A royal banquet was always an excessive and stressful affair. Gold and green cloth hangings adorned the walls of the great hall, making the space feel both intimate and imposing, both massive in its grandeur and cramped with the number of attendees. A dinner was a performance. The family and their honored guest sat at the head of the room, laughing and conversing quietly enough so as not to be heard by those in attendance, but loud enough that it was clear that at least the majority of the party was enjoying one another’s company. Smiles floated on lips and polite conversation was made for the public to look upon.

Tucked out of the way, in a carefully placed alcove, Finneas Stone sat with a handful of fellow off-duty servants. It was kind of the royal family to allow their presence, concealed in a corner, though the event wasn’t something he could define as relaxing or enjoyable. Crowds had never been a comfort, and to be so far from the prince he was meant to protect while so many people were gathered didn’t ease his mind. At least there was some reassurance in knowing that if he were to glance away from his company for just a moment, letting his gaze turn past his shoulder, he could see Crown Prince Maron seated at the royal table, quiet but attentive.

“Finny, you’re not even paying attention,” the chipper voice beside him whined, pulling his attention back to the table. “You don’t have to watch him right now. You’re supposed to be helping us figure out what’s going on here.” Brown eyes shone, and a bright smile spread over a round face. Carlotta Caldwell rested her head in her hand, propping her elbow on the table. “What is Sir Altrusia doing here? You’ve got to know.”

Finneas sighed. It was inevitable, he supposed. To avoid thinking about the gnawing presence of Sir Damon Altrusia at the man’s own welcoming dinner wasn’t likely. Still, he had hoped. “His Majesty summoned him. He’ll be running drills with the guards over the next week, and he’s seeking an audience with His Highness.” He made some attempt to keep from grimacing as he spoke, but the look on Carlotta’s face in response was enough to tell him that he’d failed.

“To court him?” The third member of the table spoke with a tone of surprise. Pale brows furrowed, and a lanky jaw hung loose. Barnaby Clearwater, despite his high position as a ballistics expert for the Royal Guard, always seemed shocked by even the most mundane news.

“Mmm.” Finneas nodded.

“Well, what do you think Maron’s gonna do about it? Is the guy his type?”

Carlotta smacked the man’s arm with a well-manicured hand. “Beef, would you at least use his title? Show even the smallest amount of respect when he’s in the same room.” It was difficult to tell if he was His Highness himself, or if she meant Finneas. The other servants always did take care to speak more decently around him.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like the family’s gonna hear me. And Finny’s not going to start a fight about it. He may be a loyal dog, but he’s not going to act without orders.” If it weren’t for the perkiness of his voice, the words might have been biting. His Highness’s loyal dog. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, but at least there was no malice in the words now. “Anyway, you have to know something here. Is he the right kind of guy?”

There were plenty of things Finneas could say, most of them deeply unkind and not befitting a man of his station. There were a thousand reasons that Prince Maron would refuse Damon Altrusia and a thousand more for Finneas to be grateful for that. “You know what he did in the war.”

A quiet passed over them, and for a moment, as his friends’ eyes dropped, Finneas swore he felt more than saw their attention drift to the golden cuffs on his wrists. The light mood had been broken with such simple words.

“His Highness is hard to read, but he wouldn’t marry someone like that.” Carlotta didn’t phrase it as a question, but he met Finneas’s eyes as though seeking confirmation.

“I can’t speak for him, but I doubt it.”

“Then the only thing we need to worry about is him being around the training grounds for the next week,” Barnaby said, letting out a groan so exasperatingly long that the tension, though not entirely gone, was lifted. “Wonder if His Majesty asked for him because of the riots out in the east. I heard there were magicians getting a bit restless and causing commotion.”

“Can you blame them? How long has it been that they’ve all been in those cuffs?” Carlotta asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Fifteen years,” Finneas answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. He had felt the weight of every single one of those years on his wrists. It had been long enough that there were times he could forget them. They faded into the background, not too noticeable after so long. But there were days when all he could do was feel their heft, acutely aware of the cool metal against his skin and the power that ached in his hands, begging to be released, but restrained by two pieces of gold.

Finneas swallowed. It always became a bit too quiet when the conversation became pointedly about magic while he was in the room, as if the pair was walking on eggshells. “I imagine it’s related, though, yes.” There had been talk of the Royal Guard needing further practice in case of an intrusion or riot, and if magicians needed to be handled, Damon Altrusia was certainly the man most would think of for the job.

“And you’re sure he isn’t interested in Altrusia?” Carlotta asked. “This is just Guard business and then he’ll be gone?”

Carlotta’s voice seemed distant as Finneas glanced toward the clock on the wall, eyeing it. It would be time again soon. “As I said, I can’t speak for him, but I can’t imagine His Highness being interested enough to hold a full conversation, let alone marry him.”

“He’s gotta hate magic at least a bit, though, right? And if they connect on that, who knows…” Carlotta’s voice was quiet, trailing as if she was truly wary that the table across the room might hear. Or perhaps, she had regretted speaking those words aloud in her present company as soon as she’d said them.

Finneas didn’t reply, his gaze locked onto the ticking seconds hand of the clock. As it passed twelve, he rose.

“Is he really making you check on him every twenty minutes? It seems a bit excessive. You’re supposed to be taking a night off,” Barnaby complained, furrowing his brow.

It wasn’t necessarily part of the usual banquet routine, but Finneas had been asked to make a quick circle of the room and communicate with his prince intermittently. “If he needs me, I’ll be there. It’s as simple as that.” Finneas’s job description was rather straightforward in that regard. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

As he left the table, he could hear Barnaby’s voice returning to regularly scheduled conversation. “I don’t think we need to worry. Even if Maron likes the guy, he and Finneas are too obsessed with each other to get attached to anyone else.” Barnaby had always been a terrible gossip and that showed blatantly when the same oft-repeated words fell from his lips. Be it trashy columns in the newspaper or whispers that passed through castle walls, everyone seemed to have an opinion.

The room was crowded, and it was easy enough to blend in. Servants in plain clothes flitted about, weaving between gathered groups of nobility. Despite his station, Finneas didn’t stand out among them. To most nobility, all of the workers in the palace may as well have been the very same person, ghosts shifting between shadows, unimportant and unnoticed. His attention turned to the table at the head of the room. A pair of dark green eyes locked onto him and he nodded his acknowledgement. Prince Maron raised two fingers, subtle enough to only be noticed if one was paying attention. Finneas returned the signal and moved through the crowd, approaching the table.

After knowing Maron for fifteen years and serving him directly for the last five, following his silent signals was as easy as breathing. Finneas stood just to the side of the royal table, back straight and eyes ahead, as though he had been posted there all along. If anyone noticed his change in position, no one said a word. So long as he looked like he was in the right place, he would never be questioned.

The voices at the table were low and difficult to make out, but one rang clear above the rest, excusing himself and bidding the others a good night. In just a moment’s time, Maron was at Finneas’s side, moving elegantly across the floor. Finneas fell into step a pace behind him, wordlessly following him through the open door to the corridor. Even only a few steps out, the noise of the room was muffled enough that Finneas’s own thoughts felt clearer.

Approaching a large stairway, finally out of sight of guests, Maron slumped, his tall posture dipping. Soft hands grasped for Finneas’s arm, and his weight rested on him as they took the first step up. Maron’s fingers dug into Finneas’s bicep, but he just followed up the stairs, allowing the prince to use him as a support.

“It’s been a long night. You need to rest,” Finneas said, voice still low. It wasn’t as though guests would hear them now, but it always felt odd to speak above a whisper in the large, empty palace halls at night.

Maron righted himself as they reached the landing, nodding. It was only a short walk to his chambers, and though his vice on Finneas’s arm lessened, he still held onto him, hand looped through Finneas’s arm. “We have paperwork to finish.” His voice was flat. It could easily have been mistaken as cold or irritated, but Finneas knew better.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading! This chapter runs long, so it'll be a double upload today! I hope that you've enjoyed it so far, and I hope you'll continue reading! If you'd like to support my work, read ahead, or get access to bonus stories, consider checking out my Patreon, FlowersForAbel. I'm also on Twitter and Tumblr @FlowersForAbel! Stay tuned for more soon!