Page 28 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

Favian didn’t want to leave her by herself, but he also understood that they weren’t particularly close and he was likely not the support she needed.

He informed another maid, one he had frequently seen around Lelia in the central servant quarters, of Lelia’s condition, then returned to the pasture.

He had a feeling this midday meal would stick with him for a while.

“Tell me about your mother,” Leonardo said out of nowhere in between sips of ale.

Favian perked up. “Why do you want to know about her?”

They had been talking about nothing in particular as they played their usual game, sticky cards piling on the counter between them.

An eyebrow raised, likely at Favian’s defensiveness, Leonardo explained, “I met her once, the night I left. She was the one who woke me before I left. Did you know that?”

Favian had not known this.

“She never mentioned it.”

“Perhaps she didn’t want to put any more strain on you,” Leonardo mused, a finger twirling in his braid. It wasn’t as elaborate as those he wore around the palace, but it seemed to give the prince a sense of ease to have his hair styled regardless.

Unsure how to feel about the prince’s awareness of his discomfort after his departure, Favian, too, took a sip of his drink.

“She’s kind,” he explained. “Ni—Nico is a lot like her.” This was not the right place for the conversation he had almost just maneuvered himself into. “Attentive and caring and just. . .loving, I suppose.”

“So you take after her,” Leonardo smiled.

Heat rushing into Favian’s cheeks, a tingle in his fingertips. He gripped his cup tighter, fingers strained against the clay.

“How about your mother?” The words were out of his mouth before he could think them through. Favian had not told Leonardo of Her Majesty’s reprimand of Lelia today. He wasn’t sure why he was keeping it secret—it had been just as far from an intentional decision as the question he had just asked.

Far from his intention to ask about the coming ball and Leonardo’s feelings toward a potential future wife.

The disguised prince leaned back in his chair for a moment, looking at the people around them instead of Favian.

Before beginning to speak, he placed his head in his hand, elbow on the bar, fingers raking through curls.

“To be quite honest, I don’t really know anything about her.

It’s weird to say it out loud, but even though she’s my mother, I’ve never felt close to her.

She’s always just been. . .there. I know my parents tried to have more children after me, but it never worked.

They were never quite happy with the way I turned out.

The maids who raised me were so much more to me than my mother has ever been. ”

Despite the harshness of his words, the prince’s tone had remained mellow. “I don’t think she cares about me much.”

Intuitively, Favian wanted to dispute the statement, but once he opened his mouth, he realized he couldn’t.

Today, he had seen firsthand what a cruel woman Queen Irmina was, and based on the prince’s words, she did not seem to be much kinder to her child.

Had they not cared so much about their bloodline, the majesties would likely not have permitted most of Leonardo’s antics—it scared Favian to imagine how they would treat their son were it not for his necessity to follow them on the throne.

Favian was scared to voice the sentiment, not wanting to ruin their time with the realities they came here to escape.

Instead, Favian said, so quietly he wasn’t sure the words would reach Leonardo, “I care about you.”

But of course, the prince did hear them.

Leonardo looked at him, then, something undecipherable in his expression, lips parted in what might have been confusion, or surprise, or arousal.

Favian regretted the words right away and immediately scolded himself for speaking without thinking again .

“I care about you, too.”

“I’ll get us another round of drinks,” Favian blurted, and got up to the familiar sound of Leonardo’s chuckle, nose tingling with honey and lemon as he brushed past the prince to order two more ales he could just as well have requested from their spot at the counter.

As he handed the cup to Leonardo, the tips of their fingers brushed, and Favian almost dropped the drink, but the prince held it steady. He searched eyes that Favian could not bring to meet his.

“Do you see your mother often?” Leonardo asked with a nonchalance so practiced that it revealed the effort it took him to maintain it.

Grateful for the distraction despite understanding it to be forced, Favian sat back down and brought the full cup to his lips.

“Not as often as I would like. It’s hard to make time to go down to the weaver’s hut, and she isn’t as mobile as she used to be.

And I think it’s more important that I’m with Nico these days. ”

The name kept tasting more and more bitter—he would not be able to keep this up much longer.

“But you’re not with Nico right now,” Leonardo remarked.

And he was right.

Favian could have gone to visit their mother on any of the nights he had instead spent at The Moonlit Sunflower with Leonardo.

But he hadn’t.

No matter how much he ached to see his mother, the idea also raised a certain anxiety in him, the rush of a frantically beating heart, the burn of tears behind his eyelids.

She knew him too well, had always been so good at drawing out those pesky feelings within him that usually stayed hidden under layers and layers of rationality.

“No,” he quietly replied.

“Why?” The question was neutral, and yet, it felt like an accusation.

Favian was aware of the quaver in his voice when he asked, “Can we talk about something else?”

Leonardo studied him for a moment before picking up the deck of cards and beginning to shuffle them. “Do you know any other games you can show me?”

The cards were heavy when Favian dealt them, the heft clinging onto his hands, his head.

He could not also ask Leonardo about the possibility of a future wife on this evening. His heart could not carry yet another weight tonight.