AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There was an intimacy to the entire affair. He stripped down to his undergarment, a very small scrap of linen fabric that had likewise been tailored by Devos. It fit him nicely, as did everything Devos made.
“The breeches may appear plain,” Devos said, holding a bright gold pair of breeches aloft, the sides of which had been embroidered with all manner of fantastic beasts racing up the sides in black and gold.
“Plain,” Sebastian laughed as he donned pants with more detail in any given square inch than many of the palace tapestries. The Kingdom of Force was not given to great displays of ostentatious wealth, though Sebastian’s tastes were indulged as far as they kept him out of the way of things and entertained. It was a tactic that had worked admirably. Sebastian had never sneaked out of the palace. He’d never even thought of it. He was absolutely entranced by an ever growing wardrobe and the opportunities he was given to flaunt it at court. He also very much enjoyed watching the way watered down versions of his new styles inevitably emerged among the lower nobility and courtiers and such.
This outfit, however, would be beyond imitation. Devos must have slaved over every stitch for most of the year, perhaps even longer. The twenty-first coming of age was a grand affair in the Kingdom of Force. The party this evening would be documented by artists and poets for years to come. The guest list was so vast that the guests had been arriving in a steady stream for weeks now. The castle was abuzz, and ostensibly it was all in honor of Sebastian’s birthday. It could have been quite gratifying if he allowed it to be.
“This is all plain compared to your wedding ensemble,” Devos said.
“Which you continue to keep a secret,” Sebastian smirked, somewhat painfully.
Devos smiled, but said nothing more on that particular subject, and instead contented himself with running two fingers respectfully around the waistband of the breeches to ensure they sat correctly over Seb’s hips.
“Now. For the undershirt…”
Sebastian found that being dressed was a rather intimate experience, having someone construct attire to fit him, touching him, even with very light and professional touches. It was more contact than he’d had in a long time, being past the age where nurses and other servants would touch him. His parents, of course, did not touch him. He was in some respects, perhaps in all respects, deeply physically lonely. But he was also a prince, so he knew better than to complain. One day he would be king, and he would sleep with his queen, and he would produce an heir, and then he could indulge his sickness, as his mother called it. Then someone might touch him the way he so desperately wanted to be touched.
Sometimes he thought it might not be so bad. He had no interest in a woman of any kind, but he was certain he could muster the nerve to impregnate one. His father had, after all.
“You are stunning, sire.”
Devos’ soft, nearly reverential voice broke through Sebastian’s thoughts.
“Thank you,” Sebastian replied, allowing his gaze to meet Devos’ eyes just for a moment. Anything longer would have been too intense for him. Any male who was nice to him was dangerous and risked creating infatuation. His mother had sent away dozens of men and boys over the years, anybody she judged as too tempting for her son. He did not want to lose Devos. He could not stand to be twisted, sick, wrong, and poorly dressed.
When he looked at himself in the mirrors, he saw that Devos was quite right. He was stunning. It was almost as though nature had designed him to look incredibly good in nice clothing. This particular outfit was so very ostentatious that it could quite easily make a lesser man overwhelmed, as if festooned by too much finery. But Sebastian’s lankly elegance transformed the garment from overly elaborate to perfectly elegant.
Devos stood back, his hands going to his mouth to cover it as he inhaled sharply.
“Breathtaking, if I may say, sire.”
“Thank you, Devos,” Sebastian said. He agreed with the assessment. No matter which way he turned, he cut a dashing, handsome figure. He looked every inch the Crown Prince of Force. Hell, he looked like the crown prince of all the Continental Kingdoms combined.
Sebastian could have admired himself all day long, but his narcissistic reverie was cut short by the appearance of a courtier who knocked at the door and waited patiently for Devos to let him in.
“Sire, Sokov is waiting for you. He wishes to take crystal impressions of you so you might be immortalized in oil for the rest of time. He requests your immediate presence, as he grows tired with the lateness of the day.”
It was not late in the day, but of course Sokov wanted to get the images over with and return to his bottle. Sitting for portraits was tedious and usually avoided by those in positions of such power that their portraits might need to be made, but Sebastian did not mind. He had the satisfaction of knowing he looked not only good, but at his absolute best. The images Sokov took on crystal today would likely be just as good as any painting the master might create.
