Lucas’ POV
The coffee shop, the one I knew of but had never stepped into, looked better than I’d imagined.
The interiors had a calming sort of elegance, but its customers were the exact opposite. Nobles, high-ranking officials, people with business in the palace, people who had business with Nicholas. Their presence was a watching force.
I got to the café when I said I would. Nicholas was already there, though it looked like he had just arrived too.
“Hey Luca,” he said as he slid his arm over my shoulders.
Nobody did that, not even Romeo. And I would’ve hated it from whoever, but there was something about him. Abrupt but not necessarily unwanted.
He led me to our seats. The waitress approached us. She had jet black hair, a stoic face, a wide, welcoming smile. She was beautiful and also reminded me of Romeo. I got stuck thinking about that for a few seconds.
“What will you have?” she looked at me like she’d asked already. “Coffee, black.”
She jotted it down and returned to the counter. I looked around again to get myself back into my situation.
“Nice weather today,” I said because what else could I even say? ‘Give me the list of people you’ve traded armoury with?’
“Sure is,” he replied after a few seconds.
She brought our drinks. I had no idea what he ordered. Naturally, I’d catch the smallest details, every gesture, every word, every look, but this time, I hadn’t even noticed what he’d asked for.
I knew how to unsettle people, how to force a flicker in their expression, but it was me who felt uneasy. He said nothing, just sat there and drank his… whatever it was.
C’mon Lucas, you’ve always been good at dragging things out, right?
Interactions were transactional, this for that, both sides aware of the exchange. I had my ‘this’, I just needed to know what his ‘that’ was.
“Why do you want me here, Nicholas?” I asked directly. The way I wanted things around us to be, direct.
“Oh, that?” His tone was light, almost playful.
“I just do,” he said. “You seem… nice.”
“Nice?”
“Well… different.”
“Different how?”
“Interesting, fun,” he offered.
“Different.”
“You’re looking for fun from me?”
“Not particularly.”
“Do you want anything from me?”
“I want you alive.”
“Nothing more?”
“Not right now, no.”
A good sign, I supposed. But when he said nothing after, I wasn’t so sure.
Where should I have been looking at? Was I sitting right? Should I have had my hands on my thighs or the table? I began to ask myself questions I never did before.
“I want to understand you, Luca.” His finger traced the rim of his cup, slow. It made me remember how his hands were on me earlier that day. And for some reason, I wanted a redo.
“What about me do you want to understand?” I almost stuttered. What was wrong with me?
“Everything.” He leaned off the seat. “What you like, what you dislike, what you eat, how you sleep, what you do, why you do it, who you are,” he said unhurriedly but still in one breath.
“I’m just me.”
“You’ll answer my questions, won’t you?”
“I don’t see why not.”
He smiled, a subtle flicker in his eyes that made him feel more commanding than friendly, even in casual conversation. A sight I didn’t want to admit was beautiful.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
I hadn’t thought about it before, but it didn’t take long to choose.
“Grey.”
“Why?”
“Feels like home.”
“Home,” he said under his breath, almost inaudible.
“You’re from Finland, right? Your father’s the Viscount.”
“Affirmative.”
“But you’re a representative of Norway too,” he noted. “Representatives of nations can only be from the nation.”
“I’m aware. My mother was from Norway.”
“Was?”
“She passed away a few years ago.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. Nothing new.”
“She was a Norwegian princess.”
Information I hadn’t meant to volunteer, but something about him made it feel owed.
“You’re Norwegian royalty?”
I was, but that was something I rarely spoke about. I took in a breath. “In flesh and blood. Romeo’s father was my mother’s brother.” A half-truth.
“And you still decided to be a representative?”
“That’s where I find myself.” I sipped the coffee for the first time. I needed something strong, and the bitterness was going to have to do.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to be a representative?”
He paused, choosing his words. “No, let me rephrase that. You don’t own the Norwegian royalty title like it’s yours, makes it seem like you don’t want to be affiliated with Norway. But then you go and become Norway’s representative when you could have easily been one in Finland if it was really about being a representative. Why?”
“Good question,” I said. “I just don’t want a situation where I need to talk about my mother, but being the representative of Norway is being in a place where I don’t need to explain who she is and still feel close to her.” Another half-truth.
He looked at me like he knew it was a lie but said nothing.
“How old were you when she passed?” he asked.
“Fourteen.” Five years ago, and I remembered her on that bridge like it was yesterday.
“I still don’t really want to talk about it—her,” I clarified.
“That’s fine.” He took another sip of his coffee.
A few minutes passed. I almost hoped he’d ask more, but he didn’t.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. We finished our coffee in silence and glances.
“Your number,” he said when we were done.
I made an attempt to stall.
“Do you really want me to beg for it?”
“I wouldn’t mind, but that’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
I hesitated, unsure on how to explain my situation. A number or an explanation. I ended up giving the former.
He asked if he could take me home. “Courtesy,” he said. I told him, another time. He agreed.
He left for the palace after. I went to a pub. I talked about my mother, so I had to reward myself with a drink, for old times. Alcohol after coffee. Perfect.
My drinking episodes were becoming redundant and unimportant.
I got home myself whenever I went to a pub. A waiter once asked if he could call anyone to pick me up. If I did have anyone, I wouldn’t be at a pub. Common sense.
Every now and then I needed something strong, metallic. I made myself some coffee, black. The kind I had with Nicholas. I didn’t know if it was the coffee or the memory of him that made me feel less like ending myself.
Another week went that way. Monday again. Joint activities again. I should have gone for it, but I knew better than to go drunk again. I could escape being unnoticed once. Wouldn’t say the same for a second.
And I was not going off alcohol anytime soon.
In the night, half regretting, half praising myself for my terrible life choice, I laid on the couch. While staring at the roof, I got a notification.
Ping.
Even the sound of him sending a message was different from the masses.
I felt it telepathically. Just kidding. I had everyone else on archive.
Nicholas had me planning for a message from him, and he still took one week to send that message.
What kinds of games are you playing, Nicholas?
I picked up my phone to check it.
N: Pink or Purple?
L: Red.
And that was it for the day.
Through the following days, he texted more. At random times with random questions, one at a time, sometimes a dozen.
N: Do you like cookies?
N: Have a sweet tooth?
N: I’ve never seen you eat or drink anything, at all. Except the coffee.
N: How do you stay fit?
N: Are you an always-on-plan person or spontaneous?
N: How often do you sleep in?
N: What do you do when you’re not in the academy?
N: Why don’t you try to win in our sparring session?
Each time he asked, it was something new. He wasn’t ashamed to ask anything, even when he was not getting a reply.
I saw them, always did. But the more the days passed, the less I replied.
Bad for my standing, I know. But I just couldn’t think up what to say at times. Other times, I was just lazy.
“I’ll reply later.” I never did.
And that was the exact reason I didn’t want him having my number.
I didn’t go to the academy the next Monday, either. Two weeks since he had his arms on me, and frankly I missed that more than my plan to infiltrate Finland.
In the evening, a new message came in.
N: Tell me about Fiona.
He’d never directly asked me to tell anything. His ‘What’ questions were optional, but this was something I couldn’t just let sit.
L: She’s my ex. Nothing to tell.
N: Why’d you break up with her?
L: She prefers princes.
N: Did you like her?
L: I guess so.
N: What did you like about her?
L: I don’t know.
N: Did she make you feel good?
L: I believe so.
N: How?
L: Well…
N: What makes you feel good?
L: I’m not really sure.
He paused then. And then replied with the most destabilizing thing I could have thought up.
N: You like getting your dick sucked?
Scratch that, I wouldn’t have thought it up.
L: Don’t you?
N: Only when someone I’m interested in does it.
L: Someone from the palace?
N: No, they’re mostly old snobs there.
L: Old snobs can be interesting.
N: Talking from experience?
L: What if I was?
N: Then you’ll tell me more.
L: It’s not from experience.
N: Bummer. Wanna go for a drink?
L: Sure. When?
N: This evening.
L: Where?
N: I’ll find you.
L: You sound confident.
N: Yeah. I always know where you are.
L: That a joke?
N: Maybe. Maybe not.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.