Dara had felt a reflexive grief when the prince had told him he was sending him away, but as he’d continued to explain the situation, Dara had rationalised it to himself. It wasn’t a punishment and he would get to be around horses. For years he had wanted nothing more than to work in the stables instead of the barracks. He had never once wished to be a bed slave. It made no sense to view this as anything but a good thing.

But then he and the prince had started talking, and now Dara was conflicted again. It had been so long since Dara had felt safe, felt cared for, felt respected. Felt that warmth, like sinking into a warm bath on a cold day, coming from within him. It was intoxicating, but he wasn’t sure it meant much. He was probably just so starved of affection that any hint of it made him desperate.

It really didn’t matter how he felt, anyway. This wasn’t a choice for him to make. It was just what was going to happen.

He and the prince hadn’t enchanged a word since they had woken up, hadn’t looked at one another as they’d gotten dressed. Dara eyed last night’s leftovers, still sitting on the low table in the corner of the room. He’d eaten his fill last night, but he hadn’t been able to fit enough in his anxious stomach to make up for the previous two days and he was ravenous again.

His first instinct was to let it go, not to bother the prince when he was clearly determined to ignore Dara, but hadn’t they been over this issue already? The prince did not want Dara to go hungry.

“Ah… your highness?” Dara finally spoke up.

The prince turned from where he had been searching through one of his bags. “Mm?”

“Is there time for me to eat some of these leftovers before we leave?”

“Oh,” the prince said. “Yes, of course. I can call a servant to bring you something fresh if you like.”

“No, no, that’s okay, your highness,” Dara said as he sat down on a cushion in front of the table. “I was listening last night. I wouldn’t dare waste food while others are starving.”

“Responsible thinking.” The prince brought a quill, a bottle of ink, and a few sheets of paper over to the table and sat down on the floor across from Dara. “That’s the issue I’ll be spending the rest of my time here tackling after I drop you off. I only have today to find some resolution, and then we’ll be moving on tomorrow morning.”

Dara swallowed a mouthful of cheese. “It sounded like you already had a plan for that, your highness.”

“Mm,” the prince confirmed. “Something tells me Lord Hobbs isn’t done fighting me on it, though. I have to balance this carefully. I dislike the man, but leaders fall when they lose the support of those with power.”

“I suppose so.”

The prince offered him a smile. “Or should I crush him for daring to touch you?”

Dara bit down on his lip as he reflexively mirrored the smile.

“You know, appropriate or not, the way he reacted when you looked at him like that was hilarious. At least in retrospect. It threw me so much that I didn’t know how to react in the moment.”

“Ah.” The smile faded from Dara’s face. “You know why I did that, don’t you, your highness?”

“Because you didn’t want him to touch you?”

“No. Well—” Dara tilted his head from side to side in consideration. “Yes, but no. It was because he was playing games with you, testing how much he could disrespect you and get away with it. I wasn’t going to let him use me as a prop in that game, your highness.”

“You thoroughly dominated that man with nothing more than a look while kneeling on the floor. That’s impressive.”

“It was stupid, your highness. I’m very lucky you enjoyed it.”

“I suppose.” The prince picked up a date and nibbled off a tiny piece. “So, you think he was playing a game. They all are, all the time, so I suppose I agree. Who do you think won?”

Dara’s lips twisted in consideration. Should he tell the prince the truth, or what he wanted to hear? He met the prince’s eyes, saw how intently he was watching him, and realised the truth was exactly what he did want. “Neither of you, your highness. It’s like when you fight with a sword. One person strikes and the other person blocks until one person fails to block and they get stabbed.”

The prince smiled. “A rather reductive description of sword fighting.”

Dara laughed at himself. “Okay, yes, that’s not exactly my area of expertise, your highness. But my point was that nobody got stabbed. Nobody won.”

“Fair. So how do I win?”

“Well… you just decide to, your highness.”

“Oh, thank you. Very helpful,” the prince said, but he was smiling again.

“Well, I mean, in this metaphor you’re the far stronger fighter, your highness. He’s fighting as aggressively as he possibly can and you’re holding back. He can only win if you let him.”

“True,” the prince said. “How do you know so much about this?”

Dara shrugged. “Maybe I don’t know anything, your highness. Maybe I’m wrong.”

“I don’t believe that. That man saw the heart of the matter in your eyes.”

The truth was that Dara had been given years of lessons in standing his ground. Letting anyone, even a king, have too much control over him could have compromised his magic. It had been necessary for him to always be able to tell someone to back off when they were making him uncomfortable, no matter who they were.

But he couldn’t tell the prince that. Not without telling him so much more, and it was much too late for that now.

“Well, you said I was a fighter, your highness,” Dara said after much too long of a stretch of silence. “I suppose you were right.”

“That’s not an answer, but that’s fine,” the prince said. “Thank you. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Dara nodded. He had a feeling he’d be thinking about the prince for a long time yet, too.