Alaric let out a low groan, tipping his head back to eye the carved ceiling with theatrical resignation. “Yes, fine—I’ll admit it. That did not unfold according to plan. My wits deserted me the moment she raised that brow.”
“Don’t you say,” Cedric pulled out a deep navy sash and tossed it onto the bed next to the tunic. “Speaking of repair… You’ll be covering that—” He gestured vaguely at Alaric’s exposed collar, where the faintest dusting of chest hair peeked through his open shirt.
Alaric rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”
Cedric resumed his methodical arranging of the evening attire. His servant, if one could even call him that, considering their relationship, was two years older than him, but the years had given him a sharp, dry wit rather than the beaten-down demeanor of most attendants. He had been in Alaric’s servicesince the prince was fifteen, though they both knew it was more of a convenient arrangement than an obligation. Cedric had been plucked from an orphanage by Alaric’s grandfather, raised as a page, then a squire, and finally, placed at the prince’s side.
“What do you think of her?” Alaric asked at once.
Cedric didn’t look up as he smoothed out a wrinkle in the tunic. “She’s beautiful. Smart. She doesn’t waste words, which means she’ll hate every moment of talking to you. I like her.”
Alaric smirked, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Ah, Cedric. Always a pleasure. I started to wonder if you could take inspiration from the princess’s maid—silent. You should try it.”
Cedric sneezed. “Yes, because what you truly need in your life is another person standing around waiting for you to finish one of your speeches.”
Alaric pushed off the desk and approached the window again. He’d likely receive a similar lecture from his sister. His mother’s version would be colder, more exacting, and somehow still more painful. She had a talent for striking where it bruised beneath the surface.
But neither of them were here.
And thank the stars his grandfather wasn’t either.
If Lucien had been present for any of this, they wouldn’t have made it through the castle gates before being unceremoniously escorted to the border. He’d always favored candor over ceremony, which was perhaps why Alaric had listened to him more than anyone else. Lucien didn’t bend for diplomacy. He kicked it in the teeth and kept walking.
Perhaps that was the real rot of it: how unsurprising it all felt. How easily a man could step toward history and realize he was walking it alone.
Duty. Sacrifice. Expectation.
He knew the weight of those words better than most. He just hadn’t expected them to feel quite so hollow when the moment finally arrived.
“It is strange,” he mused. “I stand on the precipice of marriage, of securing an alliance that could shape the course of our imperium, and yet I arrived here with only you as my company.”
Cedric gazed up at him. “Well, let’s be honest, Your Highness. What would their presence have changed? The deal was struck before you even set foot here. They trust you not to make a complete mess of things, which, frankly, is far more faith than I’d place in you.”
Alaric threw him a wry look. “Your confidence in me is touching.”
“Oh, I have confidence in you,” Cedric teased, smirking as he held up Alaric’s tunic with a scrutinizing eye. “I just know you.”
And that was fair. Too fair.
Alaric sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, gaze distant.He’d always assumed he would choose.That he’d find someone on his own terms. Some spark to chase. He’d had his share of dalliances, none of them had lasted.
So, when the letter came, after returning from traveling a few months ago, he had thrown something heavy across the room. He’d argued once, loudly and pointlessly. But he’d known, deep down, that the decision was made. And maybe… maybe that was for the best.
He would be emperor in a time of uncertainty. War stirring in the dark, faith splintering, provinces one bad harvest away from collapse. So no, agreeing hadn’t been that hard in the end. Especially with the Passing of the Sun moved earlier than tradition allowed.
Cedric tossed the tunic toward him. “Cheer up. The second impression is more important.”
Alaric caught it. “I’m rather counting on it.”
Cedric narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got that face again.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you’re thinking,” Cedric replied. “Which is rare enough to warrant concern.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Cedric leaned back. “Are you thinking about what I’m thinking you’re thinking?”
