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Clarus completed this protocol before, in simulations directed by senior members of the Crownsguard, and even the current Shield to King Mors – his own mother. It was practically sport, to take feedback and improve his movement, increase his ability to secure whichever location he may one day have to shelter Regis in. He assumed he’d compose himself as skillfully as he had in those drills – until today.
Receiving a cold order via a stern-faced guard to clear and seal off the study where Regis had been analyzing – complaining about – the briefing for that afternoon’s council meeting drained Clarus of his certainty and put him on autopilot as he replicated protocol; lights off, curtains shut, Regis positioned in a blind spot with a direct path to the door should he have to run. And Clarus, front and center, the first thing any assassin or seditionist will see upon entering the room.
The barrier in the line of enemy fire and steel.
“You should sit.”
Clarus adjusted the grip on his sword, trying to loosen the tension in his hands.
“I need to be at the ready if any threats get in.” His response was a far cry from any line rehearsed in his head, but firm enough, he hoped, to convince Regis to settle. “It won’t do you any favors if I lose seconds getting up and summoning my sword,” he explained further, trying to use the same confident tone with which his mother spoke, “that could be all the time a threat needs to gain the upper hand. If I-“
“If you keep talking, you’re going to wind up sounding like my dad.”
Regis’ straightforwardness was scathing, and Clarus didn’t have to look away from the doorway sealing them in the room to visualize his annoyed stare, nor the nervous twitch in his smile. A face seeking amusement in a disconcerting situation, overlaid by anxiety Clarus couldn't admit to sharing with his prince.
“Do you think everyone’s okay?”
Clarus nodded. They weren’t supposed to speak right now, any sound a risk of exposing their location, and a distraction that could cost the clarity Clarus needed at the forefront. There was a time to comfort, and that time was after the danger passed.
He could admit, however, that the nod he gave was stiff, devoid of real assurance, and so he found himself slipping.
“Yeah, they’ll be alright.”
Points to himself for at least making an effort, but it only seemed to punctate the gravity of the situation; a small break from the hum of air conditioning he’d never paid attention to before now.
Regis replaced it with his voice.
“I feel like we’re going to be here for a while,” footsteps joined his voice as both carried closer, forcing Clarus to turn around, and curse himself for doing so. He was supposed to be facing the entry point.
“Stay there. It’s the best spot for you.”
The coldness – no, seriousness with which he responded managed to pause Regis. His mouth parted to argue, but his eyes revealed his hurt. Regis retreated to his assigned spot, slumping against the wall before letting out an intentionally childish sigh, the air fluttering his bangs as it escaped his mouth.
It was just until the threat was neutralized. They wouldn’t even see any action.
Clarus turned back to the door, stuck on the pout on Regis’ face that in no way matched the situation. Anxiety, that was the culprit, one Clarus wanted to be sympathetic towards.
But first, the threat needed to be neutralized.
“It’s a shame we have to stand around the whole time. It’s not like we get this amount of privacy every day, and now, we can’t even put it to use.”
Light, pitchy laughter punctured Regis’ words, minute strain that the prince was perfectly capable of masking. Clarus witnessed him do so many times, around the king and court alike. Nevertheless, he flinched at the suggestion. Surely it wasn’t a serious one?
“Then again,” the vibration under his feet betrayed Regis’ resumed approach, “you take things seriously even when we aren’t in danger of being assassinated.”
He froze. Responding would only encourage Regis further, but between his inability to interact, and Regis’ inability to so much as see his face, the two of them were islands in the waters of the room. Necessary for protocol, painful for a prince who needed assurance.
The placement Clarus chose for him when the ordeal began seemed the best in the minutes of motions he’d gone through at the start. Behind him, the curtains were drawn – no vantage point – and the door in front of Clarus was the only entrance he had to hold. Regis was positioned so he’d be the last thing anyone breaking in would see, tucked back behind Clarus, so he could keep himself between the prince and whatever may break down the door.
Glancing at the side again, however, revealed a couple feet of wiggle room.
“Over there,” he indicated, waving a hand to guide Regis forward. Still out of sight, but with an easier exit, and most importantly, they’d be able to see each other properly.
Clarus would have to kick himself later for forgetting to keep his prince in his line of sight, but for now the wry smile he received calmed any thoughts of personal reprimand to come.
Even with the change, Regis didn’t settle, uncharacteristically shifting on his feet. The relief Regis gained in moving up fell away soon after, once again back to worrying the situation. From the room’s center, he could see Regis’ furrowed brow and the tightness set in his jaw, a thousand outcomes playing behind his eyes.
His watch didn’t go unnoticed, and the discomforted smile returned.
“You know-“
Footsteps thudded into earshot, prompting Clarus to draw his weapon from his side. His loose stance tightened into attack formation as the pounding echoed closer. To his right, he could hear the armiger shatter open, signaling the summoning of Regis’ own sword, equally at the ready.
The steps ran, louder and louder until they were right upon the door. Clarus inhaled, bracing himself-
And the sound faded down the opposite direction from which they came.
Still, Clarus didn’t move. The noise had called him to attention, and the lack of climax overroad the thought that he should be eased by its vanishing, promising that once he lowered his weapon, the true danger would break in.
But nothing came of it. Time ticked on as Clarus worked the numbness from his fingers, watching, waiting, listening.
Ten minutes, or perhaps ten seconds, passed before Regis broke the tension with a sigh of preemptive relief, letting his blade disappear. Clarus couldn’t risk doing the same.
“I bet that was a servant,” the nerves returned to his prince’s voice, “probably not used to this sort of thing.”
Clarus managed to nod his agreement. Someone inconsequential, they could only hope.
Unless... there was an emergency they weren’t yet privy to. Somewhere, in another part of the Citadel, where reinforcements were being called in to put their lives on the line-
Spiraling thoughts. Clarus caught them in their tracks and forced them away. Needless worry would be his downfall if he were to indulge them, mentally weakening himself to any foe he might face.
“What were you saying before?” he asked. Regis started on something when the noise came into earshot, and judging by his tone it was something light, something that could bring them both back down.
He thought Regis would start up right away, but instead, he took his time, perhaps wracking his brain to recall what was lost to the rush of fear.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Oh, that was the Regis he knew. Genuine humor, not just a cover up.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Well,” Regis paused, and Clarus could feel how intentionally he lingered, “I was thinking what a shame it would be to die unkissed.”
Clarus blanched.
“You’ve kissed lots of people.”
“You haven’t.”
“That’s-” he flustered, “that’s not in the protocol, Regis.”
“You’re not sworn in yet. Screw the protocol.”
Regis couldn’t be so dense as to assume Clarus preferred standing apart. Were it not for the matter of station, he would have held onto Regis from the moment the guard alerted them of the threat. But there was no strategy to it, no way to jump to action without losing time moving Regis out of the way. Regis’ life was on the line by the nature of his title, and as for him, it’d be a race between his mother and King Mors to see which would execute him for failure.
Regis was on the move again, and this time, Clarus couldn’t fault him for it. Indeed, letting Regis fuss for a bit could help calm him until the danger passed, and the unhelpful reminder that this could, in fact, be the last chance he had to sort through the feelings he held for his charge made him want to give in all the more.
But his feelings weren’t as valuable as Regis’ safety, so he placed his hand out when the prince stepped in front of him, intent on keeping them separate.
“We both want to,” Regis took his hand, and instead of nervous, instead of joking, he sounded downright regal as he brought it out of the way.
Still holding his hand, Regis leaned in, letting his warm breath hit Clarus’ face; the last temptation he needed to accept his touch. Regis parted his mouth, begging access that Clarus wanted, couldn’t have, rejected with closed lips and an eventual step back to stop the persistent prodding.
A distraction for what could lie beyond the door. Only in backing away could he contain himself from seeking another.
“Reg-”
The door opened.
Clarus lifted his sword as Regis leapt back, but they barely parted ways before the intruder made herself present – Clarus’ own mother. Any relief the sight of her could have granted was drained by his awareness of how glaringly obvious that Regis wasn’t where he should be. Though she entered the room with a hardened brow, it curled, perplexed upon digesting the scene within; her eyes rolled back before fixing upon them both, settling on a mask of neutrality.
“The threat has been apprehended,” She spared a glance to Regis before focusing directly on him. “You may stand down.”
Neither of them moved. She knew. She knew and no amount of preparation could ready him for whatever reprimand was in store.
“Is Fath- is the King well?” Regis adjusted himself, straightening and reclaiming the prestige of royalty he’d shown Clarus a moment ago.
“His Majesty is secure. We didn’t encounter any danger during the lockdown. Your presence has been requested of him,” she replied smoothly, “his office.”
Regis went first, vanishing his sword before stepping towards the hallway as Clarus followed after, a few paces back. As expected, he was stopped at the doorway, his mother’s hand was gentle on his arm, no use of force required.
“I hope you followed your protocols,” she warned, “his life is in your hands.”
“Yes, Lady Amicita.”
His arm released, Clarus moved to reach Regis’ side, feeling his mother’s watch on him every step to the king’s quarters.