Intriguing Royalty

CalamitousNag

ice ice babby
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Invitation Status
  1. Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
  1. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Historical fiction/Period (primarily ancient or Victorian era), supernatural, paranormal/lite-horror, mythological, Western/early settlement, lite fantasy.
‘… across the river and through the woods…’

‘Don’t venture there.’

‘… they say our kingdoms used to be one long ago…’

‘I’ve seen them, they hide in the forest and scare little wimps like you!’

‘They’re an enemy nation.’

‘No one cares to defend the border—everyone knows how close it is.’

‘… it’s best you don’t venture there.’



“Danya, how many times must I repeat myself? Don’t venture out there! If I hear from Alexei one more time that you have crossed the Tuzkaya border, I will have your hide!”

Danya had played the innocent when his mother issued her warning earlier that morning. Instead, he reassured her that his dear cousin Alexei was just a liar and that Danya was merely going into the wood to practice shooting squirrels. His mother had let him go eventually but he couldn’t forget the strange look she had given him. It was the same look she gave Papa every time he left for war.

Danya had heard many things about the border between Tuzkaya and their neighboring country--mostly that he shouldn’t go there—but the low security and proximity to his home tempted him every time he went out to play. He was sure the poor squirrels appreciated his distraction, at least.

The young, pale-skinned boy was now hiding under the shade of a newly blossomed tree. He tore heartily into the bread and cheese his mother had packed for him. Danya had worked up an appetite paddling across the river himself. Usually Alexei would be here to help him cross, but his cousin had apparently overheard Danya calling him a liar. Danya would be adventuring on his own for a while.

Bloated and satisfied, Danya stretched to the tips of his toes. He emerged from the shade and grinned into the sunlight that burned his face. He had missed the sunshine and warmth. Winter had ended only a month prior and Danya welcomed the encroaching spring. With the changing seasons, too, came the lengthening of the days. He would have a long time to explore today—he was sure to reach the other country by mid noon!

Danya triple-checked that he had tied his raft to shore correctly and headed east towards the thick trees that bordered the lake shore. His father’s friends had said that the neighboring country was close but now that he’d crossed the river and approached the surrounding forest, he could see the other country wasn’t close at all. Even so, the thrill of the unknown was enough to keep him going. He amused himself with fantasies about what he’d see: he was sure Alexei was just teasing when he’d said that people hid in the trees.

Danya’s pace slowed. Alexei was teasing… right?

The young boy put a hand to his throat. He suddenly found it hard to swallow for some reason. He was probably just thirsty. He had walked two miles so far and paddled across a restless river all by himself. He decided to stop and rest again.

As Danya drank from his water skin, his eyes travelled up into the foliage before him. The forest was dense and rose in levels. Danya had always assumed he had to cross level ground—now he wasn’t so sure.

And forest creatures. How could he possibly forget about that? He had brought his slingshot to fool his mother but he knew he’d stand no chance against a creature larger than a squirrel. He hadn’t even marked his path thus far—what if he had to escape quickly and couldn’t find his way?

Danya flopped down where he stood, overwhelmed by his stupidity. He hadn’t even made it into the forest opposite the river. Things had seemed much easier and a lot less scary with Alexei beside him. He shouldn’t have come here, Mama was right.

And yet… he had come so far already.

Perhaps if he moved in a straight line and didn’t venture from the path, he’d be able to just turn around and run straight back if he needed to. Yes… that made sense.

Danya gathered his nerve and stood. Swallowing down mouthfuls of air, Danya pierced the forest opposite the river. The border couldn’t be far. He had heard too much to the contrary.

The young boy kept quiet and alert as he picked his way through the trees.
 
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Graydon pulled at his tunic absentmindedly. A listless silence filled the bedroom he stood in. Every man there scarcely breathed, each one studying the bed with controlled interest. The boy turned his own eyes to the bed, to the man that lay there dying. King Uriah, a man with many meritorious titles. To some, he was a conqueror, a fearless ruler who reclaimed their land from enemy nations. To Graydon’s father, he was a constant obstacle to the throne. To the boy himself, he was just another man.

“Graydon.” Hearing the soft voice of his mother, he looked up. Faint worry lined her face as she frowned down at her son. “Why don’t you go outside and play for a bit?” She murmured, “The men have some things to go over.”

It was if she’d known how much he hated being there. “Yes, mother,” Graydon said, barely containing a smile. He couldn’t leave fast enough. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he let a wide smile spread from cheek to cheek. Finally. Another hour and he would’ve hung himself just for something to do. Not that it wasn’t a sad occasion. But Graydon never really got to know his grandfather. Besides the cold exterior and weighty title, he was about as familiar to the old man as any other old man in court. King Uriah the Conqueror would not be missed.

Turning down the long corridor, excitement grew in the boy. He knew exactly where he was going; if his mother knew, she would flay his hide. For now, his secret was safe. All he had to do was make sure not to get caught, which was a bit tricky. Even though he wasn’t the official prince yet, eyes were constantly upon him everywhere he went. Last time he attempted to go through the Deep—a made-up name for the thick forest between Tuzkaya and Dein—he was stopped by a watchman and marched back home. But today was different. Everyone was caught up in the passing of the old king. No one would think of one freckled little boy. Before he went outside, Graydon stopped by the kitchen in the servant’s quarters. As suspected, no one was in there. Quietly, he clambered onto the table and reached into one of the cupboards. There, behind a row of bowls was his knapsack, filled with all his keepsakes from the forest. If he had kept it in his room, one of the servants would have found it and immediately reported it. So he was forced to hide it here. After retrieving it, he climbed back down and left the kitchen.

A brisk chill hung in the air as Graydon emerged from the castle walls. Spring was soon to come, and he could fill it in the rays of sunshine warming his head. A good day for an adventure, he thought. Walking past the East Garden, he waited until the men trimming the bushes were gone before breaking into a full run. At last, the forest awaited! If only he could run much faster than he did now. He only stopped when he was deep into the forest, in an area so deep with overgrowth that the grass came up to his torso. Graydon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The dewy smell of rain and plants filled his nostrils; his favorite scent. There wasn’t any place in the world so grand as the Deep. Not the cities, not the cathedrals, not the glorious castle his father boasted about everyday. This was where life truly began. After looking around a bit, Graydon found a nice, large branch for him to take a seat on. Then, he pulled out his lute.

His parents didn’t like him playing the lute. Or rather, they didn’t like how much he enjoyed playing the lute. Hunting and fishing were his father’s favorites, so imagine his chagrin when his only son didn’t care at all for them. So they had forbid him from playing it anymore. But the Deep was like another realm to him; in this place, he made the rules, and one such rule was to play the lute. So he played. And the forest echoed with his music.
 
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It was hard to keep walking in a straight line when the ground began to change. Danya could feel himself walking up an incline although he could never tell from the dense foliage around him. He used the wayward branches of fallen trees to help steady himself on his climb up. When he reached the crest of the small hill, he turned to look back behind him. The young boy's mouth fell open--he had no idea he had come so high up. He turned around quickly, his eyes wide and his chest heaving as he tried to forget the sudden elevation.

Calming enough to focus again on what was in front of him, Danya noticed here that the trees began to thin. He was still in the thick of the forest but it wasn't so dense on the top of the hill and the trees were more spread out. If he didn't know better, he'd think he had crossed into an entirely different forest altogether. Danya surmised that he had to be close.

Danya was still maintaining his foolhardy trajectory of keeping to a straight line when he heard the soft sounds of... bird song?

The young boy stopped walking. He lifted his head as he tried to decipher what the sound was. If this was bird song, it struck him as strange because the pattern was irregular--not repetitious like a bird's trill. If he didn't know better...

"Music!" Danya hissed under his breath, feelings of excitement and dread allwashing over him at once.

Alexei hadn't been lying; the people here hid amongst the trees.

He had to leave before they realized he was here.

Danya tried to identify the source of the music so that he wouldn't run headlong into the musician but the sound was coming from everywhere at once. The boy turned this way and that. What he was seeing wasn't matching what he was hearing--why was the sound so close?!

There was no time, he had to get away.

The music was to his left. Danya burst into a sprint in the opposite direction. Trees pulled back and whipped him across his arms, chest and face. He had no idea if he was even running in the right direction, he only knew he couldn't stop. Whoever played the tune must be trying to corner him, or worse, lure him into some trap!

He'd throw them off.

Danya broke a hard left in an attempt to disorient his tracker. In his fear, he no longer heard the music, only the heightened sound of his own blood in his ears. Why, oh why hadn't he listened to Alexei?

As he ran, the young boy noticed his feet sliding more and more. The wet leaves on the ground made it downright treacher--

He tripped, his own foot having slid into the other's path. "Ahhhh!" Danya cried out loud as he flew forward and tumbled to the ground. The waist-tall grass around him softened his fall and he hit the damp earth with a dull thump. It was a moment before he opened his eyes, and when he did, he closed them again in defeat. The sound of the musical notes were closer than they had ever been.

He had foolishly run right into his tracker.

"Please don't hurt me," Danya's voice broke on the words and he screwed his eyes shut. His fingers dug into the damp earth and he waited for the inevitable attack and the excruciating pain.
 
Graydon played several songs in that waning hour. A short lullaby, a love song--some familiar tunes, and others he had just learned recently. St. Peter's Joy was his mother's favorite song, so he played that one too. He could tell why it was her favorite. The melody of the song was very cheery and fast-paced, with beautiful triplets throughout that made his fingers ache. He'd been practicing it a lot lately in anticipation for her birthday. By the time he finished that one, he began to grow bored, as well as insatiably hungry. One more song, then, he thought to himself. Graydon never knew when he'd get to play again. Resting his hands on the lute, he strummed the strings absentmindedly. Perhaps he'd play Dance of the Elvenfolk? It was a bit complicated, but it was worth a shot.

He was about to begin playing when a sudden noise caught his attention. He paused; the tall grass betrayed nothing, swaying gently. The noise had been so brief that it could've been a trick of his mind, but when he heard a loud crash accompanied with a yell, he jumped to his feet, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

"Who's there?" He yelled, his voice sounding stronger than he felt. In all honesty he was scared to death. No one had ever been in the Deep besides him. Yet the shout that he'd heard sounded characteristically human. He took a step forward cautiously, then suddenly jumped back when the grass in front of him began to sway violently with movement. "What-" He began, startled.

"Please don't hurt me," a low voice said. Graydon blinked slowly. Please don't hurt me? That couldn't be right. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward, using his lute to clear the grass away from in front of him. A figure lay hunched on the ground. As Graydon grew closer, he realized with sudden clarity that the figure was a boy. He peered at him curiously. The boy's clothes were very outlandish; he'd never seen such distinct uniformity and strange colors. As he lay there with his eyes squeezed shut, Graydon studied his hair. For a moment, he had thought he was a girl due to how long it was. Where did this boy come from?

"You can get up, you know," Graydon finally said. "I won't hurt you." Then, as curiosity overruled caution, he added, "What are you doing here, anyways? No one's usually out here but me."
 
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The young boy's eyes popped open as he registered the light voice of a child and he scrambled backwards trying to get to his knees. He never made it off the ground and ended up landing on his butt. His entire front was stained with mud and leaves stuck haphazardly to him. His eyes made no attempts at hiding their distrust as he eyed the other boy in front of him.

Another boy, just like him, alone in the forest? What were the chances? Either this boy was a lure for a trap or an evil wood-sprite out to trick him.

Danya examined the boy's features for signs of other-worldliness. The boy's eyes looked normal enough and he blinked like a normal human should. Danya next looked for elven ears but no fleshy points peeked out from the boy's hair. Speaking of hair, however... The olive-skinned boy narrowed his eyes. He had never seen someone with such a robust shade of hair. Either this was a poorly disguised wood-sprite or...

Or...

He had made it! Danya sucked in a breath as his eyes went wide. This boy had to be from the neighboring country, he just had to be!

The boy was asking him questions but Danya couldn't remember enough words to form a reply.

Words... the boy spoke a language that was commonly known across the region. The accent caught him by surprise and Danya fought against a poorly hidden smile.

And then the words registered. Oh. Of course. He was still on the ground.

Danya managed to get to his feet. He continued to eye the boy as he knocked the sticky leaves from his tunic. He wouldn't hurt him, eh?

"I was..." the young boy swallowed, weighing whether he should tell the truth or not. "I was... taking a walk," Danya fibbed with conviction. He squared his shoulders and lifted his head as he marched past the boy, only to spin on his heel and confront him.
"What are you doing out here if you're by yourself?"

Danya gave a haughty sniff but his hazel eyes soon slid down to gaze at the lute in the boy's hands.

The music.

"That was you playing?" Danya asked, his voice much less confident. His nose flared. "I've never heard music like that..."

He should probably stop talking now. This could still be a trap.
 
At the sound of his voice, the boy suddenly scrambled backwards, an attempt to get up landing him back on his butt. At the sight of him, Graydon stifled a laugh. The poor kid was covered in mud and leaves. All he needed was a spear and tattered clothes, and the young prince would think him a wildling spawned from the trees. Naked distrust showed in the stranger’s face as he scrutinized him with piercing hazel eyes. He watched as the boy’s roved over him from head to toe. Graydon looked at him amusedly. What was he looking at him like that for? Perhaps he thought Graydon was lying about not hurting him; although to be honest, it seemed more like the boy was put off with simply his appearance. Puzzled, the prince looked down at his clothes. He didn’t think his clothes were that different.

Suddenly, the boy surged to his feet, and Graydon took a step back, startled. Eyeing him suspiciously, the boy brushed the debris from his clothes to the ground. The way he stared at him made Graydon feel like a wild predator; the thought alone was enough to make him laugh. If anything, he should be the cautious one. Now that the boy was standing, he saw that he stood a full head taller than Graydon.

“I was…” the boy was finally speaking. Graydon stared in puzzlement at the sound of his voice. Why did he talk like that? He had a thick accent, one that he had never heard before. “I was…taking a walk,” the boy finally finished. At this, he could not hold back a laugh. He’d heard better lies from his mother, and she was the worst liar he’d ever heard. As the boy marched past him, Graydon began to turn, if only to call him on it, when he suddenly found himself caught in blazing eyes.

“What are you doing out here if you’re by yourself?” The boy suddenly sneered. At the question, Graydon felt his own pride flare up. This was his forest; no one had ever been here but him. As the boy scrutinized his lute as well, his eyes narrowed.

“That was you playing?” The incredulity in his voice was open. “I’ve never heard music like that…”

At that, Graydon didn’t know what to say. Now he knew for a certainty that this boy was not from his homeland. So then where…? The answer hit him suddenly, and he looked at the boy with acute interest.

“You must be from Tuzkaya,” He stated. Of course. It all made sense. Deciding to ignore his previous lie—no one just “took a walk” to another country—he held up the lute in his hands. “Yeah that was me playing,” Graydon continued, his tone a bit smug, “Just some old songs though. None you would know.” He strummed a couple notes, not taking his eyes off the boy. Never in his entire life had he met someone from Tuzkaya. Sure, he had seen the ambassadors come to court—their distinctive appearance was easily recognizable. But to meet someone, to actually talk to one, was a foreign concept. He could not keep the excitement from showing on his face.

“My name is Graydon,” He blurted out. Then, a bit embarrassed at his outburst, he turned and spread his arms wide. “This place we’re in is called the Deep. Well, I call it that anyways. I’m the only one who ever comes here really.”
 
The dark-haired boy worried his bottom lip, his gaze skittish as he looked from the boy to the lute. He had been too scared to register much about the music when he was running, but it surprised him that a boy so small could play so well. As his senses returned to him, Danya began to worry again that this was a trap. The young, foreign boy appeared to be alone but for all Danya knew, he may not be alone.

Even still... the novelty was enough to make him throw all common sense to the wind.

Danya was about to speak more about the music when the other boy suddenly and boldly stated: "You must be from Tuzkaya."
Danya's eyes went wide and what words had been on the tip of his tongue fell back and got lodged in his throat. He realized he couldn't swallow again.

He watched as the other boy held up the lute, presenting it. The boy's manner was so open, confident. It puzzled Danya and piqued his interest at the same time.

Old songs? The boy was right--Danya didn't know them. All the same, however, the foreign boy's comment had Danya narrowing his eyes. How did he know what Danya did and did not know? Danya knew many things!

He just didn't know jack-all about this place. Or the strange, fearless boy in front of him. Danya stared at him until the boy suddenly introduced himself. The dark-haired boy blinked a few times before realizing he hadn't bothered to introduce himself either. He rocked on his toes as he grew more self-conscious.

"The Deep?" Danya breathed, eyes following the boy's--Graydon's--sweeping gesture as he took in the forest around him. Though it wasn't as dense as the part he'd traveled through earlier, it surprised him that a young boy would so often frequent these woods on his own.

Danya hesitated for a moment before walking around to face the young boy. He still hadn't introduced himself.

"If you're the only one who comes here, then... you should be the one to name it," Danya nodded his head with conviction. "I'm Danya," he said, his voice infinitely smaller. Danya reached his hand forward to grab the other boy's hand before stopping mid-gesture. He quickly clasped both of his hands behind his back and hoped that the foreign boy wouldn't notice.

Still muddied and harried-looking, Danya moved several steps away and leant against a fallen tree so he could eye the boy more.

"How long have you been coming to Deep? And how do you know I'm from Tuzkaya?" What a way to confirm Graydon's assumption, Danya.

Oh well, it was too late now.

"Where do you come from? You don't look like anyone I've ever seen," Danya observed, eyeing the boy's attire. " You talk different, too."
 
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Graydon had always had problems making friends. Something about him seemed to keep people at arm’s length, even the children. He would often watch from his window as the servant children played in the garden. Not once did they ever include him in their games. Was it his status? His lineage to the throne, perhaps? Or maybe not. As he watched the foreigner stare at him with nothing short of trepidation, Graydon wondered if perhaps it had nothing to do with his status. Maybe it was just his personality. As the seconds ticked by, his own confident demeanor began to falter.

“I…” Graydon began to say, a nervous energy filling him. Had he said something wrong?

“The Deep?” He turned at the sound of the boy’s voice. His dark brows furrowing, he looked hesitant for a moment before coming to face him. The foreigner sounded much meeker as he introduced himself—Danya, he said. The dark-haired boy began to stretch his hand out towards him; then, in an instant, he withdrew his hand behind his back. Graydon smiled slightly at the gesture. His father often had to shake hands with Tuzkayan ambassador. Those were the only times he’d seen it done. His countrymen, on the other hand, bowed their heads in greeting. The deeper the bow, the greater the sign of respect. Looking at the boy’s attempted handshake, there was no doubt in his mind now that Danya was from Tuzkaya—the evidence was woven into his very name.

Now that they were introduced, Graydon felt much more relaxed. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Danya; rather, he supposed he’d been anxious for them to friendly with one another. And now that he knew his name, it was as good as them. Danya seemed to think that way too; almost immediately, he leaned back against a tree, looking rather comfortable. With some residual leaves still sprouting from him, it almost looked like he was part of the tree.

“How long have you been coming to the Deep?” Danya asked, “And how do you know I’m from Tuzkaya?” A pointless question. The kid was practically a walking template for a Tuzkayan native. Graydon listened to his other questions, noticing how willing Danya was to talk now. And there was that look in Danya’s eyes again, a strange curiosity that seemed to regard Graydon as an alien presence. Quietly, Graydon placed his lute on the ground.

“I’m from Dein,” He responded, “and to answer your question, that’s how I know you’re from Tuzkaya.” Giving a youthful laugh, he began to pace a bit, kicking at the branches at his feet. “And as far as how long I’ve been coming here…”

He paused. There was only so much he could tell him, Graydon realized with sudden clarity. A soon-to-be prince—if not already—he couldn’t afford to tell him who he was. Or could he? Looking at Danya’s tan face, he decided that perhaps it was too early.

“My parents are…very busy,” Graydon finally added. He nudged a large stone with his foot. “So I’ve been coming out here a lot, since I live near the border. It’s no bother to them.” An obvious lie, if ever. His mother would throttle him if she knew he was out here, talking with a Tuzkayan boy. Thinking of his mother, his eyes darted suddenly to the sky, looking at the position of the sun. Worry gnawed at him. He’d been gone a while. Were they beginning to notice?

 
Hazel eyes watched Graydon closely as the other boy set down his instrument. Danya considered the lute for a bit--they had instruments such as these in his country, too--before his eyes flicked up to the other boy again.

He was from Dein. Ah. That was the name Danya'd heard thrown around, wasn't it? It didn't immediately register with him, though, since his countrymen were in the habit of calling it "the other country". While Dein laid so close to Tuzkaya, it was interesting how little he really knew of the other country and its people.

And he had the fortune to meet one of its people now. Graydon laughed, seemingly at Danya's expense, and Danya's cheeks turned ruddy. It wasn't long before he could feel his own lips pulling into a nervous smile, however. Graydon's laugh was just as confident as his demeanor. Danya wondered who this boy could be. Were all young men from Dein like this, too?

Danya was so busy studying Graydon's every move, from his pacing to his fidgeting, that he almost didn't catch Graydon's sudden pause when the boy started to tell him about his history in the Deep. Danya focused and sat up straighter.

"You live close to the border? I didn't..." Danya blushed again, suddenly unsure, "realize how close we were. I sort of live near the border, too. Across the river. It's a small village, though. My mom takes care of us and my father's off at war." Danya was saying entirely too much but what really could the other boy do with the information? Surely his country wasn't the only country who knew war.

The Tuzkayan boy was just about to ask if Dein was at war, too, when he caught the Deinish (A/N: uhm... is it Deinish or Deinian? lol) boy glancing at the sky. Was something wrong? Danya moved away from the tree, standing ram-rod straight now. Danya found himself following Graydon's line of vision and, finding nothing, he looked back to the other boy. Was Graydon growing bored of their chatter? Not wanting to suffer the rejection first, Danya cleared his throat and began to straighten his clothes again.

"Well, then. It was nice to meet you... uhm... G-graydon. I'm going to continue my walk now. Thanks for, uhm, introducing me to the Deep. I'll leave you to enjoy it," Danya inclined his head and swiftly spun on his heel, seeking to make a hasty retreat. He had the impression he'd overstayed his welcome.

And, yet, it literally broke him to be leaving so soon. What were the chances he'd meet a boy from Dein on his first trip out here! His heart beat loudly in his ears. He was rather glad his back was turned--he didn't want Graydon to see the goofy smile on his face. Alexei would never believe that he'd met a Deinish boy!
 
It was hard being a child prince. Many do not believe so. Faster than you can draw breath, they will rattle off the many benefits of being royalty. Wealth. Luxuries. An entire kingdom that quells at your presence. But many do not see the tightly wrapped box royalty comes with, especially when you are the only heir to the throne. Graydon never quite understood it when he was younger; after all, his father was the heir, and he was merely the prince's son. But when it was discovered his grandfather was dying, he felt a noose around his neck that he had never felt before. Suddenly he could not play with the other noble children. Strenuous, outdoor activities was forbidden, and he had guards placed around him wherever he went. Today was the first day in six months that he'd come to the Deep. Today was the first day in six months that he'd encountered another boy.

So why in God's name was he thinking about his parents? Shaking his head, Graydon tore his eyes away from the sky. He vowed never to think about that again, at least while he was out there. But at seeing the other boy's face, he faltered. His eyes widened when Danya began to to say his goodbyes. No, not so soon, Graydon thought frantically. Blast it, he was always doing something wrong!

"Wait! Hold a moment!" Graydon cried, the words tumbling out over each other. The Tuzkayan boy had managed to make some distance, and he struggled to catch up. Grabbing hold of his sleeve, he suddenly didn't know what to say. Would it be impertinent of him to try to make him stay?

He paused. "I can't make you stay, if you want to go. Just..." His eyes darted to the right as he struggled to come up with a solution. Then, in a moment of spontaneity, he locked his fiery eyes onto Danya. "Promise me you'll meet back here, in one week's time. Same day," He demanded.
 
A dizzying haze overtook Danya and he felt very light on his feet. Giddiness tickled him at the same time regret pulled at his coat-tails. He should really work on being more interesting the next time he'd meet a foreigner.

Danya tucked his arms to his sides and began to stalk off when a loud voice made him jump. If he wouldn't have turn around at the sound, the hold on his sleeve would have made him. His mind tried to catch up with what was happening. His surprise left him bug-eyed and his eyes rolled like a lizard's until he focused on Graydon.

There was a pause and Danya could swear he felt the blood drain from his face. This boy was so forceful, confident. It took Danya aback, but it didn't repulse him.

'If you want to go'? Danya didn't really want to, but... Danya's throat began to constrict again. Maybe he shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, trying to be all strong and all. Mature. He'd messed up and now he may never get another chance.

Danya wanted another chance?

The dark-haired boy lost his breath when Graydon looked at him. Maybe forceful wasn't the right way to describe him, but he was intense even in the few moments he'd known him.

"Promise?" Danya's jaw dropped and he looked more like a gaping fish now.

He had a second chance.

"Yes," the young man agreed, a bit breathlessly. "Next week. Same day." Could he really keep this promise? He didn't want to think otherwise, but deep down he knew he really wanted to see Graydon again.

"Bye... Graydon," the dark-haired boy inclined his head and smiled as he pulled away, probably a little more forcefully than he should. He looked over his shoulder once before he began to walk again in the direction of the river.

Danya had never looked forward to a day as much as he looked forward to next week.
 
-- Three years later --

The sun filtered through the treetop canopy, warming the face and limbs of the young prince resting in the grass. He lay so still, that from a distance a person would think him dead. But every so often he turned restlessly. The boy was taller now, a gangly collection of limbs on a young teenage body. His hair was a more robust shade of reddish brown than ever, and his eyes, opening to stare at nothing, held sparks of fury in them. Graydon was seething with anger. And for good reason.

It had all started yesterday morning. His tutor had been late again, and he'd had to endure a grueling hour of ceaseless prattling from Annabeth before the old fool had finally showed up. Annabeth was the latest development in his young life, perhaps the most unsettling yet. She was undoubtedly the most spoiled, silly girl that Graydon had ever seen in his life. Dressed in her pompous little dresses, with those silly ribbons in her blonde hair, she annoyed the young prince to no end. Even worse, she was his younger sister, so he had no way of getting rid of her. Not to say he didn't love her. But in her short life of six years on this planet, she had slowly grown into the most unbearable snitch ever. She constantly followed him around, and while he didn't mind at times, ditching her to go to the Deep had become almost impossible. That morning, after their lessons had finished, he tried to sneak away to the Deep like he usually did. But because their lesson had been delayed, the Queen decided to cancel the etiquette lessons Annabeth usually took. Which meant who of all people was free to watch his attempted venture into the Deep? His rotten sister, of course.

Graydon rolled onto his side in the grass, breathing deeply against the rich soil. Just barely illuminated by the sun, a dark bruise bloomed under his eye. When his father found out that he'd tried sneaking out into the woods, he had struck him in front of all at court. It was the first time his father had ever laid his hands on him. The embarrassment of it stung more than the physical blow did, and he remembered running out of the room, tears pricking his eyes. But it wasn't enough to keep him from coming there. This morning, he had gotten up early, earlier than he usually did. His gargoyle of a sister was still sleep when he crept out. Even better, no one would notice his missing presence, for today was a war meeting. All he could do now was hope and pray that Danya came today.

 
"What about the chickens?"

Danya's mother stared at him, wide-eyed and full of disbelief.

"I've fed them, Mama, do not worry. All of the chores are done. All you need do now is rest. Papa will be happy for your company," Danya circled around the chair his mother was slouched in and squeezed her shoulders tightly. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, noticing for the first time the fresh dampness. Danya tried his best to make his sigh inaudible. He didn't want his mother to realize that he had caught her crying.

Papa wasn't getting better. And if the silence from the capital's physicians was any indication, his father would never be getting better. They neglected his care, providing sugary tonics in place of real medicine to stave off a dying soldier's infection. His father had served for the crown and the capital could not even fulfill their promise of providing care for their wounded soldier?

"Danya..." his mother's quiet voice had Danya looking at her suddenly, not even realizing he'd been staring at his father's prone, mis-shapen form.

"Yes, Mama?"

"... Danya..." Did his mother even know she was repeating his name? The bottom of the black-haired boy's stomach dropped out. He couldn't lose her, too. He waited for coherent words to form.

"You're such a good boy, Danya. Your Papa is proud that you take care of your Mama like this."

Danya squeezed her shoulders again. Guilt clawed at his chest; he would be leaving them soon to go to Graydon. As much as he feared to leave home now-a-days, Danya couldn't go without seeing his dearest friend. Little did Graydon realize how much of a reprieve he was for Danya's quickly deteriorating life.

So much had transpired in the last 3 years. While their king had never been much of a true leader, some sick greed had overtaken the man and he had waged a 2 year expansion campaign to overtake a kingdom to the north. His aim was to control a country through which a lucrative trade route traversed with goals of increasing (largely his) wealth.

There had been rumors that the king's coffers ran low. His countrymen were poor and, truth of the matter was, there was no other way to replenish his wealth. He certainly wouldn't gain anything from taxing them. So, he sent his country's men to fight for his just cause. He told them that they fought for the betterment of their country. What betterment was to be had when his country's fathers and uncles came back mangled or worse?

And, so, his own father had become a victim. It was a miracle he had made it home. Danya's uncle hadn't. The enemy lands were mountainous and isolated and ultimately too large of an area for small Tuzkaya to conquer. His father and uncle weren't the only victims; Tuzkaya had suffered major casualties on their end and yet their king continued to press forward. He even demanded the wounded soldiers report back to the front-line on the first sign of improvement. The king promised healthcare to those wounded for the sole purpose of using them again.

So maybe it was a blessing as well as a curse that the king's physicians failed to come. Just another of the failure king's broken promises.

His mother craned her neck to look back at her only son. "You will go out now?"

Danya met her piercing eyes--the same ones he had inherited--and forced himself not to look away. He nodded, afraid that she'd ask him to stay.

His mother sighed, turning back to look at his father who appeared to be waking up from his stupor. "It is good that you can get out. Enjoy the good weather."

"I'll bring back fish from the river."

"Something tells me that fishing isn't all that you do," his mother said slyly, a hint of teasing in her voice--Danya relished these light moments.

"Yes, I swim with them first," Danya kissed her cheek again and moved over to his father's side--perhaps, a little more quickly than needed. "Papa." Danya brushed a damp curl out of the way as he kissed his father's forehead. "Be well," he rubbed the old man's cheek and the older Niyazov tried to reach up to cup his hand. Danya's name was on the older man's lips, though his voice was too weak to voice it.

Danya had to leave. He had to leave now. With each day that went by, Danya felt his calm beginning to fray. It was as if he was being stretched beyond limit and, little by little, he could feel pieces of himself snapping away. In truth, he didn't know what was happening to him, but he did know that a pair of cool gray eyes were his only distraction. Graydon was waiting for him.

~*~*~*~

The sight before him had Danya chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

The boy he had come to meet was laying prone on the ground. There was a certain stiffness about the way he laid there that Danya knew to approach from the left with ease.

"You look dead. You should get up--birds like to poop on dead things," Danya said cheekly as he entered into their clearing with caution. Yes, this was their clearing now. The familiarity of this place distracted Danya well from his troubles of home. Though it was probably the figure lying at the center of it who was the true reason.

3 years older than when they had first met, Danya had traded in the richly colored brocades of his youth for the more muted robes of a young man. His black hair was still long, but it was now pulled back and hidden under a squarish cap embroidered in bright thread. He pulled at the high-necked collar of the tunic he wore underneath the robe in a poor attempt to cool off.

"It is getting so warm," Danya complained, loosening the sash that held the robe closed and fanning himself. More cautiously, he paused to eye the boy before him. "How long have you been waiting?" He felt bad that Graydon had to wait for him.

"My chores have gotten longer," Danya gave as the only explanation. He never mentioned his father's condition to Graydon, though he had said in passing before that his father had returned from war. He tried his best to keep talk of war out of his conversations with his friend. After all, the increasing reality of the matter was that Danya would soon, too, be required to serve in his king's army, just as his grieving cousin Alexei had been forced to. His king didn't care about decimating families.
 
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It did not take long for Danya to come. The familiar sound of his footsteps clomping towards him put a rueful smile on the young prince’s face. Ah, Danya. His friend was just as noisy as he was when he first met him. He would make a lousy hunter, if ever.

“You look dead,” Danya called, a teasing lilt to his voice. “You should get up--birds like to poop on dead things.” Brushing himself off, Graydon rose to his feet before finally turning to face his friend. Danya wore a slight smile, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. The young prince could only snort in response. Birds, indeed. If anything, they’d poop on Danya for disturbing their sleep. As the Tuzkayan finally came to a stop before him, Graydon’s eyes were drawn to his attire. He wasn’t sure that he liked the new hat he always wore. Sure, it was stylish, although outlandish--his own countrymen would never be seen sporting a cap like that. But he missed seeing Danya’s hair, long and black like a horse’s mane. Now it was tucked away behind that silly cap, and Graydon was pained by the loss. Or perhaps it was something else that bothered him. Perhaps the fact Danya was made to look older by the cap, an issue that sobered him instantly.

Suddenly, his friend began to pull at his robes, snapping Graydon out of his thoughts. “It’s getting so warm,” Danya complained. Graydon smiled slightly. Why Danya had chosen to wear all those layers, he’d never guess. Summer was just around the corner, and Graydon had felt the heat creeping even within the castle walls. That morning, he had only put on his riding habit: some brown, weathered breeches, leather boots, and a white long-sleeved tunic. If anyone asked, he’d been out riding his horses. At least with that lie, it would explain why he smelled of the woods. As the Tuzkayan boy fanned himself, he then paused, as if something had just occured to him.

“Have you been waiting long?” He asked, his eyes flickering onto Graydon’s face. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “My chores have gotten longer.”

Although he didn’t mention it, Graydon knew why the chores had gotten longer. The war. Some time ago, Danya had mentioned something about his father coming back from the war. Whatever war it was, it had nothing to do with Dein. And since Tuzkaya matters had nothing to do with Dein, he couldn’t risk asking his father about it, or else he would know right away what he’d been up to. Whoever Tuzkaya was at war with was not an easy foe. The strain of it showed on Danya’s face, and while his friend never made much mention of it, Graydon couldn’t help but feel worried for him. Finally turning to face him fully, Graydon forced himself to give Danya a lopsided smile.


“Eh, that’s alright,” He replied breezily, “I got here too early. Didn’t want to get caught again by the old man.” He tapped the bruise on his cheek and grinned impishly at his friend. “A souvenir. I’ll give you one too if you’re late again.” That was an empty threat. Graydon could never imagine fighting Danya, much less punching him.

Slowly, Graydon approached the boy, stopping just to reach out and pluck at Danya’s robes. “Strange,” He murmured, “To wear so many clothes in the middle of spring.” Shaking his head, he snapped his eyes up to Danya’s as a sudden idea came to him. “I know,” He breathed, his eyes bright, “Let’s go for a swim in the river. It’ll help cool you off.”


 
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The Tuzkayan boy eyed Graydon a moment longer. Strange... Graydon seemed quieter. And, truthfully, Danya felt as if Graydon was watching him. He wondered if Graydon expected him to elaborate on the cause of his tardiness. Danya didn't. When Graydon turned to fully face him, Danya looked everywhere but the boy's cool grey eyes.

Danya's attention settled on the Deinish boy's costume and he frowned. Though such attire wasn't common in Danya's country, it looked awfully formal to him despite its wear. Danya wondered what function Graydon had weaseled himself out of in an attempt to meet him here.

The questionable smile along with the flippant way Graydon dismissed Danya's excuses had the dark-haired boy raising a brow. Something in the reddish-haired boy's body language didn't sit well with Danya. If he didn't know better, he'd think something was wrong and Graydon was putting on a brave face to keep the appearance that nothing was amiss. This was different from the brave and bold Graydon he knew.

As Graydon told of how early he had arrived, Danya stepped forward and reached to lift Graydon's hand if he would still let him. They were good friends now and Danya had gotten in the habit of greeting the other boy as he would a close comrade at home; he would lift the boy's hand and press his lips to the back of it.

Danya stepped back just in time to catch Graydon's gesture towards his face. Danya looked and his jaw dropped in shock.
His cheek was bruised... this had been done by Graydon's father?

"A souvenir. I'll give you one too if you're late again."

Again, spoken so flippantly. Danya's mouth worked soundlessly for a bit before he eventually closed his mouth and averted his eyes. Danya could feel anger leeching into his expression and he didn't want to offend Graydon with misplaced anger. He himself had never received such backlash for his outings. It was more or less expected of a boy his age.

"Strange." Danya raised his head when Graydon came towards him, pulling at his garments. It was enough to break the ice and Danya finally melted into a laugh. "Winters are as harsh as the summers are warm. My home isn't protected from the wind like yours," Danya gestured towards the trees, although he had no idea what Graydon's home actually looked like or where it was. "It's hard for me to get out of the habit of dressing for the cold."

In actuality, Danya liked wearing the layers of clothes. It made him feel older and like an adult--he'd never admit that aloud, of course.

Suddenly, Graydon's eyes brightened and he pinned Danya with a look that Danya only knew to be mischievous. Danya smirked and raised another brow at Graydon's suggestion. "Is it to cool me off, or is it really meant to help cool you? Don't use me as an excuse," Danya rolled his eyes playfully and stepped around Graydon, already ready to head back towards the way he came.

The way was still mostly clear since the foliage hadn't all yet sprouted. Danya peeked over his shoulder to regard his friend. His eyes fell on the imperfection smeared across his cheek. It was only then that he realized how often he gazed at Graydon's face for him to notice that this was something he had never seen before.

Danya turned his head back to the path in front of them and bit his lip.

"When did it happen?" he asked quietly. He reached forward to grip the branch of a tree as he climbed down--they weren't too far from the river though the calmest part was a bit north of the way he usually came. Every once in a while they would go for a swim in the river, but this would be the first time they had gone this year since the weather had warmed.

"If you must break from coming to meet me, Graydon, I will understand. At least until your parents forget--it's not worth getting hit over. I can wait a while," Danya offered at the same time he offered his hand towards his friend to help him descend.
 
Danya was quick to call Graydon out on his plans. “Is it to cool me off, or is to cool you off?” He asked immediately, a devilish smirk alighting his face. “Don’t use me as an excuse.”

At that, Graydon laughed. Only Danya could so quickly figure out his ulterior motives. Nonetheless, his taller companion set off for the river, and he was quick to follow. The sun shone brightly on the pair as they made their way down the slope. Faintly, Graydon began to smile. He didn’t know what it was about coming to the Deep--about coming to see Danya--that seemed to make all his problems go away. They just...did. Minutes stretched into hours here, and everytime after home, Graydon would always wonder where the time went. Sighing, he raised his head to look up only to be startled by Danya’s eyes on him. Only too soon, the Tuzkayan looked away, but not before Graydon caught the strange look in his eyes.

“What?” He asked, a bit confused.

“When did it happen?” Danya’s voice was quiet, barely heard over the cracking of the undergrowth. Graydon stilled at his question. So that’s what was bothering him. A faint smile graced his lips. Dear old Danya. Little did the Tuzkayan know that this bruise was the least of his concerns. But he didn’t want to involve him--not because of his hidden identity, but simply out of dogged loyalty. Danya had his own problems to worry, even if he didn’t mention them; no need to burden the boy with the plight of a silly, young prince. Graydon made a point of not answering his friend and instead approached him. Standing now at a ledge beneath him, Danya extended his hand out towards him. He reached out to grab it, noticing immediately how rough his hands were. The sign of peasantry, as his mother used to say. But his father was kinder in that regard, saying the only thing it meant was that they worked harder than his family did. That’s all. But as Danya next spoke, Graydon could his own hand freezing in his grip.

“If you must break from coming to meet me, Graydon, I will understand.” Graydon locked eyes with Danya, who looked at him with an unreadable expression. “At least until your parents forget--it’s not worth getting hit over. I can wait a while.”

“No.” Graydon’s response was forceful. Finding his footing on the ledge, he released Danya’s hand and turned to face him fully. “No,” He repeated, “There’s no need for that. I’ll just...be more careful.”

And he would be. It had been getting harder and harder to evade his sister and his personal guards, but things were changing soon. His father was leaving on a campaign across the country, which meant security at the castle would be less stringent. Things would be different soon. They had to be. Shaking his head, he turned away from Danya and began making quick strides across the thick foliage. The river was in sight, and he had a sudden urge to throw himself in it, as if the river could wash away all his burdens. Paying little heed to Danya, the young prince began to strip, kicking off his boots and tearing away at his shirt until it was tossed haphazardly near the boats.

“C’mon,” Graydon called to Danya, standing in just his pants. He grinned at him wildly. “The river will dry up by the time you get in.” And with a loud shout, he began to run carelessly towards the water before diving, a large splash following his actions.
 
"No." Good thing Graydon hadn't been relying too heavily on Danya's support as he descended the ledge; Graydon's strong answer was enough to startle Danya and he nearly ripped his hand away.

Ah, this was the Graydon he knew. He could see the familiar determination in the grey-eyed boy's face, too, when the boy whirled on him and told him to leave the matter. Danya with eyes still wide nodded dumbly in reply and, before he knew it, he was smiling. He liked Graydon's bravery, even if it may be a little foolish at times. Then again, weren't all brave souls just a bit foolish anyway?

Danya couldn't grin stupidly at the boy for too long because Graydon spun and was headed towards the riverbank before Danya knew it.

Danya supposed Graydon wouldn't be waiting for him.

"C'mon ... The river will dry up by the time you get in."

Indeed; Graydon wasn't waiting at all. Danya rolled his eyes in good humor and followed behind. Graydon's clothes weren't coming off quickly enough for him, it seemed, before the boy leapt and plunged into the river.

"It won't dry up nearly as quickly if you keep the water in the river, Graydon!" Danya called out, kicking one of Graydon's boots as he passed.

There may have been a time when Danya would have raced Graydon to the river's edge. Now, he only methodically stood on the riverbank and peeled off layer after layer of his robes. This didn't mean that he took his eyes off the water, however. He knew Graydon enough to know the boy was unpredictable; he could do without being drug into the water.

Danya removed all of his robes and folded them neatly, leaving only his smallclothes. He unpinned his cap. His twin braids fell heavily across his shoulders once they were freed. Danya set the cap reverently on the pile of robes. He made a show of stretching as if physically preparing himself for the swim of a lifetime before running and all but falling into the water.

He hit the surface roughly with a loud "wallop" sound. He had to resurface quickly because the shock of the cool water was enough to take what little breath he held away. He came up laughing and scrubbing the water from his eyes.

Yes, this is what Danya needed. This freedom, shared here with Graydon was enough to make Danya forget what he would go home to. Graydon had made a great suggestion--perhaps he knew more of what the dark-haired boy needed than Danya knew himself.

Danya's head fell back with a sigh. Speaking of Graydon...

Graydon!

Danya remembered himself and he moved towards the shore to give himself a better vantage point. He wasn't about to let himself be ambushed first. Danya scanned the choppy surface of the water for the sign of fire that he knew the other boy's hair to be.

"Don't even think about it, Graydon! I've been training and you'd be silly to think you can sneak up on me!" Danya challenged imperiously before ducking down into the water leaving only his eyes visible over the surface. It wasn't until a few seconds later that he realized just what he had said. He mentally accosted himself for letting a little bit of truth about what he'd been up to slip. Surely it was normal for all boys his age to begin training.
 
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Graydon loved swimming underwater. Opportunities at home to swim were scarce, and closely watched. He was forbidden to swim too far, or too low, for fear he would drown. But here in the Deep, things were different. Far, far more different. As he plunged headfirst into that chilly river, he felt it; a feeling of exhilaration that beat frantically in his chest as he was fully submerged. He felt so much more...alive. Was this what youth was? He could hardly recall knowing it, a grim irony given his young age. Graydon came up for breath, if only for a moment. Across the way, he observed unnoticed as Danya undressed. As the Tuzkayan removed his cap, his long, braided hair fell down across his chest. A note of satisfaction rang in him. Ah. There they were. He could do without that silly hat for a while. In fact, Graydon had half a mind to take it. Later, of course.

As the water sluiced over his back, he dove again, swimming deeper than before. The sun’s rays filtered seamlessly through the water’s edge, illuminating down all the way to the deep riverbed. Graydon regarded it carefully. Sometimes he tried to actually touch the bottom of the river, diving down so deep that you could barely see him from the water’s surface. But he didn’t do it often; Danya tended to get worried when he stayed submerged too long. And speaking of the Tuzkayan...he could spy his companion’s form some feet away. In the water Danya’s legs looked long and pale, kicking methodically against the current. He would grab them, Graydon thought decidedly, and pull his friend under. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and yet so classically him. Holding his breath, he began to swim silently towards his friend.

“Don’t even think about it Graydon!”

He froze. Only an arms-length away now, he bobbed idly as Danya’s voice echoed through the water. Training? What in the world was this boy talking about? His plan to grab fizzled out just as quickly as his air supply. So, in a glorious flash of russet hair and bare limbs, he burst onto the surface, gasping for air.

“Oh dear.” Breathing hard, he rubbed the water from his eyes. His vision was blurred; still, he could make out the faint outline of Danya across from him.

“Well now. Don’t fret, friend. I won’t dunk you yet,” Graydon breathed, his eyes crinkling up with his smile. “It seems you’ve foiled my plan.” He took a moment to catch his breath.

“Now what’s all of this about training?” He raised an eyebrow at Danya. “Training to outswim me?” It was the only thing he could think of. What else could the boy be training for? Briefly, his mind drifted to a soldier’s training, but the connection between that and swimming seemed so preposterous that he chased the notion out his mind at once. Besides, Danya was far too young to be caught up in that. Or so he naively told himself. As he waited for the boy’s answer, the young prince began to float on his back, his breath stilling as he attempted to keep his head above water.

 
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Danya's eyes widened in shock when Graydon broke the surface. The boy was far closer than Danya expected. His mouth twitched--had he caught Graydon in the midst of mischief? Danya narrowed his eyes playfully but the harshness didn't last long; he was soon smiling fondly at the boy as Graydon scrubbed the water from his eyes.

"Now what's all of this about training?"

Danya sighed internally; of course that wouldn't have gotten by Graydon, he should have known better. So, Danya went with it.

"Outswim you? Pfft, like I need training for that. I've simply been trained on how to avoid and disrupt subterfuge, so choose your next actions wisely," Danya smiled wickedly, his face falling when he realized Graydon wasn't paying him any mind. The brilliant haired boy had flopped over to his back somehow, managing a float. Danya watched the water buoy Graydon's body up, noticing his lean muscles of youth and the way they worked under his skin. Danya didn't ever recall noticing such a minute detail about anyone else before. What was different with Graydon?

Marigold. Graydon with his fiery mane reminded him of the deep red marigolds that bloomed only in late summer. Hardy, steadfast, strong. Yes, it was Graydon's steadfastness that gave Danya stability in his ever-changing reality.

Danya's face fell further as somber thoughts crept to the forefront. Distractedly, he continued to tread water where he was, the water's current pulling him every once in a while when he waited too long between strokes.

Graydon would understand. Maybe it was the same in Dein and Tuzkaya wasn't so different.

"There's talk of rebellion," Danya said suddenly. He waded towards Graydon, his voice dropped almost conspiratorially. "The youngest of us have been called to begin training early. Most likely to begin the brainwashing sooner," Danya explained, his eyes taking on a more piercing glint than usual. For a brief moment, a hate-filled expression flashed across his face before Danya hid it away behind a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry to talk of this now. Let's forget it."

Danya swam up so that he was beside Graydon, looking down on him. "How's Dein like? I mean, really? I sometimes wish I could sneak back with you, see what it's like for myself," the dark-haired boy teased. Seeking to break any tension before it had a chance to begin, Danya decided it was time to torment the other boy. Leaning in close towards Graydon, he whispered. "Is everyone's head on fire like yours? Let me put it out for you--!" Danya reared back and slapped the water, sending a large splash up in the air and decidedly towards his--hopefully--unsuspecting friend.
 
Danya continued to be full of surprises. Graydon listened idly as he boasted of his training for avoiding and disrupting subterfuge--was that spying? He couldn’t remember. But it was confirmation, nonetheless, that he had been training. Officially training, that is. The young prince could not help but cast a worried eye at his friend. So it was true, then. Even at his young age, Danya was still being pulled in the war. For his friend’s sake, he pretended to be ignorant of it, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Dein was not a military-oriented country; it thrived by keeping tabs on its neighbors, so when war broke out between Tuzkaya and a distant land, it was all anybody could talk about. “Good riddance,” he’d overheard his mother say once. “I hope they kill each other off.” He hadn’t known what fueled her words. Fear, hate, or perhaps some dogged nationalism to her country. All he knew was that it had disturbed him greatly when he heard it.

And now Danya was involved. Graydon closed his eyes, struggling to keep his face composed. He was upset, for sure, but he couldn’t bear to let his friend see. It was a miracle that Danya grew silent; he couldn’t trust himself to speak. As the silence stretched between them, Graydon felt himself being pulled further away by the ebb and flow of the river. He breathed in deeply.

“There’s talk of rebellion.”

Graydon’s eyes flew open. The words were enough to jar his senses, but seeing the hate that flitted across Danya as he spoke of “brainwashing” was enough to disorient him entirely. Is that what they were doing to Danya? Brainwashing him? The young prince was at a loss for understanding; he knew what brainwashing was, but the concept of it was so foreign to his Deinian raised ears--a land steeped in pacifist ideals--that it took a moment for him to wrap his head around it. The only thing he fully knew was that it was something horribly, horribly wrong.

Danya was saying something now, but Graydon wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t until Danya was looking directly down at him that he was shaken out of his reverie.

“Is everyone’s head on fire like yours?” Danya murmured as he drew close, warm hazel eyes meeting with grey. Graydon’s breath stilled. The boy was so close, close enough for him to practically hear his heartbeat. “Let me put it out for you--!”

“What…?” It was far too late that he realized that Danya intended to splash him. In the next moment, a large sheet of water fell upon him. The shock of it was enough to disrupt his float, and he floundered underwater as he struggled to right himself. Oh Danya. Even underwater, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. The poor boy was trying to distract him. But this time, it wasn’t working. Even as he shook the water out of his eyes, the thoughts lingered with him

He couldn’t help it. He was often told that he wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was true; as he turned to fully face Danya, worry was etched into every line of Graydon’s face. And something else, something barely concealed by concern: fear.

“Oh Danya,” He sighed. There was a note of true sadness in his voice. “You sound like a war-weary old man. At your age, you should be doing other things. You should be...I don’t know, having fun and learning a trade, and...I don’t know, kissing girls!” Exasperated, he threw his hands in the air.

“I mean, have you even kissed anyone yet? You should have no problems there. You’re quite a handsome fellow.” And indeed Danya was. It was not lost on him how nicely his hair framed his face, how his warm, somber eyes sat quite nicely in a sun-kissed face. It felt strange admitting it like that, but it was true. Graydon was at a loss for what to say. Hastily, and rather cheekily, he added, “Do you even know how to kiss a girl? No proper lady wants slobber all over her mouth.”
 
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