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The quiet of the castle is almost suffocating.
Shingo had been brought up in a country filled to the brim with whispers that were very much treasonous and not at all kind towards the royal family because, as honorable and as noble as the Sakaki royal family is, human nature requires a handful of people to be dissatisfied no matter the situation.
“The coffers have almost run dry--the family has no power left,” the whispers said. “The King makes deals with demons in the dark and the Prince is a bastard child.” Shingo listened to these whispers, these malicious rumors, with a quiet, wide-eyed wonder. It was amazing what adults would say with a child in the room, especially one who kept his mouth shut and clung to his father’s leg.
“Is what they say true?” He had whispered once to his father. In return, he’d been given a sharp glare and a hard squeeze on his shoulder.
“Hush,” his father had whispered back harshly. “True or not, what does it matter?”
At the time, he hadn’t understood what his father had meant. Now, though, he thinks he may just have the smallest inkling.
It is human nature to whisper and to jeer and to mock; no matter how good life is or kind the ruling body is, there will always be those who find issue with the situation. The court will whisper as long as it exists, but as long as it continues to whisper, the world will carry on and the status quo will be maintained.
It’s when the whispers stop that one should be concerned.
So yes, this unnerving and endless silence that has plagued the castle for well over a week now has set Shingo’s every nerve on edge. It speaks volumes for what the nobles of the court dare not say out loud.
The King has run off with a mistress,
are the unspoken words that echo in the silence.
He has abandoned the Crown and Kingdom for a whore from a far off land.
And still the nobles of the court greet the Queen Regent and her son with broad smiles that have no meaning and grand gestures that are merely that--gestures.
The Queen Regent and her son take the rumors in stride, meeting the accusations and distrust with their heads held high. It’s the first time that Shingo hasn’t seen Yuya smile and it makes his heart ache for the young lord. In its place are hollow eyes and a look of grim determination that are the only hint of how tired the Prince truly is.
Shingo can’t begin to fathom what Yuya is going through right now. Shingo never spent much time with the King, but even a blind man could see how close the Prince was to his father.
Now, not only is his father missing, vanished like a thief in the night, Yuya has to contend with vicious rumors slandering his father’s good name.
Yuya meets every false word of comfort, every cleverly disguised jab at his father’s integrity with a polite nod and impassive gaze, and Shingo wants to scream every time he sees it happen. But words and politics are a far more powerful weapon than any that Shingo has been trained to use, and no one ever thinks to teach one how to protect themselves against such barbaric methods.
It all comes to a head late one night, a few hours after the Queen Regent has announced to the kingdom that Yuya will be acting as King from here on out. Only then had the whisperers resumed, but Shingo hadn’t cared to listen to them at the moment. He’d been far too preoccupied with watching Yuya’s face, with how his mouth had set into a thin, grim line, how his shoulders had stiffened almost imperceptibly, how his hands had tightened into fists that left his knuckles white.
Shingo wants to offer his lord words of comfort, anything that could make the situation right, but he has none to give and now isn’t the time anyway. A knight’s role is the silent protector by his master’s side, not the one to comfort him in times of hardship. It’s a mantra Shingo has to echo to himself daily to keep his composure. He would give his life and so much more for Yuya, if their positions would allow it.
Still, he finds himself outside the Prince’s--the new King’s--chambers late that night, hovering outside his door. There are a thousand reasons that he shouldn't be there, but the thought of Yuya suffering alone is enough to force him to raise his fist and rap lightly on the wooden door. For a long moment, nothing happens and Shingo is just preparing himself to knock again when there’s the sound of scuffling behind the door.
He lowers his arm just as the door swings open, leaving Yuya standing in the empty frame.
“Figured it was you,” his lord says, his voice low and scratchy. He titles his head and by the light of the moon Shingo can just make out the tears still clinging to his lashes and how he’s shaking from head to toe.
He acts before he can stop himself, before rational thought and years of manners can kick in and prevent him from doing what he truly wants to, which is to crush Yuya against him in a fierce hug. The other lets himself be embraced without a sound; in fact, he tucks his head neatly under Shingo’s chin, burying his face into the crook of the other’s neck.
“Oh, Yuya,” he breathes out, nuzzling against the top of his lord’s head. Yuya’s hands clutch at his tunic, balling the fabric up in tight fists. He wants to reassure the Prince that everything will be fine, but he has no proof of that, and both of them are sick of empty words. He settles for stepping into the other’s room fully, taking care to shut the door behind him and running his hand through Yuya’s hair.
“You’re such a soft and messy thing,” Shingo says quietly, brushing unruly strands of red hair back. Yuya shifts in his arms, letting out a small whimper. “Not at all like a King is supposed to be.”
“Believe me,” Yuya says, voice muffled against Shingo’s chest. “I’m well aware.” He lets out a breath that’s more a shuddering sigh than anything else.
“No one quite knows what to do with you.” And it’s true: the whole court has no idea what to make of their new King, though Shingo knows it won’t be long before the political games start. He grimaces in the dark, over Yuya’s head; his master will need a guardian now more than ever.
“Liar.” Yuya’s voice is still shaky. When he lifts his head there are tear tracks clear on his cheeks, but his eyes have a fire in them. He pulls away just enough so that he can look Shingo in the eyes. “One person knows me very well.”
They’re playing a dangerous game now, one made even more perilous given the recent circumstances. Yuya’s soft gaze is doing nothing to help his already troubled resolve to remain neutral, and Shingo is only a man. “I...milord--” Shingo cuts himself off, unsure of where he was planning to go with that sentence.
“Don’t!” Yuya’s voice is uncharacteristically sharp and harsh. Shingo blinks in surprise. “I don’t want to hear any more words tonight, they’re not good for anything!” The p--King, Yuya is the King, he must not forget this--is still trembling but there’s a set to his body now, one that suggests he’s through with being sad and hopeless.
“Then what do you want?”
He’s not surprised in the least when Yuya leans forward and lets their lips brush against each other. It’s a chaste thing and lasts only a few precious seconds but it’s enough; they’ve passed a point of no return now.
“This is a fool's errand,” Shingo whispers to him, but he still doesn’t pull back. From how close they are, every word he speaks makes his lips brush against Yuya’s.
“I don’t care.” Yuya’s hands release his shirt and move up to wrap around his neck. “The court has already made their judgments of me, so what does it matter?”
“They’ll kill us if we’re found out.” It’s not a whole truth, not really. There is no ready heir to take Yuya’s place, but Shingo is just one of many knights. It’s scandalous enough for the King to take to bed with another man, but even moreso if that man is supposed to be his loyal retainer. There will be a price on Shingo’s head should all this come to light and though he doesn’t really want to protest, someone has to be rational right now and it’s unfair to place another burden on Yuya’s shoulders.
His King’s eyes burn with a hard fire, one born of determination and sudden realization of the harshness of the world. “They can try.” He says grimly. “But I don’t intend to roll over and die for them--do you?”
“No.” It’s one word, but it makes for a powerful statement. “No,” Shingo repeats, pulling Yuya closer to him. His hands curl around Yuya’s slender waist, and he relishes in the way the other tilts his head to place a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, how Yuya’s hair tickles his cheek and the softness of his skin.
“Stay with me,” Yuya whispers, sniffling slightly. The statement is ambiguous; Shingo doesn’t know if he means just for the night or something much more than that. He supposes it doesn’t matter. His answer would be the same regardless.
“Always.”