Over the next five days, Kurt kept himself busy, just as he told Blaine he would. He told himself it wasn’t because Sebastian’s deadline of the end of the month was passing on the fourth day, but it was honestly a part of it. So when he woke up early on the first with a knot of dread in his stomach, he immediately slipped out of bed, leaving Blaine to slumber on, warm beneath the covers. He grabbed Blaine’s garment, heading to the royal apartment—it still hadn’t been slept in once—and sitting down by the window, determined to work on it until it was finished. He peeked out the window every few minutes to make sure that Sebastian didn’t saunter up like a nightmare made real to find him.

The castle was looking like a new place. Gardens graced the path from the gatehouse to the entrance, hedges carved into mazes and threaded with bright flowers. Dead ivy was pulled off the walls, leaving only a few vines of the bright green, living plant sneaking up the side in places, giving it an aura of life rather than death. Most of the bedrooms, servant rooms and court rooms alike, were cleaned and repaired; they only waited for new furnishings to complete them. Artists had even started bringing their work to the castle for approval, and many paintings and sculptures had been replaced or repaired in the galleries. The library had been filled with books, the temple had been blessed, and Kurt and Blaine had spent a memorable afternoon in the royal bathhouse, testing its waters, so to speak.

And then there were the gifts. Every day so far, Kurt had returned to his and Blaine’s rooms each night to find a gift waiting for him, laid underneath a single rose that matched the first one Blaine ever gave him—dark red, thornless, a declaration of love that was not only immediate, but strong and true and lasting. First a bolt of fine silk that Kurt hadn’t decided on a use for yet; then, twice in a row, trinkets for his clothes—a beautiful silver belt buckle studded with rubies and a brooch of onyx carved into a blackbird; a set of silver stiletto knives with filigree handles, though they were sturdy enough to actually be used as weapons; finally, a vial of his own rose oil that Kurt immediately put aside for better use than scent or softening his skin.

Kurt worked on songs and sang to Blaine at dinner every night, and even for the other servants and the workers on occasion, to keep them entertained and, above all, well-behaved as they drank their ale and ate the food Emma had had to hire workers to turn out. But he was working on a story, as well, to give to Blaine—a grand tale that followed Blaine’s life with only a thin veil of a bard’s embellishment over it.

But he was stuck. He didn’t know how to put his and Blaine’s love for each other in it without jeopardizing Blaine’s position. And ever since he’d realized that, he’d stopped writing it, stopped writing anything. He felt like the music and the lyrics had drained from his soul, left bereft by the fact that he could not shout his love from highest tower. No servant, and at the moment, no man, could dare risk it. Blaine might not be able to survive the scandal, not with his connections with court members so tenuous before court even had the time to begin.

So he worked on clothes and played songs he already knew, and on the first of the month he spent the entire day locked in his room and by the next day he’d finished Blaine’s garment.

That evening, he laid the outfit out on the bed and stared at it, so pleased with himself that he could barely keep from running out to find Blaine that very moment. But no—it wouldn’t do to start bouncing around squealing, even if that’s exactly what he wanted to do when he imagined how handsome it would look on Blaine. No. He’d have to find an occasion to present it.

Blaine provided the opportunity that night.

“I have something for you tomorrow,” he said quietly as they lay in bed together, drifting slowly towards sleep. “Would you meet me in the court after lunchtime? I’ve made sure neither of us have business then.”

Kurt smiled, not bothering to question how he cleared Kurt’s schedule as well as his own during such a busy time.

“I suppose I could do that,” he replied, burrowing further into Blaine’s arms and Blaine’s warmth.

After a quick lunch with Mike, who was looking tired but pleased after a meeting with some of the workers, Kurt hurried to the court to meet with Blaine, excited not only for his own gift, but to give Blaine his. 

When he arrived, Blaine was dismissing the foreman with a polite nod. When the man left and Kurt approached, he pulled back his hood and smiled.

“How is it looking?” he asked, spreading his arms and looking around.

The court was looking better by the day. It had been completely cleaned, the marble floors scrubbed until the golden-hued veins could be made out again, though it still needed repairs in places. The windows of the great dome above were cleared, and the chandelier had been wiped of all cobwebs and wax, the empty cups awaiting new candles. The walls were being painted again, and while the dais at the head of the room remained empty, Kurt knew that Mike had specifically sought out a skilled metalworker to make a great silver throne for Blaine as a birthday gift from the servants.

“It’s amazing, Blaine,” Kurt replied, grinning back. “Will it be done in time?”

Blaine nodded happily.

“Yes. The foreman just told me he’s got some marble being shipped in from Haverbrook. It should be here in about a week, leaving him another week to finish.”

“So everything’s on schedule?”

Blaine just smiled, a little smug. Kurt laughed and knocked their shoulders together companionably.

“Are you going to keep looking like that when court opens?” he asked teasingly, plucking at the sleeve of Blaine’s ill-fitting jerkin and fishing a little to try to find the perfect moment.

“Santana took that matter into her own hands, I’m afraid,” Blaine said simply. “She demanded a great deal of money to turn me, and I quote, ‘from probable rat-catcher to possible royalty.’ But enough of that—I have something to show you, remember?”

He grabbed Kurt’s hand and led him up the eastern staircase, laughing out of sheer delight. Kurt joined him readily, struggling to keep up as Blaine bounded away.

“What is so exciting—oh.”

Blaine stopped right in front of the door to the music room.

“It’s finished,” Blaine said. “Close your eyes.”

Kurt did as he was told, used to Blaine’s way of giving him surprises, and walked through the door when Blaine guided him.

“Okay,” he said, stopping Kurt and moving away. “Open.”

Kurt opened his eyes.

The room was perfect. All polished wood and velvet drapes to catch the sound. There was a seat for him to play his lute, a stand with a viol in the corner, and even a harp off to one side, which Kurt vowed he would learn soon. But what caught his interest was in the center of the room.

“You got a harpsichord?” Kurt asked with awe. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to play one.”

“I’ll teach you,” Blaine said, wrapping Kurt up from behind and tucking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder in a way that had become familiar. “I do remember that one. And you can finish teaching me the lute.”

“It’s perfect,” Kurt whispered, turning in Blaine’s arms and kissing him.

“And it’s all yours,” Blaine whispered back, smiling at Kurt. “As am I.”

Kurt laid their foreheads together and grinned.

“Can we try it out?”

Blaine laughed and sidled over to the bench, seating himself on one end and patting the other for Kurt. Kurt nestled himself into Blaine’s side and placed his hands on the lower set of keys. He pressed a few, sending out a dissonant chord, and he flinched with a quick, “oh!” as Blaine laughed beside him.

“It’s not that different from a lute, I imagine,” he said, still grinning. “You just have to know which ones go together.”

With that, he placed one hand on the keys and pressed down, and the instrument sounded out a sweet, clear chord. Kurt smiled ruefully.

“There’s so many,” he said, lightly running his fingers over the top row. “So much to learn.”

He felt a press of lips to his shoulder.

“We have time.”

Kurt turned and smiled at Blaine, entirely in love. They had time—all the time they wanted. Months, years, a lifetime. And that was the gift Blaine had really given him—happiness.

“My gift for you pales in comparison,” he mentioned, shaking his head.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Blaine answered quickly, and Kurt realized he thought Kurt was still talking about the music room. “Anything from you is something I’ll cherish. What is it?”

“I finished your garment.”

Blaine smiled and caressed Kurt’s cheek.

“Then we shall have to come up with a reason for me to wear it as soon as possible,” Blaine said. “Dine with me tonight.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that a little too public?”

“I don’t care,” Blaine said simply, shaking his head. “I want you to dine with me every night, just us. I will have to host special banquets and the like, once court resumes, and as court minstrel you will have to perform there, but when it’s just us, I don’t want you performing anymore. I want you next to me. There will be no one around but Mike and Wes and David, and they already know.”

Kurt’s eyes widened.

“They know?”

“All of my servants know,” Blaine said. “I told them the day we first visited Beiste for your training.”

Realization dawned.

“When you sent me out—“

“When I sent you out. Yes.”

Kurt held back tears, smiling at Blaine with a quivering lip.

“Dine with me tonight. I’ll wear your outfit, and we’ll have a fine meal and dance beneath the stars.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Then say yes.”

Kurt shook his head and laughed, dashing away the tears that beaded at the corners of his eyes quickly.

“Of course I will. Did you really think I would—“

Blaine cut him off with a happy kiss, pulling him in hard against his chest before releasing him.

“Good,” Blaine said, kissing his cheek before backing away. “I’ve got business in the Western Gallery now, and I’ve got to go. I’ll have Wes or David retrieve the garment from your rooms later this evening. But I’ll see you tonight.”

He left. Kurt brushed his fingers against his cheek, still feeling the ghost of Blaine’s lips on his skin, hoping he would never have cause to forget the feeling.

“Tonight.”