Dedicated to the fantastic weirdoherelol for their continuous support and sharing their amazing theories — Alessandro would be impressed. Thank you for being so awesome!

Giacinto was fast asleep. Bastard.

Alessandro sighed, flipping a page of the small leather volume in his lap, a fire crackling in the background. He rolled his shoulders, stiff muscles protesting.

His gaze wandered out the window -- the sun had just begun to rise, pale pinks seeping across the midnight blue sky, the river starting to turn from oil to gold. He let his head fall back against the soft velvet of the armchair. He had barely slept -- and wished he hadn't at all. His joints felt like they had aged fifty years.

Sleeping, Giacinto looked harmless, innocent even. Curled up tightly under two layers of thin linen and heavy, dark velvet, only his head poked out, a mess of black curls. Someone tell him what a comb was. He had a sea of pillows, his small form looking almost lost between them and the giant bed. He'd scrunch up his nose every now and then -- even asleep, he was easily irritated.

Why did he always sleep like that? He didn't even move. Everyone moved when they slept. Except Giacinto of course, because why skip a chance to confuse Alessandro.

It was more than odd habits, he was certain -- some, if not most of them, would follow a red thread, or have the same origin. But he didn't know which of these were truly random, which were more. And by interpreting all of these, he was bound to end up with misleading information, stumbling from dead end to dead end.

Alessandro shook his head, narrowing his eyes at his book, as if it was the poems' fault he wasn't interested enough in them.

He had heard those last when Daniele had still rested his head in his lap, Alessandro's hand in his hair, his voice drowsy but happy as he read to Alessandro. His heart grew heavy, anger and regret sinking their claws into him, piercing through the usual numbness. His vision danced.

Warm embers suddenly cooled to silver stars, the whisper of the fire dying down to a warm summer breeze under the midnight sky, laughter ringing in his ears.

He expected to turn and find his Daniele standing there, near the canals, rivers of stars, with the sleek black gondolas gliding through them like heavenly barks. Alessandro blinked. They had been young gods. He flipped a page, the old parchment rustling.

Giacinto stirred. Alessandro looked up, but the Greek had stilled again, breaths calm and deep. His hand now peeked out, clutching the blanket like a child. An amused smile tugged at Alessandro's lip, almost feeling bad for being so suspicious of him.

A knife whirled right at him.

Alessandro threw himself forward. Just in time. Just as the floor knocked the air out of his lungs, he could hear the blade tearing the velvet behind him. Three years of hunting monsters of the night had sharpened his instincts. The knife had been perfectly aimed. Lorenzo or Laelia would be dead.

After one painful breath, he pushed himself up again -- the bed was empty, covers tossed back. Where was--?

His face was shoved back into the ground. Someone pounced on him, a knee pressing harshly into his lower back. A hand grabbed his shoulder, manhandling him onto his back. A groan escaped him when his head knocked back against the marble. Alessandro didn't have time to shake the sudden dizziness. His assailant was over him in an instant, straddling his waist, weight used to keep him down. Rough fingers wrapped around his throat, closing without hesitation.

Alessandro gasped for breath, eyes widening. He couldn't swallow. He couldn't breathe. He thrashed -- but Giacinto was strong and Alessandro's vision was still blurry from hitting his head.

Calm. Control. Always in control. Panic wouldn't get him out. Alessandro closed his eyes. He was stronger than Giacinto, but with the other's vice grip on his throat, he couldn't risk it. He could hold his breath. He had time. Calm... calm... He did not have time. Not with that grip, threatening to crush his windpipe any second.

He arched his neck back, fast enough to loosen the grip just a bit. Twisting one arm between them, he knocked Giacinto's hand off, rolling them around at the same time. Giacinto's knee crashed into his side. Sharp pain flashed through him.

He threw his full weight onto Giacinto. His hands caught the arms thrown up to trap him in a headlock, pinning them down.

Alessandro managed to hold Giacinto down long enough for a few desperate breaths, his lungs screaming. Alessandro was stronger. Giacinto was faster. Alessandro could keep one of his wrists on the ground in a vice grip, but he didn't dare hold the other too tightly -- the wound on Giacinto's arm was still too young. It might reopen. Giacinto kept twisting his injured hand free, fast as lightning, always finding an opening to crash his knuckles into Alessandro.

It was a mad struggle, breaths growing fast and shallow, sweat beginning to drip down Alessandro's temple -- Giacinto was too good. And he was terrified -- green eyes wide and hectic the second Alessandro had him pinned down.

Alessandro needed him to calm down long enough to snap out of the fear, come to his senses -- a scared man was deadly.

"Listen to --" Alessandro started, distracted long enough for Giacinto wrap his legs around his waist, pull him down, flip them back around.

Alessandro managed to evade the first fist aimed for his head -- and suddenly the weight was gone.

A shuffle of boots, a hand thrust at him. Alessandro's arms were halfway up to shield his face, tip of his boot already tugged behind Giacinto's ankle to trip him when he noticed it was outstretched for him to take.

Giacinto stood above him calmly waiting for Alessandro to catch his breath. "You gonna stay there?"

Alessandro took the offered hand, the Greek effortlessly pulling him back to his feet. For a moment they just stared at each other. Alessandro felt oddly satisfied Giacinto was out of breath, shirt ripped at the collar, sweat flattening a curl a cross his forehead.

"Good morning?" The Greek tried.

Alessandro gritted his teeth. "What the hell was that."

"You startled me."

"I startled you?" Alessandro wanted to strangle him.

"You woke me up. The page flipping."

"That wakes you up?"

"I have a light sleep." Giacinto rolled his eyes. "I just saw your silhouette."

"Of course, that clearly warrants a knife thrown right at my face," Alessandro gritted.

"You scared me!"

"You tried to strangle me!"

"Don't be a baby." Giacinto crossed his arms. "I let you go right after I recognized you."

"Took you long enough."

"You held me down. I don't like that."

Alessandro just glared, rubbing his throat.

"Oh, come on, it's not so bad," Giacinto said. "... you were too strong." He fidgeted. "I'm -- I get nervous when I can't move. I don't like men pinning me down."

That was oddly specific. Alessandro sighed, dropping back into his chair with a final glare. He could wonder about why Giacinto suddenly decided to tell him something like that -- or what exactly that meant -- but later. "Laelia says to drink that. For the headache." He tossed him a small vial.

Giacinto sniffed it, then shot him a doubious look. "Ew."

"Don't be a baby," Alessandro said with a grin.

"Don't try being funny. ... I think I'd rather be hungover," Giacinto grimaced. "Talking of hungover, talk a bit more quietly or I'll rip your tongue out."

Glad to see Giacinto was back to normal. "Has a please ever passed your lips?"

"I'm a prince, I don't say please. I say 'hurry'." Giacinto threw his head back and emptied everything in one go. "Ew. Ew. Eww," he whined. "Talking of ew, why are you here?"

"Talking of ew?" Alessandro shot him an incredulous look. Giacinto just grinned. "Laelia decided I was most likely to survive you when you wake up. So I got to watch you sleep."

"Creep."

"To make sure you don't die."

Giacinto snorted. Something seemed to catch his eye — a shadow flitted over his eyes, color draining from his cheeks. He was staring at the book Alessandro has been reading, dropped to floor during their struggle. When he caught Alessandro looking, he immediately snapped his grin back into place.

"You were rather drunk. Laelia knocked you out with some pulver. You woke up, threw up, and collapsed again."

"I was not that drunk." Giacinto settled back onto edge of his bed, reaching for his nightstand. He set the small wooden cat there upright again.

Alessandro raised an eyebrow. When Giacinto just shrugged, he grew serious. "You were seeing things, when we arrived you were--"

"How did I get here?" Giacinto swiftly changed topics.

"I don't feel like getting strangled. Again."

Giacinto rolled his eyes. "Baby."

"I carried you. You're heavy by the way."

Giacinto groaned, letting himself fall back onto the bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Kill me now." He shot up again. "Laelia did this?"

Alessandro briefly considered telling him of her encounter of the Reaper, but quickly decided against it. Some other time. Giacinto might seem stable now, but he wouldn't risk another of his ... episodes. Who knew what he might do if he found the Reaper had threatened his Laelia.

He sighed. "You were ... not quiet yourself. She panicked. I'm not quite sure were she got the pulver from. We all have to talk. You two have to talk."

Giacinto flinched. He looked down at his lap, fingers twisting nervously. He opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again.

"What happened?"

"We fought. It was stupid, I --"

"No. You'll figure that out. In that room. What happened?"

"I got drunk."

Alessandro narrowed his eyes.

"Stop that. I don't like your detective games."

"I don't like you lying."

"I don't like you," Giacinto grumbled.

"Very mature." Alessandro leant forward. "What happened."

Giacinto firmly remained quiet.

"You were hearing things. Something -- something that wasn't there. You were crying. You kept apologizing." Alessandro could feel it, lingering at the back of his head. He was so close to realizing what was going on. It was there -- but every time he reached for it, it would just barely slipped through his fingers.

"You know, I really think you don't need a tongue." Giacinto balanced a knife on the tip of his finger. "Let's play chess."

"You hate chess."

"Let's not play chess."

Alessandro got up, shaking his head. "Change. We'll talk over breakfast. And behave, for once."

"Yessir." Giacinto saluted, clicking his heels.

Alessandro rolled his eyes. "Do grow up some time."

"Oh, I'd love to." Giacinto gestured down himself.

"Be serious."

"I'm Giacinto!"

Alessandro gave up. He was going to ignore the small part of him self delighted about being back to their harmless bickering. Must be the lack of oxygen before.

---

Alessandro just wanted to sleep. At least he had gotten to change into fresh clothes. Lorenzo was waiting for him in the grand dining hall. The morning sun washed over him, bathing him in soft hues, caressing the elegant curve of his neck. He was sketching.

Where he had gotten an entire set of new clothes at this time after having spent the night in one of the spare rooms, Alessandro did not know. They suited him, the loose, gauzy shirt, the tight white pants. Alessandro traced a swirling silver pattern, stitched across his shoulder. He wore his hair open, tickling the back of Alessandro's hand.

Lorenzo looked up with a bright smile. "Morning."

"Good morning. Slept well?" Alessandro pulled his hand back, settling into a chair next to Lorenzo.

"Could have been better."

Worry washed over Alessandro -- had he slept at all? With the knowledge his brother was the cause of all this? With what had happened with his father --

"-- if you had been there." Lorenzo winked at him, laughing at Alessandro's sour expression.

"Hilarious."

"Oh, I'm quite serious. How's Gio?"

"Annoying."

Lorenzo huffed a relief laugh. "Good."

"What are you drawing?"

Lorenzo just pointed at a portrait across the hall. Alessandro was relatively certain it was a younger Carlo Zeno. "I'm only really good at copying."

Alessandro watched the quick little strokes, the scratching of the quill filling the comfortable silence. Their hands kept brushing when Lorenzo would move the paper or dip his quill in the inkwell. They sat close, but the tiny smile tugging at Lorenzo's lips told Alessandro it was quite intentional. And Alessandro didn't move his hand away either. He did consider taking it --

Until the door flew open and the devil himself stormed in.

Amand Louis Fabien De Valois-Anjou. The Comte of Anjou. The devil of Louvre.

The fencing priest. The bishop of Florence. The french dauphin's favorite. The Pope's favorite. Alessandro's least favorite. "You," he gritted.

Amand stopped as if he had run into an invisible wall. "You." The deep violet robes and the heavy golden ornaments gave him even more of an arrogant aura than the frilly french lace cravat from last time they had met. He freed himself of whatever shock Alessandro had sent him into and stormed over.

Alessandro slowly got up, eyes narrowing.

Lorenzo looked back and forth between them. "Who's that?"

Amand turned with an exasperated sigh, twirling his mustache. Alessandro had rather vivid memories about that damn beard.

Lorenzo's eyes widened. "You're that priest! The one who dueled Alessandro!"

Amand and Alessandro groaned at the same time, then glared at the other.

"Yes, that priest," Amand said, an air of annoyance heavy around him. "Listen, I don't have time--"

"I remember, you came into the city, got drunk and asked for the best fencer. You beat everyone! For days! Until Alessandro got annoyed." Lorenzo grinned -- proudly? "I watched the duel. It took ages! You were pretty good."

"Of course I am good, I am--"

"You lost." Alessandro stated flatly. "Now leave. I'm not keen on repeating that."

"I'm not here for you, boy. What, you think I'd leave my residence just to fight you?" A wicked grin grew on his lips. "Though you do owe me a rematch."

"I owe you nothing."

"Oh yes. One in the streets, one in the--"

Alessandro grabbed the priest by his collar, yanking him close. "One more word, De Valois, I dare you." His voice was low, strained.

Amand laughed in his face. He raised a ringed hand to pat Alessandro's cheek. "Very intimidating. Go back to your pretty boy. I'm here for Laelia."

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. "No."

"Yes."

"No." Lorenzo got up as well, staring Amand down.

"Yes." The priest turned to Alessandro, flicking his hand off his collar. "You have terrible taste in men."

Alessandro sneered down at him, giving him an obvious once over. "Clearly."

"Rude, mon petit Apollon, rude. Her friend -- actually, you're coming as well. You can do your magic bloodhound thing."

When neither of the two answered, Amand threw his hands up. He began to pace, the golden tipped boots kicking rays of sun away with every angry stride. "I -- they took Marius. Yesterday. He's not back."

How do you think Amand earned the title 'Devil of Louvre'? The Louvre was the royal french palace. Must be the beard -- Alessandro does not like the beard.

Would you like Amand and Gio ganging up on Alessandro and searching for Marius first -- or a special chapter with Antonio and Daniele having their own plans for Alessandro, Lorenzo's father and a mysterious order from the Arabian desert?

There were so many little hints scattered all over this, I'm far too delighted over it!

Thank you for being so incredibly awesome and supporting my mad little Venetians! It means the world to me and I can't thank you enough.

Avis.