Silence was the common element between Sepehr and Ambrose. They never really talked much, or perhaps didn't have much to talk about. So it never occurred to Zen that silence could be so scary.
But Sepehr was as composed as ever. "I apologise. I didn't mean to say it like that."
"You never say what you don't mean," Ambrose spoke with an indiscernible smile.
"I must have heard wrong," Sepehr replied, "It is late. You should head to bed, Prince Ambrose—" Sepehr's expression wavered as he stopped mid-sentence. The odd smile on Ambrose's face faded as well. The atmosphere changed so abruptly that Zen had to play the scene in his mind multiple times to understand what happened. But it was still in vain.
"Repeat it." Silence followed his order. When Sepehr didn't respond after a few moments had passed, Ambrose stepped forward, wrapped a hand around Sepehr's lower back, pulling him until their foreheads almost touched, and the tip of their noses brushed. The bare minimum of distance was gone between them.
Yet, the eye contact didn't break.
"You should head to bed, Your Highness."
"You know that is not what I meant."
"I am just saying that you should. You must be tired after such a long day."
"I'm not. Don't deflect."
Their voices were quiet, as if meant to stay between them only. Zen felt like an uninvited guest.
[Say my name, Sepehr. Say it one more time.]
Sepehr never called Ambrose by his name. Not in the sense that he wasn't supposed to call the crown prince by his first name, but like he didn't utter the word at all until now, not even when they were alone, at least not during the time Zen had been here. He read in a few books that this was a way of showing respect, but wasn't sure if it was relevant here. Now that he thought about it, Zen recalled multiple people using 'His Highness Ambrose' and such, but Sepehr didn't do that. He always addressed Ambrose by 'Your Highness' or 'His Highness'.
Ambrose continued to stare at Sepehr with a hopeful, unwavering gaze. Sepehr was equally unwavering; not complying to the point that Zen began to pity the tyrant.
[Why must you avoid it to this extent?]
[Have you hated calling my name from the beginning?]
[Do you despise me that much?]
Sepehr's silence stretched until it no longer could. He turned his head slightly, in an attempt to create distance. "Your Highness…Ambrose, you are too close."
His words didn't seem to have a fruitful impact because the tyrant showed no sign of letting go. If anything, he leaned closer, brushing their foreheads together as though that small gesture might hold Sepehr in place.
He sank into Sepehr's shoulder and murmured something Zen couldn't quite decipher. But he saw Sepehr's expression change.
[I want you.]
"You mustn't—Ah—" Sepehr's voice faltered as he flinched, his body instinctively recoiling against the sudden closeness. His hands pressed against Ambrose's chest, a feeble attempt to create distance, but the tyrant held him firmly. His hands found Sepehr's waist, fingers splayed as if trying to memorize the curve of it, face still buried in the crook of Sepehr's neck.
"Again."
Sepehr breathed in shakily, before giving in to the demand. "Ambrose." It was perhaps the softest surrender Zen had ever heard.
Ambrose exhaled into Sepehr's neck as though the sound had soothed his soul. Sepehr stiffened, breath caught. "Your Highness…please stop," he pleaded.
The dim light of the room did little to obscure the flush spreading from the tip of Sepehr's ears down to his neck, or the trembling fingers that tried to push Ambrose back.
When Ambrose's gaze, dark and unreadable, his expression caught between restraint and hunger, fell on him again, he could only lower his eyes.
"It…it's been a long day, Your Highness," Sepehr spoke quietly, his voice barely steady. "You need to rest."
Ambrose's grip loosened but didn't fall away entirely. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing close to Sepehr's ear, his breath warm against the flushed skin.
"Are you tired?"
"Yes, I am." Sepehr didn't meet Ambrose's gaze as he spoke. Even Zen could tell that was a lie.
Ambrose's gaze softened, though his hands lingered for a moment longer, his fingers ghosting over Sepehr's arms before he finally stepped back. "Fine. If you insist." His tone was calm, but there was a faint bitterness in it.
"Rest easy." He backed away, heading towards the door. "I will see you in the morning."
"Good night, Your Highness."
Ambrose said nothing more, his eyes lingering on Sepehr for a beat too long before he turned and entered the room, the door closing with a soft click that felt heavier than it should have.
Sepehr began to walk in the opposite direction without a delay.
Zen, watching from a distance, could feel the weight of unspoken emotions. At this point, it wasn't just a one-sided admiration. It was either mutual attraction or outright harassment. The tension was so thick that it even left him astounded.
Although it was a fragment of a political story. Even though that story was still further in the future, Zen couldn't help but be frustrated. He could deal with a change of genre, or whatever else. But he didn't know how to deal with such a loose end.