Page 14 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)
An hour past the end of dinner on the following day, Leonardo greeted Favian as he rounded the southern corner behind the stable.
Favian should have anticipated that the eager prince would be there before him, excitedly waiting, but it still made him uneasy that Leonardo had been standing around, waiting for a servant—for him.
Azure and a second horse, Alto, were already saddled—Favian had made the majority of preparations before dinner, choosing Alto for his calm personality—and a set of Rodrigo’s clothes was stuffed into a bag slung around his shoulder.
“Do I get to dress up now?” Leonardo asked with a grin, but Favian shook his head.
“I suggest Your Highness waits until we pass the forest, since it is the darkest part of our route. I do not believe it wise to risk anyone from the court spotting Your Highness in servant garb.”
“Yes, you’re right. Though I’m sure someone would enjoy the sight.”
A beat of silence.
Two, three.
When he received no response, the prince gestured to the horses as if he hadn’t said anything. “Shall we?”
It had been a while since Favian had journeyed on horseback, but Alto was a stable, secure presence underneath him. The steed was almost as old as Azure and equally as patient.
The ride to the tavern was awkward.
Leonardo made several attempts at conversation, but Favian couldn’t seem to pry his mind away from its spiral; he couldn’t fully engage with the prince.
He kept returning to the multitude of sensations the previous day had induced in him, to the questions it had provoked.
To Rodrigo’s words, to his relationship with Nico.
To his brother’s cheek, red because he had been preoccupied with his own pain.
To the council meeting, not yet yielding any results regarding King Amondo’s treatment of his servants.
Whenever his mind did allow him to wander, Favian questioned his decision to do this trip at all, running through scenarios in which Leonardo gave himself away, said something wrong, or, perhaps worse, got so comfortable he would want to turn these visits into a recurring event.
Unsure which case would put him into the most precarious position while simultaneously worrying about Nico, about Rodrigo, about the council, the anxiety swelling in Favian was becoming more present the closer they got to the cliff upon which The Moonlit Sunflower was perched.
Once they reached the forest enclosing the northern and eastern edge of the palace grounds, the other side of the road bordering on wide, expansive sunflower fields, Leonardo stopped Azure and all but jumped off her back.
Evidently, he was impatient to get changed.
Catching the bag that held Rodrigo’s spares, a wide smirk was plastered across the prince’s face, cheeks dimpled.
Luckily, he took the clothes from Favian without comment and moved into the trees.
When Favian began to wonder what Nico had told Rodrigo about this nightly trip, with which explanation he had asked to borrow his clothes, he noticed that Leonardo was not as well hidden by the trees as he had presumed.
While the thicket concealed most of the prince’s lower body, the lines of his back were visible in the moonlight.
Favian willed himself to look away, but he could not.
For once, his thoughts stilled.
Leonardo’s frame was moving as he changed, his arms stretching away from and then returning to his body, muscles tightening.
Favian followed the lines of the prince’s back, down from the nape of his neck, his shoulders, his waist, hips, down, down, down.
The waistband of his royal trousers was half hidden by a shrub, the skin touching cloth kissed by lush greenery.
Leonardo bent forward, the material of his trousers straining over the curve of his ass.
Whatever Favian tried to convince himself he was or was not feeling in that moment, the gasp escaping his lips betrayed him even to himself.
At the sound, the prince’s head snapped up. He turned to Favian. “Everything alright?” he asked, unaware of Favian’s impure thoughts.
Favian quickly turned his head, knowing full well that Leonardo must have noticed the abrupt movement. Did the prince realize he had caught Favian staring at him?
“Yes,” Favian croaked, regarding the sunflowers with a similar reverence as he had just felt contemplating Leonardo’s naked back, his ass. Leonardo could not see him like this—Favian would sooner die than allow the prince to recognize the longing with which he gazed into the field.
Leonardo hesitated but eventually returned to the clothing he had yet to change into.
By the time the prince emerged from the trees, Favian had moved Alto to the other side of the road, his stare still fixed on the yellow and green scenery doused in orange light by the setting sun’s rays.
The tavern’s bright red roof was already visible in the distance, the ocean beyond it turning the air salty.
“How do I look?” Leonardo asked.
“Is Your Highness commanding me to look at him?” Favian retorted, surprising himself with the casual remark and the playful tone emerging from his mouth.
Without looking at him, Favian knew Leonardo was raising an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”
Hands gripping the reins tighter, hair falling into Favian’s face as he lowered his head to his fingers.
“Favian,” the prince sighed. “I know my father has made it so you can’t do it in good conscience, but I would really like you to look at me when we talk to each other.
I told you I wouldn’t command you to do anything you don’t want to, and I’ll keep my word.
But once we’ve reached the tavern, you won’t really be able to keep this up, right? ”
He had considered this, too. At the inn, he would introduce Leonardo as a new member of the palace staff, hence his equal.
He couldn’t not look at him then, couldn’t act in subservience.
It would be more difficult for Favian to flip a switch once they reached the tavern rather than adjusting to a new way of interacting with the prince ahead of time.
So, Favian looked at Leonardo.
A tingling warmth spread through him as his eyes roamed the prince’s body once more, knowing, this time, that Leonardo wanted him to.
The prince’s eyes were curious, waiting to see what Favian would do.
“Yes,” Favian said slowly. “You do look good.”
It was the gist of the truth, anyway. The truth was this: Rodrigo’s clothes didn’t quite fit Leonardo’s more muscular body.
The truth was this: Leonardo was not a servant, not a peasant, and he looked wrong in the plain tunic and linen pants.
The truth was this: Rodrigo’s clothes were simple, muted, and Leonardo shone most in frills and patterns and embroidery.
The truth was this: it did not matter what Leonardo wore—Favian would always think him as breathtakingly beautiful as the beds of sunflowers beyond them.
Leonardo’s exhale gave the impression that he had been holding his breath, not only for seconds but for weeks. Maybe he had, waiting for Favian to look at him, really look at him.
“You should take out that braid, though. It’s too fancy.”
No formality, no Your Highness .
The corners of his mouth curling up, Leonardo began untangling his hair, slender fingers weaving through the strands, eyes still raised at Favian atop Alto.
It was enthralling, looking down at the prince.
In a way, Favian always did, with the couple of inches he had on him, but this was different. It was exciting, riveting, beguiling .
“Let’s go,” Favian said before Leonardo might have discerned any of the unprecedented feelings rushing over him. He nudged Alto back onto the road, leading the steed towards The Moonlit Sunflower.
Leonardo was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of their journey, the increasingly thunderous waves beyond the cliff appearing even louder by comparison, but that changed the moment they were greeted by a group of people on the tavern’s front porch once they had safely stabled their horses.
The prince had taken a moment to look out onto the ocean, watching the roaring waves crash onto the cliff’s edge.
Only when Favian had cleared his throat had Leonardo torn away from the big blue, his eyes filled with the wonder of a child.
Now, they were walking up the handful of steps leading up to the large, white brick building. Two stories, tiled roof, ivy climbing up the walls and weaving through shutters and windowsills.
“Favian!” someone on a wooden rocking chair exclaimed. “You haven’t been here in forever! We were worried the bastard had finally chained you up in that dungeon of his!”
If only they knew.
“It’s good to see you,” someone else intercepted, spilling a cup of liquid over themself and the floor.
“I heard the prince returned,” a third someone said. “Is it true that he spoke up against his father?”
“At least let me get a drink before pestering me,” Favian nervously laughed in response, and, not waiting for a reply or Leonardo’s reaction, shoved his way through the entrance.
He had expected questions about the king and the prince, about the rumors that would aways spread through Livenza like wildfire, but the time between the decision to come here and the execution of that plan had been too short to contemplate how people would react to his presence—he had been too preoccupied with Leonardo’s attendance to even consider that people might be interested in him .
Besides, it was difficult enough for him to adjust to the busy night ahead of them without worrying about all the questions he might get asked.