“You are far too familiar with your prince,” he warned.

“So you confess it, then?” His brushed his lips against Rhy’s throat. “That you are mine.”

He bit the lobe of Rhy’s ear, and the prince gasped, back arching. Alucard always did know what to say—what to do—to tilt the world beneath his feet.

Rhy turned to say something, but Alucard’s mouth was already there on his. Hands tangled in hair, clutched at coats. They were a collision, spurred by the force of three years apart.

“You missed me,” said Alucard. It was not a question, but there was a confession in it, because everything about Alucard—the tension in his back, the ways his hips pressed into Rhy’s, the race of his heart and the tremor in his voice—said that the missing had been mutual.

“I’m a prince,” said Rhy, striving for composure. “I know how to keep myself entertained.”

The sapphire glinted in Alucard’s brow. “I can be very entertaining.” He was already leaning in as he spoke, and Rhy found himself closing the distance, but at the last moment Alucard tangled his fingers in Rhy’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing the prince’s throat. He pressed his lips to the slope below Rhy’s jaw.

Rhy clenched his teeth, fighting back a groan, but his stillness must have betrayed him; he felt Alucard smile against his skin. The man’s fingers drifted to his tunic, deftly unbuttoning his collar so his kisses could continue downward, but Rhy felt him hesitate at the sight of the scar over his heart. “Someone has wounded you,” he whispered into Rhy’s collarbone. “Shall I make it better?”

Rhy pulled Alucard’s face back to his, desperate to draw his attention from the mark, and the questions it might bring. He bit Alucard’s lip, and delighted in the small victory of the gasp it earned him as—

The bells rang out.

The Banner Night.

He was late. They were late.

Alucard laughed softly, sadly. Rhy closed his eyes and swallowed.

“Sanct,” he cursed, hating the world that waited beyond his doors, and his place in it.

Alucard was already pulling away, and for an instant all Rhy wanted to do was pull him back, hold fast, terrified that if he let go, Alucard would vanish again, not just from the room but from London, from him, slip out into the night and the sea as he’d done three years before. Alucard must have seen the panic in his eyes, because he turned back, and drew Rhy in, and pressed his lips to Rhy’s one last time, a gentle, lingering kiss.

“Peace,” he said, pulling slowly free. “I am not a ghost.” And then he smiled, and smoothed his coat, and turned away. “Fix your crown, my prince,” he called back as he reached the door. “It’s crooked.”

II

Kell was halfway down the stairs when he was met by a short ostra with a trimmed beard and a frazzled look. Parlo, the prince’s shadow since the tournament preparations first began.

“Master Kell,” he said, breathless. “The prince is not with you?”

Kell cocked his head. “I assumed he was already downstairs.”

Parlo shook his head. “Could something be wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Kell with certainty.

“Well then, it’s about to be. The king is losing patience, most of the guests are here, and the prince has not yet made an entrance.”

“Perhaps that’s exactly what he’s trying to make.” Parlo looked sick with panic. “If you’re worried, why don’t you go to his room and fetch him?” The ostra paled even further, as if Kell had just suggested something unfathomable. Obscene.

“Fine,” grumbled Kell, turning back up the stairs. “I’ll do it.”

Tolners and Vis were standing outside Rhy’s room. Kell was a few strides shy of the chamber when the doors burst open and a figure came striding out. A figure that most certainly wasn’t Rhy. The guards’ eyes widened at the sight of him. The man obviously hadn’t gone in that way. Kell pulled up short as they nearly collided, and even though it had been years—too few, in Kell’s estimation—he recognized the man at once.

“Alucard Emery,” he said coldly, exhaling the name like a curse.

A slow smile spread across the man’s mouth, and it took all Kell’s restraint not to physically remove it. “Master Kell,” said Alucard, cheerfully. “What an unexpected pleasure, running into you here.” His voice had a natural undercurrent of laughter in it, and Kell could never tell if he was being mocked.

“I don’t see how it’s unexpected,” said Kell, “as I live here. What is unexpected is running into you, since I thought I made myself quite clear the last time we met.”

“Quite,” echoed Alucard.

“Then what were you doing in my brother’s chambers?”

Alucard raised a single studded brow. “Do you want a detailed account? Or will a summary suffice?”

Kell’s fingernails dug into his palms. He could feel blood. Spells came to mind, a dozen different ways to wipe the smug look from Emery’s face.

“Why are you here?” he growled.

“I’m sure you’ve heard,” said Alucard, hands in his pockets. “I’m competing in the Essen Tasch. As such, I was invited to the royal palace for the Banner Night.”

“Which is happening downstairs, not in the prince’s room. Are you lost?” He didn’t wait for Alucard to answer. “Tolners,” he snapped. The guard stepped forward. “Escort Master Emery to the Rose Hall. Make sure he doesn’t wander.”