Chapter Text
The fireplace had long since gone out. All that remained was the crisp chill of the morning shielded by the layers and layers of blankets that lay on top of them. Amongst plush, vibrant fabrics lay two men; equals here in each other’s warmth and in the privacy of the prince’s chambers. Beyond the doors was where they were forced into their respective roles. But for now, the soldier can curl into the arms wrapped gently around his torso and appreciate the soft breaths landing on the back of his neck.
Twisting to glance behind him, Myrrh grazes the prince’s jaw with his knuckles. Roux does not stir. His lashes flutter on the occasion when his eyes dart from beneath his eyelids, though he offers nothing more than a sigh at Myrrh’s touch.
Here, Roux’s skin is bathed in the cold light that comes with chilly, gray mornings, shining through the lace curtains that flow with the breeze that finds its way into their shared chambers. It is an odd sight from the usual warmth that resides beneath his cheeks, but no less beautiful. He wishes to hold him there, to press a kiss to his temple or his forehead and indulge in the foreign urge to rest through the morning and into the afternoon. It is a fantasy that has yet to be offered to him and this morning is certainly not the day.
With his head turned back to the balcony, he urges his limbs to move, slow and lazy from the warmth of the bed, and the prince who has Myrrh’s back pressed into his chest. The sharp chill of the room awaits him.
Beneath the covers he slides his hands to the arms wrapped around him—the skin as warm as the embers that burned passionately the night before—and takes them by the wrists to free him as he does every other time the two spend the night together. Part of him feels guilty. It holds the thought he shoves to the back of his head once he exits his room with the image of Roux waking to an empty bed. But they have responsibilities. Roles to play that don’t include chaste kisses in public or familiar touches against one’s lower back or nape, not that it stops Roux when he’s able to catch him in a quiet corner of the palace. Though, there comes the difference between the two. The prince of Rosa can pay for his respect and demand silence whereas Sargent Myrrh cannot afford either of those things.
He cannot escape whispers in the barracks after retrieving his knives from Prince Roux’s chambers in the way that the latter is given grace for calling him there in the first place.
Myrrh keeps this in mind as he drags the prince’s hands from around him to sit up. Sure enough, the cold nips at his skin the moment the blankets no longer shield him, but it at least shocks his limbs awake. The corner of the sheets are flipped back and Myrrh touches his feet to the tiled floor when something shifts behind him.
He stays still. Roux will stir some and then go back to sleep like always. It is times like these where Myrrh is grateful for his prince sleeping as though he’s dead to the world. The sheets fall silent again. Myrrh turns his head just slightly to confirm that he is still asleep before taking his leave but that is not what greets him.
Instead, the light from the balcony reflects off of two dark eyes that should not be open at this time of day. They remain heavy, but one is undoubtedly pinned on Myrrh with an unusual sharpness. He stiffens to ignore the shiver that traces over his bare skin. Then waits for him to speak.
There is a peaceful silence that graces the room for a moment before Roux’s gaze falters and his lips, full from sleep, move to interrupt it all.
“Are you on your way?” he asks, voice hoarse.
Myrrh can only nod as a sense of shame settles on his shoulders. Roux huffs. A reluctant acceptance.
“Isn’t it early?”
“My station calls on me rather early in the morning...Your Highness.” The way Roux’s ears pin back at the title offers the opposite effect he was hoping for; hope that a reminder of their positions may make it easier to leave. “I need time to get back to the barracks and your chambers aren’t exactly in the most convenient location in the palace.”
Myrrh rises from the bed to fetch his uniform that lay at the foot of it.
“Were you going to say goodbye? Or was I meant to let you sneak off again?” he asks, voice chipped as he sits up in the sea of pillows.
Preferably the latter, but if the prince wanted a proper goodbye, he would give him one if it meant getting out the door sooner. Myrrh steps into his trousers and works to fit together the clasps at his navel, "I didn't want to wake you,” he says over his shoulder, “You need your beauty sleep afterall, and your waking hours are later in the morning.”
“A moment to say goodbye won't ruin me, Myrrh, I assure you.”
Myrrh nods, “Right, I will keep that in mind.”
Roux doesn’t speak for a long while, simply watching with that dark stare of his as Myrrh slips on his uniform bodice and the coat that goes over it. With a glance toward the prince here and there, he retrieves his knives from their place in the room—right next to his bed—and slips them one by one into their various harnesses and sleeves that litter his body. He counts as he goes.
One is missing.
He swallows down his nerves as they light up and his eyes instinctively dart around the room, his hand stuck to the empty sleeve.
Just as he shifts to step into action, Roux says, “It’s over here.”
A sharp ring pierces the air as he grabs the dagger from the silver tray it had been resting on and the weapon looks out of place in his hand. The silks and sheer fabrics draped over his soft form flow around him as he approaches, cold light shining through his robes making the sight almost enchanting if not for the heat in his eyes and the scowl he smooths out on his face. With a distance between them, Roux stops and reaches out to press a flat hand against the bodice at his stomach. He swats Myrrh’s hand from over the spot. The prince looks to consider something from the way the corners of his mouth twitch, but he must abandon the thought when he slides the dagger into its place with a force just barely harsh enough to hide ire that simmers behind his eyes. Myrrh swallows.
His fingers linger on the hilt before letting his hand fall away and for the knife to blend in seamlessly with the detailing behind it. Roux’s tail lashes behind him, but when he sees Myrrh’s eyes fall to it, he opts to wrap it around his leg beneath his robes instead.
“Thank you,” Myrrh offers breathlessly.
Roux returns it with a stilted nod, running his fingers along his shield’s collar and straightening out any imperfections he spots in the uniform. Myrrh knows there are none. He lets him work anyway. At last he says, “You should go. Your station is a ways away, no use in keeping you from your work.”
“Of course.” Myrrh’s boots thud against the tile as he crosses the room to the door, at last, though the idea of leaving isn’t as appealing as it had been before. He looks back at Roux when his gloved hand presses at the door handle. He stares back. “Goodbye, Roux.”
The prince turns and waves him off before thinking better of himself, “Could you send Fig my way if you spot them on your way down?”
Myrrh’s jaw clenches and he’s sure his fangs might snap if he keeps this up, but he remains silent as his nerves flare inside of him. A crude smile tugs at his face in an attempt to hide the scowl beneath it, but by the looks of it and the way Roux tilts his head, it’s not as effective as he’d intended. “Right. Yes, of course…I’ll let her know,” Myrrh grinds out, tail lashing before Roux dismisses him.
He shuts the door harder than he means to but takes solace in the way it echoes through the long hall, only absorbed by the red carpet he tramples beneath his feet.