Tears
Steve swallowed thickly. The area just behind his eyes suddenly burned, his vision going just the slightest bit watery, and he realized with abject horror that he might actually cry in this tent full of enemies. He’d managed to remain dutifully steady and unruffled by his new circumstance, but perhaps that had been the shock of it all. He was reaching the limits of his discipline; his capacity to keep his wild emotions at bay was now so worn and frayed that he was held to reason by a single thread.
He’d been taken from his home, forced into a new life, a new country, a marriage that was not of his own making. He’d been attacked by bandits, threatened, almost killed, and now he stood before his conqueror, his husband to be, in such a pathetic state that he was raw from it.
What a sight he must’ve made, damp and muddy, his clothes ruined and torn, his body worn and most likely bruised. Had James meant for this when he’d demanded Steve’s presence? Had he meant to humiliate Steve in front of his men? He’d known about the bandits. Why would he ask for an audience before giving Steve the chance to clean up?
The air was thick around him as King James moved past his physician and guard to approach Steve. Was it Steve’s imagination working against him or had the room gone silent with his nearing?
“My prince,” said James, stooping to bow more formally than a king should to someone in Steve’s position. The cold, guarded expression that Steve had first seen was firmly back in place when he straightened again. “You honor me with your presence.”
Steve inhaled shakily, doing his best not to cry. He was so overwhelmed by everything. His uncle’s death and the reality of his marriage to that king who had to be at least 10 years older than him was finally sinking in.
Steve took another breath in and let it out, keeping his eyes closed and trying to focus on not letting his tears fall. To his horror, he felt one making its way down his cheek from his left eye. Steve raised a hand and wiped them away, smearing some dirt across his cheek in the process. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and raised his gaze to meet King James stare head on. He didn’t say anything because he feared that if he spoke, he would begin crying.
King James walked up to Steve, reached a hand up and touched Steve’s cheek. It took everything Steve had not to flinch away. King James touched Steve’s cheek and… Wiped away a tear?
Steve’s eyes widened when he realized that he was crying. He raised a hand up and touched his cheek, finding it wet. Steve blinked rapidly, doing his best to stop the tears. King James wiped away the tears that continued to fall despite Steve’s best efforts. King James wrapped his other arm around Steve’s shoulders and drew him into his chest. Steve sniffled, unable to stop crying. He tried to pull away, but King James kept holding him, refusing to let him pull away.
Eventually, Steve’s tears dried up, and he just stood there, locked in an embrace with the man he had vowed to hate. King James gently unwrapped his arms from around Steve, and placed one hand on his shoulder, the other resting on Steve’s hip.
“I know that you’re probably… Overwhelmed. I can’t make you trust me, and I can’t take your fear away, but I can promise you that no harm will come to you or Sciath.”
That was… more than Steve had expected from him. At some point, Steve noticed, everyone had left, giving Steve and King James some privacy.
Steve swallowed and nodded, fear eased for the time being. His betrothed might be Strigoi, but maybe, just maybe, he might not be as bad as Steve had first anticipated. It was a foolish thought, a fleeting one, but could Steve be happy in this marriage?