5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
Three months later...
A nslo strummed the last chord of the song, meeting the prince's eyes across the room. A few of the young nobles applauded, the rest deep in conversation. The prince tilted his head and Anslo grinned, leaving his lute with a servant and slipping into the hall.
Maxim met him in the shadows outside the palace library, a possessive hand sliding up Anslo's side as he pulled the bard behind a curtain. "It's been more than a year since you were last in Arpel," he murmured against Anslo's neck, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there. "It has been dull without you."
Anslo laughed, then bit his lip to stifle the sound. The handsome young prince had many lovers, and he didn't fault him for that when he'd had just as many himself, but Anslo was only a traveling bard, and Maxim was the royal heir. They tried to be secretive with their trysts whenever Anslo passed through the city. The king did not approve of his nephew cavorting with commoners.
"Surely not dull," Anslo whispered. "I heard you'd taken up with the high chancellor's son."
Maxim shrugged, his fingers curving around Anslo's hip. "He was a fine diversion for a while, but he's joining the holy order. No more diversions allowed." He nipped at Anslo's jaw, then looked up at him. They were almost of a height, Maxim's glittering amber eyes just below Anslo's. "What about you? Fallen in love yet?"
Anslo's breath caught for a moment and he cleared his throat. He hadn't spoken her name in three months, and he would remain strong now. "You know me. A lover in every port, like a sailor," he quipped. "And your family? The king remains intransigent, I suppose."
Maxim peered beyond the curtain and ushered Anslo out, resting a hand on the small of his back as he led him through the halls to his room. "My uncle will likely live to two-hundred to avoid passing the crown to me," he sighed. "He is still insistent I marry Isabella, despite both of our objections. The poor girl is in love with a gardener, and I..." a soft self-deprecating laugh left his lips as they slipped into his chambers and he locked the door behind them. "I don't understand this insistence on producing an heir. My uncle had no direct heir. Why should I be any different? Why can I not choose one of my nieces and nephews to take the crown someday? He knows I have no interest in women. He knows I could never love Bella." He poured himself a glass of wine, then one for Anslo, sitting on the edge of his bed with another sigh. "Perhaps he should never have chosen me at all."
"Nonsense," Anslo said. It felt good to focus on someone else's troubles for the moment, rather than his own. He'd cut his travels along the Pearl Coast short, his usual merriment and good temper beyond his reach, and hurried to Arpel before he'd intended. Maxim had become a friend of sorts over the years, as well as a lover. He'd yearned for the man's companionship. "You're a good man. You'll make a kind, fair, thoughtful king. Your uncle made the right choice for his heir."
Maxim shrugged, draining his glass. "You are kind to say so. Time will tell." He spread his legs, taking Anslo's hand and pulling him close until the bard stood between his knees. "But I didn't bring you here to fix my problems. I can think of far more pleasurable ways to waste a few hours." He hooked his fingers in Anslo's belt and unbuckled it, tossing it to the floor. "I believe I was selfish the last time you were here. Finish your wine and allow me to make amends."
Anslo hummed his assent, taking a sip of the rich spiced wine and closing his eyes as Maxim's smooth brown fingers skimmed over his thighs, around his hips to his ass. The touch was skillful and pleasant as always, but...
Wrong. He shifted his feet as the prince pushed his tunic slowly up. Beneath his leggings, Anslo's cock was soft, dormant. He was usually ready for Maxim's attentions by the first kiss. He took another sip of the wine and looked down as the prince pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his abdomen, his teeth grazing the trail of golden hairs disappearing into Anslo's leggings.
Shame the man didn't have tusks. He missed the feel of Tam's tusks on his skin.
Fuck. He'd done it now. He'd thought her name, pictured her face. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the image.
He'd lived like a monk the past few months, gently turning down the men and women he'd met in taverns along the Pearl Coast who'd offered a good time. He'd excused himself that he simply wasn't in the mood, traveling by foot or hitching a ride in wagons for most of the day, playing and singing for most of the night. He was tired. He loved what he did, but he was overworked.
That excuse was not holding up with time. He was not tired. He simply... missed her.
Fool.
He finished his wine and set the glass down, spearing his fingers through the prince's tight black curls as Maxim kissed his way towards the waistband of his leggings. One of the man's hands dropped Anslo's tunic and brushed over his cock. Maxim looked up at Anslo and raised an eyebrow, pressing his palm to the soft flesh.
"Sorry," Anslo muttered, shifting his feet again. He didn't have this problem. Ever.
At least he hadn't, before three months ago. Now, he seemed only to stiffen at the most inopportune times when he recalled the way Tam had pressed him to the wall, her lips demanding kisses as he rutted against her thigh, or how the taste of her pleasure mingled with his seed when she ordered him to lick her clean.
It was ridiculous. He had always been the sort of person who enjoyed a multitude of lovers, who desired variety and novelty. He had a few lovers like Maxim who he returned to again and again whenever he happened to be nearby, people whose tastes and appetites matched his own. At first, he'd thought Tam might become one of those. He loved her height and her strength, the masterful way she commanded him, and the eagerness with which she'd abandoned herself to pleasure once her anxiety was overcome. He was intrigued by her tusks and the smooth expanse of her green skin. He found her breathtakingly lovely, her silken tumble of black hair, her soft stomach and full breasts, the thickness of her muscled thighs and the knowing pout of her mouth when she sucked his cock.
He was reluctantly beginning to admit it was more than that. He liked her quiet sureness, and he liked even more the moments when it slipped, and she let herself be vulnerable. He liked how she had come alive while speaking to him, how honest she'd been about her hesitance. It had been a privilege to be the first man she chose after losing her husband. He didn't know what it was like to lose a life partner like she had, but he could see in her eyes how much she'd missed the man, and how thoughtful she'd been about choosing Anslo. His mind circled back to that again and again. She'd chosen him for something important, honored him with her trust and her body. That took courage.
And what had he done? Bid her goodbye and asked if she might be in the mood for another fuck when he passed through again in a year or two. He was a fool. A selfish fool.
And he missed her.
The prince pressed his face against Anslo's leggings, rubbing his cheek against his manhood as his fingers unlaced the ties at the waist. Anslo closed his eyes, willing even the smallest spark of lust to ignite. The man's touch was skillful and pleasant, he was as handsome as he'd always been, but Anslo's cock barely stirred.
"Fucking hells," Anslo gritted out.
Maxim made a small sound of amusement. "If you were hard, I'd think your cursing was a good sign," he murmured. "But things being as they are..." He dropped the hem of Anslo's tunic and looked up at him. "Are you alright?"
Anslo sat heavily on the bed beside him, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know. I've never had this sort of problem before."
"I know," Maxim laughed. "If it's me, then tell me. You know I wouldn't hold it against you." He rested a dark hand on Anslo's thigh, lips twitching with amusement. "You know I don't only enjoy your visits for the bed sport. Your music and company are pleasant as well."
"It's not you," Anslo assured him. He grimaced. "Or perhaps it is. It's just, you're not..." he growled. Don't say it. Don't speak it aloud. Don't make it real or it will consume you even further.
"There's someone else," the prince said with surprise. "Someone special. Someone important." He laughed again. "Never thought it would happen to you."
"What would happen?"
"You'd fall..." the prince shrugged, mirth lighting his eyes. "You'd fall for someone."
"I didn't fall for someone," Anslo insisted. "We only spent one night together."
"Ahh." Maxim sighed dreamily. "Love at first sight, then."
"Of course not!" Anslo stood and poured himself another glass of wine. "She was very memorable, but I'm not in love with her."
Maxim looked at him curiously. "No, you're probably right. No one falls in love over one night. But she's the sort of person you could fall in love with, given enough time, yes?"
Anslo hesitated, the glass halfway to his mouth. Was she? Is that why thoughts of her plagued him? "That's ridiculous," he said.
"Maybe." The prince shrugged again, unbuttoning his vest. "I've never been in love so I can't say for sure, but I'm given to understand that's how it works. You meet someone, and something about them calls to you." He shrugged out of the vest and unlaced the neck of his shirt, pulling it over his head. "Perhaps you can't put a finger on it at first, but they remain in your mind when you wish they wouldn't, because your heart knows something that you don't. You are drawn to them, driven to seek them out time and time again." He lay back against the cushions at the head of the bed, late afternoon light playing over his muscles. One of his thumbs dipped beneath the waist of his leggings. "For example, I'm lying here half-undressed and clearly inviting and your eyes aren't darkening the way they usually do when you're aroused. I don't think you're really seeing me at all, though you appear to be looking at me. I think you're seeing her."
Anslo started, reluctant to admit he'd been in a bit of a trance, picturing Tam while staring at Maxim. He forced himself to truly take in the picture the prince presented. The man was beautiful, that was certain, his plush lips quirked up as Anslo examined him. Anslo had always found Maxim attractive; anyone with eyes would. He'd never seen the man half-naked and not wanted to fall into his arms.
Yet he remained unmoved, the damn cock in his pants as soft as it had been at the promise of easy pleasure for months.
"She was special," he admitted quietly. "It was like I dreamed her up, the perfect partner. But she was... beautifully real." He would never cease to be in awe of how bravely she'd shared herself with him when it would have been easier, far less frightening, to remain safely alone, never open a part of her heart to a stranger.
Maxim chuckled. "And you left because..."
Because that's what Anslo always did. When things were bad, he left. When things were good, he left. He never stayed in one place long enough to form true attachments, because attachments hurt, like when he'd learned at seventeen that his parents only viewed him as a means to an end, someone they could marry off to improve their social status. If he never stayed more than a few weeks anywhere, no one could ever hurt him again. He would do the hurting. He would leave. He would remain in control and safe.
And if he'd felt safe giving up control in the arms of a strange orc woman for one night and a morning, that didn't have to mean anything. Surely, someday, he would forget.
"Kiss me again," he demanded, putting down his glass and climbing onto the bed. He gripped Maxim, pulling him close and pressing their mouths together. He kissed him with all the skill he possessed, pushed Maxim's hands to his hips, his ass, his thighs, waiting for pleasure to spark beneath the man's touch.
It was all very nice. It still felt wrong.
Finally, the prince turned his head to the side, rolling out from under Anslo. "I may be fond of you, but I don't appreciate being used," he muttered. "Not for you to try to prove to yourself a point that you cannot prove no matter how hard you try."
Anslo sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he grunted. "You deserve better."
"I do." Maxim smiled. They sat in silence for a long while, Anslo at a loss for words in a way he never was. "So do you," the prince said softly.
"What?"
"You deserve better as well."
Perhaps. What 'better' was he didn't know, but he knew he couldn't stay in Arpel much longer. For the first time in his life, he was going to run towards something, rather than away.
"I should go back to Seven Falls," he said. Maybe she wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe she'd already found another lover. But the least he could do was ask her if she felt the same, to be more than the coward he was and stick around long enough to risk something.
There was probably a pithy adage somewhere in there about the good things in life being worth a risk. He laughed softly to himself.
"Well," Maxim said. "You can stay as long as you wish, and if you ever come back you will be welcome, but there are also merchants leaving the city every few days. One of them can give you a ride to the border on their wagons." He raised an eyebrow.
"I promised your court a few more days of entertainment," Anslo said. "But then..."
"You're going to go find her?" Maxim brightened like the hopeless romantic he was.
"Yes." Anslo nodded. He would go back, and like he'd told her, he would dream of her every night when he was alone on the road.