“Then we’ll try. But if we can’t—my father and I have made our understanding. Life will go on, as it has for our sons, as it will for me. My father’s spirit will live within me, within Tijus and his children, and I hope, through example in the boys. I’ll mourn, but I won’t regret.”
Kei kissed him gently, then put his arms around him. “You’d make him very happy to know that. He wanted me to tell you that he loved you and he was very, very proud of you. I told him to tell you himself.”
“He did.” He had never cried in front of his father before, but he had that day. And...his father had shed tears too. Gruff, embarrassed, dashed away as insulting tears, but tears nonetheless. Said the words that were so very precious to hear, and cried. Arman had not even been able to talk to Kei about that memory because it was so painful, so...much. It would live forever in his heart. But it might always be something that he couldn’t bear to share. “Now, I believe we were talking about bed?”
“Talk? Talking about bed is the last thing I would do, my lord. I would think flinging you down and having my wicked way with you would be much more my style, don’t you think?”
“Have at, Master Kei, only keep it down this time—Ry-chi asked me if we had jesigs in the bedroom yesterday. He was most put out that we were hiding them from him. Can’t imagine where he got that idea from.”
Kei just grinned as he got to his feet and pulled Arman up with him. “Then I think we either have to investigate gags or thicker doors because the last thing I’m going to do when I’ve got you all alone is restrain myself.”
“Perhaps I’ll have to do that.”
“Only if you catch me!” Kei ran into the bedroom, laughing like a loon.
Arman shook his head and followed more sedately. Forty-three going on two. Just how he liked him.
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Home Ground: 1
The nice thing about a lover with a perfect arse and long legs, Juimei thought happily, was how very splendid it was to watch them move. His grace, the count Mikinze of Wedeiloizui, was most assuredly aware how much pleasure he gave as he bowed. “Blessings upon this joyous day, your highness. May you have many more birthdays to come.”
Juimei smiled graciously at the elaborate flourish, admired how Miki’s natty short jacket did very fine things for his impressively broad chest and his firm posterior, and grinned at the wink his count gave him as he straightened up. “Thank you. Do I get a kiss too?”
His lover smirked and remedied the offence with enthusiasm. “My apologies, your highness. Perhaps this might take away the scent of my error?”
From his jacket pocket, he produced a small wooden box inlaid in iridescent shell and stones, with an intricate pattern that suggested leaves, or perhaps feathers, depending on how it was turned. An exquisite piece, the artistry immediately recognisable as being from the Kefensel workshop, the best in Visiqe. “But I have hundreds of jewellery boxes, Miki.” Juimei got a pitying look for that as he took the thing from Mikinze’s hand, then opened it. He could only stare in astonishment at the lovely object before him. “Oh...my word.”
Mikenze stroked his moustache and gave him a sly smile. “I very much doubt, your highness, that you have hundreds of these.”
Miki looked smug—as well he might. The ring nestling inside the box, cushioned on fine gem-cloth, was superb—jet black ifino, inset with red gems and pearl stone in the form of Juimei’s own personal crest. It shone dully with hidden fire as Juimei twisted it, an elegant and clever example of the gemsmith’s craft. He slipped the heavy ring onto his finger—a perfect fit, of course. Miki’s attention to detail was, as ever, immaculate.
“Miki, it’s magnificent, but far too much—”
Miki reached over and put a finger on his lips, his eyes slitting with suggestion and promise. “Not at all,” he said, his voice, as it ever was, a silken thing with undertones of sex and intrigue. “Nothing is too much to show the depth of my regard for you, my dear highness.”
“Miki....”
His lover pulled him close, the beautiful jewellery box tumbling carelessly to the carpet as Juimei was crushed possessively to Miki’s hard, perfect body. “Thank you,” he breathed into Miki’s ear as his lover nibbled at his jaw. His moustache tickled, a surprisingly erotic sensation. Of course, it depended on where he was being tickled. Juimei had spent all winter experimenting to find out where it could be used most pleasurably, and even now the memory of those long, dark evenings in bed with this man made him hard as stone.
But Miki was just as affected. “Oh, I expect more thanks than that,” he said, deep voice gone husky. “Something...much more prolonged.” His hand cupped Juimei’s groin and massaged it with brutal skill. Juimei pushed against him eagerly, greedily, wanting even more for his birthday gift than the beautiful gem.
“Much...uh...more....”
A cough from behind them. Juimei disengaged without haste and turned around smoothly. “Yes, Neime?” he said, as behind him, Miki bent casually and picked up the wooden box—no need to treat such a valuable item carelessly after all.
His young features set in apparently perfect subservience, his page bowed. “Your highness, his majesty requests the honour of your presence for the morning repast.”
The invitation was a formality of course—birthday breakfasts were an unbreakable tradition in the palace—and Juimei wondered if Neime had wanted the opportunity to interrupt. He didn’t miss the quick, disapproving look at Miki and then at the new ornament on his hand. “Thank you—how many people have we invited this year?”
“I think at least two hundred, your highness,” Neime said with a slightly rueful grin.
Juimei smiled as Miki snorted with laughter behind him. “Mother’s overdone it again.”
“She always said it’s your fault for being born in the spring when there’s nothing much else going on. Meant respectfully, your highness,” Neime added, glancing at Miki again.
Juimei shook his head impatiently at the apology—Neime knew perfectly well he wouldn’t take offence at a remark like that, and neither would Miki. “Of course. Well, you better see what rags I’ve got that are up to the occasion.” As if Neime hadn’t spent days selecting the perfect outfit for this important occasion—it wasn’t something Juimei cared about, but Neime loved to see him nicely turned out, and his mother would be insulted if he didn’t make the effort. “In the meantime, his grace and I are going to be...um....”
“Busy, your highness,” Miki said, taking his hand possessively. “For at least an hour.”
“You heard his grace, Neime. And lock the door.”
“Very good, your highness,” his page said, scowling.
Juimei ignored the tone and the look as Miki tugged him towards the inner chamber and firmly closed the door behind them.
As he took Juimei into his arms again, Miki’s mouth quirked. “He doesn’t like me. I’m crushed.”
“He’s just protective of me. He’s a good lad. You have to tolerate a few eccentricities in personal servants.”
“There’s eccentricity and then there’s downright insolence,” Miki said dryly, as he began to strip Juimei. “If one of my people gave me a look like that, I’d turn them off in an instant.”
“Stop talking about my bloody manservant and get on with it, your grace. I need a damn good fucking if I’m going to get through this blasted thing this morning without snapping at someone.”
Miki grinned evilly as he pushed Juimei back towards the bed. “As you decree, your highness. Though, when I’m finished with you, you might need to sit on a cushion to get through it at all.”
“Oh, promises, promises, your g
race.”
~~~~~~~~
It was a colourful and lively assembly in the great hall. After the closed-in months of winter, with often only family and servants for company in the bitterest weather which had, this year, lasted eight weeks, people were glad to show themselves again. It was a chance to display their fresh, new wardrobes, to catch up on the gossip, speculate about the doings of government and their friends—often the same thing, in this place anyway—and to renew or begin alliances among their peers. Spring sunshine poured through the high-vaulted windows and down over elegant clothes, the modest yet carefully crafted adornments of the older nobles and councillors, and the more ostentatious jewels at the neck, ears and hands of their young colleagues. People were in high spirits—it was a happy occasion, and the spring woke up all Andonese, got their blood fizzing through veins, hearts bursting to make the most of the warmth and longer days.
It was, despite his grumbling earlier, something Juimei rather enjoyed, at least in small amounts, but he was having trouble concentrating right now. Sometimes he wished Miki’s attention to detail wasn’t quite so thorough, he thought, as he squirmed, trying to ease his bottom. Neime had discreetly added another cushion, but he was still uncomfortable.
“Something bothering you, my son?”
Smiling brightly, he turned to his father, resplendent beside him in one of his lesser diadems, and an imposing gold chain and medallion of state around his neck. Spring had infected the royal wardrobe too, inspiring a beautifully embroidered green and yellow shirt Juimei’s mother had made with her own talented hands. “No, Father. I’m merely excited at the pleasure of being with so many of our dear friends this morning.”
His father rolled his eyes, even as he acknowledged the bow of a passing noble with a graceful incline of his head. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s your mother’s idea. Always is. Makes me glad there’s only three of you.”
“Yes, Father. Because then we’d have to share you even more.”
“Don’t flatter me, boy. You know I’m fond of you, don’t overdo it.” But his father smiled at him without any annoyance in his expression. “Handsome ring.”
“Thank you.” Juimei didn’t feel it necessary to explain every friendship token he received. If his father wanted to know where he’d got it, he’d ask. His relationship with Miki wasn’t exactly a state secret, though they didn’t bruit it about. “The weather looks set fair for this afternoon. Should be a good tournament.”
His father grunted, accepting a small glass of fruit wine from a servant before speaking. “I’ve been told the crowds are expected to be even larger this year. All the more people to watch you fall on your privileged bottom.”
“You mean, uphold the honour of the line of Godiw, don’t you, Father? Someone has to, now Furneim and Siliki have retired from the field.”
“I think the line of Godiw can stand the indignity of not having any princes of the blood wasting their time playing doig-ito, my son. You know it worries your mother.”
“Yes, Father. I’m always careful.”
“So you should be. I’ve spent a lot of time and effort training the brain inside that skull of yours. I shouldn’t appreciate having it end up smeared all over an ito field.”
Juimei winced a little at the image, then smiled as one of the councillors came over to wish him a blessed birthday. “I said I’d be careful, Father. Besides, I’ll only be young once. In a year or two, I’ll be too old and then it won’t be a worry to anyone.”
His father gave him a grave look, then turned to answer a question from his companion. “As you say,” he said quietly once they were left in peace. “But this isn’t a suitable topic for a birthday repast. However much of a nuisance you are, it’s still a day of celebration.”
He stood, and servants rang a gong to call for attention. The noisy assembly fell silent at once, and he lifted his glass. “My friends, my loyal and wise councillors, my dear and pious wife, and my beloved children—I offer a toast to my youngest son, his highness, Prince Juimei. He has been a blessing from the benevolent god for twenty-four years, and may he remain so for many more to come. I call on Sephiz to protect him, and your good selves to pray for his continued happiness and well-being.”
The guests rose at once, lifting their glasses and goblets high and cheering noisily, stamping their feet, and even whistling. Juimei grinned and bowed, and raised his glass to toast king and council in their turn, which got equally generous cheers. Even used to acclaim as he was, he was still warmed by the sincere enthusiasm, and even more by his father’s smile, his mother’s proud look, more precious to him than any gift—even a beautiful and valuable ring. Though the birthday fucking had also been damn fine, he thought somewhat ruefully as his arse twinged again. Across the hall, Mikinze lifted his glass and stroked his moustache as he smirked knowingly—it almost made Juimei laugh out loud, knowing his lover had guessed exactly what had gone through his mind just then. Oh, yes, the fucking had been very fine indeed.
The birthday repast went on for another hour, and Juimei was kept busy accepting good wishes and the occasional small gift from close friends. The rest of the day would be ordinary business, at least until the tournament, but there would be a family dinner that night in his parents’ apartments—a tradition Juimei rather enjoyed, since they had few enough opportunities to just be together as a family without courtiers. Now that his brothers were so heavily involved themselves as councillors, and he himself was taking on more duties, they hardly had time anymore for such things, but his mother insisted on their birthday suppers being kept as private celebrations.
His mother, dressed in a pale blue gown that suited her rather well, came over to give him a kiss as his father rose to leave for a meeting with the council. “Happy birthday, Jui. You’re looking even more handsome than usual. And what a lovely ring.”
“Thank you, Mother. Yes it is.”
She lifted his hand for a closer look. “Has this anything to do with why you were shifting around like someone had stuffed a baby dowkiqu down your trousers?” she asked, smiling innocently.
Juimei flushed. “Mother!” he said in a low voice. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“Was I being vulgar? I thought I was merely being concerned for the health of my dear son. I suggest you look after this ring, Jui—and step along to a healer for something for the other one in case you’ve done yourself a mischief.”
“Mother!”
She grinned and kissed him again, patting his hand. “Such a little prude, Juimei, considering. Darling, do you really have to play in the tournament this afternoon? No one would criticise you if you pulled out for my sake.”
“I would, Mother. I’m the captain and my teammates are counting on me. I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “Just like Furneim. He had to break his wrist before he realised how silly it was.”
“Mother, he tripped over on his way to the stables.”
“Yes, but he wouldn’t have even been there if he’d not been playing. Well, if you insist, I’ll be there like a dutiful parent and wave you on.”
Juimei knelt before her. “Will you let me carry your favour? I would be honoured.”
“Hmmm—seems to me you’re already carrying enough favours, my son.” But she undid the simple chain from around her neck, upon which hung an enamelled portrait of her husband, and placed it carefully around Juimei’s neck. She bent and kissed his forehead. “Do your best for the line of Godiw, Juimei. But play safely.”
“Of course, Mother. Thank you. Sephiz will protect me.”
“Yes, he will, but he and I expect you to wear your helmet anyway.”
The court rose as his parents left, and people drifted off. Juimei smiled and acknowledged greetings, but walked determinedly towards the doors, Neime at his side. “Be a good lad and find me Count Mianzin, will you, Neime? There’s time before lunch for us to talk.”
Neime bowed and slipped through the throng. An amused voice made Juimei turn. “Have we time for me to soothe
the pain I’ve caused you, your highness?”
He wagged his finger at Miki. “You bastard. Mother actually asked after my arse, can you believe that?”
“Can’t say you weren’t warned, your highness,” Miki said, his dark eyes full of evil humour. “Or that you weren’t willing. Want me to kiss it better?”
“Yes, but I can’t. I have to talk to Mianzin about the finance arrangements in Gironzodei district. I promised father I’d get that sorted out today.”
“But it’s your birthday. You work too hard, Jui.”
Juimei poked his lover in the chest. “And you don’t work hard enough, your grace. They’ll be cutting your tax concessions if you keep this up.”
“I earn my keep. Just not in obvious ways, your highness.” He turned and made a slight bow to the noble who had come to their side. “Good morning, your grace.”
Count Mianzin returned the politeness, with a deeper bow to Juimei. “Blessings upon this day and you, your highness. I take it Gironzodei is on your mind?”
“Yes. Shall we go to my office? Your grace, until this afternoon?”
Miki bowed, raised a disobedient eyebrow at him and then walked off. Juimei tried not to think of how much more enjoyable it would be to follow the man than to spend two hours locked in dry though essential discussions over funding in the northwest, then smiled at his noble companion, took his arm, and led him away.
The meeting took longer than he’d hoped, and once he had dismissed the count, Tezrei Edikio had begged a few moments of his time since he was heading back to Tsikiugui the following day and had several matters he wanted advice on. By the time he was done, it was long past noon, and only an hour or so before he was due at the ito field. Neime, used to his habits, had arranged a spare, simple lunch for him in his office, and joined him to eat at his invitation, as he often did.
Neime put a small pot of medicinal cream on his desk next to the tray—Juimei raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “Her majesty asked me to pass it on. She thought you might neglect the injury.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 21