Intriguing Royalty

[CalamitousNag]

Seeing the Ambassador's purposeful hesitance, Danya took the cue and led the way, eyes sweeping about him as he exited the room and into the outside hallway. He slowed his pace once Beullion was in step, mimicking a simple stroll. He took notice of the indifferent composure with which the Ambassador accompanied him. He wasn't nervous or nearly teeming with the newest gossip. He was shockingly neutral, and yet, it was apparent that he had some sort of motive. What that motive was, well, Danya wondered if Beullion even knew. He spoke so matter-of-factly about the allied nation of Dein that it made it difficult to tell whether they were true enemies or the closest of friends. Was the man always like this?

Swallowing, Danya realized just how out of his element he truly was. Beullion was far better versed in this political game than Danya could ever be. The Tuzkayan tried not to dwell on this fact--insecurity would be his downfall.

Danya listened attentively to Beullion's words. His eyebrows raised slightly, breaking the neutral mask he had assumed. The king had recovered? So, they had outdated information. This was cause for concern.

Wait, but something didn't add up. Danya's openly conveyed confusion succeeded in melting the ever-present mask off of his face. He searched Beullion's countenance for answers only to come up with nothing. Which meant that various answers of his own flitted through his mind instead.

What did this mean? Had Graydon come here today, offering an old, obsolete arrangement in an attempt to reclaim control to his father's kingdom through means of subterfuge? Funny how an alliance had been dreamt of at a time of uncertainty when Dein was at its most precarious. The alliance was likely originally meant to solidify Graydon's own rule, a concrete representation of peaceful intentions to help "sell" his ascension to the people. To mollify any misgivings they might have of a smooth transition, considering the same Heir Apparent had been poisoned in his youth. No wonder he had been so impertinent, so forceful at the summit tonight--his political future had been riding on it.

Of course, this was only one interpretation of the knowledge Beullion shared, and the only easy one for Danya to digest. The alternative, however... the alternative... was much, much worse.

The alternative meant Graydon didn't know. Hadn't realized the conspiracy that had so freshly rose against him. If that was the case, Graydon was likely safer here.

With him.

Danya's heart beat harshly in his chest--could Beullion see it? See the rattling of his ribcage that Danya could so acutely feel? Concern welled in his stomach, as did a misguided protectiveness over his childhood friend. What did this man know that Graydon may not? Surely Graydon was aware of the dichotomy in his own court.

And just how extreme were the two opposing views? Danya's mind went down a rabbit hole--he hadn't even noticed Beullion pause, only saw the man turning towards him as if observing from several paces away. The Ambassador's movement was exactly what Danya needed to bring him back to present. There was an instinctual series of events that occurred when a man confronted him face-to-face. It was the basal need to survive that had him zeroing in on the man before him and it succeeded at snapping him awake. Danya's expression slid back into one of neutrality. He needed to feign neutral for fear of expressing anger instead.

Not only was anger unseemly in a political situation like this, it was also highly revealing. Danya had no reason whatsoever to be angry with the knowledge Beullion imparted. It would only serve to raise suspicion assuming he had only just met the Deinian prince yesterday. Gratitude would be a much more appropriate emotion. He decided he'd meet Beullion's advice with appreciation instead.

The soldier was hyper-focused and his eyes tracked the motion of Beullion's arms as they slid to his back. Again Danya noted the Ambassador's almost martial stance. He listened as Beullion reminded him of Graydon's ephemeral offer. This time, Danya smiled, nodding in acknowledgment of what Beullion was saying without knowing if there was even a modicum of truth behind it. It would make sense the offer wasn't guaranteed if political tides were shifting in Dein. Danya had much to think about.

And, of course, this man of many tales and but one single, unbothered face had one more bomb to drop in Danya's lap.

'You may very well be contending with his brother instead.'

Danya's smile faltered. He slapped it quickly back in place, his face tight.

He had much to think of, indeed! Either support Graydon's kingdom or support the incumbent's. What a position this was for Tuzkaya!

Quite frankly, Danya hadn't signed up for this shit. Battle had been easier.

Up until now, Danya had merely listened, soaking up bombshell after bombshell as Beullion laid Dein's troubles bare. It left him with but one thought. Danya had to ask.

Danya took a small step closer to Beullion. He tried to do so in respect of privacy, but in reality, his eyes may have been stretched too wide. May have been too imploring. He continued to smile, however, ever the face of Tuzkayan hospitality.

"I thank you for bringing me up to speed, Ambassador. I like to consider all of my options prior to making a decision, and I can only do so objectively by seeing all sides. You aided me in that, today, and for that I am grateful," Danya spoke plainly. The Tuzkayan paused and ever so slightly looked the Ambassador of Bruinsar over. "Speaking of sides... if I remember correctly, Dein has had its share of spats with Bruinsar in the recent past. Though, now, of course you're allied. Which brings me to question..." After his once-over, the Commander-in-Chief's gaze eventually sought the Ambassador's eyes. For what reason, he had no clue--he knew he'd never find any truth there. "What do you look to gain by telling me all of this? I mean, Tuzkayan alliances are very popular these days, might as well throw your lot in with everyone else's. It'd surely be simpler," Danya attempted to insert a bit of humor with the last couple of statements, fearful the first had been too forward.

 

[Kuno]

Beullion had come to two conclusions about Danya.​

​

One was that the court did not suit Commander Danya. As a former soldier himself, Beullion understood. Their wars called for exposure, brash boldness and fiery attacks in the ringing of steel on steel. Little speech was required. It was hard to change from the direct approach of a bladed helm to that of cloak and dagger, message exchanged in code so to speak. The patois of statesmen sounded less refined on the Tuzkayan's tongue. But in time, Danya would get there. In time.​

​

The other, more pressing conclusion was that Danya held an inexplicable tie to the Prince of Dein.​

​

Perhaps it was more a needling suspicion than anything else. But Beullion had learned to trust his gut instinct, and something about the way the Commander reacted and responded to things relating to Dein had roused his investigative spirit. Hadn't he addressed him as Graydon as well?​

​

He was beginning to wonder how much of that mistake was caused from past use, and if the alliance was really any surprise to the Commander. It sang of misconduct; and, given Lavyna's words from last night...It would be a difficult thing to investigate, much less prove.​

​

Well. He had plenty of time.​

​

The Commander's dry attempt at humor elicited an equally dry laugh from the ambassador. In the man's defense, his amusement was genuine. Who would have known the Tuzkayan would have so easily been drawn to his side? It was like calling a bee to a honeypot. Beullion's brother was right to have sent him in his stead.​

​

"Wise of you to ask. Very well. I'll cut straight to it."​

​

A pause came as the older man's features smoothed into something more professional.​

​

"Given Tuzkaya's tumultuous history, my liege does not think it wise to form any permanent ties with you just yet. He will wait for my report. I am, in effect, his eyes and ears, and I will strive to be as impartial as I can. As far as what I hope to gain, nothing personally. Perhaps to spare a prince's neck from the chopping block."​

​

At that, he crooked a brow. Again there was that fleeting spell of youthfulness, so easily cast by a single glance. It was hard to tell if he was being serious or not, and his gaze drew away before any concrete emotion could be attributed to them.​

​

"When it comes to Dein, it's true we've had our differences throughout the years," He went on evenly, "I would even call our 'alliance' more of a ceasefire, really. But that could potentially change. Open borders for you could easily be bargained into open borders between Bruinsar and Dein as well. All could benefit, given the right direction…"​

​

Beullion made a half-hearted gesture with his hand, as if the entire thing was merely a casual affair.​

​

"At the end of the day, these are merely my opinions, Commander. Not fact. I don't intend to mislead you, rather illuminate the prospects you've been given. It's all I can do."​

​

--------------------------------​

​

Was it just Graydon, or had the temperature skyrocketed in the past half hour?​

​

Somehow, someway, he had managed to stifle the fire raging within, though the flames still curled and licked at his insides. He felt hot all over, and the oppressive heat of the Tuzkayan summer did little to aid him.​

​

Curse that damned Chancellor to hell. And while he was at it, the Regent of Peros too. Gods. It was as if the Divines themselves had conspired to send every possible deterrent his way.​

​

And of course, Danya. Danya, Danya, Danya. The way the Commander had so familiarly called his name in front of everyone replayed over and over in his head. It was as if, just for that one, singular moment, they had been children again - carefree, innocent, fun-loving children basking on the riverbank, the glow of the sun on their skins and the wild spirit of the river in their bloods.​

​

Perhaps only Graydon had seen it. Despite Danya's paltry distancing the night before, the Tuzkayan hadn't completely ousted the young prince from his mind. A silly inkling of hope nestled into Graydon's heart.​

​

So they would never be friends again, would they?​

​

"Graydon, please."​

​

Graydon, please indeed.​

​

It was a long, dreadful walk to where he'd agreed to meet his men. He found Sevan and company waiting near an elaborate fountain by the West Atrium. Once again, there was the swell of men around him. A protective barrier between him and the rest of the room. For once, the prince felt grateful for it.​

​

"No need to ask. I followed your directions down to the letter," Graydon stated brusquely to Sevan, who rose at once from his bow. "Though you should know Peros was quick to follow suit."​

​

"How so?"​

​

"They offered a treaty of their own, Sevan."​

​

"What?" The older man exclaimed. "This was never communicated to us!"​

​

"Indeed. I suppose they were spontaneously inspired by a certain young prince."​

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"A treaty! Now? What nonsense-"​

​

"I don't know, but I doubt it will hold. The princess herself did not look to be in agreement."​

​

For once, Sevan looked to be at a loss for words, and Graydon filled the brief pause with, "In any case, that damnable summit is over. Now we can move on to more important things-"​

​

"Hold. What of the Commander's response?"​

​

"His response?"​

​

"Yes," Sevan persisted. He had come to once more tugging at his beard, and Graydon suspected he might pull the whole thing off. "What did he say? About the peace offering?"​

​

Ah, yes. Of course. Danya. How had he so poetically put it?​

​

It will be graciously considered.​

​

What an infuriating answer. Was that really all Danya had had to say?​

​

Graydon knew there was more to it than that. There had to be. Station and protocol bedamned, there had to be far more swirling in that Tuzkayan's head to say rather than five short words. He refused to believe that the man just didn't care anymore. True, Danya was not the same young boy from the Deep, but by the gods, surely he felt more about the situation than whatever perfunctory nonsense that line was. It was Graydon's own sister, for God's sake. Graciously considered, indeed.​

​

For Danya's sake, he'd better hope he did just so.​

​

"I'm not overtly concerned with the Commander's response," Graydon replied airily, feigned indifference on his face. "All that matters is that he knows what offers lie on the table. It's up to him to pursue it."​

​

"But Sire-"​

​

"Nevermind him. It's Peros that is the issue." He turned his unflinching gaze Sevan's way. "Send word to that ridiculous Regent of theirs. It is imperative that we speak at once."​

 

[CalamitousNag]

"Ha," Danya hummed, reeling his head back slightly as the Ambassador began to address his query. He listened with eyes and ears. He could tell the man was carefully placing his words, but it didn't carry the tell-tale eagerness of one trying to hide the truth. This man's pauses seemed to add a flare of dramatic effect. Danya had the needling suspicion he was being led on, but the man's words were so believable and casually stated, he admonished himself for being so quick to judge. His spirit was getting in the way; Danya by nature wasn't a very trusting person. Too much had been wrenched from him.

Brüinsar's reluctance and suspicion of Tuzkaya was only to be expected. They were wary. Much could be inferred about the relationship between the two countries simply by comparing Brüinsar's cautious attitude to Dein's eagerness to befriend. Danya wondered how an alliance between Tuzkaya and Dein could truly affect Brüinsar. What had been the motive behind revealing Graydon's precarious position? Would Brüinsar benefit more from Graydon's leadership, or his failure? Perhaps now wasn't the time to ask Beullion of his opinion of Dein's king.

"…As far as what I hope to gain, nothing personally. Perhaps to spare a prince's neck from the chopping block."

Danya had a light countenance until Beullion uttered those words. If thoughts were visible, they could be seen in Danya's eyes as the swirling amber stagnated and hardened. His lips pinched. He tilted his head, as if he hadn't heard the man correctly. Beullion's answer was a quirked brow. That expression meant absolutely nothing on this man, at least nothing reliable. It only served to call into question how Beullion really felt about Graydon. How could he speak of Graydon's doom so flippantly?

Danya turned his head, forcing a sigh. There it was again, that quaking in his chest.

The Commander-in-Chief's eyes slid back to the man in front of him, and he gave him his full attention, even if it were he that was wary now. What Beullion disclosed next seemed to be more of the truth. Allies and yet one was closed to the other. The Tuzkayan would have to find a way to investigate the true nature of Dein and Bruinsar's relationship. He could very well be staring Dein's enemy in the face.

Was following Dein truly in the best interests of Tuzkaya? Danya could no longer decide this on a personal level, no matter how much his soul told him to trust Graydon's opinion over anyone else's. That realization brought him focus. He smiled at Beullion's conciliation.

"It would be a shift in the right direction, I agree…" Danya trailed off. He considered the man's next words. If only Beullion knew his simple opinions utterly and thoroughly wore Danya out. "I wouldn't discount it as opinions. Merely, your perspective has been very telling." Illuminating was a good way to describe it. "If there's any hope of a new era, we would eventually have to work together. Knowing our individual histories would certainly help with that," Danya ended, aiming to meet the Ambassador's gaze. He got the distinct sense that this conversation was over. Beullion had done what he came to do. What that was, however, Danya doubted he'd ever truly know.

The Tuzkayan broke eye contact to look back down the hall. The activity outside of the meeting hall had dwindled, the servants likely shifting their focus to dinner prep. It was likely well into the afternoon by now. His gaze returned to the Ambassador, Danya offering a far kinder smile than he had before. Danya inclined his head. "Thank you for speaking with me today, Ambassador. I'll leave you to whatever you have planned. Dinner will be served shortly—if you intend to stick around, there'll be far more delights where last night's came from," the Commander-in-Chief said with a wink before bidding his farewell to Bruinsar and turning to continue down the hallway.

Danya had a few hours at his disposal before everyone would be heading to the outer courtyard for dinner that night. Save for the voluntary formal tour—another of his aunt's attempts at humanizing Tuzkaya—the planned political meetings were officially over. As they had welcomed the visiting dignitaries to leave in their own time, it would provide Danya many opportunities for covert meetings. He wouldn't be surprised if he was approached as well. He'd be more surprised by whom.

That didn't matter tonight, however. Danya needed to speak to Graydon. He needed to be reassured about Graydon's standing within his own kingdom. The source of this need wasn't political… at least, not entirely… Danya didn't think. He'd probably never be able to divorce his individual feelings from his country's again.

One feeling, though, he knew was his for sure. Graydon had hurt him and the last thing Danya wanted to do was converse with him. However, they had been friends once and Danya could not shake his concern after the other's wellbeing. It'd be painful to talk with him—humiliating, even—knowing his true feelings would and could never be reciprocated. But he'd talk with him still, if Graydon answered his invitation, just to know Graydon was safe.

That was normal, wasn't it? Wanting the best for someone you still cared about? Maybe Danya was in the wrong here. He had idolized Graydon throughout the years, unknowingly spoiling himself for anyone else. There could have been others, other chances at real, attainable happiness but instead Danya had saved himself for someone he never knew whether he'd see again. It was hard opening up to others after that; after all, no blood-and-bone human being could ever live up to a perfect memory.

He had contented himself with the notion that eventually he'd get over his first-love and find someone else. War had been the best distraction. Danya had put his all into excelling and rising to the top of the rebel army only to get there unexpectedly through the luck of deadly infighting. Now he was here and he had absolutely no one to share it with.

Enter yesterday. An unattainable memory was suddenly not so much a memory anymore and Danya had approached it the best way he knew how. He drew a boundary, thinking they could live peacefully side-by-side. He even welcomed the other to do the same and…

They had.

But it didn't feel like Danya imagined it would. Thinking back on it now, he really didn't know what he had expected. He'd been childish, acting one way and expecting some favorable result completely in contrary to it. He had been drawing that boundary with an idealistic memory, after all, not a real live person.

A person with their own thoughts. Their own dreams. Their own history. Their own perspective. And Danya was no longer a part of it—if he had ever been.

That strange burning began again at the edges of his eyes. It caused Danya to slow, to breathe. He was the problem here. He had set himself up for failure. This love he felt—because, yes, damnit, it was love—it was wrong. Danya screwed his eyes shut and waited for the pounding heartbeat to clear from his ears. Once he was stable again, he hurried to his chambers.

~~~~~~~

A woman, perhaps 5'2", strolled unassumingly down the hallway, looking as inconspicuous as any other servant if it weren't for her brilliant mint-green robes. She hummed a tune to herself, the rustling of fabric from her short robe and tapered sirwal keeping rhythmic time. She had a bounce to her gait. It made her seem as if she was constantly skipping. Her features were striking, two long, dark brown braids framed each side of her face. Similar to the commander who had tasked her with this mission, her eyes were light and piercing. They belonged to the same ethnic group—the same village, even.

She wasn't surprised that Danya had entrusted her with this mission, she was more perplexed as to why. She was eager to see this Prince of Dein that the commander insisted upon meeting alone without council. Did this mean that Dein would soon be under their control?

The woman turned down the corridor Danya had instructed, pausing at the unassuming door that held Deinian royalty. She noticed the lack of men outside—perhaps they hadn't yet made it back? She rapped lightly on the wooden door, knock knock, and waited. She listened closely but no sounds could be heard.

She poked her lip and dropped down to tuck a neatly folded paper slip just under it. She had peaked inside the note, but it had matched what Danya told her to say if she was confronted. The wording was still strange, likely a code of some sort:

Won't you come to the gardens
As auburn as the sun's crown
The fields are lovely and Deep​

Suddenly, the echo of far-off voices ricocheted down the hallway. The room's occupants might be returning. She lifted quickly to her feet and hurried back the way she came, turning the corner and resting lightly against it. If she was spotted, at least she could play it off. She took to picking apart the slender, fat-headed daisy Danya had given her. She would wait for the prince to emerge.

And alert Danya, who waited patiently in the gardens, if he did not.

 

[Kuno]

The Commander's polite concessions were reflected on Beullion's bland features. There was nothing more for him to say. He could only maintain his post, waiting for the next opportunity.

Always watching. Always listening.

Beullion inclined his head to Danya.

"Of course. Thank you, Commander."

Mud brown eyes tracked the Tuzkayan's movement away from him. He stood still a bit longer, a slight frown creasing his face.

Some viewed the Bruinsarian man as pedantic. Fruitlessly clinging to the old traditions and customs of Bruinsarian royalty, even in the face of one so obviously outclassed. It was his own moral code: treat others how you want to be treated. Even if his respect for Danya was baseless. Perhaps, in a way, he held sympathy for him. Even pity. Because even with his fine military prowess and impressive, grandiose estate, who was he really? Take away the formalities and prestige and what did you have? A lackluster man from some backwater Tuzkayan farm. A commoner. He would never be of the same ilk as he and Graydon.

A means to an end. That's all he was and would ever be to him.

There was the faint edge of disdain on his lips. Shaking his head slightly, he moved away, heading once more to the growing chatter of gathered dignitaries further down the hall.

Naught but a few rooms away, a much more animated discussion was underway between the envoys of Dein.

It largely stemmed from Graydon himself. For all the prince's attempts to reconcile the tumultuous state in which he lied, he could not shake the feeling of being terribly off-balanced. His knee-jerk reaction was to compensate, and compensate he did with much intentful ferocity.

The treaty from Peros was a welcome distraction. As were the other dignitaries, though Graydon worried he would not have the time or tact to parry politics with every single visiting ambassador. Sevan was quick to agree.

"Let me handle it." The bearded man, for all his nervous tics, was resolute where duty called. "I will speak to the other chancellors. I may be able to suss out where they stand on the matter."

"How? I thought you were set to receive my sister tonight."

"Tomorrow morning, Sire. Tomorrow."

"Hm. As you wish."

Frankly, Sevan could have offered to do a headstand, and Graydon would have responded with the same exact enthusiasm. The novelty of the experience was souring by the minute. He strongly disliked feeling so out-of-sorts; he wanted very badly to place all the blame on Danya, but Danya, in the end, had responded precisely as he should have.

Not to mention the man had made a grave mistake by losing his damn temper. Reputations were all that lasted these days; whose to say that word of his combined mistakes wouldn't reach the ears of the king before he returned home? Bad news liked to travel fast. Hopefully, by the gods' grace, he would be able to come home with some good news, if Danya was willing to cooperate.

Ultimately, that's what it came down to. He hadn't been asking his childhood friend Danya for an alliance. He'd been asking Commander Danya of Tuzkaya for an alliance, and the two ideals were wholly different. It was hard to separate the two in his mind; for his country's sake, he would be forced to.

For Annabeth's sake, he would be forced to. For his sister…

"Your Highness?"

"Hm?"

Graydon blinked slowly. The open door to his chambers beckoned from his right. The prince turned, staring blankly at the questioning looks on his company's faces. Had they asked him something?

Oh. They were waiting to be dismissed. His spine straightened, and he forced a warm smile.

"Gentlemen, we have some time before dinner. Please, go. Enjoy the palace in the meantime. Hardly any need to cluster about me as I nap," Graydon joked lightly, earning a chuckle from his men. Well, some of his men. His eyes fell upon the frowning Garth - the indomitable boulder. There was an odd squint to his eyes, as if he could see straight through the faux cheer in his voice. No doubt he did know, the insufferable giant. It really was a pain to have someone who truly knew you, all of you.

Better to placate him than to endure another lecture. Graydon's eyes scanned the faces of his men-in-waiting impatiently until at last finding the one he sought. He smiled broadly.

"Sir Hammel! Why don't you stay behind with me?"

At the back of the group, halfway through picking at his nails with a dagger, a dusty-haired man started, staring back at the prince demurely. At first glance, not much stood out about him. Neither tall nor short, of average build and stock, the ruddy-cheeked knight hailed from the mountain province of Igndvel, a densely populated area of miners and stone masons. He, of course, was neither - at age 24, he was the youngest of Graydon's knights, and at face value the most unremarkable. It was easy to pass him off as just another inexperienced squire, and he often dressed as such, paltry and easily forgotten with a passing glance.

It was all a ruse. Little did most know that out of all the knights, he was devastatingly deadly with a dagger, and equally lethal with a bow and arrow.

But nevermind all that. Graydon hadn't summoned him for a war. One of the man's downfalls was his penchant for laziness. He had a knack for chasing skirt more than doing his duty. Still, he could be trusted to mind his own business, which made him perfectly suitable for Graydon's needs.

Some unspoken exchange passed between the prince and the blase knight, and despite himself, Hammel smiled knowingly. He spied a potential evening of lounging around, and at that, he perked up.

Garth could only grumble something under his breath. There were no serious objections he could raise; Hammel was a capable protector in his own right, and after a tight nod, Garth and the rest of his knights drifted away. Sevan and his assistant lingered; they had some business or the other to address, no doubt prepping for future debates, and Graydon left them at the threshold, all but closing the door in their faces.

His chambers had been scrupulously cleaned in his absence...save for a folded piece of paper that lay on the floor. The prince's eyes seized on the anomaly.

He was not so far removed from childhood that he didn't remember how it felt to shove notes under other's doors. Boredom had been a constant companion of days. It had lightened his mood to, at times, pen silly notes to his sister while she was under tutelage. Anything to make her laugh, really.

Something told him this note was of the same constitution. Past experience should have made him have Hammel read the note instead - after all, the prince had been poisoned before - but a stubborn impatience had him unfolding the note rather quickly.

Won't you come to the gardens
As auburn as the sun's crown
The fields are lovely and Deep​

His mind emptied.

What was that loud noise in his ears?

Graydon held the note longer than necessary, the words blurring together the longer he stared. Then, rather abruptly, the paper was crumbled up and thrown hastily into the fireplace. The prince set off into a mad pace, his brows knitting together in deep contemplation.

God damn that Danya. What could he possibly mean by this? Hadn't the man already denounced their friendship? To what end did he see fit to play with Graydon's emotions like this?

First they weren't friends. Now Danya made a flippant reference to the sanctity of their shared childhood. First they were never to meet in private again. Now came an invitation to do exactly that, and oh, Graydon would be lying if he didn't say his damn heart was pounding in his chest. Gods above, this man would be the end of him.

Focus, Graydon. It could very well be that the Tuzakayan merely wanted to discuss the terms of the treaty. It could also very well mean that Danya was reneging on the terms of their previous agreement, to which, well...Graydon wasn't all quite sure how he could respond to that. His innate calling to be stoic, like his famed countrymen, but he'd never been able to hold up much of a facade in his old friend's presence. He supposed it all boiled down to how he wanted to play this.

A haughty spirit made him want to ignore the invitation altogether. But curiosity was a mighty beast, and so the young prince felt himself pulled unbidden to his chamber door. His hand slipped about the doorknob, but he froze as raucous laughter sounded from outside.

Ah. Some of his men still lingered at the end of the hall.

He waited. When the sound of heavy footsteps and voices had all but dissipated, he turned round to Hammel, who had idly returned to cleaning out his fingernails.

"Sir Hammel." The younger man's eyes drew up lazily towards the prince. "I'm going to take a walk through the gardens. No one is to come in here without me. Understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

Despite his instructions, Graydon felt the presence of Hammel behind him as he set off towards the palace gardens. He walked as casually as he could, though urgency nipped at his heels. It wouldn't do to invite the attention of others around him by speeding through the halls. If this was as casual a meeting as Graydon thought, well…

Discretion was key. Better that no one see him enter the gardens.

The sun held prominence in the center of the sky. The heat was as oppressive as ever; blinking in the sudden burst of light, Graydon waited for Hammel to fall behind before stepping out fully into the large exhibit, hands falling at his sides as he attempted a light stroll.

It was an impressive collection of Tuzakayan flora. Beautiful did little to fully describe it. He couldn't help but pause as he came upon a brilliant field of gold and orange flowers, his eyes seeming to fill with color as he was laid awash in a sea of marigolds.

It was here he waited, patiently, expectantly, for Danya.

He just hoped the man wouldn't notice that he was more nervous than he'd ever been before.

 

[CalamitousNag]

The discreet messenger remained at her perch, ears perking at the sound of the wooden door stuttering against its frame as it swung open. She had surely just heard it close! Was this an indication of her note being found and the commander's call answered?

There was quite the commotion when the highly sought after prince had first returned to his rooms with his entourage in tow. His stately tone was unmistakable amongst the cacophony of voices. There appeared to be at least four or five men in his service; she could hear their individual voices as they passed on down the corridor, leaving their lord to his devices.

Just as the woman made to step around the corner to confront the prince, she fell back suddenly when a shadowy figure seeped through the door in what was presumably his wake. The prince was not alone. She wouldn't accompany the prince after all—instead, she needed to know the destination of this other individual who attempted to follow. She wouldn't engage, only observe. After all, there was no need. This penumbra walked amongst soldiers. Would he be so blatant as to threaten their commanding officer?

The messenger peeled from the wall she had been conveniently holding up and stepped belatedly down the hall after the pair.

///

Danya walked stiffly through the gardens, wincing at every small sound that could possibly announce the approach of a certain Deinian Prince. He had no clue whether or not Graydon would come so he attempted to focus instead on the artistry that surrounded him. He looked up and around at the greenery that encompassed the handsome garden. Much of the vegetation was still in its infancy. The only original components of the space were the matured trees and shrubbery. He reveled in amazement at the work of the people—his people—who had put forth so much to beautify the once clandestine Walled Capitol.

He knew he couldn't try the people's generosity for too long. It had been easy to assemble the masses under one singular mission of purifying themselves of a sullied, despotic kingdom. Now that the common threat had been removed, he knew the novelty of that promise wouldn't last for long. The people—his people—would want real, concrete examples of change, just as the neighboring nations had. Danya busied himself with fantasies of converting one of the various, unnecessary buildings into a formal school for children. One that was free for all to attend, not only reserved for the nation's elite and soldier classes.

Danya was lost in the logistics of his daydreams when the steadfast sound of approaching movement caught his attention. The garden was practically soundless save for the calling of songbirds and he noticed how their song changed in pitch upon the arrival of their guest. He only hoped that when he turned around to face them that it'd be the man he had been waiting to see.

It was. Graydon had come after all.

Danya wasn't sure when he had stopped breathing. In the space of but one day, he had forgotten what this man could do to him on sight. It was the same as when he had first laid eyes on him at the announcements the day before. His body had come alive then, as it did now, in ways that had long been bereft to it.

Which made it all the more difficult to stuff those feelings down and curse them. He had no clue why he was this way. Danya dropped his head in abasement. Those same feelings would find some way to sully what he came to do today, and that was to warn a friend. He had to be professional—and most of all—pleasant.

Danya was off to the side when the Deinian Prince had arrived and brushed past him. Danya turned off his meandering course and walked towards him. His face fell into its familiar, neutral mask as he tried to hide the trepidation that clearly shone in his eyes. He couldn't quite hide it there.

And he couldn't quite fake the smile that he knew would be polite in a situation such as this. A frown instead turned the corners of his lips. It was a frown of insecurity.

Danya spoke in greeting upon his approach so as not to startle the prince. "Thank you for accepting my invitation. I wasn't sure if you'd come. I won't keep you long," Danya came within a few arms length of Graydon and stopped, riveted to the spot. The strength of his voice petered out the longer he spoke. Maybe that greeting was a little too impersonal. Danya attempted to smile again, resulting in a half-hearted smirk.

Right. He'd get down to business, but he had to tread lightly. He had no idea how to walk the thin line of friend or foe and, honestly, he wasn't sure how Graydon viewed him anymore. Not when he possessed the eyes of Dein.

"I… had the opportunity to speak with a couple other dignitaries…" Lies. It had been only one—and it only took that one to send him running. "They shared with me some news that I found… quite contrary to what we had known," Danya spoke slowly, assessing the man in front of him with every word he spoke. Well, he assessed certain parts of him, because he found it particularly difficult now to try to meet his eyes. He wasn't sure when that hesitation had begun—perhaps around the time when he'd been passed off onto the man's sister?

He found himself focusing on the Prince's unique shade of hair. Those russet colors had consciously inspired the very color scheme of the garden they occupied together now. Danya had always been fascinated by that color for some reason; it reminded him of the way the sky looked when the clouds were low and the sun was gold. Just like the darkest marigold.

His marigold.

He had truly been foolish, hadn't he?

The Tuzkayan cleared his suddenly scratchy throat. He turned away minutely from the prince, opening up their space so as not to sound too domineering or appear too confrontational. He attempted to place his next words very carefully: "Are you still in line for the throne?"

Danya could be blunt at the absolute worst of times.

 

[Kuno]

From behind he came. His Danya, his former friend. First his voice, smooth as the river's edge, then his body in entirety - tall and imposing, breaking through the scarlet blooms with all the noise of a whisper in the wind. Graydon turned, struggling to maintain his stoic visage.

He couldn't help it. Despite his own bruised feelings, he was, indeed, happy to see his former friend. Or maybe happy wasn't the correct term - anticipation for whatever the man intended to say to him filled him with a false sense of importance. He yearned very badly to hear what he had to say. He only hoped the expectant feeling rising in him didn't show on his face.

In light of Danya's informal greeting, Graydon felt a certain stiffness about his own bow, a faint "Commander" issuing from his lips at Danya's approach. At Danya's assertion that the meeting would not take long, his own expression cooled, his stance relaxing as he assessed his former friend with a stale look. Pretending to listen, but all the while growing more and more antsy the longer Danya beat around the bush. At length, he felt the Tuzkayan finally getting to the heart of the matter, and he scrutinized him intently.

Danya hesitated. Then he spoke.

"Are you still in line for the throne?"

Nothing could have prepared the prince for those words.

He froze. Physically, mentally, emotionally - for the barest moment, the Deinian stilled and became inert, his eyes pinballing frantically to the Tuzkayan leader.

The fear in his eyes was palpable.

"Danya you- How-"

Where the hell had that come from?

It caught him wholly off-guard. Quickly, Graydon looked away, attempting to convey the image of one deep in thought, but in reality was merely attempting to hide his own discombobulation. Of all the things he'd been expecting the man to say...Danya's words reeked of insider knowledge.
Someone had been running their mouths on things they didn't fully understand - clearly. True, Graydon should have calculated that possibility, but-

Oh, the treachery of it all!

Graydon forced himself to adopt a calm expression once more, although he couldn't quite control the fiery emotion in his eyes. He never could.

"I never took you as a man with a penchant for gossip, Commander."

Coolly spoken, with all the warmth of an icicle. This time, there was no impish amusement to dampen his words. He found he could not muster up any.

The prince looked askance to the side, watching the marigolds sway in the summer breeze. Drawing, perhaps, upon the innate strength held in their stems for the tact and precision he was so wont to lack when it came to his words.

"Yes, Danya. At present, I am still in line for the throne. I am the oldest child, and thus, it is my birthright." A sardonic twist came to his lips. "I doubt a coup would've risen without the guest of honor being present. To oust a king, it would be nice for him to be there first, wouldn't you agree?"

He didn't mean to put it in such a sarcastic tone, but roiling emotions had stoked the fiery coals fueling his tongue. Really, he should've expected such low-brow talk from some other cunning dignitaries. Far be it from him to deny them their modes of verbal warfare, but he hadn't quite expected such a cutting blow. After all, very little outsiders knew of the turbulent politics in Deinian court. Very little, indeed - he could count on one hand the number of politicians there who would have the barest inkling of what was going on in Dein.

But who was the rat? Did he dare ask Danya? The man didn't seem obliged to tell, nor why would he want to? He had grounds to reject the treaty now. Seeds of discord had been planted by Gods knew who, and the young prince felt his heart hammering in his chest as that familiar feeling of unsettledness returned to his bones. Someone was attempting to disrupt Dein's peaceful endeavors.

He couldn't sprout accusations without proof. It would be the end of him.

But who was it?

He had to protect the integrity of the treaty. It was the only thing he'd been tasked to do.

He did not intend to fail.

Graydon's expression grew taut, the only emotion he held flashing in his hawk-like eyes.

"If this is in regards to the treaty," He said rather forcefully. "You are aware that the terms were drawn up by my father, yes? The treaty will be respected as such - with or without my presence. Its course is intended to far outlive my own."

 

[CalamitousNag]

He had no clue if he was meant to see it, but Danya saw. He was already highly attuned to Graydon's facial expressions by the sheer nature of their conversation. There was no way he could miss it. Danya caught the uncertainty in Graydon's face and bore witness to the fear in his eyes. Danya panicked. He took a step forward, arms outstretched to…

To…

What was he going to do?

Danya dropped his arms.

His hands twitched.

Danya forced himself to be satisfied with simply watching from afar as Graydon's face went morosely contemplative. Danya swore he could see the shuttering taking place behind Graydon's eyes as his face adopted an expression of political neutrality. The prince's frigid gaze was quickly replaced by one of ire and Danya involuntarily shuddered.

Only for the prince to then say: "I never took you as a man with a penchant for gossip, Commander."

Rebuffed, Danya's mouth fell open, shocked. How had this situation been so effectively turned on him? The Tuzkayan's eyes widened, his expression incredulous. How dare he? Is that what he interpreted this as? That Danya would risk scandal just to call him out here and wallop him with the newest tittle-tattle?

From anyone but Graydon the snide remark would have been fair game. But from him of all people?

'Don't act like you don't fucking know me.'

It's what he wanted to say, but by some far-lived grace, he was able to hold his tongue. He was visibly seething, though. His face began to redden at the sides. His lips quivered with the sneer he fought to conceal. Danya was livid. He had the audacity to speak down to him!

Yes, gossip. If this had been gossip, Danya would have been fucking giddy at seeing the Deinian off-kilter. He would have been fucking gleeful that the man chose to bite back with venom.

Graydon cast his eyes aside and the sudden change grabbed Danya's attention, allowing him to refocus. Danya shifted his weight, unsettled and bristling. He dropped his head down and shook his head from side to side, the attempt to shake sense into his brain visible. This was not what he came here to do.

But, dammit, how many times did he have to get slapped in the face? So much for toeing the line of friend and foe. A distinct frown settled on his face. Graydon looked to be gathering his words. Danya kept his mouth shut.

"Yes, Danya…"

Wait—he called him by his familiar name? Danya couldn't tell if it was Graydon speaking or Dein speaking.

"At present, I am still in line for the throne. I am the oldest child, and thus, it is my birthright."

Ah. So it was Graydon speaking. While the fact that Graydon could drop his princely guise was a little reassuring, his answer was anything but. Did Graydon realize just how uncertain his reply sounded? It wasn't exactly encouraging. Danya's anger slowly melted into confusion. Graydon spoke of a political insurgence as if it were simply the daily news.

Was that the life of a king? The irony wasn't exactly lost on him—he and his lot had done the very same to their own king. Thusly, this shared moment between them became even darker in perspective. Danya would know a thing or two about a coup, wouldn't he?

Which was why he was inclined to protect him. In some twisted, unconscious way, was he seeking redemption for his own actions?

Danya's eyes were flitting from side to side as the cogs in his mind turned, obviously over-thinking everything as he was so apt to do. At the sound of Graydon's voice—which had tightened suddenly and it quickly gained his attention—Danya looked back up to be pinned by eagle eyes.

"If this is in regards to the treaty," Graydon began, "You are aware that the terms were drawn up by my father, yes? The treaty will be respected as such - with or without my presence…"

The treaty? The damned treaty? No, it wasn't that cursed proposition that brought him here. And yet…

It was his father's treaty. Graydon was simply the messenger.

Danya didn't exactly know how to feel with this new piece of information. In his earlier fear, Danya had thought the worst of the Deinian prince, thinking the treaty a tool intended to assert the prince's place in power. Now, he found himself completely unsettled—if the King of Dein had proposed this idea, did he truly want peace? Lo, the poor princess of Dein! She had quickly gone from a bartering piece to a sacrificial offering.

Was the kingdom of Dein so wont for peace with the new nation that they'd cast their daughter into an unknown sea just to seal a deal of friendly relations with an infant stratocracy?

Danya was slowly beginning to piece his own theory: Dein was scared. But not of Tuzkaya, no. Tuzkaya was no real threat in their current state. It was something, someone else, and Dein needed friends.

Danya gave Graydon a side-long glance. So where did that leave the prince?

"Its course is intended to far outlive my own."

Disposable.

Not his Graydon.

Slowly… carefully… Danya took a step forward. He hesitated, scrutinizing hard for any indication Graydon wished him to stop. He wished to close this universe of space between them. After all, he knew not what ears would betray them. Ever cognizant for any sign from the other, Danya got as close as he could while still remaining respectable. Perhaps it was closer than any two leaders would ever stand, perhaps closer than any two friends would, either.

Danya dropped his voice, concern outliving any anger that had once settled in his eyes. "You do realize that if you're ever in any danger, you can tell me, right? I won't just stand around and let it happen." Danya looked hard into Graydon's steel gray eyes to let him know he meant every word. And, he did. Just because he couldn't have him the way he wanted him didn't mean that he could just wipe away any ounce of care he felt for the man. That was impossible. He hoped Graydon knew that—and if he didn't, then it was Danya's fault. He had been a bad friend.

And perhaps he had done something wrong. When he had addressed his memory that night, as they sat side-by-side in front of the fireplace, he had quite explicitly told Graydon to play the role his nation needed him to play. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to have said in hindsight. Danya thought he was giving Graydon his freedom, to be who he was at his core—a prince. He didn't want him to feel as if he had to protect Danya's feelings, just because he knew him, knew their history together.

Danya thought he was giving Graydon permission to hurt him when, in reality, Graydon didn't need a pep-talk. Of course Graydon would do what he had to do—he was soon to be king—he knew what he had to do. What he didn't know that night was if he still had a friend in Danya, and Danya had failed in that regard. He had failed to reassure him, that he could trust him, that he could still call him his friend. He saw this now.

The Tuzkayan couldn't possibly repair the fray to their friendship or replace the time they had lost reconnecting. What the Tuzkayan did know now was that he had to tell him. He itched to reach down, take hold of the Deinian's hand, and bring it to his lips, just as he used to those odd many years ago. Danya doubted whether the now-childish display of affection could ever feel out-of-place with this person. And yet, he proudly kept his hands to himself. After all, he wasn't addressing a memory—he was speaking to an unassured friend whom he had accused of shunning him when, in reality, Danya had shunned him first.

"And, maybe you don't. I realize now that what I said to you the night I came to you would have been rather… offputting. I didn't exactly reinforce your trust in me—and, I'm sorry. You have not lost a friend in me, Graydon. I doubt I could ever not be, even if…"

'Even if I'm forced to wed your sister.'

It's what he wanted to say, but by some merciful grace, he kept his traitorous tongue in his mouth. Graydon did not need to know how Danya truly felt. At the thought, Danya tilted his head in contemplation, peering curiously down into the other's eyes, then roaming over his face. Suddenly self-conscious, Danya wondered if Graydon could tell. Could he tell that Danya had somehow fallen in love with him? Wanted him?

It was a disgrace, and so, Danya took a step back, giving the man his space. His jaw was tight as he looked far off into the sparse trees outlining the garden perimeter. His fixation was finding a way to sully his message and he didn't want that.

Danya began again, "Even if we rule two separate, formerly enemy nations." Danya tried a feeble attempt at humor next: "I suppose you've got to give this ol' village boy credit, eh? Taking over my own country to get next to you? I don't know, Graydon… you set the bar pretty high with the whole prince thing, but I'm pretty sure I set it higher," Danya smiled, a sad, but, genuine, smile.

He hoped this reassured him. Graydon could confide in him. And, most of all, he was safer safe with him.

 

[Kuno]

Gods, if only he could see himself from another's eyes. It was just like when they were younger. Absolutely nothing had changed.

Slowly, as Danya had gone close to him and spoken, heat had curled and risen to Graydon's face, tinging his features with a faint rosy hue. He found he could not maintain eye contact; something kept pulling his eyes away from the gaze of the Lion, and he found when his eyes met again with Danya's, he was trapped in the swirling miasma, unable to do anything but stand there stupidly and listen.

And listen he did. Oh, did he listen.

His heart fluttered at Danya's offer of protection. He didn't know what scared him more: that Danya so fervently meant every single word, or that he himself was so quick to accept this change within him. What if the man was lying? What if Danya changed his mind again once more, and Graydon found himself heartbroken and cast aside once more? He was setting himself up to be spurned and betrayed all over again.

He found he didn't really care.

Still, the Deinian stared blankly at Danya in the wake of his words, though a warmth bloomed within like the marigolds around them.

"Was that your goal?" Graydon at last answered, deadpan. Finally, finally, the tension eased some in his body, and a light began to shine once more in his eyes. "A pity. You've also inherited all the headaches of ruling as well. I hardly think I'm worth the trouble."

From what he'd heard and seen so far, Danya needed all the help he could get. "Headaches" could never fully convey the number of problems his friend had unceremoniously inherited. And yet, for the man to take a moment to inquire into the safety of his childhood friend...Well. Stepping away a bit, Graydon allowed his fingers to run the burnt orange marigolds, his reddened cheeks only further betraying his entirely un-stoic thoughts. He cleared his throat and spoke again, attempting to rein in some control.

"You must have been told quite the story about me. I...thank you for your concern, though I should say it is very misplaced. I'm quite alright." A ghost of a smile hung on his lips. "Never fear, Danya, there is little to pity about me. I am a Deinian, first and foremost. I don't intend to lose my head over this."

The horribly dark joke was incredibly out of character for the chronically witty prince, and his grim smile seemed to reflect this, the light in his face not quite reaching his eyes. It was hard to make light of issues so close to one's heart - though still, he would endeavor to try. As always. It was the Deinian way: never let others see the very rot of your weakness.

And to be quite honest, he didn't quite know what to do with Danya's concern. It was jarring to see it shining so beautifully in his old friend's eyes; to see this man, this Commander, feel sorry for the likes of him. The color had yet to fade from his cheeks. It was time to change tact.

He had to change the subject before Danya started digging deeper. Before he lost his facade all-together and showed the man his weakened underbelly, though he would have hardly minded. But that was sentiment talking. He had to push it aside if he ever expected to succeed. He had to turn the conversation back to something more Dein-related, a more pressing issue. Something...something like-

The treaty.

Of course. Always back to the damned treaty. Only this time…this time he could speak his mind about it.

Graydon turned and threw a furtive look about them.

He didn't hear anyone in the gardens. Surely no one had followed them in; he was quite sure Hammel was making quick work of that, as well as any additional men Danya himself had posted to obstruct the garden. Still, it was said that walls had ears. He longed for the relative solitude they'd had only the night previous...but alas, he could not wait for such a moment to occur. The opportunity may never rise again.

He had to address it now. He had to.

Where Danya had stepped away, Graydon stepped back in, back into the space shared between those so close in spirit and mind. If it was too close, he didn't seem to care; their meeting was inappropriate enough. Let tongues wag, should the unsuspecting eyes of others. He was too busy caught in the warmth radiating from his friend's golden eyes, and Graydon opened himself up to it tentatively, a bruised flower turning its petals towards the sun.

"On the record - officially - I am here to push through the alliance anyway I can and return to Dein immediately. My father's health is still precarious, and I'll be needed back home soon…Danya, while there's still time, if I may say something unofficially."

His gut clenched. For once, the formidable orator grasped for words that weren't there. What he was about to suggest was borderline treason - both to his country and to his sister - and for a moment, that fearful look from before resettled in his eyes, though he attempted to shake the feeling by looking away for a bit. His voice fell into a low murmur.

"If it's the offering of my sister's hand that unsettles you, well- I-" His hands grasped fruitlessly at the air. Where had his words gone?

"You don't...Well. The treaty does not hang entirely on the arranged marriage. If you so choose, we can come to some sort of other agreement. I understand if perhaps your peers would rather you marry one of Tuzkayan blood. We are...prepared for that alternative."

It was very rare that he beat around the bush so much, and in an overwhelming moment of self-awareness, he started, returning his wandering gaze to meet Danya's eyes.

A mistake, really. Within his eyes lay a deep well of nervousness. He feigned bemusement with a crooked brow, though he could not shake the anxiety in him.

"I only ask that you at least do her the honor of...oh, dining and conversing with her, at the very least once or twice. My sister is quite remarkable, you know. And beautiful. I dare say…"

He paused. He was beginning to sound like his father, and it bothered him. Clearing his throat, he glanced up at Danya once more, smiling softly.

"I've been told we're very much alike, my sister and I. Who knows- perhaps she'll come to steal away your heart, as you once did with mine."

 

[CalamitousNag]

"Was that your goal?"

Danya couldn't help but grin. The statement was so Graydon, he could practically hear the man rolling his eyes. Graydon's teasing reassured Danya immensely, letting him know that, perhaps, Graydon had accepted his apology. If he hadn't, Danya wouldn't have blamed him, but he did need Graydon to know that he was still there for him. A misunderstanding born from his own misstep could never make Danya stop caring.

"I hardly think I'm worth the trouble."

Oh, dear friend. You have no idea how much you're worth. The Tuzkayan smiled to himself at his own musings.

Danya bemusedly watched the Deinian prince as he ran his hand absent-mindedly over the fat blossom heads of the marigold bushes. The irony wasn't lost on him. Danya had chosen these very blossoms specifically because they reminded him of the day that Graydon had rose above him, resplendent in the sun's rays, and apologized for stealing his first kiss.

Well, Graydon stole nothing—he could have it. And for many days since then, he could have Danya's heart, too.

Danya sighed and switched his focus out to the surrounding gardens, noting the swaying limbs of the trees and the rustic garden shed that stood at the outskirts. While his gaze was preoccupied by the surrounding scenery, it allowed Graydon's weak reassurances to float unhindered to his ears. He was sure if he were to look at Graydon now he'd be grinning, as if he hadn't hinted at his own fate. But Danya could hear the truth. What all--aside from the near assassination attempt on his life--had transpired? Had something occurred in the early beginnings of Graydon's legacy that had tarnished it before it began? Nothing could possibly be that bad.

Curious to see if Graydon was still feigning normalcy before him, Danya turned his gaze back to the Deinian only to catch him casting about for spies. He raised his right eyebrow—was Graydon finally going to tell him the truth? Would Dein ever tell him the truth?

Danya focused wholeheartedly on the man before him. He narrowed his eyes as he prepared himself for what Graydon was about to say. He was not prepared, however, for the moment Graydon stepped back into his space. Startled, the Tuzkayan stepped back automatically, unconsciously raising his hands up to grip the Deinian by his biceps. It wasn't quite to push him away, nor was it entirely holding the Deinian at arm's length.

Graydon locked eyes with him. Danya's heart was racing. What? What was it? As he waited for the Deinian to speak, absolutely steeling himself for the worst, Danya found himself noticing that he could feel Graydon's skin as the fabric of the garment he wore slid against it. The prince's scent assaulted his nose and he realized it was not the same as he remembered. How he wished to drag the man to him and bury his face in his hair, just to make sure.

Oh, more politics. Of course. And once Graydon left, the chances of Danya seeing him again were slim until—and if—the prince ascended the throne. At least Graydon managed to corroborate Tuzkaya's understanding about the health status of Dein's king. He couldn't tell if it was an unconscious mistake or the "truth" that Dein wished to feed them.

At the mere mention of the earlier proposal, Danya's expression immediately soured—he didn't hide it. Yes, it bothered him and Danya ached to tell him so until the prince started sputtering and his hand tried to grasp words he didn't appear to possess. The change immediately distracted Danya from his own bitterness. What was going on? Danya loosened his grip on Graydon's arms as the prince's flustered movements made it difficult to hang on. Luckily so, too, for Danya was tempted to shake Graydon from his stupor.

Finally, Graydon dropped a seed that led hope to bloom in his heart. He didn't have to marry his sister? Danya's eyes widened at this new proposition. He needed to know more. He failed to see how wine-and-dining a Deinian princess could beget a friendly alliance between the two enemy nations.

"I've been told we're very much alike, my sister and I. Who knows- perhaps she'll come to steal away your heart, as you once did with mine."

Graydon was going on and on about his sister's positive attributes and Danya honestly couldn't understand why Graydon was pushing so hard for this, for her. Didn't he realize that—

"… as you once did with mine."

What?

"What?" Danya repeated before he realized it. Danya nervously licked his lips. Bewildered, Danya searched the Deinian's face, confused and utterly befuddled. His eyes were losing focus and he could feel the anxiety building in his chest. His heartbeat stormed in his ears. He felt his consciousness slipping into a daze and he slammed his eyes shut to fight the spell that threatened to overtake him and steal him from this moment. Danya's nostrils flared from his efforts and his increased breathing. He opened his eyes, breathless, and reached for Graydon's arms again, this time seeking balance. Graydon had always steadied Danya, even when he was the cause of his imbalance.

Oh, Danya. You have words. Use them.

"W-what did you say? Graydon, I—" Danya's eyes swept manically over the Deinian's face, searching for some indication, some excuse, that he had misheard him. Realizing he probably appeared mad, Danya dropped his face and glared at the ground. How did he ask Graydon to confirm what he thought he heard without revealing what he hoped he had?

"I'm sorry, I just… I'm trying to understand what you just said. If I heard you correctly," Danya warily eyed the Deinian prince as he sucked in another steadying breath, "you've said something I… could only hope for." The Tuzkayan paused to regard his friend. He narrowed his eyes—not in a malicious way, but in an attempt to understand. "Do you mean it? If so, I…" he began to grow self-conscious, afraid he may have misinterpreted this second language. Still, he pushed through, not wanting to waste the opportunity. "I fell for you, too… once." His voice was so small.

Dammit, he didn't mean that!

"I mean, I still do… Am… I don't know what I'm trying to say," he chided himself because, yes, yes he did know what he wanted to say, but was too afraid to unleash the whole truth. He shook his head at his own incompetence. And then: "What do you mean, 'once'?"

Had Danya lost his chance before he'd even known he had it? Oh, how he wanted to pull Graydon into his arms! But if what Graydon had said was wholly intentional, then maybe he already belonged to someone else. Danya had no claim and no right to try to possess him. His heart began to break. Again.

 

[Kuno]

He supposed Danya hadn't been prepared for his blunt confession. Really, was the man ever?

"Danya, are you alright?"

The Lion's eyes all but bugged out of his head. Graydon certainly didn't mean to, but a bit of a nervous laugh punctuated his words as he repeated himself again. Then concern flashed in his eyes as Danya seemed to come to grips with him - literally. The taller man's hands were visor-like about his forearms.

Goodness. The man wasn't going to keel over now, was he?

It was funny to watch the man struggle for words as the prince had done only moments ago. It was good to see that he was able to crack through Danya's stoicism. There was a swell of impish satisfaction in that regard. Truth be told, it had rather bothered him that Danya's ability to mask his emotions was far superior to his own. More power to him, he supposed. It would serve an invaluable asset in court.

But that was neither here or there. Danya, for whatever reason, seemed to fully process what had just been said, and Graydon - blunt, cavalier man that he was - could not fathom the significance of his own words.

"I fell for you, too… once."

Graydon's eyes snapped to Danya's own.

There was no time to address the comment. With significant speed, the Commander corrected himself, confessing to the obvious fact he didn't know what he was trying to say, and by the gods above, Graydon hadn't the faintest clue either. He tried to put the pieces together of the puzzle Danya had so gracelessly rambled out, but to no avail. The question that hung in the air only served to confuse him further.

Perhaps the Tuzkayan remembered things differently. For a certainty, he hadn't thought his affections to be one-sided. Back then, the prince had tried to masquerade the feelings he'd had for Danya as an extension of their friendship, but by now - hell, even back then - he'd known better. Love was love, even in their stupidly boyish hands. Friends did not think of one another the way Graydon thought of Danya.

But hadn't Danya realized that? Was it truly a surprise?

"Well...wasn't it...obvious?" The prince blinked slowly. Bemusement was written all over his pale face. "Danya, I kissed you. More than once."

His laugh was as light and quick as the summer's breeze. There was a quick and easy joy in picking at his younger self, and he shook his head ruefully at the naivete of it all. He used to be so bold and spontaneous and utterly brilliant. He missed the folly of youth, the room and the leeway to make mistakes, to sow bitter fruit and recover from it in the span of a moment. It was a luxury he'd let go far too fast. Now every moment, every decision defined him.

Including this one. Abruptly, Graydon became aware of Danya's hands still clinging to his arms, and the muscles relaxed ever so slightly. He threw a careful glance around to reaffirm once more that they were alone, and his silver eyes returned to studying the man before him.

It was the wrong thing to do.

He saw the sun in Danya's eyes. He saw the sun, and the river, and the Deep; he saw the desires and passions borne from boyish love, the careless longing, the reprieve one felt laying on the river bank without a care in the world. He saw himself as a fourteen year old boy again: happy, without harm, unmarred. Still a perfect son. Still a perfect prince. Freedom was fully within his realm then, and he'd wielded it with all the restraint due someone who'd yet to suffer anything. For such a bounty, fate had seen fit to render his life asunder. Gone were the days of song and cheer. It'd affected everything: his life, his position, his heart. What more was there to take?

There were only so many emotions the Deinian prince could keep bottled up in one day. The bitter longing for times past eventually spilled over; slowly, without Graydon's conscious knowledge, a wet sheen glazed his eyes, and a layer of tears hung on the edge of his bottom lash. Graydon's face remained unchanged, even as a single tear made its descent down his left cheek.

"I don't quite remember my excuse for doing so," He went on quietly. It had been so long ago. "Something along the lines of friendliness, I think, though- well, the only person I was really fooling was myself. Love, even when felt blindly, is still love, and ours I'd believed was shared. It was...a simpler time."

 

[CalamitousNag]

He swore he could hear echoes of Graydon's voice, but even as he stared at him, he really couldn't understand what the man was saying.

What was he saying? What had he said?

All his brain cared to occupy itself with were rapid-fire recollections of times now past. He turned those meetings with Graydon over and over in his head, trying to figure out what he had missed.

No. No, it had never occurred to him that Graydon had liked him more than a friend. Not at that time. Yes, Graydon's overt displays of affection didn't quite fit in his mental understanding of their friendship, but he had just chalked that up to an anomaly. Perhaps he had simply categorized it as Graydon gloating about his prowess and, in turn, poking fun at Danya's sheltered upbringing. Danya had reciprocated, but he had done so because, in his heart, it felt like it was the correct and right thing to do. Danya had reacted strangely after all, and when Graydon had seemed disconcerted by his reaction, Danya intentionally returned the kiss to let Graydon know all was well between them. He didn't want Graydon to think he minded because, truthfully, he didn't. It was just another thing they shared between them.

It wasn't until later, when Danya realized he would no longer be able to meet freely with Graydon again, that his feelings towards Graydon morphed. As he recalled the happiness he had felt with the boy and the better, richer life he experienced once Graydon was present in it, Danya had felt an intense longing. So badly he had wanted to abandon camp and just go--go and return to his happiness which, by now, he had associated with Graydon. But, he couldn't. His country needed him, his king needed him. It would have been an absolute abasement to his father, he himself a warrior who had sacrificed much of his adult life to Tuzkaya, if Danya had renounced his destined profession. To the younger, self-aware Danya, he had known his filiality to his father and country would mean more in his world than devotion to a friendship that miraculously existed.

He and Graydon hailed from enemy nations, after all. Danya would have humiliated his family if his commanding officers had discovered his secret relationship with Graydon.

And, so, Graydon had simply lived on in Danya's dreams, their friendship transmuting into the quixotic ideal of what Danya felt to be the perfect relationship for himself. Graydon had existed in this lonely space until, with time, Danya realized Graydon was all he wanted.

And, that is when Danya realized he wanted all of him.

He didn't mind that Graydon wasn't the daughter-in-law his mother wished for, completely opposite the niece his aunt had expected. He just knew how Graydon made him feel and it was a feeling he wanted forever. And Danya wanted to explore forever with him.

Just as he wanted to explore love with him. He really couldn't do it with anyone else.

The sound of Graydon's laugh finally caught Danya's attention. He looked up, bewildered. What was funny? Danya was trapped re-evaluating the entirety of his life (had he on a gut level known Graydon had loved him?) and Graydon was picking fun at his expense. How Graydon, indeed. The acknowledgment was enough to melt away any building offense.

After all, Danya never dreamed he would be able to make that observation again, at least, not in the present.

He succumbed, only squeezing the Deinian's arms in teasing annoyance before finding his hands loosening and sliding down Graydon's arms. He should probably let Graydon go...

Danya pulled back. A quick quip was on the tip of his tongue, probably some joke about his recent stupefaction and his childhood naiveté. Just as he made to speak, he noticed the Deinian's face seemed weird--pinched, in a way. He didn't like the look--it didn't match the laughter that had spilled from Graydon just moments before. Danya watched with absolute horror and disbelief as a lone tear fell from the prince's eye. Danya's own eyes widened, his nostrils flared.

"I don't quite remember my excuse for doing so... Something along the lines of friendliness, I think, though- well, the only person I was really fooling was myself. Love, even when felt blindly, is still love, and ours I'd believed was shared. It was...a simpler time."

Now wasn't the time to assert the truth about their individual discoveries of their mutual feelings. Graydon was crying... Confusion was evident in the Tuzkayan's face. Danya couldn't recall whether he'd ever seen Graydon cry. Graydon hadn't shed a tear even when he had recounted his father's abuse those many years ago.

Something in Danya's eyes softened. The Tuzkayan reached forward suddenly and pulled himself around Graydon, overlapping him as if a protective shield. A shield to hide Graydon's tears from the world since the world wasn't beholden to see them. Neither was Danya. Stunned, Danya held on to Graydon loosely.

But, then, something shifted. All of a sudden, Danya's arms were attempting to pull the Deinian into him, trying to meld their bodies together as close they could in the finery which outfitted them. A hand that Danya had hesitantly placed between the Deinian's shoulder blades slid up and up until it was at a position to cradle the other's precious head. Being the initiator, Danya knew he had to make up the difference. He pulled back and down until he could press his lips directly beneath the eye from which the single tear had fallen. He hesitated, contemplating the short distance to the other's mouth.