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A servant bearing a flute of mirash on a small tray made his way to Mered. Yovan swiftly moved to intercept him. He fumed at what was tantamount to a public announcement that his mate would be taken in reproductive intercourse right after the grand dinner to which the Cordonas had invited numerous business associates.
It was common for bluebloods to conclude a thirtieth begetting day celebration with a reminder to the guests that the celebrant had reached the age of consent and could now indulge in sexual communion. This often involved the exchanging of the celebrant’s suncrystal stud for a heartsfire earring, the outward symbol of the Deir’s availability. The serving of mirash at the end of a celebratory meal however was restricted to lemans who intended to engage in genital penetration with their lover for the first time. Furthermore, it was done regardless of the concubine’s age at the time of the celebration.
It was not meant as a declaration of his lover’s full ownership of his body, but rather a signal to kith and kin that the relationship was serious enough for the couple to desire to engage in reproductive intercourse and all the implications thereof. There were also just as many who kept any such changes in their liaisons a private matter.
In any case, the custom was observed only in the presence of intimates such as close family and trusted friends; not at a full-blown party where more than half the attendees were strangers to the leman, his lover or both. Flaunting a concubine’s complete sexual submission to his lover so publicly was deemed crass by genteel society. To proceed thusly with an already wed Deir would be seen as the height of vulgarity.
He stopped the servant before the latter came into full sight of the entire assemblage. “Take that back,” he sternly ordered. “And see to it no one else attempts to embarrass my spouse thusly.”
The servant stammered his compliance and hurried back the way he came. Keeping his glare on the retreating Deir, Yovan ignored the murmurs of surprise and curiosity from guests who had seen the servant and what he’d borne. Someone laid a hand on his arm and he looked over his shoulder at an indignant Asrael Cordona and his mate.
“What are you doing?” Asrael demanded.
Yovan pushed down the contempt with which he was tempted to regard them. He turned to face the couple as well as dislodge Asrael’s hand.
“I’m sparing you the shame of being deemed lowbred boors by polite society.”
“Why would they—”
“This isn’t done amongst the aristocracy and gentry,” Yovan explained none too patiently. “It’s highly inappropriate to make a spectacle of it given the very personal nature of the custom. And in case you’ve been misinformed, it’s a custom restricted to concubines alone. Had I not intervened and this got out, which is a virtual certainty, you would have gained the disdain of the very folk whose notice you so badly desire.”
Both Cordonas flushed uncomfortably. Remir said, “We didn’t know. Do accept our apologies, Yovan-dyhar.”
Yovan shook his head. “If you don’t know or understand something, ask me or my parents first. It’s better to err on the side of caution than to try and repair the damage from a mistake committed out of stu—ignorance.”
Thankfully, Asrael and Remir did not notice his near slip of the tongue.
“Of course, of course,” Asrael hastily agreed. “Wherefore having you as mentors if we don’t make use of your knowledge?” He gestured to the nearby guests who were obviously trying to eavesdrop on them. “Come, Rem, we have guests to pacify.” He looked at Yovan in some embarrassment. “They were, ah, looking forward to this part of the evening.”
“Because you told them it was something bluebloods do,” Remir bit out accusingly.
He huffed, swiveled around and walked away. Asrael stared after him with a burgeoning scowl which he wiped off his face when he remembered Yovan was observing him.
“Yes, that was careless of me,” he muttered before striding off.
Still irritated, Yovan made to rejoin Mered. When he passed his parents’ table, Evran beckoned to him. With a sigh, he took the empty seat beside his father. From the gleam in Evran’s eyes, it was obvious he’d tapped into his son’s less than amiable conversation with his parents-by-law.
“There are gentler ways of getting a point across,” Evran commented, a bit of amusement underlining his tone.
Yovan snorted. “Sometimes a teacher has to be harsh to ensure his students don’t forget their lessons as soon as they step out of the classroom,” he said. He glimpsed Asrael talking to a group. The Deir looked as if he was trying to placate them. “They would have humiliated Mered. I won’t have that. Not now, not ever.”
Evran’s eyes softened. “You love him,” he softly said.
Yovan exhaled. “And if I do?”
“I’m happy for you. I feared you would feel naught but friendly affection for him.” Evran smiled faintly. “Not that such an arrangement is bad. But I hoped you would know the joy of loving your mate. Does he return it?”
Yovan shrugged. “We haven’t talked about such matters. I think it’s too soon to ask it of him. But I enjoy his company very much which is more than many Deira can claim. He’s sweet and kind and affectionate.”
“Not to mention full of admiration for you,” Evran murmured with a slight nod in Mered’s direction.
Yovan did not turn around but let his mind’s eye see what his father saw. He grinned at the vision of Mered looking his way with a shy smile and a gaze that could not be mistaken for anything but worshipful.
“So you waited for his thirtieth year,” Evran said. “You do realize you needn’t be so leery of being perceived to act as your Opa Andrion did. You’re so different from him and very honorable to boot. People don’t see the least bit of my sire in you. They only see you. And in any case, what really matters is who Mered sees.”
Yovan nodded. “I’m beginning to accept that. To let go a bit.” He gnawed briefly on his lower lip. “I’m thinking of asking him if he’ll allow me to imprint him.”
When Evran merely dipped his head in acknowledgment, it was clear he’d also thought about his son performing viratha on his mate.
“I’m wondering though if I should let him have a taste of what it could be like,” he ventured. “The last thing I want is for him to consent only for him to regret it later.”
“So mind-speech while you couple?”
“Do you think it wise?”
“It might persuade him. Or it could frighten him. What do you hope for?”
Yovan shook his head. “To know his true sentiments. And that he doesn’t think I doubt his capacity for faithfulness.”
Evran smiled. “You do love him for you to put his feelings ahead of yours. I pray he’ll learn to love you likewise.” He fondly cupped his son’s cheek. “At least no matter what decision he makes he can’t say he made it blindly.”
Yovan took leave of his father and went to Mered. Even before he reached their table, Mered stood up and all but threw himself into his arms. Yovan laughed as he was peppered with light kisses.
“I saw what you did,” Mered said in a hushed voice. “Thank you, Van. I was dreading the moment I’d have to drink it in front of this crowd.”
“You knew?” When Mered nodded, Yovan frowned and said, “Why didn’t you tell me? Imagine if I hadn’t been in the position to stop the servant when he entered the hall.”
Mered paled. “I should have told you,” he agreed. “But Aba and Ama ordered me not to bother you with such trivial matters.”
It brought home to Yovan again just how young and inexperienced his spouse was. He pulled Mered close and held him protectively.
“There’s nothing trivial about anything that could hurt or shame you. Don’t ever think I’d belittle your concerns or deem mine of more import than yours.”
The dazzling smile Mered bestowed on him would have spurred him into indecent activity were they not in public. Then again who said they had to remain in public now that dinner was over?
“Shall we go?” he murmured. “Verily, I’m eager to share this first with you.”
Mered’s eyes sparkled. “I’m as impatient as you. Would that we didn’t live all the way in the north district.”
They took their leave of the Cordonas and asked Yovan’s parents if they wished to go home with them. Laval chuckled and shooed them off, saying he and Evran did not care to bear witness to anything untoward in the carriage. He did remind Yovan to send the coach back before he and Mered got so immersed in their plans for the night, they forgot about the world beyond their bedchamber door.
Laval did prove correct about unseemly activities occurring in the carriage. By the time they stumbled out of the vehicle when they arrived at the house, Yovan and Mered were half out of their tunics and their breeches were no longer snug around their waists. They paid no heed to the servants who in turn did their best to ignore their displays of passion on the way to their suite.
Yovan kicked the door shut behind them and then chased a giggling Mered into the bedchamber. Once he entered the room he suddenly fell silent and headed to the liquor cabinet where he’d deposited a bottle of mirash that morning. He leered at Mered when the latter caught his breath and stared at the bottle. With a lazy smile, he poured a flute of the conception suppressant and handed the bright blue liquid to Mered.
Mered drew a deep breath and downed the mirash. His eyes widened in surprise.
“It’s sweet!”
“So I’ve been told.”
“It leaves a rather unpleasant taste in the back of my mouth.”
“Likely the reason for sweetening it.” Yovan took the flute from Mered and placed it on the cabinet’s fold-down shelf. “We need to give it time to take effect.”
“How long?” Mered curiously asked.
“About as long as it will take to wring an orgasm out of you,” Yovan said.
Mered gaped at him but before he could get a retort out, Yovan hauled him into his arms and kissed him hard. When he saw fit to release Mered, the youth seemed to have lost his sense of speech. Yovan grinned.
“Strip,” he ordered. “And be quick about it.”
For one moment, Mered stared at him, a little shocked by his peremptory manner. But when Yovan doffed his own tunic, it snapped him into action. More swiftly than he’d ever done before, Mered shed his clothes and shoes until he stood naked before Yovan.
Yovan let his gaze rove appreciatively over his mate’s bared form. “Lie down and spread yourself,” he huskily said.
Mered gulped and obeyed. He kept widened eyes on Yovan as he took off his jerkin and boots. But not his shirt or trousers. Mered stared in confusion as he got onto the mattress between his outspread legs.
“Aren’t you going to—”
Yovan silenced him with a devouring kiss. “Not a word,” he said against Mered’s lips. “Just feel.”
He took Mered’s hands and drew them up to grip the base of the headboard. He proceeded to apply a spate of nibbles and kisses to the inner sides of Mered’s upper arms from elbow to shoulder and then along his shoulders to his throat, leaving a trail of light bruises to mark his passage. He moved on to Mered’s chest and torso, paying close attention to his nipples. A moist tug on one nipple undid Mered’s resolve and he began to lower his hands to clasp Yovan to him.
But Yovan caught his arms and, with a shake of his head, pushed them back up. Keeping a smoldering stare on his spouse, he resumed tending the peaked nubs. He grinned when Mered moaned and closed his eyes and chuckled at the latter’s soft whimpers when he nipped and kissed his stomach and playfully licked his navel.
Yovan continued his southward journey skirting around Mered’s groin to leave the evidence of his adoration on the tops and insides of his thighs and along his slightly bowed legs, his one physical imperfection as far as Yovan was concerned. He did not deem Mered’s freckles a flaw despite the Cordonas’ oft voiced disparagement of them. Indeed he thought they made his mate all the more delectable and wondered if he would be able to map out every freckle before the night was done.
He had not tired of exploring Mered’s body. And luscious as his mate’s body was, he doubted he ever would even as they both aged and matured.
Yovan returned to Mered’s groin at last, grinning as his mate spread his legs wider for him. Inviting him to pillage his graces. He set to quenching his lust, thoroughly licking and kissing the tender flesh around the shaft which arose quite proudly from its nest of sandy curls. He heard a whispered nigh desperate entreaty.
“Patience,” he murmured and licked a stripe up Mered’s shaft.
“You’re not helping!” Mered indignantly retorted.
Yovan laughed softly and decided to answer his mate’s need. Without much warning, he all but swallowed Mered down, grinning around his mouthful of flesh when he heard his mate’s soft cry. He held Mered’s hips down so he could suck his shaft at his leisure which led to a litany of pleas and profanities, some salty enough to almost make Yovan reconsider his pacing. But he wanted to ensure the efficacy of the mirash and the best way to do that was to wait the length of extended foreplay or a bout of anal intercourse.
He supposed using one of those newfangled alarm clocks would be the most precise way of timing the process. But there was nothing remotely romantic about it and indeed the jarring sound when it went off was more than likely to ruin the mood. And so he stayed the course, ignoring Mered’s entreaties and his own raging need.
Afterward, he gazed down at his winded spouse. It would be a delight to reduce him to a sobbing wreck. He hooked his hands under Mered’s knees, raised them and pushed them up and against his chest.
“Hold yourself open, Mer,” he huskily directed.
Mered’s eyes widened and he blushed deeply. But he did as he was bid, lowering his hands to grip his thighs.
“What are you going to—”
Mered yelped as Yovan licked the tiny aperture behind his seed sac. In holding his legs just so, he’d exposed his sheath and made it more accessible to Yovan who now began to turn him, the process by which a Deir was prepared for reproductive penetration. When the sheath was adequately stimulated, the seed sac contracted, lifted and slighted receded until the opening was completely revealed and the seed channel exuded copious lubrication.
Yovan could have achieved this by stroking or fingering the sheath, but it was so much more satisfying to use one’s lips and tongue. Particularly if the sheath in question was as sweet to taste as Mered’s. Seeing the opening swell and glisten, he pushed his tongue past it and into the seed channel. He repeated the action in mimicry of what he would do with his shaft.
Mered almost keened. “You said-you said you’ve never—done this—before,” he sputtered.
Yovan briefly paused to point out, “I’ve never coupled thusly, but I have turned many a partner before.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it makes fucking more pleasurable for the one who’s turned.”
He returned to marauding the delicate flesh, preempting any more comments from a now incoherent Mered. Judging him ready, he tugged open his breeches and drew down his drawers to reveal his shaft which now demanded satisfaction, palpable in the ache and throb that coursed through it. Yovan grinned wolfishly when Mered’s expression changed into realization that he would be taken fully naked while his mate was clothed.
Mered gripped the front of Yovan’s shirt and said, “You’re still dressed!”
Yovan caught him by the wrists and forced his hands down on either side of his head. “Stating the obvious,” he said with a smirk.
About to protest, Mered gasped instead when Yovan pushed into him. The lubrication made it easy to slide in, but Mered was untried and tight and the vestigial protective membrane within still whole. Yovan inched in slowly until he felt it give way before his shaft. Mered whimpered as he was wholly breached.
He should not feel so smug in the face of his mate’s discomfort, Yovan chided himself. But he could not help the feeling of triumph at this confirmation he was the first and only Deir to ever have Mered. And the first and only time he himself would ever deflower someone thusly, he realized with wonder. He waited for Mered to stop writhing from the sting of his sheath’s breaching.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
Mered unclosed his eyes and gazed at him. “Yes,” he whispered. “I-I can’t quite believe it. I’m truly yours now.”
Yovan’s heart soared. “And I’m truly blessed you are,” he whispered back.
He bent to capture Mered’s mouth and started to thrust into him, gently at first to spare him further pain. When Mered lifted his legs and wrapped them around his waist to take him in more fully, Yovan released his wrists and slipped his hands under him. He pulled back into a kneeling position taking Mered with him so that he sank onto his lap and fully impaled himself on Yovan’s shaft.
Mered emitted a strangled gasp against his mouth but he wove his arms tightly around Yovan’s shoulder and started to ride his shaft. Yovan smoothed his hands down to his hips and helped him slide down repeatedly on his length. Soon the bedchamber bore witness once more to the sight and sounds of their lovemaking.
Yovan broke their kiss and cocked his head toward the reason for their unequal states of undress. Mered looked in the same direction and caught his breath.
The wide standing mirror beside their wardrobe had been moved and now stood across from the side of the bed. He and Yovan were fully reflected and it made for a very titillating image. They reminded him of an illustration he’d seen on the mural-covered wall in the main entry corridor in the Citadel.
It was a depiction of a naked Naer seducing the gelric male he’d chosen as mate. As the seduction appeared to have taken place in a room other than a bedchamber, the latter was still clothed save for his undone breeches. Mered realized that was exactly what Yovan had intended for him to recall. And judging from his inability to tear his eyes away from their reflections, it was clear he found it intensely stimulating.
He shuddered as his arousal grew tenfold. His shaft was so hard, he was certain Yovan could feel its rigidity when it prodded his abdomen.
“So unfair,” he muttered even as he eagerly rode Yovan’s shaft.
“Shall we stop?” Yovan asked.
“Don’t you dare!” Mered groaned as the sensations inside him intensified. “Sweet Veres,” he gasped. “So good. Ah, so good.”
He clutched at Yovan, needing more but not knowing how to gain it. He pleaded for Yovan to take him harder, deeper, uncaring of what it made him sound like.
Yovan bore him down without separating their bodies. He pulled Mered’s legs around his waist once more and drove almost brutally into him. The feeling of Yovan’s breeches against his fevered skin colluded with the repeated plunge of his shaft into him to propel Mered into mindless, unfettered pleasure. The wrap of Yovan’s fingers around his shaft startled a cry out of him and he began to sob as he was stroked and speared within an inch of his life.
So soft, so tight. And so wet for me. I can never have enough of you, Mer. I’ll always look forward to fucking you.
Mered gasped at the lascivious thoughts that invaded his mind along with images of what Yovan saw—his shaft vigorously plowing into Mered’s sheath and his hand rapidly stroking his length. Waves of rapture started to surge and he knew he was nearing completion. He tried to hold back and failed spectacularly.
He all but screamed as a massive orgasm overtook him. He desperately threw his arms around Yovan and held on for dear life. Yovan thrust hard into him and uttered a series of harsh groans. Mered felt liquid warmth pour into his seed channel and make its way inwards. Seconds later, a flash of heat flared in his womb.
It was then, just as his climax had started to wind down, that rapture exploded anew in his belly. This time he wept out loud at the surfeit of ecstasy. As he surrendered to the sensations, he dimly remembered his brother Davre telling him that when semen infiltrated the seedbed, it could amplify and prolong an orgasm or re-trigger a fading one.
Mered was not sure if he’d briefly passed out or gone into a pleasure-induced fugue. But as he re-emerged into full consciousness, he found himself cradled in a warm embrace and felt the press of lips to his forehead and cheeks. And down below, there was a soreness that felt both full and empty. Evidence Yovan had been inside him and proof his body already missed what had filled it.
Don’t fret, my lustful one. I’ll fill you anew when you’re ready.
The thought was both assurance and promise. And it brought home to him once more that he was wed to one bountifully blessed with the mind gifts. He blinked and gazed at Yovan, realizing only then that he’d stripped off his raiment as well.
“Did you read my mind?” he wonderingly asked.
Yovan dipped his chin. “Not intentionally. I only tapped into thoughts that were out there so to speak. I would never delve deeper without your permission.”
“Oh.” Mered burrowed further into his arms. “Earlier, when we were still... You filled my mind with thoughts and images. It was...”
“Frightening?”
“Nay, just unsettling. I’ve never known the like before. Is it like the mind-speech you True Bloods do?”
“It is mind-speech, but not all enyra can engage in it at length or even at all.”
“Why not? Don’t you all bear the mind gifts?”
“Nay, not all enyra are fully gifted. And even amongst those who are, training is necessary to properly wield one’s gifts. Imcael is talented but not to the degree Keldon and Dyrael are. And while Uncle Joren had Keldon trained to the utmost in the mind arts, Imcael only received the lessons provided less gifted True Bloods.”
“Wherefore?”
“I don’t know, but given his prejudices and lack of sensitivity toward others, mayhap Uncle Joren didn’t care to put him in a position to be able to challenge Keldon or be a thorn in his side. Can you imagine having to deal with a pushy, opinionated brother almost as mentally skilled as yourself? It would make life onerous, not to mention uncertain.”
“Uncertain?” Mered was aghast. “Do you think Imcael has designs on the throne?”
Yovan shook his head. “Imcael is utterly loyal to Keldon, of that I’m certain. But he may not have imbued that loyalty in his sons. It’s no secret he resented Keldon for refusing to name him his successor back when he seemed disinclined to wed and sire heirs. Nor does he hide his disappointment that Rohyr’s birth removed him as heir presumptive after so many years of assuming he would succeed Keldon. And he openly voices his disapproval of some of Keldon’s policies and even sometimes questions how he rules Ylandre. He’s personally loyal, but if he behaves thusly before his sons, why expect them to be?”
“True. How awful for Keldon not to be able to fully trust his own brother’s children.”
“It’s the lot of rulers,” Yovan pointed out. “A son’s treachery made the Interregnum possible. If Rovar Essendri hadn’t tried to overthrow his sire, the Varadani wouldn’t have had a divided Ylandre to prey on. We’re just fortunate Diorn proved an exceptional leader and put things to right. But to do so he had to turn on Rovar and let his blood.”
Mered sobered at the reminder of the brutal years the north of Ylandre had suffered under Ferrenda rule when then Crown Prince Rovar had attempted to usurp the throne, thus disrupting the kingdom’s unity and opening it to invasion by neighboring Varadan. If not for the swift and able retaliation of his younger brother on both fronts, northern Ylandre would now be part of Varadan. Instead, Diorn had turned the tables on the Ferrendas, conquered their kingdom and subsequently incorporated Varadan into Ylandre.
“You’d be a better fit as brother to the Ardan,” he suddenly said. “Keldon would never have cause to worry about your loyalty or capabilities.”
Yovan grinned. “Why thank you, my sweet.”
Mered wriggled in delight at the endearment. It seemed Yovan enjoyed addressing him thusly which bode well for the growth of affection between them. Love and marriage did not always go together, but fondness for each other and the expression of it went a long way in keeping a union strong and lasting.
“You said you’d have me again,” he said in between kisses to Yovan’s lips and cheeks and jaw.
“As often as you desire,” Yovan murmured as he gave a squeeze to Mered’s buttock. “And it needn’t be this way alone.”
“Yes please!” Mered said so enthusiastically Yovan chuckled. “Will you employ mind-speech?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Not so much that I want it, but...” Mered hesitated. “I’m curious. I’d like to know more.”
Yovan nodded. “Then I will. But you must let me know if something makes you uncomfortable.”
He rolled Mered on his back and pressed down on him. It was only then Mered became aware their bellies were clean of semen. Perhaps he had passed out.
“Did you clean us up?” he asked.
Yovan laughed softly. “Nay, lackwit. A turned Deir doesn’t produce seed. Neither does a childing one.”
He kissed Mered lengthily to preempt further talk. Not that Mered cared to talk once Yovan proceeded to ply his mouth and hands on him to arouse him anew and ready him once more to take him inside his body.
The night was very old when Mered finally fell into sated slumber, his body tired and sore but his heart light and blissful.
––––––––
Yovan sighed as he pulled out of Mered. Who would have thought love would make parting their bodies after coitus an unwelcome sensation? Or that it would render him almost unable to have enough of his mate regardless of the role he filled. Call him a sentimental fool, but there was something quite magical about being in union with Mered especially when Yovan initiated mind-speech in the midst of their lovemaking.
He grabbed one of several small towels he kept in his desk now that Mered made it a habit to visit him during school hours at least twice a week. The youth greatly enjoyed the illicit nature of holding trysts in the office of Yovan’s superior. Not to mention not having to wait until they both arrived at home in order to satisfy their craving for each other. This was especially true since Master Gaval had arranged his schedule so he could go home early to help his spouse take care of their unexpected surfeit of infants. Multiples were an extremely rare occurrence among Deira save where the phenomenon ran in the family.
He wiped Mered’s stomach and groin clean before plying the towel on himself. Mered lazily thanked him, looking up at him from half-lowered eyelids. He looked utterly luscious spread out half-naked on the couch, his skin still flushed from his release. He was such an enthusiastic partner in bed-play, Yovan thought with fond amusement. All the more when spurred on by lubricious thoughts and images.
Yovan gently pulled him up and into his arms. They lounged together on the couch.
Such a wanton creature you are.
Mered leveled a jaundiced stare on Yovan. “And whose fault is that? Your incredible prowess is outstripped only by your creativity though not by too much.”
Yovan chuckled. “I trust you have no cause for complaint?”
“Only if you cease seducing me in the most inappropriate places.”
This time Yovan turned to gaze at him with a raised eyebrow. “I seduce you?”
Mered giggled and moved to straddle him. “I like it when you react so indignantly when I tease you,” he admitted.
Yovan snorted. “Obviously. You do it a lot.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Nay, I enjoy your banter. Especially when it shows off your wit so well.”
Mered dimpled in delight and pressed their lips together. They languidly kissed for several minutes. At length, Mered slid off Yovan’s lap and reached for his clothes.
“I have a meeting in the library in an hour,” he said with a small pout. “If only I could postpone it to another day. I so enjoy these trysts with you more.”
Yovan laughed. “I should think so. I’d be quite offended were you to prefer a meeting in the library to being fucked into the couch by yours truly.”
He grinned when Mered turned a tad rosy. An intriguing mix of shy and bawdy his mate was. Yovan knew he would not have him any other way.
“I like it when you blush so prettily,” he teased.
“Anyone would blush if they were subjected to your brand of humor,” he retorted. “Who would think a royal-blooded Deir could be so lewd of tongue? Or thought. I don’t know why but it’s even more obscene when you think rather than speak.”
“Perhaps because I can show you precisely what I have in mind rather than have to explain at length.”
“That’s very likely. Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you introduced mind-speech into our couplings.”
“So speaking mind to mind is to your liking?”
Mered nodded. “Not all the time of course. But yes, I rather enjoy it. Indeed I sometimes wish we were equally gifted so you don’t always have to initiate speaking with me thusly.”
Yovan regarded him thoughtfully. “About that... There is a way for us to easily speak mind to mind though I would still have to open the channel for our thoughts to flow between us.”
“What way is that?”
“Viratha.”
Mered stared at him. “How would it help?”
“If I imprint you, it would form a mental bond between us,” Yovan explained. “Granted it will be somewhat one-sided since only I will be able to sense when you need to communicate with me. But you won’t have to tell me in words. Simply think it and I would know.”
“Then... my mind would be an open book to you?”
Yovan frowned. “I suppose it’s one way of putting it...” He shrugged. “It’s difficult to explain, but I assure you I won’t ever take what you don’t freely give.”
“Yet you won’t be able to keep from picking up stray thoughts, will you?” Mered said. “You’ve demonstrated that you can a number of times.”
“It’s unavoidable sometimes,” Yovan conceded.
“And will it be more so if I’m in thrall to you?” Mered asked.
Yovan sighed. “I so dislike that term but...” He nodded. “Very likely.”
Mered gulped and looked away. Yovan waited for him to think about it. At length, Mered looked back at him, eyes wide and cheeks pale. Yovan was taken back.
He’d anticipated anything from hurt to indignation over the suggestion. But what shone out of Mered’s eyes was more akin to... alarm?
“What is it?” he cautiously asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
Mered shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Yovan noticed what he’d perceived as panic had been replaced by the more expected expression of someone who’d taken offense. But there was something else lurking behind the apparent display of hurt.
Yovan wished he could discern what his mate was really feeling. But he was no empath and without a deep probe of Mered’s thoughts, he could not possibly guess the truth. He cupped Mered’s face and gazed at him questioningly.
“Don’t you trust me?” Mered half whispered.
Yovan exhaled. This was exactly how he’d feared Mered would take the suggestion.
“I do trust you,” he softly said.
“Then why would you wish to impose viratha on me? I thought it was only for lemans. To keep them from straying.”
“By and large, it is. But on occasion, it has been used in marriage.”
Mered caught his breath. “Arranged marriages?”
“Yes.”
“Because there’s no trust as yet.” Mered swallowed. “Like us.”
“Nay!” Yovan firmly objected. “I trust you. You’re an honorable Deir and even did you not like me, you’d never break the vows we made when we wed.”
“Then why?”
“It was suggested to me by some who are... concerned about the newness of our acquaintance,” Yovan diplomatically said. “But know this, Mer. I was reluctant to broach the idea to you. Verily, I know I can trust you to honor our vows. However, when you expressed a desire to initiate mind-speech with me, I thought you might appreciate the partial bridge viratha provides. Instead it upset you. I heartily wish I never brought it up.”
Mered gazed at him. “Then you won’t... force it on me?”
Yovan was shocked. “I would never force anything on you. Where did you get the idea I’d do that to you?”
“My—” Mered shook his head. “No one really. I’ve heard tales of what some enyra have demanded of their sedyran partners so I—” He seemed to realize how insulting his statement sounded for he suddenly threw his arms around Yovan’s neck and said imploringly, “I don’t mean you’re anything like them. It’s just something I’ve heard about highborns and how they treat their inferiors and— I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t be angry with me.”
Yovan gently loosened the wrap of his arms and drew back enough to see his face.
“Now why would I be angry?” he softly asked. “You’ve heard worrisome tales of True Blood behavior and harbored fearful thoughts about them since you were old enough to comprehend what you’d heard. I’m not offended that you expressed your fears in light of my request. Indeed I’m glad to learn of them for now I know what distresses you.” He pressed a kiss to Mered’s forehead. “But do discard the notion that I deem you inferior in any way for I don’t see you thusly, my sweet.”
He sat back and smiled at Mered who was trying to blink away his incipient tears. “You’re uncomfortable with my ability to read your thoughts. I don’t blame you. I’d probably feel the same way were I in your shoes. What if I promise not to look into your mind without your knowledge or consent? If I do pick up any thoughts, it will be accidental.”
Mered smiled wanly back at him. “I’m sorry I doubted your intentions. And I’m thankful you understand my misgivings. You’re the best spouse any Deir can hope for. I’ll do my best to make you happy. I never want you to look outside of our marriage because I failed you somehow.”
He snuggled into Yovan’s offered embrace. “Will you teach me to better shield my thoughts?” he hesitantly asked. “I’ve sensed a few attempts to read my mind, but thankfully none were skilled enough to accomplish it unnoticed.”
“So you do bear some gifts. That’s good,” Yovan said, pleased Mered had protective skills to speak of. “Yes, I’ll teach you to shield effectively and also to better detect any incursions into your mind. Would you like that?”
Mered nodded vigorously, his smile brightening further and his eyes sparkling once more. “Thank you so much, Van!”
“Mind you, there’s a limit to what I can train you to do,” Yovan cautioned him. “It will depend on the strength of the gifts you possess. But I wager you have abilities your parents and brothers don’t. I discern talent in you I don’t detect in them. You may have inherited more from your True Blood forebears than any of them did.”
“Does it mean our children’s abilities won’t be stunted?” Mered hopefully asked. “It worries me that I may bear you sons with diminished gifts.”
Yovan smiled. “It takes more than a single mating to trigger so great a change in a bloodline. And in any case, the Essendri potential is probably powerful enough to offset any effects your family’s lack of giftedness may have on our sons.”
Mered stared at him in awe. “Do you possess the potential?”
“Any Essendri of direct line descent likely does,” Yovan said. “Though there are always exceptions as we’ve seen with Imcael. When I trained in the mind arts, I discovered I do possess it. But not as strongly as Keldon or Dyrael. They are extraordinarily gifted, almost approaching the templars I warrant. I oft wonder if Rohyr will be even more powerful. That will be something to behold when he comes to his full strength.”