"Skulking and lurking... All over the palace... Like a rat," Nikolai said, his words at odds with the howling wind and rain just outside the windows. "At least that's what I hear the servants say." When no response came in the time it took for him to take a sip of his tea and then place the cup back on the table, he looked rather irritated.

"Ruslan?" Nikolai was trying to mask his annoyance, and it wasn't working. "Darling?"

Darling? Ruslan's lips pursed into a grimace and he rolled his eyes at Nikolai's attempts to gain his attention. He wasn't anyone's darling. The word sounded more ridiculous and infantilizing with every echo of it in Ruslan's head...Darling.

Nikolai let out a heavy sigh as he tried to overlook Ruslan's response, or rather, complete lack thereof. It had been a quiet morning and, after all, Ruslan had just lost his father and still needed time...or...at least that was what Nikolai had been telling himself was the problem...until Alexander entered the parlor and approached their table.

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear..." Nikolai grumbled under his breath before putting on his trademarked smile. "Lord Sokolov," he said with a nod.

"Could I trouble you for a word...alone?" However,

Ruslan turned to look then, prepared to have to excuse himself, but was surprised to find Alexander's piercing gaze was not on Nikolai.. They were on him. Nikolai looked rooted to his chair, as if he'd sprouted from the piece of furniture at his genesis, and something in Ruslan's gut delighted in the fact that he could sense Nikolai's displeasure with the prospect. He could nearly taste it.

"Of course." Rising from his chair, Ruslan began to head towards the doors leading out of the parlor.

Alexander followed, but didn't start speaking until they'd left the room and Nikolai behind.

"I'd like to offer my condolences. I didn't know your father, but I have lost one." Alexander's voice was even and concise, and even so, still managed to sound sincere.

Ruslan's frame expanded with the deep inhale he took, and his lips parted as though to speak, but then he paused and turned to look Alexander in the eyes again.

He towered over Ruslan.

Standing this close to Alexander made the fine hairs on the back of Ruslan's neck stand on end... The man was like a shadow—a looming presence that somehow possessed the freedom to reach much farther than the real form it was tethered to.

Ruslan crossed his arms in front of himself and raised his chin. "Thank you."

He wouldn't be afraid of this man. Him nor any other, regardless of what notoriously strange place or blood he came from. "I've also lost a grandfather, a brother...a throne... Do you intend to offer me your condolences for that as well, since you may soon be seated on it?"

"Would it please you if I did?"

Stunned by Alexander's response, Ruslan hadn't even noticed that he'd actually taken a small step back. His brows lowered, and his hands slid out of their closed off, defensive posture to hang at his sides while he tilted his head. "...Yes?"

"You do not sound convincing," Alexander observed—skeptical. "But...you have my condolences for those as well."

For some reason, Ruslan's damned emotions chose then, of all times, to jab at him—like a splinter that had gone unnoticed until that very moment. His lower lip quivered and his eyes began to sting, though a look away and a few quick blinks were enough to banish any tears that dare tried to well there. He rolled his shoulders, and lifted his head.

"...Thank you," Ruslan said, his own tone sounding oddly more like an apology than anything else. Why, he couldn't imagine... He didn't owe Alexander anything...unless he counted his unintentional recuse from the parlor.

Ruslan began walking again, though slower this time, gazing down the empty hall, at the shadows painting the dark spaces next to what little light filtered in from the gray world outside. "...I do actually owe you some gratitude," he said.

"Do you?"

Now it was Alexander's turn to look intrigued. He couldn't think of anything that he'd done to garner gratitude.

A slight smile betrayed Ruslan's amusement at their sudden shift in roles. "I do," He replied confidently. "Cousin Nikolai's company can be-" Ruslan suddenly rolled his lips and squinted at nothing for a moment... Maybe he shouldn't speak ill of the count in front of Alexander...

An enemy of an enemy wasn't necessarily a friend...

Nor was Nikolai necessarily an enemy, so much as he was a bit of an annoyance at times... Albeit, a little more so, with the sudden use of more blatantly romantic endearments... "I think I tire him," Ruslan said instead, "You likely spared me from making a nuisance of myself."

"Perhaps our meeting was meant to be then."

Ruslan gently cleared his throat. Was Alexander making an effort to be rather charming? What would he even stand to gain from it? It wasn't like Ruslan's own opinion of Lord Sokolov mattered to anyone... Certainly not to the court or his mother.

"For as unintentional as my assistance was, I wonder if you wouldn't mind repaying it all the same, by way of enlightenment on the reason for your aunt Raya's exile?"

"Aunt Raya?" After a quick glance around, Ruslan motioned with his head for Alexander to follow a little closer. "You may already know this, but despite them seeming it, Aunt Oksana is not my mother's sister by blood. Her and Aunt Raya are my father's siblings, and they had another brother as well. According to Aunt Oksana, when Uncle Leonid passed, rumors were spread that Aunt Raya had something to do with it... Poisoned him to help my father because she favored him for the throne, among other reasons... Everyone has avoided her since, I suppose."

"And what do you make of the rumors?"

"Aunt Raya..." A drawn out sigh meandered out of Ruslan to match his leisurely pace. "She's like a bird. Always perched off to the side, in the shade. Never a problem. My mother regularly infuriates me, but I couldn't fathom killing one of my own flesh and blood...so, I can't imagine Aunt Raya doing such a thing either—certainly not to family. Not to her own brother." He rolled his shoulders, as if that might slough off the chill that splintered down his neck. "It's a horrid thought."

They walked in silence for a few more steps, with Ruslan looking at Alexander quite intently. "...Why do you ask?"

"Why does anyone ask a question—to get answers." Alexander smiled and tipped his head, "Thank you for your insight. I believe I've troubled you enough for now."

Their conversation easily could've been left at that, but Ruslan's mouth was apparently quite taken with his mind's ideas, and he hurriedly threw a question at Alexander's back.

"I'd like to know what you think of this place," he asked. Once Alexander's tall, black-clothed silhouette had paused, Ruslan added, "You were summoned here, obviously, but is this even a place you can see yourself staying in?"

Alexander issued his reply over his shoulder. "I have dreamt of these halls more times than I care to remember..." and with that, he continued on his way.

The wet taps of his brush in paint were the only sound within the comfortable silence of the sitting room that was an offshoot of Ruslan's bedroom. He'd taken the opportunity to retreat there, rather than return to the parlor, following his conversation with Lord Sokolov. The rain had since turned into a light sleet, then a fluffy snow outside, but inside was warm. Ruslan had even stopped to roll his sleeves at one point.

"...She's falling asleep in your arms," he noted, softly disturbing the quiet as Darya's head dipped lower and lower.

Bernard snapped out of his daze, slouching slightly to look at the little goat in his arms, which had also started falling asleep some time ago. Her bearded chin was resting on the vibrant velvet and lace bow that hung loosely around her neck. "So she is..." Bernard stretched his back as best he could without disturbing Darya. "How's the painting?" He hadn't been allowed to see it. Not even the base sketch that had been done in charcoal.

Ruslan hid a smile behind his painting. "Handsome," he replied softly. "...I spoke to Lord Sokolov today."

"Oh?"

Ruslan nodded, and cleaned off his brush before dabbing it into a different pigment.

"About Aunt Raya, oddly enough. We took a walk."

"No wonder you were gone for so long. I thought breakfast had run over."

"Is that jealousy in your tone, Bernard?" Ruslan teased, subtly holding his breath as he waited for a reply. He wasn't even moving his paint brush. The fine hairs at its tip hovered, motionless, casting a faint shadow on the canvas.

Perhaps it was... Though Bernard knew those types of feelings were dangerous, it was hard not to grow a little possessive of Ruslan. He was quite literally his world. His day started and ended with his master. His wants and desires. But it was more than just that, their fates would forever be entwined for if anything happened to Ruslan, it would be more than just his good name and pride on the line... The damage to his heart would be irreparable.

Bernard glanced down again at the goat. "She must find it relaxing to be a model."

"Do you?" Ruslan leaned closer to his painting, delicately stippling in some details.

"Not so much," Bernard replied with an apologetic smile. "And the amount of times I've looked up to lock eyes with you makes me somewhat suspicious..."

Ruslan hid his flushing face behind his canvas. "...That Darya isn't my only model?"

Carefully, Bernard rose from the stool, walking stiffly over to the chaise lounge to deposit the drowsy goat. Ruslan watched him as he then made his way around the canvas, to stand at his side.

Bernard's beautiful eyes were like a lightening show of emotions, so quick and impossible to predict, but there all the same, as he processed Ruslan's painting.

"I hoped you wouldn't mind."

"Is this..." Bernard paused, looking at Ruslan. "...really how you see me?" he finished as his eyes moved back to the painting; a faithful replication of his likeness, only...there was so much more to it than that. Any mirror or reflective surface could produce an unerring image...but what Ruslan had crafted was...romantic.

"Do you like it?" Ruslan asked.

"...Do you?"

Ruslan's eyes were alight with the kind of happiness that Bernard rarely ever was able to witness in them. "Of course I do...", he said, barely above a whisper. "You and Darya are my only happiness."

Bernard lost the battle he'd been waging to keep a stoic, expressionless face, and his lips curved into a gentle smile.

The stool beneath Ruslan creaked slightly as he leaned closer, and his breathing hitched as he touched his lips to Bernard's.

Their kiss was incredibly brief. Ruslan didn't have the courage to draw it out, but the thrill and joy he felt from that short touch was precious to him all the same.

Shout out to ThatGingerRogue !! Thanks so much for the support!