Ch 1

Mikayla this, Mikayla that. He was tired. His father had always yearned for another son, but the moment he expressed himself as such the world was ending and he was bound for hell. His mother could do nothing but weep as he refused the frills and lace that were too confining, too constricting. She believes it is because as a child he had too much freedom. They cannot begin to comprehend that as a child he could do and be whatever he wanted. As an adult he is forced to be something he is not. He is a man, regardless of what he appears now. He did not have to put up a rouse then, he refuses to put up a rouse now.

“Please,” his mama begged.

He had eyed the ruffles with mistrust. He was a simple man, but he would rather die than admit he enjoyed the caress of lace on his skin. It made him weak, it made them right. That in the end and in their eyes, he will forever be a women– nay, a girl.

He knows there is nothing inherently wrong with being female, but it is not who he is.

“I will consider it mama,” he had whispered.

“That is all I ask.”

With the doors closed he knew he could not stay.

It was the beginning of the season and he was to be married. He was to follow his parents’ charade of being something, some one , he is not. He was to be paraded in the hopes of securing a lord of high standing. He would want for naught. But that is not what his heart desired. He desired freedom, love. True and wild.

He bit his lip at the thought. He looked down at himself, he stared at his breasts and hated what he saw. Hated the twists and curls of his hair.

Decided, he grabbed the sheers hidden in his desk.

The sound as the blades snipped and chopped were nothing short of satisfying.

And he stared at his reflection, hair tussled and short, finally feeling right .

A soft knock and a high-pitched voice, “Mikayla?”

He only opens the door because he recognizes the one on the other side, “Victoria.”

A sharp gasp and he yanks his sister in before anyone can see him.

“What have you done?” She asks in shock as the door clicks shut.

“Don’t you like it?” He wonders with a little proud smile and slow turn on his heel.

“It…It looks wonderful on you si-brother,” she sighs, “but why so sudden?”

“I cannot stay Vicky,” he explains.

And that is when her eyes stray to the dress displayed on her sibling’s bed.

“With Elizabeth wed, I am next in line and the season is nye,” he continues.

“What are you going to do?”

“I plan on leaving,” he admits, “tonight.”

“Mikhail,” she tuts.

“I must and you know it.”

She does as much as she wished she didn’t.

“But where will you go?”

“Far?”

And he hates how it comes out as a question.

“Father will send for you,” Victoria warns, “our brothers will make sure you are brought back safely.”

“Far it is,” he states decidedly, unsure what far actually is.

“Mikhail-”

“I love you, sister,” Mikhail states, pulling her into a gentle hug.

She wraps her arms around her elder brother and buries her face in his chest. The gravity of the situation sinking in.

“You have always been by my side, have always believed in me, respected me for who I am. Believe me now sister, that this is for the best,” he whispers.

“You must write to me once you are far and safe, you must not forget me, brother. I love you too and wish nothing but the best for you.”

“Be strong Victoria, for when I am gone the responsibility will fall to you, and that is my only regret.”

“Hush,” she soothes, brushing a couple strands away from his soft face, “Have you packed?”

“Not yet,” he sighs, melting just a bit.

“Let me help.”

In silence they make a bag that can easily be strapped to the mare Mikhail plans on taking. He packs mostly pants he has snatched from his brothers without their knowledge. He packs a blouse or two and sneaks in lace.

He grabs a warm cloak, the last bits of frost melting away with the arrival of Spring, but the nights still beckoning the northern winds.

“They shall be asleep soon,” Victoria muses.

“I shall sneak then,” Mikhail smiles, feeling lighter than ever before.

“Before you part, I made you something,” Victoria says.

She slips from his room and returns with a white cloth.

She urges him to unwrap it and he is confused at what he finds.

“It is a binder, to bind your chest,” she explains, “same mechanism as a corset. I altered a plain one after speaking with the modiste for pointers.”

Mikhail stares at it speechless. He feels tears well in his eyes and he sniffs to fight them back. A losing battle.

“Oh sister!”

Victoria smiles, flush high on her cheeks.

“Help me?” He asks.

He undresses quietly, leaving nothing but his undergarments. Victoria helps wrap the faux corset right over his chest. She pulls and tightens, and it feels like he cannot breathe, but he has never felt lighter. Happier. Freer.

“Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely.

“I will always love you,” she promises.

They hug and Mikhail sheds a few more tears as does his younger sister.

When the moon is high.

When the creaks stop.

When the chatter dies.

He slips out from the house that was once his home.

He makes his way around to the stables and soothes his mare. He looks around to make sure no one heard the slight disturbance from the waking horse.

“I’m sorry love,” he coos at the beast, “I am putting my freedom on you.”

He fastens the saddle and straps his bag before mounting on.

He looks up and follows the moon.

The hooves beating on the ground, the wind whipping around and mussing his short curls, filling his lungs even as the corset tightens around his chest.

This is freedom , he thinks with a smile, this is right .

Ch 2

He has been gone a couple of days now, he knows as much. You

He stops when he can, but he is not foolish to think his family has stopped hunting for him.

Thus, he does not stop for more than necessary.

Just a couple hours for his beast to recuperate, for him to eat his staling bread and drink water from whatever stream he can find.  Enough to sleep with one eye open, heaven knows what would happen if he let his guard down.

So, he finds himself always on the move. Unsure if he is going north or south, unsure if he even wants to know.

He mounts his mare and grabs the reigns, tugging the horse in the opposite direction of home.

The first bullet startles his mare as it strikes the bark of a tree and explodes with a boom! It is enough to make his beast rise on its hind legs and throw him off guard.  He lands on the ground with a painful thud.  The second bullet strikes his friend.  The yowling of pain makes his heart clench and look around with wild eyes.

“Mikayla!”

“No,” he breathes, panic growing, “no, no, no!”

He rises and a bullet is lodged in his shoulder in hopes of stopping him, in slowing him down.

It hurts, it stings, and it makes him cry out in pain.

He attempts to stand, to run on foot if he must.

“Mikayla!”

Tears well in his eyes as he peers up at the approaching man.  He dismounts easily as he runs toward Mikhail where he is crumbled and injured.

“Sister,” the man breathes in what can be assumed as relief.

“I am not your sister,” Mikhail hisses, attempting to crawl away.

“Mikayla, stop this non-sense,” the man growls, pulling on the hood of the cape.

Mikhail closes his eyes.

“What have you done sister, your hair,” the man gasps.

“Stop Atticus,” Mikhail begs.

“ This has to stop,“ Atticus states, voice soft but firm, “come now, home.”

“That is not my home,” Mikhail argues, “I refuse to go back only to be sold off to the highest bidder because papa and mama want as such.”

The sting that follows those words is heard like the echo of the bullets fired mere moments ago.  It is enough to momentarily distract Mikhail from the growing pain radiating from his shoulder.

“You will speak of mother and father with respect, they want nothing but the best for you, for our sisters and brothers.  Why can you not be more like Elizabeth?”

“I am not her!  I am not you!  You do not follow their rules, why should I?!”

“Because I am a man, and you-”

“And I?” Mikhail challenges, slowly but surely rising on his feet.

He feels unsteady, lightheaded, but he does not falter. Still, he refuses to look down as he feels the trickle of blood running down his skin. He is sure his clothing is soaked through with scarlet turned black in the darkness of the forest.

He demands a bit harsher, “And I?”

“You are not,” Atticus sighs at last, “You belong with a man who can provide and protect you.”

“I do not want a man who will do nothing but keep me,” Mikhail states, “I do not want nor need a man when I have myself.”

“Mik-”

“Mik hail ,” he interrupts.

“Mikayla,” Atticus ignores, “just let us go home.”

“You shot me,” Mikhail sniffs.

“And you ran, you cut your hair!  You’re dressed like something you will never be!  Something that will not, is not, accepted!”

Mikhail wraps his hand around a thick and jagged log more securely behind his back.  He looks away to his slain companion.  He looks exhausted yet younger, a child still in the eyes of his older brother.

“The others?” He finally asks with a hint of resignation.

“Father is weary,” Atticus answers, “and Philip and Colt are with him, they shall be here soon.  I shall help you mount your meager belongings.  Now, please dear sister, get on my horse.”

The horse in question is but mere feet away.  Mikhail swallows past the painful lump growing in his throat.  As Atticus turns to unravel his bag from the dead beast, Mikhail takes the opportunity he will not have again.

“I am truly sorry brother,” he whispers.

He is not sure where the strength comes from.  He is dizzy from blood loss, but adrenaline is still pumping through his veins. He does not hesitate to bash his brother’s skull in.  There’s a crunch as Atticus tumbles toward the forest ground.

There’s a flash of panic within Mikhail, wondering if he hit too hard, if he just unintentionally killed his kin.

Mikhail hovers over his unconscious brother and at the sight of his chest rising and falling, Mikhail sighs in true relief.

“Forgive me brother, but I refuse to go back to that gilded cage.”

He finishes unravelling his pack and loosens the reigns of his brother’s horse snagged on a branch.  He smacks the horse and watches as it tramples far away. Mikhail then hides among the underbrush.  He waits with bated breath until he hears familiar voices, shouts.

“Atticus!”

Mikhail peers from his hiding space as his brothers dismount, their father following suit.

“She must have taken the beast,” Colt points out, his gaze following the damage of the horse’s stampede.

Mikhail does nothing to hide his proud little smirk at fooling his brother.

“Colton,” their father calls, “help me bring Atticus home, he needs medical attention.”

“What of our sister?”

“Atticus wounded her, so she will not be far. Philip, go after her trail and we shall join you as soon as Atticus receives the attention he requires.”

It is not long before they split ways.

Mikhail closes his eyes in short lived relief.

“Mikhail,” a voice calls in concern.

His eyes open in surprise.

He looks through the foliage once more and he swears Philip catches his eye despite blending in with the greenery.

Even if he is truly seen, the older man does not attempt to approach him.

“You are wounded,” he states, “please, find somewhere safe to hide, to rest.  I understand this is something you must do.”

Mikhail resists the urge to call out to his brother as tears well up in his eyes.

“Be well…
brother .”

Horse hooves disappear in the distance and Mikhail can no longer hold back a sob.

Of pain.

Of anguish.

Of fear.

He wonders, but he does not regret.

He slips from under the shrubs and continues his journey, meandering with exhaustion and dizziness.

He will find home again.

Just not here, not now.

Ch 3

He loses track of time. His legs cramp up and he cannot go on, he needs to stop if only to catch his breath. The wound of his shoulder is throbbing, and the lightheadedness has only worsened as night turns into day and again and again as if on repeat.

He slumps against the bark of a tree trunk and closes his eyes. He can hear the bustling of life just beyond the threshold of foliage. He can push himself just a bit more, but he fears he has already pushed passed his limits.

He shrugs on his slipping bag onto his good shoulder and takes a couple more steps. He pauses as he enters the thriving town. It is not unlike his home city where he was born and raised.  However it is smaller, less bustling and more rural.  Filled with new people, new faces he has yet to learn. This is a blank slate, if only for a brief moment. This is a place where no one knows his name, his face, his life. He can build himself here, he can break his old self down.

He looks both ways before crossing the street. He enters a tavern-esk establishment. He would never be caught dead in a place like this back home. His parents would have a conniption if they were made aware of him being a place where ladies were not allowed.

But he was not a lady. Not here.

He almost feels giddy.

“How can I help you, young man?” the tender asks.

Mikhail slips into a chair at the bar and he looks around, trying to decide what he wants. He tries not to let the words phase him, but he cannot deny the feeling of acceptance in his chest.

“Do you have anything to eat?” He asks with a tilt of his head, the hood of his cloak slipping down.

“Of course,” the woman nods, “what’re you in the mood for?”

Mikhail bites his lip, “something light perhaps.”

He can feel the weight of the coin-pouch strapped around his waist. The tender returns with some broth and vegetables. He pays up front, handing off and chipping away at what was once his dowry.

“Thank you,” he smiles politely.

The food is rather tasteless. It can only be described as lukewarm water with no flavor whatsoever and steamed veggies. He thinks he hides his distaste well enough.

“Where’re you coming from?” the woman asks in an attempt of polite conversation.

“Far,” is all Mikhail offers, slurping at the water.

“Ooh mysterious,” she chuckles, “and where, pray-tell, are you headed boy?”

“I do not know yet, ma’m,” he answers truthfully, “I am simply trying to find home.”

More like run away from it , he muses.

They leave it at that and he takes his leave after only eating half of the food provided. He would ask for a medic, but he does not want to raise any more suspicions. He does not want them to think they have a fugitive in town, for what other reason should he be injured and running?

So, he goes behind the small shop and begins undressing. He lets his cloak fall and then he peels the shirt stuck to his skin from the drying blood. He finally chances a glance down and he prides himself in not throwing up what little he had to eat. He is sure the food will be less pleasant coming back up than going down.

He hisses and whines as he cleans the wound with water from his waterskin and some cloth. He’s not sure if the bullet is truly embedded in his skin, but there is no exit hole to determine otherwise. He tries not to think much of it. He truly needs to seek medical attention though.

“Well look at what we have here,” a leery voice growls.

Mikhail looks up with wide eyes, like a doe caught by a hunter.

“What an odd boy, dressed as you are,” another scorns.

Mikhail attempts to hide his body from further view.

“We saw that pretty pouch of yours,” the first continues, “hefty it seems.”

Instinctively, Mikhail grips the little bag with all the money meant to be his dowry.

“I do think it will be better kept if you handed it over to me.”

Mikhail shakes his head, “this is mine.”

“Oh?”

“And he speaks!”

“High pitched, bet his balls haven’t even dropped yet.”

Mikhail blushes at the inappropriate jeers and he tries to shuffle back. But he is acutely aware that there is nowhere he can go, nowhere he can hide.

There is no one to protect him.

No one but himself.

He tries to dash in between the men. Foolish he knows, as one grasps his bicep tight and flings him back.

A cry escapes him as he lands on his wounded side on the bricked alley.

The men are quick to pounce.

He struggles and fights, like hell he will just give in. He pulls at the coin-pouch, but he’s too weak and the blood loss has not done him any favors.

They steal everything.

They take the money and his bag of clothing.

The only thing he has left, by some miracle, is his virtue and the scraps of clothing on his back.

He sighs and lets his head fall back.

“Fuck,” he curses softly.

And he almost covers his mouth out of habit for saying such a word. But it is the only way he can describe the situation he is in.

No money and with nowhere to go… he is screwed.

Royally so.

With a humph, he drags himself up and wanders aimlessly through town. People stare at him and avoid him as he passes by. He looks like a mess, a wreck. Blooded and bruised and poor. He’s filthy and he stinks. Sweat makes his greasy hair stick to his forehead and in all other directions. He needs shelter, he needs a bath and proper food to fill his belly.

He stumbles and when he looks around, he is not quite sure where he is.

He is surrounded by nothing but trees.

Endless trees and dark skies.

It no longer feels safe, the branches are no longer beckoning him with their promise of shelter and safety. No, they are reaching out to devour him.

He wants to go home.

He wants… he wants…

His vision is blurred with tears of anguish. He aches and hurts in the worst way possible. He feels all too hot and yet too cold. He is unsure of what is left or right, up or down. Yet he perseveres until he’s crashing into something, nay, someone.

A hand reaches out and lands on his waist, just below his ribs.

The other stops his tumble.

He looks up and sees the darkest shade of brown, nearly black, engulfing cold eyes. And all he can feel is a relief that is once again cut short as he is pushed away, a gun pointed at his chest.

He looks wide-eyed at the man. Ash blond hair tousled yet perfect, darkening eyes narrowing on his person.

“Who are you? State your business,” the man orders, voice thick with an accent Mikhail can’t quite identify.

“I-” He can’t answer. His vision is swimming and he’s losing focus.

He feels the familiar warmth of blood seeping from his aggravated wound. He whimpers. Everything is catching up to him. Everything is too much.

The man cocks the gun and Mikhail is sure he is going to die.

He closes his eyes and allows the dark to swallow him.

Maybe this way, he will no longer feel the pain.  But even then he knew it was a losing battle.  He has been numb for quite some time now.  Now it was just time to let go.

Ch 4

Mikhail groans. God, he is so sore and tired. His body is weighed and as he tries to move, he finds that he can’t.

His brows furrow in confusion and he whines low in his throat.

Every movement causes a jolt of pain to travel through his muscles. He aches and hurts in the worst way possible.

“Do not move,” a voice commands gruffly.

Mikhail’s eyes flutter open and through blurred vision he finds the source of the sound. He blinks away the sleepiness, his breathing just a bit labored. He attempts to move, clearly ignoring the warning. He finds that he can’t. Again, he frowns before discovering why.

He is chained to the bed posts, wrists bruised with purples and blues.

“Are you deaf or just daft?”

Mikhail bristles at that, “Let me go.”

“You trespassed onto private territory, if anything I should behead you where you lay.”

Mikhail pauses before beginning to struggle in earnest.

“Stop that,” the man orders once more.

Mikhail doesn’t listen, too panicked because he does not put it past the man not to kill him. His bravado melts and all he is left with is fear.

“Stop it.”

And warm breath fans over his cheek. Mikhail stops, breathing erratically, chest rising and falling as he works himself into a panic attack.

“I cannot breathe,” he gasps and whimpers.

The man looks confused for half a second before his instincts kick in. Warm calloused hands cup Mikhail’s cheeks. His face is gently turned until he’s forced to meet the dark eyes belonging to the stranger.

“Breathe with me,” the man coos gently.

Mikhail closes his eyes against the onslaught of tears, but he tries to follow the man’s direction for the first time since waking.

It is slow progress, but finally he can feel himself breathe normally again. He calms.

“I have done my best at patching you up. You have lost much blood, but the shell is gone, and I have tried suturing the wound close. So, stop squirming unless you want my handy work to come undone.”

Mikhail gulps, turning to look away as his heart palpitates.

“Thank you,” he manages hoarsely.

The man finally backs away now that he is sure Mikhail will not hurt himself.

“My lord?” A muffled voice calls from just outside the closed doors.

The man stands with a deep-seated sigh as he treks toward the wooden double doors. Mikhail follows the man with his gaze. He takes in the sight before him. The man is tall and well built. He is older than him, mature. There is a heaviness set on the man’s shoulders. Mikhail does not doubt that the man can kill him with his bare heads. He ponders if escaping is an option.

“Beatrice,” the man greets politely, the door swinging open.

Not enough for Mikhail to see the person beyond.

“Sire, a letter from your father, Ki -”

“Thank you,” the man interrupts, taking the envelop, “you may leave.”

The servant courtesies, Mikhail is sure, before leaving.

Again, it is just them two.

The letter is tossed onto the night table. Forgotten for the moment.

Mikhail stares at the man with those doe wide eyes again. The man sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Who are you?” He asks once more, “Who sent you?”

Sent him? Mikhail thinks in utter befuddlement.

“No one sir,” he answers.

The man cannot detect a lie, but he does not let his guard down.

“What is your name?”

Mikhail bites his lip. He owes the man this much, right?

This man practically saved his life, right after and before threatening to end it.

“Mikhail,” he whispers at last, “My name is Mikhail.”

“Mikhail,” the man hums in contemplation.

“And yours?” The younger questions.

The man stares at him as if he truly is daft. It makes Mikhail uncomfortable.

“You… You truly do not know who I am?”

Mikhail shakes his head, should he?

“You may call me Antony,” the man settles.

“Lord Antony,” Mikhail nods, testing out the name as the man had with his.

Antony does not correct him on the title. It is best this way.

“What happened to you? Running away from the military?” Antony wonders.

Mikhail stifles a laugh, groaning when the movement tugs at the hand cuffs. God his arms are numb from the lack of proper circulation. Antony takes notice and he chooses then to unlock the cuffs.

“Thank you,” Mikhail sighs in relief.

The man grunts in acknowledgement.

“As to answer your question I… I was, am travelling, when I was mistaken by a hunter chasing game.”

It is a clear and obvious lie. One Mikhail hopes he can pass, but Antony has already caught on. Fine, if the boy refuses to be truthful then he will not push. But that he means he will not trust. The boy will be under his cautionary gaze at all times.

“I umm was seeking help when my belongings were stolen. I am truly grateful Lord Antony, if you had not come along, I am sure sepsis would have set in soon enough.”

Antony nods. There is no lie there. Mikhail was already burning with fever. Infection. He is not quite sure Mikhail is out of the woods just yet, he does not have the heart to tell him, but he knows he must.

“Perhaps a medic would be ideal. I have only done what was necessary in an act of emergency, but there is a chance of infection still -”

“No,” Mikhail refutes immediately, sitting up all too sudden.

Antony raises a brow.

“You have done more than enough, and I have no way of repaying you for your kindness or even consider paying a medic,” Mikhail explains, shutting his eyes to stop the spinning of the room.

Antony sits upon the bed beside him and a cool hand reaches to Mikhail’s forehead.

Fever , Antony notes.

“Rest, I shall take care of the rest,” Antony promises.

Mikhail leans back onto the pillows and he melts into the cushions. His breathing slows and he is once again in a fitful sleep.

Antony contemplates his next move.

Another knock.

“Boyd,” he calls in.

“Sire,” the man bows, palm pressed to his chest.

“How long until my presence is required?” Antony asks.

“The Queen of Selva Mountainshire requires your presence within the next moon as the start of the season nears.”

Antony eyes the letter from his father, “Alright.”

“What shall we do with mister…”

“Mikhail,” Antony offers, “And I believe he is a lord.”

Boyd hums, “Lord Mikhail, then.”

With his mind made up, Antony orders, “Call for a medic, Lord Mikhail shall be my guest.”

“As you wish, sire.”

Ch 5

It is confirmed that Mikhail is plagued by a mild infection, but nothing that cannot be remedied as the good doctor had said. And with the wise man’s departure, Mikhail has a new sense of liberty. He can move around as he pleases so long as he does not strain his worn-out body. Despite this, Mikhail does not leave the room he has come to know as his.

“You can move about,” Antony muses, “you are not a prisoner here.”

Mikhail lowers a book on war strategies or whatnot, and he focuses on the handsome man. The light captures the ash of his hair perfectly. The once dark eyes are as light as honey now. He looks younger and Mikhail tries to ignore the clench in his chest, the vice around his heart.

Without thinking he responds, “I have been a prisoner my whole life, this is a freedom I intend to enjoy.”

Antony stares at the younger man in surprise.

Mikhail thinks better of it and with a flush he adds, “I am not a fugitive or a delinquent, that is not what I meant -”

“Sometimes,” Antony interrupts, voice tender with understanding, “I feel as if I were a prisoner as well.”

“Is that why you are here?” Mikhail asks with a tilt of his head.

His unruly curls fall over his eyes, and he attempts to blow them away with puckered lips. Antony finds it endearing.

“I wish,” Antony responds, “Come now, dinner will be served soon, and you are in need of a change of scenery if you ever hope of recovering.”

Mikhail agrees with a nod. He stands and tries to find his center of gravity as he’s gripped by the nauseating sense of vertigo. Antony notices and he hovers near the younger man, ready to catch him shall he fall. Mikhail steadies himself with no help and he extends his hand out, motioning the lord to show the way as he has no idea the layout of the villa.

Antony reluctantly leads the way, not looking too long away from Mikhail. Just in case.

They enter the dining room and Mikhail is captivated by the room. It is… spacious. From the outside the villa does not appear as if the interior would be this big. He is stood corrected with the sight before him. Not even the dining room back home is this massive and he has seven siblings, with himself and parents included that makes nine. This is fit for royalty. Something only someone with wealth can afford. A Duke perhaps?

Mikhail makes his way down the long wooden table and he takes a seat where the dining ware has been set for him. He feels ridiculous with the distance between himself and Antony.

“This is rather,” Mikhail pauses, “impressive.”

Antony stares at him from the head of the table, “rather ridiculous if you ask me, come Mikhail.”

Mikhail hesitates as he stares at Antony.

The servers pause as well.

“Sire,” Boyd begins.

“Mikhail,” Antony ignores, “I appreciate your company and I would find it rather rude if we let the distance stay between us. Come. The staff can accommodate your plate nearer.”

Mikhail rises and he ambles toward Antony, taking the seat right of the man.

The staff are efficient in fixing the silverware at his new placement.

“Thank you,” he smiles gratefully.

Food is served shortly after and it is all an affair Mikhail hadn’t quite expected. He almost feels underdressed, as if he were in the presence of true royalty. He looks at the sleeves of the shirt he wears. He knows it belongs to Antony. It is far too big on his lithe frame despite still holding onto his baby weight. It still smells of the man, a soothing scent of wood and fire and musk. He wants to close his eyes and bask in the warmth it provides.

“Tired?” Antony asks.

Mikhail hums, “not yet.”

“How are you finding the book?” Antony asks conversationally.

“Interesting,” he answers, “there was nothing of this sort back home.”

Not a lie. He was not allowed to read anything that was not romance or involved cooking and maintaining a household. God it was so dull.

“The recounted events as told by soldiers, riveting. Yet I cannot help but think there could have been better ways to avoid war,” Mikhail adds.

“War, gruesome,” Antony agrees.

Mikhail stares at the man and he catches a glimpse of darker times, a haunted look.

“Did you serve?” He asks gently.

“Ay,” Antony answers, “In the war with Spain, front line.”

He omits his title, finds it unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” Mikhail frowns.

Antony smiles, “There were good men who died. I am not apologetic, for that would mean their lives were given in vain. I did what I had to. I served my country and we’ve come out on top.”

Mikhail’s breath hitches, “You are right.”

“Shall we discuss something lighter? I do not wish to spoil such a wonderful night.”

Coffee is placed in front of them followed by sweet pastries for dessert.

“This is not your home,” Mikhail begins.

He has noted, that though it is bustling with movement, it is not warm like a home. It is mostly simultaneously filled and empty with impersonal items.

“It is not,” Antony assents.

“Coming or going?” Mikhail wonders.

“Coming,” Antony answers, “Since the treaty between the Arboreal and Selva has come to fruition, my father would like me to participate in the coming season.”

“Oh,” Mikhail frowns, hiding his expression with the pretense of taking a sip of the bitter liquid before him.

“Yourself?”

“Going,” he replies, more like running .

“Are you not interested in marriage?”

Mikhail stops to consider, “I… I’m not sure.”

“I understand,” Antony states.

“You do?” He raises a brow.

“You are young, barely fifteen summers-”

“Eighteen,” Mikhail rebuts.

“I am sure you feel too young to consider marriage either way.”

“I feel as if there is more for me. I do not wish to settle for someone who cannot love me for who I am. I wish to find love and make it my own.”

At the silence, Mikhail looks at Antony. His cheeks are heated in embarrassment as he realizes what he just said, what he must sound like. Ridiculous. Like a woman from those silly romance novels he has read one too many times.

“It all just seems… I’m not quite sure what the appropriate word is. But it feels like an auction. Even if it is initiated based on compatibility.”

“I understand,” Antony assures once again.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Wish to marry?”

“Love is such an odd construct. Marriage is even odder. I suppose I have yet to find someone who can ground me and make my heart race. I’ve had conquests, but I can say that none have captivated me.”

None like yourself, Antony catches himself.

“I am sure you will find someone in Mountainshire,” Mikhail offers encouragingly.

“I find that it will only be a tedious affair,” Antony confides.

That draws a cough from Boyd who has stood watch in case either lord required anything else.

Antony rolls his eyes and that draws a small laugh from Mikhail which he tries (and fails) to stifle.

Antony finds him intriguing.

“So, are you from Selva?”

“Yes,” Mikhail sighs sober, “there are many lovely ladies.”

“And their mamas who will crowd me -”

“Like vultures,” Mikhail snickers.

“Or worse,” Antony adds with a chuckle of his own.

Another clearing of a throat and Antony sighs.

The servants appear to clear the table and Antony rises from his seat. Without thinking he offers his hand to Mikhail who grasps it as he stands. They walk toward the hall leading to their separate rooms. They come to a stop before the closed doors of the one belonging to Mikhail.

“It was a lovely night,” Antony begins, “Thank you for joining me for dinner.”

“Thank you for having me,” Mikhail whispers nearly breathless.

He almost wishes the night didn’t have to end.

Not yet.

Just a little more.

“Good night,” Antony whispers leaning in close.

Mikhail gulps, “Good night, my lord.”

His eyes flutter on their own.

When he opens them again, Antony is already gone.

Ch 6

Days turn to weeks and Mikhail grows stronger as time continues its fluidity. His wound is nearly completely healed by the end of the first week and there is nothing left but a raised pink scar he traces with gentle fingers each morning. Whenever he closes his eyes, he can remember the pain, the sting and the ache. What is worse is the ever-growing heaviness in his chest.

He wakes one particular morning to find red seeping between his thighs. He stares at the scarlet as if it were foreign.

“Blood,” he whispers to himself, “it is just blood.”

He bites his lip to try and stop the burning of tears tickling his nose.

He’s used to this, at least he should be. It has been an ongoing occurrence since he was but thirteen.

With a sigh he looks around. He has taken to wearing Antony’s clothing seeing as he lost his own. He doesn’t know what he should do. He cannot just go up to the man and ask for rags of all things. It would give him away and it will no doubt change Antony’s view of him. He has gained an unlikely friend in the man and he’s afraid of letting that go just because… because he is different.

He could sneak into the servers’ quarters and ask one of the maidservants for help. But that will start talk. And he is all too aware of how word travels fast.

He paces back and forth in his room, feeling the slick of blood continue to stain his thighs. He cleans as best he can, but he can only do so much. Then there is the matter of the sheets. What in God’s name is he going to do?

“Burn it?” He wonders aloud.

A knock startles him from his musings and he looks around in a panic.

“Lord Mikhail?”

“Oh fuck,” Mikhail curses softly, immediately after calling out an audible, “Yes?”

“Breakfast will be served soon,” the maidservant replies, perhaps waiting for a go ahead to allow entrance or for him to open the doors himself.

Mikhail briskly walks to the doors and does the opposite as he presses his body to them. He isn’t ready, he’s not even binding yet.

“I umm, I do not wish to be rude, but can you tell Lord Antony I am feeling unwell and will have to skip breakfast.”

“Of course, my lord,” the woman responds.

If Mikhail had half a braincell left, he would have realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. He doesn’t though, not until a heavy knock rattles his bones. All Mikhail can do is stare at the doors in shock.

He’s sure it hasn’t even been five minutes since the maidservant left.

“Mikhail?”

He can’t help but whisper breathlessly, “Antony.”

“Mikhail? Mikhail are you alright? Open the door,” the man orders, voice full of concern the longer Mikhail stands dumbfounded and with no reply.

Mikhail looks around the room. It is a mess. He has bunched up the bloodied sheets in a far corner and he’s still only wearing one of Antony’s shirt, no binder and with blood cooling on his skin.

He feels too overwhelmed and he can’t help but to press his back against the wall before sinking atop of the bloody sheets. He brings his knees to his chest as he attempts and fails to regain his breathing again.

“Mikhail? Mikhail!”

He closes his eyes and tries for a shuddering breath, but it hurts and he can’t focus. He doesn’t even realize when the doors are broken in. All he knows is that there is a rush of footsteps, a pause as Antony searches and finds his crumpled figure on the floor, and finally Antony is kneeling before him.

“Mikhail,” the relief in the man’s tone is practically palpable.

Mikhail still can’t bring himself to look up though.

“What is wrong?” Antony asks softly, trying not to startle the younger man. He reaches out but pauses when the younger flinches at the touch. The movement is enough to draw his attention to the sheets beneath Mikhail.

Blood.

Red.

Bright.

“Jesus,” Antony inhales sharply, “Are you hurt? Is it your wound?”

Mikhail can only manage a weak shake of his head.

“Mikhail,” Antony begins, “Talk to me.”

Mikhail chooses not to. There is nothing he can say. What can he say?

Antony tries to digest the scene. He reaches toward Mikhail once more and there is no resistance when he tugs at the arm leading to where he knows Mikhail was injured.

The shirt, not completely buttoned, falls open.

At first, he’s not sure what he’s looking at.

He can see the wound is intact and healing, but his gaze is focused on something that should not be there. It makes Mikhail self-conscious as he crosses his arms over his chest in a poor attempt to hide.

“You’re a w -”

“No,” Mikhail finally speaks, “I am not.”

“Are you hiding then? To do such a thing, cut your hair and masquerade in publi-”

“I am not, my life is not a circus, it is not entertainment. I am a man,” Mikhail sneers.

There’s a fire in his eyes as he stands, knocking Antony off guard.

“I thank you for your hospitality, but I shall take my leave and figure this out on my own,” Mikhail begins, wincing when a cramp grips his midriff tight.

He tangles himself in the sheets and Antony catches him before he further hurts himself.

“I apologize,” Antony frowns.

Mikhail stops, brows furrowed in confusion, “for what?”

Antony doesn’t answer right away, he does eventually, and it surprises Mikhail, “For making assumptions. You are a man regardless of how you were born, I should respect you as you are.”

Mikhail feels the fight seep out of his tense body and a weight is lifted off his shoulders, “You… are not mad?”

Antony snorts, “Mad? No. Confused? Perhaps. You should be more careful, Mikhail, in the wrong eyes and this could be considered treason.”

“I am not… I’m not plotting,” Mikhail insists.

“I know,” Antony says, voice gentle in that tone that makes Mikhail’s heart beat just a bit faster.

“Is this what you are running from? The scrutiny and expectations ascribed of your sex?”

Mikhail finally nods, “I’m sorry I lied.”

“From the beginning we both knew you did,” Antony assures, “And we both know you are a horrendous liar, no harm done.”

That brings a small smile to Mikhail’s pale face.

“Are you alright?” Antony asks once more.

“I will survive,” Mikhail responds dismissively.

“I am sure,” Antony hums, though he still hovers.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Mikhail finally whispers in embarrassment.

“Come,” Antony prompts.

Mikhail follows Antony. The man shrugs off his jacket, leaving him in only his burgundy brocaded waistcoat and buttoned white shirt. He gently wraps Mikhail in his jacket to hide him from prying eyes who are not privy to the word privacy.

Mikhail takes a deep breath as he basks in the warmth that is Antony.

“I’ll have the servants take care your room,” Antony reassures, “is there anything you need?”

“Ra-Rags,” Mikhail mumbles bashfully.

Antony does not feign to understand the discomfort Mikhail is in, but he knows how to ease it and he’ll make sure to show Mikhail how much he cares.

Ch 7

They are reading quietly in each other’s company in the comfort of the sitting room when Mikhail feels his eyes grow heavy with sleep. He feels himself relax, with the weight of any secrets between him and Antony finally lifted. He doesn’t know when, but eventually he falls asleep on the chaise. His breathing deep and even and slow.

Antony takes the time to admire the silhouette that makes Mikhail. The quill he was using to write to his father is put down, his focus gone and shifted to the younger man across the room.

Mikhail is… interesting.

He hadn’t expected to meet someone like him. Someone so uncanny to himself. Running away and toward the chance of freedom.

Antony sighs. He remembers that feeling distinctly. The feeling of running and believing destiny was in his own hands. He learned the hard way that it was only a mirage. It was only a sliver that his father allowed before reigning him in once more to prepare him for something much bigger than himself. Mikhail still has that hope, that fire kindled in his eye. He’s breathtaking and unique.

But he wonders how long it will last.

The flame is bound to extinguish once Mikhail realizes just how cruel the world can actually be. And without his family, with no one by his side, it will only make the pain all that much more unbearable when it finally occurs.

Yes, he remembers that feeling too. It came in the form of his mother’s death while he was out and about being a rebellious bachelor after his return from the war. His mentality of screw it all coming to a screeching halt with her sudden departure.

He is still a ball of rage and bitterness even months after it occurred.

Antony sighs as he rereads the letter from his father. An update on the affairs of their home and asking if he is ready yet? If he is close to the palace of Mountainshire. He crumbles the sheet in his hand.

He knows the interest.

His father hopes he will meet someone who will finally settle him, who will be able to guide him as he will eventually guide others. As if the war was not enough experience to demonstrate he is more than capable on his own.

Of course, it is not about his capabilities.

It is all about an heir, a legacy. A son.

But this destiny he does not want for his offspring.

His doesn’t think his father will understand that Antony does not want that. He does not desire a wife. Not now and perhaps not ever. Not if it means his children will be trapped in a gilded cage as well.

But above all, he still desires his freedom. He likes knowing he can bed who he likes when he likes with little repercussions. He likes knowing he is not tethered in more ways than one.

Tethered to a wife who will not love him, not truly.

A woman who will only be by his side for title, power, money. But not love, never love.

He grimaces when he thinks of Mikhail’s words, an auction.

But who is buying who?

A soft whimper draws his attention, and he looks up.

Mikhail groans softly in pain as he curls tightly into himself.

Antony forgets the parchment on the desk. He sits beside the younger man and combs his fingers through unruly curls. The pad of his thumb smooths the little wrinkle on Mikhail’s forehead caused by the pain.

“One of the maidservants said this would help,” Antony soothes remembering the kind wisdom of the older woman who showed no interest in anything other than genuine concern for Mikhail.

He presses the warm heated pad against Mikhail’s lower belly.

“Thank you,” the younger sighs in relief, melting at the comfort.

Antony smiles, “You’re welcome.”

He realizes then, that the moment they part ways might be the moment Mikhail realizes just how lonely this world truly is.

He holds his tongue even though all he wants to say is, Don’t run, stay with me .

Ch 8

They have been living together for nearly three weeks with neither really wanting to part from each other. That doesn’t stop Mikhail from feeling like he has overstayed Antony’s hospitality. If he is honest with himself, he can no longer picture himself without Antony and that should scare him. However, it only serves to make him sad.

The man is charming and respectful. He is intimidating, yes, but also kind.

It is every he wants and want to be.

Everything he cannot have.

“Have you ever been with anyone?” Antony asks one evening as they share dinner with each other’s company.

Mikhail splutters at the question, nearly choking on the spoonful of food in his mouth.

“My apologies,” Antony chuckles.

“Isn’t that a bit of a crude topic to discuss during dinner?” Mikhail coughs.

“We’re both men,” Antony shrugs, he’s driven by his curiosity.

“To answer your question, then,” Mikhail sighs, “no, I… I have not.”

There’s a flush overtaking his delicate features and Antony feels a grip around his heart.

“Oh?”

“I, much like my sisters, have always been protected. It would have been scandalous and would make me ineligible for a proper marriage.”

“But marriage has been the last thing on your mind, has it not?”

Mikhail bites his lip, a habit that Antony is becoming fond of.

“It is hard to imagine myself with someone, anyone. Hard to picture another person respecting me as I am. It is hard to expect someone to love me when it is already hard to love myself.”

It is a soft-spoken confession that tugs at the strings in Antony’s chest.

The plates are soon cleared, and they take their tea in the sitting room.

“I’m sorry,” Antony apologizes, “it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“It is quite alright Antony,” Mikhail smiles shyly, “I will admit I am rather curious. Mama has spent her years taking care of my siblings, there has been little talk of what occurs in the bedroom. I truly do not know what I should expect if I were ever to find myself in that position.”

Antony pauses and realization strikes him, “Have you never…”

He can’t say the words without embarrassing Mikhail.

“Never what?” The boy asks innocently, head tilt and all.

“Have you never pleasured yourself?”

“I- What?” The bashful disbelief is adorable.

Antony stands from his seat across from Mikhail.

He places his cup on the coffee table before perching beside the younger man.

He lowers his voice as if someone will hear when there is no one but them, “Do you not touch yourself?”

Mikhail must take it the wrong way as he makes to stand, shoulders hunched and offended.

“Mikhail -”

“I’m sorry if you find it amusing bu -”

The rant is cut short.

Strong hand wrapped around his arm.

Mikhail’s eyes are wide before they’re fluttering closed, heart palpitating fast in his chest.

Lips against lips.

Soft , he thinks, brain slowly short-circuiting.

Antony pulls back then, their breaths ragged and mingling together. Foreheads resting against one another. The flush is high on Mikhail’s cheeks and he feels lightheaded.

“When you are alone at night,” Antony begins softly, “pleasure yourself, touch yourself.”

Mikhail whines low in his throat.

“Between your legs,” the older man continues huskily.

Mikhail shakes his head; he doesn’t know how.

“I don’t know, I-” Mikhail hiccups.

He can’t explain his thoughts. He’s not sure how he can find pleasure when all his life he has felt so different. When the mere thought brings anguish and confusion.

“Show me,” he chokes out at last.

Antony pauses, he pulls back further and stares into Mikhail’s eyes.

“Show me.” And he’s so close to begging.

Antony grabs a hold of Mikhail’s hand and they’re both tumbling, making their way to the master bedroom. They pause and kiss and moan and groan. Mikhail relinquishes control, his mind becoming numb.

Antony places a kiss on his neck before sucking and sucking, a pretty bruise blooming like a flower.

“Antony,” Mikhail gasps.

They don’t know how, but they make it to the room.

Clothes scattered around the halls leading all the way to the bed.

Antony finally takes off his shirt, a couple buttons missing he’s sure.

And Mikhail can finally appreciate the view.

Toned muscles marred by beautiful scars and stria.

Pants go next.

Briefs.

Everything.

Until they’re both panting and naked in nothing.

Mikhail hesitates though.

He’s in nothing but his binder. He turns his back to Antony, tears stinging his eyes.

Insecurity’s ugly head rearing up.

He doesn’t want to compare their bodies, their differences. It’s not who he is, he knows , but it still hurts.

Soft fingers trace where fabric meets skin.

The touch is hot, burning, tingling.

“We don’t have to,” Antony whispers reassuringly, “I don’t want to push you, hurt you. This is not about pain or discomfort. This is about pleasure.”

What of love? Mikhail wonders, but he’s already asking for more than he could have ever imagined.

“Help me?” He asks instead.

He wants to know.

He thinks… he thinks maybe he can leave his heart out of this.

Antony works the lace, slowly tugging at the ribbon and watching the binder come undone.

He presses a kiss on Mikhail’s shoulder, loving the thickened scar from the bullet wound that was once there so many days ago.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers reverently.

Mikhail moans, “Antony.”

“Bed.” The order is filled with pure desire, voice thick and broken.

They land on the bed in a heap of limbs and anticipation.

Sweat and slick.

Mikhail’s lips downturn when Antony kisses his way done his belly and further still.

Antony looks in his eyes, eyes darkening with lust. And with a final kiss to his right inner thigh Antony delves down, deeper.

A gasp is retched from Mikhail’s kiss swollen lips, “Oh, oh god.”

The sounds are obscene, and he tugs at Antony’s hair painfully.

He feels like he needs more.

Antony understands.

The man lines himself against the glistening entrance of Mikhail’s body. And he worships the younger man in his bed. He swallows the small groan of discomfort that escapes him as Antony finally, fucking finally , fills him up.

They don’t move, not yet.

Both need to catch their breath.

“Beautiful,” Antony murmurs, “handsome.”

The words are sincere, and they make Mikhail cry as Antony finally moves his sinful hips.

Mikhail hides his face in Antony’s neck, tears spilling from his eyes and unto the bedsheets. His arms are wrapped around the man, back arched, and he can’t think.

His mind is blank, a shock like electricity makes him seize as gentle fingers touch just above where they’re connected.

“Think of this as your cock,” Antony advices, “your precious little cocklet, so hard for me my love.”

Mikhail whines, his orgasm drawn out that much more.

A soft curse and Antony spills inside of him with a few more thrusts.

“Thank you,” Mikhail whispers drowsily.

“Hush, love,” Antony whispers, holding his lover closer, “sleep now.”

And that’s how they fall asleep.

In each other’s embrace.

Their bodies melded into one.

Ch 9

The morning after nearly shatters Mikhail’s heart.

The sunlight filtering through the massive window warms their skin.  They’re still pressed tightly together, bodies naked and debauched from their previous lovemaking.  Mikhail had felt pleasantly sore in all the right places.  He felt full and content.

Until…

“We probably should not do that again, we probably shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Antony whispers against his ear.

Mikhail is still groggy from sleep and it takes a moment for the words to sink in before he starts to struggle in Antony’s embrace.

The arms wrapped around his waist tighten.

“Mikhail -”

“You regret this? Is it because of my bo -?”

“Jesus no,” Antony reassures, “In a way, yes, but it’s not… Mikhail.”

His voice is full of concern and something else Mikhail can’t quite decipher, “Mikhail, you could get pregnant.”

Mikhail pauses, eyes widening, “what? how? I mean… just from one night?”

That draws a chuckle from the man, breaking the tension set in his bones, “Yes, Mikhail.  I should’ve had more control and that is my fault.  But coupling with you, releasing inside you could create a new life.  One that we are not prepared for.  I do not know how you feel about children, but I know we’ve pushed the boundaries of your comfort as is.”

Mikhail is no longer listening.

His hand automatically finds his way to his belly, a little lower from where Antony holds him close.

A baby?

More specifically, their baby?

His heart seizes. Does he even want children?

He hadn’t thought of that before.

Before then he had viewed his body as something unfit and, dare he say, repulsive?

But it can create and carry life and a baby with Antony… The man’s hair and eyes, and maybe his own nose.

It makes him ache.

Makes him want .

But he can’t.  This was just casual, heat of the moment.

He finally tunes in again.

“… We shouldn’t risk it.”

“Do you not want children?” Mikhail asks quietly.

“I do not want commitment.”

That hurts more than it should. But he understands.

Before meeting Antony, he did not want anyone either.

He simply strived for his freedom, his right to be who he wants.

“Will you still be here at the end of the season?” Antony wonders, a kiss to his bare shoulder.

Mikhail takes a shuddering breath, “You are leaving.”

It’s a statement that Antony answers with a hum of assent, “Within the week. My presence is required at Mountainshire as the season finally begins.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls between them and Mikhail closes his eyes as he snuggles back against Antony’s chest.

Too much in so little time.

He needs time to process.

“Come with me,” Antony finally beseeches.

Mikhail opens his eyes, and he turns to face the man.

“Come with me to Mountainshire, just for the season, and then… come home.”

“Home…”

“Mikhail?”

“Mountainshire was my home, if I return now…”

“I’ll protect you,” Antony vows, “You will be staying with me, even if I must grant you the title of my ward if only for our stay there.”

“My family -”

“Will not harm you, not on my watch.”

“Everyone will know of me, of my disappearance. If I return, I will bring you shame, they will say things .”

“They will know to hold their tongue.”

“How? How can you assure me that I will be safe?”

“Do you think I am not capable?” Antony asks.

“No,” Mikhail answers truthfully.

The honesty causes Antony to bristle in offense.

Mikhail sits up in bed, the sheets pooling at his waist.

“I do not wish to offend you,” Mikhail sighs, “But I am just another one of your conquests. You will find yourself preoccupied finding a wife.”

“No,” Antony states firmly.

He’s not quite sure what he is negating. Perhaps that Mikhail is not just a conquest, he is so much more. Or the fact that he wants no other than him.

“You know my standpoint on marriage, of these balls and season all together. You know I do not wish a wife.”

“No,” Mikhail sighs, “You do not wish commitment.”

That stings, but Antony bites his tongue.

“I am not expecting you to say yes, Mikhail. But consider it. You will not have to participate at the balls, your presence will not be required. You will be within my home, but you will not be a prisoner. Despite how things occurred before we met, Mountainshire is still your home and I know that you ache for the familiarity.”

Mikhail really starts to contemplate, “What of after?”

“You can return with me, back to my home country.”

Mikhail balks at that. Country ! So far!

“Or I can assure you will be well off and you can continue to travel, to find yourself. Regardless of what you choose you will always be in comfort.”

“Okay,” Mikhail agrees.

He’s still not sure he’ll return with Antony to Alborear, a whole other country away. But if he can just extend their time together… if just by a couple more months… if only to settle his heart.

“Okay.”

The kiss they share is chaste, and Mikhail melts once more.

He holds back a moan even as his body yearns. They shouldn’t. But it’s not like they haven’t already made a mistake that could result in a child. And it’s as if the man can read his mind, his body.

“I can still teach you pleasure,” Antony grins.

Mikhail blushes but there is no fight, the internal turmoil gone with a simple, “ok.”

Ch 10

Mikhail watches as bags upon bags are loaded onto carriages. Horses neighing impatiently as the staff works around the beasts to accommodate everything neatly into place. He’s glad he managed to convince Antony to forgo buying him new clothes. He’s made due with Antony’s own clothing even if they fit too loose on his smaller frame.

“We can ride in the carriage,” Antony offers breaking his train of thought.

Mikhail’s brows furrow, “I prefer horseback. Won’t that be faster?”

“Are you sure? Would it be safe?”

Mikhail’s frown deepens before he remembers, hand quickly resting on his belly, “I… I’m not sure.”

He tenses and Antony notices, he knows Antony almost wishes he hadn’t brought it up. But Antony’s priority is his safety, he’s said as much. He feels the need to look out for the younger man and Mikhail appreciates it. Mikhail knows this. He knows Antony simply cares , but it’ll make everything more complicated when they have to part ways. Mikhail is already falling for the man and when they part because they will part… right? He doesn’t want to consider, doesn’t want to think of the inevitable.

Boyd calls over for Antony and Mikhail’s attention is captured by Ida as the older man leaves him for a brief moment. Ida, the older maidservant who had helped him over a month ago with his menses, offers him a gentle smile.

“Lord Mikhail?” Her voice is warbled with age, but kind.

“Missus Ida,” he returns the gesture.

“I overheard you and Master Antony,” she begins softly, making sure no one else hears.

Mikhail swallows around the lump forming in his throat. He almost feels sick.

“A babe is a blessing,” she begins.

Mikhail feels himself nodding, if only for politeness sake.

“You should be safe to ride alongside Master Antony as it is still early and only so long as you listen to your body.”

Her advise is sound and he knows she says it because like Antony, she cares for him. She has practically become a maternal figure in the absence of his own mother these past weeks. He bites his lip.

“A child is daunting, but it is a beginning. However, in the end, it is your decision my dear.”

He chooses to store that away.

A beginning, huh.

Antony returns then and Mikhail excuses himself, waving goodbye unsure if he’ll see her again as they make their way to Mountainshire and a majority of the staff either stay or return to Alborear.

“Ready?” Antony asks.

“Yes,” he assures, “as I’ll ever be.”

Reluctantly, Antony helps him onto the saddle of a small beast and only does so with Mikhail’s continuous reassurance.

“Ida has said it was ok,” Mikhail smiles softly.

“If you feel tired at any point, we shall stop,” Antony concedes, “It is over three day’s travel and we will make multiple stops to rest regardless, but…”

“I know,” Mikhail interrupts, “and I will, thank you, Antony.”

Antony smiles back and while everyone else is still busy with finishing touches, he pulls Mikhail by his waistcoat and they share a chaste sweet kiss.

Antony then mounts his own horse, a mighty beast huffing and puffing right beside Mikhail’s mare.

They waste little more time as they start the trek to Mountainshire. And each step closer to what was once his home, makes anxiety fill Mikhail’s belly.

The ride to Mountainshire is long winded and he can feel Antony’s concerned gaze on him at all time.

“How did you learn to ride like that?” Antony asks conversationally.

He knows it’s a ploy to distract him.

He gives in. Anything is better than the silence.

“I learned the hard way,” Mikhail answers.

He did, but his voice is light. No regrets.

And before Antony can respond he quickly adds, “And please do not apologize for my past.”

“I’m glad I met you,” Antony settles on.

Safe.

Honest.

“Me too,” Mikhail blushes, “you saved me. Quite literally.”

“I was also going to end you,” Antony reminds.

“You were.”

“I do not take kindly to intruders,” Antony continues.

“You do not need to explain yourself Antony.”

“I never did, though.”

“Antony -”

“I realize now what our first encounter made me seem. A brute perhaps? Cold?”

“But you saved me!” Mikhail argues.

“You were injured and appeared defenseless. Had you been anyone else I probably would have pulled the trigger and self-defense would be a terrible excuse.”

“Antony,” Mikhail slows his mare, “Antony, what are you running from?”

Antony keeps pace with the younger man.

“I am no longer running,” Antony replies, “I stopped running some time ago.

“What was the real reason you did not shoot, Antony?”

“I saw myself,” Antony shrugs.

Sincere.

Kind.

“The woman who will be wed to you will be lucky.”

Antony hums noncommittedly.

Mikhail sighs, “Antony, someone is bound to capture your interest… your heart.”

Antony snorts. Not unkindly, just amused.

Mikhail puffs his cheeks in annoyance.

“What if I told you I have?”

“Then why attend the balls?”

“Duty?”

“Duty? Or…?”

Antony sighs again, “Cowardice.”

Mikhail balks, “you are afraid?”

A nod.

“Of what, pray tell?”

“That my feelings will not be reciprocated.”

“Have you asked her? Spoken to her? Confessed?”

“It is too soon,” the older man shrugs.

“And who dictates when it is soon or not? Is it not better sooner rather than later? What will you do if she falls in love with someone else?”

“Then it will simply prove I never had their heart.”

“Antony!”

“Yes, Mikhail?”

“You’re insufferable.”

Antony chuckles, “Worried are we?”

Mikhail pauses. Yes. He is. But isn’t it already too late? Antony loves someone and that hurts. It makes him ache. He wants to forget the nights spent tangled together. Convenience, that’s all it was.

“Only for your sanity.”

A laugh.

Mikhail would love to hear that laugh. Be the one and only to cause such a sound. What he would give to be the one Antony loves.

“Where is she? Alborear?”

Antony’s lips quirk into a smile Mikhail can’t quite catch.

“They are within my reach and yet so far.”

Cryptic.

“I do not understand,” Mikhail whines.

“When you find love, you shall.”

A thought strikes him. Antony already loves someone. But what of the child he could possibly be carrying?

Then and there he decides that if he is indeed with child, he will not let Antony know.

After getting to know the man and all the struggles he has faced, the man deserves some happiness.

With or without him. With or without them .

Mikhail finds himself soothing his belly again.

Antony doesn’t miss the motion, but he bites his tongue.

No use wishing for what might not be possible.

Ch 11

They stop at an inn as night falls.  The ride has been long thus far and bumpy.  Mikhail’s lower back throbs from sitting on the saddle all day.  Antony notices.  He sees the way the younger presses his hands into his back, the way it arches as he widens his stance to relieve the pressure.

Antony hands off both their beasts to a stable boy before approaching Mikhail in concern.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

Mikhail shakes his head, “my back hurts and here I thought I was young.”

Despite his worry, Antony cannot help but crack a smile at that.

“You are simply not used to riding for long periods of time.”

“I should be!” Mikhail protests, “I was on the run.”

“You have not been on the run for over a month now, your body is not used to strenuous activity, especially after all its been through.”

Mikhail blushes, he knows Antony is right.  He says nothing, has nothing to retort with.  Antony knows this.

They head inside where it’s warm.  The lights set a nice dim glow as rustic metal pans over the room.  They are shown to their beds and Mikhail’s pleasant smile falls when he realizes they’ll be in separate rooms, different beds.

Antony doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t explain.

There’s no reason behind his decision and Mikhail tries hard not to let it wound him.

He lets the door to his room fall closed as soon as his overnight bag is deposited within his reach.

Once alone he plops onto what will be his bed, his alone.

His back already feels better now that he’s off his feet.

He sighs and stares at the ceiling.

It’s silent.

Too quiet.

But try as he might he feels hurt and refuses to seek out Antony.

He tries to convince himself that this is OK, that this is for the best.

Slowly he begins undressing from his day clothes with the intention of changing to simple sleep pants and perhaps a loose shirt.

As he shimmies out of his pants he can’t help but stop.

He bites his lip, lower half exposed.

His let’s his fingers trail over his sensitive skin.

Moles scattered like fallen stars on his belly, hips, thighs…

Flecks of beauty marring his body.

Raised lightening bolts caressing his slight curves.

He bites his lip as his fingers trail lower, closer.

His back arches as his index finger slips between the folds.

He closes his eyes and pretends it’s someone else’s touch.

Pretends it’s Antony.

He moans.

A knock startles him, fingers pressing and rubbing just a little too much and drawing a whine of need.

“Mikhail?”

The voice is full of concern but Mikhail can’t answer fast enough.

The door is forced open and Antony stands at the entrance.

He’s enraptured by the sight before he gathers his senses and slams the door closed behind him.  He’ll be damned if he lets the sight before him bless anyone other than himself.

Mikhail whimpers, “ Antony .“

Antony tries to catch his breath, but it’s hard.

He stalks closer to the bed and Mikhail splays his thighs open.  Folds glistening, tiny cock as Antony has taught him, hard and aching and pink.

Antony licks his lip.

But he’s also a man of self control.

“Don’t,” his voice breaks, “don’t stop on my account.”

Mikhail takes it as his cue. Finger slowly, sloppily, rubbing.

His back arches, thighs trembling, and breath hitching.

“Beautiful.”

Mikhail gasps.

“More.”

He obeys.

“Harder.”

His eyes flutter closed.

“You can do it baby.”

Mikhail finally slips a finger inside.

Warm.

Hot.

Wet.

“ Antony ,“ he moans wantonly.

Antony walks around the bed, drinking in the sight.  Appreciating the art, the angel, the man before him.

But he’s still too dressed and it frustrates Mikhail.

His drags his fingers out before he sits up.  On his knees he gets closer to the edge of the bed.

He reaches for Antony until the man is within his reach.

Mikhail smiles in triumph as he starts tugging at the offending clothing.

“Off,” he begs hoarsely, “now, please .”

A simple hum is all he gets in response.

A pout and Antony caves.

He allows Mikhail to undress him, slick and cum staining his clothing but he doesn’t care.

He pulls Mikhail close and their lips meet in a kiss full of built up tension.

Of want.

Desire.

Need .

Antony pushes Mikhail on the bed, “ready?”

“Yes,” he whimpers.

Antony smiles, stooping to kiss him sweetly once more.

He lines up and slips inside.

Slow.

Tight.

“Breathe,” he reminds his love huskily.

Mikhail nods, breathing shakily as he slowly relaxes.

“That’s it,” Antony coos.

Mikhail wraps his arms around the man’s broad shoulders.  Antony grabs onto the younger man’s right thigh, hooking Mikhail’s leg over his hip before slipping inside deeper.

The pace is slow and steady and Mikhail feels so full, so good.

He’s lost to the throes of heat, of passion. Each thrust bringing him closer to the edge.  The ache settles into something pleasant, something so good as skin slaps against skin.

He tenses up and his breath hitches as he orgasms embarrassingly quick.  Antony guides him through it all.  He coaxes wave after wave until he’s left spasming from sensitivity. Eventually the  man slips out, still hard and aching, but in control.

He kisses Mikhail before pressing lingering pecks down his jaw, neck, chest, tummy until he’s between the younger’s splayed thighs.

Dark hooded eyes look up and lock with the boy’s.  He smiles, hands spreading Mikhail’s legs open, holding him there while he leans in and licks at the mess. Mikhail’s already flushed cheeks darken.

“An-Antony,” he whines, “stop, dirty, please .”

Antony grins, delving his tongue inside as his hand curves around his manhood.

The sight is too much and Mikhail tenses again.

Antony finally pulls back with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, cheeks and jaw smeared and wet.  Cock spent between his own legs.

“Handsome,” he praises.

Mikhail sighs, “you too.”

He opens his arms and Antony gladly crawls up his body to nestle within Mikhail’s embrace.

“Don’t leave me,” Mikhail whispers softly, sleepily.

“I won’t,” Antony promises, “now hush, sleep.”

Mikhail buries his nose in the full head of ash hair before closing his eyes.

If only they could stay like this forever.

“Okay,” he mumbles at last.

Antony rests his ear against Mikhail’s chest, and he closes his eyes as well.  Eventually he falls asleep to the soft rhythmic sound of Mikhail’s beating heart.

Ch 12

He wrinkles his nose when warm light cascades over his eyes. A grunt falls from plump lips when he feels the weight beneath his own shift.

Resigned, he opens his eyes and peers up to find hazel eyes looks down at him, admiring him.

Mikhail tilts his head and sighs contently before resting against the broad chest beneath his head.

A callous hand travels the length of his back and up again over the curvature of his ass…ets.

“Antony,” he warns, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Hm?” The hum is rough around the edges but it’s enough to make something pool in Mikhail’s lower belly unprompted. It makes him ache and want. Lust .

“Gorgeous,” Antony praises.

A pink hue overtakes Mikhail’s cheeks at the compliment and he ducks down, burying his face in the man’s chest and pressing closer as if to meld their bodies together as one. However, those teasing torturous fingers are dancing across his sensitive skin again and Mikhail gasps when they dip into the valley between his cheeks.

“Antony!” He hisses, flushed.

Antony merely raises a brow as he continues his ministrations.  His fingers rub soothing between Mikhail’s legs until he’s left trembling.

“Enough,” Mikhail huffs, forcing his body to listen to his own pleas and peel away from the distracting Adonis beneath him.

He glares at the man who stares back at him unapologetically.  He supposes it’s his own fault for allowing Antony into his bed, but he realizes that two can play the same game.  

So, he straddles the man’s hips and grinds against the burgeoning girth roused at attention.  With a smile he shifts lower and settles his palms against the man’s defined abdomen as he slowly sinks down onto his hardened girth.

“Mikhail,” the man groans, breathy as if whispering a sinful prayer.

Mikhail bites back a moan of his own, breathing harshly through his nose as he adjusts to the cock nestled between his folds.

Antony’s hands immediately settle on Mikhail’s hips, holding him in place gently as Mikhail trembles in need.

“Antony,” he gasps with the first swivel of his hips.

“My little minnekijn*,” Antony growls, voice harsh around the edges.

Mikhail whimpers when he finds the strength to rise and fall, setting a rhythm Antony has no qualms meeting.  Each thrust causes Mikhail’s walls to spasm around the thick cock gliding inside him smoothly.

“Antony,” he chokes out.

Antony lifts his left hand and settles it around Mikhail’s throat gently, “don’t stop,” he orders.

Mikhail’s body shivers at the demand and he tries to obey but his body is still fatigued and his legs burn and ache with the effort to keep pace.

Panting he begs, “please Antony, I-”

He’s cut off by a sharp thrust and his eyes roll to the back of his head as the angle changes.

“Stay with me my little one,” Antony grinds.

Mikhail nods, babbling and pleading with the older man as he’s taken.

His eyes are glazed and Antony can’t help but smirk, “easy my love.”

Mikhail shivers, love?

“Antony?” He whimpers, tears brimming his eyes.

Another thrust and Antony carefully embraces Mikhail, bringing their bodies together as he carefully shifts them until he’s on top.  He slips back in with ease and sets a brutal pace, there’s nothing sweet and slow beside his encouraging words and grunts. Mikhail cannot stand the pace and his back arches as he trembles with his orgasm.

Antony lowers his face into the crook of Mikhail’s neck, sucking a bruise into the warm skin until it blooms beautifully.  He pulls back and continues, searching for his own peek even as Mikhail sobs in desperation, dragging him in deeper, “don’t stop, Antony. Don’t.”

“Mikhail,” Antony warns.

Mikhail looks up at him, kiss-swollen lips parted on a shuddering breath and tears clinging to dark lashes, as he tries to get Antony below him once more.

“Mikhail!”

Mikhail wins as he grinds down and Antony hisses as he spills inside the young boy unexpectedly.

Mikhail slumps, feeling victorious over the older man. 

Antony, through the haze of his release, feels a burning anger consume him.  Still, he aids the boy who climbs down on unsteady legs and watches him stumble before falling onto his knees. Antony settles beside the boy, helping him clean up as best he can.

“What ever were you thinking?” Antony demands as he moves onto their mess on his lap.

Mikhail doesn’t move, shoulders slumped, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re-” Antony pauses, looking at Mikhail incredulously before sighing in what appears to be disappointment, “you’re acting like a child, do you know that?”

Mikhail feels the sting in his chest, but it’s not his words that hurt.

“Antony I’m s-”

“Do you want to bear a child that badly? Throw yourself like a who-”

“You initiated first!” Mikhail accuses, “clearly it was a mistake!”

“Clearly!” Antony shouts just as heated.

They both pull back from one another as if burned, shocked looks on their faces.

Antony softens his tone, “Mikhail, I did not mean that, I-”

“Leave,” Mikhail hisses, eyes narrowing dangerously, “leave before I become a wanted man.”

Antony gulps and nods.  He gathers his clothes and dresses deliberately slow, Mikhail ignores him the entire while.

“Mikhail, I’m sorry, I did not mean to-”

“Leave Lord Antony.  You need to be at your prime.  We wouldn’t want a whore to bear your children, no of course not, you need a proper wife, not a man spreading his thighs for your whims.”

“Mikhail!”

Mikhail stands and pushes against the man’s back, struggling to get the log of a brute to move.

“Go on then,” he chokes.

“Mikhail,” Antony sighs, rubbing at his temple.

He turns around in time to catch Mikhail’s trembling fist.

“I can take care of myself, I can ride out at once-

“You will do no such thing,” Antony frowns, “you will come with me and as your punishment you will attend the first ball of the season.”

“Punish… Punishment!” Mikhail shouts in indignation, “you are not my father!”

“No, you are my ward, now behave.”

He presses his body close to Mikhail’s and lowers his voice, “ behave .“

Flustered, Mikhail watches the man go as he buries his face in his hands.  He feels thoroughly fucked and reprimanded and he’s angry and hurt and Antony! How dare Antony look as good with his hair tousled and those legs and his arms and that as-

A knock on the door alerts him that they will depart in a few minutes and still he stands in the center of the room naked and debauched with slick and cum still staining his thighs.

He hurries along and meets the man up front. He doesn’t utter a word to his lord and tension is high even as Antony helps him mount his horse.

“If we continue at our pace we shall be in Mountainshire within nightfall,” Antony whispers, “if you so wish to stop and rest let us know and we can set up camp.”

“And if I wish to leave?”

Antony searches his eyes, trying to determine the truth behind his words, “It is far too late for that Mikhail.”

“Will you bind me to you? Make me your slave and ravage me, claim me as yours in anything but name?”

Antony grips his chin, “where is this coming from Mikhail?”

Mikhail bites his tongue hard enough that he tastes copper, he spits at Antony’s shoes and wipes his chin as the man lets go in shock.

“I will accompany you to Mountainshire,” Mikhail whispers blood on his tongue, “and you will bring me back to the manor whence we met.”

“And after?” Antony asks, heart plummeting.

“And after we shall part ways,” Mikhail sniffs, “you promised me my safety and my freedom and you are not a man to go back on your word.”

“Is that really what you wish?”

Mikhail swallows down the bile in his throat and nods.

“If this is about our argument then I urge you to reconsider.”

“I know where I am not wanted, Lord Antony, do not make this harder than it needs to be.”

---

Notes:

*Middle Dutch minnekijn “darling, beloved”