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The king’s bedroom was stuffy and warm, sunlight spilling in from the Eddis-facing window. It made Costis sleepy. From time to time he let his eyes close, and then jerked awake when his body began to slump forward.
The king was asleep. For as much as he claimed he didn’t need to rest off his injury, he slept for hours. It never got less strange to look at him. A week ago, Costis had thought the king a brainless barbarian fool; now he had seen him as a swift fighter, an affectionate husband, and a shrewd tactician. Sleeping, the king was someone else altogether. It made Costis wonder what Eugenides would be like if he hadn’t been the Thief of Eddis.
The king shifted, his face turning toward Costis. His dark hair had fallen into his eyes, and his mouth was slightly open. He had, Costis noticed, long eyelashes. He wondered if the queen was fond of them.
Costis spent most of his shift looking at the king, but that was because the king was the most interesting thing in the room. By now, Costis had memorized every pattern in the rich fabric of the carpet, every notch and mark in the stone walls. He’d spent enough time here on duty looking at nothing to be heartily sick of the king’s chamber, but he still got a thrill every time he was summoned back—the surreal experience of being welcomed into the inner workings of the court, even as a prank, wasn’t over yet.
It was more interesting when the king was awake, but also more difficult. After thirty minutes of attempting to convince the king to stay in bed, Costis understood why the queen’s attendants had resorted to drugs. The king fidgeted and complained like a punished child.
“A little walk is healthy for the constitution,” he told Costis plaintively. “I believe Petrus would agree with me.”
“Your Majesty,” Costis said desperately. “It’s my duty.”
What he did with the king every morning could not truthfully be called sparring. It was just a repetitive exercise for the king’s benefit and amusement. But sometimes when he talked to the king, Costis felt like he was genuinely sparring—or rather, that this was the king’s equivalent of exercises in prime, the king blocking Costis’s efforts without trying and longing to be matched with someone who could give him a real fight. Costis didn’t even know the rules of the game.
“I am your king,” Eugenides said. He leveled a grave look at Costis, and for a moment Costis felt how much power the king really was in command of—every inch of the country of Attolia, every citizen, at his disposal.
“It’s my orders, Your Majesty,” he mumbled. Eugenides collapsed out of his moment of royal bearing, and yawned.
“Oh well,” he said. “I supposed you’re afraid of disappointing my wife, and who can blame you. Although I doubt you’d be punished as I’ve been. She probably wouldn’t take more than a toe. Perhaps an ear.”
Something twisted in Costis’s stomach at the way Eugenides said “my wife”—the casual ownership, like the morning kisses at breakfast. To be the person who thought of the queen of Attolia in those simple, domestic terms—Costis was ashamed even imagining it. He wanted to ask Eugenides how he could joke about what had happened between him and the queen, but that kind of directness would have to wait until the next time he was sure the king was about to execute him.
“Do you have any idea how boring it is to lie in bed all day,” Eugenides burst out. “I should have let the assassins kill me.” Costis considered pointing out that it was only marginally less boring to stand in the king’s chamber watching him lie in bed all day, but he held his tongue.
“But then,” Eugenides continued, “I too am afraid of disappointing my wife. On such a hinge the country turns.”
He wasn’t even addressing Costis, just babbling to himself. Costis stopped paying attention and started fantasizing about being home, eating and sleeping when he wanted to, and not spending all his time navigating the capricious attention of this infuriating, beautiful king.
“I guess they wanted you to guard me because you’re the least likely to kill me,” Eugenides continued, conversationally. “Ornon would have tried at least three times by now. You’ve already shown willingness to stop other people from killing me, which is commendable.”
Costis swallowed. The king was doing it again, sending a parry in his direction that Costis had no idea how to counter. He wanted to ask Eugenides if it had been this hard for him to avoid being killed in Eddis, but he still had no idea how long he would remain in the king’s favor after the king finished toying with him. He envied the queen’s attendants, who had been in her inner circle long enough to know what they could dare.
“I can only serve you and Her Majesty,” Costis said, feeling extremely awkward.
“Oh, I know, I know,” the king said.
Costis hesitated, and then risked it. “The time would undoubtedly pass more quickly if Your Majesty would like to close your eyes and rest.”
“Certainly for you, I’m sure,” Eugenides said, but he didn’t seem angry. “It would be a lot easier to bear if I had a companion to lie with as well.”
It took a moment for the words to hit Costis, and when they did, he was so embarrassed he could hardly speak. He couldn’t look at the king, fixing his gaze on the pillow above his head as he desperately willed his face not to redden.
“I,” he said, and then stopped, disbelieving that he was about to say this. His voice was choked and thick in his throat. “I could... send someone to summon the queen, if, if Your Majesty...” He stopped, too mortified to finish. He could remember every bit of speculation he’d ever heard about the king and queen’s marital life, and deeply regretted listening.
“I didn’t mean the queen,” Eugenides said mildly.
Costis froze for a second, and then closed his eyes, unable even to meet the pillow’s gaze. Panic blanked out his thoughts, every muscle in his body snapping into tension. Did he mean—? How could Costis answer? What was he meant to say? Was he—should he—
He heard a noise, and opened his eyes. The king was laughing, curled up with his hand over his wound.
It was a joke. Costis relaxed, his heart still pounding, and his legs weak. He tried to control his face, keep it stone-serious like the queen’s always was, but he suspected the king could read everything. This would not be something to tell the rest of the guards.
Eugenides’ laughter trailed off, and he was left with his good hand clutching his side, panting.
“Ow,” he said. “That hurt. This thing is a much better deterrent to my general enjoyment of life than the ministers in Eddis ever managed.”
Costis looked away again, schooling his face and bearing into the appropriate demeanor for a guard. He was ashamed of being made a joke of again. If their conversation was a sparring bout, the king had disarmed him and run him through. He felt like a mouse being played with by a cat, with the same sense that when it was over, he would be killed.
“Your Majesty should rest,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Eugenides’ eyes were already closing. Costis risked looking at him again, but it gave him an odd, anxious sensation in his throat.
Before the king started laughing, Costis had been struggling for words. What might he have said, if the king had drawn out the joke? Costis didn’t even know what his response might have been, and any thought of it made him want to disappear, the same sick, heavy shame he felt when the king and queen showed each other affection in his presence.
The guards had thought the king was oblivious, but Eugenides had proven that he saw much more than they’d thought, much more even than Costis did. Costis had a dark suspicion that there was nothing he could successfully hide from the king.
-
Costis was relieved for lunch, because it was the king’s lunch time as well, and there were attendants to watch him eat it. Costis had no envy for the people whose task it was to convince the king his food wasn’t drugged, but his stomach was uneasy as he went back to more familiar parts of the castle.
Eating with the guards these days was no less of a war zone than staying with the king. With all the contradictory rumors flying about what had happened to Sejanus and Dite, and the king’s attendants’ newfound respect for Eugenides, Costis was the guards’ only link to the truth. Every time he appeared in the mess hall, he was quickly waved over and bombarded with questions.
Costis was extremely reluctant to talk about the king, even when it didn’t involve personal humiliation. He told himself that he was being more careful, after accidentally selling Eugenides out to the baron Susa. He had no desire to earn a reputation as a gossip monger. But more than that, he didn’t know how to put into words everything he had seen in his time with the king. Sejanus and Dite’s fates could be told plainly enough, and had been, over and over, but how could you explain the way the king’s eyes had flashed when he told Sejanus he would kill his brother? The way the bumbling fool they’d all watched for the past few months had fallen away, and left behind—what? Who? A figure as sharp and brilliant as a sword. It left Costis feeling like a prophet trying to explain a miracle of the gods.
The guards couldn’t—or refused to—understand what the king had done, and Costis didn’t want to speak his opinion out loud and hear for himself how foolish it sounded. There was something about the king, something he felt when they spoke of him, that made him want to keep his thoughts close to his chest. It was the same feeling that had spurred him to promise the goddess Philia ten cups to keep the king safe. There was some golden quality about the king that made Costis want to protect him and follow him, and when he himself couldn’t even explain it, he didn’t want to offer it up for the guards’ mockery.
“How’s nanny duty?” one of the squad leaders—Archilius, Costis thought his name was—asked, punctuated with a friendly slap on Costis’s back, as Costis swung into the place next to Aris.
“Fine,” he said. His heart jumped wildly at the memory of the king’s joke—I didn’t mean the queen—and he stared at his food, hoping against hope that nothing showed on his face. Should have saved that offer of ten gold cups to trade for no one ever finding out the king had humiliated him. Well, more so than usual.
“Don’t hold back,” Archilius said. “Has the queen been by to play-act concern?”
“Must be nice for him,” one of Costis’s old squadmates joined in, breaking a piece of bread. He took a large bite and continued to speak as he chewed. “He doesn’t have to pretend to be a king for a few days.”
“Are we sure the wound is from the assassins?” Archilius put on a high, affected voice. “Quick, Costis, get a good jab in!”
“Worth at least a few days of missing his duties.”
“Stop it,” Costis hissed out, despite himself. “He could have been killed.”
“And you wouldn’t have got the pleasure,” another guard agreed, nodding at Costis. “Too bad he got wise to the quinalums.”
Costis’s left hand, resting by his side on the bench, clenched into a fist.
“Now look, you’re aggravating the nursemaid,” his old squadmate said, laughing. The laughter wasn’t unkind, but it irritated Costis anyway, dragging across his nerves like a sword point against stone. Costis was horribly aware of the thing, the sensation he couldn’t express, burning in his breast. If he wanted to argue with the guards, he had to calm down and address them as if he were still one of them.
“He’s the king,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We’re sworn to protect him. Whether we like him or not doesn’t enter into it.”
“Whether we like him isn’t the question—” Archilius said, but the guard next to him elbowed him hard in the side. He quieted, although one of the men across the table covered his mouth, seemingly to stifle a snort of laughter.
Costis was lost. He’d been a lieutenant only for a few days, but the river of guard gossip moved too quickly, and he’d missed something. He wanted to ask, but at that moment one of the men conspicuously changed the topic to hunting, which was quickly taken up. Costis glanced at Aris, but he was eating quickly, his gaze averted. Costis mulled over his soup.
As they left the hall, Costis grabbed Aris’s elbow. “What was that about?”
“You don’t want to know,” Aris said, with a vehemence that surprised him. “Really, it’s better if you just wait for it to pass.”
“Aris, please,” Costis said. Glancing around, he pulled Aris to the left, into a passageway out of the path of the rest of the guards dispersing for their duties. “I’ve been humiliated enough in the past few days,” he said. “Tell me what the joke is.”
“It’s just guard talk,” Aris said. “Everyone’s on edge about the Baron Erondites and the assassination attempt...”
“So they’re taking it out on me?” Costis said.
“No,” Aris said slowly. “It’s just... well, just days ago you were punching the king in the jaw. And now you—and Ion, and Hilarion, and the rest of the attendants—are talking about him like he’s some kind of heroic general, and he’s always summoning you to attend to him privately—people say he trusts you.”
He didn’t, Costis thought bitterly. Eugenides allowed Costis to be alone with him because he didn’t see Costis as a threat. It was condescension, not trust.
“So there’s a joke going around... it’s not funny,” Aris said quickly. “No one actually believes it, you know, it’s just nonsense.”
“Just tell me,” Costis said with a sigh.
“That the king’s taken you as his lover,” Aris said, his face twisting in what might have been pity.
Costis’s gut jumped nervously. He pressed his mouth into a line.
“Oh,” he said.
“It’ll pass,” Aris said, but Costis was already turning and stalking off.
-
The next day, the enormous Eddisian princes came to visit, and Eugenides was back to mostly ignoring Costis.
It was just guard talk. In fact, the fact that guards were joking about it probably meant it was the farthest thing from the truth they actually suspected. But Costis was deeply weary of being a joke.
Costis had experienced plenty of guard gossip before, but until he'd punched the king, he’d never been on this side of it. Costis wasn’t one to draw attention to himself. Now people would quiet when he entered a room, or worse, muffle laughter. Now that the king wasn’t summoning him anymore, Costis would have thought the joke would die, but it was clear Costis and the king were linked now in the public consciousness. Costis knew the right way to handle it was to laugh and agree, to say, “Sorry I was late to duty, I had a long night with the king” and wink. But he couldn’t make himself find it funny; instead his ears burned in shame whenever he caught the tail end of a conversation he wasn't meant to hear.
It was worse when they actually had to guard the king. When Costis was assigned duty in the courtroom, he tried not to look at the king, but shifts were long and boring and his eyes often ended up on Eugenides. When he realized, he would snap himself out of it, resisting the urge to look around and make sure no one had seen. The king was never doing anything interesting, either—it was always the queen addressing her courtiers and subjects, and in the past Costis would have been happy to watch the queen for hours, her beauty still surprising him anew with every gesture even after the years Costis had spent at the palace. But Costis’s eyes were still drawn to Eugenides’s face, the rings on his hands, the place under his coat where Costis knew there was still a scar. Eugenides never looked at him, but Costis still had the uncomfortable feeling that the king knew. The king knew everything.
Costis lay awake at night, thinking about the assassination attempt, about the shock of seeing the king covered in blood, and the warmth of the king’s body pressed against his as he helped him up the stairs. The way the queen had kissed him when she’d seen. He ran through it in his mind until the entire day was narrowed to those three points: blood, warmth, and a kiss.
-
The teasing pretty much stopped after the guards accepted the king's sovereignty. It wasn't funny to mock him anymore, and more than that, it wasn't funny to mock Costis, whose passionate defense of the king was now considered acceptable.
The only one who didn't seem to understand anything was Costis. The king had dismissed him and ignored him, but only for his own protection. The king had told him he had a sense of humor, joked with him, shared his god with him, and fallen into his arms. The king had also manipulated him, admitting that the attention he gave Costis was all for the sake of reaching Teleus. And now Costis was back to his former position, as if nothing had happened. The king had finished his game, and Costis had unwittingly played his role perfectly, and now the king had no more use for him.
The plans to drop Costis from the guard had been been forgotten once it was made clear that the king's protection was now the purview of all the guards. So Costis returned to his old life, hearing about the king's antics from court gossip, and not understanding how he could miss something that had made him feel so foolish and humiliated while it was happening.
One night, Costis was just taking off his boots to get into bed when a barracks boy entered and told him he was assigned to night patrol in the palace.
“But I just finished a shift,” Costis said. And he surely would have known beforehand if he were assigned to a night duty.
The boy shrugged. “I was told to fetch you, that’s all.”
Costis groaned, and covered his face with a hand. He was bone tired. And he was hardly ever assigned to shifts inside the palace these days, not since the king had dismissed him. Someone must have fallen ill, or gotten injured, and Costis was lucky enough to be the one to replace him.
“Alright,” he said. “Let me just get my boots on.”
He headed to his appointed position in the east wing of the palace, legs groaning with every step. He had already been on watch outside the walls for the past six hours, and now he had a long night of looking at gray stone and trying not to fall asleep to look forward to. Costis didn’t like to complain, but his aching feet and foggy head were doing it for him. He tried to stifle a yawn.
He reached the correct corridor, and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling of the cool stone on his cheek. After a moment, he steeled himself and started to patrol.
It was drafty in this part of the palace, and the cool night air woke him a little as he walked. This area wasn’t well-traveled, and not all the windows had been replaced yet after shattering last year, supposedly as a message from the Eddisian gods. The king and queen had never officially made a statement about it, so the supposition was just from servant rumors, but the queen’s construction of the temple to Hephestia seemed to confirm that something had led her to respect Eugenides’s religion. Perhaps it was just an act, a public statement to solidify the new unity between Attolia and Eddis. It was hard to know what was real and what was artifice, especially now he knew that the queen’s false affection toward the king, supposedly put on to make the marriage more palatable to the Attolians, was itself a cover for the real love he’d seen between the king and queen in her bedchamber. It was all too much, all the layers of falsehoods and suspicions—it was like conversing with the king, with too many allusions and implications, and Costis was deeply tired of it. He wondered if the king and queen ever were.
The patrol route formed a large loop through the monotonous corridors, and Costis lost himself in the pattern of trudging across the stone, snapping his eyes open every few minutes as he fought the exhaustion. Being a guard, you learned how to be alone and keep yourself entertained, so Costis quickly lost himself in his thoughts, until he turned the corner to the hallway where he'd started and saw the king standing in front of him.
Costis jumped, and only through great effort managed not to cry out. Eugenides grinned, and Costis was even more glad he'd managed to keep his composure.
Eugenides was wearing a simple tunic and trousers, nothing at all like the formal clothes he wore in the court, and not night clothes either. On his right arm he wore a polished wood hand. With his good hand, he gestured for Costis to follow him, and turned.
The shock had woken Costis, and he followed the king eagerly, a kernel of warmth blossoming in his chest. This was some kind of trick, he told himself, some new game or manipulation—but the idea of being allowed into the king's plans again was still thrilling enough to make his stomach flutter as he hurried behind Eugenides, trying to walk as silently as a thief would.
Costis didn't recognize the route they were taking, but after a while he noticed they hadn't run into a single guard, which he supposed was the purpose of the strange path the king lead him down, occasionally doubling back in the direction they'd just come, or descending a staircase only to ascend another. Costis was sure if the king hadn't had the burden of a guard to bring with him, he'd be out the window already and crawling over the walls of the palace, or enclosed in some secret passageway that he didn't trust Costis enough to show him. At last, Eugenides led him outside in the cool night air, and disappeared over the side of a balcony. Costis looked over the railing and saw that he'd simply dropped to the balcony below, something even Costis could manage without relying on divine intervention.
Costis dropped down, landing with a thud that made his knees shake, and he suddenly knew where they were.
The queen's apartments.
"Do you think anyone saw us?" Eugenides mused. "I used to be able to do anything I wanted in this palace, you know, but I think the Secretary of the Archives is keeping a closer eye on me these days. Before I was king, the palace of Attolia was a much more restful place for me."
Everyone knew the former Thief of Eddis had made a habit of strolling through the palace like it was his home, with an insolence that was surely the reason the king was now disabled, and not simply dead. Costis shivered a little in the cool night wind.
"Cold?" Eugenides asked, Costis couldn't tell if he was mocking him. Probably yes. "Let's go in, then."
He pushed open the glass door to the balcony and waved Costis in after him.
The lamps in the room were brighter and warmer than the moonlight, giving the room an inviting orange glow. Costis's breath caught in his throat.
The queen of Attolia was sitting demurely on a chair in the corner of the room, legs crossed at the ankle, watching her husband take off his boots.
"You're getting sluggish," she said. Attolia's voice—she spoke with such deliberate enunciation that Costis had seen men tremble and throw themselves on her mercy before she even had them formally arrested. It was odd to hear its harsh tone eroded by affection, like a thunderstorm reduced to a spring breeze. "Is the comfortable royal life softening you, My King?"
"Sluggish?" Eugenides grumbled. "I've just stolen this guard for you. Would you have preferred an amber necklace?"
"The guard is fine," Attolia said, "but I hardly think he’s for me, Gen."
"Oh, well," Eugenides sighed, kicking off his remaining boot and sitting heavily on the bed. "I can't spend all my time serving your interests, my dear, although I'm willing to try until it kills me."
Costis was horribly self-conscious. This was so much worse than what he'd seen while the king was injured, because this time the king's attendants were nowhere to be seen. It was only Costis here to witness these private moments, and he wanted to retreat through the door back to the balcony.
"Did you tell him why you brought him here?" Attolia said.
"I didn't tell him anything," Eugenides said. "Do you think I pause in the middle of thieving to make conversation?"
"Yes," Attolia said, "frankly. I have yet to see any evidence that you have an ounce of sense or self-preservation in your head, so yes, I wouldn't rule it out."
"Do you see what I suffer," Eugenides said plaintively, turning to Costis. "Do you see how she treats me?"
Costis thought it wasn't a very funny joke, given how the queen had actually treated Eugenides.
"Why am I here?" he ventured, figuring that if this entire situation was secret, he was entitled to a little boldness.
"For company," the king said. "You don't have to stand there at attention like a fireplace poker, Costis. Relax."
Costis couldn't. His heart was jumping in his chest.
"I don't know what kind of company I can be," he said, "You said yourself I have no sense of humor, Your Majesty."
"But then I said you might," Eugenides said. "It's like this, Costis. You've lost your position as king's nursemaid, haven't you? If I was doing something ill-considered and dangerous, who would they drag out of bed these days?"
"Teleus," Costis admitted.
"So your life and your job are secure," the king agreed. "Which is excellent news. But it leaves me with no excuse to drag you up here to guard me. So I had to find a way."
"But why?" Costis said.
"I told you," the king said, shrugging. "Come on, take your boots off and sit down. Would you like some wine?"
"No, thank you," Costis said, remembering vividly the last time the king got him drunk. Costis didn't need any help making a fool of himself in front of Eugenides.
"Suit yourself," Eugenides said. "Irene, my dear, come here if Costis won't. My shoulder aches."
"Not an ounce of self-preservation," Attolia repeated, but she stood and moved smoothly to sit on the bed beside Eugenides. "Have you ever once done anything without overextending yourself?"
"It was fairly easy to convince you to marry me," Eugenides said lightly. "That didn't strain my shoulder."
The queen pursed her lips, deigning not to respond. Eugenides turned his back to her, and she smoothed her palms over his shoulders, digging in with her long fingers. Costis saw Eugenides's eyes close and his mouth open as he let out a breath, but no noise came with it. Costis had long suspected that any noise the king made—in pain, in relief, in surprise—was just artifice. And what kind of artifice was this, this dragging Costis from his bed to offer him wine and talk? What was beneath it? Costis didn't understand. The king couldn't use Costis to influence his reputation among the guards if no one knew Costis was here.
In the room's soft lighting, the sharp features of Attolia's face were softened and made gentle. It struck Costis that Attolia wasn't all that much older than him. She ruled with such authority that she'd always seemed ageless to Costis, like a marble statue of a goddess brought to life.
The intimacy of the touch, and the fond expression on the queen's face, made Costis feel even more squeamish. The queen leaned forward and delicately kissed the back of Eugenides's neck, and heat shot through Costis's veins. He was sure, now, that he was reddening, and he was glad the low light made it impossible to see. Why had the king said if Costis won't?
Costis could ask the king to let him go back to his room, and sleep as much as he could before the morning. He could let the king and queen be alone, or he could stay and wait until the purpose of this game was revealed, even if it meant suffering more humiliation at the king's hand.
He leaned down, and began to unbuckle his boots.
"Finally," the king said cheerfully, although his face was still turned away from Costis, his back leaning into the queen's touch. Costis slipped his boots off, unsure where to put them. The king had left his in a pile on the floor, so Costis placed his next to Eugenides's, and sat in the chair the queen had vacated. His muscles were vibrating with tension, and he held himself at the edge of the chair, his spine perfectly straight and his hands clenched on his knees.
"Any news from your family, Costis?" the king said over his shoulder.
Costis mentally scanned the question for where the trick might be, but he couldn't see it.
"Actually, yes," he said. The king waited for him to continue, so he squashed the tremor of nerves in his chest and began to tell the king about the latest letter from his father.
It was distracting to talk about his family, and some of the tension began to leach out of Costis’s muscles. The king listened attentively while the queen rubbed his back, asking questions when Costis paused, and generally making a show of interest in Costis’s family life. After a while, Costis hesitated.
There was no point in holding back with Eugenides at this point, not after everything that had passed between them. The king’s ability to predict Costis’s actions showed what Costis had suspected, that the king knew him down to his bones even though Costis couldn’t see how, and Costis had seen enough of the king—including the dark spaces the king hadn’t invited him to see—that he didn’t feel any need to adhere to strict etiquette.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “This can’t be all you wanted me here for.”
“No, of course not,” Eugenides said. "I also wanted to talk to you about the reduction of the guards. Have you found the new arrangement of duties manageable?”
"Yes," Costis said slowly, "but surely Teleus could give you more information."
"But Teleus isn't here," Eugenides said.
So Costis told the king about the recent changes in the guard. At some point, the queen stopped rubbing Eugenides’s back and simply sat with him companionably, reaching over his lap to clasp his left hand in hers.
Costis talked until he ran out of things to say, and then the king talked a little bit about his life back in Eddis, with the queen chiming in occasionally to accuse him of exaggeration. After a few hours, the king yawned loudly. Artifice, Costis thought.
“Well, it’s probably time for all of us to get some sleep,” he said. “I’ve canceled your morning duties, Costis, so you don’t need to worry about that. Do you think you can remember the route I took you along to get back?”
“I—don’t think so,” Costis stammered, his nerves roaring back.
“Alright,” the king said amiably, standing and stretching his arms out. “I’ll take you back, but pay close attention this time. Understand?”
Costis understood nothing, but he nodded and prepared to follow the king.
-
After that first time, the king summoned him every once in a while, not more than one night every few weeks. Every time it was the same—Costis would get an unexpected night duty, make his way to the queen’s chambers (Eugenides stopped coming to get him once he was satisfied Costis could make it on his own without being seen), and they would chat for a few hours before the king sent him back. Even for Eugenides, it was baffling.
Could it be that the king genuinely just wanted a friend? It couldn’t be—nothing with the king was ever so straightforward. Not even Costis punching the king in the face had been an action free from the king’s machinations. But Costis knew better than to imagine himself capable of out-thinking Eugenides, so he merely bade his time and waited for the trick to be revealed.
Meanwhile, he was enjoying his evenings with the king and queen. Eugenides loved talking about himself and encouraged Costis to ask him about his life and his famous exploits. He told Costis the story of stealing Hamiathes’s Gift, and various acts of thievery from his cousin, the queen of Eddis. If there was nothing else to talk about, Eugenides would tell one of the Eddisian myths about their gods. Costis could return the favor with Attolian legends, but Eugenides knew them all already, better even than Costis did. Eugenides knew more about everything than Costis, but he probed Costis for his opinions. He knew the details of such-and-such story, but what did Costis think of it? What did Costis think Attolians thought of it?
After a few months, Costis stopped wondering what role he was playing in the king’s game, and started dreading the moment it became clear and Costis was thrown out again.
After perhaps five months and seven or eight visits, Costis entered the bedchamber through the balcony to find only the queen there, standing silently in wait for him.
The queen was always dressed in night clothes when Costis was here, but even in the privacy of her own room she was breathtaking. Her black hair cascaded to her shoulders, and her nightgown was cream, covered in pale embroidered rosettes in lemon yellow. Attolia’s presence extended much further than her petite form, and Costis swallowed reflexively.
“Where is the king?” he asked.
“I wanted to speak with you,” Attolia answered. She smiled faintly, and Costis was vividly reminded of the king’s drunken stroll along the castle parapets, ages ago. Costis was now the one stumbling along the parapets, one slip from a short death, and Costis’s balance was nowhere near as good as the king’s.
“I hope I haven’t done anything against Your Majesty’s wishes,” he said. He was already standing at attention, but he straightened his back further, his shoulders almost trembling with the effort of keeping them so still.
“Not at all,” Attolia said. She turned and began to walk away from him, smoothing her skirt down with her hands. “Why do you think the king brings you here to talk to him?”
If Costis had an answer, it would have saved him months of wondering. He considered the question carefully before answering.
“I think that it in some way benefits the king’s goals and desires,” Costis said. “In what way, I must admit I am completely without understanding.”
“But you think my husband does nothing that doesn’t further his aims,” Attolia said. She stopped and turned back to Costis. “I agree. I wonder if you have any idea what those aims are.”
What could the king want? What had he wanted before? Not power, not even respect, but security, which could only be bought with respect. Protection for the queen. Freedom of movement, which was restricted now by his royal duties and his physical handicap. Costis couldn’t see how Eugenides chatting with a guard applied to any of that.
“I don’t, My Queen,” he said finally.
“What’s your impression of my lord Attolis?” Attolia gazed at him, perfectly still. Costis half wished she would turn away again.
“My impression of His Majesty,” Costis said slowly, “is that any impression I am certain of is likely to be a deception. My impression is that everything the king does is an act, even if he is acting out his true feelings.” He clamped his mouth shut, and for a moment terror constricted his chest at how frankly he’d spoken about the queen of Attolia’s husband.
“A fair assessment,” the queen said, and Costis let out his breath. “My husband cannot be straightforward, unless forced into it by circumstance. I don’t believe he could even if he wanted to. It’s against his nature. His training and his character both compel him to hold back anything it’s not necessary to reveal.”
Costis wanted to ask how she could be married to someone of that nature, but he hadn’t gained the boldness with the queen that he had with the king.
“Gen can't be rushed or persuaded," she continued. "He's stubborn. If you want him to be honest, you have to give him the circumstances. He might even wish you would.” She smiled again, but not at Costis; seemingly at the thought of Eugenides. "Do you understand?"
Costis hesitated. There was a finality in her tone that made him reluctant to answer negatively, but he also thought he might be glimpsing a light through the fog in his head.
"Yes, My Queen," he said.
"Good," Attolia said, and turned away in such a manner that it was clear Costis was dismissed.
-
The next day Costis went to Teleus, his palms sweaty and his muscles stiff with tension, and informed him that he was resigning from the guard.
"I will perform all my required duties today and tomorrow," he said, "and after that, I'll gather my things and head back to my family's land."
He'd wondered if Teleus would question him, and had a story prepared in case he did—about his homesickness and his lack of love for court life, all exaggerated, but true enough to be believed. But Teleus didn't ask. He simply gazed at Costis and then nodded, dismissing him.
Costis walked away, his stomach churning, feeling no better than he had before. His senses were heightened, every familiar palace scene causing him a stab of premature nostalgia. He heard the movements of guards training in formation in the yard, footsteps along the stone corridors, felt the warm spring breeze through the walls of the barracks. Costis had learned, from life in the palace, that it wasn't wise to gamble with anything you weren't prepared to lose. He was prepared to lose, but he hoped dearly he would not, and nerves constricted his chest and stole his appetite all day.
Anything Teleus knew, the king knew. Costis was sure of that. If Eugenides knew everything that Costis thought and did, he certainly knew a hundred times more about the captain of his guard. All day, Costis waited, the stone block of dread in his stomach growing heavier and heavier. After dinner, he was rehearsing the apologies he was going to make to Aris to explain his leaving when one of the guards in his squad came up behind him.
"Hey, Costis," he said, "check the duty schedule, your shift's changed. I'm supposed to switch with you."
Warmth spread through Costis like he had just stepped into the steam room. "Thanks," he said, hurrying off.
"Tough luck, Costis," someone mumbled sympathetically as he ran up to where the schedule was posted. "You'll be up all night again."
Costis tried to look disappointed, but he was shaky with relief. Now the king would have to make his move, or give up on Costis for good.
-
The king was perched on a chair when Costis entered, legs crossed and his good hand resting on top of his knee. He wasn't wearing a prosthetic, and his shirt sleeve was buttoned and tucked in around his arm stump. In the soft light, his eyes were black and unreadable, and the lamp threw flickering shadows across his delicate features. Costis looked around, but he didn't see the queen.
"You want to go back to your farm, do you," Eugenides said.
"Yes, My King," he said, keeping his face and voice carefully blank.
Eugenides jumped to his feet, and Costis almost stepped back, but he just started pacing, his left hand disappearing into a pocket. "I'd hoped on the first night, that you would take wine," he said. "It would have made things easier to talk about."
"Has my talking with you been to your disapproval in any way?" Costis said, lost.
"No!" Eugenides burst out, and then paused in his pacing. "Sorry. I'm not angry with you." But he was angry, clearly, or at least frustrated; he huffed out an irritated exhale. After a moment, he returned to pacing.
"My esteemed wife, the queen of Attolia," Eugenides said, "has many admirers in this palace. The foremost being the recently exiled Erondites the younger. You knew how he felt about my wife, didn't you?"
Everyone had. Costis nodded, slowly. He felt that he was walking into a trap, but he couldn't see where the ground became unsafe, and where the net would spring from.
"And so did I," Eugenides said, although he wasn't looking at Costis. "And so did her attendants, and mine, and visitors to the palace, and the earthworms in the garden. But my queen didn't know. She is very canny about human nature when it comes to politics and violence, but not when it comes to matters of the heart. But I don't have that blind spot, Costis," he said, before Costis had time to wonder about the relevance of this tangent. "For the gods' sakes, I know how people react to me, that's part of my job. It's kept me alive before."
Ten seconds ago, Costis hadn't been able to see the shape this conversation was taking; now he was beginning to glimpse it emerging from the dark corners of the room, and his blood ran cold. The jokes among the guards. Costis's difficulty taking his eyes off the king during shifts in the throne room. The king's mockery. Oh, gods.
At least the king seemed as embarrassed as Costis was. He'd stopped pacing, but he wasn't looking at Costis, instead addressing the wall and playing with the button on his tucked-in sleeve.
"But anyone who appears to be especially favored by me is in danger of being manipulated or hurt or killed. And I've just gotten you out of that situation," the king said, his voice low, like he was mostly talking to himself. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"Uh," Costis said. His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Your Majesty—I hope I haven't offended you or displeased you in any way with my—with how I—with my behavior towards—" He swallowed, unable to speak around the lump of shame in his throat. He was intensely glad the queen wasn't here.
"No, no," the king said, waving this away the way one would shoo a fly. "I don't want you to quit, Costis. I don't want you to be a squad leader. I want you to be my lieutenant who stays in the room when I dismiss the rest of my lackeys. I liked having you be the king's official nursemaid and I'd like you to continue coming here and spending time with me at night, but the more it happens, the more I'm afraid someone will find out, and that would go very badly for both of us. Understand?"
Not at all, but the king's words were making Costis light-headed. He wished he could put a hand on the wall to steady himself.
"I've already quit, My King," he said quietly.
"No, you haven't," Eugenides said, sighing. He finally looked at Costis, and Costis was pinned by his dark gaze, his heart beating rapidly as a butterfly's wings. "You and I both know you won't leave if I ask you not to. And I'm asking. Please," he added. "Costis. I'm not the queen. I know how you feel about me, and I like it. I like you."
Costis closed his eyes, wishing the king would look away again. He wanted to cover his face, or go back out onto the balcony. Most of all he wanted not to react, not to let the king see how horribly much his words were affecting him. He breathed hard through his nose, the burning in his chest more like the fire that, as the king had told him, took the god Eugenides's brother's life. Costis was the god, walking through the flames even as they scorched him black.
"Your Majesty," he tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. Awful.
"Not Your King?" Eugenides said, and Costis opened his eyes to see his eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Please don't mock me," Costis said in a rush, his cheeks hot.
"I'm not!" Eugenides protested, stepping toward him. "Costis."
Costis felt the warmth of the king's fingers close around his hand, and his heart responded with a violent movement, causing him to shiver.
"I don't understand," Costis said. He didn't step back, but he also didn't respond, allowing his hand to lie limply in the king's grasp. "The queen..."
"Her Majesty, Irene, the queen of Attolia," Eugenides said promptly, "is the love of my life. She is also a very jealous woman. But you, my dear, are hardly a rival for her beauty. She" —he sounded disgusted— "finds my feelings charming. Trust me, I would rather she be angry."
His feelings. Costis was used to standing perfectly still for hours and hours at a time, inside the palace or outside in the sun, and his leg muscles were solid as tree trunks, but right now he felt his knees might buckle. He remembered the queen urging him to force Eugenides into honesty with a new wave of mortification. All this time, the king and queen had been discussing him in their private chambers. It was embarrassing, but it also made him feel hot underneath his heavy guard clothes. He cautiously laced his fingers with the king's, clasping their hands together.
"So you see my problem," the king said. "I'd rather you didn't leave in two days. I'd also rather you didn't get caught sneaking to the queen's chambers."
"It's not a problem," Costis murmured, dizzy with the feeling of the king's palm against his, the sight of the king's sharp face so close.
"You've made it a problem," Eugenides said. "Now I have to find some way to insist you stay without appearing to consider you exceptional in any way. It's a headache. You're a headache."
"I'm sorry," Costis said, not meaning it. This close, it struck him that the king was several inches shorter than he was; he never paid it mind, because the king loomed so large in his thoughts. "Is it that hard, to pretend you don't find me exceptional?"
The king blinked in surprise, and then burst out laughing. "I find you endearing," he said, and tilted his face up to press his mouth to Costis's.
The king was right—wine would have made this easier. Sober, Costis felt clumsy and awkward, attempting to kiss the king. He wanted to put his hands on Eugenides's waist, but he didn't want to drop the king's hand, so he clenched and flexed his other hand, unsure what to do with it. He could feel Eugenides's breath on his face. A flash of fear tightened his throat, and he pulled away.
"Your Majesty," he said, breathless, but the king interrupted him.
"Eugenides, Costis, please," he said.
"Eugenides," Costis repeated. "I—I very much hope this isn't a joke."
Eugenides snorted in laughter, and for an instant Costis's bones froze in his limbs.
"I hate to imagine you think me so cruel," Eugenides said. Costis breathed in relief, but he'd broken the spell anyway, because Eugenides stepped back, dropping his hand. "Take off your boots and armor, Costis," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching down to take off his own beloved footwear.
Oh. Costis quickly complied, leaning down to unbuckle the leather straps around his calves that held on his shin guards. Every time he glanced up and caught a glimpse of the king, a wave of warmth flooded his body. Every gesture the king made was deliberate and graceful. The king's fingers were long and nimble, and Costis could imagine what an astonishing creature he had been with two hands. But the king had a way of turning his disability into something else beautiful, another mystery Costis couldn't begin to fathom. Between the way the king alternately hid it and flaunted it, it was hard to know his true feelings. Sometimes he feigned helplessness, only to shock with a stunning display of maneuverability, and other times he appeared so competent that it was shocking to remember he couldn't cut his own meat. The queen, in taking his hand, had given him another weapon of deception and misdirection.
"The god Eugenides," the king said as Costis moved onto his breastplate, "traditionally had many lovers, of all sexes and statuses. My cousin who is Eddis used to tease me about it." His voice, as always, grew fond as he spoke of Eddis. "So did the rest of my cousins. As a result I had no interest in lovers until I quite unexpectedly fell in love."
Costis finished taking off his boots and armor and faced Eugenides, clad only in a rough linen tunic and trousers.
"Have you done this before?" the king asked. Costis pushed down the flutter of nerves in his chest.
"Yes," he said tightly, not mentioning it was only once with one of the girls who worked in the kitchen, and when it was over she'd patted his arm and gone back to work. He and Aris had kissed once or twice, but it was more out of loneliness and boredom than anything else, and nothing had ever come of it. Eugenides already made him feel like just as much of a country idiot as they'd all thought Eugenides himself was, before.
"Good," Eugenides said. He reached out and tugged Costis forward, his fingers grasping the bottom of his shirt. Costis stumbled toward him, leaned over the bed and kissed the king again.
It was less awkward from this angle. Eugenides cupped his hands around Costis's jaw, and Costis put one hand on Eugenides's side. The king's body was warm, like it had been when he had leaned on Costis to support himself after the assassination attempt. The memory stirred a surge of protectiveness in Costis, and he tried to deepen the kiss and almost overbalanced. Eugenides tugged on his shirt again, and Costis stumbled forward, his thighs bumping against the king's knees.
"Come on," Eugenides murmured, and pulled him half onto the bed. They ended up lying on their sides, facing each other. Costis's hand was on the king's hip, but Eugenides's hand was trapped under his side. Now that they were lying down the height difference was neutralized, and Costis let the king take the lead. He did, kissing Costis's mouth over and over and breathing hot across his jaw. A thought struck Costis, and he realized that there was no point, at this stage, in holding back from what he wanted to ask the king.
"Had you done this before?" he said, pulling back a little. "Before you married the queen?" Up close, he noticed the king's eyelashes again, and he could see the flecks of mahogany in the king's black eyes.
"No," Eugenides said.
"Have you had other—" Mistresses, Costis almost said, but he was loath to apply that word to himself. "Anyone else?"
Eugenides shook his head, and then said quietly, "I wish she was here."
Costis felt a stab of hurt, but it dissolved in an instant as he realized the truth. "Me too," he said, and then winced in regret. "Not that I mean—I don't have any designs—"
Eugenides rolled over onto his back, and Costis could have kicked himself for ruining it.
"She could be here," Eugenides said to the ceiling. "She would have agreed. Do you want me to talk about her?"
Costis could hardly breathe. He recalled the look on Dite's face when he emerged from the garden after talking with the king about his wedding night, and the crushing self-consciousness he felt seeing the king and queen's affectionate gestures and soft kisses.
"Irene," Eugenides continued without waiting for Costis to answer, "can be surprisingly shy." Heat bloomed in Costis's stomach.
"I've long wondered," Costis said, the strangeness of the situation loosening his tongue, "how you could love her after... what she did." He glanced at Eugenides, but the king listened passively, not seeming offended. "But then I realized that I would walk into hell itself for her."
Eugenides was silent for a long time, long enough for Costis to fear that he truly had ruined it this time. But then he said, "Would you do the same for me?"
Costis barely hesitated. "Yes."
Eugenides rolled back toward him and pushed him down, his left hand on Costis's shoulder, to kiss him properly again. Costis lost himself in the heat of Eugenides's mouth and the weight of the king's body against his.
-
The king had a reputation for being touched by the gods, and Costis believed it, feeling the warmth radiating from his body and the corded muscles under Costis's hands. Costis had ample time to examine every scar he'd seen decorating the king's body in the steam room months before, and run his fingers over the knotted tissue where blood had spilled, that first afternoon when he'd realized he cared about the king. He pulsed with the nameless sensation, the one that drove him to protect his king. It gnawed at him like a stitch in his side with every movement, sharpening the edge of the pleasure Costis felt until it was almost painful.
Eugenides kissed the places where Costis's armor had left dents in his skin, kissed the backs of his knees and thighs, kissed Costis's tired eyelids when he closed them in contentment. The king's touch was a hammer striking an anvil, and Costis could only marvel at how he adored Eugenides, more every second.
When it was over, Costis fell asleep, only to wake a few hours later to Eugenides hovering over him.
"You should go back," he said, "and so should I. Do you want my attendants to knock on the door at my apartments and find no one?"
Costis wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and said groggily, "I quit my job."
"No you didn't, you infuriating fool," Eugenides said. "You're not leaving, except you are leaving the queen of Attolia's bedchamber before someone has you arrested for treason. Again."
Costis pushed himself out of bed, fighting to clear his mind of sleepiness so he could successfully return to the guards' barracks. He wanted to ask Eugenides if this would be the only time, but he didn't dare. He remembered Eugenides's frustration the night before and his fear of being discovered. For his part, Costis was confident that Eugenides could get away with whatever he wanted.
Costis hadn't even checked to see when his first duty was the next day. He stumbled back to his room in a haze, barely missing being caught by a posted guard in a hallway leading away from the royal suite.
He would have to unquit his job later. The details were very far away and unimportant just now.
-
He was allowed to keep his job. Costis didn't know what happened, but when he went to tell Teleus, shamefaced, that he'd changed his mind, Teleus just stared at him in confusion and told him it had already been handled. Eugenides had figured it out, then, as Costis had been sure he would. Eugenides could do anything.
A few weeks later, Costis had two days off. He'd wanted to go to the next town over with Aris, but Aris couldn't manage to get days off at the same time, so Costis figured he would hike in the woods alone.
He set off in the morning, and made it about an hour before walking into a clearing and almost running into Eugenides.
It wasn’t even particularly surprising to see him. Costis stepped back and said, “Do you enjoy doing that?”
"Yes," Eugenides said. He stepped back, and Costis saw the queen beside him, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm. Eugenides wore a silver hook with a black leather cuff. Attolia was dressed in riding trousers, her black hair tied up in braids on top of her head, without ornament. It was simpler dress than Costis had ever seen her in before, but she was still striking, a hint of laughter in her dark eyes and her pale cheeks splashed with pink.
"Have Your Majesties come to monopolize my day off?" Costis said.
"I thought we could have a picnic,” Eugenides said. “What do you think, my dear?"
Costis looked at the queen, and then after a beat of silence he realized the king had been addressing him.
"I didn't know my company was welcome in the daytime," he said.
"You don't have anything else to do, do you?" the king said, his voice so deliberately guileless that Costis was immediately certain why Aris couldn't get this time off.
They sat down in the clearing, and the queen brought out a bundle of food wrapped in cloth.
"Gen stole it," she said in response to Costis's face—he'd been wondering how they planned this outing without alerting anyone in the palace and being saddled with guards and attendants. "From us. From the palace kitchens."
"Now who's going to be arrested for treason," Costis muttered.
They sat on the grass and ate bread with honey and cheese, olives and goats' milk and a flagon of wine, even some sweet sticky pastries stuffed with nuts. The air was balmy, the leaves shielding them from the direct heat of the sun. A light breeze wound through the branches and cooled Costis's cheeks.
Eugenides ate like an idle emperor, lounging with his back against a tree and dropping olives into his mouth with obvious relish. The food wasn't cut for him like it was at the palace, so the queen lay slices of cheese on bread for him and fed him. Eugenides carried himself in such a way that Costis could have believed he’d engineered the loss of his hand solely to be fed bread and cheese.
At one point, he caught Attolia with a hand on her cheek as she began to turn away. She turned back to him, not dropping her eyes from his. He leaned forward, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her.
Costis looked away, blushing. Despite what had happened between him and the king, the intimacy between the king and queen was too intense for him.
He heard the queen's voice, soft, above him: "You're embarrassing Costis." The knot in his throat pulled tighter. Costis wasn't sure if it was better to look back at them or continue staring fixedly at a tree root.
"Costis." Costis's eyes snapped back; the king was looking at him. "Come here."
Costis stood, walked over to the king and knelt on the grass, sitting back on his heels.
The king leaned forward in one smooth motion and kissed his forehead. Then his cheekbone, and then finally his mouth. A giddy sense of weightlessness rose within him, pushing out his self-consciousness. This was all he'd ever wanted: to serve his king and queen, to feel that they appreciated him and wanted his presence.
Costis drew back and rested his forehead against the king’s, his eyes closed, letting that one point of contact feed the ache in his breast.
There was the brief touch of a hand on his arm, and then a rush of tepid air against his face as the king pulled away. Costis opened his eyes to see the king leaning back and settling on the ground, his head resting in the queen’s lap. He closed his eyes, and she stroked his hair with a hand.
The air was growing muggier as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and a bird twittered from somewhere closeby. Motes of pollen hung in the fingers of sunlight that penetrated the leafy canopy.
Within a few minutes, Eugenides’s breathing had evened out, and he appeared to be fast asleep. The queen continued to stroke him, threading her fingers through his hair and smiling down at him. Costis had never seen the queen look so gentle, and he felt, again, that he shouldn't be seeing it, but he was the only one here. The expression was only for him, and he watched in amazement as she leaned down and kissed the king's temple.
Attolia looked up and saw Costis watching her, but it didn't break the spell. Instead, she smiled at Costis, and his heart thudded in his chest.
"I love him," Attolia said.
Before the queen had married, Costis had been satisfied simply working for the guard and waiting out his career advancement. Eugenides had dropped into his life, beautiful and exasperating, with the shock and immediacy of a visit from the gods. Not a day had gone by since Costis had punched the king that he hadn’t thought about him. Not a day had gone by since the assassination attempt that he hadn’t wanted to kiss him.
Costis covered his face with his hands, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw red. Eugenides was the source of all the color in his life: the excitement, the dread, the frustration, the few precious moments of bliss.
“Me too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
When he gathered the strength to look up, Attolia was still smiling, her harsh edges softened by the warm spring air and the golden light. She was like a goddess appearing in a dream.
Attolia held a hand out to him, and Costis took it. They sat in the clearing, listening to the birds and the buzz of flies in the air and the soft sound of the king breathing, and watched Eugenides sleep.