Work Text:
“My cousin calls you by your Christian name, Monsieur Allard,” he observed one evening while playing chess with his gentleman-in-waiting.
The comment was plainly unexpected to Allard, and although he smiled with that curious warmth that tinged his expressions whenever the he saw or spoke of the Regent, a flush rose to his cheeks as well. Often, Adrian found it amusing, how transparently Allard’s emotions left their traces on his face, but tonight it caused him a stab of jealousy.
“His Royal Highness honors me with that mark of his affection,” agreed the American.
“And if I were also to adopt the same practice?” said Adrian. He almost achieved a tone of idle disinterest. “Only when we are alone, of course.”
That really startled Allard. His hand withdrew from where it had hovered over a piece. “Why, sire, there is no reason—” he began, in evident confusion. “That is, I should of course be honored, but—”
Adrian lay back in his chair and regarded Allard cooly. Plainly the idea disconcerted the man. He found that he liked that.
“But—?” he queried softly. “You do not wish that I should show you the marks of affection that Feodor does?”
“Sire—I—” Allard stopped, helpless. “It is only that I was surprised,” he said finally. “It is hardly a—conventional—proposal. I have heard you call the Grand Duke by his Christian name, sire, but I should never imagine that I rated the same intimacies that the emperor’s cousin does.”
Adrian frowned. However politely couched, it was decidedly a protest. His father’s words came back to him. “You must rule them, all of them. Young men, old men—they are your subjects and you their emperor. Do not forget it.” John Allard was not his subject, but had he not admitted that by accepting from the emperor he voluntarily made himself so? Was that not an even stronger pledge of obedience, from being freely chosen? But how far might he press, before that voluntary obedience transmuted into injured pride?
“Did I not once say to you that you must be mine—all mine?” he demanded. “Yet you allow Feodor this, but will not allow it to me.” He allowed a hint of petulance to creep into his tone.
At the implied threat to the Grand Duke, even so lightly hinted, Allard bent, as Adrian had known he would.
“You honor me, sire,” he said. “Call me of course as it pleases you.”
“Thank you, John,” said Adrian, savoring the name in his mouth. But even more pleasant was the treacherous, wicked thrill that ran through him as he saw Allard fight to repress a shudder at the liberty so imperiously taken.