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It is beautiful.
Clear like river water. Blue like the sky, like the ocean. The cut of it is expert. Every corner of it is meticulously sharp and clean, inlaid to a stunning, polished, silver cradle and held aloft by a silver chain. It’s pure, undiluted; it burns his fingers when he touches it, continues to tear through layers of his skin even as he holds it within his hand. He cannot help himself. The gem is beautiful, and it matches William’s eyes uncannily.
He tucks the necklace gently into his pocket, and after a moment of thought, he bends down and retrieves the matching earrings. He cannot recall if William’s ears are pierced or not, but they soon will be, because he must wear this jewelry—Stephen has already decided so. It will burn the fingers of any member of his court who dares lay a hand on William, and the fact that it includes him is something that he cares little about. For as much as it offers William protection, Stephen simply thinks it beautiful, and beautiful things must reside with other beautiful things.
He leaves the corpse of the owner behind, mangled and strewn across cobblestones. The lower members of his court, a security detail insisted upon by his father after his last excursion out of the castle, finish their own meals, wiping blood from their teeth and blades before tucking them away. Other humans hide behind their shutters, behind their wooden doors and flimsy stone walls, but Stephen pays them no mind.
He has a gift to give, and he must be home to do so.
-
William, predictably, is waiting at the door of his parlor when he arrives back into the castle.
“Lord Stephen!” he cries, elated. He drops his wrinkled shirt, no doubt having wrung it between his little fingers while Stephen was gone, and chooses instead to fling his arms around what little he can reach of Stephen—which just so happens to be around his waist. “You’re finally back!”
“And you are looking much healthier than when I saw you last,” Stephen says mildly, dropping a hand on top of William’s curly hair. It is thicker and glossier now, clearly having been lovingly taken care of in his absence. His concerns for William’s appearance had been entirely unfounded, it seems; a happy surprise. “You have been following your routines, I trust? Eating, bathing, exercising?”
“Down to the letter,” William agrees. His smile is dazzling and ecstatic as he continues to hold on to Stephen, attaching like some tumor or growth. “I missed you.”
Stephen’s chest swells with affection. “Sweet boy,” he murmurs, kneeling down to match William’s height. “I have a gift for you, runt.”
“A gift?” William repeats, eyebrows furrowing. He waits, fidgeting like an uneasy dog, as Stephen reaches into his pocket and wraps his fingers around the thin chain. It stings sharply as he retrieves it, but he pays no mind to the pain, only to the way that William’s eyes widen almost comically as the necklace and earrings are held out in Stephen’s palm. They glitter in the lamp light, surrounded by the reddening skin of Stephen’s palm that so closely resembles the blood he’d spilled to take it. “Oh…”
“I knew at once that you must have it,” Stephen says, almost proudly. He has an eye for jewelry and fine things. It is why William is adorned like he is, now in close-fitting and well-tailored drapery and suits, as beautiful looking as any nightcreature in Stephen’s court. The necklace set will complete it. “Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” William breathes.
He reaches a hand out tentatively, glancing up at Stephen, and when he nods, the boy traces a finger along the chain. He follows the silver down to the jewel, and Stephen knows, when he looks at the jewel and then to William’s sparkling eyes, that the resemblance is just as perfect in real life as it was in his mind’s eye. It is obvious, even to the untrained eye, that William loves it—he cannot take his eyes off of it, even for a moment. His face is so unguarded, his expression so pure, that Stephen can read every thought that crosses his mind, purely in the minute twitches of his movements.
Shock, amazement, appreciation, but also, disbelief.
“It’s yours,” Stephen says quietly.
“I couldn’t,” William says, pulling his hand back. The happiness starts to filter away, replaced instead by trepidation, by doubt and insecurity. “I couldn’t take it, I-”
“Would it make you happy, my William?” Stephen interjects. He leans down so that William can no longer hide from him, can no longer look away from his eyes. William gnaws on the inside of his lip, eyes wide and shimmering. The boy cannot possibly lie to him, not with every emotion in his heart plastered so plainly on his sleeves.
“It would,” William finally admits. Meek, quiet; like he was ashamed to speak such a thing.
Stephen shakes his head, wishing to banish the thought. “Then you must have it.”
He straightens back to his full height, closing his fingers around the necklace. William, surprised, stays still as Stephen lays a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, circling around to stand behind him. The necklace is placed back into his pocket so that his hands might be free to gather William’s hair together, tucking it over his shoulder so that the boy may hold it himself. He does so, with thin, eager fingers.
From there, Stephen reaches up to pull back the loose collar of William’s shirt, exposing the smooth, broad expanse of his shoulders. Here, the skin is yet unbroken, and no less entrancing than before. He can see the way William’s ears go ever-pink, the hue traveling down the back of his neck and across freckled shoulders. Stephen runs a hand along his skin, as if to brush away a strand of hair that was not truly there. Beautiful, and now healthy and hale, flushed healthily with blood and muscle. Stephen wonders what he might look like, in a few years’ time.
“Tell me, runt,” he begins, curious, “How tall would your father stand beside me?”
“Perhaps at your shoulder, my Lord,” William says. His voice is quiet, yet intent. “Maybe a little taller.”
Stephen hums, giving William a slow once-over. “Then you are nearly his equal already, aren't you?”
William nods. “I am nearly his age when he married and sired me, my Lord.”
“Indeed,” Stephen hums. He retrieves the necklace again, assessing it within his palm. “Do you think you might wish to marry one day, William?”
“One day,” William echoes in answer. “If I might be allowed.”
“Would it make you happy?” Stephen asks as he unhooks the clasp.
“It might.” William practically whispers it, holding it beneath his breath like something precious. He glances back at Stephen only once, and quickly, before the flush across his shoulders darkens. “If it were to the right person.”
Stephen chuckles, unable to help himself, really. He holds the silver chain above William’s head, delicately bringing it forward to lay across his chest. The gem finds a home at William’s breast, gently sliding up his skin to the space beneath the hollow of his throat as Stephen brings the two ends together and clasps them. The necklace contrasts beautifully against William’s skin, and as Stephen circles around to look from the front, it matches his eyes perfectly. Everything is perfect: the blue of the jewel, the silver of the necklace, the blonde of the hair that William holds over one shoulder, the pink of his cheeks and the red of his smile, the crinkle of his eyes and the sparkle of his excitement.
“Well, my William,” he sighs, pleased. “I suppose that only time will tell, will it?”