THERE WAS NOTHING that the prince loved more about the palace of Naryllitsa than its garden, known for its abundance of lisianthuses. It was breathtaking in its mystique-laced glory and encompassed his magnificent home like a garland, complete with vines that spiralled towards the sky and meretricious bushes bearing both roses and thorns.

According to the prince—though his opinion differed greatly from the rest of the castle's inhabitants—the most scenic view of the garden was the most modest. It rested off to the side, facing the bleakest wall of the castle. There, the flowers and grass grew highest, for the gardeners neglected it and instead focused on the front yard. It was also there that many trees grew, forming their own miniature forest of sorts. They provided a thick gossamer veil of shade over the flowers, shielding them from the sun's penetrative rays. Vines twisted around the trunks, bedizening the bark with verdant.

It was, ultimately, the least lustrous, least impressive thing that the palace had to offer—which was why the prince spent so much time there.

In a field of mauve lisianthuses that bloomed resplendently, a prince and a knight sat. They were both silent, and the only sounds that could be heard were the songs of the larks and the soft whinnying of the knight's horse, which was tied to a tree not far off.

One was watching the other carefully as he worked careful strokes onto a canvas that had once been completely barren.

Ladislas of Naryllitsa had a paintbrush and an easel in his hands. Though he'd gotten paint on his hands and even in his hair—the dark brown was streaked anew with blue. He was slightly clumsy with his brush, and that was what made him such a wonderful painter in the first place.

His canvas was propped up by one of the tree trunks; its back to the platinum-haired knight, Thaddeus Viriildia. Ladislas's thick eyebrows were pulled together in absorption as he poured over his art; but occasionally, his gaze would flit upwards, only to meet find Thaddeus still watching him.

Inevitably, this would cause the prince to become flustered, and then feel ashamed for being flustered, only leading to cheeks that burned bright crimson. However, he had no trouble hiding his blushes from his friend, who was an unassuming idiot.

"Can I see yet?" Thaddeus asked, frustratedly blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. The ghost of a smile pulled at both corners of his lips as he watched the look of concentration on the prince's visage.

Ladislas glanced down at his canvas. Though every part of the canvas was coated in paint, it was nowhere near perfect. The tree trunks were not detailed enough, the sky was too cloudless and the shade of purple he'd created to paint the lisianthuses was just slightly too light.

Still, it was beautiful, and sometimes Ladislas even astounded himself with his own masterpieces.

But his admiration for his own artwork rarely lasted, for the longer he stared at any of his paintings, the more the hatred for them grew.

"No," he said, staring back at the cavalier through dark lashes. He drew his knees up to his chin and sighed. "It's not perfect yet, and I don't like when people look over my shoulder before I'm finished. You know that."

Thaddeus groaned, smacking his own forehead in exasperation. "Come on! Just let me see it. Just this once. I'm sure it's great."

Even simple little words such as those sent Ladislas's heart into a frenzy. He gritted his teeth and stared back at the other boy, whose bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

Ladislas sighed heavily again, allowing the steady stream of breath to escape his roseate lips. "Fine," he huffed, picking at the dried paint in his hair.

It was not uncommon for him to give in easily to Thaddeus.

He could never find it in himself to be strong around him.

As Thaddeus scooted over to his side, his heart hammered worse than ever. For a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut while awaiting the reaction of the other boy.

When he eased his eyes open to look at him, he saw that Thaddeus's mouth was open slightly in wonder. He had placed his hand on the canvas beside Ladislas's—he was close enough to make Ladislas quake at the thought of their hands touching.

"Wow," Thaddeus breathed, a starry-eyed look gracing his handsome features. He turned to look at the prince, unaware of what he was doing to him. Unaware of the pain he was inflicting without meaning to. "You're... you're wonderful at this. I don't think I've ever seen a painting so beautiful."

Ladislas's breath hitched and he began blinking rapidly. He could no longer breathe, nor could he bear such proximity with this boy. Slowly, carefully, he moved the painting to the side and set it down in the lush grass with shaking hands.

He was in a war with his own mind, overcome with his own desire to sin.

Thaddeus's eyes were still burning into his and Ladislas could swear he had gotten closer. In an ephemeral moment of bravery, he found himself allowing his eyelids to flutter shut—like the soft beating of butterfly wings—and leaned forward, enraptured and yearning for nothing more than for his lips to touch those of Thaddeus Viriildia.

"What the hell, Ladislas?"

Those words, and a rough shove to the chest, caused Prince Ladislas's heart to shatter. He fell backwards with the force of the shove and as he did, his hand met the wet canvas of his almost-masterpiece.

Thaddeus stared at him with evident horror and shifted away from him uncomfortably. He lifted a hand to his head and ran it through his hair. Breathing hard, the knight's chest heaved. He rested his forehead against his knee.

A small, imperceptible gasp emitted from Ladislas's mouth and, with shame and embarrassment turning his cheeks pink, he turned away from Thaddeus.

Then, as the weight of what had just happened finally settled in, he glanced down at his painting. His eyes trailed over it—it was now smudged and further from perfection than ever. Unshed tears burned at Ladislas's eyes, threatening to spill over. He kept his head bowed and urged the tears not to fall.

He couldn't help but notice that his painting looked the way his heart felt—ruined, with some indecipherable parts. It made him feel melancholic, but he could not bring himself to feel anger towards the knight beside him.

"My God," Thaddeus muttered, looking over Ladislas's shoulder and at the artwork. "Ladislas, I'm so sor—"

"It's fine," Ladislas lied; his tone was abrupt, but his voice was as soft as ever. He managed to get the words out without breaking. He jumped to his feet and took the painting along with him, but didn't look at Thaddeus at all. "I'll just go then, I should fix this and my family will probably be dining soon, so—"

Ladislas turned to leave, not having any other excuses or fibs as to why he was departing so soon.

However, a hand grabbed his sleeve.

"Hey, wait, wait," Thaddeus said gently, getting to his feet. He was roughly the same height as Ladislas and just as lanky.

Without being able to bear looking at him, Ladislas turned around but kept his gaze on his feet. His face was burning brighter than ever. All he wanted was for Thaddeus to spare him this mortification and to allow him to punish himself by replaying the moment in his head over and over again.

But the grip on his sleeve did not waver.

Instead, Thaddeus swallowed with difficulty and looked towards the palace.

He looked back at the prince and eased the painting out of his iron grip, setting it gently onto the grass.

Then, he tightened his hold on Ladislas's sleeve and pulled him behind a clump of bushes, out of sight of... anyone.

As they sat on the bed of beautiful purple lisianthuses, Thaddeus lifted his hand to cup the prince's cheek, setting the skin aflame once more. Ladislas's gaze shifted to the knight's lips and his pulse had never raced so quickly in his entire life. This was an unparalleled thrill and left him with no time to be confused.

The knight swooped towards him and placed a gentle kiss, light as a feather, on his mouth.

It was over as soon as it had begun, but as blue eyes met brown, Ladislas saw the yearning that he felt mirrored in the knight's thousand-yard stare. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against that of the other boy. This time, Thaddeus grabbed the front of Ladislas's shirt with his free hand, his other still on the prince's face, and pulled him closer.

Their mouths met again and they kissed under the blue sky and the spider-silk veil of the trees. It was more fervent, more lustful. It made Ladislas's heart explode and his head spin. He weaved a hand through the ear-length platinum hair that he had always longed to touch. His skin was on fire wherever the knight's gentle fingertips grazed, from his cheeks to the sides of his neck.

Neither cared that they both now had paint on their faces.

It was Thaddeus that deepened their kiss, earning a surprised sigh from Ladislas as his tongue swept over the prince's lips. They were out of breath, hearts beating as one, but were still unable to taste enough of one another.

That was why they didn't hear the faint screams, muffled by the castle walls.

What they did hear, a few moments later, was Thaddeus's horse neighing frantically. Reluctantly, they broke apart. Thaddeus turned his head in his horse's direction, while Ladislas buried his face into the knight's chest. He could feel his heartbeat. It was just as rapid as his own, which made him smile against Thaddeus's shirt.

"Ladislas!" yelled Thaddeus frantically, pulling away and leaping to his feet. "The garden—it's—it's on fire!"

"What?"

Ladislas jumped to his feet, only to see vast swaths of red flame licking at the garden he loved so much, crawling steadily towards him. Thaddeus bolted for his horse and untied it from the tree, while Ladislas grabbed his discarded painting from the ground.

Both the prince and the knight ran for the palace entrance, their legs still weak and trembling from the kiss, only to be confronted with a more abhorrent sight. It was one that curdled Ladislas's blood and twisted a knife deep into his flesh, for there was no pain in the world that could have compared to this.

Three royal children—two girls and a boy, Ladislas's siblings—lay on the floor.

Dead.