Page 21 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

Favian did not dare to fall asleep.

The risk of missing his morning duties, of arriving late to breakfast, was too high. Favian had survived more than one day after a sleepless night; he would survive another.

Leonardo’s head had rolled to the side at some point in the night; the prince’s body now lay slumped against Favian’s arm like it was the pillow on which it rested every night.

Even worse, as he fell into deeper sleep, Leonardo shifted, slid down the side of Favian’s chest, and came to rest on his thigh. Favian couldn’t understand how this didn’t wake the prince, how he continued breathing evenly, nuzzling Favian’s leg like a cushion.

Favian willed his body to listen to him, staring at his crotch for a dangerously long time.

The understanding he had recently reached regarding his sexual attraction—its apparent direct connection to Leonardo—did not help the tension Favian felt at the prince’s body on his.

No matter what his head told him, no matter the conversation they had had the night before, the urge to touch had not ceased.

He still wanted to enjoy Leonardo’s presence so close to him, wished he could ignore the hierarchies separating them in the same way the prince could.

He wanted this, Leonardo’s head on his leg, between his legs, exploring—

Favian clenched his teeth hard, forcing away the fantasy.

Graciously, his dick only gave a short twitch, and so he continued to stare into the forest surrounding them, keeping an eye out for predators that were unlikely to approach them this close to the road.

His position became more and more uncomfortable, tree bark pressing into his back, his legs and ass getting more and more damp against the muddy forest ground.

His arm was awkwardly placed next to Leonardo’s waist, and ultimately, it came to rest on the prince’s side.

Leonardo was asleep—he wouldn’t know how desperately Favian longed to touch him.

With every one of the sleeping prince’s movements, Favian followed suit, making sure not to disrupt Leonardo’s slumber.

When he recognized the sun’s early rays creeping through the canopy, Favian knew it was time to move.

“Your Highness,” Favian said as loudly as he could muster.

Leonardo groaned.

“Your Highness, we should return to the palace. I need to be at the stables soon.”

The prince’s eyes opened, then, right into Favian’s. Leonardo blinked a few times, processing the position he found himself in, his head in Favian’s lap.

“Oh,” he said quietly. There was stubble on his chin, the shadow making him appear more masculine than Favian had perceived him in a while.

“Your Highness moved during the night. I did not want to interrupt his sleep.”

Favian wished the prince’s face were not such an open book. The heartbreak in Leonardo’s eyes was as clear as day, betraying his pain at the formality. Without a word, he got up, leaving emptiness where his head had been.

Favian watched Leonardo pat away dirt from his clothes, ruffle his hair, and untie Azure’s reins.

The prince was halfway to the road when Favian called after him.

He immediately regretted having waited to do so, as the hope he found on Leonardo’s face might as well have punched him in the gut.

“Your Highness is still wearing my clothes.”

The prince bit the inside of his cheek. “Then you should probably let me get changed in private. I don’t want to make you look at something you don’t want to see.”

Ouch.

Favian hesitated, unsure if Leonardo wanted him to engage with the comment. The lightness usually present in the prince’s tone was muted, the sparkle in his eyes nowhere to be found.

He’s hurt.

I am, too.

Bowing his head, Favian led Azure out of the forest, into the orange dawn across the fields beyond the road. Where the day before had been sunny, winds were now rushing around them. The sunflowers swayed in the gusts, stems bending fiercely, almost violently.

Favian, too, felt like he was being whisked around by forces beyond his control.

Nia was supposed to be up already. Usually, by this time, she would be stuffing stale bread into her mouth and telling Favian the worst joke he had ever heard, while he pretended he was not enjoying her presence.

Maybe I should reconsider some habits.

Today, however, Favian found his sister on her bed, body scrunched into a ball with her knees close to her chest, facing away from the door.

“Are you alright?” he stupidly asked. It was obvious she wasn’t. “Did something happen with Rodrigo?”

The room remained quiet.

Favian deposited the bag of clothes smelling more like Leonardo than they ever had before, and carefully sat down next to his sister. It was then that he noticed the tremble in her body, the fingers gripping onto her own arms, the streaks her nails had left on her bare skin.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Favian recognized something he wished he had never been made to see.

His breath hitched.

“What happened?”

And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he got nothing.

“Nia, what happened?”

She broke out into sobs, then. He noticed that her eyes were already puffy. How long had she been crying for?

It wasn’t that seeing Nia cry in itself was weird.

She had always wept easily, both of joy and sadness, and Favian had frequently supported her when her emotions got the best of her.

Recently, she had come to him less, presumably favoring Rodrigo’s more direct, more empathetic nature.

Still, something about her tears was different—she didn’t usually hide them.

“I can get Rodrigo,” Favian offered, only to be met with a violent head shake.

“No,” Nia wheezed.

She was grabbing for him, pulling him towards her.

“Alright,” he whispered, following her movements, letting her pull him further onto the bed. “Do you. . .Do you want me to hold you?”

She nodded, and so he lay down next to her, put his arm around as much of her as he could, and held her.

She was so small in his arms.

His sister had a personality so big, sometimes he forgot how vulnerable she was. He could not remember the last time he had held her like this, cradled her. She leaned her back into his touch while burying her face in a pillow on the other side, whimpering into the fabric.

Favian’s gut tore itself apart.

After a few minutes, he tried again. “Nia. . .Can you tell me what made you feel this way?”

The sound he got in return was nothing short of agonizing.

Nia’s fingers were clutching her upper arms again, her nightly chemise ajar.

If she continued like this, she would draw blood.

Carefully, Favian pried one finger after another away from her skin, the motion eerily similar to the way he had dislodged Leonardo’s fingers from Azure’s mane the night before.

Favian began to panic.

He was scared for his sister, so damn scared. Why wouldn’t she tell him what had happened?

Was this how Nia felt whenever she could tell something was going on with him but he refused to talk to her? Was this pain what he made Nia go through on a regular basis?

“He touched me,” came his sister’s voice, small and broken.

A wine glass breaking on marble flooring.

Lightning striking the stable roof.

The back of a hand hitting a cheek at full speed.

I wasn’t here.

Fuck.

Fuck!

In the moment it took Favian to process the words, Nia had emerged from her curled-up position and sat up. She was taking deep breaths now; the sobs had ceased.

“His Majesty touched me,” she said again. This time, she sounded different. Instead of fear, there was disdain. Instead of agony, there was anger. “He made me touch him. I didn’t want to.”

“Did he command you to his chamber?”

Nia nodded. “I thought he was going to hit me; I was prepared for that. I wasn’t prepared for him to—”

“You don’t have to say it.”

He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t wrap his head around it, around his sister suffering like this.

It was nauseating—while he had been out there with the prince, indulging in a fantasy, imagining them touching, here his sister had been, alone, forced to experience what he had hoped no other person was ever made to endure.

He should have come back.

“I want to say it,” Nia asserted. She took another deep breath while staring at the ceiling, hands on her thighs.

“He made me sit down on his bed. Told me to be quiet. Then he took off my shirt and touched me. He touched me here.” She pointed to her chest, then her legs.

“And here.” Between her legs. “And then he pulled his dick out and touched himself. He—” Now her voice was quavering.

“He made me clean it up after. With my mouth.”

Favian pulled his sister towards him, buried her in his arms, pressed her body to his chest.

She was alive.

She had survived.

He stroked her hair, her back. Held her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry he did that to you.” He felt himself getting choked up. “I should have been here. I’m sorry I left. It’s my fault.”

She tried to peel herself from his arms, but Favian couldn’t let go. He wanted to hold on to her, had to hold on to her. He had to protect her, keep her safe. He had failed at it; he couldn’t fail again.

“It’s my fault, Nia, I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have done that to you. He should have kept his hands to himself, those fucking hands—”

His voice cut off, turning into a sound nothing short of a wheeze.

Nia’s eyes widened.

“He did it to you, too.”

His chin dropped to his chest. It was all the confirmation she needed. Favian’s eyes started to burn, and he pressed them close, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“For how long?”

He surprised himself by answering. “For as long as Leonardo was gone.”

A hiccup in her throat made Favian open his eyes again.

“Favian,” she whispered. “Leonardo left five years ago.”

There was no more suppressing the reality of the situation—they were both crying now.

“He did.” He rang for the words that had been trapped inside him for years, words that made his experiences real.

Words to confirm to Nia, and also to himself, that he had been suffering in silence for an unfathomable amount of time.

“It happened at least once a week at first, but then he called for me less and less.”

“You never told me.”

Nia was blurry through the layer of tears, but he knew it was not pity on her face—it was love.

Favian shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

Something shifted between them, then. Nia removed herself from Favian’s grasp and kneeled in front of him.

Her gaze searched his. “Does Leonardo know?”

“Gods, no—”

“Why not?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Why, indeed, not? “Are you going to tell Rodrigo?”

He was being unfair, and he knew it. Their situations were vastly different, Leonardo and Rodrigo’s positions as incomparable as Nia and Favian’s relationships with either of them.

Nevertheless, Nia humored him.

“I don’t know yet. I’m afraid he’ll do something stupid if he finds out.”

“Kill-the-king-stupid?”

His sister flashed her teeth, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“I would do it, too, if I were brave enough.” The lack of playfulness in her voice left no doubt that she was being sincere.

“Rodrigo has been telling me about other places where the people make decisions, even some where there are no kingdoms, no Gods-given rulers at all. He says that as long as there are kings and queens with this much power, they will abuse it. He really wants things to change here.” She looked at him, gaze as determined as it would ever be.

“We both know that he can’t do much by himself, and neither can the three of us.

You and I and Rodrigo are not going to change this system.

” She reached for his hand, gave it a press. “But you know who could, don’t you?”

She was right, of course.

Favian had allowed the status quo to continue for way too long.

For weeks, he had spent time with Leonardo in a setting removed from the palace, where he could speak freely, and yet, until last night, he hadn’t voiced a single one of his grievances with Leonardo’s father, with the system that the man ruled.

Favian had gotten lost not only in the fantasy of him and Leonardo but also in the illusion of Leonardo as a mere tool in his father’s quest for power and control.

As if Leonardo were not a grown man himself, one who claimed to disapprove of his parents—yet, once the corporeal punishments had ceased in their intensity and His Majesty was once more making decisions along with his advisory council, he had considered his work done.

Regardless of what the council decided, of what other means of punishment they kept thinking up.

Leonardo Amondo II was the Prince of Livenza.

He had power. He had control. This control he could—he did— have over Favian was the entire reason that the relationship between them was precisely what it was; it was what kept Favian up at night, what his thoughts kept circling around whenever Leonardo tried to get closer to him.

What had escalated their conversation the night before.

At the same time, a reality he was less keen to acknowledge was that by extension of Leonardo’s feelings for him, Favian also had some influence on, hence some form of control over, Leonardo. Last night was proof of that. Yet somehow, Favian had never considered using that influence.

It was about time he changed that.

Nia looked at him. He looked at Nia.

And just like that, it was settled.

If Leonardo wanted to be better, if he actually wanted things to change, if he really did not care about his position as Prince of Livenza, as a prince at all, he was going to have to do a lot more than simply not be his father .

And for once, Favian was all too eager to let him know.