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For almost a month, Elana was subjected to daily showers and the occasional thunderstorm. When summer ended and the monsoon passed, the rains continued well into the first weeks of autumn albeit with decreasing frequency. By the second month, Zykriel was told to expect only the occasional drizzle as the weather turned drier and colder. Therefore, he did not expect the sudden cloudburst that unloaded what seemed like a lakeful of water on the city.
He and Qristan were sparring in the exercise yard when the first drops of rain hit them. Big fat drops that were precursors of the veritable deluge that followed.
Yelping as sheets of water started to fall upon them, they dashed out of the yard and across the lawn. To no avail. By the time they reached the back entrance of the castle, they were soaked to the bone.
Qristan took one look at Zykriel and started to guffaw. Zykriel supposed if he looked anything like his mate—hair plastered to his skull, water dripping from the tip of his nose, shirt so sodden it was practically transparent and mud-stained boots squelching with every step—it was indeed cause for mirth. He found himself laughing as well, more so when several attendants frowned in disapproval as they headed back to their apartment, trailing muddy streaks of water behind them.
“I don’t think they like us very much right now,” he said when he caught his breath.
Qristan nodded merrily. “Especially since they’d have brought dry clothes to us had we stayed put.”
Zykriel started laughing again. “Sweet Veres, why didn’t you say so?”
“Because I wanted to see you in that shirt a while longer. It leaves nothing to the imagination.” When Zykriel gaped at him, Qristan leered and added, “Had we been alone, I’d have had my way with you in the rain right on the lawn.”
“You are insatiable,” Zykriel said, trying for severity.
Qristan winked at him. “No more than you,” he quipped. He caught Zykriel’s hand and pulled him along more quickly. “Come, I’m for a warm bath and hot cider first.”
“First?”
“Need I elaborate?”
Zykriel rolled his eyes but did not protest.
As time passed and he came to know Qristan better, he became ever more attracted to the Medavin. Whether the attraction would tip over into romantic feelings was debatable, but he knew he would not mind. He’d always desired a union born of love rather than the other way around. But he was not going to quibble about it.
So long as he and Qristan learned to love each other even if they did not fall in love, he would be content. There were many unions where spouses felt little more than congeniality or indifference toward one another at best, distaste or outright loathing at worst. It was fortunate he and Qristan enjoyed keeping company whether of the convivial sort or between the sheets.
He only wished their relationship could proceed with few obstacles to hurdle and no irritants to bear. In particular one whose mere presence was enough to give his day a bad start.
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Zykriel scowled as soon as he laid eyes on Davian. The latter was hurrying down the corridor toward the residential wing. He was dressed for travel. Davian would be accompanying his master on a day’s visit to Dharra. Thus far, Qristan had taken Zykriel with him twice, both trips limited to the bustling town that shared the shire’s name.
As the Deir came abreast of him, Zykriel wiped his scowl away and settled on a stony expression when Davian greeted him.
“Good morning.”
No honorific or reference to Zykriel’s position. Only a scant dip of his head. But of course Davian would dispense with such courtesies. There was no one else of note around.
Zykriel narrowed his eyes and held the aide’s gaze. At length, Davian’s oily smile faltered and he murmured a rather indistinct “Dyhar.”
Only then did Zykriel give him a nod of acknowledgement. “Lord Qristan has gone ahead to the bailey,” he curtly said. “You’re to meet him there forthwith.”
Davian flushed. Whether it was due to embarrassment over his tardiness or dislike of being instructed thusly, Zykriel did not care. He walked on. A moment later, the Deir hurried past him. This time there was not so much as a glance in his direction, much less an “excuse me.”
Not for the last time did he wonder what had merited him the aide’s hatred. The Deir’s antipathy had progressed far beyond mere dislike.
Davian was older by some years and easy on the eyes though certainly not as comely as any of the Shidaras. But he was striking enough to be memorable. What set him apart was his ink black hair coupled with light brown eyes. What irritated Zykriel greatly was the Deir’s behavior with Qristan.
He was too familiar for a mere aide. Oh, he addressed Qristan correctly and never acted improperly toward him. That is, when there were folk around who could report excessive impropriety and perhaps lead him to lose employment. But when it was just Zykriel present, he had no compunction about using his position to insinuate himself into the couple’s interactions. And his forwardness was made possible because Qristan tolerated it.
Zykriel could not understand it and Qristan seemed not inclined to explain his leniency.
He turned a corner in the hallway and noticed three scullions tucked into an alcove indulging in a break from their chores. Buckets of murky water, scrubbing brushes, and mops on the floor beside them indicated what they'd been doing. He shook his head at their lack of worry at being caught idle by a superior as he strode past them at a clipped pace. He would have proceeded down the corridor but the servants’ hushed voices carried in the empty space. He heard his name mentioned followed by a hasty shush.
One of the scullions peeked out, his eyes on the arched entryway through which Zykriel should have passed had he not quickly flattened himself against the wall using a statue to obscure him. The scullion ducked back into the alcove and the conversation resumed.
Desiring to know why he’d been mentioned, Zykriel reached out with his mind and listened. It was not one of his strongest gifts but the servants were close enough that he did not need to expend too much mental energy.
“I marvel at Calanthe’s patience with that vulgarian Davian.”
“Aye, acting as if he’s of more import to Master Qristan and in front of him too! Did you see him just now? Discourteous oaf.”
“Well, that’s partly Master Qristan’s doing, isn’t it? He should’ve put Davian in his place long afore.”
“True that.”
“So why doesn’t he?”
“Master Qristan has a soft spot for folk who’ve warmed his bed, is why. “
“Oh, I forgot about that.”
“But to the extent of tolerating his insolence to Calanthe?”
“Well, Davian never goes too far when Master Qristan is there, now does he? So mayhap our lord doesn’t know the extent of that upstart’s dastardly behavior.”
“Then why doesn't Calanthe tell him? It's his right to complain.”
“I think he's the patient sort. It takes more than bad behavior to fire his temper.”
“But when it's lit, everyone better duck! You know what they say about still waters.”
“Aye. Davian better take care that Calanthe never learns about his other service to Master Qristan. That's what I'd do.”
“That's what we’d all do. But the way he’s acting? I think he wants Calanthe to find out.”
“Why in Aisen would he want that?”
“Jealousy maybe? Remember how he bragged he would become Master Qristan’s leman? But that didn't happen, did it? Veres be praised, was he embarrassed! And, oh, did he deserve it, the pompous wretch. Then Calanthe entered the picture and put paid to any hopes he'd nursed to advance further than a mere bedwarmer on the side.”
“Oooh! Do you think he's trying to goad Calanthe into ending the marriage?”
“On what basis? Because Master Qristan took other Deira to his bed afore? I'm sure Calanthe’s done the same.”
“With that face and body? Without a doubt!”
“Aye, he and his brother are beauties, aren't they? And well endowed to boot!”
“Pray how do you know that?”
“Vilsom walked in on him whilst he was dressing. Said he's even more impressive than Lord Lioval.”
“Truly? Saints! If Calanthe ever thinks to dally outside the marriage bed, I’ll offer my services without hesitation!”
The scullions tittered lasciviously.
“So would all the unmated Deira of Elana!”
“Maybe even some espoused already. He's terribly tempting. I wonder if he's thicker than he’s long. Did Vilsom notice if—”
Zykriel decided he'd heard enough when the conversation meandered into prurient speculation and hurried to the dining hall. Besides, he had more to mull over than people’s appreciation of his appearance. Far more troubling was the discovery Qristan had once invited his aide into his bed.
No wonder Davian acted so familiarly with Qristan. Not so long ago, he'd been on very intimate terms with the middle Shidara brother.
His heart heavier than it had ever been, Zykriel steeled himself for a conversation with his spouse he expected would only solidify his worst fears.
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It was not until evening however that Qristan returned from Dharra. Zykriel could not help feeling resentful as he watched his mate enter their sitting room, his valet Vilsom and Davian just behind him. It occurred to him that Qristan always took Davian wherever he travelled. For the first time he wondered if the Medavin held his vows of fidelity sancrosanct.
Qristan joined him at the small dining table. Vilsom hastened to the bathing chamber to prepare his bath while Davian poured him a cup of brandy. Zykriel noticed the aide was careful not to meet his gaze. Was it out of recollection of Zykriel’s baleful regard this morning or his usual pretense at subservience when in Qristan’s presence?
Zykriel waited for the Deir to take his leave and head for the door.
“Do the Medavi make it a habit of keeping past lovers close at hand even after marriage?” he quietly asked, his gaze on the departing Deir.
Qristan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He followed the direction of Zykriel’s gaze and then let out what sounded like an incredulous huff. But then he looked at Zykriel and likely noticed his displeasure. He suddenly smirked.
“Is it forbidden in Ylandre?” he asked.
Zykriel shook his head. “Not forbidden, but frowned upon.”
“Why? You Ylandrins have no compunction about keeping lovers on the side whilst wed to others.”
“Only if both spouses have agreed to such an arrangement and the lover is a recognized leman. You must admit, marriages of expediency are seldom born of mutual affection and they don’t always lead to love between spouses. Especially if one’s leman is also one’s love.”
“So you tolerate concubinage but frown upon extramarital dalliances.” Qristan wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Rather hypocritical, don’t you think?”
Zykriel shrugged. “I don’t cotton to the practice myself. But I can’t foist my beliefs on those who don’t share them. However, I can understand the dislike for casual adulterous affairs. It’s a discourtesy to one’s spouse to play the lecher with multiple partners. There’s the fear of by-blows too, as well as disease. Whereas a serious affair is safer and reflects only on the state of the marriage and not on either spouse’s attractions or lack thereof. It’s actually quite ... civilized.”
Qristan snorted with scant amusement. “Not to mention tidy. I wager you don’t really believe what you said. In any case, we don’t hold to such old-fashioned notions here.”
“Do you mean to keep him on your staff?”
“Aye.”
“And you won’t consider a request not to?”
To his dismay, Qristan laughed out loud. “What, are you going to put up a fuss about it?” the Medavin said almost mockingly.
Zykriel glared at him. It was insupportable to be met with such facileness. “I’m hardly in a position to do so, am I?” he snapped. “Good night, my lord.”
He stiffly rose and made to leave. But Qristan caught him by the wrist and stayed him. He looked at his spouse.
“I’m sorry, that was impolite,” Qristan repentantly said. “Please, let’s not fight over something so trivial.”
Zykriel inhaled. “Mayhap it’s trivial to you. But whence I hail, it’s no trifling matter.”
“Of course. I shan’t make light of it again.”
“Yet you’ll still keep him about, won't you?”
Qristan smiled ingratiatingly. “He’s very well trained. And I haven’t the patience to teach another to take his place.”
Zykriel flinched. He wanted to ask what he meant if only to confirm or refute his suspicions. But on the other hand, he did not know if he had it in him to accept the truth.
“I can have him stay away when you’re present,” Qristan offered.
And how will he serve you when I’m away? Zykriel set the painful thought away. This was not what he’d envisioned when he entered into this agreement with the Shidaras. Never had he felt so insignificant that his wishes would be dismissed or downplayed so easily. Nor had he expected to share his spouse with a heretofore unknown rival.
Rival? That suggested he regarded Qristan as more than the other half of a contracted marriage. He suddenly felt quite nauseous.
“Zyk? Are you well?”
He glanced at Qristan. He appeared concerned. Zykriel shook his head.
“I’m for bed,” he curtly said.
Qristan frowned. “It seems I’ve truly offended you. That wasn’t—”
Zykriel interrupted. “The truth can never be offensive, just ... uncomfortable.”
He turned away and entered the bedchamber. This time, Qristan did not hold him back. Neither did he follow at once. Zykriel realized he’d been rather naïve when he told Rohyr he would soldier through the loveless union he’d taken on.
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Since Qristan’s lustiness matched his, Zykriel was not surprised when his spouse initiated love play almost as soon as he slid into bed beside him that evening. He did wonder that Qristan desired to couple with him following so soon on the heels of an argument. But his misgivings quickly fell by the wayside once his passion was roused.
They disrobed in between hard, bruising kisses and started rutting against each other as soon as they were both naked. The prod of hard flesh against his thigh stoked Zykriel’s lust almost to a conflagration. He pulled away from Qristan and hoarsely said, “I want to taste you.”
Qristan grinned. “You read my mind, didn’t you?”
They shifted positions and started voraciously drawing on each other’s lengths, almost racing to see who would break first. Treated to each other’s skill, it was not long before they climaxed almost simultaneously. Zykriel downed his mate’s spend even as he spilled himself into Qristan’s mouth.
They embarked on a second round of bed-play as soon as they recovered from the first. In less time than even Zykriel thought possible, they were primed for a thorough coupling. Having come to terms with his role in their conjugal bed, Zykriel started to spread himself. He was therefore surprised when Qristan pulled him atop instead. He looked at his mate questioningly, wondering if he wished Zykriel to ride him, a position he was not yet well practiced in.
To his surprise, Qristan asked, “Do you wish for me to yield to you?”
Zykriel shrugged and said, “I’d be lying to claim otherwise.”
“Yet you have not demanded it of me.”
Zykriel frowned. “I have no liking for unwilling capitulation. And I don’t think you regard me so lowly you believe I would. So wherefore your question?”
By way of responding, Qristan handed him the bottle of oil. Zykriel took it then gazed searchingly at him. “Why now?”
Qristan sighed. “I feel I haven’t been carrying my weight in making our union thrive. I'd like to do my share.”
“Only that?” Zykriel asked. “Or does our disagreement also have to do with this?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Qristan nodded. “I’d like to make amends to you.”
Zykriel shook his head. “If that’s the reason—”
“And I also desire to know your steel,” Qristan cut him off. “If I can achieve the first whilst experiencing the second, it would serve us both, wouldn’t it?” He spread his legs invitingly. “I want to feel you. Please indulge me.”
Their eyes met and held. At length, Zykriel opened the bottle and coated his fingers with the slippery liquid. He leaned down to brush their lips together before locking them in a molten kiss. At the same time he deftly slipped a finger into the cleft of Qristan’s buttocks. He noted that Qristan did not balk at the intimate caress nor did he seem skittish at this initial step in preparing him for penetration. A random thought skirted the edges of Zykriel’s mind. Why did his mate seem to harbor no anxiety about yielding himself?
Zykriel shoved the notion aside. This was no time to think of anything but ensuring Qristan’s absolute enjoyment and that necessitated readying him so he would barely feel any discomfort. It did not matter that his spouse had not done the same for him when they consummated their union. He took his time, sliding in two more fingers in slow succession. Only when Qristan pushed back eagerly did he move to take his own pleasure.
Save for a mild wince at the moment of penetration, Qristan’s expression betrayed next to no discomfort. A faint foreboding overshadowed Zykriel’s pleasure from being gloved by satin-bound strength and heat. But then Qristan wrapped his legs around his waist and pulled him down and into him completely.
Zykriel felt much of his control slip away as he sank all the way into his mate’s heat. For too long had he suppressed this particular desire. His slow entry gave way to a sudden thrust and he embedded himself to the hilt. He heard Qristan gasp and he quickly gazed at the latter’s face.
“Do you wish for me to stop?” Zykriel asked.
Qristan shook his head. “You had better not.”
In implicit emphasis, he tightened his legs around Zykriel’s waist. Zykriel fought to steady his unruly feelings, so strong was the drive to plunge and cleave and wholly own.
Don’t hold back. I wish to sample the extent of your prowess.
With such provocative thoughts urging him on, his restraint shattered. He repeatedly thrust into his spouse with a sureness and strength born of his long experience in love play. Beneath him, Qristan moaned and writhed with each plunge into his backside, occasionally begging for more or to be taken harder to Zykriel’s perturbation. He could not help noticing how Qristan bore his body’s breaching with an ease which was at variance with his own experience.
But unrelenting waves of pleasure soon swept him away from his misgivings and for the moment he wholly gave in to his lust. Nonetheless well-honed instincts reminded him to grip Qristan’s shaft and stroke it in time with his thrusts as much as he was able. Qristan abruptly spent himself, crying out while spurts of pearlescent seed coated Zykriel’s hand and striped their bellies.
Zykriel shuddered as ecstasy wracked his body, pooling at the last with explosive force in his groin. With a harsh groan, he spilled for the first time inside Qristan’s body. Through dazed eyes, he gazed at his still trembling spouse.
Lost in rapture, burnished hair wildly tousled, bee stung lips slightly parted, and love-bruised skin flushed from his orgasm, he made a ravishing picture. Zykriel closed his eyes lest the image spurred him into renewed arousal before he’d even collected his scattered wits.
Once he got his breath back, he gently pulled out. And just as when Zykriel had pressed into him, no flicker of discomfort appeared on Qristan’s face. Zykriel’s misgivings returned and, with no impending ravishment of his spouse to distract him, they returned in full force.
He lay on his side and studied Qristan’s face. He looked so sated he evoked the image of the kit who’d got into the cream. Zykriel supposed it should have made him proud that he could more than satisfy his experienced spouse. But the nagging suspicion as to what constituted that prior experience took some of the shine off their coupling.
Part of him retreated from the truth. But the other part, the one that demanded his questions be answered no matter the cost overrode his hesitation. He drew a deep breath and murmured, “You seem used to this.”
Qristan stilled. When he did not answer at once Zykriel’s disquiet deepened. He forced himself to meet Qristan’s curious gaze. “Does it really matter to you?”
“Yes,” Zykriel honestly said. “I was raised to expect it of my spouse.”
Qristan pursed his lips then looked away. “I told you, didn't I? We don't hold by such old-fashioned notions.”
Zykriel’s heart sank. That sounded very much like confirmation of his suspicion. He turned to lie on his back and stare unseeingly at the coffered ceiling.
Until his wedding night, he’d been untried insofar as yielding himself to another. From the time he’d discovered what sexual union entailed, he was discouraged to engage in the act unless it was with his spouse. And even then it was entirely up to him if he cared to play the mare. He was the heir to a major fief and scion of the Royal House. He’d believed it unlikely he would ever be wed to one higher in station than himself. Therefore, he had only ever consorted with those who were not constrained to preserve their virginity for their mates or cared little for chastity whether that stemmed from natural wantonness or the occasional espoused Deir looking for pleasure outside of the conjugal bed.
The latter affairs were rare and very brief for the thought of being complicit in cuckolding anyone dampened his ardor to the point of extinction more often than not. Yet now he was wed to one who neither shared his adherence to tradition nor espoused his principles regarding matrimonial faithfulness. Zykriel wondered what sin he had committed to merit so questionable a fate.
He became aware that Qristan had shifted onto his side to snake an arm around him. He glanced at his mate. In the dim light, Qristan’s eyes gleamed like gems.
“You're a lover like no other I've had,” he softly said. “I must have done something right to have merited a spouse such as you.”
Zykriel wondered if it was an attempt to mitigate his disappointment. He sighed and simply murmured, “I'm glad I please you.”
Qristan raised himself on one arm and peered at his face with concern. “It truly bothers you. Zyk—”
Zykriel cut off what he construed to be an apology. “No sense dwelling on what's been los—” He caught himself and finished with, “Done.”
Qristan obviously guessed what he almost said for he bit his lip as if mulling what to reply. But Zykriel decided he did not want to think about the matter any further. He pulled him down until their mouths met in a hot-tongued kiss while parting his legs in invitation.
He could not undo the past so he would lose himself in what the present offered.