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Viktor remembers Sir Jayce from over half a decade prior, when the boy was a squire sent to train in Zaun for a summer before his knighting. According to the custom, all squires must serve under another banner for some time before being called back to their loyal home.
While Viktor enjoyed seeing the young man, unaccustomed to how handsome and strong he'd grown, practice on the field, the acquaintance was deepened in his uncle's small library.
“I wanted to become a monk,” Jayce admitted, after weeks of sharing ideas for a better future together, “not because of any devout aspiration, but so I could focus on this.”
“Why didn't you?” Viktor asked, his voice low as they sat hunched over a table.
“Because I'm the only son of my house,” Jayce admitted plainly, “and we have served Piltover loyally for two hundred years.”
“That doesn't seem like a fair fate.”
“I suppose we are all given a lot at birth.”
This was fair enough, Viktor knew this well. He was grateful to live as he truly was and be accepted as a man, but when the time came, he would be married off. If he was truly seen as a man, he would be sitting on the throne instead of his uncle, Silco. He doesn't begrudge the man who was like a second father to him, everyone in the court was beholden to tradition and duty.
“I do wish I could serve you, though,” Jayce admitted, “so we could keep having these talks.”
Viktor blushed because he felt the same, though there was a more tender thought lingering in his mind. He never dreamed that Jayce's wish would one day come true.
The second time he encounters Sir Jayce, the boy is now truly a man, clad in the reds and browns of his house, carrying the sigil for Piltover.
“I've come as escort for the king's betrothed,” Jayce announces, looking not at Silco, but Viktor to his right.
“Does your king not wish to escort the prince himself?” Silco speaks, displeasure snaking through his tongue.
“Our king wants to ensure everything is ready for the arrival of his groom,” Jayce states, his tone neutral. “Besides, he wants to ensure our strongest sword is here.”
“Very well, you shall rest here for a few days before I send my beloved nephew off.”
“I had hoped we would leave tomorrow, your majesty,” Jayce admits.
“And I had hoped King Dmitri would send more than one knight to ensure the safety of my beloved nephew.”
“Very well.” Jayce bows low enough that Viktor swears he scrapes against the floor. “I will rest for three days, and then we will be on our way.”
It's not that Viktor wants to avoid the other man so much as he has much to do before he departs. They were told to expect someone in April and while April came, the lack of scouting reports about anyone's approach meant the royal family was woefully unprepared.
Viktor does, obviously by accident, find himself on the training grounds the morning before his departure. His excuse is that he wants to watch Violet spar one last time, since he's to leave before first light the next day. Jayce is training with some Zaunite knights. They do not give him an easy time, likely both from the general mistrust of Piltovans and a need to make him prove himself.
While Jayce's form is impressive, it's his form that catches Viktor's eye. As Jayce sweats, the tunic he wears clings to his torso, revealing a well built body- muscles both for show and function. Viktor is reminded all too well of his boyish crush on the other man, something that he was foolish enough to mistake for love.
“Your highness,” Jayce greets, bowing to him when he catches sight of him.
Viktor startles, but he can't walk faster than Jayce can jog up to the fence around the training ground.
“I believe it's impertinent to address me first, Sir Talis,” Viktor hisses under his breath, but there's no venom.
“Apologies, your highness, I meant no disrespect.” At least Jayce looks bashful. “Your stablemaster informs me you're refusing a litter for the journey.”
“I can ride.”
“I know you can, but it can be very uncomfortable to ride all day.”
Viktor glances down for a moment, taking in his cane and his right leg, equipped with a leg brace that's meant to be both elegant and discreet.
“And where will you keep your trousseau?” Jayce continues.
“I've arranged with some merchants to deliver my possessions at a later time. The more we have, the more vulnerable we are to bandits, is this not true?”
Jayce smiles an endearingly lopsided smile. “My job is to keep you safe, highness.”
“It's just Vik-” Viktor stops himself, biting his lip. They agreed to forego the formalities when they were younger, but things were different now. “I have no doubt you will, but I prefer to make your duty easier.”
“That is very kind of you. I am sure we will pass a pleasant journey together.”
“I don't think it matters how the journey is, so long as I arrive in my intended's arms.”
The proposal came as part of a years-long peace agreement. The two countries had been at odds for decades, with skirmishes always threatening to break into war. In the past decade or so, efforts of harmony had been made. Sir Jayce was an early, albeit temporary, sacrificial lamb. Squires often served with knights of other kingdoms and though Jayce was from a highly ranked Piltovan family, he was not exempt from this tradition.
When Dmitri, newly named king after his uncle's demise, showed a marked preference for taking a male consort, the next lamb was all too easily chosen. Besides being the child of the late king of Zaun, Viktor had the ability to bear children, improving the likelihood of Piltover having a legitimate heir. The appeal of the heir being half Zaunite was not lost on Viktor's family.
It's not that Viktor didn't want to protest, or that he wouldn't be listened to, but that it seemed like too good of an opportunity for his people. Besides, there were likely to be worse fates than sitting idly on a throne. He just hoped, perhaps, he could be left alone as much as possible.
“What is he like?” Viktor asks, as they're seated around the fire for the first night of their journey. Besides a small tent for him, they are devoid of any luxuries. He's sore and tired, feeling the first ounce of regret at refusing a litter or a wagon.
“Who?” Jayce asks in return, looking up from where he's preparing their dinner, a rabbit they'd chanced upon earlier.
“My intended, your king. I've never met him.”
“His majesty is-” Jayce looks like he's thinking too carefully. “Generally well liked. Tall.”
“That's all you can say?” Viktor snorts. “You either don't know him well or don't like him.”
“It is treasonous for me to say I don't like the king.”
“That bad, eh?” Viktor leans against his hand, watching as Jayce struggles with rotating their meal over the fire.
“I promise I am not delivering you to someone who will mistreat you,” Jayce responds earnestly, meeting his eye. “While I understand the gulf between us now, I once considered you a friend and I do not have many of those.”
“Is he at least good looking?” Viktor asks, trying to escape the way he feels himself flush.
“Most people would say so. You will make an attractive couple.”
The rabbit drops into the firepit then, and they eat dried provisions for their meal.
The second night, they arrive in a village and manage to procure proper lodgings. It's not much, a singular room in the chieftain's straw thatched dwelling, but it's a bed and a properly cooked meal.
Jayce insists, of course, that he sleeps on the floor. The bed is ample enough for them both.
“We're both men, are we not?” Viktor says, rolling over to face him.
“But you are the future groom of the King of Piltover.”
“So I have the right to command you to join me, then?” Viktor asks. “We are both men and, as you said just yesterday, were once friends. I would prefer we both experience some comfort tonight.”
“If you insist,” Jayce answers with a huff before he stands, moving to the bed. He situates himself on the far end, nearly toppling off the edge. It's still enough of a victory that Viktor doesn't care. And if he wakes up to their bodies pressed together? Neither of them say anything of it.
Their journey is slow, but neither of them complain. In addition to their own mounts, they have another gelding to pull the modest wagon with their supplies and the items Viktor deemed essential. If nothing else, it gave him a change of clothes after long hours riding. After their first stop, they stop once more to stay two nights, long enough to rest and wash their clothes and their bodies. The inn provides them with two beds this time.
“When we get to the border,” Jayce says, entering with their dinner, “Piltovan patrolmen will escort us for a few days, but we'll journey our last day alone.”
Viktor looks over at him, preoccupied with dressing after his bath. As soon as Jayce detects that he's half undressed, he turns abruptly, tray still in hand.
“Apologies, highness.”
“Please. Just Viktor when we're alone like this,” Viktor states, slipping his loose undertunic over his head. “How long until we reach the border?”
“About two days’ ride at our current pace.”
Viktor stares at his back a moment, mulling over the best possible words. This leaves his days alone with Jayce to fewer than he can count on his hand. The feeling rests in his gut but refuses to resign itself. Hope is a foolish enterprise.
“You may turn around,” Viktor offers, because anything he can think of is not appropriate.
“Apologies for entering without warning,” Jayce says, laying the tray on their small table.
“It's as I said, we are two men.” Viktor settles in one of the chairs, picking at the provided meat.
“It's different. You know it's different.”
“Because I'm-” Viktor gestures in the general area of his chest.
“No,” Jayce answers flatly.
“Then it's my station? I have been undressed in front of people of lower ranking than you, Sir Talis.”
“It's not-” Jayce hesitates, and it's only then that Viktor realizes that he hasn’t sat. “You have to know that I de-” He throws his hands up. “I'm going for a walk. I'll return before it is too dark, I'm sure you're tired of having me around.”
Viktor's eyes light up immediately when he sees that the border patrol has a large wagon with them. He's sore from riding, but too proud to say as much. Jayce must know, though, from the way he approaches him to assist with the dismount, a reassuring hand on his waist.
“They'll likely want to start riding after luncheon,” Jayce says quietly. “Shall I introduce you?”
Viktor is attentive in learning the names of each of the patrol members. They all seem familiar, fond even, of Jayce. He's silent as he watches them banter in a familiar way, picking at his meal. When it's time to clean up and pack up, Viktor tries to help but is all but dismissed.
He's left awkwardly standing near the wagon, fiddling with his cane. When on a journey, he doesn't like to stand on rank when it comes to usefulness. He's on the verge of seeking out Jayce to ask about their departure when he's lifted by one rather strong arm and placed seated on the back of the wagon.
“Sir Talis!” he exclaims, shocked.
“Your highness, we are about to depart.” Jayce hands him over a skein of water and then hoists himself beside Viktor.
“Are you not going to ride?” Viktor asks, jostled as they startle into motion. Their own horses trail after, being led by two mounted patrol members.
“My primary duty is escorting you and you are here, are you not?”
“You're not wearing any armor.”
“Escorting, not protecting,” Jayce corrects. “If you'd prefer I wear it, I can equip myself when we stop for the evening.”
“No, this is adequate.” Viktor pauses, taking in his appearance. “Will you sit with me all the while?”
“When I can, but the patrol will split in a day and a half, and then I'll be needed on horseback.”
“I feel as though I'm disappointing them already,” Viktor admits, glancing down at his hands. They're bare save for the pinky ring he was gifted by his uncle for his coming of age, a simple silver band. He is relieved to wear no other rings yet.
“Absolutely not. They're grateful you offered to help with everything, but it would reflect poorly on them to not accommodate you.”
Jayce rests a hand on Viktor's knee, his thumb grazing gently against the fabric of his breeches. Viktor knows the correct response here: reprimand the knight for his impertinence. A more dramatic royal or one more personally concerned with their virtue might slap him or demand he be removed from his station. Instead, Viktor places his hand on top of Jayce's as though mapping the lines of his fingers with his own. Jayce smiles at him and while the expression seems genuine, there's something like sorrow in his eyes.
“Can I confess that I preferred our journey when it was the two of us?” Viktor says, only after he's torn his gaze away.
“You do not need to ask my permission to say what you want, highness.” A pause, just for a moment. “I feel the same.”
It rains on their second night with the patrol. Viktor requests that Jayce sleep with him in the wagon that night. He tries to offer the space to other members of the patrol as well, but they decline.
For the first time on their journey, Jayce falls asleep first. Viktor can just make out the gentle rise and fall of his chest in the darkness. The next time he's this close to another man at night, it will be his husband.
So he indulges, in the wagon that's not quite sealed enough to keep out the rain. Jayce as his husband- the thought thrills him enough that he feels foolish. He's no better than he was at eighteen, charmed by the squire with the gap between his front teeth and the bright eyes.
On rainy nights like this, when it ventures into the cold, they would hold each other close. Maybe nestle a child or a spoiled cat between them, the only thing that stands in the way of the press of their bodies.
“Vik?” Jayce mumbles, rolling over to face him. “Everything alright?”
The man beside him wasn't sleeping.
“Of course, Jayce.”
“It sounded like you were crying.”
“It was a dream, that's all.” There's no point to plastering on a false smile in the dark, but for Jayce he will.
“Come closer.”
“I shouldn't.”
“We are both men,” Jayce says, his voice gentle, “and we are now friends again, are we not?”
Viktor hesitates in moving closer, then scoots his body over to Jayce. Jayce drapes his blanket, which is just his cape serving a different purpose, over Viktor as well. As though he's not warm. As though he's not covered in his own blanket. Viktor presses his forehead to what he believes is Jayce's shoulder.
“When I first left home, I cried most of the way,” Jayce explains, “which is unbecoming of a knight. I had no interest in leaving Piltover, where my mother lived and my father had died. And then I met you.”
“I cannot have left that much of an impression.”
“You did, though. You lit up something in me that I didn't know existed. It was like magic.” Jayce goes still, like the words he's trying to say are difficult. “Maybe you will find that magic yourself in Piltover.”
The attempt at comfort feels more like a stab to the gut. Does Jayce really have no clue?
“I do not think I will, Jayce. I do not think I can.”
“I know I have not spoken particularly kindly about-”
“Jayce. Please. I want to sleep.”
“Vik-”
“Highness will do,” Viktor answers, his tone chilled. “Do not make me command you.”
Viktor rolls away, hating himself.
In the morning, they only ride for a brief while with the patrol before they go their separate ways. The patrol cannot stray too far from the Piltovan borders, even for the task of escorting royalty. Jayce helps Viktor mount his horse and then they're on their way without as much as another word.
The truth is, Viktor doesn't fully know why he's upset with Jayce. Is it so bad that Jayce wishes him happiness in his future? No, that's not it. It's the way Jayce doesn't understand, the way Viktor's heart has to remain unspoken but that doesn't mean it should be unreadable.
“Do you remember when we first met?” Jayce asks, breaking the too long silence. It's nearing midday and Viktor is tired from riding already. “When I trained with Sir Vander.”
“That's Prince Consort Vander now.”
“We both know that man values being a knight more than he'd ever value being a nobleman.”
“No, I don't remember.”
Viktor does, actually, he holds the memory of having to save Jayce from books toppling on him dear to his heart. He dragged the then stranger to the court physician before even getting his name or rank and then the other boy was reprimanded for openly embracing a member of the royal family.
“It doesn't matter, I suppose. I simply wanted to convey that I'm indebted to you,” Jayce continues. “No matter what. If you do not wish for this, we can find an alternative. I've made contact with several monasteries.”
To be a monk was Jayce's dream, but Viktor wouldn't mind it. The prospect was superior to becoming an adornment on a throne, always in the periphery of longing.
“I couldn't ask you to do that, Jayce,” Viktor answers. “It may not be my fondest wish, but it's for the good of Zaun and it's unbecoming to complain about such a grand future.”
“Why do you do this for Zaun?” Jayce pulls his horse to a halt. “You should be sitting on that throne, not being pawned off.”
“They didn't know when I was a child that I was-”
“Well they do now! And hell, what does that matter? If you were- I could leave this and serve you.”
“Your family has served the Piltovan monarchy for generations, do not dismiss that honor.” Viktor stops, then, just far enough ahead that Jayce can't see his face. “Do not dismiss yourself.”
“Damn honor!”
“Jayce, you forget yourself.”
“I have very clear command of myself, highness,” Jayce retorts. “You must understand me.”
“I do remember our first meeting, actually.” Viktor turns back to him. “You received five lashings for embracing me, so you must excuse me for choosing not to understand you when that can only bring you harm.”
“It harms me no matter what path I take.”
Viktor screws his eyes shut and holds himself still. He hears Jayce dismount, but cannot stop him before the man is standing beside him.
“Jayce,” Viktor keeps his voice tight, even.
“I will take the lashings, Viktor. I will follow you where you wish to be. I am loyal, truly loyal, only to you. I pledge myself wholly to you, there has been nothing I have wanted more since I met you.”
“Why?” he asks. His grip on his reins is tight enough to leave dents in his hands. “I have not asked it of you.”
“You can.”
“I cannot, for it makes what duty demands of me more difficult.”
“Vik-”
“Please.” Viktor's voice has gone impossibly small. He's that gangly teen boy all over again, knowing that if he ever sees the handsome boy who laughed with him and matched his wit for a summer, there would be a chasm that nothing could fill.
Jayce listens and Viktor hates both himself and Jayce for it.
The plan is to spend their final night in a cottage used by the Piltovan nobility on hunting excursions. A proper entourage will meet them in the morning, signaled by the smoke of their fire, and escort Viktor the final few miles to his new home.
Jayce sets said fire as Viktor looks at the clothes set out for him. The tunic is made of a fine silk, a light grey with purple and blue embroidery. It hangs off the shoulders, similar to gowns he's seen the ladies at court wear. The rest of the trappings retain their masculine fit, but something about the elegance of the tunic catches him.
“Highness?” Jayce's voice cuts through.
“Yes?” Viktor turns to him.
“I asked if you wanted a bath or dinner first.”
“Dinner, please.”
“It'll be rabbit again. I'm sure you'll be glad to be back to proper meals tomorrow.”
“I don't mind it.” Viktor settles on a stool, watching the fire.
They make pleasant talk as Jayce cooks and they eat. There's still an awkwardness in the air between them, but Viktor is not going to waste his last night of this.
The bath feels heavenly. The water is not as warm as Viktor would like, but after days on the road, anything will do. Jayce steps outside, saying something about washing up in a nearby stream. He's tempted to ask to join him, but he can't imagine taking another step tonight.
He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and imagines what it would be to melt into the tub. No worries, no thoughts, just bliss. When he opens them, Jayce is standing in the doorway, hair wet and clad only in his braies. Jayce raises a brow before turning the other way. Suddenly the bath feels very warm.
“If you need more hot water, I can boil another pot for you,” Jayce says.
“You can look, Jayce.”
“I cannot. I-”
“I've said it enough, we are both men.”
“It has nothing to do with that,” Jayce confesses. “Or who you think you will or will not marry in two weeks’ time.”
“Then what is it, Jayce?”
“When we first met, we were practically still children. But I knew, I knew then.” A pause, a sharp inhale. “It would be alright to become a knight, because I could be somebody. Enough of a somebody. And after all those accolades and the title and the large estate with thirty or forty servants I could be enough.”
“You are enough,” Viktor says, staring at the lines of his back. He wishes and fears in alternation that Jayce would turn around.
“A squire couldn't court a prince, but a knight? One who holds lands and esteem, maybe he could.” Jayce's hand goes to his face.
Viktor grips the edge of the tub, he needs the support to stand. But he needs to stand.
“Jayce.”
When Jayce turns around, he immediately strides forward. It's Viktor, though, who closes the gap, throwing his arms around Jayce's neck. He pulls away only enough to find himself captured in a kiss, Jayce pressing insistently against him. This is the only logical conclusion to the thing that's been simmering between them for the duration of their journey. Jayce's hand drifts to his ass, groping for a moment before he hefts Viktor upward so he's dependent only on this support.
“This is why I left the room the other time,” Jayce confesses, kissing along his neck. “Because I wanted to do this.”
“Just this?”
“Viktor-”
“Take me to bed, we'll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
He's not sure where this boldness comes from, or maybe it's desperation in masquerade. All he knows in this blur is that he wants Jayce. He needs this experience to be Jayce. Everything else is a consideration for later.
“You're so beautiful, Viktor,” Jayce mutters against his neck.
“As are you, good sir knight.” Viktor smiles, finding himself deposited on the small bed the cottage offers. “Do you- have you-”
“No, never.”
“And you?”
“Not even a kiss before this. But I know my body, and I hope you know yours.”
Jayce lays on his side beside him, sliding a large hand on his stomach, then up to a perky breast. He teases the nipple between thumb and forefinger before kissing downwards, fingers replaced soon by mouth and eager tongue.
“Gently,” Viktor half instructs, half warns. “It's different with another's hands.”
Jayce pops up then, wearing his now familiar boyish grin. “Show me where to touch you.”
Viktor takes Jayce's hand in his, trying not to think too much of the size difference, guiding it downward, between his waiting thighs.
“Right there,” Viktor exhales against his mouth, kissing Jayce almost as a reward. “I like to do gentle circles, one of your fingers is fine.”
“And what of the others?”
“If you put your thumb on my little cock there, then you can slide the middle two others down and-”
Viktor bites back a chuckle at the clumsiness, but Jayce's fingers find their mark, teasing through his folds at the entrance of his cunt.
“It's damp,” Jayce observes. “It should be damp, yes?”
“Yes, if you slip in it'll be-”
Jayce doesn't waste time then, sliding two fingers into Viktor's waiting cunt. When one experimental thrust earns him a soft moan, he knows what to do. It's instinct, after all, the coupling of two bodies. There's little more natural than chasing your own pleasure, or a lover's. Viktor grips his arm tightly, almost fearful he'll stop.
And he does, when Viktor's face contorts in pleasure, when he hits his release.
“Viktor?” Jayce asks tentatively. “Highness?”
“That was good that was-” Viktor nods slowly. “That was what you were hoping to achieve.”
Jayce looks all too pleased with himself, so Viktor has to kiss him again. He could get used to kissing like this, whenever Jayce does something he finds charming or amusing.
“I would like you to fuck me now,” Viktor says when he's pulled away from the kiss. “How would it be- what position-”
“Maybe if I lay back?” Jayce offers, doing just that. He lifts his hips enough to slip off his undergarments and Viktor fights the urge of modesty to look away. “And you climb on top of me?”
Instead he stares, caught up for a long moment in whether or not Jayce will even fit inside of him. By Gods, he's going to try. He gently moves to straddle Jayce, feeling the tension from the ride in his legs and back.
“Are you comfortable?” Jayce asks, tentatively running a hand down his right leg.
“Comfortable enough,” Viktor answers, then lets out a yelps when Jayce slips him backwards, creating a sweet friction between them.
Jayce, ever the gentleman, holds his weight as he sinks down on Jayce's cock. The stretch burns, Viktor has had nothing larger than his own fingers before tonight, but his body accommodates the intrusion. It fits.
Viktor tentatively rocks his hips forward and that's the sweet spot for both of them. Movement makes the stretch more bearable, melts away the discomfort into pleasure. This is what the courtiers would whisper about in the conversations he was never privy to, what the poets wrote about in the books he'd read with something more than scholarly interest.
He braces his hands on Jayce's chest as he moves, the rhythm unsteady. There are, however, no complaints beneath him, only compliments to his beauty and words that sound like prayers to him instead of the Gods. This doesn't feel like blasphemy.
But Viktor's back aches, he realizes, and he's done enough riding these few days. It can't end yet but-
“Can you put me on my back again?” Viktor asks. “Please?”
The nod he receives as an answer is unbearably sweet. They readjust together, Jayce hovering over him for a moment.
“You know you can ask anything of me, Viktor,” he says sweetly. “I'm yours, all yours.”
“I love you, Jayce,” Viktor confesses in return. “Always have, I believe.”
That causes a moment of something like hesitation. Something crosses Jayce's face for a moment; guilt, perhaps. But then he kisses Viktor.
“I love you, I know I always have.”
When Jayce pushes back in, all Viktor can do is hold tightly onto him. He lets the pleasure wash over him. There's nothing to compare Jayce to but it doesn't matter, Jayce would win any competition in his heart.
Jayce fucks into him harder and with each grunt, Viktor knows he's drawing closer to his own release. He wraps his left leg around him, a silent permission to let go, and Jayce does. Viktor runs a hand down Jayce's back as he comes down from orgasm, both of them panting in the aftermath.
There should be a sense of shame now, the idea that he's damaged goods. Viktor can't muster up enough energy to care. He lays still when Jayce pulls out, with a muttered promise of bringing him something to clean himself. The washrag is a well received gift, and they help each other clean up in silence.
“Will you share my bed tonight?” Viktor asks.
“Of course, we are just two men after all.”
Viktor snorts.
The other side of the bed is cold when Viktor wakes. His cane is propped on the bedside table, after having been forgotten when Jayce carried him over from the bath. It's not what he wanted from this morning, but it's a kind gesture. Asking to wake up in Jayce's arms was probably a step too far. But Gods, he wants it.
The fire is still going strong, so he doesn't have time to waste. Jayce is nowhere to be seen, likely outside swinging a sword or feeding the horses. Or avoiding him. Viktor understands, after his own neediness and the treason they committed the night before.
He stands slowly, trying to shake the stiffness out of his limbs. Hopefully there will be a carriage in the procession to his new home. He wonders if the king will join it.
The clothes are surprisingly easy to put on. Even in Zaun, his more formal clothes would require the assistance of a servant or two. He grips his cane tightly as he looks in the glass hanging on the wall, his vision of himself half blurred. He can see the circles under his eyes. It's been an exhausting week, but he'll miss it with his whole heart.
He sits to lace his boots and his brace. Jayce still hasn't come inside. There's some fruit on the table, but he has no appetite. He can hear Jayce's voice outside, he can feel the pricking of a different kind of hunger.
“Jayce?” he calls as he rises, stepping forward to push open the door. “Do you want to eat with me before-”
He stops in his tracks at the sight of Jayce, tending to both of their horses, and the pack horse. He's not wearing his armor, or the usual linen tunic beneath it. Instead he's in something much finer, a coat of red with polished gold buttons, embroidered ornately, with tall boots. It must be his nicest outfit.
“Viktor!” Jayce startles, his features settling into boyish surprise as Viktor steps closer.
“You look handsome today.” Viktor reaches for the hem of his sleeve, trying to get a closer look. The embroidery is subtle, but oddly familiar, embedded deep in the fabric in hues of deep blue.
No, a decadent purple.
“Jayce?” he asks, looking up at the other man. “What-”
“I can explain.”
“Explain what, precisely?” Viktor drops Jayce's arm. “Who exactly are you?”
“I'm exactly who you think! Jayce, Sir Talis.”
“No knight, regardless of rank, would be permitted to wear this to a royal procession.”
“Viktor.”
Jayce reaches for him and he takes a step away.
“I thought it odd that my intended sent only one man, but I was blinded by my trust in you.” Viktor pauses. “So which are you really? Jayce or Dmitri?”
“They're one in the same. Dmitri is my second name. When I have my coronation, officially a year after my uncle's passing, I will revert to Jayce.”
“So you did this only to deceive me.”
“I did it so I could freely be Jayce for some more time,” he admits. “Though you were a consideration. I needed you to see me as who I am, not-”
“So what was that speech last night? About being a knight and not getting what you want?” Viktor balls his free hand into a fist. “Was that all a ploy to appeal to my pity? To taste an early sample?”
“You never let me finish last night, or the night before.”
“If you had asked for my hand outright, I would have given it willingly. Gladly.”
“And how was I to know that?”
“Write a letter! I don't know.” Viktor pauses. “How long did you know that you would become king?”
“Not long. My uncle, he was my mother's younger brother. My parents were a love match and rather a controversy, so I had no royal aspirations. But he had no family besides my sister and died rather unexpectedly.”
“And your first act as king-”
“Technically I'm not a king yet. There's been no coronation.”
“Your first act was to what, write to Zaun and propose a marriage treaty?”
“Something like that, yes.” Jayce pauses, looking bashful. “The letter was on the way before my council agreed. And I made plans to ride as soon as I received an answer.”
“So why did you lie?” Viktor half whispers, gazing down.
Jayce tips up his chin, looking him in the eye.
“Because I wanted this journey with you like this. Because I was afraid if you knew it was me, you'd say no. Because I didn't want you to feel pressured to love me.”
“But I do. Gods, I'm so angry with you but I'm so-”
He's happy, Viktor realizes. He's relieved. This force looming between them, this mysterious figure, doesn't exist. Has never existed. It's so ridiculous he has to laugh.
“It's really you?” Viktor asks. “The one I'll marry is-”
“If you still consent to it, yes.”
Viktor doesn't respond with words, instead reaching up to trace a hand down Jayce's face, taking his appearance in. He's so mad at him. He's so in love with him, and in two weeks, they will be married. The only right thing to do then is kiss him. He can be angry later, he's been granted this luxury.