27. A Dangerous Gift
A Dangerous Gift
Returning to his quarters that evening doesn’t bring the relief Seren hoped for. As Nevander locks the door, dreadful certainties still curdle Seren’s stomach. Too much has happened today—this month—and his brittle self-control isn’t up to the task.
His sanity is in question, too. That bear statue shouldn’t have a fluffy fur hat.
The hat uncurls, and Harmony darts for Seren’s shoulder.
“Hi there,” Seren says, hunching to protect his neck from the tickling. “Have you been good?”
She nuzzles his chin with whiskery boldness, then launches herself into a hanging planter.
Seren eyes the ceiling hook, which looks sturdy enough. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”
“At least she can’t read spellbooks,” Nevander says, closing in. “How are you?”
Seren has no idea what to say. His heart is a well of roiling water, threatening to slosh over the rim. His hands hang awkwardly at his sides, caught between reaching out and covering his mouth to keep more stupid truths from spilling—
His back hits the wall, and Nevander kisses every thought from his head. Seren sighs into the kiss, lips parting at the slightest nudge. Gentle heat consumes him.
Nevander withdraws, his breath electric against Seren’s damp lips. And the reprieve ends. Concerns crowd Seren’s mind, and he’s too exhausted to shelter from them. He’d wanted a night of exploration, losing himself wherever these kisses might lead.
But he’s so tired.
“I’m sorry,” Seren says, looking away.
Harmony’s small snout emerges from the planter. She sniffs, then disappears into the foliage, like she’s tired of their racket.
Nevander doesn’t chide him for apologizing. “Why?”
Seren presses his forehead to Nevander’s shoulder. “I won’t be good company tonight. How do you stay in control all the time?”
“My friends would say that being a controlling, no-fun bastard comes naturally to me.” Nevander’s gaze is steady, inescapable, even as his hands wander. He traces Seren’s arms, caressing the bones of his wrists. “Let go if you’re tired, my prince. I don’t want a performance. Just you.”
Seren tenses, almost scared of how much he wants to believe. “I’m not used to that.”
“And that is a great injustice.” Nevander touches the shell of Seren’s right ear. “I would like to take care of you tonight. Will you let me?”
He rubs the pointed tip of Seren’s ear, and Seren’s knees weaken. Gods and spirits, ears aren’t supposed to tingle like that. Something awakens, deeper and more primal than exhaustion. Seren feels vulnerable. Needy.
Reckless.
“Please,” Seren begs, but that’s not enough. He needs to give more, and he trusts Nevander to safeguard what he offers. “I’ll do whatever you say for the next three hours.”
Nevander’s eyes widen as the promise locks between them. Then they narrow, the shock subsumed by exactly what Seren wants. A ravenous greed. “That’s a dangerous gift, my prince.”
The endearment feels just as treacherous. Seren lifts his chin, maybe in defiance, maybe baring his throat. “Am I in danger?”
After a moment of resistance, Nevander hoists Seren into the air. “I’ll take one hour.” His grasp is firm under Seren’s ass. “You’re not in danger, unless you’re afraid of long, leisurely baths.”
“Actually, I’m a little scared of that bathtub,” Seren confesses. “There are so many runes. I have no idea what they do.”
Nevander’s laugh melts through him. “Then I’ll assuage your fears.”
Seren clutches Nevander’s shoulders for balance.
Not that there’s a chance of Nevander dropping him.
Seren trusted Nevander to carry him off a balcony, into the sky.
Walking upstairs is easy. Except the dizzying rush rivals that of flight.
Seren’s pulse crashes like wingbeats. He can’t stop touching Nevander’s hair.
The bathing chamber illuminates at their entry.
All creamy white marble and gold fixtures, softened by a vine-woven lattice overhead.
The fragrant space is larger than Seren’s bedroom in Wymond.
The raised pond of a tub is large enough for a dozen bathers.
Faucets of all different metals loom over the edge, surrounded by runes.
It feels less intimidating with company. Nevander sets Seren down beside the counter. One hand winds into his hair, holding him gently, firmly in place.
Soft lips blaze down Seren’s throat. He arches into the sensation. “Gods, that feels incredible.”
Nevander pauses briefly. Then he tugs Seren’s shirt aside to kiss farther down his neck. Something unspoken hums between them.
“What is it?” Seren asks.
“Only foolishness,” Nevander says, straightening.
Seren feels safer than ever pushing for answers, when Nevander could force him to stop. Not that Nevander ever would. “Tell me this foolishness.”
Nevander traces the kiss-marks to Seren’s collar bone. “Don’t call out to any gods tonight.”
The first true order since Seren surrendered control. Easy enough, but why… “Are you jealous? They’re not even real.”
Nevander twists a shirt lace. “May I undress you?”
“Changing the subject, I see.” Seren spreads his arms. “I’ll allow it.”
As Nevander unlaces his shirt, Seren tries to swear by the gods. Just to see what happens. No sound reaches his lips. His throat simply tenses, obedient to Seren’s promise. The restraint jolts to his cock.
Yes. Releasing control is what Seren needs. Just as much as the contrast between cool silk and Nevander’s warm hands. The calluses skimming Seren’s shoulders aren’t coarse. Just sword-hardened. The shirt falls away, and Nevander drops to his knees.
Seren clutches the marble edge as his own knees weaken. Nevander kneels so naturally, without any sense of submission. He lifts Seren’s left foot and braces it against his thigh.
An hour of obedience is nothing in exchange for this fealty. Seren wants to swear again. He can’t call on the gods, so instead he breathes, “Nevander.”
Nevander growls. Soft leather pulls against Seren’s calf as Nevander unlaces the boot. The sensation sings through Seren’s veins until Nevander slides the boot away, then moves to the next.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nevander says, rising to his feet. He takes Seren’s hands next, removing each ring. Then his own.
“This still doesn’t always feel like me.” Seren’s knuckles shimmer faintly. His fingernails gleam, pearlescent. “Did you find me hideous in my human glamour?”
Nevander takes his time answering as he unbuckles Seren’s belt. “You were beautiful in that form, too. I found it wrong, like your face was a prison, yet strangely fascinating.”
Seren’s stomach shivers under warm, possessive fingertips. He doesn’t mind that answer. “How often did you watch me?”
Nevander sets the belt aside. “When I could.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Once a month, on average.”
Seren shivers, as much from the idea as from the too-slow, too-steady unlacing of his trousers. Each tug heightens the friction against his straining cock. Mundane memories surface with delicious uncertainty.
“A certain Lord Guardian was more idle than I thought,” Seren says, squirming. “I thought you were a stranger, but you knew everything about me.”
“On the contrary,” Nevander says. “I knew far too little.”
Before Nevander can strip off his trousers, Seren impulsively seizes his hands.
“Wait,” he says—a request, not an order, but he never doubts that Nevander will oblige.
Nevander is still fully dressed in gray and gold leather.
Seren doesn’t want to be the only vulnerable one tonight.
“Aren’t you getting in the bath with me? ”
Nevander’s eyes flash. “I suppose I am. Let me start the water first.”
“Sensible,” Seren grumbles.
Water rattles from one of the faucets, billowing steam.
That’s one of the runes Seren remembers from the initial tour.
Then Nevander undoes the first clasp at the side of his breastplate, and Seren’s mouth truly waters.
Nevander shucks his own clothing much faster than he unraveled Seren’s.
Magic must be involved, because boots and armor pile unnaturally fast on the nearest marble bench.
Nevander reserves the most care for setting aside his sword, then practically rips his belt and trousers away.
Seren stares, shamelessly entranced. From shoulders to sculpted thighs, every sinew is a marking on a map, leading Seren to Nevander’s cock.
The impression through linen and leather didn’t prepare him for the sight—smooth, perfect, yet shockingly real.
Arousal flushes Nevander’s blunt cockhead, and the skin tightens with the blood-filled weight.
“I don’t want to criticize,” Seren says, forcing his gaze upwards. “But you’re doing a poor job of helping me relax.”
Nevander laughs, closing in. “I won’t apologize for that.”
Statuesque perfection. Not a single scar. Seren touches the point beneath Nevander’s sternum. “Does it still hurt?”
“No, it’s all healed.” Nevander touches Seren’s shoulder, with its shining constellation of scars. Sensation is muted beneath the raised marks. “Unlike this.”
Seren isn’t appeased. “It still happened, even if it fades.”
Nevander just smiles. “That’s one thing I didn’t know—how deeply I would love your kindness.”
His touch falters. Like the word ‘love’ escaped his lips unbidden.
Seren isn’t ready to think about that. He seizes both Nevander’s hands. “Now that you’re naked, you should remove my trousers, before I do it myself.”
“Gladly,” Nevander says, and with barely a touch, the fine linen slides down Seren’s thighs.
And Seren feels gloriously perfect too, beneath Nevander’s gaze.
They move in a tangle of limbs, each pushing and pulling the other toward the bath. Steaming water nearly meets the rim. Nevander stops the faucets, then helps Seren up the steps.
Seren nearly protests that he can get into a bath by himself. He’s done it plenty, even in this massive lake of a tub. But tonight is about letting Nevander take care of him. About giving up control. Despite the fact, or because of the fact, that Nevander has barely ordered him to do anything.