Page 33 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

The following weeks were spent preparing for the ball.

His Majesty announced it shortly after Rodrigo told them, calling all servants whose work he required for the event to the throne room late after dinner.

Favian had never been more glad to have refused Leonardo’s request for a trip to The Moonlit Sunflower that night, even if it had been for a different reason entirely—the time spent with his mother had left him rattled, raw.

He needed time to think, and more than just a single night.

He did not get much.

And so, the guest rooms were cleaned, purchases were made in town and the neighboring kingdoms, and the palace was decorated.

His Majesty had set a summer theme for the event, and it required several specifically made adornments.

The weavers worked tirelessly to prepare intricate drapes, the cooks tested dishes for the banquet, and numerous servants made trips back and forth to communicate the majesties’ wishes to dressmakers, metal smiths, butchers, artisans, and musicians.

With all the arrangements requiring more time than their usual schedules allowed, their meals with Leonardo were shortened, resulting in significantly more condensed conversations than their little dining group had become used to by now.

Lunch two days before the ball proved to be an exception.

When Favian and Nia appeared in the kitchen to pick up the food for their shared meal, they were surprised to be handed dishes that neither of them had ever seen before, except for a pot of grain, which Favian identified as rice.

There was a red stew made with lentils and beans that he was unfamiliar with, bread more flat than he had believed it could get, and cabbage prepared in a way that he could not have dreamed up.

The spices wafting from the assortment were foreign to him.

Giulio only shrugged when he saw the confused look on their faces, then he ushered them out of his kitchen.

Leonardo snatched a flat circle of bread off the plate still in Nia’s hand as soon as they arrived in the smaller dining hall, a wide smile spreading across his face the moment he spotted them.

Even before they could set the dishes on the table, the prince had ripped the bread apart and bitten into it.

The sounds he made as he chewed would have sounded lewd were he not in the middle of devouring a piece of bread as if it were the first meal he had been provided in days.

“These are Abijatan dishes,” Leonardo explained when he sat down. He was wearing two braids today, his hair split down the middle. Their style reminded Favian of Nia, both whimsical and expressive.

Before Favian could get lost in the prince’s hairstyle, the rest of them followed suit, taking their usual seats around the table. Favian’s spot had remained opposite Leonardo, Nia to his right between him and Rodrigo, Silias and Eleni facing them.

“They smell delicious,” Nia remarked enthusiastically, clearly entranced by the novelties spread out before them.

“They are,” Leonardo beamed. He started filling their plates, jewelry dangling around his arm as he did, another motion that had become habit.

Early on, after the shock of the first day, Silias and Eleni had insisted that it was not the prince’s job to serve them their dishes, but Leonardo had refused to budge on the matter.

So, they had relented, profusely thanking him for each action he performed for them instead.

“I wanted to give you something different to try, for once,” Leonardo added once each of them had a loaded plate sitting in front of them. “Be careful with the stew, though; it might be quite sharp for your taste.”

“Your Highness had the cooks combine lentils and chickpeas for the stew,” Rodrigo remarked, sounding simultaneously fascinated and offended.

Before Leonardo could reply, Nia asked, “Are those the small round ones?”

Rodrigo nodded and fished a few of them out with his fork. “They require long cooking times to become edible,” he replied and brought the fork to his mouth. Where his tone before had revealed some hesitation, he now praised the dish with his raised eyebrows and an elated “Mhm!”

Before Favian could ask how Rodrigo knew so much about food that Favian had never heard of in his life, Silias made a sound of unpleasant surprise when he tasted his first spoonful of the stew. The servant quickly covered his mouth with his hands, clearly embarrassed by the reaction.

“Your Highness, I apologize,” he amended, cheeks flushed red, then gulped down a large sip of water.

All the while, the prince only chuckled, as did Eleni, though she tried to hide it. Nia, too, was smiling.

“I suppose I might have asked for a little too much chili for your first time,” Leonardo conceded, eliciting a suppressed snort from Rodrigo.

Glad to have seen the other man’s reaction first, Favian tried a small and careful amount of the lentils and chickpeas with a heaping of rice. When the dish hit his tongue, he understood Silias’ reaction, and he was glad to have chosen a smaller portion for his first attempt.

Rodrigo, on the other hand, was devouring his serving at a speed that Favian had not seen from the boy before.

“Did Your Highness order these spices from Abijata?” he asked when his plate was already halfway empty.

“Yes!” Leonardo gushed. “I asked for them with our last official correspondence, but unfortunately, the envoy was unable to purchase everything I requested.”

“Am I right in noticing there is no fenugreek or cardamom in the spice mixture?” Rodrigo followed, earning him another excited nod from the prince.

“Unfortunately, yes. It still tastes delicious, don’t you think?”

“It does!” Nia agreed while shoveling some of the cabbage into her mouth.

Despite his ambivalent experience with the stew, Favian had to admit that the dishes were, indeed, incredibly luscious. He particularly enjoyed the flatbread, dipping it into the sauce a little bit at a time like he had seen Leonardo and Rodrigo do.

As was his habit, Favian remained rather quiet during the meal, only chiming in here and there if Nia asked him a question directly or the conversation turned to a topic as safe as the weather.

His sister’s next words, however, made Favian want to ask her what in the Gods’ graces she was thinking.

“I didn’t know Livenzans could simply purchase things in Abijata like that after the war.”

To her right, as to her left, bodies went stiff.

“Nia,” Favian warned at the same time as Rodrigo said, “Not everyone can.”

Another thing Favian noticed was the whiteness in Leonardo’s knuckles as the grip around his fork tightened.

“What?” Nia turned to Favian. “Am I not allowed to mention our history?”

“I’m not sure if this is a good topic for lunch,” Favian replied, his eyes trained on Leonardo’s hand.

What if solely talking about the war could cause another one of the prince’s moments ?

He hadn’t had one in the past two weeks, at least not that Favian was aware, and this shared meal seemed like the worst possible space to provoke an instance in which Leonardo might need support that Favian would be unable to provide in front of the other servants around them.

“It’s alright,” came Leonardo’s reply, though Favian noticed a certain rigidity in the prince’s voice. He was still gripping his cutlery too tightly. “I suppose Rodrigo is right. Royal envoys are protected by the truce between Livenza and Abijata. Bringing harm to them would be…”

“As good as another declaration of war,” Rodrigo finished.

Silence settled around the table.

Except for Leonardo, they were still eating, more slowly now. Favian assumed each one of them was contemplating the likelihood of another war and the consequences it would have for them.

The prince, in particular, appeared lost at the idea, his fork missing the dishes on his plate more than once.

Had they been they alone, Favian might have asked him about it.

About the diplomatic relationship between Livenza and Abijata, about Leonardo’s feelings toward the other kingdom, about the war—even though the last time Favian had tried to query Leonardo about his experiences, the prince had deflected.

Favian wasn’t sure if Leonardo had done so intentionally, if he had even realized how quickly he had shifted the topic away from his feelings once he had returned to Favian after his moment .

Favian didn’t—couldn’t—fault Leonardo for the reaction, knowing full well how similar it was to his own.

Yet, seeing his behavior mirrored in the prince had done something to him.

It had made him wonder: if he saw this behavior in Leonardo and thought it wrong , what did that mean for his own ways of dealing with his experiences?

“Do you think,” Nia asked when she had finished her meal, “you could share some of Livenza’s spices with Abijata the next time you send an envoy?”

Finally, the prince’s knuckles returned to their normal color.

“Maybe,” he said.

The smile the prince gifted his sister made Favian feel as though he was standing in the sun.

Nia truly was too good for all of them.

Only when the day of the ball came was Favian informed that he would be expected to serve refreshments directly to their guests instead of tending to their horses.

All servants were provided with clothing to be worn for events which would present them to the society His and Her Majesty aimed to impress, their usual garb far too unceremonious for a show of prosperity.

While it was indeed likely that this ball was intended for Leonardo to meet the wife he was expected to take—the prince himself had corroborated this assumption once he had made the connection, though he had appeared surprisingly unworried by this fact—a ball was also always an occasion to present the wealth of Livenza to their allies and their enemies alike.

Favian found himself wondering if the princess of Abijata was invited, and what the implications of her attendance would be.

He wouldn’t be surprised if His Majesty intended to humiliate his adversary.

Perhaps they were no longer at war, but there was no doubt that the failed takeover of the neighboring kingdom had brought forth a dent in Livenza’s reputation.

At the same time, Favian could picture the smug expression on King Amondo’s face once he were to face the king and queen whose resources he had kept at bay for almost five years, whose morale he must have ravaged.

Favian and Nia were getting ready, his sister suspiciously eyeing the black tailcoat and straight-cut pants.

“Let me tell you why I am really not excited to put any of this on.”

“I’m sure you will continue regardless of what I say,” Favian sighed exasperatedly, hoping Nia understood that she was more than welcome to share despite his exaggerated teasing.

“For one, it looks way too manly.”

Favian felt for his sister. He could not imagine what it was like, being forced to wear clothes that felt nothing like her .

He had tried—he regularly thought about the clothes he wore now, the discomfort they caused him, and why.

The ever-scrunched tunic, the pants that were a little too big, the well-worn boots.

The uneasiness he felt in them was largely physical, nothing like the disconnect between her insides and outsides that Nia had tried to explain to him.

He continuously tried to grasp it, to think of something that resulted in a feeling like the one Nia described.

Never had he experienced anything close to what she endured every day—the feelings were not comparable, he had come to understand.

“Two, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some kind of toxic powder on it, and we all dropped dead the moment we put it on.”

Nia’s hands were on her hips, her hair tied into pigtails.

She had taken to keeping it like that whenever she was in their room, the woven braids she preferred requiring more time than she was able to dedicate to her hair on most days.

When they had more time in the evenings, Rodrigo would braid it for her, and she wouldn’t take them out until the morning, leaving her with soft curls she would wind around her fingers all day.

Favian envied the ease with which the two existed around each other.

“And three, it means I have to see His Majesty’s face all night.” The words were sharp, inhabiting a degree of aggression that Nia usually strayed away from.

This was her way of dealing with what had happened to her, Favian knew, and her awareness of his past, too. It was foreign to Favian, her capability to negotiate these feelings so openly. He wondered if she had told Rodrigo yet.

Favian placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring press. “I will be there with you,” he said.

She offered him a smile, more genuine than he thought the moment should have allowed for. “I know,” she replied. “And I know you’ll look out for me.” She squeezed his hand in return, then took a deep breath.

“Let’s get this over with.”