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U’il-šanad put the unlit handwarmer to the side, next to his leg. It would do him no good to hold it, and no good to bother anyone with it. The tips of his fingers felt cold and rigid, the chill causing them to turn a little pale, but he ignored it. Being slightly uncomfortable was always going to be part of being an idle prince, a paradoxical yet inherent part of his existence he had grown to tolerate.

Closing his eyes, the prince tried to find his centre point once more. Çetžak’s condition had taken him by surprise and he had found himself off-balanced. It caused him to be irritated in addition to the sleep deprivation that already caused his mood to be quite sour. He tapped his forehead with the frame of the silk painting of his fan, pondering thoroughly how to proceed.

Despite thinking this, he still felt his anger over the entire situation and its unfairness simmer beneath the surface, like an evil spirit ready to pounce as soon as something else was brought up as well.

The rocking of the carriage also caused him a lot of discomfort, yet it was still sleep-inducing. He slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the man seated next to him.

That was when he realised Çetžak was watching him, still, his dark eyes fixated on the prince alone.

He took in Çetžak’s unabashed look at him, the man’s eyes as piercing as always. The gaze was unblinking and evidently intrigued about the prince, and what he might be there for. Of course, U’il-šanad couldn’t say he was astonished by the man’s fascination.

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and his eyes curved somewhat, amusement and the innate trace of playfulness entering his eyes.

When Çetžak had first begun his guard duties at the Northern Residence many years ago, when U’il-šanad had yet to be decreed a prince publicly, the guard had been polite, but curious about the mysterious prince that the Ninthe Blood Prince had been. That had been the two things that struck U’il-šanad the most, his manners stemming from years in the military and his curiosity about the singularity.

So seeing the guard hold a similar fascination once more reminded him of a youth who had just entered the Imperial Capital to take a path different from the High General’s, an elite soldier in the making at the time.

He properly turned to look at the man, and moved closer, keeping the fan between them as he looked over it and up at the man. Çetžak tried to lean away slightly, seemingly a bit startled by the prince’s movement to get closer. But the guard said nothing in protest.

Even if the shortening of distance was not much, it still made the small carriage seem even more constricted, and it felt like Çetžak almost towered over U’il-šanad despite the height difference being less apparent when they both were seated.

“I shall bring you back to my estate. There I shall keep you like a precious treasure that I have collected. You cannot reject my kind offer.”

Çetžak paused for a split second before he gave U’il-šanad a sort of hopeless look that the prince had seen many times in private. “Yes, m’lord,” the guard replied, almost mumbling it. “I shall only agree to your whims.”

U’il-šanad responded with a hum and turned to face forward again, giving Çetžak space once more. The U’il-šanad, it would appear that Çetžak may be catering to his requests out of subconscious routine, and U’il-šanad grappled with a wish to determine how to truly feel about such a situation.

They had a few years between them and Çetžak had many times acted as the elder of the two. This felt natural. If U’il-šanad said he had never wondered what it would be like if Çetžak was younger than him, he would not be entirely truthful, and it was also a lie if he claimed he was not curious to see how this man would act at this time. And yet, the prince’s chest ached. He struggled to maintain a smile.

There were only so many people he could pick to replace Çetžak, and none could fulfil the man’s greatest role. A prince of the empire could only have so many people he dared trust, and U’il-šanad had his reasons to remain vigilant and suspicious of others.

“M’lord?” the trusted bodyguard asked tentatively, voice laced with concern.

U’il-šanad didn’t react at first. It was only when Çetžak repeated himself that U’il-šanad realised the address was toward him. It was incredibly foreign to hear Çetžak call him such, but he said nothing about it, just looked up at the man with a polite smile on his lips.

Çetžak’s brow was ever so slightly furrowed, and his dark eyes were trained on the prince. U’il-šanad felt the pressure against his arm and shoulder as the taller man next to him leaned a little closer, perhaps to see him better in the dim light.

This was the same man who had spent the past few years by U’il-šanad’s side. The prince could clearly see just how concerned the guard was, even if the guard’s expression was mostly under control. This was “his” Çetžak. His trusted bodyguard.

Yet it also wasn’t the same man at all. This wasn’t the man who had seen him grow into his role as prince, nor the man who would softly call him his name intimately when they were alone. It wasn’t the man who would have acted familiar with him.

“Do not mind it, Züčan. There is nothing to concern yourself with,” the prince said, his voice light to match the smile. He averted his eyes, and for a moment they fell on the way Çetžak kept his hands on his knees, polite and rather properly trying to keep some distance in a carriage where they barely fit side by side.

The prince then looked forward, maintaining a polite smile. It wouldn’t do to be too unsightly after all, and he needed to ensure the wrong people did not find out the wrong things either, some of his cousins and brother being rather ruthless people and who he was not fond of in the least.

The interior of the carriage fell into silence, the sharp creaking of the wheels, the quite synchronised steps of the guards, and the dull noise from the hooves of the horses filling the silence.

“Lieutenant Židad reporting…” a voice came through the noise, and a black horse came up to ride next to the carriage.

“Yes?” U’il-šanad acknowledged the bodyguard.

There was a pause, a slightly awkward silence of hesitation, before Židad said, “This Lieutenant reports to Your Royal Highness.”

U’il-šanad could feel the start of his trusted bodyguard at the realisation of the status of the person he shared a carriage with. The prince ignored it and waited for what Židad had to say.

“We will return to Fragrant Breeze Palace in but a short moment,” Židad announced, then awkwardly urged, “Please ensure the health of your royal self has not been negatively affected by this nocturnal journey.”

“There is no need for any concern,” the prince assured the guard. “The distance from the Outer City to the Inner City is not far. I would not succumb to a chill from this short distance.”

Židad was silent for a moment, and U’il-šanad could tell that the man was not sure how to express what was on his mind. Eventually, the Lieutenant simply said, “It is as Your Royal Highness declares. This Lieutenant only hopes that he will not be blamed for any negligence in days to come.”

“No one will blame you, Židad. Attend your other tasks. You needn’t consider me too much, lest I forget what my servants are actually for.”

Židad audibly smiled at the jest. “As you request, Your Royal Highness. I suppose I must allow your attendants to concern themselves with your well-being. I must have forgotten to extend my services to Your Royal Highness’ stables.”

The prince couldn’t help but chuckle as the lieutenant urged his horse forward, surely to announce U’il-šanad’s impending arrival to the palace to make sure the servants were prepared to attend to their master’s needs.

“Your… Royal Highness?” Çetžak asked tentatively.

“No.”

The prince hadn’t intended for the word to come out quite as sharp as it did, and it sounded irrefutably harsh. That was, however, not something U’il-šanad could amend once it was uttered.

A strangled noise escaped from Çetžak’s throat, causing the prince to offer him a sideways glance. The sound would undoubtedly linger in his memory for many moons to come.

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