Page 5 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

The familiar silence was no longer just uncomfortable.

Now, it was chilling.

Favian served as it was expected of him, King Amondo’s tone precisely what he had gotten used to. Still, there was something eerie about the quiet now, the prince opposite his mother seemingly just as uneasy as the table servants.

Where the king commanded, Leonardo asked, requested, and thanked his waiter, a middle-aged man named Silias, every time he filled his plate, which, in return, increasingly agitated his father.

Leonardo had been shaved, his face revealing some youthfulness despite the sharpness in his jawline, and his hair had been washed and trimmed, the curls still long, but shapely now, styled.

He was back in clothes that suited him, royal and delicate.

Favian wanted to look at him, compare the memory of the boy chasing him around the palace to the man sitting in front of him now.

Compare him to His Majesty, Leonardo’s features somehow soft despite their pointedness, while his father was all cutting angles and eyes filled with enmity.

Keeping his head down had never constituted much of a challenge before, but today, it was torture.

The bulk of the meal passed uneventfully, King Amondo seemingly content enough with Rodrigo’s replacement and his son’s presence, but when Lelia went to retrieve Her Majesty’s dessert, it happened.

On the way back to the table, the maid tripped on the hem of her skirt, sending the citrus tart to the ground.

The plate shattered in a deafening clang, and the dessert came apart, crumbs and filling a yellow mess on the bright marble floor.

Favian’s eyes shot up, meeting hers. She was frozen in place, panic clear on her face. There was nothing he could do to protect her now.

“Oh,” came Leonardo’s voice, his chair scraping on the floor as he pushed it back. “Can you fetch another one?”

Lelia nodded quickly, a relieved “Of course, Your Highness, I apologize,” escaping her lips.

But as she moved to turn around, the king’s voice interrupted her. “You will do no such thing.”

Leonardo looked to his father, confused.

“Come here, girl.”

Lelia gave Favian another look, then trained her eyes to the floor again and moved toward His Majesty, hands clasped behind her back. She stopped at the appropriate distance. Bowed her head even deeper.

“Kneel,” King Amondo commanded.

She did, sliding down on trembling legs.

Favian risked a subtle glance at the prince, who was staring at his father in horror. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Your mother and I have taken on a more. . .stringent approach in recent years,” His Majesty replied while slowly dabbing the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.

He stood and took a step closer to the maid, on her knees before him.

Looked down at her. “I think three would be appropriate, don’t you? ”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied at the same time as Leonardo asked, “Three what?”

Everything in Favian screamed to do something.

He wanted to lay it all out, needed to tell Leonardo about every single time the king had laid hands on him or any other member of his staff.

Wanted to take Lelia’s place, suffer in her stead.

But he could only stand by and wait for the punishment to be over.

His Majesty did not grace his son’s question with so much as acknowledgment. Instead, he placed the handkerchief on the table and rolled up the wide sleeve of his top, the slits in his outer garments widening and contracting at the movement.

“Father, you don’t have to—”

“Shush.” The king placed a ringed finger underneath Lelia’s chin, the same way he had done to Favian the day before. He practically felt it, the nail on his skin, on his face, on his—

“Look at me, girl,” King Amondo commanded.

The tears in her eyes were a testament to the strength required of her to keep quiet.

When the back of His Majesty’s hand connected with Lelia’s face, Leonardo’s gasp was the only audible reaction in the room. Favian could feel the prince’s gaze scanning him, but he kept still. He always did.

“Father, please,” Leonardo pleaded. He was standing now, reaching for the king. “She just made a mistake; she doesn’t need to be punished like that.”

His Majesty paused and turned his head, looking at his son. “What punishment do you propose instead?”

“She can just clean up her mistake and get a new one.” This earned Leonardo a scoff.

“You have always been too lenient,” the king said, then turned back to Lelia, whose eyes were still fixed on him despite the tremble in her limbs. She had not yet been dismissed.

King Amondo raised his hand again—

“No!” Leonardo scrambled forward, a screech emanating from the chair being pushed further from the table. He positioned himself between the maid and his father.

The king inhaled sharply. Leonardo held out his arms, covering most of Lelia’s body, shielding her with his own.

The air was static, all six people in the room frozen.

The prince had just blatantly, publicly, directly undermined his father’s authority, his judgment, his rule.

There was no way King Amondo would let that misdeed stand without consequences.

At the same time, Favian realized, Leonardo had put his Majesty in a complicated position: admitting the prince’s misdeed would poorly reflect on him as both a ruler and a father, and could even render the prince’s mission to the front meaningless, thus also coloring the king as somewhat incompetent and his decrees as inefficient.

The glare with which His Majesty graced his son could have skinned a hare.

“Very well.” There was not a single shred of doubt in Favian that once they were in private, King Amondo would unleash whatever he was holding back. The question was: would it be Lelia or Leonardo on the receiving end?

“You will bring a new one,” His Majesty said to the maid, “and you will clean this up by yourself. Immediately.” She nodded vigorously and whispered thanks after thanks as she quickly made her way to the kitchen.

The king broke the eye contact with his son first, retaking his seat at the table. He gestured for Favian to plate his citrus tart, even while Leonardo was still standing in front of him.

“Father—” he tried, but the man waved him away.

“Eat your dinner. We will discuss in the morning.”

So they continued, chewing on pastry and filling, while Lelia knelt on the floor, collecting the remnants of her misstep and wiping the marbled surface. The sore on her cheek displayed the shape of His Majesty’s hand and the rings on his fingers.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Queen Irmina had not said a word. Like so often, she had remained in her seat, neither coming to her maid’s aid nor adding to the abuse. Watching, waiting. Always passive. It appeared that she would continue that pattern with her son.

Sometimes Favian resented her more than her husband.

When he was getting ready for bed that night, once more unsure of Nico’s whereabouts, a soft knock came at the door. Favian frowned—Nico’s knock was as familiar to him as his brother’s face, and who else would come to their private chambers this late?

He dreaded that he knew the answer.

When he slowly opened the door, the sight confirmed his suspicions. Leonardo was anything but calm, fidgeting nervously.

“Can I come in? I have some questions,” he explained.

No , Favian wanted to say. This was his space, his and Nico’s, the one room in which they did not have to work, in which he was free of having to weigh every single word he spoke.

Yet, could he deny the prince’s request? It was not an outright command, but Favian was unsure if Leonardo had intended it as one. The risk of accidentally refusing an order was not one he was willing to take

After an awkward pause, he replied, “Of course, Your Highness.”

“I’m confused,” the prince began. “I don’t understand.” He was pacing the little space between the two beds, Favian standing awkwardly beside the now-closed door.

“What exactly is Your Highness confused by?” he carefully asked.

Leonardo gestured wildly. “Why did he do that?” He paused. “Why did he feel the need to punish her like that? She only dropped a plate; I did that all the time when I was young!”

A million thoughts raced through Favian’s head.

The prince was in his bedroom, asking him about the king.

Putting Favian in a position in which he knew more about the situation at hand and the dynamics in the palace, but in which he was also running the risk of saying the wrong thing whenever he opened his mouth.

Despite all of those truths, what caught Favian’s attention was the final phrase.

Leonardo had just compared the treatment of himself, the Crown Prince of Livenza, to that of a table maid.

Leonardo’s naivety had been a staple of their childhood.

Favian could not remember how often the prince had been irritated by the inequalities between the servants and his family.

Leonardo, ever the optimist, had insisted that surely, if everyone just tried, they would have no issues.

He would claim that once he was king, they would all eat together, and that he would make sure everyone was happy.

Leonardo was not his father, no.

And yet, just like His Majesty, he had been steeped in the privileges his title offered him since the day he was born.

The air between them was thick. The prince was waiting for a reply, but Favian could not decide on an answer. What could he reveal about the king’s treatment of him? What did he want to?

Instead, he inquired, “Why does that behavior confuse Your Highness?”

Leonardo hesitated. “I. . .He wasn’t like that when I left, was he?”

Despite his best judgment, Favian’s eyes shot up, meeting the prince’s head-on.

“Do you genuinely believe that?” The bitterness in his tone was palpable, and he regretted it immediately. Hands curling into fists, he promptly averted his gaze again and took a deep bow. “I apologize.”