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Berenger had always felt a certain amount of companionship with the Crown Prince. He heard the rumours that swirled around him, and he felt if not understanding then something close to it. Prince Laurent had made no secret of disapproving that Berenger took pets. But a Lord was not a Prince. Just because Prince Laurent had freedom of the Court, did not mean the rest of them had. Berenger had always chosen carefully. Not blonds. Bought early from contracts that they wished to leave, and released after the Court season with enough money in their pocket to start again. Last year's pet had been a beautiful chestnut-haired boy called François, who had shied even at the touches he'd been obliged to give for propriety's sake. Before the snows had fallen, François had been apprenticed to a physician. Berenger had seen him a few weeks before he had found Ancel. François was happy. He doubted that Ancel could be made content so easily.
Ancel was a mistake. A beautiful, intoxicating, breathtaking mistake. He could lie and say he'd bought him to save him from Lord Venin, the one he'd gained François from. For any other pet, that would be enough. But he had wanted Ancel for more reason than that. He'd needed to make a show at Court this year.
He never could have imagined how much of a show. Ancel and his performance before a small crowd had become the talk of the Court, and Berenger blamed himself. He had thought that dissolving the contract would make Ancel happy. He had nothing to offer him - nothing that could bring Ancel joy, in the way he’d made François happy with the chance to learn medicine, or Valentin with the way to learn music, or Mathieau with his skills at gardening. He had given Ancel emeralds, but they were a pale thanks. Ancel thrived in the Court, and in the end all Berenger had to offer him was the chance to remain here. To end the contract, so that he could find someone better deserving of Ancel. Who could give him what he wanted, because Berenger didn’t know how to give Ancel that.
A few days had passed since the garden. Berenger hadn’t slept well. His nightmares were filled with images of the Akielon brute breaking free of his chains, of those hands suited to a sword around Ancel's throat. Berenger had fought in the North, but he’d seen what men like the Akielon could do. He feared what could have happened to Ancel. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened to the Crown Prince. His loyalty was to Prince Laurent. His loyalty had been to Auguste, and had passed to his quiet brother, who he felt almost an understanding with.
Watching the Prince with his slave made Berenger’s skin crawl. He didn’t understand what had come over Prince Laurent - but then he didn’t understand what had taken over himself, either. The night before Ancel was due to perform, he had a nightmare, Ancel’s hair damp with Ancel’s blood. He woke sweating.
Berenger let himself into Ancel’s room, linked to his own. He stood silently by the doorway, watching how the remaining firelight painted Ancel’s pale skin and red hair. He told himself he needed to ensure that Ancel was uninjured. He returned to his bed when he saw the first stirrings of life from Ancel.
Ancel sat with him at breakfast. The contract hadn’t ended yet, and it was expected. Ancel helped himself from Berenger’s plate, smiled at him, the perfect doll. Ancel leaned in, murmured in his ear. “Lord Droit’s pet says that the Prince is unable to-” Ancel made a hand gesture, and Berenger covered Ancel’s hands with his own before anyone could observe. In their sudden proximity, Ancel’s lips smeared against his cheek, a red mark that would take time to wash away.
The thought of returning to Varenne without Ancel ached. And yet war was coming. Ancel would be safer in Court, in the arms of some rich adoring man who could give him what he deserved. Ancel was good at what he did. Ancel was easy to love. Berenger didn’t think any man could see him and not desire him, and that frightened him because he had never felt that way before. Desire had always felt foreign. But with Ancel, near Ancel, it burned.
There were rumours that some of the nobility were playing at torturing the slaves, the Regent allowing it, enjoying it. Berenger trusted the Crown Prince, even if he felt fear every time he saw the wounds on the Akielon brute’s back. He missed how the Court had been the year before, before Akioelos’ gift. Perhaps then, Laurent would have understood Ancel. But a year before, he wouldn’t have needed someone like Ancel, and François had needed him.
The meals and discussions dragged on. He had met with Prince Laurent, thankfully alone. He didn’t want to see Ancel near the brute again, didn’t want to see Prince Laurent near him either. At dinner, Ancel filched sweets from his plate, and he piled them high so that Ancel would have enough. Nicaise approached.
Berenger knew Prince Laurent was planning to offer on Nicaise’s contract, when it was available. They both knew it wouldn’t become available. He remembered the last boy, Alexandre, there for one Court season and then gone. He knew in his heart that the boy had not been found an apprenticeship far from the Capital, and that was another reason for his loyalty to remain with Prince Laurent, no matter what was playing out between him and the Akielon.
Ancel stood, and Berenger inclined his head. “You will do well.” He was sure of it. This performance would secure Ancel the future that Berenger could never provide. The Regent’s pet gazed at Berenger with ill-disguised amusement.
Ancel left with Nicaise, his green silks sparkling in the torchlight. He was beautiful. Berenger had never seen him perform like this, never been able to sit and watch the way he could now. When Ancel returned, he was dressed in the red of the Regency, and he was incredible. Beyond incredible. His hair and silks fanned out around him as he moved, an acrobat with fire, a performer of the kind that Berenger had caught glimpses of in a long-ago childhood. Berenger’s heart began to race, and he had to remind himself that ending the contract was a kindness. That no matter what he wished for, he could not give Ancel what he needed.
And then Nicaise returned, dragging one of the frightened Akielon slaves. Ancel’s performance had finished, and he was playing with the fire, and he looked alive, and it was beautiful until he allowed the fire to move a little too close to the trembling slave. For a moment, Berenger couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but then he realised it - Ancel wasn’t simply unobservant. He was trying to terrify the youth, and it was working. There was a darkness in Ancel’s gaze. A low pass of the flame and the poor Akielon held himself in place, barely breathing. Berenger saw the look of satisfaction in Prince Laurent’s eyes. And then the foreign prince called out, and the youth removed to the safety of the Patran’s side.
Ancel returned to him, his fiery hair swaying around his shoulders. Berenger couldn’t meet his eyes, not after what he had seen. “What you did was-”
“Not your business,” Ancel sneered at him, and he didn’t understand because Ancel was many remarkable things, but he had never been cruel. “I’m nothing to do with you after tonight.” Ancel looked angry, for a moment, and then it was gone, smoothed away to perfection as Ancel was called to attend the Regent. Berenger watched him go, his chest aching.
And then he watched as Ancel, beautiful, clever Ancel, curled up around the Regent, leaning in to talk to him. If he had been asked an hour ago, he would have said he trusted Ancel with his life. They had spoken more times than he could count of politics and loyalty and trust, and Ancel had always been met with faith. But that was before he saw what he had done to frighten the youth. He couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t watch. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Ancel ate from the Regent’s hand, and at the end of the night the Regent returned Ancel to Berenger with a smirk. “Your pet is very obliging. We’ve spent a wonderful night, talking.”
It was known then. Ancel had spilled all of Berengers’s secrets, and not only would his life be forfeit but so would those of some of his men, the soldiers he had fought alongside and sworn to protect. “Your Highness.” Berenger bowed. They walked back to Berenger’s rooms together. Ancel didn’t take his arm. There was silence, and he went to undress. There were things to do. He had cultivated friendships with the stablehands. There was a chance if he could get a note to his sister, she could get across the border to Patras before the men came - it was a fool’s thought, but then Ancel had made him a fool.
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Ancel whispered, his voice trembling, and Berenger felt himself freeze. Ancel couldn’t mean what it sounded like he’d meant. Ancel was a smart man, cunning and ambitious. He was proud. He was being offered the best contract in Court, all he dreamed of, and Berenger could give him nothing more than his respect.
He turned to him, unable to comprehend what he was told. He didn’t know how Ancel could have missed that this wasn’t just a game. And then Ancel, brillant, clever Ancel, showed that he did know. He knew more than Berenger, more than he could have ever understood. And Ancel’s arms were around his shoulders, and he didn’t argue with Berenger’s plans. Thoughts of cancelling the contract were forgotten.
The next day, they rode out, Ancel on Ruby and Berenger on grey Isagoras. He didn’t know on what side the war would fall. But he knew he would do better with Ancel beside him.