Oly ended up being grateful he’d given himself something to do, because Hesiat became (somehow) even busier, and he refused to call on his “favorite” anymore. Vika was happy to oh and ah over Oly’s neck once the bandages were unwound, but he privately suspected she was enjoying the irony of his predicament: Oly had established himself as so much of an entertaining distraction, he was marked as a favorite and put to the side completely in the same fell swoop.

So, he studied, a week later he was called to the tailor, and there she draped black velvet and blue patterns over his skin. She only spoke Sundentan, so the small talk turned out to be good practice, but it shifted into Terese making some awfully un-subtle small talk about what the Aosan ‘god’ of black was. The night sky, silver, and ravens, he’d said. No-one seemed to understand that being the god of thieves and secrets wasn’t a bad thing, so he left that bit out.

Yet still, even though people largely left him alone to study, and even if he should have seen this coming, Oly felt a distinct lack of privacy when he discovered clothes laid out on his bed. An unspoken command. He regarded the tunic, formal and Sundentan, but it had weak hints of Aosan design. He recognized the iridescent shine on a raven’s wings, embracing a mother-of-pearl moon over the heart. Keeping with the theme of the “foreign” goddess of night, constellations of glass beads glittered on the shoulder of his velvet black sash. Of course, since different countries saw different patterns, he couldn’t recognize any of them.

A part of him wanted to scowl, but the rest smiled. “Well,” he sighed, “they tried.” If nothing else, Terese was an excellent seamstress.

When he shook the garment out to get a better look at the sash and sleeves, a note fluttered out. He dropped the tunic to catch it.

Meet me in my chambers at 7.

“How could I refuse?” He muttered, flicking the note onto the bed and turning to the basin.

--

When he arrived at Hesiat’s rooms, his knuckles barely tapped the wood before the door flew open, the King standing on the other side, regal as ever. He had an indifferent expression, but uninterested men didn’t open the door at the first hint of a knock.

Oly spread his arms and gave a mock curtsy, fanning out his sash and skirt to let the glass stars glitter in the lantern light. “How do I look, Your Majesty?” He asked, though he made no move to erase the knowing and mischievous look in his eye. Hesiat’s face remained unchanged, but Oly spotted him swallow hard.

“Rather exotic. Come in.” Once Hesiat had his back turned, Oly rolled his eyes and followed.

Hesiat opened the top drawer of his desk and held up a golden hair clip. “Come here.”

Oly obeyed. He could see it was a flower—tiny pearls on the ends of impossibly thin gold chains dripped from the blossoms’ heart—before Hesiat deftly tucked Oly’s hair away from his face to pin just above his ear.

“Your hair is still too short for heavier pins, but having gold in it at all will show everyone you’re mine.”

“The collar doesn’t already?” He blurted, reaching up to touch it. The skin had just recently stopped being tender. Hesiat smirked.

“That too.” Hesiat touched his neck again. Oly blamed it on magic responding to its master, or the recent “injury,” but it felt like fire smoldered just under the flesh in response to Hesiat’s gentle touch. “It came out rather nicely, didn’t it?”

“It did.” Oly agreed placidly, not really knowing. He avoided mirrors like the plague now; all he knew was that the midnight blue had an iridescent sheen, and Dawn had spent a lot of time pricking a mother-of-pearl moon right on his larynx.

Hesiat’s touch lingered a bit longer than Oly would have expected before he pulled back and cleared his throat.

“There’s a party on the river tonight. I want you to be on my arm throughout so everyone sees the collar.”

Oly’s mood didn’t know whether to soar or sour. He raised a brow. “Is that the only reason?”

Hesiat’s voice deepened. “It’s the only reason that impacts you.”

Oly took a deep breath. “If it satisfies you, sir, it is so.” He said with a bow of his head. Hesiat pet over his hair, hand coming to a rest at the nape of Oly’s neck.

“It does. I trust you know how to be polite with company, and not just silent?” Or sarcastic, kindly left unsaid. Oly smiled.

“Knowing and doing are two different things,” he warned. Hesiat let out a frustrated huff, but Oly laughed and straightened, placing his own hand over Hesiat’s and giving it a squeeze. “I’m kidding. I’ll behave, sir.” He batted his eyes, adding with a teasing tone, “Just for you.”

Hesiat’s cheeks turned quite a few shades darker. “Good,” he praised, trying to recover some poise, but it was too late, Oly knew exactly how to fluster him now.

--

Oly stepped out of the carriage—he’d been allowed to ride with Hesiat this time—and craned his neck to look up at the waiting ship. It was as huge as a river boat could get away with being, but the waters in these parts were deep and slow, at least enough to paddle back from the ocean it ran to. This could be accomplished with the mill-sized paddle wheel on the back. Every other port window was stained glass, with flowing designs painted on the sides to create the impression of guiding spirits. Nobles and aristocrats milled around on deck, already chatting, laughing, and drinking their fill.

Walking up the bridge to board, he let Hesiat take his arm and saw him making an expression Oly was starting to recognize: furrowed brows, set mouth, neutral eyes. Shoulders set back, spine ruler-straight, stride long and difficult for most to keep up with. In Oly’s limited experience with the man, this was the mask he made in public: he’d entered the political stage with blood and conquest, and now he had to hold that image for as long as it took to gently set that heavy legacy down. To drop it all at once would seem weak. Hesiat couldn’t deliberately neglect a toy meant for taking selfish pleasures anymore, and Oly was here to make a statement, through and through. It wasn’t a treat, and it definitely wasn’t a show of trust. It was a display.

Oly turned his face forward again and took a deep breath, wondering how he could help.