Just before the sun went down, Kurt was fiddling around in his room, trying to decide what to wear for that night’s dinner when Mike knocked on the door and peered in.

“Ah, good,” he said. “Come with me.”

“But I have to—“

“Just come with me.”

Kurt followed Mike out, confused, and increasingly worried about getting dressed as Mike lead him to the second floor. Wes had shown up about an hour earlier and taken Blaine’s clothes, so he would be underdressed in his simple linen shirt and breeches now, and—

“Get dressed.”

Inside the music room was a carved wooden box, placed conspicuously on the bench of the harpsichord.

“Is that—“

“I’ll knock when it’s time for you to come out.”

With that, he disappeared with a soft click of the door.

Kurt approached the box, running a hand over the ornately carved wood, over whorls and swirls and lacy details that seemed too delicate for the material, before lifting its lid and carefully placing it aside.

Inside the box was a gorgeous outfit. The doublet was red and black brocade, patterned with leafy vines running up its length. The breeches were black velvet, high-waisted and lacing up the back like a corset. Matching it was a capelet, and Kurt noticed the ties on the doublet that would hold it in place. Finally, a gauze shirt in vibrant red for under the doublet.

He donned the clothing, adding the belt buckle Blaine gave him earlier in the week, and it was several minutes before he heard a knock on the door. Instantly, he felt a thrill in his stomach, like something big and amazing was coming.

I’ll be with Blaine, he thought. Of course it is.

When he opened the door, Mike had already faded away in the manner of good servants, and he was faced with Blaine standing at the opposite end of the gallery.

The outfit looked amazing on him. Fine cream silk, and Kurt used the red thread to embroider a rose down the front of the doublet, the petals of the flower over Blaine’s chest and the black-threaded stem flowing down to the hem. The sleeves and upper hose were stitched with vertical lines in the same black thread as the stem and leaves of the flower, and the contrast put the red of the petals in stark relief. And unlike the manner of most doublets, which had buttons running up the center, the enclosure was to one side, buttoning up from Blaine’s left hip to his shoulder.

He looked stunning, and if Kurt could judge the way Blaine was looking him up and down, he did as well.

Without a word, Blaine stepped to the staircase on his side of the gallery and nodded toward the staircase by Kurt, smiling mischievously. It was tradition at important functions for royalty to enter by the staircases, sovereign and spouse on either side, to join in the middle and approach their thrones. Blaine had to have planned this, putting Kurt in the position of his husband.

Kurt sent a smile to Blaine, his heart near to bursting, and together they descended the staircases, glancing over at each other with every step.

When they reached the bottom, Kurt paused, two steps from the floor of the court. Blaine made his way over and held up a hand for Kurt to take, smiling up at him with a glint of mischief.

“My name is Blaine,” he said, eyes twinkling.

Kurt reached down and shook his hand, holding back a laugh.

“Kurt.” He smirked down at his love. “Shouldn’t we be getting to dinner?”

Blaine’s grin widened and took over his whole face, suffusing it with a joy that Kurt had never seen.

“Come on,” he said, switching their hands around so that he could tug Kurt along, pulling him off the steps and heading in a direction that was certainly not through the dining room. “I know a shortcut.”

He pulled Kurt along the side of the staircase, heading toward the front of castle. He guided them through the hallway to the western side, and down the corridor that ran alongside the court apartments and a small study before ending up before Blaine’s room. Kurt played along, jogging to keep up at times as Blaine slipped into the room they shared together.

Kurt expected Blaine to forget dinner and try to fool around, but instead, he stopped Kurt at the edge of the bed and turned to a blank expanse of wall.

“I want you to see this,” Blaine said. “I know it’s…a little tawdry, at best, but just in case it’s ever difficult for you to come to our room after a banquet or function. My door might not always be left alone, so this will be a little easier.”

Blaine ran his hand along the wall for a moment, looking as though he were feeling something out, and then suddenly he must have found what he was looking for, because he paused and pushed on the wall firmly.

Kurt heard a click and watched as a small section of wall, a little smaller than the average door, swung away from the wall to reveal a small, dark corridor, about three feet long and maybe two feet wide at most. At the end was the outline of another door, a very faint shimmer of light seeping through the thinnest crack along the top and sides. Blaine gently pushed Kurt into the cramped space, pressing up behind him closely as he shut the hidden door behind them. In the darkness, their breathing was loud and close and too warm, but Kurt shivered as Blaine leant up and whispered in his ear.

“A good hiding spot as well, should you ever feel the desire to listen in on any private meetings. It’s not uncommon for courtiers to have them in the dining hall.”

With that, Blaine reached between Kurt’s arm and waist and felt around the door in front of them for a moment before Kurt heard another click and it swung open to reveal the edge of the staircase in the dining room.

“You’ll have to teach me how to open them,” Kurt said.

“It’s easy,” Blaine replied. “Just a simple matter of finding the crack with your fingers and pushing. The latch is triggered by pressure.”

Kurt would have laughed had Blaine’s free hand not chosen that moment to slip up his backside, applying gentle force against the fabric to feel the cleft below. Instead, he inhaled sharply and arched back, seeking more touch.

“Not yet, my love,” Blaine admonished, “but soon. First, we should eat.”

He guided Kurt into the dining hall and shut the door behind them, but Kurt only knew that because he heard the faint click as the latch caught again. He was too busy staring.

The battered table that Kurt was used to had been replaced by a longer, thinner piece, the wood a deep reddish brown that was highly polished. The chairs had been replaced and matched, the wood carved intricately along the backing. The room had been cleaned, the fireplace fixed and lit, and the portrait above it, which Kurt now saw to be a painting of Blaine’s father, had been revealed, and obviously cleaned.

“That’s—“

“—my father, yes,” Blaine finished. “I have no more need to fear him or his judgment. I am no longer ashamed of my life and my choices.”

Kurt turned and smiled proudly at him. Blaine simply bowed his head a little, a small smile twisting his lips. After a quiet moment, he gestured toward the table.

“Shall we?”

There was an ample amount of food already waiting for them—fare the likes of which Kurt had never been privileged to taste. They seated themselves in front of their plates, Blaine at his customary spot at the head of the table and Kurt seated in the chair to his right, facing the light of the fire. Blaine looked at him as they ate their meal, his eyes never leaving Kurt’s face.

“You are by far the most beautiful man I’ve ever had the privilege to know,” he said at one point, leaning over to kiss Kurt’s cheek. Kurt grinned and turned into the kiss, not satisfied until he felt Blaine’s lips against his own. After a moment they pulled back, laughing out of sheer delight, and they ended up feeding each other, slipping delicacies into each other’s mouths and simply happy at the opportunity to touch and stare at one another’s lips with a cause other than that they could not help themselves.

When they finished, Kurt was feeling full and replete, perhaps a little too much so. He leaned back in his chair and stretched a little, elongating his back and feeling a few rewarding pops. He noticed Blaine looking at him, and he smiled.

“What?”

“Dance with me.”

Kurt huffed out a surprised laugh.

“Here? There’s no room.”

“Not here,” Blaine said. He stood from his chair and held out his hand to Kurt. “Follow me.”

Kurt tangled their fingers together and rose, following Blaine as he led them over to and up the staircase, where Kurt had never been. The steps were clean and in perfect condition, and as they ascended Kurt noticed light flickering from above.

When they reached the landing, Kurt turned to see that there were only a few more steps leading up and to the right, ending in an arched wooden door with two iron torches on either side. Blaine stepped forward and opened the door for them, swinging it outward to reveal the balcony.

It was a large, simple ledge that overlooked the back gardens of the castle, two sides edged by the castle itself, with the edge across from the door just above the back entrance to the castle and the remaining side a great half-circle, all surrounded by a low stone fence that also served as a bench. Above them was a trellis jutting out from the walls of the castle, and the tessellated flagstones beneath their feet seemed to shimmer in the light of a long string of paper lanterns hung above them. Both the bench and the trellis were wound with creeping white rose vines that were closed in the cool night air.

“Would you dance with me here?” Blaine asked, pulling Kurt to the center of the floor and grasping his waist and hand without waiting for a yes. However, he remained still, looking into Kurt’s eyes expectantly.

Kurt shook his head and chided, “There’s no music.”

Blaine sighed and kissed Kurt sweetly.

“Very well then.”

Blaine started leading Kurt into the steps of a simple dance, holding him close as he started to hum. It was a nameless tune, and Kurt suspected Blaine was making it up as he went along, but he had a pleasant, clear voice, and Kurt felt himself relax into it, laying his head on Blaine’s shoulder and burying his face into the scarred skin of his neck.

They remained like that, quietly dancing and humming under the lights for what felt like hours, lost in the rhythm of each other. Finally, Blaine grew quiet and still, simply holding Kurt close. Kurt raised his head and looked into Blaine’s eyes, the world around him blurring as he focused on the flickering of the light against the gold.

“I feel like I can’t remember life before you,” he whispered, careful of breaking the fragile serenity in which they floated, transported by the night and the lights and the flowers and the music that they hadn’t needed to hear after all. “I’m not sure I want to.”

Blaine smiled, his eyes bright with unshed tears, his voice just breaking on his words. “I didn’t have life before you.”

There was nothing Kurt could say in response. There was only the irresistible urge to be closer to him. He felt his eyes prickle as he leaned in and pressed their mouths together, pulling Blaine into the tight circle of his arms.

It wasn’t enough.

“Let’s go inside,” he whispered. Blaine nodded, his breath hitching.

When they arrived in their room, Blaine pulled Kurt to the fireplace, soaking in the warmth after being out in the chill of the night air. And as the flames danced beside them, casting happy shadows to dapple their skin, they lovingly embraced, carefully removing their clothing and kissing gently, chastely, even as their bodies bowed together and flushed with excitement. Kurt arched against Blaine when his hands unlaced the back of his breeches, smoothing over his ass as he pushed them down. Blaine hunched over and clung to Kurt’s shoulders when Kurt removed his boots. They followed each other as each piece of clothing was taken away from them, by far a more intricate and intimate dance than they shared on the balcony. And when they were completely bare, standing pressed together before the fire, Blaine smiled and lit up Kurt’s world.

“I can’t imagine what I did to deserve you,” he said. “A man whose soul and skin are both so damaged, blessed and honored to have somehow gained the love of an angel.”

Kurt surged forward and kissed Blaine. His words could never be sufficient—he, who made his art by manipulating words, could not speak. So, silently, he pulled Blaine to the bed, releasing his hands to lay himself down, offering himself like a sacrifice on an altar.

Blaine followed him down.

There were several things Kurt would remember about that night for the rest of his life, treasures that he could store inside his heart.

He would remember the feeling of Blaine’s skin on his, head to toe, both flushing from the heat that neither of them could fight down.

And the faint rose smell of the oil that Blaine spread over his fingers before opening Kurt with sedulous, worshipful care.

The circles Blaine’s thumb rubbed into his hip when he bit his lip at the sting of the stretch when Blaine pushed three fingers into him.

And the way Blaine held his face and kissed him as he settled between his legs.

He would remember the feeling of fullness and completion as Blaine settled himself completely inside Kurt, their breaths hitching and mingling between their gently touching lips.

The sheen of sweat on Blaine’s skin as he rocked into Kurt over and over and over, their skin sliding against one another as Kurt wrapped his legs around Blaine’s back.

Or the way Blaine’s cock dragged at his hole as he sped up, hammering into Kurt just right and bringing them both closer to the edge.

He would remember the moment Blaine stroked him to completion, never losing his rhythm even as Kurt lost control and came across both of them with a strangled sob.

And the transported look on Blaine’s face as he thrust into Kurt frantically, his cries rising until he stilled and threw his head back, completely silent as he spilled hot and hard within him.

He would remember the cool cloth that Blaine cleaned them off with, and the warmth of his body as he gathered Kurt into his arms.

He’d remember the hard ridges of Blaine’s scars beneath his lips as he kissed each one reverently.

And he would remember the last thing he thought before he drifted to sleep.

There cannot be any greater happiness. My heart could not withstand it.

When Kurt roused from slumber, he was wrapped in Blaine’s arms, just as when he fell asleep, and Blaine was opening his own eyes, smiling at him with love suffusing his features.

“Good morning, my love,” Blaine whispered, his fingers dragging through Kurt’s hair.

“Good morning,” Kurt replied, stretching and leaning into Blaine’s hand.

Blaine grinned at him. “I have something—“

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Blaine groaned and leant his forehead into Kurt’s neck as Kurt laughed.

“I told them not to disturb us,” Blaine complained. Kurt hushed him.

“Could it be important, then?”

“It probably is—“

“Blaine, I’m sorry, but you have to let me in immediately. Please!”

It was Mike’s voice through the door, frantic and breathless. Blaine glanced at Kurt, who nodded, and pulled the covers on the bed up around himself and Kurt, and called out, “Come in!”

Mike burst in and all but ran into the room, a piece of paper clutched in his hands.

“What is it?” Blaine asked, half-sitting and reaching for the paper. Mike handed it over.

“I am so sorry, but it’s an emergency,” he said, looking right at Kurt.

“What is it?” Kurt asked.

Blaine looked up from the letter, his face drawn.

“Burt’s sick.”