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Chapter Text

The first time they meet, it's only fitting that it's on a battlefield, trapped between the murky swamp and the magic of Duma.

The sound of clashing blades and loose magic are only drowned out by the rapid beating of his heart and the galloping hooves of his horse. His shield weighs heavy on his arm and it’s only a matter of time before exhaustion sets in, but Conrad’s mask is still clinging to his face, so he’ll keep fighting. He’ll keep fighting for Anthiese, for Zofia and Rigel, for the gods and for humanity.

He’s trying his best to fight, to survive the mogalls and the witches and the exhaustion and the terror that flows within him, when a piercing shriek breaks him from his concentration. He turns and there she is, Anthiese, with.. with an arrow stuck straight through her calf.

The cave above him darkens, and when he has the strength to pull his gaze from his sister, his darling, precious little sister, to face the ceiling above, he comes to see the flurry of arrows that fly true. They blot out the lanterns and the light, shrouding Anthiese and the surrounding areas in darkness. He tries his best to make it to her in time, to protect her because he must, but the swamp is pesky and slows him down. He won’t make it.

Conrad can only watch the arrows fly at her, at his little sister, at the light of Valentia, before a flash of red armor cuts in, pulling Anthiese to him as this mysterious soldier raises his shield above them both.

Conrad raises his shield too, protecting himself from the arrows as they fall, watching as they splash into the water around him. When the barrage is finally finished and Saber rushes forward to cut the archer down, Conrad finds Anthiese injured but alive in a stranger's arms.

With one of the archers disposed of and the other fleeing from Valbar, Conrad trots up to the red knight to slip from his horse and take Anthiese into his arms. He cherishes her warmth for just a moment more before he turns to greet the knight with warm words of thanks and a small nod of his head.

"My pleasure." Is all the knight says as he helps Conrad lift Anthiese onto his steed. Then the red knight leaves him, charging forward towards Jedah and the mogalls he's summoned. Conrad takes just a moment to watch him as he battles, unscathed and taking down enemy after monstrous enemy with a skillful lance.

"Conrad?" Anthiese is pulling on his shirt sleeve like she used to when they were children, and Conrad finally breaks out of his trance, looking away from the knight and towards the back lines where he knows the healers reside.

"What is it, my dear sister?" Conrad asks as he turns his horse around and heads for the cleric line, trying his best to hide his own panic from her. Anthiese seems so weak and small in his arms as she clutches to the front of his shirt, clinging to him like her life depends on it. So he quickens his pace, galloping through the back lines of the army. He rides through Anthiese’s mage line, where Mae and Boey fight harder as she rides past them, and through a group of mages from Alm's army who he has yet to be acquainted with. When he finally arrives at where the healers are grouped up in the back, the fight up front seems to have taken a turn for the worst.

He expects Anthiese to just slip off his horse and limp away towards the healers without a second thought to him (this is a battle after all, he thinks to himself, they can't be wasting time when the enemy is still summoning those horrible monsters) but she does no such thing. Instead, her arms tighten around him and she whispers a plethora of thanks. And once she has left his side and is receiving treatment for her wound, he finds himself wondering about the red stranger, if perhaps his name is as heroic as his actions.

When he looks to Anthiese for instructions, she tells him to go, to protect those they fight with, and Conrad cannot deny his little sister anything.

He finds himself on the battlefield once again, trudging his poor horse through the muck between Alm's army and Anthiese's army. The push into enemy territory is difficult, but he's on the front lines, protecting some of the armored units from Duma's witches, when they meet again.

When he jumps between a witch and the stranger with the red armor, Conrad seizes the opportunity he didn't have earlier. "I never did get your name, sir knight." He says, and the heat from the fire magic causes sweat to trickle down his face. When he glances behind him at the man with red armor, the first thing he notices is the charred shield and the soot that covers his face, and the second is the blood that runs from the knight's hairline and over his right cheek.

"Ah, it's Lukas." He says in a way befitting a man who was not leaning on his spear for balance, but Conrad can only assume that desperate times call for desperate measures.

Another fireball hits his shield and knocks him out of his thoughts once again, so he turns back to the witch with his shield raised. His mask slips slightly from its place around his head, but he pushes it back into position quickly.

"Well noble sir Lukas, it seems wise if you were to retreat." He spares another glance at the knight. He just can't help it, the man has garnered his attention and his intrigue, but Lukas himself looks utterly confused.

"Retreat? For what purpose?" He asks, but the magic of a rescue spell begins to envelop him as he does, white rings glowing with magic as they form around his being. Conrad flinches as another fireball from the witch glances off his shield, and he is forced to listen to her screams and moans as she throws spell after spell against him. The heat is nearly unbearable, searing his skin through his armor and underclothes, but Lukas is almost safe and he will not back down now.

"You seem to be injured." Conrad says as he points at his own head, above his mask, to mirror where the gash is above Lukas' face. It seems to take Lukas by surprise when he reaches up to wipe away the blood himself.

"So it would seem." Lukas' voice is so composed as he stares at his fingers stained red, calm even in the heat of battle where spells fly and swords clash. The rescue spell is in full effect, white circlets of magic spinning around Lukas, illuminating his face in a way that almost leaves Conrad breathless.

"Stay safe." Lukas says at last, before the white void engulfs him completely, and Conrad can finally turn his full attention towards the witch in front of him. 

When the battle is over and the gods are no more, Conrad is fatigued and burnt, barely able to stay atop his horse as she wavers. But he finds a friend in Lukas as the other helps him down from his horse, shouldering the weight of Conrad’s body that he himself cannot bear.

Chapter Text

It's been a month now, and though everyone is trying their best, the One Kingdom is nowhere near functional or stable. In the days following Duma's defeat, Conrad had put down his lance and taken up the quill, becoming the right-hand man to Sir Mycen, Valentia's new chancellor. And though the life of a politician is slow and arduous, full of long hours and grueling paperwork, the payoff is better than anything Conrad could've ever hoped for.

To see the world, his world, grow and shift and stabilize in his hands as he molds it to his own ideals is something Conrad never expected to enjoy. He always assumed he would pursue a life of knowledge and enlightenment as a Sage at the Hamlet, but after experiencing the world and it's people, there's no way Conrad could ever just sit in isolation and watch the world shape itself. He wants to make a difference, and if that means running errands for Sir Mycen, then so be it. He'll run as many errands as it takes, and he'll do it to the best of his ability.

He'd heard stories about this place when he was in the care of Halcyon, stories of a big open hall filled with shelves - floor to ceiling - and books of all shapes and sizes.

The Royal Library was a place Conrad had only visited in his wildest imaginations prior to the war, yet here he is, standing in the main hall of the library. The open windows shine light over the large expanse of room, highlighting the rows of leather bound books. The smell, a musty scent of old paper and ink, reminds him of his early years with Halcyon, and the nights he would spend sneaking into his mentors personal collection to read each and every book he could by candlelight.

But now there's so much to take in and so many books to read that the scholar in him wishes to remain there for an eternity, studying the old manuscripts and reading various books of fiction. But, alas, Conrad is there not for leisure, but for work. Sir Mycen requested a report on a census from two hundred years ago, but no matter how desperately he searches through the shelves, he is unable to find the manuscript that he is looking for. The library itself seems to be an endless labyrinth of knowledge, and Conrad finds himself gawking at the sheer selection as he scours the shelves for the census he needs. He still can't seem to find it though, even as he journeys deeper and deeper into the heart of the library. Finding this census feels like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

He reaches the end of the library and circles back again, unsure of where to start or who to ask. Perhaps, he thinks, there might be fellow readers who can help him, so he reaches out to the first person he finds, and that's when he sees him again. Conrad blinks, lest he be seeing things - or perhaps people - who aren't there.

"Sir Lukas?" Conrad calls out cautiously, and the man looks up from his book. They haven't crossed paths since that final battle, and the last thing Conrad remembers of Lukas is his gentle touch as he guides him from his horse, a touch that fades into nothingness. But here he is before him, clothes impeccably pressed and clinging to him like a second skin. He looks healthy, having filled out at the shoulders and the waist some since the war. 

"Ah, good day, Prince Conrad." Lukas closes the book and slips it back into its place on the shelf before he turns fully towards Conrad, giving a slight bow in his direction. When he straightens again, something catches Conrad's eye, highlighted only by the stream of light that weaves its way through the musty shelves. The sight of tear tracks unnerve Conrad, but a concealing smile is already in place on Lukas' face, like the shell of a man who's already gone. "No formalities are needed, just Lukas is fine. Is there something I can assist you with?"

"Lukas.." Conrad says his name and it feels right, but something is still off about Lukas himself. He wants to ask about historical documents and where to find them, but something about Lukas' red eyes and wet cheeks doesn't sit right with him. "Forgive me for intruding, but.. have you been crying?" He asks, but Lukas just blinks.

"Pardon?" Lukas raises a hand to his cheek, seemingly surprised when it comes away wet with tears. "So it would seem." His voice gets quiet, and Conrad can almost see the tension himself before Lukas speaks again. "Apologies, Prince Conrad, I didn't seem to notice."

Conrad eyes the book on the shelf momentarily, memorizing the title so that when Lukas is gone he might be able to steal the book away and read it for himself. But for now, Lukas is still watching him intently, curiously, perhaps waiting for some sort of sign from Conrad that his misdeeds are forgiven.

"Not to worry, Lukas." Conrad takes a moment to retrieve a small handkerchief from his pocket, one that is embroidered with designs of the Sage's Hamlet. He hands it to Lukas, who looks somewhat relieved as he takes it. It's an odd moment between the two, Conrad watching Lukas as he dabs at his eyes gingerly. He's unsure if he should say something, or maybe ask something, but he elects to do nothing.

And when Lukas is done, he sighs a long, loud sigh, handing the now damp handkerchief back to Conrad. But something about him seems more relaxed, perhaps more genuine than before, and the way he's smiling makes Conrad's heart feel full.

Conrad has so many questions he wishes to ask Lukas - about the book he was reading, or the library, or perhaps about Lukas himself and if he's doing okay - but the bells from the bell tower down the street chime twelve and break Conrad from his thoughts.

"Ah, I didn't realize it was so late." Lukas says with a blink, and Conrad reluctantly watches him go. "Thank you, Prince Conrad, but I must take my leave." His smile full of mirth, and he bows once more. "Perhaps we may meet again soon?"

To others, it may sound like a rhetorical question or just a pleasant gesture, but to Conrad, it's a promise for the future, and one he will not take lightly.

In the end, Conrad still failed find the census document he was looking for, but he gained a new book in return. He hides it beneath his arm, sliding out of the library with a secretive smile and a wave to the guards, and once he makes it to his quarters - a humble abode dug into the corner of the Royal Castle - he places the book upon his desk, staring at the cover that's bound in azure leather. The spine of the book reads 'The Cry of Shadows', and Conrad wastes no time delving into the story, spending the night reading by candlelight like he used to as a child in Halcyon's care.

It's the tale of a child, an orphaned girl, and her struggle to feel hope after a life of abandonment. It ends with her acceptance of her own shortcomings, and Conrad feels as if he knows Lukas a little better after finishing it.

Sir Mycen chews him out the next day when he stumbles into his superiors office, half asleep and carrying incomplete research reports, but Conrad feels as if the fatigue and the sleepless night was well worth it.

Chapter Text

He can already tell it's not going to be a good day when he wakes up, old scars aching like fire against his skin. The ones from the Villa are the worst of them all, where the flames had licked up his side and his left arm. They'd left behind a trail of seared flesh and deep red streaks, a phantom fire that causes his body to convulse. He's still not sure if it's from the pain or the terror, but the images that flash behind his eyes are enough to keep him guessing.

Terrible thoughts plague his mind, about the fire and the smoke and the panic, and his breath stutters in his chest. His mouth tastes like ash, his eyes water, his nose runs. The urge to claw his skin off causes him to bury his hands in the sheets of his bed. Everything hurts.

He struggles to sit up as his left arm seizes in pain, hand numb as he clenches his fingers around blankets. He uses his right arm to grapple for the salve jar on his nightstand, blind hand missing the first few times before he finally finds purchase.

His hand is practiced as he grips the jar between his thighs, dipping in quickly to gather some of the salve onto his fingers. He slathers it into his mottled skin, sighing in relief when the cream eases the searing pain. Again and again, he rubs the lotion onto his left side until the burning sensation has all but left him.

When he's done, he starts on his arm, massaging the soothing salve onto his wrist. He works upwards, over his forearm and elbow, then up to his shoulder before the pain finally subsides. It leaves with a rush of breath and a chill in the air.

It's then that Conrad realizes that his jar of healing salve, specially made by the clerics of the Sage's Hamlet, is now empty.

His sister is understanding enough, but Alm is not.

"What do you mean you have to leave?" His voice is demanding as he hunches over the table, hands clenched in tight fists. Behind Alm and Anthiese, Clive and Clair look equal parts concerned and confused, and, from his post at the door, Lukas perks up. "I need you here for the unification talks next week, you can't leave now!" I need you, rings in Conrad's head, and for a moment he entertains the idea of forgoing his journey to the Sage's Hamlet. But that thought comes crashing down as his arm throbs under his shirt sleeve, and Conrad suddenly feels naked, standing in the middle of the room with all five sets of eyes on him.

He wishes he had his mask, perhaps then he would have the strength to ignore the pain or the pressure, or, at the very least, put up a good front. But he doesn't have it, and he's all the weaker because of it.

"My apologies, my king." He bows, but Anthiese makes her way to his side, placing a hand on his right shoulder carefully. She smiles when he looks at her, a dainty, warm smile, but her eyes are full of worry. Anthiese stays by his side, resting a hand on his good arm.

"You're being unreasonable, Alm. Relax, and think about this." She says, and Alm softens, shoulders slumping as he lets out a sigh.

"Sorry." He starts, followed by another loud sigh as he rubs his forehead tiredly. "I guess I'm just nervous. Just.. what am I supposed to do without you?" Conrad frowns, watching as Alm runs his hands through his hair anxiously. Clive steps forward, placing a bracing hand on Alm's shoulder as the other straightens up from the table. "You've been researching Rigelian foreign policy far longer than anyone else here." Alm says as Anthiese's hand squeezes around Conrad's elbow.

"I think we're all just a little high-strung here." Clive says, and he pats Alm on the back. "This is a important meeting coming up. If you're really that worried about it, perhaps there's a way we can postpone it until after Prince Conrad gets back?"

Clair steps forward now too, coming to stand at Alm's right side. "Though it is a rather sudden announcement, if Prince Conrad insists that he must go, I believe it necessary to allow him to go."

Conrad turns his gaze from the three of them to the last person in the room, the one that's stayed quiet throughout this whole ordeal.

And Lukas is staring back at him, his chocolate eyes boring into Conrad with surprising intensity.

Alm sighs once more, drawing Conrad's attention back to him. "How long do you think the trip will take?"

"About two weeks." Alm bites his lip, eyes darting from Anthiese to Conrad, then from Conrad's arm to the map spread across the table, and then finally resting on the floor beside his own boots. After a couple moments of silence, Alm nods slightly.

"Alright," He says, more to himself than Conrad, before he looks towards Lukas. Conrad does too, noting Lukas' soft smile and blank eyes as Alm speaks to him. "Lukas, I need you to get together some knights to escort Prince Conrad." Lukas nods, and Alm turns back to him, the furrow of his brow more evident than ever. "I need you back here as soon as possible." And for a moment, Conrad sees only an anxious teenage boy, not of the leader of a country. Anthiese squeezes his arm again, reassuring and grounding all at the same time.

Lukas steps forward, away from his post at the door and towards the five of them all gathered around the table.

"If it is possible, I'd like to escort Prince Conrad myself." Lukas says, and Alm blinks. For a moment, Conrad thinks he'll say no, but Alm just nods instead.

Conrad doesn't know why Lukas wants to personally escort him. It must be dreadfully boring, Conrad thinks, but he can't find it in himself to turn down the offer.

"Why'd you choose to come with me?" Conrad asks as he opens the door to his room, pushing inside while Lukas waits at the door. He pulls a small leather bag out from under his desk before Lukas speaks again.

"To be quite frank with you, Prince Conrad, I requested to join you out of pure selfishness." Lukas leans on the door frame, gazing at the shelves of books that make up one of the walls of Conrad's room. "I'd rather not discuss it further at the moment."

Conrad ponders his explanation for a moment, slipping a few small objects into his bag. "We all have our selfish reasons, I suppose." He sees Lukas nod from the doorway, face devoid of any emotion. It's unnerving, and the ensuing silence makes Conrad uncomfortable. It's so unlike their meeting in the library. Where their previous meeting was all circumstance and warmth, this one feels forced and strangely chilling in a way that Conrad can't explain. "Would you like to come in?"

Lukas nods, more to himself than to Conrad, and steps inside, gazing at the shelf that's full of books and old scrolls. "What's your favorite?" Lukas asks, voice quiet and dull, and Conrad pauses packing to look at Lukas.

All Conrad can see is his back, broad shoulders slumped over in a hunch. He looks like the image of pure misery, but not in a way that others could interpret. Conrad's always been good at reading people.

"It's called 'The Blade of Titania'." Conrad steps up to the beside Lukas, using his right arm to slip the book from the shelf. It's not his favorite, not by a long shot, but he thinks it's what Lukas needs right now.

It's the story of a caring woman, second-in-command to a prodigal youth. He holds the book out for Lukas to take before returning to his task of packing for the trip.

Lukas spends the next hour sitting at Conrad's desk, reading about a woman named Titania. The silence that surrounds them is comfortable, and though Conrad will never admit that he spent the better part of that hour watching Lukas, he won't deny it either.

Chapter Text

They leave for the Hamlet the next morning, before the sun has fully risen or the church bell rings seven. Conrad's scars pulse painfully under his travel clothes, immobilizing his left side, but Lukas is there to help him. His gentle, calloused hands guide him onto his horse, and Conrad thanks him quietly. Lukas smiles back at him, soft and unwavering.

Lukas mounts his own horse after, pulling his steed up next to Conrad's own. The rest of the knights behind them mount up as well, filing in behind the two of them with yawns and morning stretches.

"Shall we be off?" Lukas asks, and it pulls a sigh from Conrad. The two week long journey ahead is bound to be a long one, but the sooner they leave, the sooner they return. The weight of diplomacy is heavy on his shoulders, despite Mycen trying his best to convince him otherwise.

"Yes," He says, but he pauses to slip his old mask over his face. He holds it in place until the magic fastens it to his face. Once his grip returns to the reigns, his knuckles turn white with the force. "Yes.” He says once more, as if trying to convince himself that this was okay. “Let us be off." His stomach swims in anxiety, but Lukas' smile calms him like nothing else ever had.

“Your mask..” Lukas starts, and Conrad turns to him, watching him through the slats of his mask. “If you would indulge me so, I’ve always wondered how you keep it on?”

“Ah, it’s a simple fastening spell. Halcyon made it for me before I left.” He pulls it off his face for a second, just to show Lukas the inscription on the inside. The words glow faintly with magic, and he sets the mask back on his face while Lukas raises an eyebrow.

“So why bring it now?”

“I was ordered to by Mycen.” He wasn’t really. It was his own choice, but he’s done more than his fair share of research on the situation in Rigel, and it’s not pretty. There’s sleeper cells and Duma cults popping up all over Northeastern Rigel, and he really just.. wants to avoid possible conflict as much as he can. Especially when his left arm is out of commission like this. “Just safety precautions, I suppose.” Lukas’ mouth is still curled up in that calm smile, but something in his eyes says he’s not convinced in the slightest. That pit of anxiety and restlessness churns his stomach once again, and his mouth speaks before his brain has a chance to catch up. “And Anthiese says it makes me look dashing, so the more reason to wear it, the better.” He gulps up air as his chest tightens uncomfortably. Oh, that was such a stupid thing to say, he really needs to stop running his mouth, and-

Lukas laughs, and his sudden mental breakdown stops in its tracks as a delicate blush of embarrassment covers his cheeks under his mask.

“I don’t think you need a mask to be dashing, Sir Conrad.” Something about the way Lukas says it gives Conrad pause, but he elects to think nothing of it.

Conrad spends the first night of the trip alone, reading by lamplight in a secluded corner of camp. It’s quiet, and he doesn’t mind at all.

The second night is spent similar to the first, but halfway through the night, Lukas joins him, claiming to want some peace and quiet to finish his own book. Conrad shares his lamplight and the two read side by side.

The third is spent alone again, curled up in a bedroll and trying desperately not to vomit as the skin from his arm burns away all over again. He inhales phantom ash, and someone brushes his hair to the side gently. When he opens his eyes to thank them, he can’t see past the bridge of his own nose and the world is a blur. He gives up trying and succumbs to a night of bad memories.

The fourth night consists of playful banter and a game of charades, and Conrad has the honor of being the front row seat to many silly antics. It’s a nice change of pace, and the knights welcome him into the game like they would for any other member of nobility, he supposes.

The fifth night is spent in the inn of a nearby village, where he lets Lukas do all the talking as he keeps the hood from his travel cloak on. When they settle in, the rain that batters the roof and the soft crackle of the fireplace quickly lull him to sleep.

The sixth night, the last night of travel, they camp just outside the woods that house the hamlet, and the night chills Conrad to the bone. Rigel has always felt cold to Conrad, but this is something else entirely. The night sky is clear and the stars are bright against a backdrop of darkness. The knights are all scattered about, quiet and keeping to themselves mostly.

He’s sitting against a tree trunk when a blanket falls around his shoulders and a warm body plops itself next to him. He expects to meet Lukas' calming gaze, but when he turns, it's not Lukas at all, but a blue-haired knight that's made himself comfortable against his right side. He blinks, but the knight against him doesn’t look phased.

“Your arm doing okay?” He says, and all Conrad can do is nod stiffly in return. The fire crackles before him, and it draws his attention back to the warmth of the blanket around his shoulders. He pulls it tighter around his shoulders and the knight at his side grunts softly.

They sit in silence for a bit. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and Conrad swears he can hear every move that the knight makes.

“Does the name ‘Dolth’ ring any bells for you?” The knight asks suddenly, and Conrad snaps to attention.

“I am.. familiar with the name, yes.” He says slowly, as if tasting the name of the cantor in his mouth. Conrad remembers him well, and he remembers him with disdain.

“So, not a great guy?” The knight asks, and Conrad shakes his head. He makes a thoughtful noise as he pats Conrad’s shoulder, rising to his feet. “Stay here, and don’t move.”

Conrad’s curiosity gets the better of him. “What’s going on? Where are you going?” The knight does nothing more than wave behind him and continue on into the darkness of the woods surrounding camp. Conrad furrows his brow, and, in a split second, decides to go after him. That was a weird question to ask, and he wants answers.

So he follows the knight, to the end of the woods, and when he peers through the trees, he can see three knights all huddled together. It’s too dark to tell who is who, so Conrad opts to just stand near the treeline and listen in quietly.

“So, did he know?” One of knights speaks up.

“What? Not even a kiss hello? Is that anyway to treat your confidant?” The knight from before says jovially, but it is met with an aggressive sigh. If Conrad could see the knight in question, he’s sure he’d be rolling his eyes by now.

“We could be in serious trouble and this is how you act? This is no time for your silly games, Python!”

“Alright, you two, that’s enough.” Lukas’ voice pipes up from the darkness, and Conrad blinks, pressing himself closer to the conversation. “I swear, you and Forsyth bicker like an old married couple.”

“We probably argue like that because we are an old married couple.”

“Cease your joking until after this is finished. Did he or did he not know of Dolth?”

The knight, Python, sighs, and Conrad inches into the forest as quietly as he can, pulling the blanket around him tighter as he does so. “One, you didn’t deny it. Second, yeah, he knew.” He says, and Conrad can hear Lukas suck in a breath. Something doesn’t feel right at all.

“What does that mean then?” It is the knight, Forsyth, who asks this time.

“It means he knows the name, Forsyth.” Python says. “And it means we have some Cantors to kill before Princey finds out we’re gone.”

Conrad is tired of hiding in the shadows. “Where are these Cantors?” He asks, and the three knights are so startled that they turn their weapons on him.

Lukas is the first to recognize him in the darkness, lowering his lance and stepping forward towards him. “Conrad, what are you doing out here? You should be back at camp.” At the mention of his name, the other knights lower their weapons as well.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He counters, and he is met with a reluctant sigh from Lukas. “Point me in the direction of Dolth and I will kill him all over again if I must.”

Python guffaws, and even Conrad can see the way he keels over in the dark. Forsyth nudges him a bit and he manages reign in his hysterics before he speaks. “You’re gonna kill them? The Cantors? With what weapons?”

And Conrad, in a show of his own skill, snaps his fingers and flame bursts from the palm of his hand. He can suddenly see everything in clear detail with the brightness of the fire held delicately in his palm. Python’s confused gaze, Forsyth side eyeing Python, and, most importantly, Lukas staring intently at his hand, like it’s something to behold.

“I.. didn’t know you could use magic.” Lukas blinks in amazement, before he looks away from Conrad’s hand and into his eyes.

Conrad smiles, meeting his gaze. “I grew up in the Sage’s Hamlet. I think it’d be illegal if one doesn’t learn at least a little magic while living there.” Lukas laughs, and Conrad’s heart soars. “Now, show me to these Cantors.”

It’s sunrise by the time the all the Cantors are defeated, and despite the chill in the air, Conrad’s broken a sweat. His right arm burns with overuse, but he regrets none of it. The way Lukas fights with him in tandem is exhilarating.

“I didn’t realize you were such a powerful mage.” Lukas says to him as they make the journey back to camp. He sticks by his side, and it sets Conrad at ease. “Though I do have to ask, why didn’t you use this gift in the war?”

Conrad thinks of the war, of his days travelling by himself, and, by contrast, of his days spent with his sister and his friends. “I think I prefer to be up front with the enemy, to face it head-on for those I wish to protect. I can’t do that if I’m always stuck in the back of the fight.”

Lukas nods, as if contemplating something, and then he nods like he’s figured it all out. “I do believe I understand. However, I will have to ask you to stay behind me in all future engagements we may have.”

“I will take it into consideration, but I can promise nothing.” Conrad says, and Lukas nods again. He looks disappointed, like he wasn’t expecting this.

Hopefully, in time, he will come to accept this answer. Lukas, with his calming presence that relieves Conrad of all of his anxieties, has become an important figure in his life. He has become a friend and a confidant to Conrad, and he can only hope that Lukas thinks of him the same way.

He has become one of the people that Conrad wants to protect, after all.

Chapter Text

The Sage’s Hamlet is the same as it was when he had left, green and vibrant and full of life. The gate, built of old wood and covered in ivy, creaks as the group of knights pass through, and Conrad can’t keep the smile from his face. 

He’s home, and the smiles of the villagers bring him ease. A gentle breeze that carries the scent of baked bread wafts through his hair, and Conrad reaches up, pulling his mask away to gaze upon the great green expanse of his home. 

Lukas is by his side, gazing intently at him when Conrad turns his smile on the knight. He receives a smile from Lukas in return, one eyebrow raised curiously. “Lead the way?” Lukas asks, but Conrad looks back upon the group of knights uneasily. Halcyon rarely takes visitors, a by-product of both his old age and former life as high priest of the faithful, and Conrad supposes that six unknown knights might not be the best first impression.

Lukas must read his unease, because he turns directly to Forsyth behind them, and the other gives a slight nod, pulling his horse away from the two and leading the rest of the detail towards the local inn. 

“Better?” Lukas’ voice is like a wave of calm, and Conrad nods, leading the two of them down a dusty path towards the hermit’s cottage. 

When they arrive, Lukas dismounts first, hurrying to Conrad’s right side to support him as he slides from the saddle. 

With a steady arm around his waist, to keep him upright, Conrad relishes in the feeling of Lukas’ warm hands holding him up with relative ease. 

Halcyon himself stands solely on the porch of his little cottage, three steps up with a staff in one hand. He leans against the railing, a small smile playing on his lips as he gestures to the two of them. 

“Welcome home, my son.” He says, and Conrad feels the familiarity overtake him.

The hours pass by rather quickly, and Lukas spends them alone, sitting on the porch and watching the clouds go by. Halcyon had said that the treatment for Conrad’s arm would take him some time, and had asked Lukas to wait outside. 

It wasn’t so bad, Lukas thought. The weather was mild and he had stationed himself quite comfortably into an old rocking chair that creaked with every swing. His book lay abandoned on his knee as he tilted his head back, eyes sliding shut. 

The familiar atmosphere soothed him, like Ram Village had the first time he’d been there, albeit that visit had been under far more dire circumstances. The Hamlet reminded him of a quieter life, one he’d be loath to admit sounded amicable.

But no, he had his job and his duty and his friends to account for. His duty to the crown was a part of him he would never shirk, not for all the lives of solace and peace in the world. He loves and respects Alm too much to do that to him, or to himself. 

He must have dozed off at some point, thinking about this life of his. He only gets an hour of blessed darkness before he’s shaken awake again. He struggles to open his eyes back towards the light, which blinds him for a solid second before Python comes into his view. His smirk is infuriatingly sly as Lukas throws his arms back to stretch, back cracking in the process. A yawn is ripped from him, a reminder that the previous night was spent fighting rather than sleeping, even though Python hardly looks fazed by the lack of rest.

“I never expected to find you sleeping on the job.” His tone is joking, but there’s an undercut there that Lukas can hear, but can’t decipher. 

“Ah, sorry.” He can’t help the smile that graces his lips, soft and familiar. He hopes that Python can see it, behind his stoic voice. “I suppose I was far more tired than I initially thought.” Python’s belt clinks against the wooden porch as he takes a seat next to Lukas’ chair. The back of his head hits the cottage wall a second later, and Lukas turns to look as Python gets settled with his back against the wall. 

“So, falling asleep in a rocking chair with a book in your lap, huh?” Python smiles, pulling one leg forward to rest his cheek against his knee as he turns his head to gaze up at Lukas. “When did you get so old?” 

Lukas leans back in his chair, letting his eyes slid shut again, his small smile growing ever larger. “I’ve always been an old soul, Python.” He rocks back, relishing in the way the sun warms his face. “The war never gave me an opportunity to relax. Always battle after battle, it was exhausting. I’m happy I finally have time to read.” From his side, Python grunts out his agreement, turning to stare out at the fluffy clouds and never ending sky. 

“At least it’s over now.” Python says, letting his own eyes slip shut in the afternoon sun.

The silence slips in naturally as both men bask in the sun like cats for an afternoon nap. It’s comfortable, and Lukas takes the liberty to rock his chair slightly, keeping both his feet planted on the porch.

Python’s voice is the first to break it with a quiet question that jerks Lukas awake instantly, tendrils of ice clenching around his heart. Perhaps he hadn’t heard it correctly the first time, so he blinks, lifting an eyebrow as he turns to the other. 

“Pardon me?” Python is resting his cheek on his knee again, arms hugged tight around that one leg. But his face, his tone, reeks of pity, and that’s an emotion Lukas has gotten all too comfortable reading.

“The Prince and you.” Python starts, gaze turning back to the yard and the sky. There’s another moment of uncomfortable silence, one where Python rubs at his chin and Lukas watches him warily. When Python turns back, that sly, salacious smirk is back. “Are the two of you, y’know?” 

Lukas furrows his brow, face drawing a tight line. The tension in the air is so thick that Lukas is surprised he hasn’t choked on it yet. “Are we what , Python?” The other must ignore the tightness in his face, the obvious disapproval, because Python shrugs slightly.

“Are you together?” Lukas’ stomach turns, and he’s sure his face is rapidly paling. Everything feels cold, and the sun is blotted out by a wayward cloud. His rocking stops.

“Of course not.” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he swallows. “Why would you even think that?” But a part of him, a traitorous little voice in the back of his mind knows why Python would ask him that. It’s selfish, so selfish, everything about it is selfish.

“I dunno, you just seem happier now than you did before.” He says, pushing against the cottage wall to stand to his full height. “You seem pretty close with him too. Same hobbies and stuff.” Python tilts his head, stretching his neck with a loud crack and a relieved sigh. “You should go for it. He seems like a sweet kid, and you deserve happiness as much as the next man.” 

Python’s gaze cuts into him, and Lukas all but matches it, albeit a bit more uncertain. 

“Y’know, happiness isn’t just going to fall into your lap so easily.” 

“But I am happy, you just said it yourself. And I-” Python holds up a finger with a ragged sigh, the ones he used to loose when the fighting got bad, and Lukas stops his mouth and his thoughts. 

“Just trust me on this okay?” He says as he turns, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the stairs. “Try it out, communicate, and let me know what happens.”

Before he knows it, Lukas is out of his chair, grabbing hold of Python’s wrist desperately. That same desperation must show on his face, because Python’s cold stare eases into something not quite a smile, but reassuring nonetheless. 

“I don’t- I don’t know if I can.” He says, and Python slips his wrist out of Lukas’ hand to intertwine their fingers. Lukas’ teeth grit together as he speaks. “What if- I can’t-”

“You can, I know you can.” Python says, and Lukas knows it was meant to be comforting, but tears come to his eyes instead. 

“But I don’t even know what love is.” The confession bursts from his chest, something tried and true, something truly repressed from the bottom of his heart. “How can I when I don’t know how to love or what it’s supposed to be?” His cheeks are wet, his eyes closed to the world. A hefty sob is just barely stifled by a sniffle. Everything he’s feeling is just his own selfishness taken shape.

“Well, that’s stupid of you to say.” Lukas jolts as Python reaches up, brushing away the tears with his thumb. His other hand is still clenched tightly in Lukas’. “Of course you know what love is, Lukas. Love is different for everyone. Just because you might experience it differently doesn’t make it less than others.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m positive.” Python squeezes his hand. “And I’m sorry. This clearly wasn’t something you wanted to talk about today. I really didn’t think you would freak out on me like that.” 

Lukas’ laugh that bubbles from his chest is anything but forced; it’s light and airy and natural. “It’s alright. Though I never would’ve thought someone who lazed around so much would have such profound advice.”

Python’s face twists in a parody of annoyance, but his eyes are still soft with Lukas. “Y’know, you can just say thanks instead of insulting me. Backhanded compliments are Forsyth’s thing.” 

The procedure takes another couple hours, but after they have finished, Lukas is offered a place to sleep and dinner from Halcyon, which he gladly accepts.

Halcyon’s cottage is small, with only three main rooms and a broom closet. The first is a common area, with bookshelves adorning almost every free wall that surrounds the room. The only wall without a bookshelf is home to the kitchen and stove, and a small kettle that is currently heating water for Halcyon’s late night tea. There’s a table in the middle of the room with books and dishes scattered over it haphazardly, one Lukas would clean off entirely if he had the energy and the permission.

The second seems to be Halcyon’s bedroom and study, though Lukas has yet to formally see it.

The third room is Conrad’s, a small bedroom with a flickering lamp and a drafty window. It’s got a bookshelf full of children’s books and small mattress not fit for a man of Conrad’s size, though it is rather amusing to watch him curl and twist and torque to fit the meager size of the matress. There’s a second mattress on the ground, laid out for him, but Lukas’ mind isn’t ready. 

While Conrad sleeps, curled up in his childhood bed, Lukas chooses to peruse Halcyon’s bookcases, more for a way to pass the time than anything else. He can’t sleep right now, no matter how much he wants to. His mind won’t let him, too caught up in his emotions from earlier to just turn off on a whim, and his heart feels so overwhelmed with fondness at the slightest look towards that other bed.

He’s staring quite intently at a single book when the kettle on the stove whistles, and Halcyon putters out of his room to get his tea. It’s not that Lukas is trying to ignore him, but his mind doesn’t quite notice the passage of time anymore. 

“You’ve been staring at that same book for some time now.” Lukas visibly startles from his place at the bookshelf when the older man speaks up. With tense shoulders and wide eyes, he turns, but Halcyon is nothing if not his opposite, sitting at the cramped table with a knowing smile and his cup of tea in his delicate hands. 

“Ah, my apologies sir.” Lukas glances at the bookshelf once more, his brow furrowing together warily. He does not feel quite right around him, though he can’t say why. “Perhaps it is best if I go lay down. My mind is clearly not with me today and I don’t want to be a bother.” 

A hearty laugh loses from Halcyon. “Nonsense! You are here as a guest of my son, please do not feel pressured into leaving simply because I am here.” The man takes a sip from his cup, a smile still curling on his lips. Lukas tries his best to search his face for insincerity, but there is none brewing on the surface. Halcyon takes time to set his cup on the saucer before him, and Lukas flinches at the clink of the porcelain. “If you would perhaps indulge me?” He waves toward the opposite side of the table where a second cup is steaming, one Lukas hadn’t noticed before.

His legs carry him there, and, before he realizes it, he’s plopping into the chair opposite Halcyon. The books and scrolls are cluttered around him, but when he looks up from the teacup where his eyes have been trained, Halcyon is nodding reassuringly. He reaches to cradle the cup in his hands, taking a hesitant, ginger sip, and his stony facade melts. The tea is warm, just the right temperature, and he goes in for another sip but Halcyon’s voice gives him pause once more.

“How is he?” Halcyon’s eyes are cast into his tea, still steaming in the cup he’s left it. “Conrad, I mean.”

Lukas blinks, teacup poised just below his lip. “Well,” He starts slowly, placing his tea cup back onto the saucer. He notices that it’s adorned with pink flowers and green vines before he continues. “He’s very good at his job- passionate about it even. Sir Mycen seems to have taken a liking to him rather quickly-”

“That’s not what I meant, my boy.” A smile graces Halcyon’s lips. “What I mean to ask.. Is he happy?”

It gives Lukas pause, a question so bold and yet so simple. Is Conrad happy? It’s something he’s never thought about before, and he’s only known Conrad for a few months.  

But he thinks about it now, about the days and nights that Conrad spends curled up in work, about the dark bags under his eyes and the ink splotches that often cover his hands. He thinks about the way his wrists crack with overuse, or the way he always seems to fall asleep at the desk in the library next to a stack of reports. 

But then he thinks about what Conrad’s said to him, how important it is that he’s making a difference. He thinks about the tired but genuine smiles that he gives when he finishes his work, eyes droopy but full of satisfaction. Conrad is truly using his hands to shape a new future, so Lukas smiles, thumbing the rim of his teacup. 

“He’s happy. Very happy, it would seem.” Lukas says, and Halcyon nods solemnly, taking a sip from his tea. 

“It makes me happy to hear that he’s happy.” He sets his teacup down on the saucer gently, bringing a hand up to wipe at the scruff of his beard. “That child deserves every shred of happiness that comes his way and then some. Can I trust that you will stay by his side?” 

Such a poignant question catches Lukas off guard momentarily, but his answer comes naturally, from the depths of his heart.

“I will.”

The light in Conrad’s room is still flickering when Lukas returns.

He tries to extinguish it, to plunge the room into the darkness and comfort of sleep, but the damned flame keeps coming back after every attempt to stifle it. He’s about to give up when he hears a snicker from the bed sheets, and he turns to look, coming face to face with a grinning Conrad. 

“You should’ve seen your face after the third try.” He says, interrupted intermittently with giggles and snickers. There are bags under his eyes, dark with sleep, but his smile is nothing if not mischievous. 

“Were you keeping it alive the whole time?” Lukas asks, and Conrad, illuminated by orange glow of the lamp, stifles another snicker with his hand. Lukas’ heart clenches around the fondness that engulfs it, listening as this man laughs to himself. 

Lukas smiles as well. He can’t help it if Conrad’s attitude is contagious. “Can you teach me?” He asks quietly, and Conrad turns to him, face a series of hard angles and shadows in the lamplight. His eyes are so full, full of joy and mirth and natural ability, and his smile grows ever wider. 

“Sure, but I’m a little tired right now. Perhaps tomorrow?” Lukas tries to hide his disappointment with an animated nod, but Conrad reads him like an open book. He crooks a finger at Lukas, eyes already slipping into drowsiness once again. 

So Lukas kneels at the side of his bed, curious. “Gimme your hand.” Conrad demands, and all Lukas can do is give it to him. Conrad traces his palm, a hand covered in scars from battles past, and he smiles. His eyes are shut tight, but his mouth continues on. “Ah yes, your hands are strong.” He manages to slur, and Lukas swallows hard, a red tint forming on his cheeks. Conrad’s fingers slip into his easily, curling around Lukas’ hand. “Your hands will be good for magic.”

And he dozes off like that, leaving Lukas with a blush and a hand clenched in Conrad’s grip. But he smiles nonetheless, moving to extinguish the lamp and let his mind rest for the night. He doesn’t need to figure out these feelings right now, he can simply be.

Chapter Text

The journey back is easier with his arm functional and his spirits high. Everything is easier with Lukas by his side. He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he wants to be closer, to know more about this dashing knight than the other is actively telling him. He wants.. Well, he wants to be friends but he thinks they might be friends already. Perhaps he wants to be something more, perhaps best friends, if Lukas will allow it.

“Breath now,” Conrad says, and Lukas’ eyes slip shut, hands outstretched and cupped together, awaiting something. The night around them is cold, bitter winds cutting redness across both their cheeks. Conrad smiles at the way Lukas’ nose is as red as his hair. “Breath and feel the energy,” He conjures up a small orange flame against his own hand, watching Lukas’ chest rise and fall as he does what Conrad says. He holds the flame as delicately as he can with one hand, the other coming to hold Lukas’ hands steady. “Are you ready?”

A soft sigh, a slight affirmative, and Conrad’s hand dip, resting the flame in the center of Lukas’ outstretched hands. The magical flame doesn’t burn what it touches, it’s a training spell after all, used to help children get accustomed to the potency of dangerous magic.

“You’re doing great, Lukas,” Conrad says, and Lukas opens his eyes, staring down to where he’s holding the small flame in his grasp. Conrad’s fingers are still holding his steady as the fire dances over his finger tips. Something coils deep in Lukas’ gut, but he can’t tell if it’s anxiety or excitement. Perhaps it’s a mix of both, he thinks, or maybe it doesn’t even matter because Conrad’s callused fingers suddenly leave and the flame is his.

It’s hard to believe it, and his eyes are glued to his hands as the magic ripples over his palms. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Lukas, breathe,” He stutters out an exhale at Conrad’s reminder. The inhale he takes smells like the burning wick of a candle. The fire only seems to grow with every breath, and the knot in his gut shows itself as nervousness.

With a dry swallow, he looks to Conrad, struggling to keep his hands from squashing the fire in his grasp. “How do I control it?” Conrad blinks. He’d been smiling before, something soft and gentle, but that tender moment has passed.

Conrad looks puzzled, reaching for Lukas’ hands before he stops himself. “Does it feel out of control?” The fire licks at his wrists. It doesn’t hurt, but something about it unnerves him enough to want Conrad’s gentle hands back in his.

“I don’t know,” He says. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Conrad takes a moment to watch before he steps forward, hands holding Lukas’ once more. “Breathe,” Lukas takes another big breath, and the fire flares. Conrad gazes at the fire in his hands, gentle fingers brushing over Lukas’ skin. “Now relax.”

Lukas can’t get his head around such a response. No matter what he does, he can’t seem to quell the pit of anxiety and unease that tears at his conscious mind. Conrad’s eyes bore into him and his breath suddenly leaves him.

The scent of something unfamiliar hits him, something that smells like a potent storm. He looks up at Conrad. “I can’t.”

“Hey,” Conrad’s voice is soothing and soft, and so is his smile. “It’s okay if you're scared, just focus on me.”

His eyebrows furrow, but trusts Conrad enough to follow his lead, and with a deep breath, he relaxes as a bolt of electricity spirals through the air. The hairs on Lukas’ neck stand to attention as a strike of lightning comes from his own hand, and Conrad jumps away as the light climbs into the night sky and towards the twinkling stars.

Conrad stares after it, eyes wide and mouth agape before he jumps to clasp his hands over the fire in Lukas’.

They stare at each other. “Oh Gods,” Conrad says, blinking at Lukas like he was the sun.

“Was that supposed to happen?” He asks, and the question seems to snap Conrad out of his daze. A smile grows on his face, ecstatic and excited, and his fingers intertwine with Lukas’.

“Not at all,” Lukas raises an eyebrow, and Conrad leans in. “But that was incredible!” There are stars in his eyes, and Lukas wonders why.

“Pardon me?” The aftershocks of the electricity still dance through the air, but the warmth of Conrad’s hands soothes his unease.

“That was thunder. You just cast thunder with no training whatsoever.”

When they return home, to the castle and the close-knit family they’d left there, it’s hard to imagine giving up this little thing they’ve got going on. Conrad is hesitant to give it a name. He doesn’t think there is any name that would fit right now.

Alm, for one, is overjoyed to see them return. He even gathers Conrad up into a hug as he dismounts his horse. He looks over the crest of Alm’s green head, meeting Lukas’ gaze and soft smile. The hands that bury themselves in his shirt seem so small against his back, and he is suddenly reminded of just how young Alm truly is. A child, Conrad thinks, tasked with leading a country of adults. Something begins to pull at his heart, but Lukas’ hand falls on Alm’s shoulder, and the other retreats from their embrace.

“I believe it best if we all retire for the night,” Lukas says, and Alm nods, wiping discreetly at his eyes. The sun is just starting to dip, turning the sky orange and pink in its wake.

As Lukas places a gentle hand on his shoulder, Conrad can’t help but lean into the touch. It just feels.. right, for lack of a better term. Conrad doesn’t think he could describe this feeling, this emotion in words.

Alm blinks, watching them as Lukas leads them both up the stairs towards the main entrance. Conrad can still feel his eyes on him by the time they're at the top, and he turns to find the young king smiling up at them both. His eyes flick between the two before settling on Conrad. “I’ll speak with you tomorrow,” His voice is breathless, hopeful, and airy. He can’t keep the smile out of his voice, and Conrad can’t keep the smile off his own face.

A gentle, soft smile graces him at the top of the steps, with Lukas’ warm hand keeping him steady. “Goodnight, your majesty.”

Lukas walks him back to his room, through the bustling halls and past frantic workers, all seemingly preparing for some frivolously important meeting. Conrad’s not sure what exactly is happening, but the silence between Lukas and him is comfortable enough that Conrad has no qualms about not knowing.

The oak door to his little room, dug out of the corner of the Royal Castle, comes quicker than he’d like. He lingers there longer than need be, staring silently at the door as Lukas raises an eyebrow. Lukas steps a bit closer, gazing at him curiously, and Conrad digs his nails into his palm to steady himself.

Lukas squeezes his shoulder slightly, voice barely a wisp against the chaos of the castle. “Prince Conrad? Is everything okay?”

He feels an uneasy heat cloud his face, his judgment, and he steels himself. “Would you like to come in?” Why does he want Lukas to come in? How is this any different from before, and why does he feel like this?

There’s silence between them for just a moment, and Conrad’s mind runs haywire until Lukas stifles a laugh with the back of his hand. Conrad looks at him, and the other gives him an apologetic smile. “I would love to, however, I’ve got some reports to file before I can do anything else. Perhaps another time?”

Another time… another time? Conrad’s heart soars as he nods his head.

Lukas laughs. “I’ll be sure to schedule a time to come back. For now, why don’t you get some sleep.” Conrad nods. He thinks that roughing it outside might’ve been rather sleep depriving.

And so Lukas gives his shoulder another firm squeeze before he turns to leave. Conrad watches him go, clad in red armor that glistens in the lamplight. Conrad is there, watching the hallway that Lukas walked down far past the time that he actually left. He only turns to enter his room when a stray worker accidentally bumps into him, and he figures it would be best to stay out of the way for the night.

The week carries on like an inescapable argument, like purple prose that continues for far too long. By the end, two nations had become one, and such is a cause for celebration.

There’s a ball following the unification, Conrad learns, an elegant occasion for all the difficult work they’ve done. Everyone important will be there, both Rigel and Zofia alike. It’s a unification ball, and it’s one that Conrad is expected to attend. Alm explains as much as he and Anthiese hurry him down the hall towards the royal tailors.

The tunic he’s expected to wear is hot and uncomfortable, wool scratching along his sensitive skin. The seams are rough and itchy, and he fidgets and pulls at the fabric in an attempt to relieve some of the unpleasant feeling.

“Is it that bad?” His sister asks from the side, playing with the skirt of her layered dress.

“It doesn’t suit me,” he says, neglecting to mention the itch of the fabric. The regal touch of the tunic and the sparse gold inlay that decorates the stitches makes him look… like royalty. It’s disconcerting.

“I think you look rather handsome,” Anthiese says and Conrad frowns, turning a bit to see the puff of his chest through the white fabric. His light green cape flutters below his knees. He frowns, brushing his hair back away from his forehead, and his curls tangle around his fingers.

“Oh,” Conrad blinks, staring at himself in the mirror. Anthiese stares too, a gasp leaving her soft lips. When he turns to her, she averts her gaze, knuckles white as they clench at her side. She moves forward with careful steps, lowering his arm from his hair.

“You’re right,” she whispers, combing her fingers through his hair. Conrad hastily pulls to undo the buttons, to rid himself of the garment. “It doesn’t suit you..”

She leaves the room so that he may change, and for just a moment, he looks back at himself. For a second there, he looked like.. his father.

The light blue tunic with silver stitches suits him better.

The high, vaulted ceilings of the Zofian ballroom do nothing to stifle his discomfort. Even if he occasionally looks up to the heavens, to the cross-sectioned beams and peeling paint, he sees nothing but a wall of people when his eyes return to the present.

He answers questions haphazardly, never quite paying enough attention to give a detailed answer. His hands ring together, and sweat beads on the back of his neck as a flush rises to his cheeks. Crowds were never his strong suit, but, as he stands at Chancellor Mycen’s side, he reminds himself that it is necessary for the future of Valentia.

Still, as Mycen grips his shoulder a touch too tight and looks into his heart with that stern gaze, Conrad shrivels. “Why don’t you get some air?” He meets Mycen’s gaze as the other tilts his head, pointing toward the veranda doors that remain open to let in the night air. “It is quite stifling in here for the unprepared.”

“Sir, I couldn’t-” He starts, but the grip on his shoulder tightens minutely as Mycen leans in. A smile pulls at his wrinkles and Conrad briefly notices the dimples on the man’s cheeks before he meets his gaze once more.

“Tonight is about having fun, not working," Mycen says, and his eyes crinkle. “We’ve all worked hard to make this unification happen. Now please, go get some air and come back when you’ve relaxed a bit.” Conrad can’t argue with Mycen, not when his superior has asked such things of him.

A breath leaves him, one he hadn’t known he was holding in, as he feels his self control crumbling. “Will do, sir,” he says with a nod.

“Good man,” Mycen pats his shoulder, pushing him towards the veranda a bit before returning to his conversation partner, an energetic young woman with hair like seafoam who clutches a dainty plate of hardly eaten cake.

He’s mere steps away from the open door, the night air already chilling his flushed face, when the knight that stands guard stops him with a stray hand.

“Pardon the intrusion, Prince Conrad, but I require a favor of you.” A harsh, demanding voice breaks him from his reverie, and he looks up to see Forsyth standing watch beside the veranda door, shoulders squared and chest puffed. Once the knight recognizes that he has Conrad’s attention, he slumps slightly, and his dark green shirt wrinkles when he sighs. “Over there,” he points back to the ballroom, and Conrad hardly has to turn to hear the strained laugh. It echoes in his ears, and he finds himself mildly perturbed when he finds Lukas in the company of another man. What catches Conrad’s eye is the pinched smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and the way his hands are clasped tight behind his back.

Lukas looks uncomfortable, despite the smile that graces his face. Conrad frowns, and Forsyth need not say more.

“Excuse me,” Conrad steps towards the both of them, placing a gentle hand on Lukas’ shoulder. The other man, a spitting image of Lukas with perhaps softer features and a pudgier stomach, furrows his eyebrows. His gaze is steel as Conrad speaks. “Lukas, I need to speak with you outside if that is okay.”

Lukas looks back at the other man, and bows slightly. “Apologies, brother. It seems I am needed elsewhere.”

“Then we will finish this conversation later,” the man says, leaving no room for argument, and Lukas nods with a smile that is still strained at the edges.

“Of course,” he says, and the smile falls away as the other man stalks away. He turns to Conrad. “Lead the way?”

He looks tired, but Conrad lets himself have a moment to admire the way the muted red of Lukas’ own tunic matches his hair, and the way the fabric is pulled tight around his broad shoulders and slim waist. His eyes snag on the dark red gloves that the other is wearing.

Lukas’ raises an eyebrow at him, and it startles Conrad right out of his admiration. “Right, sorry, so sorry. Uh, you look..” The words catch in his throat, and Lukas smiles, genuine and soft, while Conrad flounders. “Good. You look good. Sorry, this way.” He tries to point to the veranda, but Lukas takes his hand in his.

Flustered does not even begin to describe Conrad’s crimson face, but Lukas just smiles, intertwining their fingers and rubbing circles into Conrad’s knuckles. “Lead the way, Prince Conrad.”

Conrad’s heart feels full in his chest.

The night air does wonders for his flushed face, despite Lukas’ hand staying a firm weight in his own.

They spend the better part of the hour talking about nothing, meaningless small talk and conversation, but Conrad can’t find it in himself to be bored. Not around Lukas. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes Lukas thinks the same of him.

They stay there, leaning against the balcony railing until the bells toll with the sound of the hour. The stars are bright and full above them, but Conrad is more enthralled with Lukas’ easy smile, no longer strained by the presence of his brother, that graces him.

“Will you stay out here with me?” Conrad asks, voice hesitant and full of doubt. Lukas gazes at their intertwined fingers for a moment, as if searching for an answer, before his lingering gaze casts up towards Conrad’s flushed face.

“I will stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

A simple answer for a complicated time. But a simple answer that Conrad finds great pleasure in.

A single tune, full of mirth and joy, floats from the opened doors. Lukas seems to recognize the song, by the way he jolts to attention beside Conrad. “Is everything alright?” Conrad asks, and Lukas squirms, red gloves wrinkling around the creases where he grips Conrad’s hand a touch tighter.

“Yes, I’m quite alright,” he replies, a wistful smile gracing his features. “There was once a woman I would dance with to this song.”

“Someone important?” Conrad asks, a dark pit already beginning to form in his stomach at the mention of another. But Lukas, pushes off from the balcony where they both rest, and shocks Conrad when he bows to bring his lips to the white gloves that adorn Conrad’s hands.

“Not particularly,” Lukas whispers against his glove where his lips press to the fabric in a seductive motion. His eyes, no doubt, catch the flush that bubbles to Conrad’s pale cheeks. When Lukas stands to his full height, Conrad’s hand stays flush against his. “Would you care to dance with me on this night, Prince Conrad?”

“M-Me?” Conrad stutters out, eyes wide. “I don’t really know how to dance.” Perhaps he would feel differently if he had his mask…

“I can always teach you,” Lukas says, steady and unwavering against Conrad’s uncertainty. “Just as you taught me,” he takes a slight step forward, then another when Conrad fails to protest. His inquisitive look accompanies a slight smile, soft and warm and Conrad can’t say no. He nods with a little too much fervor, and Lukas’ laugh is reassuring and warm.

Lukas’ fingers, strong and thick and calloused, rest on his lower back, leading him away from the wall until they are pressed together, chest to chest. He is impossibly close, and Conrad’s hand flails slightly until Lukas reaches out, guiding it to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh,” Conrad whispers, and Lukas’ fingers return to his waist, gently guiding him in time with the music. The faint scent of gentle leather and light sweat intoxicates Conrad, and his body begins to loosen against Lukas’ lead.

“See, you’re doing wonderful, Prince Conrad.” Embarrassment flares in his gut at the praise, and he buries his head in the crook of Lukas’ neck, still moving his feet in time with the music.

“You don’t have to call me that when it’s just us.”

Lukas hums, and the sound sends shivers down Conrad’s spine. “What would you prefer I call you when it’s just us?” His voice is light and velvety soft, inquisitive.

“Just Conrad is fine.”

“Hm, I see, my dear Conrad.”

Conrad’s heart stops as he trips over his own feet, but Lukas catches him before he can melt into the floor and disappear. He sweeps them down, bringing Conrad into a heavy dip with ease, and his biceps bulge underneath his blood red sleeves.

“Oh,” Conrad breaths out, hands clenching around Lukas’ broad shoulders to steady himself. The stars above twinkle as Lukas gazes down at him, a shy, uncertain smile gracing his lips.

“Oh?” Lukas repeats, and Conrad can feel his heart burst from his chest. Lukas’ eyes catch on his lips, and the action doesn’t go unnoticed. “May I-”

“Yes.” It’s barely more than a whisper on Conrad’s breath before Lukas is leaning down, guided by Conrad’s steady hands. When they meet, Lukas’ lips taste of cake and the hairs at the nape of his neck are soft as silk.

Conrad’s toes curl in his boots, hands cupping delicately at Lukas’ face as they kiss one last time. The handle to his door curves into his back painfully, but Lukas’ strong hands hold him in place as they part, lips shining and wet.

Conrad smiles, heart soaring and breath light. “Would you like to come in?”

Lukas’ fingers clench against his waist, and meets Conrad’s smile with one of his own. “I would love to.”

Just down the hall, barely hidden by an ugly stone statue, Anthiese gives him a thumbs up and Conrad flushes as his door swings shut behind him.

“Milady,” Forsyth whispers, and Celica glances back with wide eyes and a smile full of mirth. “Did it work?” She swings around, taking hold of his arm, all but dragging him back towards the ballroom.

“Perhaps we will just have to wait and see,” she says, though her tone betrays her happiness.