The Scholar's Heart (Chronicles of Tournai Book 3)

by Antonia Aquilante

  He broke from the kiss, panting and gasping as the pleasure exploded within him sending him soaring. Etan followed a moment later with a wordless cry muffled in the pillow. He collapsed against Tristan, but before Tristan could decide if he liked the weight or wasn’t going to be able to breathe, Etan moved, settling himself on his back at Tristan’s side. They lay side by side, their arms pressed together but otherwise not touching. Tristan was almost sad about that, but he couldn’t stay and cuddle under the blankets anyway.

  As his breathing returned to normal, he turned his head to look at Etan. He took the opportunity to study Etan, while Etan’s eyes were closed. Candlelight flickered over his strong profile, lighting his skin with gold and making shadows of the thick fan of eyelashes. Etan’s dark hair blended into the deep blue of the pillowcase under his head, and Tristan itched to run his fingers through the wavy locks. He almost didn’t want to leave, but he never stayed the whole night with anyone. He shifted but didn’t move to get up yet.

  “You’re leaving?” Etan asked without opening his eyes.

  “Yes. I need to go home. I don’t like to be out all night because of Bria.”

  “Of course. You should go.”

  Tristan stared at Etan, trying to discern whether Etan was angry that Tristan had to leave, but he couldn’t see any indication of it in Etan’s expression. He didn’t know why there would be. Etan would understand he couldn’t stay. But Etan’s words did cut off a half-formed idea of convincing Etan into a bit more of something before Tristan really had to go.

  He slid out of bed and gathered his clothes, carrying them into the bathing room where he cleaned himself up enough to dress again. When he emerged into the bedchamber again, Etan was standing at the window staring out into the night. He’d donned a wine-colored dressing gown but otherwise hadn’t dressed.

  “I guess I’ll go.” Why did he feel so awkward? So uncomfortable?

  “I’ll see you out.” Etan walked with him to the suite door where they both stopped.

  “I’ll see you soon, then,” Tristan said, hating how pathetic the words sounded.

  “Good night, Tristan.”

  “Good night, Etan. Happy birthday.” He slipped out the door Etan held open for him. It closed softly behind him as soon as he stepped into the corridor. Tristan wondered again as he walked through the palace why everything felt so strange.

  PHILIP WALKED into the dimly lit bedchamber, closing the door behind himself. The bed was turned down invitingly, but the room was empty. He followed soft sounds into the dressing room and found Amory changing out of the clothes he wore to Etan’s party. Though Philip’s footsteps were muffled by the thick carpets laid over the polished wood floors, Amory still realized he was there and looked over his shoulder at him with a sweet smile.

  He’d fallen in love with that smile the first time he’d seen it. He still loved it and the man attached to it.

  He went to Amory and slipped his arms around Amory’s waist, pulling his husband back against his chest. Nuzzling into the side of Amory’s neck, he left little kisses there and smiled when Amory laughed and settled back against him, wrapping his arms over Philip’s.

  “Julien’s asleep. Didn’t even stir when I straightened his blankets.” And there had been some straightening to do. Their son was not a quiet sleeper. He had no idea where Julien got that particular trait. Neither Philip nor Amory moved around much in their sleep.

  “That’s good.” Amory dropped his head back against Philip’s shoulder, giving him better access to the side of his neck, which Philip took shameless advantage of.

  “He’s sleeping with that little stuffed cat Etan gave him again.”

  “Perhaps it reminds him of his father and uncles,” Amory teased, his voice vibrant with amusement.

  “Hush, you.” Philip tried to sound stern, but he doubted he came close to it. He turned his attention back to his kissing and nibbling, enjoying how each pass of his lips over soft skin made Amory shiver.

  “It was a good party. Etan seemed to enjoy himself,” Amory said after a few moments, his voice coming out slightly breathless.

  “Yes. We should have a party for your birthday.”

  Amory shook his head and wriggled around to face Philip. “I don’t need parties.”

  He wasn’t surprised at Amory’s response. Even after three years of life in the palace, Amory never asked for anything for himself. Before Philip could say anything, Amory kissed him. Long and slow and obviously meant to distract.

  “We’ll have a party for your birthday, or Julien’s,” Amory said when they parted.

  “Hmm. We’ll see.”

  Amory shook his head again, his expression of fond exasperation one Philip knew well. He stepped away and went back to undressing. “Did you notice that Etan and Tristan disappeared at about the same time?”

  Philip leaned back against a chest of drawers and watched Amory. “I did. Could’ve been a coincidence.”

  “It could’ve been,” Amory said as he peeled off his snowy white shirt and discarded it on top of the green silk jacket he’d removed before Philip arrived. “I don’t think it was, though, do you?”

  He watched the play of light over the silky skin of Amory’s back and tried not to let the sight distract him from his husband’s words. “No, I don’t believe it is. I saw them both out on the terrace, but I didn’t see either of them after we came in.”

  Amory kicked off his shoes. “Me either. Do you think it’s possible they just stayed out there to talk?”

  “It’s possible.” He smiled when Amory replaced his shoes neatly where they were kept. “But if so, they’d have come through the party again after. Why use a different door unless they didn’t want to be seen?”

  “True, though I suppose they might not have wanted to see anyone else if whatever they were talking about didn’t go well.”

  “Etan would’ve come back to the party. He wouldn’t have let an argument affect his innate politeness.”

  “Tristan would’ve come back too. If only because he wouldn’t know about all those other ways in and out of the palace.” Amory stripped his breeches down his long legs, revealing more pale skin to Philip’s eyes. “So they probably left together.”

  “Probably,” he responded a bit absently. He let his gaze travel the length of Amory’s body from the auburn curls crowning his head to the graceful arch of this back, to the curve of his backside and his long legs.

  “Are you as worried about that as I am?” Amory glanced over his shoulder at Philip and frowned. “Are you listening to me or just staring? And are you going to change for bed?”

  He grinned. “Yes. To all of those.”

  Amory laughed, and Philip began to remove his own clothing. Amory leaned back against the wardrobe door and took his turn to watch.

  “I am concerned. Etan’s an adult. He can make his own decisions, but knowing how he felt about Tristan, knowing how he feels about the little that’s happened between them so far, I can’t help but worry for him.”

  Amory folded his arms over his chest as he sighed. “Me too. Tristan won’t hurt him on purpose, but he may well do so without realizing it.”

  “He already has.”

  “I know.”

  He hated seeing Amory looking worried, sad. “Maybe everything will work out differently between them this time. We always thought there was something between them, and not just on Etan’s side.”

  “We did. Until Tristan married, for reasons that I still don’t entirely understand.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be planning on marrying again from what you said, and he’s apparently still interested in Etan. Maybe this time they’ll get it right. Maybe they can be together.” And if they couldn’t, he hoped Etan could walk away heart intact.

  Amory smiled. “Very romantic of you, Your Highness.”

  “Don’t tell,” he teased.

  “Our secret.” Amory watched him. “I’d like them both to be happy. Do you really think they could
make it work between them?”

  “I hope so.”

  Amory nodded and turned, reaching for a pair of sleep pants. Philip snagged his wrist before he could grab them. Amory twisted to look at him. “Philip?”

  “I don’t think you’ll be needing those,” he said, his voice going low and rough as he drew Amory around and against his chest. “Do you?”

  Amory’s gaze heated. He wound his arms around Philip’s neck. “No, I don’t think I will.” His murmur was nearly lost as Philip covered Amory’s lips with his own.

  ETAN DIDN’T return to his bed after Tristan left. He meant to. He closed the door behind Tristan and walked around the sitting room snuffing the lights and putting a few things to rights. He briefly considered pouring himself a drink but then remembered they’d meant to have one after. A glass of water was a better choice. After pouring one, he carried it through into his bedchamber.

  He stood staring at the mussed bed for a few moments before turning into the bathing room. He took his time washing up, emptying his mind as much as he could and letting hot water and the citrus scent of his soap relax him as much as possible. When he returned to his bedchamber, he was dressed in soft gray sleep pants and his dressing gown.

  But he still didn’t want to get into his bed, not when he knew Tristan’s scent would be on the pillows.

  He blew out the candles but left the fire and went to the window seat. Piled with cushions and pillows in soft fabrics and jewel tones, it was his favorite place to sprawl out and read for pleasure. A book was tucked among the cushions. He slid it out as he settled against the pillows, but he didn’t open it. He just held it, running his fingers over the leather of the cover and spine as he stared out the window into the night.

  He was still there when dawn lit the sky, sending streams of sunlight through the diamond-paned window and into his eyes. He blinked hot, gritty eyes in the sun. He’d dozed but had gotten no real sleep. Groaning, he forced himself out of the odd position in which he’d spent most of the night. He wanted sleep, but after another glance at the bed, he knew he didn’t want it there.

  Standing, he stretched and winced at the cracking sounds his spine made. He was far too young for his joints to be making those noises. He briefly considered stretching out on the sitting room couch, which was long enough for his height, but the thought didn’t appeal. Instead, he dressed and left the suite for the maids to tidy.

  The palace was quiet, the bustle of the day not yet begun. The servants had certainly started their day, but they moved about the palace unnoticed, using back corridors to keep it that way. The night guards were still at their posts, but the shift would change shortly. Everyone else was still likely tucked up in their beds. Elodie never rose this early, and unless Julien woke them, Philip and Amory often slept a little later when they could, as did Cathal and Flavian.

  Etan preferred to rise early, but generally not this early, and certainly not after so late a night containing so little sleep. Still, he liked the quiet of the corridors, the peaceful hush before the business of the day began. And the best place to appreciate it, to soak some of that peace into himself, was outside.

  His footfalls sounded loud on the stones of the terrace as he crossed it and descended the stairs into the garden. The dawn sunlight was a wash of gold over flowers and leaves glistening with dew; birdsong was the only sound he heard. Some mornings he came out here to just walk and wake up with the day, but he had a destination in mind today. The palace gardens were vast, with smaller gardens and lawns and grottoes connecting to make up the larger whole. He’d grown up running wild through them, or running wild when goaded into it by his brothers while no one was present to supervise them. Otherwise, he was more likely to find a quiet spot to do some reading. Nevertheless, the result was the same—he knew the gardens backward and forward.

  The small wooded area far from the palace at the back of the gardens was his destination. Few people ever went into the trees, though there were benches and paths and some interesting statuary. Even the gardeners let the woods grow a little wild, but that was traditional. As far as he could tell, these woods had always been allowed to get a little overgrown, and they’d been a part of the palace gardens since the palace was built, despite all the changes to the palace and grounds in the centuries since then.

  He was of the opinion that the purpose of the woods was to give the royal family a secluded place with some privacy to practice their Talents, which had been and still remained a secret from all but the family. And the fact that no one ever went there, that no one even seemed to notice the place except for the family… he wondered if that was intentional too, some spell cast long ago to keep anyone outside the royal family from noticing the woods unless they were shown them. It was all educated guesswork from little bits and pieces, references he found in old family papers—nothing explicit, but enough to make him excited about his theory.

  The woods had served that purpose for him many times, and would again today. He walked into the trees, letting the cool shade swallow him up, and kept going, farther into the little wood. He stopped in a small clearing that contained only a stone bench. The palace and the rest of the gardens were out of sight, and no one could see him.

  Closing his eyes, he let out a long, slow breath and pulled up the magic that rested deep inside him. He felt it swirl up and through him, tingling and fizzing in his veins, along his skin. He loved it, the feeling, the magic. The thrill of it, the exhilaration. Always had.

  When the feeling died away, he stood on four legs instead of two. He turned his head back and forth, loosening his neck muscles, and then arched his back into a long stretch, digging his front claws into the dirt of the clearing. He shook himself as he came out of the stretch and yawned, something that probably would’ve looked somewhat fearsome if anyone saw him. His fangs were not small.

  He paced the perimeter of the clearing, settling into his cat’s body and exercising its senses. He came to a gnarled old tree at the back of the clearing, so old it had probably been growing there since the wood was planted and sturdy enough it would probably stand for centuries longer. There was a beauty to it and a strength, and the history it must have witnessed… if only the tree could talk. What Etan might learn from it.

  But he had to settle for climbing it, pulling himself up to a thick branch and stretching out along it, balancing his body on the limb. It took his weight easily, as it had many times in the past. The place was one of his favorites, and he lazed there, eyes half-closed and tail twitching as he let his mind wander.

  He wished it would wander anywhere except to Tristan and what happened between them the night before. He didn’t want to think about it, to think about what a mistake he’d made agreeing to Tristan’s proposition. His ridiculous, unexpected proposition. Nothing Tristan had said made sense. Why would he offer what he did to Etan?

  The why didn’t matter either, or the why of what Tristan said didn’t matter. What Etan had done, how he’d responded to Tristan’s words, that mattered. Why had he agreed to Tristan’s insanity? Tristan might have said he wouldn’t look for his pleasures with anyone except Etan for as long as they both wanted, but he’d said nothing about what they did together being anything other than a bit of fun for him. Etan had let himself be tempted into agreeing. Somehow he’d convinced himself he could be happy with enjoying himself with Tristan and nothing more. In the clear light of day, he knew it for the lie it was. He could never be content with just that—not when he’d loved Tristan, not after being so hurt.

  And why had he brought Tristan back to his bed? Any number of chairs, couches, floors, even walls existed between the terrace where he’d obviously lost his mind and his bedchamber. He could’ve chosen any one of them in any room, locked the door, and had his way with Tristan there, out of his own space. He’d only just managed to banish the memories of Tristan spending time with him in the suite’s sitting room before he married, allowing him to spend time there without remembering and missing Tristan. Bac
k then, he’d briefly considered asking Philip if he could move to another suite, but doing so would have felt like defeat. He hadn’t run then, and he wouldn’t now. He would just have to get over his feelings because he wasn’t going to move out of the suite and he wasn’t going to sleep on the couch. He refused to be chased out of his own bed.

  He grumbled to himself as he settled more comfortably on the branch. The mistake was his; he would correct it and he would deal with the consequences. What he needed to do was tell Tristan that it was done—their fledgling affair and their friendship—and then he could go on. Finally put Tristan out of his head for good. Maybe even find someone else, someone new, someday. Ending it with Tristan was the sensible, logical course of action.

  So why did the idea cause disappointment to well up from deep inside him?

  He shook off the thought, pushed away the feeling. Forced himself to empty his mind of everything except the golden dawn and the quiet of the small wood. Forced himself to let the morning soothe him. Fatigue caught up with him as soon as his mind began to relax, and instead of fighting it, he let himself doze where he lay. Real sleep was teasing at the edges of his awareness when a voice from below snapped him awake again.

  “There you are. Still climbing, I see.”

  Etan craned his neck to look around and found Cathal standing below the branch looking up at him. He was smiling at Etan, looking far more chipper than Cathal usually did when he was awake so early in the morning, but then generally Cathal would be in bed with Flavian this early. He rather wished that’s where Cathal was now instead of below Etan’s tree, wanting to talk to him about last night. Because that had to be why Cathal was here.

  “Can you get down on your own these days or will you need help?”

  He let out something between a huff and a growl at Cathal’s teasing words, but the noise didn’t seem to phase Cathal. Yes, there had been a time when Etan wouldn’t have been able to get out of this tree on his own, but that was when he was a child. His Talent had come on him early, when he was just four years old, whereas most Talents manifested themselves years later than that. Apparently he’d climbed on anything he could as a toddler; being able to turn into a cat only increased the number of things he could climb—furniture, trees, statues in the garden. But he couldn’t always get down. Other than the occasional tree, he didn’t climb as he used to, but he also didn’t get stuck the way he used to when he did climb.