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Ambrosius is there when the boy, wild-haired and wild-eyed, scales the fence and decapitates a training dummy. His cry of "I'm here to slay monsters and protect our kingdom!" sends chills down his spine.
Right before he's tackled by the Institute's guards.
For about two minutes after they take the boy elsewhere--maybe the dungeons? but then again, he looks younger than them, they wouldn't do that, would they?--he and his fellow knight cadets are fogged by a thick, palpable silence.
Really; what is anyone supposed to say to or about what just happened? Ambrosius glances about, making eye contact with Blanche Bayonet, then Jennifer Sharpeye-Jadeheart, then Mansley Girthrod, who all look as bewildered as he feels.
It's Todd Sureblade, naturally, who breaks the silence. "Dude...my dummy," he says, picking up the head that's been successfully separated from the rest of the thing. Considering that the sword that did it was made of wood, Ambrosius knows that's no easy easy task.
Whoever the boy is, the look on Todd's face, alone, is enough to make Ambrosius an instant fan.
Ambrosius is more accustomed to meetings with the queen than any of the other nobles in his class, but it's always a momentous occasion, anyway.
"You can stand, Ambrosius." There's a lilt of laughter in the words she says to the top of his head.
"Right." He smiles as he gets up from where he'd just kneeled. "It's always nice to see you, Your Majesty." He's not just being polite to their kingdom's leader; he genuinely means it. He's always thought that Queen Valerin is nice.
"Likewise." Her smile is warm. He takes that as an invitation to sit down. Her familiar teaset is on the coffee table between them, decked with green tea and small teacakes that smell like they've just been baked this morning.
"What's the occasion?" he asks, helping himself to a lemon bar.
"Well. You remember when that boy climbed over the fence?"
Ambrosius nods, pouring himself some of the hot, mild tea to wash down the sweetness. "I do! I saw it; I was there!"
"I know you were! It must have been exciting."
Ambrosius nods eagerly. It's the most exciting thing he's ever experienced.
"Well, you see...I've got some ideas for him. And I'm going to need some help."
Ambrosius's eyes widen. "Really? You need my help?" Even if he is Gloreth's direct descendant, that's a pretty darn big honor.
Queen Valerin's eyes sparkle. "Yes. I think I'll need the eyes of a descendant of Gloreth's. As well as a knight cadet at the top of his classes." She's being coy; those both fit him. She sets her mug down, delicate and elegant, as expected of someone of a royal status. "I'll need help in choosing the design for a crown. Do you think you're up to this task?"
Really, how else can Ambrosius respond than with an eager 'Yes!'?
The queen holds a press conference a few nights later, where she presents the boy, now cleaned up, wearing a blue tunic of pricy fabric, and bearing a a new haircut, before the public.
"I've made the decision to adopt him and make him the heir to the throne. No, he doesn't have any noble blood in him, but I believe he has the heart of a true leader. I and the rest of this kingdom are in need of such an heir; I have no doubt he'll more than earn the right to wear this." With that, she takes a crown that one of her servants offers to her on a red velvet cushion. It's Ambrosius's proudest achievement yet; it's made of intricately-woven black metal and set with rubies, both of which were chosen by Ambrosius. He'd thought it would look cool, and as Queen Valerin places it tenderly atop his head, he realizes he's been proven right.
Ballister's dark eyes are huge; they take up easily a third of his face. A doubtful, insecure look passes through them as they glance up, but they're quickly overtaken by a look of determination.
Ambrosius has spent his whole life in the spotlight; he can already tell this is going to be a very controversial decision ('controversial' a word he learned back when he was five years old), but he immediately trusts the queen.
Already, he feels a connection to this Ballister. At that point in his life, he wants nothing more than to get to know him.
As it turns out, the queen needs Ambrosius for more than individual crown design. Because Ballister came from the streets, he also needs someone to catch him up in the ways of nobility and royalty, all the unspoken rules and etiquette.
At least, that's what Queen Valerin says. A part of Ambrosius thinks that she asks him for this help because she's so busy all the time with her queenly duties.
Some day, Ballister will take on those duties as the Crown Prince, then later as the king. Probably sooner rather than later; Queen Valerin had been elderly when Ambrosius was little, which means that she's practically ancient now. Ambrosius is all too familiar with that sort of responsibility and pressure; he can only hope that his new friend won't drown underneath it all.
"Do you ever feel that way?" Ballister isn't wearing his crown that evening. Ambrosius had been told that it would be too big for him once he finished; Her Majesty insisted that he would grow into it. The queen is smart; she's usually right. But looking at Ballister, who's apparently two years older than him but about five inches shorter and looks like he weighs about fifty pounds soaking wet, Ambrosius has a hard time picturing him getting very big.
"I mean..." Tonight, he's guiding Ballister through proper fork and knife placement for brunch with nobility. It seems like such a minuscule thing; from what he can tell about Ballister, just because he doesn't have the same education Ambrosius had, that doesn't make him stupid. Ambrosius is surprised he isn't pointing that out right now; he often talks about sleeping out in the cold, not knowing where his next meal would come from.
By comparison, what in Gloreth's name matters so much about where the knife or soup spoon go during brunch?
What does any of this wealth matter, when there are children still starving in the streets? Ballister is lucky; Ambrosius knows he knows this. But most people in his past position aren't.
He gets past the thoughts piling up in his head to answer "Sometimes."
"That's...a lot of pressure."
"Yeah. I guess so." He picks up the soup spoon and places it in its proper place. Ballister is a quick learner; he does the same. "You get used to it after a while, though."
He's relieved when Ballister doesn't follow up that question by asking 'When?'
If he did, Ambrosius would have answered 'I'll tell you when it happens to me.'
One evening, Ambrosius hasn't even closed the door behind him before Ballister gets up in his face. "I need you to teach me how to sword-fight."
Ambrosius blinks rapidly, suddenly very aware of the sudden growth spurt the prince has gone through. "I...I'm sorry, what?"
"I need to learn combat. I need training. No one will teach me!"
Ambrosius shakes his head. "Wait, what? Why?"
Ballister huffs. The look on his face reminds Ambrosius of that same boy he'd been two years ago, at this point: viciously decapitating a training dummy, wild-haired and wild-eyed, full of determination. "The Director says it's 'forbidden.' She says that princes and princesses don't fight; they have guards and knights to fight for them."
For split second, Ambrosius is overtaken by the thought of being Ballister's personal knight. His champion. His protector, the one who represents him and supports him through everything. The thought is so overly romantic that it makes his heart ache.
The thought gets shoved to the side when the reality of what Ballister's just said sinks in. "But...what if you're alone? What if one of the monsters outside gets in? What if it corners you? Wh--what'll happen to you then?" The more Ambrosius thinks about this very scenario, the more stressed it makes him.
Ballister backs away, and Ambrosius is a little disappointed that they're no longer physically close. "Exactly! That's what I said!" He folds his arms over his chest, looking impatient. "Besides...it's not like I don't have experience with fighting." He points to the scar over his right eye. "I mean...how do they think I got this?"
It's always uncomfortable whenever Ballister talks about his experiences pre-Institute. Ambrosius isn't the only one who feels that way; he's seen reporters and cameramen look the other way whenever Ballister talks about it in interviews.
It's an ugly truth, one Ambrosius can't help but feel like his life surrounded by gold and ivory has hidden from him for entirely too long.
"Okay, but...why me?"
"You're at the top of your classes, right?"
"Well...I mean..." Ambrosius feels his cheeks warm.
Ballister shakes his head impatiently. "I'm not trying to flatter you," he says impatiently. "I looked up all your scores. They're literally the best the Institute's seen in the last fifty-four years." He places a hand on his shoulder. "If anyone out there can catch me up here, it's you. You've done it before."
Ambrosius has. Ballister's taken to noble culture like a duck to water, and Ambrosius knows he had a hand in it. With a firm nod, he says "Okay. I'll do it."
"Great. If we get caught, I'll take the blame. I'll say I made you do it."
Ambrosius isn't really worried about getting in trouble. Being a direct descendant of Gloreth has its perks, he thinks sarcastically. What he really worries about is what the press will say if they catch on.
They'll cross that bridge when they get to it, Ambrosius decides. The prince's life and physical well-being rely on this.
For months, Ambrosius goes through his daily training, while Ballister goes through his own classes about the kingdom's history and the long, long family lines of various royals and nobles. By night, the two of them meet in secret, where Ambrosius relays all he's learned in class that day. For months, he teaches Ballister the proper footwork while holding his sword, the most effective way to aim a crossbow, and how to disarm enemies. It doesn't surprise Ambrosius a bit to discover that Ballister is a quick learner here, too; soon enough, as they spar and duel, Ballister begins winning more and more.
The queen is the one who catches them in the act. She's all elegance and poise; has been since the first day Ambrosius first met her. So it makes sense that she moves silently.
It makes sense that the two boys only notice her in the room after they should both be asleep, having practiced with their training swords until they're both panting and sweating. Ambrosius only notices her when Ballister parries him, then thrusts hard enough to knock him to the ground. From the shadows, he can make out the blue scarf she's wrapped her hair up in just before she steps into the light.
"Um..." is the most intelligent response he's able to conjure up.
"Your Maje...Valerin." Ballister stands up straight in her presence. Ambrosius supposes that a lifetime of that expectation can't be completely gone, even in a few years of becoming a part of her family. "I can explain."
"All right then." Ambrosius can't tell what the expression on her face is. Maybe 'patience;' maybe 'thoughtfulness.'
Maybe she's just really good at hiding her anger. It would make sense that queens need to do that sometimes, Ambrosius thinks.
Ballister explains. Tells her about his frustration, about the Director, about the other teachers who work for the Institute.
"I know it's unlikely now. But what if I'm ever on my own? I need to know how to protect myself." From his place on the ground, Ambrosius can hear Ballister take a deep breath. "If I'm to be king...how can I expect to protect the kingdom if I can't protect myself?"
It makes perfect sense to Ambrosius.
Her Highness nods. "I see." She strides, smooth and graceful, over to Ambrosius, where she holds out a hand. "Well. For tonight, I think you've practiced enough."
Ambrosius gulps, reaching out to shyly take her hand and help him up.
"Yes, Ma'am," the boys say. She sends Ambrosius off to bed without a word, and walks Ballister back to where Ambrosius knows the prince's quarters are.
He spends that whole night worrying, unable to sleep. He gets the shock of his life when he enters class the next dawn and finds Ballister. He's almost certain he's dreaming. Or maybe seeing a sleep-deprived hallucination.
"By order of the queen," The Director says, drawing Ballister in a brief one-armed hug, "His Royal Highness will be your new fellow knight-cadet."
"Please." Ballister shifts his feet, which he seems to find interesting right then. "Just call me Ballister. I don't want any special treatment."
"That's noble of you." Ambrosius has always found The Director intimidating. Right then, he can't tell what expression she's wearing or what it means. "I'll take that to heart. I imagine your classmates will do the same."
So, while Ballister gets tutored by the finest teachers that royalty and nobility can buy, he also regularly attends classes with Ambrosius and Blanche and Mansley. He's the first one at morning drills, and he's the last one to leave the training grounds where he first entered the Institute.
There are many a day off where it's just the two of them hanging out, and Ambrosius will look over to find him asleep. Several times, he does this on Ambrosius's shoulder.
How he makes it to the top of all his classes without completely burning out, Ambrosius isn't certain. But he does it with a minimum of blood, sweat, and tears.
Ambrosius's respect for the prince grows exponentially. As it does, so does something else.
Thoughts and feelings that intrigue him and terrify him all at the same time.
"The Director's been on my case lately."
It's just the two of them after hours, practicing their footwork. Ballister's gotten it into his head that he should train to become ambidextrous, which means that tonight he practices his swordsmanship with his left hand. 'Just in case something happens.' Ambrosius isn't sure what he means by that, and he doesn't want to think too hard about it. He's found, more and more, that the very thought of anything bad happening to his best friend is enough to give him panic attack after panic attack.
"Don't take it personally; that's just how she is." Ambrosius thrusts, and Balilster parries, all without breaking a sweat. Maybe Ambrosius should be jealous that the prince has become better than him when he's the one who's been holding swords since before he could walk, but he isn't; if anything, he's impressed. "She loves this kingdom. She believes in you; I know it. She only gets this strict with people she sees potential in." Ambrosius should know; that's how she's been with him his whole life.
A smile quirks up the sides of the stubble Ballister's been growing lately. Unfairly, puberty's been kind to him. Where several other knight cadets have grown gawky and awkward, with creaking voices and acne-ridden faces, Ballister's only gotten handsome, having filled out around his chest and shoulders, dark hair growing along his body and his face.
It makes changing in the locker room that much more awkward. No one in the Institute likes doing that, but for Ambrosius, it's a special kind of Hell, trying to keep his eyes off His Royal Highness.
"Well. Don't I feel special." Their training swords clash once, then twice, just before they back away from each other. "No, I know; trust me, I do. But this isn't really about that." Ballister gestures with his right hand at the two of them. "It's not about...my training."
"Oh." Ambrosius lunges again. And again, Ballister blocks him. "Then...what's bothering her?"
Ballister heaves a great sigh, a sound that shows more effort than any of the other ones he's made all day. "She says...usually, by my age, royals are already...betrothed."
Ambrosius's heart stops. "Betrothed?"
"Affianced. Arranged to be married." Ballister steps gracefully out of his fighting stance and runs a hand through his hair. A short while after he first stepped onto the Institute grounds, his hair had been shaved, sheared close to his head. Queen Valerin, The Director, and several other high-ranking members of the castle and Institute staff had claimed it was more 'professional.' Lately, though, he's let it grow out. He's taken to slicking it back to keep it out of his eyes. "She...wants me to pick a suitor."
"Well." Ambrosius clears his throat, hoping to lodge the lump free from it. "At...least you get to choose?" That hadn't always been the case; they're only a few decades away from arranged marriages, days when nobles and royals tried to strengthen their families and their reach of power.
The idea of Bal having a partner chosen for him is enough to make Ambrosius's stomach drop onto the smooth stone floor.
"I s'pose." Ballister shifts back into his stance, smooth as butter.
"Is it, like...something you have to do? H-how soon?" Ambrosius inwardly curses the slight hitch in his voice.
"I mean...it's not like she's given me a deadline. But she's been talking about it more and more lately."
With one well-aimed strike, Ambrosius gets knocked off his feet.
Bal hisses a word that would be a huge scandal for a royal to be caught saying, and reaches a hand out to him. "You all right?" Worry shines bright in those large, fathomless doe eyes of his. Ambrosius has helped school him on how to appear in interviews and public appearances; he's tried to emphasize the importance of focusing on his eyes, because those are the part of him that look the most sympathetic.
"Yeah. I'm fine." Ambrosius coughed as he took Bal's hand. "Mostly just my pride that's hurt."
"Good." Ballister smiles that smile that makes Ambrosius weak in the knees. "Wouldn't expect any less of a Goldenloin."
Secretly, Ambrosius can't help wondering what else Prince Ballister would expect from a Goldenloin like him.
Their first kiss happens when Ballister is sixteen and Ambrosius is fourteen.
It's indirect; Ambrosius is running Ballister through even more customs and greetings of royalty and nobility.
Specifically, he shows Ballister exactly how a royal's personally chosen knight shows his reverence and fealty. He kneels before Ballister, takes his hand , and presses his lips to the knuckles.
When he looks up, the dark skin of Ballister's cheeks have turned deep red.
He can't help smirking. It's one of the few times he gets the upper hand in this manner. "You okay? 'your Highness?'"
Ballister clears his throat. "Fine. Yes." The way he looks rapidly from one side to the other tells Ambrosius otherwise.
It's a small thing. A tiny one, in their years of friendship.
But like many other small things, it quickly rolls into something bigger.
"I have feelings for you."
Ambrosius understands, right then and there, why Ballister's invited him to the balcony of his wing of the castle. Here, they're completely alone; not even drones or hovercars fly this high. From here, Ambrosius can see the tops of the wall that protects their kingdom; the purple of mountains and green of treetops reach above them. A beautiful sight, but who knows just what they hide?
"Oh." Ambrosius tries to keep himself from laughing, a giddy sound that he knows will make his smile lop-sided and completely un-photogenic. "Oh wow, really?" He places a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Bal, that's...I feel the same way!"
For someone who's just been told that his crush reciprocates his feelings, Ballister looks remarkably unenthused. "That's...wonderful."
"You sure don't sound like it is." Ambrosius squeezes his shoulder. "Come on, Your Royal Broodiness. What's on your mind?"
Ballister looks at him, and not for the first time, Ambrosius sees the metaphorical weight and gravity that have been placed on those broad shoulders of his. Ballister looks away from him and over the railing of the balcony. "I'm bringing this up because...both the Director and...and Mother have noticed." He huffs a short laugh. "I suppose I hadn't been hiding my feelings as well as I'd thought."
"I mean...if it makes you feel any better, I think we're the only ones who caught on." Much like Ambrosius, Ballister's been carefully trained to keep a neutral face on for the public. It's what people in their particular positions owe everyone who looks up to them. No; only those who really, truly know the Crown Prince personally can see other sides of him.
The fact that Ambrosius is one such individual feels like a privilege. Moreso than the prestige and wealth he's already grown up with.
"I suppose." Ballister still doesn't look at him. Ambrosius tries to follow his line of sight. "Mother's been supportive. Of...us. Forming a...union."
Ambrosius nods, not even teasing his friend about how stiff and robotically he's talking about this. "Yeah, I can see that." A Goldenloin marrying into royalty...They'll be the power couple of the century. Maybe it's even something Gloreth would be proud of him for.
"The Director, though..."
"This isn't about, like...kids, is it? You know...heirs?" He doesn't dare point out that how futile the idea of Ballister producing children is. After all, he and Valerin aren't related by blood; Ballister's been forcibly reminded of that ever since that crown first touched his head. News bulletin after article after tabloid after made-for-TV-specials have all brought it up throughout his life.
As if none of that complicated Ballister's feelings towards Valerin enough; only in recent years had he started calling her 'Mother.' What he'd admitted towards Ambrosius had been guilt-laden; he'd already lost one mother, and for a long time, he wasn't ready to call someone else by that name.
"Well...partially." The careful brooding look gives way to a grimace. "She's brought up that, if I marry someone...capable of getting pregnant...or even take on concubines...Mother has some of her eggs frozen."
The fact that Ballister can get all of this out without vomiting is yet one more thing that impresses Ambrosius to no end. "Yeesh..."
"I know! As though I would ever treat anyone like that! Like a...a broodmare!" The indignation in Ballister's voice is palpable. "By Gloreth, I wouldn't even treat real life horses that way!"
Ambrosius chuckles, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "I know. I believe you."
The motion seems to be enough to calm his friend. With a sigh, Ballister resumes brooding as he gazes down at the kingdom before him. "Beyond that...The Director's concerns aren't...completely trivial. She's brought up that, no matter who I choose for my consort...my duties are to this kingdom, first and foremost." It's only then that Ballister looks Ambrosius in the eyes, and he's nearly blown over by the sudden look of intensity in those pools of black. "Ambrosius...you're incredibly important to me. I love you, and I always will, no matter what we are to each other. But you must understand...you are always going to come second."
Ambrosius reluctantly removes his gaze from Bal's and looks over the railing. For the first time, he thinks he understands just what Ballister's been looking at. It isn't just the guards and knights training in the Institute's courtyard down below; it isn't the well-to-do folks and their families out and about in the upper levels of the inner kingdom. It's the people running the marketplace; it's the people running to and from their second or third jobs in the outer city. It's the children in alleyways, scuffling desperately for survival that had been guaranteed Ambrosius since before he was even born.
"Yeah..." he says softly. "I get it."
He loves Bal, too. But he's not proud or selfish enough to think that he needs him anywhere near as much as the people of their kingdom do.
"Is that...something you can live with?"
Ambrosius answers with a kiss to the prince's cheek. "Of course. I live to serve...My Prince."
The official engagement ceremony is a large, lavish affair, filled with lights, cameras, and the largest royal party since Ballister's coronation at his twentieth birthday.
The one that actually matters to Ambrosius--the one that actually means something, means everything--happens a week before.
Ballister presents Ambrosius with a ring he's made, himself; the band is gold and set with a black stone that shows impossible brown depths in the right light. It coordinates and contrasts with Ballister's own, which he's also made himself; the band is ebony black and set with an elegant amber stone.
Black and gold. Gold and black. Their colors intertwined with each other.
For their official party, Ambrosius keeps his carefully-curated face on, only allowing his sheer joy to show in slight bursts before the cameras. He recognizes Bal doing the same. It's the image their public deserves; a happy, perfect couple.
A week before, Ambrosius weeps openly for the first time in years before taking the prince in his arms and twirling him around, earning himself genuine laughter that's a far cry from the rehearsed chuckling he allows himself on occasion in public. The kiss they share is messy and wet and just...genuine. Ballister's eyes tear up as he wipes Ambrosius's away with a callused fingertip.
The show they put on for others is always going to be an important part of their lives. There's nothing for it; it's a responsibility that's been thrust upon them.
But ever since Ballister first came into Ambrosius's life, he's been someone else to help bear the burden. Right then, Ambrosius is more than happy to return the favor. Behind closed doors, it's just the two of them, and the simple but beautiful rings are now proof of it.
It's the night before the Knighting Ceremony. To say that the two of them are busy is an understatement. Not only is Ambrosius going to be the first of their class to be knighted, Ballister's been given a new responsibility.
He's the one who's going to be doing the knighting. For the first time in decades, someone other than Queen Valerin is going to be taking each knight cadet's sword, gently laying them on each one's pauldrons, and officially dubbing them Sir or Lady Knight.
It's only one more day before their lives change forever because of all this. After rehearsals and preparations of the most urgent are tended to, Ambrosius tends to what's actually the most important to him.
Something the general populace of the Kingdom doesn't know is the many, many secret passageways and tunnels that run through and beneath the Institutes's walls and corridors. Considering that Ambrosius has spent more time in the Institute than his own family estate, Ambrosius knows them like the back of his hand. He's able to make his way to the prince's wing completely unseen.
To his complete lack of surprise, he finds Bal standing on his balcony, gazing pensively up at the moon.
"Getting any answers from the sky tonight, Your Highness?"
Ambrosius is one of the few people he knows can get a genuine reaction out of His Royal Highness. The gently huffed laugh brings a smile to his face. "Not tonight, I'm afraid."
The gems on Ballister's crown glitter in the moonlight while the folds of his cloak flutter behind him in the light breeze. All things considered, the prince poses a pretty magnificent sight. "You're nervous about tomorrow night."
Bal has the most beautiful smile, Ambrosius thinks. Maybe he's biased, but the way it lifts up the corners of that glorious mustache makes him look even more handsome than usual. It had been a bold statement, deciding to grow out his facial hair, but it had paid off; it suits his face, making him almost impossibly handsome. "Really? What gave it away?"
"Oh, you know. Not much." Everything, Ambrosius thinks. Maybe one of those stalker-y paparazzi might not have guessed from looking at him, but by this point, Ambrosius is certain the only person who knows him better than himself is the queen. Everything in Bal's stance, the tension in his spine and shoulders, the extra wrinkles between his eyebrows, give it away to Ambrosius. He didn't hesitate to get close to his fiance, laying his hand over his shoulder.
"Right. You just know, don't you," Bal says rather than asks. With a sigh, he leans into Ambrosius's touch, a tiny bit of tension ebbing away from his body. "This night needs to go perfectly."
"It will." They've gone through the rehearsals some fifty-something times or so. Maybe fifty-one. However early Ambrosius had gotten up that morning, he knew that Ballister had gotten up even earlier. He's probably rehearsed twice as many times.
"If even one thing goes wrong--"
"It won't."
"I just..." Ballister exhales deeply through his nose. With that sigh goes the last poise of the day. There's anxiety and exhaustion etched in every line of Ballister's face. Without thinking, Ambrosius leans over, pressing his lips to the scar over his right cheek. "They already hate me. They already think I don't deserve to be here."
"Right. Sure. That act you passed, using more of peoples' taxes to get people off the streets and into empty houses...Increased mental help for former knights with PTSD...making sure more people get food...Re-building and restoring the outer city. That all just happened on its own, hmm?"
"Those made so many people angry..."
"They did, didn't they?" Ambrosius turned Ballister to him so he could look him directly into those beautiful eyes of his. "So why did you campaign so hard for them?"
Bal gives him a look; the one he gives interviewers who ask him particularly stupid questions. Normally those only last for seconds; it's a rarity that Ambrosius gets to experience it for this long. "Because it was the right thing to do."
Ambrosius smiles. "Right. See? Now, would a bad king worry about that?"
"I...suppose not."
Ambrosius wraps his arms tight around Bal's waist and pulls him close, kissing him deeply. Bal melts into the contact, softly moaning as he returns the embrace. "Listen to me, My Prince. You've proved that you deserve to be here over and over again. And you're gonna keep proving it over and over. Tomorrow's gonna go great. Okay?"
Ballister chuckles warmly against Ambrosius's smiling mouth. "Okay, okay. You've convinced me."
"In the meantime...I think you've earned some de-stressing."
"You know..." Ballister reaches over to Ambrosius, where he begins to unbutton his shirt. "I believe you're right."
Bal's crown is the first thing Ambrosius removes before dragging him over to his royal bedchambers. The prince deserves to be lighter for one more night, at least.