The Taste of Revenge

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"My family has always considered me stubborn," he replied in his best attempt at a tease, however awkward and strained it came out. He offered a smile though it couldn't really be seen, both due to the shadows as well as just how small it really was. Ivory would be the first to admit to whoever asked that it was for show, but he knew Elior wouldn't push it.

As difficult as it was to come to terms with the fact that he had feelings for the Prince, he could quite easily admit that he was a fucking prick. A prick who wouldn't likely be comfortable with the tears that now flowed freely down his bare cheek and chest. The slight shine it offered to his otherwise matte skin only proved to emphasize the curves of his abs and chest as it eventually landed onto his lap.

He was trying, trying harder than he ever had before, to try and hide himself but he couldn't. So, as he watched Elior return from the other room with the silken pajamas, that of which were just a tad bit damp from the moist air, he waited until he was close before getting to his feet and taking the man's hands in his own. There was only a brief moment of tenderness before he forced one of the most passionate kisses he has made on… anyone. He had hoped to do otherwise but Ivory couldn't keep his hands from shaking as he tried to pull Elior close.

He wanted to savor the moment. He wanted to memorize each flavor and texture Elior's lips had to offer. He wanted to make a map out of each curve of the pink flesh, take in each groove and valley. He didn't want to leave each other but he had a point: what else were they to do?

He was a complete outsider.

"… are you sure you're ready to go?" He finally asked once pulling away, his voice small and childlike. Despite his words Ivory's hands still held his cheeks tight to keep him in place. His eyes searched the Prince's with concern, desperate for the other to beg him to stay.

… we can come up with a plan, can't we? I can't imagine living without you like this with me, Elior."
 
If he was honest, Elior didn't anticipate a final kiss to arrive - not because he didn't think Ivory longed for one but because he thought it would make everything too difficult. It would be a reminder that it was the last kiss, the end of what had been an otherwise brief but intoxicating romance, and though he wanted something to remember Ivory by, a last memory made to recall whenever he inevitably thought about their time together, he also didn't want the kiss to be tinged with sadness or despair.

He wanted their kisses to be imbued with desire and passion, an escape from whatever sadness existed in their individual lives - but he couldn't turn down the move when he was made, unable to tear himself away when he felt that now familiar sensation of Ivory's lips pressed hungrily to his own. He eased into the hold without hesitation, his arms moving to wrap around the other in the desperation to cling to his frame; to make it impossible for their bodies to be separated and the departure from going ahead.

But it was inevitable, an inarguable certainty guaranteed to take place, and the full force of that acknowledgement hit his expression, his lips momentarily quivering as the temptation to break and let his tears out became unbearable. He managed to force it back once again, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the tightness within his throat, yet another physical reminder of the pain he was consistently shoving back - even if enough of it had slipped through to the surface to suggest the turmoil he was under; a turmoil, clearly, shared by the other.

"If only it were that simple, I'd... I wouldn't hesitate to align myself with you; to stay here, or at least stay with you. You are remarkably addictive to me and... and I wouldn't tear myself from you were it not... impossible for me to stay; for our paths to remain crossed. I'm... not a commoner, Ivory. I'm not a mailman or a baker or a-- a plumber whose absence from Hollowslocke would be a question for a few weeks before fading into irrelevance with the benefit of time. I'm... a Prince; the future King. I can't... stay," he confessed tightly, every effort being made to hold himself together despite the desire he had to return to Ivory's body; to wrap his arms back around him, promise him he wouldn't leave in hushed, comforting tones and spend the remainder of the evening with him in his arms, soothing him of the pain he felt guilty for being involved in bringing onto him.

But he couldn't. Prolonging the inevitable in order to spend a few more seconds with Ivory was tempting but it did them no good to ignore the looming necessity: Elior had to go and things had to return to the normality that existed before his world collided with Ivory's.

"Even when I'm eventually King, I... can't see a scenario where you and I would ever be free to interact, Ivory. Where your people would be welcomed above land, in The Light. Where you and I could be tog--" He broke himself off from completing the sentence, the brutal nature of the facts only rubbing salt into his own wounds - and Ivory's too. Instead, he cleared his throat and attempted a smile of his own.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Which is to say, not at all, but the choice is rather out of our hands. No, let's-- let's go, I'm ready. Let's not part with gushy compliments and sweet sentiments, it'll only make things harder. We'll go and I'll leave with my father, you'll return to your people with the news that things will change, they'll be rewarded properly for their work and provided regular aid, and... and things will go back to normal. That's... what'll happen. What has to happen."
 
"You could fake your death? Pretend to grow ill and then suddenly go missing? O-Or... I mean, maybe you could kill someone else and use the body to make it seem like it was you? Then you could continue on with the rest of your life under a new identity?" He suggested in hastened stammers, those large eyes now holding undeniable fear as he tried to keep their closeness together. He wanted to grab onto Elior's skin, pull him close with hungry whimpers that so desperately wanted to escape his lips - but he knew he couldn't.

He knew he needed to do what was best for his people; he knew he had to keep that undeniable pull that Elior had on him behind, however difficult it was, and focus on bettering Ivory's people. He was meant to be a martyr, not some weak little lovebird. He shuttered as he let the distance grow between the two and Ivory chose to let his eyes close briefly, if only to hide the tears that threatened to continue. He tried his best to counter those tears by wiping his eyes with his hands while he absently grabbed the sleeveless turtleneck and his sister's handmade wrap. He wrapped himself in it tight and, for a brief moment, he felt like a child again as he pressed to the soft fabric to his cheek for comfort.

"You ought to stop crying, Ivy! If mama sees you crying like this, she'll think I did something wrong and I don't want us both getting in trouble!" Ivory could hear over his hard sobs. The sudden weight that came with his sister dropping the unfinished fabric onto him was sudden enough to cause him to grow silent in shock as he managed to crawl from underneath the large pile of fabric, with just his head making an appearance from underneath it all. The sobbing had left, leaving behind confusion as he watched his sister laugh at the sight. What had been so funny?

He gripped the fabric to his chest tightly before finally moving to the door once he was sure he looked as presentable as he could. Ivory pursed his lips tight, his hands clenching as they grew desperate to hold onto Elior's hand. Instead, he grabbed a stick for a torch to illuminate the otherwise dark tunnels they both would have to trek out of.

"You'll get to see how far I went while carrying you. I think that fact is awfully impressive." Ivory reminded quietly as he waited by the door, a lit torch now in hand.
 
"I don't need to see the countless tunnels you carried me through to get here to be impressed by you. You've already proven yourself to me, Ivory. I'm already in awe of you. If you want your ego stroked and me to lavish the praise on you, then just say so. I won't hesitate to indulge you with my attention - granted, best we don't get into that. I'm fighting with myself to keep my hands off you as it is," hummed Elior from the back, shifting a little closer to ensure he didn't fall too far behind and come unstuck amongst the harsh conditions.

Initiating the flirtatiousness when he had promised himself he would end things with Ivory with a distinct lack of that energy to make their inevitable parting easier wasn't a wise decision. It was one that flew in the face of what he had told himself and mentioned to the other, but all the inner strength and self-control he prided himself on in his ordinary day-to-day life had no merit around Ivory: they came crashing down, dominated instead by desires and caved temptations.

Even now, when he told himself countless times to restrain himself and fend off the creeping desire to drop a flirty remark, the words came spiralling from his lips before he could stop them - but he could at least take pride in the fact he withheld the urge to reach out for Ivory's hand. He had momentarily lowered his guard, telling himself that gripping his hand, entwining their fingers, was a safety precaution above all else... but, aware that it would inevitably lead to him justifying his decision to press into Ivory's side and placing a kiss to his jawline, Elior was quick to shut off the thoughts and remain by himself, trudging through the dimly-lit passageway with his eyes focused only on Ivory's back - or what he could see of it, at least.

The sight of daylight had been, for a little while, all Elior craved to see shortly after his initial arrival to The Dark. He wanted to see the sun, feel its rays warm his skin, never take any of it for granted ever again - yet as the exit neared, as the early evening sunlight waited temptingly just beyond it, Elior didn't feel that happiness that he had once been so certain he would feel upon his reemergence into The Light. His footsteps continued forward but increasingly small until they faltered without subtlety, even though the deliberately slow venture forward did little to halt or postpone the inevitable. He could hear the whinnying of the horses that carried the royal carriage; could even hear the sound of his father's shoes against the makeshift road beneath his feet. Such sounds would have been music to his ears just a day ago, but now they signalled the end of the only time in his life he had been... happy.

He wanted to grab Ivory and pull him close, part with one final kiss, but... he didn't. Doing so would have made leaving all the more difficult, however desperate he was to use his last moments with Ivory the way they should be used. Instead, he exhaled softly beneath his breath and ventured out into the daylight, reminding himself at the last second to quickly reestablish the act his father and everyone that had ever come into contact with Elior assumed to be the truth.

All at once, at the sight of his son bruised and clearly exhausted but otherwise safe and alive, Aledeus abandoned the side of the carriage to take the Prince into his arms, the emotional embrace being one he refused to tear himself of until he felt Elior pull back. A hand rested up on Elior's cheek, using the slight distance between them to examine his son's tired eyes, the redness beneath them a result of shed tears. He took in the distraught expression that wasn't falsified; the bruises that lined his neck and the wounds along his wrists that had yet to begin healing.

Was it any surprise that he turned to Ivory with disgust firmly planted onto his features, lips curling in barely contained rage.

"You will hang for this, do you hear me, boy? Daring to take advantage of our kindness to your people by threatening the life of my son? Such actions don't go unpunished, you will be lucky if you get to see another sunset--"

"He doesn't... deserve that, father. Nobody will hang for this." Elior interjected quietly, his voice no longer smooth nor deep but airy and light: the act wasn't just an alteration of personality but an audible shift too, one that coincided with the physical changes in body language. All of it came together to form the act in its entirety and, given the years he had spent comfortably playing the role without suspicion, what point was there in changing any aspect of it now? His eyes darted to Ivory, unwilling to even dare shooting him a smile when that would provoke questions from the King that Elior couldn't explain nor justify - but he was known to The Light as a Prince who possessed an unfathomable amount of understanding; a man who didn't hesitate to extend kindness to those that didn't deserve it.

His defence of Ivory might come from a genuine place of love for the man but it also wasn't unexplainable to his father, who knew his son only as someone who would be capable of kindness like this - even to someone who had committed an act against him,

"Elior, my boy; your kindness is admirable but this fiend has no right to live his life freely. An example must be set--"

"Then set an example. Show that you aren't the King that would hang a man who is fighting for his country; who was so desperate to be listened to after your ignorance that he... resorted to regrettable measures. He wishes to negotiate, so we negotiate. We reach an understanding with the Council in The Dark. We don't... punish him. I... know you're a better man than many, father. I know you to be fair and understanding. Prove to me that I wasn't wrong to believe that," continued Elior, opting to lavish his father with praise and smooth his ego to help the cause, that angle seeming more capable of success than simply pleading for Ivory's life to be spared would ever be. His father wouldn't care to listen to the desperation Ivory felt, but having a chance to prove that he was a righteous and fair King and have that fulfil his glowing legacy?

That was too tempting for him to ignore, the idea that he would go down in history as the King that extended kindness to The Dark even when he had every right to send in the army to destroy it...

"Get him to the carriage, the Prince needs rest," he ordered to the nearby guard, who was quick to take Elior's side and physically aid him to the vehicle. In his absence, the King allowed another sneer to rest arrogantly on his lips, the dismissiveness shown to Ivory not being too dissimilar to the expressions Elior had once worn, even if his were easy to take in given the handsomeness of those features. Aledeus wasn't unattractive, but his own handsomeness was muted; a little subtle, a far cry from the striking beauty his son possessed.

"...You and your kind are not welcome in my land. We will continue to conduct business, and you will keep your life, but I will negotiate with the Council. We will strike a deal. You, boy-- you will scuttle off, back underneath whatever rock you crawled out from, and you won't ever step foot in The Light again. You won't darken my land with your presence. You won't go near the palace and certainly nowhere near the Queen or the Prince. Do that, and you keep your life. I ought to wring your neck where you stand but my son has... unbelievably come to your defence. Be grateful he is a better man than I ever could be."
 
For the briefest moment, there was a look of longing not subtle on the man eyes as he remained stood on his side of the barrier, where just his eyes could really be seen through the darkness - that and the sparkle of his rings when the sun decided to gently run itself against the well-crafted gems. He rubbed his knuckles absently, anything to keep himself from using them against Aledeus' fucking skull. Over and over and over -

His knuckle cracked as he blinked back into focus, though his expression wasn't any less unamused as he watched the scene unfold. Ivory hoped desperately that Elior could see the roll of his eyes but he doubted his so his own eyes looked away, to focus on a butterfly that seemed to flutter by. Tsk, that's cute. He only brought his eyes back upon Elior once the fatherly embrace ended as a pain could be felt in his chest. Was it jealousy? He couldn't quite place a name on it but he knew that the sight was foriegn.

He couldn't blame his father for cutting him off. He had never been the… emotional type, no. It wasn't becoming for men, especially not men who risked their lives in the mines. Maybe grandpa was an exception then? He must of been, all of pa's friends were just like him.

It hurt, the night his sister died. At least when their mother died, she was still there to lighten the mood and celebrate her life before she died. Every time Ivory opened his lips to offer the same comfort, he found his voice was gone. What was he supposed to say? His eyes were vacant now, even if his hands were rarely tired. He watched, mouth still slightly ajar as he watched his father return home. Neither of them would eat that night.

"I am not a boy." He spoke finally, his face otherwise unreadable especially in the dark, but it didn't take a genius to notice the passion in his locked eyes that now remained firmly on the King. "You will not speak to me as a 'boy', your highness." His tone was more of a sneer as they were spoken, despite his own soft voice. There was a rigidity that matched the blade Ivory now held secretly under his clothes. He knew he couldn't do anything but running his finger along the crafter blade offered him some comfort nonetheless.

"I must-" he paused, closing his eyes tight before opening once again, hoping desperately to see Elior. To no avail.

"- thank you for willing to negotiate with The Council. The people of The Dark want nothing more than to survive, especially since your family has forced us into such conditions. As for your son, I'm glad we've come to an agreement on something." He spoke calmly. He offered a grin, the rows of sharp teeth on display. They craved more of Elior's flesh.

"As for your wife, I do hope you she appreciates the jewelry. Tell her that her commissions will be half off due to my… incident."
 
Any curiosity the King had once found in Ivory had diminished drastically, for obvious reasons. Rather than peering at him like he was an exotic animal in the zoo (the demeaning nature of that entirely lost on Aledeus, like it had been lost on every guest at the dinner a few days prior), he now glared down at him in outright disgust: the calloused hands he once found to represent the hard work Ivory put in were now regarded as a factor to ridicule the other over and the eyes he found curiously strange were just... strange now, his lip curled in distaste the longer he was forced to take in their unsubtle glow against Ivory's dark complexion.

And those teeth? The less said about the rows of sharp points, the better. It only served to send a shudder down the King's spine the longer he dwelled on them.

"I will speak to you however I please, boy. You have no right to regard me as poorly as you do, particularly after your incident - which is a remarkably vague term for the atrocity you have committed. How I long to see you hang at the gallows for this, daring to lay so much as a rough finger on the crown Prince..." Aledeus began, only to trail off and leave the sentence incomplete as a result of the flood of anger that raged through him at the thought of all his son had endured. He was left with little doubt that Elior had been in absolute hell, solely the innocent party of a madman's outrageous demands. The state Elior seemed to be in only confirmed that in the King's mind, his head repeating the various injuries his son sported.

All of it pointed towards Ivory being the abuser, unleashing his anger out on someone who had done nothing to deserve such a treatment - or so Aledeus was undoubtedly left to believe.

How could he ever suspect that the bruises weren't a result of unhinged violence but reckless love-making? That rather than despise every second he had been forced to spend in Ivory's company, his son was currently pressed against the soft interior of the carriage, wanting nothing more than to run out and take Ivory back in his arms.

"We have nothing more to discuss. I will talk with your Council - but you? You are to have nothing to do with my family. Business with you has thereby concluded. I would rather be dead than have your dirty hands craft anything for the Queen or the Prince again," swiftly concluded Aledeus, almost relishing the opportunity to unleash his vitriol on a person who, deep down, he had always inherently disliked, not personally but as a representative of a country Aledeus held no interest in or consideration for. If anything, he held a personal bias against The Dark, superiority demanding he peer down his nose at them. Ivory may have provoked curiosity in him when he recognised his craft as genuinely impressive, but that temporary interest had soured drastically now the other's motivations throughout that time were made abundantly clear to him.

"Have a nice life, boy," he hummed sarcastically, his piercing gaze eyeing Ivory up and down just once more in distaste before he turned and, without hesitation, headed to join his son in the carriage, eager to comfort himself with Elior's presence.
 
' I would rather be dead than have your dirty hands craft anything for the Queen or the Prince again'', huh? That could be arranged.

If there was one thing that the lapidarist role had helped Ivory with, it was learning he had a love for a dramatic flair. Sure, solid silver rings etched with beautiful and intricate designs were certainly nice but what about some shined moonstone inlays? Spikes, studs, intricate wrapping of wire? They added a flair that really, truly did catch Ivory's eye upon hearing of the job. It was those intricate designs that led to his plan - a plan clearly laced in more drama than he intended given the way his heard pulled towards Elior.

For the sake of his father, however distant they had become, he had intentionally not done anything violent and hoped that the plan would work out... well, exactly as it had; with everyone being fine and negotiation being a possibility. The end goal was to make change for those who needed it, but now that Aledeus planted that seed in Ivory's mind? It brewed slowly, his grin unrelenting as he remained firmly planted in the shadows. His own eyes stared down at the King, the hand that gripped his weapon tight now releasing it to once again rub his knuckles, though not to hold back his anger. No, he had to hold back his excitement. He was going to make a delicious cake and eat every single bite, and Elior better appreciate it.

Waiting behind, Ivory watched as the carriage drove off and let his grin drop before returning to his home. Arturil's Gulch was far deeper into The Dark than what he and Elior had traveled, the thought of the Prince whining the handful of miles of walking alone being cute in a way - that wasn't to account for the occasional severe drops into the unknown, the very cramped entrances, and the occasional feral spiders. He imagined he would no doubt have to carry the Prince given the distance and while his skin was covered in a myriad of bruises, those were nothing compared to the cuts he would inevitably acquire. Such smooth, milky flesh torn open because Elior had been affected. It was funny, seeing the Prince act as tough as he did when he knew for a fact the man would most likely cry like a baby by a mere scrape.

The thoughts of Elior continued long past him returning to Arturil's Gulch as he now sat across from his father. Seb said nothing, as was no surprise, though Ivory could tell there was a curiosity to his father. Ivory hadn't given a specific time to when he would return (mostly because he didn't think he would return, not alive at least) so it wasn't too strange that he reappeared seemingly out of nowhere. The sound of spider exoskeleton cracking was all that could be heard as the two sat in silence - silence Ivory used to craft the crown he wanted Aledius buried in.
 
The return to Hollowslocke ought to have appealed immensely to Elior in the over-abundance of ego-stroking he experienced once the carriage arrived at the gates to the royal palace. Despite the King's insistence that truth of his son's absence be kept under cover, fearing the potential for criticism to land at his own door over the lack of security protecting Elior from being taken in the first place, word had seemingly spread from those in the know within the castle walls to the thriving, bustling kingdom beyond it.

Seemingly all at once, with the bough protecting the secret broken by the flood, gossip erupted amongst the townsfolk, alongside the inevitable worry that their crown Prince was suffering, hurt or, even, dead at the hands of a citizen of The Dark who had cruelly tossed aside their welcome and betrayed their kindness in the worst of all possible ways.

Once, during the initial stages of the kidnap, Elior would have welcomed in the celebratory abundance of support and adoration with a smile. He would have feigned gratitude as he peered beyond the window of the carriage at the jubilant faces beyond it, offering those looking in a glimpse at the failsafe facade that had dominated his actions for years. He would appear haunted by his experience but grateful for being reunited with his people; the crowd of well-wishers all desperate to see with their own eyes that their Prince was alive and well. It would have been the catalyst for his plans, drinking in their adoration and using the immense support to press forward with his desire to overrun The Dark entirely; to dismiss its population in the name of claiming the power he, as the future King of The Light, felt an innate right to possess and exhibit.

But no such moves were made because contrary to the delight that Elior had once expected to feel at the love he was showered with, he couldn't bring himself to portray the golden Prince act they expected of him. He didn't care to bathe in their jubilation nor find any comfort in the fact that all the plans he concocted for his own success were tantalisingly close - because he didn't care to put them into action anymore. Ideas of taking The Dark over and taking their resources for his own, cutting them out of the conversation altogether and cementing his power as a bonus... they had fallen to the wayside the moment his life found meaning in what Ivory represented to him. They might have parted and seemed destined never to cross paths again, but their short time together was more than enough for Elior to have decided to abandon his plans.

He hadn't had a miraculous change of heart that disrupted the trajectory he wanted his life to take. He was still desperate for the throne, still eager to embody the power it presented, still dismissive of all but himself... but he was willing to overlook The Dark in those plans; to leave the country untouched and thereby spared from his future wrath.

Not because he cared for it or its people, but because of Ivory; one man alone essentially saving the country from the future King's destructive plans.

Instead of playing up to the crowd and earning himself their continued favour, Elior slumped down in the carriage and let his eyes shut tightly, the wooing and cheering, the endless calls out to him, all washing over him without satisfaction seeping in. He would inevitably make the most of the attention he was given -he was too arrogant not to take advantage of it- but for now, when his emotions were all over the place and the genuine pain that came with parting from Ivory as intense as it was, he wanted to do nothing but detach himself from the present; to comfort himself with the all-encompassing darkness that sleep could provide.

And yet, through it all, his mind remained on alert, overrun entirely by dark, creeping thoughts; ones that made his hand clench into a tight fist, nails digging into his palms, in an effort to fight them off, rather than cave to temptation there and then and act upon them. As his father delightedly chatted to him during the journey, lavishing him with praise for being 'brave' and 'enduring' the company of such a 'pitiful being', Elior struggled to contain the force of his hatred, the vitriolic rise of disgust encouraging him to snap out of his act and place his hands on his father's throat, squeeze without remorse until the life left the man's elder eyes.

Elior had dealt with thoughts of that nature throughout his life, aimed at not only his parents but at anyone that inconvenienced him. He had no qualms acting on such thoughts if he truly felt the need to, as the incident as a child -shoving a family friend into the pond and watching her struggle against the icy chill of the water- served to prove, but if he was ever going to resort to such drastic measures, he had to be careful; he had to be smart. Ridding himself of his father in the carriage, with their public beyond the gates and their carriage driver at the helm of the transport, wasn't... the ideal place to act on those urges.

If he was going to avenge the loss of the one person whose company he craved, if he was going to unleash his anger out on the man responsible for it, he had to do so... carefully, with patience.
 
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There was a month of silence from Ivory, and not just the understandable silence from Elior but from everyone.

That lack of communication between he and his father came as no surprise. He could tell the man wanted to say more when it came out about what he had done, but what was he to say? "Hey, son, why did you decide to put your life on the line like that? Why did you have to bring attention to yourself? You should know better, you're older than she was now-"

No, nothing was said. Some shared glance and grunts of confirmation here and there, maybe a squeeze of Ivory's shoulder when he would come home and see his son still sat over his desk with the diamonds so delicately carved. He would prepare extra food when he noticed his only child, his only family member, growing sickly from stress but not once was a word actually uttered, and certainly never had there been the loving embrace the King had offered his own son. No, a careful pat on the back was it… until it wasn't.

When the month had ended, it felt as if Ivory came back to life. More food and medication had finally arrived to The Dark but it wasn't enough in the talented lapidarist's eyes. No, in his hands sat the perfect crown. Unlike the hint of femininity added to Elior's crown, this screamed pure masculinity; pure superiority as the blood diamonds sparkled from their detailed cut. He said nothing about the thorn details that decorated the base of the crown, the edges small but sharp in nature - painful enough that his hands and arms were scarred from work. Hands that had craved to feel their counter and take in the smooth flesh of Elior.

When he emerged, he and his father finally met eyes. Ivory had noticed that, for the first time in years, his father held more than sadness on his eyes. It was concern. Nothing was said of course, nothing but a hum in approval as he allowed his father to observe his work. A glance to his packed things, having been packed while his father had slept, Ivory knew that his father understood the situation. So, with pursed lips, the two men hugged. Fully hugged. Hugged harder than they had at any of their families funerals because for all Seb knew, he might just have to perform another on his son.

Ivory buried his face in his father's shoulder and savored the smell of charcoal and dirt that resonated from the man, etching the senses in his memory. Best case scenario, everything would be better by the time he returned. Revenge would finally be enacted and he could see his Elior.

His Elior.

To his feet, in clothes he figured best blended in with The Light's environment, the man made his track. His obsidian dagger had been untouched but he planned on changing that as he trudged through the rough terrain that was The Dark with ease. The border had been watched more closely now, with the rare Dark citizen often being physically pushed back, but Ivory seemed to have great luck when he noticed a rare lack of guards. It was the middle of the night so it made sense but that didn't mean ne wasn't going to take his blessings when he could.

He couldn't take a carriage, that would be too obvious. So, much like his trek back to The Dark with Elior, he followed the dirt road just enough to get himself into the Capitol with his things held tight. The fence was an issue, having taken note of the added spikes to the gate, but Ivory's hands had long since been calloused now. He felt like he was living that day in rewind as he locked his glowing eyes on the vines that climbed up the guest bedroom. His face was wrapped neatly in dark cloth, much like the rest of him, but his eyes still seemed to glow as he ran alongside the castle swiftly, quietly.

He stared at the vines with an anxiety he hadn't felt in awhile, but the way the crown seemed to fumble in his bag felt like it was telling him to continue on. He swallowed hard before beginning his ascent, praying that the room was vacant.

Only one man was to die tonight, and that was The King.
 
In the month that followed on from the end of his ordeal within The Dark, Elior hadn't quite known what to do with himself - because it wasn't so much a ordeal that he had endured but an awakening; a period, bitterly too short in its entirety, where he had found genuinely life-altering revelations. Even if those around him tended to recall the event in those negative terms, with 'ordeal' being more suitable to dinner party conversation than the brutality of the word 'kidnap' ever could be, it wasn't a time of his life that the Prince recalled with discomfort or disgust, as he was expected to.

He refused to divulge the horrors he had endured because... he would be fabricating the truth in a spectacular way, allowing falsehoods to seep from his lips in order to paint himself in glory for coming out of the situation with his pride and kindness still intact. Had it been tempting to play on the details for societal approval; to boost the glowing adoration to dizzying heights and reap every single reward that came his way over his perceived bravery? Sure, he wasn't the sort of man who could turn his nose up at the chance to be showered with attention, particularly if that attention came from the kingdom populace who he needed on his side, ready to support him whenever he started to put plans he had formulated throughout the years into action once he was King.

Cementing their support now, becoming untouchable as a result of their vociferous support, was the smartest move he could make.

And yet he didn't capitalise on the moment as much as he would have; not when that entailed outright lying about what he had experienced within The Dark. Despite the insistence of those at the dinner parties that occurred throughout the month that he would do right to heal in his own time, there was an unsubtlety in the gleam of their eyes, there being an undoubted eagerness to hear salacious details on how miserable and bleak The Dark truly was; to know the depths those within it were capable of monstrously delving to. Rather than give them what they wanted and gain himself the chance to put his acting skills to the test by playing the haunted, tormented victim of a cruel act of violence, Elior... restrained himself. Any time the urge to do so arose, all he had to do was imagine Ivory to remind himself that his time in The Dark wasn't horrible or haunting or scarring.

It had been perfect in its unconventionality, and lying through his teeth about how little it meant to him when the opposite was true didn't sit right with him. For once, Elior had a conscience and, as such, preferred to honour the time spent with Ivory by refusing to speak negatively about the place he loved so much; the place they had--

Fallen in love.

The realisation had dawned on him a mere few days after parting from Ivory that his feelings were quite a bit more intense than he first believed them to be. He couldn't speak to how Ivory felt, of course, but on Elior's side, he knew innately, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was in love. There was no other possible explanation for how Ivory made him feel when they spent time together, nor how his heart felt like it had broken into thousands of pieces upon their separation.

But there was little Elior could to to rectify the situation. Even with his father out of the way and his rise to the throne, he had royal duties to uphold; expectations to fulfil. Ivory, as important as he was, didn't fit into the picture - he hadn't blended into particularly well before the incident, and he certainly stood no chance of it after it, with the overall opinion of The Dark as a whole having sunk to new lows as a result of his actions. Despite knowing that fact, Elior's resentment towards his father remained bitter, growing more fierce and burning more hotly as the weeks progressed. His father being out of the picture might not provide him the freedom to be with Ivory - but he would at least feel better if the man were to perish, hopefully as agonisingly painfully as was possible.

Like most nights, Elior had returned to his bedroom alone, with no intention of calling up one of his lovers to entertain himself with. As fond of Nathaniel as he still was, the interactions had lost their spark. He had tried to rekindle their entanglement shortly after arriving back home, desperate to distract himself in one of the only ways he knew how to, but it didn't... quite hit as well as it used to, any pleasure he gained from Nathaniel's kisses along his neck paling dramatically in comparison to the ones Ivory had left burning on his skin. Perhaps it was cruel to completely ice Nathaniel out without an explanation - but what explanation would suffice besides the truth, which happened to be the one thing Elior couldn't own up to.

No, he shut Nathaniel out as well as the other handful of lovers he usually prided himself on having on rotation. However handsome, however strong, however devoted... none of them met the standard that Ivory had set. He didn't retreat into himself or withdrew himself from interactions because he was hurting, however tempting it was to do so. To all observing eyes, Elior was otherwise... normal, a little downbeat here and there but perfectly recuperated after such a traumatic incident - because if there was one thing he was an expert at, it was presenting a front to the world despite his truthful opinions often countering the friendly smile that shone on his welcoming expression. Beneath the permanency of that brightness was a growing discontent; a wave of ferocity, a burning injustice, that refused to settle or rest no matter how many days drifted into weeks.

Slumbering beneath the covers of his typically expensive duvet, Elior remained unaware of Ivory's plan, and how that plan had taken him to clambering the castle walls, now within the same building as him and tantalisingly close. Until his sleep was disturbed, he would remain oblivious to the fact the man he had spent an entire month silently yearning for was merely down the corridor, scaling the balcony and arriving in what should have been an unoccupied guest room. It was a room that had remained empty even when the castle entertained guests, those being situated elsewhere in the castle in the rooms that had undergone renovations and, subsequently, more suitable for the calibre of guests the royal family were proud to house.

And yet on that night, as though fate had a personal vendetta against what was destined to unfold, the room was occupied, a figure settled beneath the frilly, outdated covers decorating the grand four-poster bed, their light sleep immediately disturbed by the lightest of footsteps against the floorboards.

There weren't many scenarios where Elior would be happy to introduce the man he loved to the woman he was destined to marry, but this?

This had to be the worst of them all.
 
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I'm all honesty, Ivory didn't know what to do when his glowing eye landed upon the feminine figure, so he froze in place - no longer like a curious owl watching a mouse from a tree bug like a deer facing incoming traffic. In the second of complete stillness, Ivory scanned the room the best he could before moving quickly to shut whoever this strange woman was up.

He wasn't perfect, far from it, but one thing Ivory prided himself in was his memory and nowhere in that memory could he recognize the woman who currently tried to struggle against the grip he had over her mouth. Panic set in, though you couldn't see it when he had wrapped himself nearly head to toe, bar an eye to see. His chest heaved hard as he was faced with the possibilities of how to approach.

He didn't want anyone dying, well - no one but the King but that was besides the point. Ideally he would find a way to get this woman to shut up and stop making so much fucking noise while letting her live but he would be lying if he said he didn't want to just slit her throat; let his blade enjoy an appetizer before the main meal. He squeezed his eyes shut, only opening upon feeling the bite to his hand.

He hissed and noticed the tan fabric that once wrapped his vantablack skin had torn, exposing the blood that seeped from the bite wound. The little mercy he felt was draining quickly but he tried to stay calm amidst the tussle. His eyes darted to the door as the two fought, only for Ivory to grin wide behind the wrappings upon pinning the woman down. He wondered what Elior would think of he saw the way he pinned this woman to the bed? Would he be angry? Jealous? Ivory could only hope as he pushed the pillow to the stranger's face.

He held it there just until she stopped moving and sighed in relief. She wasn't dead, or at least Ivory hoped not. He waited, that brief hesitation causing him to press an ear to her chest and waited for shallow breathing. His own breath held until he felt the slightest of movements-

Then he wasn't at fault. He carefully slid off of the woman, Elior's wife, and peeked through the keyhole with curiosity. His time was obviously cut short now so he had to move quickly. He took in the surroundings he could from the keyhole and sighed in relief that it was empty before moving quickly, taking note to move lightly as well. He had a mission he needed to finish, enact some proper revenge-

He froze upon Elior's door as he hurried past spare bedrooms and miscellaneous drawing rooms. No, he remembered the Prince's door quite clearly. He bit his lip, telling himself he ought to just get to the King's chambers-

But he deserved a proper goodbye, didn't he?

With a hard swallow, Ivory offered a polite knock and stood stiffly, his eye glancing around the open halls. Nonetheless he waited patiently - bar an extra wrapping from his knuckles as he clutched the strap of his bag tight.
 
Having a moment from the past so viscerally repeat itself was something Elior could take enjoyment in when he opened the door to reveal Ivory. Immediately, he was transported back to the knock at the door that had set Ivory's plans into motion just a month previous; the midnight visit culminating in his first kiss with the man; the first indication that there was more at play than simple attraction. How that moment of weakness had played out wasn't ideal -he could have done without the brutality of the rope burns and the indignity of being made to appear naive and foolish, after all- but he would never dismiss the fact that that knock at his door all those weeks ago had ignited... everything that followed it.

All the feelings that it spurred were ones that he often wished he could block out because their intensity was gruelling and made living without Ivory a torture he didn't want to endure... but he was always quick to chastise himself for such a thought. Was it painful having to go through each day without Ivory, upholding duties expected of him without freeing himself of the tension by indulging in Ivory's company? Naturally - but it was better to have those memories of their time together to reflect upon, to comfort himself with, than to have never had them at all. They invoked pain, but there was just as much joy to be found within them too; a contentment that Elior knew, deep down, he wouldn't find elsewhere.

The flood of reflection eventually parted in favour of him focusing on the present before him. Standing in front of Ivory, in a similar set of silk pyjamas that he had worn during that night a month prior, Elior would have ordinarily smirked at the parallels and remarked, cheerfully, on the obvious differences in the atmosphere now: neither had to pretend or feign traits to get what they wanted; they were free of that pressure, capable of drinking in the charge of sexual tension without the stress of maintaining a facade interfering with it.

But word abandoned him, a speechlessness settling in the longer he stared across at the man who had firmly taken up residence in his thoughts and seemed entirely intent on dominating his dreams too. Not that Elior was particularly bothered about that fact - it pained him to think of Ivory, but often, imagining the other was the only way he was able to get through the day without losing his mind. Understandably, concern made its way through to the forefront of said mind, a sharp glance sent behind Ivory to ensure he was alone in the corridor. Questions bombarded in his head as he tried to digest the fact that Ivory was stood before him, with no answer for the great risk he had chosen to take coming to mind and settling the depth of his confusion--

But answers could wait. As curious as he was about the timing of Ivory's arrival and what had possessed him to take such a risk in the first place, Elior wasn't about to interrogate the man when he could instead grab a fistful of fabric and tug him into the room, lacking the patience to try and act cool. No, his movements were hurried, desperate, and entirely unsubtle, evidenced best by the hungry kiss he didn't hesitate to initiate. It took all the strength he had not to audibly moan at the other's familiar taste, though he wasn't able to fight off the smile that grew, his cheeks aching from the width of it.

"You-- are real, aren't you?" He breathed, the whisper barely finding time to escape amidst the hurried, frenzied kisses. Eventually, needing the answer to ensure he hadn't gone mad and started hallucinating Ivory to such a remarkable, believable extent that he was able to touch him, he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against the other's, all but refusing to pull away from him any further than that. His hand found its place within Ivory's hair, the familiarity of the feeling of his fingers running through his locks encouraging a laugh to break; a disbelieving, euphoric one that held within it too much emotion to conceal or disguise.

"You're a fucking idiot, coming here. You're mad, truly. I always knew you were, but this really is quite reckless, Ivory. Granted, I'm touched you consider me so addictive that you couldn't stay away but still, this... it's not a risk you should be making. I thought we-- we made it clear to one another?"
 
Once more was Ivory left frozen as he took in the Prince before him - though that stiffness was broken by an audible snort once noticing what seemed to be the very same pajamas. Most likely they were a separate pair but the fact that they looked almost exactly the same? How could he not find that all but ridiculous. Of course, his smile was hidden by the fabric - but not for long as his hands actively unraveled the wrapping from his face as he was met with that same hungry, same animalistic need to taste Elior again.

He needed nothing more in that moment than to feel Elior, take in the details of his body that the faint film of time had made a bit blurry. Seeing him though simply returned those missed memories, those missed details of of each freckle and mark. To see a lack of bruises around the Prince's neck was admittedly disappointing, knowing the proof of his love was gone, but he could always add more, right?

Maybe when the King was permanently out of commission, at least.

"I'm quite real, if one of your guests made it obvious," he replied breathlessly once pulled from the kiss and he offered to show the vivid red bite mark on his hand. He rolled his eyes at the incident and instead chose to focus on being with his Elior, his hands moving to the man's hips almost instantly to feel his details.

"As for the matter of my insanity, I would... prefer to say that I'm determined. A bit silly too. Reckless, though? I would certainly give you that one," he murmured, his words muffled by the kisses he hungrily peppered the Prince's neck and collar with. Amongst the kisses was a chuckle as, for the first time in a month, he was able to relax- release some of his anxiety, his anger. For the first time in a month he was doing something positive rather than fester on his longing and his anger. He forced himself away for a moment, if only to take in the Prince in the glow of the moonlight that peeked in through the bedroom window. His hair was a mess, curly. It had grown a bit longer, long enough that he could pull just a little bit back into a small ponytail - and that length was happy to have Elior's fingers lost within it.

"You look stunning, you know..." he commented finally as his eyes sparkled, a warmth hitting them for the first time in a month now. He closed the distance once again with a hard kiss, though all the while removed his bag. He tried his best not to break the kiss as he grabbed the crown to proudly show Elior. He pulled away again, a toothy grin on his lips.

Suddenly, the light in his eyes grew sinister.

"I've been thinking about what your father said to me, Elior, so... I made him a new crown. I want him to wear it when I kill him tonight. Then he'll be dead and we can - I.... I-I dunno, we can be together properly. I don't think I can continue living without you, Elior. If I had gone but another month I think I would have lost it. It doesn't matter anymore though, because I'll make sure he won't get in our way. Be careful now, it's sharp," he warned in whispers as he held the crown in the light.
 
Though he had quite literally dreamt of reuniting with Ivory, none of those dreams could ever live up to the reality of having the other in his arms, his own hunger reciprocated by Ivory in the form of the passionate kisses peppered along his neck and venturing, as they always seemed to do, towards his prominent collarbones. He hadn't anticipated such a reunion ever taking place, however: when they parted, a finality had been made; a mutual understanding reached that that would be the last time they would see one another when everything was stacked firmly against them ever... successfully being an item.

There just wasn't any feasible scenario that allowed them to be together, despite the shared desire to make such a future exist. Without dismantling the trajectory of his life within the confines of the royal family, without outright abandoning it all in favour of a life without the luxuries and the adoration Elior unashamedly clung to, what chance was there of him and Ivory ever being free to love one another? That challenge was only made more difficult once the already lowly opinion of those from within The Dark had reached historic depths following the aftermath of Elior's kidnapping - any opportunity they might have had to establish positivity around The Dark and welcome the free movement of its citizens above ground, around Hollowslocke, had been shot down in flames the instant facts of Ivory's behaviour and his intentions came to light.

In another timeline, perhaps things would have worked out differently. Perhaps the opinions of those in Hollowslocke wouldn't have shifted into pure, unadulterated hatred, thereby allowing Ivory to freely access the capital of The Light and even be granted direct contact with the palace itself as their designated lapidarist. With that closeness established, Elior would have been able to have Ivory close by most hours of the day, a relationship flourishing behind closed doors - and who knew? In time, with the constant pressure to find a Queen continually put aside, he could be honest with his people; confess the love he held for Ivory and work diligently to solidify that relationship with the bonds of marriage.

But that wasn't how events had transpired.

His father might be the cause of disgruntlement and a source that provoked their hatred - but he wasn't the obstacle preventing them from being together. Their lives, so drastically different to the point of being pure antitheses of one another... that was the barrier and, as much as it pained him to admit it, it was an unmoveable one.

The fact Ivory didn't seem to register that stung, the shock that came with acknowledging how simple it all seemed to be in Ivory's head rendering Elior silent, unable to continue his frantic explorations of the body he had yearned for throughout that month only epitomising that. If it were only as simple as killing his father, he would have done it the instant he returned home with him a month prior and run immediately back to the entrance to The Dark, calling out for the man he loved with the assurance that the only thing stopping them being together was now eliminated.

But there were greater factors at play than just the King; immovable forces that restricted any chance they had of being together without sacrifices being taken.

And when that sacrifice involved abandoning the throne he had hungered for since he was a child, how could Elior truly consider it a viable option?

His shock compounded once his eyes drifted to the bite mark on display, the mention of the guest he had seemingly come into contact with causing his eyes to widen a tad. He didn't particularly care what had happened to said guest, whose presence in the palace the last few days had only served to embitter his mood when the sight of her reminded him of the fact their engagement was soon to be made public, but any harm that befell her was another risk of deadly consequences to land at Ivory's door. He had no doubt that he would be able to smoothly threaten her into silence if he had to (given he had once tried to drown her when they were children, he had wisely figured that she would do well to take the threats he made seriously), but if Ivory had killed her, there was very little Elior could actively do to smooth the situation over.

Perhaps fearing the answer to the question he posed, Elior opted not to ask anything at all, preferring instead to reach gently for the crown to examine it within the moonlight.

"It's... beautiful, Ivory. You're remarkable," he breathed with genuine passion, his eyes shining the longer he took in the crown - and the longer he dwelled on the fact that it was destined for his soon-to-be dead father's head. Swallowing back a force of emotion that came with acknowledging Ivory's naivety, he carefully returned the piece to his lover's hands and maintained a smile, one that he had to fight to appear together even if he felt like he was at threat of breaking apart.

"I'm a little upset that you didn't venture here, taking all these risks just to see me - you said yourself I look stunning, yet the thought of me wasn't enough to motivate you to come here?" He huffed in feigned dismay, attempting as best he could to keep the mood as euphoric as it ought to be. "Am I not enough of a reason to risk death?" continued Elior smugly, a hand reaching to cup Ivory's cheek. "A beauty like mine isn't motivation enough?"
 
Perhaps that truly was his fatal flaw: despite his plans being quite thought out, they always were lacking somewhere. With this situation it was the aftermath of what would happen once he did finally kill Elior's father. He had simply assumed that everything would be alright; that Elior could change the rules and perhaps lighten the restrictions held? He could become the royal lapidarist and happily travel from The Dark and The Light at whim! After all, Ivory was quite content living in The Dark but Elior? He doubted he'd happily accept ever venturing into The Dark again by choice.

Ivory's breath hitched upon seeing the Prince's excitement and hearing the praise. How could he not? He had spent a month in isolation, desperate to make everything perfect. To be told that he did just that naturally made his heart swell and proud hard as he eagerly offered more kisses around any bit of skin he could until offered the crown back.

"Elior, don't be silly. I'm simply a multitasker is all," he purred in response and pulled away again, his smile almost goofy as he took in Elior. He nestled into the gentle touch of his cheek, reveling in the silken skin he had never once experienced by another living creature prior to meeting Elior.

"Don't be upset, Ivy!" Reassured his grandfather, a dusty chuckle following. "Your hands may hurt now but that just means you're strong! Soft hands mean nothing but trouble. I remember when your father was young, your grandma and I were so worried that he would end up soft and be sent down the river young but you're a spittin' image of him, boy! So it may hurt for now, but it won't forever."

Ivory hummed at the memory as he closed his eyes to take in the proper touch, though once his eyes opened he was only now able to take in the strange energy now emitted from his lover. His own smile faltered as he held the crown, ignoring the slight prick it offered to his calloused hands. He rushed to gently shove the crown back into the bag and used that time to hide his face, his mind racing.

He couldn't imagine he had done anything wrong? No, everything was perfect - so why was there something… off? Unable to let the sour feeling in his stomach go ignored, he faced Elior once again with a vanished smile and knitted brows. His own hands, mostly wrapped in fabric, held the other's cheeks with clear concern as those large eyes scanned every inch of the Prince.

"... there's something wrong, isn't there?" He finally asked after a moment of silence. He glanced back at the door, thankful it was closed, before returning his attention to the other. "What is it? I... I've got everything figured out, Elior. I wasn't going to let you stay miserable for the rest of your life. I'll kill your father then you will be in charge, yes? No one but my own father knows I've left, and - I think I can keep my temper at bay, make it a clean cut. You could lessen the restrictions and we can be together proper, right?" He confirmed slowly, lowly.
 
He knew, despite his best efforts, that Ivory could see right through the smile he donned. He had proven himself an expert at this point at causing any facade that Elior wore to crumble; obliterated beneath any gaze that Ivory sent him. Perhaps, were the situation less emotional, Elior would succeed in reassuring him with a dazzling smile or two; with tender words aimed at freeing him of his worries despite harbouring an abundance of his own.

But there was little chance of that coming to fruition when his throat constricted and eyes burned with unblinked tears, the sudden arrival of the blurriness to his vision causing him to groan in annoyance. He didn't like crying, having only vividly remembering himself doing so when he and Ivory initially parted from one another. This was supposed to be a reunion, however temporary in nature he knew said reunion to be - and he didn't want it to be dominated by sadness, especially mere minutes after it had begun.

But the tears brewed regardless of his intentions to fight them off, his hands choosing to remain covering his face to hide the few stray tears that rolled from his eyes. A shaky breath was emitted as he continued to take in Ivory's delusion, another groan sounding in response.

The last thing he wanted to do was shoot down the optimism that Ivory had ventured from The Dark with; the positivity that surrounded him at the idea of finally getting everything he wanted. But letting him live with false hope that was destined to be crushed was cruel; a brutality that Elior was certainly capable of but resistant to when it came to Ivory; to the one person he actively liked and wanted to protect from harm.

"It isn't feasible, Ivory. You and I. It... won't work," he began from behind his hands, his voice muffled as a result - but, when it threatened to break at any moment, already far too shaky for his liking, he was more than satisfied by the end result. Eventually, however, he peeled his hands away in the realisation that it was somewhat cowardly to hide away from the conversation, especially when it was important that Ivory get the message and spare himself the pain that continued delusion would only grant him.

He opted to take his hands for that reason, registering the calloused state against his own softness, his own hands never having endured a hard day's work in his life. He pushed down the urge to bring Ivory's hand to his cheek, to envelop himself within the other's arms, and instead set his gaze firmly on his lover's face. It wasn't easy to look him in the eye and speak so negatively, dashing every hope Ivory had held for a month, but continuing to let him live in his obliviousness? That was far more cruel.

"My father isn't the obstacle. I am. My role here in this kingdom, my birthright to be its King - that is the issue, don't you see that? There isn't any scenario that would unfold that would allow you to walk freely amongst The Light; not for years, at the very least. The hatred my people have for yours is-- off the scale at this point. I can't introduce you to this land, have your people walk amongst us, without-- without my public calling for my head. They'd see it a-as a betrayal; they'd riot, Ivory," he emphasised passionately, almost desperate in his need for Ivory to recognise that, for once in his life, Elior wasn't being selfish.

Granted, being selfish would allow Ivory the very thing the both of them wanted in the form of a future together, but when that meant losing his throne and the adoration and support of The Light, Elior wasn't able to cave to his desires - regardless of what he would gain by doing so.

"I'm... a Prince, Ivory. I'm to marry within the month, assuming you've not killed my fiancée. I can't say I would blame you, she's an utter bore, but it wouldn't alter the trajectory of my life. I'd have to find another wife; provide the kingdom with a Queen. With heirs. That's-- my future, don't you realise that? In another life, we'd be together; in this one, it isn't... possible. It's not... meant to be unless I give my throne up a-and-- and leave with you, but you aren't actually suggesting I-- I do that, are you?"
 
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Ivory fell silent as he watched Elior, his owlish eyes wide though not out of curiosity but shock, confusion clearly lacing said eyes. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, perhaps it was the exhaustion from the grueling trip to be at Elior's side. Hell, maybe he was simply just riding the euphoria that being with the man he love gave him. Either way, it was clear that the stakes weren't registering as he pressed their foreheads together once again. It was such a simple touch but it meant the world in calming the lapidarist's growing emotions.

"And if I were? If I were to suggest you come run away with me?" Ivory proposed after a moment of silence, his thoughts churning. "There's a home I've been eyeing up, deep into Hollowhill Cove. It's got a beautiful view of a lake, warm water there too. My.. father knows already, I think. He'd help us rebuild a warm home together. You could change your name, learn the craft - maybe bring some of your theater skills to The Dark?" He suggested slowly and moved to moved to grip his lover close, desperate for their togetherness.

"I don't have years to wait for the public opinion to change, my dear Wlipr. I don't have the time to sit there idly when k want to be with you. I…. I've worked my entire life, isn't it fair that o at least deserve to be happy?" He questioned, his voice cracking more as the chips in his mood began to break off., revealing just a bit of the fear he was truly feeling.


Just a little, though. Like hell would he break down right now, when he could be swooped up by a royal guard any minute and dent to the gallows.

"Please just consider it," he begged in a whisper. "You wouldn't be a Prince but I promise I would treat you like one in The Dark."
 
It was Elior's turn to stare in quiet shock, the disbelief not disappearing but only intensifying as the conversation progressed. He assumed, after quietly breaking the situation down for Ivory, that the other would reluctantly accept defeat; that, no matter how hard it was to process, he would understand that the obstacles facing them were unpassable and would subsequently retreat from the battle to spare himself further pain.

It would hurt to abandon the idea of being together, that much Elior personally knew to be true, but it was better to accept it than to continually hold out hope, waiting for a day for public opinion on those in The Dark to begin to rise enough to enable them to be together... given that that day might never actually arrive.

He averted his gaze once breaking physical contact from Ivory. His lover might garner comfort from the proximity, perhaps in his desperation to cling onto him so they never had to part, but all it did for Elior was continually remind him that parting was inevitable; that there would come a time, far too soon, that he would let go of Ivory and never receive his touch again. Rather than cling onto him with every fibre of strength he had, it was easier to break away now; keep a distance and allow himself to recover - prolonging the inevitable would only lead to further heartbreak.

"That sounds... nice. A home to ourselves, on a lake. A chance to be together. But that life isn't for me, Ivory. It isn't made for someone like me who... needs these touches of luxury. I need this kingdom; this throne. I... I can't give it all up when I'm so close to receiving it all. I... I'd rather wait for you, when the tide of public opinion has turned. When you can live here with me," he admitted beneath his breath, a searing pain coursing through him at having to rely so heavily on a potentiality that may never unfold into reality. Even if it did, even if those in The Light gradually departed from their disgust of their counterparts, who was to say when it would happen? A couple of years from now? A decade? More?

It was unfair asking Ivory to wait all that time for something that may not even happen - but there was no alternative; not when Elior remained steadfast in his decision to take his throne, regardless of what he had to give up in order to do so.

"...I can't abandon this. You're loyal to your country; your people. I couldn't care less for my own but I am loyal to the... throne; to what it will provide for me. I-I can't give it up, not to live in The Dark where I would stand out a-and... and live a life so unlike the one I've grown accustomed to. It wouldn't... work, not for me. Not me being who I am. I'm incompatible with that way of life; I need... this," he emphasised with a broad gesture to the room around him, in all its grandeur and opulence.

"I don't want to ask you to wait for a time where people have abandoned their dislike of your people, but-- that's the only option we have, don't you see that? I can't consider your plan when it just i-isn't-- it isn't going to work."
 
"That's… t-that's not fair." Ivory replied suddenly. He had stepped back, offering the Prince room, but he held a grip on the other's wrist. It was tight, unrelenting, but not tight enough to hurt the Prince. That anger he held towards Elior had all but gone, though it was threatening to re-emerge now.

He didn't care if he sounded childish. No, Ivory was physically exhausted and sleep deprived, the focus to detail on the crown having lost him countless of hours of sleep, not to mention the dangerous trek back to The Light alone. As eager as he was to melt into Elior and embrace him again, he now stood like rock. His muscles tensed, stiff, metal in his bones now as he stared down at the Prince from his heightened advantage. Eyes that were once filled with a strange mixture of joy and fear now held anger and betrayal. His jaw clenched, his sharp teeth lightly grinding the longer they stood there.

"I come all this way, put… put myself at risk of execution, just for you to, what? Reject me?" He confirmed and, while his face was flat, a hollow laugh escaped. "That isn't fair, Elior! I… I-I've done so much already, and for what? I get nothing in return?" At this point, Ivory was only able to tell he was crying by how his eyes grew blurry. He blinked them back and forced his grip off of the other's wrist before he broke it.

"That's what you do with everyone though, isn't it? You build them up, make them feel like they're special to you - then you throw them away, huh? I thought -" he paused, swallowing, "I thought we had a connection. I thought you loved me. I thought I could read past your whole act but perhaps you're a better actor than I took you for. I still intend to kill your father, that man doesn't deserve to breathe another day. Just - I'm disappointed in you."
 
It wasn't a feeling Elior had ever felt, and he certainly didn't anticipate the first time being caused by Ivory, but he felt... intimidated the longer the other loomed over him. The height advantage had first been an annoyance to the Prince, a fact that caused his lip to curl in dismay given how used he was to being the tallest in most rooms; it then became an advantage in and of itself; something to admire in Ivory as their bodies were pressed close to one another. He never gave any thought to how that height difference could be threatening; how it could make all six feet of him feel small in comparison.

And yet, there was no argument to be had in trying to dismiss the very faint (but nonetheless present) undercurrent fear when it stood out as much as it did. It didn't last too long, replaced almost instantly by a fierce anger of his own, but he wouldn't be able to easily forget the fact it had existed; that Ivory had been the one to scare him.

His anger wasn't the dominant emotion, but it was the only one he considered allowing himself to show. He didn't want to express the hurt that arose at the accusation, similar tears threatening to show as a result of the pain that the words caused - but he was more than willing to express his anger; meet Ivory's wrath with the fire of his own. It wasn't the most productive of methods to take -calming the rage rather than continuing to add fuel to it would have been far more helpful- but Elior wasn't in possession of the usual control he prided himself on.

As usual, said control evaded him when it came to sharing in Ivory's company.

"What did you expect me to do exactly, Ivory? Throw away my future for you? What would happen if we were to break up, may I ask? You'd have your friends, your father, the comfort and the security of your home - and I would have what? Nothing. It's too great a risk to take, even in the name of love-- which I have for you. I love you, I just cannot risk abandoning the life I have longed for since I was a child. It's too close to turn my back upon," he snapped in retort, almost immediately regretting the sharp nature of the words and the derisive tone that resided at its core, but he wasn't... accustomed to arguments that consisted of so much raw pain and genuine hurt, any ability he might have had to register what he was saying all but evading him.

"I'm not going to stand here, hearing you insult me. Acting as though my feelings are somehow false because I won't tear my life up from the roots for you," he grunted dismissively as he turned his back on the other to glance out the balcony windows, using the opportunity to subtly wipe his eyes and correct his lip from quivering. He sunk his teeth into it instead, biting hard until the pain re-centered him. "I adore you, but if you're happy to doubt that and think otherwise, I won't lower myself to pleading for you to see sense, Ivory. I love you, but I won't be demeaning myself like that."
 
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