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Lucan’s lips quirked as he struggled not to offer the prince a smirk for that revelation. It sounded shallow, but Sebastian hoped that the intensity in his voice told Lucan just how seriously Sebastian took the matter. Lucan cupped Sebastian’s face between his hands quite tenderly.
“Prince Sebastian, I could dress you in a rotten potato sack, and you would be beautiful. I am seriously concerned as to how any clothing, no matter how simple might hide your identity. The way you hold yourself alone is like a beacon of quality and breeding. Your looks have nothing to do with your clothing.”
Sebastian smiled slightly. “Do you really mean that?”’
“I very much mean that,” Lucan replied. “I do not say things I do not mean.”
Sebastian took in a halting breath. Lucan had beaten him, and Seb found that he barely cared about that. If anybody else had done it, his fury would have been extreme, and his mood inconsolable. But Sebastian had dreamed of being touched by Lucan for as long as he had known him, even at a distance, and now he was being held, cradled, and indeed, comforted.
“If not for you,” Sebastian said. “I would be lost. Please do not leave me.”
Lucan nearly melted at that plea. It was an unnecessary request, for Lucan thoroughly intended to see his vows through to his death. He had pledged to protect the royal family of Force, and Sebastian was the last of them.
“You have my sword, and my life,” he assured the young prince. “We must seek out allies. And we must take you to safety. Now. The problem is we cannot be sure of political allies. The coup of last night is still an unknown quantity. I think it would be best if I conducted you somewhere I know to be safe. I know you do not wish to relinquish your finery, but would you consent to wearing some of my clothing?”
Seb tilted his head to the side. “What of yours could I wear?”
“I believe my shirt would fit you. It is plain and linen, but it will cover you.”
“Like a dress,” Seb laughed at the idea. “You are much taller than me.”
“Only by a paltry inch,” Lucan said. “And you will soon be as broad as I, once we begin to train.”
“Surely not,” Sebastian said, incredulous.
“Let me look at you, soldier,” Lucan said, releasing Sebastian and standing back.
Sebastian did have a natural elegance and poise that marked him as nobility. His hair would need to be darkened, and if he could grow a beard, all the better. But that was a matter of disguise. Now he was assessing Sebastian’s potential as a fighter.
“You have broad shoulders and powerful hips,” he mused out loud. “With proper training and food, you would be thoroughly transformed. I do not think we will need to hide you for very long. You are spectacular.”
Sebastian’s smile grew broad. “Thank you.”
Leading by example, Lucan picked up the royal tunic he had given Sebastian as a pillow. He would find somewhere safe for this garment, for he intended to wear it on the day Sebastian reclaimed the throne.
Then he removed the light mail he had slept in, lest they be attacked. His gambeson followed. It was a garment of good quality and could be worn on its own. He intended to don it once he had removed his undershirt, which was indeed made of fine linen and would go to clad Sebastian.
“I know you are used to better, and my apologies for this being unwashed, but I believe if you put this on, and if we darken your hair with ashes from the fire, we will be halfway toward your initial disguise.”
Sebastian was reluctant to take his fine clothes off, but to his credit, he disrobed down to his undergarments. He wore very short shorts and a light undershirt. Both were made of silk, of course, and neither one covered very much of his long, elegant body.
Lucan did his best to school his expression away from any kind of lechery. He had never been privy to such a close display of royal skin. Sebastian was stunning and he had a physical vulnerability that ignited Lucan’s protective instincts and lusts at the same time.
“Here,” he said, offering the prince the shirt from his back. “Try this.”
Sebastian was pleased to be enveloped in the warmth of the overshirt that smelled like Lucan. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t mind that it wasn’t fashionable or wasn’t tailored. It was shapeless and comfortable and it made him feel as though Lucan’s strong arms were permanently wrapped around him.
“It is not so bad,” he said, lying through his royal teeth. In terms of appearance, it was awful, a true humiliation. It made him look short and squat and common. If it was not for how good it felt, he would have stripped it from his body immediately. He also considered the fact that Lucan had just beaten him, and had given some indication that he could expect further beatings if he did not behave in a manner befitting a prince on the run.
