Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
T he tavern was filled with scent of ale, roasting hog on a spit roast, and the occasional whiff of pipe smoke. A low hum of conversation filled the room, punctuated by bursts of raucous laughter and the clinking of flagons. The White Fox Inn was a popular destination for many.
It was one of Leander’s favourite places in the city, because it was located within the Bazaar, where magic and wonder coalesced to create an experience that was nothing short of mesmerising.
Even the food, rich with spices, left him craving more, and the demigod found himself returning time and time again.
It helped that the company of commoners had become his preference over that of the aristocrats he was supposed to be mingling with of an evening.
The door to the tavern swung open, and a gust of frigid spring night air swept through the large room, momentarily silencing the lively chatter.
Leander, clad in rich blues and silvers on his brocade-covered waistcoat, stepped inside.
The patrons stole anticipatory glances at the newcomer, wondering about the raucous activities he might bring, because there was rarely a dull moment where Lord Leander Talius was concerned when he joined them in the taverns of Saeren.
The demigod smiled around at some of the familiar faces he saw, but he shook his head minutely as he passed the other punters. He silently let them know he had other plans and would not be joining them for a game of cards, or proving once again that he could drink any one of them under the table.
Tonight, he only had eyes for one man, and even the catcalls and dares and chants that he was chicken were not enough to deter him from his current path across the room to the far end of the bar.
The lively hum of the tavern slowly returned as Leander stepped over to the bar and clasped a hand on Jarryn’s shoulder, who was nursing a cup of tea quietly.
“Hello, Leander,” Jarryn greeted softly as he grabbed the barkeep’s attention and requested his teapot be refilled with boiling water.
“Hello, Jarryn.” Leander’s searching gaze looked around the room, where some eyes still lingered on him, before turning back to his quarry. “Have you been reading that book this whole time?”
Jarryn nodded as he folded his bookmark into place and closed the tome.
“Was that your plan? To ignore the world around you in favour of erudition? You’re beginning to get a reputation of being unapproachable, Your Highness,” Leander said with a hint of a smile.
Jarryn shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. But Leander beat him to it.
“Whatever you’re about to say, I can guarantee it’s not good enough of an excuse to give to me tonight.
Come and sit with me.” The smile grew. “Unless, of course, you are trying to cultivate a new reputation of being an unsociable, indifferent snob… or were you waiting for someone else?” Leander quipped.
“I wanted peace away from the palace, not to be pursued by an annoying lordling. How did you find me?” Jarryn responded.
Leander grinned. “I have a sixth sense for these things. Rest assured, you cannot get rid of me that easily.”
“Oh? Is your Aesthesia that strong, that well controlled?”
“No,” Leander rested his elbow upon the bar top. “So, tell me, you had not expected me, or anyone. Why are you here then?”
“I didn’t want to spend another minute sitting in my apartments. The curtains make the room too dark.”
“You can open them, you know.”
There was a titter of laughter from the bartender. Leander enjoyed the momentary tilt of power in his favour.
Jarryn scowled. “Did you come here with the intention of pissing me off, or are you going to make the trip out of the palace worth my while?”
“I thought you didn’t want to be in the palace?”
“I did. I mean… yes, I don’t. ”
“And I thought you didn’t want company anyway?”
“Right. Well, no.”
“Eloquent.”
Jarryn’s scowl deepened into a glare.
Summoning the barkeep with a wave of his hand, Leander ordered his usual: two meads, which were promptly brought over.
Leander grabbed his tankard and pushed the other towards Jarryn as he jerked his head.
“Come on, let’s sit over there.” His lips parted into a grin, a challenge in his expression.
He would not take no for an answer. “Unless you tire of me already. For all that erudition, you’re not your normal loquacious self. ”
“Just savouring the moment of silence before you hit me with another round of quick wit. Don’t worry, I’m still here,” Jarryn replied monotonously as, resigned, he picked up his drink and followed Leander to the seats he had indicated to.
“Ah, so you’re saying my silence is as profound as my words. I’ll take that as a compliment!”
It was warmer here, farther from the door, so Leander shed a layer, removing his outer cloak and placing it carefully over the back of his chair before sitting down.
The flickering candlelight on the table cast a warm glow on their faces.
Leander rested his elbows upon the table and his chin on his hands as he stared at his companion.
Jarryn was just as pleasing on the eyes as he had been the first time they met, if not more so, since he had gotten to know the prince and realised just how much he liked being around him.
Jarryn traced the rim of his flagon with his fingertips, the condensation leaving a small trail as it fell in legs down the edge of his tankard. “It’s amazing just how stifling the palace can become. I much prefer being out. You were right when you accused us of not knowing the people.”
Leander thought back to when he had commented on Jarryn’s proclivity to think he knew his people, when he only knew the rich. Jarryn, more so than Lucien or Thiete, had taken his words to heart… it meant that they—Leander and Jarryn—met more often, on common ground.
“This place”—Jarryn gestured around the room of the White Fox—“it feels like a sanctuary of sorts. Even if I don’t feel particularly social.” He tapped his large tome twice with a rueful smile.
Leander nodded, his bright, amber eyes reflecting the glint of the candlelight. “It does. A haven away from the chaos that is the world of politics and godsforsaken royals,” he replied with a more genuine smile.
“Oh? Surely you’re not painting all royals with the same brush?”
“I like one or two,” he said mildly, his hand tentatively reaching out and finding Jarryn’s on the table, their fingers intertwining.
The sole minstrel started playing a soulful rendition of a classic piece of music, his soft voice lulling the patrons of the White Fox into a gentle tranquillity, setting the mood for Leander and Jarryn’s conversation.
As they sipped at their mead, Leander’s gaze lingered on Jarryn’s face. “I still remember that first time we met,” he said, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “You were quite something to look at. Something I wanted to do all manner of things to. ”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes really. Then I got to know you and realised what a terrible idea that would be.”
Jarryn grinned. “You think so? What a shame.” The prince ducked his head before continuing, “There were times for me even then”—he looked back up—“even when I was convincing myself that you were the enemy, that I wanted to do similar to you.”
They laughed together, and Leander couldn’t help but wonder what would have become of them, had he not been who he was.
“Play your cards right, Your Highness, and maybe you’ll get lucky,” he tested the waters after a moment’s silence.
It seemed Jarryn was in a playful mood… or at least wasn’t feeling so cruel as to shoot Leander down on his first attempt at propositioning him. “You can do better than that, Leo. Here, let me show you.”
Leander frowned in confusion as Jarryn downed the remainder of his drink and stood. The prince picked up his book in one hand and extended the other to Leander. “Are you coming? Because you will if you do.”
Glancing up into Jarryn’s eyes, he noted the playful sparkle in his eye, but he also saw the genuineness. He was serious.
Taking the hand with a shyness he didn’t expect to feel, he stood.
The two left the White Fox.
Within seconds, Leander had his back pressed up against the doorframe, Jarryn pressing against him, the intention clear.
Leander smiled, licking his lips in anticipation. He had wanted this for so long and he would remember this as what it was to sink so completely into another’s soul.
There was nothing unhurried about the way Jarryn claimed Leander’s lips. The demigod’s hands were anchored on Jarryn’s hips, a grip that was necessary for him to stay upright. He was finally experiencing what he had been daydreaming about for months… ever since first seeing the prince.
Time seemed to stand still as their kiss deepened, an intimate dance of their tongues and lips.
Jarryn tasted of strawberries, and Leander imagined it was that artificial sweetener in that tea he liked so much.
In the tea itself, it was deplorable. On Jarryn’s lips?
He would be the happiest man in Cariun if that was the only flavour he ever got to taste again.
“Do it again,” Leander whispered when Jarryn pulled his lips away.
“So greedy.” Jarryn laughed but did not oblige. “Come on, Leo.”
As they walked, it didn’t take long for Leander to fall into a full description of his newfound passion of visiting orphanages.
After the visit to the hospital, he had realised how much he liked working with children.
More so than adults. He was attending children’s homes throughout the city of his own volition, and not because his father dictated a schedule to him.
During one of his many stories, during which Leander was trying to explain his plans to formalise state care of these displaced children, Leander suddenly stopped.
“I’m sorry, I doubt you wanted a lecture,” he said, deciding to shut up before he could bore Jarryn further, favouring the prince with a gentle smile.
Leander ducked his head but he very quickly felt pressure under his chin as two of Jarryn’s fingers gently but firmly forced him to raise his head and stare into bright blue eyes. They had stopped walking.
“Never apologise for being passionate about something.” Jarryn’s voice was soft, quiet as he tried to instil a sense that Leander’s opinion mattered. Jarryn’s fingers remained under Leander’s chin for a long moment after he had spoken.
When satisfied, Jarryn dropped his hand and the pair continued to meander through the streets of Saeren.
Leander continued to share. “There’s one girl, lost her mother to the pox a few years ago. I remember her from before her mother died, when she prayed to me, begging me to make her mother believe that she was too sick to go to her ballet class.”
Jarryn smiled at the story. “And did her mother believe it?”
“No. Not in the slightest.”
“You couldn’t just give that little girl her one request?”
Leander dropped his gaze to the floor. “I was on the other side of Cariun, I didn’t hear her plea until it was too late.”
The prince cocked his head to the side, as if coming to the realisation for the first time that the gods were not infallible, that their power wasn’t absolute and certain.
Leander watched Jarryn’s face warp and change as he realised that the very nature of the gods was so subject to a fleeting chance.
No wonder prayers and libations went unanswered so often.
“Turns out… that little girl caught the pox from another girl in her ballet class. She survived, but her mother contracted it too, and she wasn’t as fortunate as the little girl.”
Frowning, Jarryn, hand still holding Leander’s, moved his thumb in circles across the back of his hand in a show of comfort. The demigod glanced down, as if just remembering their fingers were entwined. Sorrowfully, he pulled his hand free.
What a way to kill the mood, Leander thought to himself, when he had been promised more than just a good time with the prince tonight. He decided he would prefer to… just go home instead.
Laughing out a mirthless laugh, he continued.
“That girl has been in an orphanage ever since, and she has nothing to look forward to, except menial work in a factory. Her mother had been the king’s own farrier, with enough income to set her daughter up for life.
I’ve done some digging and I cannot fathom what happened to that money.
She has nothing to her name now. No future to speak of. ”
Looking over at the prince, he saw an equally sorrowful expression on his face, and he was heartbroken to have been the one to cause it.
“There you go, Your Highness, I could have saved that little girl’s mother… with a lie. And I didn’t.”