Deron and Landra (arms crossed and with You. Need. To. Stop. miens) appeared in Orrin’s mind’s eye.
Orrin snorted.
“What’s that about?” Joran asked.
“Just me being silly,” Orrin said, trying hard not to sound too silly.
“I rather have you being silly than sad,” Joran said.
“Why would I be sad?”
“Some could say it is unwise to talk of these things, especially here in the middle of the road, but I want us to be sincere with each other. I’m not going to wait until we are married to start. There is no point in that.” Joran did that thing when he only tilted his head toward Orrin without truly looking at him. “I know you didn’t want this. You had your own life, your own prospects. Your own kingdom to rule in the future.” He sighed. “You did something good on your way here, and that showed me a little bit of you.” His eyes left the road and settled on Orrin. “I want us to be good together. To create something good together. Duty doesn’t have to be a burden, and I wouldn’t want you sad about it.”
The tone (more than the words) soothed some of Orrin’s inner turmoil. He moved closer to Joran and pulled the King toward him by the hard leather belt. He let his head rest on Joran’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
Orrin felt Joran’s body relax beside him.
****
FIVE
The people of Chryso made Joran proud. The city looked amazing decorated in sky blue and white, the colors of Zigag. Orrin’s utter surprise was priceless. Children wore narwhal and orca costumes and ran along the convoy cheering and giggling or waved from men’s shoulders. Women had made flowers for their hair with blue fabrics since real blue flowers were not easily available. Although, Doriar’s alchemists had brought the end of spring to one of the greenhouses, producing thousands of myosotis for the wedding day.
Orrin waved at the people, drinking in their welcoming joy, and they waved back with bright smiles. White petals fell from balconies as they moved across the streets toward the palace. Everywhere the flags of Zigag and Doriar flew together.
Joran was happy. He let himself forget about the sexual exploits preceding the arrival of his husband-to-be. He simply wanted to soak in the sweetness of the man beside him. Being so focused on the things Orrin had done before coming to Doriar would not help him to start the trusting relationship he hadn’t know he wanted until they were on the road to Chryso.
Orrin resting his head on Joran’s shoulder had been an unexpected surprise. He hadn’t acted like the pervert Joran had imagined; perhaps he was too overwhelmed by the change of scenery for his more licentious traits to emerge.
Perhaps Joran should stop thinking that kind of nonsense while he waved to his people on his way to the palace.
It’s hard to give him a chance when even his father has attested to his rampant lechery.
Luckily, salpinges called as they approached the palace entrance, yanking him away from those gloomy, displeasing thoughts. Soon they stopped and alighted to climb the twenty-seven marble steps to the palace doors, opened wide and with the Court filing out of them to receive Orrin; Advisers, Ministers, Ambassadors of the other kingdoms, and Joran’s daughters, accompanied by Yndyre and their nurses, gathered amid the swirling columns of the front portico.
His three girls looked pristine in their white little chitons and sandals. Their hairs were up, held by crisscrossing sky blue ribbons in a very mature style Joran had rarely seen them in. Each had a bouquet of myosotis in their hands. They had probably pestered Yndyre since Joran left, so they could get those from the accelerated greenhouse. They occupied the frontal place amongst those waiting to greet the Prince of Zigag.
As soon as Orrin and Joran stood side by side before the girls, they pushed the bouquets forward. “Welcome, Prince Orrin!”
Joran chuckled a little. “Orrin, Rider of narwhals, Sun of Zigag, Golden Prince,” he waved his hand to encompass his children, “these are my daughters. The Obsidian Princess, Eione. She’s ten. The Sapphire Princess, Cymo, is eight. And the Coral Princess, Actaea, is six.”
Orrin took the flowers with a bright “Thank you!” He turned to Joran and (not totally under his breath) said, “I thought only the heir or heiress apparent had a gemstone added to their name.”
“Each member of the royal family receives one of the twelve gemstones as part of their legacy, according to the signs and oracles of their birth,” Joran explained proudly.
“What a lovely tradition.”
Actaea had her brow furrowed; she was displeased with something. Joran knew that sulking style very well.
Orrin crouched in front of the Cranky Coral Princess. “You’re not smiling like your sisters. I hope we could be friends,” he said softly. His smile could have disarmed the most jaded warrior, but apparently not Joran’s youngest.
“I wanted an orca costume,” Actaea poutily summarized.
Orrin looked up at Joran. “We need to get her an orca costume.”
In return, Joran gave Yndyre a stern look, and his Right Hand quickly explained, “We thought it more appropriate to have them dressed like princesses and not city children.”
“If she gets an orca costume, I want a narwhal one!” Cymo rarely asked for anything, so deny her a silly costume would be just cruel.
“You’ll get your costumes. Let’s just finish the Prince’s reception in the proper way,” Joran offered conciliatorily. “Agreed?”
Cymo and Actaea nodded with huge grins, and some of the Court members around them applauded.
Orrin moved to his feet and turned to Eione. “Do you want a costume too?”
Eione tilted his head.
Joran caught Orrin’s almost imperceptible flinch. He knew everybody said she was a miniature version of him, and Orrin’s reaction spoke of him noticing the similarity.
“I do not want a costume, Prince Orrin. What I want is to ride an orca.”
A collective gasp surged around them. But before Joran could say anything, Orrin asked, “Why ride an orca and not a narwhal? I think narwhals are more interesting.”
“I know the narwhal horn is the symbol of Zigag,” she turned her eyes to the standard with the crossed horns beside the doors, “but they don’t have dorsal fins. It has to be harder to ride them. It makes sense to start with the less complicated, and then ease into the other.”
Orrin nodded and said, “Wise words. I see you’re on the right path to queenhood.”
Eione smiled graciously and put her hand out for him. He took it, and she said, “Let’s give you the welcoming my father’s husband-to-be deserves, Prince Orrin.” She walked forward, and those blocking the doors moved aside to let them pass.
That’s my girl.
She was not going to be riding sea creatures, though.
****
SIX
The reception progressed splendidly. Orrin had been introduced to more than fifty people, including the current ambassadors in Doriar of several of the Ten Kingdoms. Zaros of Nemed, the Zigag Ambassador, had been one of his tutors when he was a child; it was always nice to be able to chat with him as an adult, and they were discussing the merits of this alliance so similar to the one between Munus and Lakoneh, albeit arising from different circumstances.
Joran had gone to tuck in the princesses for the night. Orrin searched for him around the spacious hall since he should have been back already. He didn’t try to analyze the sudden twist in his chest when he found his husband-to-be in animated conversation with a very handsome, swarthy, curly-haired man, seemingly a soldier by his ankle-high boots, leather skirt, and cuirass-covered torso. The (let’s call him) soldier was only a finger or two shorter than Joran, who was almost a head taller than Orrin.
Not the kind to be intimidated by the beauty of others since he was usually hunting his prey amongst the beautiful, Orrin wondered if that was the kind of men who could catch Joran’s attention. Were they lovers? Would they still be lovers after the wedding?
Jealousy was an alien emotion for Orrin.
There had never been a reason for him to be jealous of anyone. He had been born to be King, and his only logical competition looked exactly like him. He had seen other siblings squabbling about who was better looking, but that would have been ridiculous between Landra and him. And he loved his twin too much; he often thought of Landra as a better version of him, a sensible version— the nice version.
Joran put his hand on the soldier’s shoulder with a nod, and the man departed, exiting the hall like one with a very specific purpose. Their eyes met, and Joran smiled. Orrin only twisted his lips faintly, unable to erase all the disturbing ideas his mind had conjured with violent speed.
Unhurriedly, Joran walked toward Orrin through the crowded space. His eyes sparkled as if he was reading Orrin’s mind. It seemed as if he could see Orrin’s childish inner agitation, and that amused him to no end.
Knowing that people usually saw him as petulant and loose, Orrin would not cause a scene during his first day in Doriar; nevertheless, that didn’t mean he was going to simply lie there and roll over when commanded.
“Are you having a good time?” Joran asked as he reached Orrin, taking his hand. He gave a kiss to the back of Orrin’s hand. The gesture so fluidly natural anyone could think they have been a couple for eons.
“You said you wanted us to be sincere with each other, right?” Orrin asked, not completely sure where he was going but powerless to curb his tongue.
“I did.” Joran nodded, now holding Orrin’s hand with both of his.
“Is that soldier your lover?”
“Will it be a problem if he was?”
“No,” Orrin said hastily, absolutely aware that whatever expression he had at the moment screamed the exact opposite.
“I’ve barely known another’s touch in almost four years,” Joran offered calmly, not a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Orrin was surprised and concerned. “How could you live like that?”
“Sex is but a part of life, Orrin.” Joran kissed Orrin’s hand again. Those violet eyes always focused on him. “One can go without having it every day.”
“Tell me you at least masturbated.”
When am I going to connect tongue and brain?
“I did.” Joran chuckled. “This conversation has taken a very weird turn.”
“Forgive me, my King. I am not used to be in this situation.”
“I understand that. You were raised thinking you will be the one doing the choosing.” Then Joran’s expression changed from understanding to challenging. “Although, I am aware of your knack for sampling everything available, and I’m trying my best not to hold it against you.”
Orrin removed his hand from Joran’s hold and bowed. “And I appreciate that effort, my King.”
“Why do I have the feeling that every time you say ‘my King’ you’re actually insulting me under your breath?” There was a hint of amusement in Joran’s tone.
“Nothing could be further from the truth. I use those words out of respect.”
“I wish you could respect me because I am the man with whom you’re about to spend the rest of your life and not just because I am the King ruling over you now.”
“So you’re not intent on making me love you.” The statement had sounded like an accusation, and Orrin was immediately slapping himself mentally.
Once again Joran said something unexpected. “Right now, my only intention is to have you happy and not feeling like you got the short end of this bargain. How much you grow to care for me is all in your heart. I cannot force that.” He moved closer and pulled Orrin toward him by the waist. “It would be nice if you at least liked me a little, though.”
Orrin snickered. “I like you all right. You’re very nice to look at.”
“Good. Because I really like you.” Joran kissed Orrin on the cheek.
They were staring at each other when a sudden shift in the general atmosphere made them look toward the entrance of the hall. All heads were turned in the same direction.
As soon as he was sure he had everybody’s attention, Ferion Tereii said with gusto, “Sorry I’m late, but,” he did a grand gesture with his hands to encompass himself, “you know...” He was wrapped in a himation pinker than a freshly gutted sacrifice and trimmed with feathers. Did he sew the feathers one by one himself?
The man was loud and obnoxious. Orrin had shoved his cock into that pretty mouth (and ass) to quiet him more than once. “What is Ferion doing here?” He asked with a tired sigh.
“He’s the recently promoted Nivoril Ambassador,” Joran answered, pulling Orrin possessively toward him.
Ferion made a beeline for them and bowed, saying in his most acidic tone. “My. My. King Joran. Prince Orrin. How wonderful is to see two of the most handsome men of the Ten Kingdoms together.” He eyed their united bodies, not trying (even a little) to disguise he would gladly be on all fours between them. Still, there was something in the way he had looked at Joran and then at Orrin as if he knew something Orrin didn’t.
“Ambassador,” Joran said with dry politeness.
Orrin only nodded. Any word would encourage Ferion to remain there talking their ears off. And he didn’t like the alarms going off in the back of his head.
“Ambassador Ferion,” Joran released Orrin’s waist just to grab his hand, “we were leaving. Please enjoy the reception with the rest of the guests.”
“But I just got here...”
Orrin was tempted to snarl, “Not our problem!” but he simply let Joran tow him away from the hall.
Guards appeared as they crossed the threshold, escorting them through the well-lit corridors of the palace. The lamps’ burning oil had a sweet fruity fragrance. It distracted Orrin for a moment, but then he asked, “What was that about?” He tried to slow Joran down without making it seem like they were fighting. He whispered, “Do you know how rude it is to leave your own party?”
“What’s the point of being King if you cannot do whatever you want?”
“That sounds like something I would say not you,” Orrin countered.
“I saw how he looked at you,” Joran growled. “I did not like it,” he added, huffing.
“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
“I’m pretty sure you fucked him too.” Joran’s voice had grown darker and deeper.
Orrin wanted to throw Joran’s words about the soldier back at him, but it seemed unwise at the moment.
Better live to fight another day.
They stopped in front of tall wooden doors, profusely carved and with metal trimmings. The two guards posted there stood straighter than before and then opened them. Orrin heard their escort march away as the doors closed behind them.
Good thing Orrin was not a fragile man because Joran was grabbing his wrist in a way that would have damaged a weaker person. Since they were alone now he could stand his ground and pulled back, jerking his wrist from Joran’s grip.
Joran was clearly pissed off as he swirled to face Orrin, and the wavering flames of the lamps distributed about the chamber made his visage a lot more sinister.
Orrin crossed his arms; he was sure he hadn’t done anything wrong. If this tantrum had anything to do with Ferion, it was a total waste of time. There was no point in having an argument about something that happened way before Joran even considered him as an option for a consort. “I am supposed to be the childish one in this relationship,” he grumbled.
“What does that mean?”
“If something is bothering you, the normal reaction would be to have a conversation about it, not drag me through the whole palace like a Kept you’re going to punish in your chamber.”
“So you don’t think you deserve to be punished?”
Orrin narrowed his eyes. “I was raised to be a King. I might be conflicted and out of sorts by the situation and your handsomeness with that hair like ashes and those arms like trees and your eyes like a damned sunset, but you’re not going to treat me like a child.”
Yes. Stand your ground
; Now the part about the hair and the arms and the eyes. No reason for that.
Joran was nose-to-nose with Orrin in two long strides. “So you demand to be treated like a man, Golden Prince?”
Joran loomed over Orrin; he should have been intimidated (this man was meant to rule him as his King and husband), but something snapped inside him. He grabbed Joran by the shoulders and pivoted their bodies together, slamming Joran against the nearest wall. “Not like a man. I am a man.” He kissed Joran angrily.
For several heartbeats, the King of Doriar remained frozen, letting Orrin move his hands from shoulders to neck, thumbs caressing his throat as the other fingers held him in place. Then, when Orrin thought he had gone too far, Joran reacted, answering the kiss with equal anger, with a force that soon turned into something more.
Orrin didn’t know how long their lips and tongues and teeth battled, but he suddenly felt his feet leave the marble floor. Joran had grabbed him by the legs, pulling him upward and carrying him to the bed, where the King flung Orrin.
Orrin bounced on the immense bed.
Joran unbuckled his belt and almost tore his chiton apart as he removed it with a brutal yank.
Even amid the abruptness of the moment, Orrin couldn’t help but admire Joran’s form— his body heaving in frustration, all muscles bunching as if ready to pounce, his cock hard and proud and ready for attention.
And yet, one more time, Joran did the unexpected.
The Diamond King of Doriar turned around and spread his muscular cheeks, growling, “No one has been inside me, Golden Prince. You think you’re man enough to conquer this?”
A rumble emerged from Orrin as every inch of his body hardened to answer the challenge.
Conquer was not the best verb to describe what was about to happen to Orrin’s husband-to-be.
****
SEVEN
Joran had enjoyed the hardness and strength of other male bodies, even if he had always been the one in control of the situation— the dominant, the one commanding pace and rhythm. Then again, being their King, those men had gladly offered themselves, rejoicing the touch of their ruler.
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