"I am telling you, it is not your reasoning that's at fault, but your assessment of the situation. I know you don't want to cause me trouble. I know you want to help. But—
"You are saying I'm unknowingly pursuing the opposite of my intentions."
"No, Heine. You are pursuing the opposite of your desires. And they're not always the same thing."
Throughout the morning they scour the city, Heine dragging Viktor through complicated shortcuts and directing him to increasingly obscure shops, waiting while Viktor charmed the seven hells out of shop keepers young and old, male and female alike.
It was so pleasant, this two-man search of the vast city, like a huge game that they can both play to escape the twisted tangle their relationship has become— except that the object they seek is nowhere to be found.
They descended a cramped staircase from a small pawnshop on the third floor of an obscure building squeezed between a looming church wall and another residence area— yes, it is a complicated city, and Viktor would never have even imagined this place if he was by himself.
The echoes of their footsteps gradually faded as they emerged. The sun was halfway down the sky, casting harsh shadows.
"You never cease to surprise me, Heine." Viktor said conversationally, "Every time I tour the city with you I feel practically dwarfed by your knowledge."
"You do realize the irony in that statement, don't you?"
"Of course," Viktor flashed him a playful smile, and Heine was surprised, again, at how normal everything seems right now.
Nobody recognizes their king, and Viktor bought Heine some new clothes to replace his dirty ones, since it helps keep the suspicions down when they make inquiries.
All in all, the royal tutor thinks he is enjoying himself a little too much.
"We should probably head back now, to make it by evening." He suggested, looking up at his companion, whose face immediately fell from an easy smile to a sombre frown.
"Do you want to return that badly?"
"If I were to be honest, no, but—
"What but?" Viktor interjected heatedly, "Or rather, why? I don't want to go back, you don't want to go back. We won't be missed for many hours yet. Why do you propose to end this so quickly?"
Viktor had been speeding up his pace unconsciously, and Heine almost had to jog to keep up, alarm bells ringing his thoughts away.
"Or don't you want— I can always leave, of course, if you'd like."
Something sank in Heine's stomach. He stopped walking, and blurted, "Of course not!"
Viktor stopped in front of him, finally looking back and meeting his eyes. He frowned, an expression Heine is so familiar with, as it resembled all the princes' when they were working on hard problems.
What will he see? Heine feared. What conclusions will he drawn from his eyes?
"You're making it harder than it should be, Heine."
"I would contend that nothing is harder than making the impossible possible."
"But you're not trying."
"I am trying. Why do you think—
Why do you think I came to the palace? Why do you think I went to the church? Or become a teacher, tried to leave when he became a threat to the princes, saved Bruno. Found that watch, after scouring the city for days after being released from prison. Kept it for so long. Paid money he didn't really have to fix it each time it stopped. Came out here in the middle of the night on an empty stomach with no money, because it felt so urgent that he doesn't lose this one thing. This thing he's centered all his life around.
Why do you think I'm here, if I'm not trying, hoping, praying?
"Why do you think what?" Viktor asked, his tone chilly.
But how can he say all that? Here, in the middle of the street, spilling everything? Whatever he could have said, Viktor apparently thinks it's not enough, anyway.
"Nothing. I am trying, though."
"To me, it seems you're trying in the opposite direction."
Then Viktor turned on his heels, casting a glance back only once to signal Heine to follow. And they headed back to the horse in silence, neither of them agreeing or disagreeing to the redhead's proposal to return.
Even the white stallion nickered, agitated at the deadly mood surrounding the two of them. But being war-trained, it doesn't show any sign of balking when Viktor lifted Heine up to its back again.
This time though, Viktor didn't get up. Instead he held the reins, and started to lead the mount in the direction of the hill, on foot.
"Viktor?" Heine asked in surprise, but there was no reply.
"Aren't you— I mean, I should be the one—
"Hush," Viktor said, looking straight forward, "and stay up there. We're not going all the way back this way, so don't worry." At that, a bitter smile twisted itself onto Viktor's beautiful face, and any further conversation was cut short as they were entering a fairly crowded area.
Heine felt all kinds of exposed, sitting this high above the people— people who, if they knew who the person leading the horse actually is, will probably want to kill him for insolence. And even said person now seems angry at him. God forbid, but he's even angry at himself, although he can't quite place his fingers on why.
So many things is wrong with this situation, that all Heine could do was keep his head down and grip the edge of the saddle. Distracted by the pain in his hands instead of— elsewhere.
"Stop clenching your fists." Viktor's voice cuts through the mumbling of the crowd like a sword through water. For a moment there was a pocket of silence within the bustling, into which Viktor added, "You will reopen your wounds, my lord."
That seemed to be enough of a cover story— just a noble brat and his retainer making their way through the square— because people started turning away and resuming their businesses. But Heine's skin prickles all over. This is not the kind of story he wanted to pretend and joke about. This could get them killed.
At least if there is an arrow or a musket ball, the easier target is him this time.
Soon Viktor stopped them at the edge of the crowded area, left him with the horse, and came back after a few minutes with some hot dogs like Heine'd had on the princes' first excursion.
"You can suggest what I should do. That doesn't mean I'm following that decision." Viktor said with that angry undertone, as if trying to prove something, as if frustrated to a point of breaking. And he led them off again.
So we're not going back to the palace just yet. Somehow, that made Heine smile.
The hill was less deserted at this time of day, but in their inconspicuous clothing the two did not rouse any suspicion. Besides, Heine and Viktor knew every nook and cranny on this hill, every dip in the earth, every covering of the leaves. It was not hard at all to find a private spot.
Viktor was dragging Heine along by the hand with a sense of urgency that counts the time in seconds rather than minutes. But somehow, Heine couldn't find it in himself to mind.
"Coming here was a good call." Heine admitted to Viktor, who turned to look curiously at him. After a pause the redhead elaborated, "I'm too stuck with principles to make reasonable decisions sometimes, so being around rule breakers like you is…. really healthy for me."
They stopped moving, and Viktor seemed too stunned to speak. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looked at Heine like he was solving an unsolvable puzzle.
Then he laughed, and the world seems to inflate— no longer flat and empty, but vibrant and replete with youthful innocence.
"I'm not a rule breaker," Viktor argued good-naturedly, "I create rules— laws, to be exact."
"You are above the law though." Heine shot back.
"Well… yes. Isn't that neat? I am the maker and breaker for all laws of man." Viktor smirked, trotting forward and miming a grandiose gesture. "Or at least, for all in this small kingdom."
For the thousandth time that day, Heine caught himself smiling and smiling and could not stop. "A devilish little runaway like you? I would think you're unsuited to the task."
Viktor thrown a mock-horrified expression back at him, and Heine started laughing, too.
"I am well-liked in my kingdom. Charming, strong, just. I'm the reincarnation of goodness!" Viktor continued with his theatrics, and Heine couldn't stop laughing. It felt like the old times.
They took out the food Viktor bought, and had a picnic under the shades.
The anger was gone now, and so was the intense undertone of the journey here. Entirely replaced by lighthearted conversations that uplifts and inspires and put at peace. Painfully, Heine was reminded of how much he enjoyed this, how much he wanted it, and most of all, how simple things used to be and how complicated it has become.
Reminded over and over of the fracture that has ripped the ground between them.
But then Viktor would make a witty comment, and Heine would respond with a sarcastic joke. And there it was again. That laughter. Laughter that spans chasms. Laughter that topples walls. Laughter that fills and bridges and heals.
"You'd make a fearsome diplomat." Heine remarked, to which Viktor smiled, got up, and spread his arms wide.
"I did." He said, looking over the hills towards the kingdom that was his. Taking possession of the land itself, the river, the trees. The buildings and the residents. The sky, the mountains, the moon. Enveloping the common folk. The witness. The jury. A judge upon his court.
What had I gotten myself into? Heine thought.
And laughed.
.
"Come to the harvest festival, Heine," Viktor whispered in his ear as they dismounted, "everything will be fine."
But there were soldiers, awaiting the return of their king. Soldiers ready to go out and search. Soldiers ready to assume the worst of strangers. Soldiers ready to shoot, and miss, and kill.
Everything will be fine.
A few nights later, just as Viktor was gazing at the vestige of the moon shadow, his paperwork forgotten, the footman announced the Royal Tutor waiting at the door.
Finally, he thought.
The opening ceremony is in a scant few nights. If there will be an answer to his invitation, it has to be now. But the nature of that answer is by no means clear to the king— What will Heine decide?
Viktor doesn't know whether to hope or dread this visit.
"Let him in."
The sight of Heine brought him a feeling mixed between fondness and respect— something he had never thought reconcilable, yet Heine never failed to illicit it out of him. Suddenly he felt like a teenager again, daring and playful.
"How was your day, my dear?" He teased. And heavens, even he felt awkward saying it like that.
It stopped Heine in his tracks though, which was unexpectedly satisfying. Viktor thinks of Licht now, and wondered if the son had inherited or surpassed his father's audacity.
"I'm going to do something stupid tonight." The redhead declared, recovering from his earlier surprise.
"Did you just ignore my question?"
"Why, yes, your majesty."
Viktor gave an amused chuckle. "Very well. What service would you require of me then, encouragement or voice of reason?"
"Just that you stay really still."
There was something unreadable on Heine's face, hidden behind his usual mask of stoic neutrality. "And don't get the wrong idea." He added, unhelpfully.
"Very well. If you insist."
Viktor turned his chair to face the door, where Heine still stands, instead of the desk, and sat patiently waiting.
Heine seemed to be having an internal debate for a split second— suspended between kinetic and potential— reason and motion— but then he started resolutely forward, crossing the room in strides and stopping mere feet from Viktor.
Three anticipatory seconds of eye contact, another invisible struggle. Viktor held his breath.
Then Heine stepped closer. Close enough to reach out and touch.
And closer, so that Viktor could feel the air solidifying and electrifying between them.
And yet closer, till their breaths could mingle.
"Heine— What are you—
Viktor cut off, breathless, as Heine put his knee on the chair Viktor is sitting on, carefully positioning it between his thighs, not touching a single thread of fine fabric. Viktor felt blood rushing in his ears, and his heart started on a more frantic rhythm.
And there were bandaged fingers at his collar button, mere hairs breadth from the skin of his throat, undoing the golden cusp and chain. The thick cloth and the cuts on some of his fingertips made him clumsy, and it took impossibly long to get rid of the ornaments. But when those were put carefully on the table, he came right back to the buttons.
'Don't get the wrong idea.' Heine had said. So that's not what he's after. But then… what?
No one, literally no one has been allowed to touch him like this for a very long time. Not his late wife, not his sons, not his personal servants. He was important to the nation, and so he avoided exposing himself in any way possible.
To be so vulnerable like this. One swipe of a hidden knife— a minute or two of those hands on his neck— and it would be the undoing of all his efforts since the bestowment of his crown.
But somehow it was different with this man. This talented man who is certainly more than capable as an assassin. Who wielded knifes so quick and surgical-precise that hundreds of people never did notice the absence of their coins long afterwards. Who can single-handedly teach every martial-arts imaginable. Who, even if he's smaller and his hands positively eviscerated, Viktor has a cause to fear.
And somehow this man managed to be all the more trustworthy because of it.
So Viktor did as he promised and stayed stock-still, even as Heine opened the collar and cold air touched his neck, sent a shiver spider-webbing down his spine.
Viktor realized he was not breathing, and so forced himself to take a controlled inhale. The scent of Heine was so different, now. No layer of dust and dirt and grime to sift through to find that unique, nostalgic smell. In their place were the aroma of tea and books and ink and clean clothes. The smell of success, to Viktor.
Then Heine's fingers accidentally brushed Viktor's collar bone on the way to the fourth button, the one that would reveal his chest, sending goosebumps all over his skin — and the redhead stopped.
Viktor snapped his eyes open to find — horror? apprehension? fear? hesitation? — the expression on Heine's face is hard to describe, but it steals the blond's breath away. And then, Viktor's mind finally catch up with everything, and he suddenly knew what Heine really wants.
"It's not as bad as you fear." He said, moving his hand to unclasp the carved stud himself, brushing away Heine's slightly trembling hands. The redhead jerked away at the contact, and now stand a step away, looking riveted and on the verge of panic.
"I'm not sure I'm ready for this."
But Viktor had already pulled the left side of his shirt back, revealing the faint scar above his heart.
Heine took a sharp breath as it came into view. And then he forced himself to look, dissecting it with his eyes, feeling oddly detached. Such a small scar, casting such a large and complicated shadow over their lives, and for so long.
The gunshot itself seemed a tiny spot compared to the jagged tissue that surrounded it. One long line of laceration, almost two inches long, cut pass the center of his wound. Like a rupture after earthquake, like fractured glass, like a broken heart.
"The shot missed the vitals, but ended up grinding against the ribcage," said Viktor softly, as Heine looked, "They tried to get it out, but it was lodged too tightly. They couldn't sew it close with the bullet in there, but I was bleeding out quickly. So they decided to cut me open a little bit more. Get bigger tools in to try to pry it out. It fractured the bone and the bullet itself split, so that took a while. Then the wound was cleaned, and they sewed me back up and left me to heal."
"Then you came to get me."
"Not before god knows how long." Viktor said, not without the regret that haunted him since forever, "They kept me drugged because I kept trying to get up. It was frustrating. I couldn't stop having nightmares about what's been done to you."
"I was fine."
"You weren't. You were wrongly accused and put in one of the worst cells in the dungeons. You were due for execution, for god's sake. Please don't tell me you were fine."
"I didn't mind."
"You probably really didn't mind what was being done to you," Viktor said, "but you did mind that little children were left to freeze to death while you were rotting in the cell."
They studied each other in silence. The intensifying pain in Heine's eyes making Viktor regret his words.
"…I didn't expect life to be fair. Not towards street urchins like us."
Viktor noted that he wasn't included in 'us.' Not that it could be helped. His circumstance was as far as one could possibly get from Heine's.
The king sighed. "You must hate this country."
Heine looked startled at the remark.
"I won't blame you," Viktor continued, "You have countless reasons to. Life here has been unfair to you. Even now, even when so many things have been made better, you can't get all the things you deserve. Even now—
Viktor averted his eyes, started redressing himself, hiding away the scar. The pause took as long as four buttons and two golden cuffs before Viktor said,
"Even now, I can't give you all the things that you deserve. You even requested to see my scar— the utmost reason not to meddle with royal affairs, I'm sure. Royal Tutor, I expect that you've come to deny my offer?"
Heine stared at Viktor's resigned profile for a long moment, trying to arrange his scattered thoughts into something that makes some sort of sense. Finally, he simply sank to his knee.
"My king," the redhead said, eyes fixed to the floor, "I do not think I deserve the seat of honor beside you, at the festival or elsewhere. But my wretched life is filled with things I do not deserve— your friendship, a chance, education, a place to belong, this post where better men might serve you better. I have overreached so far as not to see the ground I climbed up from."
Heine's throat felt dry at what he was about to say next. To deny this offer is to shut himself out forever— but the memory of the Harvest Festival, for him, was forever tainted in blood.
Heine swallowed dryly, and said, "But if I may be allowed to overreach a tiny bit further," Heine said, and looked up to meet Viktor's astonished, hopeful eyes, "I would hope to accompany you again, to the Harvest Festival."
Heine didn't move as Viktor walk over to where was kneeling, and sank down to his knees. Heine couldn't see the king's face either— but after a while… a teardrop stained the immaculate tile between them