Page 10 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)
On the tenth day, two things happened.
The first was the appearance of the advisory council.
Leonardo truly had convinced his father to return to a routine similar to the one that the palace had been used to five years ago, and so tomorrow, for the first time in this new era, the council would convene.
Favian and Rodrigo spent the early morning preparing empty pens for visiting horses, recounting the information they had been given about the guests before awaiting their arrival at the main entrance to direct the carriage drivers where to stable their carts and horses.
Once the men and women arrived, the two stablehands bowed their heads and formally greeted the visitors.
All of them, with the exception of Livenza’s Admiral Gálvez, were noble.
Two ladies, three lords, Lord Casella among them.
Favian briefly wondered if Leonardo would be happy to see his weapons tutor again or if the reminder of his time fighting would taint the reunion.
The two women, Lady Molero and Lady Subira, looked Rodrigo up and down, then murmured among themselves before one of them—based on her auburn hair, Favian concluded this was Lady Melero—bent over, touched Rodrigo’s cheek with gloved knuckles, and quietly proposed, “Why don’t you come visit me after lunch, handsome? ”
Keeping his eyes where they were supposed to be, Rodrigo flashed her a wide smile as he replied, “My Lady, though I appreciate the offer, I am afraid my workload will make it impossible for me to make time for such a visit.”
“A shame,” Lady Melero sighed, then took her companion’s arm, and the two of them made their way up the stairs, where they were to be escorted to the council suite.
Favian caught a pitiful look from one of the carriage drivers when Lord Casella approached him. “Favian,” the man said. “I remember you. Always running around with the prince, were you not?”
Favian tensed. “My Lord, I believe you could say that.”
Lord Casella hummed in reply. The sound made him uneasy, left him unable to discern what the lord intended with those peculiar words. “You have a brother, don’t you? How old is he now? Eighteen?”
“Seventeen years, My Lord,” Favian pressed out. Why would the lord care about Nico? About his age, much less?
“I suppose I shall see him around,” was the only reply he got, then Lord Casella, too, went up the staircase. He was the last of the council members, and they were quickly ushered inside to be led to their respective chambers.
Once the advisors had disappeared into the building, Rodrigo dropped his smile and spat on the floor. “Disgusting,” he cursed, “all of them. What does that slimy lord want from Nico?”
“I wish I knew,” Favian replied truthfully.
He was curious about Rodrigo’s concern for Nico, but this feeling was overshadowed by Favian's own worry about the lord’s interest in his little brother.
He would tell Nico to be particularly attentive while the council convened, and to let him know if anything happened to him.
Nothing can happen to him.
Together, they stabled the visitors’ horses in silence, aided by the guests’ respective servants, then Rodrigo showed them to their rooms. Favian needed a break, but there was no time; his regular duties were waiting for him while the council members got settled into their suites and prepared to convene on the following day.
The second thing was this: Leonardo broke their unspoken routine.
It remained a sunny day, but not so hot that the sun would burn, confusing Favian as to why the prince had not yet mounted the fully prepared Azure waiting for him, and instead leaned on the stable gates with his arms crossed in front of his body, watching Favian groom one of the visiting horses’ manes.
“I’ve been wondering…” Leonardo began, then paused.
He only continued when Favian halted, lowered the currycomb in his hands, and turned towards him, away from Lord Casella’s white steed.
“I remember that before I left, you sometimes mentioned a tavern on the cliff. Something moon—? I think you were finally allowed to go and drink alone? I’m not sure. ”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Favian confirmed. “The Moonlit Sunflower.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Leonardo repeated. “If you could take me there?”
For a second, Favian’s eyes shot up. He expected to find that twinkle in the prince’s eyes that indicated that he was joking, but all he found was genuine sincerity.
“I’m afraid I do not understand,” he confessed. “Why does Your Highness want to visit a townsfolk’s tavern?”
“I’d like to see how you live when you’re not here.”
The words sent a shiver down his spine. “Your Highness—”
“Not just you,” Leonardo clarified while taking a step towards him.
Oh.
Something about those words wound its way into Favian’s stomach, but Leonardo continued without pause. “All of you. All I know is where you work and where you sleep. But what do you do when you are off duty? How do you spend your time? I would really like to see it.”
He was never off duty. Favian was lucky if he got a good night’s rest between shifts, but even when he was asleep, he knew that anytime, should the majesties require anything, he might be called upon.
Especially if it was the king’s request. Favian did spend the occasional night at the tavern, but usually on those evenings, His Majesty was on a voyage, visiting a neighboring kingdom or an event Favian understood little about.
He had not been to The Moonlit Sunflower in a while.
“Your Highness,” he began again. “I am unsure if it would be a wise idea to visit the tavern.”
“Why?”
“I do not believe it wise for me to leave the palace for long periods of time.”
He could feel Leonardo raising an eyebrow, even if he could not see it. “Because of my father?” The prince stepped closer and made a move as if to take Favian’s hand—but seemingly thought better of it. “I can talk to him.”
A surge of suppressed panic inside Favian’s chest. “That is one reason. I would rather Your Highness did not request anything of His Majesty on my behalf.”
“Alright,” Leonardo conceded. “We won’t get my father involved. And the other reason?”
Favian fought the urge to cross his arms or put his hands on his hips, instead holding them steady by his sides. “I am afraid the people there would not necessarily react kindly to a royal in their midst,” he admitted.
The “Oh” that escaped the prince’s lips, then, almost made Favian laugh. Had Leonardo not even considered that he would be invading a space that was not his? A space in which his subjects would be talking about their monarchs, about his parents, about him ?
“I did not think they would recognize me. I have been gone for quite a few years, after all, and even before that, most people who don’t work around me didn’t get to see me much.”
Leonardo was right. Most people in the city did not know his face, even less so after his time away.
But it was always possible to run into someone who worked at the palace, one of the advisors’ servants, or a merchant who had in the past requested an audience with His Majesty while Leonardo was still sitting by his father’s side.
“I would wear a disguise, of course,” the prince added, gesturing at his frilly attire and sending a wink Favian’s way.
“I realize I can’t just drop by there like this.
Though I’m sure it would be easier to charm people in silk and velvet.
” When Favian still didn’t reply, Leonardo tilted his head to the side. “Please?”
It was getting hard for him to keep his hands calm; he felt his fingernails digging into his palms.
He did not want to take Leonardo to The Moonlit Sunflower. That was the truth. He could not have said it out loud, even if he had wanted to.
But Leonardo had promised never to command him to do anything that he didn’t want to do—aside from, in any case, his regular duties—and he was sure that if he insisted strongly enough or just expressed exactly what he was thinking, the prince would let it go.
If only he were able to actually put his thoughts into coherent words.
“I do not believe it wise for Your Highness to visit the tavern,” Favian maintained.
Leonardo regarded him a moment before nodding. “Alright.”
The prince made his way to Azure, and Favian returned to his work, picking up the comb he had set aside.
“Favian?” came Leonardo’s voice. Favian had thought the conversation over.
“Yes, Your Highness?” he asked over his shoulder, knowing full well that were he interacting with either of the prince’s parents, the gesture would have resulted in immediate reprimand.
“I would very much still like to go. I—I really miss being around people. I’d like to ask you again in the future, maybe you’ll change your mind. Would that be alright?”
Favian’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Your Highness does not need my permission to ask things of me.”
“No, I don’t need it—but I want it.”
Suddenly, Favian felt very sick.
“It is Your Highness’ choice to ask me again in the future.”
“But do you want me to?”
“It does not matter what I want!” he snapped, then, whirling around to face the prince again.
Leonardo’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. Favian met his gaze this time. Held it.
He thought of the night in the attic again.
Not of fingers or mouths—but of Leonardo’s reluctance.
He had acted so slowly, waiting for Favian’s reaction at every turn.
When he had kissed Favian’s neck and noticed the other’s hesitation, Leonardo had asked if Favian wanted him to stop.
All those years ago, the prince had already tried to pretend he did not hold an intense amount of power over Favian, along with every other servant in this household.
Maybe it was never about pretending , Favian considered, but convincing.
About Leonardo convincing himself that if only he tried hard enough, his power could dissipate, vanish into thin air as if it did not determine each and every second of his life.