Chapter Twenty
When Ethyr tried to find Mikel the next morning, he was already gone.
Only one guard had any knowledge about it.
They had seen him leaving shortly after his tunic was returned.
Poyut sent guards into the city to find him, but to no avail.
Not only had Ethyr run off his only friend, but Mikel had left before Ethyr could make up for any of the sacrifices he had made to come all this way.
He didn’t know whether he was angry at himself or at Mikel.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. How could Mikel be upset that he wanted to be with him after being apart for so long?
Ethyr should have been the one upset that Mikel didn’t.
Clearly he didn’t love him like he used to.
He could have told Ethyr that instead of fleeing like a coward.
It was a meaningless solace that Ethyr knew, deep down, was baseless and empty.
And yet, it felt better to cling to empty reassurance than confront a painful truth.
The absence of Mikel’s company, however brief he’d had it, made the palace feel as big and empty as when Ethyr had first arrived.
When Poyut wasn’t actively guarding him, she was busy with her duties as steward.
Gionan rarely pestered him anymore, and everyone else was too nervous or too formal around him to be worth much in company.
He hadn’t seen Lyrian, really seen him and spoken to him, since before the council meeting. So Ethyr found himself knocking on the study door.
An unfamiliar face opened it. Ethyr blinked in surprise, not even vaguely recognizing the woman before him.
He had been there long enough that he knew all the faces in the palace and most officials.
She was dressed in the silk tunic and sandals that were typical capital fashion, but her bronze skin marked her as a far southerner.
“Who are you?” Ethyr asked.
The woman stepped aside, opening the door further to show Lyrian hurrying to stand from his desk.
“Your Divinity,” he greeted warmly. “My apologies, I would have gotten the door myself if I’d known it was you.”
“It’s… okay.” Ethyr stepped inside, still eying the stranger.
Lyrian gestured to her. “Your Divinity, this is Jessif, an old friend and one of my captains stationed in the city of Burgus.” Ethyr glanced reflexively at the carved map table, as though he could see any of the words from the doorway.
“Southeast of here,” Lyrian graciously told him. “Near the coast.”
“Isn’t that far?”
“Quite far, Your Divinity,” Jessif said solemnly.
Her voice was heavy but quiet, with a tinge of accent Ethyr had only heard from a merchant in Mahyria.
“I believe as far from here as your own village. Though it may feel farther because we do not have the benefit of river travel to easily reach the capital.”
“Why have you come all this way?”
“Not for anything you need to worry about, Your Divinity,” Lyrian butt in. “Just some unrest in the southern territories. We’ll talk more on it later.” He directed the last sentence to Jessif, who gave him a nod, bowed to Ethyr, and walked out.
“I had an old friend visit from far away too,” Ethyr said as he watched Jessif leave.
“Oh, yes, I heard about that. Sounds like it was quite a reunion.”
“I wanted you to meet him but… he left rather abruptly yesterday.”
“That’s unfortunate, I would have liked to meet him, too.”
Ethyr looked at Lyrian again, standing tall in the middle of the study like Yorith used to.
Well, except he had quite a bit more height and width than the withered old priest. Having seen Mikel again, he realized Lyrian didn’t look so much like him.
His hair was darker blond without the same tinge of red, his freckles less prominent and more concentrated over his nose, his jaw more square. And yet, still, Ethyr’s heart ached.
He pulled his eyes from Lyrian and wandered to the table, brushing his fingers over the grooves chiseled into it.
The border of mountains, stretching from the top of the continent and cascading down the western edge, petered off as it followed the Mahyria River to the capital.
Ethyr shifted his fingers to the river, tracing it to the coastline. “Are you still very busy?”
“Less so, Your Divinity. I’m sorry I haven’t made time for you.”
He looked up in surprise. Lyrian was watching him. He curled his fingers and lifted his hand from the table, tucking it self-consciously behind his back. “What do you mean?”
“We should be meeting at least every week, so I can tell you what’s been happening.”
“Yorith never did that.”
Lyrian gave a slanted smile. “Yorith rarely did anything he was supposed to.”
Ethyr shook his head, looking down at the table again.
The city of Mahyria stood in almost the exact middle of the continent, placed on the corner of the river where it veered east and emptied into the ocean.
Below the river was the huge expanse of the Walklands.
Dots of towns scattered throughout it, mostly along the slivers of river tributaries.
Below them, to the east, Bulmyr. It was a city almost as large as the capital, according to the map.
“I don’t see why it matters whether I know or not,” he said cautiously. “I don’t know governance, I don’t know finance, I barely know the kingdom.”
“You can learn all those things,” Lyrian said confidently.
“Haven’t you heard?” Ethyr joked. “I’m a stupid peasant incapable of learning.”
Lyrian didn’t laugh. “You continue to devalue your worth, despite having more value than anyone in the kingdom.”
Ethyr's cheeks set ablaze at that. “I’ve already made you my advisor, Lyrian; you don’t need to flatter me.”
The man’s playful smile did nothing to calm Ethyr’s heart. “You deserve the flattery, My King.”
Ethyr couldn’t return the smile. Lyrian held his gaze with casual ease, as though Ethyr wasn’t struggling just to keep his knees straight.
Lyrian turned on his heel and went back to his desk, sitting unconcerned in his seat and lifting a paper. “Well it’s no matter, you’re here now and I have time now, so let’s go over what we can.”
“Go over?” Ethyr asked, mind still reeling.
Lyrian looked up, amused. “All the important news and happenings, Your Divinity.”
“Oh. Yes. Right.” He forced his knees to unlock and bring him to the desk.
Something compelled him past the chair situated at its front and around the side.
Lyrian glanced at him, setting the paper down. “I wouldn’t have you waste your time reading, I can relay it all to you more succinctly. None of this is necessary to see.”
“No?” Ethyr trailed his fingers over the swath of papers covering the desk as he pressed close to Lyrian’s chair. The man turned to him in surprise, locking eyes with guarded suspicion.
“Your Divinity?”
Ethyr bit his lip hard, as though he could physically restrain himself with pain, but it didn’t stop his hand brushing across Lyrian’s shoulder, sliding behind his neck.
“Are you attracted to me?” Ethyr murmured.
He didn’t respond for a long, painful moment, still staring up at Ethyr as though he could read the thoughts behind his eyes.
“You’re very attractive, yes,” he finally conceded. His voice was frustratingly steady.
“That’s not what I asked,” Ethyr reproached.
He straddled Lyrian’s lap, sliding between the desk and the man’s torso to rest his weight on it.
Lyrian leaned back in his chair, hands going instinctively to Ethyr’s thighs.
He didn’t push him off, and though he never broke eye contact, Ethyr noticed his hard swallow.
He slid his other arm over Lyrian’s shoulder, looping both around his neck. “Would you fuck me?” he whispered.
Lyrian gave a sharp exhale followed by a breathless laugh. Instead of answering, his fingers dug into Ethyr’s thighs and yanked him closer, and Ethyr found Lyrian’s lips with his own.
His mouth was hot, and wet, and he didn’t skip a beat in matching Ethyr’s open mouth and tongue.
He pressed into Lyrian’s torso, not caring where that put his weight or what he felt against it.
Lyrian was warm, and solid, and it was gratifying to wrap his arms around someone who reciprocated so eagerly.
Ethyr’s body, his heart, ached to be close to another being, to feel skin against his skin, to have his desires driven out of him, to have his one worth validated.
He clenched his fingers in Lyrian’s hair and dragged his other hand down his chest to find what was stiff beneath him.
“Sir, have you seen—”
Ethyr whipped around. Lyrian’s attendant stood gaping in the doorway. His pounding heart choked the tiny bit of breath he had left from his lungs, stopping even an attempt at explanation.
She closed her mouth and averted her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t… the door was open.”
“Thank you, Satya,” Lyrian said with such casual calm no one would have thought he’d been caught doing what he was doing. “Perhaps you’ll close it?”
“Of course, sir. My apologies, sir.” She ducked her head and fled from the room, closing the door behind her.
Ethyr swallowed the remnants of Lyrian’s saliva and pressed a hand to his face, trying to catch his breath. It took a lot longer to return than his shame and self-awareness. What was he doing?
He stumbled off Lyrian’s lap, catching himself on the desk. “I’m so sorry, I–I don’t… I have no idea… what I’m—I–” He shook his head, not able to think over the blood rushing in his ears and the heat, different from the heat that had just filled him, lacing every nerve of his body.
“Ethyr,” Lyrian said with impossible serenity. “It’s fine. Satya won’t tell a soul.”
“That’s not—” Well it was, but it was one of many. He was still shaking his head, as though he could rattle his thoughts into a coherent order. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry.” He pulled enough strength together to dash from the room, not slowing until he was back in his own.