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There was a feast.
Ghost had long since learned that whenever the palace was filled with people, with laughter and song and wine-infused joy, his place usually wasn’t in the massive hall where the tables were bending under the plentiful feast. It wasn’t because he wasn’t welcome - he knew there would always be a seat for him, if he so wished. But his sense of duty usually called him elsewhere, drew him to where he would much rather be anyway. He had done it countless times before and tonight was no different.
The faint sound of shrill bagpipes traveled through the palace and all the way to the knight’s ears, despite the many stone walls between him and the main hall. The familiar melody was accompanied by a choir of voices singing a drinking song especially popular among the court. The crowd seemed satisfied, Ghost noted with dry amusement. The King would be pleased.
Surprisingly enough, Ghost’s place was not with the King tonight. He had served the man for nearly a full two decades, gradually rising through the ranks from a young, inexperienced soldier to the monarch’s right hand man. Over time he had earned himself the respect of his fellow soldiers, but also something of an eerie reputation. Ghost was what they called him. Most had forgotten about any name he had gone by before and those who hadn’t were clever enough to keep silent. The whispered rumors both in the court and among commoners was that he wasn’t a man at all, but something much more sinister, invincible and able to escape death whenever he wished. And if the word on the streets wasn’t enough to deter someone from crossing Ghost on purpose, the man’s physical appearance was certainly intimidating enough to make anyone think twice. Tall, broad and solid, the knight was an admirable enemy in any fight, but what seemed to make most people slink away quietly was the all-black clothing he always donned and the skull-like mask he carried on his face. Like a wraith out of a story to be told by a fire in the moonlight, Ghost instilled fear in the hearts of those who saw him in a fight, and those who either caught a glimpse of him in passing or just heard the stories retold often wished they would never bear witness to the real deal.
That was the shadow which moved along the hallways of the palace while everyone else celebrated an unimportant cause down on the lower floor. Well, not everyone - there was the one person Ghost was headed to, the one soul that attracted him like a moth to a flame and commanded his attention. It was the one person he sometimes felt more at home around than his King, albeit having served under the latter for so long. The one person he silently, secretly, personally favored.
"My prince."
The knight halted in the doorway of a sizable set of chambers. The doors were wide open, which was unusual, giving way to a vast sitting area with comfortable seats, a table with a chess set in constant disarray, and a magnificent fireplace which rarely cooled down. Off to the side a curtain-covered archway led to a bed chamber, which Ghost knew only because he personally scouted the royal lodgings for safety whenever necessary.
In a soft, sturdy armchair by the fire sat the prince. A decade his junior, but a man in his own right, he was both strongly built and beautiful. His hair was as unruly as ever, cut short on the sides in a fashion most of the court didn't understand, but Ghost silently admired. The prince was still in his festive attire from the evening, his clan colors represented in everything he wore, from his kilt to the buttons on his coat and the motif on the sporran that hung from his waist. Ghost had seen the man leave the feast and, with only a minor delay, decided to follow him. For safety, he had told himself.
When the knight spoke, the prince looked up from where he had been staring into the fire, deep in thought. Recognition flooded his gaze and something in his expression warmed, resulting in a slight curve at the corner of his mouth, resembling a smile.
"Ghost." The man leaned back in his seat, something amused in his expression. "I was hoping you'd come."
So that was why the doors were open. Ghost stepped inside and silently closed the heavy doors behind him, assuming a formal stance within the room. He was known to be a man of few words, but when it came to the royal family, he knew when a response was required.
"You left, your highness." Came the short, simple observation. "I came to see you were secure."
The prince's eyes narrowed, but his smile didn't falter. "How many times have I told you to call me Soap?"
"Countless, my prince."
"And you never learn."
Ghost didn't respond. Soap sighed and shook his head, clearly more entertained than upset over the conversation they had had tens if not hundreds of times before. Soap was a silly nickname someone had granted the prince in his childhood and absolutely no one outside of the immediate royal family called him by that name. Hence, Ghost firmly refused to stray from his respectful titles.
Despite being in the King's guard, Ghost had always had a particularly soft spot for the prince, specifically. He had watched him grow from a boy to a young man and now a capable, respectable adult. Soap certainly didn't require protection at all times, considering he was a very skilled swordsman and fighter in general, but Ghost couldn't help it. He was always the one to make sure the prince was safe and sound, as if that command would have been in his blood. He would never have said it out loud or confessed to it, but he was more than a little fond of Soap, in ways that could get him hanged or beheaded or, worst case scenario, both.
But that was his secret to keep. Ghost remained polite and stuck to code, and as long as he did that no one would be any the wiser. What went on in his mind and behind the closed doors of his private chambers while he thought of his prince… Those were only for him to know.
“I did leave for a reason.” Ghost had remained quiet long enough for Soap to pick up the conversation again. The prince raised one strong leg and kicked the armchair before him, identical to his own. The seat turned slightly towards the knight, indicating what was being requested of him. Still, clearly knowing the man, Soap voiced a command.
“Sit. You’ll want to.”
With anyone else, save perhaps for the King, Ghost would have right-out refused. But over the years, with considerable and insistent effort from the prince, the knight had given in when it was only the two of them. The chess set in Soap’s room had seen plenty of action on slow evenings. Sometimes the prince would entertain him with gossip from the court and sometimes he would ask Ghost to tell him about some of the adventures he had been on as a young soldier. Ghost much preferred the former for two reasons. One, he didn’t consider himself much of a storyteller, and most of his tales were comprised of long marches to neighboring towns and accompanying delegations on political visits he hadn't known anything about. And two, he rather enjoyed listening to Soap’s voice, no matter what he was talking about. There were times when the prince's accent grew thick with frustration or ire - or on the rare occasion, pure joy - and Ghost found it both entertaining and endearing. Neither of which he would ever admit, of course.
Ghost strode over to the awaiting chair and seated himself, his big frame relaxing against the cushioned back. He remained alert, however, and the familiar, eerie mask stayed on his face, hiding everything save for two sharp eyes that watched the prince with intrigue. Clearly Soap had a story to tell - probably the newest gossip - and Ghost was all ears. What Soap said, however, was the very last thing he expected to hear.
"The King is stepping down."
Soap had turned his attention back to the crackling fire, his chin resting on his hand as he seemingly contemplated either the flames or the news. Ghost said nothing. He didn't even move, barely dared to breathe. If this was true, it would mean a change in everything. Not only would the reigning monarch change, but every single structure would need to be reassessed. Each King or Queen had their own hand-picked council, their own close circle of the court, their own guard. Speaking of which, if the King was retiring, then that would mean that Ghost-
"He told me tonight." Soap's words disrupted the train of thought that was shaking Ghost to the core. Was this how he found out he was expected to retire, as well? He was well beyond his younger years, that was true, but he still considered himself to be in decent shape. He was strong, he was still capable of protecting the King, he had a good team of soldiers that he trusted. Was all of that going to end so soon? He hadn't even entertained the idea of slowing down, save for some distant, partially jesting thoughts of himself as an old man in a cottage somewhere relatively desolate. In all honesty, for a long time he had expected to die in battle somewhere, but the years had been surprisingly peaceful and his battles outside the training grounds had remained blessedly few.
Then an entirely different thought hit him and Ghost cursed himself for seeing it all through such selfish lenses that it hadn't occurred to him immediately. He studied Soap's face, his concealed expression, the thoughtful and slightly distant look in his eyes. He knew that the prince had learned how to keep his feelings to himself over the years. It was a royal trait, Soap had told him as a young man, to cater your face to the crowd. Anything could have been going on behind that facade.
"My prince," Ghost spoke quietly. "You will be-"
"King." Soap confirmed. Simple, short, to the point. He was the only child in the family, but what with the King still in good condition, he hadn't expected to be on the throne for years to come. This was all unexpected and was apparently throwing most everyone for some type of loop. "He wants to step aside while he can actually plan that decision. I have very little say in it, he's already made up his mind."
For a man who had served a monarch for several decades by now, Ghost still had the ability to be blunt when the situation called for it. Soap had made it clear he had hoped Ghost would come find him and had invited the knight to sit with him. So Ghost dropped some of the formality, and spoke only what was necessary: "When?"
"Two weeks." Soap tore his blue eyes from the flames and turned to fix his gaze on Ghost. It had been a while since the knight had seen him this severe, and this specific kind of serious might have been entirely new. "He's going to announce it to the court soon."
Silence fell between them. This, in Ghost's opinion, was one of the reasons why he had ended up as a soldier. Save for an encouraging line or two in the middle of a bloody battlefield, no one expected a knight to be able to produce very witty words. Ghost often preferred no words at all; he would much rather stand slightly behind the King's throne and keep the room under his watchful eye than engage in conversation with anyone. Soap was usually the exception, but now, when faced with these news, Ghost found he couldn't say much of anything to the prince he had known most of his life. Because what could he possibly offer Soap in terms of consolation? It'll be alright might have been true, but no one could know that. You'll make a fine King was something Ghost truly believed, but it sounded pandering at best. And how are you feeling was absolutely off the table, because Ghost did not have the skills to defuse the answer, no matter what it might be.
Soap didn't seem surprised. He examined Ghost's face, or rather his eyes, as they sat quietly by the fire, facing one another. The silence stretched between them, molding itself to something Ghost recognized as familiarity. This wasn't the first time Soap had confided in him about complicated affairs related to the kingdom, but he also couldn't remember any of the previous topics being quite so all-encompassing.
"I've been raised for this my entire life." Soap finally said, a little too quiet to be entirely confident and a little too planned-sounding to come across as entirely spontaneous. It sounded like a phrase the prince had told himself tonight, perhaps over and over, to maybe quell the highest waves of concern that washed against the walls of his mind. Still, it made Ghost attentively keep listening. "I always knew it would happen one day. Hell, everyone knew it would happen eventually." There was a tint of frustration in the prince's voice, just barely enough to be picked up and recognized. "And it's not like I've ever been against my inheritance. But this-"
The silence swept over them once more, heavy but fragile. Soap had cut himself off and was frowning at the fire, his eyes watching something past the flames, past the room they were in, past the there and now. Perhaps he was peering into his past, at his younger self, or maybe at some version of his father from along the way. The man's brows were knitted into a complex expression, much more saturated with emotion than usual. Ghost could detect annoyance, concern, uncertainty… Things that were usually hidden from the court. Things which, he had come to learn, Soap didn't hide from him.
"I didn't think it'd happen now." The prince's voice had grown quiet, somehow resigned. His annoyance bled into something softer, something far more gentle, but it still simmered under the surface of his expression, detectable in the shifting look in his eyes.
Soap turned to look at him. His sharp, clever gaze moved over Ghost's mask in a way that felt like a curious touch - something the knight had mostly gotten used to. Soap often looked at him like he was a riddle he was trying to solve or a lock he was trying to pick. The worst part wasn't the fact that the prince didn't seem to grow tired of it, no. The worst part was that every time Ghost saw that intrigued, intense look in Soap's eyes, he wanted to give into it and let himself be solved.
"That, you cannot change." Ghost surprised them both by speaking. His voice was low, but in the quiet of the room Soap could hear him loud and clear. "But of the things you can influence in this situation, what would you like to change?"
When Ghost had become the head of the King’s guard, he had expected to be nothing but the brute force behind protecting his sovereign. Over the years, however, he had often found himself conversing with the King, who regularly picked the knight’s brain regarding complex political situations. Ghost had never considered himself very wise or well-versed in matters of the court, and relied more on the strength of his sword than the power of his words, but those endless conversations had taught him one thing; to ask questions. Whenever the King drove himself into a dead-end, he would have Ghost ask him any and all questions he could possibly come up with. More often than not, it ended in some type of solution forming in the King’s mind.
So, applying the same approach to the prince’s distraught state, Ghost did what he could. He questioned him.
Soap watched him for quite a while, the look in his eyes battling between amusement and perplexion. When he spoke, the words came slowly, as if he was weighing each uttered syllable very carefully.
“I would say,” The prince mused. “That it isn’t really about what I would like to change, but about what I would prefer to keep.”
It was Ghost’s turn to be surprised. He blinked, his mask concealing much else of his reaction. A heavy boot shifted on the stone floor; the only noise, save for the crackling of the fire. There was something about the prince’s gaze which was growing heavy, almost unbearable for Ghost to maintain. When he finally spoke, he wondered whether Soap could hear the strange tension in his voice.
“What would you like to keep, My Lord?”
There was a flash of something vibrant and fierce in the prince’s eyes, so quick that Ghost assumed he had imagined the entire thing as soon as it vanished. The knight didn’t know what it meant, what it was that made his heart beat just a little faster, what had his fingers curling into the soft arms of the chair he was seated in. The sheer intensity of Soap’s gaze was formidable and as if that in itself wouldn’t have been enough, a shadow of a smirk teased at the corners of the man’s mouth.
“You.”
Ghost felt like he was falling, toppling back over the edge of an impossibly high wall, soaring through the air and down towards the ground. He expected a harsh, lethal impact, but it never came - instead he was left floating, feeling surreal and captured in impossibility, a dream in the waking world.
Surely this meant nothing. It was the first clear thought Ghost formed, struggling to pull his mind together. If Soap were to become King, he would require a King’s guard. If he wanted Ghost to remain in that elite selection, who was he to decline? But that could have been a simple announcement. And above all, that alone shouldn’t have been making Ghost feel like he was struggling to breathe.
His lack of visible reaction gradually made the prince’s expression turn back into something more guarded. Ghost realized this too late, when Soap was already chuckling under his breath and turning to look away, shrugging off the entire moment for what it must really have been - nothing.
“If you would rather retire, I understand.” Soap began, his eyes now on the fire. “You’ve been outstanding and worked harder than anyone. The crown will happily grant you retir-”
“No.”
The prince’s eyes were back on him in a heartbeat. Sharp, clever and all too powerful, the blue stare settled onto Ghost, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Ghost paused to breathe in slowly, telling himself to get over what silly little twist he was working himself into, before he continued.
“I would like to stay.”
I would like to be kept were the words that haunted his mind. They danced on his tongue, teasing, tempting him to speak them, but he refused. And the blue eyes watched him and somehow he was sure they knew.
“Good.” There was warmth in the prince’s tone. No, not warmth, it was heat. Soap nodded towards something Ghost couldn’t immediately discern and it took a moment for the knight to understand what he was gesturing at. “But I suppose it is proper to let you think about it. If you haven’t changed your mind when the King announces his abdication, I would like you to return that to me.”
That was a ring. A simple silver ring, with a single symbol on it - the MacTavish herald. The King had gifted it to him when he had accepted his position in the King’s guard. It had been the seal of their agreement, his pledge of loyalty to the crown. But that, too, would disintegrate when the current King stepped down.
Ghost nodded. And then, just a little delayed, he added: “Yes, Sir.”
Soap made a noise at that, low and subtle, all the way in the back of his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind at the last second. Instead he exhaled slowly, then seemed to relax back into his chair. His eyes lingered on Ghost, the flickering of the fire reflected in his usually cool gaze. A small smile passed over the prince’s lips and he nodded his head towards the doors that lead back into the hallway of the wing they were in.
“That was what I wanted to talk to you about.” Soap confessed. “I won’t keep you any longer if you’d like to get back to the feast. I have a feeling the festivities will run long tonight.”
The knight pretended to consider the offer. Then he shook his head, only one. “I much prefer a smaller crowd.” Ghost said, and his words spoke more than he had actually said. Still, he leaned slightly forward in his seat. “But I will go, to not be a disturbance, My Lord.”
Soap laughed, then, warm and fond, and it was the very same laugh Ghost had grown to adore. It was one of the things that had never changed, even as the prince had grown up and gone from boy to man. Still, he laughed with his whole heart, deep and full, and the grin that spread over his handsome features was still boyish enough to remind the knight what a wicked youngster he had once been.
“You know me better than that.” Soap shifted, instead, and reached for the chess board which lay on the table close by. “Best two out of three?”
* * *
Three days later, the King announced his abdication.
Ghost watched the entire day unfurl in a state of surreality. He saw his own initial reactions on people’s faces everywhere, heard their surprised whispers and found an echo of his own puzzled questions in them. But he had had time to sit with the news and come to terms with what it would all mean for him. When the news actually came, it was no longer a fresh wound, but more like a healing scab.
The King had told him in private, on the evening before. They didn’t play chess or spar in the courtyard after hours, their strange friendship had always been different. Ghost trusted the King with his life and on more than one occasion, the King had trusted his own with him. A strong respect had grown between them over the years, one which the knight appreciated above else. It made him feel lucky to serve his monarch, to provide his skills for use for the crown.
“It’s time.” The King had said, a glass of scotch in hand, his gaze moving over the glow of the setting sun in the horizon. They had been in the King’s private chambers and the sovereign had taken his place by the window as he always did when they needed to have a conversation. Ever-consistent, even at a moment of impending change, the man had taken his time to admire the view before speaking. “I’m stepping down.”
Thinking back, Ghost wondered if that was what had given away his knowledge. He hadn’t said anything, had remained silent and waited for more. And the King had turned back, taken one look at him and smiled, and there had been an infuriatingly amused certainty in his look. “So he told you.”
Ghost hadn’t denied it, which had only seemed to entertain the man even more. With a sip of his drink and a long, at-ease sigh, he had turned fully towards his knight. Silence had settled between them until Ghost had broken it, if only to ask the one question he hadn’t been able to figure out since his conversation with Soap.
“Why?”
Here, they were without titles, without positions of power, with only the mutual respect which bonded them together. It had taken a while for Ghost to get used to, but countless repetitions over the years had finally made him feel comfortable in the exceptional space. So he had spoken his mind honestly, simply. And, as their wordless pact required, the King had given him an honest answer.
“It’s time.” Matter-of-fact and easy, as if they would have been discussing the weather. “I have kept the kingdom at peace for long enough. It needs change.”
There must have been a look of uncertainty in Ghost’s eyes, or perhaps doubt, because the amused smile had made a reappearance on the King’s face. “You don’t think he will be a breath of fresh air?”
“Yes.” Ghost had hurried to agree. “But does he want to be the change?”
The King had honored the question with proper thought. He has rested his chin on the edge of his glass, dark eyes watching Ghost with a contemplating look. Finally he had shrugged, then smiled, and that gesture had spoken of immense trust for his son to be precisely what the kingdom needed going forward.
“You know how it is, Simon. All it takes to change the course of history is the will of a single soul.”
* * *
That was the phrase which reverberated in Ghost’s mind as he stood behind the familiar doors. It had been one day since the King’s announcement. One full day of surprised gossip, of countless audiences, of endless conversations between the sovereign and his most trusted advisors. Ghost had stood guard all day, most of the occasions having been highly formal. There was a dull throb at the base of his back, which reminded him that he wasn’t as young as he had once been. He was tired and ready to leave the day behind. And still, he stood behind the familiar doors and raised his hand into a single, sharp knock.
He hadn’t been invited, he had been summoned. Ghost stepped in the second an affirmative was called out from within the prince’s chambers. He closed the heavy door behind him, then faced his prince with a small, formal bow. “My prince. You asked for me.”
“I thought you might not come unless it was an order.” Soap was sitting by his desk, an array of papers spread out before him, an open vial of ink on one side of them. He was leaning his chin into his hand, a pen held in the other, and a smile played on his features as he took in Ghost on his doorstep. “I know my father had you working all day.”
“You don’t need a command to have my attention, My Lord.” Ghost assured. It was far more true than he cared to admit - just a passing glimpse of Soap was enough to draw his attention. He hesitated, still not stepping further into the room. “What can I do for you?”
Soap curled his fingers in a simple gesture to beckon the knight closer. Ghost followed the invisible pull of the invitation, his steps a practiced kind of quiet, and came to a stop next to Soap’s desk. The prince didn’t stand, didn’t move at all save for leaning back in his seat. There was a smear of ink on his cheek, Ghost noted, lingering on how fond the observation made him feel.
“So?” Soap tilted his head, as if expecting something of him. “Where is it?”
Ghost frowned, confused, and the furrowing of his brows must have been revealed in what Soap could see of him beyond his mask. The prince’s lips curled up further. “Don’t say you’ve already forgotten.”
“My prince-”
“It’s been days, Ghost, not years.”
“Your highness-”
“Is your memory starting to fail you?”
“My Lord-”
“Are you really sure you don’t want to retire?”
Ghost’s frown deepened into something vile and Soap threw his head back and laughed. Then, before the knight could say much else, the prince reached out and wrapped his fingers around Ghost’s left wrist, guiding him to raise his hand between them. “The ring.” Soap reiterated, grinning. “I want it.”
Ghost’s eyes trailed down to the simple silver object on his middle finger. He hadn’t forgotten, no, but he also hadn’t thought the prince had meant it literally when he had said that he wanted the ring returned once the King declared his abdication. But Soap seemed like he was almost late, not having come to him in the one day since the official announcement.
“Unless, of course-” Soap drawled, raising a single eyebrow at Ghost, his hold still steady around the knight’s wrist. “-You changed your mind.”
Ghost didn’t respond in words. He reached out with his free hand and closed his thumb and index finger around the little piece of metal. He slid it off his finger, the familiar herald facing Soap, and silently offered it to the prince. Soap accepted the ring and Ghost went to pull both of his hands away.
The younger man’s hold remained. Ghost’s wrist was kept in a firm enough grasp to make him halt his attempts of pulling away. Soap examined the ring, turned it around and seemed to evaluate it somehow, then stood. The motion forced Ghost to take a step back to make enough room for the prince, who settled surprisingly close to him, those warm fingers still clasped around his bare wrist.
Without a word, Soap proceeded to slip the ring back into place on Ghost’s middle finger. He brushed his thumb over the metal, then slid it back off and switched over to Ghost’s index finger, carefully working the ring on until it seemed to get stuck soon after the second knuckle. Soap made a thoughtful noise and eased the ring off, going for the knight’s ring finger next. Again he admired the ring in place, now turning Ghost’s hand this way and that.
The prince’s touch was firm but careful, soft but determined. Ghost found himself distracted by the warm, intrigued touches over his palm, over the back of his hand, between his fingers. There was a strange combination of something that neared affection and something else in the way Soap handled him. Ownership, Ghost realized with a shiver. Possession. Soap was examining him like something he owned. And he wasn’t exactly wrong.
“Ghost?”
The knight looked up, drawn back to the present from his musings. Soap was looking at him, something dark and tempting in his eyes, a touch of mirth in his smile. Ghost blinked.
“Where did you go?” The way Soap tilted his head was curious, almost playful. Ghost felt as if he could see right into his mind, read his thoughts and feelings, and was only asking to toy with him. “Did my father really work you to exhaustion today?”
“No, Sir.”
Soap let go of his wrist and Ghost found himself hoping he wouldn’t have. The prince didn’t move away, however, only pocketed the silver ring while his gaze remained on the knight. Soap’s eyes moved over the familiar mask, over the traces of black, coal-like paint Ghost always smeared around his eyes, then down to his neck and shoulders. There was no rush to any of Soap’s movements, he was in no hurry as he examined Ghost like he had examined the ring, admiring what was his. Ghost felt constricted, but not trapped; restrained, but not caged. He couldn’t move, but grew roots there and then, boots planted firmly on the stone floor. He was distantly aware of his heart hammering in his chest, the rise and fall of his broad chest slightly quickened.
“Hm.” It was a simple noise, but it held multitudes. Soap hummed while his eyes climbed back up to Ghost’s face, somehow entirely unbothered by the fact that he was forced to tilt his head up slightly to meet the knight’s gaze. Still Ghost felt small before his prince, oddly fragile despite his impressive size and strength. “What would it take, I wonder.” Soap’s eyes were on his now, curious and warm, almost hungry. “To exhaust you.”
Something was struck in Ghost and he had to swallow the noise he wanted to produce. Soap must have picked up on it somehow, because the man’s lips parted in something Ghost could only describe as awe. And then the moment shattered, gone as quickly as it had swept over them, and the prince stepped back, sinking back into the chair by his desk.
“I’ll have a new ring for you to try on in a few days.” Soap said, leaning back with a type of feline ease as he stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. “I’ll call for you. Until then-” The grin on the prince’s lips was wide and pleased. “-Be good for me.”
Ghost had no response to give. He bowed silently and left. His steps were brisk as he made his way down the hallways and to his own, modest chambers and only there, with the door closed and on latch, did he lean against the cool surface of the stone wall and exhale in a shaky fashion. He was flustered, hot and hard, and none of it was an appropriate state to be because of his prince. Still, when he shed his uniform and fell into bed, Soap’s grinning, wicked face was precisely the face he pictured.
* * *
From there on out, Ghost tried to keep himself better in check. He focused on his duties and pushed the prince to the back of his mind as much as possible, told himself it was just an odd fixation he needed to get over. What else could he have done? There would never be anything else, could never be anything else, so why cling to a fantasy with no hope?
His success rate, however, was abysmal. Soap was everywhere, given the recent announcement, and often in the company of his father. Ghost, naturally, was tied to the latter, and unavoidably around the crown prince. More than ever, his gaze was drawn to the man, his attention shifting from the situation at hand to what he could see of Soap at any given time. He remembered the warm grip around his wrist, he look in the prince’s eyes, the incredible pull he had felt to be closer. With every glance at Soap, with every flutter of his traitorous heart, Ghost drew closer and closer to admitting the truth; he was well and truly fucked.
He was going to be the head of the King’s guard to a man, whom he desired. It was a disastrous equation, a bad idea before it had even been executed. It would ruin everything. It would cloud his judgement in any situation, it would lead to extremely bad decision-making on Ghost’s behalf. Worst case scenario, it would get them both killed. He couldn’t do it, not for his own sake, but for the sake of keeping Soap safe.
The longer Ghost looked at him, the more absolute he became about it. And the more final his decision became, the more his heart ached.
* * *
A full week after the King had made his stepping down public, Soap summoned him. Ghost made his way through the castle, his mind and body both heavy with the weight of his decision. The castle was busy around the clock now, preparations underway for the upcoming coronation despite the rather late hour, but Ghost barely saw or heard the happy chatter of the servants in the rooms he passed. All he could think of was the valuable offer he had been made to be even closer to the man whom he wanted more than anything - and the fact that he was going to turn down that offer now. Ghost didn’t consider himself a very sentimental man, but this choice felt like it was slowly but surely eating him alive.
When he stood at the tall, heavy doors that led to Soap’s chambers, Ghost halted. He knocked, but before he could even announce himself, a familiar voice already called out from within and bid him to enter. With a deep breath, Ghost pushed the door open and stepped in.
Soap had been waiting for him. He was standing by the fire, something in his hands. Ghost’s eyes lingered on the item in his hands before he bowed in greeting.
“You called for me, Your Highness.”
“Come here.”
The command was immediate. Ghost straightened himself and approached slowly, his gaze dropping to Soap’s hands yet again. He could see now that the man was holding a cloth of some kind. Despite its dark colour, it shimmered in the light of the fire, much like the fine fabrics some of the people of the court wore. The knight’s attention remained on it until he came to stand before his prince. Facing the man, Ghost’s heart sank. He knew what he had to do.
“My pr-”
“Put it on.”
Had Ghost just picked up a small tremor in Soap’s voice. He frowned slightly, puzzled, when the prince reached out and offered him the cloth. Ghost stared, then carefully took the piece of fabric to unfold it in order to better understand what it was. The soft, smooth fabric unrolled into a long piece, just a strip the width of Ghost’s palm. He met Soap’s eyes with a silent question, unsure of what was expected of him.
“It goes over your eyes. Now put it on.”
Ghost’s heart leapt in his chest. It was a strange order, made all the worse by the vulnerability which came with only the idea of being around another person with his eyes covered and bound. Granted, it was his prince, his King-to-be, but that was only another reason for Ghost’s chest to feel all too tight. He tried to explain himself again.
“My Lord, could I-”
“Ghost, are you going to make me beg? Because I will if I need to.”
There it was again, that tremble in Soap’s voice. It was subtle and soft, but definitely there. Had Ghost not been trained to know exactly when someone was nervous, he would probably have missed it. But after all the years he had known his prince, Soap could just as well have admitted it aloud. Something was shaking him up.
One last order, then, before he would give in his resignation. Ghost brought the sliver of fabric to his face and let it settle over his eyes, then reached behind his head to tie it into two solid knots. The material sat over his mask surprisingly well, obscuring Soap from view, leaving his other senses all the more alert. Ghost tried to will his heart to slow down when he lowered his arms and raised his head, submitting himself to his prince’s whims one last time.
“Give me your hand.”
Before Ghost could question which hand he ought to offer, Soap had grasped his left. His touch was just as warm as last time, fingers sliding over Ghost’s palm, a gentle thumb brushing over his knuckles. He despised it for how perfect it was. He wanted more.
There was a soft rustle and then something cool touched his fingers. It slid onto his ring finger, surprisingly heavy when it settled at the very base of the digit. Soap exhaled and the sound of it was unsteady. Soap guided Ghost to raise his hand between them, his palm towards Soap. The knight felt soft touches around what he now could only assume was a ring on his finger, the piece he had come to try on. Somehow the thought that Soap had commissioned the piece especially for him made Ghost’s chest ache worse than ever before.
“My prince.” Ghost said, his voice quiet and wary, apologetic over what he knew he had to say. It felt easier now that he couldn’t see Soap, didn’t need to see his expression, watch his disappointment or anger over this sudden change of heart. “I should tell you-”
“For such a quiet man, you have so much to say tonight.”
Ghost’s fingers flexed reflexively when the words were spoken against his palm. Soap’s lips brushed over the warm skin, his breath now coming in soft, warm huffs where Ghost could feel them. When the knight didn’t pull away, Soap pressed more firmly against the sensitive skin, leaving several slow open-mouthed kisses where Ghost could swear they burned holes right through him.
“That’s what finally made you shut up?” Amusement was creeping into Soap’s voice, but that tremor was still there. He pressed a kiss to the ring on Ghost’s finger, Soap’s nose gently nudging between the digits to be closer. Ghost wasn’t sure when the prince had started holding onto him with both hands, fingers curled around his wrist and forearm, as if worried he might run if given the chance.
Ghost’s hand twitched. It was an accidental, tense motion, but it made Ghost’s thumb brush over the side of Soap’s jaw. He felt the scratch of stubble over the pad of his thumb, the warmth of his face, the much too tempting spark of something that travelled through him at the contact. Unable to help himself, Ghost repeated the soft little motion, his thumb now stroking over Soap’s cheek in a timid caress.
Soap made a noise that would etch itself into Ghost’s memory forever.
“You don’t mind this, do you?” The tremor in Soap’s voice was changing. From a nervous, almost frightened tremble to a shaky thrill, a badly contained anticipation. “All this time, I’ve wondered if it was all in my head. But it’s not, is it, Ghost?”
The knight wasn’t given much time to respond. With a solid hold on his wrist, Soap tugged him forward. One single step took him straight into the prince’s embrace, a strong arm settling around his waist. Ghost felt clumsy, starkly aware of his size, the way he towered over his prince in the same way he did over most everyone in the court. But Soap pressed against him in a way he had never thought he would experience and that sensation alone left Ghost’s mind blissfully blank.
“If I’ve read it all wrong, you need to tell me now.” Soap was murmuring, somewhere much closer to his face, and Ghost could only shake his head in response. The noise his prince made in response was utterly satisfied and hungry all in one, and Ghost couldn’t help the shiver that travelled through him. It didn’t go unnoticed, judging by the lips that pressed to his neck, right over his hammering pulse.
“If you want this, then I need three things from you.” Soap was speaking up against his skin, right above the collar of his gambeson, and Ghost was having trouble focusing on his words. “Can you do that for me?”
Ghost nodded, once. There was a snicker from the prince and a devilish tone crept into Soap’s voice. “Come on, now. Surely you can use your words.”
Ghost swallowed, blinking under his blindfold. Gods, but he wanted to see, but he wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t just spontaneously combust if he witnessed Soap like this. “Yes.” He tried, voice slightly hoarse with effort. “Yes, Sir.”
This time there was no way around it; Soap moaned. The sound was low and hungry and muffled into Ghost’s neck, and it drew a gravelly whine from the knight to hear the proof of the prince’s enjoyment over their situation. Ghost could only assume his own interest had long since stopped being a secret, given the way he strained in his breeches, pressed deliciously up against Soap’s body.
“That’s number one.” Soap murmured. Ghost could feel a hand trail over his chest, lingering around the uppermost clasp on his coat. “No more Your Highness, no more My Lord. Not right now. You’re going to call me Soap. Understand?”
Oh, Ghost was going to disintegrate right here. How many times had he whispered that name in the private dark of his chamber, with a firm hand around his cock and a fantasy on his mind. But this was not a fantasy and it took two tries before Ghost’s mouth obeyed him, his tongue sluggish to follow orders.
“Yes.” Ghost rasped out. “Soap.”
“Oh, yes.” Soap’s whisper was reverent, heated and rushed, and Ghost could feel a hint of teeth against his neck. “Very good. Now, number two. I know you’ve let my father do it. So-” Soap’s head tilted slightly, his lips brushing over the corner of Ghost’s jaw. “Shouldn’t I be allowed to call you Simon, as well?”
Oh. Oh. Ghost might just die before this conversation was even over. Never had he dared to imagine Soap calling him by any other name than the one he was known by around the court. Ghost hadn’t thought Soap remembered or possibly even knew his name, his real name. But here he was, uttering those familiar syllables, and it was lighting fires everywhere under Ghost’s skin.
“Yes.” He managed again, the sound more and more like a plea.
“One more, Simon.” It was a purr, like Soap was tasting his newly granted freedom, treating it like the greatest gift. Warm lips moved back to Ghost’s neck, but they didn’t stop there. Instead they climbed higher, until Soap’s hushed words were spoken right up against his ear. “Can I take off your mask?”
Under the blindfold, Ghost closed his eyes to float in the pleasure of it all. The people who had seen his face in the court could be counted on the fingers of one hand. But if there was one he would happily have taken his mask off for, it was Soap. He nodded, the motion barely there but clearly enough for Soap who reached behind the knight’s head to undo the blindfold. As the fabric fell away, dexterous fingers slipped Ghost’s mask free and gently pulled it away from his face, leaving the man blinking in the dim light.
They stood like that, facing one another, for what could only have been a few seconds. Ghost registered the look on Soap’s face - awe, tension, raw desire - before there was a pull on his shoulders, drawing him down, down, down until they clashed into a kiss.
Despite the blindfold being gone, Ghost was certain his senses were still enhanced. Having Soap’s hands sliding over his shoulders and arms, grabbing and kneading at the strength in his body, shouldn’t have felt as overwhelmingly good as it did. Soap’s mouth was hot and eager, his teeth perfectly harsh on Ghost’s lip from time to time. And Soap’s body, firm and trained by the regular hours out in the courtyard and on horseback, was all sin against Ghost’s figure, especially when the knight finally allowed his hands to settle onto the prince’s hips.
They stumbled, much by Soap’s guidance, towards the closest seat. When the back of Soap’s legs hit the edge of the armchair in front of the fireplace, he let himself fall back into it and smirked up at Ghost with something downright wicked in his eyes. The way the prince spread his legs, knees out, and raised his eyebrows at the knight was more than enough to make Ghost put two and two together. Before a single word could be uttered, he was on his knees, hungry brown eyes watching Soap carefully as his hands came up to settle onto the prince’s thighs.
“You look even better on your knees than I thought.” Soap muttered and the implication that perhaps he had thought of this before sent Ghost into an effort to undress the man with haste. Soap only let him work until his clothes gave way to Ghost’s fingers, which coaxed out his mouthwateringly hard length. Not that Ghost could have focused on undoing anymore clasps or laces when faced with what he had dreamed of so many times. Without thinking, without asking, without even considering what he was doing, Ghost leaned in and pressed his open, willing mouth to his prince’s cock.
“Oh, fuck-” Soap’s head tipped back against the chair when Ghost mouthed wetly over the side of his cock. A new flavour was working itself over the knight's tongue, one he quickly knew he wouldn’t be able to get enough of. There might not have been much finesse to the way Ghost’s tongue dragged over the hot skin, but he wasn’t aiming for delicate and perfect. What he was aiming for was the noise Soap made when Ghost’s lips sealed over the sensitive tip.
He closed his eyes and focused on the weight between his lips, the way saliva gathered in his mouth as he let the head rub against his tongue. Soap was spilling obscenities from his lips, wrapped in exquisite moans, and if he was this vocal after just a little taste, then Ghost had a feeling he could expect a treat. Meticulously, with all the patience of an experienced soldier, he began to work his lips over the girth of Soap’s cock, deeper and deeper with every nudge.
“You’ve got a wicked mouth, Simon.” Soap was panting, a grin to his tone. Ghost hummed and earned himself a groan, before fingers brushed back some of the fair hair that had spilled over his forehead at the removal of his mask. Soap’s hand, warm and heavy, settled on top of his head in an encouraging manner, but far from forceful. Ghost let him, revelled in the contact and subtle support, and pressed a little further.
“Christ, you’re trying for the whole thing, aren’t you?” Soap’s voice was back to trembling, but gone were the nerves. “If you do that, I won’t promise what I’ll do to you.” Ghost’s brows knitted together into a focused, desperate frown and he pushed on, shoving himself into the discomfort of gagging around his mouthful. He forced himself to breathe calmly, to swallow around Soap’s cock several times, but not once did Ghost even consider pulling back. He had made up his mind and for once there was a purely selfish motivator that made the knight keep going.
“Simon-” Soap’s fingers had pushed into his hair and were now gently gripping on. Ghost tilted his head up and into the touch, the motion elongating the line of his throat, coincidentally opening him up for what he wanted. With a muffled grunt and a rush of warmth over his face when he felt his eyes water, Ghost eased himself forward until Soap’s cock pressed down his throat and settled there, the knight’s nose pressed flush against the man’s pelvis.
“My god, you’re a dream.” Soap breathed hotly and Ghost couldn’t resist - he opened his eyes. He raised his gaze to look at Soap, to look at his prince, with his mouth stretched open and full of his future King’s cock. Ghost knew his face was flushed, he could feel the heat on his skin, but he didn’t care. The black paint around his eyes must have smudged, and it certainly did when Soap carefully wiped away a stray tear.
And Soap… Soap was a sight to behold. His lips were parted in heavy breaths, his eyes glazed over with lust. Still mostly dressed, he painted a filthy picture in his seat. His shirt was pushed up, revealing a sliver of a strong, taut stomach. His breeches were hanging open, his legs spread out wide and his hand in Ghost’s hair. He looked flustered and beautiful, and Ghost wanted to stay here, on his knees, forever.
It was a slight shift of Soap’s hips that made them both moan. Soap’s cock moved in the tight confines of his throat, reminding them both of just how intimately they were connected. Another shift and Soap was cursing, and Ghost swore he could feel the way he throbbed. With a careful, barely-there pull away and a nudge forward again Ghost encouraged his prince to do what he must have been so desperately needing. And Soap didn’t need to be told twice. He guided Ghost into a shallow rhythm, back and forth, more grinding down his throat than wildly fucking into the heat of his mouth, and even if it made saliva spill from the corner of the knight’s mouth and smear over his chin, he barely even noticed. Ghost was in heaven, achingly hard himself but uncaring of that in the moment, entirely focused on pleasuring his prince and doing everything in his ability to make sure Soap was satisfied.
It wasn't just a want, it was a deeply rooted need. A need which had the knight hoarsely whining when Soap pulled out of his mouth, leaving his lips glistening wet, his throat slightly sore and his chest heaving. But Soap looked at him with such ravenous desire that a single glance was enough to assure Ghost of his enjoyment. And Soap, on the other hand, seemed to immensely enjoy the sight of the larger man kneeling on the floor, hard and desperate to please, with hunger written onto his features. The prince watched him like he was a feast to be enjoyed, like a gift he was yet to unwrap, and his gaze settled over Ghost in a way that made him feel exposed and bare while still fully clothed.
"Beautiful." Soap murmured, shameless in the way he let his legs relax into a wide spread as his hand wrapped around his slick, straining cock. He stroked himself right before Ghost's eyes, which should have been defined as torture, because the knight's mouth watered at the mere memory of what all that had felt like in his mouth just moments ago. He leaned closer, not even entirely aware of moving, his knees scooting an inch forward on the floor. Ghost's eyes were powerfully drawn to the way Soap's fingers curled around his own girth in a way that was clearly familiar. Just the thought of the prince doing this to himself, writhing in pleasure at his own hand, made Ghost exhale more heavily than intended. He felt hot, like he was overheating, and the two open clasps of his coat were practically useless in cooling him down. His own cock ached, neglected between his legs, trapped in his black breeches, but Ghost couldn't bring himself to touch himself without clear permission. He could wait. He could do what he did best; serve his prince and make sure he was sated. Only then would Ghost turn his attention to his own needs.
"Look at me, Simon." Soap's voice was breathless when it reached his ears and registered in his mind. Ghost ripped his gaze from the tantalising pull of Soap's fist and looked up, suspecting his despair to touch and taste were written across his face. The prince's own face was raw with a kind of lust Ghost had never seen, but could feel in every inch of his body. He shuddered under his sovereign's gaze, but held it, lips parted in trembling breaths. "God, you look so soft." Soap's moan was downright filthy, loud and throaty, and the slick noises of his hand working over his cock only added to the obscenity of it all. He wasn't teasing himself, wasn't holding back. He was chasing his pleasure, wildly pleasuring himself right before Ghost's eyes, and the knight could only kneel and grind his hips into nothing and pray that he would be allowed to service the man again.
"But you're not soft, are you?" Soap's voice seemed to float into his consciousness from afar. Ghost was going hazy at the edges, softened by his desire. And then all of his attention was drawn to one scorching point in a single second, a white-hot pleasure flaring between his legs when the toe of Soap's boot pressed against him, providing him with the friction he so desperately needed. The prince made a pleased noise, low and raspy, and gently ground his foot into the straining curve of Ghost's dick through his clothing. "You're so hard. All for me?"
"For you." Ghost didn't even consider the possibility that Soap might have presented him with a hypothetical question. Instead the broad, strong man sobbed for a breath of air as his hips stuttered forward, rutting against the sole of the prince's boot as he admitted to the inquiry. "For you, it's for you-"
"Simon." Soap tightened his hold and stroked himself at a faster, more constricted pace. He was spurred on by the way his beloved, skilled, always-alert knight seemed to be unraveling, desperately craning himself up to receive any touch, any contact, be it just a press of his boot. "That's it, don't stop. So pretty on your knees like this, tending to me. That's what you want? To serve me properly, to give yourself to be, to be mine-"
Soap had barely uttered the words when Ghost's entire body tensed. His back curved forward, his eyes closed and he grew taut, aborted little twitches of his hips an obvious indication of what was happening. The noise he made was feral, deep and almost dangerous, but it was laced with the kind of despair that raised chills over the back of Soap's neck. Only if he looked closely could he see the dark, spreading stain between Ghost's legs, revealing his spilled pleasure and the reason for his panting, gasping state.
"Oh, you're just perfect." Came Soap's immediate praise, hot and heavy and just between them. The prince's hand moved in quick, wet pulls, and he leaned forward to better work his own cock, his mouth open in continuous panting moans. "Look at that. Look at the mess you made. And I barely even touched you, fuck, Simon-!"
Ghost, even through his orgasmic bliss, should have expected the wet splatter across his cheek. By the time he realised he was on the receiving end of his prince's come, most of Soap's seed had already decorated his face and was slowly dripping down to his neck and chest. Ghost still opened his mouth wide and was rewarded with a little gush over his tongue, warm and thick, and enough to make his poor, spent cock twitch in its soiled confines.
They stayed like that for a moment, both men panting, the soft crackle of the fire their only background noise. Soap milked himself for all he was worth, the last few drops smearing over his fingers. And Ghost, too afraid to move, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, knelt by his feet and felt Soap's come dribble down over his body and onto the floor.
It was Soap who moved first. He reached out and ran his fingers under Ghost's chin, then smeared his thumb over the knight's lips, spreading about the wetness he found. Ghost's tongue snuck out to brush against Soap's finger, dark eyes peering up at the prince when the thumb coaxed Ghost's mouth open a little further and slipped inside, just to briefly feel the heat of it.
"From here on out-" Soap purred and folded himself in half to brush his lips over Ghost's mouth, the kiss received with eagerness. "-You'll be staying with me."
* * *
The coronation was grand. The castle was packed, people swarming outside the doors of the main hall, even all around the courtyard. Everything was planned and executed to perfection, from honoured guests to delicious meals and extravagant decor. The King handed over the crown to a new monarch and when said crown was carefully placed onto Soap's head, the crowd erupted into what felt like endless cheers and applause. The new King was received with warmth and expectation.
Once crowned, as per tradition, the King called forth his chosen few. An advisor to aid him in his rulership, a head delegate to be his voice where he couldn't go. And the King's guard, a hand-selected group of six, Ghost at the top as their leader. When he knelt before his King, dressed in his finest armour, his head bowed deeply and his mask in place, a warm hand came to rest on the back of his neck. A spark of heat travelled through him, bringing gratitude for his concealed face as he raised his head at the spoken permission to do so.
As rehearsed, Ghost extended his left hand, ungloved. In a smooth, easy motion, a golden ring was slid onto his ring finger, and Soap's intense blue eyes commanded his attention as he welcomed the King's guard into service. Against the skin of Ghost's finger, etched around the inside of his brand new ring and hidden from the world, sat five simple words, the true pledge he made in that moment.
I desire to serve you.