Lawrence worried he might have to collect his jaw from the floor. He must have imagined Bastien saying such a crude word.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he said, his throat dry, and his voice strained.

“Ah, so you only like kissing?” Bastien asked.

Lawrence was at a loss for words.

“What about touching?” Bastien continued. His hands moved slowly over Lawrence’s chest now. “You’re so furry. I like it,” he added with a chuckle.

“You’re playing with me.”

“I am playing with you,” Bastien confirmed. “That doesn’t mean, however, my dear knight-errant, that I’m not serious about it.”

He moved away, this time managing to take Lawrence by surprise. Lawrence turned so they could face each other. Bastien Hawthorne looked nothing like someone who loved to play. His face was slightly flushed, and his lips were a shade darker than before.

“What would you like, Lawrence? Name it.”

“A kiss,” he replied.

“Then why don’t you come closer?” Bastien challenged him, licking his lips slowly.

Lawrence did. He cupped Bastien’s cheek gently and closed his eyes while their lips touched.

He was positively, absolutely a boor for involving Bastien in his investigation in such a way. But he wouldn’t stop, because kissing the prime suspect felt like nothing he’d ever felt before coming to Veridien.

Bastien, for all his bold talk, was a shy kisser. He didn’t open his mouth a lot, and his tongue dared little. Lawrence had never pictured himself in the role of an instructor of intimate things, but he found himself coaxing Bastien into opening his mouth wider, and using his tongue in a bolder fashion.

He was beginning to lose himself in the moment. He cradled Bastien’s head in his hand while deepening their kiss. They weren’t touching each other anywhere else, but it was enough. Lawrence was developing an unusual fear of combustion if they went further than this.

They moved away slowly, looking into each other’s eyes, mesmerized by their own actions and reactions. Lawrence hoped he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

“So,” Bastien said playfully, “a kiss is better than having a heater in your room?”

Lawrence grinned. “Go away, Bastien. I’ll talk to Herr Becker about the heater. I’d hate to hear people say I am your pet.”

Bastien laughed as if someone had tickled him. “I’d love to have you as my pet.”

“That will not happen,” Lawrence said, smiling, too.

“Too bad. But I can live with whatever scraps you’re willing to spare, Sir Galahad.”

Now that was cause for him to laugh out loud. “I think you’ve got it wrong.”

“No, I don’t,” Bastien said, his face all a smile. “Anyway, even if you don’t like receiving my help, I’ll give it. I presume you’re not aware, but tomorrow is instruction day. Prepare to get bruised. Hopefully not bloodied, as well, but I cannot guarantee the behavior of my, how did you call them? Oh, yes, my guard dogs.”

“Wait, what kind of instruction are we talking about?” Professor Moreau had warned him about the same thing, but in a different manner.

“At seven sharp, we’ve all been scheduled for arms. Terrible, I know.”

“What the hell is arms?”

Bastien looked at him with undisguised pity. “And you insist that you don’t need help. Let me educate you, my dear knight. Arms is what Veridien pretentiously uses as a replacement for what in the world you come from, normal individuals refer to as sports. Expect fencing, drills, and the odd lesson in restraint regarding when to advance and when not to. And don’t let yourself become dazzled by the veneer of respectability such a discipline imposes on the newcomer. My darling jailers are not above improvisation.”

“Ah, so you’re warning me about Anton and his pet dog playing dirty?” Lawrence had to admit that he appreciated being given the heads-up.

“So. Anton can have a pet, but I can’t?” Bastien teased him. “Yes, they’re most likely to improvise. But they’re not the only ones. Have you ever practiced fencing, Lawrence?”

“Not for one second in my entire life.”

Bastien sighed. “I pity you, then. But you look like a sturdy lad. I’m certain you’ll live. And now, please excuse me. I am forced to jump through hoops of fire to enjoy just a moment of freedom.”

He was about to walk out, but Lawrence couldn’t let him leave like that. He wrapped one arm around Bastien’s shoulders and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth. There was honor in restraint, and worry that he might not be able to help himself if he did more than that.

“Thank you,” he said.

Bastien’s eyes softened. “You’re more than welcome, my dear knight.”

***

Lawrence wasn’t the kind to linger in bed in the morning past his waking time, but the early hours at Veridien were, indeed, brutal. The cold didn’t help, and he realized that maybe he’d been too proud when refusing Bastien’s help regarding the heater. The schedule for the day had been pushed under the door, but at least he was prepared to face Anton’s and Abelard’s machinations.

But fencing! Officially, he was at Veridien to study ancient languages, not to learn how to handle a sword. Were they using blunt points? Hopefully, yes. It would be quite the disappointment to become the victim of a fencing accident before he’d even had the chance to investigate Lukas von Keller’s death properly.

Not knowing what else to choose as his official dress for fencing lessons, he opted for his uniform, which, exactly as predicted by Ali, had been delivered to his room as soon as he was up, ironed and in perfect condition.

An energetic knock on the door warned him that his self-appointed best friend was ready for the day. To Lawrence’s relief, Ali was also in his uniform.

“Have you ever played with swords, Larry?” Ali asked. With his headphones around his neck, as usual, he looked his usual self. However, Lawrence couldn’t help wondering if he’d be able to tell Ali apart from his brother. After all, he’d barely met both.

“Swords? I suppose fencing isn’t performed with heavy blades.” For the little he knew about the sport, he still had a vague idea about the equipment involved.

“Ah, you’re so serious all the time. You’re new to this, right?”

“How do you know?” Lawrence kept his tone neutral, but he was more than interested in learning how the flow of information happened at Veridien. As far as he knew, he’d only told Bastien he hadn’t practiced the aristocratic sport for a day in his life.

“Just a hunch,” Ali said with a shrug, sounding perfectly natural.

“Doesn’t it bother you that your brother hangs out with the popular boys?” Lawrence asked, veering the conversation away from his lack of experience in fencing.

Ali guffawed like a schoolkid. “Not at all. You’ll get to know me, Sleeper. I’m not that shallow.”

“While your brother is?”

“Eh, he’s more of a stickler for following the rules. And someone in the family needs to do all the right things. I prefer to be in charge of the wrong ones. Let’s get going. Maestro is not keen on tardiness.”

“Maestro?”

“Yes. Maestro Alvarez. The best blade in Europe, they say; also, a great teacher. In other words, he’s tough, but fair. Don’t hesitate to let him know that you’re a complete beginner. But do it so that the golden schmucks don’t overhear it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that. That Abelard--”

“Gives you the creeps, right?” Ali shuddered and gestured for Lawrence to move.

He was still not used to leaving his door unlocked, but this was Veridien, and they did things their own way. At least, he had Ali with him. Whether he was a spy for Bastien’s royal court or not was still a matter up for debate. For now, Lawrence was satisfied with having him as his native guide.

TBC