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The floor rumbles beneath dozens of pairs of shoes and even though it’s almost completely covered, you catch flashes of the polished wood between songs. It shimmers, reflecting back the lights of the chandelier, twinkling brightly enough to rival the stars. However beautiful and spectacular it all seemed though, you still missed spending hours alone, watching the real stars. Your work in Inginea had left you with very little time to explore; your nights usually consisted of preparing lessons and lectures deemed fitting for members of the royal family. It would be nice to spend time outdoors again, to feel the cool night air tickle your nose, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Then again, the next time you experienced that, you’d likely be standing on the deck of some ship that was homeward bound, carrying you far away from this place and its people. That part wasn’t so nice. In fact, it was downright depressing.
You’re jolted from your self-pity when you recognize a familiar face from across the dancefloor. You hadn’t expected to meet Iida here tonight, but you can’t say that it’s a shock to see him standing there, seeming uncharacteristically frazzled as he sidles through the mass of swirling bodies surrounding him.
It’s his posture that gives him away; no common person ever made such an effort to keep his shoulders so far back, his chin so steeply angled upward, his feet so firmly planted—like he was imitating the oaks lining the perimeter of the castle gates. No, the decorum with which this man carried himself was the sort that they only taught royalty—only taught princes. You grin and begin to shimmy your way through the crowd.
It takes more than a few gentle nudges and one less-than-subtle shove, but you eventually brave the chaos and reach him. To his credit, Iida’s disguise was spot-on. There wasn’t a sign of his family’s sigil on any of his garments. No royal blue doublet covering his chest, no moonstone pendants gracing his neck; he had obviously gone out of his way to pass himself off as common—a near-impossible feat given the fact that the man practically oozed refinement. Still, the laces of his shirt are frayed now and his britches stained. If you hadn’t known his face so well, you might’ve thought him a stablehand and not the next in line for his father’s throne.
“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you this far from the palace, sir.” You greet him, careful to avoid using his true title. Iida flinches when you address him, but then he squints and realizes it’s only you. He frowns.
“Was I really that easy to pick out of the crowd? I was certain that this time, my attire was—”
“It wasn’t your attire that betrayed you.” Had anyone from the palace witnessed the way you’d interrupted the crown prince, you might’ve received your dismissal much earlier than you intended to. Then again, others might have been wholly more apathetic towards the situation. Everyone was still rather confused when it came to the proper way of addressing each of the princes. After all, Tenya Iida was the younger of the Iida brothers. He’d been raised with the same careful care and instruction as his brother all his life, for no reason other than tradition. Because originally, Tenya wasn’t supposed to be the next king.
“To the average person, yes, you look perfectly ordinary. But me? I know you too well for that. I also don’t know a single lordling that puts so much effort into the way he stands. It was a noble effort though. Well-thought-out.”
You nod him away from the crowd with your chin, leading him towards a quieter corner of the hall. Nobody bats an eye. The common people knew of their king and queen, yes, but the royal children were another matter altogether. Tensei’s face had been woven into banners lining the wall in the days leading to his coronation, so at least a few would recognize him. Tenya had no banners, and thus, no face as far as the public was concerned. That would change soon enough, though.
It wasn’t uncommon for assassins to be sent after royalty. Enemies to the crown, families of those accused of treason, even other princes and princesses had all been historically known to hire men to “do away with” their opponents. What wasn’t common was for these killers-for-hire to make it past the palace walls—to make it to the crown prince ’s chamber, unseen. Nobody but Tensei could know for certain what occurred that fateful night, but castle gossip would have you believe a dozen versions of the same story, all with the same conclusion: an assassin lying in a pool of their own blood and a prince that was now crippled from the waist down.
Some liked to whisper that it’d been the king and queen’s decision to pass over Tensei—that they’d rushed at the opportunity to hand off the crown to Tenya, the second son, before the panic set in. Others claimed that it had been a collective decision, made by the whole of the court. Supposedly, advisors sought to prevent rumors of weakness within the monarchy, while the nobility simply sought to replace Tensei with someone more malleable to their demands. Having actually spoken with the (current) crown prince, you knew all of these rumors to be false.
The way Tenya told it, his brother had abdicated of his own volition, long before knowing of the permanent nature of his injuries. Because Tensei had reasoned that, if he could not protect himself from one man, what right did he have to try and protect a nation from many? And once he’d made up his mind, there was no arguing with him. The members of the Iida family were notoriously stubborn; no amount of pleading would be able to sway the prince’s decision.
So every effort was directed towards Tenya Iida, the new future king. An array of instructors were hired to fill gaps in the prince’s knowledge—nearly all of them foreign and much younger than the typical world-weary, wiry-haired persons that had formerly been in the employ of the palace. The prince needed people to instruct him on the world beyond Inginea—the way it worked and the direction it was heading in.
That was where you came in.
“It seems there are still many things I need to learn.” Iida sighs, staring down at his hands, fumbling with the edge of his coat. “I’m afraid I’ll never be ready to be k—” he catches himself before he betrays his identity, “—for the part that comes next.”
You lean back against a pillar. “Nobody is ever ‘ready’ to lead. It comes with time. Until then, your tutors and advisors will be here to guarantee that you understand whatever it is you need in order to rule.”
“But you’re leaving, so you won’t be one of them.” Iida’s words catch you off guard. You’d been careful to keep news of your departure confidential. Only the king and queen knew… but then again, you suppose that was how he’d learned. From his parents.
“It’s true. I’m taking a boat home in the morning.” Neither of you speaks. The moment is tense and weighed down by a mountain of unspoken words, things you each want very much to say. Still, there’s no silence—the party and merrymaking endure in spite of your quietude.
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me these past few days?”
You fight desperately to keep the edges of your mouth turned upward—to keep tidbits of truth from tinging your expression. “I’m not a fan of the word ‘avoiding.’ It implies there’s a deliberate decision being made. Perhaps I’ve simply been keeping myself busy? I did seek you out tonight, didn’t I? And while we’re on the subject of language, the phrase ‘past few days’ is far too unspecific of a time period to—”
“Don’t do that,” Iida says, his tone firm— firm and authoritative. Good: he was beginning to sound like a king should. “Don’t launch into a lecture so you don’t have to answer my questions. Especially if this is the last night I’ll ever see you.”
You chew on your lip. Pushing the prince any further would do no further good—he’d already followed you out this far. After all, the last thing you wanted was for hundreds of pleasant memories with him to be soured by one, less-than-pleasant farewell.
“I’m not a fan of tearful goodbyes. I thought it might be easier to part if I distanced myself a bit, but then you had to go and ruin my plans by showing up tonight.” You exhale, finally letting your frown show. “There is very little that a foreigner could ever teach you in ways of domestic affairs, and you’ve learned all that I have to share in regards to foreign cultures. There’s no reason for me to remain here any longer than I already have.”
The non-silence returns, just as awkward as the first. This time, Iida is the one to break it.
“How long has it been since you first arrived here?” The question catches you off guard. But you suppose it’s nicer than enduring the many other, more difficult questions he could send your way.
“About a year, I expect. I remember they were just taking down the decorations from the New Year’s celebration when I got off the boat.” You recall the thrill you’d felt at the time, coming to a strange new land full of opportunity, experiences, learning. “There were these round, white objects hanging from the streetlamps at the docks—they almost looked like masks.”
Iida’s face perks up, just a bit. It wasn’t often that he had the opportunity to teach you something. “That’s because they were masks. They’re an old symbol here, meant to encourage a hasty end to the cold. The seas are rougher during winter months, so it’s believed that ancient sailors would wear masks to protect their faces from the saltwater spray, and also to frighten off harmful spirits that might sink a ship. The first recorded figure from the time was Ingineum, the person whom our land was named after they—” He cuts himself off, as though he’s only just realized his excessive enthusiasm on the topic—the way his hands have shot up from his sides, gesticulating wildly.
“So, it’s really been a year then…” Iida laughs nervously, his voice trailing off into the ambient noise of the room. His face is a tinge pink, and you have to be grateful that he seems to have forgotten how angry he’s supposed to be with you. “Is it strange that I feel as though I’ve known you for much longer than that?”
You smile. “Not at all. Do you remember our first lesson?”
“How could I not? You walked into the study nearly an hour late, and you were sopping wet .”
“I got lost in the garden and it was raining and—”
“—and the gardens are indoors, so the rain is negligible.
“It was an added stress to my already-eventful first day.”
Iida rolls his eyes. His glasses are missing—probably abandoned in an attempt to better devote himself to his disguise (however unnecessary it ended up being)—so you get to see every second of the uncharacteristically cheeky gesture. “That still doesn’t explain how you found a way to—”
“—fall into the fountain? The thing is carved out into the middle of the floor! It’s a wonder more people don’t tumble into it, especially when the palace is swarming with children and servants that always seem to be in such a rush to get somewhere important. I’ll never understand why your family never put a barrier around it.”
“There’s never been a need to: it’s massive! Do the people from your home not know to mind their step?”
“Do the people here never have an ounce of fun?”
Iida stares, his jaw hanging low, mouth agape like he’s ready to lecture you on the difference between “fun” and “foolery.” When he doesn’t waver after a minute of that, you counter with a wide-eyed glare of your own. Then his lip twists upward and a stifled snort erupts from your nose, and before either of you fully-realizes what’s going on, you’re both doubled over, cackling—full-on, without an ounce of care for the dozens of haughty faces sending disapproving looks your way. Iida grabs your elbow, his shoulders still shaking with the weight of his laughter, and drags you out a doorway onto the terrace before you can attract too much unwanted attention.
It’s chilly outside, lingering bits of winter clinging to the air, rushing down your throat as your giggling persists. Thankfully, nobody else is around to see the rather ungraceful way you scramble to catch your breath. Soon, your wheezing slows to the point that you can actually speak again.
“You’ve certainly become more amicable in the time I’ve been here, my prince.” And despite how you try to suppress it, another snort forces its way up. “That scowl you wore when I first greeted you…I was convinced you’d dismiss me without so much as a ‘hello.’”
“I seriously considered it! I’d been waiting there for an hour !”
“Nearly an hour.”
“Regardless,” Iida insists, “nobody would’ve questioned my decision.”
“Yet here I am, still in the employ of the royal family with my reputation intact.” You purse your lips. “Tell me: why wasn’t I cast off at the first sign of impropriety?”
It’s said in teasing—another game of yours, meant to rile him up (or to “test his patience” if you were giving it a professional sort of description)—yet Iida seriously seems to ponder the question. He turns away from you, peering into the darkness beyond the edge of the paved terrace. In the direction of his gaze, the glow of orange lamplight only just illuminates the edge of the palace gates. You know their shape well, but you can’t shake the feeling that they look like rusted wrought iron from here—not the golden masterpieces they seemed in the daytime. You wonder how the prince sees them tonight.
“I suppose I was too curious for my own good,” Iida says, eyes still focused on something in the distance, “I suppose I wanted to know more about the type of person that could walk into a room of strangers and still smile the way you did.”
“It’s easy to smile when you love what you’re doing.”
Iida inhales, slow and heavy. “I…” He peers upward, like he’ll find the end of his sentence somewhere in the stars. When Regulus and Denebola offer no words to fill the pregnant pause, his frustrated groan does the job for him. “I don’t enjoy many things these days.”
“And I don’t believe that.” Your response is instantaneous, and perhaps a bit frank for the situation. You continue, regardless. “When you’re studying, you may not realize it yourself, but half the time you’re grinning so wide it looks as though your cheeks might split. When we practice languages, when we discuss politics…”
He turns to face you finally, and something soft crosses his expression.
Familiar. Affectionate. Dangerous.
“That’s because you’re there. Because I lo—”
You tense, your hand swinging out and clutching the arm of his jacket, pleading. “No. We’ve been through this.”
“We haven’t been through anything because you won’t let me—.
“Say something foolish?” A sour, stinging taste creeps up your throat as you take a step back. You needed distance and you needed him to see it. “That’s my job, my prince To teach you the things that are appropriate and the things that are not. This conversation concerns the latter.”
Iida furrows his brow, his jaw tight. “Because you’d reject me?”
You should’ve expected that this conversation would happen eventually. You can’t pretend you hadn’t noticed the way Iida stole glances at you over the edge of his book when he thought you weren’t watching. How he always scrambled to fetch your papers himself when he had a good palace-worth of servants ready to do it for him. How he found every excuse to slide his seat closer, brushing his shoulder against yours as he leaned over to point at some insignificant passage, asking questions he already knew the answers to.
The worst part was…you’d caught yourself doing those very same things. Staring for longer than you should’ve. Enthusiastically accepting his requests to prolong lessons for “just another hour.”
Letting yourself fall in love with him, slowly, but surely, even after you couldn’t pretend not to notice anymore—after he’d cornered you in the library red-faced and stuttering, scrambling to say those sincere words that would be the ruin of both of you.
Of course you hadn’t given him the chance to finish his declaration. You didn’t have it in you to turn him down, not when just seeing him, looking so noble in his royal blues, had been enough to make something buzz deep in your stomach. And returning his affections wasn’t ever an option. Not at all appropriate for a person in your position. You weren’t royal nor a noble. You were just another type of hired help, even if you were afforded more luxuries than the average cook or gardener.
So you’d found some clever reason to excuse yourself, frantically gushing about needing to organize manuscripts or keep a promise to teach some orphan how to read. You couldn’t even remember the lie you’d used—only Iida’s reluctant, tight-lipped smile when he realized that you were, in fact, lying.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” You finally say. It isn’t a lie this time. Not really. You were leaving, and you weren’t about to admit that it’d been your choice to refuse the king’s and queen’s offer for a longer term of employment. Things were already so….delicate with Tenya.
“You don’t have to.”
“Just like you don’t have to become the king?” It comes out harsher than you mean it to, hissed through gritted teeth. Iida winces as though he’s been struck. “Nobody has to do anything in this world. But we both have our obligations regardless, be they pleasant or not. And I—” the shudder in your voice is as unpleasant as it is unintentional, “Tenya, don’t make me start fantasizing about things that just aren’t possible. I’m not strong enough for that.”
Iida breathes. In, then out. Heavy, but even, watching you the whole time. When he speaks, the words are soft. “That’s the first time you’ve said it.”
You scoff. “I’m smart, but I’m no saint. Even I have my limits.”
“No.” He says, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “It’s the first time you’ve used my name.”
The air suddenly feels like ice. Not so cool anymore—more cold incarnate, jagged tendrils working their way around your lungs and squeezing. They freeze you from the inside out, all the while draining you of whatever oxygen your measly throat seems fit to collect.
“I beg you to forgive me, my prince.” You’re formal about it, your back straight, your expression incredibly blank. You’re acting as you should be—as you should’ve been this whole time.
“Stop that.”
“It’s late and the hour has made me forget myself.” Tuning him out, you take a step back towards the doors, back towards the safety of the crowded hall.
“Please —"
“I think it best that I retire for the night. My ship departs early in the morning and I should be rested if I’m going to catch it.” You swallow hard. “Goodnight, my prince.”
Goodbye would be better, you realize once the words leave your mouth. It wasn’t like you were going to see him again after tonight; you owed it to him to give at least use the proper “farewell.” But truthfully, you don’t trust yourself enough to say anything else—not when your eyes burn the way they do.
A tearful goodbye: this was just the thing you’d wanted to avoid. Because in that moment, when the only thing keeping your eyes dry is sheer force of will, you make the mistake of imagining, for just a moment, what it might be like to stay. It wouldn’t be right or responsible, but really, would that be such a bad thing? Truthfully, you’d done a terrible job as a tutor; you’d taught the prince, yes, but you’d also committed the cardinal sin of your trade and become too attached. You’d already acted the part of friend and confidant. What was the harm in making one more mistake?
Rather than dwelling on it for any longer, you turn away. You can hear Iida say your name once, frantic.
And you rush towards the door.
The footfalls behind you don’t register in your mind until it’s too late. His fingers feel incredibly hotas they curl around your wrist, pulling you back and keeping you from taking the final few steps inside.
“Don’t leave like this. Not while you’re forcing this….this professional facade to try and push me away. I know you too well for that.” Hearing your own words—having them scooped up and hurled back at you like a well-timed arrow, makes your heart ache. Still, you say nothing. You know better than to do that. So Iida continues.
“Love me, love me not—it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve made your choice and I’ll respect it. But let’s not say goodbye on bad terms. Speak with me just a little longer. Teach me something new.”
And just like that, you feel your expression melt. Surely it couldn’t do any harm?
Although you know that’s far from the truth, you twist to face him. “I would, but I’m afraid I wasn’t lying when I said I’d taught you everything I know.”
When he realizes that you aren’t denying his request outright, Iida’s eyes widen. He’d expected you to argue. “There has to be something. Astronomy? History?” His voice fades as he wonders aloud, thinking—always thinking. You’re about to tell him to give up; the two of you can speak without a need for lessons, but then something excited sparkles in his eyes.
“Dance? How do they dance where you’re from?” Slowly, delicately, Iida releases his hold on you. But he doesn’t pull back. His fingers unfold, flattening as he pushes the flat of his hand against yours. The action itself is a question: is it like we dance here? With quick steps and pressed palms?
“It’s different from your way. Same principle, different posture.” You thread your fingers into the spaces between his. The gesture is academic—impersonal and meant purely for demonstration purposes. “And there’s not such a rigid rhythm to it. Less stepping, more gliding.”
Iida smiles softly. “Yes, I think I must’ve seen this in a book once.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, what with the extraordinary amount of time you spend reading.”
“Tease me all you’d like, but in this case, it helps,” he walks backward, dragging you with him towards an empty area of the terrace, “although I’ll admit, I’m a bit unsure about this next part. So please, tell me if I’m making a fool of myself.”
“It’s simple. I’m sure you’ll manage well enough.” You extend your free hand out towards him. Iida doesn’t take it though. His jaw tenses, just for a moment, then he’s shaking his head.
“They weren’t hand-in-hand. It was different…I’m sure of that much.”
You sigh, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re overthinking things.”
“No, I’m right. I know I am.”
The rest happens as… as a smear of motion, carried by the swell of music whooshing through the open doors. You think you see it, though—the way Iida’s hand edges in, trembling, but pushing forward even so. It dips down below your wrist, then below your elbow, never halting in it’s smooth, creeping motion forward. Not until his touch is grazing across your side, feather-light, but very much there. It doesn’t sink in at first—how close he is—until you feel the warmth as his fingers press into your back, dragging bits of your tunic along as they do. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so feeble as you do in the instant you realize the prince’s palm is curled around what feels to be the entirety of your waist.
“I believe it was something like this,” Iida says. The tug on your waist is gentle, but the prince’s hold over you is such but you have no choice but to stagger forward. By the time you start wondering if this hasn’t been one big mistake, the distance between the pair of you is practically nonexistent.
All of it is entirely academic, though. Without a doubt, it was academic.
“This is…one way of dancing, yes.” You stutter through your breathlessness. “Although now I’m curious to know what sort of book you were reading.”
“An old one” is all Iida offers before he begins to sway. You fumble to find a spot for your free hand, finally setting it along the slope of his shoulders. He’s taller than you remember—his shoulders broader. How was that possible? How could a person you see nearly every day suddenly seem so much more… dashing?
“You’re doing well, but you still have to count, my prince. Follow the music.” In an effort to distract yourself from your own thoughts, you throw yourself back into your teaching. “One, two, three, and. One, two, three, and.”
You drag Iida along for a while, counting out loud, showing him the rhythm to follow. Soon, he’s steady enough to lead without your instruction. The moment he takes over, the cobblestones seen to transform a dancefloor of their own. The endless sky becomes a ballroom, with a chandelier of stars and a tapestry of moonlight glistening over your swirling bodies. It’s easy to forget yourself—to get lost in the fairy-tale quality of it—while you’re there, grinning and dancing with the prince. You don’t ponder the past, the present, the future. You don’t debate the principles governing ethics or art or architecture.
The two of you just dance.
But as all things must, the song eventually ends. The rising line of the wood flutes dies away and the steady vibration of the drums gets lost in the nothingness of night. You and Iida stare at each other for a while neither quite sure the proper way to proceed. You’re the first to speak.
“I believe it’s time to say goodbye.” You’re sure to emphasize the point by pulling your hand away from the prince’s shoulder, returning it to your side.
Iida’s grip tenses for a fraction of a second, like he’s only just remembered his hand clutching your waist. Nevertheless, he removes it without argument. You can’t help but notice the way cold rushes at you in the absence of his touch. “I believe you’re right.”
“Well then,” you smile despite the wave of nausea threatening to topple you right there and then, “thank you for a wonderful year, Prince Iida. Goodbye.” You step away from him, but you’re distinctly aware of the fact that your hands are still joined. The prince hasn’t completely released his hold over you yet.
You’re about to repeat your farewell—a reminder—but then Iida bows his head low. You don’t have a moment to question his intentions before he’s dragging your hand up, pressing his lips to your knuckles. The act itself catches you off-guard. The way he lingers makes your face heat up. You can only pray the color doesn’t carry to your fingers.
Without rising completely, Iida peers up at you, not smiling, but also not looking as upset as you’d expected him to.
“Goodnight.”
It isn’t the same, solemn “goodbye” you’d granted him, but by that point, you’re too exasperated to question much. It wouldn’t be until early the next morning that you’d understand the meaning behind it.
You’re stepping out onto the docks when you find the ring tucked into the pocket of your belt. It’s silver with a single clear, blue stone propped into an intricate setting. You’re not positive how long it’s been there, but you can certainly guess. The gemstone alone must be priceless—expensive and much more extravagant than you ever would’ve dared to accept from anyone. Then again, you suppose the gifter had known that—had understood that the implications behind the present would be extremely obvious. Rings like this weren’t given as a parting gift.
As it turns out Prince Tenya was far more capable than even you’d given him credit for. He no longer needed you—that much was clear as day. But if his gift was any indication, he certainly wanted you.
And, much to your absolute horror, you wanted him too. Even now.
You look to the ship— your ship—docked only a few dozen meters ahead. Its captain ushers you forward with the back of his hand, barking out some harsh words you don’t quite catch. You glance back over your shoulder and the glint of white porcelain masks still hanging from the lampposts commands your attention. Tales of burly sailors, daring and intelligent, quick and resourceful fill your mind and…and you realize that you never did hear the end of that story. You brush off the thought before it can make you overly-sentimental. It’s all so difficult, though, because just beyond the lamps is the street you’ve just come from, and even further up, atop a hill you know very well, you can see a golden gate. It’s just barely visible through the line of oaks surrounding it: the trees are tall and proud and standing adamantly upright, just like a prince you know. Like the hill, you know him very well.
For what feels like the first time in your life, an irreconcilable sort of indecision throbs deep in your chest. Not that there’s much a choice to make.
Right?