Chapter Text
The banquet is dull, painfully so.
Hyoma struggles to feign interest in the conversation he’s stuck in. Some old duke from the East is asking about one of the Queen’s recently issued decrees. I am her son, not her advisor, he thinks, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. But in an incredible display of restraint, he settles for a charming smile and flattering words. This seems to please the man enough, and he soon scuttles off in search of more princes to bother. Or possibly more hors d’oeuvres. He lets his shoulders sag, praying the night does not consist of him being accosted like this over and over again.
The turnout is excellent tonight. Charming (or foolhardy) male courtiers try their luck at chatting up noblewomen, and Hyoma bites back a bark of laughter as Shuto Sendou, a nobleman’s son, is rejected brutally by a lady far above his rank.
The pink-haired prince weaves through crowds, shaking hands and downing goblets of wine like a natural. It’s not really easy, of course, to remember the names of hundreds of rich but otherwise totally unremarkable nobles. Even less easy to be reminded of his burden with every word spoken to him - his duty to the throne as the only son of the Queen.
Even so, uncomfortable formalities and sometimes-sweaty handshakes aside, the Crown Prince is comforted by the presence of his friends among the royals and nobility present.
And Rensuke.
Dressed in the white and gold of palace livery, the garnet at his collar - Hyoma’s gemstone - signifies his recent promotion to the head of the prince’s personal guard. The glare he receives says I told you not to stray too far from me. It seems to be one of Rensuke’s catchphrases.
Rensuke isn’t technically on duty tonight, but he seems to be making his way over to his charge anyway, a characteristically stoic look on his face. Big and strong as an ox, and stubborn like one too. The charge in question is mildly annoyed, for he simply does not need guarding at a social function like this.
But somehow, by some amazing stroke of luck, Captain Kunigami is waylaid by a gaggle of gushing princesses, all excited to meet the prince’s handsome young guard. Rensuke, looking chagrined, entertains them minimally. His eyes never seem to leave Hyoma, even as the latter relishes his ill-gotten freedom, slipping away into the shadows between bodies.
Hyoma spots the white-haired plus-one in the throng before his actual invited guest. (Though, if he’s being honest, he’s grown close enough to Reo’s consort that Nagi should probably be getting an invite of his own, too.)
“Reo! Didn’t think you’d make it in time tonight.” He clasps the prince’s shoulder warmly, nodding to Nagi in acknowledgment. “Fashionably delayed, as always.”
“Yes, well, Nagi and I were… preoccupied, to say the least,” says Reo airily. His hair, usually combed to perfection and tied back neatly, is a tad bit mussed tonight. (Nagi’s lips also seem exceptionally kiss-bitten; Hyoma doesn’t want to think about it too much.) “Lovely party you’ve thrown tonight.”
“What can I say? Isagi does his job well.”
“I’m beginning to think such services lie outside his duty as Royal Secretary.”
“Perhaps,” Hyoma muses, “but I’ve heard no complaints so far. We pay him well.”
“Really? I may just take him for my own court, then.”
“I’m revoking all your invitations to my gatherings.” Upon realising this is a joke, Nagi seems genuinely disappointed. Reo only laughs heartily at this. “We’ll hold you to it.”
A couple of lukewarm conversations later, Hyoma excuses himself outside to the balcony for fresh air. The bracing cold, once kept out by the burning braziers in the banquet hall, hits him in full force now. He is not looking forward to tomorrow’s Hunt if this is the sort of weather that awaits.
“Enjoyed yourself thoroughly enough tonight?” a familiar voice calls out.
He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Rensuke observing him intently. “Very much so, without you breathing down my neck half the time.”
“I told you not to stray too far from me.”
There it is.
“I’m deadly serious,” the knight continues, as if reading Hyoma’s mind. “I cannot do my job properly if I am not by your side at all times.”
Hyoma laughs, his voice cutting through the crisp air like a blade. “It’s not as if I escaped your observation for even a single moment tonight. I was in no danger, as you know.”
“You practically ran off after Her Majesty’s toast!” At this, the corners of Rensuke’s mouth seem to twitch slightly, as if he himself isn’t sure if the next thing to come out of his mouth will be a peal of laughter or yet another faux-stern reprimand.
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
They both burst into laughter this time. Childish behaviour between prince and guard, but that’s only to be expected when two childhood friends don’t truly grow up. Rensuke seems to remember the propriety expected of him as the protector of a member of the royal family, though, and schools his expression back into one of barely-maintained severity.
“Well.” The orange-haired knight straightens the gemstone-encrusted pin on his lapel. “I shan’t intercede if more insufferable noblemen come complaining to you about things outside your concern.”
“Rude.” Hyoma yawns, hand over his mouth, feeling the fatigue finally hit. “In any case. One more flute of champagne, and I will be ready to retire to my quarters.”
“Will I need to carry you up the stairs bridal style with all the lords’ and ladies’ eyes on us?” the captain inquires, eyeing the prince’s flushed cheeks.
“Preferably so,” Hyoma drawls. He is decidedly woozy now. Too much alcohol.
“Just say the word, Your Highness.”
Your Highness.
Hyoma stiffens, feeling like he has sobered up instantly. Though it’s his royal title, he doesn’t expect to feel this way when Rensuke calls him this.
It was always Hyoma and Rensuke. Rensuke and Hyoma.
And yet - can he really blame him for not wanting to even utter his name? After -
In his peripheral vision, Hyoma sees Rensuke stiffen. At least now he knows this whole situation’s not easy for Rensuke, either. Things may never be the same again. But Hyoma understands. He mustn’t get too attached, lest…
Memories flash before his eyes.
The flash of a dagger. A cry of pain. Blood pooling on gilded tiles.
He doesn’t even want to think about it. Remember it.
“Just say the word, Your Highness.” Rensuke’s voice comes out, hoarser and a little shaky. He looks as though he might say something more, but under the palpable tension, the moment threatens to collapse into something less welcome.
“Thank you,” Hyoma says at last, voice quieter than he intends. “Dismissed, Captain Kunigami.”
The words taste like ash on his tongue. Rensuke bows sharply and turns on his heel, reentering the Great Hall.
Hyoma almost calls him back. Almost. But princes do not call after their guards. He is left alone with nothing but his champagne flute and the bitter cold, inexplicably more chilling to the bone than just moments before. He stares into the night, champagne fizz dying in his glass, and wonders at what point Your Highness will start to sound more like a goodbye.