Page 42 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

In the early hours of morning, Favian was woken by the sound of something breaking, followed by Nia cursing. He rose, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, only to be yelled at by his sister.

“Don’t! There’s glass on the floor!”

But it was too late—Favian had already stepped into a shard, the sharp edge slicing into his skin. He cursed and drew his foot back onto the bed, coating the mattress in blood.

“Sorry!” Nia shrieked. She was already collecting the broken pieces off the floor. Favian didn’t recognize the object. The glass had a purple tint, colorful flower petals identifiable on some of the shards.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Rodrigo gifted it to me,” she sighed. “He got it during one of his trips to town.” Before Favian could respond, she added, “I think he stole it from some rich merchant. It was so sweet.”

When she was done picking up the remnants of her gift, Nia pulled the first aid case from underneath Favian’s bed and rummaged through it.

Perplexed, he asked, “You knew this was here the whole time?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes? I thought it was ours?”

“I—” The words caught in his throat.

“Is it not?”

The emptiness was teetering at his edges again, threatening to engulf him. Favian fought it back by closing his eyes and taking deliberate breaths. It didn’t dissipate, but he was able to keep it at bay. With every intake of air, he remained in his body, in his mind.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

He could tell her.

“I put it together the first time His Majesty asked me to his chamber. I didn’t know what else he would do, and I wanted to be prepared.”

“Oh.” She paused, regarding the contents of the box. “I always wondered why the stuff in here was so. . .random.”

But it had never been random. The box included a cloth Favian cleaned meticulously whenever it was used, a small bottle of alcohol as highly concentrated as he could find, a salve his mother had once explained to him how to make and then continued to provide herself regardless, an assortment of fabric scraps, and the bottle of oil he had mentioned to Leonardo the night before.

Though it had never actually come to it, after the first time His Majesty took Favian to his chamber, he had, indeed, begun preparing himself, had coated his opening in oil whenever he was called on.

Only after months without any moves in this direction had he stopped, but he had never stopped keeping fresh oil around just in case the king changed his mind.

Never would he have imagined that he might share this information with Leonardo. Particularly not in a discussion about their shared future.

Instead of replying to his sister, Favian removed the alcohol, cloth, and fabric scraps from the box. When he was about to open the bottle, Nia took it out of his hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m removing the shard of glass stuck on my foot.” He barely registered the pain, but the blood slowly dripping from his heel would stain his bed sheets, and wash day wasn’t until the end of the week.

“Like hell you are,” Nia huffed, covering her fingers in alcohol instead. “This is going to hurt.”

Before Favian could protest, she had pulled the splinter from his foot. She handed him the cloth doused in a hefty dose of alcohol, instructing him to press it against the wound until it stopped bleeding.

“You came back late last night,” she expertly changed the topic.

“You were still awake?” he asked.

“I never sleep until you’re back,” she replied.

“I may not have known what exactly His Royal Bastard was up to, but ever since Ma moved down to the hut, I’ve never been able to fall asleep while you were gone.

” Favian’s sister shooed his hand away and bandaged the wound with the fabric straps, tying them together on the bridge of his foot.

She didn’t give him time to register her words, to comprehend how much sleep he had deprived her of with his nightly visits to the tavern.

Instead, she continued, “But that’s not what we’re talking about right now.” She looked at him. “Were you with Leonardo last night?”

The blush on his cheeks answered her question before his words could.

“I knew it! How is he holding up?”

“We didn’t talk about it much,” Favian confessed.

“Ooooh!” The grin on Nia’s face was wide. “You finally consummated your love!”

“Nia!” he scolded, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t talk about this with you!”

“Then with whom,” she expertly taunted, “are you going to talk about it?”

Once again, Favian was emotionally outmaneuvered. He groaned. His hands were running through his hair, ashy blonde strands all over the place. “We kissed. We made out. I learned new things about us both. Is that enough?”

“Never.” Still smirking, Nia got up. “But I will accept it for now.”

It was only then that Favian realized she was already changed.

“But only because I actually need to get going. I’m meeting Rodrigo for an early-morning check-in.

He wants to talk to us; I think he has some ideas on how to handle this whole Leonardo-marrying-situation.

Do you think you can get your boyfriend to join us after dinner? ”

Of course, Rodrigo was scheming. It seemed to be in the boy’s nature—he was utterly unable to leave anything be.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Favian said weakly, thinking back to how Leonardo had called whatever was going between them a relationship . “But yes, I think I can. Where do you want to meet?”

“Here,” Nia replied. Then, noticing the discomfort on his face, she added, “Unless you’d rather we meet somewhere else? Do you have an idea where?”

Ever grateful for his sister’s ability to pick up on even the smallest of indicators, Favian nodded. “We could just meet at the stables. It’s mostly Rodrigo and me there anyway, and nobody goes there at night. The council should have left by then.”

“Alright,” Nia agreed. “Stables it is. I’ll tell Rodrigo. You just get ready in peace now, I wouldn’t want to disrupt your reminiscing.”

She had already opened the door and was halfway across the threshold when she turned back around and looked at him again. Her voice was uncharacteristically somber when she spoke, “And Favian? I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ve missed you.”

And just like that, she left him.

She was right—he was doing better than he had been for weeks—but now that he was alone with his thoughts again, he already felt the darkness’ tendrils creeping back into his periphery.

Nia was right; he still had time. The sun was barely showing its first hints of creeping up on the horizon.

Favian hadn’t slept nearly enough, but he knew he wasn’t going back to slumber now, and neither did he intend to succumb to the numbness again after returning to his senses and finally feeling his body again.

He could, however, reminisce .

A part of him didn’t quite believe the events of the night prior had been real, that Leonardo had actually said what he had, that the prince wanted to be controlled, dominated. It sounded like a dream, a messed-up one. A fantasy better left unspoken.

But it had been true, hadn’t it? Leonardo had said those words, and he had put them into action.

Had bared his body for Favian, displayed himself, offered to show Favian exactly what it was he liked.

Had instructed Favian to touch him. Declared he would be still, would be still for him . Claimed he would serve him.

Favian’s hand went to his crotch without so much as an active decision.

Before he knew it, he was touching himself, stroking his rapidly growing erection to the memory of the prince in front of him, underneath him.

The prince’s lips between his, hips between Favian’s legs. His prince in his mouth, in his hands.

Skin to skin.

Heat, shivers.

Wanting more, ever more, more—

He couldn’t remember the last time he had come this quickly, nor this much, spilling all over his hand, pants, bed sheet. The white right next to the bloodstain sent shivers down his spine.

“Gods,” he cursed.

Favian laid his head back, thudding it against the wall. He allowed himself five more breaths in, then out, before getting up to clean up the mess he had made.

As his foot made contact with the ground, the consequences of stepping into a shard of glass became apparent.

He may not have felt much pain when the piece was still stuck in his heel, but now, as the pressure of his entire body weighted down onto the bottoms of his feet, the injury made itself known.

Pain shot up his leg, hindering him from treading properly.

Favian took a few careful steps around the room and had to concede that he would be starting the day with a limp.

He cursed again, more explicitly this time.

Favian got changed while seated on his bed. He padded his right shoe as much as he could before getting up again, tentatively exploring different ways of stepping with his right foot in an attempt to find the least straining way to move around for the rest of the day.

He could already tell it would be strenuous.

King Amondo was less than happy upon noticing Favian’s injury.

He had been lucky these past weeks—on most mornings during which he was incapacitated in one way or another, he had been assigned to Leonardo’s meals.

Not today.

Today, he was serving at the main table, at which King Amondo, Queen Irmina, and Lord Casella were enjoying a lavish breakfast. Why the advisor was here when the council usually took their meals separately from the majesties, Favian had no idea, but he knew better than to question the man’s presence.

His Majesty noted Favian’s unsteady movements with a vile sneer. “Don’t think you get to spend another day lying in bed because you are too senseless not to injure yourself.”