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The double knock on the door of his chambers is as familiar to Hugh as the scrawl of his own handwriting on the parchment laid out in front of him.
He knows this particular visitor has no taste for formalities at this time of the night, but still gets to his feet to perform the customary curtsy and sweeping bow. “Your Highness.”
The prince sends him a look that is distinctly unimpressed. “You are merely trying to irritate me with that display.”
Hugh ducks his head to hide a smile. “I have no idea what you mean, Sire.”
There is the sound of a loud impatient huff, followed by quiet footsteps. In a moment, Hugh feels a pair of arms come around his waist. He leans forward, and breathes in the scent of sweet wine.
“You’ve been drinking,” he says, and draws back, frowning. “My liege…”
“I spent the entire night flattering so many princes and princesses from neighboring kingdoms I lost count of how many people I spoke to, and the only person I did want to speak to disappeared after the feast.” This is said with a pointed glare in his direction.
Hugh knows this to be a lie - the prince has always prided himself on being a consummate diplomat and a perfect host. It is one of the many attributes he is lauded for by his subjects, and rightly so.
“I needed to speak with my associates rather urgently, and I am certain you captivated your audience as usual.”
A pair of lips trace the underside of Hugh’s chin in response, and a moan escapes from his mouth. “Graham,” he whispers, capitulating at last.
It’s a familiar game for them. Back and forth, Hugh holding steady and treating his prince with formality and reserve, Prince Graham crossing the line between them, teasing and taunting Hugh, until one of them gives in.
“Graham,” Hugh whispers again, lips barely brushing the other man’s cheek before he frames his face in both hands and pulls him forward for a kiss. The prince melts into his embrace with a sigh, tangling his hands in Hugh’s dark hair and pressing in closer.
“I trust that your business was satisfactory?” There is a gleam in Graham’s eye that Hugh doesn’t quite understand, but he nods all the same.
“Undena is most eager for an alliance with you, their trade agreements are generous indeed. Lancast is seeking an alliance as well, and their reputation for developing creative new technologies speaks for itself—”
“I do not wish to speak of alliances,” Graham counters, pulling away with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.
“Then what do you wish to speak of? Marriage, perhaps? Princess Vannessa of Udena is a lovely spirited lady, and you both attracted quite a stir at the ball tonight with your waltzes.” Hugh clears his throat.
He blinks away the image of Graham laughing with Princess Vannessa, their faces close together in shared amusement. He’s never harbored any illusions about his role in the prince’s life, no matter the many years he’s now spent in Graham’s bed, and he is only speaking the truth-Princess Vannessa would indeed be a fitting Queen of Barane, and a good match for Graham.
“You know very well that Princess Vannessa is not the one I seek to be with.” Graham says, eyes never leaving Hugh’s. Hugh’s heart twists in his chest, but he meets the prince’s words with silence.
He watches Graham’s hands tighten into fists before loosening at his sides—Hugh wants to go to him, hold him until his frustration softens, kiss him until he is warm and pliant in his arms, coax him into bed for pleasure until the dawn rises. Something in Graham’s face stops him.
“Very well, then. Let us speak of marriage.” Graham strides forward, hands at his back, a strange kind of calmness in his eyes. Hugh suddenly feels like prey being tracked in the last few minutes of a grand hunt.
“Two days ago, I called a meeting with my full council and informed them of my decision to marry.”
Hugh rears back at the prince’s announcement. The pain strikes hard and sudden, like he’s been run clean through.
Two days ago, he had been returning home from a months long journey to Lyion to scope out rumors of possible rebellion. His reunion with Graham that night had been warm and passionate, both of them eager for the other’s company and touch after many long nights apart. The thought that Graham had been contemplating his marriage to another as he kissed Hugh fiercely and told him how much he had missed his company feels like a betrayal, even though he has no real right to Graham.
“Indeed.” Hugh steps back, takes a few precious seconds to school his expression before looking back at his lover. “I congratulate you warmly, Sire. Who have you chosen—”
“I told my Council that I would not marry for the sake of an alliance. I informed them that I have my heart set on marrying for love, or I will not marry at all.” Graham says steadily.
“You—” Hugh shakes his head, disbelieving. Graham has spoken of making such a pronouncement in the past, but Hugh has always dismissed those moments as wistful fancy. “If you do not marry, your place on the throne is at risk. The Regent would never allow it.”
Graham chuckles darkly. “My uncle was indeed displeased.” He pauses. “But even he eventually saw that there was no dissuading me.”
“You cannot do this.” Hugh stumbles forward, disoriented and overwhelmed, until he feels a warm hand bracing his shoulder.
“I could marry, and keep my place on the throne. And I wish to marry for love.” Graham says quietly, looking intently into Hugh’s face. The memory comes to life in his eyes, Graham turning to him in bed all those years ago, after the first time they had lain together, after Hugh had given into the forbidden temptation and kissed him in the palace gardens after the celebrations for his twenty-third birthday. He had kissed Hugh as dawn crept over the mountains, and whispered, “marry me.”
“We cannot. You are a prince, I am but a failed knight raised to the position of advisor. And you know my reputation amongst your Court and your people-they suspect my methods and my associates. They already whisper about my place with you. They would never accept—”
“They would accept you, if the alternative is that I will not marry.”
Hugh lowers his head in his hands, heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Then they are too foolish to know that you are lying.”
“Perhaps.” Graham replies, and there is an infuriating note of amusement in his voice. “But very few know me like you do. No one else, in fact.”
“And if I called you out on your lie?” Hugh asks, meeting Graham’s eyes once again. The silence stretches between them, waiting to be broken.
“Then things would remain the same, until one day you decide on the best person for me to form an alliance with for the sake of Barane, and condemn me to marriage with someone else. You would break my heart, and your own.” Graham says quietly, looking impossibly weary. The devastation in his face has Hugh pressing a hand to his own chest.
As the prince’s closest advisor, it would be beyond foolish for Hugh to marry him. Alliances will be called into question, and the court will be thrown into disarray.
But Hugh has been Graham’s friend and lover long before taking on the mantle of royal advisor. His heart is weak and tired of longing, when all he wants is right in front of him. A better man would likely refuse—but he’s never prided himself on being such a man.
He is not a better man, but he is a man terribly, irrevocably in love.
“I will fashion you a ring myself,” Hugh says, bringing Graham’s hand to his lips. “It is only proper, after all.”
The answering smile on Graham’s face is both painful and sweet in its tenderness. Leaning down to kiss his betrothed, Hugh imagines flowers in his hair for a spring wedding, and lets himself hope.