Lucien succeeds in wrangling the plump rat. His slight smile had better be for Butterfly. “I’m dying for a game of aerie, and I don’t think Butterfly here knows how to play.”
Kazia should refuse. It’s never just a game of aerie, and Lucien’s motive can’t be good. But fuck, Kazia could use a distraction. This sounds better than crying himself to sleep.
“I’ll call for dinner,” Kazia says, rising.
As Kazia sends for dinner and sets the board up, Lucien puts the rats away. He’s careful but not nervous with them. Gentle. The rats are comfortable with him. Kazia will still order Lucien away from them next time, of course. Lucien must be setting the stage to threaten the rats later.
But Kazia doesn’t want to give orders tonight. Not because he sympathizes with Lucien. He just hates the reminder of his own thralldom.
Former orders are still in place as Lucien joins him at the table. Lucien can’t escape. He can’t remove his collar. He can’tharm Kazia. Firelight smolders in his hair and deepens the shadows of his ill-fitting shirt.
The memory of Lucienwithoutthe shirt surfaces unbidden. The image is more vivid than the present. Kazia should never have asked Lucien to remove it.
“What army do you want?” Kazia asks. He’s set all five armies out in their velvet bags. A large amount of his allowance went into this aerie set a few years ago. Maybe he could have saved the money for more productive aims, and he really only needs two armies for a game. But he won’t consider selling the pieces. He likes them. They’re his.
Lucien tugs the velvet mouths open. “This is a little excessive. Where I come from—you know, the pigsty—we only use two sides.”
“How narrow minded,” Kazia replies.
Lucien sets his corners with quartz and garnet wolves, instead of the stags or wraiths Kazia expected. Probably just a whim. Kazia won’t read much into it. On a whim of his own, Kazia passes over the traditional wyrms and sets his corners with cats.
The round table is large enough for four players, but still feels small with just the two of them. Especially when servants bring up hand-foods for supper.
Then the game immerses Kazia, and he forgets the size of the table. Half an hour later, he and Lucien are still midway through their first game.
Considering his next move, Kazia says, “You don’t play as terribly as I expected.”
Lucien piles the remaining dishes to one side. “I’ll treasure the compliment, Your Highness.”
“You’re disgusting.” Kazia places his garnet beast with a louder click than necessary to seize one of Lucien’s pawns.
“Audric taught me how to play, so I would fit in with the nobleborn officers.” Lucien’s slight grin must be for the memory. “I had to practice a lot. Cards came easy, but not aerie.”
“Are you close with Audric?” Kazia asks, before realizing it might be construed as interrogation. Whatever. He’s still intrigued by the idea of princes with friends. Marek has his dragonriders, but at least in Draskora, Vana only had Daromir. Still more than Kazia.
“Closer than anyone else not named Sandry, now that Corin’s taken his name.” Lucien moves a pawn into range of Kazia’s rider. It’s a clear trap, with Lucien’s enchanter lying in wait nearby. “You don’t play as terribly as I expected either, Your Highness. Who taught you?”
Kazia shrugs, contemplating the board. “Nobody, really. I watched my father and brothers.”
He practiced with servants before trying courtiers, then practiced with the courtiers before trying his brothers. He still lost abysmally against Marek and Vana for the first few years, which rankled. Imrik taught them to play.
Leaning on his elbow, Lucien’s gaze drops to the board. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing fine hairs that gleam closer to gold than red in the comfortable light. A triangle of skin falls into shadow between the obedience collar and the loose laces at the neck of Lucien’s shirt.
Kazia has always liked the idea of larger men. Perhaps a matter of convenience, since men larger than Kazia are in greater supply than men smaller than him. Perhaps a delusional yearning for shelter or protection. Kazia only likes the fantasy, though. Real people aren’t to be trusted.
There’s no good reason to notice the size of Lucien’s thumb in comparison to the pawn twisting between his fingers.
“You should get another army made.” Lucien lifts the pawn so the quartz glows in the light. “One with rats.”
Kazia resents how appealing the idea is. He’d only ordered the traditional armies from different countries—he hadn’t thought to pick a completely new emblem. “Maybe I will. Pass me the pitcher.”
Lucien sets down the pawn and reaches for the water jug, which is when Kazia realizes he’s given an order.
Andthatis when Kazia realizes he’s spent the past half hour enjoying himself. He hasn’t thought about his father beating him until the thud of Lucien setting the pitcher down.
He escaped. But this isn’t an escape for Lucien.
“Hey,” Lucien says, like he understands. “It’s okay.”
