Chapter Text
Every time Nace Jordan goes by, heads turn. Kris, Iru, Madame Talhaoui, the other women in the spa… nobody is immune to his charms. Kris may be taller, but the newcomer looks so strong, as though he could snap Kris’ neck - or his back, he notes smugly - utterly effortlessly. He desperately needs to get to know this man, to know if he stands any sort of chance, but he cannot possibly get him alone.
Then somehow, by complete chance, they wind up in the sauna together.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Nace Jordan, but you can just call me Nace,” he starts, but Kris cuts him off immediately.
“I know who you are. Iru knows everyone.”
“The Georgian woman with the long hair?”
“Indeed.”
“You two are quite close, aren’t you?”
“Reasonably so. There are so few interesting people here, at least in our age bracket. Madame Talhaoui may make for some fascinating conversation, but she’s hardly a good listener, and to be truthful, she frightens me somewhat, with the tales of her escapades.”
“Completely understandable.”
“So, Nace, to answer your question, I would say that Iru and I have developed a friendship due to proximity and our shared grievances with most of the other clientele here, though she’s a marvellous person and I am glad to know her all the same.”
“You do intend to marry her, though?”
“Goodness gracious, absolutely not. My attention, unfortunately, or fortunately, if one is so inclined, does not lie with her.”
“And neither do you.” Nace smirks, shuffling closer to Kris.
“Getting adventurous, aren’t you? I’m Kris, by the way. Kris Guštin.”
“I know who you are too, Kris. As you said, gossip flows almost as freely as the beer here.”
“How long are you around for, Nace? What brings you here?”
“I’m here for about two months, waiting for the renovations on my family estate to be completed. I was working out in the fields, but then a wealthy uncle of mine died and left everything to me because he knew he could trust me to be responsible with the funds.”
“The fields? I’m sure you’re very good with your hands then,” Kris remarks, running his fingers slowly up Nace’s bicep. Nace freezes for a second, and Kris can feel the muscles tense under his fingers.
“Kris, you must stop.” Nace says, through gritted teeth. Kris removes his hand instantly, as if he’s been electrocuted, the phantom touch of unwanted caresses causing his skin to crawl. How could he have forced Nace into a situation like the one he’d had to suffer?
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“If you intend on continuing, we’ll have to move elsewhere. The sauna is not the ideal location for the activities I believe we’d both rather be engaging in.” Nace raises a hand, cutting Kris off. Kris looks at him in disbelief. He winks (he winks! ) at Kris and leaves the sauna, turning back to Kris to utter four magical words: “My room, eight minutes.”
Kris watches Nace strut out with great enjoyment, waits for exactly three minutes and twenty-six seconds to imagine what the next hour or so will look like, and then hurries to put his clothes back on before purposefully striding to Nace’s room as if he didn’t have indecent notions of any variety coursing through his blood. The walk is excruciating, and Kris can barely hold back his excitement. It’s been far too long since his body has known another, and this is only the second person he has ever been with.
“Long time no s-” Kris starts to say, ever the diplomat and truly his father’s son, but as soon as he’s bolted the door shut, Nace has grabbed him and slammed him down onto the bed. He brings their lips together and kisses Kris furiously, both sets of hands grasping at one another desperately. Though Kris is usually used to being in control, he relishes being able to just go with the flow when Nace flips them both over. There is something reassuring about simply being taken care of, rather than always having to be the one watching out and making sure that everyone else is managing. Perhaps there was indeed truth to what the Princess had said about this trip to Germany being valuable for his mental wellbeing, but then Kris banishes all thoughts of his mother from his mind as Nace starts to bite his neck.
When they split apart, panting heavily, Kris thanks Nace for an enjoyable afternoon, because he still has not quite figured out what one does in a casual relationship, especially after one has engaged in intimacy with a person after only one conversation. Nace laughs at Kris’ obvious inexperience, and he tells Kris to go talk to his friends. Kris begrudgingly puts all his clothes back on and makes a mad dash for his room so he can clean himself up; then he decides to go and see what supper has already been set out.
Iru waves at him from across the foyer, chattering away animatedly with another woman. The woman is clad in black, with gloves and a veil that are awfully out of place here, though not unharmonious with the usual attire of those such as Madame Talhaoui. She turns to follow Iru’s gaze, making eye contact with Kris. He stops dead in his tracks. What is Diljá Pétursdóttir, of all people, doing here?
She hesitates, before raising a hand to acknowledge him as well. Iru gestures for him to come over, and he is incredibly grateful that he had had time to rinse off before seeing his former intended fiancée. Iru seems rather taken by Diljá, and Kris wonders where Lady Alessandra is - he was under the impression that the two were rather inseparable.
“Hello there, Miss Pétursdóttir,” Kris says, bowing.
“Prince Guštin. How is your family?”
“Very well, thank you. How are you taking the loss of your father?”
“How ever did you know?”
“Why, Miss Pétursdóttir, you’re clad head to toe in mourning colours. I only hope the grief is not quite so insurmountable.”
“I assume it will eventually become easier, but it has only been two months.”
“That is understandable,” Kris says, and Diljá offers him a small smile from beneath her veil.
“Are the two of you already acquainted?” Iru asks in bewilderment, looking frantically between the two of them. Kris hesitates, unsure of what to say, and so he raises his eyebrows at Diljá.
“We were intending to be wed, but we never quite reached an engagement, because I had to leave Russia to take care of my father. Now that he’s gone, however, perhaps it could be beneficial to… revisit old friendships?” Diljá explains, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Perhaps,” Kris says. “And what of your companion, the Lady Alessandra Mele?”
“Unfortunately, she could not be here at the moment. After my father’s passing, she returned to her native Norway, and I have not seen her since.”
“That is… quite the shame. I know the two of you were awfully close.”
“Such is life. We grow, we change, and sometimes our relationships do not last the test of time.”
“I could not agree more,” Kris affirms, thinking of Nace looming over him just a few moments prior, and of Diljá right in front of him after over a year apart.
“So, would you like me to help you sort your things, Miss Pétursdóttir?” Iru says, clearly still suspicious.
“Why, Miss Khechanovi, aren’t there staff to do these things for us?”
“Indeed there are, but when one is perfectly capable of carrying a few pieces of luggage, why wait to call someone?”
“Wonderful. Kris, be a dear and help,” Iru grins, looping her arm through Dilja’s and steering her towards the women’s wing. Kris is left standing in the midst of far too many trunks and suitcases. Whilst Kris is by no means a light traveller, Diljá seems to have packed the entirety of her wardrobe and had it shipped from Iceland. It would take quite some time to carry it all over, because it would require multiple trips.
“Need a hand?” Kris hears a familiar baritone from behind him. Nace, also in new, fresh, attire, is leaning against the wall.
“That would be much appreciated, actually,” Kris sighs in relief as Nace picks up three trunks at once. It’s ridiculous how strong Nace is, though Kris knows well how big the muscles of his arms truly are. They make the initial walk to Diljá’s new room in a pleasurable silence, then begin making idle chatter on the way back for the second trip over.
“So what was that I heard about you and the new girl?” Nace asks him.
“Oh, I was courting her, because our parents were quite eager for the match to be made.”
“But did you love her?”
“Not in the way one would hope.”
“Then why on earth would you marry her?” Nace stops. Kris, balancing the luggage precariously in front of him, doesn’t notice that Nace has so carelessly stopped, and proceeds to crash into him quite clumsily. Nace has the foresight and the reflexes to grab Kris and dive out of the way of the suitcases. The clang of the metal corners of the trunks hitting one another terrifies Kris, and he hopes that nothing particularly valuable was destroyed. Then he turns his head to face up, and Nace’s on top of him once again.
“...Hello.”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for saving me, Nace.”
“You’re welcome, Kris.”
“As delightful as the flashbacks to the last time we were like this are, I think it might be worth getting the rest of these to Miss Pétursdóttir before we break anything else.” Kris murmurs. Nace nods in agreement, pulling himself off Kris. He offers Kris a hand up, and Kris looks around before taking it firmly. He hoists one of the suitcases up, and picks up another, and then Nace takes the rest as they go to see Diljá. They set the luggage down and Kris knocks on the door softly, only for it to be slightly ajar - his knock dislodges it from its half-closed position, and it swings open a tad. Kris takes that as an invitation, and he kicks the door open, striding in purposefully.
“Good grief,” he mutters, walking out as quickly as he had gone in.
“What’s going on?” Nace asks, concern reflected in his magnificent eyes. Without waiting for Kris to respond, he bursts in and takes in the sight. Kris follows him in, and when Nace swoons, Kris moves to catch him. Sadly, Kris is built like an aristocrat, and thus is not biologically capable of supporting Nace’s weight when he faints. For the second time in ten minutes, Kris and Nace collapse into a pile on the floor. The thud seems to awaken something in Iru, who pushes Diljá away and adjusts the other girl’s veil. Diljá brings two fingers to her lips absent-mindedly, seemingly unfazed. Iru, on the other hand, is rattled, threading her fingers through her hair with an expression of utter panic stretching across her face.
“Prince Guštin, you and I really must stop interrupting one another in the middle of these things.” Diljá sighs, moving her hands to her hips. Kris takes in the ridiculousness of the situation - Nace, who he’d just spent the afternoon in bed with, unconscious on the floor, Iru about to burst into tears, Diljá still with her back flush against the wall and Kris trapped underneath a very, very, attractive man - and all he can do is burst out laughing. Diljá joins him, guffawing and taking a seat on the floor with him.
“Please, you must call me Kris. I think we can safely say we’ve crossed that line once more.” he wheezes in between giggles.
“Very well, Kris. You may once again call me by my own first name. These societal expectations are truly stifling, are they not?”
“I wholeheartedly agree, Diljá. Iru, come join us. I am unfortunately unable to get up, by virtue of the body pinning me to the floor.”
“Do you think farmboy will tell anyone what he just saw? He did just faint, after all. I suppose he didn’t see much of this sort of thing when he was younger.” Iru says, sitting next to Diljá and leaning her head on her shoulder.
“No, I think he was simply not expecting this. He’s definitely seen things like this before.” Kris says, gesturing at the two women.
“How can you be so sure?” Diljá asks.
“Given what he just spent the last hour or so doing, or rather, who he spent the last hour or so doing, it would be rather… hypocritical of him to judge you. He would never tell anyone what happened.” Kris smirks.
“What? What of that other man of yours? Bogan?” Diljá asks him.
“I ended things with Bojan the day you left Russia.” Kris admits.
“Is that why you got shipped here?”
“No, that was after one of the women my mother attempted to introduce me to mistreated me at a ball.”
“Oh, Kris, I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t left you, this never would have happened to you.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You needed to be there for your father, and staying with me would have just placed undue stress on both of us.”
“No, I acted irrationally and saw an escape so I could be with a woman that wouldn’t even stay with me when I needed her most.” Diljá sighs, tears welling up in her eyes. Iru kisses her cheek softly.
“You could have left and I could have just pretended to be devastated so I wouldn’t have to go find another fiancée as soon as possible. It was my own ambition and desire to make my father proud of me that led to what happened.”
“Neither of you are to blame for someone taking advantage of either of you,” Iru cries passionately. “You had no way of knowing that people would be so horrible and violate your trust like that.”
“How ever did you become so wise, Iru?” Kris asks.
“She may make far too much noise with Spanish women at night, but spending so much time with Madame Talhaoui is truly inspiring.”
“Spanish women? Her too?”
“Sometimes Swedish men too, she isn’t particularly discriminatory.”
“Perhaps you should be, given I just walked in on you kissing a woman you’d known for ten minutes.”
“What about you and Mr. Jordan?”
“Touché, Iru.”