The night ended without much further fanfare. Myriem knew he should have stayed back to join a private lounge and gain favour with the Aselan ministers, but he was, quite honestly, not in any mood to. He thus left after sending Ruey to inform a few of his confidants he was leaving, implying they should pick up his slack. He'd apologize later.
Once hidden in the shadows, it was easy to stay unnoticed. Most servants were busy with the banquet, attending to the officials in some fashion or the other, and while the guards were on high alert, Myriem knew their schedules well.
It was mildly irritating to firsthand see and exploit all the many flaws in the castle's defense, but, well. It worked in his favour. He'd send a complain to Havine later.
Cloaked and out of his ceremonial garb, Myriem made his way down to the Third Training Hall in the Royal Stadium. While not in poor shape, it lacked the inspiring atmosphere such stadiums usually emanated. The Capital Coliseum and its many tall viewing benches was further out in the capital city, located to allow citizens to come spectate when events were held. This stadium was primarily used for private military affairs and training, resulting in it being much less frequently used.
If one knew the castle well, they could easily find their way into the Royal Stadium. There were few guards around this eerie and unused execution venue, and a word was spread between servants that the the dying wails of the beheaded rang through the halls. It was thus avoided unless necessary, making it the perfect meeting spot for two unruly brats shirking their duties.
The halls were separate an were dark and silent, Myriem's footfall the only noise echoing throughout, a few torches all that lit his path.
But the eerie and desolate atmosphere was familiar and comforting. Myriem lifted a hand and ran his fingers along the cold, stony walls as he walked, recalling the many times he'd dash through these same halls, playing truant and avoiding his tutors. Myriem knew every crevice that he could hide in, every mouse hole and crack in the wall. He had spent too long in these halls to find them uncanny. These execution chambers were his only playground as a young prince.
As he walked, he heard the muffled clang of a sword originating nowhere other than the Third Training Hall, and the corner of his lips pulled upwards. It was the sound of home.
Myriem didn't rush. He cognized the chimes and tolls he was hearing, quickly deducing what Darien was doing - sharpening his blade through repeated barbs against the stone statues, likely wearing weights on his body to temper his might. When he arrived at the entrance to the hall, he let his fingers rest on the side of the simple hatched door and waited, eyes half-lidded, the irritation from the banquet long faded away into a content fulfillment that he'd been missing dearly.
As he expected, it took only a few minutes before a massive force hit the door from the inside, causing the door to quiver on its last legs. Darien was getting impatient. Myriem's lips twitched in amusement, but he smoothed his face over before opening the door, lest he vex Darien further.
The training hall was only illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through a large window at one end. The sun-blocking curtains had long been ripped apart, but they were unnecessary. Myriem stepped over the now-dented shield Darien had whipped at the door, the faint scent of rusted metal drifting over from the breeze coasting in from the window.
Darien was standing in the center of the training hall, shirtless, panting, with a sword in each hand.
He wiped at the sweat on his forehead with a wristband before looking up to glare at Myriem.
Myriem openly appreciated the sight. The moonlight made the sheen of sweat on Darien's body shimmer, creating a halo around his sinewy frame. He looked almost ethereal.
And then he threw a sword at Myriem and charged.
Myriem caught the sword thrown at him and quickly blocked. He grinned at Darien's tight and cold glare as their swords met, pressing back until they both jumped back.
Darien didn't wait a second longer. He advanced Myriem with abandon, swinging the sword so fast it was an art form, leaving Myriem no time to appreciate his biceps and barely enough time to defend.
"You're feisty tonight," Myriem smirked at Darien, meeting him head-on.
Darien scowled and didn't spare him any words. Within moments, Myriem was so preoccupied he couldn't antagonize Darien, all energy diverted to parrying his every move.
The sharp screeches of metal meeting metal echoed in the dark hall, accompanying the sounds of curses and pants. Myriem was fighting with his non-dominant hand, and Darien was worn out from however long he had been hacking at things, but neither retreated.
Darien was impassioned with feverish animation, and at long last, caught Myriem's foot under his as he swung from above, causing Myriem to fall backwards to defend. Myriem looped his ankle around Darien's calf as he fell and kicked at the back of Darien's knees, and Darien stumbled forward over Myriem as well.
Their swords were pressed together, fighting to shake the other of their grip, and Darien quickly caught himself on his knees and used his weight against Myriem, but just as he was beginning to feel certain of his victory, Myriem smirked at him.
His gut feeling told him to back off, but it was too late. Myriem stopped resisting, shifting his sword to the side and deftly moving his head so Darien sword only nicked his ear when it fell forward, and pressed a hand into a certain spot on the side of Darien's ribcage.
Darien stiffened immediately, arm tensing for just a moment - long enough for Myriem to twist his wrist knock his sword away. Darien gripped the hilt and immediately parried forward, but Myriem had jumped to a crouch, already on his feet, giving him the better position to strike Darien.
But he didn't. Instead, he grinned at Darien with that teasing look that always spelled trouble. Darien scowled instinctively before Myriem even opened his mouth.
"Darien, tsk tsk," Myriem clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock-disapproval. "You're so ticklish. What are you going to do if someone uses your sensitive body against you in a fight, huh?"
Darien glowered, getting up to his feet as well. "I don't get ticklish when- " He immediately realized he was saying the wrong thing, but it was too late.
Myriem grinned. "What's that? You only get ticklish with me?" Darien's face turned cold. "Oh my, Darien, is that a confession?" Myriem gasped with mock-delight.
"Who," Darien lunged forward and slashed at him from the side, "the fuck," he slashed from the opposite side, "Would. Ever. Confess. To. YOU," Darien struck after every word, pushing Myriem back until he was pressed up against the wall.
Myriem only laughed, barely putting up a fight and letting himself be cornered. It didn't matter how much Darien scowled, he was not going to be a satisfying spar partner now. Myriem had long since abandoned his pride with Darien, he could only be serious around Darien for so long. He'd much prefer to flirt.
Darien knew this well and was left with no option but to back off. He ignored Myriem's teasing and walked over to the bench where his shirt lie. He took a bottle of stale water and tossed back half of it, a few stray droplets escaping and travelling down his chin, his throat, all the way to his defined pecs.
Myriem watched them trail down hungrily, thirsting to lick them off.
Darien noticed Myriem's gaze, but he thought Myriem had held back at the banquet and was now thirsty, so he idly threw over a little skin of lukewarm, stale cow blood.
Myriem accepted it without complaint, pleased that Darien had brought him something despite his anger. He sat down beside Darien and quietly drank the pouch, allowing Darien a moment of silence.
Myriem watched Darien's eyes flicker with emotion, guilt keeping him from touching Darien's exposed upper half. Anger, disappointment, betrayal, resignation, grief, reluctance, Myriem had no option but to accept the sin of causing his Darien so much heartache.
[One day] he vowed to himself, his chest aching as he saw the restrained hurt Darien tried desperately to conceal, [I'll do right by you, I'll make you mine, openly, proudly, I'll make everyone acknowledge us. I'll sit on the throne and give you anything in the kingdom, anything in the heavens or seas, and take back this pain I've caused you to bear.]
But that day was not today. Myriem lacked the power to decide his own marriage, and Darien only knew how to use his sword to let out his grievances.
Finished with the blood, Myriem rest his cheek on Darien's shoulder and closed his eyes. There was a lot they could say, a lot Myriem wanted to. But in the somber realization of the helplessness of their own fates, there was nothing that could make it better.
In the dark of the night, they returned to the castle. Myriem shamelessly grabbed Darien's ass cheek, causing Darien to kick him once, twice, and then chase Myriem to wrestle him to the ground and kick him thrice. Wholly preoccupied with each other, neither noticed the figure watching them through the window of an upper chamber in the castle.