The palace grounds were immense, covering hundreds of acres. Beyond the main building, the training ground, the stables, and every garden was a seemingly infinite forest. When he was younger, Finneas had insisted that he would explore every inch of it someday. However, time had gotten in the way, and with the schedule he now kept, it was unlikely he’d ever see much more of it than he already knew. Still, the path that he had walked a thousand times before was comfortable and steady. If he never saw any other parts of the forest, at least this trail was beautiful.

Maron walked alongside him. This early in the morning, it was quiet and the prince didn’t interrupt that, instead remaining silent, looking around the area as sunlight filtered in through the leaves, casting shadows upon his face. When he exhaled, the slightest bit of breath could be seen in the cold air.

It had been a long time since they’d done this, wandering through the trails in the early morning. It had been longer, however, since Maron had been granted a morning off. If they could have taken more liberties with timing, perhaps they might have decided it was simply too cold to deal with a walk. With snow crunching beneath their feet and a handful of flakes lazily meandering down to the ground, it wasn’t the most comfortable. Winter in the capital never was. From December to February, it was always either on the cusp of snowing or a full on blizzard. That the last few weeks had been mild enough for a light jacket had been a gift. Still, they’d ventured out into the cold. If they waited for a perfect day with enough free time to go for a walk, they’d be waiting forever.

“Finneas.”

The man turned, looking to Maron. Green eyes stared up at him. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Do you know Patricia’s hot chocolate recipe?”

Finneas couldn’t help but laugh. For as serious as Maron had sounded in breaking his silence, it hadn’t been the question he expected. “I do.” He knew both versions–the one she made for everyone, and the one with roughly thrice the amount of sugar that she concocted only for Maron. “Would you like some when we go back?”

“If you don’t mind.”

It wasn’t often that Maron asked him to make anything for him. Really, he only ever asked the minimum amount from Finneas. Help with the schedule, deal with any documents that he didn’t have the time for, offer protection, help him prepare for the day. It was the basic requirements expected from an attendant and nothing more. “It’s no problem.” It had been a long time since he had worked in the kitchen, in charge of bringing the tea and coffee cart around to guests and to Maron, but he’d learned to make everything he could possibly need to, and had especially been aware of how Maron took his drinks.

Maron opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, all that left was a quiet gasp as he stumbled, boot thwacking against a log partially buried under the snow. Finneas sprung forward, extending his arms and catching the man in them. He gripped Maron’s shoulders tightly as the prince’s fingers dug into his sides in search of stability.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” If he had pulled anything in his back, if a nerve had been pinched in just the right way, it would mean a week of recovery. And Maron never truly allowed for real healing. He always kept pushing, too hard and too fast.

“I’m fine.” He sighed. “My apologies. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” The man righted himself, taking a shaky breath. Finneas let go of him, but Maron paused for a moment before releasing the fabric of Finneas’s jacket. Carefully, he looped his arm around the man’s. Finneas raised a brow, but didn’t say anything. “I’d like to continue. Just…please help me keep my balance.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Maron walked steadily, as though nothing had happened. There was a piece of Finneas that wondered if that stumble had been quite as genuine as Maron had tried to make it seem. It was silly to be so performative out here, with no one else around, but the man’s arm in his wasn’t such a tight grip that he rested any weight on Finneas. Like this, he offered little support. But Maron leaned into his side, and his fingers traced over his forearm, delicate and slow in their motion. It didn’t seem to be very helpful in anything but allowing Maron to make more contact than he usually might.

Perhaps he could have called the man out, told him there was no reason for pretense. If Maron wanted to hold onto him, to lean against him, he didn’t need to pretend it was anything other than that. But Finneas didn’t say a word. It was best if he was quiet.

The sound of a twig snapping in the distance pulled Finneas’s attention. When he turned, there was nothing at all to indicate that there was more to it than just a wild animal landing oddly on a branch or a stick snapping under the weight of shifting snow. Still, he looked over the area carefully. This far out in the forest, if it was something amiss, it would be difficult to get help quickly.

“Finneas–”

The man snapped his head toward Maron, who faced the opposite direction. The sound of charging footsteps registered before the sight of a black-clad figure rushing forward. Finneas moved before he thought, letting go of Maron’s arm to step in front of him, pulling his sword from its sheath and thrusting it forward. The figure stopped, scrambling back for just a moment of hesitation.

“Prince Maron!” A loud call came from behind, more familiar than Finneas would have liked. Still, at least it was him. Damon Altrusia wouldn’t be particularly helpful in this situation, but at least he wasn’t a threat. Unless this was his doing–had he finally seen the rejection letter and this was his solution?

It was not trust in Altrusia that allowed Finneas to keep his back to him as he focused on the figure ahead. Rather, it was faith in Maron. If something was wrong, Maron would know what to do. As much as Finneas had been trained for this exact thing, Maron was just as well prepared for his own role.

Before him, the figure ahead gained courage, moving forward once more. There was little Finneas could discern with the man’s form so heavily covered, but the flash of gold on his wrists and the glint of metal from the blade in his hand were bright in the winter sun.

“Give me the prince, little brother.”

Hearing that name from those lips made something inside him churn, but it told him all he needed to know. This wasn’t someone he would give the time of day to reason with. He moved forward, and with a short thrust of his arm, the flat of his sword rammed into the man’s side, sending him careening to the ground, coughing. It wasn’t enough to break anything or even to cut, but all he needed was for the man to be disarmed. Finneas fell to the ground after him, pinning the man’s arms to the ground, the knife going flying.

A quick glance to the side made him feel ill. Altrusia stood behind Maron, his hands resting on the man’s shoulders. The look in Maron’s eyes told Finneas that all he wanted was to pull away. 

“Altrusia, get Joel. Now. Your Highness–” Shit. If Maron went with Altrusia, he’d be alone with him. If he stayed and there were more assailants past the treeline, Finneas would be putting him in danger. No. No, Finneas could handle it. This wasn’t too much. But if it was–

“I’ll stay here with you,” he said, taking a step forward. Altrusia’s hands fell from his shoulders.

“My Prince, you really must come with me,” Altrusia tried.

“No. I would slow you down. Speed is most important. Go.” Maron crossed his arms over his chest, and Finneas turned his attention back to the man beneath him. As he struggled to catch his breath, he twisted, doing his best to get free. He wasn’t strong enough to really be a problem–if he was here to attack Maron, he was either overly confident or knew something Finneas didn’t.

The sound of footsteps in the snow once again set Finneas on edge.

“Altrusia is going,” Maron said before Finneas could even turn his head. “If anyone else comes, knock this one out and deal with them.”

The man beneath Finneas writhed, whipping his head around to spit. It landed at Maron’s boots. “The little prince thinks he’s so special, using one of us for protection, keeping one as a pet to show his status.”

“Shut up,” Finneas snapped, bringing his elbow down into the man’s chest.

“Finneas.”

Finneas didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t argue with Maron over this, but he wasn’t going to listen to that tired comment from someone like this. He’d heard it before and he wasn’t going to take it from a man pathetic enough to try to attack in the woods. To hear himself called the prince’s dog day in and day out from the mouths of servants was one thing. This, however, wasn’t something he could deal with.

“So well trained,” the man said with a laugh, coughing again. “Tell me, if you’re a good enough boy, will he take your collar off? He’s never going to.”

Author's Note

Uh oh!!! This one's a little longer so it'll be a two-part update! See you this evening for part two! Thank you for reading <3