“Your…your name is…Stevyn?”
“That’s right,” Stevyn said as Efren and Denis crashed through the stalks.
Marcelo dropped the stake. Stevyn’s gaze tracked it, and his eyes widened before he put up a hand to stop Efren from engulfing him.
“Looks like he’s got a dislocated shoulder, sir,” Stevyn said.
Marcelo’s lips trembled as he stared into Efren’s eyes.
“Oh, my darling,” Efren whispered, and placed a hand at the side of Marcelo’s face. “I was so worried.”
“I just…I just…I just wanted to get back to you.” Marcelo swallowed, then whispered, “and wanted you to be proud of me…dearest.”
A tear dripped down Efren’s cheek. “I am beyond proud of you. You are magnificent.”
Behind Efren, Denis cleared his throat. “And you’re lethal with a tent stake, sir. I look forward to formally training you with more traditional weapons, but first, how about we pop your shoulder back into place?”
Efren planted a light kiss on Marcelo’s lips, then moved behind to support him as Denis approached. “I’m sorry, my darling, this will hurt. But once he’s done it, the pain you’re feeling now will swiftly lessen.”
Marcelo drew in a deep breath and squeezed Efren’s hand with his good one. He managed to hold in most of his scream. Most. It was excruciating, yet not nearly as painful as the thought of never seeing Efren again had been.
Chapter 9: Safe
Efren
The reinforcements from Sheburat arrived in time to escort them safely back to the same camp where they’d spent the previous, ill-fated night. Those who’d been sent out to follow the various threads they’d been tracking in their desperate attempt to locate Marcelo were pulled back, and riders were dispatched to Sheburat and to the Zioneven-bound caravan to give them the happy news of Marcelo’s recovery.
The Sheburat contingent informed Efren that upon Marcelo’s successful rescue, they’d been instructed to stay with and further bolster the caravan’s security until they safely reached Zioneven castle. With their group motivated and entirely on horseback, they caught up with the caravan the following day.
Marcelo had been swaying and sagging when he’d finally been able to close his bloodshot eyes and drop into a deep sleep, safe in Efren’s arms that first night back at the original camp.
On the evening after rejoining the caravan, he’d been pampered by the joint efforts of Erich and Dru with a good wash in a creek followed by a full-body massage with ample quantities of salve caressed into his bruises before he succumbed to an easier, but still well-deserved sleep. While he’d been the subject of the campfire discussion that night among friends, he was the star of it the second evening.
Efren took the friendly ribbing about how beside himself he’d been with good humor, and Marcelo blushed prettily and demurred at all the commendations coming his way. Although the blushes might have been in part due to hearing how distressed Efren had been at the thought of losing Marcelo.
“All the way through,” Marcelo explained. “I recognized that my one advantage was that they expected nothing from me, and I knew that if they saw my attack coming, they’d easily stop me. Hard to believe I got away with it a second time.”
“I don’t have any trouble believing it.” Stevyn’s tone was droll, and he supplemented his comment with a wink.
Marcelo’s blush deepened. “I’m so sorry for that. Please forgive me.”
Efren chuckled and patted Marcelo’s thigh. “You were half delirious, my darling, and still managed to have enough clarity of thought to stop yourself in time.”
“If it helps,” Marcelo said. “I don’t think I had enough strength remaining to do more than bruise you with it.”
Stevyn laughed. “I’ve never held it against you, sir. I should have been ready for such a development, and I’m glad we didn’t test that theory. But seriously, I, for one, will never underestimate you.”
Denis nodded. “Nor I. I examined the aftermath of your capture and escape, and you should be damned proud. You’ll become a force to be reckoned with.”
“Do you really think I’ll gain enough strength to do well?”
“We play to the assets of different body types. Yes, you’ll gain some strength, but what you lack in bulk, you’ll gain in speed and agility. And resourcefulness is every bit as important as physical prowess. You’ll be fitted with weapons that suit your stature and abilities, and you’ll do well.”
Marcelo ran splayed fingers through his hair and smiled shyly. Efren returned the smile with a lingering regard as Marcelo’s cheeks pinked. With chin held high, he pulled Marcelo to him and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “We cross into Zioneven tomorrow. I couldn’t be prouder to ride beside you as you’re presented to our people when we pass through villages on the way to Zioneven castle.”
Apparently tongue-tied, Marcelo shifted to snuggle into Efren’s side. Efren’s pulse raced as he ran his hand up and down his husband’s flank. He felt, rather than saw, Marcelo’s smile, but the hum of warm approval around the campfire was unmistakable.
The endorsement of his people lightened Efren’s heart. He was well aware that public sentiment about his marriage to a Sheburat princess had been met with a strained acceptance, both because Efren was popular among his people and they knew a woman wouldn’t be his choice, and because they understood they’d never be able to fully trust her politically. Marcelo’s devotion to Efren and embrace of his new life was obvious to all with his unaffected demeanor.
Marcelo stifled a yawn, and Efren murmured into his hair, “Shall we retire for the night, my darling?”
Efren didn’t want to overtax Marcelo yet with anything strenuous. That shoulder, especially, needed to be handled with care until the muscles around it had fully tightened. But there were things Efren could do for his unenlightened young husband. Things to which he would very much enjoy watching Marcelo’s guileless responses.
“Yes, please,” Marcelo whispered. “Dearest.”
Hearing that endearment pass Marcelo’s delightful lips would never get old. Nor would the coy sparkle in Marcelo’s eyes as he barely breathed the word.
* * * *
Marcelo
Marcelo licked his lips as an exquisite tingle radiated from Efren’s hand at his back, and he shivered as it spread across his skin. He ducked and entered their tent ahead of Efren.
Although he wouldn’t consider himself to be an expert on reading people, Marcelo felt he could trust his instincts when it came to interpreting that expectant glimmer flashing in Efren’s eyes.
It was a most welcomed glimmer. Together with a memory of Efren’s confident smile and gentle touch, remembering that gleam had sustained Marcelo through his ordeal and given him something to live for. A reason to fight for survival.
Would he have fought so hard in his old life, or would he have lain back and accepted his fate with as much courage as he could muster? Before Efren, he’d merely existed. Wafted through life without purpose.
Now? Now he had aspirations. Now he had someone to love. And now he had someone who treated him with tenderness and caring, who made his body tremble, and who’d given him everything that made life enjoyable.
“You…ah…appear to be well on the road to recovery.” Efren lifted a brow and brushed a loose hair off Marcelo’s face. “You…ah…”
Marcelo’s heart had already been putty in Efren’s hands, but watching him seemingly unsure yet hopeful of acquiring Marcelo’s attentions for the evening turned his heart to a viscous lump that threatened to well up out of his chest.
Marcelo placed his hand over Efren’s, which had paused at Marcelo’s jaw, and smiled meaningfully into his husband’s eyes. “I feel quite well, now.”
Sore, yes, and he would want to take care not to unsettle his shoulder, but he knew he needn’t worry that Efren would subject him to any undue physical stress.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Efren slid a brief, teasing kiss on Marc
elo’s mouth before winking and preparing himself for bed.
Marcelo’s breath hitched, and he floated through the same motions. What would happen tonight? Efren had penetrated him on their wedding night. The next night had been at camp when they’d come together before the attack. They’d reached that glorious pinnacle of joyous release by simply kissing and milling against each other. Was that what Efren planned tonight?
When Marcelo reached for his nightshirt, Efren stilled his movement with a firm hand placed on his forearm. Marcelo dropped the material and turned.
The grin Marcelo directed at Efren felt different. Before when they’d been alone together, preparing for bed, he’d been nervous. Partly—especially that first night—because he hadn’t known precisely what to expect. There was safety in knowledge.
Not only did Marcelo now know what, at least generally, was to come, but more importantly, he knew that Efren wasn’t simply going through the motions of what was expected of him. Efren clearly enjoyed Marcelo’s touch.
That made a huge difference. So Marcelo’s grin was no longer tinged with tension or uneasiness. It was a knowing grin of pure consent and appreciation. Apparently, Efren felt the same; knowing Marcelo enjoyed this was key to his own pleasure.
Marcelo lifted a hand to Efren’s cheek, reveling in the roughness of the stubble, and leaned forward to brush their lips together. The low rumble of approval in Efren’s throat sent a zip of satisfaction rippling across Marcelo’s skin. He shivered as Efren’s smile pressed against his own.
“You’re going to love this.” Efren’s voice was husky as he trailed the tip of his tongue along Marcelo’s jaw.
Marcelo’s brows went up when Efren stepped back.
“Just lie back and enjoy yourself, my darling. Tonight will be all about you and my great joy in having you by my side as we journey through life together.”
Marcelo’s lips parted with a light gasp. His hands quivered as he eased himself onto the bedroll.
Efren rubbed his hands together, warming them before sliding into place beside Marcelo and running one of those hands along Marcelo’s quivering belly and pressing a kiss to his injured shoulder.
Heart thudding, Marcelo raked his fingers over Efren’s head as it moved lower, leaving a trail of kisses along his collarbone before settling at a nipple to suck and tease. Marcelo whimpered.
Time stood still, the voices around the campfire muted, and Marcelo arched as Efren tantalized him by tracing slowly back and forth between tightly peaked nipples. Could Efren feel his racing heart? Or sense its skip when Efren’s breath hitched as if he was getting aroused by his ministrations.
When Efren moved lower, Marcelo’s mind raced. Surely he wouldn’t…wouldn’t…
Marcelo clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his cry when Efren did.
Marcelo’s hips lifted before he realized what he was doing and forced them back down. That might be considered poor…er…etiquette? But no, Efren cupped Marcelo’s rear with his hands and lifted, encouraging Marcelo’s natural reaction as he…er…partook.
What would one call this incredibly intimate act? Marcelo’s head rolled side to side, and he fought to keep his breathing under control. The sensations Efren…Efren’s tongue…Efren’s mouth educed were unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Unlike anything he’d imagined feasible.
Could Marcelo ever hope to achieve this same level of skill so Efren could experience this same bliss from him? The corner of Marcelo’s mind that could still produce rational thought vowed to make it his life’s mission.
Efren’s hands kneaded Marcelo’s flesh, then one hand cupped and fondled his bollocks. He wanted these moments of ecstasy to last for hours, but his inner battle to delay the inevitable was lost far too soon.
Marcelo whimpered into his fist. His legs twitched. And Efren slurped like a stable boy at soup.
When Efren slid up to rejoin Marcelo and pulled their covers over them, he petted Marcelo’s cheek and whispered, “Sleep, my darling. Rest easy tonight.”
Marcelo whispered in return, or rather tried to murmur, “Dearest,” but it came out sounding far closer to “mmffrgrmph.” He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer.
Epilogue: Zioneven
Marcelo
Marcelo gnawed at his lip as the caravan approached the outer wall of Zioneven Castle. Nerves battled with an overwhelming sense of relief to finally be here…to know he’d be sleeping in a proper bed tonight with far more security than one can have while traveling.
They were expected, Marcelo knew, because riders had gone ahead to forewarn of their imminent arrival. Marcelo smoothed down the fabric of his tunic beneath his cloak. Like Efren, he’d saved something nicer than his everyday travel garments to wear on this final day. The day Marcelo would meet his new husband’s parents—the king and queen of Zioneven.
More than anything, he wanted to make a good impression. Much as he’d won a modicum of respect from his fellow travelers, King Alnod and Queen Ellyn would see only a slight man without any of the knowledge or training that they would consider appropriate for a prince, considering how they’d raised Efren.
Marcelo cast a glance at Efren, who smiled reassuringly as if he could read Marcelo’s worries on his face. Would Efren think less of him if his parents were unimpressed?
The gates opened and Efren and Marcelo led the way onto the castle grounds. The cultivated gardens were every bit as colorful and charming as the less formal florae and foliage outside the gates.
As they grew closer to the castle, the doors opened and people emerged. People with a regal bearing. It was easy for Marcelo to spot which pair must be King Alnod and Queen Ellyn.
The other identities Marcelo assumed based upon their groupings and what he’d been told. He’d learned the names of Efren’s younger brother and sister, and those of their spouses, so he need only put faces to the names he already knew.
Marcelo blinked and had to consciously reclose his mouth when Efren effortlessly alit from his mount. Watching the play of Efren’s muscles might or might not become commonplace at some point in the future, but for now, Marcelo relished the display.
Thankfully, Efren had been pleased when Marcelo had asked him for training on mounting and dismounting without assistance. Of course, he would miss that extra excuse to feel Efren’s hands at his waist, but he yearned to be more independent. If he was going to stand out, he wanted it to be for accomplishments, not for deficiencies.
Marcelo’s face warmed, and he felt as if all eyes were on him as he dismounted, stiffly and carefully, but without assistance. He let out a breath and looked at Efren.
Efren smiled his encouragement, and Marcelo’s belly fluttered at the prideful expression his husband wore as he offered his arm for Marcelo to take as they walked the remaining distance as a newlywed couple should.
Marcelo’s notions as to who was whom solidified as they neared. Efren’s younger brother Rolland looked too like him to be anyone else. Rolland wore a benevolent smile as he stood beside his wife, heavy with child. Their youngest sibling, a sister, Merewina, also wore a kind smile standing next to her husband.
It took all of Marcelo’s concentration to walk steadily toward the king and queen. Efren patted his hand as he clutched the proffered arm with perhaps a firmer grip than necessary.
He could only hope his features were as well-schooled as was appropriate in this situation. Such things had been done with little conscious thought in the past, but never had it been such a challenge to do so.
Marcelo kept his back straight and his chin up for those final steps before bending into a respectful bow and replying with a proper, “Your Royal Highnesses, I am honored to meet you,” upon Efren’s introductions.
“Prince Marcelo.” King Alnod took Marcelo’s hand from Efren. “Please accept our condolences on the passing of your sister.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And I am honored to meet you, young man. Your reputation has preceded you.”
/>
Marcelo’s face warmed, and his eyelids fluttered as he cast a glance at Efren, who beamed in return.
“My…” Marcelo cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir. Please forgive my falter. I’m entirely unused to being spoken of as having a reputation.” For that matter, he was unused to being much considered for anything.
Marcelo’s hand was passed to Queen Ellyn. Efren had gotten his lovely grin from her. She paused for a moment, staring into his eyes before saying, “I’m just so pleased you acquired your well-earned reputation and survived that nightmare.” She pulled him to her for a hug and whispered in his ear, “Thank you for returning the brilliance to my son’s smile.”
THE END
ABOUT ADDISON ALBRIGHT
Addison Albright is a writer living in the middle of the USA. Her stories are gay (sometimes erotic) romance in contemporary settings. Her education includes a BS in Education with a major in mathematics and a minor in chemistry. Addison loves spending time with her family, reading, popcorn, boating, french fries, “open window weather,” cats, math, and anything chocolate. She loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere.
For more information, visit authoraddisonalbright.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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