Intriguing Royalty

[CalamitousNag]

The dark-haired boy fell into a fit of giggles when the wave of water hit its mark. He had caught Graydon off guard, it appeared, if his flailing was any sign. The boy's movements seemed to submerge him more than anything, and when Graydon didn't reappear immediately, a shock of panic shot through Danya's heart.

But then he saw him, hair plastered to his face and whipping his head all about.

Danya replaced the fearful look with a smug--albeit, guilty--grin.

And then he saw Graydon's expression and Danya's playful smile finally fell. He swam towards Graydon when he saw his friend's forlorn expression. Was he baiting him so he could splash him back or had Danya truly done something wrong?

"Graydon...?" Danya tried but Graydon was already speaking. Danya sounded like a war-weary old man?! Well, that hadn't been what Danya expected at all. The declaration felt almost like a rebuff. Danya knew Graydon cared, if the way his entire mood depleted on the subject was any indication. Still, Danya couldn't deny the sting of it. What did Graydon know of war that could lead him to dismiss Danya's preoccupations so easily? Danya wanted to have the fun that Graydon spoke of. He also had wanted his father to be the one to teach him how to hold his first sword, and yet...

Danya was taking this too much to heart. It could only be because of his own stake in the matter that caused him to react this way--almost bitterly. He intentionally chose a different reaction and focused instead on Graydon's next utterance. The shock of it alone was the perfect distraction.

"Kissing girls?!" Danya laughed incredulously, eyes widening in disbelief. The more he thought about it, the more genuine laughter fell from his lips. Of all things! His glance was playfully suspicious as he tried to circle Graydon in the water. "Seriously, Graydon?"

"I mean, have you even kissed anyone yet?"

Danya was beside himself, he couldn't help the tinge of red that flushed his olive skin. The dark-haired boy quieted but kept the smile fixed in place. Danya was about to ask where all this had suddenly come from (he was wondering more and more about what Graydon got up to in his spare time) when the other boy off-handedly complimented him. He couldn't hold it any longer. Danya dropped his head and stared at the water. The flush to his skin transformed into a full out blush that made it obvious he wasn't used to being on the receiving end of such frivolities.

"Do you even know how to kiss a girl? No proper lady wants slobber all over her mouth."

Danya's downcast eyes flickered up to stare incredulously at Graydon. It was so off-color that he soon forgot his earlier embarrassment. This was rich--Graydon wouldn't escape any amount of teasing now.

"So..." Danya began, grinning impishly at the boy who reminded him of summer marigolds, "you've abandoned the strings of your lute for the strands of a fair maiden's hair? Graydon, you sneak, what have you been getting up to?" Danya chuckled, his eyes bright with humor at Graydon's expense. "Is this why you arrive later and later each time we meet? You're off sneaking with girls?"

"I've kissed my mother," the dark haired boy offered, laying off of the teasing for fear of angering Graydon with too much prodding. Danya dipped momentarily under the water only to re-emerge closer to his friend. He squinted water from his eyes. "She's a girl. And the only girl I care to kiss. Kissing doesn't interest me. Coming to see you interests me." Danya grinned lopsidedly as he raised a wet hand from the water to rest it atop Graydon's brilliant mane of hair. There was no telling if Graydon would move away from him so Danya used the brief opportunity to really consider his friend.

How did Danya tell him that he thought Graydon was just as handsome?

 

[Kuno]

If only time could stop.

Graydon watched with mild surprise--and a bit of wonder--as Danya's fair skin slowly colored a rosy hue. It took him a moment to process that his friend was indeed blushing, an event so unprecedented that he could only capture the moment as best as he could in memory. He hadn't seen him this embarrassed since they were children. All this from a silly compliment? If he wasn't so stunned, he probably would've laughed at him. But in any event, the dark-haired boy seemed to recover quickly.

"So…"

Graydon raised an eyebrow as Danya grinned broadly at him. "You've abandoned the strings of your lute for the strands of a fair maiden's hair? Graydon, you sneak, what have you been getting up to?"

Graydon said nothing, but a slow smile began to show on his face, his eyebrows wiggling boldly at Danya. Let the boy think what he wanted to. The reality of his romantic life was a far cry from the wanton affairs Danya probably thought he was involved with. In all honesty, he'd only fooled around with two girls. Both encounters had been brief, and immensely disappointing. While the kisses themselves weren't bad, he'd found himself less than satisfied after every embrace. Hollow, even. A small part of him wanted to believe that he felt detached due to the girl's forced feelings. He was a handsome boy, yes, but it went without saying that every girl would enjoy--or at least pretend to enjoy--having the prince's attentions upon them. After all, he was the future king; what better way to improve their own social status? But the majority of his being knew the truth, that it wasn't the deceptive flirting that irked him so. It was the simple fact that after each kiss, when he looked into their eyes, they were never golden brown.

"I've kissed my mother." Startled out of his thoughts, the young prince's eyes slowly refocused on Danya as the boy presented him his paltry confession. His mother. His eyes sharpened. Huh?

"Your mother?" Graydon exclaimed indignantly.

Before the prince could continue his interrogation--an exasperated "That doesn't count!" already rested on his tongue--the Tuzkayan spontaneously dove underwater. He could only stare bewilderingly as the boy shot right back out, blinking away the river water. Without missing a beat, he continued right on with what he was saying.

"She's a girl," Danya pointed out. Graydon opened his mouth to object, but just as quickly closed it as he added, "And the only girl I care to kiss. Kissing doesn't interest me. Coming to see you interests me." And in a rather casual manner, the dark-haired boy drew closer and placed his hand atop of Graydon's head. The prince blinked slowly. He hadn't the faintest clue what to make of Danya's words. They were in direct contradiction with what most boys their age wanted; it was certainly something Graydon would never admit to. But he couldn't help but feel immense satisfaction that, above all else, Danya enjoyed seeing him the most. And looking now into his eyes--yes, those liquid gold eyes unmatched by others--he was quite certain he felt the same.

"I see," He finally answered. Then, more quietly, "I see." Because he did see. Young though he was, he was beginning to understand some things about himself that he hadn't noticed before. The sudden realization of why he hadn't felt right kissing those girls left him suddenly aware of Danya's hand on his head. His breathing stilled. Was this nervousness he felt? No; it was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on. But he was sure of one thing, a singular thought that compelled him to close his fingers around his friend's outstretched arm.

His eyes roved over Danya's face. "Well, since you're here, I might as well teach you, hm…?"

He had no idea what exactly he was intending to teach. Even before his mind realized it, his body was already moving. Closing the short distance between them, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Danya's. It was a rather quick kiss. Just as he was beginning to taste the other boy, the salt of the river still on his lips, he pulled away. It took him awhile to find his voice.

"There." His voice was a soft murmur, albeit devoid of the usual teasing lilt it had. "Now once you've got your girl, you can say you've kissed someone other than your mother. Your welcome."
​

 

[CalamitousNag]

In their brief closeness, Danya let his eyes settle on--and appreciate--the other boy's features. He studied the angular planes of Graydon's face, taking in the shape of his cheekbones down to the eyelashes that framed those exigent eyes of his. In many ways, it was like he was seeing him for the first time, perhaps noticing things he'd never quite considered before. It's not that Danya had never wanted to really look at his friend, he just hadn't dared to for fear of sparking questions.

"I see … I see." Graydon's repeated assertion was almost a whisper. It was hard to hold Graydon's gaze like this and so he distracted himself by running his thumb through the other's water-slickened locks. Panic briefly seized his heart when warm, damp fingers closed around his arm.

Danya knew then that it wasn't the fear of Graydon's questions that spooked him. He was more afraid of the answers he would have for him.

He watched as Graydon's steel gray eyes flit to and fro, watching something Danya himself couldn't see. The dark haired boy's nostrils flared. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"Well, since you're here, I might as well teach you, hm…?"

"What?" He hadn't really heard all that the other boy said, only knew instinctively that it didn't match up quite with the way he had expected the conversation to go.

And so, he was surprised.

Danya's breathing ceased the moment he felt a foreign touch on a rather sensitive part of his face. He didn't completely register whose touch and what it was until he saw his dearest friend pull away.

He was still in the water. Danya floundered a quick moment when the soft current of the river almost pulled him under. Not only had he forgotten to breathe but to swim, too!

Danya stared with wide eyes back at Graydon. He was wanting Danya to thank him? For what? When?

His friend had kissed him.

Danya felt it was time to get out of the river. The water had done little to cool him. He was certain in the burning of his cheeks that he was at least 10 degrees hotter than he had been going in. He forced calm as he attempted a shy smile and turned away, swimming towards shore.

A million thoughts skipped through his head but he could focus on none. He knew that he should say something--some witty comment or maybe a playful jibe--but he couldn't find the will to at that moment. The dark-haired boy was decidedly shook.

Danya climbed out of the water and walked stiffly towards where he had left his robes. He sifted through the pile until he found his linen pants and pulled them on haphazardly. He collapsed soon after, flopping down and beginning to squeeze the water from his thick braids.

He should really say something…

"You've had a lot of practice."

Danya visibly started at his poor choice of words, instant regret coloring his features. Change of topic, then.

"You should get out before the river fish mistake your legs for gangly worms," Danya joked, focusing on every where but the water. Once he was satisfied with each braid's dampness, he slung them over his shoulder and collapsed backward on the ground. His nerves felt as if they were drawn tight and he was overwhelmed with sudden energy. His hands were shaking, so he tucked them behind his head.

"Come lay down and dry off, Graydon. If you go back sick, your father will truly be angry. Best to not let them know you've been in the river swimming. They'll start asking questions."

Or, perhaps, Danya wasn't quite ready for the other boy to leave quite yet, as antsy as he was to face him.

 

[Kuno]

Perhaps Graydon's boldness was a curse after all. His dark-haired companion was caught unawares by the kiss and seemed unable to process it; but not for long. He watched with intense scrutiny as Danya fled the water, unwilling to meet the prince's eyes as he strode onto the shore. Ah, he's running away. A dark chuckle escaped him. He supposed he'd scared the boy witless. Maybe he'd have run, too, if Danya had abruptly kissed him in that manner. Or maybe not. He eyed the Tuzkayan boy, who was hurriedly shuffling through his belongings. His gaze did not linger too long; while his expression was unreadable, he found that he was just as disoriented as Danya was. What was this ache he felt in his chest? Disappointment? Surely he hadn't been expecting his friend to kiss him back. Surely not. But then, why…?

Why on earth did I kiss him?

"You've had a lot of practice."

It took all Graydon had to not be startled by Danya's sudden comment. He turned, rather slowly, to face his friend. The boy in question was now sitting, his gaze pointedly pinned to the ground as he wrung out the water from his long braids. If Danya had said while looking at him, giving him that lopsided grin that defined him so, Graydon might've actually took to it heart. But the boy's face was fixed in a grimace; he hadn't meant to say it, then. A shame. The knot tightened around his heart. Graydon closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, letting the current take him. Something was decidedly wrong with him, and he could not even figure it out. Even worse, Danya was made uncomfortable by it. All at once, regret washed over the boy. Regret for making his friend come out of sorts. Regret for being so bolden in his actions.

But he did not regret enjoying the kiss. And there it was; Graydon blinked in surprise at his own conviction. It certainly made sense, did it not? At Danya's beckoning--he who still refused to look at him--the prince finally began swimming towards shore. It was as he was stepping out onto the shore that his friend made the comment about his father, at which point he came to a full stop, eyeing his friend blankly. It was almost like Danya was fumbling for things to say, forcing himself to spill out some dribble to keep the conversation going. He fully and truly was spooked. The cogs in Graydon's brain began to turn slowly as he thought of how best to remedy this. Finally, he simply collected his belongings and began his ascent up to where Danya was.

"Pft, the old man will be fine." The reply came breezily, as if he didn't have a care in the world. And as long as he stayed there, he could at least pretend to. As he settled down some distance away from Danya, Graydon's expression remained neutral as he looked out upon the water's surface. "He's got better things to worry about." Toeing the ground, he maintained a steady gaze on his feet as he gathered his thoughts.

"I'm sorry for kissing you." No I'm not. "Sometimes I take my jokes too far." It was no joke.

Inhaling deeply, he finally turned his eerily grey eyes onto Danya. In the sun's light, his eyes almost appeared white. "I hope you'll forgive me, old friend. I'll never do it again." Was that pain stabbing him in the heart so?

Turning away, he, too, laid out on his back, mirroring Danya's position. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky. He wondered how much trouble he would be in once he returned home. By now, it had surely been reported that he was missing from his daily lessons. Maybe Annabeth, the little devil, had already snitched about his whereabouts. Maybe the guards were already combing through the palace, their eyes rolling back in their heads from sheer boredom. Not again, they would say. Your Majesty, please, they would say. And perhaps his mother would let it go, for awhile. But once the sun began to set, the search would begin once again in earnest. And this time, it would not stop. Graydon sighed heavily. He would have to go soon.

"Will you be here next week as well?"

Already, he wanted desperately to make sure he would see Danya again. Propping himself up on his elbows, he peered at Danya, awaiting his reply.
​

 

[CalamitousNag]

His senses seemed to be on high alert. Danya was acutely aware of every movement and every sound that Graydon made. He heard the sloshing of the water as Graydon exited the river. That meant he was coming closer.

The shaking in his arms transformed into a full body shiver.

Danya kept telling himself that it was just the cool wind over his dampened skin.

Hearing Graydon's approach, Danya quickly sucked in a breath before slamming his eyes shut. He focused hard on evening out his breath and giving a pretense of unshaken calm. Danya didn't want Graydon to see him acting strangely. Would Graydon laugh at him? Probably.

Internally, Danya was berating himself. Graydon would see him acting strangely and think him weak, unexperienced. Danya bet even those girls Graydon had kissed didn't act so strangely as he. Secretly, he could feel moisture welling under his eyelashes. Tears of frustration. Tears!

"Pft, the old man will be fine … he's got better things to worry about."

Danya's eyes popped open suddenly and he couldn't help but turn his face towards the direction of Graydon's voice. The dark-haired boy worried his lip and hoped that Graydon wouldn't notice his moist eyes, but… what Graydon had just said, Danya couldn't help but look at him.

What possibly could be more important than Graydon getting sick? Wasn't that cause for worry in and of itself? Something about Graydon's flippant dismissal struck Danya as strange. Danya's parents--yes, even his bed-ridden father--would worry incessantly if he took ill. Was it truly Graydon's father who didn't care… or… was it that Graydon didn't care about himself?

There was a stretch of silence. Danya could see Graydon focusing on something in front of him.

Danya was just about to clarify what Graydon had meant when the russet-haired boy spoke again. And it was the last thing that Danya had expected.

"I'm sorry for kissing you. … Sometimes I take my jokes too far."

Danya turned his face away from Graydon until he was staring at the sky. He could feel that familiar burning in his cheeks again. He tried to focus on the shapes of the clouds but there were none, only a blue sky and a sun that had moved west.

That funny feeling of over-awareness came back to him. He was suddenly very confident that Graydon was looking at him. If Danya was honest with himself, he could feel Graydon's eyes on him.

He couldn't ignore his friend. Graydon had just apologized to him.

Graydon had just apologized.

Danya's eyes widened. How could he miss this? Was he so self-absorbed that he couldn't even acknowledge his friend's apology?

He didn't need to apologize.

And Danya would tell him so. He turned and Danya's eyes timidly sought out Graydon's for the first time since the river. What he saw made him forget to breathe for the second time that day.

The sun's position illuminated Graydon's face. Danya could pick out the red strands of the Deinish boy's hair. His eyelashes stood out dark against his skin. They framed his pale grey eyes.

Eyes that scared the shit out of him.

"I hope you'll forgive me, old friend. I'll never do it again."

The Tuzkayan boy watched as Graydon spoke these words and his heart broke.

Danya's internal thoughts were obsessive: I offended him. I made him feel bad. I made him feel like he hurt me--but he didn't.

I'm scared.

Graydon turned away from him and laid down on the grass.

You're my friend. Please don't be sad. I love you.

And he did. Danya loved him.

And he wanted Graydon to kiss him again.

"Will you be here next week as well?" Graydon asked him.

Danya lifted himself at about the same time Graydon rose to his elbows. Danya met his friend's expectant eyes and almost lost courage, but he pushed through it. Before he would answer him, Danya would reassure him.

Danya turned over and moved on his knees until he was at Graydon's side. It was by no means graceful and the way he just sat there when he'd reached the other boy was probably just as strange as his earlier behavior. Even so, hesitantly, Danya worked up the courage.

Leaning in towards Graydon, he gave the other boy time to pull away and hoped at the same time that he wouldn't. Danya would return the kiss if it was the last thing he did.

He just hoped he wasn't too late.

What am I doing?

Danya tried to turn his head as he'd seen others do to avoid bumping Graydon in the nose. In such close proximity, all he could feel was the other boy, see traces of fine movement under his fair skin. He reached a hand up to cup Graydon's face--or rather, to steady himself. His marigold was always good at steadying him.

"I'll be here next week," Danya said before he pressed in to place his lips upon Graydon's.

 

[Kuno]

Danya had pushed himself up into a sitting position; now he sat, gaping at Graydon wordlessly. Hesitantly. As if he didn't know if he wanted to come back next week, or ever for that matter. The latter of the two scrutinized him. He wished the other boy would simply go ahead and say what he felt: that the kiss had jarred him completely, and that he didn't want to see him again. Yes, that's right. It was only natural that he felt that way, wasn't it?

Why did I kiss him? Why?

It was too much for the young prince. Sitting up abruptly, he turned his head away and stared out at the river. What a silly, foolish, naive boy he was. What a stupid, half-cocked idea he'd had. He simply hoped, rather anxiously, that Danya would forgive him soon. He couldn't risk losing the only friend he had. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he flicked his eyes over to see what his friend was up to.

Only to stare directly into cognac brown eyes.

"Danya?" He was more shocked than anything else. When did his friend get so close to him? The Tuzkayan now sat some mere inches away, looking at Graydon with a strange expression on his face. The prince stared back, confused. "Danya?" Graydon repeated. "What are you…"

All words left his mouth as his friend leaned in close. His breath quickening, Graydon could only watch in astonishment as the other boy drew closer still. His eyes never left his face; he could see every finer detail of Danya's features. He could pick out the gold flecks among brown that made his friend's eyes sparkle so with that warmth and fire that he so often craved. My God, Graydon breathed wordlessly. It was finally happening.

He dared not move, no less blink. He held very still as Danya's warm hand pressed against his cheek and chin; unconsciously, he leaned into it. It's happening. It's happening. His own mind could scarcely comprehend it.

"I'll be here next week," Danya murmured, lips tantalizingly close. Graydon closed his eyes shut, his pulse racing wildly. It's happening. It's-

In the next moment, his lips were pressing against Graydon's.

The prince ceased breathing entirely. He sensed it all: the softness of Danya's lips against the salt of the river water still fresh on their mouths. The forest smell of Danya that now pressed into Graydon's skin. His warm, solid body leaning so firmly against his own. Danya, Danya, Danya. It was all the young prince's to feel. To touch. To hold. He acted without thought; throwing an arm around Danya, he pulled him even closer, kissing him back with exceptional gusto. His body flushed with satisfaction. So this is what a real kiss is. The silly girls he'd fooled around with soon left his memory. He was a boy reborn, and he opened himself to it. To Danya: his most beloved friend. He wish he could hold the moment forever. Or so he thought.

At his lung's groaning protest, the prince finally pulled slowly out of Danya's grasp. His hair was ruffled from the exchange, his eyes still wet from the rush of emotions that was overtaking him.

"I…" Graydon was at a loss for words. He stared in a daze at the darker-haired boy. Words. He needed words. Say something. His thoughts forming sluggishly, his face slowly colored red as he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, old friend. I got carried away." He faltered again as he took in the radiant view of his compatriot. As he took in his soft, golden eyes. He wanted to kiss him again. Very, very badly. Graydon's eyes swept the other way.

I need to get out of here. "I'll see you next week, then. Same time." He added hastily.​

 

[CalamitousNag]

It was strange how all of his oppressing thoughts ceased in the moment that he connected with Graydon. Gone was his indecision and uncertainty. All that was left was the very real sensation of skin on skin. Danya was aware of everything in that moment. Even in the small ways they touched, he could feel Graydon's tension as the other boy seized up. Had Danya surprised him? Graydon wasn't pulling away...

Oh. He was kissing him too long.

Remembering himself and realizing how awkward he was probably making this, Danya started to pull away--

When something slammed into the back of his neck, holding him in place, as his friend came up with gusto to meet him.

This was too much for poor Danya. He hadn't been expecting a response.

But, oh, was he getting one.

Danya's eyes--having been in a half-lidded state--flew open and he may have made a sound but all sound was lost to Graydon's fervent kiss.

Instinctually his one free hand came up between them and pressed into Graydon's chest. It was more so to keep Danya from losing his balance than it was to push the other boy away. Even when he was the cause of his off-balance, Graydon was still his rock.

Eventually the initial panic subsided and Danya stilled and allowed the kiss. He was still too much a novice to really continue on this train of things, so when Graydon slowly pulled away, all Danya was left with was his breathlessness and shock.

When he met unfocused steel-gray eyes, Danya wondered if Graydon, too, felt the same. Graydon was looking at him, but not. Danya was going to ask whether the other boy was okay until he noticed a pinkish hue spreading across the Deinian boy's face.

Graydon? Blushing? Danya blushed. His mother blushed. His father, cousin and aunt blushed. But Graydon didn't blush.

Danya lost it.

Graydon would surely think it strange that Danya's response to his apology was a fit of giggles. The giggles morphed into a chuckle that morphed into full blown laughter. Perhaps the degree of laughter wasn't warranted for the situation, but there were so many emotions coursing through him at that moment that Danya couldn't help but let it out. He was absolutely elated and he didn't know why.

No, he knew why. The why was right here in front of him.

"Well, you never cease to get what you want," Danya teased him, sitting back on his haunches to give his friend some space. Danya's eyes were crescent moons in his merriment.

Graydon's eyes swept to the side.

Danya's smile faltered.

"Hm?" Danya tilted his head. Was this a dismissal?

"I'll see you next week, then. Same time." Graydon spoke in a rush.

Danya looked up overhead. The sun hadn't yet set but the colors of the sky were starting to turn. How long had they been out here?

"Y-yeah, of course," Danya said uneasily, his smile shaky and unsure. Maybe he shouldn't have laughed.

Danya pushed off of his knees and stood up. In an attempt to keep things less awkward, he focused instead on stretching his limbs and rolling his shoulders. He reached up to rub the back of his neck and realized a beat too late that Graydon's arm had been around it.

Maybe Danya was blushing, too.

Danya strode over to his pile of clothes and began to put the rest of them on. He pulled on the tunic and refastened his cap to his head. He didn't bother to hide away his braids and instead left them down.

When he had finished and spent as much time as he could avoiding eye contact with Graydon, he finally turned to seek out his friend.

"I had better be going," Danya rocked on his heels, looking downstream to where his small boat was likely (hopefully) still anchored. "I have to help with supper and I had promised to bring back some fish. I'd better get to that before the fish go to sleep. There's more of them on our side of the river, anyway," Danya smiled. He tried not to focus on the events that had just transpired. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to look Graydon in the face again if he did. "Be safe getting home!" The Tuzkayan boy waved at his friend one last time and before he turned and headed back downstream.​

 

[Kuno]

-- Many years later --
Location: Tuzkayan court
Time: Late hours of the morning

The road to Tuzkaya was indeed a treacherous one.

Twice the carriage wheels became stuck on the paltry, hole-ridden excuses for roads. On one of their many pit stops, one of the foot servants' became ill, forcing them to send him back home with a guard. Halfway to the city, they were met readily by a party of Tuzkayan vassals, no doubt sent to hurry along their sleepy entourage. And a good thing, too. They arrived at the citadel just as the hour struck midnight; an hour far too late to be introduced to their good host, let alone enough opportunity to be settled in for the night.

But morning came all too soon. Without delay, Prince Graydon had been dressed and prepared for the oncoming Commencement ceremony. It was his first time seeing the palace in the light of day. As he and his entourage were led fully into the outside courtyard, the Deinian could feel one thought resounding through his mind as he took in the rich array of colors.

How in the world had he found himself in a place as beautiful as this one?

The prince's senses were laid awash in the splendors of the East. Shining grey eyes flitted about the large courtyard with remarkable interest, the young man seemingly unable to take it all in as he turned about slowly, guards trailing behind him. In many ways, he was still that boy from the Deep: locks of hair the color of burning embers. His eyes an unflinching cut of steel. But where there was once an almost purely joyful face now lay a blank mask fixed into a careful gaze. He was heir to the throne, and as such was expected to act as one. Emotions had no place at court. While his eyes sparkled with the wonders of Tuzkayan craftmanship, his expression remained perfectly stoic.

Everything in the room reminded him of Danya. As the days had drawn closer to his leaving for Tuzkaya, Graydon had found himself thinking of his old friend more than he'd thought of him in the ten and some years that had elapsed since their last meeting. Much had changed in that time. Shortly after their final meeting occured, an assassination attempt was carried out on Graydon. To this day they have no idea who orchestrated it; but once that occured, the lax rules that had allowed Graydon to enjoy his youth to the full were done away. Soon afterwards Dein was plunged into a short-lived war with the neighboring country of Brüinsar, a rather petty affair that was solved rather quickly with an abundant exchange of goods. The months had stretched into years. The prince became betrothed to a much younger girl of sixteen--Lady Rhea of Fire Creek. His father had given him some territory of his own, in reward for his growing accomplishments. And some time earlier, in the eve of this year, his father had fallen gravely ill.

It gave Graydon the opportunity of a lifetime. The opportunity to be free.

All eyes were upon him as he strolled about the outdoor arena. Every once in a while he would catch the eyes of one of the persons staring, and he would watch in amusement as they quickly looked away, the impropriety of their actions burning into their cheeks. He supposed that he and his fairer-haired servants contrasted starkly against the native Tuzkayan nobles. Even if they didn't know who he was--a ridiculous notion--his clothing told the tale for him. It was considered improper to dress more flashily than the host--in this case, the king--back in Dein. But even in Graydon's simplest, muted attire, he still exuded opulence, from the silver necklace hanging across his pale silk shirt, to the mink-lined cloak he had thrown over his outfit that stretched from his shoulders to his black leather boots. He was a walking paragon of Deinian wealth. But if you asked him, he felt more like a plumped up puppet, dancing idly on his father's strings.

His heart ached for the solitude of the Deep more than ever.

"Good morning, Your Majesty."

Graydon turned and watched as an older Tuzkayan man dipped into a deep bow. He recognized him as one of the vassals who escorted their party to the city--a lord, perhaps? That is, if his fine robes were any indication. The prince nodded his head in recognition of the bow.

"Good morning."

The vassal smiled politely. "How is Your Majesty enjoying the festivities so far?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Graydon's eyes flickered to the crowded room. He was in no mood for small talk, and he hoped the blatant disinterest on his face would deter the Tuzkayan man.

It did not. "I hope you do not consider the Tuzkayan people uncouth for staring," the vassal continued on, his accent thick over his Deinian words. "We are unaccustomed to individuals with such colorful shades of hair. After all, it has been centuries since a Deinian has been in our court."

"So it is. Never fear, if this alliance is a success, you will see more of us light-haired demons soon enough," Graydon replied contemptuously, for he well knew what they called his people behind closed doors. And, when they assumed he wouldn't understand, right in front of his face.

The vassal paled considerably. "Uh, of course. Excuse me, Your Majesty." Bowing again, the older man all but fled the scene, no doubt terrified that he had inexplicably angered Dein's next king. Graydon stifled a scoff. With any luck, he wouldn't be bothered again. And speaking of being bothered…

Where in God's name was the king?​

 

[CalamitousNag]

Much had transpired in the past decade, so much so, that Tuzkaya was only the same in name.

Gone was the royal family that had ruled the small country for a century; in its place, a martial state had been erected until that, too, fell, revealing the current political landscape. Throughout the upheaval, the Walled Capital suffered at the hands of many who had resented the aristocracy and the once opulent building quickly fell into disuse.

That was, until the new Commander-in-Chief decided to take residence in the Walled Capital with the sole purpose of reestablishing it as the center of the country.

It was not an easy feat.

Repairs would need to be made and without the blind loyalty of the Tuzkayan populace that his predecessor had enjoyed, the new Commander-in-Chief was almost left without workers. Instead, lesser soldiers were called to help to renovate the capital building--an action that would further strain their respect for the new Commander.

Danya would beg to differ, however; he knew he didn't have his soldiers' respect. All he had was their fear and suspicion.

It was no secret among the Tuzkayan rebel army how Danya, an officer in the infantry, had come to hold his new title. Those who hailed from the villages called him a kiss-up; those from the nobility, a traitor.

Danya's predecessor, Commander Hidayat Sheraliev, had fallen at the hands of one of his lessers, the Commander of Cavalry. Both men hailed from noble families who had been in power during the Tuzkayan king's reign. The only thing they had ever managed to agree upon was overthrowing the throne. Danya had been present when Hidayat was attacked. Danya had gained much favor with Hidayat due to his skill in rallying the support and respect of the soldiers who hailed from the countryside, being from the villages himself. Danya had been invited to accompany Hidayat to the commander's banquet where the Commander-in-Chief would inevitably lose his life. Danya subdued Hidayat's attacker but not before Hidayat's life was taken. Many thought this curious; in one night, two of the rebel army's highest commanders had been slain. By day-break, it was discovered that the same fate had befallen the other commanders in attendance. A complete overhaul of leadership had taken place. Danya assumed temporary leadership of the rebel army.

It was obvious that Danya hadn't acted alone in what many believe to have been a scheme to eradicate the rebel army's core leadership who were all, coincidentally, nobles who had enjoyed the Tuzkayan king's favor. What had been underestimated, however, was Danya's popularity amongst the soldiers from the villages. These men were the hardest hit by the Tuzkayan king's eccentricities and made up the largest amount of rebel recruits. With their backing, Danya was able to wrest control from those who thought to use him as a puppet and, instead, established a young dictatorship in the meantime while the country got back on its feet.

But it would never be stable if he lost the trust of those he had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with on the battlefield. Instead of raising them up, providing them the land and wealth he had promised them, Danya was forcing them to clean the king's palace.

No, it wasn't an easy feat at all. But there had been progress and the palace was finally presentable enough to entertain the rulers of the neighboring countries. These rulers had been invited to attend Danya's Commencement ceremony, a ceremony that would largely re-introduce Tuzkaya to the world.

Danya closed his eyes. By sheer force of his will alone, he quashed his rising panic. Only to jerk at the sound of the wooden door bouncing off his dressing room's wall as his chamberlain whirled in like a sandstorm.

"Five rooms are not ready. The ruler of Muktein is not coming, and seven others have sent simple nobles in their places. Nobles! Do we not even warrant the audience of a diplomat?!"

Danya opened his eyes slowly. Though the sound had startled him, he knew good and well who was brazen enough to burst into his interior rooms with the force of a maelstrom. For some people, no change in station or position could ever change the social hierarchy instilled at birth.

"It is frustrating, amma, but hardly unexpected," Danya addressed his aunt, Aysha, as he finished securing the closures at the front of his caftan. He didn't look up knowing full well the fire he'd see behind his aunt's black eyes. The woman was older now and her graying hair was surely pulled into a neat coif hidden under a genderless cap. While she looked the part of a man, his father's sister ran the household like a seasoned wife. He hadn't turned down her offer to help when he was recruiting members for the newly refurbished household. Having lost both her husband and son, Alexei, to the war, it was all his aunt could do to keep her sanity. He had invited his mother, too, to join him in the Walled Capital but she still wouldn't speak to him. Though his mother had not agreed with the Tuzkayan king's ways, it shamed her to know that her only son, serving the rebel army, had played a part in his death.

Aysha clucked her tongue and grabbed Danya's biceps, effectively spinning him around. "You are hopeless," she chided as she swatted his hands away and fussed at the ties of his robe. "Did you not notice that you fastened these incorrectly?"

With an unfocused gaze, the young man looked down at himself. His aunt was right; he had misbuttoned the garment, leaving one side six inches higher than the other. Danya forced a sigh, reveling in the unguarded moment before he would have to go out and play the role of ruler. "Thank you, amma," he said quietly.

Without pausing in her ministrations, Aysha looked up at her nephew's face. She frowned. This one was nothing like her son, Alexei. Alexei had been easier to read, downright simple at times. Danya on the other hand… well, Aysha certainly pitied the boy's mother. Aysha finished fixing the young man's garment and took a step back. She gave him a once over. The moody, quiet boy she had known since birth had grown to a man just near six feet tall. He still had those piercing eyes of his mother's, though they now took on a cooler, more unsettled look that Aysha wasn't used to seeing. The boy looked… haunted.

Battle would do that to a man, and with as much in-fighting that Danya had surely paid witness to, it was no wonder he looked as if he hadn't slept a wink. Knowing him, he probably hadn't.

"Why do you wear robes of black?" Aysha asked, concerned. Danya was outfitted in a black caftan embroidered with black thread. It was menacing. And cold.

Danya looked up at his aunt. "Do you not, as well?" his smile didn't reach his eyes.

Huffing, Aysha spun away, her dark robes flowing around her as she moved towards the door. Being in a traditionally male role, his aunt couldn't help but dress in the subdued colors a man would wear. But at least her robes were embroidered in gold.

"Come, nephew. It is midday. Your guests are waiting. We're not secure enough yet to try their patience."

Danya followed.


----
Location: Grand Hall of State, Walled Capital



It was a fairly healthy gathering, considering the precariousness of the ceremony itself. The nobility of foreign lands, sprinkled with some of Tuzkaya's own, milled about the brick-laden courtyard of the Grand Hall of State. Servants walked around with trays of simple delicacies and musicians played soft music from the veranda at the front of the arena. In the center of the courtyard stood a circular stone platform upon which the various nobles and dignitaries would be introduced to the new ruler of Tuzkaya. Flower garlands decorated the platform and a man dressed in bright brocade stood peering nervously around. He would announce the guests for the evening.

At the front of the arena stood three doors. The one on the left swung open and servants appeared to arrange the area. Pillows were laid about and brilliant tapestries were laid across the silver throne in the center. It seemed like the ruler would arrive soon.

The announcer noticing the commotion waited until the servants were through and gave a sharp nod to the musicians. The music died quietly. The Tuzkayan nobles, familiar with these cues, looked to the front of the arena. Though each appeared as if they were willingly in attendance, a certain unease could be assumed by the way they stood. After all, the new ruler had come to power after eliminating some of their own. Was their fear unfounded that they may indeed be next?

One of the musicians drew a baton across a carillon and the high-pitched tinkling of the bells could be heard from every corner of the venue.

The masses seemed to huddle together as everyone tried to get a look at the new ruler. For many of the Tuzkayan nobles, this would be the first time they laid eyes on the new Commander-in-Chief. Whispers could be heard through the crowd. "He murdered them." "The nobles who rebelled are all dead--who does that leave?" "I've heard he has the support of the soldiers."

The announcer cleared his throat and turned to face the crowd.

The middle door opened.

"Esteemed guests, I present to you: Commander-in-Chief Danya of the Niyazov clan!"

"Who?" "There are no Niyazov amongst the nobility." The whispers increased among the Tuzkayan nobles. Among the confusion was fear. They did not know this person. Had a foreigner took leadership of their nation?

Out of the open middle door emerged a tall man of athletic frame. Curiously, his hair was bound like a countryman beneath the black fur cap upon his head, the crown of which was laid in silver adornment. It was not the crown of royalty; in fact, it wasn't a crown at all. He walked to the silver throne and paused before it, letting his eyes sweep over his audience. Secretly satisfied that he had a good amount of attention, he seated himself.

The Tuzkayan nobility gave an uneasy bow, though many didn't break their stares as they inclined at the waist.

"We will begin the pronouncements!" the announcer called, his shrill voice a startling cry in the arena. "I present Princess Maria Urban of Peros." A young woman accompanied by what surely was a guard emerged from the crowd dressed in a banana-yellow frilly number.

It sounded as if the furthest countries away were being introduced first. Guests began orientating themselves to prepare for their own names and countries to be called.

A middle-aged Tuzkayan noble-woman pushed her way towards the front, eager to get a better glimpse of the new Tuzkayan ruler. She stopped suddenly, however, when the next person she was about to push aside struck her immediately as foreign. From the back she couldn't tell his age, but by the looks of his brilliant russet-colored hair and stature, he appeared to be a younger man. By the sumptuousness of his attire, he looked to be royalty.

There was no such thing as a bad introduction.

Plus, she had a weakness for gossip that tended to override reason. Sidling up on the side of the man before her, the noble-woman spoke in hushed tones. "This is a lovely event, isn't it? Quite a way to bring in the new ruler of our country." She turned fully, bowing at the waist to the man beside her. "I am Sitora of Lahouti, my family has served the king for three generations. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with…" she licked her lips, taking a leap of faith, "… your highness?" Her eyes fell to the cloak about the man's shoulders, her eyes giddy and… a tad flirtatious.

 

[Kuno]

By the time the carillon was sounded to precede the king's presence, Graydon was thoroughly exhausted. Sleep had eluded him in the few hours allotted to his party to rest. He'd spent the better part of that morning being prepared and briefed for the ceremony, and now he was here, forced to smile and intermingle with guests who swelled around him like an ever growing tide.

He was a distinct anomaly in a sea of foreigners. While they exchanged many pleasantries, he could see the unasked question lurking in their eyes: Why is the prince of Dein here? It was a topic so interesting, that nothing could dislodge it. That is, except for the upcoming arrival of the king. At the tinkling of the bells, his current company excused themselves from him. He immediately used the opportunity to seat himself against a low-rising wall. His small entourage of guards and advisors hovered around him expectantly. He shook his head to the concern lingering on their faces. It wouldn't do to make a fuss out of it, not with so many people watching. Besides, he'd have plenty of time for a nap after his official appearance was over.

He was just accepting a goblet of wine from a passing servant when the announcer cleared his throat. His grey eyes flickered to the front of the chamber.

"Esteemed guests, I present to you: Commander-in-Chief Danya of the Niyazov clan!"

Graydon's hands stilled. The throngs of people surrounding him began to murmur amongst themselves at the announcement. Who? Who? They whispered over and over. A few fragments of the conversations reached his ears. The rest was lost as he stared into nothing, focusing on nothing. Danya of the Niyazov clan. Who? Who?

"Your Majesty? Are you all right?"

Graydon drew his attention to his chief advisor, who watched him with wary eyes. The prince was quick to smooth his features into one of faint mischief. "Quite so, my dear Sevan. I'm merely wondering how common a name Danya is in this country."

His advisor cocked his head to the side, confused. "Sire?"

Before the prince could find a suitably witty answer--he liked to annoy Sevan to no end--the large, brass doors at the forefront of the courtyard opened with much fanfare. It seized everyone's attention immediately; even Graydon found his eyes drawn to it. Before all their beholden eyes, a tall, well-built figure emerged into the room. Graydon was too far away to get a clear view of the man. As the new king seated himself on his throne, he watched as the nobility slipped into bows, the dipping of their backs a domino effect throughout the crowd. Graydon was one of the few in the audience who did not, his eyes never leaving the throne.

The prince was no fool. He was good at playing the role when needed, for sure. But behind his royal charm and smiles, he noticed everything: the frigid atmosphere, the frenzied whispers of the other nobles, even the title of the king. Something was jarringly wrong. His eyes sought out his personal knight, a hulking figure by the name of Garth. As grey eyes met with blue, it was in that moment that Graydon knew that they were thinking the precise same thought.

What wasn't the Tuzkayan government telling them?

It seemed they were announcing the foreign guests now. In a loud, high voice, the young announcer rang out the name of Princess Maria of Peros. Graydon paid little attention to her, instead turning his gaze down to his drink. Peros was the least of his worries. As the guests began shuffling around him in anticipation, he rose from his seat and began to move towards the throne with everyone else.

"Garth," The prince began quietly. The knight's eyes snapped over to him. "We need to--"

"This is a lovely event, isn't it? Quite a way to bring in the new ruler of our country."

Graydon's mask fell quickly into place as he spun around to face his unknown speaker, a woman who was already midway through a bow as his gaze fell upon her. It was not until her body straightened once more that he could appraise her fully. The rich gold circlet interwoven throughout her black hair sang of nobility. She was an older noblewoman, one who regarded the prince before her with beaming eyes and flushed cheeks as she rather joyfully introduced herself. Too joyfully, in his opinion. Graydon's eyes slid in his knight's direction lazily. Do I have time for this?, was what he wanted to ask him, for he'd seen Lady Sitora's sort time and time again. But at the stormy expression on Garth's face, Graydon stopped short. He could already see what that mountain of a man was thinking. His eyebrows furrowing, the prince began to shake his head slowly at the knight. No, hold your tongue, you fool. Hold it!

Lady Sitora was oblivious to the wordless interaction between the men. "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with…" Here she paused. Graydon held his breath. "...your highness?" She finally finished in a voice surging with hope. Hope, of all things. And, just barely under the surface, doubt. Graydon peered at the knight at his side to gauge his reaction.

Garth looked ready to burst a vein. "Prince Graydon of Dein, firstborn of the Deinian court and heir to the throne is whom you speak with, madam."

The fervor in his voice made Graydon want to burst into laughter. The older man was always quick to take offense at any perceived slights against Graydon, no matter the fact the prince could care less. He could tell ol' Garth was about to launch into a tirade. His eyes dancing with amusement, the prince held up his hand to stop the oncoming storm of words about to come out his friend's mouth. "You must forgive my dear knight here, Lady Sitora. He is quite the man beholden to principle, and is loath to abandon it even in light of practicality," Graydon said lightly, a teasing lilt to his voice.

The prince pretended not to hear the quiet hmph from Garth immediately following his words. After excusing the larger man from the duo, Graydon turned fully to Sitora, a polite expression on his face.

"Yes, the event is indeed quite lovely," He remarked, and in that statement was no lie. But beneath the ostentatious decor and glamour of the event, the ceremony had a decidedly cold aura about it. Graydon had noticed that immediately when he first entered the venue; now it was intensified tenfold by the arrival of the king. Mulling over the possible reason for it would do his impatient mind no good. Looking down at the overeager face of Lady Sitora, the man finally settled upon a use for her at last.

"Tell me something, Sitora." His grey eyes flickered from her to the crowd. "This is a rather glum affair, is it not? Your people certainly lack a certain...warmth to the reception of their new leader." Swirling his drink around in its goblet, he peered at her, arching an eyebrow. "I hope this was not the case for his father…?"

Then, at remembering her previous statement, he added, "And what say you about the royal family's disposition? You, having served them so closely, most know them better than anyone here. And worry not." Here Graydon turned on all his charm, flashing her with a brilliant smile. "I won't tell anyone of our little tête-à-tête."
​

 

[CalamitousNag]

Lady Sitora's anticipation was obvious in the way she trembled at the prince's--a prince's!--acknowledgment. Alluring though she knew herself to be, she wouldn't have been at all surprised if he had simply dismissed her. That's how the noble types were after all, if the young prince's knight was any indication. Luckily, Sitora considered herself to be a rather insistent person.

Not that she'd ever have to use her feminine wiles to coerce this prince to conversation, however. He freely addressed her, sought her opinion. Already the aging lady's mind was working out the ways in which she could use this situation to her advantage.

Shooting a smug glance at the prince's knight before aptly ignoring his existence for the rest of the night, Lady Sitora peered up at the prince with admiration.

He was transfixing--it had to be those brilliant eyes of his. Quickly, Lady Sitora found her tongue loosening. She giggled at the candid, if not scandalous, way with which the young prince assessed the situation.

The aging lady oriented herself so that she was only partly facing the young prince. She wanted to give the impression that the display at the center of the arena held her full attention. She couldn't make it obvious that she was indulging with a foreign nobleman. It wasn't just downright scandalous, it almost erred on the side of treason!

Lady Sitora's skin flushed with the excitement of it all.

"My highness..." she began, her eyes fixing on the announcer whose voice had gotten progressively higher with each breath he took. "You are indeed keen in your observations. We Tuzkayans have always been wary of our rulers--out of respect, of course," the expression she threw over her shoulder at the prince was hard to read. "But this... ruler, well..." Lady Sitora took the opportunity to ease closer to the prince, her shoulder almost brushing the furs of his garment. "Let's just say his father is not who you may think him to be."

"The royal family we served was nothing like this man who is cold... distant. Our king knew class, respect. His family honored tradition and reason. This man--" Lady Sitora hesitated as she realized for the first time in her life that she may be saying too much. As an inkling of doubt worked its way into her mind, Sitora turned her eyes from the spectacle to look back at the prince. What she found was a brilliant and trusting smile. Lady Sitora found herself smiling in return. Perhaps, if she garnered favor with this prince, his kingdom may offer them refuge should her family ever need to flee. She decided, then, that it was safe to continue, though she would maintain her tact. She would leave it to the prince to interpret her words. "This ruler... I do not know."

...

He was the ruler, wasn't he? Couldn't he just make them stop? Was it really necessary to be introduced to twice-removed cousins of kings who couldn't be assed to come?

These were the thoughts that flit through Danya's mind, though he refused to act on them. Instead, he just looked on with an unamused face as the umpteenth noble was brought before his eyes.

'This is necessary for the prosperity of our country,' Danya kept repeating to himself like a mantra. He would suffer through it. He may even find a good alliance out of it.

It was obvious the countries who were more privy to Tuzkaya's recent strife. Those country's representatives greeted Danya with unease. Clear distrust shone in their eyes even as the inclinations of their heads presented the perfect degree of politeness and restraint. They were already on the defensive. Danya would have to decide if they had every right to be.

The young president-elect of Iria and his wife descended the circular stone platform as they returned to the throngs of guests amassed in the center of the arena. The couple had seemed quite pleasant. Iria had been a country to the west that was routinely invaded by the former Tuzkayan king during his many military expeditions to secure a place on the trade route. They had been a shaky alliance at best in those years and they seemed genuinely pleased with the news of a new regime. What they would hope to gain from a renewed Tuzkaya Danya would love to know. Danya amused himself with these thoughts as he waited for the evening to end.

The announcer waited a beat before presenting the next country. Danya noticed they were getting closer and closer to home. These announcements meant the most to him for it was an opportunity to gauge the resistance he would face. He sat a little straighter in his seat.

"I present to you," the announcer said for what had to be the billionth time, "Prince Graydon Pomplear of Dein."

For a split second, Danya's face tightened. If only.

It was a name from a simpler time. A name that, to this day, managed to evoke the memory of sunshine on his back as he laid in the grass by the river with a boy that had stolen his heart.

His Graydon must have been named after this prince. It wasn't uncommon. It was how the common folk paid tribute to their nation's pride and joy. Danya found himself eager to see this poor excuse of a prince who shared the name of one he could never possibly hold a candle to.

Danya remembered himself. The warmth faded. The whisper of the river stilled.

These announcements were getting the best of him. Danya hoped in his heart that they would soon be done. There was much work to do.

 

[Kuno]

Of all the silly characters the prince could have encountered. Graydon's smile froze in place at the noblewoman as she drew closer to him in a conspiratorial manner, dropping her voice to a fervent murmur. He could tell that Lady Sitora took a giddy pleasure in dropping him some juicy gossip. Was it considered treason to talk to a foreigner so? Maybe. Perhaps that is why the older woman looked as if she was committing a grand heist. Graydon found absolutely nothing
amusing about what she was saying.

"Let's just say his father is not who you may think him to be."

Her words said little, but revealed much. He listened keenly as she continued speaking about the royal family. Her tone seemed genuine enough. But whether or not it was true was a different story. He knew better than most that anyone could cook up a lie. Anyone. Even still, he could not pretend to be unaffected by what she was telling him. The more she spoke, the more his smile faded from his face.

"This ruler...I do not know."

By the time she finished with those words, Graydon's expression was as impassive as stone.

"I see" was all he could muster quietly. What else could he say? Through the maelstrom of questions swirling through his head, not one of them was appropriate to ask, especially not from some stranger who may or may not be telling the truth. His eyes flickered to the noblewoman's face. Who was she, really? What motivated a self-proclaimed loyalist to whisper in the ear of a foreigner? To muddy the waters, to plant lies in his head to affect the alliance? He did not know this woman. He did not know her character, her political affiliations, nothing.

But I do know she is telling the truth.

Call it a gut feeling, if you would. But he'd never seen any saboteur so unwilling to tell their lies. Even though her cheeks were flushed with excitement, Graydon had seen caution in her eyes when she was speaking to him. Hesitation, too. As if she wanted to be sure that her words were reaching Graydon's ears alone. The truth, then. She was telling the truth. Graydon turned his gaze back to the crowd, blandly looking on as the president-elect of Iria approached the throne. He could tell of Sitora's treachery, if he really wanted to. Expose her. Twist her words into whatever he wanted. Lay her treason out in front of the Tuzkayan commander with no thoughts spared, like a ruthless dog. Who was he to her, anyways? The risk on her part was substantial.

All the more reason for him to trust her.

Somewhere in the background, he heard the announcer call off something else, but the prince couldn't be bothered to listen. All he could think about now was the letter they'd received from Tuzkaya's ambassador. Three months after the civil war had ended in Tuzkaya, Dein had received word from their ambassador there about the current political environment. He had written that the rebels had been quelled, that the monarchy had been restored to its rightful place. But Graydon--as well as his father--had found it odd that he mentioned little to do with who the new ruler was, or what the aftermath of the war had done. The prince had decided to ignore his misgivings, especially in light of the invitation they received to attend the ceremony.

Now he was beginning to regret his hastiness.

Unbeknownst to Graydon, his name had been called by the announcer. The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves when the prince did not immediately show himself before the new ruler. The Tuzkayan announcer threw a worried look in his ruler's direction before clearing his throat once more.

"Prince Graydon Pomplear of Dein!"

This time Graydon heard. Snapping his head up, he looked over towards the front of the chamber. Oh, that was right. He had forgotten entirely about the silly presentations. Given the announcer's strange tone of voice, he assumed that this was not the first time he'd been called for.

Graydon knew that he could not afford to be summoned a third time. Giving an apologetic smile to Lady Sitora, he moved away, threading seamlessly through the throngs of people. For a while, he believed he was making his trek alone. As nonchalantly as he could manage, he cast his eyes about the crowd for the Deinian men who had accompanied him. None were in sight. He was pondering calling for them when a low voice hummed at his side.

"Had that silly woman not talked you half to death, you might have heard your name being called. Sire."

It was Garth. He had forgotten how silent the man could be, despite his size. A smile twitched at his lips.

"Quiet, you giant oaf." Graydon did not even turn his head to look at him. "Behave."

"You're asking me to behave?"

The prince said nothing, instead elbowing Garth roughly in the sides. He wanted nothing more than to joke around with the older man some more, but business came first. The sooner he got these silly formalities over with, the better.

Before he knew it, he and his small entourage were out in the open before the commander.

Graydon's eyes took in everything. Beautiful tapestries of iridescent colors were laid about the silver throne, with pillows adorning the raised dais beneath it. And amongst it all, the commander sat with an erect, military posture. He was young, younger than Graydon expected; if he wasn't wrong, he would think the man to be around his own age. Dressed in robes of black, his image was elegant, if not simple. And his face...Graydon drew closer to the throne as his party remained by the crowd. The new ruler's face was somewhat obscured by the rich tapestries. Getting closer still, he finally stopped a few feet away from the throne, immediately dropping into a low bow.

"Your Majesty," The prince began. He was close enough to reach out and snag one of the commander's silk pillows if he wanted to. After a beat of waiting, he straightened up, throwing the cloak over his shoulder and out of his way. The ruler's image was in full view of him now. He noticed immediately the lack of a contemporary crown on his head. Was it because of his unusual title? Commander-in-Chief, instead of king?

And he was for a certainty as young as Graydon, if not younger. But there was something else too. There was something disorienting about his face. The prince frowned.

"On behalf of the kingdom of Dein, we wish you a long life and prosperous reign over Tuzkaya and its citizens." All the while Graydon's eyes searched the commander's face intently. He didn't understand. Why was his chest tightening so just to look at him? Something like familiarity tugged at his heart. Which was strange; he'd never met this man before. Right? Although, if he was a bastard king like he thought, he might've met the little pariah at another event, before the man was commander. But surely he would have remembered him. Uncomfortable, he looked away, using the opportunity to address both the commander and their audience.

"Dein and Tuzkaya have been the most hostile of neighbors for centuries. Never in our shared pasts have we come together fully as allies. Never. Our forefathers were unable to come to terms...unable to change." Graydon's voice was clear and bold across the foyer. He sounded strong, passionate. Like a prince should. "It is our hope that with the changing of the throne, so too the winds of change may favor an alliance, a friendship between the two nations."

Those were the words he was obligated to say. Now he was supposed to say some frilly, fru-fru nonsense about the gift. The gift in question lay on an embroidered red pillow in his advisor Sevan's hands, covered entirely by a sheer cloth. It was a necklace: silver-plated and adorned with rubies. Rich even for a king to have. Graydon's father had wanted to impress the new ruler entirely with Dein's material wealth, so the necklace had been made in haste by their best blacksmiths. A necklace custom made for someone was worth more than its weight in gold. He only hoped the silly thing fit.

"And now," He began, "we have a gift for you, dear Commander." He beckoned Sevan to approach him, and both turned to look up at the throne. The curtain parted, and for perhaps the first time that day, Graydon had a clear visual of the Commander-in-Chief.

And in that moment, grey eyes met with the gaze of a lion.

He saw. All the color drained from his face as recognition flooded his mind. Danya. Danya?His Danya?

No, it wasn't possible. Impossible. How could it be?

But it was him.

A phantom pain clenched and unclenched around his heart. Graydon hesitated, visibly trying to compose himself. The more he looked, the more he recognized the boy whose first kiss he had stolen. His features had not changed; they had only matured. The same ebony hair tucked beneath an official cap. The years had hardened his cheeks and jawline into something far more defined, with no trace of the youthful color he had grown used to. But still, it was his Danya, all the same. He would bet his very life on it.

The whole center of his being was off-balance. He felt as if someone had taken him and spun him round and round in an endless circle. He gaped for a moment longer before casting his eyes away, back to the crowd. It was the sea of paired eyes watching him that finally gave him the kick back to reality. C'mon, Graydon. Pull yourself together! He cleared his throat.

"A gift..." He went on, though his voice had a funny note to it, "as an expression of the prosperity we might share as a united front." He tried to smile, but it came off more as a grimace.

Here was the part where he approached the throne with the gift.

Graydon's feet stayed rooted to the ground.

Show him the gift.

Graydon's hands balled into fists. His advisor waited expectantly at his side with the pillow in his hands. He threw a confused look at the prince as the silence dragged on.

What Graydon did next was purely without thought.

"Forgive me, but I am afraid the summer air is getting to me, Your Highness." He felt the scorching gaze of his advisor as he whipped around to face him. "I must excuse myself. Please accept this gift from my dear advisor Sevan here on my behalf. Commander."

And without so much as a bow, the prince swiveled about and went off, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table.

No one, not even a queen herself, could excuse themselves from the king's presence without his sayso. Especially not without a bow, of all things. It was a sign of great disrespect for the throne. Graydon did not know if things were the same in Tuzkaya. But based on the few gasps he'd heard as he made his leave, he could wager they were close enough.

The stunned silence in the wake of his departure was deafening.​

 

[CalamitousNag]

Boisterous laughter and friendly rioting flooded the small inn to the point of bursting. A strong fire filled the hearth. It gave everything an orange cast. It was likely the most welcoming sight they had seen so far in their border patrols.

Drink threatened to spill out of a goblet a young rebel soldier was poorly nursing. He was caught up in some joke of his friend's and laughing loudly enough for the group of them. "Bahahaha!" he fell forward, nearly taking the woman whom he had been leaning on for support with him. The woman gave him a placating, yet, annoyed smile and tried to pry the goblet from the man's hand. He countered by taking another swig.

"That Amir sure can drink, eh?" another soldier with a round face turned to Danya, a smile splitting his child-like face in two.

"There's something to be said for the villagers who know how to hold their drink," Danya dead-panned.

"And that's how we can tell he's from the city."

The group of men fell out in laughter, Danya included. The object of their talk laughed as loudly as he had been, too drunk to realize the conversation had turned to him.

The festivities continued late into the night with no signs of stopping. Danya didn't truly feel part of them. Their garrison had just made a sweep of the outer provinces to quell a group of loyalists who threatened to rise against their rebellion. They had been successful in subduing them, but it had meant a bloody ending for the loyalist families involved. Now, his brothers had taken to a local inn to celebrate their victory. It was the type of inn that also provided overnight entertainment for a fee.

Danya continued to sip his own flask, dreading the thought of seeking companionship for the night. As unsavory as it was to him, it was expected, and if Danya didn't have a good reason to deny female attention, it wouldn't go unnoticed by his soldier brethren.

The young man unconsciously frowned. Danya thought back to his previous experiences in the brothels they'd visited in the towns that were captured and held. While he had taken a partner each visit, nearly each time he had found himself unresponsive. The women had been fair but he hadn't felt much for them other than mild appreciation. It wasn't an experience he wanted to relive tonight. Not when his mind was so disquieted.

"Ay, I think the drink is getting to me," Danya stood suddenly. If he acted quickly, he wouldn't be questioned.

His round-faced friend looked at him with concern. "Easy there, Danya. It's been a long day. Best retire. We've got a long march in the morning. May as well get the sick out of your system now."

Danya patted the man on the shoulder before stalking out of the inn's main room and heading straight out the front door.

The nippy autumn air blasted him as soon as the wooden doors were thrown open into the night. Danya welcomed the chill as it cooled his heated skin and set afire his raw nerves. Maybe he hadn't been too far from the truth--perhaps the drink had gotten to him after all.

Danya walked down a darkened alley en route to what he hoped would be the rebel soldiers' hastily erected camp. He had made it within three feet of his shared tent when he realized a truth. He slowed to a stop.

There was no way he would get any sleep tonight.

Just that morning they had cut down their own people. Rebels fighting the king's soldiers was one thing, but… civilians? They had been loyalists whose wealth depended on the current regime but they were Tuzkayans nonetheless. Families who had stood for their beliefs only to be cut down for them.

This was not the rebellion Danya wanted. This was not the cause he had joined. He had joined the rebels in an effort to stop the king's slaughter of his own people. The rebels were no better than the king if they did the very same.

Reorienting himself, Danya began walking towards the only lit tent in the night. It was larger than the others, a commander's tent. It did not surprise him that the Commander-in-Chief had yet to find sleep. He was an ambitious man.

…

The former Commander-in-Chief Sheraliev had welcomed Danya that night. Danya had been praised for remaining hard at work while his brethren slept and drank. That was the night Danya had begun to gain Sheraliev's favor. It was also the night he began to put work before all else.

Danya couldn't fathom why that snippet of his troubled past came back to him as his Marigold spun away from him. Perhaps because in Graydon's wake, Danya realized for the first time since that early summer long ago that his body was reacting. It had simply been dormant before, waiting… for someone. Suddenly, he felt his surroundings in new ways, heard every draw of his own breath, saw every piece of white-speckled fuzz that littered and blurred his eyesight. Without even realizing it, Danya was half-out of his chair before he remembered himself.

Remembered he wasn't that young boy in the Deep anymore.

Remembered he was no longer alone and yet he was the loneliest he had ever felt.

Hot, angry tears teased at the corners of his eyes. He dared not blink. Danya sat back in his seat and signaled to a young man who sat to the side of the stage. The man, a soldier himself, had provided medical care for the rebel armies and was Danya's chosen physician. The man nodded in silent understanding and moved at an unhurried pace towards the escaping prince so as not to cause alarm. A handful of servants followed suit carrying a basin of cool water and fresh cloth.

He wished not to make a scene of it, but it was better to play it off as a medical emergency. That was the only thing that Danya could think to do in the moment. Funny that he was in need for a physician himself. His heart had yet to cease its wild beating.

It had been a terrible shock--perhaps Graydon had felt it, too?

Danya hadn't realized it was his Graydon until a younger man had appeared from the crowd with his shoulders set with all the imperiousness of a king. Not only had he been twice-called, but he tore onto the scene with all the familiar brashness and inveterate courage that Danya had come to admire--and love. And when those terrifying eyes had looked his way... Oh, how Danya had wanted to run from the stage and throw his arms about him! And, yet, Danya's malfunctioning body had held him back and for good reason. Such a childish and inappropriate response was far from fitting of someone who was barely holding onto this domain by the skin of his teeth. No, he had sat there, stock still, realizing with increasing obviousness that Graydon had not yet recognized him.

Or was he simply choosing not to acknowledge him?

Damnit. Some part of his heart had ached at that realization. Had Graydon--the Prince of Dein, of all things--heard of the internal strife that Tuzkaya had succumbed to in recent years? Had Graydon chose not to acknowledge him realizing who and what he was dealing with? A common and lowly-born villager?

Even so, Danya couldn't imagine his Graydon being so shrewd. Neither could he imagine, though, that his Graydon was a prince.

The prince of the kingdom he wanted to take.

He would have to…

Wait. Something was wrong.

Tearing himself away from his own obsessive self-reflection, Danya finally saw his audience, heard their voiceless whispers. Members of the crowd were looking amongst themselves, turning to try to see where the prince of Dein had disappeared off to. A woman in the front had yet to close her mouth; another lady whispered in her ear. Foreign dignitaries looked amused, and at least one single man in the crowd was smiling.

Dissent. He had to do something.

The gift. Maybe he could focus on that?

Danya's hazel eyes flickered to the man that the Prince of Dein had abandoned in his haste to escape. He waited until the din had calmed somewhat before addressing what appeared to be Graydon--Prince Graydon's--adviser. Should he, a Commander-in-Chief, address this adviser directly?

It may not be proper, but this was the rebel's kingdom and things would be done differently from here on out.

Danya squared his shoulders before addressing the man. "I wish to sincerely thank the kingdom of Dein for its gift of goodwill and friendship. It is with sadness that the country of Tuzkaya must decline this generous gift and any others that we may receive from our friendly neighbors. As we establish our republic, we wish to acquire only wealth that can be shared amongst all citizens and not a noble few. Please give my regards to the King of Dein," Danya unfortunately paused as he searched the crowd for a familiar face, "and Prince of Dein for their kind and selfless gift of friendship. The country of Tuzkaya wishes many blessings upon your kingdom."

Danya's eyes bored into the adviser's a moment longer before he broke eye contact and looked instead to the announcer. The announcer looked painfully ill--had the man stopped breathing?

With all guests having been sufficiently announced and addressed, Danya stood from the silver throne and carefully surveyed the audience. After a moment or two passed, he inclined his head as thanks to those gathered. The gesture was not missed by the Tuzkayan natives and it caught them off-guard. While it was common Tuzkayan practice for a host to graciously thank his guests, it was the least expected gesture coming from someone who had shared the silver throne. Danya realized this, too, but a half-moment too late. Still, he did not fumble and instead addressed his audience. "Our esteemed guests: thank you. Your presence here today means everything to a rebuilding country that will now move forward by putting its people first in all things. Your humbling support and friendship will not be forgotten as we move forward into our new era. Please. Join us for entertainments and repast while the evening is still young. You will find your lodgings ready once you are ready to retire." And with that, Danya turned on heel and departed the pavilion, retiring through the door from whence he had come.

Once Danya was no longer in view, the announcer cleared his throat and shouted once again. "Ladies and gentleman, please be directed into the main hall for the next juncture of our evening." Servants rushed forward to guide the guests toward the path leading them into the inside space where they would be entertained for the night.

Meanwhile, behind the arena's closed doors, Danya stood with his concerned chamberlain as all color drained from his stricken face.

He had to see him.

"Are you alright, Danya?" his aunt asked, fearful that the boy's nerves had gotten to him.

It was a while before Danya replied, but when he did, he was breathless. "Yes, amma. Tis only the exhilaration of heading a new country."

His aunt smiled, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "Come, my child. It is time for you to greet your guests."

Danya turned and made way for the main hall.

…

As the announcements drew to an end, Danya's elected court physician cautiously approached the Prince of Dein who had retired to the refreshments table. The physician had a round face and a rather boyish look about him. It was his penetrating gaze, however, that spoke of years that his countenance failed to disclose.

The physician did not want to alarm the prince, nor did he want to create a scene with what appeared to be the man's advisers who undoubtedly surrounded him. While he would address the prince, he did not truly expect the prince himself to answer.

He began cautiously. "My prince," the man bowed, "My name is Akmal and I am the Commander-in-Chief's elected physician and brother-in-arms. He sent me to you out of concern. Are you alright? Tuzkayan summers can be unforgiving this side of the river." The man smiled as his eyes sought out the prince's companions. Akmal was a soldier first and foremost--it was habit to be aware of his surroundings.

 

[Kuno]

Funny what the mind concocts in a state of panic.

At first, his excuse was simply that--an excuse, thrown out hastily to get away from the beating of his own heart. But as Graydon waded through the suddenly overwhelming sea of bodies--Gods, had there always been that many people there?--he felt suddenly and decidedly ill. Not nauseous, but...he certainly felt different. The shapes of the people passing him became a bit hazy on the outlines. The murmuring of the crowd faded into nothingness, drowned out by the beating of his own heart. Fast, fast heartbeats. His heart was running a race even while his body slowed. It was a fantastically alien feeling--one that terrified him completely.

He felt as if Danya's eyes were boring into his back the entire way over to the refreshments table. He dared not turn around. Was there confusion in those golden orbs of his, he wondered? Fury? Pure outrage at being snubbed? Or even worse, hurt? Or possibly...Graydon's heart sank.

Did Danya even remember who he was?

He wasn't left alone to wallow in his feelings too long. In one moment, he reached the refreshments table, intending to drown himself in whatever drinks they had available. In the next moment, he was surrounded entirely by his men-in-waiting. Graydon had been oblivious to the fact they'd been following him--hell, he'd forgotten that he'd even come with servants. He turned blithely towards them, to their concerned, blurry faces that slowly grew darker---

Hold on. What was happening?

Their voices were a chorus of noise.

"You've gone pale. Are you--"

"--some water perhaps?"

"Careful, careful…"

"...a chair! Bring a chair!"

"Your Highness, over here please."

He must've heard Your Highness murmured a thousand times, as if in prayer. A dozen hands grasped against his arms and back as he was helped firmly into a chair. If he wasn't so stunned by his situation, the entire exchange would have amused him greatly. Imagine that--the great prince of Dein made to swoon like a pampered young lady. But with his thoughts in such disarray, he could only manage a slight smile.

Someone gave him water. Thanking them quietly, he began to sip from it idly. As he drank, Sevan approached quietly from his left, with Garth close on his heels. The man looked ready to faint himself; the prince wondered what on earth could have made him possibly look like that. That is, until he noticed the man's hands still clenched around one particular satin pillow. Aha, he thought to himself blankly. Danya did not want the gift.

He tried not to take it as a personal rejection. But it stung all the same.

"No no--" His voice was sharp as he waved away at the concerned expressions on their faces. "I'm quite alright. It's just this infernal heat...don't know what's gotten into me."

Graydon leaned his head into his palms, sighing deeply. "I take it the gift was ill-received?"

Sevan paused for a moment, carefully thinking of how best to answer. "Ill-received? Why, certainly not. Commander Danya was quite gracious in his reply. He appreciated the gesture--"

"Mm." Graydon hummed, staring directly at the gift in Sevan's hands. Waiting for him to get to the point.

"--and wished the well-being of our nation and our king. However, for reasons I deem noble, the commander decided not to accept our gift, to show solidarity with his countrymen in--"

"A refusal!" Garth interrupted, earning a glare from Sevan. The knight appeared to be having a conniption. "A refusal, of all things--!"

As his advisor opened his mouth to undoubtedly argue with the knight, Graydon's eyes latched onto a young Tuzkayan man approaching them quietly from the side. He saw the few servants behind him carrying towels and a basin. His heart beat quickly at the sight of them. Had Danya sent them? As the physician presented himself to the prince and inquired after his health, Graydon felt a mix of emotions surface.

"Yes, yes, His Majesty is quite alright," He heard Sevan answer hastily, "Better than before. 'Tis the heat and poor rest combined that have sapped his spirits so. At least, I believe so..."

The nervous manner in which he tugged at his beard, gaze darting to and fro between Akmal and Graydon, made him seem unsure of his own words. God help me, the prince thought tiredly to himself. His advisor would make a terrible liar, if ever the need came. Since it was apparently up to him to plead his case, Graydon cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to him.

"Yes, I'm quite better now, thank you!" Graydon exclaimed with more energy than he had, clasping his hands together. "As a matter of fact--"

As casually as he could, he rose from his seat and stepped forward, willfully ignoring the outstretched hands of his attendants. He cast an imperious look about his small audience."I think we are all rather late for the next junction of the ceremony, and I would hate to keep our good host waiting.

"But I certainly appreciate your attentions upon me, Sir...Akmal, was it? Quite a pleasure to have met you." He smiled wanly at the youthful doctor. Though the man seemed innocuous enough, it would hardly do to show weakness in front of a foreigner, least of all needing medical attention from one. It simply was not the Deinian way. It simply was not his way. Still smiling, he turned away and walked off as confidently as he could muster, one booted heel clicking after the other.

Inwardly, he worried. Worried about how he would look now to the various nobles gathered there. He was grateful for the emptiness of the hall, for the lack of eyes that were on him. But he knew it wouldn't last forever. At his quick approach, the servants scrambled to open the two large doors cutting off the main hall from the outer courtyard. He steeled himself as he crossed the threshold into the inside of the palace.

Immediately, his eyes began to search out for a familiar face. One framed by dark hair and sharp, calculating eyes. The Lion of the East.

He needed to see him.
​

 

[CalamitousNag]

Danya​

He may not have started off the day in the happiest of moods, but Danya hadn't expected the sudden, overwhelming unease that followed after laying eyes on his childhood friend. He should be happy to see him--and he was, rightly so--but the shock and strange circumstances was enough to sap whatever joy he could have expected at their reunion.

Now, Danya followed after his aunt like a brow-beaten child. His gaze trailed the floor as they made their way towards the hall where they would receive their guests for the night. His aunt rattled off reminders of etiquette and cordialities that Danya couldn't bring himself to focus on. The closer they got to the moment of reckoning, the more Danya wanted to skip the event altogether.

Graydon was both a concept he hated and a man he…

"Danya!" Aysha whispered curtly.

Danya jolted. His aunt had stopped at the doors to the main hall--only, Danya had failed to notice. She called his name right before he tread on the backs of her heels. Aysha's voice stunned the guards at the entrance and they regarded the pair with curious expressions.

"You will be present this time, Danya! This is not a time to get lost in your thoughts." Aysha spoke these words to him without turning--she didn't need to. It was enough to take him back ages to a simpler time when his aunt would accost him and Alexei for staying out too late.

Little did she know he had spent those long days with the very man he was afraid to see.

Danya cleared his throat. Instead of responding to his aunt, Danya addressed his guard instead. "Open the doors."

Aysha succeeded on hiding her shell-shocked expression, but she could not hide the slight tick of a nerve over her left brow. Danya smirked, threw his aunt a gracious smile and entered the main hall.

He almost winced at the brilliant assault of colors that met his eyes. His guard and servants had done a wonderful job remaking the place--if only to something he'd have expected of the late king. The high, vaulted ceilings, resplendent as they were in design, seemed to disperse the colors of the brightly colored linens and tapestries below. It was majorly overwhelmingly and all too much Tuzkayan.

Danya wasn't sure if he liked it.

The floor had been scrubbed and rugs thrown about. Cushions lined the walls for the guests to recline and enjoy their drink. Low tables were heavy with fruits and sweetmeat. The musicians seemed to have relaxed somewhat from their earlier stiffness. They were now playing with such gusto and animation that they were hard to differentiate from the dancers themselves.

The dancers. Danya looked to the center of the room where everyone's attention was gathered. It was a trio of girls from a village further down the river from his own. Danya could bet with favorable odds that at least one of them had known his late cousin Alexei.

The happy memory of his cousin brought a smile to his lips and for the first time since he had seen Graydon, he finally relaxed.

The girls wove about each other in their silks until they settled in a line. The music switched up and they began the prancing dance native to their region. Their willing audience began to clap along, laughter and enjoyment heavy in the air.

Danya could be this way, too. Light, carefree. He would have to be--lest all his work be for naught.

Sensing a presence to his right, Danya cast a glance back at his aunt who was watching both him and the room warily. As Chamberlain, she would stay in the fringes, making sure the wells never ran dry and the guests were appropriately entertained. Danya gave her an apologetic smile and a nod and Aysha just stared.

Shit.

He would have to be on his best behavior for the rest of the night.

Danya scanned the crowd as he decided his plan of attack. He would address the guests at the fringes and move his way in. Wherever Graydon might be, he'd make no special trip of it, getting to his old friend in due time. Danya didn't want to send the wrong impression, of course. Overeager actions in this setting were sure to stir up rumors and it was no particular secret that their two kingdoms weren't on the best of terms.

"Sir."

Danya turned immediately to the voice coming from his left. He smiled when he saw who it belonged to. "I trust the Prince of Dein to now be in a stable condition?"

The shorter man came side-to-side with Danya. The lines around his eyes crinkled with mirth but his smile wasn't much of one. "It was a good decision to send me after him, though he denied my assistance. The boy is young and fair. I suspect it may have been nerves more than anything else."

Danya cast Akmal a look. "You're not that much older than him."

Akmal met Danya's eyes this time, a perplexed expression on his face. "You speak with such certainty."

Danya blanched. He looked back towards the crowd as he tried to regain his composure. "I take no pleasure in being a naïve Commander, Akmal. I do my research." Danya smiled as derisively as he could muster, knowing that Akmal would take it in stride.

Akmal chuckled and Danya visibly calmed. Akmal seemed satisfied enough with the answer. He didn't leave, though, which led Danya to think there was more that he wished to share. He waited patiently for his comrade to continue.

Akmal was never one to rush. He finally spoke some seconds later. "There are whispers, sir."

Danya's expression darkened.

"As I moved through the crowd, I heard some speculating that the Prince of Dein's reaction was planned. As a way to discredit your authority, I assume."

Danya's jaw tightened. He knew the true reason why the Prince had left so suddenly. "I would expect no less."

"You handled it well, sir. Though I'm sure some may make their own assumptions about the refusal of the gift."

"I refused all gifts."

"Perhaps none quite so vocally," Akmal glanced at Danya. "You will never do anything right," he intoned.

Danya dropped his head and laughed. "You are right. And that is why everything must simply be done my way."

"A good strategy…" Akmal shrugged, "in theory. Certainly more satisfying, I would think."

This comment seemed to dispel Danya's bad humor. He smiled again.

"If you'll excuse me, friend, I have some dignitaries to entertain." Danya squeezed Akmal's shoulder as he moved away. Not only was Akmal the designated court physician, he was also Danya's eyes and ears. They shared the same ethnic group and had gravitated towards each other over the years. They had both started off as young recruits in the King's army before they were head-hunted to serve the rebellion. It hadn't taken much convincing--their villages were the hardest hit by the prior King's deadly ambition.

It hadn't taken long for their esteemed guests to relax and acclimate to the comforts of Tuzkayan hospitality. Danya found it funny that the foreign female dignitaries all stood in favor of joining the Tuzkayan nobility on the cushion laden floors. Most likely due to those restrictive dresses they insisted on wearing.

Princess Maria of Peros was one such lady. It didn't help she stood out like a sore thumb with that hideous number she had on. Her traveling party looked ready to drop from exhaustion but since their princess insisted on standing, so, too, must they.

Danya pulled one servant and requested they bring an ottoman for the lady. Danya approached her party.

"Your Highness," Danya inclined his head in respect. Princess Maria's party scrambled to face him.

The princess bodily turned towards him, further evidence that she couldn't really move in that get-up she wore.

"Commander," she dipped in a shallow curtsy, her eyes bright. When Danya met her gaze, she blinked and quickly averted her eyes, a rosy blush tinging her already rouged cheeks.

She had kind eyes, Danya noted. She was young, though, still growing into her own. "I wanted to personally thank you for your attendance today. I myself have never been to Peros, but I hope with our continued relations I may have the honor of visiting your country some day."

Princess Maria replied in equally gracious, if formulaic, banter. As she was speaking, the servant he had sought earlier appeared with a delicately embroidered ottoman. It was ornate and bore the recognizable designs common to their empire.

"Please, your travels have been long and I would wish you to relax as well. It is our culture to recline among cushions rather than chairs, but our ladies find these settees to be adequate in preserving their honor--and their knees."

Princess Maria balked. Danya rewound in his mind what he had just said.
…

Perhaps that hadn't come out quite right. Nervous sweat beaded down the center of his chest. It made him itch.

Eventually, the princess smiled wanly (had he unintentionally debauched the princess with his tactless honesty?!) and moved to sit down on the ottoman that had been offered. Her eyes widened as she squat down, seemingly surprised she was able to.

"My, these are much easier. How gracious of you, Commander," Princess Maria smiled delicately. Her blush was deeper than ever.

Danya quickly said his goodbyes and moved as swiftly away as he could manage without giving the impression he was running away.

If he couldn't even handle small talk with the visiting dignitaries, how could he even begin to think he'd be able to stomach the same with Graydon?

As Danya continued visiting, the more he stole nervous glances about the room. He was trying to determine his position in relation to the guest he both dreaded and looked forward to meeting. Among the dark-colored heads, he was sure to see one sporting russet colored hair. In each of his scans, though, Danya failed to pinpoint Graydon's position. Had Graydon retired for the evening? Akmal would have mentioned as much--right?

As Danya greeted the nobility of his own court--an extremely painful and entirely necessary procedure in and of itself--he finally saw him. Or what he thought was him. No--who he knew to be him. Danya paused in the middle of his sentence.

The group of nobles gathered around him looked at Danya expectantly. He had just been telling them of his plans to rebuild and support those who remained loyal to Tuzkaya when the commander abruptly stopped, his gaze somewhere off to his left. Some of the gathering followed his gaze. It was their movement that alerted Danya to his mistake.

He wasn't certain he could recover this situation. What if they had seen? The imposing commander scrambled for a way to smooth over his mess.

"F-forgive me--a thought suddenly came to me," Danya's voice came out breathy and light. He blinked hard as he struggled for composure. When he opened his eyes again, a smile ghosted his lips and he leaned in towards the group as if sharing the world's greatest secret. "I've kept this to myself. I thought it would be an impossible venture on my own, but I failed to see the wealth of knowledge and influence that exists around me…" Danya made a point to meet the eye of every single noble gathered around him as he attempted to dazzle his impromptu audience with promises of building schools and museums to teach Tuzkaya's history. The Tuzkayan people were a prideful people--it would do a world of good to build morale and reiterate his vision of rebuilding their struggling country. It was a safe enough proposition Danya could use to bullshit his way out of his earlier faux pas, and an easy enough one to follow-up on if the distrustful nobles held him to it.

He's here. Graydon's right here.

Danya forced himself to focus on his guests at hand. His audience grew silent, as if mulling over his proposition. The commander had hinted at the nobility's role in teaching Tuzkaya's history. Danya didn't know if he had succeeded in distracting them, but they seemed intrigued. Intrigued--and a little suspicious. They knew he wanted to win them over and they also knew they held the power in this situation. Without dallying further and getting himself in to promises he didn't want to make, Danya thanked his gathered crowd and stepped away.

I need to get it over with. If I don't acknowledge him now, I may as well snub the Deinian Empire. It won't due to put our court at a disadvantage before we've had a chance to make a difference in the world.

He would speak to Graydon next. Danya began to move in his old friend's direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lady Sitora watched as the Commander-in-Chief addressed the flaky noble families who had once swore allegiance to the Tuzkayan king. She tried her best not to roll her eyes. These types were easy targets for a new regime. She found it downright humorous that the man had yet to address her and her family.

She refilled her cup of wine. As she stood arms crossed near the refreshments table, Lady Sitora scanned the area, picking out the Tuzkayan nobles from the foreign nobility. Look at them all, Lady Sitora thought to herself, selling out our country for a few glasses of wine. For nobles like Lady Sitora, this event was like salt in the wound. They had been hunted, threatened for any sign of dissent, and now, here they stood, smiling for the same group who demeaned and cursed them.

"It's sickening," Lady Sitora hissed before she realized it. She quickly took a swig of wine in hopes that no one had heard her.

When she looked out at the gathering again, her eyes fell on the handsome Prince that she had had the honor of speaking with earlier. Would it be too forward to approach him again?

Not if it was for the sake of Tuzkayan hospitality.

Lady Sitora quickly set her glass down on the table so that she could use two hands to discreetly adjust herself. Satisfied that her cap was still there and her "figure" perky, she took up the glass once again and moved toward the Prince of Dein.

This time, it wouldn't be so easy to approach him. Like many of the visitors gathered there, their traveling parties swarmed them--likely a safety measure to prevent a possible attack should anyone prove stupid enough. She would have to approach carefully.

"Your highness!" Lady Sitora called from the fringes. She lifted to the tips of her toes so she could be seen over the sea of moving bodies. She waved delicately in the Prince's direction. "I was fretfully worried about you earlier. Are you well?"

Lady Sitora recognized some of the faces around the Prince from before. It was a social gathering--surely they wouldn't deny the Prince's opportunity to interface with the local elite?

As Lady Sitora smiled in the Prince's direction, she noticed a dark figure approaching from the side. Her face fell somewhat when she recognized who it was. Luckily, she managed to plaster a fake smile in its place before he was fully upon them.

"Commander. It is a pleasure to officially meet you," Lady Sitora spoke. She almost forgot to bow, and when she did, the motion was stiff and regretful.

Danya's internal mantra was interrupted by a woman who looked less than pleased to meet him. He looked at her and then in the direction of his old friend. He couldn't really bring himself to meet Graydon's eyes, though. Addressing this noble was safer. He regarded the Lady fully before allowing a patient smile. "The pleasure is all mine, my Lady. I regret that we have not been formally introduced. From what house do you reign?"

"Lahouti. Lady Sitora of Lahouti," Sitora spat over the lip of her wine glass, eyes barely hiding her distaste.

Her expression wasn't lost on Danya. He smiled again as he inclined his head respectfully (and with much internal chagrin),"Lady Sitora. And this… this must be the Crown Prince of Dein. Welcome and thank you for coming."

What on earth else could Danya possibly say in this situation? He hoped he didn't look nearly as frightened as he felt.

​

 

[Kuno]

As luck would have it, Graydon's entrance into the dining hall went largely unnoticed. The prince was greeted by the din of laughter and loud, vibrant music as he crept in. It was a jarring transition from the muted conversation in the courtyard. Hovering close by the walls, Graydon's eyes swept over the scene before him.

Much like in the courtyard, large, beautiful tapestries adorned the setting in splashes of color. Most of the guests were seated comfortably on plush cushions around low tables plied with foreign foods. Their eyes were glued to the current entertainment: three young women in the centre of the hall, who danced with otherworldly grace. They were quite pretty; as they twirled around in their silks, long limbs in full display, Graydon thought offhandedly of the women back home. At Winter Solstice, his mother would collect all the young ladies in her household and put on a show for those who lived at court. Dein winters were cold and unforgiving; having that festival was a welcome change from the monotony that plagued Dein every winter season. As the Tuzkayan women danced to the clapping of the audience, the prince noticed how similar their movements were to Deinian women. Subtle, yet graceful. A common trait shared between the nations. A soft, bittersweet smile curved Graydon's lips.

The two kingdoms were not as alien as everyone thought. In fact, his intent was to prove it. How he would prove it would be a monumental task. Both sides of the border chose to stay ignorant of its neighbor, which meant the road to peaceful relations would be filled with prejudices and implicit bias. He would have to work hard to push through a resounding alliance. And with Danya as commander--

Danya. Of course. His head swiveled about in search of the all too familiar ruler. It would be damn near impossible spotting him within the sprawling crowd, but he could not help looking, his eyes roving back and forth among the sea of richly garbed nobles.

"Who are you looking for, Your Majesty?"

By the gods! He'd forgotten there were still people with him. Sevan and the other squires had long since abandoned him. Only Garth and his men continued to cling to him like shadows. Annoyance pricked at his insides. Ignoring him, Graydon greeted a servant warmly and took a candied treat from its tray. Perhaps if he kept busy, Danya would simply come to him. He would have to speak with him; after all, outright snubbing him would hardly be considered kind.

Nor wise.

"Your Majesty?"

Graydon all but hissed as he whirled around on Garth. "What? What is it?"

"Who are you looking for? The Commander?" The older knight pressed.

"Yes, yes the commander." Let it go, you ninny.

But the badgering oaf would not. "For what purpose, Your Majesty?"

"I wish to speak with him, of course. Surely I do not have to wait for an official appointment, do I?"

The pregnant pause from Garth said otherwise. His own frayed nerves fueling his irritation, Graydon shot the large knight an exasperated look. "Must you trail me so? This is a party. You are free, at least on this night, to enjoy yourself however you please."

"Is that so? It is a good thing that protecting you brings me the most joy, then. Your Majesty."

Oh, if looks could kill! Graydon could only dream of how it would feel to put his hands around Garth's neck and squeeze, squeezing until that infuriatingly smug look left his boxy face. Despite his refusal to leave, Garth began to allow more space to grow between the two, as if he could sense the growing violence in the young man's mind. Just as well. He was two breaths from dismissing all together when a familiar, womanly voice called to him from his right side. He turned his head in the direction.

Ah, who could it be but Lady Sitora? No else had the nerve to approach him. The storm brewing in his mind dissipated at the sight of her friendly face, she who waved at him over the heads of the other guests.

"I was fretfully worried about you earlier. Are you well?" Sitora asked, genuine concern on her face.

In spite of everything, he could not help but smile pleasantly at her. She was a welcome distraction; in fact, her presence reminded him that he couldn't just search for Danya unhindered. He had an appearance to keep up, after all.

"Yes, I'm quite better now!" Graydon answered brightly, moving his way towards her, "In fact, I-"

His voice trailed off when her attentions suddenly snapped to the side. His gaze followed her line of sight. And in that instant, his breath stilled.

Bearing towards them, with all the presence of a ruler, was none other than Commander Danya Niyazov himself. Danya. His Danya.

Everything he was about to say evaporated on his tongue.

His eyes scrutinized every detail of the other man as the Tuzkayan bore towards them.

Danya was taller than he'd realized, with the broad shouldered frame of a boy turned man. He was built like a soldier; he even walked like one, every step even and firm as he made his way towards them.

He struggled to associate this imposing figure with the young boy he'd known only some years ago. As the commander approached, the expression on Graydon's was guarded. He seemed to hold his breath as the man finally reached him. In anticipation for whatever his old friend was sure to say to him. Surely now, with them being so close...surely now the other man would recognize him.

Danya looked briefly in Graydon's direction...before turning his attention fully onto Lady Sitora. He never once looked Graydon in the eyes.

Nor did he ever see a spark of recognition or warmth in the other man's eyes.

A malignant emotion threatened to seize the prince's heart. The blatant dismissal left him reeling. What happened? he thought as he watched Danya converse freely with Sitora. He did not understand. He couldn't understand. What had happened in the time Graydon had left the other man's side?

What happened after the sun set on our youth so many years ago?

When the commander finally turned his focus onto Graydon--somewhat begrudgingly--the prince's expression was steel carved into flesh.

"Commander," the prince replied, dipping into a shallow bow. Graydon's eyes stayed latched to the Commander's face. They burned with an unnatural force.

"I thank you for extending an invitation to our nation. Had my father been well enough to travel, he would have certainly come. But alas, you are stuck with only me instead." The wan smile that hovered on his lips was as brittle as glass. "It is my hope that over the next coming days, we can become better acquainted. I am eager to see how the rule of a commander differs from your predecessor, the king."

That's not what he wanted to say. That was nowhere near as direct as the words he truly wanted to say. He was nowhere near as emotional as he wanted to be. But there were many ears about, and so long as Graydon continued to keep the commander in conversation, some of them would begin to tune in. And with Lady Sitora hanging so close, he would've been a fool to say otherwise. Pausing, he looked askance at the older noblewoman, who viewed the Commander with open displeasure. There was a story there, somewhere in the thick tension between the two. Had Graydon not been so preoccupied, he might've instigated the issue further; but with his thoughts solely settled on his reborn Danya, he could only shoot her a distracted smile before looking once more at the commander. He would get to the bottom of that later. He would get to the bottom of everything later.

"I will not hold you in deep conversation, but I must insist we speak on a more private basis at your earliest convenience, to discuss the weightier matters. I am...most eager to work on relations between our two kingdoms. To be quite blunt, that is my sole reason for coming out here to see you. And, seeing as how you do not accept gifts from Dein, I assume you are still uncertain onto whether or not you want an alliance with our nation. So! Once that matter is concluded, you can be rest assured you can be rid of me. How does that sound, Commander?"

If he didn't know any better, he would think he sounded hurt, or even bitter. Maybe he was hurt. Quite frankly, he was bitter. It took every fiber of his being to keep from seizing Danya and forcing every ounce of information out of him about the past ten years. Instead, all Graydon could do was smile idiotically, a puppet on strings. Struggling to rein in his emotions, the young man turned and took a goblet of wine from a passing servant, using the brief pause to resettle himself.
​

 

[CalamitousNag]

Danya and The Snake​

How rudely they had been interrupted. Lady Sitora seethed, lips still on the edge of her glass as she looked from the Commander to the Prince. She and the prince had almost begun a pleasant conversation when the star of the evening decided it best to make an appearance. With the finality in which the Commander approached, Sitora would even venture to say the interruption had been planned. Perhaps the Commander could sense her distaste.

She'd happily increase it further by refusing to leave.

Lady Sitora was not to be dismissed. This man was no king. What would he do? Behead her where she stood for her insolence?

Sitora couldn't miss this opportunity. She had the chance to show the future King of Dein who this 'Danya Niyazov' truly was--a fraud.

Sitora lowered her glass as the Commander addressed the Prince. He appeared stiff--likely unsure of how to behave in front of real royalty. He would make a fool of himself.

Danya shriveled under the heat of Graydon's gaze. It was always this way around him--how on earth had he forgotten? Sweat began to bead at Danya's forehead. It would be easier to avoid eye contact with the Prince altogether if it were not for the added complication of an incensed noble's presence.

"I thank you for extending an invitation to our nation. Had my father been well enough to travel, he would have certainly come. But alas, you are stuck with only me instead." Danya's throat was dry and scratchy. He tried to swallow but the motion stuck in his throat. He fought with himself to prevent showing any outside signs of distress.

He wondered if Sitora could decipher the stressed words that Graydon used, laying bare their history for the thinly veiled charade it was. Become better acquainted? How more so could they be when Danya had already become acquainted with those deceivingly delicate limbs that had wrapped around his neck, that startling gaze that burned him even now and the feathery press of Graydon's lips against his?

Lady Sitora raised a brow. If her eyes weren't fooling her, the color seemed to drain from the Commander's face only to be replaced by a flush that sank into his collar.

"I am eager to see how the rule of a commander differs from your predecessor, the king."

The fool looked about to faint. Even he realized his own inadequacy! Sitora smiled imperiously. Prince Graydon was of true royal blood and his prestige quaked the Commander right where he stood.

In all truth, to Danya, Graydon's words had felt like a slap in the face. Danya's eyes narrowed minutely at the heir apparent. It was perhaps their personal history that led Danya to interpret the Prince's words negatively. Graydon knew Danya was not of royal blood. Was he testing him? Questioning his legitimacy? Capability?

Danya had to force himself not to go down an obsessive path of introspection--it'd take away his focus from the conversation at hand. Even more detrimental is that Graydon would know. Graydon would know when he sank into himself. He never could hide much from Graydon--not then and most likely not now. Instead, Danya decided to reply with the same amount of ire he felt.

"I am confident a Commander's rule will prioritize and value the lives of his citizens over lining his coffers but, seeing as I am not of noble birth, far be it from me to speak to the whims of royalty."

Danya listened with humored earnest as the Prince continued on. Every clipped word Graydon spoke was a small cut in Danya's carefully placed resolve. He was slowly forgetting about the Lady's presence as the desire to deliver a few snide remarks of his own danced along his tongue.

Ha! His country's gift. He was sore about that? How would Graydon know if his gift was accepted? He hadn't even stayed around long enough to present it to Tuzkaya himself. He had run away! What matter of future leader would behave thus?

Only Graydon could get under his skin like this; pick up the pieces of their combined mess and rub it in his face. All while staying princely and never having his legitimacy called into question.

"How does that sound, Commander?"

His eyes were hot, his face was hot. Gone was his earlier hesitation to meet the Prince's familiar haunting eyes; now, Danya openly stared down Graydon. He tried his best to convey all of his resolve in the intense gaze. This was not the end.

Forgotten was her wine. Lady Sitora watched with a blank expression the exchange between the two. She briefly met Graydon's eyes when he glanced at her. His smile was apologetic and she felt comforted. At least he remembered her presence. The Commander could spout his self-righteous nonsense from dusk to dawn and he would still fail at the most simplest and significant task--respect.

"I can look forward to nothing else," Danya spoke evenly. The tension in his jaw was visible from the outside,

Lady Sitora's eyes flicked to the Commander. This was nonsense.

As the Prince moved to slip a goblet of wine from a passing tray, Lady Sitora made her move. Stepping forward, she inserted herself between the Commander and the Prince. Gone was her look of displeasure. As she faced the Prince of Dein, her expression softened.

"Your gift was of meticulous beauty," Sitora hadn't seen the gift, "Tell me more of its craftsmanship?" Sitora's eyes sought the Prince's as she positioned herself in a very forward maneuver to exclude the Commander.

The effect was not lost on Danya. Inwardly he seethed. He watched as Lady Sitora raised her glass to her lips and threw a smug look of contempt over her shoulder. She was feigning a guise of drunkeness, was it? Or was it simple blatant disregard?

Disregarded in his own regime. Danya couldn't do anything--she was the very same citizen that he had sworn to protect and uphold above all else. Her actions in front of a king would have been reason enough for imprisonment, but in front of a military commander? It was a simple difference in views.

Danya didn't like it one bit. He would not be ousted from the conversation--even if he had been. He could make his own exit.

"I look forward to our meeting," Danya spoke curtly. He gave a sharp nod before turning away and heading towards the other end of the room. There were still some dignitaries that he had to meet but at the moment, he had to put as much distance between himself, Graydon, and that traitorous snake Lahouti as he could. He was barely holding his tongue as it was.

Little did Graydon know that "earliest convenience" would be this very eve. Danya's sanity would not survive the night if he stretched out their private meeting any further.

Being on the opposite side of the hall put Danya in a favorable position. He motioned to Akmal who stood in the shadows by the wall. The physician emerged only to have Danya relay his instructions as he breezed past him.

"The Prince of Dein still looks under-the-weather. Arrange a follow-up visit tonight. I shall check on him personally."

Akmal dropped his head in acknowledgment. Only the physician's eyes moved to follow the retreating figure of the Commander as he exited the hall.

 

[Kuno]

This wasn't going at all how Graydon had wanted.

He realized far too late how much emotion was packed into his voice. How stingingly harsh his words were. How critical and cutting his countenance seemed to be. In his fight to maintain a neutral facade, he was unintentionally displaying the hostilities of a Deinian to a Tuzkayan; centuries of intense rivalry embodied in the flesh.

It reacted poorly with Danya. The man was not as easy to read as he used to be, but Graydon still recognized the stoking of a fire in his eyes. He was angry, as he should be. In the sharp retort Danya returned to him, Graydon could only take the sting of it quietly without a word. To apologize would not be Deinian; to argue further would not be princelike. But if Graydon could just talk to him alone, without these silly social constraints...His mouth opened, about to ask Danya specifically when they could talk in private--

--only to slam it shut in surprise as Lady Sitora proceeded to bodily block Danya from their circle. The boldness of her actions shocked him to the core. "Lady Sitora," Graydon breathed, too shell-shocked to even reprimand the lady properly, for what kind of person would even dare cut off their appointed ruler in conversation?

"I look forward to our meeting."

Graydon's eyes snapped back to Danya, who began to turn away to leave. His eyes widened.

No, wait--!

"Commander!"

His right hand nearly shot out to catch the ruler, but his arm stiffened back in time. All he could do was watch bewilderingly as Danya moved away, away back to an unreachable space. When, he wondered. When were they going to talk again? Had he ruined any chances for reconciliation? When…?

It was with immense difficulty that he tore his attentions away from the departing figure of his childhood friend, all the way back down to the ever present Lady Sitora. She had asked him something, had she not? Graydon blinked blearily at her.

"Oh yes," He heard himself say, as if from far away, "the gift was well-made. Tailored to fit the neck of a king...I must show you it sometime, before it is taken back to Dein."

The rest of his words were a mindless spiel of pleasantries. Graydon thought, at some point, that he'd promised her a dance at the next event, but he could not remember.

His head was in the clouds. He was performing on full instinct now, his conscious mind tethered to Danya. Without him, Graydon saw little point in any more banal conversation. He had the rest of the dignitaries to greet; better he head off to bed soon after, lest his body truly collapse on him. He hated to be short with Lady Sitora, but...no, she would understand.

"My, but the hour grows late. I have but a few more affairs to take care before I take my leave, if you'll excuse me." The young man mustered the last of his charm and planted a kiss on the back of the lady's hand, letting it drop gently. "Until next time, Lady Sitora. Enjoy the festivities."

The next hour passed in a haze. By practice, the prince knew who to speak to and what to say, which made the process all the more quicker. The fact that they were all there for Danya, who was currently missing, kept their conversations short. The real drama would begin in the morning, when the political sparring began. A twisted smile curved his lips as the ambassador to Reqlas Isles--his final dignitary--chattered away about nothing. Oh, Graydon simply couldn't wait to see how that would unfold! Especially with this one there. The man would not stop talking about the fineness of the Tuzkayan estate, the countryside, of Danya. The ambassador desperately wanted an alliance, and it showed; he would no doubt bed the commander himself, if that's what it took. Nearly coughing on his drink at the thought, Graydon excused himself, dismissing away any other sordid thoughts. And just as well; the sound of raucous laughter sounded to his right. The prince turned to investigate, only for a broad smile to stretch across his face at the entertaining sight.

Lo and behold, there was Garth, drunk as a stumbling fool! And just after one glass too, the stinking lightweight. One of his fellow knights must have coerced him into having a drink. Clever man, whoever he was. Graydon watched with hidden glee as his bodyguard gesticulated wildly with his arms, no doubt in the throes of some drunken tale. Laughter followed every word of his; the ragtag gang hanging about him were just as inebriated as he was. Garth and his men were not going anywhere for awhile. The added combination of women ogling the men were enough to convince Graydon that he could leave the party unnoticed---and encumbered.

"Miss," Graydon called, getting the attention of one the serving maids, "Do take care of my friends there. Bring them all the drinks they need."

Garth would wake up sore and surlier than an angry bull, but at least Graydon would have had one restful night to his own thoughts. The prince slipped away quietly from the crowd, making his way to the hall's exit. A few guards and a young page stood there surveying the crowd. When Graydon approached, it was the boy who hurried over to him.

"Did you need anything, Your Majesty?"

"No, thank you. I'm headed back to my rooms."

The youth looked aghast at him. "You're going alone?"

Huh? Oh, that was right--the boy was asking about his party of men. The prince was reluctant to explain why he was ditching his own men at the party. Instead of answering, he decided to play the fool. Graydon widened his eyes in mock surprise. "Why, surely you wouldn't leave me to find my chambers by myself…?"

The young boy shook his head so hard that Graydon thought it might fall off. "No, no of course not! I only thought…"

He trailed off, a shameful blush coloring his cheeks. Guilt pricked the older man's sides at teasing him.

"I am only teasing," the prince finally admitted, "I know what you meant. But best to leave it be. My men will follow soon after the party has ended. Now, will you attend me?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Together the two made their way down the grand hallway, their shadows stretching long over the dimly lit walls. For his part, the page kept quiet, something for which Graydon was eternally grateful. When they finally arrived at his bedroom door, the young boy peered expectantly at the prince.

"I will...fetch a servant for you. To help you get ready for bed."

He did not argue. Graydon was already moving into the large antechamber as the boy spoke. It was an impressive guest room, adorned in the same brilliant rays of color that continued to please his eye. His various trunks of clothes and goods lay neatly stacked against the far wall, apparently emptied and put away. Further down, another door lay open, revealing a proper bedroom beyond. Graydon felt his body sag. He was never going to make it to the bed. Slowly, with dragging steps, he approached a set of two padded chairs facing a large fireplace. Someone had already started a small fire for him. He drew near to the flames' warmth.

The tinny voice of the page sounded again. "Did you need anything else, Your Majesty?"

"No. Thank you." His fingers began to unravel the drawstrings of his shirt. When it was completely unknotted, he shrugged off his mink cloak.

With little resistance, Graydon finally collapsed into the chair with a small sigh. God, how it felt good to be off his feet. He left his limbs splayed open as they were and leaned his head back against the chair, too exhausted to finish undressing.

@CalamitousNag

 

[CalamitousNag]

Danya​

Cool water ran down in rivulets, searing fevered skin.

He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

'… not Graydon. Anyone but Graydon.'

But, oh, yes, it was Graydon. And how he had matured from that long-limbed boy whose face dominated the memory of his youth. He remembered those full cheeks, his teasing, windswept hair, and that cocky-as-ever grin of his.

A wide expanse of skin. He would take his time with him.

How had Danya even recognized him? Graydon was nearly a stranger of the boy he once was.

Danya supposed his heart had known.

His taut skin seemed to quiver with each breath. He swore he saw the pulsing of the other's heartbeat beneath his chest—or, perhaps, he only imagined his own.

'It all makes sense,' Danya whispered to himself, thinking back on the days Graydon had come dressed in special-looking clothes, toting an expensive instrument with carefree ease. How had he failed to notice the signs? The boy had always been well-born.

His hair was softer than the finest silk. The cool strands stood in contrast to the heat emanating from his scalp. He took a fistful of it, gentle yet firm.

Danya splashed his face with another scoop of water from the washstand. He had to get back out there, greet the remaining visitors before he could retire. But… he couldn't greet them in this flustered state. The cool water was no match for the fire that burned within him. Nothing could quench it. Most specifically—and especially—not Graydon.

He was losing himself in the eyes of the one he had longed to see again. So bright, so intelligent, so loving. He was so familiar and so loved.

Danya ran his nose back and forth over the veins that stood in relief against his muscled arm. His tongue darted out to taste what he could only imagine. He wound the fingers of one hand through his. The gesture took him back years—but yet, this was all so new. He was drunk on his scent and still it wasn't enough.

He shifted his focus to the center of the man's chest, pressing kisses all the way down, down until he was seated where he wanted to be.

A single, solid knock pounded on the door. Danya came back to himself. He looked behind him, but no one was in the room. He reached for a cloth.

Then he was gone again.

He wrapped an arm around each leg as he kissed down the inside of one, creamy thi---

"Nephew!"

Danya startled, kicking the washstand and almost sending it over. He hurriedly pat down his face. How long had he been standing there holding that towel?

Aysha stood stock-still, her demeanor stiff and impertinent.

"What was that?"

"Amma?" Danya mustered as innocently and coolly as he could.

"You left. Your own ceremony. And you're not even drunk. What was that?"

Danya deposited the towel on a nearby stand and started to put his robe back on. He had taken the expensive quilting off to wash his face cool off.

"Merely the thrill of debate, amma. Talks are off to a good start—though they are taking a toll. I was never one much for conversation, you know that." Unless it was with Graydon. He could talk for hours and hours with him.

Aysha stared at her nephew's back. He wouldn't meet her eyes. The boy was as insolent as ever.

"You had better learn to be much about it if you wish to remain a ruler at all. Fighting doesn't last forever and the majority of your time ruling will involve diplomacy. I hope you are ready, Danya."

"Yes, amma."

"You aren't acting like it, Danya." Danya froze for a second, before continuing in his ministrations. Satisfied he had fastened the robe correctly himself this time, he turned to his Chamberlain.

"I only needed a moment, amma. Even rulers have to piss sometime," Danya smiled—again, the gesture did not reach his eyes.

Despite the incongruity to his earlier actions, this seemed to appease his aunt, who, in turn, huffed and turned away. "You must speak with everyone before you retire, Danya. You have been missing from the hall for an unacceptable amount of time. You mustn't appear weak and… incontinent… your first night of formal rule. Any one of these countries will be looking for weakness. Do not give them what they seek, Danya. I shouldn't have to tell you this."

"I know, amma." Danya caught up to his aunt's departing figure as they emerged into the hallway, once again heading towards the festivities. "I don't know where I would be without your close counsel."

Aysha snorted. "Most likely fucking it up," she hissed under her breath and Danya snickered, a genuine laugh that melted Aysha's scowl. That was a soldier's wife for you.

Danya swore he heard the sound of footfalls leading away from the hall just as he and his aunt arrived. It seemed he wasn't the only one making a hasty exit that evening. Too bad his obligations called that he return.

The guards moved to allow them entry once again. Danya made eye contact with Akmal as he passed him on his way over to the wine table. He would need the liquid courage if he was to overcome his quickly returning anxiety.

Oh, how he wanted to be done with this. How he wished even more, however, to not see Graydon again.

It was after several rounds around the room that Danya realized that he didn't see Graydon.

Had he retired, too? Danya peered through the crowd for Dein's tell-tale colors and coat of arms. He thought he may see one or two knights sporting Deinian colors off to the side but there was no Graydon in sight.

What kind of knight left his master to retire on his own? In a foreign land, no doubt?

Danya gripped the glass in hand with hostility as he grinned with some forgettable dignitary to whom he paid not an ounce of attention.

The wine was starting to take an effect. Danya welcomed it with open arms.

Thankfully, he did not encounter that noblewoman again.

But, oh, he did others.

It didn't help that he was unwed. He had almost forgotten that finding a wife would be mission two of his plan to secure Tuzkayan borders. A well-timed marriage would do good to solidify his regime. Danya imagined it would be thoroughly political—he couldn't imagine any woman who could strike his fancy.

Or, for that matter, nor could he imagine any man.

Only one had managed to plague his dreams on the rare nights he succeeded in forgetting the horrors of the battlefield.

One would think it childish folly, perhaps even idolization of the ideal, for him to be so smitten with a boy he had only known for a few years of his life. That same boy had made those years bearable, however, and Danya couldn't help but feel he had been cheated in some way of what could have been.

Even so, he would have been expected to wed some maiden sooner or later, so perhaps his obsession was all for naught. Perhaps when Danya would have a chance to meet with Graydon and see him for the man he currently was, he would finally wake from his dream.

Danya's movements became looser and a lot less controlled. He finally felt as if he was enjoying himself gabbing on about nothing at all when his court physician slid to his side.

"Commander."

The taller man turned with a gleeful look on his face. "Brother," Danya grunted as he hooked an arm about the man's neck, pulling him closer.

Akmal's eyes about rolled out of his head.

"My, aren't we merry? I should check you for poison—only you would react to a deadly tincture with joy and merriment," Akmal muttered under his breath as a smirk crossed his features.

Danya laughed, the sound light and somehow unsettling in its ease. "I dare say you whip up a good brew, then, comrade," Danya winked before sobering slightly, "What is it?"

Akmal lowered his voice. "A page has reportedly escorted the Prince of Dein to his rooms and a servant is on their way to prepare him for the night."

Danya's heart began to hammer in his chest. He had seemed so certain earlier when the fire of disagreement and hurt had fueled him. Now, all he was left with was the realization that he would be meeting his long-lost friend again--though, this time, they'd be alone.

Akmal must have noticed Danya's silence because he asked, "Is all well, Sir?"

Danya didn't respond right away but, eventually, he nodded. "Yes. We'll be on our way, then."

Danya's interest in the wine was gone just like that as he set it down on a passing tray. Danya gave a curt nod to his group as he spoke his niceties and good-evenings. He bid good-night to more as he left, obviously over-compensating for his earlier absence. Eventually he made it to the door with Akmal in tow. The cool air of the breezy passageway did good to soothe the Commander's nerves.

He was felt like a young boy again, even now as he walked beside his court physician. His palms were clammy as he stood and waited for Akmal to make arrangements with a passing servant to have refreshments delivered to the Prince's room. This servant would also show Danya the way. Better that the two men not arrive together for fear of startling the prince.

How Danya's heart still managed its stuttered rhythm after the various stresses of this day, Danya could not say. It damn near stopped when the servant he followed stopped at a door.

A second servant arrived with a tray of tea, melons and clotted cream. It was now or never.

The servant carrying the tray expertly reached one hand up to place two solid knocks on the wooden panel. "I've come to bring your refreshments for the night, your majesty."

Danya sucked in a breath. He battled internally on whether or not he should announce his presence also. For appearance's sake, he figured he had better. No sense in swirling rumors about plotting to kill the Prince of Dein so early in his rule.

"Your Majesty, I have also come. My Court Physician tells me you have recovered but I wish to witness your wellbeing myself. Our summers can be just as brutal as our winters."

 

[Kuno]

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graydon

crown prince of dein

---

There were two things that registered in Graydon's mind as he opened the door to his chambers. One was that in his efforts to relax, he had untied his shirt all the way and so left it hanging open, his boots long having been kicked off, and his hair a rollicking mess. He looked highly unkempt by all standards, and he seemed to acknowledge this blearily as he took in the prim young servant standing at his door with a tray of treats.

"Ah, how very kind of you," Graydon murmured, running a hand over his face, "Forgive me, I was just napping…"

His head swiveled left. And so registered the second thing: that Danya, Commander Danya, was standing right beside the servant. Unaccompanied, and very much looking the state of someone on official business. And finally, what he had said. Graydon finally awoke fully, his eyes flashing with bright realization. Danya? Danya?

What the hell was Danya doing here?

He floundered.

"Commander! Oh, I..."

Flustered, he folded into a bow, the lowest one he'd given all evening. He moved aside from the door in order to allow the two men to pass. He trailed slowly behind them as they entered.

"You are a very gracious host, Commander. I can't think of any other ruler who would pay such personal detail to his guests."

Of course he couldn't think of any other ruler who would do that. The rumors could be enough to destroy any semblance dignitaries had that the hosting ruler was unbiased towards them. Alliances could be withheld on a whim. Did Danya know that? Did Danya trust his servants enough not to spread that?

Graydon was overtly aware of every move the men made. The sound of Danya's boots stepping against the floor. The softer patter of the servant who followed him. There was a clinkling of glass as the young man set the platter of refreshments on the fireside table. Graydon's eyes alighted on Danya's figure briefly before darting away, his brows furrowing as he tried to tame his thoughts. He was woefully caught off-guard, and it showed. He tried briefly to button up his shirt once more before stopping; he attempted to sit down before realizing it was improper to sit before the king did--well not king, commander, but-- oh, if only the ground could just open up and swallow him now!

At last, the servant was done. He heard himself say "thank you" as the young man quietly shuffled past him. There was a rattling of metal as the door handle was pulled behind them, and finally, it was done. Only Graydon and Danya were left in the room.

Alone. Utterly and completely alone.

The risks that came with this rare moment were enough to make Graydon's heart race. He was statuesque in his posture, his eyes the only constantly moving part of his body. He didn't know where to look at first: the ground, the fireplace, Danya's shoes. His line of vision traveled up the length of the other man's body, until at last they rested solely on golden eyes. Brilliant ambers, filled with warmth by the growing flames of the fireplace. Looking into his eyes helped him find his voice again--as well as common sense--and at length he spoke, a low murmur that seemed to fill the space between them.

"You'd better hope your servants don't have a penchant for gossip, lest our meeting together enrage every dignitary here. I have enough enemies as it is"

Slowly, a small smile stretched across his face, perhaps his first genuine smile of that night.

"It's been quite some time, hasn't it? Goodness, how you've changed." Then, with a teasing emphasis, "Commander."