Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Deyvid
It took six more months for Deyvid to truly believe that a lasting relationship with Petur might be something he could have.
Six months of continual togetherness, of mornings waking up in each other’s arms, of evenings falling asleep in each other’s beds, of a back-and-forth of such easy affection that Deyvid wondered how he’d lived his life before it.
There was nobody else out there like Petur, he reflected.
No one with the same level of sheer, gutsy commitment.
If Petur had been born in Deyvid’s place, if he had been turned into a High Harrier …
triple gods, he would have ended dynasties.
But instead, Delomar was lucky enough that Petur belonged to them.
He belonged to his country wholeheartedly even while he gave himself over with equal ardentness to Deyvid.
That part was challenging for more than just Deyvid to accept.
The queen’s ten-year-old son, for example, was far from enamored with their relationship.
“I hate you,” he declared passionately to Deyvid when Petur first introduced the pair of them.
Fortunately, it wasn’t in front of the whole court.
“You think you can steal my uncle from me? You can’t. Uncle Petur, tell him he’s got to go.”
Petur, whose expression had gone from happy to rather set in the span of ten seconds, shook his head. “I can’t do that, Arven.”
“Why not?” The young prince actually stamped his foot on the marble floor. “Mama sends people away when I tell her to.”
“Your mama is wrapped around your little finger,” Petur replied, a bit of a smile breaking out on his face. “I, on the other hand, am not. I have the needs of many to put before the needs of, well, just you.”
“But I need him to go.”
“That’s a shame because he’s not going anywhere.”
“But I don’t like him.”
Petur, whose well of tolerance for his nephew seemed to have run dry by then, simply shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care. You’ll learn to get along with him in time.”
“I won’t,” Arven shouted, then ran off.
The little princesses, who had been hanging back, came forward. Petur had eyed them suspiciously, but Deyvid got down onto one knee to make himself look less intimidating and smiled.
“You must be Delainie”—he looked at the taller girl with blonde curls—“and Givencie,” he added to the small one with fierce brown eyes and pouty lips. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Your uncle has told me many wonderful things about you.”
Delainie’s eyes were wide, and she had one hand pressed to her cheek as she stared at Deyvid. “Really?” she said.
“Really,” he replied. “I understand that you speak two other languages already.”
“I do,” she said with an eager nod.
“That’s very impressive.”
“Do you truly think so?” She looked down at her shining leather shoes. “Mama says I need to work harder at my shifting, but I like languages better.”
“I prefer languages to shifting as well,” Deyvid said and ignored Petur as he snorted in amusement.
“I like shifting,” little Givencie said bluntly. “I’m going to be a great shifter, as good as Uncle Petur.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Deyvid told her. “A very ambitious goal for an ambitious girl.”
The child’s brow furrowed. “What’s bitchous mean?”
“It means a very distasteful person,” Petur muttered under his breath. Deyvid, without looking, whapped him on the shin with one hand, and Petur snickered. The girls, watching this interplay, began to giggle.
“That’s not what it means,” Deyvid said, fighting a smile off his face. “Ambitious means you’ve got big goals, and you’re willing to work hard to accomplish them.”
“Oh!” Princess Givencie nodded decisively. “I am very bitchous, then.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Deyvid agreed. “Ambitious people tend to go far in life.”
“Indeed, we do,” Petur purred from behind him. “Just look at me. A prince, four shifts, and the love of my life, all before the age of thirty.”
Princess Delainie wriggled her nose. “I don’t know, Uncle Petur,” she said doubtfully. “That’s still really old.”
Deyvid laughed as Petur began to scowl. “Shut up,” Petur snapped. “You’re even older than I am.”
“You’re not supposed to say ‘shut up’ to people,” Givencie said, her hands going to her hips. “Daddy says it’s naughty. You’re naughty, Uncle Petur.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Deyvid agreed. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone quite as naughty as your Uncle Petur.”
Delainie raised her hand a bit timidly. “If he’s so naughty, why do you like him so much?” she asked.
Deyvid looked up at Petur, who stared down at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say, “Go on, then.” Deyvid considered making a joke about it, but instead what came out was, “I like almost everything about your Uncle Petur. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met in my life.”
Deyvid had the pleasure of seeing his earnestness not only shut Petur up but also leave the little princesses giggling again. They were firmly on his side after this introduction, a connection that Petur did everything he could to encourage. Arven, he said, would come around.
“Or he won’t,” Petur admitted when they were in bed that night. “He can be incredibly stubborn. He’s a lot like his mother.”
“A lot like his uncle,” Deyvid said a bit drowsily, his hand playing with the curling hairs on Petur’s chest as they laid together in his immense bed.
One of the best things that had come from his restructuring of the Shifter Corps was the queen’s tacit permission for him to make a place for himself in Petur’s chambers.
He wasn’t welcome as a member of court yet, and if Deyvid had his way, he would never be a member of this court.
It sounded like far too much work. But he was happy to have a place of refuge with his lover.
“I’ll have you know, I’m a very reasonable individual,” Petur went on.
“Mmm, that is not the way I would describe you,” Deyvid countered. “You’re not unreasonable, but you are possibly the most stubborn individual I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
“Ha! You’re not one for self-reflection, I see.”
“I’m not stubborn,” Deyvid murmured as he began to fall asleep on Petur’s chest. “I’m just determined; there’s a difference.”
“Mmm, sure there is.” The sarcasm was lost on Deyvid as Petur pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Go to sleep, you determined man.”
The togetherness was wonderful. The acceptance from the girls and the indifference from the queen were also quite nice. Deyvid kept trying to bring Arven around, and the prince continued to spurn his offerings, but he knew that with time, he would probably make headway.
There were some things, however, that being so closely associated with the prince of a powerful kingdom—such as Delomar—brought that he wasn’t so fond of.
That included gifts, most of which came from people trying to buy Petur’s favor by gifting his “favorite” with things.
Deyvid didn’t have a lot of patience for things, although Petur was an exceptional gift giver.
His gifts were practical, things that Deyvid could actually find a use for instead of hanging them on a wall or wearing once to a ball he didn’t want to go to in the first place.
After a full year of being together, Deyvid was the owner of a beautifully balanced wrist crossbow, a fine-grained pair of thin leather gloves, perfect for enhancing his grip, and boots with a hardened split sole that were equally good for riding horses and running down suspects.
Yes, Petur did a wonderful job with gifts.
The offerings he got from other people, though …
“A string of pink pearls?” Deyvid stared at the long strand, perplexed. “What am I supposed to do with them? It’s not like I’m going to wear them.”
“You would look beautiful in pearls,” Petur informed him from where he sat on the spare chair in Deyvid’s quarters.
“I’d look ridiculous in pearls,” Deyvid replied. “And I have no use for the money that would come from selling them.”
“What if you want to buy something expensive?” Petur asked.
“I don’t,” Deyvid said. “There’s absolutely nothing I need that’s expensive. If I did have a need like that, I would go to you, and I am completely certain that you would buy it for me.”
Petur pursed his lips for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. “Yes, fine, you’re right. I would do that. But it’s never a bad idea to have a cash reserve.”
Hmm, now that he mentioned it … “You know what, you’re right,” Deyvid said. “We should set up a cash reserve for the Corps.” The front legs of Petur’s chair thumped down to the ground as he sat up.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“A cash reserve for our people,” Deyvid replied.
“There are provisions in place to continue to pay them in the event of injury or illness but not beyond six months. The Treasury was very clear about that.” Deyvid had already tried to bring it up with the queen and been firmly rebuffed.
“But if someone needs to be retrained for a different sort of work, or if an injury they get is too great, if they leave behind a family to support?” He shook his head.
“That’s the sort of thing we need reserves for.
The unforeseen, the emergencies, events that can happen to people in service of their country that aren’t covered by the same contingency everyone else gets.
Your shifters put themselves at a higher level of risk than any other military branch I’ve ever heard of, with the possible exception of the Griffin Riders. And—”
“Wait, wait.” Petur held up a hand. “Let me get this straight. You want to use all these gifts that you’ve received—the gems, the jewelry, the saddle—”
“It’s a bad saddle,” Deyvid grumbled. The person who had given it to him had obviously never actually tried to put it on a horse.
“The weapons—”
“Those weapons are ridiculous; I would never use them in actual combat.”
“Are you going to let me finish?”
“Are you ever going to get to the point?”