by Megan Derr
Except he was in reach, very very in reach, and Anson didn't want to ever let him go.
Thane kissed him like it was his sole purpose in life, which was breathtakingly addictive. Anson wanted to keep him there forever, or maybe drag him into the bedroom, or maybe just down to the floor.
More than anything though, he simply wanted Thane there, with him, in any capacity at all.
How had this happened? He'd created charms of destiny for two spoiled, ungrateful brats, and hoped in return to just dance and talk and pretend he was part of things. But this immediate, utter rightness felt like he'd cast three charms, for three brothers, and stumbled his way into the arms of the best one.
Thane drew back, nuzzling his cheek briefly, and said in a delightfully husky tone, "As much as I would love to continue doing this, I did come with a bit more purpose."
"You did?" Anson tore his eyes from Thane's mouth.
That got him a wounded look. "Did you think I only came out here to tumble a witch in secret and then go home?"
"What?" Anson forced his brain to work. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, you're making it hard to think, move away." He flushed hot at how stupid he must sound.
Thane grinned, but obediently stepped away. "I came to ask if you'd come and spend a few days with me at the palace. A week or so, where we can spend more time together—when I'm not working anyway. I'd understand if you can't though; you must have work of your own, and gardens cannot simply be thrown in luggage."
"I don't live that far outside the city," Anson replied, heart pounding, chest filling with hope and anticipation. "I can always come back here for anything I'm missing. Most of what I work with is dried and such, anyway, and that can be packed."
The way Thane's whole face lit up, with surprise and a boyish happiness he clearly didn't experience often, made Anson's heart hurt. It seemed a crime that this man who stood at the center of everything should know the same loneliness Anson had spent so much of his life feeling, after his parents died and his siblings moved away seeking bigger and brighter things, with only a rare letter sent back to the cottage. Oh, wouldn't he love to see the looks on their faces, when they realized their youngest brother had taken up with the king.
"So you'll come?" Thane asked.
Anson finally offered a smile of his own, letting the same wary happiness on Thane's face overtake him. "I would love to. I am just a witch, though. I don't know anything about your way of life. You may change your mind about taking up with someone who knows more about herbs and magic than people."
"No," Thane said fiercely. "I know almost nothing about magic, but I know it works best and strongest in threes. Three brothers, three destinies, even if that's not what was originally cast or intended. Right?"
"Right," Anson said shakily. "I should have realized it myself, much sooner than I did. Magic has a will of its own. Three brothers, three destinies, three—" He broke off, choking on the words, disbelief clogging his throat and stinging his eyes, the joy was that fragile.
But Thane was there to finish it for him. "Three true loves, just waiting to be realized."
"I'm glad you have more sense than your brothers," Anson replied, "though I do hope they grow up and realize their own happiness."
"Me too, but right now I'm more interested in our happiness. Did you want me to help you pack? I can bring my bodyguards in, or send for staff."
Anson twitched at the idea of so many people mucking about with his stuff. "No, but thank you. I'll pack the herbs and such myself." He lifted his head, chin jutting out slightly. "However, you can come and help with my clothes right now, if you wanted."
"It would be my pleasure," Thane replied, making Anson laugh as they tumbled their eager way to the bedroom.
Family Schemes
HOLD STILL
"May I have this dance?"
Esen started, nearly dropping his wine glass, as the familiar voice struck him. He turned, barely noticing as the glass was taken deftly from his fingers, and stared up—and up—at Armia, his former betrothed. "Um."
"Please," Armia said, smiling pleasantly, the kind of smile he'd never given Esen back when they'd been engaged, and extended a hand, which was covered in a beautiful white glove that held the barest rainbow shimmer. He wore a waistcoat that matched them, with breeches and evening jacket of a delicate matte gray trimmed in gleaming silver buttons. His white hair was pulled up into a braid wrapped around his head, with little opals and diamonds scattered throughout it.
Armia was beautiful, like a prince from a wondertale, but they'd always clashed, and Esen had not in good conscious been able to go through with their marriage—even if defying his family had cost him everything.
It had all worked out, as he was currently the lover of the queen's secret bastard son and happier than he had ever been, but it was hard to forget all the pain that had resulted from simply wanting both him and Armia to be happy.
So why in the world was the man who'd always fallen just short of despising him now smiling pleasantly and inviting him to dance?
Curious despite himself, Esen took the offered hand and let Armia lead him to the dance floor. As the strains of a familiar Flower Turn started up, he felt easily into the steps and tipped his head back to stare in open question.
Armia chuckled softly. "I know I'm the last person you want to see—"
"Only because you hate me," Esen said, unable as ever to be anything but honest or silent. It had been one of their biggest reasons for clashing.
"I never hated you," Armia said. "I am deeply sorry I handled our engagement so poorly, treated you so horribly."
"Um—oh." Esen stared. "It's—it's all right. I think the problem was our families, really."
Armia's face soured. "Yes, our families. Which is the reason I sought you out tonight." They parted for a particularly complicated spin, then came back together. "Your family is coming here, because they have caught word that you are paramour to His Grace."
Esen wrinkled his nose. "Why do they care? They disowned me."
"Something they've realized was a mistake, now you are bedding a man vastly more powerful than I could ever be," Armia said dryly.
"Oh." Esen sighed. "They want to use me for their games again."
"Just so, only this time they're going to be far more ruthless about it. His Grace is not a prize they're willing to let go."
Esen didn't laugh, but only because Gaston was slowly teaching him a bit more about containing his thoughts. "I think if they attempt any games with Gaston, they will realize they're not fit to play them."
Armia's brows rose, then he laughed softly. "I see your lover is coaxing out more of your teeth. I'm glad. You'll need them to survive all the court will start sending after you, once they accept how deeply Gaston cares for you—and you for him."
Esen flushed. "I should be used to the fact I'm so obvious by now."
"In a room full of artifice, I am appreciating more and more your honesty is rare and precious," Armia replied. "We would have made terrible spouses, but perhaps we could work on being friends?"
"I would like that," Esen said. "Thank you for the warning regarding my family."
Armia gave a bare nod. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, I'll attend it. The benefits, I guess, of having a powerful lover." Esen frowned, shoulders drooping slightly. He hadn't gotten involved with Gaston for the money and power, but there was no point in pretending he did not benefit from both those things. As little as possible, but it was impossible to be lover to the much adored secret child of the queen and two powerful chieftans, without finding life significantly improved.
Not that he couldn't stand on his own feet these days. He'd traveled enough with Gaston, and increasingly alone delivering messages for Her Majesty, that he had plenty of income of his own. He was also gaining a reputation as a reliable messenger and guide, which was incredible given he was a Sylph. But it was true that he would never have Gaston's power, and there were more th
an a few who coveted it.
Including, it would seem, his conniving family. Esen stifled a sigh and smiled at Armia. "I appreciate you coming to warn me, given you had all the reason in the world to leave me to my own devices."
Armia shook his head slightly. "I admire you were willing to say no, while I was just resigned to going along with it for the 'greater good' of our families. I'm sorry your family does not appreciate who and what you are, and instead only rejects you for all that you refuse to be."
The dance came to an end, and they bowed to each other. "If you need help after all, just send word to me. I'm an old hand at scheming family." Armia smiled crookedly, squeezed his hand gently, and vanished into the crowd.
Esen abandoned the ball entirely, and headed for the suite he shared with Gaston. The front room was a delightful clutter of stuff: books, fabric swatches, pattern books, mail, lap blankets, cards, games… It was so far removed from the barren life he'd known before Gaston. It was cozy, comforting, vibrant with lives being lived.
He went over to the writing desk and penned a letter to Queen Marga. Normally he would not presume upon her time so, but he refused to let his family hurt Gaston in any way, and Her Majesty would fix the problem before it even became one.
Once he'd sent it off, he sat and fussed with the stack of pattern books his tailors had dropped off that morning, making further notes on the new outfits he'd be ordering, adjustments and tweaks, questions to ask the tailors. The best thing about all his new income was that he could buy all the clothes and jewels and shoes that his heart desired.
If his ridiculous lover didn't try to buy it all for him first, of course.
He'd just switched from patterns to fabric swatches when a knock came at the door. When he opened it, one of the queen's personal footmen stood in the hall. "Her Majesty would like you to come and speak with her further regarding your message."
"I'll come at once." Locking the suite, Esen followed the footman through the halls to the royal wing, and eventually to Her Majesty's favorite sitting room.
But it wasn't just Queen Marga who waited for him. "Gaston!" Esen flew across the room and all but threw himself into Gaston's arms, laughing delightedly when he was swept up and kissed soundly. "You're home early." As the queen laughed, Esen recovered himself, stepping back and straightening his clothes. "It's good to have you home."
Strange, mismatched eyes sparkling, Gaston replied, "The matter wrapped rather abruptly when one of the problems suffered a heart attack. Not my strangest job, but certainly among them. I hear I have arrived just in time to be forced into marriage."
Face burning, Esen said, "I'm sorry. I would have tried to handle them myself, but I'm still utterly hopeless at all the court games, and telling them off directly never does much good."
Marga waved an arm breezily. "They'll be attended to, never fear. It will be a nice change from the law-revising sessions that are dragging on." She sighed. "Four more weeks of arguing Chiefs and councilors, nearly all of whom want the suggested changes but don't like these things cost money."
"You'll get them to come around, Mother. You always do."
She sighed. "I just wish they did not insist on being so difficult about it first. But that's my problem, and right now we need to address your problem." She drummed her fingers on the armrests of her plush, dark blue armchair. "The easiest solutions are to take away their abilities to do anything at all. I will insist they make the disownment final and official. That's step one. Step two…"
"Do not bring up the princess," Gaston said, shooting her a look.
Marga's return look was a cross between a pout and admonishment. "Why ever not?"
"I have a lover, I'm happy as I am, I'm not going to be foisted upon some princess just because you want me to have a title you think is my due."
"It is your due," Marga said fiercely, eyes turning shiny, filled with old pain. "You are my son. The son of two chieftans. You should be a prince." She ducked her head. "I still hope there will come a day I can publicly acknowledge you, that all this stupid nonsense will cease and I can be openly proud of my son instead of just overly fond of one of my problem solvers."
Gaston crossed the room and pressed a kerchief into her hands before gently embracing her and kissing her cheek. "Mother, we've had this discussion a hundred times. I have no complaints about my life. You threw a duchy at me, I'm wealthy, I worry for nothing except the occasional lousy place to sleep when I'm traveling. I'd rather have parents who love me in secret than openly revile me."
"Yes," Esen interjected quietly. "The former is vastly preferable to the latter."
Gaston sent him a look of apology, and deep, abiding affection, then turned back to Marga. "Please, Mother. There's no reason to drag some poor, unsuspecting princess into this mess. I don't need a wife. I have Esen."
Esen frowned, head tilting. "But then we could be like your parents, right? Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
Gaston flinched, and stepped away from his mother, fussing with his handsome smoke-gray jacket. "What makes you think that? I've never mentioned any such thing." He looked at Esen, remorse and shame in his eyes—and a great deal of worry. "Have I made you feel like you're not enough? Done something? I swear—"
"Oh, mercy, you do take after Gillis, worrying about a hundred problems that don't even exist," Marga said with a fond sigh.
Esen's puzzlement only grew. "You haven't done anything wrong, if that's what you're asking. But I always sort of took it as understood that two would be three eventually. It's the way you talk about your parents, their arrangement… other little things. I'm sorry, I guess I should have said something, instead of assuming, but I thought you, uh, knew I knew."
Gaston stared at him a moment, wide-eyed and slightly panicked at the edges—then deflated with a rueful laugh. "Ever ten steps ahead of everyone, my little Sylph. You have the vision of the sun and the wisdom of mountains." He held out his hands, and when Esen took them, gently reeled him in to kiss his nose. "You would not mind us someday being three, if we found a third who would suit?"
"I think you should meet this princess," Esen said, laughing when Gaston sighed and Marga gave a single, sharp laugh of victory. "If Her Majesty thinks so highly of her, she must at least be worth meeting, right? I think you should be a prince, too, and happy, and maybe she will accomplish both those things."
"What about you? I can't marry two people."
Esen smiled. "I like being just me, in that way. My family never saw me as anything but a stepping stone to power, someone to be sold off for the wealth and glory they wanted, without ever caring what I wanted for myself. It's fun being your… what's the word… paramour. That's the one. I'm the Duke's eccentric, scandalous paramour. Refused a good marriage, just danced with the man I rejected, drowning in pretty clothes and jewels that my lover buys to keep me appeased and…" Esen frowned. "What's the other word they used."
"Biddable," Margo said sweetly. "They think you're a little brat who is made biddable with expensive things."
Gaston rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud."
Esen laughed. "They're not wrong that I like expensive things."
"Which you buy yourself and refuse to let me buy once in a while."
"I was picking out my new winter wardrobe when I was summoned."
"Of course you were." Gaston kissed his nose again, then his mouth. "You really don't mind my mother's scheming?"
"Why would I? I'm enjoying being the scandalous lover; you would make a fine prince; and you've always wanted to be three like your parents." He clapped his hands together. "Just think of the rumors when I remain your lover after your marriage."
"You're becoming something of a brat," Gaston said, and just like the way he said 'little Sylph' he turned the word into something precious, instead of the insult Esen had heard all his life.
"So…" Marga prodded gently, though she rested with her chin in one hand, smiling fondly as she watched them.
Gaston heaved
a long, dramatic sigh and raked his hands through his hair. "Fine. I will meet this princess. But I promise nothing more than that."
"Finally!" Marga said, throwing her hands into the air in victory. "Your fathers will be delighted. We're all going to do dinner, and tell you all about her. Go get changed, and come to the gold dining room in two hours."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Gaston drawled, and then Marga was gone, leaving them alone in her salon. He pulled Esen back into his arms, and this time kissed without restraint.
Esen wrapped his arms around Gaston's neck and kissed him ardently back, with every bit of the longing he'd felt while they were apart, all the adoration and affection he had for this man who loved him as he was. Didn't consider him a freak or weirdo. Didn't think him a failure, or completely useless. Simply loved him, indulged him, and above all grounded him. He was more appealing, more enthralling, than even a cool spring wind filled with the scent of new greens and budding flowers, and sweet sunshine after a long, bitter winter.
"You really don't mind all this princess nonsense?"
"I seem to recall that once upon a time, there was a discussion about threesomes, and some naïve young man asking how three people can have sex. You've yet to demonstrate that to me. I'm rather hoping this will work in my scandalous favor."
Gaston laughed so hard his head wound up resting on Esen's shoulder for balance. "You! It's a good thing you're not good at court games, because I fear for the whole of the court." He cupped Esen's face and gave him another toe-tingling kiss, the kind that left Esen aching and longing, then withdrew. "Come on, we'd best go get ready for dinner. If we're late, my mother will never let me hear the end of it."
Esen pouted. "Do we really only have time to get dressed?"
"Depends on how quick you can be," Gaston said with a slow grin and a wink. "Shall we find out?"
Gloating
THE ROSE AND THE FOX
Briar enjoyed the salty sea air, the cool breeze it wafted over his face, a pleasant contrast with the searing sun beating down on him. The ocean was not as beautiful as the Laughing Forest, the enormous lake with its trio of crashing waterfalls and clear, cool waters, but it was certainly a fierce beauty all its own.