Page 15 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

The white brick exterior of the tavern only vaguely translated to the interior.

The inside of The Moonlit Sunflower was loud, dark, and alive.

At least fourty people were either seated or standing around the bar, chattering, laughing, yelling.

Away from the spotlight on the porch, nobody was paying particular attention to Favian.

Still, he quickly moved to the counter without catching anyone’s eye and ordered two ales.

Only when the innkeeper turned away to draw their drinks did he look for Leonardo, finding him close behind.

The prince’s attention was pulled in several directions, his eyes jumping from the people in the inn across the random assortment of paintings on the walls to the games being played on various tables.

His eyes were held by the other patrons in particular, mouth agape as he took in the different people in each corner of the tavern.

“You’re staring,” Favian cautioned. “You’d better not draw too much attention to yourself.

Leonardo blinked, then turned his head. “It’s so. . .lively.”

“It’s a tavern.”

Accepting the ale Favian handed him, Leonardo laughed. “You do remember how to make jokes.”

Favian had not intended to jest, but if the prince was enjoying himself, he supposed he wasn’t going to correct him.

Favian said, “Let’s sit over there,” and nudged Leonardo towards two free stools at the far corner of the bar, where it was a little quieter, the air less stale.

They took their seats, Leonardo arranging himself so he could take in as much of the venue as possible.

Only in the dim light did Favian notice that Leonardo had been shaved again; his chin was free of stubble.

Favian caught a whiff of citrusy soap, mingling with the scent of honey and wheat.

He had never actively noticed Leonardo’s scent before—it had never stood out to him as much as it did here, surrounded by the smell of alcohol, of sweaty bodies, of stuffy air.

“What do you do when you come here? Drink in silence?” the prince bantered. “Any friends you can introduce me to?”

“Usually there are people here that I know, and we play cards or talk about our occupations. . .To be quite frank, this is a place where people like to complain about their lives, their families, or their employers.” Favian was staring down at his drink as he said it, uncomfortable at the prospect of the prince seeing the emotions on his face and the idea of introducing Leonardo to anyone.

The sleeve of Leonardo’s—Rodrigo’s—jacket brushed Favian’s wrist; in the proximity of the crowded space, it was all but impossible to arrange themselves in a way that wouldn’t result in any parts of their bodies touching.

“What do you complain about?” the prince asked. The ease with which joy and earnestness mingled in his voice was unsettling.

Favian’s reply came without thought. “I do not think it is appropriate for me to share that with Your Highness.”

“You’re slipping,” Leonardo whispered.

“Actually—” Facing the prince, Favian mustered all the courage he could find inside him.

“I do not think it’s appropriate for you to ask me that.

” He saw the wheels turning in Leonardo’s head, but before the other could decide on a reply, Favian continued.

“I cannot share everything I think and feel with you. I know you would like me to, but I can’t.

This is a place where I’d rather not have to weigh every word I want to say before it leaves my mouth, so please don’t put me in a position where I’d have to do that. ”

To his bewilderment, the prince was smiling.

“Alright,” Leonardo said. His hand was on Favian’s arm. When had he put it there? Why had it not startled him? “You’re right. I’m sorry for asking. Thank you for showing me this part of your life. And thank you for sharing your feelings, too; I appreciate it.”

There it was again, that sick feeling in his stomach. Something was wrong with Leonardo’s words, utterly, profoundly, wrong.

“So, shall we play a game of cards?”

Thankful for the offer, Favian nodded and waved at the innkeeper, who provided them with a set of playing cards by dropping them on the dark, sticky surface of the bar.

As he was shuffling, a hand landed on Favian’s shoulder, followed by a friendly proclamation of his name.

The hand ruffled his hair before a face came into view.

Favian nearly shoved the fingers away, willing himself to keep his composure by tightly holding on to the cards. The touch was unwanted, discomforting.

“Who have you brought with you?” the voice asked, but before Favian could respond, Leonardo was already shaking hands with its owner. A red-headed woman said, “Amina, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Toni,” Leonardo lied as smoothly as he tied his hair—effortlessly, with more charm than the act should exude.

“He’s new at the palace,” Favian added, shrugging off Amina’s hand as he did.

“Fresh meat,” she grinned, then motioned to a table by the door. “We were just about to play. Care to join?”

He did not, but Leonardo was quicker. “We’d love to!”

And just like that, their drinks were moved, two chairs added to the table, and new seats taken.

Favian knew most of the people around them, if only from seeing them around The Moonlit Sunflower or the market back when he had used to run errands.

Leonardo’s arms rested on the table, equally as sticky as the counter but much broader, the prince’s limb a few inches away from Favian’s.

He missed the easy touch, he realized to his own surprise, missed the prince’s undemanding casualness.

After a round of introductions in which Leonardo did not once slip up, the game began. It was a peasant game, based around collecting as many different cards as possible.

“This is new to me,” Leonardo said cheerily after their first round, which he gloriously lost. He did not seem to mind, though. The smile on his face hadn’t faltered one bit. “Most of the games I’m familiar with are about getting rid of cards, and here we are, accumulating them!”

“That’s the point,” a man who had introduced himself as Yannos earlier spat while distributing the cards for round two. “‘Cause for once, we get to accumulate something .”

Amina nodded. “We’re so used to losing the things we own, what with the bastard up in your palace hoarding the town’s wealth.

” Favian’s head shot up. Luckily, Amina misunderstood his reaction, assuring him, “Sorry pal, I know we have it good compared to you. At least we’re only paying in money and resources. ”

Another person at the table spoke up; her name was Levera.

“At least we’re not at war anymore.” Murmurs of agreement around them.

“I had barely any rations left after sending them all to the front, and for what? So we can say that we took over another kingdom, another Northern Castle, for His Majesty’s ludicrous summer vacations?

Please. If you ask me, all of this fighting is just for the man’s ego, and I’m glad we lost this one.

And he even sent his kid to fight for his stupid pride! ”

“Actually,” Amina shrugged. “I’m glad he sent his son out. Wouldn’t it be much more unfair if only all of us ended up bearing the consequences?”

Levera seemed to contemplate this. “I guess you’re right. It just doesn’t sit right with me, sending your child to battle like that.”

Favian didn’t want to look at Leonardo, didn’t want to know what these sentiments must be evoking in the prince. Avoiding Leonardo’s eyes, he played his turn. He tried to concentrate on the game, to ignore the sickly feelings in the pit of his stomach, but the mood had turned sour.

After a few beats of silence, Leonardo spoke up. Favian thought he heard some tension in the prince’s voice, but it was overshadowed by concern that could easily be misread. “I think things are changing now. The prince has returned unharmed, and—”

Laughs erupted around the table.

“You don’t really think that changes much, do you?

” Yannos asked. “Even if he’s not as bad as His Fucking Majesty, what can he do?

Do you really think he’s willing to give up any of the luxuries he has?

The fancy food, the warm baths, having servants who must do literally everything he asks?

People running around to please him? Especially after those years at the front?

” Leonardo opened his mouth again, but Yannos continued before the disguised prince got the chance to speak.

“Maybe he’s nicer to his subordinates than his damn parents, but nothing is going to change significantly until the king dies or the palace burns. Which, if you ask me—”

“Can we talk about something else?” Now it was Favian’s turn to interrupt. He did not know Yannos particularly well, but he wouldn’t let the man incriminate himself this egregiously in front of the prince, no matter that he believed Leonardo to be sincere.

The man in question blinked a few times at the reaction, then cocked his head. “I don’t get it. You should be complaining loudest of all, with how often I’ve seen you here with black eyes and bruises all over.”

Favian winced.

Leonardo’s hand found his arm again, and this time, Favian withdrew it almost violently. The touch no longer easy and casual, it reeked of worry and pity. Favian didn’t want either.

All prior amusement gone from her voice, Amina asked, “I hope the prince doesn’t treat you as badly as his father?”

“He does not,” Favian managed to croak. “His Highness would never do to me what His Majesty has. Excuse me.” With that, he stood up, absentmindedly picked up the bag of clothes the prince had callously dropped beside them, and made for the door.

Favian could not breathe, could not think.

The tavern was suddenly small, so, so small, the walls closing in, the ruckus of the other patrons growing louder and louder, his chest tightened, his eyes watered, his fingers clutched the bag in his hand so hard it hurt, but everything else hurt, too, his head, his chest, his entire body, his—

Only when the fresh air hit him did he register that he had left the inn. Tumbling down the stairs, he attempted to breathe, only to come up with short, wheezing gasps.

A few steps away from the door, Favian sank to the ground, crouching on the balls of his feet, pressing his hands into his eyes, willing the panic in his chest to go away.

I am not in imminent danger.

Nobody is touching me.

He is not here.

He is not here.

He is not here.

“Favian?” came a hesitant voice behind him, fingers carefully landing on his arm once more.

“Don’t touch me!” Favian snapped before registering that it was Leonardo who had followed him out.

“I’m sorry,” the prince said right away, holding up his hands. “Can I. . .sit with you?”

No , Favian wanted to say.

“Yes,” he breathed instead.

Leonardo sank to his knees next to him, keeping a distance between them. “What do you need?”

Favian’s words were slow, pressed through his teeth in between gasps. “What. . .do you. . .mean?”

“What can I do to make you feel better? To help you through this?”

This? What exactly was this Favian needed helping through?

He could only shake his head.

“Alright,” Leonardo said as if Favian had given him a substantial reply. “Is it alright if I talk, or do you want quiet?”

Under normal circumstances, whenever this happened, he would simply barricade himself away from everyone, especially Nico, until he could breathe again, think again.

Right now, that was not an option, so he merely shrugged.

Leonardo’s presence was already disrupting his familiar routines; what more could feel wrong ?

“Alright,” the prince repeated, and dropped his ass on the ground. “I think I know what’s happening to you. I have seen soldiers react like this to things that remind them of war. I think these moments are quite common with them. Maybe it’s normal to be sensitive to reminders of violence.”

“Stop,” Favian quavered, eyelids pressed shut.

Leonardo did.

Favian had told him what he needed, directly and blatantly, and Leonardo was listening.

They sat in silence. For how long, Favian could not say.

When he eventually opened his eyes, the prince was gone.

Briefly, the panic resurged, but then Favian heard neighing and understood that Leonardo had gathered Azure and Alto from the mews. The prince was waiting for him, expression betraying a worry Favian could not confront, especially not right now.

Wordlessly, Favian got up, took Alto’s reins from Leonardo’s hands, and mounted the steed. The prince followed suit, conforming to the pace at which Favian led them back to the palace.

Once they reached the forest, Leonardo changed back into his royal attire, handing Favian the bag of Rodrigo’s clothes. Instead of letting go, however, he held on to the fabric, forcing the other to pay attention to him.

“You know I would never harm you, right?”

Favian’s eyes were glassy, the world shifting in and out of focus before him.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Quietly: “Favian.”

But it was over.

The spell had broken; Favian could no longer pretend the prince was just one of his associates, his peer, his equal.

“I’m not like him,” Leonardo swallowed.

Favian said nothing.

“Please.” The prince’s voice was no more than a whisper now. “Talk to me.”

“I know Your Highness is nothing like His Majesty.” The words sounded distant, almost mechanical. “Otherwise, I would not have defended Your Highness in front of those people.”

Leonardo let go of the bag, yet he continued to talk, even though Favian was no longer able to digest the words.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that position.

It didn’t feel good to hear them talk about me like that, but I shouldn’t have provoked a situation in which you felt like you had to defend me.

I was really happy to be around other people who treated me like one of them again, but that Yannos guy just rubbed me the wrong way, how he was speaking to you. . .”

To me, or to you?

“Your Highness does not have to take a stranger’s words to heart,” were the words that left Favian’s mouth. They were removed from his body; he could not recall making the active choice to speak.

What were they talking about again?

“Thank you,” Leonardo replied to words that were already gone from Favian’s mind. “I appreciate you taking me there, I really do. I hope we can go again sometime, maybe avoid talking about my family. . .”

In the absence of a reply, the prince sighed, climbed back onto Azure, and led them home, all energy to take control gone from Favian.

The stable was quiet except for the screaming inside him.