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His silence was likely taken as sullen, for his mother was not done with her punishing shame.
“You will not have any cake tonight, Sebastian. And you will not leave your quarters again after the party until your bride arrives. I think it best your marriage happens swiftly. Within the month you will be happily settled in a proper relationship. You are too old to be single any longer. Your loins are already risking leading you astray.”
“No cake? Mother, please, reconsider!”
Sebastian reacted petulantly, ignoring the comment about marriage and his practical imprisonment. He had already not been suffered to leave the castle grounds for seven years. It was not widely regarded as a terribly unreasonable requirement. After all, the royal family enjoyed a large estate, and there were plenty of opportunities for exercise upon the stairs and such, his mother had decided. Seb was used to being denied freedom, and even more accustomed to the idea that his life match would be chosen for him. However the notion of not being allowed cake at his own coming of age party was a step too far.
“I must have cake, Mother. What will the guests think if I do not eat?”
“They will think that you are watching your waistline, or they will think that you have been denied it based on your perverse behavior. You will have cake on your wedding day, Sebastian, and not a moment before.”
It was so unfair, but his mother was not concerned with fairness, and Sebastian knew better than to argue with her. The more he dared say, the more her fury would inevitably grow. Melinda did not like to be questioned. She was a queen and considered herself entirely above pedestrian obligations like answering to anybody.
She changed the subject, having lost interest in it. “The tailor is looking for you. The final fitting for your birthday suit needs to be done.”
Sebastian leaped up from his seat eagerly, his expression immediately transformed from petulance to excitement. “I had completely forgotten, forgive me, Mother.”
Sebastian’s birthday suit was to be exquisite. He had taken a hand in its design, choosing the colors of the royal family, purple and gold, but insisting they be deployed in a new and ever more fashionable manner. Sebastian appreciated good tailoring more than anybody in the royal house, including his own mother. If he had not been born a prince, he fancied that he might himself have become some sort of clothier. He wouldn’t construct the clothing himself, of course, but he loved the notion of designing outfits. His personal closet took up one full floor of the royal tower, and contained more clothing than anybody could possibly wear in the entirety of a lifetime.
“Your highness!”
The note of excitement in the tailor’s voice was palpable. Unlike most of the people in the castle, Devos was always happy to see Sebastian.
“I am so glad to see you. The final touches to your birthday suit have been completed. I believe this may be my greatest work yet!” He greeted Sebastian with an effusive smile.
“I believe it,” Sebastian replied. “You outdo yourself each and every time.”
The two young men were of a similar age, and Devos was also highly born. If Sebastian’s interests weren’t so inclined toward the rougher soldiers and virile knights of the castle, he might very well have noticed that Devos was a very good looking man with sensitive brown eyes and shining dark hair that just very nearly hung in his eyes, but was cut precisely to look effortlessly shaggy. His features were symmetrical and refined. Not as angular or as regal as Sebastian’s, of course, but nevertheless Devos’ ability to convey vast swathes of derision with a single snort of a well-formed nostril was beyond compare.
The young tailor had been brought to the castle on Seb’s thirteenth birthday, the same birthday on which he was banned from leaving the castle. Technically, they were both prisoners at Castle Force; however, Devos barely seemed to notice, and if he did, he did a good job of hiding it when Sebastian was present.
There was a lingering glance between the two of them, the type of look they only dared indulge in secret. If Sebastian’s mother were to catch a glimpse of the hunger between them, she would have undoubtedly banned Sebastian from tailored clothing of any kind, and poor Devos would likely spend the rest of his life languishing in the castle’s most darkest dungeon.
“You will have to disrobe, your highness,” Devos purred, shutting and bolting the door behind him.
The tailor’s room was rather well fortified, ostensibly because Davos claimed his designs must not be seen by any prying eyes until they had been completed, but truly because he and Sebastian needed a place in which to enact their youthful dalliances.
Sebastian was clad in a bright blue silk waistcoat with a ruffed eggshell-yellow shirt beneath, and suitably wide breeches, likewise made of blue silk. His legs were clad, as always, in pale silk stockings. His shoes were a deeper blue, moderated with pearl inlays which shone with every step he took. Sebastian was in no need of a heel, but he wore one anyway, for it was the fashion. A good two inches were added to his already considerable six feet in height. The ensemble made him only an inch shorter than Lucan, a fact he very much enjoyed thinking about when his daydreams were not otherwise interrupted.
