Snow

"Your Highness," Gladys said and bowed low. It made her cough again and David watched her fight to keep her mouth closed. A thin trickle of brown red bloomed on her lips anyway, dripped down onto the floor.

"Can you wait outside?" he asked and the maid stared at him with her flat eyes before nodding once, slowly. She went out into the hallway but didn't close the door behind her, stood perfectly still watching them.

The rags were still where she'd always kept them and Gladys grinned at him for a moment when he handed one to her. It should have made him feel warm but her smile was coated in blood and her eyes weren't happy at all.

After she'd wiped her mouth she said, "I was going to have some tea," her voice raspy from coughing. Out in the hallway the servant shifted slightly, her sword hilt glinting as it caught the light. Gladys put the cup she was holding down and added, "Would Your Highness care for some?"

David nodded. They drank their tea in silence, Gladys sitting on the floor as she always did and David standing because when he'd tried to sit down Gladys's eyes had gone panicked, darted over to the servant still standing silent watching them.

"Don't come back," she said when he was done, her voice a quiet whisper as she leaned forward, head bowed and hands open for him to place his cup into it.

"I--" he said, startled and hurt and she looked up at him then. Her eyes had been gray once, he saw. Under the tracework of red that bloomed through them, there was a hint of it. Once her eyes had been beautiful.

If she'd heard from Alec she would never tell him.

"King's people coming around--it makes folks nervous and life here is hard enough already," she said, the merest whisper, and took the cup from his hands, rising and motioning for him to head toward the door. She'd done it before, dozens of time, marked the end of a day they'd spent talking by doing the same thing. It was different now. He saw her eyes flicker over the robes he was wearing, saw her standing there in the same dress she'd always worn. She'd patched the sleeves with pale blue cloth. He wanted to take her hands but knew that he couldn't. That she wouldn't let him.

"I'm sorry," he said and she shrugged, eyes meeting his but not looking at him, and shut the door.

After a moment he told the maid he was ready to go back. She looked at him but he realized suddenly that she wasn't, not really. She gazed near and around him with that always flat gaze and he realized that was how he was going to be looked at by everyone except Michael, forever.

Chapter Twelve

David felt alone but he wasn't. He had Michael. And Michael wasn't ever tired from working, would do things like spread rose petals all over a room or arrange for dinners of David's favorite foods. He knew how to do things that David's body wanted, that made him tired and sated, brought him to moments where he couldn't think of anything but pleasure. He always whispered sweet words and never asked for any in return. He even wrote songs and sang them to him. He was bright and lovely, full of joy. It was easy being with Michael.

It was easy because Michael liked it when David forgot everything, liked it when David made him cold, liked it when David left him shivering and blue-tinged and called him back for more.

He liked it when David pulled his hair and bloodied his back. He liked it when David placed a hand on his chest and curved his fingers so the cold would sink, threaten. He liked it when the darkness inside David guided him to care about no one and nothing but himself, his own needs.

He needed it.

Michael needed it because it kept him kind. He knew, instinctively, that having everything led to a dark edge, a place that called you, wanted to consume you, and David could tell Michael didn't ever want to go there. He knew that when they were together Michael saw what was inside him and wanted it, but would never create it in himself.

Michael wanted to be loved. And he was; everyone said so, offered up the words with joy in their voice and light shining in their eyes. Michael was loved because he was a beautiful man, a kind ruler, and had as soft a heart as any King ever could.

Michael was easy to love, but David would never love him.

Michael liked it when David made it snow, would take him up to the palace roof and hold him, plead and then gasp when David tumbled them both down onto sweet smelling blankets as snowfall rained down around them. He would smile afterwards, wide and joyful enough to crack the sky, and hold his hand.

"I love this," he said once. "Don't you?" There were snowflakes caught in his hair, swirling around his face. He looked beautiful.

"I like the sun," David said. "Light."

Michael smiled at him. "But that's everywhere. This is special. You and I--we're like magic together."

David looked up at the night sky. There was nothing to see. No stars, just clouds and streams of gently falling snow.