39. An Anchor and a Storm
An Anchor and a Storm
An hour later, Seren’s foot catches on the balcony railing. He fumbles the landing. Blame the clumsiness of new wings, or the turmoil of farewell, or Seren’s selfish desire to fall—so he can be caught.
Nevander’s already landed, wings tucked out of the way, to steady Seren by the waist.
Their kiss is an anchor and a storm. Seren’s lower back hits the railing. His wings tremble in the open air as Nevander presses against him. Seren seizes Nevander’s hair, tangling them even closer. Honeysuckle sweetens every breath they share.
Slowly, with distracted effort, Seren’s wings vanish. He still doesn’t have enough control over them for indoor use, especially today. He’s held his composure on the journey back from Wymond, but now he feels like a pane of glass. Riddled with fractures but still balanced precariously in his frame.
He needs a safe place to shatter.
Nevander nuzzles Seren’s jaw. “Have you any plans before nightfall?”
Nightfall is still hours away. That’s promising. “What does my guardian advise?”
“Your guardian advises you to take an hour off.” Nevander kisses Seren’s earlobe, sparking a cascade of sensation. “Or three.”
His words are both invitation and permission.
Seren arches between railing and armor, leaning back to meet Nevander’s blue-green gaze. “Unless you release me early,” Seren says, starting with the emergency escape they agreed on, “I will obey you for the next three hours.”
The promise settles around his limbs, a welcome chain.
Nevander’s smile rivals the sun. “Hold the railing, my king, and close your eyes.”
Seren moves with greater enthusiasm than the promise requires.
He grips the railing tight enough to imprint the woodgrain in his palms. Closing his eyes heightens every other sensation as Nevander tugs at his clothing.
Undressing or teasing. No magical buttons today.
Each buckle must be unbuckled. Each lace must be unlaced.
“Is anyone below?” Seren asks as his shirt falls open, even though he already knows the answer. He wants to hear it out loud.
Warm lips brush his ribs. “Nobody will see you like this but me.”
Possessiveness wraps around Seren like a shield. His grip on the railing tightens. “Good.”
Eyes closed, he can’t predict Nevander’s next tender touch.
His shirtsleeves pool around his wrists.
He balances on one foot, then the other, as Nevander removes his shoes.
By the time his trousers hang unlaced from his hipbones, he should be trembling and mindless with arousal. That’s how this usually works.
But today, Seren’s thoughts chorus too loudly. His childhood bedroom haunts the darkness. Seren’s still waiting for bliss when Nevander says, “Let go of the railing.”
“Do I open my eyes?” Seren asks from the tangled dark.
Nevander exhales, stirring Seren’s eyelashes. “You may, if you want.”
And he whisks Seren off his feet.
Seren squeaks, eyes fluttering open. His legs hook instinctively around Nevander’s hips.
Normally he would revel in the easy way Nevander carries him inside.
The balcony door swings open, and the comfort of Seren’s bedchamber awaits.
Their bedchamber, now, complete with an armor stand beside the bed.
It used to live in the new second closet, until they decided it was too far away.
This space and this moment should be theirs to share. But Nevander’s last words linger, unsettling. Seren doesn’t want ambiguity today.
You may, if you want.
Seren’s own fault for asking. Nevander thought Seren was asking for permission, when Seren just wanted clarity. But this will work soon. Surrendering always works. Seren just needs to stop ruining the moment with questions he doesn’t intend.
Nevander deposits him on the edge of the bed with a new order. “Kneel in the center and wait for me. Don’t touch yourself.”
Seren whimpers with the sudden disobedient throb in his cock. The pleasure of the order makes it that much harder to obey. He scrambles into position, knees spread, fists wrinkling the airy linens.
Nevander’s attention remains heated and close, even as he retreats enough to disrobe. Chewing his lip, Seren tries to focus on the show before him.
Think of Nevander’s quick, confident stripping of his gauntlets.
Not Tansy’s false smile on the goldwood boat.
Fixate on the shining fall of Nevander’s hair, swept away from shedding armor.
Not Edith’s fear and painful hope. Linger on the firm line of Nevander’s cock, more obscene in his leather trousers than it would be bare. Though Seren would like to see—
Nevander pauses, and Seren almost snarls in frustration. He’s so close to forgetting, and Nevander’s so close to being naked. Just those pesky leather trousers.
“What are you waiting for?” Seren asks, and immediately wishes he could take it back.
Not that it would help. Nevander’s already stalking over, frowning in concern. “You’re too tense.”
An apology hovers behind Seren’s lips. He swallows it down. The bed dips. Seren’s heart falters as Nevander slides an arm around him.
“Seren,” Nevander says softly. “I won’t release the promise just because you’re honest, but I’ll have to if I think you’re hiding.”
Enduring alone is a hard habit to break. Seren shudders and leans against his lover. “I’m upset, and I don’t know how to stop,” Seren confesses, closing his eyes. “Help me.”
A kiss feathers his forehead. “You’ve been so strong.” Another kiss. Bare fingers on his cheek. “Cry for me. As long as you need to.”
The command reverberates, and Seren shatters. His breath twists into a whimper, then a sob.
Nevander’s shoulder muffles the next sob. Sheltering arms drag Seren to the pillows. He curls in on himself as grief blossoms like a garden, and each weed and flower has a name. Edith and Alard—the parents who never wanted him. Haelwen—the mother he never met. Zavriel, dead. Briar, missing.
And Calithel, who Seren should have been.
In another world, another timeline, where Haelwen didn’t trade Seren for a human child—
Seren gasps between sobs. Sympathy edges past the pain. He can’t idealize that imaginary life. Zavriel and Briar were already gone when Seren was hidden away. He was always born into a broken family, and he doesn’t know the sort of person Calithel would have been.
Whether he would like that version of himself.
Seren likes himself now, sorrow and all. A garden that flourishes in the light of adoration.
Nevander strokes Seren’s shaking back, letting him cry until his heart quiets and his eyes run dry.
As his breath steadies, Seren wonders whether that other timeline would have held such a haven for him.
Nevander is the balance Seren needs. He can rule as king if he has this space to be vulnerable. He can command if he can also obey.
He can be Seren, and Calithel too.
Gentle fingers trace Seren’s tears, followed by even gentler lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nevander says.
Seren’s laugh is watery as he falls back on the pillow. “Like this?”
“Especially like this.” Nevander follows, braced above him, golden hair spilling like a veil. “Raw and true and mine alone.”
Seren basks in the radiance of Nevander’s love—and asks for more. “Can I feel you?”
Nevander’s smile sharpens. “Unravel, my love.”
Seren’s already loosening his shield when the command strikes. He gasps with the force of adoration. The certainty of Nevander’s obsession. Grief and vulnerability transmute into need, and Seren squirms in his unlaced trousers.
“I’m not upset anymore,” Seren manages. Then he whimpers as Nevander cups him through the fabric.
“Happy to help,” Nevander says, his touch reverent, his gaze ravenous.
They finish undressing with desperate fumbling. It would have been faster had they separated for even a moment, but Seren can’t stop kissing every piece of Nevander he can reach. Legs and blankets tangle until Nevander plucks a vial of oil from midair.
Almost empty. They’ll need to replace it soon.
“I can’t wait,” Nevander says. “May I use your thighs?”
“Yes,” Seren says, then again after his thoughts catch up. “Yes.”
He moves eagerly under Nevander’s guidance, until he’s comfortable on his side. Nevander eases behind him, bare skin igniting with contact. There’s a quick, wet sound, and the scent of roses and fresh clover surrounds Seren.
“Press your legs together,” Nevander says, hoarse with the desperation that echoes through Seren’s empathy.
The feel of Nevander so uncontrolled, so needy, is hotter than any touch. Seren hooks his ankles together, tightening his thighs as much as possible, as Nevander’s cock pushes between them.
It’s as intimate as penetration. Each thrust rubs against Seren’s cock, his tightening balls. Nevander plasters so close, they seem to share a heartbeat. His breath is ragged against the sensitive point of Seren’s ear.
“How am I already so close,” Seren gasps, and fuck, he feels Nevander’s surge of well-deserved arrogance. The only answer is a laugh that rumbles straight to Seren’s cock. An arm that pins Seren even closer.
Only Seren gets this side of Nevander. Obsessed, emotional, tender, greedy. All that careful planning focused on Seren, until they both lose control.
“Touch yourself,” Nevander pants. “But don’t come yet.”
Seren groans and grips himself tightly enough to hurt, otherwise he’ll disobey immediately. He won’t have a choice if Nevander keeps him waiting too long. “Not sure that’s possible.”
Nevander nuzzles his tingling ear. “I believe in you.” Cock dragging slower, he adds, “Just a bit longer.”
The reassurance helps. The hand wandering to Seren’s nipple doesn’t. He writhes in Nevander’s grasp, pleasure sparking inside and out. The slick heat between his thighs, the friction tugging his chest.
“Almost,” Nevander says, possessiveness blazing brighter. Seren realizes what they’re waiting for as Nevander growls, “Now.”
Seren cries out, vision whiting in ecstasy twice over. Nevander’s elation pours into him, sweetened with disbelief. As if Nevander too doesn’t know how he can be this lucky.
They remain entangled as they catch their breath. Seren carefully weaves his emotional shields together, and Nevander massages their mingled come into Seren’s stomach. Seren doesn’t need empathy to feel Nevander’s radiating satisfaction.
“Seren Calithel,” Nevander says. “I adore you.”
Seren has never felt so truly seen.
Hours later, despite some delays and unhelpful help from Harmony, they manage to clean up. Seren’s promise of obedience ends. A pot of tea steeps on the balcony table, and Seren curls up with Nevander on the lounging sofa.
Evening deepens the sky. Harmony stalks a butterfly through the honeysuckles. The fragrance blends with the clean warmth of Nevander’s skin.
Nevander is distractingly casual in loose trousers. Seren wears a robe. “So you don’t get cold,” Nevander had said innocently. Never mind that the robe is completely transparent. Seren would have been scandalized mere months ago.
Now, he just enjoys Nevander’s attention. Reverent fingers trace Seren’s skin through the sheer fabric.
“Don’t answer this recklessly,” Nevander says, his words as tender as his touch. “Someday, I’m going to ask you for a lifebond.”
Delight settles comfortably in Seren’s heart. He cuts off a million reckless replies, because Nevander’s right. They have hundreds of years to grow together, and they’re still recovering from the pain of Nevander’s last vow.
But Seren doesn’t need a vow to prove how much Nevander matters to him.
Now the butterfly is chasing Harmony. The squirrel races inside in a panic.
“I have a gift for you,” Seren says, reaching into his carryhold. “Though it’s late for a threshold gift.”
A book appears in his hand, bound in faded blue leather. He lowers it to their laps and traces the rippled, water-damaged edges. It’s hardly impressive next to the masterpieces in the palace libraries.
The embossed title reads, Fearsome and Wondrous Histories of the Fae.
“I grabbed this from Wymond today,” Seren explains. “I don’t think any of the stories are true. Myth and rumor all blended together.” Remembered yearning surges within him, and his eyes burn. “For most of my life, this was all I knew of our kind.”
Nevander covers Seren’s hand on the book and kisses the top of Seren’s head. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
He isn’t talking about the book.
One more knot loosens in the tapestry of Seren’s heart. From his guardian’s embrace, he watches the sun set over his realm.