Page 39 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

“Ouch.” But she was nodding. “I get it, though. You were being kind of an ass.”

Usually, Favian appreciated Nia’s bluntness, but today, it only added to the indignity he already felt. He wished he could tell her that her words were painful, that they weren’t what he needed, that what he craved right now was understanding, was support, was softness —

“I know,” he said instead. He buried his face in his hands, not wanting Nia to witness that her statement had made him nauseous.

“And when did he tell you to talk about your feelings, then?”

“He came by this morning.”

His sister’s eyes widened even more. “He came here? ”

Hiding his expression in his palms, Favian nodded. “He told me that I hurt him. And that he. . .” He choked on the words, the sentiment unreal. “He said…he’s in love with me.”

“And that’s news how? ”

There she is.

Favian groaned again. “He’s never actually said it before!”

“But you knew.” It wasn’t a question. Nia’s words were matter-of-fact, telling Favian what he had spent so long trying to brush aside. Bringing him to the reality that Leonardo had been living in for years.

“Perhaps,” he whispered.

“Alright.” Nia was suddenly standing, hands on her hips. “You need to apologize to him. But when? And how? Grand gesture? I’ve got it! We get you a lyre and you can declare your everlasting love for him with a song!”

With no bite whatsoever, Favian chucked a pillow at his sister.

The day passed in what Favian could only grasp as frantic lethargy.

He moved, hands carrying buckets, filling trays, grooming horses, shoveling manure.

Throughout most of it, his mind was blank.

Occasionally, a wave crashing and receding, from emptiness to You hurt me back to emptiness. H e did not see the prince once.

As he had pronounced, Leonardo did not go for a ride that day, nor did he stop by the stables at any point.

Favian understood the high probability that the prince simply did not wish to see Favian.

This understanding, however, did not change that, when the entire afternoon had passed without a word from Leonardo, a sick feeling began blooming in the pit of Favian’s stomach.

How angry was His Majesty? How much pain was he willing to inflict on his child in the wake of the prince’s actions?

When he arrived at the kitchens for dinner, Favian and the kitchen staff were promptly sent to the throne room.

“A royal decree,” it was murmured in the corridors filled with servants from all corners of the palace.

Favian’s pace quickened, his feet moving as if of their own accord.

People had been released from the dungeons all day.

If they could walk, they were among the crowd pouring into the throne room.

The common area of the servant quarters had been bustling with former prisoners when Favian picked up his enhanced lunch portion.

The rooms they used to inhabit were no longer available.

In all his good intentions, Leonardo had not considered what would happen to the former prisoners once released, where they would stay, what they would eat, if they would work.

Favian hadn’t considered the practical consequences, either, blinded by the prince’s radiant dissent.

Now, it was likely the majesties had made a decision for them.

Filing into the hall, Favian spotted Leonardo on his throne, to his father’s left, his mother to His Majesty’s right.

Crowns atop their heads, the majesties’ expressions revealed nothing.

One of the prince’s legs was draped over the other in a gesture Favian was sure he intended to communicate nonchalance, but the way Leonardo’s ringed fingers were picking at the seams of his pants told Favian that he was actually neither calm nor composed.

He noticed Favian but quickly looked away, lowering his head to the side. The prince looked less disheveled than he had in the morning, jaw shaved, hair brushed, clothes ironed. Frills, ruffles, lace, accessories. Distinctly crownless.

Red in the unmistakable shape of a hand painted his left cheek.

It took Favian everything he had in him not to rush to Leonardo. He ached to cool the lesion, to hold his prince, to look His Majesty in the eyes and tell him to fuck off .

Before Favian could process the instincts, before he could so much as react, Her Majesty rose from her seat. Her husband gave a smile so vile, Favian would have loved to scratch it off his face.

“Welcome, all,” Queen Irmina’s voice rang out.

For how rarely Favian had heard her speak in the twenty-three years he had been her subordinate, it carried all the confidence of her husband’s, and all the venom he, too, imposed into every word he spoke.

He should have seen it coming, her role in their suffering.

There was no more doubt in Favian’s mind that she agreed with each and every single one of the king’s choices.

She had played a bigger role in their execution than anyone had been giving her credit for; Favian was sure of it.

“Tonight, we have a special announcement to make. My husband, His Majesty the King Leonardo Amondo the First, and I have come to a decision concerning our son’s recent behavior .”

At this, Leonardo’s head perked up, winding toward his parents. The surprise in his eye was unmistakable, as was his worry. “What?” he demanded.

“As you are all aware,” Her Majesty continued without so much as acknowledging her child. “He has recently been introduced to the unmarried daughters of our allies.”

Oh.

“It is time for our son to take a wife of his own.”

Oh no.

“In two week’s time, Livenza will host another ball. Preparations are to begin as soon as you leave this room. At this ball, our son will choose his future wife, and a week from that day, the wedding will transpire.”

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

Leonardo’s face was as white as a lily of the valley peeking out of fresh snow. “Mother,” he attempted, but his father cut him off.

“I certainly hope you are not planning to object to your parents’ decree?”

Now standing, Leonardo stared at his mother. “I don’t want to marry.”

“It is time you served your Kingdom instead of trying to wreck it.” The queen’s words were stakes aimed right at her child’s heart. “You will continue this glorious bloodline, and soon .”

This conversation should not be taking place in front of their subordinates. But it was, and the why was entirely transparent. Queen Irmina and King Leonardo Amondo I wanted to humiliate Leonardo. They wanted him to falter, to lash out, to hurt, all in front of their servants.

In front of Favian.

He was watching, and they were letting him. They wanted him to.

Leonardo’s next attempt to object was cut short by his mother turning towards him, catching her son’s eye.

“If you truly do not wish to serve your Kingdom by marrying,” she gloated in a tone that left no doubt that whatever she was going to say next would make Leonardo wish he had never opened his mouth in the first place.

“You can return to the front. It is about time we stopped sitting idly by and instead continued Livenza’s expansion.

And who better to lead the cause than our prince, who has done so before?

Only this time, he could be successful.”

If Favian had a knife, he would throw it.

The instinct dispersed every last inkling of uncertainty he had still carried with him about his feelings for Leonardo.

No longer was Leonardo only shocked—he looked scared, frightened, utterly horrified. Favian understood all too well the horror of returning to the source of one’s pain.

Not only that, he suddenly felt an understanding for Rodrigo on a level previously inaccessible to him.

He saw it, then.

He saw Rodrigo’s ideas, his theories, his plans, even though the boy had only ever shared the vaguest of concepts with him.

Favian saw that neither of them could prevail if the institution of the monarchy allowed a man like Leonardo Amondo I and a woman like Irmina the power to not only traumatize their staff, abuse their servants, and rob their people of their money and goods but to publicly humiliate, to abuse, their child, to send him into a war that would either further traumatize or kill him, the heir to their throne , all for the transgression of wanting to better the lives of those that served them, then there was no argument left that this system was worth maintaining.

The understanding went further even: Favian had spent years believing that if only the throne were occupied by someone respectful, someone charitable, someone kind, someone like Leonardo , if only the advisory council was on their side, was able to keep the majesties from destroying them, then their lives would be good.

Perhaps it really could be, with Leonardo in power.

With a council of advisors who shared his vision.

But Favian saw now that it didn’t matter.

Not because the power would corrupt the prince—Favian didn’t think it would.

But this was not the point, he finally understood.

Because no matter how respectful, how charitable, how kind Leonardo was, there would never be a guarantee that those who followed him on the throne would be, too.

It wasn’t the person who held the power—the power itself was the problem.

And Favian decided, in this instance, looking at his desperate prince facing off against parents willing to inflict unfathomable suffering on their heir solely because he had dared to improve the lives of dozens of their servants, that from this moment on, he would no longer stand by.

He would not remain quiet as his fellow servants got hurt, as Leonardo got hurt, as anyone got hurt.

He would fight this fight with Rodrigo and with Nia. With his mother. With Amina and Yannos and Lelia, with Levera and Silias and Eleni, and with everyone else whose justified anger at their rulers would fuel their resistance.

And Favian would fight it with Leonardo. He would fight for his forgiveness first, and then by his side. He only had to make Leonardo see before the still-prince was all-consumed by his fear.