6
Sitting shoulder to shoulder with Dorian under a small apple tree barely wide enough to support them, eating sweet yellow apples straight from the branches he had just made flower, Hadrian realized he felt the closest to peace he had since he was a child playing in the city gardens.
Perhaps even more, because there was no need to hide here.
No need to make himself less. Dorian had seen his forbidden magic and only asked for more.
He watched Dorian now and thought maybe he was feeling something similar.
He tore into his third apple with a small smile on his face as he looked out over the fields beyond the house.
His skin glowed in the afternoon sun, and his dark eyes looked relaxed.
His long legs stretched out before him were shown off wonderfully in Hadrian’s too-tight breeches.
Hadrian had to admit he was having a hard time not staring at the man.
He was having a hard time finding reasons not to stare.
He felt freer than he ever had and maybe a little giddy, which was ridiculous given their circumstances.
“What else do you think they grew here?” Hadrian asked just to say something.
“Hmm.” Dorian looked across the farm as he chewed.
“Probably basic crop in the summer. Corn, wheat, the vegetables you found. I think those vines on the inner fences might be royal berries. They would have had fall crop too. Not enough apple trees for real farming, but you can see the east field is overrun with gourd vines, so they definitely had those. They will choke out anything if left unchecked.”
“How do you know all that?”
“How do you not?”
“I just make things grow that are already there,” Hadrian laughed. “I don’t know much about how they got there.”
“My parents had a farm,” Dorian said. His smile faded.
“Just a small one. Wheat and apples.” He was still looking out over the fields, but he wasn’t focused on them anymore.
“They didn’t want to be in a war, but we lived on one side of the valley and not the other, so the choice was made for them.
They tried to make the best of it, but they died when I was small.
Too small to tend a farm. I was taken in by the army and trained to fight. The farm was given to another family.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fever,” Dorian said quietly. “They died of fever.”
“No healers could fix it?”
“Our healers… they are not like you. Do you think you could have saved them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. There is little I can not heal.” Hadrian leaned his head back against the thin trunk of the tree. “It is just another thing this war has taken. Good people die for no reason but our pride. For our stupidity.”
“It is not only the mages. My people would sacrifice themselves for ideals no one even remembers. They would make orphans before admitting their own shortcomings.”
“My parents were both magic users,” Hadrian said.
“Gone fighting more often than not. They were so proud when my healing manifested that they convinced the army to take me early. There was nothing they wanted more than a son who was good at war.” Tears stung his eyes.
Not for what he had lost, but for what he’d never had.
“It was the only thing I ever did that made them proud. They died in battle before I could disappoint them too much.”
“What you can do is amazing,” Dorian said. “What you are is…good. They should have been proud.”
Hadrian reached out a hand and placed it over Dorian’s lying in the grass between them.
He needed to feel… something. His heart was so full and troubled and it had nowhere to go.
Dorian didn’t look at him at the touch, but he turned his hand so he could lace their fingers together tightly.
Warmth spread through Hadrian as they sat there under the apple tree, lost in silence and simple touch.
In the western field a flock of hosks silently took flight, their red-striped wings shining in the sun.
A second later, the reason for their upheaval became apparent.
Voices. Many voices. They were coming toward the house from the opposite side from where he and Dorian sat.
He looked at Dorian and found him staring back, wide-eyed.
From the sound and direction, they would likely be seen if they tried to make it back to the house.
But the people, whoever they were, would surely see them if they stayed there.
The apple trees were far too small to hide them.
Dorian stood quickly without letting go of his hand and led him, half crouched to the small shed on the other side of the path.
He opened the door slowly, and Hadrian tried to hold back from pushing him to hurry in his panic.
The door creaked, and he winced, but Dorian was able to open it enough for them to slide into the darkness without much noise.
He shoved Hadrian inside in front of him and shut the door behind him.
The shed had looked small from the outside, but with what seemed to be tall shelving and various broken bits of farming tools crammed inside, there was barely room to turn around.
Dorian pressed him as far from the door as he could—which wasn’t far.
They stood in the cramped space, pressed chest to chest, and listened.
At first, they heard nothing. Then the voice came again.
Five or six people at least. Maybe more.
Some of the voices waned as Hadrian listened, becoming muffled and then louder, and he realized they were going in the house and coming out again.
Fear of what they would find mixed with a quiet, burning anger at them intruding in a space that he was shocked to realize he considered his even though he had no more right to it than these faceless soldiers.
Dorian’s hand found his waist, and Hadrian jumped at the sudden touch, his heart leaping. Dorian pulled him closer, and Hadrian leaned into him. There would be no escape if they were found here. No way to defend themselves. All they could do was hold each other and hope.
“Find anything good?” a voice yelled from close to the shed.
“No,” someone yelled back from further away. “Just some dirty pots and old clothes.”
Idiots, Hadrian thought. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see the dishes had been recently used.
He was grateful for their stupidity, though.
It might save their lives—or at least save them from a night spent in a dirty shed.
He hoped the people didn’t investigate the apple trees.
A bowl of freshly picked sunbell would be obvious even to a blind man.
That was the last of the voices they could make out.
The shouted conversations continued but moved farther and farther away toward the eastern field.
After ten minutes, they heard nothing but silence again.
Hadrian rested his forehead against Dorian’s shoulder and took a deep, shaky breath. Dorian ran a hand over his hair gently.
“Probably just a patrol on their way home,” he whispered. “Looking for things to loot.”
Hadrian just nodded against his shoulder, the ebbing of adrenaline making him feel foggy and tired. Maybe it was having Dorian’s arms wrapped around him too. He was suddenly very aware of his warm, solid body pressed tightly to his.
Dorian’s hand moved from his hair to cup the side of his face, and he gently raised Hadrian’s head from his shoulder.
Hadrian couldn’t quite see him in the darkness, just a shadowy silhouette, but he felt the heat of his touch and the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against his.
Dorian’s fingers stroked softly along the line of his jaw, his thumb brushed gently over his lips.
Then he moved to the back of his neck and pulled him down until they were so close their breath mingled.
Hadrian tingled with anticipation. He could almost feel Dorian’s lips against his.
But Dorian didn’t close the space between them.
Finally, Hadrian couldn’t take the overwhelming need anymore.
He pressed up and kissed him. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, nothing but the barest touch of lips, but then Dorian threaded his fingers in his hair and deepened the kiss to something far more hungry.
Hadrian moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer, his hands roaming over Dorian’s back, tracing the hard muscles beneath his thin shirt.
Their tongues met and Hadrian opened for him more, wanting as much as he could get, desperate to be closer.
Hadrian sighed as Dorian’s fingers tightened in his hair, moving him where he wanted him so he could take what he wanted.
Suddenly Dorian pulled back, his breath still heavy against his skin.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.
“No—” Dorian pulled away completely before Hadrian could say more. He immediately missed the warmth of Dorian’s touch and the feel of his mouth.
“We should go back to the house,” Dorian said, turning back to the door.
Hadrian dropped his hands to his sides, feeling hurt and confused.
Had this only been a reaction to the fear?
He thought there was more. He had felt more at least. But maybe he was wrong.
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
Dorian stood for a moment at the door, and Hadrian thought he would say more. He hoped he would. Hadrian considered saying more himself, but he didn’t know what. He didn’t know what Dorian wanted. He didn’t even know what he wanted.
Finally, Dorian opened the door quietly, peeked outside, then motioned him to follow.