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Another coughing fit seized Enzo. Fiore clasped his shoulders and rubbed circles over his hunched back. Despite Enzo’s inability to speak, Fiore seemed to gather the gist of what had occurred.
“He’d spent that fateful night in my chambers.” The pang of guilt, like a knife in Enzo’s chest, almost provoked his cough again. If only they’d retired to Orazio’s rooms instead… “His own were locked; he thought them secure. But he returned to find the lock picked, the door ajar, everything thrown into disarray. And what’d become of his thesis remained a mystery only until he ran down to the common room. The dormitory hearth-fire crackled and blazed almost beyond the bounds of its moon-horns. A mere scrap of parchment had escaped—but this held enough for him to recognize his loss.”
Enzo felt Fiore’s sympathetic wince against his own body.
“That’s when the taunts began,” Enzo continued. “Subtle, of course. Smirks. Knowing glances. Casual enquiries on the progress of his thesis from those who’d never cared before. All friends of the Delfin heir. The heir himself restrained his gloating to a certain smug air. There was no proof of who had done the deed. All physical evidence had gone up in smoke. The only possible witnesses were the culprit’s own allies. There was no recourse within the bounds of the university’s justice. Which left a duel as the only answer. And so Orazio challenged the Delfin heir. To the death.”
Fiore tensed in Enzo’s embrace. But when Enzo glanced down to see what he thought of it, he found no fear in his dark gaze. Rather, he beheld determination paired with an anticipatory gleam. It emboldened him to continue his tale.
“The Delfin heir accepted the challenge. At the same time, he made no denial of the crime. Orazio took this as proof positive he had the true culprit in hand. To my mind no one else had the motive—though I suppose my affection blinded me to any of Orazio’s faults and made it impossible for me to imagine his enemies. As Orazio formed the better half of my heart, I could do no less than offer myself up as his second. He accepted. I arranged matters with the Delfin heir’s second. The four of us, along with a mutual acquaintance in the medical college to tend whatever non-mortal wounds might result, would meet at dawn the following day in the depths of the dueling club—a sunken arena in the bowels of the gymnasium,” Enzo added as Fiore’s brows furrowed in bewilderment. “The club was both figuratively and literally underground.”
“Convenient,” Fiore remarked, the ghost of a smirk playing on his perfect lips.
Enzo wished his tale were not so grim as to prevent him returning it. “On the morning of the duel I awoke to find Orazio vanished from my bed.” Enzo swallowed down the panic invoked even now by the mere memory of that wretched moment. “I assumed he’d gone to the appointed spot to meet his fate. I hastened to follow him there. When I arrived, I found the Delfin heir and many of the dueling club gathered. But no sign of my Orazio. Nor of the Delfin heir’s own second.”
The fear Enzo had felt upon awakening alone had only compounded when he couldn’t find Orazio in the dueling pit. It’d turned swift enough to rage.
“I asked the Delfin heir where Orazio was,” Enzo went on. “He said I’d know better than he. I asked him where his second had gone. Again, he claimed ignorance.”
More than a year had elapsed since that fateful day. And yet the mere memory of the Delfin heir’s smirk sufficed to send Enzo’s fingers into clenched fists. No sooner had they tangled in his bedclothes, however, then Fiore’s own soft warm and gentle hand closed over his white knuckles.
Enzo forced his rigid jaw open to continue his tale. “In Orazio’s absence, I could do no less than defend his honor.”
Enzo expected mockery for this. Disdain at the very least, as Lucrezia had shown him when he tried to explain why he’d gone to such lengths. But Fiore’s stalwart gaze bespoke a harmony with Enzo’s own choice.
“The duel began. I received this,” Enzo gestured vaguely at the scarred slash across his face, “in short order. If we were only going to first blood, the Delfin heir would’ve won. But as matters stood I served him far worse thrice over. Backed him into a corner. Struck his rapier from his hand. For an instant, the tip of my blade rested in the hollow of his throat. I had but to put my weight behind the blade, and Orazio would be avenged. But then—”
A coughing fit overtook him. He wheezed, as desperate now to gather air and finish his tale as he’d felt then to finish the Delfin heir off. Fiore swept his hair out of his face and rubbed his shoulder. If only Enzo had received any such support then.
“The city guard arrived,” Enzo croaked out. “Alongside the Delfin heir’s second. Whether he’d informed the authorities on the Delfin heir’s orders or of his own accord, I know not. The result is the same. Guards poured into the dueling pit. Chaos ensued. The blade was knocked from my hand, and we were dragged apart.”
Fiore spoke up, startling Enzo. “I’m surprised they dared touch you. Being a duke and all.”
It’d never occurred to Enzo to think of himself as untouchable. Still, “The wrath of a duke is nothing to the wrath of a prince. If they hadn’t stopped the duel, Lucrezia would’ve…” Truth told, he’d no idea what she would’ve done and didn’t like to think on it. “Well. She certainly wouldn’t have been pleased with them.”
Fiore searched Enzo’s face. “She doesn’t approve of dueling?”
A huff of bitter laughter escaped Enzo—which turned into another cough. When he’d recovered, he replied, “She doesn’t approve of her brother dueling. Particularly not against the heir to another aristocratic bloodline.”
“Ah,” said Fiore.
“So much so,” Enzo continued with a sigh, “that she withdrew me from university altogether. Oh, the university didn’t mind,” he responded to Fiore’s raised eyebrow. “And the law didn’t care. Never found out if the Delfini cared—probably, but I’ve not heard a word from their quarter since. Lucrezia, however…”
“Cared enough to banish you on the university’s behalf,” Fiore concluded.
Enzo conceded with a nod. “The Delfin heir is still working towards his degree, to the best of my knowledge. And he still enjoys the privilege of the sword. Whilst my own folly lost me both my hopes of an education and the right to carry a blade in one fell swoop.”
Fiore stared up at him with more disbelief than Enzo thought the situation warranted. “You cannot have a sword?”
“Not outside the bounds of our family’s holdings, no,” Enzo admitted with no small amount of shame. “Lest my actions continue to tarnish our name.”
“Hardly,” Fiore protested.
Enzo shook his head. While Fiore might hold him in favor, he could know nothing of Enzo’s family or his place in it—a fact for which, again, Enzo had only himself to blame. “The only good thing I’ve ever done for my family is survive the plague that carried off my father.” Enzo paused. “And even then, I wonder if they might not be happier had he survived in my stead. He certainly wouldn’t have disgraced them with a duel.”
A silence fell. His fingers remained entwined with Fiore’s—despite all Enzo had confessed, Fiore hadn’t shied from his touch. On the contrary, Fiore’s free hand laid over both their clasped ones to seal this bond. The warmth of his palm alone soothed more of Enzo’s hurts than he could’ve ever anticipated.
“I never knew your father,” Fiore said, his voice low and gentle. “Nor can I speak for your family. But I, for one, am very glad you survived.”
