by Derr, Megan
"Quite pleasing," Noor said, and his cinnamon eyes sparked briefly, lips curving in a fond smile. "Though not as pleasing as the man before me."
"Nonsense," Rook said, turning away, but smiling all the same. The street they were on was deserted, the hour early yet for many to be about. He preferred to conduct business as early as possible, so that there were not a million things attempting to distract him.
A rough, calloused hand covered his eyes, then he was yanked back against a warm, firm body. He shivered as teeth lightly tested the skin of his throat. "Far from nonsense, my heathen."
For now, Rook could not help but think, though he hated it. They would be leaving tonight, to travel while it was cool and quiet, as Ghost preferred to travel. When they were back in the desert, would this last?
He pulled away and turned to smile. "Shall we go and purchase some new wines to take home with us?"
"Yes," Noor replied, and Rook could see he had not succeeded in distracting him. Noor knew something was bothering him—and wasn't it strange to be the one observed, read, when usually he went unnoticed.
Though Noor let him have his way, Rook didn't doubt it would come up again. They spent the rest of the day shopping before bidding their final farewells to the king and the exiles, setting off as the sun neared the horizon.
Noor's mood continuously improved the closer they got to the desert, and by the time they were lost in the Sands he swore the man was positively jubilant. "Sailors and savages," Rook said fondly. "The only men I know who love uncivilized worlds."
"Better to be a savage than a stupid heathen," Noor replied, smiling faintly. He nudged his horse closer to Rook's, leaning across the space between them to kiss him deeply, not releasing his mouth until it was necessary to breathe.
The thoroughness and skill with which Noor did everything, it was no mystery to him that Ghost had produced the man who managed to unite the desert. Rook wanted so very badly for some of that focus to be on him eternally; that such a thing was unlikely hurt far more than he could bear to think about.
He should just accept it. Always he'd been apart from others, allowed to join only for brief periods of time.
Still, how fine a thing it would be to wake up alongside Noor every day, to know that everyone knew they were one.
A soft sigh escaped before he could kill it.
"Does something trouble you?" Noor asked, pausing when he would have taken another kiss.
Rook summoned a smile. "Merely ready to be home." He gave the kiss Noor had not taken, drugged on that mouth, the lips soft and warm, skin rough where Noor had not shaved, and he wished they could stay like this forever—hot and tired, ready for a bath and bed, but if he could keep kissing Noor, and calling the fierce savage his own, the other discomforts were as nothing.
Unfortunately the kiss did end, and Noor urged his horse forward, continuing their journey.
They didn't have far to go, pushing on the last day so that they arrived late in the evening, right as the sun was beginning to set. Guards and various others greeted Noor enthusiastically, slightly more reserved when they spoke to Rook.
He dismounted at the stables and moved to take care of his horse.
"Lord Rook," a solider said, a small spider inked into his left cheek, "Her Highness wanted to see you the moment of your return." He bowed to them both. "General, your presence was also desired."
Noor nodded. "We will come at once."
Wondering what was wrong, Rook handed off his horse to be tended by another and followed Noor from the stable. They made their way quickly through the halls, and all must have known of their destination because while they were greeted no one attempted to stop them.
"Rook!" Cordelia looked up and smiled at him as they entered. "General Noor. How was your trip?" She fondly stroked the hair of the woman who had been lying in her lap, and who now sat up to sit beside her.
"It went well," Rook said with a smile he could not help. "Very well."
Beside him he could feel and hear Noor laugh, but he said nothing further. "You required our immediate presence, my princess?" he asked.
"Rook, really, but I wanted to hear the full of your trip, the state of the prisoners. Sahayl would have done it himself, for he worries over them a great deal, but he was called away to deal with a problem at the Northern border."
Rook frowned, not liking the tension that lined her face. "What's wrong?"
She didn't say anything, merely picked up something she'd been keeping out of sight on the floor beside her. "This came for you two days ago. I haven't opened it."
"You should have," Rook said absently, taking the envelope and sitting down at the table, motioning for Noor to join them. The envelope was made of heavy vellum, marked with his name—his real name—in careful, elegant script. In his native language, rather than Tavamaran, which would have been more proper and polite.
He frowned at the formal seal on the back—the king's own Seal, made with the ring he alone wore. "You should have opened it," he repeated. Breaking the seal, he pulled out two pieces of vellum, both filled top to bottom in formal script. The king's handwriting. Why would his uncle be writing to him? So carefully, purposefully …
Biting his lip, Rook finally started reading.
When he reached the end, he was scowling. Without a word he handed the letter over to his cousin.
She read it in silence, looking up in surprise as she finished. "They want you back."
Rook shrugged. "Given the state of things, I would imagine they have lost the hold they had gained over Solna. I took care of matters as best I could before leaving, and laid out several basic strategies. The strategist they had remaining should have been enough to carry them to full victory—unless something happened or Solna is cleverer than I predicted."
Cordelia snorted. "Never have I known your predictions to be wrong, Rook. If something is amiss, it is likely a result of Gollen stupidity. So they are trying to seduce you home to take care of this matter?"
"Yes," Rook said quietly, picking the letters up again. "The king is clever, I will give him that." He reread the letter. His titles and lands back, even a new one that would make him the highest strategist in the land. "Trouble with Solna, which would sour things with Havarin since Gollen's agreement was to keep Solna under control. Never mind the way matters in the Great Desert went awry. There is still more besides, all of which you know."
"Not nearly as well as you," Cordelia said ruefully. "I try and try, but my forte is knowing what to say to who at what affairs, who to sit where, which persons to keep apart or let meet. These worldwide politics you treat as little more than a game of chess …" She smiled. "Truly, though we are just part of Tavamara now, the Great Desert has much to do on its own, and I do not think we would be doing half so well without you, Rook."
Rook quirked one brow. "Are you worried I'm going to run away, Lia?"
She shrugged and dropped her gaze, only looking back up at him slowly. "You have been unhappy, Rook. You hide it, but I know you better than that. Always you keep to your books, hiding away in your room. We have always been friends, my darling cousin, and I would miss your simple presence far more than your diplomatic skills." She shrugged again. "However, I would rather see you happy. If returning to Gollen would make you happy again, then I will see you are sent home quickly and in full splendor."
"If I may speak, my princess?" Noor asked quietly.
Cordelia blinked. "Of course. I apologize, General Noor, for making you sit through this; I should perhaps have bothered you later."
"No, Highness, I feel it is a very good thing I am here. If Lord Rook has been unhappy, honestly compels me to admit that it is at least in part because we children of the Sands have not been kind in our reception."
"Yes," Cordelia said bluntly, meeting his gaze, every inch the fierce princess who had married the Sandstorm Prince. "He does not wield a sword and so deserves to be either ignored or sneered at. I have not said anything because it was not my problem
to work out, but it has aggravated me."
Rook flushed. He hadn't realized Cordelia had been so aware of matters.
Noor didn't flinch beneath the reprimand, merely met her gaze. "That has already begun to change, my princess."
Cordelia's expression eased a bit. "Oh?" she asked, smiling. "Did your trip to Tavamara go well, then? I always thought the two of you would get along."
Rook was torn between groaning and laughing.
Noor chuckled. "Indeed, my princess. We get along quite well."
Cordelia was silent for a moment, then her laughter rang out. "I see! Well, that makes happy hearing. I will demand the full of that story later tonight. Rook—"
"If you're about to ask if I'm returning to Gollen or not, my answer was decided long before I opened that stupid letter. I won't deny life here has been hard for me—but there is nothing for me in Gollen. He makes pretty promises, and sweetens it further by offering to agree to things Tavamara has been demanding. As I said, it's a fine strategy. Yet no smart king would trust again a man who turned traitor. He needs me, then he would get rid of me. It would be a waste of an excellent strategist, but better to kill me than risk me running off with a different enemy."
That aside, he was weak. Noor would not want him forever; it was stupid to think after their few days together that there could even be a forever. Yet he wished there could be a forever, and any chance, however slight, made it worth staying.
"Besides," he said with a smile. "I get away with a lot more as your cousin than I ever would as his nephew. I'd also probably get right back into fending off challenges."
Cordelia laughed. "General Noor, has he told you the story of how he came to be called Rook? He is not fond of the tale, for various reasons, but it is a charming one."
"I have heard the story, yes," Noor replied. "One day perhaps I'll know the game in question so that I can better appreciate it."
"I'm sure Rook will be more than happy to teach you," Cordelia said, grinning. "If you have heard the story, did he also tell you that he is frequently challenged? Men from around the world have challenged him to a game of chess. He accepts sometimes, and has beaten them all. Not a single person has ever beaten Rook."
A startled silence fell.
Rook glared. "Why does everyone like talking about me without my permission?"
"Because you never say enough about yourself," Noor answered before Cordelia could. "You speak of strategy, and love to explain things, to teach and help people. The smallest signals give away to you how someone is thinking or feeling. But of yourself? Very little slips out. It sounds to me as though you gave up a great deal when you came to our Sands, and I am sorry that we have not given you very good reasons to stay."
"I like the Sands," Rook said. "Truly I do. It's just been difficult finding where in them I belong." He smiled faintly. "I have no tribe, my royal blood carries no real weight anymore. As to the games …" He shrugged. "It is no fun playing with people who care less about the game than winning."
Cordelia smirked at him. "Besides, if they still want to challenge you so badly, I have no doubt they will find their way here."
Rook grimaced. "I hope not."
A silence fell over the three of them, then the woman beside Cordelia stirred, speaking softly.
"That sounds like a lovely idea," Cordelia replied when she'd finished. She kissed the woman's lips briefly and watched as she departed. "Dinner here, my dears? You can tell me the full of your trip." She grinned. "Business first, then I want to hear how the Rook wound up with the Knight."
Rolling his eyes, Rook explained what she meant by Knight before Noor could ask even as servants began to appear with the first round of wines.
When they finally finished dinner some time later, his head buzzed from slight overindulgence. Just enough to make him lethargic, lazy. He held a hand to his head, sighing.
"Are you well, my heathen?" A hand curled around his arm, immediately making Rook feel more sure of his steps, if not himself.
He looked up at Noor and smiled. "Quite well."
Noor stopped them as they reached a shadowy intersection, the four halls that connected to it empty save for flickering torches. The cool air of a desert night passed through, stirring him slightly from his lethargy. "Are you certain, Rook?" Noor asked.
He realized they weren't talking about his drinking anymore. "Haven't I said so?"
"You never say all that weighs on you, that I have already learned. As the princess said, I would not have you unhappy."
"Not so long ago you wouldn't have cared," Rook said sadly. "Only days ago you were yet again dismissive because I could not wield a sword." He wanted to ask if Noor would stop caring when his interest had finally waned, but held the question back because he did not want to know the answer.
Noor gently touched his face, sinking his hand into Rook's curls. Nice, it felt so very nice to be touched affectionately, as though he mattered. He wanted so badly to just lean in and rest against that fine, broad chest. "I made a mistake," Noor said. "We all have. I was blind and stupid—but I am not so now." He smiled faintly, hesitation in it. "Everyone considered the desert nothing but mindless savages, and certainly we proved to be over and over again—yet you are still giving us a chance, and helping to convince others to give us a chance."
"I would say I've made it clear that I've given you a chance," Rook said. "My problem was that no one would give me a chance."
Then he was against that broad chest, exactly as he'd wanted to be, and he could not find it in him to protest the arms that held him tight. His head was tilted back, and then Noor was kissing him slow and sweet and thorough. Rook moaned and looped his arms around his savage's neck, more than happy to explore the mouth he already knew so well.
"Is this giving you a chance?" Noor asked when they finally broke apart.
Rook nodded.
"So you truly want to stay?" Noor asked, hands moving over him in a rough, possessive caress.
"Truly," Rook replied. "I would have anyway, but—" He cut himself off, still not able to say what he wanted, though it must be obvious anyway.
Noor didn't press it, merely kissed him again, this one harder and hotter than the previous, making Rook wish they were closer to a bed. One kiss bled into another, the heat of them making him shiver and moan. His back collided with hard wall and Noor pressed up against him, pinning him rather nicely. "I did not want you to go, my heathen. I confess if you had chosen to return to Gollen, I might have turned to my savage ways and made you my captive." He gave Rook another dizzying kiss, and whatever reply Rook had meant to make was forgotten.
Teeth nipped his ear, Noor's voice deep and husky in his ear. "Though as much time as you have already spent blindfolded and bound in my bed, perhaps you are my captive already."
Rook groaned at that, and if he were not already hard that would have done it. He forced his eyes open and looked up. "Am I? How long do savages keep their captives before tossing them back to the Sands?"
Noor kissed him hard, bruising his lips, a sound almost like a growl fed into Rook's mouth. "What the Sands take, the Sands keep, unless the Lady sees fit to take it away. You are mine."
The truth was in his eyes, his face, the way his arms tightened. Rook dared to really hope. He dragged Noor down for another kiss, as slow and sweet as the first, and it was so very fine a thing indeed to be a captured piece rather than the one to checkmate.
Everything You Need
"Fine wine! The finest! Are you seeking wine, good gentleman?"
Ikram turned his head away before the wine merchant could see him rolling his eyes. It never paid to be rude to anyone with goods to sell, even the lowliest rag merchant. When shopping in the 'greatest market in the world' it never paid to mistreat any of the merchants and shopkeeps.
Even the ones that deserved it.
He hated the market. It was noisy, chaotic, and eerily reminiscent of the battles he had left behind in the desert years ago. Sometimes, however, t
here was nowhere else to go. Ikram slowed as he drew near the stall he wanted, stopping several down so as not to appear eager.
Anyone who didn't believe merchants were the most evil things ever placed in the world had never shopped a day in his life. Lady give him a battle with Scorpions any day. He examined a table neatly arrayed with perfume bottles without interest, ignoring the look the stall merchant was giving him, then gradually moved on to the next booth, this one selling soaps—most of which were more cloying than the perfumes, or maybe the merchants were simply too close together.
"Little thief!" Someone behind him snarled. Ikram didn't bother to turn around.