Lyrion's Gift [Elven Conceptions 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) (8 page)

Resting his head back against the edge of the tub, Lyrion let his thoughts drift and his body melt into the comfort of the warm, scented water. The palace had so many delights he could never have imagined in his own village. His son would be happy here and want for nothing. He would also be a prince—destined for great leadership and wealth. He allowed himself to imagine Talek as a father, his handsome face aglow with pride and affection for his son.

Yet Lyrion’s heart grew heavier as he thought of Da and Fa, Gregar and Sehru, and everyone else he had been forced to leave behind. He even missed the bleating of the
azhi
herd that awakened him each morning. At the time he had been foolish enough to complain about being roused from bed so early and expected to share in the chores. Now he would have welcomed the homey noises that had annoyed him then. And Da and Fa would work their small farm alone. No doubt Alderman Igby had withdrawn his offer of land by now. Perhaps he assumed he was the very reason Lyrion had disappeared.

Gradually he saw Kevris climbing out of his bath and reaching for a drying cloth. Since the water in his own tub had begun to cool, Lyrion followed his example. While he was still patting down his skin, Kevris rolled his cloth out on the floor in front of the hearth and stretched out on it. Casually he rubbed at his cock with his fingertips for a few moments. It looked very different without the jewelry, Lyrion marveled—more natural, of course, and somehow more powerful.

He decided to join Kevris in front of the fireplace. The two lay comfortably naked with the heat drying their skin.

“I like this. It makes me comfortable,” Lyrion said. He was tempted to touch his own cock, now that he felt warm and tingly from the bath, but he managed to restrain himself. “I have never known anyone quite like you before, Kevris.”

“I’m sure you haven’t,” Kevris said. His smile seemed more genuine this time—not one of his usual smirks.

“May I ask you some questions? I have so much to learn about this place and the people here.”

“Ask what you want. I’ll answer what I can—providing ’tis nothing I need to keep secret for my own preservation.”

Lyrion did not quite understand what that meant, but he forged ahead. “Where do you come from? Have you a home someplace nearby?”

Kevris shrugged. “I have always been a drifter. I scarcely remember my own village, which I left as a barely grown boy. I won’t burden you with the details of my actions when I left home—suffice to say I did what I had to in order to survive. Those years took their toll on me, though. By the time I made my way to the palace and gained entrance as a servant, I had little memory of my old home.”

His casual tone surprised Lyrion. “That did not make you miserable?”

“No. In fact, I preferred it. Those I left behind did not wish to see me for who I really was. Perhaps they could not have in any case.” He paused, his brows sinking on his forehead. “They were simple people, and I suppose they meant well in their own way, but there was no way I could have lived among them.”

“Was it because of…your hair?” Lyrion asked, frowning. He could not imagine why any village would reject one of its own people, though Kevris would certainly have stood out. “It is of a most unusual hue.”

Kevris laughed and raked a hand through his red locks, making them ripple like flames. “I suppose that may have been one of their problems with me, but not the only one.” Dropping his hand and lying back, he sighed wistfully. “Perhaps I did question my own decision for a time. But the first time I set my eyes on the prince…and the first time he invited me to his bed…I knew I had made the only possible choice for my happiness.”

“Does he really make you happy, though?” Lyrion blushed. “I mean…I have heard the way he speaks to you. Sometimes he is most harsh. It even hurts me. Yet you do not seem to mind.”

“’Tis not that I don’t mind.” Kevris turned his head on the drying cloth and assumed a nonchalant expression, but Lyrion detected a flash of pain in his eyes. “I know why he does it. You met his father?”

“Yes.”

Kevris nodded. “For most of his life, Talek watched the king slowly go mad over the loss of his mother. Is it any wonder he associates love with an agony intense enough to rob a man of his wits? He wraps his heart in ice so no killing flame will ever touch it. I think, though, that you have begun to melt it a bit.”

“I have tried—not just for my sake, but for yours. I figured out what that word means, you know—
concubinus
.”

“Yes, I expected you had by now. You will have it easier—you will be his consort. ’Tis a far more stable position, befitting one who can supply him with an heir. I confess I wish I had your gift. My life with him might have turned out much differently. However, I must make the most of what it is. One day, perhaps, Talek will speak freely of love as well as feel it—not just for me, but for you as well.”

Lyrion looked down at the floor, considering his words. “I am aware you did not care for me at first. ’Tis not that I blame you—only that I am glad you no longer feel that way.”

“I do not. And I am not afraid to share him with you, since if not for you, he might not be able to love at all.” Kevris folded his arms under his head. “I am sure you could see why I felt as I did, though. In spite of his flaws, I love Talek, and I thought you would take him from me.”

“That was never my intention. I was carried here against my will, after all—though I have come to enjoy my life with both of you.”

Kevris nodded. “When the soldiers first brought you, I was more angry and jealous than I have ever been in my life. Yet now I see it was the best possible turns of events where Talek is concerned.”

“I am glad my coming here has been beneficial.” Lyrion’s voice caught. “And yet…”

“You still long for your village, don’t you?” Kevris asked.

Lyrion nodded. “Sometimes, when I sleep, I dream that I have returned. ’Tis a sweet dream, but over too soon.”

“So that is what you dream of when you are resting in my bed?” An angry voice erupted behind them. They leapt up and turned to see that the prince had entered the room. A storm was brewing on his face now. “I have given you everything—my palace, my protection, and my heart—and still you long for your dull, backward village stinking of farm animals’ dung?”

“Can you blame me?” Lyrion retorted, his eyes flashing with outrage. “It is my home! A home you took me from!”

“You will never return there” the prince vowed, his voice shaking with rage. “I shall lock you back in your chains if I must!” Striding back to the door, he bellowed for his servants. They returned, their faces pale.

“You will do no such thing,” Kevris said, wrapping himself in a drying towel.

“Won’t I?” Talek turned on him with an expression that looked nothing less than murderous. Then he jabbed a finger at the servants. “See that this ungrateful wretch does not leave this room until I send for him,” he shouted.

Talek stalked into his bedchamber and uncorked a jug of shadowberry wine. He drank deeply and greedily, savoring the slightly painful burn as it slid into his stomach. One jug, he knew, was scarcely enough to dull his senses—fortunately, he had an entire bottlery at his disposal. He would go through every container in his store if he had to. At some point, the ache in his heart would have to stop.

The door to his chamber scraped against the stone as it opened. Kevris entered, still wrapped in his drying cloth. Talek cursed himself for not ordering the servants to detain him in the bathing room, too.

“I must speak to you about your treatment of Lyrion, prince.”

“From your tone, I assume you have come to defend him. How interesting. I thought you would be thrilled that he has been demoted to captive status again.”

“You know very well that I am not.”

Talek took another swig from the jug. “Surely you cannot blame me for the fate that has befallen him. He asked for it himself—in quite specific words, I believe.”

“He did nothing of the kind, as well you know. He expressed a longing to see his own village again. Never did he say he was not happy with you or with any of your gifts. You deliberately interpreted it that way so you would have an excuse to punish him.”

“Who are you to question my judgment?” Talek turned on Kevris, his face flooding with heat as his anger rose all over again. “Having heard that, should I allow him to wander freely about the palace, perhaps with an eye to escaping? Kindly remember that my heir still rests inside him. That was the entire reason we brought him here, after all.”

“Yet you have come to value his companionship for other reasons as well. Do not bother to deny it—it is obvious to me.”

Talek scowled, and his haughty tone softened. “No,” he said slowly, “I shall not bother to deny it. Yet I must also confess that you were right about him all along. His sweet manner and flattering words are but a ruse. He feels nothing for either one of us.”

“’Tis amusing—I was about to say the same thing of you.” Crossing the room, Kevris faced him boldly. “Many in this palace say you have no heart at all. I happen to know differently—that you do indeed have one. I even know the reason you never show it—though I cannot help but wonder if you do.”

“You are very free with your tongue.” Talek raised the jug again. After he had emptied it, he still held it between them, running his lips over its rim. “There are some princes who would have it cut from your mouth for such insolence.”

“That may well be so. But you are not such a prince, and never have been. What of your father, though? Would he go so far to prevent me from speaking the truth? And if he did, would it be a symptom of his madness?”

“You know nothing of my father’s madness. I admit I will not maim you, but I command you to remain silent on matters that concern you not.”

“The king concerns me because he concerns you. Is that not one of my functions in your household—to share the burdens that oppress you? And I have always believed, no matter how often you deny it, that your fear of madness is what causes you to banish love from your life.”

Talek lowered the jug from his face. “As I said before…you know nothing of such matters. You would do well to leave me now, before I forget I am a civilized man and do something to you we shall both regret.”

Kevris pressed on as if he had not heard. “Part of what disturbs the king when you go to visit him is that he sees the face of his wife echoed in your own. You told me so yourself the afternoon we went there together.”

“Yes. What of it? Does not every man resemble his mother a bit? I mean—Lyrion’s will not, but no doubt the child will resemble him. ’Tis nature’s way.”

“Precisely my point. Your mother, his queen, returns to him in the only way she can when he sees you, Talek. You have always believed your visits cause him pain—in reality, they probably do exactly the opposite.”

“Now ’tis you who are speaking madness. The memory of my mother, and all they felt for each other, has destroyed my father from the inside out. Each time he sees me, I remind him of all he has lost.” Talek’s shoulders slumped, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes I feel I should stop visiting him. Yet that is no real solution. The guilt would tear at me either way.”

Tentatively, Kevris rested a hand on his arm. Talek did not pull away. “In some cases, guilt is a good thing. The pain teaches us to do better in the future. But think of this—if a great sorcerer traveled to the palace and offered the king a spell to make him forget or undo the past, removing your mother from his life, do you think he would accept?”

Talek opened his mouth to bark out a retort, but paused and instead spent a few moments considering it. “I believe the answer is no,” he said at last. “I think he would want to keep the memory of her, despite the terrible pain that clings to it.”

“I believe you are right.” Kevris’s fingers tightened briefly on his arm and then dropped away. “Prince or stableboy—or concubinus—we must all learn to value what we have before it is too late. Perhaps that is what drove your father mad—that he realized her worth to him only after she was gone. Perhaps that is the lesson you should draw from his agony, rather than interpret it as an admonition against love.”

Talek said nothing, and Kevris stepped back. He wrapped the drying cloth a bit more tightly around his waist.

“And now you must excuse me. I shall go to my own chamber and dress.”

After he left, Talek lifted the jug in trembling fingers. For a moment, he considered smashing it against the floor. Instead, he lowered it to his chest and seated himself on the edge of the bed.

For some reason, his sight soon grew blurry and his eyelashes felt wet. Resting his cheek on top of the jug, he sighed and closed his eyes.

* * * *

For what seemed like days instead of hours, Lyrion remained in the bathing room, huddled in front of the fire with his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. At least the servants hadn’t brought the chains back.

They did, however, bring his clothes eventually.

“The prince requires an audience with you,” one of them said, holding out the bundle. Lyrion accepted it and dressed with trembling hands. Was he about to be sentenced to the dungeon for the remainder of his time here? With the mark on his middle still growing, he doubted Talek would sentence him to death—but, from what he had heard and seen lately, there were worse things.

He felt a bit relieved when the two servants accompanied him to the throne room without binding him in any way. His chest tightened when he found himself standing again in the very room where he had first been brought as a naked captive. The prince was again in the same spot, leaning back in his ornate chair, and Kevris stood beside him.

For once, Kevris wore a normal tunic and leggings, though a bright red sash around his waist betrayed a lingering touch of sartorial impudence. Apparently, he was aware of, and possibly approved of, whatever punishment Talek was about to impose. Lyrion fought back tears, recalling how Kevris had hated him when he had first arrived. The bond they had formed had been an illusion, much like the prince’s affection, and the love Lyrion had begin to feel for both of them would now go to waste, locked only in his own miserable heart.