To my very last.

Sinric looked up from his work as Constantine came into the tent, setting aside the clothes he was mending. “My master.” He dipped a deep bow.

“My darling boy.” Constantine sighed tiredly. The strategy council had gone on late into the night, one of the few meetings Sinric was not permitted to attend even as Constantine’s cup-bearer. “You didn’t have to stay up for me. You must be tired.” Constantine cupped the blonde youth’s cheek and drew him into a kiss.

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