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Yovan looked about surreptitiously as they stepped into the spacious foyer. It appeared to be as ostentatious as the exterior of the house. The many-branched silver and crystal lamp that lighted the entrance would have done better in a ballroom and the gold tasseled purple drapes framing the ceiling-to-floor window panels on either side of the front door were just a tad too vibrant.
Thankfully, the reception area beyond had been kept relatively simple. No garish kickshaws cluttered the chamber. The fireplace and the seats around it looked pleasantly welcoming. As for the thickly carpeted main stairway—Yovan imagined the labor that went into keeping the elaborately embroidered carpet clean and could not help cringing. But the banisters were largely unadorned allowing the beauty of the fine wood to shine through. Perhaps all was not lost.
Yovan restrained himself from narrowing his eyes at the Deira who descended the stairs while the servants relieved his parents of their cloaks. One Deir was of medium height and somewhat jowly of face with piercing eyes and a hooked nose. Yovan guessed this was Asrael Cordona. He deduced the other Deir was the banker’s mate Remir. He was taller by some two inches and quite comely with soft facial features. He also appeared younger than his spouse by many years.
Both were coiffed and dressed in enyran fashion. They sported nape-length hair and wore the fitted, asymmetrically-sleeved tunics of True Bloods which opened up front and at the sides from knee to mid-thigh for ease of movement. The sword arm sleeves were cut above the elbow. Underneath they wore fine inner shirts and costly long breeches. But their earrings betrayed their lack of reputable lineage.
Other than the gentry, commoners were not permitted to affix gems to their jewelry even if they had the means to afford them. The Cordonas had tried to make up for this constraint by wearing startlingly large earrings of ley-silver. Unfortunately this only called more attention to their social station.
“Welcome, welcome!” Asrael said, enclosing Laval’s right hand between his palms and heartily shaking it and then doing the same with Evran. “I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the house.”
Impossible to miss it. Yovan smiled politely when Remir blatantly looked him over after the introductions.
“It’s so very obvious you and your father are Essendris,” Asrael remarked. “There are few Deira more beauteous than the scions of your noble House.”
It was all Yovan could do not to roll his eyes. Evran, on the other hand, softly replied that their host was much too kind. Yovan pursed his lips to suppress a grin at his father’s adroit avoidance of using an honorific when he addressed the socially inferior Cordonas.
“Not at all,” Asrael insisted. “I speak the truth. But, saints, where are our manners, Rem? Come, let’s repair to the red parlor.”
They ascended the stairs to the second floor where once again the Cordonas’ penchant for pretentiousness grated on Yovan’s sensibilities. If the Seydons succeeded in pushing the family up a rung or two on the social ladder, the bluebloods of the capital might deign to receive them in their parlors or call on them at home. But unless drastic changes were made to it, the bankers’ mansion would invite derision or pity.
He made a mental tally of all the alterations needed to imbue the house with a modicum of elegance that would inspire approval instead. And he would advise the family to initiate gentrification of their neighborhood to encourage visits to the area. As he considered the necessity of helping the Cordonas become sufficiently polished to mingle easily with fashionable society, Yovan envisioned a long and bumpy road ahead.
Asrael ushered them into the aptly named parlor. When he stepped into the room and caught sight of the dark red draperies, crimson panels on the light cream walls, and the carmine upholstery, Yovan almost winced. Stifling a sigh, he paused and waited for Asrael to come in. Before the banker could do so, two young Deira appeared at the door behind him.
While his parents joined Remir before the fireplace, Yovan lingered and observed Asrael as he turned to speak to one of the youths whose face and form his bulky frame obscured. The other Deir peeked into the parlor whereupon his gaze fell upon Yovan. He scowled unexpectedly and then turned around and walked some distance away from Asrael and the other youth.
Asrael’s voice suddenly rose, sharp with displeasure.
“This is most improper. You disappoint me. Not that I’m surprised.”
“I’ll just see him out.”
“You should have known better than to receive him today.”
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be quick about it.”
“See that you are. It’s unseemly to keep the Seydons waiting.”
Irked by the banker’s derisive comments, Yovan walked away from the door. Asrael soon stepped into the parlor visibly irritated. He nodded at Remir when the latter raised his eyebrows inquiringly. As he watched them, Yovan felt a very strong desire to read their thoughts and discover their true natures. Asrael’s manner toward the youth he’d scolded had been quite unpleasant.
The door opened and a Deir entered. Words of apology tumbled from his lips as he quickly walked to Asrael and Remir.
Yovan tried not to stare at him, but it was difficult. The youth was astoundingly beautiful. And unexpectedly familiar.
He was the student who had boldly appraised him a week ago. Distracted by the coincidence, Yovan barely heard Asrael’s introduction.
“Seydons-dyhar, Master Yovan, may I present my youngest son Mered.”
He ushered the lad toward Yovan with a none too gentle nudge. Mered smiled apprehensively, his eyes clouded with uncertainty.
“I’m honored to meet you, Master Yovan,” he softly said.
Yovan returned Mered’s smile with a warm one to encourage him to relax. “The honor is mine.”
The Cordonas had hidden their anxiety rather well, but not enough to escape Yovan’s notice. He moved to dispel their worry that he had not found Mered pleasing.
“Your claim of your son’s comeliness and charm was not exaggerated,” he told them. “It’s a great pleasure to make his acquaintance.”
Asrael and Remir were not as adept at hiding their relief. Their shoulders relaxed as did the minute creases in their brows.
“Sit here, Mered,” Remir said indicating the chair facing Yovan.
The youth complied and Asrael returned the conversation to where it had stopped when his son interrupted. Seeing it was mostly small talk, Yovan only cursorily listened, preferring to study the Deir with whom his future would be intimately intertwined.
Mered’s hair was a sandy shade streaked with dark gold that likely lightened to honey when bleached by the summer sun. His eyes were moss green and so thickly lashed, were it not for his strong nose and jaw and patently masculine form, he might have been mistaken for a throwback to the Naere, the Deira’s overtly hermaphroditic ancestors.
Indeed, there was a delicateness to his eyes and mouth which was at variance with his sturdy body. Already he was almost as tall as Yovan which was saying something since the Essendris were also known for their lofty heights. Yovan suspected Mered would have an inch or so on him by the time he was full-grown. But in light of the youth’s abundant graces, he realized he did not mind at all.
Before he could school his thoughts, Yovan wondered what it would be like to explore fair skin dusted with freckles.
He became aware Mered was regarding him much as he had that day outside the University walls. His eyes gleamed and the corner of his lips turned upwards in what could only be construed as appreciation. And then he dropped his eyes to Yovan’s crotch with open interest.
Accustomed to such scrutiny even by strangers, Yovan neither blushed nor flinched. Instead he curiously watched Mered’s face. He was soon rewarded. The youth’s eyes widened, his lips parted slightly and his cheeks turned a becoming faint rose. He glanced up and met Yovan’s gaze.
At first, Mered stared back wide-eyed and slack-jawed in what could have been awe or apprehension. But when Yovan returned his regard with a slight smirk, Mered raised his hand to obscure a small grin. He leaned back in his chair while eyeing Yovan quite slyly. As if they shared a jest between them.
When the conversation turned into an earnest discussion about the betrothal, Yovan left off his scrutiny of the youth. He paid close attention while Asrael listed the stipulations he and Laval had agreed on, occasionally interrupting to clarify anything he deemed questionable. He had to admit the conditions were clear and aboveboard, but the actual proceedings were carried out in too clinical a manner for his liking.
Yovan had always imagined his betrothal would be heralded with a celebratory toast and congratulatory cheers. Instead he and Mered were formally affianced as if they were diplomats sealing a political alliance for their respective countries. Given that they hailed from such disparate social classes, perhaps it was an apt comparison. Nonetheless he could not help a pang of disappointment.
He was relieved when Mered suddenly said, “Aba, why don’t I show Master Yovan the hothouse? I’m sure you and Ama will enjoy talking with Seydons-dyhar without the two of us around.”
The Cordonas seemed quite taken aback while Laval and Evran looked at him questioningly. Yovan swiftly filled the sudden silence. He got to his feet saying, “Yes, I should like to see your orangery. It’s no small feat to maintain one through the depths of winter.”
He dipped his head to his parents and the Cordonas and then gestured to Mered to lead the way. His eyes twinkling, the youth strode out of the parlor ahead of him. He surprised Yovan when he grabbed his hand as soon as they were in the hallway and pulled him along so they walked side by side.
“You are a marvel, Seydon-dyhar,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m so glad they chose you out of all the Deira who sought my hand.”
Yovan snorted but forbore to point out he had not even known about Mered until circumstances forced them together. “It’s because I’m best suited for their purposes. And by the way, we’re betrothed, so it’s Yovan.”
“Yovan,” Mered repeated with a smile which quickly turned impish. “They do desire you for that reason. But it has no bearing on my delight at learning it was you they’d chosen. You recognized me, didn’t you?”
“After the way you so cheekily perused me, how could I forget your face?” Yovan eyed him curiously. “Had you been following me about?”
Mered shook his head. “It was pure coincidence we crossed paths on the same day our sires came to agreement. However I did know you have quite the army of admirers even amongst the most staid of the instructors. When a classmate pointed you out, I thought to get a closer look to see what the fuss was all about. Suffice to say, I was impressed and deemed the fuss well deserved. And now I’m to be the sole recipient of your attentions, I look forward to the experience.”
“How generous you are with praise,” Yovan said as they descended the back stairs to the ground level nigh to the kitchens and the entrance to the servants’ wing. “But thank you. I hope I live up to your expectations which appear alarmingly high.”
“And how modest you are!” Mered remarked. “Surely you know how greatly coveted you are.”
Yovan sighed. “I never assume it’s I that’s wanted. There are folk who only desire what I bring to the table. Many enough of them to cause me doubt.”
“As my parents have amply demonstrated.” Mered wrinkled his nose. “Forgive me my rash tongue. Ama oft chides me for speaking out of turn and being too forthright while I’m at it. I promise I shall endeavor to school myself.”
“Nay, forthrightness is a virtue as far as I’m concerned,” Yovan said. “Less conflicts would start if people were clear and truthful about their intentions. Verily, I like your bluntness.”
Mered dimpled at him so prettily, Yovan had to tamp down hard on the desire to examine those dimples intimately.
They turned a corner and approached an arched doorway. Mered threw open the door and led Yovan through it. They stepped into a cavernous brick-walled chamber with large glazed windows and a high ceiling.
Yovan gazed at the plethora of flowers, shrubs and fruit trees.
“This is amazing,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen a hothouse as large as this or with varieties of plants from as far away as Arvalde and Lydan.”
He looked up at a towering tree to which clusters of fruits encased in fibrous husks clung.
“Have a care,” Mered said pulling him away from under the tree and its hard-shelled fruit. “The Lydani warn of ‘death by cocoanut.’ They can brain a fellow especially when fallen from such a height.”
Yovan snorted a laugh. “What an ignoble death that would be. Pray, lead us to a safer corner.”
He soon found himself amidst flowering bushes and shrubs, many of them from tropical climes. The flowers ran the gamut from demurely colored to vividly hued, some delicately scented, others possessed of a heady fragrance. He gazed at a climbing shrub with tiny white flowers, each bud surrounded by bright pink papery bracts
“How beautiful,” he murmured. “Are these paperflowers from Asmara?”
“Yes. And those are mallows, jessamines and natal lilies.” Mered pointed out the different blooms. “These are trumpets,” he said, caressing one of a host of bright yellow bell-shaped flowers. “And over here is Ama’s collection of orchidae and wild roses. The fruit trees are on the other side.”
“This is a veritable treasure trove,” Yovan remarked.
“And testament to more wealth than the family knows what to do with,” Mered sarcastically added.
Yovan regarded him thoughtfully. “Why did you have us leave?”
Mered shrugged. “You looked so uncomfortable when Aba went on and on about what he expected from our marriage. I knew he was going to repeat everything as soon as we finished plighting our troth. I thought to spare you the tedium of hearing them again.”
“That’s considerate of you. And observant.”
“Well, I should like us to start off on the right foot. Getting to know each other better will help, yes?”
“Yes, indeed.” Yovan offered his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Yovan Seydon thar Essendri. It would please me if you call me Van.”
Mered giggled and took Yovan’s hand. “I’m happy to meet you, Van. Mered Cordona at your service. Do call me Mer.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mer.”
They solemnly shook hands, but could not quite keep their faces straight. Whereupon they burst out laughing.
Still chuckling, Mered reached out to touch one of the jessamines. “Did you know this flower is symbolic of love and desire in Khitaira?”
“Is it now?” Yovan looked at the blossoms with renewed interest. “Well then, perhaps this is a much more suitable place to give you this.”
He pulled a tiny black velvet pouch from inside his tunic and handed it to Mered. The youth loosened the drawstring and peeked in. An instant later he caught his breath and gaped at Yovan.
“You didn’t have to,” he murmured as he emptied the contents of the pouch into his hand. Two matching earrings lay on his palm. Gold and tear-drop shaped, each was adorned with a single perfect heartsfire, the symbol of love and passion. The Seydon crest was delicately etched above the gems.
Yovan shook his head. “I didn’t want our betrothal to be treated like a transaction and I thought following some tradition would make it more personal. And nay, this isn’t an extravagance my parents can ill-afford. I took the stones from their betrothal earrings and had them reset at my expense. I do earn a living after all.” Picking up one earring, he asked, “May I?”
Nodding furiously, Mered replied with an enthusiastic, “Yes!” He hurriedly removed his earring.
Yovan gently fastened the gold piece on his left ear, feeling strangely proud that betrothal and marriage to himself entitled Mered to wear gemmed jewelry. As with his parents, he’d worn a plain earring rather than the amber sunscrystal stud borne by Deira of genteel birth who were below the age of consent.
Yovan removed his own silver earring with its opalescent cream-hued milkstone. As Mered likewise fastened his betrothal earring on him, he noted how the youth’s fingers trembled though he sensed excitement rather than anxiety.
Mered looked at him expectantly. Yovan huffed in amusement and leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on the youth’s lips. He drew back and noted Mered’s wide eyes and slight gape which were followed by a mild frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just—” Mered turned faintly rosy. “I’d hoped my first ever kiss would be a real one.”
“A real one?” Yovan teased.
Mered lightly punched his chest. “You know what I mean!” He pouted. “I too want our betrothal to feel less like one of Aba’s business deals.”
Yovan gazed at him. He could not deny the small taste of his intended’s lips had whetted his appetite for more.
He smiled, cupped the back of Mered’s neck, pulled him close and pressed their mouths together, taking advantage of the youth’s parted lips to slip his tongue in. Mered gasped against his mouth. But instead of recoiling, he wrapped his arms around Yovan’s shoulders and returned the kiss with all the eagerness and passion of the uninitiated embarking on his first experience in intimacy.
Yovan did not bother to stifle his soft groan at the feeling of Mered’s body pressed against his from chest to groin. He pushed one thigh between the youth’s legs compelling them to part and their crotches to rub against the other.
This time Mered did flinch and started to pull back. But Yovan dropped his other hand to his arse and held him closer. Mered whimpered though he was obviously far from dismayed judging from the way he eagerly allowed Yovan to draw them into a hot-tongued litany of kisses.
Only when the desire to throw Mered down, strip him bare and plow into him threatened to overtake Yovan’s good sense did he break their kiss and loosen their embrace. But Mered was slow to end it, sucking on Yovan’s bottom lip as he pulled away.
Yovan chuckled and tenderly brushed his knuckles against the youth’s flushed cheek. “You’re as irresistible as you are beautiful,” he murmured.
Mered beamed, admiration shining in his eyes. “And I’m truly blessed to be gifted a mate such as you. I’m so looking forward to you teaching me my bed manners!”
As laughter shook him once more, Yovan pulled Mered into a hug. And when the youth pressed a kiss to his jaw before laying his head on his shoulder with a happy sigh, Yovan knew he too was a lucky Deir indeed.