Page 7 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

Leonardo did as he had promised. Breakfast passed as if the night before hadn’t unsettled everyone. The only notable indicators of a change were Lelia’s shaking hands and the prince’s overly pronounced acknowledgments of every single service performed for him.

Favian wondered if the king had already called on his son for a discussion about the previous dinner or if that conversation would take place once breakfast was concluded.

He longed to ask the prince, but once the meal was concluded, Favian dutifully went to change so he could be at the stables in time.

Once he had put on his outside wear, he reached for the spot in which he usually hung his hat, only to find it empty.

Damn it, Nico.

Every once in a while, Favian’s brother liked to steal the accessory for himself, but usually, he would do so only if he worked closely enough that Favian could easily steal it back.

As far as he knew, Nico would be working in the kitchen all day today and was likely taking a break after the day’s first meal.

Which meant that in order to recover his hat, Favian would have to confront the central servant quarters.

Favian hoped Nico would be lingering close to the entrance so that Favian would be able to catch his eye without forcing him to enter the room at all. It would be too busy, he already knew, and his unexpected presence might draw attention that he truly did not want on himself.

Luckily, only one of those worries proved to be true. The long room was crowded, but nobody paid any particular attention to him. Favian spotted Nico near the hearth, chucking beans into the simmering pot as he talked to Lelia and a middle-aged woman who was preparing the stew.

“Favian!” Nico exclaimed when he spotted him weaving through the room, clearly surprised to see him here. Then his smile faltered when he realized why his brother had come to the central servant quarters. “Oh, crap.”

He fumbled, removed the straw hat from his head immediately, and held it out to Favian. “Sorry,” he said quickly, “I completely forgot about it.”

Favian sighed and moved to turn around when words clearly not directed at him made him halt.

“It’s odd.” Lelia sounded like she was thinking out loud, the words slow but genuine. “Everything feels wrong like this. I can’t tell if he’s doing it for us or for himself.”

Favian stopped in his tracks, frozen in place.

“Does it matter?” the woman working on their midday meal asked as she stirred the stew. “If His Majesty won’t give you any more of those ,” she gestured toward Lelia’s cheek, “that is all that matters.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Nico replied. He hadn’t looked away from Favian, but the older had averted his gaze, eyes fixed on the fire as Nico continued, “We don’t know if it will stay like this.”

The woman huffed. “Her Highness’ bathwater was cold this morning. With all that commotion yesterday, someone forgetting to kindle the fire. Last week, someone would have gone to the dungeon for that.”

They knew she was right, but that didn’t change the uncertainty they all felt.

Lelia sighed, “I guess we can only hope that His Highness insists on continuing down this path of nonviolence.”

“He will.”

Two more heads turned toward Favian, joining Nico in their eyeing of him. Instead of waiting for the questions they would undoubtedly ask, Favian quickly left the room and made his way to the stables.

Rodrigo was waiting for him. The boy was leaning against the barn gates when Favian arrived, the hot sun on his face.

It would be a demanding day, Favian knew from the heat, and he hoped this would not be the first time Rodrigo was made to do physical labor.

Favian needed a distraction after the conversation he had just heard, and nothing managed to keep his mind busy quite like work.

Dismissed from table duty and not much help in the kitchen, Rodrigo was now tasked with aiding Favian with the horses for the time being.

With Leonardo, his squire had also returned, and so had two servants who survived the years at the front.

It was Favian’s understanding that they had been responsible for the tasks usually managed by a wide variety of servants, but he did not particularly care to hear about the details of the prince’s time at the front.

He was, however, glad to be offered help with their horses.

Feeding and combing four more horses was manageable, but keeping four more enclosures, cleaning and polishing four more sets of riding gear, and maintaining sixteen more healthy hooves was tedious work.

Favian was optimistic that once a new routine was established, he would have the stables mostly to himself again, but for now, he was grateful for the support.

Fortunately, Rodrigo turned out to be a quick learner. He listened to Favian’s instructions with a pronounced vigor, paying detailed attention to everything he said. Favian supposed he was on edge after the king’s reprimand, trying to avoid another mistake.

“What is His Highness like?” Rodrigo asked in a moment of brief respite, inquisitive yet serious, while he wiped sweat from his brow.

Favian considered this, particularly after his encounter in the central servant quarters earlier that day. “His Highness is unlike His Majesty in many ways.”

Rodrigo arched an eyebrow. “Nico warned me you like to speak in riddles sometimes,” he remarked. “In what ways is His Highness unlike His Majesty?”

The corner of Favian’s mouth twitched, amused by Nico’s characterization of him. “His Highness is less. . .aggressive than His Majesty,” he elaborated. “Have you heard about last night’s supper?”

Rodrigo nodded. “Yes. It’s the talk of the town.”

“Then you know what I mean,” Favian said. “His Highness has never physically punished anyone who has made a mistake.”

Cocking his head to the side, Rodrigo studied him. He seemed bright for his age, not unlike Nico.

“But he’s still a royal. He could if he wanted to.”

Favian looked up, contemplating Rodrigo in return. The boy was almost as tall as him, certainly taller than Nico. His skin was a tawny brown, his round eyes searching Favian’s. He felt like he was being tested.

“Yes,” Favian slowly agreed. “He could.”

“But you don’t think he would?”

He promised.

“I think it is improbable that His Highness would resort to measures of violence,” he pressed out, surprised by how agitated he sounded.

Felt?

“I hope you’re right,” Rodrigo mused without acknowledging the shift in Favian’s demeanor, and went back to work without waiting for a reply.

Why exactly was Favian so certain the prince would not resort to violent means?

It was true that Leonardo had never been an aggressive child—Favian could not remember a single instance in which the prince had even hinted at a desire to hurt any living being—but he had spent multiple years actively engaged in a war, most certainly using the same means as those around him.

He must have been violent, Favian realized.

Must have shed blood, hurt, maimed. Killed.

The thought sent a cold shudder down Favian’s spine as he returned to his hay fork.

“How do I do this?”

Rodrigo was fumbling with Azure’s reins, leather straps tangling in his inexperienced grip.

When they had started working on gear in the afternoon, Favian had directed the boy on how to tie the sleeves of his tunic so they wouldn’t get in the way, but the cord of Rodrigo’s top had gotten loose again, only furthering the muddle of straps.

“Let me show you.” Favian took the bridle from him, unweaving the tangle.

He was sweaty, his clothes soaked. The sun was aggressively golden today, and even a straw hat could only do so much.

After a tense lunch during which the prince’s eyes had followed Favian around in a way that must have been noticed by not only the king, but everyone else in the room as well, Leonardo had asked Favian to prepare Azure for a ride in the afternoon.

It was good timing, allowing him to show Rodrigo how to saddle the mare. Azure’s black fur had suffered in the war, though Favian doubted that Leonardo had actually ridden her into battle. He truly noticed it then, the curiosity that had begun festering earlier.

Yesterday, Leonardo had mentioned the blood, his eagerness to get away from it. Was that all he had wanted to get away from?

Suddenly, Favian was overcome with the urge to learn everything he could about the prince’s time at war.

Had must have killed, yes—all the same, he must have also been injured himself.

How badly? Were there permanent consequences to the fighting?

Favian hadn’t noticed any scars, missing limbs, or restrictions in Leonardo’s movements.

But those effects were only on the surface.

The real marks, Favian knew all too well, were those underneath.

They had just finished preparing Azure when Leonardo appeared at the gate.

His hair was tied into a high ponytail, and he was dressed in the same riding attire he had used to wear when he was younger.

The breeches over his stockings had clearly grown too tight, and the snug fit sent a blush to Favian’s cheeks.

Thankfully, Rodrigo wished to see for himself what interacting with Leonardo was like, and he eagerly went to greet the prince before Favian even had to consider how to approach him.

“Your Highness,” Favian heard Rodrigo say while he began tidying the space. He knew he should not pry, but Rodrigo and Leonardo were only standing a dozen feet away from him—and, if he was being honest with himself, he was curious to see how this interaction would go.

“Hello. You are Favian’s assistant?” Leonardo asked kindly. Favian was both surprised and relieved that the prince had seemingly not yet heard of Rodrigo, as it meant that his parents must not have spoken of the boy’s indiscretion the day before

“For now, Your Highness,” Rodrigo replied. “I have not been here very long.”

Interest bloomed in Leonardo’s tone when he asked, “ Here in the palace or here in Livenza?”

“Livenza, your Highness.”

Azure’s neighing interrupted the conversation, and Rodrigo turned to the topic at hand. Favian noticed a certain scrutiny in the boy’s voice when he said, “Your Highness, this was my first time saddling a horse, with Favian’s help, of course. Is Azure’s preparation to your satisfaction?”

A brief pause—Leonardo was likely checking Azure’s saddle, her bridle, her reins. “She looks great, thank you.”

Shoes crunching on the floor, movement behind him.

Favian hadn’t yet finished his tidying when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Willing himself not to shrink away from it, he turned around, expecting the prince uncomfortably close to him, but Leonardo had kept space between them, lingering at somewhat of a distance.

“Thank you for getting her ready,” the prince said, a hand on Azure’s neck, the reins looped around his wrist

Favian caught himself checking what was visible of Leonardo’s skin for scars, wounds, scabs, any sign of battle.

He noticed a line of pink skin peeking out of the prince’s right cuff.

Leonardo must have followed Favian’s gaze, because he held the arm out toward him and pulled up the sleeve of his coat, revealing a long but healed gash on his forearm.

“Are you checking me out?” the prince asked, his tone almost playful despite the severity of the scar.

“I apologize,” Favian immediately declared, bowing his head.

“Don’t,” Leonardo said. He moved his arm around, demonstrating the scar winding around the side of his forearm and up to his elbow. He had turned serious again—still, his movements were smooth. “It’s one of a few.”

Favian followed the motion with his eyes, fighting the urge to touch the prince, feel the pink scar tissue under his fingertips. He imagined its history: the weapon that had inflicted it, the blood drained from it, the bandages that had healed it.

“Can’t really show the other ones out here though,” Leonardo winked, bursting the delusion Favian had slipped into. What in the Gods was he thinking about? The blood in his cheeks was burning. A certain twitch in his pants made him turn away, awkwardly hiding his lower half.

It had always been difficult for Favian to decipher how much of the prince’s flirtatious nature depended on his company and how much was just his fundamental personality. It was one of the reasons their relationship had been perpetually challenging for him to grasp, to dissect, to understand.

Was Leonardo flirting with him now? Did Favian want him to?

Did it even matter?

Seemingly sensing his discomfort, the prince rearranged his sleeve and gave Azure a soft pat. “I’ll be on the track with her.” With a last glance at the young man in front of him, Leonardo left the stables, Azure by his side.

A slight cough brought Favian back to reality. He had forgotten about Rodrigo—the boy must have witnessed whatever had just transpired between him and Leonardo. Favian cocked his head toward the other, waiting for a comment, but the boy remained quiet.

After a moment of this unreadable silence, the anticipation was beginning to unsettle him.

“Just say what you want to say,” Favian sighed.

“I think,” Rodrigo began, the words coming out painfully slowly, “that your relationship with the prince is more complicated than I had realized.”

Favian laughed, then. Actually, freely, laughed. The sound felt wrong in his throat; it had been so long since anything resembling it had escaped him. Rodrigo, too, looked irritated by the change in Favian’s demeanor.

You have no idea how right you are , he wanted to say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he choked around the chortle instead.

But Rodrigo had seemingly already made up his mind, had inferred enough not to care about the blatant lie that Favian had just presented him with. “Is that why His Majesty has it in for you?” he asked.

Favian was impressed by the boy’s attentiveness.

After only a few weeks at the palace, Rodrigo was showing a level of comprehension of its social mechanics that even some of the seniors did not seem to possess.

He needn’t have doubted the boy when the king had scolded him over lunch the day before. Rodrigo knew how to handle himself.

“Perhaps,” Favian replied, no longer seeing any benefit in lying.

Rodrigo nodded slowly, gently even. He was studying Favian again. “Do you suppose it will get worse, now that His Highness is back?”

Shrugging, Favian got back to work. He was tired of eyes on him, had been scrutinized enough these past twenty-four hours.

“We will see.”