***

He had expected to be impressed by Bastien’s quarters, yet nothing had prepared him for the room opening before them beyond the double-leafed doors.

Bastien’s room took up the entire upper corner of the left wing, its space created at the crossing between two long corridors. To either side, the Sun King had no direct neighbors. Was isolation a perk of being the richest student attending Veridien? After watching Bastien surrounded by his friends, the placement of his room appeared quite odd.

Inside, the ceiling, crossed by beams in neatly arranged zig-zags, seemed far too high for a proper bedroom. Lawrence was starting to appreciate his monk cell. While someone suffering from claustrophobia would find it unbearable, he realized that it would do just fine for him.

Bastien’s room was as wide as it was tall, creating a sensation of emptiness that hit Lawrence in the pit of his stomach. It reminded him of its owner, as Lawrence had seen him for the first time that morning. Boundless. That was the word that came to his mind as he observed the surroundings fit for a king.

The furniture in the room belonged to a different century, having weathered many owners, but it was kept in pristine condition. Two large armoires housed all of Bastien’s belongings, because not one item could be seen out of place, no casually thrown clothes, no bags, not even shoes.

The large fireplace was there only for decoration. Lawrence quickly counted five heaters strategically placed around the room. The air was still frigid, reminding him of a crypt instead of a lived-in place.

Concessions to modern-day amenities had been made. The bed, raised on a low dais, came with a luxurious mattress and new pillows, as well as a coverlet with geometrical patterns that had definitely not been in fashion at the time of the castle’s construction. Through a side door, built into a partition dividing the room, Lawrence observed a tiled floor and a sink. By the size of it, Bastien’s private lavatory most likely came with a bathtub, too.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Bastien said, spreading his arms wide and walking backwards. “What do you think of my inner sanctum?”

“It’s big,” Lawrence replied, noticing the mullioned windows, one adorning each exterior wall. The diamond-shaped room made that arrangement possible.

“You’re not the kind to flatter people, are you, Sir Galahad?” Bastien teased him with a beautiful smile. “Let me talk to my kitchen liaison,” he quipped and set one knee on the edge of the bed to reach for the small bell set in the headboard. An electric version of a tool for calling servants in another century must have replaced the original at one point.

“You don’t have to go out of your way for me. Now I feel I shouldn’t have complained about the food.”

Bastien half-turned, giving him a smile as bright as the sun. “I will sound trite for a moment, but you are like a breath of fresh air. We all need it.”

Lawrence understood what was left unsaid. As an outsider, he didn’t carry the trauma left by Lukas’s death like an inescapable coat. Bastien could very well be fed up with people who fussed over him, pitied him, or tried to take Lukas’s place. Lawrence didn’t suspect Anton of that kind of inclination, but he was definitely jealous. Norris was a more likely candidate, but Bastien didn’t appear to treat him differently from the rest. He couldn’t yet judge where the others’ interests lay, since Eldric was a closed book, Felix was hiding under a mask of cheerfulness, and Viv didn’t seem to have a personality of his own.

As for Abelard, Lawrence felt the need to wipe his hand even now as he recalled the sensation of squeezing that inert one.

He continued to take note of the room’s appointments. Bastien had a sizeable library in there. It would’ve been unfair to call the place holding all the books in the room a bookshelf, because it was much more than that. Bastien’s desk had to be as large as the one Lawrence had seen in the Rector’s office. Textbooks, pens, and other educational materials were arranged neatly on the polished surface. Not one speck of dust was in sight, making Lawrence worry about how thorough the domestic staff was when cleaning the rooms. He would have to hide his sketches better.

Someone knocked softly on the door a couple of minutes later. Bastien spoke to the person at the door in a low voice, so Lawrence took the opportunity to continue his explorations.

A compact hi-fi system, flush against the wall and guarded by two tall speakers, was another signal of Bastien’s standing at the academy. As far as Lawrence was concerned, such systems usually cost a small fortune. Especially when they came with a CD player attached.

Underneath the hi-fi system, a long shelf held Bastien’s cassettes and discs. Lawrence had to crouch to start reading the spines. Hopefully, his curiosity wouldn’t be dissected by his host and blamed on his commoner status, so to speak. The classical recordings were no surprise, just as the neoclassical choices. But the name of an artist who was currently making a name for herself in the art pop scene did make Lawrence quirk an eyebrow. It was good to know that the past wasn’t claiming Bastien entirely.

“Would you like to listen to it? It just came out.” Bastien’s voice, so close to him, caught him unawares. Lawrence stood up, unnerved by his host’s ability to move so quietly. “Or maybe you’d like to dance?”

The room was as large as a small ballroom, but the idea seemed ludicrous. He was about to protest, when Bastien brushed past him, easily picked a disc, removed it from its case and inserted it into the CD player.

“Well?” Bastien asked, offering Lawrence one hand.

It would be improper to refuse, no matter how quirky such an invitation was, Lawrence thought.

“You lead,” Bastien decided while stepping into his guest’s breathing space.

He could only call it that because Bastien’s proximity truly took his breath away. The soft sounds of a slow, soulful piece set the stage for seduction; Lawrence wasn’t so inexperienced as to miss such a detail.

He should be on guard. He knew nothing about Bastien, who, oblivious to Lawrence’s inner struggle, was busy taking his hand and placing it on his hip while linking the other with his.

“Forgive me,” he said in a tone that suggested how little he intended to apologize, “around here, we all tend to be a bit peculiar.”

“I’m afraid I have two left feet,” Lawrence said, ignoring the double-meaning of Bastien’s words on purpose.

“I will teach you,” Bastien said, smiling. He was so close now that Lawrence couldn’t look anywhere else. “Something tells me you’re not difficult to train.”

Guided by a gentle hand such as Bastien’s, indeed, he wouldn’t be. Under Bastien’s soft-spoken commands, they began to move. It was easier than Lawrence thought. His steps followed his dance partner’s moves without going even a bit too fast or too slow. They even twirled and turned, attempting more and more daring artifices.

The room no longer seemed so cold and unlived in. Bastien’s infectious laughter turned it around.

They stopped when the song reached its end. Bastien moved away and stopped the player. He turned to face Lawrence, and they looked into each other’s eyes.

“Why did you truly come to Veridien, Lawrence?” he asked. His eyes were sharp now, but nothing like Anton’s. Their sharpness came from a need to survive; Lawrence could tell as much.

Bastien didn’t wait for his answer. “This place isn’t kind,” he added, his smile fading just as the color fled from his cheeks.

“To strangers like me?” Lawrence asked.

“To anyone.” Bastien walked over and ran one hand through Lawrence’s hair, the same as that morning. He pushed himself up on his toes and placed a soft kiss on Lawrence’s forehead.

But Lawrence didn’t allow him to move away. He held Bastien with one arm, pressing it gently against his back and angled his head. Bastien watched him with curiosity, and Lawrence waited through long, excruciating moments until the other leaned his head in the opposite direction, letting their lips meet.

Kissing Bastien Hawthorne was more than he’d imagined. A taste, a sound, an image he’d keep locked behind closed eyes, they happened all at once. They didn’t insist and didn’t move much from their self-imposed prim and proper position, indulging only in each other’s mouths.

It was a full kiss. Lawrence had kissed people before, girls more often, and only one boy. The latter had been little more than a brush of lips, easy to discard as a dare. He could tell how different this kiss was. He felt Bastien close, expressing himself softly like the sad music he enjoyed listening to – so close, like a presence that could easily overpower him and make him obey.

An ordinary lie waited on the sidelines. Getting closer to Bastien Hawthorne was essential for his investigation, but which police procedure recommended kissing the main suspect?

It didn’t truly matter, because he wanted to stay like this forever, lost in kissing the most beautiful person he’d ever had the chance to meet in his life. His perspectives were slowly twisting now, becoming skewed, but he’d worry about that later, when he was no longer under the Sun King’s spell. Of all the nicknames he’d heard so far, he thought that fit him the best.

Because like the others, he couldn’t stop himself from gravitating toward and around him, eager to experience his warmth.

Not only his warmth, his touch, too. His lips were hot, and the skin on his neck, when Lawrence touched him with the tips of his fingers, was burning.

It took him a good solid moment to realize what was happening.

“Do you have a fever?” he asked Bastien, interrupting their kiss.

Bastien looked annoyed. He bit his bottom lip, and his eyelids fluttered for a moment. Could it be he hadn’t wanted to give in to the temptation of letting Lawrence kiss him?

Another knock on the door cut the awkwardness short. Bastien turned quickly away from him and went to get the door. He returned with a parcel in his hands. It was still warm when he placed it in Lawrence’s. And it smelled heavenly, even through the cloth in which it was wrapped; in Lawrence’s vocabulary, that meant normal food, like stew with potatoes and meat in it.

“This place isn’t kind,” Bastien repeated what he said before, “but I try to be different. Someone will remove the pot from your room tomorrow. You don’t have to do anything, no matter how tempted or indebted you might feel. Good night, knight-errant. I look forward to learning from you.”

Lawrence had no idea what Bastien meant by that. But they were back to being polite and cold, and Lawrence knew not to overstay his welcome.

TBC

(1) je crois que je tombe amoureux (French) – I think I’m falling in love