Page 2 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

He would not have sought out His Highness regardless.

That had never been the mechanic of their relationship.

The prince had always, always been the one to find Favian when he was or was not done with work, dragging him around the premises and into the neighboring forest or to the cliffs to the east. This system, one that seemed to so perfectly fit the prince’s needs, Favian would never have dared to disrupt, even if he had wanted to.

No, that wasn’t entirely true.

One time he had dared, and he had paid for it dearly. He would not make the same mistake again.

The king’s hand shifted. Instead of a slender finger, Favian now felt the added grip of a strong thumb holding his head in place by his chin, one nail digging into his neck, the other into the space underneath his lips. “Have I made myself clear, scum?”

Allegedly, the marriage between King Amondo and Queen Irmina had been one of love, not convenience, but Favian had never been able to identify what Her Majesty’s thoughts were on her husband’s disposition, his need to dominate, to devour every last bit of happiness that any of the servants were able to find in this place.

They wondered sometimes, Nico and Favian speculating about her nature, her views, her convictions.

What was she like outside her husband’s all-consuming presence?

Today, however, he did not wonder. Could not wonder. Could only press out the concession expected of him.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Favian went from task to task, deflecting attempts at conversation about the homecoming Prince of Livenza and avoiding any moves that might draw attention to him.

When it was finally time to retire for the day, Nico was nowhere to be found, likely taking his dinner of bread and carrots in the central servant quarters, which was just as well. Favian wasn’t hungry, and the central area was usually too loud for him, anyway.

Tonight, Favian needed a moment to be alone with his thoughts, no work or people to occupy his mind.

He slumped onto his slim mattress and closed his eyes.

His fingers wandered to the side of his neck, softly pinching the delicate skin.

The memory of another hand there years ago made him shiver.

How he wished those memories had not been tainted.

Leaning his head back, Favian’s right hand went to his crotch while the other remained on his throat, rubbing away the remnants of His Majesty’s touch.

For the first time in years, he let his thoughts wander, indulging in the recollection of a caress not harsh but tender.

Favian remembered that night more clearly than any other.

Remembered High Highness—Leonardo—waiting for him as he wrapped up hauling that day’s purchases into the pantry, the prince impatiently nudging him to hurry and eventually pulling him away regardless of the unfinished task, promising to make sure Favian would not be punished.

Leonardo had wanted to race him, leading him into corridors he had never been allowed into before.

Then they had found it, that dusty attic in the northern wing of the palace, down a white brick corridor beyond the throne room and numerous official suites Favian hadn’t known existed.

They had laughed on their way, run through the corridors like the children they had wished they could remain.

Then the prince had climbed onto his shoulders.

Leonardo had stumbled, and they had landed on the floor.

Favian remembered the drop in his heartbeat like it had been merely a day ago.

Remembered the prince’s breath on his face, the prince’s fingers on his neck, the prince’s mouth. His mouth, his mouth, his mouth.

A choked sound escaped Favian’s lips at the memory, the hand between his legs wrapping around his growing erection.

Leonardo had been careful, hesitant even.

He had given Favian the chance to stop him, had pressed forward more slowly than Favian had ever witnessed him do anything before.

And when Favian had interrupted their closeness at first, Leonardo had respected it.

But then—they would have kissed then, had Favian not turned his head, but he could not do it.

Could not allow himself to accept a reality in which Leonardo wanted to kiss him, in which their relationship would grow more intimate, in which the prince’s attention was all his.

But still, Leonardo had kissed him, hadn’t he?

He had taken what Favian was willing to give, had explored his neck instead, kissed his throat, caressed his skin.

Favian was moaning now, stroking himself to the memory of His Highness’ lips.

A knock interrupted his indulgence.

Eyes snapping open, Favian looked down on himself. Only a few drops had leaked through his pants, little enough to wash out in the morning without anyone noticing. He turned towards the wall and covered himself with a blanket just before Nico opened the door. Favian had forgotten to lock it.

“Are you asleep already?” Nico asked quietly, but Favian picked up on the smirk in his brother’s voice. Had he heard him?

“Not quite,” he replied, voice hoarse. He listened to Nico close the door behind himself and change into his sleep attire, the chemise a large hand-me-down.

“I thought I heard something ,” Nico said, confirming Favian’s fear. “For a second, I started wondering if you had finally invited someone to your bed.”

Favian fought the urge to chuck a pillow at his brother. Instead, he merely acknowledged Nico’s comment with a grunt and buried his head in the pillow, an attempt doomed to fail considering the lack of padding in the pillowcase.

Nico laughed and sat down on his bed. “Are you nervous?”

Certain his erection had receded, Favian shifted onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “About what?”

“About Leonardo coming back.”

Favian cringed at the name. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

His brother sighed. Expressing emotions had always come easily to Nico; he laughed as freely as he cried.

Despite the vast understanding Nico held for Favian’s very different nature, sometimes he would get frustrated with what he saw as Favian’s inability to convey his feelings.

That was not quite it, though. Favian knew how to express his emotions—identifying them was the much bigger challenge.

Figuring out what was going on inside of him in the first place had always felt like an insurmountable challenge.

Was he nervous about His Highness’s impending return?

Perhaps. There was so much happening inside of him, so many thoughts he didn’t know how to translate into feelings.

He had gotten better at it over the years, but still—he wondered.

How was it that his brother, five years his junior, was so much more attuned to his affections than Favian?

“Let me know if you want to talk about it, yes?” Nico’s voice came from the other side of the small room.

“I will,” Favian replied. And truly, he wished he could.

Nico blew out the candles, and the room turned dark, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight passing through the curtains.

Hoping for quick sleep and uneventful dreams, Favian closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be alright. Whatever the prince’s return would do to him, Favian was sure he had experienced worse.