Lucian sat under the moon's cold stare, fingertips grazing the pages of an old book he had brought from the Palace, hidden in the wooden box along with the bandages and ointments.

He inhaled, allowing the familiar scent of yellowed paper to linger in his nose, tickling the memories in his brain – forcing them out, one at a time. How unpleasant it was, the curse of still loving the very things that could often only bring back hurt. And yet, the book was innocent.

Pursing his lips, he closed it, resting his chin on the back of his hand and staring out the window.

The night sky had swelled up with stars by that time, each one trying to outshine the other. And as the day had finally reached its end, so did the sound of lively conversation coming from the patrons in the tavern on the floor below. Now, their voices were muffled, far more quiet, with only a handful of them left, being carried by the wind into their room.

He stood, gently placing the book into the box before removing his boots and beginning to undress. As expected of Riven, just before stepping out of the carriage he had handed him a small leather pouch, containing undergarments for both him and Silas.

And as he prepared to unbutton his blouse after removing his doublet, he heard the door creak, followed by quiet steps and then a hushed gasp.

"Ah. Sorry. I did not know you were changing. I will come back later."

Lucian glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Silas with his head low and eyes fixed on the ground in an attempt to avoid looking at him. He snickered, hand reaching to rummage through the pouch, before throwing him his own clothes.

"Do not be ridiculous, I am not some fair maiden. Just put these on and let us go to sleep, it is getting late." He cocked his head, noticing the hint of confusion on Silas' face. "They are meant to be for the servants to wear, but should fit you just fine. Riven stole them."

The boy frowned, lifting the linen shirt and studying it. "He shouldn't have. I can sleep in these clothes just fine."

Lucian stopped for a second, before letting out a laugh loud enough to grate at Silas' nerves, causing his frown to deepen. "Well, how do you presume he got the ones you are wearing right now?"

His head shot up, the usual fiery anger bubbling in his irises. "Unbelievable..." he muttered under his breath, but decided against arguing any further. He did not enjoy the fact that everything he had been given up until that moment was likely stolen, but at the same time, he was no stranger to theft. And, unlike the merchants back at the slums, he was quite sure the Palace could afford to lose a few garments.

He sighed, turning around and facing the door before undressing as fast as possible, checking every so often to make sure the Prince still had his back toward him.

The sleeping shirt and trousers were rough to the touch, but not unbearably so. He could tell they had already been worn over the course of time, but despite that, they were clean and had a pleasant scent of chamomile. And they were white, almost blinding; back home, his own clothes had never been that pristine. He did not have many, but the ones he had were patched up in multiple spots, all little colorful marks tracing their history: his father had worn them, and before him, his grandfather.

By the time Silas was done changing, the Prince had finished as well. But unlike him, he was sporting silk undergarments that reflected the dim candlelight in each of their folds. Almost instinctively, Silas rolled his eyes, causing him to raise an eyebrow, which was promptly ignored. No one needed to sleep in silk. Not even Royalty.

Lucian cleared his throat, stifling a yawn. "Very well then, get some rest. Tomorrow the lessons with yours truly will resume, so I expect to see you fully refreshed. Good night." He raised an arm, pulling it toward his torso in a deep stretch, and began making his way toward the small couch that stood opposite the bed.

And as he sat on it, Silas stood next to the door, following his every move with narrow eyes. "What are you doing?"

Lucian looked at him, already settling both legs on the worn-down cushions. "Was I not clear enough? I am preparing to sleep. Laying down. Readying myself for slumber. Better?"

Silas scoffed. "That is not what I meant." He pointed his finger at the bed. "Why are you sleeping there? Just take the bed and leave me the couch."

Admittedly, the ancient piece of furniture looked anything but comfortable, but that was not much of an issue for Silas, and certainly not enough to deter him. He did not want to owe the Prince any more gratitude: the nights spent in the Royal bed had been enough. He knew far too well that kindness did not come for free, especially not from the Crown. And most of all, he did not want to be treated as some fragile creature.

This time, it was Lucian's turn to roll his eyes. "How stubborn you are, and at such a late hour. I already told you we must focus on your healing, so take the bed and stop your whining."

Silas stepped forward, stopping just in front of the Prince.

Perhaps he simply was not used to being shown selflessness for the sake of it, or rather, he did not believe it to be true coming from Lucian of all people. But he was not going to just accept it – he couldn't fathom it.

Or perhaps it was his instincts kicking in, telling him to refuse such offers.

"I truly do not enjoy saying this," he started, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, "but the bed is spacious enough for the both of us, so stop this madness. Just... stay on your side." His face set ablaze, he stormed toward the bed and lifted the sheets with a swift motion, burying himself underneath and leaving an amused Lucian behind.

"Oh my, how daring of you. I certainly cannot refuse such an offer." Lucian chuckled, following in his steps.

Then, the mattress shifted under his weight, as did the covers. Silas grabbed them with one hand, clenching them to his chest and forcing his eyes shut. It was not long before a wave of warmth hit his back, the undeniable sign of the presence of another living body close by.

He had never shared a bed with anyone besides his family, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth to know that the first person to break such a wall was none other than the Prince himself. But something else started to rise from the depths of his sternum, something he had not anticipated and wished could just disappear as quickly as it had surfaced: an overwhelming, suffocating sense of discomfort, of pure and raw unease. How humiliating, to be so rattled by something so mundane. How weak.

Lucian blew out the last candle, engulfing them both in darkness, and glanced at him, the trace of a smirk still lingering on his lips.

But as his sight adjusted to the soft moonlight tracing the silhouette of the boy, and the more he studied it, he saw it.

Had it been a cloudy night, had the moon been even just slightly less radiant, he would surely have missed it and fallen asleep with little care in just a few heartbeats.

But he saw it.

The back of this boy, shaking.

As the minutes passed, he began paying more and more attention to his breathing as well; the unsteadiness of it. And no matter how long he waited, how much he tried to quiet his own lungs to allow him the illusion of solitude, the boy never stopped shaking, never fell asleep.

Lucian pursed his lips, scratching at his chin.

It seems it can't be helped.

Suddenly, he let out a loud groan, piercing the other's ears.

Silas turned around, whipping his head back, heart beating fast at the sudden commotion.

"This just won't do. I should have expected it, but my bones long for the comfort of the Palace's royal mattress. Ah, no, this simply won't do." He clicked his tongue, rising from under the sheets and shaking his head dramatically.

"What?"

Lucian ignored him as he grabbed a pillow and placed it under his arm, making his way toward the couch. "In the end, it seems I was correct all along. This is truly the only way I shall get my well-deserved rest."

Silas blinked, studying the Prince's movements in utter confusion. He saw him throw himself on the cushions, legs sprawled all over and arms falling from the sides. "Your... Highness?" He paused, incredulous. "Would the couch not be even more uncomforta–"

"Oh, how tired I am!" This time, Lucian's voice came louder, strained. "I understand your desire for my company, but I beg of you, allow me to shut these eyes. Ah, yes, much better indeed..."

Silas did not even quite have the time to ponder on a reply before the sound of faint snoring began echoing in the room.

He just sat, eyes still fixed on Lucian, observing his chest rise and fall with each breath. "Are you truly sleeping?"

The other did not reply, and after a few more moments, at last, Silas laid back down, brows still furrowed in disbelief.

But this time around, his heart felt lighter, and his mouth just a little less bitter.

---

The birds had not yet begun to sing, still deep in their slumber along with the rest of the world, when Lucian was abruptly awoken by a chilling sound.

He shot up, eyes wide open, scanning the area around him in a frenzy, trying to find the cause of such commotion.

Then, it came again, stronger, deafening.

A scream, coming from the other side of the room.

He stood, rushing toward the bed, only to find it just as he had left it: with Silas curled under the covers.

But as he wondered if it had all just been a horrific illusion, the boy's face twisted in unfathomable pain, and his mouth opened to let out one more scream.

Lucian froze.

Cautiously, he inched closer, rubbing the sleep away from his face and looking at him more clearly. He was sweating, the waves of his hair sticking to his forehead.

And just as he saw him prepare for another shriek, his hand reached forward, coming to rest on Silas' shoulder.

His chest dropped, the air leaving his lungs quietly this time around, in a hushed huff.

The Prince kneeled, eyelids heavy from fatigue and relief, allowing a sigh to escape him.

"You almost killed the future King of Paican," he muttered, clutching his shirt with his free hand, only to feel his heart beating faster than ever with fright. "It is safe here. Sleep."

After checking once more that the boy had calmed down, he shook his head. His hand lingered for a moment longer, and finally, he dragged his tired body back to the couch.

He had no idea of what had just happened. No idea of what could have caused the younger to cry out in such a way.

But he was certain of one thing: bringing him away from the Palace had been the right choice.

---

The sun's rays came lazily through the window, landing on Silas' face like a delicate kiss.

He stirred, groaning a little and covering his eyes, grasping desperately at the last strands of sleep before admitting defeat to the morning.

Sniffling and yawning, he sat up, thoughts still dazed as he looked around the room, now appearing a little more pleasing as it bathed in the warm sunlight.

His sight then landed on the Prince, still sleeping soundly on the couch in front of him.

He cocked his head, remembering the bizarre scene from the night before. At this point, it was not surprising to see him act in ways that Silas could not even begin to understand, and yet it left him baffled each and every time.

The Royal was sprawled on the cushions, one leg hanging over the backrest and one arm falling to the side. His dark hair now resembled a nest, messy and puffed, while his head was thrown back over the armrest.

Silas' gaze lingered for a moment longer.

Under the morning light, he noticed just how fair his skin was – enough for blue and violet veins to peek out from behind closed eyelids. His lips were parted slightly, pink and swollen with sleep, a thin line of saliva crawling down his chin. And there, on his chin, just below his mouth on the left, he saw a small mole, perfectly round.

His eyes continued to move down, reaching Lucian's neck, bent so awkwardly that his Adam's apple poked out far more than usual. Below it, his blouse had come undone, just enough to show sharp collarbones threatening to split open his chest. His chest, yes, the one which was moving up and down following its own peaceful rhythm.

Unknowingly, Silas found himself leaning forward, completely fascinated by the sight. As he was now, the Prince looked human. Of course, the lack of calluses on his hands and his light complexion were an obvious giveaway of his innate standing, but despite that, he looked... normal.

He looked just like that: like a man, sleeping.

Not a Prince, not a future King – just Lucian.

Silas' attention was slowly dragged back toward his face, but once he saw it, he gasped, jumping back and hitting the wall behind the bed.

"Good morning," the Prince grumbled, one eye half open and the other still shut. "Enjoying the view?"

Silas furrowed his brows, scrambling to find his words for a second. "You were drooling on yourself. It is unsightly."

Lucian hummed, finally opening the other eye and adjusting his posture before wiping a hand across his chin. "If that is what you wish to tell yourself, then so be it."

The boy huffed, muttering under his breath and preparing to fire back, but the Prince stopped him. "It is too early to try to seduce me, have some patience."

At that, Silas paused, the familiar heat of anger rising to his cheeks and his words threatening to come out like a flood, which was met with nothing but a smirk.

"Shall we have breakfast?"