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Ylandre, in the 3014th year of the Common Age
The hallways of the Citadel were never truly empty. Not even in the deeps of the night were the corridors devoid of folk. Dusk had fallen but it was not surprising to see people still making their way through the huge castle fortress that was the home of generations of Essendris since before the Inception. What did surprise most folk was the sight of Yovan Seydon striding toward the residential wing rather than the stairs leading down to the great double doors of the entrance to the Citadel.
Rohyr Essendri’s Chief Counsellor seldom stayed over at the royal keep. Normally he returned to his house in the affluent north district of Ylandre’s capital. Speculation grew rife when it was learned he’d been residing at the Citadel for nearly seven months now. Not that the Deira who frequented the Citadel or called it home minded the daily sightings of the Ardan’s favorite uncle.
Yovan was a half generation ahead of his nephew and several years his senior, but he was no less possessed of the seductive comeliness associated with the scions of House Essendri. Though wed with a son years past his majority, he still drew eyes and many a longing sigh even from Deira half his age. Not to mention propositions. The latter were always turned down, sometimes none too gently. But such was his allure that the rebuffed continued to take their chances alongside the many more who’d yet to taste his acerbic wit.
His burnished dark brown hair framed high cheekbones, eyes the color of the ocean in sunlight, a sharp patrician nose and a hint of a cleft chin. When he trained his nigh unblinking gaze on someone, it could be mesmerizing or terrifying depending on the recipient’s luck or lack thereof. On the other hand, his bright joyful smile could coax the grumpiest of curmudgeons into joining in his good humor even if they were the butt of it.
Yovan was beautiful, as affluent as the major fief-lords, far more intelligent than most Deira, and experienced in all the ways that mattered. Small wonder his lengthy residency at the Citadel was the topic of much gossip. Particularly when it became known his spouse was also in town, but only visited him once a month and always briefly.
Talk was they’d had a serious spat and their meetings were stabs at reconciliation. Some courtiers predicted they would separate; others hoped he would thus be available for dalliances. It irked Yovan that many assumed he would readily jump into casual affairs after suffering the pain of a failed marriage.
As he made his way down the corridor to his apartment, he noticed the few retainers in the vicinity were eyeing him furtively. It could only mean there was a guest awaiting him in his rooms and the guest was not his son.
Mered Seydon rose from the hearth-side couch as Yovan entered the sitting room. He was a fine-featured beauty whose comportment fooled many into thinking him of aristocratic descent. But that comportment was learned, taught him by Yovan over many years of marriage or done in mimicry of the bluebloods he’d come to know and befriend.
“Have you been waiting long?” Yovan asked as he approached.
Mered shook his head. “You were at Council?”
“Yes, but it was brief. Nothing too pressing.”
Yovan adroitly evaded his mate’s attempt to kiss his cheek.
“Wherefore this visit?” He walked to the liquor cabinet. “It isn’t quite three weeks since your last.”
Mered sighed. “Can’t I want to see you more often?”
Yovan poured them both some siryana wine. He walked back and handed one goblet to his mate.
After taking a few sips, he smiled bitterly and murmured, “Considering you preferred other company...”
“I told you I didn’t cuckold you,” Mered half-whispered.
“And I’m inclined to believe you.”
“Then why this continued rancor—”
“Do you think the wound you dealt me no longer pains me?” Yovan snapped. “Never did I imagine you of all Deira would hurt me so. That you would think so little of me you thought a dalliance a lesser threat to our union than the truth.”
“Dalliance?” Mered repeated in confusion. “You just said you’re inclined to believe—”
“That you didn’t cuckold me. They aren’t always one and the same. You should know considering it’s how you rationalized your actions.” Yovan held up a hand to preempt more protestations. “Do you still not comprehend how much more painful the truth is now that I know you didn’t give me the chance to save you from having to deceive me all these years?”
Mered’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Please let me make amends. Give me some hope I can earn your forgiveness.”
Yovan shook his head. “As I said, it still hurts. There are things I can’t forget so easily. Perhaps I never will.”
Setting the goblet down, he turned away and strode to the door. Reaching out with his mind, he checked to make sure no one was lingering outside trying to eavesdrop on them. He’d learned the hard way just how curious folk were about his business when he’d once let Mered out and several Deira scuttled away. The following day, news of their estrangement spread beyond the few who already knew about it and became a prime topic of Citadel gossip. He opened the door.
Mered reluctantly stepped into the hallway. “Rysander wishes to spend week’s end with you,” he said.
“He’s always welcome. Has he any plans for his begetting day?”
“He wants to invite friends and family to dinner at home. Will you come?”
Yovan hesitated. “I’d rather he and I have lunch together. I hope he’ll understand.”
Mered swallowed and looked down. At length he met Yovan’s gaze and nodded. He softly said, “I miss you so. Please believe that.”
“You did come here a sennight ahead,” Yovan conceded. “I suppose I must.”
Mered smiled wanly before walking away. Yovan watched him until he turned the corner. He entered his suite, closed the door and leaned back against it with a ragged exhalation.
One would think he’d be immune by now. All the more when he had heartache and betrayal to keep him from succumbing. But, nay, he still felt the pull. Still knew temptation. Still struggled to protect himself lest more hurt and disillusionment assailed him anew.
They were estranged and for good reason. Yet he was no less in love with his mate than when he first gave him his heart more than five decades ago.