#glorien

A carriage was parked at the intersection of the main road to the palace and some smaller street that only led to taverns. In front of the carriage, Feyros was walking back and forth. He couldn’t think. Worry had taken over his mind. 

He paused as he saw the light of a touch approach. Two of his bodyguards walked over, in between them a man with a familiar posture. All of his worries washed away and he hastened towards the trio. 

‘You’re found!’, he exclaimed. A smile spread across his face, he couldn’t help himself. 

He slowed down when he noticed the smeared make-up on Glorien’s face, and his red eyes. His lip was wobbling slightly. Had he been crying?

‘Are you alright? Are you hurt?’, he asked. 

Hesitantly, he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. When teary eyes looked up at him, he couldn’t control himself anymore. He launched forward and wrapped the boy into his embrace. 

‘It’s fine. You’re safe, it’s fine.’

He knew how scary the city could be at night. The people who roamed the streets when the sun had gone down, didn’t do so with good intentions. Who knows what could have happened. He closed his eyes. He shouldn’t think like that. Glorien was safe now. 

*** 

He knew the carriage ride back to the palace would be short, so he had to take every moment of it to ask the dancer a few questions. He had to put his embarrassment from the last time he'd seen Glorien aside. Gently he looked at the boy sitting on the seat opposite of him. 

‘Where were you?’

Dark brown eyes examined his face. Feyros waited patiently for a reply. 

‘I wanted to go for a walk, but I got lost’, Glorien whispered. 

‘A walk? In the city?’ Didn’t he know how dangerous that was?

Glorien stared out of the window. ‘I saw… a suspicious person.’

His breath hitched for a moment. ‘What do you mean?’

The boy shrugged, and kept his attention on the night outside the window. 

Clearly, something had happened. Feyros felt like it was important, but getting the information out of Glorien would be tedious. And right now, he didn’t have that sort of time. 

Instead, he asked: ‘What did you want to see me for?’

He had the boy’s attention on him again. His hands were fiddling with one of the silver bracelets he wore.  Judging by his confused look, he didn’t know what Feyros was referring to. 

‘Someone told me you wanted to see me. Was that true?’

Glorien kept frowning and shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

So his suspicions were true. He was lied to. But why? A shiver ran across his back, and he wrapped his dark blue coat closer around him. 

‘Do you have any idea who told me that?’, he tried. 

When the boy shook his head again, he asked: ‘This may sound like a weird question, but do you have any affiliations with lady Triban?’

Now, he got more of a reaction. The fiddling stopped, and a confused look made place for a shocked one. He stumbled over his words. ‘No- not really, no… except- well, she hates me. But that’s it.’

He leaned forward and sofly placed his hand on Glorien’s. ‘Listen. This may be very important. There’s something going on in the palace that may be dangerous for the both of us. So if you can tell me what sort of interactions you have with her, it may help us get a better understanding of things.’

He noticed Glorien did his best to swallow. Then, he said, quietly: ‘She… she- hurts me. She likes to punish me. Vas- the Emperor does that too, but lady Triban actually seems to enjoy it.’

Triban is a sadist, but that he already knew. Feyros leaned back against his seat. Still, it could mean that she easily pushed Glorien in one direction or the other, simply by holding fear over his head. But right now, Glorien wasn’t in a state in which he would admit to something like that, and Feyros couldn’t blame him for it. 

‘Hey,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful, ‘if you enjoy walks, maybe we could go to the haven? What about tomorrow, right after noon? You’re allowed to go outside, right?’

It seemed to have the opposite effect on the boy. Quickly, Feyros added: ‘Or do you want to go somewhere else? I’d love to go out with you.’

He felt himself getting warm. That came out a lot differently than how he wanted it to be. But a little blush appeared on Glorien’s face as well, making Feyros’s heart jump. 

‘Uhh… y-yes. I… Maybe the park?’, Glorien mumbled. ‘But not tomorrow! It’s… a busy day.’

‘Of course! When do you want to go?’

‘Um, I don’t know, actually.’

Feyros tried to keep his composure. He had to push harder. 

‘In three days, maybe? That’s the next day I’m free.’ He saw Glorien hesitate. ‘And if you want to change plans, you can tell me and we’ll do so, alright?’

Now, the boy gave a small nod. ‘Sure.’

‘That’s great!’

The carriage had stopped. They had arrived back at the palace. Feyros helped Glorien get out. When they did, he still couldn’t let go of the boy’s hand. He stared at the gigantic building that towered over the city. For Feyros, any place that basked in luxury was a place of comfort, where he felt safe. But for Glorien, this place was one he must associate with pain and humiliation. 

For the first time, a thought formed in his head. He cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner. He glanced at Glorien. Had he tried to run away?

Glorien returned his look. ‘I want to go to bed.’

He nodded, and let go of his hand. ‘Goodnight.’

But the boy didn’t go. He kept staring at Feyros. They were alone. 

Feyros swallowed. Did he want to say something? He’d listen, whatever it was. He’d provide comfort, even if he was tired. Saints, he’d ride him back to the city if he wanted, and pretend like he didn’t find him, just so they had more moments alone. He forced himself to smile. He’d give this person all the warmth he wanted.

‘Goodnight’, Glorien said. 

That was all. 

Feyros watched as the boy walked to the main entrance. Soon, the building had consumed him. It left him empty. 

"You must feel so proud of yourself."

He didn’t know how long he had been standing there, nailed to the ground, when suddenly a guard ran up to him. It was an imperial guard. 

‘Sir! His Majesty orders that you meet him in his private chambers, immediately!’

‘What’s wrong?’

Feyros smiled. Glorien had his own room, where he could sleep if he wanted to sleep alone. But since they moved here, to a villa in the countryside in Derreia, they rarely slept apart. Usually, when night came, Glorien got dressed together with him and went to bed together with him. He didn’t have to. After all that he went through, Feyros wanted to give him as much space as he needed. He had told his lover as much last night. 

Maybe that had been a mistake. He didn’t want to push him toward one way or the other. But Glorien had first shrugged and said he could sleep alone that night. When Feyros clarified that it wasn’t an order, and he could do whatever he wanted, Glorien had simply responded with “I’ll see”. 

So he had changed his mind. And now Feyros was worried that he had made it seem as if he didn’t want the younger man here, which wasn’t true.

Carefully he stroked Glorien’s forehead, brushing some strands of hair out of his face. The boy groaned, and Feyros put an arm under his neck, holding his shoulder and pulling him closer. 

Glorien opened his eyes, and for a moment, there was a hesitation on his face. Feyros froze. Always that familiar hesitation… But it disappeared as soon as it had come, making place for a big, joyful smile. Feyros’s heart fluttered.

‘Hello’, Glorien said hoarsely. 

‘Good morning.’ Feyros leant in and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

This prompted the boy to wriggle closer, pressing his body against the man’s. 

‘Did you sleep well?’

The answer was delayed, a sign that he didn’t.

‘No’, Glorien mumbled. ‘I was scared.’

‘What were you afraid of?’

He hugged his lover as close as he could. Glorien didn’t have many good nights, and it worried him. Of course he understood why. They had left the palace in such a haste. Glorien had been held captive there for six years, and it would take a long time to get used to this sudden new life. 

Glorien… didn’t talk much about the things that clearly troubled his mind. And Feyros didn’t dare to bring them up. Only at the beginning had his lover mentioned them. Those mentions were accompanied by fits of rage. He would start cursing at the Imperial family, at the nobility, and sometimes at the Koians. He would make sarcastic jokes, quickly followed by yelling and screaming and ranting about everything he could think of. And then, slowly, day by day, the anger went away.

And now Glorien barely talked at all. 

‘The usual’, he replied to Feyros’ question. 

At this point, Feyros had no idea what “the usual” meant. 

He kissed the younger man again, and was met with a shower of kisses on his face and neck. They held each other firmly for a while, enjoying the moment. Finally, Feyros sighed and got up.

‘Alright, I have some work to do’, he said. 

Glorien looked at him with such adoration, that he felt guilty to leave the bed. 

If this is just another way for him to publicly humiliate me, I swear-

Loui had brought Glorien to the dressing room, where servants decorated him with delicate silver chains with small bells, and painted a pattern of red and yellow spirals on his face. They tied a satin scarf around his waist, the sort of scarf he knew from dance training. When they were done, Loui brought him to the throne room. 

The Houssaian festival was currently being celebrated. It was a newer tradition, which began when the second Koian Emperor realized it was best to keep the Houssaians on friendly terms. For centuries, they had been a powerful enemy to the Empire. 

Just a few days ago, Vasri had greeted the Lord of Houssaia at the haven. Now, he held a party to welcome the man and honour the province of Houssaia. Tomorrow, a bigger event would be held, publicly, in the city. Glorien used to celebrate with his family – his father was born in Houssaia. But the current event took place between palace walls, and was only celebrated among nobles. An event he had no memories of, since only his parents went to it. 

The last time the party was held, the imperial dance group weren’t performing. The only dancer who was ever allowed to perform there, was Jespen. 

The throne room was decorated with candles and hides of bears and wolves. They had placed couches scattered all over the room, to make the guests as comfortable as possible. On the central placed couches, Vasri sat, with his closest friends. With them was a man Glorien had only ever seen from afar: the Lord of Houssaia. He was tall, with a protruding beard and clothes made out of some soft material, dyed a soft grey and white. 

‘For now just play along’, Loui said quietly, while guiding Glorien towards the centre. 

The company was focused on Jespen, who showed a slow and gaceful dance only for them. He had the same bells and face-paint they had given Glorien, though his was blue and green. 

When Vasri noticed them approaching, he narrowed his eyes. 

‘Why did you bring him?’, he asked, when his brother was close enough to talk. 

The Lord turned his head towards the newcomers. His face looked stern. 

Loui gestured to the guards to make everyone quiet. When he had everyone’s attention, he raised his voice.

‘Sir, I hope you are enjoying the night.’ He added an elegant bow. ‘Last time you weren’t able to express Houssaia’s stance on the civil war. May I remind you it’s been six years since that awful war ended. So we’re... waiting in anticipation to hear your thoughts on the matter’, he said. Next, he gestured to Glorien. ‘For the occasion, I wanted to introduce you to Darren’s youngest son. He’s descended from your land, after all.’

While Vasri pressed his lips together out of annoyance, the Lord examined Glorien. The latter had fallen to his knees, just as he was used to.

‘He doesn’t look Houssaian’, he said. 

‘His mother was of Derreian nobility. He inherited most of his mother’s traits.’

The Lord nodded, then turned to Vasri. ‘You never told me you kept one of Darren’s sons alive.’

‘Ah, it’s… not something I easily show off – not to everyone. My closest advisors know of it, but I don’t want to constantly remind my people of the war’, Vasri responded. There was a hesitation in his voice. He took a sip from his wine. 

Glorien tried not to scoff. Vasri liked to show himself as the saviour when Koia was being destroyed by civil war. He gave donations to the cities that were ruined, and paid poets to write about how he made Koia a safe haven. He never visited the wrecked cities of course, nor did he care about how his subjects were affected. 

Loui quickly added: ‘It’s a way of punishing Darren, even in death. The last of his sons lives on as a mere dancer – which may not mean a lot in your culture, but to us, that’s contemptible.’

The Lord combed his beard with his fingers. After a while, he said: ‘I see. Then, if the Grandest General requires my word on the war, I will give it.’

Now it was his time to stand up. ‘Houssaians are known for their bravery’, he said. ‘“Darra”, we call it. And so, it is shameful to see that word being associated with a man whose actions were cruel and destructive – things which are despised by Houssaians. That is why I want to express that, even if he was born on our land, Houssaia doesn’t consider that monster to be one of us.’

Glorien got a bitter taste in his mouth, while the guests applauded the speech. All those years had passed, and still they found more ways to take things away from Glorien’s family. He threw an angry glance at Loui. Did you bring me to take away my heritage in front of my face?

Loui smiled maliciously at that. ‘Well said’, he praised the Houssaian Lord. 

After shaking hands, the Lord sat back down. He looked at Vasri, back at Loui, and finally glanced at Glorien. His eyes stood unsure. 

Loui seemed to notice. ‘Well, it’s only fair now that Darren’s son shows his submission to you and Houssaia. What would be appropriate according to your principles?’

The Lord combed his beard again, and now Glorien realized he did so to hide discomfort. He’s afraid to mess up. 

‘Erm, we… enemies of Houssaia show their submission by kissing the Lord’s feet…’

‘Naturally’, Loui responded. 

Glorien flinched as the man pinched hard in his upper arm. He gave the man a furious look once more, then crawled towards the Lord. He knew he had no chance of escaping this. That only made him more furious. 

He kneeled before the Lord’s feet. Carefully, he looked up. The ruler was still working on his beard. Coward. He took a deep breath, then lowered his head towards the right foot. Quickly he pressed his lips on the sandal. It only lasted a moment, yet his cheeks were burning when it was over.

But then a hand forced him back.

‘Come on, dancer, show some more respect’, Loui snarled.

So Glorien was forced to kiss the sandal longer. When he was finally let go, he lifted his head immediately. He stared at the ground beside him while wiping his mouth with his arm. The bitter taste from earlier got worse. 

‘So… that settles that’, he heard the Lord of Houssaia say. 

‘How about we drink to this?’, Vasri replied. He lifted a cup and was joined in by his friends.

Without drawing too much attention to himself, Loui took Glorien by his upper arm and dragged him to the side of the throne room. Glorien looked at the Emperor’s company one more time. 

So that was it. That was his first meeting with the Lord of Houssaia. He remembered how proudly his father had talked about this man. But this man was only a disappointment. 

Actually, now that he had a better overview of the company, he noticed something off about them. The Emperor’s wife wasn’t present. On its own, that wasn’t strange at all. The lady Saffira hated appearing with her husband in public. But her son was here, and her daughter was present at the event as well. So if both of them were here, where was she? 

And where was lady Triban? She was always present at grand events - except if she was plotting something. Feyros- no, the Keeper of the City, he wasn’t here either. And someone who was present was lady Idylla, who never showed herself in public without her wife. And lady Lazulan wasn’t by her side today. 

Loui went to sit down on a couch next to sir Milsen, his friend, who was lying down comfortably with an apple in his hand. 

Glorien couldn’t hold himself anymore. ‘Was that why you brought me here? Just so you could do the same things you’ve done to me for the last six years?’

‘No’, Loui said, shifting so he wasn’t sitting on his cloak. ‘I will tell you now.’

‘So impatient. It’s to be expected from a dancer’, Milsen remarked. He took a bite from his apple. 

‘How about you do some sort of dance, and I’ll tell you about my offer’, Loui said. 

Without thinking, Glorien sighed. Milsen rolled his eyes. 

‘I don’t like to see you dance either, but just make yourself useful for once.’

‘If you don’t want to hear my offer, we can stop here. I’ll look forward to your execution’, Loui said.

‘Fine, I’m on it’, Glorien growled. He took the satin scarf the make-up artists had tied around his waist and started dancing. 

‘You know how to follow orders’, Loui scoffed. ‘But I know you are raging inside. I’ve known your father well, and I know exactly what he would do. He’d attack.’

‘Oh, he’d kill’, Milsen added.

‘Exactly. And tonight, dancer- Glorien… tonight I will give you a chance.’

Glorien spun around and waved his arms, pretending to be too caught up in the dance to care. ‘Why do you want me to kill someone?’

‘I have enemies. That shouldn’t surprise you. Everything I do, they see. So I have to improvise. That’s where you come into play.’

‘And if I refuse to work with you, you will have me killed, correct?’

‘As if the thought of vengeance doesn’t excite you’, Milsen sneered.

It was a trap. If he killed someone, Loui could easily blame him. It’d give himself an alibi, and he’d get rid of two enemies. Glorien growled. He didn’t have a chance to refuse. Now that they had taken away everything, they wanted to use him as a political pawn too? 

Yet… they offered exactly what he had wanted to do. But… how? How could they have known?

‘Who do you want me to kill?’

Loui looked away, adjusting his cloak. Milsen took a big bite out of the apple. When Glorien spun around, he saw why: the princess and one of her friends came their way. He stopped.

‘Good evening, uncle’, princess Vasira said. She was wearing a red dress for the occasion, with a silver tiara with red gemstones to match. She looked elegant, exactly like you would expect the princess of Koia to look like. 

Next to her, her friend appeared entirely the opposite: a tall pale girl with blue eyes and blond hair, wearing a blue dress with a blue scarf, delicate silver chains around her waist, the silver coins attached to them rattling with every step she took. She was Delira, the eldest daughter of the Lord of Houssaia. 

‘Hello, didn’t you hear her? I’ll repeat it for you: “good evening uncle”’, Delira said. 

‘Hello, girls. How are you? Is there something the matter?’, Loui replied, sounding slightly agitated.

‘I wanted to ask you’, his niece said. 

‘Oh well, nothing special. I am enjoying the event with my friend, waiting on my wife.’

‘Oh! I didn’t know you were friends with Darren’s son!’

Loui frowned at Delira. ‘My friend Milsen and I wanted to watch him perform. He is half Houssaian after all.’

‘Our honoured guest just decried Darren’s actions. Did you not listen?’, Vasira asked.

‘Why are you concerned with the presence of this dancer? You never cared before.’

‘Neither did you.’

Glorien clutched the satin scarf, wondering how much the princess knew of Loui’s plans. 

Milsen, having finished his apple, decided to change the topic of the conversation. ‘Oh, that reminds me! Loui, have you made progress in the case concerning those gangs who roam in the city? You asked me to go over some information…’

‘Did you find the name of the leader?’

‘Yes, but there’s one problem: they go by the name “Chaïra”, the most popular name in Koia.’

‘Do you know their father’s name?’, Loui asked, still ignoring the two girls.

‘Ah… they call themself “child of Panliberi”.’

‘A bastard child?’

Milsen nodded. Suddenly, Vasira piped in. ‘You’re changing the subject.’

‘My apologies. Maybe you should spend more time with your friends? Isn’t it your duty to welcome them at this event?’, Loui asked.

‘You’re right’, Delira said. She turned around and shouted: ‘Hey Olivia, hey Alira, come here!’

‘That was… not what I meant’, Loui mumbled as the two other girls who had been standing with the princess earlier walked over. 

Olivia, the daughter of the Lord of Derreia - who was in charge of the Old Capital - had dark skin and dark hair. It was put up in buns with a rose paila - a piece of cloth that tied up the buns and fell down in a crescent shape. What stood out about her was that she had one dark brown eye and one light. 

Glorien’s heart raced at seeing Alira. They… had known each other. They had practically grown up together, their fathers had been friends. She was Jeremi’s daughter. Her hair was longer than he remembered. It flew past her shoulders, with two small braids in between. She wore an orange veil and had decorated her dress with daisies. Alira had grown so much, but realizing that made his blood run cold. Did she know? Did she know he had killed her father?

He pulled at the scarf and stared at Loui. Suddenly it all felt wrong. Where… what had he gotten himself into?

‘Hey Delira, is everything working out?’ Olivia sounded hesitant. 

‘Yup, we’re talking about the gangs, but without the bangs, unfortunately.’

Olivia frowned at her. ‘Did you really have to call us over?’

‘That’s not a proper way to talk’, Milsen gnarled at Delira. ‘Especially not for the next Houssaian Lord.’

Vasira stepped forward. ‘Why did you bring him here?’

‘I simply wanted to see him dance. I have nothing more to explain to you.’ Loui stood up. ‘If you could leave us now.’

‘Sir, we don’t want to cause any trouble...’, Alira said, gently waving with her hands. 

Olivia spoke up. ‘Sir, that wasn’t a Houssaian dance. Shouldn’t a Houssaian dance a Houssaian dance at a Houssaian party?’ 

‘Isn’t a Houssaian dance supposed to include fire?’, Alira asked.

‘Well, not all of them’, Delira remarked. ‘But that Jespen is certainly doing it wrong!’

Olivia gestured at the decorations in the throne room. ‘And look how boring it all looks. You know, you should tell your brother this whole party looks like a mere imitation of Houssaian culture.’

‘Yes, actually, I’m offended’, Delira chimed in.

‘Alright, now leave.’

‘Uncle-’

Suddenly, a loud scream pierced through the room. Everyone turned towards the centre. Jespen was lying on the floor, a dog on top of him biting his arm. He was bleeding…

‘Pyrrhos, stop! Vixar!’, Vasri shouted. His face was red, his jaw clenched in anger. He was looking at his son.

‘Make him stop! GET HIM OFF!’

The nine year old prince was smirking. His small brown eyes shone mischievously. 

‘Vixar!’

Finally, Vixar gave in, after enough blood had pooled onto the floor. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Immediately, Pyrrhos, the dog, looked up. He ran to his master, happily wagging his tail. He jumped right into Vixar’s open arms, who petted him as a reward. 

The room was a mess. The musicians had stopped playing, people were chattering about the scene that had just played out in front of them, while a servant helped Jespen get up. The Emperor rapidly switched between showing care for his lover and scolding his son. 

Princess Vasira whispered something to Olivia, then joined her family. She took her father’s arm and repeatedly asked him to calm down, while he kept yelling at her brother.

He was sitting on his bed, hands clutching the mattress tightly. He barely thought before he spoke anymore. It was amazing seeing Vasri’s offended face, seeing the nobles tense, seeing them all overflow with anger. He felt proud. In that moment at least, he was so proud of himself. He’d do it again and again and again, feeding on their annoyance with him. 

Right now he wanted to scream. He wanted to punch that proud version of himself in the gut. How distasteful, how shameful. Letting himself get overpowered by some sadistic pleasure to see his enemies being hurt. And yet he kept doing it. 

The mattress sank as Aurora sat down next to him. 

‘Look, Glorien. I can’t let you sit here chewing on your lip while staring into nothingness.’

He let down his shoulders in an attempt to look more relaxed. He looked at her, but before he could say anything, she said: ‘Don’t try to argue with me. I’ve been so worried about you recently, I wish there was something I could do.’

‘There’s nothing-’

‘Don’t give me that! Why don’t we go hang out in the garden? I can work on my embroidery, you can write your poetry… it’s nice outside, and I think Carla is there too.’

Glorien wanted to object, but stopped himself. What was he going to do here otherwise? And he missed hanging out with Aurora. Lately he hadn’t really…

He shook his head, then quickly nodded to correct himself. 

‘Yes, that sounds lovely’, he said. 

His chest filled with warmth when he saw the relief in her eyes. 

‘Alright then, let’s go!’

*** 

Aurora was right, the weather was very nice. Glorien brushed his hand over the soft grass for what must be the hundredth time. He liked the gentle feeling. 

He rested his pencil as he watched Aurora work on her embroidery work. They had been friends for six years now. She was his most special friend. Since his father died, he had lost all his friends, yet she didn’t care about his past or whose son he was. And that felt pure to him. 

She put her work down with a sigh. 

‘What’s wrong?’, he asked. 

‘Can I braid your hair?’

‘Sure…’

She crawled over next to him and took a strand of his hair in her palm. Glorien focused on his poem. He didn’t mind the short tugs on his hair as Aurora braided it. One thing he had learnt about her was that she had stage fright. As a way to distract herself, she worked with her hands on something - braiding, sewing… whatever helped in that moment. 

But now they weren’t about to perform or anything.

He tried to sound casual when he said: ‘If I can tell you what’s on my mind, you can do the same.’

She stopped. Then took a deep breath. 

‘I wonder where Carla is. If she’s not here, then where is she hanging out?’

‘It’s not the first time she disappears. In the end, she always comes back. And she’s strong enough to work herself out of trouble.’

‘I don’t like the idea that she gets herself into trouble in the first place…’

She went back to braiding. Glorien had heard Carla complain about Aurora’s concerned nature, so he kept quiet. Still, he understood why Aurora was worried. She cared for her sister, and that care adorned her. 

‘What are you writing about?’, she asked after a long period of silence.

Glorien smiled. ‘You.’

‘Me?’ She sounded surprised.

‘Yes. You are “warm as a campfire in the night, open to everyone and comforting, smithing new bonds that last forever, and even if you aren’t around, the memory is a yearning one, craving that light”.’

She looked him in the eyes, and he made sure she’d see that he meant it.

‘Glorien…’

‘Excuse me?’

They both almost jumped. A man was standing before them. He had clothes that reminded Glorien of the clothes of the servants, but instead of white and silver, they were purple. He smelled faintly of vanilla.

‘Where can I find the chamberlain of the Imperial court?’

Glorien and Aurora exchanged glances. 

‘I don’t know’, Aurora responded. ‘But it may be a good idea to ask Berta. You can find her in the servant’s dressing room, if you know where that is.’

‘Ah, yes, thank you very much.’

Before she could say anything, the man left. 

‘I don’t think he works here, but… that means he’s from one of the nobles. Isn’t the Emperor at the haven?’, Aurora asked. 

‘Yes, he’s greeting the Lord of Houssaia.’ Glorien turned his pencil around in his fingers. ‘I think - if I’m not mistaken - that’s a servant from the Keeper of the City.’ But sir Feyros had left the palace, hadn’t he?

‘Maybe he’s here to prepare for the festival?’

‘Hmm…’ 

He had the feeling something was going on. The recent attack on the princess made him more alert, he supposed. And he started to pay more attention to the whereabouts of Feyros. 

‘I wanted to ask you about that…’, Aurora said. 

‘About the Keeper of the City?’

‘Yes. I heard he takes interest in you.’

‘N-no. Well, yes, apparently, but… I think he only cares out of pity’, Glorien stammered. He swallowed. Why was it so difficult to talk about him?

‘What do you think of him?’

‘He’s an idiot. He brings too much unwanted attention to himself, and I don’t think he’ll last long in his position.’

‘So you don’t like the attention he gives you?’, Aurora asked, her voice monotone. 

‘No! Erm, I mean, no. It’s quite annoying. He should leave me alone.’

‘Really? Then why are you blushing?’

Glorien pretended to adjust his headband, trying to cover his face with his arms. 

‘I’m not…’

Aurora laughed quietly. ‘It’s alright. I think it’s very nice of him to help you. You deserve the kindness.’

He slammed his hands on the ground. 

‘Not at all! It’s a mistake! I’d rather be left alone. He’ll end up hurting me anyway. That, or I’ll destroy his life. I love hurting people, I’m addicted to it. They’d better stay away from me.’

He grabbed his paper and pencil and stood up. 

‘You too, Aurora. It’s better if I’m alone.’

He wanted to walk away, but was stopped as she grabbed his wrist. 

‘Don’t say that. You’re human too. You need company, you’re worthy of kindness. I want to help you, and be there for you, even if you don’t feel like that’s not allowed.’

He turned towards her, his lip trembling. You’re mistaken, you only say that to feel better about yourself, I don’t like it when you say that, I don’t want to be with you, I hate you.

These thoughts were loud, and they would hurt if they were spoken aloud. 

These thoughts weren’t a part of him. They couldn’t be. They were scary, it terrified him how much he itched to see his friend hurt.

He didn’t want to see her hurt.

He broke down in tears. He would never say something like that to Aurora. He sobbed loudly as he embraced him. 

They sat down on the soft grass, and she hugged him until his crying calmed down. And after that, she kept hugging him, every now and then telling him it was alright. And he started to believe her.