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Ancel had seen winter holidays celebrated, either from the cold streets or the lap of a lord. It’s very different with Berenger. The stockings full of gifts, the other presents in addition to the usual steady stream of jewelry, the advent calendar, the decorations—all things he got to be a part of. Rebellion was anxious, risky work. It’d been worth it. But Ancel much preferred the luxurious indulgence of festivities instead.“Ancel,” Berenger cut into his reverie from his work desk. That teasing reproach said his lord knew he’d been daydreaming rather than reading the book in his hands. Stretched out on a chaise lounge, wearing his silks and a warm robe over it to keep Berenger’s stress at bay, Ancel knew he painted quite the picture. He smirked while the ever-so practical man peered at him over his glasses. “How is your reading going?”“Dreadfully dull,” he lamented. He wasn’t serious, and Berenger had improved at knowing when Ancel was being dramatic. His honesty was still something mostly reserved for their private moments. That was how Berenger knew to get Ancel a racy book, now that he’d gotten much more advanced in his reading. He was frankly loving the inspiration for their own bedroom (or wherever he can encourage Berenger to have sex). Sliding a jeweled bookmark between the pages, Ancel shut the novel and crossed his legs to make an even better image. The silk would drape over his shapely calves and give a glimpse of freckled skin through the slits. He lowered his eyes at Berenger, getting a chuckle for his efforts. “I can’t help but think that we ought to be better occupied.”“Oh?” Looking back to his paperwork, scratching away at it with his quill, Berenger still smiled. “Comparing this to your previous winter festivities? I do apologize if it’s not measuring up.”“Yes, well.” Ancel stiffened, suddenly uneasy. He frowned and pushed the feeling aside. It didn’t have a place there, in their home, where he finally had a place to belong. Society needed their continued contracts more than Ancel and Berenger did. “Let’s not get sappy about it.”“Perish the thought,” Berenger answered, amused and probably unaware of Ancel’s struggle.Good.It’s not as though Berenger wouldn’t want to help, it’s that he would. Ancel was entirely unprepared for most of his eager efforts to comfort and console him over his difficult history.Pushing up from the chaise, Ancel swept in for a kiss, which he naturally received. Berenger could not resist him just the way he was. He left without another word to walk through the estate—for he would never walk the grounds in winter, except for when he happened upon Ruby in the stables purely by accident and for no other reason. If he spent that time alone considering why the mention of past holidays made him so restless, that was no one’s business but his own.Berenger, in all his wisdom, knew that silence was a warning from the likes of Ancel. He also discovered over time that a direct approach might be necessary to pry the truth from his pet turned partner, but starting there would never be a good idea. So he carried on making innocent references to past celebrations. Ancel tried his best to steer their conversations to happier times! But Berenger sensed the topic at heart. He insisted on pursuing it.“Good or bad, I want to know about before we met. I admire you far too much to be hindered by a troubling past.”He stayed every inch a gentleman. Of course, he’d reach for Ancel’s hand where they sat together by the fire and speak so curiously of times that he knew nothing about. Berenger had never been on the streets alone. He’d never considered getting on his knees to ensure his own survival—not in any sense. The Regent had the upper hand when Berenger chose King Laurent. He did so because it was the right thing to do. Ancel, he chose because he was brave in the ring. Not for his toned body, his radiant hair, but his bravery.There was nothing brave about hoping he wouldn’t be one of the corpses hauled off come spring.“You can’t do fire shows in the winter, Berenger,” Ancel snapped. He pulled his hand back, sinking into his ornate chair. It had all the decorative carvings and plush fabric that Berenger’s lacked. His partner's chair was dependable, sturdy enough for two, and homey. Ancel drew deeper into his own seat. “Everyone else was inside and warm. I was starving and cold and trying to survive while rich, happy children celebrated with rich, happy families.”Every part of him itched to leave and let the cold seep into his bones until it got to his rage.Or maybe that was just Berenger’s stupid, boring poetry making him think in stupid, boring ways.“You shouldn’t have had to,” he reassured Ancel, unoffended and perfect. He only got more patient as the years painted grey through his plain, brown hair. “I’m sorry you suffered that way.”“Hundreds of people do. I’m not any different.”“Varenne could be,” Berenger suggested, reaching across the small gap between their chairs. The two seats had grown closer and closer since Pascal arranged for their placement in their bedroom. “A way I can reach out to other children like young Ancel, those who don’t share your wit and courage.”“Flatterer,” Ancel scoffed, eyeing the open palm with callouses caught in the firelight.“When have I ever lied?”“Not once, you terrible bore.” He reached out with hesitant fingers, twining them with Berenger’s as their hands hung between them. Ancel brushed a thumb across the back of his hand as he stared into the hearth. “Do you think it’s even possible?”“I am lord of Varenne, and King Laurent’s rule has been generous.” Berenger’s voice was as level as ever. He looked straight ahead into the flames when Ancel turned. For a few moments, he got to look at the flickering warmth dancing in his eyes and over slight wrinkles. Berenger looked back and smirked. “Would you like to boss me around while we plan for solutions?”“Oh, yes!” Ancel laughed, unrehearsed and a bit loud. Berenger was softer as he joined in. “I like telling you what to do.”“I know,” and he said it like three very different words.