Chapter Text
Dominick had been living in the palace for almost as long as he could remember. The son of peasant farmer, he had been selected by the king when he was only twelve as the procession had moved through the town outside the palace walls. He was beautiful, they had said, one of the rare few born with blond hair, blue eyes and long lashes. Even at twelve, he was striking.
Dominick hadn’t understood what it meant, other than that he’d had to leave his mother and father and sisters behind, to live in the palace, and he had expected his parents to cry when the king’s guards pulled him away, but they were celebrating. “Such an honor,” his mother had smiled at him.
He hadn’t left the palace walls since, hadn’t seen his mother and father and sisters in fifteen years. And it hadn’t taken him long to find out exactly what his role at the palace would be. When he first arrived he was moved into a room with twelve other blue eyed, blond haired young men, of varying ages. They’d been kind to him, mostly, explained exactly what it meant to be selected by the king, what he’d have to do when he got a little older.
But they were treated well, always fed the finest foods, given the finest clothes, allowed to drink the finest wines and spirits. And when the king wasn’t requesting their presence, they were pretty free to move around the palace.
Dominick was particularly fond of the gardens. He had learned the name of every native flower growing up on his parent’s farm, but the palace gardens were sprawling, endlessly filled with flowers collected from the furthest reaches of the globe. He had no idea the names of most of them, but they were beautiful, and outside when he closed his eyes he could pretend he was home. And when he opened them, he could catch glimpses of the beautiful, intriguing dark haired man who often sat under one of the willow trees.
Dominick was nineteen when he first laid eyes on the King’s Advisor, Rafael. He was shrewd and calculating, infamously decisive, infamously brutal. At least, that’s what Dominick had heard about him, from the palace staff, and the other men, concubines, he’d come to learn what their title was.
But in the soft light of the palace gardens, surrounded by lilies and alstromeria, oleander and hyacinth, he didn’t seem particularly heartless. Still, Dominick kept a comfortable distance between them, never letting his curious gaze linger for too long.
By the time he was twenty-two, the king had long since moved on from any interest in Dominick. There had been more than a few young blond haired blue eyed boys that had been added to their chambers, fresh and young. And Dominick longed to go home, even if the people there would be strangers after all this time. But none of them were allowed to leave, the king never seemed to let go of the things he considered his, and even if he wasn’t interested in taking Dominick to bed anymore, he belonged to him. So, Dominick spent a lot more time in the gardens, had befriended the gardeners years ago, helped to weed and prune.
It was a particularly hot day, and Dominick was in the middle of a huge swath of sunflowers, cutting them down for the palace entry way. He had long since shed his shirt, but he was still slick with sweat, brow dripping. He gathered a pile of sunflowers in his arms and left the patch, intent on heading back into the palace. Too focused on trying to keep the long stems from slipping out of his grasp, he didn’t notice when he turned down a dirt path and collided with someone.
But not just someone, Dominick gasped a quick apology, “I’m so, so sorry,” his eyes were wide with fear. Rafael.
The man just bristled, taking a step back and smoothing out his clothes. “You should watch where you’re going.”
Dominick was already hot from the sun, but the biting remark heated his cheeks even more. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t see over the sunflowers,” he added sheepishly before scurrying off into the cool safe haven of the palace.
Dominick saw Rafael in the gardens only a few days later. “Sunflower,” Rafael had called out to him with an amused smirk, catching Dominick’s gaze as he attempted to hide behind the hydrangeas. Dominick stood up, blush rising on his cheeks.
“I’m sorry for the other day,” he added, taking a few steps closer to the stone bench Rafael was sitting on, leather bound book in hand. “What are you reading?”
Rafael cocked his head to the side, the expression on his face unreadable. “The Odyssey,” he replied, lifting the book so the gold embossed binding hit the sunlight. “You’re not a gardener,” it wasn’t a question, “and yet I always see you out here working.”
Dominick shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands twisting awkwardly together. “The king lost interest in me years ago, had to find some sort of something to pass the time.”
“I can’t imagine why.” The words seemed to leave Rafael’s mouth before he was even aware he had said them, and Dominick flushed all the same.
“You’re the king’s right hand, aren’t you?” Dominick raised an eyebrow, “surely you know by know what sort of interests he has for his concubines.” Young. Fresh. Dominick was arguably still both of those things, but they both knew that the king’s preferences were much younger, and Dominick seemed to be going prematurely grey, silver streaks at his temples.
Rafael nodded, “a proclivity we don’t exactly share,” and Dominick wasn’t sure what to make of the comment, but Rafael opened up the book again, and turned his attention back to reading, so he figured that was the end of that, and slipped back into the flowers.
But their meetings in the gardens didn’t end there, and Dominick’s face flushed each time he heard that familiar voice call out “Sunflower.” He was surprised, for how notorious the king’s advisor was, he was incredibly easy to talk to, and they spent long hours under the willow trees, in the shade of the palace walls and the soft pink hue of the rose bushes talking, about politics, which Dominick knew little of, about books they had read, about flowers, about Rafael’s travels to distant lands that Dominick could only ever dream of.
Dominick knew it was taboo, that he would forever be a concubine of the king, that he’d never be able to leave the palace walls, would never be able to share his life with someone, but he knew he was falling in love with Rafael. Slowly, surely, inescapably.
“Does the King know how much time you’re spending with his advisor?” one of the older concubines had asked one day in their chambers as Dominick laid in his bed with a book that Rafael had given him to read. Dominick had just flushed, hiding behind the pages. “I’ll take that as a no. Be careful, you know how jealous he gets…”
And Dominick knew he was right, knew that nothing could happen between him and Rafael, that as much as it seemed like Rafael felt the same way, he would never cross that line. Rafael was the king’s right hand, the sole advisor allowed in every meeting, had the king’s ear. Anything between them would be betrayal. Treason.
He knew that, he did, but it all slipped out of his head as they stood under the willow tree, only illuminated by the silver glow of the moon. And Rafael reached up a gentle hand, thumb brushing softly across Dominick’s cheek. “Sonny,” he had spoken softly, the nickname he had given him. They couldn’t be together, the rational part of his brain was screaming at him, but he just leaned into the soft kiss.