Chapter Thirteen #2
So he scrubbed himself scrupulously clean, working extra hard to ensure he obliterated every trace of alcohol. His head still didn’t feel great, but otherwise, he felt a lot more human after the bath. He climbed out carefully and toweled himself dry before shaving.
Reluctantly, he asked for something light to eat. He’d managed to mess up his sleep schedule entirely, so dinner was only a couple of hours away, but he needed to try to settle his queasy stomach before then.
The kitchens provided potato soup and a thick slice of bread that he managed to keep down. He also made himself drink several more glasses of water, thinking of Pelun the entire time.
Tor had messed up, and he desperately wanted to fix it, but…
it wasn’t just because of Terila anymore.
Should he leave before he got in any deeper?
But if he did that, would he miss out on the chance of something unexpectedly real with Pelun?
As terrible as it was to say, he didn’t think he’d ever spent so long with someone and not slept with them, unless he wasn’t interested in them.
When he wanted, the other person typically wanted back, there was a quick romp in the bedroom, and then Tor was moving on to someone else. That kept everything safest for him and them, where no feelings were involved and no one got unreasonable expectations when it came to a High Prince.
He’d spent weeks with Pelun, and he’d liked it. He didn’t want to leave—and he didn’t know what would happen if he did. If he abandoned his plan and went home, would he be escorted straight to Terila in Vayrin? Would he be given no choice in the matter?
Or if Tor refused unequivocally, what then? He’d mostly been joking when he mentioned being exiled to his sister, but what did happen if you truly refused to do as your High King commanded?
Tor didn’t want to find out. He didn’t want to lose his sister or Rin—or Pelun. And wasn’t that a weird thought to contemplate? He’d only known Pelun properly for a few weeks, but he definitely wanted to know more.
Tor needed to be able to change Varex’s mind, and showing him how wrong his orders were was still Tor’s best chance at that. He just needed to make sure that his friendship with Pelun stayed intact, too—and the first step there was an apology.
He dressed with care for dinner, rehearsing what he could say to the man, only to discover that it was Pelun’s turn to miss the meal.
King Forex was at first extremely annoyed, muttering about ungrateful children who weren’t aware of their filial or royal duties, but then he seemed to erase it from his mind.
His eyes, red-rimmed and glittering a bit too brightly, settled on Tor.
“Well, Prince Torex, how are you liking it here?”
His way-too-obvious glance at the two of his children who were seated at the table made it clear what he was really asking.
For a wild moment, Tor was filled with the urge to tell him that there was absolutely no chance he would ever bond with any of the man’s children—but that was both incredibly rude and would hardly help Tor convince Varex he was seriously contemplating a bond with Pelun.
So then he was tempted to state his actual interest clearly—except that wouldn’t be fair to Pelun, especially right now, and Tor honestly wasn’t sure how the King would react.
While a bond with any of his children should have made Forex happy, the fact that he hadn’t urged Tor towards Pelun the way he had the other two was telling.
Instead, Tor pretended to have missed the subtext entirely and launched into a recitation of the many things that he liked about Tond that had absolutely nothing to do with Bavil or Larexa.
This had the added benefit of meaning he could mostly push his food around on his plate.
The King kept Bavil and Torex extra-long for drinks—although given that Pelun rarely spoke unless he had to, it wasn’t actually that much different of an experience.
Torex didn’t know about Bavil, but if he was courting someone, he’d be doing it in front of their parents as seldom as possible, so this was just awkward.
Bavil and Tor exchanged a wry look and then set up a polite conversation while Forex drank a steadily increasing amount of liquor.
(Why, why had Tor decided that drinking was the way to handle his confession to Pelun? Of course drinking wouldn’t have good associations for the man, and it had led to Tor making foolish, harmful choices—and winding up with a hangover he could really do without.)
There was plenty that Bavil and Tor didn’t know about one another, but Tor could tell he wasn’t the only one who didn’t particularly want to share much with King Forex observing—though it was debatable how much he was noticing as he disappeared into his drinks.
They did their best to chatter about the various realms and people they had in common and then started a debate about which of them had experienced the worst weather and how that should be rated.
They’d passed verifying the dampness of their horse’s tail, the length of time they could see their breath in the air, the amount of time it took someone to clean muddy garments, and the number of lumps of sugar that needed to be fed to your horse before they would carry you again before King Forex finally demanded, “What are you talking about? Stop being ridiculous!”
Fortunately, he seemed to decide it was time to go join Larexa. Tor took up what had become his customary position attending her at the pianoforte. The music had the happy effect of reducing the chance that Forex would overhear them.
He seemed always to be pleased when he saw them together, speaking softly.
Larexa demanded immediately, “Have you been drinking?”
Tor had thought he’d tidied up rather well, but maybe Larexa was an expert on recognizing the signs.
“Not since last night and this morning,” he confessed.
Frowning, she asked, “Is that why Pel’s not here?”
“It… might not be entirely unrelated?”
It seemed too much to hope it wasn’t related to him—but then it seemed terribly self-aggrandizing to assume it was.
“And should we be expecting you to join our father in his habits?” she demanded.
“Goddess, no,” he breathed. “It was a lapse, and I’m not proud of it, but it’s done with.”
She plunked a little harder at the keys, a discordant twang that made Tor wince.
“Just checking,” she said, going back to the more melodic playing that he was used to.
“Yes, I regret my life decisions up to this point,” he told her sourly.
“Good,” Larexa told him firmly. “Because if you hurt him, I’ll make you regret it.”
“It’s not my intention to hurt him,” Tor reiterated.
That was definitely true, but… was it likely? He’d hurt him just this morning, as an example, even if that hadn’t been his intention. If he pursued this with Pelun, would it end up hurting him?
The thing was, up until this morning, he’d thought that Pelun had been enjoying himself, too. Tor genuinely wanted this to be good for both of them.
“You’d better not,” Larexa said with a sweet smile that was utterly at odds with the seriousness of her voice.
He was sure he could take her in a fight, but he knew that wasn’t really the point. Although, now he thought about it…
“I’ve never asked you what your defense is like.”
“My defense?” She sounded puzzled.
“Your magic. What’s it like at defense,” he clarified.
She only looked more confused. “I’m not a guard. I don’t fight.”
After the war, they’d stopped calling them soldiers. Each realm had guards who were meant for defense of its citizens. They enforced the peace and protected against criminals or exiles.
In those earliest years, each realm had been restricted on how many guards they could have, but the peace accords had let the realms slowly build up their force as it became clear that they could cooperate and work together.
Guards transferring between the realms was encouraged as another way to make it feel as though they all worked together.
But the High King’s guard had jurisdiction everywhere.
So, really, they were still soldiers, but dressed up more nicely, like that could help them keep the peace. He couldn’t blame Larexa for not being interested.
“So I gathered from the fact that you never train with the guards,” Tor said easily. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know how to defend yourself.”
The music had drifted into something altogether more serious and somber-sounding, Tor realized.
“I don’t want to fight,” she repeated, a mulish expression on her face now.
“I can respect that,” Tor said, wondering suddenly if her father had tried to convince her to become the next great warrior, an Extraordinary guard in an army that didn’t have one. “I’m not asking you to fight. I’m trying to check to see if you could defend yourself if you were attacked.”
Larexa looked a bit alarmed now. “Why would I be attacked?”
“For the same reason that anybody is. Because you’re in the way, you have something that someone wants, or you’re a way to get to something that someone wants.”
She looked like she wanted to protest but couldn’t quite figure out how to do so.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she repeated after a moment. “And look at me.” One hand left the keyboard briefly, back almost before Tor had had time to process that she’d gestured the length of her body.
He gave his most polite leer. “And very lovely you are, too.”
She cast him an exasperated look. “I’m about half your size.”
“You’re… a little more delicate than me,” Tor agreed. “Perfect for someone who wants to wrap themselves around you, I imagine.” She made a face, making him smile. “Or not. I’m just saying that’s harder to do when someone is larger than you are. You run out of arm span.”
Larexa rolled her eyes. “I’ll take your word for it. But how am I going to defend myself when I’m half the size of the people attacking me?”