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It’s been a long, long time since Riccardo was Marius’s favorite. He’d known when Amadeo arrived and when he was getting older, Marius would look at him less, touch him less.
He knew.
And he was jealous when Marius had shared his spells with Amadeo. He hid it as best as he could but he knows his Master knows everything. Riccardo can never truly hide from him.
Riccardo thinks on when he was eight years old, when he was first sold to Marius, and when Marius had promised him that he was his little prince.
He remembers that day clearly; the frown that sat upon his face, the hopelessness in his soul, he can still feel it now, though the ache is more dull than it was.
When Marius had coddled him and treated him like he was glass, he began to love life again. His buried himself in lessons and work and everything for Marius, his Lord, his Master.
He’d play the lute, and smile brightly at Marius, who would smile just as big back and wink at him, tell him he did a good job after and hug him tight. He’d tell Marius of the lessons he learned and the studies he was working on. He told Marius everything, he told him how he had all of it figured out.
Then Marius told him, “I am so proud of you, little one.”
Now Marius says, “That’s great, Riccardo,” and then he’s off, finding his hand on Amadeo’s shoulder.
Riccardo can tell it’s different with Amadeo though. Riccardo never got to sleep in Master’s chambers. He barely ever got to see the inside unless Amadeo was ill. Riccardo never went away at night with Master; he had a strict bedtime.
It’s hard to be upset when Amadeo reminds him of himself.
But he ignores that. He tries his hardest for something from his Master, but he ends up with nothing but a smile, a muttered praise, and a pat on his back.
——
When Riccardo gets Amadeo to go out with him again, he asks what’s been on his mind.
“Why is it that the Master is so fond of you?”
Amadeo’s head lifts up from where he’s been staring at the ground for the past couple of minutes. He furrows his eyebrows and opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times.
“I—… I do not know. I wonder the same, Riccardo,” He answers, huffs and puffs for a couple of seconds, looks back at Riccardo. “Why do you ask?”
Riccardo shrugs. “No reason. Curious,”
Amadeo hums.
Riccardo looks out into the shops. Amadeo should get new rings—a new watch too, maybe. Clothes… Maybe head to the tailor’s?
Amadeo follows behind, Riccardo doesn’t need to look back to know. Master would whip him if Amadeo got lost with him.
“Riccardo, are you sad?” Amadeo asks, sprints a few steps to get real close to Riccardo. “If so, is it me?”
Riccardo shakes his head, frown on his face. “No. No, it’s not you. My head,”
“Your head? What does that—,”
“It doesn’t matter, okay? You need a new watch. Some new rings. Let’s head into the shops,” Riccardo cuts him off, grabs him by the hand, and drags him into the jewelers with not as much complaint as he’d usually get.
—
Riccardo stays up late, watches Marius take Amadeo by his hand and walk him into the bedchambers. Marius kisses Amadeo on the head, lets him know he’s loved, and closes the door behind them. Riccardo hears murmurings, little giggles, and noises behind the door.
Marius should’ve kept his golden necklace, let Riccardo, at eight years old, work his ass off day and night, never getting a wink of sleep. He should’ve kept his foolish jewelry. Riccardo was worth nothing.
The Master’s door opens, Riccardo is startled out of his thoughts, and Marius is staring Riccardo down.
He doesn’t seem to say anything but the message comes to him easily.
Go to bed.
Riccardo hurries off and quiets the kid’s giggles down while he gets himself comfortable in bed.
Riccardo doesn’t sleep though. He doesn’t let himself be lulled into rest by the littler one’s snores. He stares at the ceiling and counts the seconds, hears the door quickly shut outside of the room.
It’s Master, he knows it. Master doesn’t sleep. Amadeo knows Master’s secret. Why does Amadeo get to know? Riccardo never got to know anything of Master. Why does Amadeo show up and get everything?
He shakes the thoughts out of his head. Amadeo didn’t do anything, Riccardo reminds himself. He is just some kid, he tells himself.
Riccardo wonders what happens behind Master’s bedroom door.
Wondering is all Riccardo seems to do anymore.
He wonders is university is worth it. He wonders if his studies mean anything. And he wonders most of all when he will be Master’s favorite again.
He waits, and waits, and waits. Riccardo does his best, dresses his best, sounds his best, but he always seems to come up short to Amadeo.
Riccardo knows Master knows what he’s thinking, but he never is embarrassed. He wants Marius to hear how upset he is. Why couldn’t Marius just hold him again?
He loves Amadeo, but he loves Marius’s attention even more. Why not just one more hug? Before he’s off to university?
Marius never checks in.
It’s truly pathetic, Riccardo knows, that he’s jealous of a sixteen year old, but he can’t seem to help it. He craves, and craves, and craves, but never gets what he wants.
Riccardo even sleeps around sometimes. Older men, not young ones. He needs the calloused hands and the wrinkles and the deep voices. He needs, and needs, and needs.
It doesn’t satisfy, never does.
He watches Amadeo and Marius disappear behind the doors again. He goes to bed late. He plays for Marius and Amadeo because maybe Master will give him something (he doesn’t).
And Riccardo continues to think that Master should’ve kept his jewelry, should’ve let Riccardo die to the labor.
He misses when he was his special prince.