speak lowly of Kristoph, especially not in front of allies he corresponds with, albeit anonymously. All of their faces soften into sympathetic expressions (King Miles tries, anyway), but Apollo can’t stand to see it. He bows his head in shame, a disgraceful act all on its own for a prince.

There’s the sound of fabric rustling and a moment later, someone’s hands wrap around his. Priestess Maya is standing before him, her grip on his hands firm and reassuring.

“I don’t know what the future holds for Lamiroir.” Priestess Maya’s voice wavers as she says it, like the truth of it brings her immense pain. “My powers can be a bit unpredictable at times and usually only work for Kurain, but I’ve seen some things. Flashes.”

Apollo straightens, suddenly alert. “What have you seen?”

“Not much, honestly. I can tell there’s a hostile force at work, that the tragedies befalling Lamiroir are more than bad luck. There’s something… dark hanging over your kingdom, but I don’t know what it is.”

Apollo sighs wearily. He always knew there was someone or something plotting against his kingdom, but hearing it confirmed is a blow all the same.

“There’s one other thing, Prince Apollo,” Priestess Maya continues. “Your Kingdom will flourish under your rule so long as you trust your intuition. So, no more self-doubt, okay?”

Apollo smiles at her. “You sure you saw that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

Priestess Maya winks at him and takes away her hands. “That’s my little secret.”

“Well, I appreciate it either way,” Apollo says, and he means it. He looks back to the Kings. “If you were in my situation, what would you do? What have you done to keep Kurain thriving?”

King Miles and King Phoenix exchange a furtive glance, but it’s King Miles who clears his throat. “Kurain is not without its problems. We’re far from a utopia, but we’ve been fortunate enough to see a time of peace and prosperity. Though, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have good advice for the Prince of Lamiroir. Each Kingdom has its own unique challenges.”

“I see.” Apollo tries for a grateful smile but he doubts it reaches his eyes.

“However,” King Miles says, stepping off the dais as King Phoenix follows, “there are some qualities of a great leader that I think are universal: kindness, selflessness, trusting and standing by your decisions, but being open to criticism. I don’t think these are qualities you lack.”

King Phoenix places a hand on King Miles’s shoulder as a silent “let me” and faces Apollo. “We all think you’re more than qualified to lead your kingdom well, Prince Apollo. Your parents… they were great leaders and even better people. I’m sure if you still have their memory in your heart and follow their example, Lamiroir will see a new renaissance. Kurain will support you in whatever way we can.”

King Miles nods in agreement while Priestess Maya presses her palms together in front of her, clearly pleased. Apollo’s chest fills with warmth, the kind you only get when you’re around good-hearted people who genuinely care about you. He’s not sure what he did to deserve such kindness from these people, but he’s profoundly grateful for it.

“I suppose we should introduce you to Klavier,” King Miles says. “He should be in the training yard—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off by a sharp whizzing sound akin to a firework shooting into the sky. They all whip their bodies around to find the source of the sound and see a fizzing, sparkling bolt of acid yellow heading right toward Apollo. He recognizes it as soon as he sees it—a zip message from Kristoph. Anyone with magic can send them, and they take on the color of the user’s magic, making the saturated yellow of this zip message instantly distinguishable.

The message is folded into the shape of any flying creature, this one a butterfly, with a long, thin tail of fizzling magic behind it. Apollo holds out his hand and summons a concentration of his own lively red magic in his palm. Because the message is indeed intended for him, the yellow butterfly flies right into his hand before Kristoph’s magic dissipates and leaves a folded piece of paper in Apollo’s palm.

Apollo’s stomach bottoms out before opening the message. Kristoph doesn’t use zip messages lightly. They’re conspicuous and frivolous according to him, so he’d only ever use one in an emergency. He’s sent one to Apollo a few times, and they’ve always been the harbinger of some new tragedy brought to Lamiroir.

With trembling fingers, Apollo opens the letter.

To his Royal Highness the Prince of Lamiroir,

I send this letter to you with grave news. It appears that the dam in the north portion of the capital city has broken, flooding both homes and fields. Myself and a team of mages are already on our way to deal with this catastrophe, but I request your immediate return. I’ve magicked the letter to lead you to our exact location. Please hurry.

In highest esteem,

Royal King Regent of Lamiroir

The sinking feeling Apollo anticipated before reading the letter doubles, and his knees wobble with the threat of giving out. A flood. Only last month that dam had been monitored, passing all its regulation checks and now, even more crops will die and families will be displaced.

“I have to go.” Apollo turns back to the Kings and Priestess Maya and bows deeply to them. “I’m so sorry, but there’s been in a flood in the capital city and I have to—”

“Yes, of course. Go. We will send Klavier and his men to follow your carriage back to Lamiroir,” King Miles says without missing a beat.

Apollo bows again. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You can thank us by keeping us updated,” King Phoenix says, “and letting us know how we can help.”

Apollo is once again filled with overwhelming gratitude, but he doesn’t have the time to express it. He turns on his heel and runs to his carriage.

Much to Apollo’s dismay, the driver had already settled the horses in the royal stable by the time he received the letter. It takes twenty minutes for Apollo’s party to leave for Lamiroir, but when they finally do, the squadron of Kurain knights King Miles promised him are waiting for them at the castle gates.

There are five knights in total, all of them on horses, but one of them is clearly this Klavier King Miles spoke to him about. He sticks out with his pristine white horse and armor that shines much more spectacularly than the others, likely made out of an expensive material not afforded to knights below his station. On his chestplate, there's an ornate crest that isn’t even Kurain’s house colors of maroon and gold, but blue and pewter. But besides just his armor, this knight has a presence—he’s tall with perfect posture, and he sits on his horse like he lives there. If Apollo wasn’t so desperate to get back home, he’d introduce himself and ask Klavier to take off his helmet so he can put a face to the name. As it is, their introduction will have to wait.

Apollo’s carriage and party rush out of Kurain, following the direction of the newly activated zip message taking them to Kristoph’s location. The sound of several hooves hitting the earth surrounds Apollo, loud as thunder. The noise does nothing for his nerves and gives him that terrible, useless feeling he always gets when some new catastrophe hits. He wishes he wasn’t in this carriage. He wishes he was like one of the knights, racing on a horse, actively doing something instead of sitting comfortably in his plush carriage seat.

The way back to Lamiroir is faster than the journey to Kurain, but it still drags. Apollo’s itching restlessness has him losing his mind, and all he can think about is how terrible this ordeal must be for the families involved. Their homes, their livelihoods, maybe even their lives… gone. He’s not sure how bad the damage is yet, but he can only imagine the worst.

He can only feel a morsel of relief when they finally cross the border into Lamiroir. They’re close, maybe only fifteen to twenty minutes more, and then he can do something. He can help.

There’s the sound of multiple battle cries and a sudden thunk next to Apollo, like something’s hit the side of the carriage.

“Come out, Prince Apollo!” a decidedly unfriendly voice calls.

Oh no, not now.

Apollo looks out the left carriage window and sure enough, the carriage is being attacked with homemade lances by a group of hooded rebels. Apollo’s never been attacked by hooded villagers before, but he doubts they can be anyone other than his people since they recognized the carriage and called him by name. Plus, their horses are the working kind, meant to pull hoes, not outrun carriages.

Apollo yells out to his driver from the right side window. “Hurry! We can lose them at the pass. They won’t be able to keep up with us.” And then the shutters of the carriage come down on either side, casting him in darkness. “What the—”

“Nein, Herr Driver, move the horses out of the way while we deal with this.”

Apollo’s jaw drops at the blatant insubordination. Is that the knight King Miles lent to him?

“Did you not just hear me?” There’s more bite in Apollo’s voice than normal, but he doesn’t care, especially after his visibility has been taken away. “I said we’re running.”

A voice, smooth and charming, calls to him from outside. “My apologies, Your Highness. But in matters of your safety, my orders outrank yours by decree of Lamiroir’s King Regent.”

So it is his new personal guard. Apollo sputters out a nonsensical response, gobsmacked by this… this… fop’s total disregard for his orders. For the most part, he tries to remain informal with his subjects to keep himself grounded, but this is a step too far, especially when this Klavier character wants to fight his subjects.

“This is—you can’t—” Apollo tries, but he can barely get the words out.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” The driver? “But we do have orders from the King Regent to obey Sir Klavier’s orders.” And then he starts moving the carriage, not at the breakneck speed Apollo ordered him too, but pulling to a stop instead.

Outside, Apollo can hear the sounds of metal against metal and cries of pain. They’re fighting, maybe even killing some of Apollo’s subjects. That does it. No more mister nice prince.

Apollo summons a tiny blizzard in the palm of his hand, gathering all of his energy in one concentrated spot, just like Kristoph taught him, and releases it like a nocked arrow. The ice in his hand expands rapidly into a large icicle, big enough to bust a large hole into the side of his carriage.

No longer trapped, Apollo jumps out of the cab and looks for the ongoing fight. Well, “fight” isn’t exactly the right word for this, since all eight of Apollo’s guards are circling the four attackers and trapping them.

Apollo runs to the circle, watching as the knights’ swords and lances raise, about to come down on the hooded men’s heads. Apollo reaches out desperately, stretching his magic out as far as it will go, hoping it won’t be too little, too late. He’s never created a barrier so large and so far away from himself before, but he has to try.

He puts his all into it—every bit of magic tucked away in his skin and muscles and bones—and projects it forward around the four men at the center of the circle. The barrier appears, encasing the four men neatly and startling everyone. Before his magic runs out completely, Apollo guides the sphere up above the knights, the hooded men suspended in air, alarmed but alive. He pushes them with the last of his strength, the barrier floating to the edge of the forest before it inevitably pops and drains Apollo of his magic supply.

The men fall to the ground, startled and confused. The knights, unsure of how their prisoners were taken right from beneath them, are too stunned to move, and Apollo does his best to take advantage of that.

“RUN!” Apollo bellows, forcing his voice out from the depths of his lungs. The hooded men finally get wise and stumble to their feet before they start running into the forest. Apollo pushed them far back enough that it’ll be more trouble than they’re worth to send a tracking party to find them. The knights seem to know this, too, because nobody chases after them.

Apollo imagines that Sir Klavier will be plenty angry with the thwarting of his heinous plans, but he can’t possibly be more angry than Apollo is.

Drained and sore from the use of such heavy magic, Apollo stomps over to this idiot knight who nearly maimed his subjects.

“Hey!” Apollo calls, his righteous anger speeding him toward the group of knights. “What the hell was—”

Apollo’s stopped short by Sir Klavier turning to him and removing his helmet. It happens in slow motion—the golden hair spilling from the helmet, then flouncing from side-to-side as Sir Klavier shakes it out, all leading to the reveal of his face that is cruelly beautiful. With cheekbones high and sharp, a jaw cut out of stone, and eyes of piercing blue that are framed delicately by the longest lashes Apollo’s ever seen… this man has left him speechless.

Apollo’s stuttered breathing and blatant staring would be beyond humiliating if it weren’t for the fact that Sir Klavier is just as taken aback, his eyes set wide as he blinks at Apollo.

For a moment, he’d much rather touch that corn yellow hair to see if it’s as soft as it looks than reprimand him, but at that thought, Apollo’s senses come back to him. It doesn’t matter how handsome this Knight is. He disregarded Apollo’s orders and opted for lethal force immediately. That’s not someone Apollo could ever find attractive.

He brushes past his momentary lapse in judgement and gets right in Sir Klavier’s face (or, to be more precise, below his face since he’s significantly taller than Apollo, but that doesn’t matter) which definitely makes Sir Klavier’s already wide eyes go wider. “What do you think you were doing?”

Sir Klavier looks down his nose at Apollo, brows scrunched in confusion, before his face melts into an easy, unaffected grin. The brightness of it is already enough to send Apollo careening back, but the fact that Sir Klavier leans in toward Apollo so they’re eye level and nearly nose-to-nose almost makes Apollo fall on his ass. But he stands his ground, staring defiantly up at him, despite the heat rising to his face.

“My job, ja?” Sir Klavier says, his voice even silkier than it was back when Apollo was in the carriage. “The King Regent hired me to handle matters of your safety, Your Highness, but you seem determined to thwart my efforts.”

“Handling my safety does not mean you try to murder my subjects.” Apollo balls his hands into fists, anger welling in him like high tide.

At that, Sir Klavier’s bemused veneer cracks a little, showing the annoyance underneath. “They were traitors trying to harm Lamiroir’s crown prince. Traitors who need to be brought to justice.”

“You don’t know the full story.” Apollo’s hands fly up in frustration. “They might have just wanted a few jewels to pawn so they could feed their families, or maybe they lost their entire livelihood thanks to a bad season the monarchy has done nothing to help. Whoever they are, they have their reasons, and they deserve a fair trial before any violent action is taken against them.”

Sir Klavier’s grin falters completely this time and he stands straight. “If you had given me a chance, Prince Forehead, you’d know I was not planning on hurting those men.”

“P-prince Forehead?”

“My plan was to capture and question them in hopes that we’d be able to avoid such attacks in the future. They are quite common, ja?” Sir Klavier says, his chin jutted out, challenging.

“You were raising your weapons. I saw you,” Apollo says, though he falters. Maybe he did misread the situation.

Sir Klavier’s smirk is back in full force. “A threat so they’d lay down their own weapons. It was all going according to plan until you intervened.”

“Well—it—still—”

“And even if that wasn’t the case,” Sir Klavier says, playing with a bit of his hair’s fringe. “I won’t hesitate to do what I need to do to keep you safe, Your Highness. Unlike you, I have your best interest at heart, which I believe is why the King Regent trusted me with the particulars of your safety.”

His tone is smooth and saccharine sweet, but Apollo finds it utterly condescending and pretentious. “I don’t need the likes of you protecting me. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Can you? What would you do if another wave of attackers came from the forest at this very moment?” Sir Klavier gestures at him. “You are clearly out of magic. Impressive as your display was, it has left you defenseless. It was quick, but short-termed thinking.”

There’s little Apollo can say to refute this. Even their conversation is exhausting since his entire body is weak from pushing his magic to the limits.

“I only used so much power because I thought you were going to hurt them.” It sounds a little childish, even to his ears, but he feels justified all the same. He won’t stand for anyone hurting his subjects.

“You thought, you didn’t know.” Sir Klavier puts his helmet back on as another show of disrespect. “Which is why I am here.”

“You won’t be for long,” Apollo says, not caring that it makes him sound like a spoiled brat. “I don’t care how skilled of a knight you are; you’re not going to be my personal guard.”

Sir Klavier’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “Prince Forehead, but not even you can go against the King Regent, ja? I doubt he will relieve me of my duties.”

“That’s Prince Apollo. And even if the guards have to take your orders, that’s no excuse for your behavior.” Apollo pulls his shoulders back, standing his ground. He can hear the murmurs then, and gets hot around the ears. He forgot the other guards were watching, but something about Sir Klavier is so infuriating that it made Apollo completely forget his surroundings.

“Ach, we shall see,” Klavier says, batting away Apollo’s complaint like it’s a fly. “Until then, you can ride on my horse until we reach our destination since you so conveniently destroyed your carriage.”

Apollo sputters again. “I-I’m not riding on the same horse as you. I’m not a child.”

“It will be safer that way. I can protect you if you are attacked again.” Sir Klavier whistles for his horse and Apollo realizes he’s completely serious.

Apollo eyes one of the farm mares left behind by the attackers and makes a mad dash for it.

“Your Highness!” Sir Klavier’s voice is far less composed than it has been the entire conversation and if nothing else, Apollo’s proud of that.

He puts his foot through the stirrup of the brown mare’s saddle and swings his leg to the other side. Then he strikes the reins, making the horse dash in the same direction as the zip message that hovers in the air, waiting for them to continue.

As Apollo rides closer to it, the zip message begins its course again and from behind him, he can hear Sir Klavier yelling out orders to follow him. Apollo doesn’t dignify him with even one glance back.

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter two

It doesn’t take long to get to the dam from there. Apollo works the poor mare hard enough to make her pant, but he promises to get her settled with a huge barrel of oats when he takes her back to the castle.

The zip message flies overhead, sputtering as they get closer to their destination. Through the trees, Apollo can see a huge crowd of people gathered around the base of the dam. The mare runs out of the forest, her hooves sloshing through the wet earth and announcing their arrival. The crowd looks back, gasping at the sight of Apollo before hastily lowering themselves into bows and curtsies. Apollo faintly waves to relieve them, too distracted by the state of the dam to pay them much mind. It’s a complete disaster—the dam has a huge hole in it, like a cannonball took out a huge chunk of the stone from close range. The dam regulates a powerful waterfall, so all that built-up pressure suddenly being released… it’s no wonder the entire area is a mess. Water pours out of the hole at an alarming rate, flooding acres of land.

The zip message corkscrews through the air and dives over a figure by the riverside before it bursts into an explosion of glittering embers. Beneath those embers is Kristoph, magicking some of the fallen stones from the river and using a levitation spell to bring them back to the dam. Three other mages levitate around him and seal the hole in an impressive display of their magic. Once it’s sealed, the water finally slows to a temperate pace and the crowd cheers.

Apollo’s boots splash in three inches of water as he swings off the mare, and pats her shoulder appreciatively. He makes his way over to Kristoph, but the sound of whispers stops him in his tracks.

“‘Bout time he showed up,” a villager says.

“Yeah, right when someone else cleans up the mess,” another answers.

The words sting, like they always do, and all Apollo wants to do is turn on them and explain: I would have been here sooner if I could, but he knows from experience nobody is interested in excuses. He ignores it and trudges on to the riverside, bee-lining for Kristoph.

“Mage Kristoph,” Apollo says, waving him down.

Kristoph turns and greets him with a low bow. “Your Highness, forgive me for calling you back from your trip prematurely. The other mages and I have this handled.”

“No, of course you should have called for me.” Apollo looks up at the newly repaired dam and remembers the cold words of the villagers. He’s never where he’s supposed to be, it seems. “What happened?”

Kristoph pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and delicately blots his face with it. “The structural integrity was compromised. A weakness in the design, I think.”

“This dam has been here for years and nothing like this has ever happened.” Apollo shakes his head. “It might have been tampered with…”

“Nonsense—”

“Ach, Prince Forehead, there you are.”

Apollo and Kristoph both jerk their heads towards the sound of the voice and sure enough, it’s Sir Klavier, his helmet off and a subtle anger burning in his eyes despite his smile. The Lamiroir and Kurain guards that accompanied them wait on the outskirts of the crowd. None of them look particularly happy with Apollo either.

Normally, Apollo would feel bad for making their jobs harder, but he remembers what Sir Klavier did and his righteous anger makes him forget his guilt. “Who is this? Kristoph, you can’t seriously want this fop as my personal guard.”

“Why, he’s supposedly the greatest knight Kurain has to offer, but that must have been an exaggeration, seeing as he so easily let you out of his sight.” Kristoph’s eyes narrow at Sir Klavier, and Apollo dares to hope Kristoph might actually be on his side for once.

Sir Klavier’s smile is just as charming and debonair as it was before, but Apollo swears he sees an added hostility there. “That’s certainly a warm greeting for the brother you haven’t seen in four years.”

Apollo stills, his posture stiff. He couldn’t have heard that right. “Br-brother?”

“Yes, hello, Klavier. Wonderful to see you. Now,” Kristoph clears his throat and moves his glasses up his nose. “Can you please explain why you were several paces behind the crown prince you were sworn to protect?”

“You’re brothers?” Apollo says, looking between both of them.

“Ja, of course, Your Highness.” Klavier flips his coiled ponytail behind his shoulder. “Do you not see the resemblance?”

And, well, now that he mentions it… Apollo can’t believe he didn’t notice before. It’s uncanny. They have the same sharp features and symmetrical face shape, but the way they wear those features so starkly contrasts the other that Apollo never would have guessed they were related. Kristoph is so serious and severe, while Klavier is flippant and flashy.

Apollo scratches the top of his scalp. “Now I do.”

“So ashamed of me that you didn’t tell the prince who his new guard would be, Kristoph?” Klavier’s tone is light, but Apollo has to wonder how much of this is actually a joke or if a part of him is hurt.

Kristoph doesn’t offer an answer, turning to Apollo instead. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn’t think it necessary for me to point out our connection. He was hired for his exemplary skills and for that alone.”

“Ja, it’s true,” Klavier says. “Kristoph isn’t one to do favors for anyone, not even family.”

Kristoph rounds back on him. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why did the prince come here unaccompanied?”

“Prince Fore—Prince Apollo doesn’t like taking my suggestions on how to best keep him safe.” Klavier scratches his chin in a show of mock recollection, like he really has to think in order to remember what happened less than an hour ago. “We were attacked on the way here, and the prince didn’t appreciate how I was handling the situation, so he thwarted our capture of the assailants with his magic and took off with one of their horses. Does that about sum it up, Your Highness?”

Apollo sputters out some nonsense before he’s eventually able to spit out a coherent response: “You were going to hurt them. We could have easily gotten away without engaging at all, and—”

“And then they would have kept attacking you,” Klavier says crisply. “If there are no consequences for attacking the crown prince of your kingdom, then what is to stop them? I would love to avoid skirmishes of any kind, truly, but you must know how important your safety is for the wellbeing of Lamiroir.”

This catches Apollo off guard and he clears his throat, not exactly pleased at the insinuation he isn’t thinking about Lamiroir’s welfare constantly. “I’m not saying there shouldn’t be consequences, but I think every person deserves to receive a fair trial and a chance to tell their side of the story. They can’t do that if they’re dead.”

“Prince Forehead, I keep telling you that I wasn’t going to—”

“Enough.” Kristoph raises a hand in the air, effectively silencing them both. “This conversation is meaningless. Your Highness, I understand that you may not fully respect Klavier’s methods, but he is good at what he does—if King Miles’s accounts are to be believed. I hired him for a reason, and he will remain at your side at all times. You will follow his instructions as if they were my own, by decree of… my position.”

Kristoph sidesteps his title in case there are lingering listening ears in the crowd. It’s an order. It’s rare for Kristoph to give Apollo an order. Normally he’ll ask Apollo to do something and Apollo will usually comply, but an order has always felt a little aggressive. It’s no little thing to give an order to a prince. They all must know it, because not even Sir Klavier is making cheap quips at his expense.

Apollo will obey it, too. He’d be a piss-poor representative of his Kingdom if he didn’t respect the King Regent’s authority.

But that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He stands up straight, trying to gather up a smackerel of dignity. “I understand. I’ll just see if I can help salvage the crops around—”

“I’d appreciate it if you went back to the castle, Your Highness.” Kristoph’s words are clipped and to the point. He’s in no mood to be disobeyed today. “The mages and I will do as much damage control as possible. Klavier, I expect only the best from here on out.”

“And that is what you’ll get.” He winks, which Apollo assumes is a stab at levity. It doesn’t work. Instead, Kristoph leaves without ceremony and Apollo turns away, squeezing his fists into balls so tight his fingernails might make his palms bleed. He stomps over to the brown mare who was gracious enough to wait for him and takes her reins. He doesn’t feel like riding, so he leads her back to the castle through the forest.

It’s not long before a melodic voice calls his name—or no, not his name, but that stupid nickname. “Prince Forehead! Prince Forehead, wait!”

Apollo’s shoulders tense and his hands white-knuckle the reins. He slowly turns his head around as Sir Klavier approaches him on his beautiful white horse. Did Apollo rush off fast enough to warrant Klavier chasing him down on his horse?

Klavier gracefully gets off his mount with another sly smile. “Ach, you’re a lot faster than you look. Perhaps you could stop with the hasty exits, ja? We’re supposed to stick together.”

“You’re supposed to keep track of me, not the other way around.” Apollo knows it sounds childish, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Klavier’s smile melts off his face like butter in a hot pan. It’s quickly replaced with a new expression—still a smile, but this one isn’t as smarmy. It’s slightly more genuine. Slightly.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot, Your Highness,” Klavier says, and to Apollo’s amazement, he kneels. “It is an honor to be in your service.”

Great, now Apollo feels like a total ass. “No, don’t—ugh, can you please stand? You don’t have to do that.”

“You are the crown prince, ja? I believe some manner of swearing my fealty to you is in order.” Klavier says that, but he’s already getting back on his feet and wiping dirt from his armor.

Apollo shakes his head. “Yeah, but I hate the kneeling and swearing fealty stuff.”

“You don’t like shows of respect?”

“No. I don’t like feeling like I’m… not a human being.” It’s a weird thing to admit, Apollo realizes. No one’s ever asked him before. But it’s true—while he doesn’t enjoy his title being disrespected, he also doesn’t like it when people bend a knee to him simply for his lineage. He hasn’t done anything worthy of someone vowing to serve him with their life. Apollo’s no god. He’s just a man born into more privilege than he knows what to do with.

Klavier watches him carefully, analyzing him like he's a particularly tough gambit on a war map. “That’s an… interesting thing for a royal to say.”

“Well, I hope you’re more interested in this: don’t hurt my subjects,” Apollo says, anger building inside him again. No matter how kind or charming this knight is to him, Apollo won’t let this go.

Klavier laughs, shaking his head. “You make it sound like I’m a monster here to steal the village children. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“But you will.”

“Only if they try to hurt you, Your Highness.”

Apollo clicks his tongue in annoyance. “If you’re so good, then why can’t you just capture them?”

“I can,” Klavier says with an exasperated sigh. “And I will, but in these situations… I can’t predict how formidable an enemy will be, what their tactics are. There may be times I have to use… more violent means to ensure your safety.”

“I don’t accept that.” It’s more assertive than Apollo has a tendency to be, and he curses himself for the way it comes out so awkwardly, but he stands his ground. “You can keep me safe without hurting anyone.”

Klavier fluffs the hair along his forehead between his fingertips. “Your Highness, there might come a day when one of these attackers comes for your life. Not to rob you or startle you, but to kill you. A person who comes for the life of a crown prince is a person with nothing to lose, a person who doesn’t value their own life. In a case like that, they won’t stop coming, unless… do you understand?”

Apollo looks away, staring at a blade of grass like it’s his mortal enemy. Of course he understands. He knows these threats are real and he knows there’s logic in what Klavier is saying, but he can’t stand it. Every person who has ever attacked Apollo is someone he’s failed, someone who can’t sustain themselves or their family because Apollo couldn’t find a way to help them. They shouldn’t die because they’ve run out of options. Everyone knows a crown prince carries wealth with him wherever he goes, so he understands the attempts to mug him. He’s never truly felt like the attackers wanted to kill him.

“I know you can’t let anyone kill me, but they’re my people.” His stomach drops just thinking of what could happen having Sir Klavier around, how bloodthirsty he might be under that radiant smile and handsome face.

Apollo isn’t sure what face he’s making now since he’s stubbornly kept his gaze to the grass, but he’s startled out of it when Sir Klavier kneels again. “Hey! Stop. I told you—”

“Let me swear something to you, Prince Apollo.” Sir Klavier’s face is much more serious than Apollo’s seen it so far. That, in combination with Sir Klavier using his given name, makes Apollo’s face heat. “I swear I will be as gentle as I can against the people who mean to do you harm. However, I won’t hesitate to take more extreme action if it can’t be avoided. Is this agreeable?”

Apollo doesn’t know what to say, and certainly doesn’t expect to be as flustered by the gesture as he is. He thinks on it, though. Considering the circumstances, this is probably the best case scenario.

Apollo coughs into his hand, hoping it’ll cover his blush, if only a little. “Get up. Please. I will… agree to these terms, but I expect you to keep your word.”

Klavier rises from the ground, but this time his smile is more dazzling than any of the others he’s flashed Apollo before. Probably because it’s… genuine. Or something.

“I swear on my honor as a knight that I will.” Sir Klavier holds the hilt of his sword like he’s making a promise to it as much as Apollo. “I look forward to being in your service, Prince Forehead,” Sir Klavier says, far too casually. “I think we will get along great, ja?”

Apollo glares at him. “I’m being crowned king in six months, y’know. Keep up the forehead jokes, and I can have you beheaded.”

“Hmph.” Sir Klavier runs his hand through the front fringe of his hair again, which is infuriatingly captivating. “You don’t even have enough malice in your heart to persecute peasants who would rob you. I do not think you have it in you to execute a handsome and charming knight over a little teasing, ja?”

Apollo’s nose scrunches, both at the backhanded compliment and the egotism. “There’s a first for everything.”

Sir Klavier bursts into laughter, which is horribly annoying in how not annoying it is—it’s so absurdly pleasant that Apollo could watch him all day. He briefly wonders if Sir Klavier has a spell cast on himself that enchants everyone around him.

“That’s true enough, Your Highness. I’m a bit of a gambling man, so I think I’ll try my luck.” Sir Klavier winks, which makes Apollo turn around on his heel.

“Have it your way,” Apollo says, wishing his heart rate would slow down. “Come on, we should get you settled in the knight’s quarters.”

“Ja, lead the way, Prince Forehead.”

Klavier finds the prince of Lamiroir… strange. It’s not an entirely bad kind of strange. He’s certainly endearing, but Klavier can’t believe how adamant Prince Apollo is about not killing peasants that attack him. King Miles or King Phoenix would never execute anyone over small infractions or anything, but attacks against them certainly wouldn’t be tolerated. Not that the Kings of Kurain are ever attacked at all. It’s one of the reasons why they were so willing to part with Klavier for a while. King Miles himself admitted his skills were being wasted in Kurain.

Klavier agreed. He loves Kurain, but his station there had gotten dull and he leapt at the chance of a new assignment even if it meant his older brother would be his superior. Certainly a downside, but the assignment only lasts until the Prince is crowned king. He’ll manage. Plus, he spends much more time with Prince Forehead than with Kristoph, so he can’t complain.

The Prince is exceedingly interesting. He works around the clock, just as the Kings of Kurain do, but Klavier hadn’t expected it from a prince the people hate so much. Actually, nothing about the Prince is expected. Based on the rumors Klavier’s heard, he thought Prince Apollo would be insufferable: a greedy, lazy monarch who cares more about his coffers than the wellbeing of his people. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Within the first week of being in Prince Apollo’s service, Klavier’s seen him be nothing but kind and diligent and passionate. Klavier has to wonder how he’s so universally hated.

He ends up asking one of Prince Apollo’s favorite knights, Ema Skye, about it.

Ema shrugs as she munches on some chocolate bon-bons the kitchen sent to the knights’ quarters. “They blame him. For all the disasters.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Klavier says as he polishes his steel helmet to a brilliant sheen. “Or logical.”

Ema shrugs again, clearly more interested in her bon-bons than the conversation. “They can’t exactly blame the King Regent. They don’t know who he is. I guess everyone expects the Prince to influence the Regent in some way. He’s the Prince—he should have more pull than he does.”

Kristoph. The true monarch of Lamiroir as it stands now. In truth, he should be the one facing the people’s ire, but it was decided long ago his identity should be kept a secret for his safety. If the King Regent were to be killed while the crown prince was still underage, it would put Lamiroir in an even more unstable condition than it is now. It makes sense (to a degree), but Klavier still finds it odd that the Regent’s safety is the priority when there’s so much hostility being aimed at the Prince.

It’s a hard concept to reconcile—Prince Apollo being so universally hated. Klavier accompanies him everywhere from magic lessons with Kristoph to peace meetings to every meal, and the Prince is… not the enemy.

Early on in Klavier’s appointment, he escorts the Prince to a meeting with the leading agricultural expert in the region. She came to discuss the withering fields and underwhelming harvest this year, and the situation is even more dire than Klavier expected.

“It’s… almost like the crops are being poisoned, Your Highness,” the expert says, her glasses laying askew on her nose. “It doesn’t make sense by all accounts. The soil is fertile, the weather has been in fine condition… there’s no reason our harvests should be this barren.”

Prince Apollo presses a finger to his forehead, a charming little habit that makes him look several years younger than he is, and stews in silence for a moment. “Do you think it could be a spell? A curse?”

The expert worries her bottom lip and fixes her glasses before they slant back into the same spot. “It’s the only explanation I can think of…”

“But who?” the Prince mumbles to himself.

“I couldn’t say, Your Highness.” The expert traces her finger along the inventory tracking parchment. “But what I can say is… if we don’t find a solution, many, many people will starve.”

The look in Prince Apollo’s eyes haunts Klavier in his sleep. It’s crystal clear to Klavier where the Prince’s priorities lie and they’re all with his people. For the next several days, the Prince spends his waking hours locked in libraries and studies, reading up on curses and spells that could cause an entire kingdom to become barren. He even uses Klavier as a springboard for ideas or to double check that he’s not reading too much into something because he wants it to be the answer. Nothing ever quite fits.

With every passing day, the circles under Prince Apollo’s eyes get darker and darker. Klavier’s not sure he sleeps at all. They’re together at all times except for when they sleep, which is when two of Klavier’s best knights take over and guard the staircase leading to the Prince’s room.

But those are the nights the Prince actually goes to his room. More often than not, he’ll fall asleep at the library table, his cheek pressed against the page of an open book as he lightly snores. It’s always then that Klavier will walk over, place a hand on the Prince’s shoulder, and gently shake him.

On another night, Klavier finds Prince Apollo’s face buried in a book again, snoozing away. It’s a shame to wake him, but Klavier’s job is to ensure the Prince is safe, and that includes fighting off stiff backs in the morning.

“Your Highness? Your Highness?” Klavier keeps his voice low and soothing, so as not to shock him awake. Prince Apollo stirs with tiny, confused mumblings as his eyelids flutter open. Slowly, he lifts his head, and his sleep-fogged eyes find Klavier’s.

And, oh, Prince Apollo’s eyes. Klavier knows the Prince is adept in healing, ice, and barrier magic, but Klavier thinks his eyes might be the most dangerous part about him. They’re rich and dark like the earth after a spring rain, but they’re also alarmingly big and expressive. Now, with the lowlight and the warmth coming from the library’s fireplace, his eyes are soft and vulnerable, reminding Klavier of a doe in a forest. It’s not Klavier’s usual definition of danger, but between the way his heart races and how his breath catches every time the Prince looks at him like this, he’s inclined to find those eyes life-threatening.

A silly infatuation, he chides himself. The prince may have very fine eyes, but that is no concern of his.

“Sir Klavier?” Prince Apollo’s voice is gravelly with sleep, a rough tint to its usual clean, bright (and loud) sound. “What’s…”

Klavier can’t help but smile. He has a soft spot for sleepy Prince Apollo. “You fell asleep in the library. We should get you to your quarters, ja? The books will be here in the morning.”

Prince Apollo blinks hard once, then rubs at his eyes with his palms. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. Twenty minutes at most,” Klavier says.

Prince Apollo hums, then takes one last look at his massive book before he adjusts the ribbon along its seam and closes it. “I’m not getting anywhere with any of this.”

“Ach, don’t lose faith, Prince Forehead. If you keep at it, I’m sure you’ll find a solution.” Klavier doesn’t say it just to make him feel better. The Prince is capable and smart. He’s sure that if anyone can get the kingdom out of this mess, it will be Prince Apollo.

Prince Apollo shakes his head, unconvinced. “I do have a… short-term idea.”

“Ja? Tell me.” Klavier sits at the edge of the table, folding his hands over his thigh. It’s probably not the most courteous way for him to address a crown prince, but Prince Apollo’s said before that he likes to be treated like a human being, so he figures a little bit of casual conversation will go over alright.

Prince Apollo doesn’t bat an eye at Klavier’s impertinence, but instead picks at the skin around his fingernails. A little nervous tic, Klavier’s noticed. “Sir Klavier, do you know how well the harvest does in Kurain?”

Klavier blinks at him, blindsided by the question. “Ah, nein, I’m sorry. I don’t know much about agriculture, but I don’t believe we’ve ever had any shortages. There’s never been any sort of panic from what I can remember.”

Apollo nods and studies a knot in the table’s wood. “And the Kings… they’re generous and benevolent.”

“They are,” Klavier says cautiously. “Prince Forehead, what are you thinking?”

Prince Apollo takes a deep breath. It’s a resigned thing, bracing for words he doesn’t want to say. “I was thinking perhaps they could help us get through the winter, if they’re able.”

“I’m sure they would be.” Klavier tilts his head. “You don’t seem happy at the prospect, though.”

“They’ve helped a lot already. They’re lending us you, after all. It can make us look weak if we always rely on foreign aid during times of crisis, and we’re already in a precarious enough position.” Prince Apollo studies the palms of his hands, almost like he’s mad at them for not conjuring up the perfect solution.

Klavier hums. “Perhaps, but the lives of the citizens are the most important, ja? That’s why you’re considering it in the first place.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Prince Apollo pinches the bridge of his nose. “But it’s not my decision. It’s Kristoph’s.”

“Well, you’ll explain it to him. Surely, he’ll listen to reason,” Klavier says, but even he’s uncertain. Kristoph can be hard to predict sometimes.

The Prince doesn’t look convinced either, but he nods, and Klavier escorts him to his chambers.

It’s not just the fear of a foodless winter that keeps the Prince up at night. Villagers have taken to accosting him at least every other day since Klavier’s been in his service. The attacks range from the trite to the concerning. Sometimes, a child will throw a piece of moldy fruit at him; others involve elaborate schemes to steal some high-cost heirloom off of him. No one is a true threat, not for Klavier, but he can see the way the light in the Prince’s eyes dims after every encounter. Klavier grows increasingly more irritated after every incident.

It takes its toll on the Prince. He hardly eats sometimes, opting to pick and stare at his food instead. Klavier starts keeping apples and dried meat with him wherever they go, just in case the Prince starts to look faint, which is too often for Klavier’s liking.

And sometimes, in the mornings, Klavier will find Prince Apollo pale with the smallest hint of crushed indigo on his lips.

“Your Highness, your lips… they’re blue,” Klavier says a few weeks into his assignment, deciding to mention it after several times finding him like this.

The Prince wipes at his lips with his fingers, a motion Klavier traces too closely, but it does nothing to whisk away the color. Whatever it is, it’s stained his lips, not merely colored them.

“Just… some blueberry tea I like to have for breakfast sometimes.” Prince Apollo turns his head away, as if this will be enough to make Klavier forget. “It’s very pigmented. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

But Klavier does worry. As the days turn to weeks, it’s not just because this is his work and he takes pride in it, but because Prince Apollo is kind and good, and Klavier wants to protect him. Despite their rocky start, they do get along well, and Klavier thinks he deserves to be safe and happy.

From what Klavier understands, there hasn’t been room in the Prince’s life for either feeling. Not after the late King and Queen were murdered.

But he lets Prince Apollo keep up his delusion that he’s “fine”—a word he uses so much, it’s starting to lose meaning.

It’s a month into Klavier’s residency in Lamiroir that Prince Apollo speaks with Kristoph about his idea. Klavier plays fly on the wall as the two of them talk.

“Absolutely not,” Kristoph says definitively. “We’d look like utter fools. Utter weak fools.”

“But we need help,” Prince Apollo pleads. “I understand that it won’t cast us in a great light, but I can bear that over the death of—”

Kristoph glares at the Prince with the precision of a lightning bolt. “It’s not even up for debate, Your Highness. Truly, I don’t know how you plan to rule this entire Kingdom when you don’t think these ideas of yours through. You have to be a lot smarter than this if you want to keep this Kingdom from falling into the hands of a hostile nation.”

Klavier sees the exact moment the fight leaves Prince Apollo—his shoulders slump, the two spikey bits of his hair droop, and those bright eyes Klavier thinks about a little too often lose their sheen. Klavier wants to throttle his own flesh and blood over it.

You know nothing of running a kingdom, Klavier reminds himself. Still, he agrees with the Prince. Perhaps asking for help from Kurain would make them seem vulnerable, but isn’t that a price worth paying? At least until they can figure out how to fight back the curse that plagues the kingdom.

Kristoph’s word is absolute, however, and Prince Apollo has nothing else to say. He makes for the door, Klavier following quietly behind him, and goes right back to the library.

It’s another late night at the library, just the two of them, but the usual comfortable silence is replaced with something taut and strained. Klavier knows it’s not because the Prince is mad at him, but because he’s mad at himself. As Prince Apollo pulls book after book off the shelves, Klavier tries to find the right words to say, but they’re as elusive as the mystery of the curse on the kingdom. He has a feeling nothing he says would make Prince Apollo feel better, even if they were the perfect words.

That doesn’t stop him from searching for them, though.

But to his surprise, it’s Apollo who speaks up first. “What am I missing?”

“Your Highness?” Klavier cautiously steps forward from his post at the door. “What do you mean?”

Prince Apollo runs his hands down his face. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m doing everything I can. Learning as much as I can. Reading—” he picks up the book he was flipping through earlier, then lets it slam back down to the table, “everything I can, but I’m still just as useless as ever.”

A heavy silence follows. Prince Apollo buries a hand in his hair, looking like the picture of a man at the end of his rope, and all Klavier wants to do is throw him more line.

“You’re not useless, Prince Forehead,” Klavier says, because he can’t stand the idea of Prince Apollo living out every day in service of others and thinking it means nothing.

“I am.” Prince Apollo stands and paces the room, his palm smearing across his lips like covering his mouth will stop him from breaking down. He sounds more defeated than Klavier’s ever heard him. “Kristoph won’t let me do any work with the villagers. I can’t even offer any hope because they all hate me, and every single idea I’ve ever had to fix things is stupider than the last, and—”

“They’re not stupid.” Klavier says it with enough force that it stops Prince Apollo’s pacing.

Prince Apollo swallows and stares at the table rather than at Klavier. “No, Kristoph’s right. He’s always right. I never think things through. Or I do, but I always do it wrong.”

Klavier takes a few more careful steps until he’s in front of him. “My brother is not always right… take it from someone who knows. Kristoph is cunning and persuasive, but he has his flaws like the rest of us. I promise.”

Prince Apollo shakes his head and sighs. “I know. I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to be king in five months and I have nothing to offer my kingdom despite all the research and studying. Nothing except for bad ideas.”

“Your ideas aren’t bad.” Klavier reaches out as Prince Apollo looks at him with those big, brown eyes that have lost some of their color. For a brief moment, Klavier fights the instinct to press his hand to Prince Apollo’s face. It’s a quick and fleeting feeling, but it hits Klavier with undeniable force, like maybe if he holds the Prince’s cheek in his palm, it’ll bring back some of that light, that fire. Klavier places his hand on his shoulder instead. “It was a smart idea to ask Kurain for aid. The right idea, if you ask me.”

Prince Apollo’s shoulder tenses underneath Klavier’s hand. At first, Klavier worries he’s overstepped, but then the Prince relaxes into the touch. Prince Apollo doesn’t respond at first, but Klavier can tell he’s thinking hard by the deep crease in his brow.

So, Klavier keeps going. “Kristoph has always been hard to please. Even when we were kids, he always pushed me, always told me I could do better. He’d keep me up all night studying until the candle burnt out. I’m not saying I exactly approve of his methods or think he’s right in this instance, but I think he pushes you because he cares about you, because he believes in you.”

The blue and pewter crest on Klavier’s armor burns right into his skin. It can be hard to remember that Kristoph feels any brotherly love toward him, but the crest always reminds him, always brings him back. “You might not see eye-to-eye on how to rule, but that doesn’t mean your instincts are always wrong or that Kristoph’s are always right. Don’t take what he says to heart, Your Highness.”

When his speech is done, Prince Apollo takes a deep breath, and like a shooting star—bright and brief—he smiles at Klavier crookedly, pushing a dimple out of one of his cheeks. It brings every cell in Klavier’s body to a halt, suspending him in the moment. Klavier can’t breathe or swallow or move at all… he can only stare into those eyes like they’re snares.

“Thank you, Sir Klavier,” Prince Apollo says, far quieter than usual. “That’s… I feel better. Thank you.”

Klavier regains some of his motor function again, but barely. He takes his hand back from the Prince’s shoulder and restrains himself from cradling it in his other hand, though it burns. “Of course, Prince Forehead. What are friends for, ja?”

They stare at each other for a moment and again, Klavier worries he’s been too informal with the Prince, but his worries are assuaged when Prince Apollo tries to hide a very obvious blush behind the back of his hand.

“W-Well, I’m going to work for a little bit more, then we can head to bed,” Prince Apollo stammers, head angled away from Klavier. “If that’s okay?”

“Ja, take your time, Your Highness.”

Prince Apollo hums in acknowledgement and sits back down, while Klavier goes back to his post. The palm of his hand still tingles all the way through his gauntlet.

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter three

“I’m planning a ball.”

The silence is pristine as Klavier and Prince Apollo stare at Kristoph with dropped jaws.

“A… ball?” Prince Apollo says, like he’s never heard of such a thing. “Like a ‘fancy gowns and dancing’ ball?”

Kristoph releases an exasperated sigh. “Yes, of course, Your Highness. What other kind of ball is there?”

“But balls cost money and usually succeed feasts and we—” Prince Apollo shakes his head, clearly flabbergasted. “We can’t possibly host a ball and hundreds of guests in a time like this, Kristoph.”

Klavier is inclined to agree. When Kristoph called the Prince to his office this morning, this was the last thing Klavier thought he wished to discuss.

“Our coffers are full enough for a ball, I assure you,” Kristoph says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Prince Apollo storms up to the front of Kristoph’s desk. He’s usually docile around Kristoph, the constant fire within him dimmed to a low simmer—still there, but robbed of its power. If Klavier thinks too hard about it, he starts to really dislike whatever it is about Kristoph that makes Prince Apollo like that. But that’s not the Prince in the room today. The Prince here now is sitting on a powder keg.

“We can’t.” Prince Apollo pushes the words out like a weapon. “Our people are facing hunger by the masses. Their crops are dead, their cattle are sick, their livelihoods diminished, and you want to put our energy and remaining resources into something as frivolous as a ball?”

It’s a far more scathing speech than Klavier’s ever heard from the Prince. He’s impressed. Prince Apollo’s also absolutely right. There’s no way a ball wouldn’t look horrendously tone deaf in the face of all the tragedy the kingdom is facing.

Kristoph sits and Klavier can tell Prince Apollo’s objections don’t land. “That’s precisely why I’m planning a ball, Your Highness. Balls work wonders for diplomacy. It is my hope to deepen our trade agreements and alliances through the event, which could lead to some insight on our situation. Perhaps another kingdom has had similar hard times, or perhaps we can find out if it’s a hostile kingdom that’s sabotaging us with some savvy investigation work. If you were to think about it for a moment, you’d realize all the ways it could work in our favor.”

“I really don’t think—”

Kristoph cuts Prince Apollo off. “Besides, this could be an excellent opportunity for you to find a suitor.”

If Prince Apollo was surprised by Kristoph’s declaration for a ball, it’s nothing compared to the look on his face now. If someone were to walk in on the scene, they’d think that Kristoph just slapped Prince Apollo across the face.

“This is not the time for me to be considering suitors,” Prince Apollo says and Klavier is inclined to agree. The Prince marrying is a worse idea than the ball, in Klavier’s humble knight opinion. Trying to picture the Prince courting makes something sharp pierce right through Klavier’s armor to his chest, which is… ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to feel that way.

Kristoph hums and looks thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Well, marrying is up to you, Your Highness, but marital unions are one of the most effective ways to form alliances and garner aid for the kingdom. As I said, though. That’s up to you. Regardless, a ball comes with many opportunities for Lamiroir.”

“No, Kristoph. No.” Prince Apollo stands tall and it’s the most princely Klavier’s ever seen him. No, not princely, kingly. “Even if all of that is true, none of it is for certain, and we have far too little resources and time to spend on this. I realize this is your decision to make, but I insist that you not do this.”

Kristoph reclines in his chair and folds his hands in front of him. “You’re right. It is my decision to make.”

Prince Apollo no longer looks like he’s been slapped, he looks like he’s been shot with an arrow. The shock wears off into a scowl that’s all wrong on his face. Klavier detests his brother a little bit for making him look like that.

“Kristoph, I never wanted to use something like this on you, but…” Prince Apollo takes a deep, shaky breath. Whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t like it. “But if you do this, I’ll have to seriously reconsider the role you play in the royal court once I’m crowned King.”

The room goes silent with a tension so tight it feels like a single word could snap the floor in half. Kristoph and Prince Apollo stare at each other, neither one of them breathing. Klavier can hardly believe that such a sentiment even came out of the Prince’s mouth. Klavier knows how much Prince Apollo hates using his title to get what he wants. He should probably be more worried about his brother, whose entire career was just threatened, but he can’t find it in himself to drum up any sympathy. If Kristoph is fired, he’ll have no one to blame but himself.

Strangely enough, Kristoph isn’t fazed. He stares at Prince Apollo with the same cool, concentrated gaze he always does and Klavier knows Prince Apollo’s trump card hasn’t worked. Kristoph’s back isn’t up against the wall, even though it should be.

“Well, then,” Kristoph says, pushing up his glasses. “I’ll try to enjoy my time in the castle while I can.”

Prince Apollo’s face drains of color and his hands ball into tight fists at his side. “Fine, Kristoph. Fine. You make your decision and I’ll make mine.”

Prince Apollo storms out the door, not once bothering to look back or wait for Klavier. That’s okay, though. Klavier doesn’t intend on following him.

Kristoph has already moved on to signing important-looking papers on his desk. After a few minutes of his quill scritching on the parchment, Kristoph looks up and frowns. “Have you forgotten your job, dear brother? The Prince left.”

“Why are you doing this?” Klavier steps up to the desk, his blood hot underneath his skin. “The Prince is right. It’ll look frivolous and pull resources from where we need them.”

“I don’t seem to remember you being an expert in political affairs,” Kristoph says, much more interested in his documents than conversing with Klavier.

Klavier slams his helmet on the desk, tipping over Kristoph’s ink bottle and splattering black across some blank parchment. Kristoph is satisfyingly startled and Klavier gives himself a mental pat on the back for making his brother see him for once.

“It is my business,” Klavier says, one hand still on top of his helmet. “You’ll put an even bigger target on his back. You know as well as I do that the civilians will hate him even more for this. The attacks will increase, get steadily more violent, even though the Prince is vehemently against it. You hired me to protect him, and I am telling you now that the best way to protect him is for you to call this ball off now.”

Kristoph doesn’t bother trying to clean the mess. Instead, he stands and presses the tips of his fingers on his desk, letting the ink stain his hands. “I am doing what I know is right for Lamiroir. You might not understand it, probably because you’re clearly starting to harbor more feelings for the Prince than you should. But I have a plan, and it’s the best course of action for the kingdom.”

“Is it, Kristoph? Is it really?” Klavier raises an eyebrow at him and ignores Kristoph’s cut about his feelings, despite it slicing through him. Perhaps he is a little too fond of the Prince, but it makes him a better protector. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s starting to look like Prince Apollo is right to threaten your status in the court.”

“That’s quite enough, Klavier. Just because you’re my little brother, that doesn't mean you can talk to a king that way.”

“King Regent,” Klavier snaps. “It’s best if you remember your full title. It’s also important to remember that it is your rule, not the Prince’s, that’s seen such dark times for Lamiroir. The Prince will be blamed for your actions, but that’s only true until his coronation. Do not get comfortable in that chair, dear brother.”

Before Kristoph can respond, Klavier gathers up his helmet and charges out the door, hoping it won’t be too hard to find Prince Apollo.

###

Klavier was right about the attacks increasing in frequency. It’s every day now, sometimes even multiple times in a single afternoon. Prince Apollo can’t even go into the village without angry shouts and protests from (justifiably) furious citizens calling him all sorts of terrible names and demanding he help them.

The worst part is Prince Apollo won’t even defend himself.

“You could tell them, Prince Forehead,” Klavier says after a woman with four children mercilessly laid into him over his selfishness. “They know there’s a King Regent. You could tell them that it’s his decision, not yours.”

Prince Apollo shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to do that. They should be mad at me. I couldn’t stop Kristoph, so I’m just as culpable.”

No, you’re not, Klavier wants to scream at him. But he doesn’t. He’s pretty sure nothing would stop Prince Apollo from blaming himself for this.

Plus, he needs to put his powers of persuasion elsewhere. After Kristoph’s ball announcement, Klavier finds Prince Apollo by the exit in the kitchens one night trying to sneak out of the castle by himself. His satchel is full of heavy candelabras, silverware, and jewels.

“You will have to be slicker than this if you want to pull a fast one on me,” Klavier says and watches Prince Apollo jump six feet in the air.

Once he’s able to breathe again, the Prince smooths out his cloak and clears his throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sir Klavier. I simply meant to—” Klavier raises an eyebrow at him and Prince Apollo sighs in defeat. “Look, if Kristoph is going through with this ball thing, then I can’t just sit here and do nothing. It’s not a permanent fix, but if I can give a few families something they can hock when the travelling merchants come by, it might be enough to feed them for a couple more nights. Or if I can help with harvesting the fields that aren’t barren or—or—anything, then I can at least sleep a little at night. Because as it is now, I’m going out of my mind.” That determined, fiery look is reignited in Prince Apollo’s eyes and it nearly knocks Klavier off his feet. The Prince hasn’t looked at him like that since they first met. “You won’t stop me. I’ll use my magic on you if I have to—”

“Let me help.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll come with you, Prince Forehead,” Klavier says, his pulse faster than normal, like he’s in the middle of a bout. “It’s too dangerous for you to go by yourself, and four hands are better than two, ja?”

Prince Apollo’s mouth purses in apprehension but slowly transforms into a big, beaming smile. “You mean it? You’ll help me?”

Again, Klavier feels like all the air has been punched from his lungs. Prince Apollo has an unnerving ability to do that, and as far as he knows, air magic is not one of Prince Apollo’s specialties.

“Ja, of course, but under the condition that you keep your hood up at all times and you spend more time in the castle until after the ball’s over.”

Prince Apollo nods. “Okay, deal. C’mon, let’s go.”

Just like that they’re swept into the night, slipping rubies and pure silver spoons underneath door cracks and gathering information from the night owls and drunkards about which families need helping hands, but can’t afford to hire someone.

They get word of a family whose head of the household broke his leg after an unfortunate incident with a horse, so the rest of the family’s been scrambling to maintain the property. Prince Apollo decides they’ll visit the next day.

###

The family is weary at first, which Klavier finds understandable. A Prince comes to your home and says he’d like to help harvest, thresh, and winnow your wheat for free? Klavier would be skeptical, too.

But with Prince Apollo, Klavier is constantly surprised. When Kristoph sent him a letter asking for his help, Klavier expected to babysit a total brat, a manchild who'd been given everything since birth and worked for nothing. Not to mention the rumors that filtered in from Lamiroir to Kurain. They said the Prince was frivolous and cold and only cared for himself. It shames him to admit it now, but Klavier believed them all. He wasn’t surprised when Prince Apollo yelled at him for his insolence, but what did surprise him was everything else—the anger at threatening his subjects, the initiative to take a horse and bolt, the burning brown eyes that Klavier can’t help but see behind his eyelids in the moments before sleep.

Klavier’s noticed smaller things too, like how Prince Apollo’s hands are calloused, instead of soft and smooth, because he’s made a habit of working on farms when he can. It makes him wonder if Prince Apollo is as universally hated by the people of Lamiroir as Klavier was led to believe, because when he offers to help the family, what gets them past their apprehension is the teenage daughter saying, “Misty says he helped harvest their land a few months ago. I think he means it, Papa.”

Prince Apollo’s eyes light up when the family agrees and he gets to work right away, listening closely to the family’s instructions. Klavier helps too, keeping one eye on the Prince in case there’s trouble, but they make it through without incident. It’s good, honest labor and Klavier knows his back will be sore in the morning but it’s worth it to know how much they’ve helped the family, to see the relief in their faces after they realize they’re not drowning in an unattended field anymore. It makes Klavier understand why Prince Apollo would risk his own safety just to do work like this.

They say their goodbyes to the family and head back to the castle on their horses, Prince Apollo looking more alive than he has for the entirety of the two weeks since Kristoph announced the ball. His cheeks are flushed, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, and his eyes—they burn and smolder like the embers of a fire. Klavier keeps his gaze to the dirt road. He needs to stop paying so much attention to the Prince’s eyes. Why do I keep paying so much attention to his eyes?

Kristoph’s words surface to the front of his mind: You’re clearly starting to harbor more feelings for the Prince than you should as his guard…

There’s a painful twinge in his chest that won’t go away as he lingers on the word “feelings” and desperately hopes they aren’t the kind of feelings he thinks they might be.

It’s in the moment of Klavier’s private panic that he hears a battle cry. Klavier snaps his head toward the sound and sees four figures in hooded brown cloaks race toward them with varying weapons. Two of them are magic users with their hands in casting position, one has a garden hoe, and the other a slingshot. The magic users will be the biggest threat, so Klavier pulls out his bow and shoots the man prepping some Earth magic in the shoulder.

“Your Highness, put up your barrier and run ahead,” Klavier says and curses himself for not bringing the full guard with them. Klavier is skilled, but four enemies, half of which are magic users, will be a lot even for him... especially considering he made an agreement not to kill them.

“But—”

“Don’t argue, just do it!”

Prince Apollo’s soft golden barrier surrounds him and Klavier rides his horse into the fray. The man with the garden hoe comes at him first, which is easy enough to deflect with his sword. But it’s enough to distract him for a moment, which is probably what they wanted all along.

The other magic user lobs a ball of fire at Klavier just as he unarms the man with the garden hoe, and it’s coming at him too fast and too hot. He doesn’t have time to get out his shield, and his lightning magic will do nothing to deflect fire. He normally has safeguards for this kind of attack—magicked powders that dispel elemental magic, blessed weapons that can cut through magic and dissipate it—but he’s too distracted, too overwhelmed by the ambush to pull either out. All he has time left for is to brace for impact.

The flames never come. Instead, his vision is clouded by a transparent, sparkling gold wall. The flame sputters out against it and it’s only then that he realizes what this means—Prince Apollo’s protecting him with his magic. Which means he isn’t protecting himself. He’s standing in the field: arm extended, palm open, and draining all his magic in the barrier around Klavier.

It’s all the opening the cloaked men need. Klavier watches in slow motion as the man with the slingshot pulls it back and lets a stone loose in the air. Klavier calls out to Prince Apollo, but the Prince is too slow to do anything besides release the barrier around Klavier. The stone hits the Prince in the temple, and Klavier chokes back a scream. Prince Apollo crumples to the ground and blood trickles down the side of his face, red and glimmering in the sun like a string of rubies.

Klavier nocks back an arrow at lightning speed and it pierces the man with the slingshot in the throat. He falls off his horse into the grass, dead. The other three men look startled, but Klavier doesn’t give them a chance to think it over. He snaps his fingers with a swipe of his arm and lets his lightning magic pour out of him like sand in a sieve. The crackling yellow bolt strikes in front of the men’s horses, spooking them, and they make a quick, unanimous decision to leave. The three survivors snap the reins on their horses and run as far and fast as they can.

Klavier jumps off his horse and rushes to Prince Apollo’s side. The first thing he does is place a hand on the Prince’s chest and lets the other hover over his mouth. There’s a steady rise and fall in one hand and the ghost of breath in the other.

Alive. Thank the gods, he’s alive.

Klavier examines the gash on the side of Prince Apollo’s head next—it’s not too deep, but it hit hard enough to knock him out cold, so he can’t take it lightly. If only he had healing magic…what’s the point of even having magic if he can’t protect people with it? Another wave of shame washes over him like he’s been lit on fire, but he swallows it down. There’s no time for self-pity.

He scoops the Prince up in his arms, one underneath his knees and the other supporting his shoulders. It takes some maneuvering, but he gets Prince Apollo onto his horse, situating him so his torso rests against his horse’s neck. He climbs on next and leans Prince Apollo back so he’s flush against Klavier’s chest, keeping the wound elevated.

Blood still flows from the Prince’s temple, but Klavier can’t even apply pressure to it, or he’d lose his grip on him. He’ll just have to be fast. Luckily, his prize horse Ellisandre is plenty fast.

###

Apollo wakes with his mind feeling like a dense fog and his forehead pounding like the loudest of drums. It’s annoying and he wants it to stop, but for all that, he’s having the hardest time opening his eyes.

Finally, he’s able to wrench them open. When he does, his surroundings don’t make sense. The ceiling is made of stone, but he shouldn’t even be able to see the ceiling since he has a canopy bed. So, he’s… not in his bed?

He snaps up and swings his legs off the bed. But before he can even attempt to stand, two strong hands materialize on his shoulders and keep him down. “Bitte, Your Highness,” Sir Klavier says, the startling cool blue of his eyes boring into Apollo’s. “Your head was hit, you have to lie down. Ach, you’re bleeding again.” Klavier steps away to the bowl filled with water sitting on a nearby nightstand and lightly dabs a cloth into it before sitting down next to Apollo.

“Where am I—”

“The infirmary.” Sir Klavier cuts him off by brushing his fingertips beneath Apollo’s chin and leading him to look directly at him. The tips of Apollo’s ears suddenly feel very hot and his eyes dart around, absorbing his surroundings rather than stare too closely at Sir Klavier’s face. It’s a small room, probably meant for injured knights rather than princes, since the cot is as thin as a bed sheet and there’s nothing adorning the stone walls. “Do you not remember? We were attacked by a group of men and one of them hit you with their slingshot.” Sir Klavier starts gently washing away the blood on his face, and their faces are so near one another that Apollo’s vision swims.

But he remembers. He remembers seeing a gust of fire magic heading right toward Sir Klavier, then the snap decision to project his barrier around him, and then a sudden darkness. So he was hit hard enough to be rendered unconscious? With a still bleeding wound? He’s never been this injured by a villager before.

“Your wound,” Klavier continues, still gently washing away blood. “The stone that hit you was cursed with malignant magic that slows down the healing process. Might have even been enchanted to have a better chance of reaching the intended target. Herr Doctor is searching for a curse remover now to stop it.”

Apollo barely hears him.

“The men… what happened to them?” Apollo asks, though he’s afraid of the answer.

Sir Klavier pulls back the cloth, now pink with his watered-down blood. He looks like Apollo just accused him of a crime.

He turns away from Apollo and studies the floorboards. “Two escaped without any injuries, one has an arrow in his shoulder. And the last, the one that hit you… I killed him, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”

It’s like the depth of Apollo’s lungs bottom out into an endless hole. One of his own people, dead because their desperation led them to attack him. Whether it was for a chance to rob him or vigilante justice, the reason behind it is the same—the Kingdom is in dire straits and they all blame Apollo for it. And they should. It’s Apollo’s sworn duty to protect his people and he’s let them all suffer. It doesn’t matter how tightly his hands are tied; he needs to do something.

Sir Klavier, too, looks dejected, ashamed. The perpetual glow that always seems to surround him has dimmed and Apollo hates it. This isn’t Klavier’s fault. “No, I’m sorry. I’m the one who insisted we go out to town to soothe my own ego, when I know it’s safer to stay inside the castle. If I had listened to you, this wouldn’t have happened. I know you tried to keep your promise.”

“Your Highness…” Sir Klavier shakes his head. “It’s my job to protect you, and you’re the one who had to save me.”

Apollo sighs. “I was the one who made that decision, but I can’t say I’m sorry for that.”

Sir Klavier raises his head slightly, his blue eyes popping in contrast to his butter yellow hair. Apollo gets that lump in his throat again, that one that he gets every time Sir Klavier looks at him too long or too intently.

“This can’t be your priority, Prince Forehead.” Klavier stands, his back to Apollo, and it feels like he’s cut a rope between them, increasing the distance. “I hesitated out there today. I wanted to uphold your wishes, but these attacks… they’re getting more ruthless. These people mean you real harm. There might be more instances like today, and you have to let me… do what I must in those moments.”

Apollo knows it’s a reasonable request. He knows he can’t keep defending people who try to kill him or his comrades, but… “If I let you do that, then I’m just as bad as they all think I am.”

“And what if you are?” Klavier rounds on him and his face is contorted in anger. He even glares. Apollo’s never seen him like this. “What if you let yourself be a little selfish? Defend yourself? I see what you do, Your Highness. I know the late hours you keep, the amount of time spent cooped up in the library, the way you desperately want to help your people in little ways… the least your people can do for you is not try to kill you.

“I understand they don’t know the full story and they’ve hit hard times, but you do all of this for them and no one sees it, no one appreciates it. And I know that’s not their fault—it’s Kristoph’s. But that’s the problem. You’re the best chance this Kingdom has at surviving, and we can’t get you on the throne if you’re dead. So, let me protect you in the way I know how.”

Apollo watches him, mouth gaping like a trout. He has no idea what to say. No one’s ever said something like this to him, no one’s ever cared this much. He always assumed Kristoph knew best and everyone else thought so too, even though Apollo couldn’t help but disagree with him constantly. It’s strange to be validated now, to know he’s not the only one who questions Kristoph’s judgement. He owes Kristoph so much, but he’s starting to feel more and more like his parents' decision to make him Regent was a mistake.

As the silence drags on, Klavier stands straight and crosses his arms. “My apologies, Your Highness. That was out of turn.”

“N-no. You can say what you need to me, Sir Klavier.” The next part is hard to say, so Apollo takes a bracing breath and hopes it doesn’t sound weird. “We’re… friends, right?”

Sir Klavier’s expression and posture soften at the words and he gazes at Apollo with a strange bewilderment before a wisp of a smile appears on his face. “Ja, Prince Forehead, we’re friends.”

“That’s… good.” Apollo clears his throat, not exactly sure why the infirmary feels so hot all of a sudden. “But in any case, I suppose you’re right that we’ll have to be more serious about offensive measures, but only when we’re faced with attacks like today. We’ll keep more guards with me so we’re not in that situation again. I don’t want anyone else dying.”

“I think we can make that work. Thank you, Your Highness.” Sir Klavier’s face is so relieved, it’s like Apollo just told him his execution has been cancelled and it makes Apollo’s ears go hot again. Which is stupid. There’s no earthly reason why such a thing should make Apollo’s heart flutter and float, but it does.

“Yeah,” he says, telling his heart to calm down. “Yeah, no problem.”

###

For the next two weeks, ball preparations consume the castle. Maids and butlers run around the corridors like they have fires to put out. Lavish, new decorations routinely congest the main hall. Klavier can tell every time they pass by a new giant vase of begonias or an order of silverware, Prince Apollo wants to throttle something. Klavier doesn’t blame him, honestly. It’s clear Kristoph is putting a lot of money into this fancy party and they all know it could be going to better causes.

Klavier tries his best to remind the Prince: “Four more months. Four more months, and you can do what you wish with the kingdom’s finances.”

It’s a nice thought, but he knows Prince Apollo will keep worrying no matter what he says.

He wonders if it’s the only thing keeping the Prince on edge. On top of the extravagant expenses, there’s always a distinct tension in his shoulders whenever Klavier gets too close to him. Ever since that day in the infirmary, things have been different between them. Klavier’s noticed it in the little things—smiles that seem softer, eye contact that lasts longer, brief touches that feel like a burn. It’s sometimes hard being in Prince Apollo’s presence; being in the same room makes Klavier feel like he’s drowning. Despite that, Klavier keeps seeking Prince Apollo when he’s not there. There’s an itch in the back of his skull as soon as he drops Prince Apollo at his quarters and it doesn’t go away until he picks him up in the morning.

There are, of course, perfectly logical reasons for these feelings, but Klavier pushes them from his mind. He won’t let himself entertain the thought. He can’t.

But the night of the ball has other plans.

It’s one of the rare times Klavier isn’t with the Prince from dawn ‘til dusk. Prince Apollo is whisked away by his attendants, and Klavier is whisked away in the other direction. He spends the better part of three hours getting his face subtly painted and his hair braided with lilacs. Kristoph has even prepared a pastel lavender doublet for him with silver trimmings and intricate pattern work. He’s happy enough with the result when it’s done—the kohl makes his eyes pop, the purple complements his skin tone, and lilacs in his hair make him smell like a garden. It’s a shame he has to work through the entire ball. He should be stealing hearts, especially in this ensemble.

He sighs at his bad fortune, then thanks the castle attendants for their work before heading to pick up Prince Apollo from his chambers. Even as he walks down the hall, he can hear the merriment of the ball bouncing off of the walls: the low chatter of excited conversation, the upbeat melody from the hired quartet, and the muffled sound of shoes moving across the floor.

For a moment, he forgets the ball is a bad thing and a strange excitement bubbles into his chest. Klavier hasn’t had much time for dancing and balls since he became a knight, so a part of him yearns to enjoy it. Prince Apollo comes first, though.

He approaches Prince Apollo’s room and knocks on his door. A moment later, a maid comes out and curtsies at him. “The Prince will be out in a moment, Sir.”

“Ach, thank you, Fraulein,” Klavier says, giving her a low bow before she disappears back into the room, a blush forming on the back of her exposed neck. Klavier smiles to himself. Perhaps he can steal hearts away tonight without even trying. These castle attendants really know what they’re doing.

Which is all well and good until Klavier remembers that Prince Apollo will probably walk through that door transformed. For some reason, the thought strikes the fear of God in his heart.

When the door opens and Prince Apollo steps out, it’s even worse than Klavier feared. It’s not that the Prince is transformed, but the slight changes—his hair swept back, the long earrings elongating his neck, the way his doublet cinches in tight to accentuate his small waist and broad shoulders—are devastating. He’s never looked more like a prince. His doublet is made of the finest silk: shimmering cream with gold embroidery and it moves with him like water. Klavier must be staring because Prince Apollo’s face goes red, which stands out even more than it normally would with the light color of his outfit.

“I—I thought you’d be in armor,” Prince Apollo says, his eyes downcast.

Klavier clears his throat and tries to ignore his racing heart. “Ach, Prince Forehead, you don’t remember? I’m your escort this evening.”

“I remember, but I didn’t think—I thought you’d be in armor.”

“Ja, you said.” Klavier should have known Kristoph would be cagey on the details with Prince Apollo. “I’m to act as a guest and stay by your side the entire night, unless you’re pulled away for a dance, of course. Even then, I’ll keep my eyes on you the whole time.”

Prince Apollo swallows and brushes off the front of his doublet like it isn’t pristine. “I see. Well, you—you’re—it’s strange seeing you out of armor.”

Klavier feels his mouth tilt into a crooked smile. There’s something incredibly satisfying about Prince Apollo caught off guard by Klavier in civilian clothes. “Ja? How so?”

“It’s just different. Shouldn’t we be going?” Prince Apollo says, still not looking at Klavier.

“Ja, Prince Forehead. Ready when you are.” Klavier extends his arm and all the color leaves Prince Apollo’s face.

“What are you—” Prince Apollo stops himself, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Escort. You’re my escort.”

“I’m glad your memory is in working order, Your Highness, but we don’t want to keep your guests waiting, ja?”

Prince Apollo groans, but takes Klavier’s arm. A tiny shock pulsates through Klavier at the touch.

It’s nothing, Klavier tells himself. It’s nothing.

They head for the ballroom, arm in arm, and Klavier feels oddly exposed. He’s not used to walking these halls with only his sword for protection and he’s certainly not used to walking them with Prince Apollo on his arm.

“They’re not my guests,” Prince Apollo suddenly says.

“Hm?”

“The guests. You said they were mine, but they’re not.” Prince Apollo narrows his eyes, fixating on the floor as they walk. “They’re Kristoph’s.”

Klavier hums. “Kristoph invited them, but they’re here to see you. I know you’re not happy with… how little control you have in this situation, especially since you think it’s a bad idea, but there’s still an opportunity to turn this event into something good, ja?”

“I know you’re right, but… the things I can do right now are—” He clears his throat. “Limited.”

Klavier's stomach flips and then drops to the floor. “Do you mean Kristoph’s suggestion that you find a…”

A suitor. Klavier can’t bring himself to say it out loud. It’s taking every ounce of his energy to keep them walking toward the ballroom instead of grabbing the Prince and running out the gates to some far off kingdom where no one knows their names.

It makes no difference if he has a suitor or not, Klavier tells himself, but that doesn’t make that blunt ache in his chest go away any faster.

He at least finds it comforting that Prince Apollo looks completely uninterested in finding a partner. “Kristoph was right about that, at least. A marriage or betrothal would ensure aid, and aid is something we sorely need right now.”

“But it’s a marriage,” Klavier finds himself saying. “This will be the person you spend your life with… you can’t just marry someone in hopes that their family will send us food.”

Prince Apollo glares at the floor ahead of them. “I know, okay? I know that. But it doesn’t matter. I have to do what will help my people. I don’t like it much, either, but I’ll—I’ll do what I need to do. Whatever helps.”

Klavier’s fingers twitch, wanting to hold onto Prince Apollo’s hand on his arm, but he stops himself. That’s not something he should do.

“Not to speak out of turn again, Your Highness, but I think there are some things that you should do for you, not for others.” Klavier holds back a wince. He’s probably the last person who should be giving a prince advice, but he’s worried Prince Apollo will throw himself into unhappiness, maybe forever, for the sake of Lamiroir. It’s a noble cause, and maybe it is his duty as crown prince, but still… does his position have to take everything from him? Shouldn’t he at least get to pick his partner for life because he loves them rather than how it can help the kingdom as a whole? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe Klavier’s just a selfish person with a selfish worldview. But no matter what, thinking of the Prince marrying for convenience alone makes his skin crawl.

Prince Apollo lets out a small huff of laughter. “I don’t think it’s that simple, but thank you, Sir Klavier. Even if I can’t take your advice, it’s nice hearing it.”

There’s that buzzing feeling again—a low vibrating pulse that starts in the base of Klavier’s stomach and moves up to his heart, locking it in an electric cage. It only pops up when the Prince surprises him or shows a different side of himself, and that’s been happening more and more recently.

Klavier’s mouth fills with cotton. He shouldn’t have these thoughts. He can’t have these thoughts.

He has a terrible feeling that knowing he should stop isn’t going to make it actually stop.

If there is one thing Klavier can say about Kristoph (and there are many things he can say about Kristoph) is that the man knows how to throw a party. Probably a little too well, because when they enter the ballroom from the top of the stairwell and are announced, Prince Apollo’s mouth falls into a deep frown.

“Ach, Prince Forehead, I think it would behoove you not to look so constipated at your own ball,” Klavier whispers as they descend the stairs.

“I don’t look—” Prince Apollo starts but Klavier raises an eyebrow at him. “Shut up.”

Klavier uses his free hand to stifle a laugh, but it does nothing to stop Prince Apollo’s pointed glare. “Apologies, Your Highness. It’s uh, quite an event my dear Bruder has put on, ja?”

“More like an impractical expense if you ask me.” Price Apollo’s frown deepens again, his lips now a perfect upside-down U.

Klavier can’t say he’s wrong, though. Kristoph really went to the nines and so did the guests. Everyone is in lavish doublets and ball gowns made of fine silks and satins, twirling gracefully to the skilled musicians at the far end of the hall or delicately drinking mulberry water as they chatter away with other guests. The decorations are nothing to laugh at either—the ballroom is decked floor-to-ceiling in hydrangeas and begonias and golden candelabras, making the entire hall and everyone in it glow. It’s spectacular and romantic and also… a complete waste. Klavier knows what life is like for the people of Lamiroir. They need the mulberries used to make the refreshments far more than these dukes and duchesses do.

Klavier sighs as he releases Prince Apollo’s arm and stands in front of him. “You can turn this situation around, though, ja? Kristoph has brought dozens of kingdom officials here and it should be a chance for you to gain insights on what’s happening with Lamiroir, if nothing else.”

The Prince’s anger melts off his face revealing something painful underneath. “You’re right. I have to use this opportunity as best I can.”

“Ach, there’s my prince. Now, come, you should mingle with the guests.”

“I hate mingling,” Prince Apollo mumbles, but he walks in step with Klavier anyway.

Klavier soon finds out why—the conversations are painfully dull. Most of the young royals are much more concerned about Prince Apollo’s bachelor status than agricultural politics or offering any useful information about strange plagues and random tragic accidents. In fact, the Prince is constantly being pulled to the dance floor by starry-eyed guests who clearly hope he’ll consider courting them.

Klavier keeps careful watch all the while, his eyes glued to the Prince who, despite a bit of fumbling, is a fairly elegant dancer. It’s mesmerizing to watch him move through the ballroom with his spine straight and shoulders rolled back when Klavier’s so used to seeing him hunched over books. That, plus his coiffed back hair, makes Klavier notice the sharp line of the Prince’s jaw and the delicate slope of his nose. He’s… handsome. All the young aristocrats would probably want to dance with him even if he wasn’t the crown prince hosting the ball.

Watching Prince Apollo dance with so many people who are looking for his hand… it makes something angry and wild roil around in Klavier’s stomach like a caged animal.

“Sir Klavier.”

Klavier looks to his side and finds King Miles stepping next to him. It’s not a moment too soon. His thoughts were wandering into dangerous territory.

Klavier bows deeply. “Your Highness, it’s good to see you after so long. Is the King with you?”

“Phoenix and Maya are raiding the refreshment table, I’m afraid.” King Miles coughs into his gloved hand. “How’s the new arrangement going?”

Klavier licks his lips. He needs to choose his words carefully. King Miles is his king, but Klavier’s not allowed to give out any classified information. “The Prince and the Regent have… very different ideas on how the kingdom should be run. I worry that the Regent can be a bit reckless with the people’s perception of the Prince.”

King Miles hums and looks into his mulberry water. “Mulberries are scarce in Lamiroir, are they not? This entire affair must have been expensive…”

“I believe so, Your Highness.” Klavier squeezes his hands into fists. Of course, King Miles would notice. He’s an even more practical man than Prince Apollo, and he’s more aware of their situation than any of their other allies. Klavier hates that this whole thing will paint the Prince in an even worse light. He doesn’t deserve it.

“This regent…” King Miles continues, but trails off. Klavier looks at him expectantly. “No, nothing. I’m sure they have their reasons.” He nods at Prince Apollo dancing with a girl in a blue gown who’s started to rest her cheek against the Prince’s chest. Quite a feat, since she’s several inches taller than him. “It seems the regent is hoping for an advantageous marriage. Though, I doubt that’ll solve all of Lamiroir’s problems.”

Klavier tries to swallow, but something sticks in his throat going down. “The Prince will do anything to help his people. Even if it only helps a little, even if it’s at his own expense.”

King Miles eyes him carefully, then looks out to the Prince who’s dancing with another Lady, this one dragging him around the floor like he’s a toy doll. King Miles takes a sip of his mulberry water and hums.

“You’re taking your position seriously, I see.”

“Your Majesty?”

King Miles takes another delicate sip of his drink, his pinky delicately extended. “You’re protecting him well. Keep it up.”

Klavier can’t really agree with him there. Perhaps he can stop the Prince from being killed, but he has no way of protecting him against this—politics and marriages. He’d love nothing more than to somehow shield Prince Apollo from these things, but what can he do?

As if he’s read Klavier’s mind, King Miles clears his throat and nods to Prince Apollo. “Perhaps you should step in, Sir Klavier. I fear the Duchess of Caldova might rip our gracious host's arm off if she isn’t stopped soon.”

Sure enough, when Klavier assesses the situation himself, the Duchess of Caldova is swinging the Prince around with such vehemence that Prince Apollo’s eyes look like they’re swirling. Klavier gives King Miles another deep bow before he skitters off to intervene.

It’s harder work than Klavier realized, since this Duchess might be half demon with how fast she’s twirling them both, but eventually he’s able to tap the Prince on the shoulder. They stop, Prince Apollo’s eyes nearly bugging out of his head in relief when he sees Klavier. “Ach, forgive me, Your Highness, but I was hoping I could cut in?”

The Duchess’s face goes bright pink, but she doesn’t seem upset by this turn of events at all, and Klavier’s already trying to map an escape plan in his mind.

Prince Apollo lets go of the Duchess immediately and gives her a low bow. “Thank you for the invigorating dance, my Lady. Please, enjoy the rest of the ball.” Before anyone can get a word in edgewise, Prince Apollo takes Klavier by his hands and pulls him away from the Duchess.

It happens so fast—Prince Apollo’s hand on his shoulder, Klavier’s hand naturally finding the Prince’s waist, their other hands clasped, not to mention those eyes of rich soil staring up at him. Klavier takes a small, sharp inhale in surprise and then chastises himself for it. He’s been this close to the Prince before: he’s held him at his shoulders to shake some sense into him, even bridal-style carried him to safety, so this shouldn’t make his entire body burn like a sheet of paper thrown into a fireplace. But it does. Because it’s different. Because they’re dancing. Despite Klavier being in the lead position, it’s the Prince that dictates their direction, and that direction seems to be as far away from the Duchess as possible.

“Ach, you know, when I asked to cut in, I meant to take the Duchess as my partner,” Klavier says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as dry as his throat feels.

“I know what you were trying to do.” Prince Apollo eyes the ballroom floor as they spin around dozens of other couples. “I was saving you.”

“And here I thought I was supposed to be your knight in shining armor.”

Prince Apollo sneers at him for a moment before he sighs. “Thank you, though. I thought my feet were going to fall off.”

“You would have gotten off easy if it were just your feet,” Klavier says with a light chuckle. “But truly, you’re a competent dancer, Your Highness. You haven’t stepped on my feet once.”

“Well, I am a Prince. I’ve had to take dancing lessons since I was a boy.” Prince Apollo’s voice is annoyed, but the skin around his collar looks a bit pink.

Klavier’s about to ask multiple questions about Prince Apollo’s adventures in dancing, when the quartet transitions to a song with a slow, easy tempo. Romantic. They both slow on instinct, and Klavier presses his palm into the small of the Prince’s back.

Since the song they were dancing to is over, it would be the perfect opportunity to pull away, for Prince Apollo to continue his diplomatic mingling with the other aristocrats, but they don’t step away or let go. They dance. Klavier leads this time, and he thinks their hands might be clasped tighter than they were before. But that’s probably just him overthinking.

Is he overthinking the blush dusted across the Prince’s cheeks, though? Or the way his breaths seem to wobble on every inhale?

Defend your heart, Klavier, he tells himself. You let your guard down for even a moment and you’ll be ripped to shreds.

“Other than that last enthusiastic dance, how is the ball? Are you making any headway?” Klavier asks, putting the conversation back on business. On what’s safe.

Prince Apollo’s hand relaxes in Klavier’s. “No. Nobody’s had any of the troubles we’ve had, not that they’d know about it. Everyone here… they’re younger siblings. None of them are expected to rule their respective Kingdoms, so half of them hardly know what’s going on with their people, let alone care about them.”

“Ach, I see. So they’re here to—”

“Raise their status, yeah.” The Prince’s grip on Klavier’s hand tightens the smallest bit. “But I suppose I’ll have to find someone I get along with, probably someone in this room…”

Klavier can’t help it—he holds the Prince a little closer.

Stop it. I have to stop.

He knows he has no right to feel the possessive anger that’s growling in his chest like a provoked bear, but he’s not sure how he can stop it when he knows one of these detached royals will marry the Prince someday. His Prince.

He is not yours, a cruel, rational voice says.

I know, I know.

“Your Highness…” is all Klavier can manage to say.

“What would you do if you were me, Sir Klavier?” Prince Apollo asks, brown eyes gazing up at him—determined and brilliant and tragic.

Klavier doesn’t hesitate: “I’d marry for love.” The words come out soft, a dandelion seed floating on the breeze.

They both cease breathing for a moment, slowly spinning, taking each other in, the music swelling and passionate. Prince Apollo’s lips are delicately parted and Klavier’s defenses are low, low, low.

Prince Apollo’s gaze sinks to Klavier’s chest and he whispers, “I want to.”

“Then you should,” Klavier fiercely whispers back.

“I want to, but I can’t.” Prince Apollo squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment. “I’ve known for a long time that I’ll have to marry for convenience. It’s the thing I dread about ruling most of all, but I can’t—I can’t just do what I want. I’m responsible for lives.”

Klavier’s hand tenses on the small of Prince Apollo’s back, pulling him the tiniest bit closer. It’s no secret Klavier wants to protect him, but this is different… he wants to protect Prince Apollo from more than the attacks and the death threats. He wants to protect him from his position, from the ghosts that haunt his eyes whenever someone mentions his parents or “suitors.” But what can he do? He has so little to offer.

“I know you won’t change your mind,” Klavier says, the music swelling around them. “But I’ll be here… whatever you choose. Though, I’ll always believe you deserve whatever course of action will make you happy. You should get that no matter what your title.”

The Prince stares at him for a long time. So long that it’s hard for Klavier to keep meeting it without blushing, but he keeps his gaze steady. He wants Prince Apollo to know he’s serious.

“Why… do you care so much?” Prince Apollo asks. It’s not accusatory or suspicious, but genuinely curious. A lump forms at the base of Klavier’s throat, and his cheeks warm. He’s not sure he knows what the answer is himself, not fully anyway. But he has to say something.

“You said it before—we’re friends, ja?” Klavier smiles at him. “I care about you, Prince Forehead. I wish for your happiness, whatever that might be.”

It’s the truth, it’s just not the entire truth. There’s important information he’s omitting, important information he hasn’t let himself accept yet.

Prince Apollo continues his staring, his eyes narrowed, studying Klavier for any cracks. He must like what he sees because he smiles, small and close-lipped, but he smiles.

“I wish for your happiness too, Sir,” Prince Apollo says and he adjusts his hand in Klavier’s, almost like he pulled away so he can make contact all over again. Klavier’s heart drops like a stone in his chest and it makes him hyper-aware of his body, of every place he’s touching the Prince and how it burns.

Defend your heart, Dummkopf. Fight those eyes off if it’s the last thing you do.

Klavier swallows thickly and clears his throat. “Danke, Your Highness.”

They don’t speak after that, just twirl and stare and let the music do the talking for them. For a moment, it’s like they’re alone, like Klavier isn’t a knight and Prince Apollo isn’t a prince, and they’re just two people dancing. Just Apollo and Klavier.

Klavier is lost in Apollo’s brown, grounding eyes that gleam under the chandeliers. Lost, caught, falling.

The voice that’s been telling him all night (since he met the Prince, really) to defend his heart is eerily quiet. Klavier tries not to think, tries to just be in the moment. He doubts he’ll get many more chances to dance with the Prince like this and it feels desperately important for him to soak this in while he still has the chance.

Too soon, the song slows to its end, and the rest of the couples stop their rotations and offer the quartet applause for their performance. Prince Apollo and Klavier stop last, hold on to each other last—it takes several moments for them to break the intense gaze they’ve locked themselves into and let go of each other. Klavier doesn’t know what to make of that.

Somehow, the spell breaks, though, and they join in with the polite applause, both of their heads turned to the band.

As Klavier’s consciousness finally comes back to the room, he starts feeling the pinprick sensation of several eyes on him. Sure enough, when he looks around, several of the guests are staring at them. Most of them seem to be Prince Apollo’s angry suitors, since they glare daggers at Klavier. But they’re not the only eyes on them—King Miles, King Phoenix, and Priestess Maya are staring too, each of them with varying degrees of suggestive faces. King Miles is the most subtle, his eyebrow raised almost as if to ask “what’s this, Sir Klavier? Not sure it’s very knightly.” King Phoenix, on the other hand, is delighted like he’s just become in possession of a juicy secret. Priestess Maya looks like she’s half a second away from wolf-whistling at them.

It’s… concerning. If they’re all looking at Klavier for the reasons he thinks they are, then he’s in much deeper trouble than he feared. Is he so obvious? Is it all spilling out of him like a fountain?

But worse than that is the look on Kristoph’s face. He’s staring directly at Klavier, the glare on his glasses obscuring his eyes, but the rest of his face is in that cool neutral Klavier’s known since childhood. That face that Klavier knows means he’s calculating. Shit.

“Sir Klavier,” Apollo says, his voice an anchor. “I think I need some air. Would you like to join me?”

Klavier breathes a sigh of relief. “Ja, I would like that, Your Highness.” Klavier offers his arm to Prince Apollo and he takes it before they both head to the large glass doors that lead to the ballroom’s balcony.

Klavier can still feel the glares from the ballroom, but he feels better knowing nobody’s trying to stop them.

When they get outside, the air is cool and the full moon is high. Prince Apollo breaks away from Klavier and rushes to the balcony’s railing, taking in a big, gasping breath.

“Your Highness?”

“Man, what a headache,” Prince Apollo says, brushing away some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “I forget how nosy other royals are.”

Klavier winces internally before joining Prince Apollo at the railing. “You noticed them staring too, did you?”

“Hard not to.”

“Don’t worry too much, ja?” Klavier says, though it feels hypocritical. “Of course they were staring. You’re the main event.”

Prince Apollo flushes a little and rubs the tip of his nose with his thumb. “Right, yeah. I’m the crown prince, so whoever marries me… they’ll rule with me. So, of course they’ll stare if I dance with someone.”

It’s hard to tell exactly with only moonlight and a couple of candelabras, but Prince Apollo’s eyes are dim, the light from them chased away.

“Your Highness?”

“Why did you want to be a knight?”

“Was?” Klavier asks, a little startled by the sudden topic change.

Prince Apollo keeps his eyes on the horizon, staring out at his kingdom. “You and Kristoph are both technically Margraves, right? Kristoph became an advisor to my father, so I guess it makes sense why he didn’t take on the title, but what about you? With your station, you could do almost anything you wanted. Why give it up? What about being a knight was so important?”

“Ach, I suppose you would know about our official titles.” Klavier leans against the bannister. “I suppose I felt useless? The work my father and mother did seemed so frivolous, like it didn’t mean anything. I wanted to do some good in the world, help people. Knighthood seemed to fit that, ja? It suited me.” Klavier plays with one of the lilacs in his hair. “My parents, Kristoph—they were all mad at me when I decided to be knighted after my squireship ended. I was only supposed to be a squire as a means of training, but I was good at it and the Knight I worked under helped so many people. I thought it would be a better use of my time.”

Prince Apollo’s brow furrows. “Did they disown you? Is that why you and Kristoph haven’t spoken in years?”

“Nein, nein,” Klavier says with a laugh. “Kristoph is just cold and bad with correspondence, but he was annoyed. He had hoped I’d watch the estate while he was here, but now with our parents gone, it’s his responsibility and I have chosen my path. I figure he’s still mad that he’s saddled with all the paperwork, but that’s the burden of the eldest son, ja?”

Prince Apollo laughs a little, and the sound breaks the night air like a bell. “Yeah, I guess that explains why you two aren’t exactly warm with each other. But if that’s the case, why did you accept his invitation for you to be my personal guard?”

A breeze comes in from the west, jostling the trees and swaying the ruby earrings on Prince Apollo’s ears. The music from inside is muffled, but they can still hear it, and the moonlight is unrelenting as it casts on the Prince in a blue-white glow. And Prince Apollo is looking at Klavier, his eyes of earth and soil filled with curiosity and wonder, and the gap between them is not much of a gap at all. Their elbows are nearly touching on the bannister and it’s…

He’s only asking you some questions, keep it together, he tells himself.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the scenery, though. It’s a beautiful night in a beautiful Kingdom with beautiful music playing in the background, and all of it is enjoyed with a beautiful person. It’s almost enough for Klavier’s defenses to slip and weaken, to let himself follow this needy impulse that’s been pulling and pulling at his chest for a couple weeks now. Almost.

He stands tall so his elbows are off the bannister and he looks ahead instead of at Prince Apollo. There. Better. But if he really wanted to be safe, he’d insist that they go back inside and Prince Apollo continue his mingling. Klavier’s not that strong, it seems.

“When I got the letter from Kristoph, I knew I had to accept,” Klavier says, watching a white petal caught on the wind float by. “It was a chance for me to do something important, to protect—” He cuts himself off but finishes the thought in his mind: to protect someone important. “To protect a Kingdom and its people. Lamiroir needed my help more than Kurain, so I was happy to take the position. I’m glad I did.”

Prince Apollo hums next to him. “I’m glad you did, too.”

The tips of Klavier’s ears start to burn.

Klavier tries to push the emotion away by clearing his throat, but it stubbornly stays put. “What about you, Prince Forehead? I know you don’t have the luxury of giving up your title, but what would you do if you weren’t a prince?” The Prince is almost dismayed at the question. He glares, though not so much at Klavier, but at the concept of the question itself. Klavier laughs at him. “It’s okay, Your Highness. Just a hypothetical, ja?”

“I don’t even know how to answer,” Prince Apollo says, smoothing his hands over the bannister. “All I’ve ever wanted was to… to make my parents proud, to be the king they wanted me to be. I have no idea what I’d want outside of that. Maybe I’d do what you did and become a Knight. Protect people. I don’t know…”

Klavier decides to change the subject, because that wrinkle in Prince Apollo’s brow might stay there permanently if he doesn’t smooth it soon. “Your parents, what were they like?”

That does the trick. Prince Apollo’s face easily melts into something soft and melancholic. He shuts his eyes, like he has to concentrate to see their faces clearly.

“Kind,” Prince Apollo says, and the word is like a bird soaring through their conversation, heavy but flying all the same. “They were so kind. Everything was in service to the people. They didn’t just make servants fix their problems, they went out and saw situations themselves so they could figure out how to best tackle them. They cared about every single subject whether it was the drunk in the local pub or the single teacher living in the school house.

“They loved music. Every day, I could hear the court musicians playing something in one of the rooms and that’s usually where I could find one of them. They liked to listen while they worked and liked to dance when they needed a break.” Prince Apollo takes in a shaky breath and leans his head back to look at the stars. “The halls are so much quieter since the day they were poisoned.”

It’s probably not a good idea, not his place, but Klavier reaches for Prince Apollo’s hand. He recoils for just a moment, worried this breaks one too many conventions, but the memory of the Prince’s downtrodden voice makes him clasp his hand over Prince Apollo’s on the bannister.

“It sounds like you are very much like them, Prince Apollo,” Klavier says. The Prince stares at him, waiting and confused. “I think they’d be very proud of the Prince you’ve become, of the man you’ve become. Anyone who knows you can tell how hard you’re working to preserve their legacy. Ja, I’m confident they’d be proud.”

Prince Apollo’s eyes search Klavier’s face, a gaze so hot and fierce that Klavier worries he’ll crumble under it, worries it means he’s broken a boundary, but he doesn’t break away. Seemingly satisfied, the Prince looks away first, back out at his Kingdom, a small smile on his face and the skin under his freckles rosy.

“Thank you, Sir Klavier,” Prince Apollo whispers. They’re both staring at each other again, but the Prince is easier now, the soft soil of his eyes rich enough to plant chrysanthemums and marigolds. Klavier couldn’t look away if he tried.

“Bitte, Your Highness.”

There’s a tense silence between them—tense, but not awkward—and it’s a tangible thing, like swimming through water. It’s the kind of tension that makes Klavier unsure of what will happen next, what he’ll do next. With the muffled music and the landscape and the moonlight and Prince Apollo looking like a painting, he can’t trust himself.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), it’s Prince Apollo who breaks their stalemate. “We should go back.”

“Ja, that would be… wise,” Klavier says, though a part of his heart sinks knowing whatever moment they were sharing is over, that this little bubble they created has popped.

Still, he has a duty to perform, and Klavier is nothing if not dutiful, so he offers his arm to the Prince once again. Prince Apollo takes it and together, they walk back into the ballroom.

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter four

Klavier’s worried. He never thought protecting the crown prince would be easy, of course, but Klavier always had faith he could get the job done, that he was capable enough to keep Prince Apollo out of harm’s way. He’s not sure he believes that anymore.

The attacks are relentless after the ball. The Prince can’t step outside of the castle for fear of an arrow to the head or a gust of wind magic meant to throw him off the castle bridge. Plus, anytime they’re able to even make it off castle grounds, assailants in brown cloaks always find them.

There are riots in the Capitol City square and at the front gates all day, because summer is nearing its end and the people know their harvest won’t last through the winter, and Kristoph isn’t doing anything about it. Prince Apollo kept asking if he made any arrangements with the guests of the ball, but Kristoph only said that he “had some things in the works.”

Prince Apollo wasn’t exactly happy with this, but he was quickly silenced when Kristoph oh-so-tactfully pointed out that if he had been dancing with suitors instead of his personal guard, they’d have more leads. Klavier and the Prince could barely look each other in the eyes for a whole week after that comment.

But it’s not the attacks or the riots that has Klavier most anxious. The Prince himself is more of a danger to himself than anyone. He only sleeps when his body is at its absolute limit, he forgets to eat constantly, and he’s so stressed trying to find a solution that his muscles are permanently tense. He’s thinner, despite how much he trains. Klavier just has to watch as the Prince kills himself over a Kingdom that doesn’t love him back.

And then, there are the mornings… It's not every day, but often enough, Klavier has caught the tail end of Prince Apollo getting sick in his bedchamber. He always tries to hide it and he begs Klavier not to tell anyone.

“Ach, Prince Forehead, this is too much,” Klavier says one July morning after finding Prince Apollo bent over a chamber pot. “I’m finding a healer now—”

Prince Apollo shoots off the floor and grabs Klavier’s arm. “Sir Klavier, please. You can’t tell anyone.”

“You’re sick, Your Highness.” It’s so frustratingly obvious and only Klavier seems to care. He needs so desperately for Prince Apollo to know that there is someone who’d be crushed if he was gone, so he does something stupid and indulgent. Caving to his own weakness, Klavier rests his hand against the Prince’s cheek, his thumb rubbing below the dark circles under his eyes. To his surprise, Prince Apollo doesn’t recoil, but leans into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment, like it’s a brief respite. Klavier’s heart thumps loudly in his chest, but he can’t forget to make his point. “I keep finding you like this. Does this happen every day?”

“It doesn’t happen every day,” Prince Apollo mumbles.

Klavier shakes his head. “You’re not convincing me.”

Prince Apollo pulls back and Klavier's hand floats back to his side. He tenses and relaxes it, hoping it will stop the burning sensation in his palm. It doesn’t.

“I swear I’m fine. I know it looks bad, but I’m fine.” The Prince tries to give him a reassuring smile, but Klavier can only scoff in response. “Sir Klavier, I’m serious. You can’t tell anyone. No one can know.”

Klavier places his hand on his hip. “Then tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t,” Prince Apollo says with a shake of his head. “Please, you just have to take my word for it. One day, I will, but this has to be my secret for now. I need you to trust me.”

It’s concerning how malleable Klavier is to Prince Apollo, honestly. Wrapped around his little finger, as they say. Klavier’s weak and he only gets weaker every day.

He sighs. “On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You eat,” Klavier says and then holds up three fingers. “Three whole meals a day at a table and not in front of your books. And you sleep. Eight hours a day. Those are my terms.”

Prince Apollo mumbles something unintelligible and runs a hand down his face. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

“And you promise you’re not dying, ja?”

“I promise.”

Klavier holds his hand out for the Prince to shake and he takes it. It lasts perhaps a beat too long and they both have to clear their throats and look away. Ever since the ball, things like this have become… common. Touches and gazes that last too long before they have to be messily cut off.

“Ja, well, I will wait for you outside while you get dressed, Your Highness,” Klavier says, something caught in his throat.

Prince Apollo nods. “Yes, right. Thank you, Sir Klavier. Really.”

There’s another look that lasts too long before Klavier leaves the bedroom, wondering how many more of those glances he has left in him before he withers away into nothing.

The Prince’s health improves after that. He gains some weight and his dark circles fade, but still, Klavier worries. He worries and worries and worries. Even in the evenings, when his shift is over and he’s laying in bed for the night, he thinks of the Prince and his broad shoulders that hold the weight of the world. Apollo toils away every day and has nothing to show for it. More than once, Klavier has caught him with his head in his hands in the library, burnt out and defeated. He wishes there were ways to help him then, but Klavier’s powerless to do anything when it comes to the politics of it all. But he wants to help. He wants to help so badly and to see Prince Apollo’s genuine smile again, the bright look in his eye when he laughs, the—

Klavier throws his arm over his eyes as he lays in his bed. For a while now, Klavier has known a seed was sown in him, a flowering feeling that’s been growing and growing despite how much he tries to cut off its water supply or block the sun’s rays from hitting its leaves. But the sun in Klavier’s life has a way of leaking in through the cracks and feeding it anyway.

He knows he can’t kill that flower, but he can ignore it. It’s his only solace. Otherwise, if he really let it flourish, the leaves and tendrils would curl around his ribcage, squeeze so tight that his bones would crack and splinter. He has to contain it, control it. There’s no way for those blooms to meet the sun, so he can’t water them droplets of hope.

It’s hard though. It’s hard being close to Prince Apollo, catching glances and coaxing out hard-won smiles. Each time, it makes a dagger twist in the center of his chest and there’s so little he can do to slow the growing need to be closer. A subtle brush of fingers on the back of his hand, place a palm against a cheek, even the impulse to press lips to lips—there are so many instances where he has to stop himself from touching Prince Apollo. He’s good at catching himself, but not perfect. Though, he’s never done something as catastrophic as try to kiss the Prince, he’s found himself tucking stray bits of hair behind his ear as he pores over some massive tome sometimes. Or he’ll place a gentle hand on the Prince’s back when Klavier could see his world caving in within him. Klavier chastises himself every time, but he’s too far gone to stop completely. The touches, however brief or innocuous, fill Klavier in some odd, spiritual way. Rejuvenate some of his energy.

Sometimes, he even swears Prince Apollo hunts for those touches, reaches out for them. It’s probably the Prince being polite, but he never moves away, often leaning into it, making Klavier’s hands itch for more.

He wishes Prince Apollo wouldn’t do that. These dangerous feelings would all be so much easier to stomp out if Prince Apollo were hostile or indifferent to him, but he’s not.

A dangerous whisper of a thought floats to the front of Klavier’s mind like a noxious gas—what if you did kiss him, though?

Normally, Klavier’s immediate reaction would be to battle the thought like it was an enemy, gut it through the abdomen and twist the sword, but tonight… tonight he lets it breathe. For just a moment. Even though he’s spent the entire night telling himself to cut it off.

He lets the pads of his fingers lightly press against his lips. It’s been awhile since he’s had a good, honest kiss. Since before he came to Lamiroir. He’s been too busy protecting Prince Apollo, too preoccupied with…

He takes his hand back and lets it rest over his heart that’s beating far too fast, considering all he’s doing is lying in bed. Placing the word “kiss” and the image of the Prince together in his mind does that to him, though. Truly, he’s the worst kind of fool for letting either concept near each other. But his mind wanders. The Prince… what would a kiss from him be like? Soft and easy like a spring breeze? Or determined and heated like a brush fire?

Klavier flops over to his side, crushes his pillow over his head, and moans. Dummkopf. He never should have let his mind spiral down that particular rabbit hole. His chest aches and the skin on his lips tingles. He tries to take a step back, to think of a calming ocean scene where waves crash against a rocky shoreline or of the lavender fields in Kurain rustling with a summer breeze, but every scene is interrupted by brown eyes and toothy smiles.

“When did it get this bad?” Klavier sighs, pressing the pillow closer to his face. Maybe if he holds it tighter, he can squeeze those thoughts and feelings out. If only it were so simple. The only thing that is simple is how doomed this situation is. Prince Apollo is a crown prince, and Klavier is a knight from an already friendly kingdom. Even putting the Prince’s feelings aside, there’s no way anything between them could work. No matter how Prince Apollo feels about him… He’s made it abundantly clear he plans on marrying out of convenience. Out of duty. Klavier has nothing to offer in that sense. He’ll just have to get over it.

Klavier tries again to sleep, begging his brain to think of anything other than Prince Apollo. Eventually, he falls into an uneasy slumber.

Even as Prince Apollo’s dark circles fade and the color comes back to his cheeks, the situation with the kingdom doesn’t get any better. The riots and attacks take their toll, but nothing puts the Prince in more despair than how helpless he is to aid the kingdom. There’s a permanent furrow in his brow and a dullness in his eyes. Even as the Prince forces himself to eat, Klavier can tell he’s only doing it to keep his end of their promise. Klavier’s probably just as stressed as the Prince—except while Prince Apollo’s thoughts focus on thousands of people, Klavier’s thoughts are more selfish. He cares about the people of Lamiroir, of course, but his priority is always the Prince. Always.

He knows the Prince is on the precipice of a breakdown and it makes Klavier desperate to find some solution, even if it’s temporary.

He spends the whole day trying to come up with ways to relieve Prince Apollo’s stress during the boring lulls of guard duty. He goes through the usual things—lavender potions, lemon baths, more training and exercising—but Klavier doubts those will do anything for the Prince’s nerves. No, Prince Apollo needs to do something. Take a break from Lamiroir’s problems. But how? He’s stuck in the castle all the time, so it’s not like he can take a vacation.

It plagues Klavier through Prince Apollo’s meetings and lessons, and he doesn’t get a solution until he’s back at the barracks for the evening.

“The festival’s this weekend, but I’m stuck on watch that night,” one of the Lamiroir knights says, tipping a gourd of some foul-smelling alcohol to his lips. “Maybe next year. Shame. Heard Priestess Maya was really putting her all into the firework display.”

The guard’s friend beside him shakes his head. “Don’t count on it, Sputz. You’re in that shift for life if you don’t cut out that drinking.”

Sputz laughs heartily and smacks a meaty hand against his friend’s back. Klavier doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation because his mind is spinning. Of course. Kurain’s festival of lights. A perfect chance to unwind a little, have some fun.

An idea, a plan, starts taking shape in Klavier’s head and he grins, big and wide. This is exactly what Prince Apollo needs.

It’s a mid-July night, clear as glass, and warm as amber wine. Klavier can hear frogs croaking and crickets chirping outside his window as a huge full moon cascades silver light through his bedroom window. It’s perfect, even better than he hoped.

Klavier takes off his armor, takes the crest off his breastplate, and tucks them into the drawer of his bedside table. It’s a relief to take them off after having to spend so much time in them during the grueling summer day and to only be in a white tunic tucked into his form-fitting black trousers. It’s even more of a relief when he loosens the laces of his tunic and lets the night air cool the skin at his chest.

He leaves through the window, not wanting to risk any of the other knights seeing him. If this is going to work, no one can know but him and the Prince.

Getting past the night guards is easy enough. Being Prince Apollo’s personal guard has its perks, one being that he knows the castle’s blindspots like the back of his hand. He slips into the shadows and creeps along the castle’s crevices until he’s outside Prince Apollo’s window. The battlements near Prince Apollo’s room are normally unmanned since this area of the castle is protected by a shield charm made by the Prince himself. He explained it to Klavier during one of his first days as a guard.

“My room is probably the safest in the entire castle,” Prince Apollo said. He pulled a thin sheet of paper, about the size of a bookmark, from his satchel and held it between his thumb and index finger. The paper pathetically drooped to one side. “The charm acts as a vessel that I can fill my magic with. I pour in just enough of my barrier magic to surround my room and the magic will sustain wherever I place it. It’s kind of weak compared to my normal barriers which keep everything out, but it makes up for it in longevity.”

Klavier squinted at the small paper. “Weak how? What are its limitations?”

“Well, it has to stay put for one. Once I place it somewhere, it’ll only protect the area around it until I remove it.” Prince Apollo’s fingertips lit up with a golden glow, and it spilled over the paper like liquid. It made the paper stand as rigid as a board in his fingers. “And second, it only stops people who harbor hostile feelings for me. So…”

“Ach,” Klavier said, seeing the loophole. “But just because someone doesn’t feel hostile toward you doesn’t mean they won’t kill you.”

“Right, yeah.”

Klavier hummed. “But still very useful, ja? We don’t have these in Kurain. But why not use it on the rest of the castle?”

“That’s the third pitfall,” Prince Apollo said, placing the golden charm to his wall where it let out a puff of golden smoke. “Pouring magic into the charm takes that magic, not just for the day but for as long as the charm is active, which lasts months. And not just my store of magic, but my capacity too, so I wouldn’t gain that magic back with rest.”

“I don’t know that I quite understand,” Klavier said. He was perfectly competent in his lone affinity for lightning magic, but he’s never been a magic scholar.

Prince Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s kind of like… okay, imagine if my magic were stored in ten separate basins, each of them full of magic. When I make a charm, it takes away one whole basin, not just the magic inside. So, now I only have nine basins I can fill up with magic.”

“Ja, ja, I understand. So, if you were to protect the entire castle, it’d take far too many basins, leaving you with hardly any magic at all?” Klavier said, marveling at the little golden paper.

Prince Apollo nodded and pressed two fingers to the charm. “It’s worth it, though, I think. Only people I really trust can get in. So, don’t be shocked if you suddenly get launched out of here by the force of my magic, Sir Klavier.”

Klavier chuckled. “If it hasn’t happened already, then I think that means you must trust me.” He leaned over, hands on his hips, so he could be eye level with the Prince.

Prince Apollo’s lips scrunched to one side as he crossed his arms. “You’re my personal guard. Of course the charm doesn’t detect hostile feelings from you.”

“Ach, you flatter me, Your Highness.”

A small smile quirks at the edges of Klavier’s lips as he thinks of the memory. How far they’d come since then. At the time, Klavier thought all of his teasing was for the reactions—the annoyed pouts and flustered blushes were a high he couldn’t help chasing.

Like a child pulling pig-tails.

Klavier shakes the thought away. In any case, he knows real trust has grown between them, sturdy as an oak tree, and he shouldn’t have any issue getting through the charm’s barrier.

He’s directly underneath the Prince’s window now, evaluating his path up. There’s some wooden lattices and ivy leading up to it, which… isn’t the most sturdy of materials, but it’ll do. He starts his climb, some of the ivy ripping off as he grabs for it. He’s lucky the Prince’s room isn’t terribly high, but it’s certainly high enough to break a bone or two if he fell.

He takes it slow and steady, doing an amendable job not looking down and breathes a sigh of relief when he gets to the lip of the window, the stones large enough that he can place both of his feet on them fully.

The window is cracked open, probably to let some of the night air in, and through it, Klavier can see Prince Apollo at his writing desk, dressed down to his tunic and trousers just like he is. The Prince has his nose in a book while he takes notes, the scritching of the quill’s tip on parchment the only sound in the room. A small chamberstick with a lit candle sits on the corner of his desk and illuminates Prince Apollo’s face in a warm glow.

Klavier takes him in for a moment. His hair is down, loose and soft and ready for sleep, but there’s still that earnest determination in his eyes as he absorbs whatever it is he’s reading. Klavier can’t stop a smile from slowly spreading across his face. It’s charming how the Prince acts just the same whether he’s in front of Klavier or whether he thinks he’s alone.

He’s honest to a fault, Klavier thinks, but that’s not something he’d ever want Prince Forehead to lose.

Klavier decides he should probably stop creeping outside of the Prince’s window and announce his presence, so he places a palm on the window and pushes it out to jump over the upholstered bench underneath the window and step down. The window’s hinges squeak and the sound makes Prince Apollo jump five feet in the air, let out a small shriek, and trip over his own chair to fall spectacularly on his ass.

“Your Highness!” Klavier says, but it loses all sense of urgency as he busts into untamed laughter.

Prince Apollo pops up from where he fell and scowls at Klavier. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be protecting me, not giving me a heart attack before I’m even twenty-five.”

Klavier can’t stop laughing, one arm wrapped around his stomach and his other hand mussing up the hair at his forehead. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that you squeaked like a Maus.”

“You’re not that sorry if you keep laughing. Knock it off, you’re going to wake the whole castle.” Prince Apollo crosses his arms over his chest but Klavier can tell he’s holding back his own smile. Klavier’s laughs finally fade and he lets out an indulgent sigh as Prince Apollo eyes him. “What are you even doing here? Why’d you come through the window? And why are you… why are you wearing that? Where’s your armor?”

Klavier holds his hands up in defense. “Ach, bitte, Prince Forehead, so many questions. Though, I find it interesting you keep getting so up in arms over me out of my armor. Though, I understand. Seeing me in form fitting clothes must be distracting, ja?” Klavier places his hands on his hips and leans forward.

As expected, the Prince’s face turns candy apple red and a little thrill leaps through Klavier’s chest. Flustering Prince Apollo has never stopped being a favorite pastime.

Prince Apollo glares at him. “It’s not so much distracting as stupid, since it’ll be all that much easier to stab you without it on.”

“Ach, Your Highness, is that what you’re into?”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here,” Klavier says, drawing out the word for dramatic effect, “to take you out on a night on the town.”

Prince Apollo is so surprised he forgets to keep glaring, his eyes widening owlishly. “A night on the town? What do you—”

“There’s a summer festival Kurain holds every year to celebrate the spirits. We use all sorts of light magic so the spirits can watch from the spirit world.” There’s an edge of desperation in Klavier’s explanation. He’s only now realizing that it’s very possible Prince Apollo might not want to go at all, and Klavier would rather someone slice his Achilles tendon with his own sword than be rejected, which is… pathetic. Klavier Gavin has never once been desperate in his whole life, so he reigns it in. “You’ve heard of it, ja? It’s a late night affair, and I thought… I thought you could use a night away from your books, away from the troubles of Lamiroir.”

Prince Apollo stares at him, stunned. His eyes flick to the window, as if the moon might punish them for even thinking about sneaking out. He licks his lips and his gaze finds Klavier again, something pained swimming in his eyes. “I shouldn’t…”

“Why not?” Klavier whispers, heart dropping like a stone in a lake.

“Because I… there’s so much more work I should do before I go to bed, plus I should get up early in the morning to—”

“To study and research and help the kingdom, ja, I know,” Klavier finishes, taking a noisy inhale. “Just like you do everyday. And it’s killing you. I’m just asking you for one night, Your Highness. A night for you to do something for yourself, something for fun. The work will be there tomorrow, whether it’s in the morning or afternoon.”

“But what if we get caught? Kristoph could banish you for something like that, brother or not,” Prince Apollo says.

Klavier waves dismissively. “We won’t be caught. I have a foolproof escape plan, and we won’t be doing anything dangerous. Plus,” he pulls out a small vial filled with a clear liquid that shines silver when it catches the candlelight from his back pocket , “I have this.”

“A potion?”

“Your barrier charm gave me the idea. Ema told me there was a mage in town who specializes in concealment magic,” Klavier says proudly, presenting the vial between his fingers. “It was hard to get. I had to bribe Ema a cartful of her favorite kitchen snacks, but she went and negotiated with the mage. They drain his power, so he doesn’t like making them, just like you and your charms, but she was able to convince him to give her a small dose. She wouldn’t tell me how, and I don’t want to know.”

Prince Apollo takes the vial and examines it. “What does it do? Make me invisible?”

“Nein, it’s not strong enough for that.” Klavier shakes his head. “All it can do is make you less noticeable. It blurs your distinguishing features that might make you stand out, and helps you blend into a crowd. It doesn’t work on people who have figured it out, but it should be just fine for our purposes.”

“So, I could go out and… no one would know who I am?” There’s a spark of hope in Prince Apollo’s voice, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“Not a soul. For about five hours.”

Klavier can see Prince Apollo considering it, an internal battle raging in his compact body. “I—I’m not sure…”

“Do you trust me, Your Highness?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” It’s Klavier’s last ditch effort. If the Prince denies him after this, he’ll leave him alone, and head back to the barracks with his tail between his legs.

But Prince Apollo looks him dead in the eye, his brow pinched. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then, trust me now,” Klavier says, reaching out his hand for Prince Apollo to take. “Let’s leave this place behind. Just for tonight.”

Prince Apollo looks from Klavier to his outstretched hand then back to him again, and slowly, he extends his own arm. Their hands meet, a feather light touch that warms Klavier to his core. Klavier takes a tentative step backward toward the window.

Prince Apollo holds Klavier’s hand tight, but doesn’t budge. Klavier’s chest knots painfully and he’s sure the Prince is going to reject the offer.

“On one condition,” Prince Apollo says, his face serious. Klavier knows he wouldn’t be able to deny him anything. “Call me… call me Apollo. Just for tonight.”

Klavier blinks once, twice, three times and bubbling warmth rises in his chest. “Then, you too, ja? Klavier.”

“Klavier…” His name leaves Prince Apollo’s lips like he’s saying the release word to a ten-year curse. Klavier’s throat clenches, stopping his breathing for just a moment. It’s odd. He’s only omitted the title, but it hits Klavier harder than a lightning spell.

He searches the Prince’s eyes, suddenly unsure of his own voice, but Prince Apollo is looking at him like this one word will decide his happiness.

Klavier takes a shaky breath. “Apollo.”

His voice is brittle and hushed, and it almost feels a bit wrong addressing a Prince by his given name and nothing else, but Prince Apollo—Apollo—beams at him, a smile rising like the sun, and Klavier couldn’t care less what constitutes wrong or right in the world so long as Apollo keeps looking at him like that.

He stays staring at Apollo for too long before he pulls his hand back. He coughs into his fist and composes himself. “Ach, you should grab a cloak, just in case.”

“R-right, yeah, um…” Apollo shuffles to his wardrobe and pulls out a black cloak before wrapping it around himself.

“Ja, good, now… how good of a climber are you?”

Apollo’s face falls. “My skills leave something to be desired, but…” he steps toward the window and looks to the ground. “I think I have a better idea.”

He holds out his hand and a ball of shimmering ice blue forms there until the concentration of magic dashes out from his palm and spirals downward, leaving behind a twisting slide outside his window.

Klavier whistles. “I forget how skilled you are sometimes.”

“It’s nothing. That’s not a particularly hard spell,” Apollo says, though he’s rubbing the back of his head and blushing slightly.

“You’re far too humble for a prince,” Klavier says, leaning in close again, chasing that blush to see how deep it can go. Apollo flushes redder and Klavier’s heart soars. “Gehen wir, shall we? Royalty first, ja?”

Apollo nods, then slips out the window and disappears down the slide. Klavier follows soon after, and he has to press a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing during the ride down.

When he reaches the bottom, Apollo is smirking at him. “Have fun?”

“Ja, too much. If you weren’t a prince, I’d say you should try your hand at the entertainment business.” Klavier stands, brushing off some of the ice shavings from his trousers.

Apollo rolls his eyes and raises his hand to release the magic. The slide disappears and once again, Klavier marvels at Apollo’s power. It’s taken years and years of study for Klavier just to get his lightning to strike where he wants it to, but Apollo has so much control that he can shape his ice.

Apollo raises an eyebrow at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nein, nothing. Come, Ellisandre is waiting for us in the woods bordering Kurain.” Klavier gestures for Apollo to follow him, both of them sticking close to the stones of the castle walls.

“Is Dusty there too?” Apollo whispers.

Klavier shakes his head. “Just Elli. One horse is less conspicuous than two, ja?”

“W-wait.” Apollo’s face flushes again and he stumbles a bit as they break from the wall and head for the forest. “We’re uh… we’re sharing a horse? It’s at least an hour’s ride to Kurain.”

Klavier doesn’t look back at him, suddenly embarrassed, but he tries to play it off. “I’ve had to hold you in my arms on horseback before. Now, you can return the favor, ja?”

Apollo sputters behind him. “You’re such a—”

“Aht aht aht, let’s not spoil the night with name calling.”

“Let’s just get to your damn horse already,” Apollo says with a sharp shove at Klavier’s shoulder.

“Whatever you say, Your High—Apollo.”

Apollo’s glare melts into something easier, something that’s far too heart-shredding in the moonlight, and Klavier already knows this night is going to destroy every wall he’s built within himself to keep his feelings at bay.

From the moment Klavier jumped through his window, Apollo couldn't quite figure out his emotions. His initial feeling was terror since Klavier snuck into his bedroom through the window, but after he gets over the initial shock, his heart is all over the place. His mind is equal parts screaming at him to stay in his bedroom (perhaps forever) and shouting that he should follow Klavier wherever the hell he goes.

Klavier, as opposed to Sir Klavier. It’s, well…

Apollo hadn’t expected Klavier to request being called by his given name, too. In truth, he hadn’t expected to request it from Klavier either, he just… he knows whatever happens tonight, whatever this is, he won’t get another shot at it. He has to cherish it, and he guesses cherishing it means using each other's names, foregoing titles and responsibilities so they can just be friends.

Apollo’s mind fixates on the word. Friends. It doesn’t feel like the word holds enough weight when he thinks about what Klavier means to him, but he’s terrified to find a more suitable word. It’s dangerous to dip his toe in those waters.

It doesn’t help that when they find Ellisandre, it turns out Klavier was 100% serious about only bringing one horse.

She’s a beautiful white creature, something out of a story book, which, Apollo might add, doesn’t make her the least conspicuous choice. Didn’t Klavier say he was going for conspicuous?

Klavier gets into the saddle seamlessly then outstretches his hand to help Apollo up. Apollo’s been riding horses as long as he can walk, so he very much does not need help getting up on one. He takes Klavier’s hand anyway.

Apollo sits behind him on Ellisandre’s back and immediately panics. Not having a saddle will make balancing harder, so he’s going to have to cling to Klavier, but…

He gulps. The obvious choice is to hold onto Klavier’s waist, but is that too presumptuous? Forward? He decides it is and places his hand on top of Klavier’s shoulders.

Klavier clears his throat. “Herr Forehead, I’m pretty sure if you just hold my shoulders you’re going to fall off, and I think we can both agree that we’d rather you didn’t die in such an undignified manner, ja?”

“Herr Forehead? I thought we agreed on Apollo.”

“Apologies, Apollo.” Klavier looks over his shoulder and smirks. “But you’ll have to afford me room for some terms of endearment. In any case, you’ll have to hold tight to my waist.”

“You really enjoy teasing me any chance you get, don’t you?” Apollo says, taking his hands away from Klavier’s shoulders.

“Undoubtedly, but I’m afraid I’m quite serious when I say I don’t want you to fall off my horse and crack your skull against a boulder. Might ruin our evening.”

Apollo knows he has a point, so he tentatively wraps his arms around Klavier’s waist. With just the muslin from Klavier’s tunic separating their skin, Apollo can feel how warm and firm he is there. It only makes sense. He’s been training his body since he was young to become a knight of the highest order, so it should come as no surprise that Apollo can feel the product of that hard work in Klavier’s abdomen. Thinking about it logically doesn’t stop his palms from going clammy, though.

“All secure?” Klavier says, though his voice sounds a touch higher than usual.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Briefly, Klavier touches the palm of his hand to Apollo’s hands around his waist and it sends a frantic fluttering through Apollo’s chest.

The touch is gone as soon as it comes, and Klavier grabs the reins. “Hold on tight, ja?”

Apollo hums in agreement, tightening his hold around Klavier’s middle. Klavier snaps the reins and Ellisandre starts in a gallop.

If Apollo wasn’t holding on tight before, he is now. Riding bareback on a horse behind the person at the reins is much harder than he anticipated, especially after being an experienced rider himself. Apollo holds Klavier as close as he can, his chest flush against Klavier’s back. Since he’s holding so tight, his cheek ends up pressed against Klavier’s shoulder blades. He probably should figure out a different way to situate himself, but he doesn’t. Klavier is so warm… and it should be uncomfortable in the summer night heat, but it’s not. The opposite, in fact. Apollo wants to sink into it, smother himself in a cocoon of Klavier’s safe presence. He smells nice, too—his tunic is freshly washed and there’s a mild hint of lavender soap in his hair. Apollo takes a breath in and melts against him a little more.

He shouldn’t. Apollo is very aware of how bad of an idea it is to fall into Klavier’s orbit too deeply. He’s known for a while that he should keep Klavier at arm’s length, to stay on the outskirts of his shores lest he gets sucked in and drown, but…

But just for tonight. Just for tonight, he wants to be a little reckless.

The ride is both too long and too short. Riding bareback hurts, but holding Klavier in the summer moonlight is enough of a reason to want the ride to last hours more.

Don’t be an idiot, Apollo tells himself. Even if I’m breaking rules tonight, that doesn’t mean I should throw all caution to the wind. Whatever you do tonight will have consequences in the morning.

Finding the festival is easy—they’re able to see bright whirs of color from a mile away and there’s no mistaking the fireworks shooting in the air and bursting into sparkling rain. Klavier follows the sparks all the way until he finds a hitching post next to the festivities.

Apollo swings off Ellisandre, grateful to put some distance between himself and Klavier, though he can’t deny a part of him… no, he’s not indulging that anymore. The ride is done and he’s moving on. Klavier ties Ellisandre to the post and soon enough, they’re walking side-by-side to the festival’s entrance, their shoulders nearly brushing. So much for putting some distance between them.

Apollo’s worried he’s not going to be able to enjoy the festival at all with the way he’s so hyper aware of Klavier, but then he sees it.

For all the light and color Apollo could see on the way to the festival, it pales in comparison to seeing it up close. In a large clearing, away from the cover of trees, there’s an endless amount of booths selling rich-smelling foods, enchanted sparklers, and rounds of games with prizes hanging along the booth’s poles. There are strings of magicked lights webbed across the tops of the booths, painting the entire scene as an ocean of multicolored stars. Torches are staked into the ground lit with colored fire too, and it all looks like gazing into a kaleidoscope but ten times brighter and in perfect focus.

Apollo looks all around him in wonder and a small, delighted gasp escapes his lips. It’s incredible. Even more magical than he dared to imagine.

He turns to beam at Klavier, to tell him how wonderful it all is, but Klavier’s already staring at Apollo like he’s far more fascinating than the splendor around them. Something catches in Apollo’s throat that tells him to proceed with caution. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… it’s nice to see you smile like that. You don’t do it often.” Klavier smiles and it’s not a teasing smile, like Apollo expected, but sincere and far too… too…

Apollo clears his throat and pulls his hood up further to hide his heated cheeks. “Let’s look around.”

“Lead the way, Herr Forehead.”

They walk aimlessly, taking it all in for a bit. There’s so much to see that Apollo nearly misses the people—everyone’s dressed in colorful costumes, some with animal masks and holding sparklers. Performers are strewn about, too: fire breathers swallowing green flames, jugglers throwing around balls of pastel lights, and ribbon twirlers dancing with ribbons made of a sparkling glow. Dozens of zip messages in different colors flit about with no true destination. It would be enough if this were the only attraction, but on top of all this, there’s the never-ending fireworks in the sky, the booths, and the sound of carefree music coming from the other side of the clearing.

“How is it that you’ve never told me about this festival before?” Apollo asks, still gaping in wonder at everything. “If I’d grown up getting to see this every year, I’d never stop talking about it.”

Klavier holds his finger up to brush a zip message flying over his head. “I suppose it’s because I grew up coming to it every year that it seems old hat to me. But seeing it with you, seeing you react to it… I guess it is pretty wunderbar, ja? It’s easy to take these kinds of things for granted.”

“Well, let’s not take it for granted tonight.” Apollo looks up at the flashing fireworks overhead, soaking it all in.

Klavier shifts, his arm brushing against Apollo’s. “Nein, I don’t plan to.”

Apollo’s gaze moves to Klavier, his long neck even longer as he cranes it back to watch the fireworks. Klavier looks back down at him and Apollo’s breath catches in his throat. He can see light reflecting off of Klavier’s eyes, a whole world of color bursting in them, the fireworks somehow more brilliant there than in the sky.

Apollo breaks away, walking a little ahead. “Come on, I want to beat you at the ball toss game.”

“You forget I grew up with this festival, Herr Forehead,” Klavier says, blinking like he’s awakened from a dream. “I wouldn’t get cocky if I were you.”

“You’re just going to have to put your money where your mouth is, then.” Apollo attempts a smirk, though quickly stops when Klavier looks at him like someone just hit him with the heavy end of a club. Apollo winces, embarrassed. He probably looked ridiculous.

Klavier groans. “Ach, Herr Forehead, could you please be careful not to brandish a weapon on me so suddenly?”

“I—what do you mean?” Apollo narrows his eyes at him, confused.

Klavier shakes his head. “Nevermind, but… just know if I drop dead tonight, it’ll be your fault.”

“What?”

“I think the ball toss is over there.”

“Wait, now hold on—”

Klavier wins the ball toss easily. And the fishing booth. And the light spin. But there’s a game for sending out the most zip messages in a short amount of time and that one Apollo dominates.

“Ach, I let you win,” Klavier says, bemoaning his loss.

“No way.” Apollo grins at him. “I got you fair and square that time.”

Klavier sighs. “There’s no beating you when it comes to magical ability, so it’s hardly fair.”

“Aw, you’re just a sore loser.” Apollo’s about to heckle him more when the sound of jovial music catches his ear again. “Hey, Klavier, can we go to where the music is?”

“Ja, of course, the night is yours.” Klavier leads him down the path to the far end of the clearing. “The dance circle goes all night in celebration of the spirits. I believe it’s a way to invite them down to enjoy the festivities.”

Apollo hums, interested. In truth, he finds everything about the festival interesting. It’s lively and beautiful and joyous, the kind of thing only a prospering kingdom could put on. A stone sinks and settles in Apollo’s gut, weighing him down.

No, don’t think about it. Not now, at least. You can have a pity party in the morning, but not now.

They walk further down in companionable silence, and Apollo lets himself fill with wonder all over again, trying his best to forget the worries of his Kingdom. It’s incredible to be ignored and walk through a crowd like he’s a part of it, instead of outside of it. The potion must really be working. It’s so nice to be out having fun without the constant threat of being hunted down like a fox during hunting season.

The clearing opens up into a wide circle, the outskirts filled with more booths and a stage for the band. On the inside, dozens and dozens of couples dance and twirl with reckless abandon, not caring for proper steps or decorum. It’s all instinct and pure joy. Nearly everyone is grinning wide and if they’re not grinning, they’re laughing. The music is upbeat and impossible not to respond to; Apollo even catches himself tapping his toe along to the beat.

“Do you want to join the fray?” Klavier asks, messing with the bit of hair that falls into his eyes. Apollo would think Klavier’s nervous, if he didn’t know any better.

Seeing him possibly nervous oddly washes away any reservations Apollo might have had. Distantly, there’s a voice in his head that whispers “you shouldn’t” but there’s a much louder voice yelling that he should spend the entire night saying “yes” to every request.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

Klavier offers his hand and Apollo takes it. They’re still for just a moment before Klavier’s face blooms into a mischievous grin and he pulls Apollo into the dance circle, spinning them like a top.

“Whoa, slow down,” Apollo says, though his plea doesn’t sound very convincing.

Klavier just dances them in circles faster. “You have to dance as fast as you can or the spirits won’t feel welcome.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to be rude to the spirits, now, would we?” Apollo tightens his grip on Klavier’s hand and waist, then adds in his momentum so they spin faster and faster. Apollo feels dizzy and too warm all over but he doesn’t care. The music is loud and inviting, egging them on, and they meet the challenge.

Adrenaline pumps through Apollo’s veins and his heart is spinning just as fast as they are, and it all feels so big and so much. Because Apollo and Klavier are holding each other and laughing together in the most beautiful place Apollo’s ever been, and there’s a magic thrumming through him that has nothing to do with lights or ice or barriers. It’s something different, something new, something that responds every time Klavier nearly trips over himself and laughs.

And then Apollo’s the one that trips, nearly spraining his ankle, but Klavier—strong, solid Klavier—is there to brace his back and keep him from falling. Klavier’s catch makes them stop, which for some reason makes Apollo laugh so hard he sounds like a drunkard despite neither of them having a drop of liquor all night.

“It seems I have to protect you even from your own feet, Herr Forehead,” Klavier teases.

Apollo’s still giggling, despite himself. “My white knight, through and through.”

Strange as it is, Klavier’s smile fades and Apollo’s does too. They’re still holding each other, embracing as if in a dance, but they’re perfectly still. Klavier’s eyes are bright and blue and searching, still alive with the fireworks overhead and Apollo’s not sure how much time has gone by since he started staring. Klavier, too, is reading Apollo’s face like there’s an urgent message hidden in his irises, and then Apollo sees it—Klavier’s eyes darting to Apollo’s mouth. Apollo’s heart leaps, jumps right out of his throat to whir, fizz, and explode with the fireworks until he chances a glance at Klavier’s lips too. They’re good, defined lips. Not particularly full or thin, but his cupid’s bow is strong and pronounced. It’s hard to look away once he starts, but when he notices that the two of them are closer, that they’re moving and his eyes are starting to lid, Apollo lets go of Klavier like his touch has shocked him.

“I’m starving,” Apollo says abruptly, only now realizing how hard he’s breathing. “I wanted to try the honey cakes or the, um, the iced fruit.”

There’s a moment where Apollo sees a flicker of pain in Klavier’s face, but it flits away quickly, replaced by an easy smile that looks a smidge out of place. Something about it makes one of Apollo’s ribs crack and turn to dust.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Whatever that was, you can’t chase it. You know you can’t.

“Ja, I’m hungry, too.” Klavier takes a step back and clears his throat. “Let’s take a look around.”

Apollo nods and they go back to the main path, walking with a little bit more distance between them than before.

They decide on sweet fried dough—Apollo’s stuffed with chocolate and strawberries, Klavier’s with honey and candied lavender. It’s a welcome distraction after the incident at the dance circle. Klavier hasn’t stopped berating himself for it since it happened. That was way, way too close.

But he’s being more careful now—keeping enough distance between them so their hands don’t accidentally brush, avoiding eye contact, staying on topics of discussion that don’t veer into dangerous territory (whatever that means).

He’s not sure any of his preventive measures are going to matter in the long run, though. When they first came here, when he saw Apollo light up from the fireworks and that burning sun within him at all the spectacle, Klavier knew he had a heart destined for breaking. Any and all efforts to stop that flooding, overwhelming emotion are futile at this point. He knows now, without a doubt, that he’s—

Don’t think it, he tells himself. Not when Apollo’s around. Who knows what you’ll do if you do.

Another useless barrier made of sugar that will dissolve the instant the flood comes, but Klavier puts it up all the same. The point is no longer to pretend he doesn’t know his own feelings, but to ensure Apollo never finds out. It would only be a burden to him, and the last thing Klavier wants to do is make anything harder for him. Klavier’ll get over it on his own. He doesn’t need closure or platitudes. He’ll put it aside and forget it for the night, because tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Apollo. It’s about letting him be a dumb twenty-four-year-old kid before his entire life has to be even more in service to Lamiroir than it already is.

“It’s getting hot,” Apollo says, taking a bite of his fried dough and fanning himself with his free hand. “Ugh, I’m sweating.”

Klavier hums in agreement. “Ja, the fire, lights, and summer air don’t always make a great mix. Do you want to see Ami Lake? It’s not far, and it’s a nice place to cool down.”

“Oh, sure, sounds great.”

They finish their fried dough and Klavier leads them off the beaten path and into the forest toward Ami Lake. It’s not until they’re separated from the glitz and glam of the festival that Klavier realizes this might have been counterintuitive to his efforts at keeping things platonic. Going off in the woods alone to see a scenic lake at night isn’t exactly… not romantic.

Klavier walks a little bit ahead, adding that little bit more of distance. But it’s like swimming upstream, ignoring all of his instincts to move closer to Apollo, like he should be nestled in as close as possible.

Maybe this whole night was a bad idea.

That thought double downs on itself when he sees spatterings of little green orbs of light floating over the lake.

“Fireflies,” Apollo whisper-shouts before he starts tip-toeing nearer, his face full of a childish mirth Klavier hasn’t seen on him before.

A bad idea. A terrible, rotten idea.

They creep up closer together until they get to the edge of the lake and it’s lovely—there are thousands of fireflies gently drifting by and reflecting off of the clear shimmer of the lake surrounded by trees.

Apollo holds out his hand to encourage a firefly to use his palm as a landing. When one does, his face blooms into a beautiful, delighted smile illuminated by the firefly’s light. Klavier’s feet move on their own, needing—for some reason—to move in close to look at Apollo’s firefly. As he does, a couple more come to rest on Apollo’s fingers.

“Ach, I think they smell the sugar on your fingers from the dough.” Klavier keeps his voice low so as not to frighten them.

Apollo hums, content as can be with his new friends. “Hold out your hands too, then.”

Klavier holds out his palms next to Apollo’s and sure enough, a few fireflies dance around in his hand, tickling his skin there.

Apollo keeps his eyes on the fireflies, but Klavier can’t help but sneak glances at Apollo’s face—he looks so at peace, so happy doing something as simple as holding a couple of fireflies in his palms that Klavier can’t help but stare at him.

But Apollo’s face changes suddenly, his sweet smile fading into a heavy melancholy. He takes a breath and sighs, all the troubles of the world back on his shoulders.

“Apollo? What’s wrong?”

Apollo suddenly looks up at him, surprised, like he forgot Klavier was there, and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ruin our evening.”

“Nein, you won’t. Tell me.”

Apollo takes in the fireflies again, his brow furrowed. “I was just thinking what a shame it would be if I got attacked right now and the fireflies all flew away, but then I remembered I have that potion and we’re in Kurain and I… I guess I’m just used to being run out of wherever I am. It feels weird to stay still in one spot with no one threatening to hurt me. I…” The crease in his brow deepens. “It’s just strange.”

“It shouldn’t be strange to feel safe.” Klavier’s pinky bumps against Apollo’s thumb. “I don’t understand how anyone could ever want to hurt you.”

“Klavier…”

“How do you do it?” Klavier asks, knowing he’s letting his feelings get away from him, but he’s angry. Apollo never should have had to live this life where he’s constantly looking over his shoulder and sleeping with one eye open. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s the least deserving of it of anyone he’s ever known. “You work yourself to the bone, but you’re still despised. I know you can’t blame the people of Lamiroir, but I don’t understand how you can care so much when you get nothing in return. I had to fight you to take one night off and—”

Apollo’s staring at him, his eyes narrowed but in curiosity not annoyance, like he’s trying to figure out the solution to a puzzle. “Klavier?”

“I’m sorry. I’m talking out of turn again.” Klavier moves his hands the slightest bit back, but Apollo follows him.

“No.” Apollo’s mouth is set in a determined line. It’s a look Klavier’s gotten familiar with, one that says Apollo has something on his mind he won’t let go. “No, thank you. It’s really nice hearing someone saying something like that. Honestly. It’s… it’s nice to know someone sees that I’m working hard.”

Klavier scoffs. “Who could deny you don’t?”

“Still, thank you. But I’m okay, Klavier.” Apollo lifts his head and rolls back his shoulders to look out at the lake. “I guess from your perspective, the work I do is pretty thankless, and in a way, it is, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could to help my Kingdom. I’ve told you before, but my parents loved their subjects and I loved them, so whenever it gets hard, whenever I want to quit, I think of them. And it’s okay. It’s okay, because even if I’m hated all across my Kingdom, I know I’ll have done my best and that my parents would be proud of me, like you said.”

The memory floats easily to the forefront of Klavier’s mind. It’s funny looking back. Even then, he was already so far gone that he would have done anything to make Apollo smile.

“Ja, and I’ll say it again. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

“I think… I think they would have really liked you, Klavier,” Apollo says. It makes something in Klavier’s stomach flutter with the force of a thousand zip messages.

They fall into an easy silence, Apollo’s deep brown eyes a labyrinth Klavier could get lost in. He’s struck again by how utterly fucked he is. Apollo, despite his fine eyes and stone cut jaw, is just so unwaveringly good that it was all but inevitable he would fall in love with him.

And, well, shit. He’s gone and thought it.

He takes a shaky inhale and it fills his lungs with knives. He’s just diagnosed himself with the most aggressive and terminal of diseases, and there’s no cure to be found. He just has to resign himself to it because, really, what can he do?

After seeing Apollo under the light of fireworks and fireflies, talking of his unshakable desire to protect his people, Klavier realizes he was doomed from the start.

There’s a certain melancholy in the air between them when they go back to Ellisandre. Klavier keeps wandering over to booths they’d already seen, just to stall a little bit, and Apollo doesn’t complain. Klavier’s sure neither of them wants the night to end, but it’s late and they both have responsibilities to take care of in the morning.

Still, it feels a little colder when they’re away from the festival. It’s like they had crossed a portal into another world and now they’ve crossed the threshold back.

Klavier gets on his horse and helps Apollo up next. Apollo’s quicker to wrap his arms around Klavier’s middle this time and even rests his cheek against his back again. It sends bursts of flames down Klavier’s spine and he wishes he could turn around on the saddle and hold Apollo in the circle of his arms. To hold and be held.

There’s a pang of hurt in Klavier’s chest and he holds back a sigh. Get used to this feeling, Gavin. This is your life now.

He kicks his heels into Ellisandre’s sides and Apollo’s grip tightens. Klavier melts into it. At least you have this last ride.

They don’t talk on the way back, but it isn’t awkward or strained. They’re just together, and Klavier does his best to remember every moment of it, every sensation. He wants to remember how the hot summer air feels going through his hair, how Apollo fits so perfectly against him, and how his heart thumps in the same rhythm as Ellisandre’s gallop.

But like all good things, it’s over too soon. Klavier nearly turns his horse around when he sees the first glimpse of the castle’s towers over the trees, but he trudges forward.

They stop in the same place Klavier left Ellisandre in the woods before, tying her to a low hanging branch. When Apollo gets off of her, Klavier’s back feels like it’s made of ice, cold and frigid without Apollo to warm him.

You’re just going to have to get used to this.

They sneak back to the wall outside of Apollo’s bedroom window and he conjures an ice staircase for them to ascend.

“An ice staircase doesn’t seem the safest option,” Klavier points out.

“Ice is only slippery when it’s melting,” Apollo whispers back. “I control the ice, so it should be fine. I think.”

Klavier grimaces. “You have me worried, Herr Forehead.”

“We’re fine.” To emphasize his point, he takes a step and rubs the sole of his shoe against it to check the traction. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it’s good.”

Klavier hums in discontent. “Ach, perhaps I will take my chances with the lattice.”

“C’mon that’s way more dangerous. Plus, you won’t fall if I keep my barrier around us.”

Now that does make Klavier feel better. “Alr—”

“You can take my hand, if you want.” Apollo offers Klavier his hand, his cheeks blooming pink. “If it’ll… make you feel better.”

Tell him “no.” But Klavier’s not nearly strong or smart enough to listen to his own advice.

He takes Apollo’s hand and takes a step onto the ice stairs. Apollo’s right, it does feel firm beneath his feet, but he hardly cares about his apprehension anymore. All of his focus is on their clasped hands. It shouldn’t be such a big deal after horseback riding and dancing together, but it still makes it hard to breathe. This is going to kill him.

They take their time going up the stairs, Apollo leading the way, holding onto Klavier's hand tightly as he protects them both within his barrier. Apollo doesn’t let go until he reaches the window and jumps over the upholstered bench beneath to get back inside his bedroom. He immediately turns around to offer Klavier his hand again to help him down.

It’s not until Klavier’s perched on Apollo’s windowsill again that he realizes he should have stayed on the ground. “Ach, I think I caused all that fuss for nothing.”

“Oh.” Apollo blinks at him and frowns. “I should have thought about that, yeah. I guess I’m used to you escorting me here.”

“I wanted to see you inside safely, anyway.” Klavier smiles despite the pain mounting in his chest. This is the part where they say goodnight and Klavier has to go back to his barracks, cold and alone, and it hurts. It hurts that he can’t be honest, that he can’t say every pretty poetic word he feels deep in his bones every time he looks too deeply into Apollo’s eyes. It’s less the fear of rejection, but more the fact that he can’t even let himself get rejected, or get closure for that matter. He has to contain this burning, bursting emotion tight inside him and it seems an impossible task.

“Klavier?”

Again, Klavier’s met with those eyes—big and brown and vast. There’s something about them tonight, something clearer. It’s like all the lights and fireworks have chased away the burdens from the past few months and left Apollo as he should be, bright and curious.

“Apollo?”

He smiles at hearing his name. “I just… wanted to thank you for tonight. Seriously, I… I think I really needed it.”

“Ja, you look lighter.” Klavier’s hands tighten along the window, holding himself in place. Apollo is close, not even a step away from the window himself, and he isn’t stepping away.

“I… feel lighter.”

“Maybe, then,” Klavier clears his throat, “maybe we could do it again, sometime.”

Impossibly, Apollo takes a step closer, craning his neck so he can look up at Klavier in his window, his knees bumping against the bench. “I’d like that.”

The air in Apollo’s bedroom grows tense, crackling like humidity so thick it feels like it’s going to rain any second. It doesn’t help that they’re staring at each other, long and sustained. Klavier’s brain is too foggy for him to think logically about anything—he’s transfixed, unable to look away even if he wanted to. His muscles have seized, and the only thing that isn’t frozen is his eyes, which sneak another glance at Apollo’s lips.

Apollo must catch him in the act because there’s something new in his expression, something like determination. He raises his hands and lays them flat against Klavier’s chest. If Klavier wasn’t breathing before, he certainly isn’t now. Because Apollo has a knee on the bench. Apollo’s eyes are lidding. Apollo’s hands are curling into Klavier’s shirt and guiding him downward. Apollo is—

Apollo is kissing him. Right there in the window. And Klavier—Klavier is weak to do anything but kiss him back and kiss him back. It’s almost embarrassing how immediately his body responds to Apollo’s mouth on his. It’s soft and easy, languid, like they have all the time in the world. They don’t. Klavier knows they don’t. But any part of him that’s smart enough to tell him that has suspiciously gone to sleep. And it just… doesn’t matter. Klavier doesn’t care. He’s kissing Apollo and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt and he doesn’t give a single damn about the consequences.

Apollo’s hands—hands curled into Klavier’s shirt—grip tighter, and he pulls Klavier down as he backs up further into the room. Klavier jumps over the bench and his feet land solidly on Apollo’s bedroom floor without him ever having to break the kiss. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that he’s just passed a very significant threshold, one there’s no coming back from.

But again, he doesn’t fucking care.

Klavier cups Apollo’s face with his hands, deepening their kiss. Klavier swipes his tongue across Apollo’s top lip and delights in the quiet little gasp it pulls from him. Apollo must not be opposed, because he opens easily for Klavier, clutching him even tighter at the development.

Klavier’s skin is alight with the kiss, like he’s shocked himself with his own lightning magic, but no, that’s not exactly right either. This feeling could only come from Apollo. There’s a kindness in the way he kisses, a call and response that is neither greedy nor assuming. It’s gentle and sweet, but still passionate. Klavier’s heart swells, so full that it might burst in his ribcage.

Apollo keeps backing them up, to where Klavier has no idea. But he’d chase those lips wherever they’d go, so it doesn’t matter. Eventually, though, Apollo bumps into something hard enough to make him stop. Klavier doesn’t have time to evaluate what it is before Apollo’s hold on him tightens and he brings them both crashing down on the bed. The shock of it is enough to make Klavier break the kiss. Apollo’s face up on the bed, staring at Klavier, whose chest is heaving as his arms cage Apollo’s head on either side.

And Gott, he never wants to forget the way Apollo is looking at him in this moment. Apollo’s eyes are shining, gleaming in a way Klavier’s never seen before and his face is so red it’s like he’s gotten a terrible sunburn. Klavier might die if he doesn’t kiss him again immediately.

Instead, Apollo lifts his hand to brush his knuckle along Klavier’s cheekbone. It makes Klavier shiver all the way to his toes.

“Stay…” Apollo says, so soft and earnest, like whatever Klavier says next has the power to break him.

Instead of saying anything, Klavier captures his lips again with his.

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter five

When Apollo wakes the next morning, it’s to blinding sunshine and birdsong. He grumbles as he shifts in the sheets, his arm reaching across the bed but only feeling cold satin at his fingertips. Something is wrong, something that should be here isn’t here and it’s unsettling. Apollo rubs his eyes and lets the canopy of his bed come into focus, but as soon as he does, memories of last night flood his mind. He shoots upright and looks around the room for evidence of what he thinks happened last night, lest it was all a dream.

But there are signs: Apollo’s cloak and clothes discarded on the floor, the slightly open window, and the fact that he’s nude under his comforter. There’s the matter of his body, too—gently sore in a way that could only come from a night with a lover.

Apollo buries his face in his hands and groans. A lover. He’s taken a lover. His face heats as the details of last night resurface in his memory, like bubbles of air rising through water. Klavier and he… they’d…

Apollo groans again and flops back on the bed, his heart pounding. He can’t believe they did… all that, and he especially can’t believe that it was him who suggested it. But then he remembers the festival in all its opulence, the dancing, the fireflies, the way Klavier looked with his tunic thrown haphazardly to the floor, and it all starts to become a little bit more believable. Still, he should have known better. He should have known that Klavier wasn’t going to be here in the morning and he should have known it would hurt when he inevitably found the other side of the bed empty. But god, if it wasn’t a good night.

Apollo kicks his legs off the bed and rakes a hand through his hair, feeling sluggish. If he were anyone else in the world, he’d let himself sleep in some more, but he’s not anyone else. He’s the Prince of Lamiroir and he has to get up.

He takes it a little slower, though, which he thinks is a fair enough compromise. His feet drag toward his washroom, but he stops when he catches himself in the full length mirror by his wardrobe. He generally doesn’t walk around his room naked, let alone stare at himself in his mirror while he’s nude, but he can’t help it this morning. There’s something different about himself that he doesn’t recognize, something hard to pinpoint. Maybe he looks a little bit more grown up? No, that’s silly, but there’s something. He’s different. Changed, somehow.

There are a couple of easily identifiable differences, however. Namely, the love bites that pepper his collarbones, strategically placed so they won’t show when he’s fully clothed. Apollo brushes his fingertips over the small bruises, though they’re a little sensitive to the touch. His mind flashes back to Klavier marking him in the bed, his touch gentle and reverent, but passionate enough to leave evidence.

It’s a downward spiral from there. Apollo can’t help but relive the night all over again—the touches and caresses, the impassioned, mumbled words between them, the way Klavier looked at him like no one ever has before. Apollo shivers where he stands just thinking about it. He had felt so safe, maybe even loved, if he’s allowed to call it that. But when was the last time Apollo had felt either?

It was foolish, what they did. Apollo knows that, and a part of him is furious with himself that he let it happen, no, made it happen. But in truth, that part of him is drowned out by a warm giddiness filling his chest, by a smile that’s fighting its way onto his face, by a dreamy, lovesick sigh that escapes his lips. Maybe—maybe a part of him is mad that last night turned out like it did, because he knows there will be consequences for being so reckless, knows the bill will come to collect from his heart. But he can’t bring himself to regret it, nor can he stop how joyful he feels.

It’s bittersweet, for sure, but Klavier was so…

Apollo brushes his fingers along his love bites again. It at least seemed like Klavier wanted him just as much as Apollo wanted Klavier, but there’s a corner of his mind that doubts. Did he feel like he had to because Apollo’s the prince and Klavier’s his guard? But no, Klavier’s made it clear on multiple occasions he doesn’t take orders from Apollo, only respects his wishes. Worry gathers in Apollo’s gut just the same. What if it wasn’t as mutual as Apollo thought? Or what if Klavier just wanted a tumble with a prince as some badge of honor? What if Apollo was only a conquest to him? Apollo thinks he’d break in half if that were truly the case, but there’s no way Klavier could be that convincing of an actor, could he? Apollo’s never known him to be deceitful or malicious. He’s only ever been kind and caring, if not annoying in all his teasing, and there’s no way Klavier was putting on a façade through all that, right?

Fear and anxiety worm their way into Apollo’s chest where warmth and giddiness once dwelled. If only Klavier had stayed until morning. Then Apollo wouldn’t have to worry, but—

But Apollo knows he couldn’t have stayed, no matter how he feels. If Klavier were missing from his room in the barracks, he would have been noticed. Neither of them needs to say it to know that whatever happened between them has to remain a secret. Regardless of Apollo’s anxiety, it was the right decision for Klavier to leave.

Knowing that pushes back some of the panic and as he gets ready for the day. His mind whirs with memories of last night again, Klavier swimming in his vision as dense as the darkness he sees when he closes his eyes. It’s a mess of recalled sensations—the way his body felt against Apollo’s, the taste of his lips, the smell of his skin, the sounds he’d made, the way he looked like a classical statue come to life—Apollo remembers it all in vivid detail.

He doubts those details will stop haunting him any time soon.

Normally, Klavier picks Apollo up at his room every morning once he’s ready. But he doesn’t show at their usual time, and there’s a terrible sick feeling in Apollo’s stomach, like one hundred snakes are writhing inside him. He tries to keep a cool head, though. This has happened before, he reminds himself. Klavier is needed for many duties, even if Apollo should be his priority.

Apollo takes to the hall of the royal quarters and heads down to the staircase that leads to the main section of the castle. The bottom of the stairs are guarded by two knights who are tasked with making sure no one comes up the stairs except for Apollo’s personal servants and, well, Klavier.

It’s a welcome relief to see that one of the guards for this shift is Sir Ema.

“Heya, Your Highness, you’re up a bit late today,” she says as soon as she notices him coming down the stairs.

Apollo scratches the back of his neck. “I had a uh, bit of a late night. Studying. Yeah, studying. Y’know, king stuff. For when I’m king.”

“Right.” Ema arches a brow at him as Apollo chuckles nervously. “In any case, the fop is waiting for you in King Regent Kristoph’s office. The King Regent said he needed him to oversee some new formation or something and that you could meet up with them when you were up.”

Apollo slaps a hand to his forehead. “Ugh, I forgot he wanted to do that today. Thanks for letting me know.”

“If you’re really thankful, you’ll convince the King Regent to let me eat snacks when I’m scheduled for boring shifts like this one,” Ema says, crossing her arms.

“Well, wait two more months and I’ll let you eat as much as you want on the job.”

Ema offers him one of her rare smiles. “Counting down the days, Your Highness.”

Apollo tells Ema and the other guard goodbye before he sets off to Kristoph’s office, a complicated mix of emotions stewing in him. On one hand, he’s relieved to hear Klavier was called away to work on an urgent matter with Kristoph, but on the other, he’s nervous beyond belief to see Klavier again.

It shouldn’t matter, truly. There’s nothing that’s going to be different by seeing each other again in their everyday lives like they usually do but also… of course, it’s going to be different. They were intimate with each other in a way Apollo’s never been with anyone else before. Even if it doesn’t affect Klavier in the slightest, it means something to Apollo. It means… a great deal to him. He knows he’ll have to pretend like nothing has changed between them as they go about their work in the castle, but Apollo will know and it’s going to make everything harder.

His head and heart battle once again, both of them trying to defend why they should or shouldn’t consider last night a colossal mistake. Apollo groans internally, frustrated over how complicated this whole mess is as he reaches Kristoph’s door in what must be record time because he hardly remembers the rest of the walk here.

He grabs a hold of the handle and takes a giant inhale.

It’s no big deal, he tells himself. You’re gonna go in there, apologize for being late, and then you’re going to act totally normal around Klavier like nothing happened between you two.

He rolls his shoulders back and stands up straight. On the exhale, he opens the door.

He doesn’t see anyone at first, just Kristoph’s empty office. He’s about to assume they finished their meeting and have moved on to the next item on their agenda, when Kristoph’s voice calls for him from the back of the room. “Your Highness? We’re by the bookshelves.”

Apollo steps in and shuts the door before he crosses toward the back of the room where Kristoph keeps shelves and shelves of reference tomes. He notices Kristoph first, two steps up a ladder and carding through a huge book that is clearly not giving him the information he wants. Klavier is at the foot of the ladder, holding a hand on it to keep it steady, watching Kristoph tear through the book. When Apollo steps into the little library nook, Klavier turns to face him, and Apollo’s heart nearly leaps out of his throat.

Klavier’s expression melts into the brightest, most earnest smile Apollo’s ever seen on anyone. It’s brighter than all the lights at the festival combined, golden and luminous, and it’s impossible not to smile back just as wide. It’s so bright that it dispels every dark, dreary thought Apollo might have had about Klavier intentions being less than sincere. That look alone is enough to cement that what happened last night between them was real. Apollo’s heart sings and pushes against his chest, like it wants to run to Klavier and make a home in his heart instead of Apollo’s. Apollo would let it if he were able, honestly, because all he wants to do is be alone with Klavier again and—

“Fancy seeing you here, Your Highness,” Kristoph says, breaking whatever spell Apollo and Klavier were under. They both wipe their expressions of any lasting tenderness before Kristoph can see them and then look back at him as he descends the ladder. “Sir Klavier and I are nearly done with our meeting that you missed, oh, the first forty-five odd minutes of.”

“Sorry, Kristoph, I had a hard time sleeping last night. I just needed the rest, I think.” Apollo does an admirable job keeping his face neutral, while Klavier has to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

Kristoph clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “You won’t get to sleep in when you’re King. Do you think I ever sleep in?”

“No, of course not.” Apollo clears his throat, but his good mood remains intact. A jab like that would normally upset him, but today, it seems silly and petty, and most of all, beneath him. “I’m sorry, Kristoph. I’ll be sure not to stay up too late from now on.”

Kristoph “hmph”s and brings the book to the large table in the middle of the library nook before launching into a lengthy discussion about the castle’s weaknesses and blindspots. Apollo and Klavier sneak glances at each other all the while.

The rest of the day goes similarly. Apollo and Klavier are with each other through every one of Apollo’s meetings, stealing peeks at each other whenever they can. It feels juvenile, but Apollo can’t help it. His eyes feel starved and they’re only satiated when they get a good look at Klavier. There’s even a moment, the briefest of moments, where their pinkies brush and curl around each other under the table of Apollo’s meeting on the state of Lamiroir livestock.

It’s a strange kind of torture, being so close but also so far away at the same time and not being permitted to speak when it’s the only thing Apollo has on his mind. It’s not until the evening, when dinner’s done and Apollo’s finished all his meetings that they head to the library together, tension buzzing in the air because it’s the first chance they’ve had all day to be alone with each other.

Klavier opens the library door for Apollo and he steps in, weirdly aware of every muscle in his body as he does. He hears the soft click of the door closing behind him and he turns around, Klavier looking at him with a lost expression. He takes a step toward Apollo, searching for the right words presumably, but he stays silent. Apollo’s skin prickles as he gets nearer.

Apollo isn’t sure what to say either. What can he say? They have to talk, but how do you even start a conversation like this—a conversation that will likely break both your hearts, a conversation about wanting to be together but knowing you can’t?

The immediate solution is… they don’t. They stare at each, both searching for some sign of what to do, when something in the air breaks and they surge toward each other in a bruising kiss. And god, it’s like coming up for air, it’s like eating after being starved, it’s like drinking a cold glass of water after trudging through the desert for three days, it’s… it’s everything. It’s so, so, so good after an entire day of remembering Klavier’s touch and needing it again so badly that Apollo couldn’t focus on anything anyone was saying to him.

Klavier backs them toward the bookshelves and Apollo’s shoulders hit the bookshelf with a thud as he wraps his arms around Klavier’s neck to bring him closer. Klavier’s still in his armor, so there’s far too much of a barrier between them but Apollo’s content enough to have Klavier’s lips moving against his, to be able to feel Klavier’s jaw work beneath his hand. It’s heated and rushed, but so intoxicating that Apollo’s flurried thoughts stop and he’s just there with Klavier in the moment. That’s the thing with them—together, they can stop time. It’s like last night, when nothing else mattered and Apollo was happy, carefree.

But the bubble has to pop eventually. They separate after who knows how long and take each other in, Apollo trying to commit Klavier’s face to memory as they hold each other.

A ghost of a smirk flits on Klavier’s face. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

“Me too,” Apollo says, honestly. There’s another beat of silence and all of Apollo’s sensibilities come crashing down on him at once. Shit.

Klavier must notice a change in him because the light in his eyes dims. “I sense a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

“No, not a ‘but.’” Apollo pulls away and Klavier drops his arms from around him. “We just… we have to talk about this.”

Klavier hums, stepping up to the table and slowly guiding his fingers along its surface. “I was afraid you’d say that, but ja, I know you’re right.”

Apollo knows what he’s supposed to say. He planned it all out in his head. He tried not to think about it too much, because it hurt. He just wanted to live with that buzzing, giddy feeling for a little while before he stopped it cold. But he knew they’d end up here in the library eventually today, and he knew they’d have to have this discussion. Apollo walks up to one of the library chairs and tightly grasps the back of it, hoping to distract himself from the mounting pain in his chest.

“Look, Klavier, you… you have no idea what last night meant to me.” The words come out wobbly, emotional. He had hoped to get through this without crying, but a part of him doubts he can. “I’ve spent half the day thinking about it and the other half wishing I was anyone else in the world but… but I’m not. I’m a crown prince and—”

Klavier lets out a shaky sigh before he intently looks at the wall and decidedly not at Apollo. “Marrying a Knight won’t help Lamiroir. Ja, Schatz, I know.”

“I’m so sorry.” Apollo lifts his hands from the chair and holds himself around his torso. The word “marrying” causes water to well in his eyes. “I wish it didn’t matter, Klav, honest. I wish this didn’t have to have an expiration date, but I don’t have the luxury of caring about only what I want.”

“Of course, I… understand.” And god—fuck—Klavier’s voice catches. Apollo knows he’s holding back tears too, and this is all such a huge, terrible mess. “I know how much an advantageous marriage can help the kingdom. I know you do everything out of love for your people. It’s one of the reasons why I…” Klavier clears his throat, sniffs, and doesn’t elaborate further, but Apollo knows. Apollo knows.

“Klavier—”

“I’ll be okay, Schatzi,” Klavier says, braving a smile but it's hollow. “I just need some time, but I want you to know how much last night meant to me as well. And how I too wish you were anyone else in the world…”

“God, Klav, if there was some way—”

Klavier laughs, sad and humorless. “You could always take me as a lover, I suppose.”

It’s a joke, a poor attempt at levity. Apollo knows that, but it still makes his hands tremble and the first tear gather and fall from one of his eyes. “You know, I actually thought about it for one whole second. Other kings do it all the time. But I can’t do that to whoever I marry, and I can’t do it to you. Other than that… no matter how much I try to think of a way, I keep coming back here, knowing we have to stop. And I hate it, Klavier. I hate this. When I’m king, I’m going to have to take my hunt for a suitor seriously, and I know—” Apollo takes in a shuddering breath, trying as hard as he can not to talk through tears. “I know whoever I choose won’t mean half as much to me as you do.”

Klavier finally looks at him then, his eyes wet and red-rimmed, and Apollo hates hurting him like this. Klavier walks around the table, pulls off his gauntlets, and throws them on the table before he puts a warm hand on Apollo’s cheek, his thumb wiping away one of his tears. Apollo leans into it and closes his eyes, the hurt of it all flowing out of him like a river.

“There is one thing we could do…” Klavier says, voice strained by how hard he’s trying to keep any emotion out of it.

Apollo’s eyes open and his stomach flips. “There is?”

“It’s not a true solution. Nein, it’s… probably a very bad idea.” Klavier’s thumb still gently rubs Apollo’s cheek and it makes Apollo want to curl into him more, to run into the safety of his arms.

“What is it?”

“You won’t be crowned for another two months.” Klavier licks his lips and furrows his brow. “You said what we have has an expiration date, ja? Well, what if that expiration date is your coronation?”

Apollo blinks at him, surprised. “You want to keep doing this? For as long as I'm a prince?” Klavier nods. “Won’t that end up hurting us even worse in the long run?”

“Ja, probably,” Klavier says, a tear finally rolling down his cheek. “But this already hurts so much, why not get two months of happiness out of it?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Apollo isn’t saying no, though. In fact, the idea of having more time with Klavier is practically making his heart sprout wings and fly.

“Nein. Nein, it is not.” Klavier’s hand moves so his fingers tuck underneath Apollo’s chin, tilting it upward. “What do you say, Schatzi? Will you allow me to be selfish for at least that long?”

If Apollo were a stronger man, a smarter man, he’d gently take Klavier’s hand off of his face and delicately tell him no. But Apollo’s not strong and he’s not smart. The only thing he might be is in love.

“Between us, I’m pretty sure I’m the selfish one,” Apollo whispers before he stands on his tiptoes to capture Klavier’s lips in a kiss lined with tears. Klavier kisses him back, the taste of him a mix of salty and sweet.

It’s cruel how blissful those first couple of weeks are. They pull each other into broom closets, make a game of pulling gasps from the other, spell their names on each other’s skin with their fingertips. Klavier climbs into Apollo’s bedroom nearly every night and Apollo’s arms are always open and ready at the window. It’s almost childish with how carefree and fun and joyful it is at first. The dark cloud that is Apollo’s 25th birthday looms over them and colors every touch and caress, but it’s always overpowered by how good it is. Every kiss is sweet and lovely because they know it’s not the last. They have weeks before the end.

There’s a silently growing monster in the corner of Apollo’s mind, though, one that whispers how are you ever going to give this up when the time comes when he’s alone. Apollo knows that creature is going to tear him apart eventually.

He sees that same monster in Klavier sometimes, too. It’ll show up briefly, a quick flit of darkness in his eyes when he stares at Apollo too long, and it feels like someone plunges a needle in Apollo’s heart every time.

Sometimes, Apollo considers calling it off so they can salvage whatever of themselves they can before his birthday, but he always dismisses it quickly. He can’t bring himself to even entertain the idea for too long. Because this is something Apollo wants for himself. Not for his people or his kingdom, not as Apollo the prince but Apollo the man. He’s given up his entire life in service of the kingdom and he’s giving up the rest of it for the kingdom too. But for these two months, this one, small sliver of his existence, he wants to let himself have this happiness. He knows that a hurricane is coming, that he’ll be heartbroken and lonely beyond repair, but despite that, he knows he’d regret it if he didn’t use every last second he could with Klavier. After everything, Apollo knows Klavier will always be the great love of his life, and he’s not going to let their brief time together be cut short because he’s afraid of the pain he’ll experience after.

It’s the end of July now, the night air drifting through the window is thick and sticky with humidity, and it should probably be uncomfortable as Apollo and Klavier cling to each other under the covers, but it’s not. Klavier’s skin has a rejuvenating effect on Apollo, and nothing as inconsequential as hot weather could make him pull away.

Klavier’s armor is strewn across the floor, a macabre scene of discarded metal limbs, and a sweet reminder of the joy in taking the pieces off. Klavier is talking, reciting a tale of some idiot knight named Payne who’s challenged Klavier’s title as the most gifted knight in all of Kurain multiple times.

“And then, Sir Payne, in his infinite wisdom, took the letter out of my hand, ran through the stables, and landed face first in the—”

Apollo gasps. “No! Don’t tell me—”

“Face first, Schatz. He cried.”

Apollo bursts into laughter, his stomach cramping from the force of it. He buries his head in Klavier’s chest, which shakes with laughter though it’s not as raucous as Apollo’s. God, this is what Apollo loves most—the laughing and talking, the way Klavier makes him feel like an ordinary human being but also the most special person in the whole world at the same time. He likes the… other parts too, don’t get him wrong, but this is the best part. Just being with him, learning about his life before they even met. Apollo frequently asks for stories from his life and Klavier always obliges, whether it’s the time he broke his arm when he was nine or the time Kristoph nearly set the family cat on fire while practicing his magic.

Apollo loves it all and he stores it deep in his heart, journaling as much as he can for that hour or so before Klavier climbs up to his window, so that he can keep a small part of all this with him forever.

Klavier kisses Apollo’s temple and then his cheek. “Ach, we should sleep.”

“Yeah, you’re right, let me just…” Apollo rolls out of bed so he can use his washroom, but when he comes back, he spots a glint of blue on the floor. He picks it up to inspect and realizes it’s the crest Klavier always wears on his armor, the one piece of his ensemble that isn’t part of Kurain’s official knight armor.

Apollo brushes his thumb over the cracks and grooves of the pewter pendant. It’s a family crest, but it’s been cracked down the middle and filled with a deep gemstone blue. It’s as if it was welded back together with sapphire.

Apollo takes the pendent back to bed with him and scooches back under the covers with Klavier. “You’ve never told me about the pendant you always wear.”

“Oh, this?” Klavier says, gently taking the crest out of Apollo’s hand so he can look at it. “Believe it or not, it was a gift from Kristoph.”

“Really?”

Klavier laughs. “Doesn’t seem like him, does it?”

“I can’t imagine Kristoph giving anyone a gift, no.” Apollo takes the crest back, taking in all the little details of the patterns. “Why’d he give you this? Is it your family crest?”

“Ja, an heirloom.” Klavier smiles, a memory in his eyes. “The Gavins have passed it down through firstborn sons for generations. It broke when our father was a boy. He gave it to Kris, of course, as was tradition. But when I finished my knight’s training, he left his work in Lamiroir just to give it to me. He even got a blacksmith to fill in the crack with this blue stone.”

“Wow, that’s… surprising,” Apollo says.

Klavier hums. “I was surprised, too. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Kristoph and I’s relationship isn’t the warmest, but…” Klavier looks down fondly at the crest. “It meant a great deal to me that he did that. He was always so mad I chose the life of a knight over taking care of our estate. But when he gifted this to me, it was like he was telling me he was proud. And even the stone, it’s imbued with protection magic. Kristoph told me to wear it at all times so I would stay safe.”

“It made you happy.” It’s not a question. Apollo can tell just by the way Klavier’s talking about it how much it meant to him.

Klavier nods. “Ja, of course. I always idolized my brother, in truth. So determined and talented. I never felt like I could live up to him. I thought I was a nuisance to him, but then he gave me this and told me how much he wanted me to stay safe… Kristoph doesn’t show it often, but at that moment, I knew he cared for me in his own twisted way. It’s very precious to me.”

“That’s… really sweet, Klav.” Apollo smiles, lacing his fingers through Klavier’s. “I had no idea he even had a brother until I met you.”

Klavier’s face drops so fast Apollo has no choice but to laugh at him. “Ach, Kristoph isn’t one to reveal information about himself so I shouldn’t be surprised but he could at least act like I’m not a dirty little secret.”

“He’s just, y’know, very serious about his work.” Apollo shrugs, hoping it’s somewhat of a consolation. He goes back to the crest, brushing his finger over it again. There’s something enchanting about it, like he can tell it’s been imbued with protection magic. It’s hard to imagine Kristoph having a soft spot in him for anyone, but it’s nice knowing that he does love his brother. Klavier deserves that. “I’m glad he told you how he felt, though. At least, in so many words.”

Klavier hums and takes the crest from Apollo before he places it on the bedside table. “Ja, me too, Prince Forehead, but I’d much rather tell you how I feel. Maybe even show you…” He kisses Apollo’s temple then his cheek, all the way down to his jaw.

Apollo huffs a laugh. “I thought you wanted to go to sleep.”

“Mm, I did say that, didn’t I?” Klavier says, kissing Apollo full on the mouth as the crest lies forgotten on the bedside table.

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter six

The weeks until Apollo’s birthday slip away as easily as sand through Klavier’s fingers. Two months is not a long time, but it still feels like Mother Time has turned up the dial, making every sunrise and sunset shorter than before. Klavier tries his best to cherish it, to hold Apollo so tight that maybe a part of him will remain with Klavier forever, but it’s no real consolation. Whenever they share a bed, pulling away from Apollo at the first sign of dawn feels like flaying his own skin. He can’t imagine how he’ll feel when he slips out that window for the last time.

It’s all made worse by the increasing attacks on Apollo’s life. The closer and closer it gets to Apollo’s birthday, the more desperate and dangerous the attacks become, and the more clear that these are assassination attempts. The attackers are getting smarter, too. They’ve started using smoke magic to disappear when the fight gets a little too tough for them, which is endlessly annoying. It’s always the same group of men wearing brown cloaks coming back over and over again.

The worst part is that they always seem to know where to find Apollo. The stables, the woods, anywhere that isn’t inside the castle. It’s uncanny enough that Klavier suspects someone inside the castle is giving away information to this group. He’s taken extra precautions to keep Apollo safe, even within the castle. Klavier escorts him everywhere, glued to his side, which is born out of selfishness as much as it is protectiveness. He’d usually give Apollo some leeway to roam the castle on his own, but if there’s an enemy within, both he and Apollo have to stay vigilant.

There are upsides to these increased measures, of course. No one questions it when Apollo announces he needs to use the washroom and Klavier goes with him when in reality they’re using the stolen time to… not go to the washroom.

All of Klavier’s extra precautions turn out to be worthwhile one day at the start of September, just a week before Apollo’s birthday. Klavier and Apollo are walking past the grand staircase at the front entrance of the castle, heading to a meeting about the Kingdom’s trade with Gramarye, when Klavier hears the sound of earth shaking just outside the front gates. The wall of the front gate explodes, blown to bits by a huge flying boulder that sends debris shooting into the air. Klavier reacts instantly and wraps Apollo in his arms, shielding him from the falling rocks and bracing for impact. The impact never comes. In fact, the broken chunks of stone don’t get anywhere near them. Klavier opens his previously squeezed-shut eyes and looks around them, the wreckage glazed over in a shimmering gold filter. Apollo’s barrier magic.

Klavier steps back, hand on the hilt of his sword, searching for the enemy. “Your Highness, take cover and keep your barrier up.”

“Wait, no, you stay with me,” Apollo pleads, holding onto Klavier’s gauntlet.

Klavier takes Apollo’s hand away as he scans the area—two guards would have been posted outside the doors, and there are two at the foot of the stairs. The ones from inside seem okay with their swords ready, but Klavier can’t see what happened to the two out front. The explosion will be sure to get the attention of the rest of the guards soon enough, but are their attackers planning a second round? Or did they just need a hole big enough to come through?

Klavier’s question is answered soon enough when a group of ten or so cloaked figures makes its way to the blown-open entrance on flying broomsticks, of all things.

How did they get a hold of objects enchanted with flying magic? Klavier wonders. Flying magic is exceedingly rare, almost as rare as Apollo’s barrier magic.

Klavier shouts out to one of the knights previously guarding the stairs. “Go find as many guards as you can and bring them back!” The knight nods and sheaths his sword before running off to the barracks. Outside, the cloaked figures get closer and closer, but they’re met with a rain of arrows from the battlements. Klavier sees at least two fall from their brooms and to their deaths on the ground below. From behind him, Klavier hears Apollo cry out. Klavier spins to face him and puts his hands on Apollo’s shoulders. “Hide behind the staircase and keep your barrier up the whole time. Go!”

“Klav, I’m not about to—”

“I am the one in charge of your safety, and that means—”

Apollo gets right in Klavier’s face so they’re nose-to-nose and for one wild second Klavier thinks Apollo’s going to kiss him, but his eyebrows are angled down, his lips curled in anger. “There’s at least eight men coming and there’s only you and one other knight here. You need my help whether you want it or not.”

“Your Highness—”

“They’re coming!”

Klavier spins again and sure enough, the men in cloaks breach the hole in the wall, their trajectory set right for Apollo.

Anger, hot and consuming, pulsates through Klavier, making him clench his hands into fists and curl his upper lip into a snarl. He’s so unbelievably tired of these lowlives trying to hurt the one person he loves most in the world and he’s determined to put a stop to it.

Klavier takes a step forward and gathers magic in his fingertips. His hair frizzes and the air around him crackles like it always does when Klavier plans to use a large amount of his lightning. The brown cloaks pass the wall but slow down when they see him, which Klavier is glad about—he wants them to be afraid of him. They should be afraid of him. Klavier isn’t about to pay much mind to Apollo’s call for non-violent capture when they’ve blasted a hole into the castle.

“Klavier,” Apollo warns.

“Stay back,” Klavier warns right back, then addresses the cloaks, “Come any closer and I’ll electrocute you all to ash. You won’t see any mercy from me today.”

The threat makes some of them pause, but one of them starts waving their arms in a smooth, circular motion and Klavier realizes too late that he’s conjuring a rain cloud right in the middle of the foyer. Klavier tries to snap his fingers to reach the water magic user in time, but as soon as he has the thought, the rain cloud releases a downpour and covers the ground with water, making it far too risky for Klavier to use his magic. He could hurt Apollo or himself if he even dared to try.

This is bad. Klavier doesn’t even have his bow on him since they were in the supposed safety of the castle, and his sword isn’t going to do anything against eight flying magic users. But still, there has to be something…

There’s a sudden weight on his arm—Apollo gently pushing him aside and stepping in front of him.

“Apol—Your Highness,” Klavier says, but Apollo’s already getting in his stance.

“Enough, Klavier,” Apollo shoots back, low enough so only they can hear. “They’re here for me. This is my fight. Let me protect you for once.”

Before Klavier can stop him, Apollo’s off—he uses the flooded foyer to his advantage and conjures a tall block of ice beneath him so he’s around the same height as the cloaks on their broomsticks. He reaches out his arm, splays his fingers out wide, and a sharp icicle forms in front of each finger. He pulls his arm back with a deep inhale and on the exhale, he swipes his arm above the icicles and releases them like five nocked-back arrows. They whizz around the room at random, five cannon knives in the air, and the cloaks scream as the icicles chase them.

Klavier should be mad at Apollo for his disregard for their agreement, but he’s too shocked to be angry. How can he have that much control over the ice?

Apollo conjures another set of five and sets them loose on the cloaks, who zip around manically trying to avoid them. One finally finds its target—the sharpened edge of it stabbing into the meat of his arm, making him fall off the broom. Apollo uses even more magic to make a block of ice rise from the water and break his fall. When he lands, Klavier can hear the sickening crunch of bone breaking from all the way down on the ground. The injured cloak tries to grasp his broken arm with an icicle sticking out of it, which only makes him scream in agony.

“C’mon, screw this,” one of the uninjured cloaks yells as he dodges one of Apollo’s icicles. “Let’s get him and go!”

The other cloaks all agree, one of them swooping down to pull the injured one onto his broom. Klavier notices the icicles aren’t flying through the air quite as fast, but as soon as the injured man is secured on the broomstick, they chase them all out the huge hole they came through. Apollo keeps his concentration on the icicles until they’re nearly out of view and releases them. His body sags, making him kneel on the ice block as it slowly melts and lowers him to the ground.

Klavier runs to him and scoops him up before he falls. He wraps Apollo’s arm over his neck and supports him around the stomach. “Your highness…”

“I’m fine,” Apollo says, but he looks pale and he clearly can’t stand on his own. “Just overdid it a little. I’ll be fine once I sleep.”

“The amount of magic you had to use to pull something like that off…” Klavier shakes his head, not sure if he should be angry or impressed.

Apollo’s about to reply when a hoard of knights filter in from every hallway, all of them looking for the fled culprits.

“They’re gone,” Klavier calls. “Someone inform the King Regent. We’ll have to commission repairs for the castle.” Apollo pulls off him then, wobbling his way toward the ice block that saved the injured cloak from a worse injury. “Ach, Prince Forehead, what are you doing?”

“Just checkin’ something.” Apollo releases the magic on the block and it melts at his feet. Klavier isn’t sure why he’d be interested in water, but something must be worthwhile because he bends down to pick up something small.

Klavier comes over to look over his shoulder. “What is it?”

Apollo holds his palm out flat to show Klavier a small, wooden chip with an insignia in the shape of a plum blossom.

“I think,” Apollo says, a weary smile pulling at his lips, “it’s our first clue.”

Before they do anything, Klavier takes Apollo back to his bedchambers and forces him to sleep until his magic is replenished. Klavier watches all the while, too scared from the events of the afternoon to cuddle in close with him, despite Apollo’s near-impossible-to-resist request. He looks at the chip at least a hundred times, turns it over and over between his fingers like if he flips it enough times it’ll reveal something new on one of the faces.

The chip’s insignia is recognizable to Klavier, though. There’s a tavern in the Capital City called Plume’s that he and Apollo have passed dozens of times. It’s way more information than they’ve received so far regarding the attack, so all Klavier wants to do is run to the tavern and interrogate everyone there. He has to protect Apollo, though. That’s his priority, always. Still, he can’t stop the way his leg bounces, like it’s itching to get out of the room.

He’s saved from his own spinning thoughts when Apollo starts rousing from his slumber.

Klavier is off the wall immediately and sits on the edge of the bed. “Ach, Schatz, how are you feeling?”

“Hmm?” Apollo blinks, still foggy with sleep, but then his lips turn up in a long, almost dopey smile. He leans in, silently asking for a kiss and Klavier’s loath to do anything else but give him one. “It’s nice waking up and seeing you.”

Klavier’s heart swells to twice its size. “Is that what that big smile was for?”

“You always leave in the morning.” Apollo leans in to kiss him again.

“Not because I want to,” Klavier whispers.

“I know.”

Klavier kisses him this time, calming the slowly building storm that’s been raging in him since the attack. Klavier’s not sure if it’s because he’s so deeply in love or because Apollo is just as proficient in healing magic as he is with ice and barrier magic, but every kiss and touch he shares with Apollo revitalizes him in some way. It sweeps away exhaustion, sadness, fear… he’s not sure how he’ll live without it.

You’ll have to learn… in just a week.

Ice cold emotion stings at the back of Klavier’s eyes and he has to pull away from Apollo, has to look away so he won’t see.

“Klavier…” Apollo says softly, threading his fingers with Klavier’s on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Klavier huffs, trying to dispel the sudden onslaught of pain. “You know what.”

There’s a long stretch of silence where neither of them says a thing, until Apollo takes a sharp intake of breath and cups Klavier’s face in his hands. He kisses Klavier hard, hungry and passionate, his lips spelling out a message for Klavier that he almost, but doesn’t quite understand. Klavier kisses him back and like all of Apollo’s embraces, it wipes away some that terrible, foreboding loneliness, but not even he can make it all go away.

When they separate, Apollo doesn’t go far, pressing kisses to the corner of Klavier’s mouth, his cheek, and the underside of his jaw before he sighs and rests his head on Klavier’s shoulder. “It’s getting close. My birthday.”

“Ja, it is.”

“I wish there was something I could say that would make any of this better but…” Apollo’s voice wavers. “Saying we’ll be fine sounds… disingenuous.”

Klavier hums and lets his cheek press against the top of Apollo’s head. “I think we’ll just have to accept that it’s not fine.”

“Klav…”

Klavier shakes his head and tries to let it go, at least for now. “Ach, you never answered my question. How are you feeling?”

“Nothing a little sleep doesn’t help,” Apollo says, a little surprised, but he at least understands that Klavier wants to change the subject. His face darkens, his eyebrows scrunched in thought. “I can’t believe they blew a hole in the castle.”

“They’re getting desperate.”

“But why?” Apollo scooches to the side of the bed so he can sit next to Klavier. “This isn’t just about a general distaste for me as a monarch. This is like someone has a plan and I’m standing in the way of it.”

Klavier nods. “There’s a puppet master behind the attacks, I’m sure of it. The cloaked men who attack us are amateurs, that’s for certain, but they have resources and intel that could only come from someone powerful. There’s no other explanation behind having access to flying magic and our location at all times. It’s no coincidence that boulder hit the entrance right as we were walking by.”

“I know. The only times I don’t feel like there are eyes on me is when it’s just the two of us up here.” Apollo shudders like they’re being watched as they speak.

Klavier stands and offers his hand to Apollo to help him up. “The upside is that I don’t think Lamiroir hates you as much as you think it does. I think we’re dealing with a much smaller group of hostiles.”

“Well, I don’t know about that first part,” Apollo says, taking Klavier’s hand and standing. “But yeah, I think you’re right about the second.”

“If that is the case, then merely fighting back won’t be enough. We’re going to have to change our strategy, find this puppet master, but…” Klavier doesn’t even want to say it.

“But what?”

Klavier groans. “We’re going to have to talk to Kristoph for permission to launch an investigation.”

“Oh.” Apollo grimaces but tries to hide it. “Well, I’m sure once we explain, he’ll understand and let you.”

You’d think, Klavier muses, but honestly? He has his doubts.

“Absolutely not,” Kristoph says, snapping a book shut in exchange for a new one. What could possibly be more important about the contents of said books than the Crown Prince of Lamiroir’s safety, Klavier has no idea.

“Are you out of your mind?” Klavier throws his hands in the air, his patience already gone. He’s glad he told Apollo he wanted to go alone, otherwise he might have tried to calm Klavier down. “What reason could you possibly have?”

Kristoph lets out an annoyed sigh and speaks to Klavier like he’s a child. “Prince Apollo’s coronation is in a week. Once he’s crowned, the Kingdom will let go of their silly little hope to dethrone him and the attacks will die down. This kind of unrest is common when there’s a transition of power.”

“You don’t know that,” Klavier says, squeezing his fists so tight that his knuckles turn white. “I’m telling you this is a concerted effort on someone’s part. Someone with influence and power. They want Apol—Prince Apollo dead, Kris. We have to figure out who they are and stop them.”

Kristoph freezes, then snaps his glasses off his face to look at Klavier with their matching blue eyes. “Think for one second, Klavier. If Prince Apollo is crowned, then they’ll have failed, won’t they? You just have to keep the Prince safe until then and they’ll stop. It’s likely a neighboring Kingdom that wants our land, and if we launch a whole investigation, start flinging around accusations, it’ll cause hostility between us and our neighbors. It could even lead to a war.”

“That—that is no reason for us not to look into it. How can you just be okay with a neighboring kingdom trying to kill our future King?” Klavier is so angry he feels like he’s going to burst into flames. There’s logic to everything Kristoph is saying, but also none at all. Of course they have to investigate this further. King Miles and Phoenix would do it for sure.

But Kristoph is not King Miles or King Phoenix. “If the attacks persist after the coronation, we’ll launch the investigation, but not a moment sooner.”

“A week is a long time, Kristoph.” Klavier slams his hands on the table. “Anything could happen! They blew a hole in the castle this morning. It’s not just the Prince who’s in danger anymore.”

“Perhaps you should do your job then,” Kristoph says, spitting the words out like venom. “Which, need I remind you, is to defend the Prince and the castle, not go on wild goose chases.”

Klavier has half a mind to throw one of his stupid books at him. “I’m trying to defend the Prince and the castle, but for some reason, you’re standing in my way.”

“Watch your tongue, brother.” Kristoph stands up straight, rolling his shoulders back. “It is I who is King Regent, not you. You are the one who chose a profession beneath your station and you will remember your place. You will not launch an investigation into the matter. Instead, I expect you to continue your duties as the Prince’s personal guard and Head Knight to the castle. Is that understood?”

Klavier pushes off the desk and feels his top lip curl into a snarl. “Do you care about Prince Apollo at all? Do you not see what the constant attacks do to him?”

“I think you care far, far too much and it’s impeding your judgement,” Kristoph says and Klavier’s mouth snaps shut. “I’ll remind you again to remember your place. He is a Prince, Klavier. And you made the choice to be a glorified servant.”

It’s then that Klavier turns away and marches out of Kristoph’s office, slamming the door behind him. If he had stayed for even one more moment, he would have tackled his own brother to the ground and knocked his teeth out. Kristoph is so resistant to providing any kind of protection for Apollo that it’s starting to make Klavier suspicious. For a moment, he even wondered if it was Kristoph who—

No. That’s impossible. He won’t even think it.

Rage burning through him, Klavier fishes out the plum blossom chip from his satchel and brushes his thumb over the insignia. It takes him less than ten seconds to decide what to do from here, despite the risk of dishonoring himself in front of the knighthood and losing his position. He could even be tried for his crimes. But he doesn’t care. Somebody is trying to hurt Apollo and Klavier has a lead. He’ll be damned if he isn’t going to follow it.

Klavier waits until it’s late, so late that it’s past the time he’d usually sneak into Apollo’s bedroom. Despite all the reasons this is a dangerous idea, it’s that he regrets the most—losing a night with Apollo when their nights are already limited. It’s a sacrifice he has to make, though. Apollo’s safety comes first.

He sneaks his way to the stables, dressed down to his tunic and a black riding cloak with its hood up to conceal his identity. The summer air is starting to soften, less muggy and hot as September transitions into fall, making the cloak bearable to wear, at least.

Ellisandre waits dutifully in her stable, blowing through her nose in greeting when she sees him.

“Halo, Honigkuchenpferd,” Klavier says, lovingly stroking her nose. “You will be my partner in crime tonight, ja?”

“And what crime exactly are you two committing?”

Klavier shouts and turns around, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He’s about to draw it when Apollo, wearing a riding cloak too, steps out of the shadows with his hands raised defensively and a smirk on his lips.

“Apollo Justice!”

Apollo bursts into laughter, then does his best to stifle it. “You’re kind of cute when you’re spooked, you know that?”

“Ach, what are you doing here? You should be in bed.”

Apollo’s smile wilts and the light in his eyes dims. “Yeah, only problem was that you should have been in my bed too.”

“Schatz…” Klavier closes the gap between them and grabs both of Apollo’s hands. “You know I wouldn’t miss a night with you if—”

“If it wasn’t important? Yeah, I figured since y’know… this is one of the last nights before my birthday.”

Klavier squeezes Apollo’s hands tighter. “I’m sorry, Liebling. I should have told you. I just worried you’d—”

“Do exactly what I’m doing now?”

Klavier sighs. “Ja.”

“So, I’m guessing the conversation with Kristoph didn’t go well?” Apollo says, his thumb moving across Klavier’s knuckles.

Well, there’s no use in lying. “It… could have gone better. He forbade me from launching an investigation. But we finally have a lead, so I’m not going to—”

“I’m going with you,” Apollo interrupts.

“How did I know you were going to say that?” Klavier tries to keep from smiling, but loses that fight. “You should go back. Let me handle this. I don’t want to take you into a snake’s den.”

Apollo narrows his eyes. “Well, what about you? I’m sure anyone who wants to kill me wants to kill you just as bad.”

“I can take care of myself, Herr Forehead.”

“I know you can, but so can I.” Apollo takes back his hands so he can cross his arms defiantly. “I think I’ve proved that I’m not a damsel in distress, Klav. We should do this together. We’re better as a team.”

Klavier huffs in defeat. How does he say no to something like that? He cups Apollo’s cheeks in his palms and kisses his forehead. “You have to promise to listen to me, though. If I tell you to use your barrier on yourself or to run, you have to do it. Those are my terms.”

“Klav—”

“I’m not budging on this one, Schatz.” Klavier gives him a steely gaze.

Apollo pouts, but he uncrosses his arms. “Fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m ever leaving you behind, you got it? We’re coming back together.”

“Ja, ja, I have every intention of coming back in one piece,” Klavier says, though he knows he’d sacrifice himself for Apollo in a second. “C’mon, let’s saddle up the horses.”

As they ride into the village, Klavier’s doubts grow and fear grips him by the throat. If Plume’s Tavern really is a hub for Apollo’s attackers, then it’s ludicrous to bring him to them. He tries to remember that he has the strength to protect Apollo, and Apollo has the strength to protect himself, but this scares him more than he thought it would. If anything were to happen to Apollo…

They tie up their horses outside the tavern which is a run-down, seedy little thing with buckling wood and chipped paint, but the insignia on the wooden sign matches the insignia on the chip, which is all Klavier cares about.

Both he and Apollo adjust their hoods up on their heads, hoping to stay at least a little bit inconspicuous, and enter the tavern.

It’s a raucous scene—dozens of adults drinking and yelling at each other over the various wooden tables, spilling ale and tipping out of their chairs. Klavier scans the tables for card games, but he doesn’t see any chips in play.

Klavier gestures for Apollo to follow him to the bar and they move to the far end of it, Klavier resting his forearms against the surface and waving the barkeep down with a wave of his hand.

The barkeep, a mustachioed man with salt-and-pepper hair, approaches them as he dries a glass pint. “What can I get ya, gentleman?”

“Not a drink, unfortunately,” Klavier says, hoping to win him over with a dashing smile. The barkeep frowns instead. “A man like yourself probably hears a lot of whispers, ja?”

The barkeep shakes his head. “Either ya order a drink or I move on. I got other customers.”

“Herr Barmann, bitte, we’ll make it worth your while.”

“Ain’t nothin’ worth trouble,” the barkeep says, voice gruff and annoyed.

There’s a light thud and the sound of several coins being slammed onto the bar. Klavier looks down and sees a satchel full of gold coins next to the bowl of beer nuts by his elbow.

“You sure it’s not worth this much?” Apollo asks innocently. Klavier wishes he could kiss him in front of the entire bar.

The barkeep eyes the gold before he picks up a coin and rubs it between his fingers. Satisfied, he reaches for the satchel, but Klavier puts his hand over it before he can grab the rest. “Information first, then gold.”

The barkeep huffs. “What do you want to know? Make it quick.”

“Do you have any regulars who seem to have a personal vendetta against the Prince?” Klavier keeps his voice hushed to deter any prying ears. “Maybe even recruiting locals for certain jobs? We think they could have a benefactor, so they might even have the means to pay well. Sound familiar?”

The barkeep studies Klavier as he bites the inside of his cheek. He looks around the bar to make sure no one is listening, then leans in close to whisper. “Yeah, I know a guy like that. Total loony to most of us, but he has the coin to back it up, and folks in this town aren’t in the position to be turning down good money, despite what it’s for. He goes around looking for magic users to take down the ‘corrupt monarch’ as he puts it.” The barkeep shrugs and hangs up his pint glass. “You’re in luck, though. He’s in the back room playin’ cards. Tall ginger named Emerson. He’s hard to miss.”

Klavier smiles in triumph, finally slotting a piece of the puzzle into place. They’re close. He retracts his hand from the gold, offering it to the barkeep. “Well earned, Herr Barmann.” The barkeep’s eyes shine as he reaches for the gold again, but this time Klavier grabs him by the wrist. “If it turns out you’ve been lying, just know that me and my associate will be taking the coin back, ja?”

“I told ya the truth, now give me my money and get off my bar.” The barkeep’s trying to sound tough, but Klavier can recognize a man who knows he’s outmatched. His intel is probably sound. Klavier lets him go.

“Danke for your services, Herr Barmann. You’ve been a great help.”

The barkeep huffs again and Klavier starts heading to the back room, Apollo hot on his heels.

“Klavier…”

“Be on your guard, Schatz.” Klavier yanks the door to the back room open. “And let me do the talking.”

Apollo nods and follows Klavier through the door.

The back room is a putrid haze of smoke with absolutely no ventilation, making Klavier’s eyes sting. It’s dimmer in this room as well, the only light coming from three small, wrought-iron candle chandeliers hung over the three game tables. The entire room looks up and stares at Klavier and Apollo, not exactly welcoming but not hostile either. More like they’re curious to see if they’re players worth their salt or chumps to be taken advantage of.

They’re going to be sorely disappointed either way. Klavier searches the room, looking for the red hair and tall stature the barkeep mentioned, which as he said, is not hard to find. Sitting at the backmost table is a tall man smoking a pipe and playing cards with three others, his hair as red as Kurain’s autumn apples, and one of his arms dressed in a sling.

The man’s injury is all the confirmation Klavier needs and an unfettered rage explodes through him like a geyser. He forgets himself, his vision filtered in red, as he charges for the man—Emerson—and doesn’t stop until he nearly crashes into the table, using his height to loom over them.

“Herr Emerson, is it not?” Klavier says through gritted teeth. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you outside.”

Emerson looks wary, but he does his best to hide it, glancing at his companions before glaring at Klavier, and spitting on the ground at his feet. “Piss off.”

Klavier does not consider himself a violent man, despite his profession. He fights to defend and protect, and nothing else.

But this man… this man has been coordinating attacks against the best man he knows, the man he’s in love with, and he just fucking spat at him. Suffice to say, Klavier’s kindness has reached its limit.

It happens in the blink of an eye, the crack of a whip—Klavier grabs Emerson by the base of his neck and slams his head hard against the game table. His companions all gasp and nearly tumble out of their seats while the rest of the room stares. Klavier doesn’t care. He’ll get the information he needs from this man one way or the other.

“If you don’t want a matching dent in your skulls, I suggest you all leave. Now.” Klavier’s voice booms out to the room, his hand still holding Emerson’s neck in an iron grip while Emerson tries to wriggle free.

Instantly, chairs rattle and scrape against the wooden floor as the gamblers rush to file out the room, deciding it’s more trouble than it’s worth, leaving only Klavier, Apollo, and Emerson.

“Saints, Klav…” Apollo says, halfway horrified, halfway impressed.

Klavier ignores him and instead grabs Emerson by the lapels and slams him against the wall. “Do you know who I am, Herr Emerson?”

“Please! Just let me go. I have money. Do you want money?” Emerson’s face is a sniveling mess of blood, tears, and snot. Klavier almost feels sorry for him, but then he remembers the absolute hell he’s put Klavier and—most importantly—Apollo through. Any and all sympathy he might have had vanishes.

Klavier pulls him off the wall just to slam him against it again. “I said ‘do you know who I am?’”

Emerson’s scared grey eyes flit across Klavier’s face, desperate to answer the question to appease him before they finally widen in recognition. “Y-you’re… the Prince’s personal guard.” His gaze flies to Apollo and he gasps. Klavier punches him in the stomach.

“Do not look at him. Look at me. I’m the one who’s going to decide how many broken limbs you’ll be walking away with, is that understood?” Klavier snaps and it sounds nothing like him. Distantly, he wishes Apollo would have let him come alone so he never had to see him like this. But if playing the bad guy gets them answers, Klavier will gladly play that role.

“I’ll tell you anything you want, please, just don’t hurt me.” Emerson’s breathing is fast and he whimpers. He’s scared. Right where Klavier wants him. “Have mercy, please. I didn’t want to attack you. I didn’t want to do any of it. I was being blackmailed.”

That stops Klavier short and he loosens his grip on Emerson’s lapels. He knew there must have been some higher power at play. Klavier softens his tone a little. “You have my word. I won’t hurt you so long as you answer my questions truthfully.” Emerson nods fervently and Klavier continues. “You said you were being blackmailed?”

“He said he’d kill my whole family if I didn’t find a way to kill the Prince and his personal guard by the coronation. But I’m not really a fighter, y’know? And you guys were strong,” Emerson says, his voice shaking. “He tried to help by getting me enchanted objects and money to hire people, but the coronation just kept getting closer and closer. I was starting to get desperate…”

Klavier blinks at him, nausea growing in his gut. This man… he’s really just a civilian. “So you upped the frequency of the attacks. How did you keep finding us?”

“He gave me this magical stone that pinpoints the location of its twin,” Emerson says and then squeaks when Klavier raises an eyebrow at him, disbelieving. “I have proof! Honest. If you let me open my satchel, I can show you.”

“Easy,” Apollo steps up next to Klavier, his hands raised and glowing blue with his ice magic. “Try anything funny and—”

“I won’t, I won’t!” Emerson raises his good arm in surrender. Apollo and Klavier share a glance before Apollo nods.

“Ja, okay. Nice and slow, Herr Emerson.”

Emerson reaches into his side satchel, his fingers trembling all the while as Klavier holds him against the wall and Apollo threatens him with sharp icicles forming in his hands. Eventually, Emerson produces a pewter brooch with a large blue gem taking up most of its surface. The blue, it… it looks overwhelmingly familiar, but Klavier can’t quite place it.

“It’s a tracking stone. He told me just to wish to find the other half and the stone emits a light that points to its other half’s location.” Emerson demonstrates and indeed a little blue arrow pours from the stone in the direction of the castle. “One of you has the other half. I don’t know how he knew you’d have it on you, but…”

Realization, cruel and violent, crashes into Klavier like a harpoon through his chest. The blue, that same bright, cerulean blue that looks so familiar—so familiar because Klavier’s seen it every day since he was knighted, that blue he kept close to his heart because it was the proof he was a beloved younger brother… it’s the same blue.

It’s unthinkable. No. It’s wrong. Klavier must have gotten this all wrong somehow. It can’t be that. It just can’t.

But it’s the same blue. But if that’s really the case, then it’s not been Apollo they were tracking, but him. And Klavier’s gift was no gift but a seed to a plot that’s been years in the making.

No. No, no, no. Anything but this. Klavier thinks he might throw up, might black out as the walls crumble around him. This can’t be happening.

Apollo takes a shaky breath beside Klavier and somehow he just knows Apollo’s figured it out too.

“Who blackmailed you, Emerson?” Apollo says, asking the question that Klavier isn’t strong enough to pose on his own. “Who gave you that stone?”

Klavier doesn’t want to hear the answer because he knows who it is, and it’s going to destroy him.

Emerson is clearly terrified about the consequences of answering or not answering, but he decides Klavier is the more present danger before he says the words that crack Klavier’s ribcage in two:

“The late King’s advisor—Kristoph Gavin.”

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter seven

It’s like someone’s taken an axe and buried it in Apollo’s back. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t think—all he can do is feel pain, as insufferable and visceral as a physical wound. It’s a betrayal so deep that it makes Apollo question every relationship he’s ever had with any other person. The lone exception is Klavier who—

Klavier. Apollo snaps out of his own self-pity and comes back to the gambling room in Plume’s tavern. Klavier’s still holding Emerson by the front of his shirt against the wall, but his fists are shaking and his head is bowed. He’s not saying anything while Emerson trembles and whimpers in his grasp.

Apollo wants to reach out, call his name, comfort him, but he has no words for this, no comfort to offer when it feels like he’s drowning himself. So he stays silent, waiting for… he doesn’t know what for. Nothing makes sense. This can’t be real.

Klavier moves then, but slowly. He lowers Emerson down and takes a step back. “Thank you, Herr Emerson. You have my word that no harm will come to you or your family.” The words come out low and monotone, which sounds wrong from Klavier.

Without a look back, Klavier bolts out of the back room toward the bar. It happens so fast that it takes Apollo a moment to react and follow him. He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that it’s Kristoph, his own magic teacher, the man who half raised him after his parents died, a man who has been like an older brother to him. They haven’t always gotten along—Apollo has even hated him, sometimes—but he’s always been there. He’s family. But that had all been an illusion.

Klavier storms out of the bar and heads right for their horses at the hitching post. As Apollo follows, reality catches up with him.

Kristoph was behind all the attacks, which means Kristoph wants him dead. Has wanted him dead. Every time Klavier or Apollo would think of a solution to counter the attacks, Kristoph would shoot them down, come up with some convincing lie on why they shouldn’t retaliate. And they just… believed him. Sure, they disagreed and thought he was wrong, but Apollo never suspected Kristoph wanted to hurt him.

Or that he’d sacrifice his own baby brother in the process.

Apollo looks at Klavier’s back as they rush to the horses, and he feels a deep aching sadness all the way to his bones. He can see something broken in Klavier—his bright, shining, vivacious Klavier—and he knows it’s a part of him that can never be repaired. A piece of Klavier, a piece Apollo loved, is gone forever and that hurts just as much as Kristoph’s betrayal.

“Where are you going?” Apollo calls desperately, trying to get Klavier to look at him. The answer to the question is irrelevant. Apollo already knows it.

Klavier’s voice is gruff and strained when he answers, “To see mein Bruder.” He reaches the hitching post and starts untying Ellisandre’s reins, which gives Apollo the chance to catch up.

Apollo reaches out to hold his wrist. “Klavier…”

“We can’t talk about it. Not now. We have to get back to the castle.” Klavier doesn’t look at him as his fingers fumble over the reins’ knot.

“What are you going to do?” Apollo holds his breath, afraid of what he’ll say.

Klavier freezes, then gets on his horse. “Arresting him for high treason and endangering the crown. Not even a King, let alone a regent, can plot an assassination on the Crown Prince.”

Apollo bites his lip, though he doesn’t disagree. He just doesn’t think Klavier should be the one to do this. But he’s right. They can’t let Kristoph roam free for even an hour more. His hands shaking, Apollo unties Dusty and gets on her back, following Klavier to the castle as a terrible, roiling nausea creeps up his throat.

The entire ride, Apollo tries to make sense of it. He would be lying if he didn’t say that a part of him hopes this is all a big misunderstanding, that Kristoph is innocent and someone is framing him.

The only problem is, there are parts of it that make too much sense. Nobody can deny Kristoph has a motive. He’s the King Regent and next in line for the throne should Apollo die. That’s enough to incriminate him. But Apollo’s known Kristoph for years. Why did he wait a few months before Apollo’s 25th birthday to attempt to kill him? Why bring his own flesh and blood into it?

They’re definitely missing a piece of the puzzle. Kristoph was the one who taught Apollo how to use magic, how to govern a country. Someone must be framing him. How reliable is this Emerson person anyway? Just because he gave Kristoph’s name doesn’t mean it really was Kristoph who gave him the stone.

But it was definitely Kristoph who gave Klavier his half…

Doubt and hope mix in Apollo like a tornado made of water and fire, swirling against his ribcage, taking turns to burn him and soothe him the whole ride.

Klavier leaves Ellisandre by the forest near Apollo’s window and heads to his room rather than the front entrance. Apollo magicks up a set of stairs for them. Once they’re in the room, Apollo steps in front of Klavier with his arms outstretched. “Klav, wait.”

“Wait for what?” Klavier says, making to move past Apollo, but Apollo moves with him.

“We’ll talk to Kristoph, I promise, but we have to think for a second.” Apollo takes a cautious step forward, holding his hands in front of him. “How can we be sure we can trust what Emerson said? Think about it. So much of it doesn’t make sense. Maybe Kristoph didn’t do it. Maybe he’s being framed.”

Now that Apollo can properly see it, he realizes Klavier’s face is twisted in anguish, a darkness in him Apollo’s never seen before. “There’s nothing I’d like to believe more, but… he did it, Apollo. He tried to kill you because he wants to be king. I should have realized it sooner. Kristoph’s always been obsessed with power. I should have known as soon as we figured out someone with influence was behind the attacks.”

“But why would he want to hurt you? And why didn’t he kill me when I was younger? He could have officially been king for years, so why put it off?”

Klavier shakes his head. “Just because we don’t know the answer doesn’t mean there isn’t one.” He takes a few steps forward and takes Apollo by the shoulders. “You stay here. I’m going to handle this, so—”

“Are you out of your mind?” Apollo nearly shouts. “No way am I going to let you face Kristoph alone when he might want you dead.”

Klavier winces at the words, but Apollo’s far too worried to feel bad about it. “Apollo—”

“No, I’m going. I need answers just as much as you do. If Kristoph really did what we think he did, then I need to hear it with my own ears.” Apollo turns and reaches his hand out for his bedroom door handle. “Come on, Kristoph’s bed chambers aren’t far.”

Klavier looks like he’s about to argue, but Apollo glares at him and slips through the door before any conversation can be had about it.

When they open the doors, Kristoph isn’t in his bed.

“His office,” Klavier says, grimacing. “But the guards… we could explain, but if they think we mean to harm the King Regent, they’ll react poorly, even if it’s me saying it.”

Apollo bites at his thumbnail, knowing Klavier’s right. They also don’t want to tip Kristoph off, if he isn’t already. Plus, Apollo wants to talk to him with just the three of them before he gets anyone else involved. And would the guards even listen to Apollo while Kristoph is still King Regent? What do you do as a servant when the replacement King has committed treason?

An idea pops in Apollo’s head like the bang of a firework. “I think I know how we can get to the offices without the other guards knowing.”

Klavier raises an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s an old secret passageway that connects the living area to the libraries,” Apollo says, already heading out the door. “I used it all the time as a kid when I wanted to see my parents while they were working.”

Apollo gestures for Klavier to follow. Together, they tiptoe through the dark hallways of the living quarters as Apollo grazes his hands along the stones, looking for a particular chip in the grout.

He eventually finds a triangle shaped chip in the wall and holds his hand up, telling Klavier to wait. Apollo pushes the stone in and the enchantment on the stones makes a small section of the wall fold away, revealing a dark hallway.

“Ach, you wouldn’t happen to have a torch, would you?”

“No, but I know this passageway by heart.” Apollo offers his hand out for Klavier. “Here, take my hand.”

Klavier takes it without any quips about how glad he is to do so, which is just another reason to be worried about him.

If he’s right about Kristoph, I wonder if I’ll ever hear him make another joke again. The thought makes a knife twist painfully in his chest and again, he prays this is all some huge misunderstanding.

The passageway is dark and cold, but familiar in its sloping curves. Apollo keeps one hand on the wall and his other in Klavier’s as they walk down and down until the narrow path bleeds into a wider patch.

“The other door is somewhere around here.” Apollo starts feeling the wall, this time looking for a stone that’s poking out more than the others. It doesn’t take long to find it, and the stones pull away to reveal the moonlit halls of the library wing.

“You know that trick could have been useful when we needed a place for privacy, Schatz.” Klavier’s flirting with him and Apollo’s never been so glad to hear it, especially when they have no idea what they’re going to find at the end of this hall.

Apollo rubs the back of his neck. “I might have… forgotten about it. Plus, it’s a secret.”

“Ach, what other secrets are you keeping from me?” It’s another attempt at levity, but Apollo can hear the genuine worry there. If his own brother could hide a plot to kill him, then what isn’t Apollo telling him?

Just one thing, Apollo thinks. He’ll tell Klavier one day, but this whole Kristoph situation has to happen first.

“C’mon.” Apollo makes another gesture for Klavier to follow him, and they creep down the hall.

The door to Kristoph’s office is big and ornate, fit for a king. How used to this office has Kristoph gotten? Did he enjoy his power as King Regent so much that he really would kill his pupil and little brother over it? There’s no way he’s that evil, right? Apollo reaches out, but he hesitates at the handle. A part of him deeply hopes Kristoph isn’t there, that he ran off to who knows where. That way, Apollo and Klavier would never need to have this conversation… especially if it’s the worst case scenario.

A warm hand lands on Apollo’s shoulder. “Let’s get this over with, Schatz.”

Apollo sucks his lips between his teeth but then nods and opens the door.

Kristoph’s office has high ceilings and windows lining the wall that are just as tall. That’s where they find Kristoph—his back turned to them, silhouetted against one those tall, arched windows, nothing but a menacing shadow bathed in moonlight.

Dread pours over Apollo like ice water. He’s been clinging to hope that there’s been a terrible mistake, but that remaining flicker quickly dims.

They both step into the room and Apollo closes the door behind him—solidifying that there’s no going back to the ignorance they once knew.

Kristoph doesn’t move, but he takes a deep breath. “I knew you would come. Sooner or later.”

“How could you have known?” Klavier says, doing an admirable job of keeping his voice level, but Apollo can hear the slight waver in it.

“I’ve spent the past sixteen years in the service of Lamiroir, building a network of spiders and wraiths so that nothing escapes my notice. I know where you went tonight, despite my orders.” Kristoph turns to face them, pressing his glasses high up on his nose, a terrible darkness shadowing his expression. “I even know about your scandalous little affair. Though, that’s not all that impressive. The guards have been whispering for weeks.”

Apollo’s stomach sinks. Did they all know? Or is Kristoph just trying to get under their skin? In any case, Kristoph knows and that’s enough to make fear grip Apollo by the throat. Apollo’s already considered a good-for-nothing Prince. What would happen if the scandal got out? What would happen to Klavier?

“That’s hardly important right now,” Klavier snaps at Kristoph. “We have some questions for you.”

“Such a temper on you,” Kristoph tuts, then addresses Apollo, seemingly bored with Klavier. “Please excuse Sir Klavier’s rudeness, Your Highness, though I do hope you’ve been a gentleman to my little brother. Based on how frequently he’s been seen climbing into your bed chambers, my guess is that you haven’t.”

“Now, that’s enough!” Apollo booms, rattled. It’s one thing for Kristoph to accuse them of scandal, but it’s another to make light of those private moments they shared together, to mock their pain. Their relationship wasn’t a secret because they wanted it to be, it was a secret because he knew how people would react to a Prince taking his personal guard as a lover, how the whispers would inevitably reach other kingdoms and hurt Lamiroir’s reputation even more.

Kristoph chuckles to himself. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that a touchy subject, Your Highness?”

Klavier steps in front of Apollo protectively. “Someone in your position shouldn’t be making jokes, Bruder. You’re very calm for someone who’s committed a treasonous act that is punishable by death. Once Apollo is king, his first decree could be to see you hanged, so I suggest you start taking this seriously.”

Kristoph clicks his tongue. “Well, it’s a good thing Apollo won’t be king. I will.”

Apollo’s eyelids flutter in rapid succession as if by blinking fast enough, he can unhear what Kristoph just said. There’s no way he outright admitted he’s vying for Apollo’s throne.

Klavier moves then, stomping toward Kristoph and throwing the blue stone brooch on his desk. “How can you possibly be king when we have the proof right here you’re the one behind the assasination attempts? When you’ve just admitted you’re trying to steal Prince Apollo’s birthright? You—you did it, didn’t you?” There's a broken, haggard quality to Klavier’s voice in his last sentence. “You’ve been planning to kill him for years… me for years.”

“Oh, must we go through all the dramatics, Klavier?” Kristoph takes off his glasses and pulls a cloth from his pocket before he starts cleaning the lenses. “You make it sound so personal. If you weren’t so obsessed with honor and pride, I wouldn’t have needed to request your death. I knew you would have sold me out if you knew the truth, though. You were never very loyal, I fear.”

Klavier’s lip curls into a snarl. “Listen to yourself, Kristoph! Of course I would have exposed you if I figured it out. You… you tried to murder us. Me. Kris, we’re family. Blood. And you’d kill me to cover your tracks? Does power mean so much to you and I so little?”

“Think of everything being King would offer me, Klavier. What have you ever given me? Nothing.” Kristoph’s words shoot out of him like tiny, exact knives, hitting Klavier right where it hurts. Apollo can see it in the slump of his shoulders. “You chose to be a knight of all things. A disgrace to your station. If you had at least married some duke or duchess somewhere with your title intact, I could have used your military might or something, but no, you had to go and be an idealist. You’re the one who labeled yourself an expendable foot soldier, so that’s what I used you as.”

Klavier shakes his head. “So when you came to see my knighting ceremony, when you gave me your gift, it was all a long con? Was there really no love in your heart for me at all?”

“That’s always been your problem, Klavier. You uphold love as this great ideal, but it’s a weakness.” Kristoph finishes cleaning his glasses and puts them back on. “Which is exactly why neither of you will tell anybody about this whole business. Despite how it might sound, a part of me does care for you, brother, and even the Prince too. So, I’m giving you one chance. Prince Apollo will hand over his throne and you will both flee far, far away from here and you won’t return.”

It’s like being slapped in the face while still nursing a black eye. Apollo can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s absurd. It’s twisted. And Apollo’s sadness is very quickly turning into righteous anger. He’ll never give over his birthright, the lives of his people, to a man who’d kill his own brother for power, let alone his student he half raised.

Fury boils in Apollo and he flings out a sharp shard of ice at Kristoph. It flies right past his ear and straight into the window, embedding itself and cracking the glass. Kristoph doesn’t budge, but Apollo doesn’t care as long as he gets the point across. “If you think I’d ever hand over my Kingdom to you—”

“Perhaps you should hear me out before you go making rash decisions, Your Highness. Or before you start flinging ice around,” Kristoph says, and Apollo doesn’t like the sound of that at all. “You see, I have one more trick up my sleeve, and I’m afraid you’ve walked right into it.”

Apollo lets his ice magic gather in the palms of his hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m quite proficient in magic, Your Highness, as you know, but you’ve only seen my elemental designation.” Kristoph smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “But I have a second designation, one I haven’t used in at least ten years.”

“You don’t have a second designation!” Klavier glares at him, his voice sharp as his sword. “You have lightning magic like me. I’d know if you had anything else.”

Kristoph shoots a glare right back at him. “Oh, would you? So certain our parents wouldn’t insist that I hide it, repress it because it wasn’t a respectable designation? Most parents rejoice when a child has multiple designations, consider them gifted, but no, Mother and Father told me never to show my gift, not even to you. It wasn’t until I worked my way up as an advisor to the King of Lamiroir that I started practicing.”

“What are you getting at, Kristoph?” Apollo asks warily.

“What I’m getting at,” Kristoph pinches a piece of lint off his doublet, examines it, then flicks it away, “is that I’m quite adept at Poison magic, and this room is currently sealed with a poison charm of my own making. At my word, I can release thousands of poisonous particles in the air and kill you both before you could even conjure one of those icicles you’re so fond of.”

Before Apollo can process this information or understand the implications, he manifests his barrier magic over Klavier, and once he’s safe, realization—dawning, terrible realization—strikes him.

“A barrier won’t save him from my poison, Your Highness. The particles are small enough to penetrate even your magic,” Kristoph says, but Apollo barely hears him.

Poison. Poison. Kristoph has poison magic.

Apollo shakes. An earthquake rumbles through him, making every part of his body tremble with an old wound that never truly healed but is reopened all the same.

“You.” Apollo’s voice is just as tumultuous as his insides, a storm of ice and wind churning in him. “It was you. Ten years ago… you killed my parents.”

The room goes very quiet for a second—a minute? An hour? Apollo isn’t sure—but the thing that breaks that silence is the sound of Kristoph laughing.

“It took you that long to figure it out? Of course it was me. I’m the one who will be taking over Lamiroir’s throne.” Kristoph says it so casually, so obviously, like he hadn’t just admitted to regicide.

“You… you murdered them.” Nothing makes sense. The world is all wrong, and Apollo just wants to go back. How much of himself had he entrusted to this man? For years, his kingdom’s fate was put in this person’s hands, and all the while… all the while, he was planning a murderous coup.

Kristoph scoffs at him. “The King and Queen were fools, Your Highness. Blundering idiots. They were just like you. Always putting coin back into silly programs for the people rather than the military. Lamiroir is a tiny kingdom but it could be a great nation. Why, with proper handling, we could have a powerful enough army to take over Kurain and Gramarye. But your parents always thought so small, only ever wanting to maintain the status quo.

“I’m not like them. I know what it takes to be a proper monarch. I can bring this Kingdom to its full potential, unlike your parents and unlike you. I am the one who is worthy of the throne.”

It’s then that Apollo truly understands how dangerous Kristoph is. That he’s delusional enough to think that absolutely everything he’s saying is completely justified. He wouldn’t stop at killing Apollo and Klavier, he’d kill hundreds more with his lust for power. But Kristoph is right about one thing—Apollo’s an idiot. He should have realized Kristoph was like this far, far sooner.

“I will never give you the throne,” Apollo says through gritted teeth, his fists clenched so tight that his fingernails dig half-moon impressions into his palms.

Kristoph runs his fingers over his desk and checks his fingertips for dust, then brushes his thumbs over them. “Why not? Your subjects hate you, they don’t want you, and I’m giving you the chance to run off with your lover and rid yourself of the burden. If you give it a moment’s thought, you’d realize it’s best for everyone.”

There’s one second, just a second, where Apollo imagines it—running away with Klavier, finding a stake of land and living off of it, doing good honest work while living in a modest cottage where he can wake up in Klavier’s arms every day. It’s harder to resist than Apollo realized. He so desperately wants to be with Klavier forever.

But he dismisses it all entirely because he’d be so consumed with guilt that not even Klavier’s embrace would be enough to comfort him. He can’t leave his Kingdom at the mercy of Kristoph. He can’t forsake them, no matter how much they hate him.

And that’s when Apollo has another revelation.

“You’ve pinned them all against me,” Apollo says as his fury builds and builds, silent and simmering, but venomous. “The land… they said it was like it’d been poisoned, and the people and cattle all falling under mysterious illnesses… It was you and your magic. I just don’t understand why. Why would you kill my parents ten years ago and then sabotage the entire Kingdom before killing me?”

One corner of Kristoph’s lips upturns in a smirk. “Well, if I were to kill you all at the same time, while the people still adored your parents, I would have had a rocky transition into power.” Kristoph’s smirk turns into a full-on, deranged smile. Apollo can tell he’s enjoying explaining this plan that’s been in motion for over ten years. “They would have hated me for my bold, innovative ideas. I needed a scapegoat so I let you live, kept my title as King Regent secret, and let the Kingdom rot. That way, once I had a mob of civilians finally kill you, suspicion would be off of me and I’d be considered a savior. The new King who saved the land from an irresponsible, unworthy Prince.

“The only problem was that the buffoons I hired to kill you were bumbling idiots. But no matter. If you run away, it’ll be easy enough to convince the people that you were killed by civilians since the attacks are public knowledge. Same if you decide to die here. I’ve gotten quite good at covering up my poison magic, so it’ll just look like you were suddenly hit with that strange illness overtaking the kingdom.”

“You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?” Klavier says through gritted teeth, his hand on the hilt of his sword. It won’t do him any good, though. He can’t fight behind Apollo’s barrier.

“Yes,” Kristoph reaches out his hand straight out, a small purple miasma swirling in his palm, “I have. Now, choose. Run or die.”

This time, it’s Apollo’s turn to smile.

He takes a couple of slow, deliberate steps toward Kristoph, his ice magic gathering in his palms. “I don’t think we’ll do either, Kristoph.”

“Well, you’ll do one or the other, Your Highness, I assure you.” More magic swirls in Kristoph’s hand but Apollo stands in front of it, unafraid.

“No, I won’t,” Apollo says, standing tall. “Because in all of your careful planning, there was something you didn’t account for. You underestimated me.”

Kristoph scoffs out a harsh laugh. “Doubtful. But I’ll humor you, though I assume this means you’re choosing death.”

“But that’s just it, Kristoph. You can’t kill me.” Apollo can feel his smile turning positively smug. “Your poison can’t touch us.”

There’s a shift in Kristoph’s gaze, his eyes widening a fraction, his cool veneer slipping ever so slightly. “That’s not possible.”

“It is. You see, you’re not the only one who’s been planning for years,” Apollo says, feeling his ice magic pulse through his arms. “We always knew whoever murdered my parents had poison magic, and as I’m sure you know, poison magic is derived from plant magic. It’s the specific ability to control the elements found in Resinberries, the main ingredient in most poison potions.

“Ever since my parents’ murders, I’ve been studying, looking for ways to make myself immune, because I always knew that whoever killed them would come back for me—”

“You’re lying!” Kristoph shouts, but Apollo can see the fear there, the denial that all his plans have gone to waste. “There’s no way to build immunity to my poison.”

Apollo shakes his head. “But there is. For years, I’ve been taking micro doses of resinberries in secret. Not enough to kill me, but enough to make me sick, enough for my body to start building a resistance.”

“Apollo…” Klavier says softly. Apollo’s chest aches with guilt. Klavier’s probably putting together that all those times he found Apollo pale and blue-lipped in his room is because he’d just finished poisoning himself.

“There’s—there’s no way.” Kristoph’s hand shakes, but he’s looking more and more like a mouse caught in a trap. “Even if it’s true, you wouldn’t be able to protect Klavier. Certainly he hasn’t been building immunity.”

“No. He hasn’t. But that’s another little thing I’ve been working on.” Apollo points his thumb towards Klavier and his barrier. “My immunity seeped into my barrier magic. I’ve practiced on mice whenever I got a spare moment alone. Anyone under the protection of my barrier will be totally immune to your poison magic.”

Kristoph gasps, horror creeping onto his face before it twists into something sinister and feral, his teeth barred. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need my poison magic to kill you both!”

Kristoph pulls his arm across his torso and slashes his hand through the air, snapping his fingers to let out a bolt of electricity right at Apollo. Instantly, Apollo pulls up a large block of ice to block it. It slams into the ice, making it crack and buckle, shards flying through the air.

“Apollo!” Klavier calls, banging against Apollo’s barrier.

He knows Klavier wants to help, but if Apollo gives even the slightest opening, Kristoph will poison Klavier without a second thought. Apollo has to do this on his own. “Just stay there, Klav!”

“Yes, stay there, brother... and watch me kill your beloved,” Kristoph says, eyes wild as he sends another charge of electricity Apollo’s way. This time, Apollo forms a block under his feet that launches him to the side of the room and out of the bolt’s trajectory. The bolt hits the wall, blasting a huge hole into it. It should be enough to get the guards’ attention. Apollo just needs to stay alive until they get here.

Apollo sends a sharpened icicle at him, but Kristoph dodges it easily and lobs another vicious bolt in return. Apollo raises another block of ice, but his response time isn’t as fast, so it’s a much closer call.

Shit. Apollo can feel his magic straining as he maintains the barrier around Klavier and tries to use his ice magic defensively. He can only shoot his icicles out in a straight trajectory, so this could be bad. His one saving grace is that lightning magic takes a lot of energy, so Kristoph has a limited number of lightning casts in him. If Apollo can just hold out long enough for the guards to get here and overwhelm Kristoph—

And it hits him. If the guards come in, there’s nothing stopping Kristoph from poisoning them all. No, Apollo has to apprehend him quickly. But how…

Apollo dashes around the room and watches Kristoph as he aims his charge. Apollo takes a gamble at standing still for a moment so he can conjure a ball of ice right above Kristoph’s head. Apollo jumps out of the way just in time to avoid another bolt of Kristoph’s lightning, then lets the ball of ice fall.

Kristoph makes a flying leap to dodge the attack, but falls to the floor. Apollo uses that to his advantage and sends a pointed shard at him which embeds itself in Kristoph’s thigh.

Kristoph cries out in pain, sending out another bolt that’s nowhere near Apollo, but it makes a bunch of debris fall from the ceiling and land right next to him. Apollo summons a block of ice to stand on and then another to jump onto, getting closer to Kristoph and Klavier in their corner of the room, sending icicles toward Kristoph’s arms and legs, but Kristoph pushes himself off the floor and dodges them.

As Apollo jumps to another block, Kristoph yells up at him. “This has always been your problem, little Prince. You’ll never defeat me if you only try to apprehend me. It’s why you’d be such a terrible King. You don’t have what it takes to make the hard decisions, to rule.”

On his last word, he sends a bolt at the block Apollo is standing on. It cracks the ice all the way through, making it split and shake so violently that Apollo loses his balance and falls backward to the office floor.

He hears Klavier cry out his name as his back hits the ground hard, the pain from the impact making his vision go white. But Apollo hardly cares about that, because the shock of the fall also makes him lose his grip on his magic. His concentration severs and his ice blocks and the barrier protecting Klavier melt in front of him.

He rolls onto his side and tries to ignore the searing pain in his back, so he can hurry and pull the barrier back up. But the wind is completely knocked out of him, and it’s almost impossible to connect to magic without breath.

Kristoph is smiling as he limps toward Apollo—a wicked, unhinged smile that makes him look like the devil himself. His face is framed by the wild locks of hair that have fallen out of his twist and Apollo knows, just knows he’ll kill Apollo right then and there if he doesn’t stop him.

But now that the barrier is down, Kristoph is uninterested in Apollo as he sets his gaze on Klavier. Klavier, whose only magic is lightning magic, which would do nothing to defend against the same kind—especially when Kristoph’s magic is far more advanced.

Apollo can see it—this is how Kristoph wins. He’ll kill a defenseless Klavier and then finish Apollo off when he’s too consumed with shock and grief to properly summon his magic.

God, he can’t let that happen. He can’t let there be a world with no Klavier Gavin in it.

Kristoph pulls his arm back, his readied fingers sparking with pent-up electricity. Klavier is cornered against a wall, and he knows that his magic and fighting skills are no match for what’s about to come for him. Apollo can see the fear in his eyes, trembling in those blue irises Apollo loves to get lost in so much.

It strikes Apollo then that Kristoph is doing this because Apollo’s too soft-hearted to stop him, because he won’t kill Kristoph to stop him. He’s banking on it. And maybe if he was angling his lightning at anyone else in the world, he would be right.

Apollo takes a huge gulping breath, makes air travel all the way to his diaphragm so it pushes the magic to his hands. Kristoph dashes toward Klavier, readying his shot. He’s going to do it. He’s going to kill Klavier.

Apollo reaches out his hand, belly scraping against the floor, and sees how he wants his magic to manifest, pictures the exact shape and exactly where it needs to be and then—

A gust of ice pours from him and conjures a large, sharp ice spike angled right at Kristoph’s middle and rising out from the ground in opposition to where he’s running. Between the rapid way the spike shoots out and Kristoph unknowingly running into it—it stabs through him. Clean through.

Kristoph makes a sound like a cut-off gasp and everything gets quiet and still. The only thing that moves are the tiny rivers of blood leaking down Apollo’s ice spike. After what feels like years, Kristoph jaggedly turns his head to look at Apollo, his eyes wide and full of—full of knowing. Knowing that there’s nothing in the world, no healing magic or potion strong enough, to save him now. Knowing he was wrong about Apollo.

Blood gurgles from Kristoph’s lips and horrible, pathetic noises escape his mouth, sounds of pain from an irreparably damaged body. Apollo stands, knowing he has to end it, that it’s cruel to let this go on any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, earnestly, holding out his hand. “But you’re never going to hurt someone I love again.”

And he releases his magic. Kristoph crumples to the floor and dies instantly.

Blood soaks the floor. Apollo wants to look away, but he can’t justify looking away from what he’s done. Apollo never wanted to kill someone.

He trembles, from the top of his head to the bottom of his soles, and warm tears fall down his face, crying for Kristoph and the death of his old, innocent self. Grief, mixed in with the guilt and the fear, hits him then, because Kristoph. Apollo had known him since he was a child. He’d always been there. He was family. And Apollo killed him.

He wasn’t just Apollo’s family, though.

Apollo hasn’t looked at Klavier, more terrified of what he’ll find there than anything. But whatever consequence is awaiting for him, he has to bear it.

The worst thing about it all is that Apollo doesn’t regret it. He’d do it all over again if it meant saving Klavier.

He turns his head to look at Klavier, whole and alive, who is staring at Kristoph’s broken body, tears streaking down his face like rain against a window pane.

It’s not until a group of knights charges through the doors that they’re able to move, both of them finally matching each other’s gazes. Apollo doesn’t find blame or anger in Klavier’s eyes, just a sadness so deep Apollo can only recognize because it mirrors his own.

###

The only reason Klavier’s even able to explain what happened to the other guards is because Apollo is so helpless to do it himself. He’s pale and dazed, grief and unbearable anguish dulling his eyes like a solar eclipse. Klavier isn’t in any state to give his account of events either, but Apollo was strong for him, so Klavier has to return the favor.

He tells Ema everything and she doesn’t call him a fop once, which is mildly disconcerting, though he knows it’s no time for gentle ribbing. Still, she and the other guards are patient, all of them furtively looking at their Prince and their recently dead King Regent. There will be political ramifications for this and Apollo is going to have to explain to the Kingdom’s counsel, but nobody could deny there was a struggle in this room and no one had a better motive for murder than a King Regent.

That, at least, Klavier is sure will work out. He’s less worried about the guards thinking Apollo is a murderer and more worried Apollo will never forgive himself.

In fact, it’s right when Klavier explains how Kristoph died that Apollo runs to throw up behind Kristoph’s desk.

“I… think that should be enough for now,” Klavier says, the weight of the world falling heavy on his shoulders. “I’m going to take him to bed.”

Ema looks to Apollo with genuine sympathy in her eyes. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll make sure we clean up down here.”

“Danke, Ema.”

As Klavier turns to get Apollo, Ema puts an arm on his shoulder. “Hey, you okay? He was your brother and all.”

“Nein,” Klavier shakes his head, his chest tightening, “he was no brother of mine. Still, I appreciate your concern. I’ll be alright.”

Ema doesn’t look so sure, but she nods all the same. “Take it easy, Klavier. And take care of him.” She juts her chin in Apollo’s direction. “He’s not a killer.”

She leaves before she can hear Klavier mumble under his breath, “Ja, I know.”

He moves slowly toward Apollo, not wanting to startle him. Apollo flinches anyway when Klavier puts a hand on his shoulder blades, but he relaxes when he sees it’s Klavier. He wipes at his mouth with his sleeve, but his face is still dirty from crying.

“Come on, mein Lieb,” Klavier whispers, “let’s get you cleaned up, ja?”

Apollo pauses for a moment, but eventually nods and Klavier wraps an arm around his shoulders, leading him out of the decimated office.

###

They’re silent on the walk back, Klavier trying to process everything that transpired tonight. The problem is, it's too much. How can he possibly digest his brother’s decade-long betrayal and the sudden grief from his death? He does the only thing he can do and focuses on Apollo, who’s walking to his bedroom like a ghost with legs.

They get to Apollo’s bedchambers, which feels like a safe haven after the night they’ve had. It also makes Klavier realize how exhausted he is. Maybe once he gets some rest, he’ll be able to sort out all the tumultuous thoughts and feelings churning in his heart, but for now he just wants to ignore them and get Apollo out of his blood-splattered clothes. Kristoph’s blood.

Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it.

He leads Apollo to the center of the room and faces him, so he can unclasp the button on his cloak. It slides off with a quiet thump to the ground, and there’s something tragic even about this—shedding something that can’t be worn again. Not with all that blood on it.

Apollo’s shirt is bloody too, though not as bad. Still, Klavier helps him get it off so he’s bare-chested in the middle of the room. Somehow, there’s even blood on his chest, and Klavier has to get that off him right away. He doesn’t want Apollo to even see it.

Klavier whispers the word “washroom” and takes Apollo by the wrist, gently taking him to Apollo’s personal one. Again, Apollo complies like he’s little more than a shell, but that’s okay. Apollo doesn’t have to think right now. He can let Klavier take care of him.

Klavier sits him down at one of the stools and draws up some water in a bowl, grabbing a couple cloths to clean him with. He kneels in front of Apollo, the bowl at his side, and dips a cloth in.

“It isn’t heated,” Klavier says in warning. Apollo gives the slightest nod of acknowledgement, so Klavier presses the cloth to his chest, just below one of the scars lining his pectorals. Apollo startles at the cold, but then stills as Klavier gently cleans away any traces of Kristoph from Apollo’s body.

It’s a body he’s come to know well. Love well. He hates the idea of Kristoph touching any part of it, tainting Apollo in any way.

He switches cloths to clean his face next, which is arguably dirtier than his chest was. He gently cups Apollo’s chin between his fingers and lightly wipes away the grime from his cheeks. When he’s done, he takes a good moment to stare at Apollo, at that face and those eyes that have come to be his favorite sight in the world. It’s a ghost of its usual self—gaunt and pale, traumatized and hurt—but it’s still Apollo, still the only face Klavier ever wants to wake up to. But he can’t help but be angry. Angry at Apollo for locking him away in his barrier so he couldn’t help, angry at Kristoph for everything, but mostly angry at himself for not finding some way to prevent this. He had told himself once, one night after they had made love and Apollo fell asleep in his arms, that he’d do whatever he needed to protect that smile of his. Well, he sure made a mess of that.

God, he never should have let Apollo come with him to the tavern tonight. He should have done it all on his own. He probably would have been killed, though. The only reason he’s alive at all was because Apollo was so hell-bent on protecting him. Dummkopf. Klavier’s the one who’s supposed to be doing the protecting.

Lost in his thoughts, Klavier cups Apollo’s cheek with his hand, then lowers it so his palm rests at the base of his neck, right at his pulse point. Apollo stares at him before he suddenly reaches for the cloth. Klavier hands it to him and Apollo uses the opposite side of it to press against Klavier’s cheek. The cloth is cold, but it’s refreshing. He hadn’t realized how heavy the dried tears felt on his face until they’re gone. Klavier closes his eyes and lets Apollo work, grateful for it.

When he’s done, Klavier tries at a small smile. “Danke, Schatz.”

Apollo pauses, then pulls back the cloth and holds it to his chest, his mind clearly whirring, but he says nothing even after several moments.

“Do you want to clean your mouth, too?” Klavier asks, remembering how sick he got earlier.

Apollo nods and gets up on his own this time, his vision seeming less dazed now. Klavier watches as he takes his linen cloth from the wash table, spreads some ground mint and sage paste on it, and cleans his teeth.

When he’s thoroughly rinsed his mouth, Klavier leads him back to the bed and has him sit down. Apollo obliges and waits as Klavier finds a clean night shirt in one of his drawers.

When Klavier comes back, Apollo reaches his hand out for it and Klavier gives it to him, though he was more than happy to help him with it. But Apollo seems transfixed by the shirt, his thumb brushing back and forth on the fabric until tears well in his eyes again. He hugs the shirt close to his bare chest and weeps, tears falling to his knees like little drops of starlight.

Klavier kneels in front of him again, wiping the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “Apollo…”

“You don’t have to do this,” Apollo chokes out. “You can leave. You don’t have to take care of me. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see my face again. I—” His shoulders shake as he lets out a violent sob. “I killed him. I killed Kristoph. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Klavier rises just enough so he can hold Apollo to his chest, his hand pressed in his hair. “Shh, shh, mein Lieb. Never in all my years will there come a day where I don’t want to see your face. You… you saved me. He would have killed me.”

“I know. I know. But I… he was your brother. I killed him. I tore him apart.” Apollo buries his face in Klavier’s shirt and sobs harder while Klavier holds him tighter.

But Klavier is crying too, slowly losing the control he found while taking care of Apollo, the horrible memory of it crashing into him harder than any wave. “You did it to protect me. Not only me, but the Kingdom. I’ll never blame you for that, Apollo. Never.”

“But Kristoph—”

“Was dead to me the moment he confirmed he was using me to get you killed.” Klavier takes in a shaky breath, then pulls away so he can look Apollo in the eyes, two plots of wet soil after the rain. “I will mourn him. But I wouldn’t ask you to take it back even if you could. It was not a choice, Liebling. Not a murder.”

“It was. I murdered him. I’m a murderer. I—” Apollo cuts himself off with more sobs and Klavier takes his face in his hands again.

“No. No, you are no such thing,” Klavier says, almost pleading in his earnestness. “You are good. So irrevocably and uncommonly good that killing someone who would have killed both yourself and someone you care about is painful enough to make you cry like this.”

Klavier brushes away some of the tears falling from Apollo’s face for emphasis. “Do you remember when we met, Liebling? You nearly bit my head off because you thought I was going to kill some of your attackers. That’s the kind of person you are. You, more than anyone I have ever met, know how much a life is worth. You are good. And I… I love you.” The last sentence comes out a whisper, a ghost of a breath. They’ve never said it to each other before, though it was always implied. In the back of his mind, Klavier must have worried it would hurt him even more if he said it before their inevitable parting, but he can’t hold it back. Not now. Apollo has to know. “I love you so much it breaks my heart. So, bitte… don’t doubt me.”

Apollo’s eyes are wide, still shedding pretty, crystal tears as he grimaces, trying to hold them back. He fails and cries harder. “I love you too. I love you so much that I—I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t let him hurt you, Klav.” Apollo throws his arms around Klavier’s neck and buries his chin in Klavier’s shoulder. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

Klavier squeezes Apollo tight around the waist and rests his cheek on his head. “I know, Liebling, I know.” Even through the somberness of the moment, Klavier feels a sprout of happiness, an impossible glee at hearing the words from Apollo’s lips. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him. It doesn’t exterminate the cruel ache in the depth of his heart, but it soothes it, if only a little bit. If nothing else, he will take that he was truly loved for a short while and cherish that memory until he dies.

They stay like that for a while, holding each other and crying until they make an ocean of the bedroom.

When there’s no more tears left in their bodies, Apollo pulls away and grimaces at Klavier’s shirt. “Sorry. You can borrow one of mine.”

“Nein, I don’t need it.” To punctuate his point, he removes his shirt and cleans his face with the clean side before throwing it on the ground. Apollo follows his lead and cleans his face with the shirt in his hands.

They climb under the covers and wrap their arms around each other, skin pressed to skin. And it doesn’t fix anything, doesn’t make the hurt go away, but it lets them sleep through the night, and for now, that’s enough. Klavier swears it’s enough.

wherever you stray, i follow

chapter eight

Klavier wakes up in a bed of silk. His skin is bare as it often is when he wakes up like this, safe and comfortable, wrapped in fabric meant for royalty. What’s unfamiliar is how cold the bed is and the distant scritch scritch scritching coming from the other side of the room. Klavier lets out a noise that’s half-hum, half-moan, dreary from sleep as he rolls over and searches for the warm body that should be next to his. He doesn’t find it, and his mouth pulls into a deep frown. It’s enough to finally make his eyes blink open, leaving the dream world behind.

He’s in Apollo’s bedchambers. Of course he is. It’s the only place he sleeps anymore. He looks over at the window he always sneaks in through, and can tell it’s still the middle of the night, the stars twinkling above as gently as jewels. The room itself is dark, except for a single lit candle on the writing desk, which—surprise, surprise—Apollo is working at, feather quill in hand, scribbling and crossing out words furiously against some thick parchment. His brow is furrowed in concentration and the tip of his tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth. Klavier is beside himself with affection.

“Liebling…” Klavier calls softly, his tone unmistakably intimate and meant for a lover’s ear only.

Apollo straightens in his chair and turns his head to look at Klavier. “Oh, I’m sorry, Klav. I thought I was being quiet. Go back to sleep.”

“Only if you come with me. What are you doing?”

Apollo’s shoulders hike to his ears and he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m, uh, making some adjustments to my coronation speech.”

At the words “coronation speech” Klavier’s heart rips, tears, shatters, cracks, and performs every other iteration of breaking that it can. It’s been a week since Kristoph died, a week since farmers started seeing their crops sprout, a week since every person and animal with a mysterious illness started feeling better, a week since Lamiroir started to act like a normal kingdom unplagued with misfortune. It also means that tomorrow, today judging by how late it is, is Apollo’s birthday. And his coronation day.

Which means their affair is over in a few short hours. At the break of dawn, Klavier will sneak out Apollo’s window and never hold him again, kiss him again, share a bed with him again. There will be no more late night talks and fond looks. No more whispered words of affection or gentle caresses. They have to put it all behind them. That was the agreement.

Klavier always knew this day would be hard. There is nothing surprising about how gut-wrenching and visceral the pain is, but it’s still shocking, overwhelming, and impossible to prepare for.

“It must be well past midnight now,” Klavier says, so quiet it must be hard for Apollo to hear. “Happy birthday, mein Lieb.”

Apollo’s eyes gloss over and there’s a terrible silence that stretches between them. In truth, they said their “goodbyes” a few hours ago in the only way they knew how. It had been tragically beautiful in Klavier’s eyes—they had made love with wet eyelashes, the words “I love you” falling from their lips and spelt with their fingertips against soft, vulnerable skin. It had been special. Nights with Apollo were always special, but there was something different about the first time and inevitably, there’s something different about the last time.

“Klavier,” Apollo says, and it’s like he’s made a hook out of Klavier’s name—casts out the line, catches Klavier by the solar plexus, and tugs with just a word. Klavier’s weak to it and he stands from Apollo’s bed—their bed, for a time—and goes to him. Still sitting, Apollo opens his arms and Klavier steps into that space, holding Apollo tight around the shoulders.

“And what is so important that you had to change your speech in the middle of the night, hm?” Klavier cards his hand through Apollo’s soft, brown hair while Apollo’s ear is pressed to Klavier’s heart. Klavier’s whole body aches again, knowing they won’t be able to embrace each other like this anymore.

Apollo sighs, kisses Klavier’s bare sternum, then leans back to look up at him with a small, sad smile. “I just had some new ideas. I want… I want the people to know I’m being honest, that I really do want to change things for the better. I don’t want it to come across as lip service.”

“Aw, Schatz.” Klavier takes both of Apollo’s cheeks in his hands and places a kiss on his forehead. “They’ll know, I’m sure of it. It’d be impossible for you to hide how genuine you are.”

“You’ll be there, right? In the crowd?”

“Ja, of course, Sonnenschein.” Klavier kisses his forehead again. “But ach, you should sleep, ja? You don’t want dark circles under your eyes on your first day as king.”

Apollo hums in agreement. “No, you’re right. I think I’m done anyway.”

They settle back into bed, cuddling in close, and Klavier gently grazes his thumb over Apollo’s cheek, memorizing every little feature of his face until it’s seared into his brain. He kisses Apollo then, slow and sweet, hopelessly indulgent and undeniably final. Because they know. They know this is the last kiss, that their time together has come to an end.

But what a time it was, glorious and bright in its brevity. Kissing Apollo now, he knows he wouldn’t trade their short time together for anything. He’s grateful for the time he got to love so deeply, and feel that love in return.

They kiss for a long time and Apollo’s lips taste of salt from the tears. Klavier thinks he must be made of tears and kisses this past week. There might have been a time in his life where he shoved down such emotions, opting for a clever smile instead, but he hasn’t the energy for that now, not after all he’s lost (and is going to lose) in such a short amount of time.

Eventually, the kiss slows and subsides, and slips out of their grasp. There’s nothing left to say, nothing left to be done, so they hold each other tight under the covers and fall into heartbroken slumber.

When the sun hits the horizon, Klavier wakes, like he always does. It’s time to go. Truly, it’s the end. Painfully, he slips from Apollo’s grasp and starts getting dressed.

It’s an odd thing to wish it was more complicated to put on a shirt and button up his pants, but Klavier wishes it all the same, if only to spend a little more time in this room, this place of happiness. Even taking his time, he gets dressed far too quickly.

He walks to the window and turns back to get one last glimpse of Apollo. He’s curled into the comforter, his hands fisted in the sheets as he sleeps peacefully, and he’s so unbearably beautiful that Klavier considers jumping out the window instead of climbing down from it.

For a moment, he thinks of waking Apollo and asking for one last kiss before the sun officially rises. Just one more feel of his lips against his, just one more precious touch to send him off.

Klavier knows he can’t, though. He’d never stop begging for just one more and he can’t do that to himself or Apollo. It’s over. It’s done. He has to be okay with that.

All there’s left to do is go out the window.

Klavier steps onto the sill, takes one last look at Apollo, and climbs through—the last grain of sand of their time together falling to the bottom of the hourglass.

As Apollo kneels, the Lamiroir crown hovering over his head, he only has one thought—I wish my parents were here.

It’s perhaps a childish thought, but it’s honest and it’s true. He has waited for this day for so long, waited to help his people for so long. Now that it’s finally here, all he wants to do is prove to his parents that he’ll rule just as they did—with kindness, honesty, and a deep-rooted love for his people.

After a long, traditional speech, the Archbishop places the crown on Apollo’s head and it’s a heavy weight. As it should be.

“His Royal Highness, Apollo Justice, King of Lamiroir.”

He stands, facing the coronation hall full of aristocracy from across the land and smiles as they politely clap.

Apollo’s reign as ruler of Lamiroir starts today.

The actual coronation was the easy part. It’s his first speech to the people he’s worried about. Apollo knows word had gotten out pretty fast that King Jove and Queen Thalassa’s right hand was the secret King Regent and that he was the one behind most of the tragedy that struck the kingdom, but he’s not sure it's enough for his people’s ire against him to subside.

That’s why he wants the speech to be perfect. He wants this to be a new beginning and for them to know things will be very, very different.

“You ready, King Apollo?” Ema says, flashing him a teasing smile. “Got a big crowd waiting for you out there.”

She points out the window that leads to the announcement balcony that’s high above the Castle’s square, where all his guests and subjects have gathered to hear his first speech as king. He gulps. He’s given speeches before but none as important as this.

He takes a deep breath and nods. “I’m ready.”

Ema opens the glass-paned door and gestures for him to go ahead. “Knock ‘em dead, Your Highness.”

Apollo gives her a wobbly smile, then rolls back his shoulders and walks onto the balcony with all the dignity he can muster.

The crowd claps politely when he appears, though there’s no enthusiasm or excitement to it, just the general desire not to be rude. They’re going to be a tough crowd.

The cheers die down quickly and Apollo places his hands on the bannister to steady himself. The silence is almost painful, making his nerves pull him apart on the inside, and he’s suddenly unsure if he can do this. No, actually, this is all some terrible mistake.

Panic sets in and all he can think is maybe Kristoph was right, maybe he’s not cut out to be king. Everyone is looking at him and he’s freezing. How does his speech start? He hardly knows. It’s all left him.

He’s taking too long, the crowd is too silent. Madly, he looks amongst the crowd, hoping for a miracle. Maybe someone will have a big lovely sign that has all his words on it for him, but there’s no such miracle.

But then, right as he’s about to chuck himself off the balcony, he finds Klavier. Beautiful, stunning Klavier looking up at him from the crowd, waiting patiently for him to begin. Even from way up here, Apollo can see his eyes silently saying, “You can do this. I know you can do this.”

I can’t let him down.

And something clicks. Apollo remembers the first sentence of his speech and the rest of it comes back to him.

“People of Lamiroir,” he starts, voice booming just like he’s been taught all his life. “I thank you for joining me today in what will surely be one of the most memorable days of my life. It’s memorable not because it is the day I come into power, but because it’s the day I vow to restore this kingdom to its former glory, back when my parents, King Jove and Queen Thalassa, reigned with unequal kindness and dignity.

“For eleven years, darkness has plagued this kingdom, a darkness that started with my parents' assassinations. But that darkness has been snuffed out, and I promise you—I promise you—I’m going to bring us back to the light. It’ll take time and a lot of hard work, but I promise to never give up. I promise to always be a servant to you and not the other way around. And I hope… I hope you can put your trust in me. You have every right to be wary of the monarchy after everything that’s happened, but I’ll prove myself to you one way or another.

“I’d do anything for Lamiroir and all I ask is that you take that as an unshakeable truth. Thank you. It is my deepest honor to serve you as your King.”

Apollo takes a deep breath as he finishes and waits for either the lackluster applause or a tomato thrown at his head.

Instead, the crowd cheers, loud and raucous. There’s whistling and shouting, even some of them waving handkerchiefs in celebration. They… seemed to like it.

A huge smile pulls at his lips, the apples of his cheeks rising high enough to nearly cover his eyes and he waves at the crowd, happy and exhilarated, but most of all, excited to get to work. A good reception to his speech won’t solve everything, but it’s a great first step. For the first time in a long time, he’s feeling optimistic and confident he can do all the things he promises.

He looks out into the crowd and finds more familiar faces—King Miles, King Phoenix, and Priestess Maya all waving and smiling up at him, cheering him on. Apollo waves back, beyond grateful for them, and full of warmth knowing he has friends so close by.

But then he searches again for the face he most wants to see.

Klavier is in the exact same spot he was at the beginning of his speech and he’s wearing the biggest, most breathtaking smile Apollo’s ever seen on him, radiating pride and love that Apollo doesn’t need words to feel.

Clarity, striking in its entirety, hits Apollo like a gust of wind, clearing away all the dust and cobwebs in his mind.

Apollo knows exactly what he needs to do as his first order of business as King of Lamiroir.

The ceremony was beautiful. King Apollo looked resplendent and handsome in his ceremonial wear—long, lavish cape flowing behind him, his doublet sewn with gold thread, and a crown upon his head. But more than that, it felt like a new beginning, full of hope and new possibilities. A dawn of a new age for Lamiroir after eleven years shut in darkness.

It was incredible watching Apollo being crowned, truly. Apollo always used to tell Klavier that he was no different than any of his subjects, that he was just a boy who was born into something much larger than himself, and while there’s some truth to that, it was never more apparent than today how this is who Apollo is supposed to be. It was obvious to every single person in the crowd—Apollo Justice was born to be king.

Klavier wishes he could have watched it with nothing but pride and elation in his heart, but of course, the whole ordeal was tainted by his own selfish feelings. While Kristoph’s reign of terror is over and the Kingdom is waking up from a long nightmare, Klavier knows he’s about to enter his own dark age.

Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic. He’s never been one to deal with adversity without a little fanfare. Surely, he deserves to be a little theatrical now that his time with Apollo is over. No, King Apollo. He has to start getting used to that.

Now that the ceremony is over and the crowd has dispersed, Klavier wanders the halls of the castle, aimless. Since Klavier isn’t a native-born Knight of Lamiroir, he’s not a part of King Apollo’s personal guard today, which frankly, he’s glad for. It was hard enough watching him on that balcony even when they were hundreds of feet apart, let alone being by his side all the time. There’s a ball for all the aristocracy tonight as well, and if Klavier has to watch King Apollo dance with potential suitors, he’ll lose his mind.

It makes him wonder about the future. Should he stay in Lamiroir? Or would it be best for both of them if he went back to Kurain and moved on with his life? He’ll never court someone or love anyone else, but maybe he can find some semblance of happiness in his work and friendships. He doubts he could do that here if he watched King Apollo marry and raise a family.

Though, a part of him does wish to always stay and protect Apollo, even if it means living with an open wound until he dies. Even as he thinks it, there’s no real choice. He’ll do whatever King Apollo wishes. But if it’s up to Klavier, he’ll stay. He’ll protect that which is most important to him. And that’s always going to be Apollo.

King Apollo.

Klavier ascends the grand staircase in the main hall, which is oddly peaceful and quiet for such an occasion, but all the servants must be in the ballroom and kitchen getting ready for the night’s festivities. The main hall is one of the largest rooms in the castle, airy and open. A huge window on the westside gives a gorgeous view of Lamiroir landscape, which gets even more spectacular with each step upward.

He reaches the staircase’s central landing that’s strategically placed right at the center of the window so passersby can stop and appreciate the view. With nothing else better to do, Klavier gazes out and takes it all in.

It’s a beautiful end-of-summer day, sunny and warm, but not sweltering as fall creeps on them slowly. The sun shines through the windows and Klavier basks in it, watching dust motes catch the light as they float by. Klavier takes in all the lush, green trees and the powder white mountain tops in the distance, and he understands then why King Apollo would do anything for this place. There might have been a part of him that felt jealous of the kingdom, that wished King Apollo would have chosen Klavier over it, especially considering how it treated him, but… no. If King Apollo were that kind of person, Klavier doubts he’d have loved him so deeply. No, he wouldn’t change a thing. He just… he just wishes things could be different.

Klavier closes his eyes and lets the sun’s rays pour over his face, warm and gentle as a caress. He’ll be okay. It’ll hurt for awhile but he’ll be fine—

Ach, even that one word reminds him of King Apollo. He really is going to be a total disaster these next few months isn’t he?

“There you are.”

Klavier would recognize that voice anywhere. He turns toward it and finds King Apollo himself ascending the stairs slowly with a small, sweet smile. He’s no longer in his crown or the long cape, but still in his golden doublet that makes him look like a spot of sun, and Klavier can’t look away.

“Your Highness,” Klavier says with a bow.

“You don’t have to do that.” King Apollo takes another couple steps toward him, but truly, he’s taking it very slow, like he’s afraid of Klavier for some reason. “You calling me by my title feels so weird.”

Klavier laughs, though he’s sure it comes off half-hearted. “I can always go back to Prince Forehead. Though, it’s King Forehead now, ja?”

“If I ordered you to never call me that again by royal decree, would you stop?” Apollo tries to keep his face neutral but his lips pull upward, betraying him.

“Nein, not even if you threatened me with execution.” They both laugh at that, soft and watered down by a thick tension between them. Klavier’s not sure why King Apollo’s here, why he’d seek him out when he surely has so much work to do to prepare for this evening. It seems ill-advised for them to meet alone at all. It’ll make it all harder. Knowing that doesn’t make Klavier excuse himself, though. They’re quiet for a moment, King Apollo stopped on the stairs and both of them staring, clearly more words left unsaid between them.

Klavier decides to go first. “You were incredible out there today, Schatzi—” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “King Apollo. Truly. If you’ll permit me to say, I was very proud of you. Lamiroir is… very lucky. I know you’re going to lead them well.”

It's as earnest a thing as Klavier can say, though it feels like there are razors in his throat as he speaks. Lamiroir is lucky and Apollo will lead them well, but it’s precisely because of those things that they can’t be together.

King Apollo’s face transforms at the words, his brows furrowing tight above the bridge of his nose, deep in thought before his eyes snap to Klavier. There’s something precise about that gaze, like he’s seeing right through Klavier, but there’s also a determined line set at his jaw that Klavier’s never seen before. Klavier thought he knew all of King Apollo’s faces by now, but this one has him stumped.

“Klavier.” King Apollo’s breath catches in his throat after he says his name, and Klavier nervously looks around the hall to make sure no one heard Apollo say his name without the honorific. “Klavier, what if we—” King Apollo stops, his eyes wide and so soft, but a very specific kind of softness that reminds Klavier of the times King Apollo would tell him he loved him, and all the times Klavier assumed he wanted to say it but couldn’t. It’s… not a look King Apollo should be giving him right now, not when they’ve officially broken off their affair. It doesn’t stop Klavier’s pulse from sky rocketing or his hands from trembling.

“What is it?” The words fall quietly from Klavier’s lips, a small plea for the King to say what he needs to say before Klavier goes mad with anticipation.

“What if we lead them well, Klavier?”

Another long stretch of silence. Klavier blinks owlishly as King Apollo stares up at him with bright, earnest eyes that make Klavier’s stomach drop to the floor.

Klavier doesn’t understand. “Ach, are you asking me to head your royal guards, officially? Because in that case, I—”

“No,” King Apollo says, firm and assertive. “No, that’s not what I’m asking, Klav.”

Klavier shakes his head, confused. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“I’m asking you,” King Apollo takes a step up the stairs, getting close to Klavier as he takes in a breath, “to marry me.”

Klavier gasps, unable to control himself. In fact, his mind hasn’t fully processed the words, though some part of him must understand because he can hardly breathe.

He gapes and stutters like a fish, trying to figure out how to respond. “You can’t—we can’t—Liebling, I’m a commoner. I have nothing to offer you or the kingdom. I—”

“I’m not asking you as the King of Lamiroir, Klavier.” And again, King Apollo takes a few more steps and he’s closer still. “I’m asking you as a… as a man. I want to marry you. I realized something when I was giving my speech today. I realized that, if I were to base the decision of who I spent the rest of my life with on who would get me the best trade agreements or the most military might, and not who I loved, I’d come to resent Lamiroir for it. I’d resent my people for it. And that wouldn’t make me a good King. You would make me a good King because you make me a better person. You’ve been making me a better person.

“But more than that I—” King Apollo reaches the central landing, both of them on equal footing now. “I would do anything for this Kingdom. But not this. Not this, Klav. I can’t pretend like this is something I can or should sacrifice. Not anymore. So,” he steps up to Klavier and takes both of his hands in his, “I’m asking you to… I’m asking you to stay by my side, to rule with me as equals, to help me build Lamiroir back up again, but I also—” His voice catches and his eyes are glassy. “God, Klav, I want to wake up in the morning and you’re there. I want to be open about how I feel about you, I want to talk with you and laugh with you and I want to share my life with you. I want you. Only you. You or no one at all. And I—I don’t care if it’s selfish. All I care about is how you feel about it, so…” He lowers himself down on one knee, kneeling before Klavier, hands still clasping his. “Sir Klavier Gavin, will you marry me?”

A cut-off sob is Klavier's first answer. His second answer is this: “Of course. Of course.”

“You will? You will?” Apollo asks excitedly, positively beaming as if the answer is the least bit of a surprise.

Klavier pulls Apollo up to standing—Apollo, his Apollo—and takes his face in his hands. “Schatzi, me too. You or no one at all. I only want you.”

They’re both wearing watery smiles as they take each other in, both of their expressions mirror images of unbridled joy, before they surge forward in the sweetest kiss they’ve ever shared. Sweet because it’s the first one all over again, the one that signifies their new life together, but more importantly, it’s the first one they’ve ever shared in the sunlight—a kiss where they don’t have to hide in an unlit bedroom or a darkened closet. It’s a kiss that Klavier can feel how much Apollo loves him in every slide of his lips and with how tightly he holds him, like he’s never letting go.

He isn’t, Klavier reminds himself. He isn’t letting go.

They kiss and they hold each other right in the middle of the grand staircase, facing a window that shows them to the entirety of Lamiroir, and they don’t care one bit if anyone sees.

THE END