The air was cold, and biting, as the twin suns of Caelestis set. The sight of such was one that the prince of Caelestis never failed to view; each and every night, as the suns went down, those subjects of his who lived in the palace with him knew where to find him. Standing on the small balcony that was affixed to his chambers he would reside, as still as stone, only to move once darkness claimed him. So it was that very night, despite the cold, despite the frigid wind of a winter soon impending.

Which was exactly what Gavrel had feared. It was the prince’s mind that held company when he took to watching the suns set over his land, and it was that mind which blocked his view of anything else around him, including the coldness with sunk into his very bones, his very skin. With respect he knocked on his Lord’s door first, only to find no reply. Sighing, he shouldered the door open, only to find the prince where he had expected him to be, standing all alone upon his balcony and, as he feared, he could see how white his knuckles had become from the very cold of the stone rail he grasped.

Moving over to the dresser in which his Lord’s clothes were kept, he pulled forth from it a cloak made for the kingdom’s cold winters, crush red velvet paired with a soft fur lining of brown-furred hare. Draping it over his arm, he closed the dresser, picking apart the material so that he might more easily place it upon his Lord’s shoulders. “You shall catch cold out here, my Lord,” he said quietly, setting the cloak upon the younger man’s shoulders. It dismayed him to see that even with such hid Lord did not look away from the setting suns before him, yet all the same he picked at the sit of the material until it covered him more than the cream-colored sleeping robe he had dressed himself in. “Please, do not be so foolish…”

“Oh, but I am foolish, Gavrel,” the prince finally spoke, his voice quiet perhaps from a long day’s work, or perhaps from something else, the knight could not say. It saddened him, to see his Lord so, though he would never admit such, not out loud, at any stretch. His eyes seemed sullen as they looked out over his lands as they changed with the fall of the twin suns, sunken, as though by some great tragedy, his face gaunt with troubles faced. The only thing that brought some ray of hope was his hands, which had left the rail to take hold of the cloak he had placed on his shoulders, pulling it closed about his slim form. “So… very foolish.”

He could only sigh at such a conclusion, shaking his head as his own hand came to rest on the rail, his body turned away from the setting suns to look at the prince. “You are too harsh on yourself, my Lord,” he insisted, only then to look at the suns setting as well as he himself concluded, all the while quieter, “I do not believe you foolish.”

Had he but turned his head, he would have seen the faint pulling of the corners of the prince’s lips, how they dared to break their state of emotionless being with a minuscule smile. “So you say,” was all he replied with, such words turning the knight’s head at last, though by such a time all signs of said smile had disappeared, much like the slowly disappearing rays of sunlight.

Try as he might, Gavrel could not pinpoint the source of his Lord’s suffering, for surely he suffered, that much he was certain of. Why was it, then, that he did not know the cause of such deep, dark worries? Of all his subjects, there was no doubt that he was the closest to the prince, and yet, he knew nothing which could possibly bring about such a horrid look on his Lord’s face. Finally he sighed, voicing his concern. “What troubles you so, my Lord? Never have I seen such sadness in you,” he admitted, watching the other man carefully for a reply. When moments had passed and he had said nothing, his worry only doubled, to the point he found himself speaking once more. “Sire?” he asked, only to have the prince dip his head, as though in shame in his very being.

“…Who am I, Gavrel?”

The question took him aback perhaps more than even the bowing of his head had done. For a moment he took his time to consider his question, wondering what purpose, what answer his Lord wished for. Finally he came to as little conclusion as he did to why his Lord was so trouble to begin with, and as such answered as best he could. “You… are our prince, sire,” he said quietly, concern still present upon his face, which his Lord had yet to look at, much to his dismay. Still, something about his answer must have been right, for the prince’s chin raised once more, his eyes falling again to the suns as they set below the horizon before him.

“And… do you trust your prince?”

“I do,” Gavrel answered instantly, absolutely no hesitation, no wavering, to his answer. Despite such certainty, he heard no reply, and as such could only watch his Lord look out over the setting suns before he finally spoke once more, his voice much more gentle than it had been before. “Your people will follow you, my Lord, down whatever path you choose to take…”

“Down whatever path…” he heard the prince repeat, and nodded, trying to assure him that he spoke the truth. Truly he felt that he did; his prince ruled over his kingdom and his subjects well, so well in fact that he could think of no other doing such a thing. Did his Lord think otherwise? Was that perhaps what worried him so?

Thinking perhaps that he had found the source of the prince’s suffering, he only shook his head, once more reiterating his point, though in a different way, hoping perhaps it might stab through the guilt that his Lord was feeling for not believing he was doing all he needed to, and set his mind at ease. “You follow the path your heart chooses, my Lord, and that is why we shall follow you,” he insisted, noticing then the shiver that ran through the other male. His hands rose to the hood of the cloak at that point, seeking to free it from beneath his Lord’s long hair, so that he might place it up and keep at bay such shivers.

All motion in his hands stopped, however, the moment his Lord touched one of them with his own, his eyes locking on the pair that had yet to look his way. “The path my heart chooses,” he repeated, his gaze dropping to their hands as they rested upon his shoulder. “…But Gavrel…”

“Sire?” he questioned, only to have his chin drop once more, much to his dismay.

“What if my heart… chooses a path you cannot follow?” his Lord asked of him, his gaze finally traveling to his own. It was then that he realized why he had not given him his gaze until that point, for while he could not recognize it, there was an emotion there, in his eyes, that struck him like a boot to the chest. It was that look that kept him frozen as he seemed to lean towards him, his gaze dropping to his own lips in the process. “What then…?”

And just like the look in his eyes had hit him, realization took its turn. It all made sense now, why he was suffering so, why he now was leaning in towards him, personal space thrown to the very wind: his Lord… felt something for him. And that sort of something simply did not belong in their world, he knew it… just as well as his Lord knew it, it seemed. “Sire…” however, was all he said, scant moments before soft lips were placed on his own, cool lips that made him shiver. Before he could even react past such, however, the lips were gone from his own, quicker than they had even come to be there in the first place.

“No,” the prince was saying, harshly, as though punishing himself for taking to such an act as he straightened, his gaze once more shifting to the suns as they sunk lower in the sky, his hands gripping at the cloak so harshly that his knuckles once more became white.

The knight could only look at him, realization and sadness taking over him. That suffering, that sunken, sullen look in his eyes… it was all caused by him, and the worst part of it was thus: that he could do nothing about it. Drawing back his hand, he now stared at it, realizing it was that very connection that had caused such an event to take place, to ultimately, he was sure, harm his Lord ever more. “…Phobos…” finally left his lips in a murmur, his eyes drawing back to his Lord’s face.

His gaze remained on the setting suns, however, much to his dismay, and it was that very unwillingness to look at him that brought a small pit to being deep in his stomach. “Leave me, Gavrel,” he murmured in return, his grip shifting on his cloak such that, for the moment, the knight’s gaze shifted away from his eyes and to his hands, though it soon traveled back.

“Sire…” he started, his voice quiet as he reached out a hand towards his Lord’s shoulder, only to stop prematurely as the other male spoke once more.

“Please,” was all that was needed to stop him, though he continued on all the same, his voice just as tortured as he seemed to be. “For my sake.”

Looking once more upon his Lord, the knight finally nodded, retreating his hand once more to his side before he spoke. “As you wish,” was all he said, before giving the short, curt bow he gave the man each and every day. “My Lord.” With one final look he walked back into his Lord’s chambers, doing his best to block out the sounds he heard next:

“…Down whatever path…”

And then, something he had never heard from the other in all of his life: sobbing.

***