This started when I read that Jasson and Liam were knights of the realm. If this was true, then Liam would have been a page the same time as Kel. You'd think that would be mentioned. The only explanation is that he started late...and Alan followed. Caution: slash involved.

"What are you doing?"

Liam barely glanced up as he hunted around his chambers for something unknown. Leaning against the doorframe, Alan scratched his nose in exasperated amusement. The prince was prone to a narrow scope of single-mindedness even his very stubborn parents did not possess. It was for that reason people said (in whispered comments behind the privacy of their hands, of course) Liam thought with his sword and Jasson thought with his wits. Perhaps Liam wasn't as canny as his younger brother, but he certainly wasn't stupid.

"What'd you say?" Liam asked vaguely, feeling under his bed.

"I asked what you were doing."

There wasn't an immediate answer, but Alan had not really expected one. Liam was a bloodhound; once on the scent, nothing could distract him. It took an enormous amount of patience to deal with him sometimes, which Alan had in ready supply. After all, he was Aly's twin. If that didn't require a goodly amount of forbearance, then what did?

"Looking for this."

Triumphantly tossing and catching a handsome Raven Armory dagger, Liam flashed a grin in Alan's direction. "I could always come back, but I'd rather not leave anything behind, you know?"

Alan frowned slightly and crossed his arms. "Come back from where?"

"The pages' wing."

"Why would you be there...?"

"Why else would I be there?" Liam snorted. "I'm trying for my knighthood."

Startled, Alan blurted out, "But you're fifteen!"

"So? Nealan of Queenscove was fifteen. I asked him about it when your mother brought him back to Corus. He said it's not too bad if you find the right friends."

"Well, sure, but he's not a prince," Alan emphasized. "And Neal hardly acts his age. People aren't going to act the same around you."

"I'm not the Crown Prince, or a boring stiff like Roald," Liam said, almost sharply. Alan shifted, just a bit. He had not meant to tread on this dangerous ground. "I'm not bound by the same rules as he is."

"You're still a prince," Alan said cautiously, watching his face. "You don't have to court the same people that Roald does, but it's not like you can go off and dance naked with the scullery maids."

Liam sniggered and, mollified, he said, "Obviously I'm not going to do that. I'm just saying I don't have to do the whole 'nice' thing. It's not like I'm staying in Tortall forever."

"You never were very good at the whole 'nice' thing, anyway," Alan agreed, ducking out of the way as Liam half-heartedly chucked a worn boot at him. He resolutely ignored the pang that constricted his chest.

"I don't know why you're worrying. Sometimes you nag worse than Mother. Really, Alan, are you thirteen or thirty? I forget."

Alan shoved his hands in his belt, peering at him through the fringe of his red-gold bangs. "I'm just looking out for you, that's all."

Scarlet spots of color bloomed on Liam's cheeks, and he turned away. His calloused fingertips idly traced a blue vein in his dagger blade. "You know I didn't mean it like that," he said without meeting his eyes. "I was just funning."

Alan shrugged and ventured into the dim room, picking up a K'miri bauble and examining it as though he was interested. As though he hadn't toyed with it a hundred times before. He was always more serious around Liam; he couldn't help it. With him, he could snag a piece of silence in a life brightened with the noise of Aly's free-spirited presence. There was an understanding, too, that could never be shared with Aly. She had never cared about inheritance or titles, but the very basis of Liam and Alan's friendship had been that they shared the cursed lot of the second son.

"An heir and a spare," Alan said without thinking.

Liam flinched. Yes, they both knew what it was to be the spare. It was a crude term of which both sets of parents would have highly disapproved and denied.

After a couple minutes of tense silence, Alan said, "I didn't think you'd decide on knighthood."

"I almost didn't," Liam admitted, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Especially since Jasson started at the proper age. He'll be a squire when I'm a first-year page...it's kind of embarrassing. But I want to serve Tortall and knighthood is the most prestigious combat position I could have. At least it'll get Father off my case about what I should be doing."

"It'll look good, too," Alan said, glancing away. "Tusaine would want you. Maybe Tyra, too."

Liam fidgeted. Alan could feel the nervous movements of his rough hands as though they brushed his own flesh. "And all princesses are impressed by knights. No problem there."

It was meant to be a joke but it fell flat, almost cruelly so. The unfunny truth was a wide landscape of crossroads and possibilities neither of them should consider. It was Liam's lot, as an unfortunate spare, that he should one day secure an alliance for his brother and be sent off to spread the Conté seed. And it was Alan's lot that he must accept it. He had known from the beginning that their solid friendship would be stretched across distance. But that was back when friendship was just friendship and everything was simple.

"I should probably pack," Liam said awkwardly, pulling at a stray thread in his tunic. "I'm moving in a couple days."

"That soon, huh?"

"Yeah...that soon."

"Well," Alan exhaled loudly, "I should probably talk to Mother, then. She'll need to send for my things."

Liam cocked his head and asked curiously, "Why do you need your things? I thought you were going back to the Swoop tomorrow."

"I was before I decided to try for it, too."

"Try for what?"

"For my shield."

Liam blinked, caught off guard. "You're trying for your shield?" At Alan's nod, he exclaimed, "Since when?"

Alan thought for a moment. "Two minutes ago sounds right."

"What?"

"Thirteen isn't so bad," he defended. "You're still going to be the old man."

"Alan—you can't just—I don't want you to do it just because I am."

"Don't be conceited. I should've done it ages ago, once I realized Thom was too absorbed in his studies. Aly obviously isn't going to do it, and besides, she's going to be gone in a couple years—"

"Gone? Where's she going?"

"I don't know yet," Alan explained patiently. "My Sight doesn't tell me everything. I just know she's got her own path. Thom's the heir and the mage, Aly's whatever she is, and then I'm here not doing anything. The Crown needs knights. Tortall can put me to good use."

Liam stared at him for a long, silent moment. He unconsciously wove his dagger through his fingers. "Alanna will be pleased."

"It doesn't have anything to do with Mother," he replied honestly. Indeed, nothing to do with his mother at all. "I want to serve Tortall, have the chance to see foreign lands, you know."

"Foreign lands," Liam mused, his gaze sharp and searching. He glanced down at the dagger in his hands, as though vaguely surprised he still had it, and said casually, "When Kally marries the Carthaki Emperor, she'll be accompanied by her own Tortallan retinue. When my time comes, I'll have knights and advisors, too." He had a funny little smile on his face as he said, almost ironically, "A prince must always have his knights."

Involuntarily clenching his hands into fists, Alan turned away to stare out the window without seeing anything. Knighthood was a valiant calling to only those with enough skill and courage. He had heard that call...or was it just an excuse? Was it just one more reason to follow him, wherever he went? He had tagged along throughout childhood. Now he had the chance to shadow him again, to knighthood and beyond—was it wrong of him to take it? Was it wrong of him to want to take it? This inner turmoil was a hopeless rage that had no comparison. He bit his lip hard and tasted copper blood.

"Come here," Liam whispered hoarsely.

Alan complied, blindly setting down the trinket he held with a hard clink that suggested something may have broken. Liam sat on the bed, looking up at him as he paused in front of him. Their knees barely touched, but their very nearness was enough to set his heart to thumping.

You are a prince, Alan wanted to say. You have obligations and they don't involve your boyhood friend. But he didn't really want to say it.

Suddenly Liam surged to his feet in one fluid movement. He had enough inches on Alan to loom over him, and before Alan could back away he had the front of his tunic in his hand and was pulling him against him. He didn't do anything else—he didn't have to, not when the press of chests and hips and thighs and more was enough to root Alan to the spot.

Liam rested his forehead against his. The dark blue of his Conté eyes were obscured by his lowered lashes. The tips of their noses grazed. Alan thought his face must have been set on fire. There were flames in his lungs, too. That was the only explanation for the way his breath quickened, however much he tried to control it. The fire didn't stop there, either; it rushed through his veins to his tingling fingertips all the way down to his curling toes. You are a prince, he tried to say again. This can't happen.

"A prince will always have his knights," Alan murmured instead, and closed his eyes.

There was actually a lot of math involved in this because I spent a ridiculously unnecessary amount of time figuring out ages. But Liam was born in 443 and Alan in 445, and there you have it. Please review!