So instead of splitting the chapters and updating it one by one, all clusters of chapters will be posted together. A chapters are Mike chapters and B chapters are Harvey chapters.
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Chapter 1.1

Mike

"Have you ever crossed the river, father?"

His father stood on the riverbank looking just as Mike remembered him: stately, golden, warm. Mike had forgotten what warm felt like, and here he was. The warmth penetrated him, gave him a feeling of home that he had not felt since he had escaped. He cherished this alternate reality, even if this would disappear in a while.

"I have, of course," King James replied.

It was exactly a year after his mother's death, and King James had brought Mike to the river. Helene Ross loved the river, and would always tell Mike to treasure it. Kingdoms are built from rivers, she told him, and it is where most of life itself comes from.

And then a hazy fog took over Mike's senses. His breathing became heavy, his skin was pricked with cold, and he scrambled to find warmth –

– only to wake up in his bed.

Madam Agnes stood over him, impatiently tugging on his covers. Mike held on to them, though, hoping to exhaust its warmth.

"Come now, boy!" Madam Agnes exclaimed, "It is an hour past sunrise. You must tend to the Prince's belongings."

While Mike had gone hunting with Harvey the day previous, he was given an orientation of what he was to do: "Your job," the Prince said, "Is to make sure I don't screw my shit up."

Mike nodded, though he did not know what his master's statement implied.

Later on, Mike met the Prince's cousin, Duchess Donna of the Paulsen manor, and she had adequately explained what his job required of him.

"Harvey's an emotionally-stunted wuss," Madame Donna said. "What he meant was that before he wakes up, you make sure that his armor is polished, his clothes ready, his books by the desk, and his food on the table, so he can break his fast."

Simple enough, Mike thought. Enough to survey this Prince.

Mike left his bed and mechanically donned his apparel. Yet again, he put on two layers of clothing, fearing the cold outside. He can never get used to this weather, not when home had been so warm. Madam Agnes had prepared porridge for Mike, and while it was no breakfast fit for royalty, Mike ate it out of gratitude.

After rushing through his breakfast, he ran up to the Prince's chambers, hoping that the Prince was asleep. Before he entered the room, he ran into Duchess Donna, who laughed. Mike paid no heed to her laughter, although Mike was a bit curious to know what she had been laughing about.

When Mike opened the wooden doors of the chamber, he was greeted with an impatient-looking Prince Harvey.

Mike bowed his head. "Your Grace."

"Left your head somewhere, puppy?"

Mike shot up at the nickname. Puppy, really?

Mike started, "My humble apologies for my tardiness, Your Grace –"

"How many times must I tell you –" Prince Harvey said, "It's either 'Sir' or 'Harvey'. And in any other case, you are late. I understand that this is your first week working for me, but if you don't fix your act, you're as good as fired. Is that understood?"

Mike nodded meekly.

"Now, come with me," Prince Harvey said, briskly walking out of his chambers, "And bring my armor."

Mike followed him through, and he took this time to examine the structures of this castle: while his castle at Ross had been built from marble and limestone and had many open spaces, the Specter castle was dark and had walls in most places. The lamps were always lit, even during the day, and even then, it was never warm enough. Not warm enough for Mike, anyway.

There were beautiful staircases and doorways and Mike had always appreciated fine woodwork. He was never skilled at crafts, and was grateful that his job did not require such.

Harvey had toured him through the rooms, "just so you don't get lost again, as I fear you may have," he told Mike. It did not take too long to go from one room to another, as the chambers were close to each other.

It all led to an empty room, with two swords by the wall, and in the middle of the room sat a woman in armor. Now, while his own Kingdom had been progressive in accepting women as equals, he had never thought that he would see a woman in armor in his lifetime. Rachel would be so excited to see this, and had hoped that she would follow soon enough.

"James," Prince Harvey said, "Allow me to introduce you to my combat instructor, Madam Jessica. Madam Jessica, this is my servant, James Zane."

Madam Jessica eyed him cautiously, staring directly at his eyes. Mike knew not to avert his own, but he could not help but be nervous at this lady's examination.

"Zane," the Lady said. "Are you related to the Queen of Ross?"

Harvey snapped his head to look at Mike, and Mike could do all but to buck under pressure. You have practiced this, Michael, he told himself.

"I am not sure if you are aware of the Ross family lines, Madam," Mike said, "But all Zanes from the land can be traced back to Norbert Zane. He had two sons, Thomas and Paul, and I was of Paul Zane's lineage. Paul Zane was a humble farmer near Cilantris, a former Ross territory to the south of Sydia, as was my father, as I should have been. The Queen of Ross was of Thomas Zane's lineage, Thomas – whose granddaughter was married to the great King James of Ross. So to answer your question, milady," Mike took a breath, "I am, indeed related to the Queen – but only so distantly. She was the Queen of Ross. I, meanwhile, am a humble farmer."

Madam Jessica surveyed Mike, eyes wandering, as though she were weighing his statement. It pained Mike to speak so mechanically of his family, but it was necessary if he were to survive.

"A humble farmer," Madam Jessica murmured. She whipped her head to Harvey and threw him a sword. Harvey, still in surprise, almost let the sword slip; Jessica looked at him amusedly.

"Don't tell me that you're distracted enough by a farmer's history to not pay attention to your sword!" Lady Jessica said.

Mike chuckled. Prince Harvey glared. Mike shut up.

"Certainly not, milady," Prince Harvey said, "But I found myself thinking of what I shall do tonight."

"The taverns again, young one?"

Prince Harvey smirked. "You know me well, Madam J."

Madam Jessica rolled his eyes. And then combat began.

Mike watched the two train. Harvey was graceful, surely, but forceful as well. Madam Jessica looked effortless executing several turns and slashes, hits and jabs. This seemed almost like dancing – a bit different from House Ross' style of fighting.

It ended with Prince Harvey on the wall with a sword to his throat. Mike had never felt more honored than to see the prince of a ruthless kingdom near death. He smiled.

Prince Harvey smirked. "Complete accident, milady, I assure you."

Madam Jessica scoffed, then released her grip on the prince. "Accident, on purpose. The only important thing is, is that I'm taller than you."

Mike did all he could to hold back his chuckle, only to be met by Prince Harvey's glare.

"Don't even think about it," Prince Harvey said.

"Wasn't thinking anything, Sire," Mike replied.

Prince Harvey grinned, cat-like. He removed his armor, gave them to Mike – "Polish them, why don't you," – and left the room. Mike, clueless, gathered the armor, and was about to leave the room when –

"Heads up, James Zane."

Flying towards Mike was the same sword that Prince Harvey used earlier. Mike caught it, of course, but he dropped the armor in the process.

In front of him stood Madam Jessica, still dressed in armor, in a defensive stance.

"Is James Zane really your name, Sire?" Jessica inquired. Mike stood still, unable to compose himself. Already, he has aroused suspicion. He's a bad liar, a horrible liar. He was telling himself this, when Madam Jessica swung her sword and –

"A one-handed grip on the sword, I see," Madam Jessica said, "Not typical of someone trained in this land."

"I don't know," Mike said, "What you're talking about," in between pants, "Milady."

Madam Jessica stopped, and gazed at Mike's eyes. "Paul Zane's grandson is dead."

"Apparently not, milady, for here I stand –"

"Save me the bullshit," Madam Jessica said. Her voice cut through like knives. Mike was rattled, and a shiver ran down his spine, and he was damn sure it wasn't because of the fucking cold of this whole damn kingdom.

"Bullshit, milady?"

"You're not James, are you?"

"How are you to know, Madam?" Mike said, taking breaths in between each word.

"James Zane is dead," Madam Jessica said matter-of-factly.

Mike broke eye contact, and stared at the floor. He whispered, "You're right. I'm not James Zane."

Jessica walked near Mike, armor clanking and sword dragging against the floor (Mike almost winced. You don't do that to swords.). Standing a hair's width away from Mike, Jessica whispered.

"So who are you, really?"

"A traitor to your land, surely." Mike said, unyielding. That's as much as he would give. He couldn't risk grandmother, and Rachel, and Trevor and Jenny.

Madam Jessica circled Mike, examining him. "From the resistance, then. But you look much more… exquisite than the regular townsfolk of that kingdom."

Mike bit his lip. "You seem to know much of Ross to assume such, milady."

The Lady smiled. "Fool. I am from Ross. The Pearson family is sworn to the Ross royal family."

Mike considered the statement. He looked at Lady Pearson, and tilted his head in thought. "Why are you in Sydia, then?" Mike asked. "Why are you not in the resistance?"

Madam Jessica smiled. "I like Harvey. I'm confident that he won't screw this land up as much as his father has. Back to topic," she said, "Who are you?"

Mike exhaled slowly. There was no getting around this woman, was there?

"I am Michael James Ross, of House Ross, Crown Prince of the Kingdom so named –"

"Prince Michael." Jessica said, interrupting Mike. "Harvey's counterpart."

Mike nodded. Madam Jessica raised an eyebrow. "So you escaped."

"My mother told me to," Mike replied.

"No looking back. Typical of Helene," Madam Jessica said, hand extended. "Your sword, Prince?"

Mike handed his sword. "You knew my mother, milady?"

Madam Jessica nodded. "I knew more about her than you would know," she said.

"You still haven't answered my question," Mike said. "Why are you here?"

"I am not liable to answer to you," Madam Jessica said. "Let me ask you, Your Grace. Why are you here? – no, wait. Let me answer that for you: vengeance, is it?"

"After what they did? Definitely."

"'They'? The Specters?" Jessica inquired.

"The Specters," Mike said with bitterness, remembering the anger he held towards the lot, remembering the night of his father's death, remembering the reason for his mother's death.

Madam Jessica bit her lip. "I suppose I have to tell you the truth, then."

"The truth would be nice," Mike said, still panting in-between breaths. He had not fought in battle for a while, and had not held a sword for years.

"I was sent here," Madam Jessica began, as she sat down. Mike did the same. "By your mother, Helene. She was princess back then, and I don't know if you remember those days."

Mike nodded, gesturing his hands to signal. "Continue," he said.

"I was sent here to spy on the Specters, because early on, there were already tensions of war. The Kingdom of Ross was this kingdom's greatest enemy. Ross had rivers, Sydia had –"

"Land. I'm aware," Mike said. "What I want to know is what made you stay. We've had a lot of spies, Lady Pearson, and they've all come back come wartime."

"Harvey made me stay."

That effectively shut Mike up.

"Will you let me finish?"

Mike nodded.

"I was sent to spy on the Specters and report of any inconsistencies with what the King reports. I stayed because your mother thought better of the Specters. She was right, of course. Your mother had a tendency to be."

"She wasn't," Mike said, bitter tears filling his eyes. "Or she would have been alive."

Madam Jessica glared at Mike. "She wasn't about Cameron, surely. But have you seen Harvey?"

Mike had not had the opportunity to observe Prince Harvey outside of his daily routine. His hard exterior and blatant assholery were enough to throw Mike off and conclude that the Prince was, indeed, just as crazy as his father.

"I took it upon myself to mentor the kid," Madam Jessica said, "And protect him when his father couldn't. He has so much potential and he has shown it. And I won't let anyone ruin that, not even the Ross family."

Mike weighed her statements carefully. "If Ross were still existent," he said, "This would have counted as treason. You're changing sides, Lady Pearson, and that's unbecoming of a duchess, no matter where they come from."

Lady Pearson smiled. "Do you know the difference between Harvey and his father, child?"

Mike shook his head. Seemed the same to him.

"Harvey hates war."

Harvey

"This way, darling," the voice said, as hands led Harvey to a warm, dark room.

Harvey was being pulled by his robes, and hey - he wasn't complaining. As long as he could get something, some sort of reward after this heaven-forsaken-exhausting day, then he was fine. Perfectly fine. Harvey had, of course, mastered the art of seduction a long, long time ago (and by long, he meant five years) - and yet he still lacked fulfillment (or at least, as far as noncommittal, quick sex gives fulfillment anyway). He didn't know what he was looking for, to be honest, but Harvey just craved for a challenge because ever since he was born, everything's been easy.

Judging from Harvey's lack of regard for the bodies he sleeps with, it was hard to believe that he was heir to the throne. It wasn't that he didn't care for his position at all, or that he wanted out of royalty. He cared very much about his kingdom and its people (in theory). He felt a certain detachment that he really shouldn't, the kind of detachment that may well turn him to the very person he did not want to become: his father.

Jessica warned him about this.

But this was getting just a bit ridiculous.

Whispers plagued his ear. "Make it worth my while, Sir Gabriel?"

When screwing a man as hot as the one on his bed right now gets very mechanical, something was very, very wrong. While it has not become a chore just yet, sex has become meaningless, something just to get off. And he's had to be more careful, lately, leaning exclusively on men, because his father didn't want a bastard grandson.

Harvey wasn't stupid. Through his sexual conquests, he hadn't used his given name. No, he used a name his dreams conjured, slipped into the persona of his ideal, just a simple lad wanting to become a Knight. It was believable, and it got him laid. Gabriel. Gabriel Gaynesford, twenty-four cycles, I can beat your ass with a sword and a blindfold. Oh, and I can hold my liquor more than you can, let's be sure of that.

Yet somehow, this – what he was doing – did not hold the same excitement it once did. He was going through the motions, and the people underneath him (or on top of him, if he were so willing) melted like wax when with him, but still, he felt nothing.

He bought a Rossian tonight. One of our finest, the peddler said. Blonde hair and green eyes, this one. Freckled, young, and was he willing. He flushed so beautifully, Harvey thought, and damn if the sex wasn't good.

The Rossian was exquisite. He found that it was the only word to describe peoples of that land. Exquisite. Shame they were weak – they may have been a worthy adversary, but they lost, and Harvey did not like losing.

"Getting ahead of yourself?" Harvey murmured, the Rossian's fingers wandering below Harvey's navel.

The Rossian smirked. "I had hoped you'd like eagerness, Sire," he said.

"And eager you are," Harvey said, mind flashing back to piercing blue eyes and red lips and dirty blonde hair, the damn puppy.

"Can I…?" the Rossian inquired, fingers wandering down below, yet again.

"No," Harvey said, grabbing the boy's hands. He licked a stripe on the boy's neck, feeling the hairs raise on the boy's forearms. Then Harvey breathed, "What is your name?"

"What you'll be moaning all night, Sire," the boy said. Spirited, is he.

Harvey grinned. "I mean it. Your name. I don't care if it's your real one," he said, as he sucked on the boy's neck with earnest. As expected, the boy moaned.

"J—ah—Julian. Julian, sire."

Harvey's hands wandered, pinching on the boy—Julian's—nipples, before he fisted the latter's cock.

"Not yet," Harvey said, as he let go of Julian's cock. A hand traveled behind, sliding a finger near the boy's ass. With the other, Harvey grabbed hold of the lube the whorehouse had prepared, and coated his fingers and slid in –

"Oh… gods, please," the boy begged.

Harvey loved control, craved it as much as he loved risk. He loved knowing that he was in control of this boy's release, in control of the situation in front of him. This took him higher than anything could possibly have. He was witnessing complete submission: the body beneath him thrashing, thrusting upward, reddened cock dripping, face flushed, the agonizing torture written all over his face. Harvey cupped the boy's balls, fiddled with it, as he dragged his teeth along the boy's milky neck.

"N-no," the boy said. "You can't mark me,"

Harvey exhaled sharply. "I bought you for tonight, you –"

It was the boy's turn to bite his lips. "You are a wonder, Sire, but," he said, "I have a wife."

Nothing was more of a boner-killer than that. He got the boy off regardless, because a gentleman never leaves his partner empty. Harvey refused his own pleasure, though. The effort was not worth it.

"She doesn't know you are here, does she," Harvey said much later, while throwing on his garments.

The boy shook his head.

"You're not a war-prisoner, then."

"Master Ilian has been gracious, Sir," the boy said, referring to the peddler, "He promised to hide my family, for this in return."

Harvey surveyed the boy. "How does one as young as you have a wife?"

"I am twenty-five cycles old, Sir. Not that young, I believe."

Harvey's eyebrows were raised. And here he was, referring to the man as a boy the whole time. In annoyance, he departed, leaving the boy without much but a few pence and the afterglow.

Chapter 1.2

Mike

"So what am I to do now? I'm in the castle, you caught me… you could report me to the Prince and I can be hanged for treason if that's what you want."

"Don't be silly, Michael," Madam Jessica said, "I think this is an opportunity."

"An opportunity," Mike said. "An opportunity for what, exactly?"

Jessica smiled. "I will give you six months. Six full moons. Observe our dear Crown Prince and see for yourself. Maybe you would learn a thing or two from him," she said.

"Learn?" Mike said, incredulous. "I doubt I need learning at the hands of a corrupt prince."

Madam Jessica extended her arms. "I thought your father taught you that virtue is not from blood."

"I know what my father said," Mike said.

"Six months, Michael," Madam Jessica said, "That, or I end this, right here, right now."

Mike read too much to jump into this agreement headfirst. "What are the terms of this arrangement, Lady Pearson?"

"Maestro Geoffrey has taught you well, I see. Either that or you have been married to the library, as you reportedly are."

"Stop it with the jokes, milady," Mike said, "And please. The terms."

"Alright," Madam Jessica said, "Six moons, you don't do anything, you don't plot anything, you don't hurt a single hair on Harvey's head. In turn, I will not tell of your identity, you can reside here safely, and I will do my very best to protect you as much as I do Harvey."

"My purpose here is for naught, then," Mike told her.

"Let's restructure your purpose for being here, then," Madam Jessica replied, "Vengeance surely cannot be your only goal."

Harvey

"Are you who the whores call Master Illian?" Harvey asked.

The man, well in his forties with a belly full of beer, replied. "It is I, sire. Problem with yours?"

"I have a problem with you, I think," Harvey said.

"And what is your problem, Sire?"

Harvey rubbed his temple in exasperation. "What you are doing here is illegal, Illian, and I am afraid you could be shut down for –"

"I've heard it all before," the man said. "You will threaten to shut this establishment down, then I will say, 'why not shut other whorehouses down?' – to which you will reply that my virtue is vile, and I would remind you that you, Sir, have availed of my services."

Harvey grabbed a fistful of the plump man's shirt. "Need I tell you who I am? And I am not referring to your whores, Master Illian, I am referring to those you house."

The man chucked – laughed, really – the sinister sound filling the room. "The Rossians?" the man inquired. "Those that this beloved land has tortured relentlessly? I am afraid, Sire, that my arrangements are more merciful than the royal family's."

Harvey saw red. "Listen here. The Royal Family has treated the Rossians with dignity. The Prince has made sure of it. You will not continue this operation. You will surrender these people to the Kingdom, and they will be given proper homes –"

"—Proper homes in dungeons, you mean," Illian said. "I do believe that you are a poor lad, quick to defend the Kingdom, for She has given you your needs. She has hidden the truth from you," he said. He coughed, clearing his throat, before he continued. "Nothing is what it seems in Sydia, milord. I implore you – open your eyes before the Kingdom fools you."

Harvey grabbed a fistful of the man's hair. "This is treason," he spat.

"Not treason, Sir. Truth," the man said.

Harvey released his grip on the man, and went on his way. His father will hear of this. He will.

Chapter 1.3

Cameron

Kings hardly get any sleep.

At first, responsibility plagues them. Then later, it is fear. Fear of treason, fear of betrayal – fear of death, ultimately. Cameron knew he cannot bide his time, not when he has conquered kingdoms and has garnered hatred in the process.

He sighed. In his hands was a jade necklace his wife had given his son before she died. This belongs to Harvey, she told him, a reward for the harvest. Yet still, Harvey has not made him proud. His son was too busy fighting kid's war to go to a real one. Dueling should be outlawed, but the Council will not have it. The townspeople will panic, Your Majesty, they told him. There will no longer be any distraction.

This damn kingdom will be better off without distraction, which is precisely what keeps Harvey unfit for Kingship. His son was a rebel, he knew – but gods, he was also brilliant, in a way his other sons were not. If only he can settle him down with a suitable wife and ship him off to war and have him see the real world…

A knock interrupted his thoughts. Louis, he thought.

"Enter," he said.

Louis, his adviser, entered the room bringing several papers – among them, a map. "There has been news, Your Grace."

Cameron observed Louis' fiddling with the papers, jittery fingers, and sweaty palms. This must not be good news, then. This is what keeps Cameron awake at night.

"I gather from your disposition that this is ominous news you bring me," the king said.

"Just a minor slip, Your Majesty," Louis said, as he laid out the map. "Rebels, from the South Border near Cilantris, have looted the towns for resources –"

"—which our men should take care of –" Cameron interrupted.

"Except they could not. Our men have mysteriously gone missing, Sir, and we are afraid that the Rebels are advancing to the East to kidnap more men."

"Kidnap," Cameron echoed. "Then replace them with more bloody troops!"

"Will all due respect, Your Grace—"

"No bullshit, Louis,"

"—That will leave us weak, and that is not a sustainable solution." Louis said. "We'll lose those men again."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Cameron roared. This was fear speaking. Put yourself together, you are invincible, you are the goddamn King of Sydia – the most bloody powerful kingdom in all of Ceylen.

"Investigate, Sir," Louis said meekly. It was almost laughable, really. Louis has always been an arrogant man, but to have him quiver in fear was a delightful sight. It relieved Cameron to know that he still has power over people like goddamn Louis.

Cameron huffed a breath. "Investigate."

"Yes, Sir."

Cameron considered this proposal. "Then send troops to investigate!"

Another knock interrupted the conversation.

"Father?" the voice demanded. "Father, it's Harvey."

Cameron looked at Louis, still sweaty with fear, and looked at the door. "Enter," he said.

Harvey entered, sweaty and tired – no doubt from the taverns, Cameron concluded.

And he thought of a perfect idea.

"Magnificent, Harvey, I was about to call for you!"

Harvey winced. "Who uses 'magnificent' anymore, Father?" he said.

"I do," Cameron said. "Regardless, there have been developments near the South Border, and our troops have been kidnapped –"

"What has this got to do with me, again?" Harvey asked.

Cameron sighed. "This has bloody well everything to do with you, boy!" he said. "I am sending you to investigate the cause."

Louis, beside Harvey, gawked in surprise. Harvey, on the other hand, had his mouth open. Good gods, and these two were the most powerful people of the land?

"Compose yourselves, both of you. It is unbecoming of your positions."

Louis cleared his throat. Harvey shut his mouth.

"Harvey, prepare yourself. You will ride at dawn. Louis, see to it that you have troops prepared for him."

"But Father –" Harvey said, his hands extended.

"No excuses, Harvey," Cameron said. "Pay attention for once in your bloody life. Now both of you, leave."