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“So essentially, Qristan’s wantwit of an aide colluded with the Shidaras to make a scapegoat of himself,” Dylen said from his perch on the corner of Gilmael’s desk.
“That sums up the whole mess very nicely,” Gilmael replied.
“I confess when Rohyr told me what happened, I found it difficult to believe.” Dylen frowned. “And now he’ll pay the price for their duplicity. It’s rather unfair that neither the Prime nor Diarmin will suffer for it.”
“Unfortunately for Davian, all the evidence against them is in his head which isn’t acceptable in a court of law. There are no documents, no witnesses to their meetings, not even letters save for the one Zykriel intercepted. And since Davian sent it, the Shidaras simply explained it away as the ravings of a lunatic.”
“Saints! Didn’t he have the brains to realize he would take the fall if he was caught?”
“Apparently not.” Gilmael sat back in his chair. “He was blinded by the opportunity to rise to the nobility and gain the wealth that comes with it.”
“So there’s naught against the Shidaras that will stand in court. But even if there is, he’s being tried in Medav. It will be a farce of a trial.”
“And the Shidaras will come away from it virtually unscathed.”
“How is Zykriel taking it?”
“What? That his mate’s family used him thusly?”
“Nay, that they’ll likely never be held accountable for it.”
Gilmael shrugged. “He’s washed his hands of everything to do with them. He says he’ll never return to Medav and if Qristan wishes for them to stay together, he’ll have to make Losshen his home.”
Dylen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He isn’t going to have their marriage nullified?”
Gilmael shook his head. “I thought he would set aside the ten-year grace period stipulated by Medavian law. After all, he’s on Ylandrin soil now and the Shidaras are no longer in any position to dictate to him. So we all expected him to file for divorce at the very least. But, nay, he’s stayed his hand and given Qristan hope that he has a chance to make amends.”
“Does he have a chance?”
“Verily I don’t know. Zykriel refuses to talk about it.” Gilmael sighed. “He claims it’s his duty to keep the kingdom safe. More likely it’s because he still loves Qristan.”
“Hence his hesitance to break with him. What say your parents about his decision?’
“Actually, they’re quite civil with Qristan. I think they pity him.”
“And you?”
“I’m not really surprised. Zykriel has always been the more forgiving one. I would have petitioned to end the marriage forthwith.”
“Yet Qristan was only indirectly involved in his family’s scheming. Mayhap that’s another reason Zykriel hasn’t cast him off.”
“Mayhap. As I said, he’s more forgiving. I’ll admit to pitying Qristan since he wasn’t the actual perpetrator nor is he my spouse. But to wed one such as he?” Gilmael snorted. “I can’t imagine it. Traitor or traitor’s son, it makes no difference to me.”
About to reply, Dylen suddenly stiffened and glanced at the door. “How long have you been waiting out there, Adhari?” he sharply called out.
The door swung inward easily indicating it had already been open a crack. A red-faced Selvin entered, his eyes darting nervously from Dylen to Gilmael.
“Why didn’t you request to come in?” Gilmael asked with a frown.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your discussion,” Selvin said.
“Or starve your curiosity,” Dylen retorted. “You still haven’t broken the habit of eavesdropping on Lord Gilmael, have you?”
“Dy—”
“He may be your friend but you can’t let this pass.” He nodded in Selvin’s direction with distaste. “Apparently he thinks the privilege to drop by your office uninvited includes standing at your door and listening in on your conversations. You should know, this isn’t the first time I’ve caught him at it.”
Gilmael stared at his cousin. Dylen was not one to make petty accusations. He turned his eyes on Selvin. The look of dismay on the Deir’s face confirmed the charge.
Eavesdropping was no crime, but it was an offensive act nonetheless. The very thought that a friend had spied on him served to raise Gilmael’s hackles. The memory of his twin’s betrayal at the hands of one he’d trusted intensified his ill feelings.
“Why didn’t you obey Lord Dylen and cease your spying?” he grimly asked.
“I wasn’t— that is, I didn’t mean to—” Selvin stammered.
“Did you think I would turn a blind eye to your misconduct for friendship’s sake?”
His flush deepening, Selvin whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Gilmael sighed. “You disappoint me. From hereon, you will desist from coming here without permission.”
Selvin gaped. “But Gil—”
“Now unless you came by to tell us something of import, get yourself back to your desk,” Gilmael barked.
There was a moment of tense silence. Selvin’s shoulders slumped and he turned and left the office.
Gilmael rubbed his forehead vexedly. “Why would he do such a thing? And to think I gave him the means to indulge himself thusly. Ah, who am I to decry Qristan for poor judgment when I’m guilty of the same error?”
Dylen came around the desk and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Qristan’s injudicious decisions hurt Zykriel deeply. That makes it a personal matter to you. Of course, you passed judgment on him. This is another issue entirely. You couldn’t have foreseen it nor is it your fault Selvin chose to abuse his privilege. If anyone is to blame, I am. I didn’t bring his behavior to your attention.”
“You’re my adjutant,” Gilmael reminded him. “With full authority to discipline any and all Deira in this Ministry including every agent however senior. That Selvin didn’t hearken to you says much about him and not at all about you.”
Dylen smiled brittly. “Why is it when you offer a hand to some Deira, they think it their right to take the whole arm?”
“I presume that’s a rhetorical question.”
“Of course. By the way, Imri brought Mishar with him today.”
Gilmael’s mouth curved into a smile before he could school his reaction. “Did he now?” he said, trying for nonchalance. “Mishar probably knows the insides of the archives as well as his home by now.”
Dylen grinned. “Don’t try and pretend you aren’t delighted with the child. It’s plain as day on your face.”
“I really should restrain myself,” Gilmael said, his smile fading somewhat.
“Why?”
“I should act more professionally with him when on the premises. I don’t wish to give others reason to believe I play favorites.”
Dylen scoffed. “Oh pish! Favoritism is a given with children and formality has no place in the presence of babes. Besides Mishar is comely, bright, and utterly adorable. It’s no surprise you enjoy his company.” With a flippant salute, Dylen started to walk toward the door. He slowed down midway and glancing over his shoulder, smirked and added, “And his sire’s.”
Gilmael opened his mouth to protest but Dylen strode out of the room before he could put together a coherent sentence. He huffed and shook his head.
His cousin had long discerned his attraction to Imri had crossed the line into deep affection. But what of the others in his Ministry? Did any suspect the same? He hoped not. It was hard enough trying to make sense of his jumbled feelings. He did not wish to explain himself to anyone just yet. Not after having openly shown his distrust of the Virazes at the start.
He sat back with a wince. Now that had been most unprofessional of him. It was to Imri’s credit that he did not file a complaint against him during those first months when their interactions had been cool at best. Yovan Seydon whose duty it was to oversee the Ministry heads would not have removed or demoted him on the basis of one complaint of misconduct. But his uncle would have given him a scathing earful that would have likely traumatized him for several weeks running.
Furthermore, he’d always prided himself in keeping his personal business separate from his professional. His people knew he’d had liaisons with a number of their colleagues. But they were also aware that Gilmael eschewed showing favor to them however close they were to him. Even Dylen had borne a dressing down or two. Gilmael did not want his reputation for neutrality and fair dealing compromised in any way.
The sound of laughter floated in through the windows. He stood up and went to look out at the small garden whence the laughter came.
Mishar was gleefully chasing gossamer-winged pintails down below, looking at his sire for approval every once in a while. Imri was seated on the bench beneath the lush eaves of the garden’s red elm, a feather quill in his hand and a stack of books and documents and bottle of ink at his side. A large journal lay open upon his lap, the present page only half-filled. He was apparently collating material. But busy as he was he paused his scribbling to smile at his son and encourage his play.
Gilmael swallowed at the sight. He might deny it to others but not to himself. He was besotted with Mishar. And Imri? He exhaled slowly. His lover had come to mean so much more to him than a warm body to share his bed with.
Imri laughed at his son’s antics, the husky, dulcet sound enough to arouse Gilmael’s desire to wrap himself in strong limbs and satin-bound heat. He swore under his breath.
He would cancel his meetings this afternoon or delegate them to Dylen and put the couch to vigorous use.
––––––––
Imri pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle his moans and soft cries as Gilmael repeatedly thrust into him. Enthralled by his responses, Gilmael let his gaze travel southward as he appraised Imri’s sleekly muscled torso. Farther down the shaft he lazily stroked rose proud and tall from the sparse silver nest upon his groin. And just below the plump seed sac the taut rounds of his arse parted as Gilmael’s shaft slid into the tight passage between.
So beautiful, he thought, as he watched Imri’s body swallow his length. He’d been with many Deira but none as strikingly comely as the Viraz heir. Or as capable of inspiring such lust at the thought of bedding him that he oft had to resort to stroking himself to relief if he did not wish his stride to be hobbled by the erection he inevitably sported.
With every thrust, he glimpsed the tiny opening to Imri’s seed channel. His shaft seemed to harden even further just from the anticipation of spilling himself inside his lover’s sheath. He would wash himself immediately afterward so he could turn Imri’s body and thus take his pleasure soonest. The pause between couplings would also ensure the mirash had taken effect. Imri always imbibed the conception suppressant before they coupled in case Gilmael took him in reproductive intercourse as well.
Imri clenched his backside around Gilmael’s shaft, wordlessly urging him to deepen his thrusts. With a huffed laugh, he obliged. He quickened his stroking of Imri’s length and snapped his hips forward, almost brusquely plunging into the silken grip of his lover’s arse. It did not take them much longer to attain completion.
Gilmael climaxed first, groaning in rapturous relief as his semen spewed forth. Managing to maintain a semblance of lucidity, he tightened his fingers around Imri’s shaft. A moment later, pearlescent seed spurted out to coat his fingers and streak their bellies. Beneath him, Imri shuddered, barely smothering his soft sounds of ecstasy.
When he felt able to lift himself off, he pulled out. He reached for his shirt which lay amidst their strewn clothing and used it to wipe their bellies and his lover’s backside clean. Imri smirked.
“You don’t care if you soil your shirt? It looks new to me.”
Gilmael grinned. “It is new. But a good laundering will wash away the evidence of my indiscretion.” He impulsively stroked his knuckles down Imri’s cheek. “Not that it matters if there’s evidence or not. I rather like seeing proof of your pleasure.”
Imri eyed him curiously. “It appears we share one sentiment at least. I too enjoy witnessing your pleasure. Pleasure I know I wrought for you.”
Not knowing how to respond and a little rattled by his own declaration, Gilmael excused himself to retreat to his office bathing room where he thoroughly washed his groin and shaft. He quickly returned to Imri and with little preamble engaged him in a slow but heated kiss
Imri’s hands roamed his body, ran down his back and flanks and cupped his buttocks. He returned the caresses, pausing to thumb his lover’s nipples to renewed peaks before stroking his hips and the insides of his thighs. And then he slid a finger behind his seed sac to lightly touch the entrance to his sheath.
“I want to fuck this,” he murmured.
Imri’s eyes fluttered closed and he spread his legs once more.
Gilmael wasted no time turning him. As soon as his fingers came away glistening, he hurriedly positioned himself. He only waited for his lover to curl his legs around his waist before plunging into the slick channel. Imri gasped at the sudden penetration, but tightened the wrap of his legs to indicate he’d suffered no discomfort.
“Heyas!” Gilmael gasped out as he was gloved in silk-wrapped wet warmth. “I don’t know why, but I’ve never coupled this way as often as I do with you.”
Imri’s eyes widened. “You truly don’t know?” he said in between moans.
Gilmael saw something light up in his eyes. The same thing he’d seen in Losshen when he’d introduced him and Mishar to his family.
“I really don’t—” He stopped upon seeing the light dim somewhat. He found he could not bear to be the source of his lover’s disappointment. “I do know that ... that I only want this when I feel truly ... close to my partner.”
“And you’ve felt that way only rarely?” Imri softly asked.
“Rarely and never for long with the same Deir.” Gilmael hesitated then forced his next words out. “Except with you.”
Imri sucked his breath in sharply. In the next instant, he pulled Gilmael lower and sealed their mouths together in a spate of torrid kisses.
“I’ve been hoping,” he whispered.
Several minutes and two explosive orgasms later, they untangled themselves and started to get dressed. It took them longer than usual due to Gilmael’s propensity for stealing a kiss here, a grope there. Imri chuckled and slapped away a wandering hand.
“Keep your hands to yourself or we’ll never get done,” he scolded goodnaturedly.
“Just my hands?” Gilmael asked as he dropped a kiss on a bare shoulder before Imri could pull on his shirt to cover it.
Imri shook his head. “Insatiable rogue,” he muttered. “It’s a wonder we get anything done nowadays.”
Gilmael grinned. “If that were true, I’d be up to my neck in charges of dereliction of duty. And Dylen would hound me without cease.” His grin faded as he recalled his cousin’s latest discovery. “By the way, he exposed Selvin’s habit of standing outside my door and eavesdropping on my conversations. Dylen warned him away, but it seems Selvin didn’t take him seriously. It pains me to know a friend would do that. I feel violated truth be told.”
Imri frowned. “Of course you feel violated. Even if he wasn’t your friend, it’s natural to feel betrayed. Were I in your place I’d remove him or transfer him to another Ministry. Otherwise I’d always wonder if he was still lurking outside listening in on me.”
At that moment, Dylen’s voice came through the door, loud and harsh. “Spying on Gilmael again? For shame!”
There was an unintelligible mumbling followed by a peeved, “This is my last warning. Next time I’ll have you tossed out on your arse. Do I make myself clear?”
Dylen’s voice faded. Gilmael guessed he was herding Selvin away. He stared at the door in some ire.
“I suppose no habit is easy to break. But he’d better take Dylen’s threat to heart. I won’t undermine my cousin by overriding him in this.”
Imri stood up and picked up his tunic. “I’m sorry you must bear his foolishness,” he said as he pulled it on. “But if he values your regard, he’ll mend his ways.”
Gilmael sighed and finished dressing as well. “I hope so.”
He kissed Imri once more before letting him leave. And kept his gaze on him until he closed the door behind him. Almost at once, he felt lonely. Imri’s absence left him with an emptiness he’d never known before but was becoming familiar each and every time they parted.
A chill ran up his spine. He was not used to longing for a lover’s company. Even less wishing for his yearning to be requited.
He cursed under his breath. His heart was not yet given. It was not! He did his best to ignore the tiny voice that suggested otherwise.