24. The Weakness of an Open Heart
The Weakness of an Open Heart
Nevander can’t feel Seren’s emotions. He doesn’t need to.
Seren responds with such overwhelming eagerness.
Shallow, desperate kisses reveal the sweetness of his lips.
Nevander kisses deeper, ready to drown in his prince.
All his control rests in his grasp of Seren’s waist, keeping him from holding too tightly.
Even if the thought appeals—writing desire into Seren’s skin with glittering bruises.
Urgency burns, impossible to plan for. Seren has proven himself more than just a prince to be protected. He called enough Summer magic to give Midnight pause—after Nevander couldn’t stand against Midnight and a single augray.
Pain still twists through Nevander’s gut, but his mind falls blissfully blank, soothed by the elixir of Seren’s kiss. Pure instinct and emotion. Everything Nevander kept shamefully hidden. His desires don’t feel so shameful when reflected in Seren’s shining eyes.
A faint moan weakens Nevander’s knees. “Your Highness,” Nevander says, with deepest reverence. “Seren.”
Seren breaks away, grasping Nevander’s face. His eyes are golden mirrors, brilliant with hunger. “You’re beautiful.”
He doesn’t mean Nevander’s face.
Nevander takes a shuddering breath. He forged himself into a blade for a duty he could never fulfill, edges sharpened by control. He understood his own emotions so he could set them aside. Guarding against the weakness of an open heart.
But he’s bared himself for Seren, and Seren’s rapture is a gift in return. Nevander has never felt so seen. So adored. He’s still afraid. Still furious with Midnight—for threatening Seren—and himself—for not preventing it.
Seren doesn’t buckle beneath Nevander’s fear. He lessens it.
Nevander brushes Seren’s hair back. He can’t lose his mind entirely. “We shouldn’t do this here.”
Seren leans in. “What are we doing?”
“Whatever you…” Nevander trails off as Seren licks his lips. No empathy magic needed to read his desires. “Maybe a little less than you want. The healing elixir’s not that effective.”
Seren laughs, surprised, then concerned. “Gods, this is… I’m not thinking clearly. You’re hurt.”
“Am I influencing you?” Nevander asks, struggling to shield again.
Worry chills his desires. Seren’s empathy is so strong. He could be manipulated by Nevander’s craving.
“You’re not,” Seren starts. “Not like that, anyway. I may be acting more forward since I know you don’t hate this.” He traces Nevander’s jaw. Then he yanks away, flushed pink. “We should get you to a healer. Can you return us to the palace?”
Technically, yes. “I’d rather rest here,” Nevander says, and he has reasons prepared.
He doesn’t want to return at half-strength to the palace outskirts, causing a stir, inviting challenges.
Seren too is worn thin. He shouldn’t have reached for Summer magic without the crown’s protection.
Very good reasons besides Nevander’s selfishness. “Let me show you our treehouse.”
Seren’s lips twitch. He doesn’t tug at Nevander’s excuses. “Please,” he says, and the word encompasses everything.
Dazed, Nevander touches the tree’s coarse trunk. “Well met, dear friend of light and loam. Reveal to me our secret home.”
Recognition ripples through the tree. Groaning and grumbling, sections of the trunk stretch outward. Rough steps spiral into the boughs.
Seren gasps, entranced.
“Thank you,” Nevander says, entranced in turn by Seren’s face. He gestures—tempted to a more elaborate bow, but not with this gut wound. Seren makes Nevander want to be a little ridiculous. “After you, Your Highness.”
“You have to follow me this time,” Seren says sternly, but mounts the stairs without waiting for agreement.
That’s something they’ll need to discuss. Among a thousand other things. Nevander can’t and won’t apologize for defending Seren, even if that means putting himself in harm’s way. That’s both his duty and his joy. And it’s Seren’s duty to permit Nevander’s service—or reject him entirely.
If Seren intends to wear the Summer Crown, despite the hidden blades and bared teeth arrayed against him.
A conversation for another time. Now, Nevander ascends the great tree’s spiraling stairs. Slower than usual. Seren’s steps grow more tentative as the ground falls away. But they never stop.
Nevander, Yarrow, and Valerian used to race up the stairs, shoving each other off. Nevander and Valerian could catch themselves in flight, and Yarrow would catch himself on a lower step, or land on his feet, laughing in the thunderclap.
That was later, though. At first, they climbed like this. Wondering. New. Nevander has to force his eyes from Seren to keep an eye on the clearing below.
No sign of danger. Spiritwood settles. The augray’s corpse and Nevander’s blood are the only signs of conflict.
Thirty feet from the ground, they reach a wide fork and a wooden platform. A trapdoor creaks open.
“Wait,” Nevander says, catching up. The stairs are only a few feet wide. He has to brush bodily past Seren. “I welcome you to this home. You may partake of any food or drink beneath this roof without obligation. The door will open for you, with or without a host.”
Permission rustles through branches and leaves. The treehouse purrs in relaxation, welcoming its new honored guest.
Delight brightens Seren’s exhaustion. He climbs the last few steps, and gasps. “Oh, this is gorgeous.”
Nevander joins him, and the trapdoor closes at his heels. Rainbow light dapples the single room in nostalgia. Decades of memories pile like the fur and wool blankets in the corner.
“Nobody in Wymond had stained glass in their treehouses,” Seren says, turning slowly. Then he laughs. “Wait—are those bottles?”
“We filled in the windows as we finished liquor bottles.” Nevander moves to a cabinet, which contains more liquor, but the wooden cups are what he’s after. “We drank a lot.”
“I can tell.” Seren appears at Nevander’s elbow. “What are you doing?”
Nevander pauses as if spellbound. He left his breastplate at the roots, and even with his emotions shielded, he feels exposed. “I’m getting you water.”
“That’s very considerate.” Seren touches Nevander’s shoulder. His chest. “I don’t want you to be considerate right now.”
They lean together, each taste sweeter than the last. Nevander groans, hands suddenly full of stained silk and flushed skin.
“You used too much power,” Nevander says between kisses. They’ve reached the bed of furs. “You should lie down.”
Seren’s eyes gleam gold. “I changed my mind. A little consideration is all right.”
Stomach aching, Nevander sinks to the furs. His back muscles wince as he eases Seren down, though the injuries are mostly healed. The twinges are just a reminder of his duty, his failure, his determination to do better, and that isn’t a bad thing as he lies beside his prince.
Rainbows ripple across Seren. He’s too beautiful to be real, a creature of glamour and dreams. But his arms wind around Nevander’s shoulders, and his leg hooks around Nevander’s hip, and his heated pulse is the realest thing Nevander’s ever felt. A wordless invitation, dangerous as a promise.
Nevander kisses the corner of Seren’s mouth. The edge of his jaw. He inhales the sweet lilac scent of Seren’s hair, then steals Seren’s gasping breath as well. He’d intended to kiss them both to exhaustion, then stand guard as Seren slept. But Seren presses up, hard. Leaving him like this would be…
Inconsiderate.
Seren tenses as Nevander’s hand lowers. Nevander pulls away to meet his eyes, searching for hesitation and finding none.
“Don’t tease me,” Seren says, pupils blown.
“I’m not teasing,” Nevander says, and loosens Seren’s belt. Holding Seren’s gaze, Nevander caresses him through the fine trousers. One slow stroke, then another, until an animal whine breaks from Seren’s throat. Then Nevander’s hand slips between fabric and skin to grasp Seren’s cock.
Seren bucks, head falling back. “Oh, fuck. That’s good.”
More truth echoes without words. Seren has suffered too much in his short lifetime. In this moment, Nevander wants to be a source of joy.
And pleasure is a good start.