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He had always known it was a terrible idea.
He had always known.
And yet, he had allowed himself to be convinced, and now he was no longer capable of turning back on his own.
The deeper they ventured into that cursed secret passage, the more his body refused to obey his commands. But his damn pride, his desire not to be a dead weight to those around him, had been enough to make him commit that damn mistake.
As a noble, he should have been at war, surviving whatever life threw at him, but in those weeks, those months, he had done nothing but get himself into trouble, provoke the wrong people, and end up with one foot in the grave time and time again.
And who had been there every single time to save his skin, to defend him at the risk of their own life to prevent him from dying? In his hands rested the future of Rattay, and he couldn’t afford to be unworthy of the title he bore. Hanush had taken his place until the moment he was told to take the so-called step forward—at twenty, it was no longer acceptable for him to neglect his duties as the future lord of the county. Even the citizens had always seen him as a good-for-nothing.
But none of that political nonsense had ever interested Hans Capon.
He just wanted to have fun, live his life like a powerful man, a valiant knight who could protect and conquer the hearts of all.
Instead, he had become a target, and there wasn’t a damn day when he could feel safe, free to move without an escort. He had never wanted an escort.
Not until he met him.
Henry of Skalitz.
That blacksmith walking in front of him along the secret passage, the one who had learned to fight until he became the perfect guard Hanush could ever trust. And to think, before their first meeting, Hans had always mocked him for his humble origins, for not being able to wield a sword and for lacking any combat skills that would make him a guard worthy of notice.
Now Henry was the complete opposite—a beast, a leader in armor, making anyone regret challenging him or trying to harm him; he had made a promise to Hanush, and he would keep it until the end.
Until he got his revenge.
After all… it was obvious that Henry was only staying close because…
He shook his head.
And it was a terrible mistake because the dizziness returned, relentless, forcing him to press a hand against the rocky wall and stop.
He was holding on as best as he could inside that dark, narrow tunnel, but there was no contest.
The further he went, the more suffocated he felt.
Brabant moved ahead with the torch and the darkness crept in on him, pulling him back to that day.
The assault on Nebakow, when that beam had fallen on his body, trapping him, unable to breathe, the armor pressing against his chest and the mail coat choking him, suffocating him.
“N-No…” he gasped, seeing nothing around him. “The walls...”
Even though he was now wearing his clothes, it felt like being trapped, caught.
In prison.
Under the rubble.
In the dark.
Alone.
“Hans.”
Someone had called him.
But the shrill whistle on his ears kept him from catching that hoarse, rough voice. His other hand pressed against his chest, his breath coming in fast, ragged gasps.
“The walls…” he repeated, in a trance, looking around him in terror. “The walls…!”
“Hans!”
Again, that voice.
Beautiful, yet… too distant.
“Henry…” he called, squinting his eyes.
His legs gave out completely, and that was when he felt strong arms wrap around his body, gently guiding him down and helping him sit against the wall. The cold of the metal armor was a relief, and he felt fingers brushing his face to push the blonde hair from his forehead.
“Hans, look at me. Hey.” That voice continued, now with more concern and rising tones. “It’s going to be okay.”
“N-No…” Hans shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. “I… I can’t… breathe.”
“Open your eyes, Hans. Look at me.” Henry insisted.
So, he obeyed.
And he allowed his blue irises to dive into a blue deeper than the surrounding darkness— a blue he could make out amidst everything else because it was the only thing that made his heartbeat race, enough to make his fingers tighten, crumpling the fabric of his tunic.
“K-Kurva...” Hans gasped, overwhelmed by panic. “I… I knew this was a terrible idea…! I didn’t want you to see me lose my mind…!”
“We’re almost there, Hans. You’re doing great, you can make it.” Henry didn’t let go of his face, gently caressing his cheeks to offer him his full support.
No, he couldn’t make it. There was too much rubble surrounding him. There was no space for his body, he couldn’t move. Even though he saw his body unimpeded, he could feel it. He could feel the boulders, the rubble, the images that replaced Henry’s alarmed face, who never took his eyes off him, trying to help, to support him in this lost battle. His words didn’t reach his ears.
Everything was blurred.
Someone help me!
He heard his own screams.
I’m fucking stuck!
He felt the weight on his back and his body stretched out, his neck unable to move, searching for the most important figure, his anchor, the one who had taught him so much over those months, the one who had shown him a new side of life, a part of him more serious and profound than he ever thought he had.
Henry!
Henry, help me!
“The walls... The walls are going to collapse on me! I don’t want to pass out!” he muttered.
Henry knelt in front of him; he heard Brabant say something incomprehensible, but the blacksmith told him to move forward and wait for them at the exit. The torch had been left further ahead so they wouldn’t be in complete darkness. But Hans only wanted to escape.
“Nothing’s going to collapse, Hans. And if it does, I’ll protect you. You can count on that,” Henry reassured him, determined.
His voice was so soft, so gentle, tinted with notes of concern Hans had heard only a few times coming from that rough, common man he had always mocked.
What had he said before entering that secret passage? That he cared about him, that they would face anything together, and that he would never leave him alone again, at the mercy of those damned who wanted to use him as political bait for their conquest.
Henry had always been by his side, and Hans had long forgotten what it felt like to be without his presence because without him, without his clumsiness and sarcasm...
“Uh... Pretend you’re trying to impress a girl. Imagine a blind date with her.” Henry had said, awkwardly, not even knowing how to act. “I bet you wouldn’t freak out in that case.” He tried to joke, but without a smile.
Hans lowered his head, squirming under his hands on his face, wanting to be left alone.
It was all wrong.
That comparison, it was all wrong.
His groans grew louder, on the verge of tears, his heart about to burst in his chest.
I don’t want any girl, Henry. I want you. I only need you right now.
“I’m right here, Hans.”
Hans opened his eyes wide.
Had he... spoken out loud?
Incomplete thoughts, because when he lifted his head in surprise, Henry’s forehead rested on his.
His hand was taken from his chest, firmly grasped by the blacksmith’s and pressed against his armor, feeling a slower, more relaxed heartbeat, while the tears on his cheek were wiped away by the thumb. Henry had closed his eyes and was smiling, holding his neck still; his warm breath reached his lips, his scent of sage mixed with wine, making him feel different from anyone else. Hans felt intoxicated by the sight, unsure of what to do.
“I’m here, Hans. It’s going to be okay. You can make it.” Henry whispered to him.
“Henry…” Hans murmured, struck by a single, overwhelming temptation.
His breathing slowed, his eyes unable to do anything but focus on his dear friend’s lips, so close, their noses brushing, their foreheads touching.
“Is it better?”
Hans swallowed, placing his free hand over Henry’s. “Y-Yeah... better...”
Henry pulled away and opened his eyes, giving him a genuine, happy little smile, that warm, lively look that Hans could never associate with what he became when he held a weapon.
“Let’s get out of here. Come on, I’ll help you.”
That face… That face was so…
He shuddered when he felt Henry’s hands take his arm, then his whole body, lifting him onto his shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes.
“H-Hey! W-Wait! What are you doing?!” he groaned, embarrassed.
“Exactly what I should’ve done at Nebakow... If only a beam hadn’t fallen on my head,” Henry replied, starting to walk quickly toward the exit.
“You’re telling me that…?”
“Yeah. I heard your cries for help. Forgive me for not intervening.”
Hans blushed and instinctively clung to Henry’s armor to avoid banging his head on the ceiling.
“We won’t speak of this to anyone. Understood?”
“I promise,” the blacksmith responded, amused.
Hans looked at his profile and couldn’t help but feel a strange beat in his chest.
My God… This can’t be.
What the hell was this feeling?