Finding Bliss: Fantasy MMMM Gay Romance (Trial of Submission Book 3)

by Natalie Wish

  “Ah!” Vitorous jumped in his chair, when Weix bit not only the strawberry but his finger as well.

  The cleric swallowed the strawberry and said softly:

  “As I said, it’s rude to start without our guests,” he reprimanded gently.

  Vitorous huffed, obviously a bit frustrated.

  “Well, they are here now.” He pointed to Xanran’s group that stopped by the door at the scene before them.

  Weix’s cheeks darkened with a slight blush when he finally noticed them.

  “Ah. Welcome, I hope you had a good morning.” Weix rose to greet them, but then just sat down awkwardly. Everything was already set and just waiting for them to start eating.

  Xanran looked at the feast before them and noticed... it wasn’t quite a feast. They definitely had worse to eat when on the road, and the spread before him looked delicious... but he kinda expected that Vitorous would go with twenty different dishes or some exotic meats and fruits Xanran had never heard of before.

  “Doesn’t the Dungeon just conjure anything you want?” he asked, too curious for his own good, while he took his seat.

  “Firstly: no. Secondly... even though the scope of what can be conjured here is vast, things don’t just appear from nothing. Everything new that appears here costs energy.”

  Saainren hummed thoughtfully:

  “And you just used a good chunk of the Dungeon’s energy to move it to a new place.”

  Vitorous nodded.

  “Yes. And while there are still reserves it seems prudent to start collecting new energy now, instead of spending it on frivolous things.” He gestured to the table. “So better appreciate what Weix prepared for us.”

  “Oh.” Xanran reddened, embarrassed. After all he started the dispute by wondering why there wasn’t more food offered. He took a bowl and served himself some of the warm stew that was waiting for them. “Thank you, Weix.” He gave his teacher a grateful smile.

  The food, as it turned out, was delicious. The bread crisp, the stew hearty and flavorful. The scent of aromatic jasmine tea hung pleasantly in the air. After everyone was done with their meal Vitorous let them know the new plan.

  “The next step is getting to my architect’s notes.” At their looks he sniffed. “What? Did you think that I built such a complicated magical fortress alone? It took decades of preparation. Designing, researching, contracting skilled artisans... and working closely with Gambel Alkasian, one of best architects of his times. I was there with him every step of the process... but I admit my memory of the years before my death is spotty and there are a few key fragments I need to know to be able to destroy this place.”

  “It’s easier to destroy something when you know how it’s built,” Weix supplied in his calm voice.

  “Exactly. And that is precisely why I need you to get Gambel’s maps of this place, or at least his notes on the creation process. Weix was a dear and got us some leads on his descendants and they are rumored to pass the knowledge of their famous great-grandfather to the next generations, so there is hope they may have something useful.”

  “Should we just go and talk to them?” Xanran asked, sensing there was more to the story.

  “That’s one way to do it, yes. They may be in possession of the necessary knowledge, but they are unlikely to be willing to share it outside the family... But to complicate the matters, Alkasians aren’t in possession of the research notes anymore. A member of the family was arrested by the Imperials and after a raid many documents in the family’s possession were confiscated. Including the ones we are after.”

  “Didn’t we just escape the Imperials?” Xanran groaned.

  Weix gave him a slight apologetic smile.

  “Not exactly, seeing as we are now stationed in the middle of the Empire’s capital.”

  “We are in Rotedem? Why did you put us here? Isn’t it dangerous?” Rogan demanded.

  “We need easy access to several people and places here.” The mage shrugged, nonplussed. “And I kept the Dungeon here before. I own the grounds we are on. As for the danger... I’m not sending you into a true nest of vipers, but I’m definitely sending you into a metaphorical one. Whether you would like to meet the members of the Alkasian family, or the Imperials who may have the access to the confiscated research... there’s one good place for that. An important event at the Imperial High Court. I have invites for you all to attend a Ball.”

  ∞∞∞

  A Ball! They were going to a Ball! Xanran was excited, but at the same time a bit anxious. If the Imperial Ball was similar to what the Ink Clan did with its splendid Galas... then he knew there was a list of expectations he would have to meet to be in a position to talk to anyone. One of those was rank; how high up one was on a social ladder. And Xanran, as an exile from his own Clan... he was scrapping the bottom of a barrel. The rest of the team could just fake their positions, but the horns on his head demanded a connection to one of the Clans. And declaring himself clanless meant he would lose any kind of credibility. Maybe he could change his appearance with a spell or one of Vitorous’ many artefacts?

  But his awakened dragon blood boiled at the thought of hiding his true nature.

  He sighed heavily and slumped over the dinner table. He took over the dining room to not bother his companions with his gloominess, but it seemed he wouldn’t be left alone with his thoughts.

  Just as Xanran was spiraling into depreciating thoughts Weix entered the room like some kind of omen. Well, he was a cleric, so divine intervention wasn’t even improbable.

  “Hey, it’s good I caught you. I wanted to talk with you,” the other dragon opened the conversation.

  He looked a little nervous, but was faintly smiling, so Xanran probably wasn’t in trouble... and he totally left clues that pointed to Rogan with that missing pie!

  “Whats ish ith?” he asked, shoving the last piece of the suspicious pie hastily in his mouth.

  Weix gave him a look like he wasn’t fooled but took a seat next to him without pointing the cake out.

  “I was thinking about the Ball. I don’t know if you are aware of the inner workings of the Imperial Court... but I had represented the Crystals there before and I have some suggestions that may help you.”

  “Ohthanksthestars. I could kiss you, Weix.”

  “Please, don’t,” the cleric laughed. “You are aware how complicated it is, huh? Each of you will need a separate strategy, but I have one for you... if you want it.”

  Xanran observed as Weix swallowed nervously, before taking a large wooden box out and placing it on the table between them. Its beautiful intricate carvings of dragons on the lid and a decoration of stunningly pure shining crystals, the best Crystal Mountain had to offer, along with accents of gold, made the box itself a treasure.

  Weix laid a hand on the box, saying quietly:

  “I know that in the scale of a life you spent only a moment with the Crystal Clan, but it was a meeting that, I dare to say, changed both sides for the better. You are a compassionate, loyal and hard-working man...”

  “Don’t forget funny,” Xanran piped up, because making jokes was his defense mechanism and what even was this???

  “And you are funny.” The corner of Weix’s mouth lifted up. “We are grateful for your assistance with the Lotus Clan and for the kindness you have shown our people.”

  “We?” Xanran asked, his palms starting to sweat.

  Weix drew himself up, straightening.

  “I’m speaking today as Leader Dala’s right hand man, and as the voice of my Clan. As is our custom, the people of the Crystal Clan have a say in who can join. At my behest, the votes were cast, and the result is clear. You gained our approval and admiration. As such, I am here to ask: Xanran, previously of the Ink Clan, will you join the Crystal Clan?”

  Xanran looked at Weix in disbelief. It had to be a joke, right?


  There’s no way even one of those people wanted someone like him in their amazing Clan... and all of them? Or... or even most of them? How could that happen? Even Weix wouldn’t be stupid enough...

  “Xanran, will you be my clan brother?” The cleric asked softly, shyly, like he thought he was the one who wasn’t good enough for Xanran and didn’t believe Xanran might want this.

  That was unacceptable for someone in his Clan to think!

  “YES,” he said firmly in a moment of protective rage, the dragon temperament taking over. He swallowed hard, his throat tight when he realized what he had done, what monumental step he had taken. “Yes...” he repeated quietly and the smile he got from Weix was blinding.

  Afterwards there was a new clan braid in his hair, and he had a beautiful wooden box hiding a borrowed Crystal Clan treasure in his possession.

  But most importantly: he had a plan.

  And a brother.

  ∞∞∞

  Mexi moved forward slowly, carefully. One may even say, daintily. He spread the delicate fan in his hand to hide the look of utter concentration on his face. How come jumping from a rooftop to rooftop while being chased by a rival gang was easier than just walking in a dress??? He cursed the current fashion trends in the Imperial High Court. Apparently, this literally breathtaking creation was the high of fashion and a large sum of money changed hands to make it ready in just a month. Mexi had to admit it was beautiful. Pure silk white gown with layers of gauzy, subtly patterned see-through fabric adding a feeling of lightness and elegance. But what caught the eye the most was the crimson red overcoat hemmed with golden curly lace. It spilled to the sides of his hips in waves of red and the rich fabric made it a dress worth the Court. His hair was made up into an elaborate up-do, strands of red artistically pinned by tiny gold flowers. Mexi could do without the corset, but the cinch in his waist was necessary not only to blend in with other aristocrat ladies, but to create the illusion of him being a girl.

  He cast a glance at Rogan, who walked proudly at his side, with his head held high and his arm looped through Mexi’s. The base of the man’s clothes was black, but the red coat and gold accents harmonized with Mexi’s overcoat and signified them as a matched pair. He wore a black tunic hemmed with a line of striking crimson and gold patterns tied at the waist with a wide intricately decorated belt. The red coat fell majestically off his shoulders and the slit sleeves added allure as well as make it easier to move. The black pants and high dark leather boots completed the look. He looked nearly as good as he did in the red-and-black armor. The only thing missing was a weapon. But those were rules of the High Court; anything lethal could only be carried by the Imperial Guard and selected high officials. It was kind of funny to Mexi considering how many mages were present at this Ball.

  Mexi stopped at a place close enough to the entrance door to the ball to hear the announcements of new guest, but not close enough for he and his partner to catch unwanted attention. But there were other gawkers congregating in the first room, trying to get a glimpse of an important figure, or waiting for somebody specific to pass the threshold, and it wasn’t hard to blend in. Especially considering that his and Rogan’s appearance, while striking, was specifically crafted to be just like the other aristocrats here; clothes following the trend, a strong man and a beautiful lady, an unproblematic union of elf and human. No, they weren’t supposed to stand out, the ones that were...

  “Xanran of the Crystal Dragon Clan and Mathil Laisevick of Strentedorf,” the seneschal boomed as the two men entered the court.

  Many eyes were immediately on them and the whispers started to spread with the speed of a lightning bolt.

  “A representative of a Dragon Clan with another male? How will he continue the bloodline?” a stuffy noble lady scrunched up her nose.

  “Wow, look at those dragon scales!” an excited young voice piped in somewhere to Mexi’s right.

  Those two were meant to get all the attention and, by the gods, it was working.

  It was a mix of many factors combining together to make them unmissable and the talk of the court. While two men together weren’t a novelty in itself, it was a bold statement for somebody from a Dragon Clan to openly flaunt being in a committed relationship with a person that couldn’t provide biological children for their dragon bloodline. Xanran also made sure to be a magnet for attention with the way he dressed. One accessory in particular made many people gasp. The fingerless dragon scale gloves gleamed with all the colors of the rainbow and a few besides, stretching up and up the man’s arms, decorating the tops of the shoulders in another layer of scales flaring to the sides, topping the colorful sleeveless tunic with a beautiful and sharp look.

  The dragon scales were a coveted material that was protected by all Dragon Clans. After all it was a part of the dragon’s body. And due to their magic’s turning the dragons back to their human form if they were dead or unconscious, there were only two ways to harvest the dragon scales. One was to have the dragon scales given willingly by the owner. If done properly and over a long stretch of time, the process didn’t leave any lasting damage and could be repeated many times, as the new scales grew back. The other was to employ torture, questionable magic spells, or heavy blackmail. None of those ways were seen as noble and people wearing dragonscale armor were always put under scrutiny by dragons and the other races, unless they were dragons themselves or could prove without any doubt that the armor, or the scales to make it, were given to them freely. Even scavenging the armor from a fallen enemy was considered an insult to the Dragon Clans. Mexi was pretty sure the Emperor had at least one set of a dragon scale armor given as a tribute by the Clans on his territory, but even for nobles it was not an everyday sight.

  “So many colors... why are there so many?” a petite elf maiden wondered.

  “They must have many different types of dragons in their Clan,” her partner mused.

  “Look, his companion has a golden scale on his necklace!” thrilled a dwarven handmaiden.

  From what Mexi understood there were many different colors of dragons in other Clans as well. But there usually was a dominant line, or a specific type that was coveted over the others and that was mirrored in the colors of the armor the clan representatives wore to important functions like this one. From what they had seen at Xanran’s previous Clan their standard was black dragons, but as soon as they saw Xanran transformed into a golden dragon they wanted to add him to their collection. Mexi was glad the Crystals embraced their diversity instead of judging the worthiness of a person upon the color of their scales.

  He was so entranced in watching how people flocked around the eccentric pair, he nearly missed the announcement he was waiting for.

  Here they were! The Alkasian family has finally arrived.

  He committed their faces to memory, his eyes going from one person to the other. The family was quite large and most of the Alkasians present this day at the court were women, which is why Mexi was presenting himself as one as well. According to Saainren curtesy wasn’t the only thing that restricted free contact between genders. It was much easier to share in the gossip when one was a woman of suitably high status. Mexi spent the last month learning how to carry himself and how to avoid the pitfalls of faux pas, but he still didn’t really feel ready for such competitive socializing.

  Still, by the time the dancing started in full he managed at least a casual introduction to the group flocking around the Alkasian ladies.

  “Can I have this dance?” a voice asked from behind him.

  He whirled around, his white skirts twirling around him, ready to deflect the invitation, but it was just Rogan.

  “Oh,” he colored slightly and hesitated only a second before placing his hand in Rogan’s.

  They stepped toward the dancefloor and joined the other pairs in the formation. When the music started Mexi couldn’t help but think of the dancing lessons Rogan gave hi
m. For a man who proclaimed not to like dancing he looked like he was enjoying himself; both when he was teaching Mexi the steps and now. Mexi sent Rogan a small private smile when he passed under his arm in a twirl. The warrior’s big hand cradled Mexi’s smaller one so gently, leading him effortlessly through the rhythmic moves. It was captivating how the strength and tenacity he showed in battle translated into those smooth steps and striking figure. A gentle touch to the waist guided him to follow after the other dancers, but Mexi felt like there were only the two of them. The others were insignificant, what mattered was having all that sharp focus of Rogan’s eyes on him, as if the man wanted to lead him in an altogether different kind of dance.

  The music slowly faded as they came to a stop. Rogan bowed and kissed his hand, his short beard tingling softly against his fingers and that soft press of lips igniting a fire of yearning in him when that deep voice said lovingly:

  “My lady.”

  Mexi yanked his hand away and snapped his fan open to hide his face. He was sure his cheeks were growing pinker by the second. He fanned himself, not looking at Rogan. He felt an arm looped around his and the guard whispered straight into his ear:

  “Thank you for the dance.”

  Then, he pulled Mexi along, as if nothing happened.

  He was frustrated all the way to the closest of the Alkasian ladies. When they were near enough to the group of young women, Rogan acted as if he saw somebody he needed talk to and released his arm saying stuffily:

  “Be a dear and stay here, while I speak with my fellow soldiers. It is not a conversation for a frail woman like you.”

  Mexi glared at the method of subterfuge Rogan picked, but that was alright, since the displeased expression apparently sold the whole thing even better. He didn’t even have to approach the lady as she was the one that spoke to him first.

  “Well, that was rude. Your husband?” At the nod she sighed. “Thank gods I don’t have one of those. It’s enough trouble that I have to clean my uncle’s messes.”