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Inaho has been watching him since childhood. The spoiled sons of the powerful lords like to steal Troyard’s toys - not because his toys are better but because the love with which Troyard cares for his few treasures causes involuntary envy and the desire to find out what is so special about a tattered toy bat or a cracked wooden sword. Troyard bursts into tears; the toy bat passes from one child to another; laughter and insulting nicknames echo throughout the castle’s courtyard.
Inaho patiently waits until the offenders have played enough to approach Troyard and offer him to draw together. Troyard sniffs for a long time, spreading the wings of the trampled toy, but then agrees and follows him to the low table where the servants always leave parchments and pencils, so that the children will not get bored while their parents struggle desperately with drowsiness during the council with the Emperor. Troyard draws birds clumsily; the tip of his tongue is sticking out from his mouth. Inaho nods to him when he manages to recognize a flying gull in the wry gray blur on his parchment; a smile lights up Troyard’s face, and he leans back over the crumpled drawing. Inaho puts down his own pencil and looks at Troyard. He doesn't understand what exactly attracts him to the clumsy, rootless boy who has been adopted by Lord Cruhteo’s family, but every time Troyard starts crying Inaho distracts him with a game.
The years fly by. Inaho dresses in expensive clothes and learns to make small talk. Instead of toys and sweets, the tables in the courtyard are now filled with books and scrolls. Arrogant snotty teenagers praise the decoration of their estates and the merits of their famous fathers. Many times Inaho is convinced they have no idea what they are talking about: they do not know history, they do not know anything about the foreign or internal policy of the Empire, or even about trade. Only Troyard is silent as he sits on a bench in the secluded corner of the courtyard and rubs his calloused fingers; instead of expensive clothes, he is wearing an ugly rag of a servant's suit.
Sometimes Inaho sits down with Troyard, holding a book, and they slowly discuss the politics and argue about art - Inaho sincerely considers art a waste of his time - and advise each other reading materials. When Inaho hints to Troyard about entering the military academy, Troyard’s lips form a thin line, and he says, “I know my place, Kaizuka.”
However, two years later they do meet at the Academy. Troyard looks confused. A scarlet camisole covers his shoulders; gold cufflinks shine on its sleeves. Inaho learns that the Cruhteo family has suffered a great misfortune - the eldest son had run away from home with a poor omega, and the youngest son, Klancain, had died of fever during the winter. People look at Troyard with contempt, but Inaho touches his elbow and leads him forward, determined to help him adapt. It is at exactly this moment, he thinks, their friendship begins.
The contempt and the whispers behind Troyard’s back - ‘What a lucky trash!’ - cease when Troyard holds up a real sword. The training sessions are long and exhausting but Troyard is stubborn, and by the end of the year no one but Inaho can withstand his attacks during the duels. They circle around the training field, lunging at each other and falling back under the attentive watch of their mentors, and something in his chest tears as he looks at the way Troyard smiles when he makes a swing with his sword.
Troyard thrives. Their friendship turns into a rivalry when they both meet Asseylum Vers Allusia, the Emperor’s granddaughter, at the ball. Inaho is attracted by her kindness, but at the same time her naivety repels him; Asseylum needs a strong shoulder, a person who will not betray her trust. Inaho isn’t very ambitious, but he understands that he is a good match for her. He is rich, loyal to the Empire and he is smart, and the glory of his parents who had died in the last war has reached even the neighboring kingdoms. But before Inaho has time to ask Asseylum to a dance, Troyard steps forward.
Troyard is obsessed with Asseylum. He sends her flowers and gifts, he scares off the other suitors; he challenges him to a duel, and that day they almost kill each other. Troyard’s sword cuts his face, narrowly missing his left eye, and leaves a deep scar on his forehead and cheek. Troyard stops the duel himself, coming to his senses when blood floods down his face. They are alone in the woods, and Troyard’s hands are shaking as he helps him to stop the bleeding.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God, Kaizuka, I’m so sorry. She’s just... she’s the only good thing in my life.”
Inaho presses a rag to his face, looks at Troyard and keeps silent. The next time he meets Asseylum she recoils when she notices the ugly scar on his face; he forgets about his desire to fight for her hand and heart. Troyard avoids his gaze and takes Asseylum deeper into the waltzing crowd of guests. Their rivalry ends, and with it their friendship withers. Everyday life fades, fades to a dead gray; Inaho gets lost in time, not quite understanding why the emptiness sprouts in his chest.
He graduates from the Academy early by a year and with the Emperor’s permission, leaves for the northern borders. The feuds with the barbarians in the north last for decades; Inaho takes command of the army and brings order. The fighting is long; the days are cold; the white horizon line hurts his eyes; the blood on his hands is sickeningly hot. His alpha nature finally wakes up, demanding to satisfy its sordid need. When it gets hard to ignoring the desire, he finds himself an omega or a beta for a night. He closes his eyes to blinding circles and repeats, repeats in his mind, until his body becomes sated, ‘You are not thinking about him. Don’t think about him.’
Inaho returns to the capital ten years later, when the news of Asseylum’s impending marriage reaches the northern borders. But next to Asseylum he doesn’t see Troyard. He freezes in confusion right there, in the middle of the crowd of guests, looking for his familiar face and not finding it. “Oh, that disgrace ? Well, if I were him, I’d barricade myself at home too. A lousy omega claiming the hand of the Emperor’s granddaughter? Wish I could unsee that!” an old acquaintance snorts when he asks him about Troyard.
He saddles his horse the very next day and sets off alone, without a carriage, despite the bad weather. He hurries the poor animal as if they are being chased. There is a tight ball of disbelief, of doubt, of fear and of painful anticipation in his chest. He does not understand why his hands are seized by small tremors when he gives away the reins to the stableman at Cruhteo’s estate. The servant leads him into the house; he breathes heavily, as if he is ill, but the delusion subsides as soon as he steps over the threshold of Cruhteo’s study; Troyard is not in the room.
Lord Cruhteo rises reluctantly from the sofa to meet him; he is thin and pale. The once bright blond hair has thinned, and now lies in stiff, sparse straws, barely covering his temples. Inaho does not recognize him: there is no trace of his former pride and greatness. Cruhteo even looks unsteady on his feet; he invites him to sit down as soon as they exchange the traditional respectful bows. Inaho sits down obediently; there’s only one demand roaming his head, but it is unsightly to ask for a meeting with Troyard without greeting the Lord of the estate.
“Inaho Kaizuka,” Cruhteo says in a hollow voice. “Congratulations on your successes on the northern borders. But, if I may ask, what is the cause for your visit?”
Inaho looks into his lifeless eyes and realizes Cruhteo is not happy to speak with him; he is unwelcoming, as if he is waiting for a blow or a sneak attack or a jeer. As if his home has not been visited by guests for a long time, and only the enemies know the way here. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter; he only wants to see Slaine and to understand, to know . This feeling - this need - is above him, stronger than him.
“Slaine Troyard…”
He doesn’t have time to finish his words. Cruhteo’s lips twitch sharply, and it is not clear whether in contempt or irritation or anger. Cruhteo’s fingers clench on the sofa’s armrest so tightly his sharp knuckles protrude from under the thin layer of his skin. A vein is beating violently on his temple; he is furious.
“ You too , Kaizuka? You haven’t been to the capital for ten years, but you are just like everyone else: desire to grasp a moment of superiority, to shame me with what nature has doomed us to? To laugh at me that I do not have any decent sons left?”
“Troyard is an omega?”
“Of course, he’s an omega,” Cruhteo can’t hold back from growling. “An omega who went into heat on the eve of the engagement , having disgraced himself, my kin and the Emperor’s granddaughter! And no one cares now that they themselves were convinced he had an alpha’s blood in his veins, that such a handsome young man like him could turn into an alpha, no less! No one cares the engagement was approved by the Emperor himself, disregarding the wait for his maturation. Everything is now forgotten, lies buried, and he and I are to blame. The Cruhteo scum: one son ran away, the other was a coddle and had died, and the third one, though adopted, is a hypocrite and a liar, and the only road to my kin is now into the grave, because no bastard who had smiled at us before would dare to take such a disgraced omega as a husband. Coming to drink tea and watching me wither is now like an extravagant sport and you couldn't help but experience it, right, Kaizuka?”
Inaho’s throat dries up, and it takes all of his self-control simply not to betray his excitement. He doesn’t care about Cruhteo’s story, he doesn’t care about the unfounded accusations, he doesn't care about anything except the realization: Slaine Troyard is a free omega . He leans forward, catching Cruhteo’s look of burning hatred, forgets that a minute ago all he wanted was to meet Troyard, and wheezes, “Give him to me.”
“...What?” Cruhteo recoils abruptly as if Inaho slaps him in the face.
“I’ll take him as my husband,” he makes plans on the go. Even if the Emperor is not happy with his decision, he will insist on his choice; he has enough leverage to play. “The Emperor will not refuse me; the protection of the northern borders is too important.”
“Are you... are you crazy?” Cruhteo pulls at the collar of his scarlet camisole, as if he is strangling him with his words. “Why would you do this? Shame can befall you.”
“I offer your adoptive son to join my kin, the Kaizuka family. Even if there is a place for shame to be left in this scenario then I do not care. I’ll take Troyard to the north; nobody cares about their standing there. The agitation will eventually settle down, and for you this will only be a plus,” he looks at Cruhteo from head to toe purposefully. “You are not old yet; it will not be difficult for you to find a partner and have children. Right now you are held back by the disfavor of society and the Emperor, but think if you erase it? You can restore your kin to its former greatness.”
Cruhteo’s eyes light up with fire, and Inaho's insides are vibrating - he knows what victory is, and he feels clearly that right now she is standing behind his shoulder again. Cruhteo is stalling with his answer, but his lips are twitching; he no longer asks him about his reasons. Inaho himself is not ready to voice them; he is guided by instinct, not by common sense. He merely wants to see Troyard - next to him and forever. Like in childhood, when they sat side by side, soiling parchments with the attempts to draw something worthy.
Cruhteo sends him his official permission two days later. Inaho does not waste a second, asks for an audience with the Emperor and informs him of his intentions. He catches a displeased look, but his arguments sound too convincing: the Cruhteo family is loyal and will be able to serve for the good of the Empire if the disfavor is forgotten; no one will remember about Slaine Troyard once Inaho returns with him to the north; Inaho himself will be grateful to the imperial family until his last breath and promises to raise his offspring as loyal subjects. The Emperor huffs and gives him his blessing; sincere promises flatter him.
Inaho never meets Troyard until the wedding ceremony. They have only a few minutes alone before they walk down the carpet path and make their vows to the Emperor and each other. Inaho stills in front of Troyard, feeling a bit dizzy. The scent of the omega gets into his nose, scratches his throat, warms his body and ignites his blood. He had tasted omegas before, but none of them had ever excited him to the point his fangs protrude inside his mouth, as if he isn’t not a man, but a northern creature desiring to devour its prey.
Inaho looks and looks at Troyard and cannot quench his strange thirst. Troyard is still half a head taller than him and is dazzlingly handsome, especially now, dressed in a snow-white tailcoat. Though he doesn’t like how pale and thin Troyard is, almost matching his adoptive father. Troyard’s eyes are indifferent; there is not a spark of a fire in them. And the only thing that betrays his anxiety is the way he holds his hands behind his back, hiding his trembling fingers.
“Is this revenge?” Troyard asks wearily before the oak doors swing open and they step onto the fateful path that will bind their lives forever.
“No,” Inaho answers, taking hold of his arm and leading him forward. He knows that they should talk openly, that he should have seen Troyard earlier and tried to express what he himself does not fully understand, but he, like a madman, is afraid of missing the opportunity and time. He needs the official scrolls, the wedding rings on their hands; he needs the forever .
Troyard doesn't look at him anymore. He repeats the vows meekly, allows him to hold his hand and place a ring on his finger; he lets him kiss his lips but does not kiss back - does not even close his eyes, only shudders when his gaze falls on the familiar scar. All the cream of society gathers at the celebration, despite the fact that many do not know how to react to their union. Inaho sees that Cruhteo is very pleased, and the Emperor only laughs, watching the performance - for the old man the unfolding event is merely a game. For a moment Troyard winces in disgust, but then Asseylum approaches them to offer her congratulations, and all the color disappears from Troyard’s face.
Inaho examines the future Empress and barely stops himself from taking Troyard away. Even after so many years, Asseylum remains naive: she does not understand that her sincere desire to congratulate her ex-fiance will only bring pain to him. Troyard looks at her, and there are tears in his eyes, although he squeezes out a smile and the empty words of gratitude. Asseylum retreats back to her future husband, pleased with herself, and Inaho grits his teeth and takes Troyard away to dance - to distract him. He doesn’t dance well, but it does good for Troyard - he diverts his attention and tries to adjust to his clumsy steps so that his feet remain safe.
The evening is ending, and Inaho is insanely happy to leave the Emperor’s castle and return home to his estate. Troyard freezes in the middle of his living room, puts his arm around his shoulder, cowers into himself; his lips tremble. He looks like a prisoner about to be led to the scaffold. Inaho knows that this is a chance to start a conversation, but words get stuck in his throat. How to explain his incomprehensible desire to claim Troyard? How to explain the need to touch him? The way his mere presence spreads the flame of life inside him? How to tell him what he had carried inside for the long ten years? That, after seeing a tiny glimpse of hope, he grabbed onto it like a drowning man, not sparing Troyard’s feelings and not giving him any opportunity to give his answer and save his pride.
He opens his lips and cannot utter a word. Instead, he takes Troyard by the sleeve of his tailcoat and leads him to his bedroom. Troyard purses his lips and follows him, although with every step Inaho feels his fear, his disgust at what is taking place. In the bedroom, Troyard is the first to get out of his tailcoat: his sharp, nervous movements force him to make a decision. It is hard, but he feels it’s the only right way.
“Don’t,” Inaho stops him, touches his shoulder fleetingly. Under the thin fabric of his white shirt Troyard’s skin feels so warm he feels lightheaded.
“But... but why?” Troyard doesn’t understand; Inaho can see it in his eyes. His confusion is sincere: under the deceptive mask of perseverance, his dismay shows itself with the obvious shaking of his fingers.
“All I want,” Inaho says slowly, takes Troyard’s hand with the wedding ring on it and bends down to press his lips to it gently, “I already have.”
Troyard recoils. Inaho steps away; standing with his back to Troyard, he takes off his clothes and crawls under the covers onto the bed, making sure he does not take up more than half of it. Troyard continues to huddle in the corner of the room, hugging his shoulders. Inaho gets tired of watching him and falls asleep; he opens his eyes in the middle of the night when he finally hears the rustle of sheets: Troyard settles down on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible, and curls up into a ball.
They spend their days waiting for Asseylum’s wedding in a very monotonous way: they eat breakfast together in silence, visit the receptions in silence and go to bed in silence too. Troyard avoids him like plague, but plays well in public: he keeps behind his shoulder like a docile husband. Inaho buries his desires and enjoys the small things; the opportunity to see Troyard disheveled in the mornings gifts him a strange feeling of peace.
Soon, the news of Asseylum’s wedding ceremony is thundering throughout the Empire. The wedding is lavish and long, and Troyard is barely breathing since morning. At some point Inaho offers his shoulder to him, and Troyard clings to it weakly as he presses his forehead against his back; he is feverish. Inaho tastes the imaginary bitterness on his tongue, but he is the only support for Troyard now, and he straightens his posture, blocking him from the crowd’s view. Troyard is silent when Inaho leads him to the newlyweds to express his congratulations as tradition demands; his speech is short, and Troyard only bows, avoiding looking at Asseylum. The future Empress hardly notices him; she is too overcome with happiness to see how deadly pale Troyard is.
In the dead of night, when they return to the estate in the carriage, Troyard looks out of the small window for a long time, and then suddenly whispers ‘that’s it’ and his dead eyes turn to look at him.
“What do you want from me?” he asks with disinterest. “Attention? Heirs? Love to the grave?”
“I’m not expecting anything,” Inaho lies, but right now he cannot answer otherwise. “Just stay by my side.”
Troyard frowns, but doesn’t say no. As soon as they cross the entrance to the estate, Inaho gives the order to his servants to pack their things. The long road to the north is ahead. He is fed up with the social gatherings that force him to abide by etiquette, with the ungracious glances that are burning Troyard as soon as he turns away, with the uncomfortable clothes, that do not allow him to wear his sheath.
The servants prepare a carriage for them, but Inaho saddles his horse; he hates traveling in carts. He is not surprised when Troyard follows his example: back at the Academy they often took their horses out of the stall under the cover of the night and enjoyed rides under the starry sky. But now Troyard looks at him warily, as if he expects an order to return to the carriage. Inaho only presses the sides of his horse with his legs and starts off; he is more than sure that Troyard has not lost his riding skills. The servants turn to them with bewilderment, but no one attempts to argue with him or his spouse.
The way to the north is difficult; the weather deteriorates due to the proximity of the creeping winter. Inaho is used to the cold, but he doesn’t know how Troyard will feel. If his nature turns out to be vulnerable to the cold he will have to change his plans, to, perhaps, ask the Emperor for the transfer to the western borders. However, on the third week of the trip, he realizes his worries are unnecessary. Troyard slips out of bed long before dawn and starts the day with a physical workout, despite the cold. Inaho watches him, sitting on the windowsill, and eating a meager breakfast - the best the inns they manage to spend the night at can provide.
The North greets them with a furious blizzard; scouts inform him that the mountain trails are blocked by the snow, and he nods with understanding. This is good news: the barbarians roaming on the other side of the mountains will not be able to disturb them until spring. Inaho sends the servants to the castle to prepare his chambers, and goes to visit the garrison; he wants to check the reports accumulated during his absence. Troyard walks hesitantly behind his back and burns him with his dissatisfied look, but Inaho is not going to treat him as a subordinate. Troyard is free to choose where he wants to be. In the end, his curiosity seems to prevail, and Troyard follows him wordlessly, ignoring the soldiers’ looks.
Inaho does not introduce him to the officers in the garrison: not because he doesn’t want to, but because he does not know how Troyard wants him to act. Should he keep Troyard locked up in the castle? It sounds absurd and is akin to an imprisonment; Troyard has already spent enough time ‘imprisoned’, hiding away at his foster father’s estate. Should he send him to the garrison to join the ranks of the ordinary soldiers? But it is unthinkable; he already developed the habit to wake up in the middle of the night and listen to Troyard’s measured breathing, so Troyard must stay with him. Perhaps, he should provide him with the position of his personal adjutant? It seems quite reasonable, but how will Troyard react to the offer?
Inaho voices his thoughts two weeks later during the dinner, when the fatigue after their long journey recedes, and they both settle into his chambers properly. The fact that Troyard does not want to sit idle in the castle can be noticed easily by the way he pursues him daily, wherever he goes. Taking advantage of it, Inaho introduces him to the castle surroundings, the garrison territory and even to the adjoining town. At times it seems to him that Troyard admires the harsh nature of the north; he often climbs onto the walls connecting the bastions, onto the watchtowers, and stays there for hours, wrapped in his fur cloak and watching as the moon pours silver down the snowy peaks of the mountains.
“Adjutant?” Troyard whispers, putting down his fork. His hand quivers and he hides it on his lap.
“I seem to remember we both graduated from the military academy,” Inaho hints.
“But I am...” Troyard’s lips form a venomous line, and he spits out, “An omega.”
“Slaine,” Inaho catches confidently his look full of self-contempt. “This is North . No one here cares whether you’re an omega or not as long as you can hold a sword.”
Troyard agrees reluctantly, like he doesn’t trust him, like he doesn’t believe that he is able to see him as a smart fighter. In the darkness of their bedroom, Inaho secretly runs his fingers over his scar; his body remembers well what a splendid opponent Troyard can be. But it seems as if Troyard had completely forgotten about it, having sunk into his unrequited love and society’s scorn. Be that as it may, Inaho doesn’t intend to show him any favoring; he had been in need of an adjutant for a long time.
For the first three months Troyard looks at him with a mixture of anger and confusion in his eyes. Inaho does not spare him at all and delegates almost all of his responsibilities on his shoulders. Troyard has to solve issues in which he has zero experience, has to interact with the garrison, and the soldiers never meet a new command very cordially. At some point, Inaho even thinks that Troyard will not push through: he bursts into their chambers in the middle of the night, angry and tired, and stops right in front of him, clenching his jaws so tightly that Inaho hears how his teeth gnash. Troyard breathes heavily through his nose, holding his white-knuckled hands on the hilt of his sword; his breath scorches his cheek. But Inaho does not blink and withstands the silent stream of hatred, then tilts his head slightly to one side in wordless curiosity, and Troyard seems to emerge from the swamp of emotions and makes a step back. He rubs his face then, looks at Inaho with awareness , and escapes, slamming the door loudly on his way out.
A week later Inaho finally takes back half of his responsibilities, giving Troyard the opportunity to get enough sleep at night. One morning he wakes up, feeling like he is watched, and he steals a glance of Troyard’s reflection in the mirror. Troyard stares at his back sleepily for so long that a voracious fire spreads through his veins. He forces himself to get out of bed, destroys the wonderful moment so as not to hurt Troyard with his rampant hunger.
During the long winter the garrison soldiers come to hate Troyard and then to love him as strongly. Inaho watches as Troyard drives them around the training area to his heart’s content, throwing the particularly uncooperative ones onto the ground. No one can defeat Troyard in a fight. Inaho clasps the hilt of his sword in his palm and challenges him. A delighted, cheerful whistle echoes through the ranks of the soldiers. Troyard frowns, but accepts his challenge.
Troyard is in good shape after the long winter, but Inaho has more experience. Yet, he still leads the fight slowly, as if he is getting acquired to the opponent for the first time. He remembers the Academy training and turns their fight into a semblance of those they had shared under the supervision of their teachers. Troyard adjusts to his movements, realizing that their fighting takes place not to show off in front of the soldiers and not to let off their steam. Right now they are both responsible for the lives of the people entrusted to them, and their duty is to teach.
Nevertheless, Inaho is enjoying the fight for the first time in a long while. Troyard’s stamina is a thing to behold; he is agile and daring, as in the past; Troyard doesn’t fear to attempt the quick unexpected attacks and meets his answering maneuvers confidently. During the short minutes that their fight lasts, Inaho can clearly feel how lively his heart is beating inside his chest - especially when Troyard escapes his sudden attack and suddenly smiles at him with the corners of his lips. But at that wonderful moment the deafening howl of the horn is spreading over the square, and Inaho is forced to step back; he catches Troyard’s worried look.
“Barbarians,” he explains softly, and then commands, “Everyone back to your posts, now.”
In a matter of minutes the training ground empties, and Inaho is in a hurry to climb the watchtower. Troyard follows him, not a step behind. The scouts give space to them, and Troyard pales as soon as he takes a look through the spyglass. When, many years ago, Inaho had arrived to the north, he too didn’t expect to see the enemy equipped with the siege guns, the steel sharpened swords and delicate bows.
“ These are barbarians?” Troyard asks, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.
“They were called barbarians because they live for war, not because they are mindless nomads,” Inaho clarifies, then takes Troyard aside so that their conversation will not be heard. Again it’s hard for him to find words; he puts his hand on Troyard’s shoulder and squeezes tightly the soft fur of the cape under his fingers. “Slaine, I want you to stay here during the battle.”
“I can fight,” Troyard hisses, twitches to the side, trying to break out of his grip, but Inaho holds him in place.
“I know, I know you better than anyone ,” he pleads. “But you don’t know them yet. You don’t know how they fight and how they lead the fight. You don’t know their strategy and you don’t know their determination. I beg you to stay away from the fighting this year.”
Troyard jerks away again, forcing him to pull him close. He rests his forehead against Troyard’s chin, immediately senses how Troyard puts out his palm and presses it against his chest, preventing him from erasing the remaining space between them. Troyard is still trying to say something; Inaho feels the tension in his body, his readiness to act, his anger directed at him.
“I know you can fight,” he repeats and exhales the whole tangle of fear- the fear of losing him - lifting his face and catching Troyard’s eyes. “But if you are out there, I won’t be able to.”
He loosens his grip, and Troyard turns his back on him, lowers his shoulders. Inaho knows he is hurting him. He knows that with his plea he is now erasing all his pathetic attempts to allow Troyard to feel like a man again, to make him forget his past of a disgraced omega. But he also understands that sooner or later Troyard will surely disobey him and rush into the battlefield like a deadly storm, so all he can do for now is buy time. The time that Troyard will be able to spend on learning the barbarians’ fighting style and their strategy and how to hold the castle’s defense. And how ugly and cruel the real war truly is.
“Only this year,” Troyard spits out, then turns around so harshly the edges of his fur coat sweep the snow away from the observation deck. “Do you hear me, Kaizuka? Next spring I will fight together with everyone, and you will not dare stop me.”
“Yes,” Inaho agrees and lets the preparation for the battle completely overtake his mind. Troyard stays inside the castle to run small errands and keep order in the hospital.
The barbarians are besieging the castle for months. They are not bothered by changes in the weather or lack of food. War is an art for them; it’s what their bloodthirsty gods crave, so constant failures do not cool their ardor. Inaho, in turn, refuses to send his soldiers to death; he can defeat the barbarian army wholly, but the price will be too high, and he sees no point in wasting people, knowing that next spring a new army might approach the borders. Summer burns away in the chaos of battles; Inaho sleeps in the garrison, preferring to be ready for any surprise. He allows Troyard to attend military councils, but at other times he rarely sees him, only catches glimpses from afar.
By mid-autumn, the barbarians retreat away along the mountain trails. Inaho finally permits himself to sleep in a normal bed. However, he opens his eyes before dawn. Troyard sits on top of his blanket in only an unbuttoned white shirt and stares at the predawn sky. Inaho sits up, straightens his back and buries his hand in his disheveled hair. His body feels like lead, but the feeling is familiar; the fatigue will pass closer to the middle of winter.
“You were right,” Troyard says suddenly, without turning to him. “They’re animals. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.”
Inaho shifts closer, barely stopping himself from holding Troyard in his arms. Instead, he settles down next to him, presses his shoulder against his arm, then lowers his head onto his shoulder. For some unfathomable reason, it feels like Troyard won’t push him away right now. And so it comes to be; Inaho almost falls asleep like this, in an uncomfortable position, but enjoying the unexpected intimacy.
“But I’ll be ready in the spring,” Troyard adds stubbornly, then falls silent again for a long time. Inaho lazily looks at how Troyard clasps and unclasps his fingers nervously. He tries not to stare lower - to where Troyard’s shirt is riding up, not quite hiding his hips. Troyard suddenly huffs and jerks his shoulder, forcing him to move away. Inaho frowns sleepily, but it’s already light enough in the room and he can easily notice how Troyard’s cheeks are turning pink. In the end, Troyard can’t stand his scrutiny. “What the hell, Kaizuka? Do you even realize that I haven’t seen you in over ten years, after I almost killed you? And then you suddenly appear out of nowhere, demand our marriage from my foster father and take me to the north. Perhaps, you’ll finally explain yourself?”
Inaho closes his eyes, tries to cling to Troyard’s shoulder again, but Troyard predictably pulls away, so he simply falls to his side and places his head onto Troyard’s lap. He hears an unintelligible cry, for a few seconds Troyard tries to push him away, but eventually gives up. Troyard is fantastically warm and smells like home; Inaho rubs his temple against his thigh before parting his lips. He doesn’t know how to express his feelings at all, and still doesn’t fully understand them, but he decides to try. “Back then, ten years ago… I thought I was interested in Asseylum, but now I think I only noticed her because you chose her.”
“What kind of nonsense is this?” Troyard mutters. He obviously has nowhere to put his left hand so that it’ll be comfortable for him to sit, and soon Inaho feels as he lowers it on his shoulder.
“You’re the only one I’ve considered equal since I was a child. I was used to have you around. When you drifted away, I think I subconsciously tried to get you back.”
“By stealing my girl?” Troyard lets out a low growl, but quickly becomes silent again, as if his anger is feigned and what happened many years ago no longer worries him that much. He feels how Troyard bends over him to see his face better, so he reluctantly opens his eyes and gets lost under his stare. Troyard’s eyes are the same enchanting color as the clear winter sky that stretches over the mountaintops.
“I’ve been thinking about you every day for the last ten years. When I found out you were an omega, everything fell into place. You are my omega,” Inaho concludes, reaches out to Troyard’s face and moves his fringe to the side. He doesn’t risk touching him further; the fact that Troyard is letting him be so close now is already a miracle. “What else is there to explain?”
Troyard visibly tries to give a sarcastic answer, but holds back. In the end, he takes a deep breath and relaxes. The palm of his right hand finds its resting place on his forehead, and Troyard suddenly begins to stroke his hair slowly. His gaze returns to the window; the dawn is lightening the sky.
“Sleep, you need rest,” he whispers.
“Slaine?” the worry stirs in his chest. Troyard is tender with him for the first time, but that might mean anything.
“I’m not going anywhere, sleep,” Troyard repeats in annoyance, but spares a glance at his face and probably notices his anxiety.
“I still remember her, Kaizuka, but... with every day there’s more and more of you in my life,” Troyard admits tiredly. “I feel like one day I will wake up and see only you.”
Troyard whispers more words. About the north, about the bright sunrises and swift sunsets, about how magnificent the snow is that covers the castle towers and bastions, about the moon and the mountains, about the frosty air and how he loves to feel the hilt of his sword in his hands in the mornings. And that Inaho is a shameless idiot, and that he should have talked to him sooner. And that he had never forgotten about their friendship, and all these years he was tormented by guilt. And that he is infinitely glad that he took him away to the north. Because here he has a future, and he can be himself.
Troyard presses his lips to his scar gratefully and stays like that for a long time. But that might only be a dream. Inaho is sleeping.