Salas sat at an empty table and ran his hands over pale petal clumps. The party guests were already arriving in another wing of the palace, sequestered near the entrance, and he knew they would work their way towards his own location once they decided to follow the sound of the lyres in the Great Hall. 

“Don’t pretend you’re actually doing anything useful by arranging those petals,” an amused voice said over his shoulder. Jovack. “You didn’t actually put in the work to arrange any of this, did you, little bird?”

Salas rose from the bench and turned to sit upon the table top, facing Jovack and pushing against his hard chest when Jovack made to move, seemingly on instinct, to stand between Salas’ legs. “Of course I played a part! How dare you. I chose the color scheme.” He glanced up proudly at his work, though when he arched his back to look up, the movement placed pressure on his rear and he winced. He’d left the bath less than an hour ago, and the plug hadn’t worked its magic in stretching him completely yet. It would be a while before it was no longer an annoyance.

“What was that look for, Salas? You seem uncomfortable,” Jovack wondered, innocently enough.

“My…” Salas began, but then narrowed his eyes on Jovack. “Step back, you rat. I’m terribly busy. The guests have already arrived and my preparations are nowhere near complete.”

“Preparations,” Jovack repeated, glancing at the small tower of petals on the table that Salas had piled. “Of course.”

Salas ignored the jab and brightened with a passing idea. “You could help me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or you could start in on the sour wine you drown yourself in at these functions. I’ve heard several birds complain you’ve been unable to stir your cock as of recently, you’ve been so drunk.”

Jovacks eyes narrowed on Salas, his lips thinning dangerously and for a moment, Salas thought he had crossed the line. “Over the years, you’ve learned to take liberties, little bird,” the statesman said eventually. “I think I preferred you begging for freedom in your pretty garden aviary.”

Salas rolled his eyes and pulled the man closer, allowing him to fit between Salas’ legs, nestling in like a bird under the wing of its mother. Immediately, the darkened mood seemed to diminish as Jovack’s hands found their purchase on Salas’ hips.

“And they say birds are the fragile ones,” Salas sighed, looking up at Jovack with hooded eyes. “Though really…” He groaned, his surrender genuine as he allowed his worries to unfold when he was reminded of the time: the lyre player had changed their tune and the guests would stream in truly at any moment. “I need help! I don’t know what to do. The Emperor is turning seventy and I wonder if he will expect some type of grand gesture. I want to do something special for him. I’ve been thinking about it all month, it’s time, and I haven’t got a clue.”

“Ah,” Jovack said in understanding, though there was a peculiar lilt to his words. “Of course. The beloved Emperor. You are more devoted than some give you credit for, Salas.”

Devoted. That word again.

“You’re not a royal consort,” Jovack went on, when Salas had been about to speak. “You are only a slave to him. He will not be expecting anything from you except flexibility in your thighs.”

It took Salas a moment to absorb the insult, as Jovack did not normally speak to him so callously. The bite of the words left a sting that he was unprepared for, and he nearly made a spectacle of himself by pushing the man away or shouting.

Not wanting to display anything other than a civil disposition when nobles were near, he caught himself right before it happened and closed his eyes briefly to collect himself, frowning when he reopened them. “What brings you here?” he asked, almost accusationally as he changed the subject. “Why aren’t you with the other guests? It’s certainly not like you’re here to help with anything.”

Jovack’s response was silence. He only stared down at Salas with his mouth slightly parted, as though an inner monologue were running through all corners of his mind but he was choosing not to speak it. Though it was there, just behind the eyes.

Salas found the expression disturbing and he leaned away from Jovack, scanning him. Jovack was a man of good humor, who enjoyed social gatherings as much as any other noble. He had the heart of a much younger man in that he had a soft spot of pranks and mayhem, as could be seen with many of the escapades he’d accomplished at previous, similar events. Eventually, “You aren’t here to release geese into the Great Hall, are you? Or fireworks or whatever the hell else you have up your sleeve. I’ll poison your cup.”

Jovack stared at Salas for another moment, but then his smile was gentle as he reached to tuck one of Salas’ stray locks behind his ear. “I was originally planning on saying nothing; doing nothing and just letting you be. I don’t think I can do that. Watch you fall,” Jovack murmured. His voice was so soft it sounded as though the words were not even meant to carry as far Salas’ ears. Again, Salas found the behavior odd and felt the first twist of something unsettling. For a moment, he wished that he were alone with Eldron somewhere, so he could privately ask what Jovack’s attitude meant, and the Emperor would patiently explain everything that he did not understand, yet again.

“You’re acting strangely, sir.” Salas’ snapped, frustrated by his own lack of competence to evaluate the man’s attitude, as well as alarmed. He inched back just a bit more.

“Don’t attend the party,” Jovack blurted, his voice much louder and clearer.

“Don’t attend the party,” Salas repeated slowly. He felt his eyebrows knit together as he blinked, looking up for further explanation. “Of course I’m attending the party! Can you imagine if-”

Salas released an unattractive squeak as a hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, blocking his speech. Jovack loomed over him, leaning into the pressure he’d placed over Salas’ lips as he peered down beseechingly. “Salas, please. This isn’t a joke or a trick. I beg you. Just return to your room. Hide in the bathroom or under the bed and do not make a sound.”

When Salas noticed the worry etched into the lines of the man’s face, Salas thought that he had never seen the man this close before. Except that wasn’t true. He’d seen Jovack even closer before, and in more intimate positions, but add the worry, something changed. With the lack of humor in his eyes, it was as though his true face was realizing itself for the first time and Salas needed an introduction to this new man.

Salas had known Jovack nearly since the time he had come to the palace, but he knew that the statesman had only been at the Southern Kingdom for twelve or so years. A man in his late forties, he had come as an experienced diplomat from one of the more hostile neighboring kingdoms, Malthens. Upon arriving to Suscon, he and the Emperor had made fast friends. The relationship had developed so well, in fact, animosity between the two kingdoms had more or less ended with a few trade agreements, and Jovack had stayed, acting as the diplomat for Malthens.

He brought a happy energy to the court, none of which Salas could see reflected now. Its absence had Salas stiffening; the sheer wrongness of the attitude of the person he’d become close to.

“Do you understand?” Jovack hissed desperately, holding Salas in a grip that had become painful while searching down into Salas’ eyes for something Salas couldn’t place. Comprehension, perhaps.

But Salas didn’t understand. He didn’t even know where to begin to understand.

Jovack seemed to recognize this and for a moment, his eyes flashed with brittle frustration, before he raised his head. He stared into nothing with wild, untrained eyes. But then he blinked, and his expression cleared. When he looked back to Salas once more, a weak smirk had taken hold of the previous frantic expression, though there was something that continued to remain off about it. Still, it was closer to one of Jovack’s normal expressions, and Salas relaxed slightly, even more so when the hands slipped away from him.

“You’ve caught me,” Jovack said gently, folding his arms. “I was told not to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Salas asked cautiously, sliding a hand to his mouth to check if his rouge had smudged beyond the lines of his lips.

Jovack pushed Salas’ hand away and began wiping away the smeared paint away with the padding of his thumb. “Tonight’s main entertainment,” Jovack explained. “There will be a treasure hunt.”

Salas felt himself straighten at the news. A treasure hunt! Why had he failed to think of such a game? The guests would all surely appreciate the mischief, as well as whatever reward was on offer. “Oh? What-?”

“And you’re the treasure,” Jovack continued, explaining over Salas’ directionless inquiries. “I’ve come to tell you to hide, not what the game is, but you stubbornly won’t seem to budge.” His smile was still odd, but it was hardly at the forefront of Salas’ concerns now.

He was to play a role in the games! Had he been more prepared, he would have dressed to perform the act. More gold. More paint. He would have pre-designated a place to hide.

“Why am I only hearing about this now?” Salas demanded, his eyes darting every which way in the hopes of spotting the perfect place to sequester himself as the game commenced. “Where—?”

“In the Emperor’s bedroom. No. The harem. A residential wing. Away, far, far away from the Great Hall or the entrance hall. Hide yourself in a cupboard or beneath a bed. Somewhere dark where no one can find you.”

Salas nodded, not letting the earnestness of Jovack’s suggestion distract him. Perhaps the man had already started in on the wine, hence the strange behavior. “Where no one can find me? Well, of course I am to be found. That’s the object of the game!” He chided with a grin, meaning to rekindle the good nature between them. But when Salas looked for the perverse spark he was so used to, only grim eyes stared back at him. 

“You should go now.” Jovack pulled Salas off the table. 

Energy coursed through Salas, the ecstatic buzz from the anticipation of a challenge smoothing over any earlier trepidation he had been feeling. There were obviously more pressing concerns than Jovack’s odd behavior. He needed to find a place to conceal himself, and at present, otherwise the game would fail before it started. Salas would not be at fault for the diminishment of fun.

Salas allowed a spurt of frantic giggles to erupt through him as he almost-madly skipped away, throwing one last giddy glance to Jovack, who was staring after Salas with mirthless eyes, before rushing down a corridor. Barefoot as always.

He raced past statue after statue, glancing over through windows to see the far-off glimmer of lights at the palace entrance.