EPISODE DARIUS
(I)
I
When King Mors withdrew the Wall around the sole Insomnia, Darius was five years old. Too young to understand anything other than the sudden decrease in his father's out-of-town trips, old enough to realize immediately afterwards that this would not mean a greater presence of him in their home. His mother, on the other hand, never left him alone; she dragged him from one worldly reception to another, dressed and combed like a young adult and he soon noticed that the phrase everyone used to address to him, even before a greeting, was what a handsome boy.
That gift, thanks to the Six, had not faded with age, not even during those years of growth when all of his male acquaintances were undergoing an awkward transformation into Arbas. His familiarity with worldly receptions had proved unsuspectingly useful when the handsome boy so admired by adults became a handsome teenager equally admired by girls. However, after months of very unsatisfactory experiences with these girls, he discovered that sneaking into an empty room during a party with Aetius Callias to fuck in conditions of extreme versatility was much more satisfying.
II
At seventeen, lying about his age and name, Darius had become a regular at other kinds of parties that took place in quite different districts of Insomnia. One morning at four, as he came out of a club, he found his father. After having ascertained that it was indeed his father, not one of the patrons on whom he had projected his father's face by virtue of some perverse unconscious process due to being high, he raised his hand in a cheeky wave of greeting.
"Didn't know you were familiar with such places."
"Get in the car," his father ordered dryly. To come and retrieve his degenerate son, he had taken his mother's, not the council's service car, and had not let the chauffeur escort him. Darius would expect nothing less from him.
More from the surprise of seeing him there than from his intimidating tone, Darius obeyed in silence. His father started the engine without looking at him and drove through the almost empty roads of Insomnia. Try as he might, Darius hadn't been able to remember the last time they had been alone in a car. He couldn't even remember seeing him drive.
"I am not going to let you continue on this path," his father said at one point. "Starting tomorrow I entrust you to Marshal Cor Leonis."
"Has the Council approved a law for the free sale of children?" Darius replied sardonically and lighted a cigarette, knowing full well that his father would be pissed off. He blew smoke in his direction. He hoped his father would slap him. Or maybe he would slap his father. Anything just to get that unflappable expression off his face.
"No. You will join the Crownsguard, Darius."
"You can't force me."
"No," he agreed, "and I do not want to." His father pulled the car over and turned off the engine, even though they were still far from home. "Darius, let's face it. I really don't care about your sexual preference, although I sincerely hope you had the good sense to indulge because you want to and not to shame me. But I won't accept that my son, Darius Magnus, wanders around shady clubs all night, neglecting his education and all, with the prospect of living on a life-long income. You will not get a position just because I am a member of the Council. That is out of the question. You have never been interested in politics, or administration, or anything else other than parties and alcohol and I guess LSD."
"Cocaine," he corrected him with a smile.
His father pretended not to hear him. "You have never been interested in your city, in your kingdom. I won't allow a member of the Magnus family, who have served the Lucis Caelums for generations, be a parasite of the peace the King is maintaining with his own life. You will join the Crownsguard and give your contribution to the Crown City or starting tomorrow you are homeless. End of story."
"What if I choose to be homeless?"
His father started the engine again. "Then I hope you're good enough at what you do in those nightclubs to get paid."
III
Darius knew Marshal Cor Leonis just by sight; he didn't remember a time when he was officially introduced to him, or more likely he was introduced to him when he was too young to remember. He was a man of severe austerity and few words, with a glacial look, sharp as a blade, and they had never exchanged more than a few words, because the Marshal tended to escape from worldly occasions when his presence was not strictly necessary and Darius - in that his father was right - tended to avoid official occasions. Cor Leonis was by far the person in Lucis about whom the most legends circulated, almost none invented or inflated; of humble origins, he had lied about his age to join the regular army and had fought on the front at only thirteen; he had saved Prince Regis' life and had been assigned by King Mors to his son's personal retinue; at just fifteen, the only survivor of the Trial of Gilgamesh, he had become King Mors' Sworn Shield in place of Remus Amicitia; at eighteen, when Prince Regis had assumed the regency on the death of his father, Marshal of the Crownsguard. All these honors obtained at such a young age had not made him disliked by the rest of the Guard, quite the contrary; as far as he knew, juniors, seniors and veterans, even officers who had been overtaken by a kid of obscure origins, felt an admiration and a boundless respect for him that never failed to amaze Darius. The year before he had made a joke about the Marshal to Severus, an old friend in training to join the Guard - actually, it wasn't even a joke, he had only asked him if he knew that the lack of a Mrs. Leonis meant that his tastes went elsewhere. Severus, usually mild-mannered, had told him to shut up and never allow himself to speculate about the Marshal's sexual preference again if he didn't want to end up with a broken jaw. As if having a sex life in general and a non-heterosexual one in particular was considered a disgrace for such a man.
When his father took him to the Marshal less than eight hours after practically calling him a whore and Darius found himself face to face with him, he began to understand. The awe that Cor Leonis – not even thirty years old – arose was such that Darius forgot any spite that at that he was feeling at the moment, led as he was like a riotous schoolboy into the principal's office. He imitated his father, leaving his arms at his sides and greeting the Marshal with a slight bow of his head.
Cor Leonis looked at him as if he were tearing off his clothes with his eyes, and not in a sexual sense, of course, although Darius could not deny a component of physical excitement in the shiver that shook his spine. Cor Leonis was twenty-seven and had the physique of a young man at the peak of his strength and the gaze of an ageless man who had seen everything.
"Marshal," his father said respectfully. Council members were a cut above the Marshal of the Crownsguard in the Insomnia hierarchy, but clearly Darius was not the only one intimidated by the Immortal. "I brought you my son, Darius."
"I can see that," Cor Leonis merely noted, then looked away from him and pinned his gaze on his father. "Colonel Magnus, I'll repeat what I already told you on the phone two hours ago, and for the sake of clarity I will do it in front of your son: the Crownsguard, as you should know, is not a military college to straighten out unruly youngsters. If this is your intent, I suggest you go elsewhere." He looked back at Darius. "The Crownsguard is not a job. It is a mission. It is the vow to put the life of the King, the Royal Family and the citizens of Insomnia above your own. Combat preparation is just one of the many aspects it involves, and even for that, lad, you are already at the age limit where you can learn to decently hold a sword in your hand."
At that statement, Darius felt himself blush, an action his cheeks hadn't done for years. His laconic father also blushed, with embarrassment or perhaps anger, and that was even more startling. "Marshal Leonis," he said, recovering quickly, "my son is here to serve the Kingdom. He has a well-functioning mind, although I regret having to admit that he hasn't engaged it much recently, and his physique is suitable for training. He may not become a fencing virtuoso, but he will do what is necessary."
"That is what you say, Colonel Magnus. What about you?" he asked Darius. "Are you here because you want it or because your father dragged you there?"
Telling the truth would have been simple at that point; he just had to admit that he had no vocation to devote his life to the protection of a King already perfectly protected by the walls of Insomnia, and that he was only there because his father had got tired of his nocturnal revels in gay clubs. Cor Leonis would have dismissed them, his father probably would not have seriously disinherited him, and there would be no more talk of it.
Darius never knew if it was the satisfaction of seeing his father speechless by a twenty-seven-year-old young man who drove him to lie, the desire to disavow that same young man who was telling him he was already too old to learn how to do something, or if there was a third reason - he had liked the Immortal from the first glance. "I'm here by my free choice," he found himself replying. "I want to join the Crownsguard, Marshal."
Cor Leonis blinked sharply. "Did you listen to what I told you, lad?"
"I did, Sir."
"I ask you one last time: do you want to join the Crownsguard?"
"Yessir," Darius reiterated.
"Then, starting from now on, you have permission to show up for recruit training. Which doesn't automatically make you a member of the Guard. I will decide if and when you are ready to take the oath. I have been clear?"
"Of course, Sir."
"It's not my business what kind of life you have led up to now, but anyone who is under my tutelage, whether fifteen, thirty or sixty, is required to adopt an appropriate demeanor for those who serve the Royal Family. Is this also clear to you?"
Darius struggled to contain a grimace. He knew several Crownsguards slightly older than himself and very few of them, at least in private, maintained what one would have called an appropriate demeanor for those who serve the Royal Family. "Yessir."
Cor Leonis seemed to consider his answer carefully. "You still go to school, right, lad?"
"Yessir."
"Good. You will continue to attend school until graduation. See you tomorrow at five in the morning at the Crownsguard Training Hall, downstairs. I'll get you a pass."
Darius blinked. "But you said I have to go to school, sir."
"That's what I said. From now on, boy, you will undergo two hours of training in the morning, then another four after school. I'll take a look at you first, then I'll entrust you to other members of the Guard. If you miss a training session without permission, in the morning or in the afternoon, and it is not a matter of life or death, you are out. If you neglect your education, you are out. Are there any questions?"
"No, sir."
"I am not interested in straightening you up, as your father would like," the Immortal added, reserving a cold look for August Magnus, who was watching them in silence. "That is his task. Mine, if you get there, will be turning you into a Crownsguard. You can go, lad. I want to have a word with the Colonel in private."
IV
Over the next few years, to his father's great satisfaction, Darius learned all the nuances of the term *fatigue*. Cor Leonis was an inflexible mentor, and he demanded the most of himself and of all those around him.
For five years Darius came home at nine in the evening so devastated that going out for parties and drinking was out of the question. Nonetheless, the satisfaction of being able to prove to Cor Leonis that he was not too old to learn to use the sword was worth any sniff of cocaine and almost any fuck, and the amount of endorphins that physical activity allowed his body to produce allowed him not to miss those things.
He had lost his old habit of constantly looking at himself on every reflective surface, but when he'd happen to do it by chance, he found it hard to recognize the man with the prematurely graying hair and lean but solid limbs that he had become. The glances that men and women gave him on the street confirmed that he had lost nothing in beauty, or if anything he had gained, but it gave him no more pride than being able to surpass the veterans of the Guard in strength and skill, one after the other, earning the Marshal's appreciation.
Being in close contact with King Regis and the Marshal had aroused in him a never-before felt interest in the life of the city and the fate of the war against Niflheim. Cor Leonis demanded that they were constantly updated on the – disastrous – course of the war and on the daily battles waged by the new army of the Kingsglaives. For the first time, Darius realized that he had never wondered about the reasons for that war or noticed how much they were about to lose it. For the first time he became interested in the testimonies coming from the border towns and noticed that the Capital was swarming with refugees who had lost everything. For the first time he could see with his own eyes the supernatural rhythm at which the sovereign was aging, his vital strength consumed by the perpetual effort to channel the energy of the Crystal into the Wall and now, also into the Kingsglaives who used it in battle.
Darius' strenuous training, and the subsequent swearing in in the Crownsguard, had the absolutely unwanted effect of pleasing his father in almost all of his aspirations. When his mother died, they even managed to sit around a table with a bottle of whiskey to remember her together. But he never complied with Colonel Magnus' desire that he marry a noblewoman of Insomnia, even if only for the façade, and that he churned out at least one heir. He went back to nightclubs from time to time, no longer getting high on alcohol and cocaine, to establish relationships without commitment – keeping, now, the utmost discretion, not for his father but because he began to understand what it meant to have a surname like his and the title he had so hard-earned. If anything of his private habits reached Marshal Cor Leonis' ears, he never reproached him or even mentioned it.
Those were very hard years, but nothing taught him the concept of responsibility that his father and Cor Leonis had very clear in mind as the kidnapping of the heir to the throne, Noctis Lucis Caelum, in 744. Darius was twenty-three at the time, he had been sworn in just two years earlier – quite late by the Guard standards, but it couldn't be otherwise, because he had begun training almost as an adult, albeit with results that everyone considered astonishing – and would soon receive his first promotion to corporal. The kidnapping actually taught everyone that they couldn't let their guard down just because they were safe inside the Wall.
It happened that Noctis Lucis Caelum, who was eight at the time, was led out of Insomnia by the trusted woman who had cared for him since Queen Aulea's death. No one was ever able to establish later how the woman had come into contact with the Empire, what she had been promised, and above all how she had managed to pass the checks of the Crownsguard at the heavily armored Citadel and those of the City Guard at the highly guarded gates of Insomnia, also because the woman lost her life in the accident that, fortunately or unfortunately, happened to the car that had taken them into custody. An investigation followed, of course, which led to the arrest and execution of a fringe of infiltrators, which reminded the King, the Council, the Crownsguard and the whole city that they could not really consider themselves safe despite the Wall. Those were years of extreme social tension, begun when the King had dissolved the districts inhabited only by immigrants after the MRSA4 epidemic, which gave a lot of work not only to the Crownsguard but also to the City Guard in terms of interventions to suffocate riots and disorders.
Given the particular delicacy and gravity of the matter, Marshal Leonis himself was responsible for the investigation, convictions and executions, with the full support of General Clarus Amicitia. King Regis was not in Insomnia. He had personally accompanied the Prince to Tenebrae, where – it was hoped – the healing powers of Queen Sylva would gradually allow him to regain the use of his legs, and he had decided to stay there with his son. He hadn't wanted any of his longtime friends to escort him; Clarus Amicitia was to administer Insomnia in his stead along with the rest of the Council, and Cor Leonis was to continue to lead the Crownsguard.
Word soon spread that Cor Leonis had awaited the end of the investigation to officially communicate to the King that he was resigning as Marshal of the Crownsguard for his obvious inadequacy, and that he would await his return to retire, if the King so wished. King Regis, of course, had refused to accept his resignation. Cor Leonis, in fact, had much less responsibility than others for what had happened, but consistently with his character he took the whole blame and – Darius was more and more convinced of this as their knowledge became closer – he never forgave himself.
The kidnapping had happened just over a month before, the King and the Prince were still in Tenebrae, and the city was still shocked. Darius had returned to the Citadel at the end of his night shift – it was six in the morning – and when he went to clock out at the HQ, he found Cor Leonis in the common room; for a moment, in the dim light, he seemed to him not a thirty-three-year-old, but an elderly, exhausted man. The Marshal looked up at him in amazement, then reached across the desk to light up the cell phone display. "It's already six," he said, to Darius or to himself. "I hadn't realized it. Good morning, Darius. Anything to report?"
Darius shook his head and retrieved the log to sign. "No, sir. All quiet."
"Good," the Marshal answered, and sighed. He looked down at his laptop screen without another word.
Darius put the log away, wondering why he wasn't at home sleeping or in his office, and at the same time grateful to have found him there. It was the first time he had had the chance to speak to him alone since it had happened, even though he and all the other members of the Crownsguard had rallied around their Marshal trying to persuade him not to resign. The idea of a Crownsguard without Cor Leonis was inconceivable to Darius. "Sir, I wanted to tell you that..."
"It doesn't matter," Cor Leonis cut him short, probably knowing what Darius wanted to say. "Go home, Darius. Your last exam is near, right?"
He was amazed that the Marshal had remembered it, at such a moment, even though he was wrong about the timing. "Last week," he said.
Cor Leonis blinked, and looked back at him. "Already done? How did it go?"
"I couldn't take it," he had to admit.
The Marshal gave another sigh, this time exasperated. Darius thought he would blame him for missing the exam, but then he saw him bow his head and rub his neck. "I'm sorry, Darius."
"It's certainly not your fault, Marshal. Anyway, nothing happened. It will be for the next degree session."
At that moment, there was nothing further from the mind of Darius of the university. He had continued to study after high school just because the Marshal had told him it was a shame to waste a brain like his, and he had chosen historical studies because he believed they would better help him understand what was happening in the world. He was about to go away, but something in the Marshal's look convinced him to hold back a little longer. "Can I get you some coffee, Marshal?"
It was evident that he was going to refuse, but then Cor Leonis pursed his lips for a moment in a defeated gesture. "Yes, please, Darius, if you have nothing better to do. Going to sleep, for example."
Two minutes later, Darius was sitting next to him – at a respectful distance, of course, but closer than they'd ever sat together – and they were both sipping hot coffee from foam cups, in silence.
"It wasn't your fault, what happened to the Prince," Darius found the courage to say.
The Marshal held the cup in both his hands. "Darius..." he sighed.
"You don't have to answer me. I just wanted to tell you."
Cor shook his head. "No. That's okay. Listen to me carefully, Darius: our individual responsibilities rarely have anything to do with our institutional responsibilities. Could I have foreseen that a person of complete trust inside the Citadel would try to deliver the Prince to the Empire? No, of course. But I failed to notice suspicious movements that could have warned us. I have failed to make the Citadel a safe place. And I underestimated the potential threat of imperial infiltration within the city."
"As for the Citadel, that's *our* fault," Darius interrupted him, even though he was off duty the night it happened and had been thrown out of his bed to join the research, "we weren't quite ready, and Jude..."
"No," the Marshal contradicted him, abruptly, "it's my fault, because there was no officer on guard that night, and it's my fault if Jude wasn't ready."
Jude Hillel, a young Crownsguard on duty on the night of the kidnapping, was found dead during the patrol of the royal apartment floor by their comrade Helmut Crescens. The woman who had taken the Prince away, or an accomplish, had killed her. One of the sides of the affair that had most grieved Cor Leonis.
"Is it your fault even if the City Guard did not notice anything and the Prince was taken out of Insomnia despite the checks at the gates? Or at least for that you'll leave some blame to Hector Lars and his men?"
The Marshal frowned. "I don't care what responsibilities Commander Lars takes or doesn't take. I care about mine. It was my duty, as a Marshal of the Crownsguard, if not to foresee, at least prevent what happened. As a result, not to mention what happened to the young Prince, we have three casualties, including one of my men. A twenty-two-year-old girl."
Darius was shocked at the news of Jude's death, but – he felt a little ashamed about that – not so much as at the prospect of the Marshal resigning. "Under the circumstances," he ventured to say, "we should equip ourselves with an intelligence."
The Marshal's grave expression frowned for a moment. The corners of his lips quivered, as if he were holding back a smile. "Incidentally, Darius, that's what I think too. We had something like that a few years ago. You know about the infiltrations in the laboratories in Niflheim, don't you?"
"Sure," he hastened to confirm, pleased to have had the same idea as the Marshal – not all that original or daring, evidently. "They gave us a lot of useful information while it lasted, didn't they? Too bad the whole network went down, along with the coverage of our agents in the First Magitek Production Facility, six years ago. If we plan to try again, Marshal, consider me a volunteer," he proposed. There was nothing he wanted more than to get involved outside Insomnia.
"That's impossible, Darius. You would be too flashy a spy," the Marshal retorted, humoring him.
"What do you mean?" Darius answered, almost offended. "I am very discreet, Marshal. And restrained. I would have no problem infiltrating imperial territory."
"I have no doubts about your coolness and control," the Marshal replied, turning to toss the empty foam cup into the waste basket. "But a good spy does not attract attention. A spy must have an anonymous face that anyone tends to forget immediately after crossing it. You are too good-looking to be a spy, lad."
Darius' felt himself blush, and he too turned to throw the foam cup into the waste basket so that the Marshal would not notice. But the Marshal, he soon realized, had no intention of paying him a compliment; as far as he was concerned, he was simply noting an objective fact.
"Nevertheless," Cor Leonis went on, "I will try to plead the cause of the intelligence, as soon as the King is back it will be time to take stock of this whole unfortunate situation. But I don't have much hope. The Kingdom, like its King, has less and less resources and energy to spend, Darius. Insomnia is such a large and populated city that it needs almost everything we have available just to keep it up and running. The hopes of the Kingdom now are focused on the Kingsglaives. Sometimes I think King Mors should not have withdrawn the regular army. Even if the Glaives make a difference, it's a hundred kids against virtually endless armies of biomechanical warriors. The most they can do is defend the borders, certainly not counterattack."
Darius kept silent, depressed.
"We'll see what tomorrow brings," concluded the Marshal, closing the laptop and bending down to disconnect the power supply from the socket. "Thanks for the coffee. Since, it seems, I will remain Marshal of the Crownsguard for a while longer, I will reciprocate as soon as the opportunity arises. Maybe we can talk with more ease. You can tell me about your studies. I have so little time that I can't read or study myself. I can hardly get a glimpse of the newspapers before the news becomes outdated."
Again, Darius had to hold back a smirk. "Thank you, Marshal. It will be a pleasure." He hesitated. "May I ask you a question, Sir?"
"Ask away. I will try to answer if I can." Typical of Cor Leonis, he never promised anything sight unseen.
"What would you have done if the King had accepted your resignation?"
The Marshal remained with the laptop charger in midair. He wasn't expecting such a question, it was obvious. "I would have left Insomnia," he finally replied. "I have a debt of gratitude, as well as friendship, towards the King and Clarus Amicitia, as everyone knows, but sometimes I have the impression that I would be more useful outside, following the course of the war more closely."
"Then," Darius whispered, "I'm glad the King didn't accept. Insomnia wouldn't be the same without you, Marshal."
"No one is indispensable, Darius," Cor Leonis replied, smiling. "But thank you. I am grateful to all of you guys for the undeserved support you have shown me. Your affection," he emphasized, clumsily pronouncing that word as if it were unfamiliar to him. "Go to sleep now, Darius. See you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Marshal," he resigned himself to retreat.
A few weeks later Tenebrae would fall, and the Kingdom would experience other moments of terror and despair, but that night, for the first time, Darius realized that he had become a real Crownsguard, in all respects; he would have given his life for the King and for the Kingdom if necessary. And he would have given his life for his Marshal.
"Darius?" It often happened, he had learned, that Cor Leonis decided to say something only when the interlocutor was about to leave.
"Sir?"
"Not all evils come to harm. This episode, if nothing else, shook the whole city and reminded everyone, myself included, that there is still a war out there, even though we have the luxury of living protected inside the Wall, and that we must not let our guard down. Never. One day, war will come here too, and that day we will all be put to the test."
"I'm sure the Glaives will make a difference, Marshal," he replied.
"We'll see. Good night, Darius. Or maybe, by now, I should say good morning."
V
Darius struggled to understand where exactly the line lay between the reverence he felt for his commander and a more intimate and personal feeling, as they both grew over the years, mingling more and more. Cor, as he had begun to call the Marshal exclusively in private became, if not his closest friend – he was quite certain that the only people in Insomnia that the Marshal considered friends were the King and Clarus Amicitia – his most solid point of reference. Cor, on his part, seemed to appreciate his company more and more, and more and more allowed himself to indulge in private confidences concerning the King, the Council and the war in order to have his opinion.
In their eighteen years of acquaintance before Insomnia fell in May 756, Darius never dared to cross the line between appropriate and inappropriate. The only physical contact between them took place inside the gyms of the Training Hall, a contact that was undoubtedly close but never ambiguous, because when they clashed, they reached such levels of fury that Darius could not afford to think of anything else. Although ten years older, Cor Leonis surpassed him in technique, agility and physical strength – not surprisingly he was the only challenger to have survived a confrontation with Gilgamesh at only fifteen.
Given the ambiguous nature of his feelings towards Cor Leonis, Darius was not surprised when part of his attention was monopolized by another man, met not in a nightclub but at his father's house, and even older than Cor. Colonel Alexander Caraway – he had earned the title for some feat on the front thirty years earlier – was fifty-two years old and a few weeks later he would officially take office in the King's Council in place of the late and elderly Victor Pontius. He was only a few years younger than his father, but they could not have been more different. The man he met in the entrance of the house where he was born and raised was just slightly shorter than Darius, had the physique of a forty-year-old in excellent condition, olive skin and green eyes.
"You must be August's son," the man said, straightening up to let his father's butler help him put on his coat. As he pulled his arms back to tuck them into the sleeves, his shirt stretched on his pectorals, and Darius forced himself to look away. Without bothering to button his coat, the man stepped forward to hold out his hand. "Colonel Alexander Caraway. We haven't been officially introduced yet, but I have an idea that we will meet often in the future."
"My pleasure, Colonel." Darius held out his hand. Caraway's grip was dry and firm, manly. The man stared into his eyes the whole time. "I heard," he added, "that the seat belongs to you. Congratulations. Or should I say, condolences?"
Caraway laughed. He had white, perfect teeth. "Should they propose it to you, never accept your father's place, Darius."
When he heard him laugh and say the name he evidently already knew, Darius decided that, straight or gay, he wanted that man. "Do not worry," he smiled, looking into his eyes in turn. "Political life is not for me. I'm more inclined with the sword."
"So they told me. Darius Magnus, the most capable man of Marshal Leonis. His promising right-hand man. Rumor says that when he decides to retire – but we hope that it will happen in a long, long time – you will take over for him as the head of the Crownsguard."
Caraway was deliberately exaggerating - moreover, Cor was a little over forty. Did he want to get his attention or was it mere courtesy to the son of another council member? "Empty talk of people who like to run their mouths," he disillusioned him. Only then did he realize he was still wearing his coat. He slowly took it off with premeditated gestures, feigning disinterest, and draped it over his arm. He smiled at Caraway, moving away from the door as if he had been keeping him from leaving until now. "I'll not keep you any longer, Colonel. I will see you at the Citadel, I suppose."
"It's me who won't hold you any longer," Caraway pointed out, but he smiled too. "I don't want to take away from August, always so busy, the little time he certainly spends with his son."
They had shaken only two minutes before, but Darius held out his hand again. He liked the contact with Caraway's skin, the arching of his long, muscular fingers around his own. He tried to picture them around his cock. "My father will understand. It was a pleasure, Colonel Caraway."
Caraway squeezed it back. "For me, as well. Good evening, Darius."
~~~XV~~~
Darius' visits to the floors of the Citadel destined for the King and the Council became more frequent. When Cor pointed this out and asked him with a half-smile if after all he didn't intend to get in politics, Darius just replied that it was Cor who had reproached him for caring too little when he was a kid. Compatibly with his commitments in the Guard, he began to happen by chance near the halls of the Council when the Council was in session. He hailed his father absently and made sure to always be seen by Caraway and to have a word or two with them.
He was in no hurry. Cor would have called it an approach maneuver, a tactical movement that a ground unit makes to move from the waiting area to the starting base for the attack. Darius was amused by that approach which was so unusual for him. He never needed to approach anyone. It was him who was usually approached. But for the past fifteen years he had carefully kept his sex life away from the Citadel; if he had got involved in something unseemly, the Marshal would have kicked his ass out of the Guard, despite – or perhaps because of – the deep and mutual esteem that bound them.
Caraway was the first man who brought him – cautiously – out into the open. What most intrigued Darius was not always being able to distinguish which of the two was giving the stake to whom. A lingering hand, a hidden glance, an apparently casual but prolonged contact between legs under the table; Caraway knew very well they had started a game, and he lent himself to it without laying open.
Two months after their chance meeting at his father's house, Darius met Caraway at Cornelia Doge's house. Cornelia was a lively 75-year-old widow distantly related to the Lucis Caelums – a cousin of King Mors' father, it was said, was her grandfather. Nobody knew whether that was true or not, but it didn't matter, because Cornelia Doge was very lavish with receptions and parties, at least once a month, and at one of these parties, to which his mother dragged him since he was a child, Darius had lost his second virginity with Aetius in a closet.
Caraway had his back to him, but Darius was pretty sure he knew he was there, because a couple of acquaintances – Lily Laconis and Chris Pactor – yelled his name as soon as he walked into the room and Caraway turned his head for a moment and then returned to converse with old Gabinus. Darius ignored him, but felt a thrill of pleasure run from the back of his neck to his sacrum. He was not there for him, he did not even know that he would find him at that party, and he would not give him the satisfaction of rushing to greet him as soon as he arrived, so he spent the evening with Lily and Chris making small talk.
He was so precise in avoiding Caraway, that when he heard him take leave of their hostess an hour later, he called himself an idiot for wasting that night. He saw Caraway leave the room with his cell phone and a glass in his hand. He counted to five.
"Chris, sorry, I have to go and freshen up," he winked, lifting his goblet.
Chris snorted a laugh. "I bet. Go empty your bladder, Magnus, with all the wine you drank it will take a while."
In fact, Darius noticed when he stood up, he had taken a drop too much. Cor would not have been happy at all, even if Darius was not on call, if he had been there, but Cor had never attended a reception of Cornelia Doge, although their hostess never failed to send him an elegant invitation card, which he invariably slipped into the shredder. I don't have time for such nonsense, he always said, but he took care every time to send a formal line to thank and decline the invitation. It could not be said that Cor had not learned the gift of diplomacy over the years.
Darius went out into the corridor. He believed that he would find Caraway at the entrance to get his coat back, but he wasn't there. There were two people waiting in front of the cloakroom desk, so he couldn't have gone out already.
"Good evening, Darius." Caraway had come out of a room, his cell phone and glass still in his hand. That night, he was wearing a navy tweed three-piece suit with a white shirt and gray tie. "Were you looking for me? I received an urgent call."
Darius gave a feline smile. "Good evening, Colonel. I actually was here to retrieve my spare lighter on my coat. I think I've lost the other one somewhere."
The right corner of Caraway's mouth quivered in a hint of a smile. "A bad habit, smoking, especially for a swordsman. What does Marshal Leonis think about it?"
"All the possible evil, but so far there is no written prohibition."
"Since when is the Crownsguard founded on written rules?"
"Anything that isn't written can be freely interpreted or circumvented," he retorted.
Again, the right corner of his mouth twisted. Caraway slipped the cell phone in his suit pocket and pulled out a zippo instead. Darius had never seen him smoke, nor had he ever smelled smoke on him. "A bad, very bad habit," he repeated. "Shall we go outside? There is a balcony in this sitting room, where no one will blame us for our shortcomings. And I also saw a cocktail cabinet. I suppose Cornelia won't complain, as long as she finds out we helped ourselves." Darius couldn't have asked for better.
Caraway didn't turn on the light. From the glass doors a light entered allowing for the room to be sufficiently illuminated. Darius saw an elegant burgundy velvet loveseat and two armchairs, a low table cluttered with tacky furnishings, a fireplace, and the cocktail cabinet Caraway was talking about. The man put his now almost empty glass on the table and went to the cabinet. Darius wondered how he would react if he slipped behind him and placed his lips on his nape, between the collar of his shirt and the ends of his short hair. The difference between their heights was perfect. He could almost smell the scent of his expensive cologne.
He would never do that, of course. The days of Aetius Callius were over and there was probably not a single person at that reception from whom Darius would have liked to be surprised with Colonel Caraway. "I thought you were leaving," he betrayed himself.
"It was my intention, actually." Caraway dropped to his knees and opened the wet bar. That height was also perfect. "Did you hear me depart from our gentle hostess, then?"
They both knew it was so. "Maybe. What does the house offer?"
"Mh," Caraway murmured, concentrated, holding up a bottle so that the label was legible in the dim light. "Gin. Monkey 47."
"The lady has good taste. Excellent first choice."
"Without soda or ice?"
"I'll pretend I haven't heard you. You don't dirty a glass of Monkey 47 with ice and vulgar soda."
"Forgive me for the outrage, Lieutenant Magnus," Caraway joked. Darius saw his white teeth flicker between his full lips for a moment as he retrieved two glasses from the same cabinet. "I didn't think I would offend your sensitivity so much since it is a simple gin. I think I'll help myself with this bottle of Dalmore."
"Ah, you're a Scotch type," Darius retorted, without getting angry. "I should have known."
Caraway didn't answer. He filled two glasses and nodded towards the glass doors. "Shall we go out?"
In the balcony, it turned out, there were three chairs and a table, and they sat down to drink and smoke, their chairs close but not so much for them to touch. They talked about politics, for the most part, and it was clear to Darius how that man of bourgeois origin had managed to get to the Council: his every word was extremely measured and precise. That man pondered every sentence, spoken and unspoken, to obtain a precise effect on his interlocutor, and that conversation was entirely conducted with the aim of provoking Darius, teasing him, catching him out. One moment Caraway flattered him, the other paternally reproached him for a flaw in his education or an inconsistency in his reasoning. He would ask him his opinion on one topic or another, listening to him with extreme attention, then he changed the subject without saying anything about it, as if he had considered his answer not interesting enough to continue on that theme.
Darius did his best to respond blow for blow, in turn trying to divert the conversation from politics to Caraway's personal beliefs and then to his private life, to steer clear signals that could be used against him. It was all useless because Caraway withdrew and was able to lead the conversation exactly where he wanted, without giving the impression of having done so.
The only topic on which Caraway seemed to lose ground was the war. Caraway named the Glaives and Darius took the opportunity to ask him if, had King Mors not withdrawn the regular army, would he would have remained on the front. Caraway hesitated more than necessary before answering, and when he did, his voice was sharp, as if that question had outraged him. At that point they were no longer sitting in the chairs, but standing, leaning against the railing of the balcony, and Darius saw his whole body visibly stiffen.
"Of course I would have. I was an idealist at the time, Darius. I really believed it. If King Mors hadn't brought back the army, I would have fought to the death."
"What about now?"
Again Caraway seemed uncomfortable with the question. "Now, Darius, I believe we're in the hands of the Six."
That answer shocked Darius, and he didn't know if he was joking or not. He had never heard Caraway mention the Six, in an interview or in a rally, not even as an exclamation. He turned to face him, but Caraway was now staring straight ahead. He didn't have time to press him with another question, because Caraway returned looking at him, smiled, and tilted his head in a sly expression. "I wasn't that bad, you know?"
"I assumed so," Darius replied, sliding an appreciative look over his solid shoulders. "King Mors was not the type to pin down colonels, generals and captains without any merit, as far as I know."
"No," Caraway admitted. "But now it's a symbolic title. I haven't taken a sword in my hand for almost thirty years now. I was offered to join the Crownsguard, to be fair, when I returned to Insomnia, but I refused, as Titus Drautos, Magellano Reiner and many others who waged war in my day did."
"And why on Eos?"
"I didn't share King Mors' line," he admitted. "It is not a mystery. I did not agree with the withdrawal of the army, I did not agree with economic and especially migration policies. I couldn't train with the Crownsguard and swear allegiance to a King who didn't think enough about the welfare of his subjects. Everyone, not just those who were lucky enough to be born in the capital."
Caraway was the council member closest to the common people and the most attentive to the living conditions of immigrants. He had been one of the most fervent supporters of the closure of refugee neighborhoods after the MRSA4 epidemic that had depopulated one, and he had won it. Darius' father, perched in his nobiliary pride, didn't always share his interventions, but they esteemed each other. Cor himself had been, and still was, a staunch defender of King Mors' policies, but he appreciated Caraway's contribution to the Council. You can't talk about common people's problems with a council of nobles only, he'd always tell him.
Darius opened his mouth to pursue him further, but Caraway, while holding on to the same theme, returned to the light tone of earlier. "What a pity that I hung my sword on a nail," he went on. "If you had been born fifteen years ago, Darius, you would have found a worthy opponent in the Ludi."
Their shoulders brushed. Darius felt his warm skin through all those layers of tweed and cotton. He smelled again, intoxicating, his cologne, and the slightly pungent smell of the still-lit cigarette he was holding. "You say so?" he challenged him, lingering at the thought of a physical confrontation between the two of them.
"Perhaps not," he conceded, amused. "They say Darius Magnus is the first swordsman of the Crownsguard, after the Immortal."
"The second," Darius corrected him, trying to figure out where he was going. The effect generated by the recent image lingered and he stretched his pelvis against the balustrade, to give a little pleasant pressure to his arousal.
"Until this year," Caraway continued. It seemed to Darius that he was leaning a little more on his shoulder now. "I must confess that I have always found a certain delight in attending the Ludi of the Crownsguard, since I was very young. I used to follow them on TV, but over the years my position has earned me a seat with an increasingly better view. The last time was exceptional."
"Oh, the council gallery," Darius winked, flattered that Caraway had watched him fight. "It's thrilling to be so close to the arena, isn't it? As a kid, I couldn't wait for it to be May. Watching the Crownsguards confront each other was so exciting."
Caraway caught the hint, but instead of shielding himself he attacked. "The young Gladiolus Amicitia gave you a good blow this year, didn't he? Clarus is not the type to brag, but he is very proud of him. As for technique, you are clearly superior to Gladiolus, that was evident to everyone. But that lad is strong as an Iron Giant. How old is he, again?"
"Twenty," replied Darius, not letting himself be misled by that childish attempt to touch his pride by praising the physical abilities of another man. It wasn't Gladio that Caraway wanted to talk about. "You wouldn't say that, huh?"
"Twenty," Caraway repeated, without stopping to stare at him. "He has progressed very quickly. For his part, during the first Ludus in which he participated, he had a lot of physical strength and a lot of stubbornness, but they are not enough by themselves. He trained hard until he put all the best members of the Crownsguard in trouble, but until this May between him and the victory at the Ludi there was always Darius Magnus."
"Until this May," Darius pointed out. Again, he didn't get offended. "We all knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I knew that, too. Gladio is a worthy son of his father. He will get better still. Probably soon he will put even the Immortal himself in trouble." He smiled. "And who knows, maybe next year the Ludi will have some surprises in store for us. I'm not a fixed goal, Colonel. I also continue to train. And the nephew of the head chancellor, Ignis Stupeo Scientia, is not to be underestimated. He's very agile and fast. And shrewd."
"I look forward to the next Ludus, then," Caraway nodded. "Hoping they will give us a show equal to the one that took place in May." He lowered his voice. "The feline and attractive Darius Magnus unarmed and knocked down by another man who blocks his back to the ground with his weight, pointing a sword to his throat."
Darius couldn't believe he had said that. Caraway made an almost imperceptible grimace, and pushed his shoulder away from him, but he did not allow him to move away. Caraway had laid himself open, and that was the time for the attack. "Would you have liked to have been in Gladio Amicitia's place, Alexander?" he asked, before grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him.
Caraway held his breath and resisted for a moment, but then his lips and teeth gave him enough space for Darius to slip his tongue into the man's mouth. Darius' hand slipped from his neck to his jaw and pulled him harder against himself.
Voices were heard in the deserted garden. Caraway broke away violently from his grasp, elbowing his hands away. They both drew back, in the shadows of the balcony, waiting to know if anyone had seen them. But the sitting room was empty and the voices – a man and a woman – continued as if nothing had happened until they left.
Darius looked at Caraway. He was pale, slightly sweaty, his Adam's apple was going up and down, and he kept his knuckles resting on his lips. Then he looked back into the sitting room. The couch. An hour earlier he had told himself that he would never do it. Now he couldn't think of anything else.
Caraway got him off the hook. "Darius, I think you misunderstood," he said, a falsely hilarious echo in his voice, looking back at him. He smiled.
Darius was so disappointed by that banal reaction that he almost became irritated. "I did?" he asked him. "Colonel, it's been fun these two months, you played a good game. Don't stumble on the ending."
"On the ending of what?" retorted the colonel. "I wonder if you haven't imagined something that isn't there. My last joke was a bit over-the-top, I admit. I wanted to good-naturedly laugh at you for your defeat. I am sorry if I sounded inappropriate."
Darius licked his lips, enjoying the flavor of that game for the last time before Caraway turned it into a farce. "I hope you know how to manage the sessions of the Council better than this, when you realize that you have made a misstep. I'll ask my father. Goodnight, Colonel."
He went back into the sitting room. There was much less confusion now, in the corridor beyond the closed door; most of the guests must have left while they were talking, and the others must have retired to play cards. Time to retrieve his coat, and he would imitate the first ones.
"Darius," Caraway followed him inside. "I am flattered. Seriously. But I am afraid you have gotten my inclinations wrong."
That continual and childish denial was unworthy of him. Or maybe Darius had overestimated him. He stopped and looked back at the man. Caraway's gray tie was crooked. He hadn't noticed it while they were talking. Maybe it had happened when he had grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him. That insignificant detail generated a new spasm of excitement in his lower abdomen. "Forget it, Colonel. I won't tell anyone about it, if that's what you fear. But do not worry. Any member of the Council, of the nobility and of the Guard is attributed at least an affair with another man, another woman, a husband or wife or a boy or a beast, as you well know. Nobody would care that much."
"Magnus," he repeated sharply. "I'm not afraid of anything. Because there is nothing you need to talk to anyone else about. Don't make a fool of yourself." Darius' reaction to his reticence had amazed and embarrassed him. Caraway, Darius realized, had expected some insistence from him, or perhaps an apology for being rash, certainly not being treated with superior sufficiency.
"Oh, we're back to my surname. You didn't call me Magnus last week when you touched my leg with your foot under the Sotherby's table."
Caraway joined him and grabbed his shoulder in a painful grip. Darius just blinked, nodding towards the door. "Not here, Colonel. I say it for your sake. And not even later, I say it for your sake. I am the second swordsman of the Crownsguard, as you yourself said so picturesquely a moment ago; I am not easy to land, I assure you, if I do not decide that I want to be landed." He freed himself from his grip. "And you're not Gladiolus Amicitia, with all due respect."
"Stay away from me," Caraway hissed after him. "Don't force me to talk to your father."
"Go ahead," he challenged him, without turning around, waving at him. He almost felt like laughing. "Call me when you do it. I want to see his face."
VI
Caraway didn't tell his father, or anyone else, of course, and so did Darius, of course. Arriving home that night, he had decided to let it go. After such a promising start, Caraway had proved to be a poor opponent. Darius did not even for a moment consider the possibility that he was wrong about him. Even if that last allusion was a bad joke, Darius had learned quite well, in seventeen years of sexual experiences of all kinds, to read the body signals, and Caraway was attracted to him. He was sure of it. But perhaps he was wrong about one thing: he had considered the Colonel a very discreet homosexual, while now he was beginning to think that he was one of those men who ignored the obvious cracks in their heterosexuality until their forties or even fifties, and are in that intermediate stage where they think of it as midlife crisis rather than of the simple and harmless desire for cock. Darius had met plenty of I-am-straight-buts, and he knew that few of them come to terms with their desires and impulses. He wasn't going to waste any more time with him.
He carefully avoided Caraway for months. However, since the Crownsguard and the Council periodically ended up meeting, if not at briefings and assemblies, at that kind of formal receptions where it is considered rude to be absent, Darius saw him again at Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum's eighteenth birthday. Darius knew the Prince quite well and knew that, within an hour from the start of the party dedicated to him, His Highness would slip away to reappear only when his father would make people look for him at the moment of the toast and, Ignis and Gladio, who never parted from their protégé, would take the chance to do the same.
"Yo, Darius," Gladio greeted him in front of the buffet counter. He was holding a glass of orange soda. They had gone out drinking several times, since Gladio was of age to do so, and the lad was well on it if he was in the mood, but Darius knew that, on those official occasions, his father Clarus Amicitia and the Marshal would have skinned him alive if they had seen something alcoholic in his hand. And, unlike him, Gladio was very keen on the approval of his parent.
Darius smiled, thinking about how Gladio would react if he had told him that he had been the subject of allusions by the distinguished Colonel Caraway, who perhaps had even made him co-star in some erotic fantasy involving Darius himself. With all his wild imagination, Darius would never have thought about it; although Gladio was physically handsome, he had never dared to cast a dirty look on him because he had known him since he was eight, and Gladio had been one of the juniors he had trained. Moreover, when Gladio had literally landed him, at the final of the Ludi, he had felt anger and humiliation for being defeated, as far as there was from excitement. "Hi, Beast. Where is the birthday boy?"
"With the King, right now." Gladio put down his glass and served himself three generous portions of roast. "Sorry man, I'm in a hurry to eat, because in a while he'll try to slip away as usual and of course I'll have to go with him."
"Yeah, as if you mind escaping from such a boring party. Are you sure that meat is enough for you?"
Gladio bared his teeth before biting a slice of roast. "Until two hours ago I was in the Training Hall sweating. I'd eat a Zhu. What about you, Darius? We haven't sparred for a while. Ain't ya going to be sluggish after the defeat?"
Darius showed him his middle finger. "Don't push me, kiddo. If you care so much, tomorrow I'll take two hours to kick your ass."
"I am always amazed at how such grossness can come out of that elegant mouth."
"If you only knew what goes in."
Gladio turned purple. He coughed, drowning himself with a piece of roast. "What the fuck, Darius!"
Darius slapped his back, resisting the temptation to ring yet another two-way joke, then refilled his glass. "See you around, Beast. I'm going to smoke a cigarette."
"You know the Marshal doesn't want us to smoke."
"Then don't tell him."
As if he had arranged it specifically, as soon as he went out on the terrace, he saw Caraway's broad shoulders sheathed in the official uniform of the Council. He was talking to Serena Clement and Leradine Drake, about something trivial it seemed, because the other two were laughing petulantly. Darius waited to pass by before making the lighter washer sizzle loudly to get their attention.
"Magnus Junior," Drake greeted him. He ripped Darius' cock off, and not literally, thank the Six. Had there been no monarchy, Darius thought, he would have been one of those who stab his comrades in the back to secure his fair share of power. "How's it going?"
"I am perfectly well, General," he greeted him in turn with a sarcastic note of respect by lowering his head. "Countess Clement, you are more and more beautiful," he lied. Clement was sixty-five years old and she was trying to hide it with such a showy layer of makeup that she had the effect of showing ten more. "Colonel Caraway..." he indulged for a long time on the last diphthong. "We haven't seen each other for a while."
Clement took two small steps and, heedless of the cigarette smoke, leaned on his arm. "Drake, Alexander, forgive me, but it doesn't happen every day for an old lady like me to accompany such a handsome young man. Speaking of handsome men, tell me how Marshal Leonis is doing, Darius. That man is more impenetrable than an armored safe."
"Busy, as always. Nevertheless, there is not that much to penetrate. Cor Leonis has no life outside of his duties in the Crownsguard."
"Such a pity. A handsome man like him, so gifted, so sacrificed, should find a wife who can take good care of him. He's still so young."
"I am afraid that is beyond his interests, Countess," Darius replied politely. A woman had yet to be born who could penetrate the granite armor of the Immortal. Or a man. "The Marshal is married to his tasks."
"Speaking of wives, I always wonder, Darius, why you aren't married yet. I could arrange a meeting with..."
"Come on, Serena, don't embarrass young Magnus. Insomnia's young female offspring are not enough for him." Leradine winked at him, giving to understand that he knew perfectly well where his tastes fell.
"Oh, on the contrary," Darius retorted. "It is I who am not enough for the young female offspring of Insomnia." He eloquently fixed his gaze on Caraway, who maintained an enviable aplomb but had an imperceptible thrill; he probably feared Darius would drop a joke or an allusion about him. But Darius wasn't that inelegant. "I am going to see if the Prince is free. I have not yet had the chance to offer him my wishes. Have a good evening," he took his leave of them.
If Gladio and Ignis were very close to the Prince of Insomnia, the same could not be said of the rest of the Crownsguard, with the sole exception of the Marshal because of the personal friendship that bound him to the King. The King had made sure that Noctis could being independent – studying in a public high school, living alone and working – with the direct consequence that they saw little of the Prince at the Citadel. The King wanted him to attend some of the meetings of the Council, and of course the kid was often at the Training Hall, but Gladio and Cor themselves were in charge of his training. Darius still hadn't been able to get an idea of what kind of king he would become; he had talked about it with Cor, sometimes, in private, and the Marshal assured him that, when the time came for him to take responsibility, the Prince would be ready, but Darius did not know on what basis he founded his ingrained opinion.
He was unable to intercept the Prince, but Caraway intercepted him, not even an hour after he had taken leave of him and the other two. The Colonel joined him while he was smoking another cigarette, making sure that there were enough people around them, with the precise purpose, Darius supposed, of preventing him from making embarrassing gestures like the one of the month before.
Darius raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Please, Colonel, stay away from me. Don't force me to talk to my father," he teased him, careful that only he could hear it.
"Please, Darius," Caraway replied, returning to his first name, just as low. He leaned against the balustrade, a little away from him, and lit one of his cigarettes. "I just came to apologize."
"Apologize for what, Colonel?"
"Last time I overreacted. But then it occurred me to think that perhaps it was more… refined… to talk to you openly. At your age, in your position, Darius, it should be easy for you to understand that a man of my age and position cannot behave freely as he would like. I drank a bit too much, I got caught up in the situation, and I made a misstep."
Darius put out his cigarette in the ashtray, even though it wasn't finished yet. He was silent for as long as possible. "Colonel," he said, "I want to be completely honest with you. I don't mind being rejected, although, I have to admit, it's not something that happens to me often. But it was so disappointing to hear you deny the undeniable. You can keep up appearances with my father, and Clarus Amicitia, and Cor Leonis, and the other members of the Council, perhaps, and not all of them either, but you can't let slip such an inelegant allusion as the one you made and then hide behind the screen of irony."
"Denying the undeniable is the prerogative of politicians," he defended himself.
"Those who are inconsistent, perhaps," he returned to attack him.
"And what was I supposed to do, then, Darius? Let's hear it."
Darius smiled. "I have a couple of ideas, actually."
Caraway rubbed between his eyes and sighed, without answering him. "I shouldn't have gotten involved," he confessed. "But I have to admit it was fun. And more and more dangerous. Especially when I stopped figuring out who was ahead. Now it's clear."
"Is it?" Darius repeated questioningly. Maybe it was, indeed. Maybe he was ahead now, not so much because of Caraway's misstep, but because he had come to apologize.
"It's clear, yes." Caraway turned his head slightly in his direction. "Anyway, if you want to know, the answer is yes."
"The answer to what?"
"That evening you asked me if I wanted to be in Gladiolus Amicitia's place. The answer is yes."
Darius felt the blood rush to his face and penis. He turned his head, looking over the balustrade, so he wouldn't notice. He didn't want to lose his advantage. "Well, Colonel, I won't hide from you that I too prefer the top, but we can find a compromise."
Caraway had never stopped staring at him. "Finding compromises is the prerogative of politicians," he said again. "I think we will have to find many, Darius."
He smiled back at him. "Yes, I believe so, as well. For example, how long after the birthday toast of the heir to the throne is it acceptable for a member of the Council and a lieutenant of the Crownsguard to leave the reception? And where is it acceptable for them to meet?"
An almost unbearable silence followed in his heaviness. Darius knew that Alexander Caraway, at the moment, was trying to overcome his last reluctance.
"An hour, more or less, I'd say," he finally replied, without smiling. "At least twenty minutes apart from each other. By taxi. Do you know where the Trivulzio is, Darius?"
"The four stars? Of course."
"We'll meet there."