It felt weird, walking home from the train station. David had taken these steps so many times in the past few months. But this time might be the last time.

Tomorrow, he went to war.

Were they ready, the press kept asking him.

Probably not. Rust kept grousing about “green soldiers” and “untested commanders.”

And then he’d hurry to assure David that he didn’t count him amongst those. David had pointed out—once—that he was quite “untested.” Rust had shrugged and said: “Yes, but you do know slaughter.”

David hadn’t brought it up again.

It was ironic that the thing that had terrified the werewolves about him was now the thing that made them follow him into battle. He almost wished they didn’t trust him quite as much. It just added to the burden. Because he was—well, barely tested.

A botched hunt, Oldstone Castle—that was hardly the same as a war. He’d never been expected to lead a thousand souls to their death.

Rust and Ragna, his lieutenants, didn’t talk about that part, either.

The city was brawling around him as he contemplated his own mortality. In Deva, the battle was far away. Even if the citizens liked to think their city was the new forest front against the Rot.

David smiled to himself. He was glad that it was only him, that Greg and the rest of the family would be safe, here in the heart of the country.

He wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye though, which was part of the reason why he was walking home. Drawing out the moment until it was time to hug them all farewell…

But there was only so far he could stretch out the way home from the station.

Imani hugged him before he fully made it through the front door—she must have been hovering in the hallway. The last few weeks, she had tried her best to pretend like everything was normal, like he was simply preparing for another hunt, but tonight, the tears streamed down her cheeks before they even sat down for the feast the kitchen had cooked up.

Nathan hammered his shoulder and was even louder than usual, while Andrew wrapped his arms around him gingerly, as if he was made of glass. Greg hung back, shy in the moment.

To David, it was all distant, as if his family’s worries had nothing to do with him at all, as if he was just a visitor, witnessing their fears with cold detachment. Bram seemed to notice, because he pressed a glass of brandy in his hands. The heat in his throat brought him back to himself a little.

“Do you want to get changed before dinner?” Imani asked.

David blinked at her. Yes. Yes, he did want to change into something more comfortable. He picked an old, well-worn sweater and a plain pair of pants—the opposite of dressing up for dinner. He was allowed that tonight, wasn’t he?

It was still hard to focus on the food, to stay in the moment. He jumped when a servant walked into the dining room just after the main course was served. He hadn’t heard the bell at all.

“Your Lordship, His Highness is at the door, asking for you.”

It took David a second to realise that he had been addressed. “Your Lordship” had always been Bram.

And then he groaned inwardly. Now what? What did George Louis want tonight of all nights?

He looked over to his father and mother, but neither of them seemed to be about to comment. So he turned back to the servant. “Show him into the parlour. I’ll be there in a bit.”

David finished his plate first. It was tempting to keep the duke waiting for a good while. He’d been looking forward to one last quiet evening before going on campaign tomorrow. He was curious, though, too. His Highness had never come to visit him here before, not even when they had been dating.

David stopped just outside the reception room, to take a deep breath and steel himself for whatever new scheme might be thrown at him. To try and project confidence as he strode in.

“The parlour, huh?” George Louis complained as soon as he saw David. “Way to make a man feel welcome. I suppose I have to be glad it wasn’t the hallway.”

“Why are you here?” David cut him off, shutting the door behind himself more forcefully than necessary. His stomach lurched just looking at the duke: George Louis was dressed to impress. The expertly tailored frock coat in navy blue widened his shoulders quite nicely, the collar of his creme shirt and a silk shawl framed his face. Spotless white pants concluded the ensemble. He’d finally shaved that scanty beard, too, making him look more like the young man David had once loved.

George Louis glared at him. “You’re going away to war tomorrow. Is it such a surprise I want to say goodbye and good luck?”

David had to curl his fingers into fists to stop himself from playing with the fraying hemline of his own worn, comfortable sweater. So much for one last, quiet evening. “I assumed you’d be at the muster tomorrow.”

“Bah.” George Louis waved him off airily. “That’s official. Not personal.”

“So you’re here for what, to give me a kiss and a flower?”

It was a stupid thing to say, David knew it as soon as the words left his mouth. The duke leered at him, eyebrows pulled up high in fake surprise.

“I didn’t bring a flower. Would you accept a kiss?”

David huffed and turned away. “If that’s all, Your Highness, I thank you for your visit. If I may return to my family now? We were eating dinner.”

He wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Especially no kissing jokes. Especially not from George Louis.

“David.”

The sound of his name made a shudder run down David’s spine. All the flippancy had gone out of George Louis’s voice. His tone was low, earnest, and he reached out to place a hand on David’s shoulder lightly. When he didn’t pull away, the duke tightened his grip.

David tried to glare at him over his shoulder, but couldn’t quite hold on to his scowl as George Louis looked at him, concern written all over his face. His lips looked so very soft.

When he realised where he was staring, David quickly looked ahead again, grinding his teeth together. He really should know better than this by now.

“David,” George Louis repeated. “You’re going to war tomorrow. I am sorry for everything that has happened. For all the mistakes I made. But at least allow me to say good-bye properly. Please. I promise I won’t steal much of your time.”

“I’ll be fine, George,” David sighed. It was hard not to lean into the hand on his shoulder, though.

“I will pray to any god that might still listen to me that you will be,” George Louis said, voice quiet. “But you have to know that this is even more dangerous than hunting werewolves. That there is no guarantee of a safe return.”

David rolled his eyes and straightened his back. So spoke the man who had started this war. A bit late to start worrying about his soldiers. “Yet you didn’t order me not to go.”

George Louis stepped in even closer, close enough that David could feel his warm breath on his ear and neck as he spoke. “If I believed that I could keep you safe that way, I would have. But you wouldn’t obey that order, would you? Better then that I never say it. The walls have ears in the palace.”

“No one is listening now.”

It was a stupid thing to say. A pointless thing. It was too late. George Louis couldn’t order him to stay now, not after the whole country knew he was going. And even if he could, it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

When George Louis didn’t speak, David half turned to risk a glance. The duke was looking away, staring at the closed door. His jaws worked and his grip tightened painfully as he turned back to David, bowing his head, leaning in. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Please,” he whispered right next to David’s ear. “Please don’t go. Don’t do this.”

David froze. He hadn’t expected the prideful bastard to actually come out and say it, and certainly not like this.

It didn’t change the answer, though. “You know that I have to go. You know why.”

“Then promise you will come back to me. Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I never take unnecessary risks,” David protested. He let his head droop, leaning against the duke’s cheek for a second before catching himself.

“I missed you, David,” George Louis whispered as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I thought I’d lost you. For ten years I thought I’d never see you again. I know it was my own damn fault, but please, don’t make me go through that again. I need you. I need you by my side.”

It was hard to think straight with George Louis’s lips so close to his ear, warm breath tickling his skin. David tried to pull away, to buy himself some distance and reclaim his senses, but George Louis held onto him as if his life depended on it.

“Tell me,” he asked, brushing his lips against David’s neck, “did you miss me at all?”

“Why do you think I stayed away for so long? I knew if I’d give you half a chance I would—”

He freed himself with a jerk, and spun around—which was a mistake, because George Louis was right there, catching his hands. He bowed his head but didn’t quite manage to hide the eager smile tugging at his lips.

“You would what?”

David clenched his teeth together. “Forget myself and run you through,” he growled.

The smile on George Louis’s face widened. “Liar,” he whispered. “You’re such a terrible liar. Unless that was a euphemism.”

“I hate you.”

“Liar,” George Louis repeated, reaching up to caress David’s face. David stopped breathing at the touch of soft palms, so unlike his own. When he didn’t pull away, George Louis took his face in both hands and leaned in to kiss him.

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, lips parting eagerly, knees shaking with excitement. He reached out to steady himself, and his hand found George Louis’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He shouldn’t want this so much. But he did.

It was George Louis who pulled away first. “Breathe, David,” he chuckled, but didn't let go of David's face.

“I hate you,” David repeated weakly, mostly to remind himself of that fact, to recall why this was a bad idea.

“Sure you do.” Georg Louis leaned his forehead against David’s. His eyes were closed, his face drawn. “Tell me to go away, and I will. Tell me you don’t want me anymore, and I’ll never try to kiss you again. But I need you to know that I love you.”

David’s breath hitched again. He still wasn’t sure if he could trust his erstwhile lover. But he was tired, too. Tired of being alone. If he was going to make a mistake, wasn’t this the best time? Chances were, they would never see each other again anyways.

So he gripped the fabric of the duke’s shirt tighter and pulled, jerking him forwards.

Their lips collided harder this time, eagerly, hungrily. George Louis ran his hands through David’s braids, held onto his head. David’s hands found their way under George Louis’s jacket, both of them holding onto each other, terrified that the moment would end if they let go. David’s tongue traced George Louis's lips, still familiar. Their tongues met briefly, then George Louis gently tugged at his lower lip with his teeth. David growled, one hand struggling with the buttons on that damn fine, double-breasted jacket.

Of course, that was when the door opened.