[ the reminder that kaz may very well steal the many costly heirlooms passed down through generations of lantsovs tugs a smile onto his lips. the grand palace is full of them, and the idea of kaz walking the gleaming, familiar halls intrigues him in such a thorough way that he can think of little else. he hasn't said yes. but he hasn't said no, either. ]
You'll find our coffers of little interest. They're perpetually empty. [ only slightly less than before. a shame, since zoya's terrifyingly beautiful face is now on the money. ] I'll point you in the direction of the gaudiest baubles in the palace. It's far less of a scandal for such things to mysteriously disappear rather than be publicly melted down for very shiny weaponry by a former king and renowned bastard who still manages to live the luxurious life of a lazy royal.
[ his eyes slip shut as he draws in a contented breath at the sensation of kaz's fingers moving through his hair. it's easy to imagine the thing he wants most in this moment — the two of them curled together in this bed, kaz in his arms, his fear of hurting him gone for just one night. maybe it could happen. it feels within reach when kaz ghosts his fingers along his throat, holding his breath when his touch disappears. come back. and he does, their hands joined once more, his brain transformed into that of a besotted schoolboy. vaguely, he thinks of the dangers of growing too attached. too late to protect himself from that pain.
an older brother. another bit of the story revealed, another piece to fit into place. how do they both have dead older brothers? not important. the thing to focus on is the insinuation that kaz has this experience with touch. has had it for years. in a way, it's even worse to know this, that he had this in his grasp, knew intimately of what it felt like, and then lost it for so long. the idea of him holding himself apart from every person he's ever known makes nikolai's chest ache. he tightens his fingers, fights the urge to drag kaz's mouth to his. his vision sways just a little. ]
Captain Ghafa and I happen to already be friends. She quite graciously keeps some very specific matters of international security safe for the crown. [ such as the whereabouts — and identity — of his blessed termite turned fjerdan royalty. a mischievous glint appears in his warm hazel eyes. ] You turned down the invitation to Zoya's coronation, or else you might've been invited into our circle. Or I might've kissed you sooner. Probably for the best that you didn't come. That was a very trying period of time and I was behaving rather recklessly for most of it. In my defense, the palace was bombed, I almost died in another war, and I couldn't tell you the last time I'd slept. That last bit hasn't really changed. Am I still handsome?
[ he thinks about the way kaz talks about the wraith while he babbles on, watches his throat bob and his eyes tilt away. is there want there? there's something. perhaps something purer than he could ever give. he's always known of kaz's specific sort of concern for her — used it as leverage against him, even — her and the other close members of his gang, but her most of all. they have to want to come back. their eyes meet, the blue of his gaze distracting him. does the wraith not want to come back? what transpired between them? but she knows where to find me. quiet longing. he knows it's there. and you have to let them in when they do. something pointed in those words. his unoccupied hand reaches up for the bottle, misses, fingers curling into kaz's hip instead. they linger. ]
Did you wish to touch her? [ slowly, his hand strays to the bottle. ] Do you?
no subject
You'll find our coffers of little interest. They're perpetually empty. [ only slightly less than before. a shame, since zoya's terrifyingly beautiful face is now on the money. ] I'll point you in the direction of the gaudiest baubles in the palace. It's far less of a scandal for such things to mysteriously disappear rather than be publicly melted down for very shiny weaponry by a former king and renowned bastard who still manages to live the luxurious life of a lazy royal.
[ his eyes slip shut as he draws in a contented breath at the sensation of kaz's fingers moving through his hair. it's easy to imagine the thing he wants most in this moment — the two of them curled together in this bed, kaz in his arms, his fear of hurting him gone for just one night. maybe it could happen. it feels within reach when kaz ghosts his fingers along his throat, holding his breath when his touch disappears. come back. and he does, their hands joined once more, his brain transformed into that of a besotted schoolboy. vaguely, he thinks of the dangers of growing too attached. too late to protect himself from that pain.
an older brother. another bit of the story revealed, another piece to fit into place. how do they both have dead older brothers? not important. the thing to focus on is the insinuation that kaz has this experience with touch. has had it for years. in a way, it's even worse to know this, that he had this in his grasp, knew intimately of what it felt like, and then lost it for so long. the idea of him holding himself apart from every person he's ever known makes nikolai's chest ache. he tightens his fingers, fights the urge to drag kaz's mouth to his. his vision sways just a little. ]
Captain Ghafa and I happen to already be friends. She quite graciously keeps some very specific matters of international security safe for the crown. [ such as the whereabouts — and identity — of his blessed termite turned fjerdan royalty. a mischievous glint appears in his warm hazel eyes. ] You turned down the invitation to Zoya's coronation, or else you might've been invited into our circle. Or I might've kissed you sooner. Probably for the best that you didn't come. That was a very trying period of time and I was behaving rather recklessly for most of it. In my defense, the palace was bombed, I almost died in another war, and I couldn't tell you the last time I'd slept. That last bit hasn't really changed. Am I still handsome?
[ he thinks about the way kaz talks about the wraith while he babbles on, watches his throat bob and his eyes tilt away. is there want there? there's something. perhaps something purer than he could ever give. he's always known of kaz's specific sort of concern for her — used it as leverage against him, even — her and the other close members of his gang, but her most of all. they have to want to come back. their eyes meet, the blue of his gaze distracting him. does the wraith not want to come back? what transpired between them? but she knows where to find me. quiet longing. he knows it's there. and you have to let them in when they do. something pointed in those words. his unoccupied hand reaches up for the bottle, misses, fingers curling into kaz's hip instead. they linger. ]
Did you wish to touch her? [ slowly, his hand strays to the bottle. ] Do you?