#claregis

At eighteen, Regis was well beyond the time he was allowed to exercise his autonomy. But, having already fallen within the sights of the Crystal, as the flow of magic grew in him as it waned in his father’s, his freedom came at the presence of his Shield. Clarus gave him appropriate space, and Regis did not require much time to gather himself. Attendants and even their parents, the Lady Shield and King Mors, were always quick to mention that they got along well since they were children, but perhaps their parents had not chosen to consider that that familiarity had changed. That glances between the elegant prince and his powerful Shield lingered longer over the years, that Clarus trained harder, longer, in the proving grounds and that the Prince watched from the mezzanines just as intensely. Or that Regis demanded his Shield accompany him always, even in situations where he was not needed, dismissing every attendant but him.

Clarus did not deny that his devotion to his prince was consuming, that his duty to his future king was unwavering, that his desire for Regis was growing. And he knew his Prince; he knew all of Regis’ tells and habits and interests, and that he fell within them. And yet, all they had done was glance, smile, watch, carefully ignore the mounting issue between them. Somehow, in the course of their lessons, their preparation, their grooming as heirs to the kingdom, they had not been taken aside and spoken to about impropriety between a Shield and his King, despite the rumors that continue to exist throughout history. They had not been warned of scandal or undesirable pairings, but perhaps that was what kept them from acting, from daring to kiss the other in all the countless hours they’ve been alone, unattended. To acknowledge it would be to risk disapproval, by everyone, his mother, the King, by Regis.

Even away from the City, when they had left for Accordo, they had danced around each other. But, after their return, when the King had consolidated the wall, the seed of fear grew in him; when Regis would no longer hold his glance, when he did not dismiss the servants, when he requested, demanded more time to himself. One hour grew to two, and three, and then he did not see him for an entire day and Clarus believed Regis had decided to distance himself from him.

On the second day, Clarus sequestered himself in a training room, away from the mezzanine views, channeling his frustration in his swings, and punches, and kicks, refusing to use magic, lest Regis find that too invasive as well. He had dared to think, that despite what tradition set, what their destined roles and duties required, he could pursue something with Regis even in private. As he paused to consider on it more, that from the moment his mother had explained to him the purpose of a Shield, he had focused only on his prince, loved no one else as he did Regis, he heard the door open.

Clarus turned, angry. No one was to disturb him unless it was the King, his mother, or—

Regis stepped in, and the door sealed shut behind him.

His heart was still pounding from the training, his frustration still unresolved. If Regis did not have something important to say, he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep all his emotions in check if he wished to discuss something else.

Bowing, he greeted him, a sure indication he was upset with Regis. “My Prince.”

A moment of silence passed before Regis glanced aside, taking careful interest in the selection of weapons along the wall. “You weren’t in the proving grounds,” he said.

He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it still came out. “Am I expected to be?”

“No…I,” he paused, shifting his feet and looking back at him. “I was looking for you.”

Clarus gripped his sword tighter, exhaling slowly before his tongue got the better of him. “If you came to watch, I’m not really in the mood for entertaining.”

Regis dropped his gaze. “I know you’re upset with me. I apologize. I should have gone about it another way.”

Immediately, Clarus set his sword aside to appear less threatening. “If I’ve made you uncomfortable, or was unprofessional, that was my error—”

“—No! Nothing like that,” Regis said quickly, rushing closer to him, and Clarus saw that he held a small ornate box. “I’ve been working on something for you. And well, there’s nothing that I’ve ever hidden from you or needed to hide from you. I merely wanted to surprise you, but in the process created the opposite effect.”

“Oh,” Clarus said simply, realization dawning on him. So Regis had been avoiding him, but with a different intent in mind. “What were you working on?”

In the afternoon sunlight that filtered from the high windows, he could see color rise in Regis’s face. “A gift. That you don’t have to accept. I’m, uh, fairly certain it conveys what’s been left unsaid between us.” Again he held Clarus’ gaze before glancing away. “Or I was. Here.”

He took the box from him, their fingers brushing. This time, they both locked eyes, neither looking away.

“And what is left unsaid between us, my Prince?” Clarus whispered, carefully watching how Regis’ breath always hitched when he said it that way; privately, possessively, so only he could hear. It was meant only for him.

Regis licked his lips. “That you are very dear to me.” His eyes fell back onto the box and Clarus turned his full attention to it, to the brass hinges and inlay of the Lucian crest on the cover and the black velvet interior when he opened it. Sitting nestled within the box was a silver necklace, the chain a simple pattern. Hanging on it was a round silver pendant with a relief of a raven holding stars in its claws; an old coin from the ancient era.

Coins such as these were treasure, rare not only in private collections, but in acquisition. A King issued a run of the currency for the duration of his reign; a short one, for he, the historical texts implied, carried on an affair with his Shield. The imagery was there, but only to historians and the royal family. The crest of the Shield was known, but the heraldry of skulls and death representing the Lucian Royal family was only instated during the reign of the twentieth king. Prior to that, the Lucis Caelum line once used stars. He’d been privately trying to acquire one.

“Where did you—?”

“—Lestallum. Before we headed to Altissia. I had it evaluated and authenticated as soon as we got back. And after, I made arrangements to have it worked into a necklace.”

Clarus looked down at the coin, tracing the cool metal of the worn relief, his finger stopping to feel the shape of the claws grasping  the stars.

“Regis, this…” He couldn’t find the words.

“You don’t have to accept it. I know the value of it is enough to draw caution.” He took a measured breath and continued softly, “And I understand if the weight of the gesture is too great.”

Glancing back up at Regis, he considered again what to say, how to express his gratitude, his joy; how quickly his heart had lifted at the revelation of his distance and mutual feelings. Clarus removed the necklace from the box and held it up between them.

“My only regret is that I must keep it hidden,” he said, offering it to Regis. “But as it is, I will wear it over my heart.” Their fingers brushed again as the pendant exchanged hands, and Regis, lips parted in surprise, nervously unclasped it and stepped into Clarus’ personal space. Regis leaned forward on his toes to match his height and Clarus placed his hands on his waist to support him. Both arms came around his neck as he placed the necklace on. His face was so near, and Clarus was tempted to turn his head ever so slightly and press his lips to his, but Regis did so first, angling his head to whisper in his ear.