Page 3 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

Favian was tired. He had gotten neither quick sleep nor uneventful dreams. Instead, he had spent hours tossing and turning, his mind creating scenario after scenario for the day ahead of him.

He would see His Highness at lunch.

Breakfast had been served already, the king’s eyes following his every move, hands twitching. Favian had felt His Majesty’s gaze on his back, his hands, his face. It was unpleasant, but the king’s eyes were not as painful as his hands, and so Favian bore it.

He was preparing a pen that had been empty for as good as five years: Azure’s.

Before being turned into the primary stablehand, Favian had heard stories of the mare, from Leonardo excitedly telling him about his riding lessons to the previous stablehand tasked with the exhausting responsibility of keeping Azure calm and prepared while a delighted, jittery prince could not wait to saddle up.

If all those tales were to be believed, Azure had to be the most patient horse in existence.

Favian cleaned the enclosure, arranged a new batch of hay, and filled the trough. Desperately avoiding any thoughts of the upcoming meal, he busied himself with the other horses, grooming manes and tails, polishing gear, and feeding carrots.

It was time for his least favorite task.

After placing his hat on a hook by one of the doors, picking up a shovel, and allowing himself three more breaths of fresh air, Favian began to gracelessly transfer manure into a metal bucket near his boots.

Day after day after day, and the task never became any less repulsive.

He had gotten used to it, but that didn’t change the disgust he knew his face continued to show every single time.

Luckily, the horses were his only witnesses, so there was no need to hide his revulsion.

Once he finished the third stall, the container was filled. Finally reaching down to pick up the bucket full of excrement, he could not wait to bring it outside to be turned into fertilizer. He needed the clear air, the little bit of wind blessing the early summer day.

When Favian rose, he met a freckled face, dark curls, and brown eyes with golden specks in them.

His heart stopped.

On the other side of the half-closed gate, hardly a few feet away from him, stood His Highness. Sparkling eyes trained on Favian, the smile on his face was as wide as ever, dimpling his cheeks.

“Favian,” the prince breathed. He took a step forward and raised his hand. Brought it to the side of Favian’s face.

Touched him.

Favian quickly bowed his head, averting his gaze and shifting away from the fingers on his skin. “Your Highness.”

Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the prince’s smile drop. “You don’t—you know you don’t need to call me that.” His hand fell back to his side.

Favian swallowed. His heart picked back up, now beating at a frantic pace.

“Favian?” His Highness asked. When Favian didn’t react quickly enough, he added, “Can you look at me?”

Everything inside him screamed to raise his chin, to regard the prince, to take him all in.

But he couldn’t.

“I’m certain Your Highness is aware that I cannot do that,” he pressed out tightly, voice more agitated than he had intended.

No matter which way this situation had played out in Favian’s head, he would not have pictured those to be the first words he spoke to the Prince of Livenza after all this time.

“And why is that?” His Highness sounded genuinely confused, tone turning into that joking tenor of his that Favian remembered all too well. “Do you no longer have free will?”

As if he believed Favian had ever had free will . As if he were unaware of the rigorous sternness that had taken hold of the palace in his absence—perhaps he truly was. It would not surprise Favian if the prince had remained oblivious to the situation he had encountered upon returning.

“His Majesty requires all servants to keep their eyes averted.”

A pause. His Highness seemed to contemplate this. “What if I commanded you to look at me?”

Favian’s hands closed into fists. “I will heed Your Highness’ command.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “I command you to look at me.”

So he did.

Following commands—this was what Favian did. It was as natural as breathing, yet now, the order given in the voice of the man who had left him alone in the attic five years ago, the movement of Favian’s lungs had become unstable, irregular.

When Favian met the prince’s— Leonardo’s —eyes, the expression in them had shifted. No longer were they governed by joy—there was something darker in them now, but it dissipated the moment their gazes locked.

Five years had passed since their last conversation.

Five years since Favian had looked into those eyes, gotten lost in them.

Five years since those full lips had kissed his neck, since those strong hands—careful, not violent—had caressed his face, since the prince had promised to come find him after.

For a while, Favian had been angry. Seeing Leonardo on Azure about to leave the court, ready to head to Abijata without saying farewell, had been needles on his bed, the flame of an oil lamp held too close to skin.

That day, the king’s punishments had turned from uncomfortable to cruel.

Favian’s transgression had been too much.

With no Leonardo there to defend him or his actions, King Amondo had unleashed years of restrained animosity on him.

He had known he was taking a risk sidestepping his duties to see Leonardo off.

Regardless of the irritation Favian felt—looking at the prince now, he remembered why he had taken it.

Leonardo was older—of course he was; Favian was, too.

What hadn’t changed were the two inches Favian had on the prince, Favian’s shoulders reaching Leonardo’s chin.

The curls that had used to end right at Leonardo’s jaw now fell loosely over his shoulders.

His face was more angular. Thinner, too, like war had taken its toll even on the prince.

And there was stubble on his jaw, proving that all his teenage worries about facial hair had been superfluous.

His dimples weren’t showing now, but Favian remembered the grooves on Leonardo’s cheeks that had used to draw much of his attention.

And his lips—those full, soft lips. Thick eyebrows drawn together over warm bronze skin, Leonardo was scanning Favian just as he was regarding the prince: curiously, apprehensively, like two deer meeting in the forest.

Very carefully, the prince eventually said, “You look good.”

Favian fought the instinct to look away. The prince had given him a command, and he would obey until he was dismissed.

He did not know how to reply. He could not return the compliment.

Not because it wasn’t true—the Gods knew it was.

Leonardo’s beauty was as blinding as ever, neither the specks of dirt on his face nor the stains on his shockingly plain clothes doing anything to taint his allure.

But commenting on a royal’s appearance was an offense he wasn’t eager to commit, certainly not while unaware of Leonardo’s alignment with the rules around the palace.

Seemingly sensing his discomfort, Leonardo changed the topic, feet shifting. Was he nervous?

“I’m glad to be back,” he said instead. “Five years of war were more than enough. I’m tired of weapons.” This, Favian believed right away.

He contemplated his next words. “I’m glad Your Highness has returned unharmed.”

Leonardo’s eyebrows shot up, a teasing smile appearing on his lips. “Are you now?”

He was right back to quips.

“Yes,” Favian quickly amended, “It is good that Livenza’s bloodline is secured.” Immediately, he regretted voicing a sentiment that felt so wrong to him.

For the second time, the prince’s eyebrows dropped. His eyes searched Favian’s in a way eerily similar to Nico’s.

“Favian, I—” Leonardo began, then shook his head.

He took another step forward and reached across the gate for Favian’s hand, took it in his.

The prince held it firmly between calloused yet soft fingers, even as his gaze darted around.

Then the words were pouring out of him. “I missed you. I spent years thinking about you. About the way we left things, after that night in the attic. . .I tried to find you after my parents told me they were sending me away, but they wouldn’t let me, and then you weren’t preparing the carriage in the morning, and I had to leave so abruptly, and I couldn’t say goodbye, but then there you were.

” His focus landed on Favian again. Were there tears in his eyes?

“You have no idea how much it hurt to leave like that, to see you on top of the wall and know you would be punished. I would have done something—I wish I could have done something, I. . .” he trailed off, gaze still fixed on Favian. “Will you forgive me?”

He got no reply.

Favian was breathless, as if he’d been the one talking. He tried to make sense of Leonardo’s words. The prince had tried to come after him. Had assumed Favian would be there in the morning. Had wanted to say goodbye. Leonardo had missed him.

It was too much.

Silence settled between them.

Favian choked on words he could not speak, feelings he could not access, only a hazy sound escaping his lips.

Desperately trying to find something to say, a reply that would both please Leonardo and King Amondo if it were shared, Favian closed his eyes, then remembered that he had been commanded to look at Leonardo and immediately tore them open again.

The pressure on his hand ceased. “You don’t have to look at me if you’re not comfortable,” the prince quivered as he took a step back.

Quivered?

“Your Highness,” was all Favian managed. He dropped his stare, no longer able to bear the pained look on Leonardo’s face.