Chapter Text
As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, soft and warm shadows fell over the towering buildings and empty roads, gently kissing the faces of the few souls wandering and filling the streets with chatter and movements during that placid afternoon. Many were the bodies crowding the coffee shops lining the main street, though, and as street lights slowly lit up the sides of the city, the buildings’ windows sparkled like constellations.
One coffee shop was emptier than the others. Its interiors were a combination of baroque and modernity, old elegance meeting new luxury, white walls and ceilings ornated with goldish and beige details clashing with the black frames of the big windows and glass doors. A cascade of crystal drops fell from the elegant chandelier, hovering over the velvet chairs and empty tables—except one.
Jake Sully, current prince consort of Pandorra, sat alone at the center table, taking his sweet time to sip from the spiced whiskey cup held in his hand as he absentmindedly watched nightfall eat the city whole.
A creak. The door to the second floor held closed suddenly swung open, and before any of the security guards could give notice of visitors, a too familiar frame walked in.
“Jake!”
“Tonowari!”
Rough voices and noisy laughter echoed within the elegant walls, so loud the chandelier’s crystals almost shook with vibrations. How the two men ran into each others' arms for a hug, hands powerfully smacking shoulders and resting at the nape of their necks, squeezing and patting, was anything but formal—friendly and heartfelt.
“How have you been?”
“This place is too much for us!” Tonowari laughed, amazed as his big expressive eyes sifted the empty room.
“Are you kidding?” Jake chuckled along, puffing his chest. “This is nothing, really.”
“Nothing, you say?”
Jake and Tonowarii—or should we call him Colonel Niìr?—had been friends for a long time now, best buddies for too many years to count, filled with meaningful moments shared through bright and dark days. They used to share a bunk bed in their first barrack, from strangers to brothers in a matter of months, from training grounds comrades to siding each other to war as lieutenants. This, before Jake could meet who, at the time, was the crown princess Neytiri, stealing each others’ hearts and making a whole foreign country's parliament change the royal marriage rules to become her husband, officially leaving his military life behind.
After two decades of being apart, with Tonowari now stationed at the Hawaii military base of the marines and Jake living his best life in Pandorra, they had finally found the time to reunite. Tonowari had come for a short trip, a handful of days to visit the Capital and meet his old friend before going back to his home and daily responsibilities until next time.
A much younger and handsome face appeared before Jake’s eyes as he finally let go of Tonowari after the umpteenth hug, and his thin lips parted in awe.
“Is this your boy?” Jake asked, cocking his head toward him.
Tonowari nodded, turning around to meet a pair of baby blue eyes, pure and shiny like his.
“Ao’nung!” Jake beamed, opening his arms as his sharp gaze studied the young man awkwardly standing before him. “We finally meet!”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ao’nung crooked his mouth, flashing a shy-sided smile. “Your...Royal Highness..”
The boy attempted a bow, stiff and awkward, and Jake laughed heartily, pulling Ao’nung for a half hug, clapping their hands together and smacking the youngest’s shoulder as he did with his father to welcome him, all under Tonowari’s tendered gaze.
Ao'nung, Tonowari's eldest son, was the only family member there with him. His beautiful wife, Ronal, and even prettier daughter, Tsireya, couldn’t make it for the trip unluckily—Ronal couldn’t take any days off from the hospital she worked for as a surgeon, and Tsireya was too focused on her college studies, something about nursing, just like her mother. So, ‘father and eldest son bonding trip’ it was.
“What a fine man you’ve grown into!”
Jake had never met Ao'nung personally, for he had moved years before the boy could be born, a year and a few months before the birth of his first child, but Tonowari liked to brag as much as Jake did about his own children, and he had heard many things, watching Ao'nung grow up through occasional photos and videos.
Ao’nung had Ronal’s hypnotizing looks and his father’s shape, strength and drive, the toughest and most fearless boy someone could ever meet. His skin was a warm beige, perfectly highlighting his unique and pure baby blue eyes, sharp and conveying nothing but confidence, framed by long eyelashes and strong eyebrows, dark as his jet black hair, short but adorably curly—Jake could still remember the photo were he was barely a teenager, long hair always tied into a high bun.
Ao’nung would’ve lied if he said his cheeks didn’t flush even the slightest shade of crimson when Jake affectionately squeezed his shoulder, praising him and gently leading him toward the table. Even if he had always known about his father’s friendship with Jake, heard stories of their military adventures, and had shyly eavesdropped with his sister over their phone calls, being there with Jake Sully himself, prince consort of Padorra’s Queen, now sitting beside him? That was a whole different story.
He didn’t know how to sit—if he could put his hands on the table or had to hide them under the table, between his thighs, was he allowed to drink? Oh, of course, he was because Jake was suddenly offering him the same bottle of whiskey poured inside his glass.
“How are you liking Narí?” asked Jake, fingers mindlessly fidgeting with the brim of his cup.
Tonowari kindly smiled after a sip, “Even more beautiful than the time I came for your wedding.”
“How about you, son?”
“Oh,” Ao’nung straightened his back in a second. “I love it, sir. Lovely country.”
Jake smirked, pleased. “Are you done with your college degree?”
Ao’nung nodded and Tonowari smiled, too, proudly.
“What major?”
“Criminal justice,” the boy quickly breathed.
A sip and another and the conversation quickly went on.
Tonowari couldn't help but bring up Tsireya's name, bragging about the nursing field she wanted to specialize in—nurse midwifery, Ao'nung murmured—to which Jake answered by talking about his eldest daughter's aspirations, how Princess Kiri seemed interested in the medical and environmental field as well. A question about what the other kids were doing followed suit, and Jake had to sigh and give vague answers: Prince Lo'ak was thinking about serving in the military for mandatory years, while Princess Tuktirey, the youngest of the four children, was just enjoying her royal childhood.
Ao'nung didn't miss the trembling glimmer in Jake's eyes as he talked about Crown Prince Neteyam and how he was doing his best to engage in royal matters.
Jake’s gray gaze fell on Ao’nung again, and he straightened his back, gulping down the sip of whiskey. Sweet but spiced, cold but somehow warming his throat still.
“Criminal justice, huh?”
Shyly, Ao’nung nodded again.
“Have you joined an academy yet?” The prince consort asked, swaying his glass between his fingers, ice cubs softly crackling at each bump.
Ao’nung had always had big dreams. He had gone to a military school in hopes of joining the army, just to change aspirations a month before graduating, aiming to become a police officer or a detective, perhaps achieving the FBI badge. That was why he took criminal justice as his degree.
Of course, Ao’nung knew Jake had a vague idea because Tonowari was one to tell everything, and was asking just out of courtesy to make small talk, so he knew Jake knew how much he loved his college years and did so fine he even graduated ‘cum laude’ and knew about his FBI agent aspiration, so Ao’nung didn’t know how to say...
“No,” another gulp. “I’m...working.”
Tonowari sighed, already knowing what was coming, and Jake’s eyebrows shot up, surprised.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a security guard,” Ao’nung’s nails softly scratched the glass under Jake’s gaze.
He seemed satisfied until he was not because Ao’nung then mumbled: “At a museum.”
The white man’s eyes flew from the boy to Tonowari, baffled.
“Sorry,” Jake gaped. “ What ?”
A boy with a 4.0 GPA and a ‘cum laude’ degree on his shoulders after years of military training and sacrificing so much—to know he had let go of such big dreams, settling for much less, was beyond disheartening. He was clever, brave, had a good head on his shoulders, and could achieve so much and get whatever he wanted if he wanted to.
Jake could see it just by looking at him.
What a waste of talent and power.
“You achieved all that just to check some bags inside a museum?” Jake screeched. “Tonowari?”
“Don’t get me even started, Jake,” the boy’s father raised his hands.
“I’m going to quit,” Ao’nung said meekly, almost ashamed—a royal, his father’s best friend was judging him. “That’s not what I want.”
“Of course, it’s not!” Jake echoed, his expression even more bewildered. “You have built yourself for greater things than a museum.”
Jake could think of far better career paths for that bright mind—border patrol agent, investigator, or even being a bodyguard for someone would have suited him better. His shoulders looked strong and broad even when slumping, and his eyes burnt with confidence and desire—nothing could stop the brave soul caged within him, no one but people of higher ranks. Jake just knew.
He surely was trustworthy and stubborn enough to deal with anything. Or anyone. He was certainly not the type to let others walk all over him, and the way he was glaring at Tonowari as he blatantly ranted about how many times he had told him that perfectly framed it.
Huh.
“Have you got something in mind?”
Ao’nung nodded no.
“What about working for me?”
. . .
Red sky by night, shepherd’s delight, said someone once. The sky had been the prettiest color last night, the warmest and brightest pink melding into purple before the stars could shine.
But Neteyam was no shepherd, so there was no delight that Sunday morning, for he was abruptly woken up from his slumber and dragged to the Queen’s office with no given explanation.
Click.
“Going out for drinks at a pub when the Crown is supposed to be mourning.”
Click.
“Getting caught smoking on a balcony with your friends.”
Click.
“All drunk and messy,” Neytiri frantically walked before the whiteboard as photos kept showing behind her back. “Seriously, Neteyam, what the fuck were you thinking?!”
There was no clear sky, nor did the boiling Sun brighten the day outside—quite the contrary. Heavy clouds filled with rain loomed lowly over the city, and no rays warmed the vast room through the big windows.
The Crown had been theatrically mourning the death of an old, influential politician for two weeks now. Kamun had a significant impact on Pandorra politics throughout his entire career, a loyal supporter of the Crown who served and made the country thrive during both of his administrations and one of the closest politicians who stood by late King Eytukan until his deathbed.
Amiable, passionate, loyal and wise, ‘will be missed’—well, a lot of crap for Neteyam. After weeks of not setting foot outside the palace's gates, he had enough and quickly mustered the courage to sneak away and go out with his truly missed friends. A few promised drinks turned into a party and an aching hangover.
The night had gone too smoothly, so, of course, Neteyam had to pay the consequences of his actions the morning after, with unedited photos of his stunt sent directly to the Queen's official email—was it a blackmail attempt? A silent threat? A little heads up on what the Crown Prince was doing behind everyone’s back in the middle of the night?
“I was bored,” was all Neteyam had to say.
“Bored?” Neytiri’s eyebrow shot up before a sardonic chuckle could fall from her lips. “We are mourning.”
“You are mourning,” the Prince clicked his tongue. “With all due respect, may Kamun rest in peace, but I’m not mourning for that asshole.”
The room fell into a freezing silence, and Neteyam could swear he heard someone gasp around the table.
His golden eyes didn't meet his mother’s gaze but quickly fell on the veining of the table as he picked on a fingernail, mindlessly biting it as his heart slowly began to race. Each pulse banged against his chest, beating seconds.
“Everyone out,” Neytiri coldly demanded.
The worst scolding of his life or a heart-to-heart conversation was coming. Everyone moved as quickly as they could, gathering sheets of paper and laptops and throwing everything inside their bags before walking out of the room one by one until Neteyam was the only one left with his mother.
He kept his gaze low as high-heeled steps got closer and didn’t move an inch when the chair at his side got pulled out before Neytiri could sit at his side, promptly taking his hand in hers so he would stop picking on his nails.
“Son..”
“Why would I mourn for him?” Neteyam spat, jerking his head.
Neytiri sighed, “Because he was part of our Country's history.”
“But he didn't want you to become Queen,” his eyebrow knitted together, conflicted. “And he tried countless times to prevent you from marrying Dad.”
Kamun was, in fact, a bigot who despised the idea of a woman sitting on a throne after thousands of Kings, above all, a woman who wanted to marry a foreign commoner, a soldier of another country who knew nothing about royalty. Neteyam learned the truth during his teenage years and loathed that politician ever since.
Sexist and xenophobe, the Crown had to be glad the Crown Prince didn't go out for drinks upon hearing the news.
“I know, honey, I know,” Neytiri patted his back slowly. “But that was the past.”
“Still..”
“Still,” she shot Neteyam a cold glance, successfully making him shut up. “You need to stick to protocols. I’m doing it, and your father’s doing it, so you should, too.”
A bitter and humorless chuckle echoed in the office, and Neteyam had to tear his gaze away, eyes now falling on the glassy windows.
"That wasn't your war to fight," Neytiri's loving hands now affectionately caressed his long braids. “So there’s no reason to be so bitter about it.”
Neteyam’s fingers mindlessly drum against the table as he silently let his mother cuddle him. He didn't feel guilty, had no remorse for what he did—he was a young adult, for God's sake, he was allowed to have his fun—but his heart somehow felt heavy. He felt sorry for his mother, nothing more.
“Are they going to publish them?” Neteyam slowly asked.
“You know they don't really listen to us,” Neytiri sighed, stroking a thumb against his smooth cheek.
Daily Toruk had their breaths on Neteyam's neck since his proclamation ceremony. Whatever he did, they knew, and whatever he wasn't supposed to do, they had proof of it and were not scared to frame him, and the Palace couldn’t do much, for he was a public figure, their own campaign toy when needed. They had every right to use his image.
Luckily, Pandorra citizens loved Neteyam.
He was the nation's ‘First Son’, the Charmer, the golden and perfect boy who could melt everyone's heart. Despite minor scandals of teenage stunts, he had a pretty solid public reputation: perfectly knew three languages since he was a child, had always engaged in charity events and voluntary work since middle school, and served two years in the military while getting an international relations bachelor, currently doing a private international law master.
He had an animal shelter and a child clinic to his and Kiri’s name and had countless prizes in archery. All that at just twenty-four years old. Wasn't that enough to make himself the perfect Crown Prince?
“Apology letter?”
“Apology letter,” Neytiri nodded. “And you get an extra week of mourning.”
“Wait, what?” Neteyam followed his mother as she stood up and walked toward her desk. “Why?”
“Because you’ll be deeply reflecting on your actions,” she mockingly glared at him before focusing on her laptop.
“That’s unfair,” he mumbled, pouting.
“May this serve you as a lesson,” was all Neytiri had to say as she quickly moved her slim fingers across the keyboard. “Go shower, now..you’re meeting your new bodyguard in an hour.”
Neteyam’s eyes widened suddenly, arms slowly unlacing from his chest.
“ Today ?”
A groan followed his mother’s simple nod, and just like that, he got dismissed from the Queen’s office.
Two months ago, he happily got notified his personal bodyguard was resigning from his contract for personal matters—Lyle Wainfleet had been by his side since high school years, always sticking by his side and watching him grow into the fine young adult he was now. Neteyam was grateful for his service, but in no way he could manage faking affection for the man because he was insufferable, and Lyle could easily say the same about his Prince.
From a quiet and controlled teenage boy, he had become a rebellious young man, out of control and incredibly stubborn, acting like he was going through puberty just now. Neteyam liked going on secret late-night escapades, vanishing to ride his horse instead of attending political meetings with his parents, or just being a menace, doing everything in his power to challenge Lyle when alone. So he got stricter, and Neteyam hated him for perfectly doing his job, not letting him have some rebellious fun.
‘Personal matters’ but the Crown Prince was pretty sure it was a white lie to hide the real reason for his resignment—exasperation. Too bossy, too obstinate, cooperative at all. Lyle surely was as thrilled as Neteyam, perhaps sorry for whoever would’ve taken his place, and Neteyam could do nothing but groan at the mere idea of having a new face following him everywhere, anywhere.
Jake liked to deal with that kind of stuff—personally recruiting people who, he thought, could perfectly work for him and his children. He was the one who assigned Lyle to Neteyam when his boy was just fourteen years old and later found Kiri, Lo’ak, and Tuktirey’s bodyguards. So, the Crown Prince could already imagine the type of man that would’ve followed him from that day.
“40 bucks, he is American,” Lo’ak muttered, sprawled on Neteyam's bedroom couch.
Neteyam scoffed, shaking his head as he quickly slid his torso into a clean sweatshirt after a fresh shower.
“Or he’s bald,” the younger prince pouted, lost in thought before he could grab the walkie-talkie resting on his stomach. “Yo, Payakan, is Neteyam's new bodyguard bald? Over.”
“ Negative ,” said a voice from the other side. “ Over .”
“Roger that,” answered Lo’ak, giggling.
Neteyam honestly envied Lo’ak and his bodyguard’s relationship.
Unlike the Crown Prince and his bodyguard, Lo’ak and Payakan had hit it off from the very start, building a professional friendship based on trust and understanding. Payakan had taken his time to get to know Lo'ak—his likes, the workings of his mind, and his need for personal space. He knew the young Prince's needs and desire to feel free from royal etiquette, so he mostly obliged his protectee's requests, never forcing or pushing or tailing after him.
They worked perfectly together. Payakan was strict but sweet as well, matched Lo'ak's playful side and knew how to entertain him, genuinely caring for him. Neteyam could see how the bodyguard protected and sided with Lo'ak, not because a piece of paper commanded him to do so but because he genuinely wanted to make sure Lo'ak was safe whenever and wherever he went. It was heartwarming.
Lazily fitting his shoes, Neteyam threw himself over Lo’ak’s body and took the walkie-talkie from his grip.
“Come in,” he pressed a button, speaking closely to the microphone. “Over.”
“ Roger that ,” Payakan’s high-pitched voice answered.
Not even a second later, the door of Neteyam’s room opened and the bodyguard stepped in, casually dressed. No formal attire on weekends—that was Lo’ak’s rule for him, and he was no one to oppose that innocent request.
“Have you already seen him?” Neteyam asked, standing on his feet to free his brother from his weight.
A single nod.
“Age?”
“I can’t disclose personal information about my colleagues,” Payakan quietly said.
Both Princes glanced at him, brows either knitted together or raised questioningly, and his stoic expression lasted a few seconds before a playful grin could beam his fair skin, thumbing his nose to Neteyam. Not only was he good to Lo’ak, but he also had a soft spot for the eldest Prince. It was impossible not to like him when Neteyam was nothing but an angel around Payakan, feeling safer with him than with Lyle.
“Oh, c’mon!”
“Not cool, Payakan,” Lo’ak clicked his tongue a few times, pouting. “Not cool.”
“Is he, at least, cool?”
Payakan sighed and pushed the handle behind him, “Why don’t you find out on your own?”
Neteyam grimaced and slowly dragged his feet toward the door, stopping right before Payakan to cock his head and stare at him with sweet eyes, a slight pout wrinkling his dark pinkish lips. A silent question he seemed to understand—how? No one knew. It was Payakan’s power.
“No, you have to do it alone,” he quickly shook his head. “They’re in your living room.”
Neteyam was now the one nodding before his hand could push the door open and disappear behind it, stepping into the colorful hallway. He didn’t know why, but he felt nervous, a bit scared, hesitant.
In all those years, nearly a whole decade, he had grown accustomed to Lyle's ways, even though half of them made him wrinkle his nose in disapproval and bother, thinking it was a stroke of luck that he wouldn't have to see him again in his life.
He had grown up listening to his advice, knowing that wherever he went, Lyle was the one who would scan every corner of the Earth to make sure no one could harm him. Lyle was the first person to welcome him every time he finished his royal engagements, sometimes being helpful by assisting him in his studies, pushing him to strive for better grades, or applauding when no one was there to watch as he practiced archery. The one who, even if bothered by his shenanigans, always stuck by his side.
Oh, maybe he would’ve missed that grumpy bald American, his cold jokes, his glares whenever he did something wrong, or the way Lyle would secretly sneak fast food inside his office whenever he craved it. Or was it the mere fear of change? Neteyam hated changes, whether it was for the bad or the good.
Neteyam truly hoped for the best, though.
His steps echoed against the empty hallway, and the closer he got to the living room, the louder he could hear Lyle's voice as he talked to the new, mysterious bodyguard.
“He does have an office, but he prefers going through reports and documents here,” Lyle’s words came muffled behind the heavy mahogany door. “From four to six p.m., he studies.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
A deep, husky voice followed suit, and Neteyam’s heart skipped a beat. It was so pleasant to hear, dark but attractive, young.
“You can hang around as long as you don’t disturb him or go and rest until he calls for you.”
A tight smile pulled the corners of Neteyam’s lips upward.
“From six p.m. to dinner time, it’s his free time..”
“That means watching a movie, archery practice, or horse riding.”
Neteyam quietly pushed the door open to meddle in the conversation, nonchalantly, finishing whatever Lyle was about to say before he could. His eyes first met his old bodyguard’s gaze, faintly nodding at him as a greeting before setting them on the second figure.
And oh, what a treat to his eyes.
Soft, short jet-black curls crowned that handsome and sharp diamond face, his skin the richest and prettiest warm beige he had ever seen, perfect for those sharp almond eyes caging the purest baby blue eyes, so bright and enchanting, piercing and observing and pulling Neteyam's body closer, like a month to a flame. Even the moles marking the center of his forehead, the side of his upper lip, and his chin were pretty, guiding the Prince's gaze to follow them, dwelling a bit too much on those pouting lips.
The idea of staying confined in the Palace for an extra week didn't sound so bad, now that he thought about it—it was more than okay, the perfect punishment, rightfully deserved.
“Your Highness,” Lyle briefly greeted him, nudging the other boy to follow his movements.
They bowed, cocking their head down, the younger man shyly eyeing the older bodyguard like a lost child before straightening his shoulders back again.
He was fit. Like fit fit. He was wearing a black polo, tight enough to define his strong shoulders, the volume of his arm muscles, and his chest—the body of a swimmer, no doubt: wide shoulders but narrow hips, clothed by a simple but elegant pair of black trousers. He was well proportionated, and Neteyam couldn't help but think how good he'd look in the bodyguard attire, black suit and with a tie around his neck—no sunglasses, though, he wanted to look at those ocean eyes.
“I guess you'll be my new bodyguard?” Neteyam asked once he walked closer, smiling charmingly at the young man.
He wasn’t much taller than him, maybe one or two inches taller, nothing more.
A simple nod as an answer. Neteyam wanted to hear that husky voice again.
“Are you going to introduce yourself, or are we here to stare at each other?” The Prince tilted his head, staring right at those blue eyes.
“Ao’nung,” the boy briefly said with a thick accent. “Ao’nung Niìr.”
Niìr. That rang a bell in Neteyam’s mind.
“Tonowari’s?”
Another nod. God, he was one of few words, but he couldn’t feel pity for that because his mind suddenly went back to Lo’ak’s words—Tonowari lived in the States, so that meant Ao’nung was another American. He owed his younger brother 40 bucks.
“Good,” the Prince hummed. “Already saw the Palace?”
“I did.”
“What about my rooms?”
Ao’nung’s piercing eyes quickly moved to Lyle, who just stood there, watching the two interact. He shook his head no, so Ao’nung’s gaze fell again on Neteyam.
“Not yet.”
“Then, what are you waiting for?” Neteyam quickly spoke to Lyle, jerking his head. “Let’s go.”
So, the tour of the Palace floor designated as Neteyam's 'apartments' continued, and they slowly moved from the living room toward his chambers. The various bathrooms, the office Neteyam used more like a formal sitting room, his 'gym' room and his library—all drawing closer to his bedroom. Lyle talked and talked, explaining every single thing, and Ao'nung listened attentively, silently, nodding absentmindedly.
Neteyam stayed back, watching the former, mindedly tracing the curve of his nose or the shape of the small curls falling lightly on his forehead, eyes sometimes falling to the phone held in his hand.
prince 1: we have a problem.
princess 1: what happened?
prince 2: new bodyguard is old and ugly?
They got to the main bedroom and walked in. Neteyam carelessly sat on his bed as Lyle quickly went through the security system installed to the windows or showed which rooms the bedroom was linked to.
prince 1: no, he’s HOT.
“I think we pretty much covered everything,” Lyle’s voice echoed before walking back into the main room.
“This is all?” Ao’nung questioned.
Neteyam’s eyes zapped from the screen of his phone to the bodyguards and his lips curled slightly upwards.
“I'm sure there are some files with additional information waiting in your room,” Lyle nodded. “But take your time reading those.”
Personal bodyguards lived at the Palace, too. A few, small terraced houses had been built behind the gardens and near the horses' stables years ago, a small neighborhood of seven houses for the bodyguards to use throughout the contact duration—if they had no family, of course. So, Neteyam was pretty sure Ao'nung would've stayed where Lyle used to live.
“Mr. Niìr will begin following you starting tomorrow, Your Highness,” his old bodyguard informed, facing him.
Neteyam nodded.
“I’ll see you then, Ao’nung,” the Prince chirped.
“Your Highness,” Ao’nung simply nodded before walking away, dismissed.
. . .
Neteyam’s morning routine was simple and pretty much the same every day.
His alarm would go off at 6:30 a.m. with a soft melody, and by 7 o’clock, he was already dressed in comfortable clothes to start his morning workout, something he liked to do to ‘wake his mind better’. He liked doing things on his own, and for forty minutes, the door of his gym room would stay closed to let him exercise undisturbed. 8 a.m, and he was out of his shower, freshly smelling of spiced cologne.
A few knocks interrupted his carefree whistling as he slipped inside a warm jumper, and his heart suddenly jumped.
Neteyam had bid goodbye to Lyle the previous night before going to bed, and before the man could officially leave the Palace, all his belongings packed inside his car. Surprisingly, it had been emotional, and for as much as annoying the man had been, he marked a significant part of his life, ten whole years, so it was strange to see him go for good. And Lyle had spared a few sweet words, wishing him the best, saying he hoped to see the day of his coronation somewhere far from that day.
With Lyle gone, it meant Ao’nung was the one knocking. Neteyam’s face broke into an excited smile before he could clear his throat, recomposing himself.
“Come in,” he shouted.
Just as he had thought, Ao'nung was a wonder to the eyes dressed up. Black had to be his color, and elegant clothes suited him. The sight of the tie perfectly tucked under the jacket and the earpiece hanging from his ear added an inexplicable charm to his looks.
“Your Highness,” Ao’nung greeted, bowing his head.
“Good morning,” Neteyam faintly smiled.
“Breakfast will be served in ten minutes,” he informed like a clock.
The Prince had to refrain from answering with a murmured ‘I know’ but it was Ao’nung’s first day on the job, so he wanted to be kind. He thanked him and quickly slipped inside his slipper before grabbing his phone, crossing the room, and walking past him.
A strong scent of manly perfume invaded Neteyam’s nostrils, letting it warm his chest. Handsome face, attractive voice, good perfume—what else could he ask for?
His parents and younger sister were already in the dining room when Neteyam arrived, tailed by Ao’nung, and in no time, Tuktirey was clinging to her eldest brother’s arms, filling his ears and mind with talks about her elementary school grades and how she was already thinking about her birthday party. It was February, and her birthday was in the middle of summer, but whatever the youngest Princess wanted.
After kissing his mother’s cheek and playfully patting his dad’s head, Neteyam sat at his usual spot and watched Tuk eat first before her nanny and bodyguard could urge her to get into her coat, for she had to run to school. Lo’ak popped out just in time to greet her, and Payakan silently joined Ao’nung and shared a whispered conversation. Kiri came last as plates were being served, followed by her own guard.
“He is hot,” Kiri murmured to Neteyam’s ear.
“Told you,” the Crown Prince beamed.
His siblings kept throwing glances toward Ao’nung and Neteyam had to kick them under the table, shy the boy could notice them, though his stoic stance made him look quite relaxed and unaware.
Payakan, however, seemed not oblivious to the fleeting stares and couldn’t help but roll his eyes, amused.
Half an hour later, Ao’nung was standing beside Neteyam’s office door as advisors and social media managers quickly analyzed the Prince’s apology letter and briefed him about what had to be done now that the photos had been leaked. He mindlessly smiled as they advised him to stop smoking now that the news was everywhere—though he barely smoked and only when going out for drinks—and to engage in a campaign to show he was ‘changing’ habits for the better.
His extra week of mourning was definitive, Neytiri wanted to be sure people reminded him that, and he was prohibited from using social media, too. He felt his hands itchy, hating to be treated like a ten-year-old.
Ten a.m. sharp, and with no official engagements to attend, Neteyam had all the free time he wanted. Kiri was having a stroll in the royal gardens with their grandma, and Lo’ak was having a meeting for his military service preparations, so, with nothing else to do, Neteyam quickly slid into his coat and grabbed the keys of his car.
“Where are you going?”
Saying he needed to change, Ao’nung had given him the privacy of leaving him alone inside his bedroom, patiently waiting for the Crown Prince to open the door or call him in while staring at one of the many portraits hanging around the hallway.
His body turned completely as soon as the door creaked open.
“I have..stuff to do,” was all Neteyam said.
“But your engagements are suspended until next week,” Ao’nung raised an eyebrow.
“Personal stuff,” Neteyam added, mumbling.
He flashed a quick smile before turning on his heels to head toward the stairs. Before he could even do more than three steps, however, a rough hand grabbed his wrist and made him turn back abruptly. Those ocean eyes burnt into his.
“Personal stuff?” Ao’nung parroted.
Neteyam nodded, gulping.
Keep on the show. Do not give in.
“Do you think I am stupid?”
The Prince froze on the spot, eyes wide and still dancing in those baby blue eyes as they ran all over his face, glimmering but not kindly.
“No, I..”
“I know about your childish antics,” the boy breathed an inch away from his face. “Running away, missing your meetings, doing half of your duties, and going out to party when everyone is sleeping like a teenager.”
Neteyam felt his cheeks flush, body heating as the grip around his wrist tightened even more.
“I am no Lyle,” Ao’nung pulled him closer, sweet blue eyes darkening in a flash. “Man, he didn’t even notice how half of the security systems of your windows were turned off by who knows who .”
The accusation stung hot on Neteyam’s skin and he hated it because it was true. He had cut the system off months ago, successfully so.
“Your father has hired me to keep you in check, make sure you're not pulling off any more of that shit,” Neteyam was left speechless, bewildered—had Ao’nung just cursed at him? “And I’m going to do my job.”
With a yank, the Crown Prince freed himself from the other’s painful grip and stepped back, almost knocking a vase to the ground, but the bodyguard seemed not over and stepped closer, leaning to his ear.
“So either be a good boy, or we’ll have trouble,” Ao’nung darkly whispered before pulling back. “Have I made myself clear, Your Highness?”
Neteyam had quickly built himself a castle, pretty and made of crystal, where Ao'nung could be someone approachable, friendly, that attractive face useful not only for scaring people off but for shaking up dull days and sleepless nights. Someone to have fun with once walls had crumbled, to enjoy as his—Neteyam knew he was good-looking, some flirting every now and then couldn’t hurt, right?
That same castle had just been swept away, however, shattered to pieces.
In no way would Neteyam get along with someone like that, arrogant enough to talk to him as if it weren't his first day on the job, cursing at him, expecting him to kneel like he had command over him. Those eyes stared at him darkly, controlling, and he hated it with all his heart.
Make sure you’re not pulling off any more of that shit. Either be a good boy, or we’ll have trouble.
His father hadn't given him an early gift, sending the most handsome bodyguard to his doorstep. His father had given him a fucking babysitter, handsome and young, but too confident and already giving him the ick.
“You did, Mr. Niìr.”