Lenhard set the cake down and wiped awkwardly at his forehead. "I carried it here myself," he explained. "That's why I'm sweating."
"I see."
"It's become quite hot, hasn't it," Lenhard added, and loosened his collar.
Royal stared at him in silence. It was October. It was cold outside. He could not for the life of him understand why the emperor was unbuttoning his clothes in the middle of a sitting room in October.
He looked away quickly, gripping the arms of his chair.
Lenhard noticed at once and became worried. "What's wrong?"
This is your fault, Royal thought. Every part of this is your fault.
He turned back and said, evenly, "Considering my current circumstances, I feel uncomfortable living somewhere as luxurious as this. It almost feels as though I've abandoned my people."
That landed. Lenhard's face fell, and he was genuinely saddened, because he understood that he had not thought carefully enough about how any of this would feel from the other side.
Royal immediately felt guilty and wondered whether he had spoken too harshly. Although — a small, honest part of him admitted — he did rather hope it would finally stop the man from burying him in gifts.
Later the two of them sat down together and talked about things that mattered.
Lenhard had found the traitor.
It was a greedy old nobleman from Royal's own kingdom. Not a foreign hand at all: a man who had eaten at their table. Lenhard also told him that Laurian was alive and currently staying safely inside the castle of an allied kingdom, and that both Anant and Parzia had already stepped forward to offer their support, and that a great many people back home were still loyal to Royal's side.
Royal took it all in and understood, at last, that every piece of the chaos and betrayal had come out of those corrupt nobles.
"Thank you," he said, and meant it. "You don't know what it does for me to finally hear all of this."
While he was still speaking, Lenhard moved closer.
"I only want to do everything you desire," he said softly. "Whatever it is." He paused. "May I ask you for a favor?"
He leaned in.
Royal's heart went out of control. His mind threw him straight back into a rented room a year ago, and he panicked, and thought: he's going to ask for my body again.
The discomfort was on his face before he could stop it.
The instant Lenhard saw it he stepped back. "It isn't that," he said quickly. "It isn't what you're thinking. All I want is for you to become a little more comfortable around me. That's the favor."
Impossible, Royal thought bitterly. I'm a failed prince with nothing. You're an emperor.
Lenhard, seeing the sadness in his expression, drew his own conclusion — that Royal was unwilling even to be a closer friend to him — and looked away.
And Royal, watching him, realized abruptly that this situation was still enormously better than being asked for another night.
"All right," he said. "I'll try. I'll try to be more comfortable around you."
That single sentence lit Lenhard's entire face.
He is an open book, Royal thought, watching it happen. This man could not hide an emotion if his empire depended on it.
"May I call you Royal?" Lenhard asked, a little later. "Instead of Daniel."
"If it pleases you," Royal said respectfully.
Lenhard smiled and said the name again, softly, just to have said it — and Royal's heart slammed against his ribs so hard that he covered his face with one hand and demanded of himself what on earth that was supposed to be.
It's only because he's extremely handsome, he decided. That's all it is.
"Then let's be friendlier still," Lenhard said. "Call me Len. Lenhard is far too formal, and too long."
Royal lowered his hand. "Len."
"Len," Lenhard agreed happily. "It sounds much better."
Royal could hardly believe the man was serious. In the end they compromised, and Royal announced that he would call him Mr. Len.
Even after that, the gifts did not stop. The endless shower of them went on and on, and Royal privately admitted that accepting so many things from him was becoming genuinely embarrassing.
"Another kingdom has decided to support us as well," Lenhard told him one day.
Royal bowed politely and thanked him again for the information. Deep down he acknowledged something he had been noticing for weeks: Lenhard was extraordinarily skilled at political matters and difficult situations. He made them look like nothing at all.
Later, Royal asked his subordinates, half joking, whether they thought his eyesight had been getting worse lately.
The yellow-haired one did not even pause. "Your Highness once called Emperor Lenhard cute," he said flatly. "Your eyesight is definitely broken."
"I was not in my right mind at the time," Royal said quickly.
The other two sighed in relief.
"Your Highness," said another, seriously, "please avoid him as much as you possibly can."
"That," Royal said helplessly, "is completely impossible."
The yellow-haired subordinate's eyes filled with tears. "We want to see you become a king someday," he said. "Not a queen."
Royal froze solid. "I don't want that either," he said. "Obviously. I don't want that either."
Someone knocked at the door.
"It's me," came Lenhard's voice from the corridor. "I've arrived."
The subordinates thought, in perfect unison and complete silence, that they had spoken of the devil and the devil had appeared immediately afterward.
Lenhard came in with more fruit and encouraged him warmly to try some.
"Thank you, Mr. Len," Royal said politely, and took it.
From the doorway the three of them watched this in disbelief — the ease of it, the total absence of hesitation, their prince accepting an emperor's gifts as naturally as breathing — and one of them silently prayed that His Highness would come to his senses before it was too late.
Time went on, and winter arrived, and Royal understood that the moment had come to make his move.