Nicholas laughed freely, because how could he not be amused by Monroe punching the Swedish Duke in the face? It was a delightful mental image. Perhaps if he had been sober, it might have been the sort of thing he ought to discourage his friend from doing, however, drunk Nicholas had no issues with the potential brawl - after all, he was fairly sure the battle-scarred American would outdo the young Duke any day.

He gave an indignant snort, "I'm not so drunk." He was, however, Nicholas still thought he had made a very good point and the small smile which lightened Monroe's features was a clear sign he had hit the mark.

"Ahh you should never meet my family then, my friend. You will be in tears to hear how they speak of one another. My grandmother had my grandfather killed, we are hardly innocent people." The nobility squabbled and bickered amongst themselves, it was the way of things and his own interactions with the Duke were more of the same. A hundred years earlier, Nicholas might have raised an army to cease the Duke's lands, but these days, things had become somewhat more cultured, at least in most circumstances.

Nicholas gave another laugh, "Please, do not follow her lead then. I believe the Duke's death would upset our mutual relatives...And I do so hate mourning dress." All that black, it grew incredibly tiresome after a few months. Thankfully the Duke was distantly enough related that Nicholas imagined he could escape with a few weeks, perhaps even days of black clothing....

Pushing the door shut behind them, Nicholas gave a glance to his friend and snorted, "Are you my nursemaid now too? I realise the perception may be that royalty can no do a thing without assistance, but I assure you that is not the case." And he made the point by pushing off the knee-high boots and dumping them by a chair, followed by the rich blue coat with its silver buttons which was unceremoniously draped over the same chair.

"Though ah -" As he reached for his cravat, the complicated knot which held the material high against his neck, the Prince paused and added, a little sheepishly, "Perhaps just one small bit of assistance." Or else he was likely to ruin the expensive material by tying an unsolvable knot around his own neck.

Ashley would destroy the Duke. No amount of fine education or fine upbringing could outdo the pure strength that came with a true desire to live. For a man who had wanted death for so long and craved the end of his exhausted mind, Ashley was not one to let another man win. He was the sort of warrior one wanted on the side of the broken, and the kind of soldier that fell only to rise once more. His blood ran hot while his soul turned cold and he was happy to be friends with the darker side of the moon than the light. Stars would fade and the night would take the day, but no matter what Ashley would still be standing.

"Please, do not follow her lead then. I believe the Duke's death would upset our mutual relatives...And I do so hate mourning dress."

“And is this what would matter to you the most?” He asked as the Prince presented his neck and the knot there around his throat, and Ashley could not help but reflect on how…intimate this was. For an enemy of the Imperial Crown this is what they dream of; the pulse of Prince there at the tips of his fingers and across his thumb as he brushed it along the fine bones of his spine. Here he could destroy an entire country and put to rest a legacy by just smothering out this Prince—a favorite to his Grandmother.

“I would not think you able to take care of yourself, My Prince,” He answered in a low voice, a careless rumble like distant thunder. “If there is one thing you have proven,” he made careful work of the knot, “Is that you are stubborn.”

Undressing even something as simple as the silk around a man’s neck felt as intimate as revealing the breasts of a maiden, and when the cool air touched the warm flesh beneath Ashley admired the stark contrast of the silk against the pale skin of the Prince. When he undid the silk he made sure that Nicholas didn’t drop his gaze as he wanted the other man to keep his gaze, and if he had to he would touch the tip of his chin to lift it as he untied the knot.

“But you won’t let this be your undoing will you?” He meant the stubborn and almost selfish nature, “You will use that to your advantage and nothing else.”

"I really dislike mourning dress," Nicholas responded, not sure if that was what Monroe was referring to but answering all the same. "Winter is already grey enough without everyone dressed in black." Which was why Nicholas theorised that the Russian court attracted such bright colours and materials, the nobles were attempting to chase away the dull colours of winter!

Well used to having others fuss over and dress him, Nicholas initially paid little attention to the closeness of Monroe to himself - until the much taller man spoke and Nicholas was forced to look up in order to maintain eye contact.

There was something undefinable about Monroe, something which made Nicholas feel calm just knowing he was present. Even though the American's movements were nowhere as swift and professional as Anton's would have been, the Prince was content to stand and let Monroe do as needed, without comment. Instead, he appreciated the sense of familiarity which came from the interaction. While Anton was, in a sense, like family to him, his companionship did not replace the mental and physical intimacy which came from friends and family, from the people who knew him. It was simply nice to feel, even for a moment, as though he belonged.

"I don't know what the future holds any more than you do." Nicholas pointed out, glancing down a moment only to have his chin lifted with a gentle touch, forcing him to look up once more at the imposing visage of the American. A man whom merely a few days earlier he had been ready to leave on the roadside and yet now had somehow become a strange sort of friend. So quickly they had gone from one to the other, Nicholas now reflected.

He felt flushed, drunk and warm, now with Monroe's sharp eyes looking down at him and his skilled fingers untying his cravat - Nicholas could almost imagine himself in another world, another lifetime and another situation in which their closeness would lead to something more...There was just something, a certain something which made him want to touch and to hold - but even drunk, Nicholas knew such things were not so simple.

As the dark blue silk came loose, Nicholas reached up instinctively to grab it, his warm hand coming to rest over Monroe's. "Such troublesome things..." He murmured,

“Then let us not think of the black, who was going to die again?” He gave the Prince a coy smile, something almost intimate and familiar. If he could hear the thoughts and feel the emotions that warmed the blood of the Prince, Ashley too would echo the way it was nice to feel as though…he was home. Two days was not enough time to feel such a closeness to another and yet releasing Nicholas from his clothing felt as much of a relief as he was sure it felt for the other man to be undone.

It pleased him in ways he wasn’t prepared for to visibly watch Nicholas relax and let himself feel safe and warm. There was more intimacy in something as tender as this than all the nights combined with a Courtesan, and perhaps in another life the Prince could have given the women of the night a run for their money.

I don’t know what the future holds any more than you do,


And yet in his dreams he saw it, his nightmares and his fears. Each and every night his slumber was plagued by blood on the streets and fire in the sky. Once a priest had tried to pull the demons from him as though inside him was a monster that held to his ribs and clawed at them like a cage begging to be free, but when he listened Ashley could only hear his own heart beating.

The silk, the same color of the Venetian sky acted now as more than just a symbol as it slipped over Nicholas’ skin still warm from the close embrace. The blue like the ocean at night, but it was the Prince’s hand upon his that pulled him under.

"Such troublesome things..."

“Yes…,” He brought his hand up to the side of Nicholas neck, to cradle the arch and let his hand act as a stay and to keep him exactly where he wanted, “you are.”

Drawn in he would have brushed his lips ever so carefully over Nicholas’ as though to test the water even if he felt more like the boy was a siren only wanting to drown him, but just when he could almost feel the warm breath of the prince upon his lips, there was a knock at the door.

Ashley’s eyes cleared from his daze, the drunken heat between them made the air coming in through the door feel as though it was a bucket of cold water, and through the door came Anton and Vala.

“Oh Ashley! There you are. See? I told you he could do just fine,” She grinned and moved from the hand to the arm of the American that instinctively rose to collect her.

“Come darling, let me put you to bed, dinner has come to an end, and I am sure that His Grace needs his rest." Ashley could say nothing, nor would he. There were not words nor clear answers as to what about just happened, and with a bow to the Prince he bid them goodnight.

For a moment, Nicholas was lost in the moment.

He could feel the warmth of Monroe's hand on his neck, the familiarity and affectionate touch which seemed so easy. Nothing in the world would have been simpler than to lean it to the taller man, to embrace and touch the fine fibres of his crimson coat. Nicholas' fingers twitched at his side.

As Monroe drew closer and Nicholas' breath deepened a moment in expectation - the Prince only felt half-aware of himself, almost as though posed within a dream, the edges warm and fuzzy but difficult to make out.

The sharp knock on the door knocked him violently from the dream world. Nicholas startled sharply, drastically pulling himself away from Monroe and even going so far as to turn away, before glancing back at the door - his heart pounding.

Standing still to one side of the room, Nicholas remained silent as the woman and his servant burst into the room, both moving into action and riding the moment of anything dreamy or fuzzy.

With a bow, Monroe and his companion were gone, the door was shut and Nicholas was alone - albeit with Anton, who moved so quietly one could be forgiven for not noticing his presence.

"I need sleep..." The Prince muttered, more to himself than his servant.


-The End.