Chapter 54 #2
Richard’s pulse raced, his muscles coiled, his body on edge, as if he were readying himself for battle.
“But near six months ago, the knight’s affections for the prince became clearer.
And the prince—or king, rather, for the prince had been made king—saw, for the first time, the true measure of the man before him.
A knight, who was loyal, silly and brave and resembled the sun when he smiled. ”
Kaelen’s hand tightened on his, trembling.
“And the king began to feel a fondness that was no longer distant. A peculiar possessiveness. An absurd adoration. It took the king far too long to recognise what it was. He had not the practice. He had built a life on never recognising such things. And when he did recognise it, he wondered at his right to feel such a way. He is, after all, a man for whom the bed is a place of sleep and nothing else. And the knight”—Richard couldn’t stop his babbling, couldn’t stop the tumble of unrehearsed words—“the knight is beauty itself, and there are dozens, hundreds, who would gladly climb into his bed and give him every pleasure he could seek to find, so why then would the knight accept a man who cannot offer him what every other partner could? Why would he chain himself to a bed in which he would always be the only one wanting? The king could not think of an answer. He still cannot, in truth, and the asking of it seems”—Richard inhaled deeply—“seems a cruel thing.”
The sea blurred. He blinked hard, and the horizon resolved.
A hand clasped his chin and turned his face.
Kaelen wasn’t smiling. His eyes were grave and his hand gentle. “Maybe I’d not mind, my prince, if it were for you.”
The lump that rose in Richard’s throat throbbed. “It cannot be so simple.”
“No.” Kaelen’s thumb stroked along Richard’s jaw. His smile was so very fond. “The most precious things rarely are. If your affection bears a different shape, then I shall try to learn its corners. And I shall do so gladly.”
Richard’s heart hammered so loudly he was certain Kaelen could hear it. The wind had stilled—or perhaps he could not hear it anymore, the whole world having narrowed to the calloused thumb tracing the line of his jaw, and the man staring at his lips.
He let his eyes drift shut and slowly leaned in.
Try as he might, he could not stop thinking of the book he’d read ten years ago on the mechanics of kissing.
There’d been a diagram of a tongue with little arrows and a caption about the gentle exploration of the upper palate.
But Richard could not remember whether one was to lick the bottom lip first or immediately plunder with his tongue.
He had not had the foresight to practise, and now he regretted closing his eyes, for it felt absurd and overdone as if he were a maiden in a tapestry, but it would surely be even stranger to suddenly open his eyes now as he was bending in—
The hand on his cheek stopped his motion.
Richard opened his eyes, confused. Kaelen had halted an inch away, lashes close enough to count. He tipped his head forward and gently brushed his nose against Richard’s.
Richard blinked.
Whatever was that for?
It had, he was quite certain, been the moment.
And Kaelen had bumped noses with him like some pet.
Richard had just opened his mouth to demand an explanation when Kaelen sprang away. With a delighted whoop, he punched the air and pitched himself backwards against the railings, spine bent. Flinging his arms wide, he slanted his face to the skies.
“O ye gods!” he cried at the gulls. “Ye may take me now, for I have lived a full life and am ready to die!”
Richard’s eyelid twitched. He half-considered wrenching the knight overboard and settled instead for a hard shove. Kaelen laughed and surged forward to catch Richard about the ribs, hauling him into a hug.
“Kaelen!” Richard grunted, forced onto his tiptoes.
“My prince. Oh, my prince.”
The arms around him were strong and sturdy. Richard braced his palms against Kaelen’s chest with the intent of pushing him off, but found his palms sliding down to hug about Kaelen’s waist.
“Fool,” he muttered into the tunic.
“Mmm.” Kaelen’s hand came up to cradle the back of his head. “We should…we should sit. Talk this through.” His voice sounded thick, clogged with tears. “There is a great deal to—to say. Properly. With chairs.”
Richard hummed and pressed closer, nuzzling the crook of Kaelen’s neck. “In a moment.”
“Richard—”
“Keep hugging me.”
A chuckle stirred his hair. “As you command.”
The arms tightened, and Richard closed his eyes. It was, he decided, very fine to be held by Kaelen. For the man’s arms were muscled, his chest broad, and his racing heartbeat reverberated through the tunic.
Kaelen swayed.
Richard steadied him, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Do not lurch, you oaf, you shall tip us into the—”
The weight against him flopped, and Richard’s eyes flew open.
“Kaelen?”
He pulled back. Kaelen’s head lolled, eyelids drooping over eyes that struggled to focus. The colour had drained from his face.
“Kaelen.” Richard caught him as the knight’s knees buckled. “Kaelen—gods—what is it, what—”
Kaelen sagged against him. “The…tea.”
His eyes rolled, and he slumped onto the deck, unconscious.
“Kaelen!” Richard lifted his arm to slap, but a wave of tiredness slammed through him. It spread through all his limbs, weighing them down, and the deck tilted.
The tea.
Richard reached for his sword, fingers fumbling against the hilt as he heaved himself upright. The mast doubled in his vision and then trebled. He pulled the blade free and turned, swaying, to face the figure crossing the deck.
Flint strolled with his hands in his pockets.
“Flint.” Richard’s tongue felt too large for his mouth. “You—you—”
He raised the sword, but his legs gave way, and he pitched forward. Arms snagged under his shoulders and eased him onto his back.
Flint loomed, his grin mocking.
“Careful there, Your Majesty. Wouldn’t want you cracking that pretty head.”
And it all went black.