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The bathwater in which his guard sat was going black with filth but he doubted Arjun had noticed, or that he’d remain conscious for the water to be changed. It would have to do for now, he decided, watching Arjun’s head dip as he dozed on and off, dragged under by weariness and the lulling of the warm water lapping at him.
Grabbing a drying sheet, Darya set about lifting him out of the water, standing him up and wrapping him in it. He could have called an army of servants to do it, but for some reason he didn’t want to relinquish the care of his guard to anyone else.
Gods, he enjoyed carrying his guard around way too much, he thought as he lifted him off his feet and walked him over to the bed, sitting him down on the edge of the mattress. What was it about this incredibly strong, beautiful elf that had Darya acting so strange, so out of character?
Not that he wasn’t protective of his own family and friends, but this feeling of overwhelming fondness, desire and protectiveness, all wrapped into one, was new, totally new and baffling.
Love, he thought, like he had many times over the past year. Had he fallen in love? Was it that simple, giving your heart away? He’d somehow thought there would be a big fanfare when it happened, a little sigil appearing on his chest saying “you’re in love.”
But maybe he was only in a rut, for some strange reason, and was confusing it with emotions. Strange to think he was in this predicament, after advising his fellow kings on this same matter with what had felt like great authority.
“How could you tell rut apart from soul mating?” King Royan had once asked, and Darya had made fun of him.
“The only way to tell,” he’d told his younger kingly friend, “is when you feel as if your heart is being wrenched out of your chest when you’re away from your mate.”
Wise words.
But how to tell how much of it was worry for his guard having been hauled away by a dragon and how much—if any—was something more?
The same advice he’d given to Royan applied to him, it seemed. Time was what he needed, time to see how he felt once his guard was well and back to his old self.
Because surely right now Darya wasn’t expected to be indifferent, to not feel the wrench in his heart every time Arjun got that blank look in his eyes, face paling, hands clenching on the tub edges, knowing he was transported back to the cave, back to the suffering and fear. Darya wouldn’t relax until that look had left his guard’s gaze for good.
“Arjun...” He squeezed the water out of his guard’s long hair, marveling at the threads of gold and copper among the rich chestnut and brown. He dried the elf’s thin frame, rubbed at the lean arms. “Warm enough now?”
Arjun nodded, a shiver belying the gesture. Some color had returned to his ashen cheeks, though, and with the grime mostly removed, at least Darya could see that he wasn’t seriously wounded anywhere. Apart from some scratches and cuts on his legs and arms, he seemed to be whole and healthy. He was way too pale, though, probably from hiding in the darkness of a cave for so long, and not eating much.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, softly, as Arjun seemed to startle easily right now, so often lost in his own mind. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
That was surely a good sign. A sick elf wouldn’t be hungry, Darya guessed, though his experience with sickness was limited. “I’ll call for some food, and—”
A knock on the door had Arjun scrambling to get up, eyes round like coins, pupils blown huge with fear. “No,” he gasped, “no.”
“It’s okay,” Darya said quietly, reaching for him. “Arjun.”
A priest stood at the opening, holding a tray with what looked like a teapot and a cup. He cast them an unsure look. “Majesty?”
“Come on in, priest,” Darya said, grabbing Arjun’s hands and tugging him to sit back down. “He’s still a little jumpy.”
“That’s okay,” the priest said, closing the door behind him.
“Who’s that?” Arjun breathed. He was sitting very still on the bed, his face paling once more. “Who is it?”
“A priest King Canan sent to look you over,” Darya said gently.
“I’m okay.”
“All right.” Darya squeezed the cold hands he held in his. “It won’t hurt to look you over, though, does it?”
Arjun said nothing.
“I brought you some tea,” the priest said, approaching on soft soles, putting the tray down on a small table. “Arjun, right?”
His guard gave a small shiver. Still half-wrapped up in the drying sheet, his hair hanging in wet sheets down his back and over his shoulders, he looked vulnerable, defenseless.
It tugged on Darya’s heartstrings, plucked at all his protective chords.
“What if you just take a quick look?” he told the priest. “I don’t see any wounds, and he doesn’t seem to be running a fever.”
“That sounds good,” the priest said with a smile. He looked like an affable, kind elf, his blond hair tied back, his pale eyes wide.
“I’m really okay,” Arjun insisted, his voice faint.
“I don’t think he would like to be touched right now,” Darya added. “If you don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Oh no, no reason to touch him if doesn’t seem to have any pains anywhere. Do you, Arjun?”
“No.” Arjun shook his head emphatically. “I’m fine.”
He kept saying that. Darya wondered if it was true, or if Arjun was trying to reassure himself. If he’d been saying that to himself all those weeks when he thought he was going to die alone in that cave...
Gods, he couldn’t think about that. Not yet. It made him so mad, and so sad, made him want to wrap himself around Arjun and not let go—and he didn’t think Arjun would appreciate that right now. Not when, as Darya had just told the priest, he didn’t seem to like being touched.
Not a wonder, after his ordeal. Until Arjun knew deep in his soul that he was safe he probably wouldn’t stop flinching and spacing out. Darya needed to have patience.
And for his guard, he would. Because he knew what it felt like, even if it had been so long ago. Some things you never forgot, only learned to live with them.
“He looks malnourished,” the priest said, approaching but keeping a few steps away from the bed. “Knowing what happened, well, according to what I was told, I think some rich broth and bread would be good for him tonight, along with this calming tea I have brought. Tomorrow he could start on a more solid diet with lots of meat and fresh fruit to bring back his strength.
“Sounds good,” Darya said, watching his guard’s face for any reaction. “Don’t you think, Arjun?”
Arjun shook himself visibly. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Good.”
“So you don’t think anything else is needed?” Darya asked when it became evident Arjun wasn’t going to ask any questions.
“As I understand,” the priest said kindly, “it was a terrible ordeal. I urge you to stay here a couple of weeks, allow Arjun to rest and recuperate. We have cleansing salts for his bath, fortifying herbs and teas to give him, rich food to help him regain his weight, and our temple is at your disposal. Arjun is encouraged to speak with any of us priests, including the High Priest himself, about what he went through, and prayers will be offered for his return to health.”
Another silence ensued. Darya wasn’t even sure Arjun had heard any word that what priest had said.
“Thank you, priest,” Darya eventually said. “I will give him the tea and relay what you said. You may go.”
“Your Majesty, King Darya.” The priest bowed low and departed, opening and closing the door so softly the click was barely heard.
“I will help you, my Arjun,” Darya whispered, tucking a half-dry strand of hair behind a delicate ear. “I’m here even if in your head sometimes I’m not. You can rely on me.”
Patience. That was all Darya needed. Not to push his guard before he was ready, even if he was dying to crush their mouths together, their bodies. With the strange scent and the filth washed off, Arjun smelled like sugar and sex, and Darya was hard as a rock.
Don’t push him, he told himself again. Let him heal.
He just had to resign himself to the fact that he’d be walking around with a permanent hard-on and blue balls for the days and weeks to come...
***
“MAJESTY.” A SERVANT popped his head inside a while later. “His Majesty king Canan is sending a few clean changes of clothes.”
“Bring them over here,” Darya said absently. Arjun had fallen asleep after eating the broth and drinking the tea the priest had brought, still wrapped in the drying sheet, slumped sideways on the pillows on the bed. “Send King Canan my thanks.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
As the servant departed, Darya roused himself enough to sort the clothes. He’d sent all the servants away. He was too tired to think, too tense to sleep. Sitting by the fire, he realized that he’d been so cold and stressed for so long he was only now thawing out. He should have taken a bath, too, after Arjun had fallen asleep, but he couldn’t bear to be around anyone.
Not tonight. Not after washing Arjun and observing him sleep, sitting watch by his side until he made himself get up, not without knowing what made his heart ache like that.
King Canan had sent several different outfits for both of them, all richly appointed, made of soft, precious textiles. There were also silken robes to wear in the room, and more drying sheets for future baths. Darya left it all lying on the velvet sofa and went to the wine decanter he’d spotted on a corner table. He poured himself a goblet of blossomspirit and sipped at it, wincing at the burn going down his throat.
He should at least undress and wash at the silver basin. A jug of water stood beside the basin, along with a drying cloth.
Instead, he stood at the window, pulling the drape back just enough to look down at the lit windows of the town below, drinking. Hopefully he’d relax enough to sleep before he’d drunk the decanter dry.