Chapter 3
The smell of good and true poverty stung his nose as he glided through the cobblestone streets.
Or at least attempted to do so.
It was difficult to really glide through those streets with the bustling throng of passersby crowding in on him.
He really was second guessing his decision. It was one motivated by that need to develop trust.
Trust was the crucial fragment of this half-baked plot, he could not lie.
It was sadly also the slowest.
He wasn’t an idiot, he could still feel those tiring and wary glances from the young man.
Precisely, what would it take for him to believe him?
Of course, he would eventually be believing in lies , but Julian wouldn’t know that… hopefully.
He looked over to see the man’s brow furrowed as he stared ahead.
He followed that insistent gaze to an unimpressive building.
It was made out of dubiously laid brick, cracks tattooing the stone. The roof had to be made out of the worst wood. He doubted that it was suitable for any rain or snow. It definitely was a victim of leaks.
And he made an educated guess that this was where this little tutor had made his studies.
And it was hardly anything outstanding, and that was to put it lightly.
“So I am assuming you are familiar with that… lodging?” he asked carefully, keeping an eye on his face to catch any wayward twitch, blink, or flinch.
But there was nothing like that.
If anything, Julian was made out of stone at that moment.
He tried to nudge him along, but the man didn’t even spare a glance at all.
Obviously, Preminger could stand being ignored for only so long.
“Julian,” he said more sharply, raising a brow when he received a glare. “Excuse the tone, but you seemed a bit distant there.”
“Oh, I must’ve… been lost in thought.”
Yes, it definitely seemed that way.
“I can understand.” He couldn’t. Not one bit. But that thought was just for him alone. “So that is where you lived?”
The man nodded off-handedly. “Yes,” he murmurs, coughing into his hand. “How about we find something to buy?”
Oh, buying was something Preminger would never be able to argue. But he was quite aware of the attempt at the change of subject.
“Later. You don’t miss it, do you?”
There was no use in beating around the metaphorical bush. And Preminger craved efficiency at that moment.
“I-I don’t. You know how they can be-”
“Cramped, leaky, rat infested, dirty-”
“Yes, yes, all that,” the young man murmured with a huff, taking a sharp turn.
Preminger naturally followed, though he did not appreciate the brisk pace the man set. He would’ve preferred that he would slow down , but Preminger was the one that had the regrettable idea in the first place and he was doomed to face his own gloomy tune.
“I can’t fathom that someone like you is just walking with the peasantry,” Julian said with a sliver of a smile, eyeing him with a questioning stare.
He cast a wary eye around, taking in the filth. “I can, it’s nothing… out of the ordinary for me, as much as it has been decades since.”
The brunet stopped his walking to just stand and stare. It was beyond unnerving. Preminger was almost offended at the shock floating on his face. He wasn’t out of touch. At least, not so much as others might be.
He knew the pains and aches, the murmurs and hisses.
He knew it all.
Why, it was all that he had known when he was young. The murky reality of starvation, long laborious hours in the fields, and sludge as his daily supper was his past, present, and future.
He had the distant memories seared in his mind. He had lived in a village about three hours away from the kingdom. It was remote and shielded from the rest of the world thanks to the thick expanse of proud trees. And deep within the forest’s heart, the village stood, like some beacon of light.
Though it was more so like the crux of slowness and ignorance, with its people perfectly happy and blithe to stay that way.
There were beggars on nearly every corner one turned, the streets stunk to the heavens as the sellers yelled and bickered at all times of day. It was hardly anything to miss when he left it.
Then again, what was there to miss? It couldn’t be the pitiful houses. Or the harsh land he used to tend for mere pennies. It couldn’t be the people with their meddlesome ways and callous roughness.
Come to think of it, he didn’t even miss his own father, who was cold and distant, a foreboding figure in his growing years.
His mind simply… pushed all those memories he had away. Perhaps, he grew lost in the whirlwind of finding something novel, falling in love with the notion of gaining recognition.
To be more than a peasant’s son.
A farmhand.
A common serf.
There was that glittering possibility that he held the capability to be known and praised by all, to never be forgotten or an afterthought, to be someone with undeniable substance.
It was a simple desire.
And more and more, he questioned if such a desire was worth it.
“-minger?”
“What?” he said, blinking himself once again from his thoughts that were treading closer to becoming maudlin.
“Are you alright? You almost walked into the wall,” Julian asked, hands on his shoulders, the young man’s warmth bleeding through Preminger’s silken clothes and hitting him dead centre in the chest.
What did he get himself into?
That look of concern in those eyes gave him a sense of… something that wasn’t victory or triumph. Not even some twisted delight.
He didn’t even know what he was feeling, certainly not what it was called.
He wanted… to see what feelings would flit by in Julian’s eyes when those eyes were set on him.
Would it be fondness?
Joy?
Or… L-no. No, he was going to place a quick damper on that.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured him, gently taking the man’s hands off him, as much as that disappointed him.
He should’ve been alarmed at that pang of disappointment.
He should’ve been alarmed at… so many things. But…
His mind hardly even registered that he nearly made a fool out of himself and instead placed much more stock on the fact that those tanned hands were in his own hold.
No effort was made by either of them to pull their hands away, lingering in the other’s warmth, feeling the roughness of their palms, and allowing that weight to become almost… comforting.
The air between them had shifted beyond just any begrudging companionship. They were deeply aware of that. They stared at the other, silently daring the other man to pull back, to attempt to bring some form of normalcy.
But Preminger himself… he didn’t want that. Normalcy.
The daily bout of palace life and the political blah that droned on and on and on.
The side glances and the hairs that raise in suspicion.
The biting words that were practically dripping with veiled innuendo.
No.
He did not miss that.
He… wanted whatever this was. God, what was happening to him? He felt warm, giddy, morose, a whole parade of booming emotions.
Damn it!
This… was beyond his plan. It was a possible side effect that he considered, but he never thought it would take off like this.
Did he want it?
He- he didn’t have any form of an elegant response for that. And he was…
At the loss for words.
What words could even define what was spreading through him like a plague?
They had no use when his attention shifted from any notion of power and instead found himself finding his own world in Julian…
He was mad.
Completely mad.
“Preminger…”
Oh, he was so close. This would be his end. He felt it. It thrilled through every cell he had.
He was… what was that myth those scholars always prattled on about? Oh!
He was Icarus, with waxy wings, flying to kiss the sun and cradle it in his hands.
“Pre-“
“Erwin,” he interrupts softly. “Please, call me Erwin, instead.”
Julian tilted his head and took a small step back to look down at him with bemusement. “Erwin? That’s your name? Seriously?”
“Yes, it is. Why would I lie about it?”
“It’s just… unexpected,” the young man said with a one shouldered shrug. And at his raised brow, he quickly cleared his throat. “But it’s not terrible at all, it’s a fitting name,” he amends with a bashful smile.
Preminger held back an eye roll and gave a dry smile back instead. He opened his mouth, intent on serving some witty retort, filled with sarcasm, when an alluring mezzo voice flitted about through the air.
They both turned their heads to see that right in the heart of the village was a brunette in a blue cloak, the owner of that ringing voice. She looked at the spectators with a dazzling smile. And it seemed that it was a trick of the light that she looked just like Princess Anneliese.
Wait…
She looked just like Princess Anneliese.
But that couldn’t be.
It was almost foolproof that the princess would meet Death himself in those woods.
Almost.
But, no. No. No. He could not entertain that possibility, and just when he was about to slink away to investigate further, a blonde woman joined the brunette, their voices mixing together with ease.
Wait…
That was definitely Princess Anneliese.
Preminger was rapidly finding it difficult to keep his own composure as his expectations of the girl’s untimely end crumbled before him.
How did it go so wrong?
Hundreds, no, thousands, no, millions of questions sprouted in his mind.
Where did she go?
How did she make it out?
Was there outside help?
Was that brunette her accomplice? Her informant?
Had she told her about her kidnapping? Her suspicions?
It was creating several tangled knots in the pit of his stomach, all pure nerves. And just when he thought he didn’t need his opium pipe anymore, a pretty, oh so clever, and special princess had to go and blunder it all up!
He looked at Julian who had a questioning look on his face, his blue eyed gaze on the women. He had to start to wonder.
And Preminger had to make sure to stop the said wondering.
Preminger had to act quick, he couldn’t have Julian realise that the princess was right there. He was going to go several steps back. His entire plan that he placed his blood, sweat, tears (figuratively, not literally, of course, he was a clean gentleman, after all) was going to all be for nothing.
And once again, Fate decided to play a cruel trick on him just as he opened his mouth to suggest an exit, Julian pinned him with a probing look as he tilted his head.
“Am I mad… Or is that Anneliese?”
Damn.
Madness indeed. So much for a checkmate, he supposed.
A lot of feelings hit Julian at the realisation that Anneliese was there.
She was there.
He felt obvious relief.
He felt a dull heartache.
But truly?
He didn’t have a driving desire to take her by the hand back to the palace and to her mother’s arms.
She could stay in hiding for all he cared.
He was vaguely aware of the fact that admitting such a thing to himself would’ve made him curl up in guilt and shame. Now, however, he had other things to worry about.
Mainly, his worries were centred around a certain white haired man always bedecked in violet overcoats and with ring adorned fingers. And that certain white haired man had been able to fill every possible crevice of Julian’s mind.
That fact didn’t bother him at all either. Was he supposed to take issue with it?
Well, even if he was, he was still going to move onward.
And if said moving onward meant he was in the presence of Preminger out of all possible people?
So be it.
Besides, it seemed that Annelise found her own joy, if he was left to assume as much from her looks towards the singing brunette.
He was definitely not unused to such looks. He supposed that he himself has looked so besotted before.
Pre- Erwin stared at him with his amber eyes wide as his mouth opened and closed. He had to hold back a laugh; he simply looked so utterly confused!
“Erwin?”
“Sorry, I am just… You’re not going to run towards her?”
Julian narrowed his eyes in his own confusion. “Why would I do that? She’s obviously off in her own world and I know she never really cared for me. It’d be pretty counterintuitive to say hello to her or anything like that. At least she is happy and alive, that is all I can say, really.”
And it really was. He himself was… content. That in itself was a sharp contrast to how he was before; hunched over literature, pining from behind walls and stuck with lovesick glances; now, he was in a radiant new possibility.
With a really impossible man.
He still had that slight unease in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he… was attracted to a man.
It wasn’t normal.
It wasn’t right.
But he couldn’t do anything about it.
And that was fine.
Truly fine.
He went to place his hand on Erwin’s shoulder. He smiled brightly as he smoothed the frown lines on his face.
“Didn’t a wise man once say that wrinkles wouldn’t do?” he teased, holding back a smirk at how the other man jolted out of his visible trail of thought and preened at Julian’s words.
“And I suppose that wise man was also quite handsome?” Erwin’ lips quirked up into a smirk as he enthusiastically gripped Julian’s hand, his eyes looking like gold in the warmth of sunlight.
“I would say he is just easy on the eyes,” Julian said nonchalantly, looking off into the distance, keeping his tone blase.
He could feel the piercing glare directed towards him. No playing dumb was going to even save him by the half.
“ Easy? Just easy ?” his voice was piercing, even if it was hissed.
If he had to be entirely truthful, he felt a stirring deep, deep within. That voice made his imagination go wild in that one moment composed of mere seconds.
“Yes, just easy. You make it work.”
“Why, I should- I’ll show you easy, Julian,” the older man hissed like a vow, his eyes hooded as his lips took on an edge when he smiled.
Julian could’ve sworn his face took on a complete blush. It was mad. Just sheer and utter insanity at how it felt as if they were not in the bustle in the village at all.
He could’ve held that moment in his hands and kept it as his own. No need for any other joy. This, this was utterly enough.
Was it strange how quickly he found his own solace, his own refuge in Erwin? Perhaps, it was. But sense had eluded him. He didn’t need it, and saw no use in it.
He once heard a phrase that was along the lines of ‘The brain is numb in matters of the heart as the heart is blind to matters of the brain.’
He figured his heart must’ve gained eyesight in that moment then as he allowed the white haired man to pull him into the carriage and waited with a buzzing jolt ringing through him as Erwin’s heady scent of lilac filled the carriage.
And to think it was fright he first felt.
No, no, he decided to give it a different name.
It wasn’t love exactly, it was too new, too unrefined, too clumsy to be that.
For the moment, he would call it passion.
Wild, flitting about like a newly freed bird, its call echoing through the hollows of the forest.
Unbridled and coarse passion.
Good God, it was almost painful for him to think about it.
He felt warmth on his hand.
He looked up to see a blazing grin, feeling their fingers laced into an unbreakable hold.
At least, it felt unbreakable to him.
He didn’t need any scientific explanation, no botanical reasoning was going to give an appropriate name to the manner in which every cell in his body was on fire, blazing, in cinders.
“Julian, darling?”
Oh, God, he was falling rapidly. And he was content with that reality. Because that was what he was in, after all.
Reality.
“Yes?” he said, aware of the roughness of his voice. He hadn’t noticed the carriage had stopped, already in front of the palace. He shakily stepped out, ignoring Erwin’s smirk.
“Meet me in my quarters,” he whispered in his ear, his breath curling onto the skin of his neck, raising tiny hairs.
“Your quarters? What time?”
He wisely chose to pretend he was not breathless and near desperation.
It was a fall from grace. In every single way.
“I’ll say, perhaps… nine?”
“Nine? Yes, I’ll be there.” He had said it so quickly too. He held back a wince at his obvious need.
But Erwin didn’t smirk or even give an air of smugness, of superiority.
No, no, not even close.
He instead grazed his face with a gentle caress of his gloved fingers and walked away.
The tendency of walking away wasn’t a new thing when it came to the man.
But what was new was the tenderness in his movements, in his eyes.
All Julian truly could think was…
How was he going to stay still and sane until nine?
He doubted he would and Erwin knew it too.
Perhaps, the man hadn’t really changed. At least not when it came to him getting a good laugh.
Cruel joke, if one asked Julian.
Preminger had done various questionable things.
He was quite aware of this fact too.
But this was at the top of that very, very, very long list.
He paced as he kept glancing at that bothersome clock on the mantel.
He had that bothersome conscience nagging him, scolding him for all that he had done.
He was innocent!
… Granted, there were a couple of stumbles along the way, but they were stumbles and not tragedies for a reason!
However, that troublesome thing was giving him immense guilt.
Guilt about everything.
Which was a new development for him. He rarely felt anything akin or synonymous with guilt.
And here he was, feeling it.
He was… affectionate with Julian… It was more than affection, really. And… he was aware of that. But it was on false pretences.
And he was a bit of a coward to really say what it was. That four lettered word that started with L. That was the most recognition he was going to give it, really. He really was a coward. A coward with this plan.
Only he knew that it was all a charade, but regardless of that, when the chance for his plan to fall through arrived, Julian still was responding to his advances.
A fact that was wrapped up with a pretty and tidy bow of the fact that they were going to meet at nine.
How could he look at him without bursting out with the truth?
It wasn’t hard to keep his mouth shut and keep going with the lie.
But it wouldn’t be right!
Since when did he care about a thing like that?
He never did, that’s the answer!
It was the answer, anyway.
Could he even bear to hear his response?
He was seeing it play out in front of his eyes, as clear as glass.
He would lay out every intricate detail that went about in his mind to Julian, whose brilliant blue eyes would dim as the truth settled in his heart that this whole… affair was built off of lies, deceit, and trickery.
He was a monster.
Damn it, that blasted conscience got him!
A sharp knock pulled out of his organised dilemma.
He looked up, his eyes immediately on the clock.
9 o’ clock sharp.
Damn it.
He went to the door, every step feeling like a chop of an axe landing on the nape of his neck.
But even then, he was useless when it came to that unsure grin on the young man’s face.
Damn it again.
His conscience was cackling in the background, throwing its feet up in ecstasy at his own misery, misery that was entirely his fault, really.
He still smiled regardless.
What to do, what to do, what did one do in times like these?