Chapter Text
The soft, tender touches traced his face, almost too precious to belong to reality. They were wanting, but delicate, as if his skin was glass. Fragile, and easy to break. Roman knew he was the former, but, with the gentle drag of the slender fingers against his skin, the thought of insecurities was foreign. His eyes slipped shut in a mirror of slumber, but yet he could still clearly picture the sight before him. Deep brown eyes speckled with gold, the sight of which sent a shiver coursing under Roman’s skin. A soft grasp on his waist that caused a silent gasp to erupt from his throat. Pink lips, those the color of the palest rose, stretched over a smile of porcelain teeth and dagger-sharp canines. It made his knees weak, and he longed for them to meet him in a passionate welcome. As if upon request, those reverie-inducing lips puckered, leaning down to embrace his own.
A large, resounding crash startled Roman awake. Sitting up quickly, Roman looked around, groggy and confused. Another crash sounded, and, groaning, he pulled back his covers, the weight of his drowsiness heavy in his limbs. He yawned deeply, the instinctual action causing his jaws to part widely, and he covered his mouth until the yawn settled. Roman opened the door to his bedroom, sighing deeply.
“Remus, you dolt. What godforsaken reason might you be going around with the pots, causing a ruckus in the hall!?” He cried, using his hand to comb his mussed up hair out of his face.
“Father asked me to summon you.” Remus’ grin was that of devious nature, the likes of which was common for a heathen such as himself. In his hands were one of the cast-iron pots and a wooden spoon, both of which Roman guessed to be from the castle kitchens, unless Remus had purchased his own.
“For what purpose?” Roman asked, his voice taking on an annoyed quality, as to disguise the weighing dread forming in his gut. “If he wishes to discuss my marital status, tell him I have no interest.”
Remus’ shoulders shrugged up in nonchalance. “You’d have to query him, for I am only a pawn.” His lips pulled back to show his yellowing teeth. “One wouldn’t expect such importance from a second born, would they?”
Roman knew this to be an attempt to irritate him, and, dismayed, found said irritation heating his face. He tried for a breath. “Only if they were foolish.” The counter was weaker than he’d like, and Roman was displeased by it.
Remus’ laughed, the sound of which was discordant and cacophonous. It grated against Roman’s ears. “Especially a second born as simpleminded as I. It would be presumptuous to ever suggest that our dearest father would favor a child such as I to trust with certain tasks. Do you not agree?”
Roman’s tired eyes narrowed. “It would be presumptuous, especially for one such as yourself to imply.” Roman squared his shoulders, tilting his head back as to look down his nose at Remus.
Leaning closer, Remus’ own eyes narrowed in unashamed delight. “I’ve implied nothing.” He tittered, his gap-toothed grin appearing once more.
Roman’s jaw clenched. “You may take your leave, brother.” This appeared to work, as Remus shrugged once more, and began his way down the hall, clanging the spoon to the pot as he went.
Roman found the halls which lead to his father’s study to be simultaneously awe-inducing and quite nerve-wracking. The windows were decorated with tales of the past kings, their heads held high, and their bodies adorned with what appeared to be only the finest cloths and furs. These perhaps could be visions of his own future. He too could lead this beloved land, and forever be enshrined in spectacular ways. Or, perhaps, he would never be great. The future in which his greatness was achieved was just out of reach. The tail of it sliding through his fingertips. It was tantalizing but discouraged him deeply. His thoughts were dizzying, and he could feel the ache in his head forming.
”Your Highness?”
Roman was once again pulled from his mind by a sound, this time a voice. As he turned to the source, he realized he’d reached the doors to his father’s study, and, with it, his father’s advisor, Logan. Logan was a mage, the High Mage, since he had been lucky enough to have been born with an overflowing well of magic. Roman would’ve been envious if it wasn’t for the teachings Logan had given him to strengthen his own, limited magic. The man had also spent many years assisting Roman’s father in raising both Princes.
“Yes, your excellency?” Roman asked, his tone lightly playful as he mimicked the High Mage’s formality.
Logan seemed to realize his error, but pressed on. “Remus did as he was told, correct?” His eyes were as blue as the dusk sky, and they peered into Roman with an intensity only magic could produce.
“If his task was to jarringly rouse me from my slumber, then yes, he did.” Roman gave a shudder to emphasize his point.
Logan gave a polite smile, the likes of which made Roman smile as well. The High Mage was a tough man to humor, so any sign of positive emotion was a victory.
“That is in character for him.” The smile Logan wore transfigured itself back to the pensive expression Logan was known for. “Regardless, your father is waiting.”
Nodding, Roman straightened his posture.
“I trust that you will be respectful. Shall you not, well, I must remind you of your place, your Highness.” Roman knew this to be more of a warning than a threat, so he just nodded. “Your father awaits.”
The King’s study was one of the most visually intriguing rooms Roman had ever been in. Its decoration had been inspired both by his father’s taste for darker colors and his favor for oddities. From the ceiling hung a skeletal chandelier crafted from the bones of a fallen dragon which his father had commissioned from the finest artisans in the kingdom. Tapestries and paintings hung next to the windows, their faces depicting more sullen scenes than the windows in the hall had. The threads of the tapestries were bold, their striking colors demanding Roman’s eye. However, he didn’t have time to dawdle about, he had been summoned for a reason.
“Father.” Roman greeted, bowing his head in respect.
King Janus was the most imposing man Roman had ever met. Having had a curse cast upon him as a child, half of his physique had been converted to be more serpentine. His face was broad and handsome, similar to Roman’s apart from the snake-like scales which took the place of his skin on his left side, and his irises being different hues. His skin and scales alike were covered in the many battle scars he had acquired in his time as a protector of the kingdom, and one of his legs was marred beyond the point of being able to heal properly. The cane he held was carved to resemble the body of a large snake, and was charmed to never leave his reach. He turned to study Roman, an unreadable look on his face.
“For what reason do you think I summoned you?” His father’s question didn’t surprise Roman in the slightest considering the King was a cryptic man.
“I believe you to be awaiting my answer,” Roman hesitated a moment, cringing visibly at his own words. “And I shall give it: I do not wish to marry for I have no love to wed.” He proclaimed at last, holding his head as high as he could.
The King laughed, a sound which Roman had not realized he had missed in their distance. “Oh, Roman, you will forever be a fool!” He chortled, the words causing Roman’s face to go warm in embarrassment “Marriage has no right to love!”
Roman’s fists clenched, but he took a breath, desperately chasing the calm he knew he ought to possess.
His father’s laughter died down, and he steadied his breath. “That is besides the point.” He made his way to his work desk, picking up a scroll of parchment Roman’s gaze had not registered previously. “We have much more pressing errands to attend to.” He held out the scroll, which Roman strode forward to take.
As Roman opened the scroll, he noted the wax which had evidently sealed the scroll had already been broken. That was to be expected. His father was not one to summon him over a letter he had not read. As he unfurled it, he recognized the handwriting almost instantaneously. Scanning the document, he inwardly read the curling words.
To his highness, King Janus of Nomaria, from your loyal knight, Sir Dante II of the house of Godwin
It is in low spirits that I write to inform your highness of the present situation. Townsfolk from the village of Intil have reported an increase of showdling sightings along the border into the dark forest, as well as a number of villagers said to be missing. We require assistance in this predicament in order to eliminate the issue. I trust your judgments, and our fates are in your hands.
With a flourish, Roman rolled the parchment. “I request permission to assist Sir Dante in Intil.”
His father nodded, his expression pensive, “Permission granted.” He moved his cane to his front and gripped it with both hands. “Logan will ready a troop to accompany you. You’ll leave as quickly as possible. Is that understood?” Roman gave a quick nod. “Good, you’re dismissed.”