Chapter Text
Fog was painted onto the window as I entered the chamber.
Lionel was not facing me; his robe was. It was of a pale, lightly saturated blue and a soft, pearly white. The hem was dancing alone with the wind as I heard my heart thrumming in my chest, pounding liquid into my vessels with a strong rhythm. I wholehearted hoped it was not loud enough to disrupt his morning.
“You’re drunk.”
Nevertheless he noticed me. Perhaps it was the footsteps? I forced myself into a smile. There hasn’t been much time to spend alone since the assembly has taken place. I counted down the days. On the day before us warriors were summoned, at the night before our destiny was written, in the hours of the red moment, I was with him, yet I was away, watching from three steps away.
Lionel was gentle. He was aloof to approach. Crowned, recognized as the monarch of his land, of all lands that have existed and will ever be conquered, here he is, sitting quietly on his throne, completing his final piece of artwork.
“My lord.”
He lifted his eyelids. I took three steps towards him before kneeling.
It was unreal – the way we made it to the finish line, the way my king sliced the last tenacious enemy in half with such determination. Contaminated by alcohol and the wild parties after, I couldn’t remember much of the rest, yet – perhaps it was merely some hallucinations of mine – at the climax of the celebration, I pestered him, asking for a kiss on the lips, and was not conscious of what I have done until it was granted to me. I would have surely given myself a slap otherwise.
Embarrassed, I looked up, but Lionel seemed to be pondering. He simply stared and did not speak. So I stood and took three more steps. It almost seems to me that his robe was within my reach. I could smell his scent of iron, of water, of ethereal poems, and of dormant war. But Lionel was unattainable. To be so close to his heart and to be refused from entering, to be filled with emotions which cannot be described with mere words and have them snatched away… it would make me abandon my sanity, abandon my tenderness.
“Rodri, you can stay.”
He was right – I was drunk. I couldn’t be more drunk.
I’ve thought of it as I approached, as I locked him between my arms, as I half forcefully grasped his hair and wrapped my fingers around his head, as I whispered as if I was whimpering, begging for his love.
He was an artist, a poet, a commander with intangible charisma; I was not able to understand his thoughts nor his dreams, but it was my privilege and glory to fight for them at the cost of my own life.
I could feel his skin, his touch, and every subtle breath of his as they scratched my neck. My sire was here, in my arms, and I was staring at him the same way I did yesterday night at the party. The crowd was gone, the lights faded, the music fell into silence, and it was just him and me.
My fingers burned as I outlined his face. My heart skipped a beat when I gazed into his amber eyes which gazed back at me. They were elegant, gentle, but somewhat cold, just like their owner himself. I was not fond of such coldness, even though it was the way Lionel scanned through all beings on this planet. To him, everything was like the flowing stream under his bridge of achievements; needless to say, I was nothing but a drip of water, a sprinkle from the splash.
He was so close, I could trace his lashes with mine, but his heart was so far away.
“How can I make you love me?”
In chaos did I indulge myself. In chaos did he mumble my name. All I’ve ever wanted was more than a kiss in the dark, and I knew that I should have been ashamed of my audacity. The other mercenary… he said that he wanted to die for Lionel. But I craved more. Should I have stroked every little bit of your body with my lips? Should I have confessed like an eight year-old kid vowing his loyalty? Should I have nibbled your jaw, your shoulders, your fingertips, your nipples, sensing the flavor of your blood, when I have sworn to protect you from bleeding?
How can I make you love me?