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The Tsaritsa is nothing but amicable.
She doesn’t express much on her face nor her tongue. Her demeanor as cold as the land of ice she reigns, but she accepts Rex Lapis’s (now, Zhongli) condition without much fanfare. His status as an abdicated emperor doesn’t lessen the quiet respect she has, welcoming Zhongli’s presence in her land as muted as Zhongli had wished.
No one else know about Rex Lapis, the Former Emperor's presence in Snezhnaya. Only Zhongli, a tired Liyuen aristocrat. At least no one that matters.
“Before everything else, we are friends,” she says. It may sound empty from others, but Tsaritsa is strong in her conviction. “Your stay here will be as peaceful as you wish it to be.”
She points her own personal guard to accompany him during his stay. A young knight by the name of Tartaglia. Bright hair that matches the bright smile, working in tandem to hide the dull eyes that has seen too much blood and gores.
Tartaglia loves to laugh.
He sleeps in the room next to him and in the morning would bring him breakfast. His laugh is the first thing Zhongli hears as he starts his day, Tartaglia monologuing his sibling’s antics. In the noon, they would stroll along the frozen lake. Zhongli sniffing and Tartaglia correct his scarf closer to his neck, chuckling slightly. In the night, they huddle to the fire for warmth and Tartaglia tells ghost story, voice steady and serious, and then broke a laugh at the end of it at Zhongli’s expression.
He is different from any knight Zhongli has ever meet. Maybe not knowing that he is serving a monarch helps to lessen the tension. Zhongli never want it to change, to just be Zhongli with nothing outrageous in his past. Just him existing with his knight on his side.
No. Tartaglia is Tsaritsa’s knight. Not Zhongli’s.
“It’s unfortunate that you come at the height of the winter,” Tartaglia muses. “There are not many outdoor activities foreigner can participate. You are not used to the cold.”
That’s true, but for once truth isn’t upsetting him. “I don’t mind staying inside. It’s comfortable.”
And he has company. It’s alright.
“It’s comfortable because it’s deadly cold outside,” Tartaglia rubs his eyes. Midnight is approaching. “You came here for personal retreat, at least we should do something. Ah, or are you not? I just assume since there is no sign of you doing business.”
He really just spend his days lazing around. His lips twitch at the thought. He wouldn’t find himself slacking a minute back in Liyue, but it’s easy to drown out everything in this room. Just them and the fire and their shadows reflected on the wall.
“It’s for personal retreat, yes. But retreat can come in any form. As long as we find peace at the end of it, then the purpose is filled. As I said, I am comfortable.”
And again, it’s the truth.
Tartaglia shakes his head, but his face shows amusement. “Why you choose Snezhnaya? Why not everywhere else? Mondstadt? They have a festival this time of the year and their weather is always agreeable.”
That’s the logical choice, but Zhongli wasn’t following his head. For once his heart was the compass and what it wants was to simply get away. Snezhnaya just happens to be what his heart deemed right. There was no logic in it. It just felt right.
“I just want to get away. I woke up and I find myself in Snezhnaya. That’s all. There is no consideration in it. I follow where my heart lead me,” he tells as much.
Tartaglia gives a noncommittal hum. He straightens his legs, his sole closer to the fire as he speaks almost absentmindedly. “Must be hard being a monarch. Not that I understand.”
Zhongli’s neck crack with how fast it tuns. Did Tartaglia just—
“You knew?” his tone is the most incredulous he ever heard. “Did Tsaritsa told you?”
Tartaglia gives him a confuse look. “I wasn’t supposed to? No, no. Her Majesty told nothing of importance.”
That doesn’t add up.
“So how do you know?” he asks, even more incredulous than he ever before. “I suppose my portrait and your knight lesson may supply you—"
Tartaglia laughs.
“I’ve met you,” his laugh is as warm as the fire they shared. “Make sense you wouldn’t notice. You were up there and I was down here. I saw you in your throne hall during Tsaritsa visit to Liyue a year ago”
“Huh,” Zhongli exhales, at loss for words. “You are not supposed to look at the emperor.”
Tartaglia shrugs. “Couldn’t help to sneak a glance. You were pretty back then and prettier now. Oh. Will that get me executed?”
The fire slowly dies down and yet it’s warmer. So, so warm. There is a warmth on his cheeks, on his ears, and something simmering brightly in his chest. Tartaglia is still looking at him with the same amusement and Zhongli wants to follow his heart again. Not just this once, but again and again. Until it’s full with nothing but him.
“Not if you kiss me,” he whispers.
Their lips touched as they fire dies out.