Epilogue #2
Westin considered the largest man first. Mil Wulfa, he of the stories and songs.
A legitimate hero, by most accounts. About forty or so, Westin thought, and wondered idly if Mil Wulfa would have left the Outguard on his own if circumstances had not led him to where he was now.
But the Wulfa family had long been palace guards, and if this one had run off with a Canamorra at a young age, he had to have known what he was marrying into.
He probably didn’t like or want any of this fuss, but was smart enough to know it was necessary.
Twenty years of warring couldn’t end without something to mark it or to give people hope.
Nor could all the feuds and enmities that had built up between the noble houses during those years of war fade away without some concessions to the pride and honor of every family in this room.
This wedding spectacle was necessary, but it was also a logistical and practical nightmare, particularly in matters of security.
Especially when one was marrying a sparkling little librarian.
Every single person in this room, and probably in the palace and capital beyond, knew the librarian was a weakness.
Oh, he was of a beat-of-four family with no scandal or feuds attached to it, and he would make a far better diplomat than the king’s first husband.
This alliance would strengthen the king’s rule in countless ways.
But he was a weakness too, vulnerable and hardly a fighter.
Young and, judging from what Westin had so far observed, prone to getting lost in books.
If anyone wanted leverage over the king—and everyone did—they were going to go after the librarian.
Westin moved his attention to Mil Wulfa’s hand, on his librarian’s shoulder much like Sun’s hand on his shoulder. A loving, caring gesture. But even that revealed fear.
Together with his husband, Mil and the king had formed a wall around their prize. That revealed fear too. But also a promise to any noble thinking to come for the little one.
Westin nodded. “Oh, yes, they’re already married.” He paused, thoughtful but pointed. “Little?” The librarian wasn’t that much shorter than Sun.
“Little,” Sun repeated himself, ridiculously sulky for a man glaring at every noble and sworn guard in the room. “You think he’s pretty.”
“He is pretty.” Westin kept hold of Sun’s hand.
“Soft, though, as you accuse me of being. Delicate. He’s probably hardly any trouble at all.
” Westin considered the known attempt on the librarian’s life and all the rumors about how the king and his husband had struggled to woo him that had reached Solace House and therefore reached Westin in the heart of Corilyeth territory.
He amended his words. “At least, not your kind of trouble.” He watched Mattin of the Arlylian turn and look up with wide, wide eyes, as if perhaps just noticing that his husbands flanked him.
Sunlight glinted off the many sparkles in his hair.
It gave Westin ideas. “You know, I will be honored well if I succeed here. We might ask the librarian where he gets his clasps and jewelry.”
“For me?” Sun assumed immediately, smugness in his voice. “Only if there is enough honor left over that I might also find a new gold piece for you.”
Westin stifled the urge to tell him it was nonsense, that he was too old to be draped in bits of gold.
It would only make Sun more determined, and then Westin would have to hear, again, about the piercings the Rossick were alleged to do and narrowly avoid Sun trying to keep Westin’s cock in gold chains permanently so that everyone would know who it belonged to.
Westin shifted in place nonetheless, also far too old to feel a spark at the thought and yet the spark existed and warmed him through.
It would likely only hurt the once, he reasoned. Although, he did wonder who Sun imagined was going to see his cock outside of the occasional visit to a public bath when traveling. Sun would see it. That was what mattered.
“You know I don’t need gold,” Westin finally said, as he always said, and glanced up in time to catch Sun’s sneer.
“Half the people in this room are eyeing you, no matter that you’re old enough to be their father.”
Grandfather, for some of them. Westin kept that to himself too, as well as his exasperated sigh. “I don’t think the country sees me as you see me, lark.”
“You’re so smart and yet so silly.” Sun tossed his head. “There are Rossick here, you know,” he added, a sly fox.
Westin took a breath to steady himself. But, “Are you testing me, brat? You already know it’s yours. I am yours. Go find a Rossick now, if you’re willing to let one touch my cock.”
Sun harrumphed, sounding more like a man of Westin’s age than his own.
“I mean it,” Westin added, quieter. “If you want it, it’s yours. That remains my promise to you.”
“Fuck off,” Sun said, equally quiet. “It will be gorgeous. You’re gorgeous, Wes. It’s annoying.”
“I am in my sixth decade,” Westin reminded him. “I’m old enough to be your father too, if I had been a more reckless youth.”
“Your mouth,” Sun answered decidedly. “Although it’s been a while since you’ve bent me over something.” His pout was audible. “Neglecting me. Leaving me empty. Have you decided you prefer librarians?”
Westin didn’t know why that made him smile. “If I fuck you in a garden in daylight, they might kick us out of the palace.”
“Then we could go back home. Away from these people. This place.” All at once, Sun was serious. “Everyone here is a threat.”
“I know, lark. I know.”
Westin let his gaze drift to the second large figure by the window and the biggest threat in the room.
Arden of the Canamorra wore only one tiny bit of jewelry for the moment: a simple golden cuff on one ear.
He had not bothered with a crown, either from habit and temperament or because these negotiations were supposed to be about a wedding and he wanted to be thought of as a mere betrothed.
He was a handsome man, not as obvious about it as his first husband, who had Sun’s ability to stun with a glance.
Arden drew attention in a different way, and Westin didn’t think it had anything to do with a throne or a crown, although that certainly helped in this room.
Maybe it was the scar down the side of his face, but Westin suspected it was that Arden had to be watched, for he was observant, careful, and clever.
A seemingly unremarkable outguard who had killed a king.
And he was Canamorra. The name itself was a terror to many, a legend to most. Westin couldn’t imagine growing up with that name when he could barely handle his own.
Arden intimidated the other nobles in the room without trying although Westin also suspected that Arden could and would do it on purpose if he felt like it or felt he needed to.
He was a killer, Westin decided, but unlike sworn guards or outguards.
It was difficult to say if that was a result of his childhood or an innate quality of the Canamorra.
At least, until Westin turned his head and caught a glimpse of the king’s sister, Jola of the Canamorra, seated and chatting with Cael of the Rossick, both of them also observant, careful, and clever.
Westin turned back to the king, who was stroking the side of his librarian’s face and looking savagely pleased at the pink flush that followed.
Mil Wulfa seemed to enjoy it as well, though he still kept one hand near his sword.
Two killers. But they wanted peace as they wanted their flower of a librarian, and Westin had no doubt they would do whatever it took to achieve each.
Though if it came to a choice between one or the other, they would choose their flower.
Westin had no doubt of that and could not argue with it.
After all, he had been prepared to walk out of these negotiations at the mere suggestion of Sun wanting his cock.
Peace was important, but so were husbands.
Having internally settled on the true state of things, Westin sighed. “If the nobles here are smart, they will flatter that little Arlylian and give him whatever he wants but not threaten him in any way.”
Sun shifted slightly, putting a hand to his belt and not his sword hilt since sworn guards were not supposed to be armed. Sun undoubtedly still was, but at least not with a sword.
“Since when are nobles smart?” He didn’t say it quietly, but most beat-of-fours ignored sworn guards that weren’t their own and Westin hoped the nobles around them would continue pretending to ignore Sun no matter how handsome he was with silver in his hair.
“If they were smart, we wouldn’t be here.
If they were smart, we wouldn’t have had to struggle to keep Corilyeth lands out of danger for twenty fucking years. ”
Across the room, the king turned. His eyes met Westin’s.
Westin didn’t look away, although he tightened his hold on his hissing ferret. “Do you blame the Canamorra for that, or everyone else?”
“Any of them. All of them.” Sun might have been looking at Arden too. “Everyone who thought it was their right then because they probably still think it’s their right.”
Westin stroked his thumb across the back of Sun’s hand to quiet his growling. “They’ll be smart now or pay the price.”
Several of the well-dressed bodies near Westin stepped aside or turned to look at him.
Arden’s mouth moved in a hint of a smile, but probably not for having overheard Westin. He continued teasing the smaller of his husbands for the amusement or arousal of the larger of his husbands.
Westin tore his attention away to look up at his husband, ignoring the shocked though very fashionable Balylithan who was regarding Sun with either horror or irritated desire. Possibly both. He tried to lighten his tone. “Are you worried?”