by Megan Derr
And here he was, toiling away unappreciated, mocked, and belittled while Benedict spent his days sleeping until noon, pranking Rae with extra sugar cubes in his tea, like he just knew Rae struggled to stay as thin as he needed to in order to be fit for royal service.
He'd been so damned excited on his first day. He, of all the candidates, had been chosen to serve Prince Benedict. Rae had been so determined to be a good secretary, to help Benedict, to see him shine, to become his friend and confident the way his mother had been for the duke she'd served…
It hadn't taken long to realize the foolishness—hopelessness—of his aspirations. By the end of that first week, he'd realized that nothing but shouting and sniping accomplished where Benedict was concerned. That beautiful façade hid nothing but indolence and indulgence. Rae wished bitterly that he could quit his position and work for someone that might appreciate him. That, however, would be giving up, and he wasn't going anywhere until Benedict finally lost all of that cool, flippant arrogance and fired him. Even when he got angry, Benedict still had that confounded air about him. Rae wanted to see him lose it completely. He wanted to see Benedict put in his place.
Rae let his head fall back against his seat as he closed his eyes, thinking of how lovely it would be to see Benedict suffer what he put everyone else through just once. To be the one left feeling used, discarded, and forgotten.
And if he were being completely honest with himself, Rae didn't want to see Benedict suffer—he wanted to be the one to cause that suffering. But how? What would affect Benedict like nothing else? There was no besting him in their sparring matches—Benedict often won those, as much as Rae hated to admit it; the closest he generally came was drawing even. No, that wasn't the way to go about it.
Nor was there any real way to humiliate Benedict in front of the whole palace. A prince had nothing to fear from a bad-tempered secretary, even if they did hate each other. Truly, the only thing that might possibly affect Benedict would be some scandal or incident involving one of his lovers…former lovers, rather. No one had yet managed to capture Benedict's interest for more than a few days. The record was Lady T, who had lasted two whole weeks.
I would sooner take an oath of chastity than so much as kiss you.
Rae froze. That was it—nothing would humiliate and infuriate Benedict more than to realize that he'd been seduced by the person he most hated. Seduced, and then immediately thrown away, like he was nothing. Yes, that was perfect.
His eyes gleamed as plans began to take shape. Benedict would never expect such a thing of him and the Masque was such a perfect opportunity that it almost seemed he was meant to do this.
The Royal Masque was the climax of the autumn festivities, when harvesting was finished and everything was in readiness for winter. It was a last grand fete before the cold set in. Everyone across the kingdom celebrated with banquets and fairs before the snow descended and trapped them indoors. In the city, the Royal Masque was the greatest of these celebrations. For each of the three nights, a masquerade ball was held. All manner of competitions and guessing games would occur, from the finest costume to the strangest mask. All the while, the masks remained on, identities not revealed until the stroke of midnight on the last day.
It was perfect. Rae knew Benedict's weaknesses like no other, what would capture his attention, hold it…enslave it. The very thought was the sweetest of balms.
Except, of course, for the whole seduction bit. How did one seduce a man he hated? Well, he would just have to figure it out.
Humming softly, Rae bent eagerly over his desk, writing out a note to his sister with a long list of what exactly he would require from her—for she would be the source of the most crucial piece, the one thing he needed in order to draw Benedict to him rather than all the other tempting options.
Drying and sealing the letter, Rae raced from the office to get it posted.
*~*~*
Benedict hated the yearly Masque as much as he loved it. Everyone was so dreadfully predictable. To anyone else, Lord H was likely a mystery, but behind the feathers and silk he still wore that awful dark, heavily spiced cologne that did not suit him at all. Lady M was equally lovely behind her black mask and glittering emeralds, but Benedict would know the cinnamon and clove blend she favored anywhere. At least Lady Q had foregone her usual scents; unfortunately she'd chosen a vanilla and strawberry blend that was utterly dull.
Identifying every person he knew was too easy a feat and none of those unknown to him held the slightest appeal. The combination of cloying perfume, thick cologne, sweat, alcohol, flowers, and rich foods was making him queasy. Even the two glasses of brandy he'd fortified himself with were not sufficient to dull his senses enough to endure the ball a moment longer. He needed some fresh air.
Benedict threaded through the room, ignoring all attempts made to waylay him, and let out a soft sigh of relief as he stepped onto the balcony. He was doubly relieved to find it deserted. For a few minutes, hopefully, he could have some peace and quiet.
Thankfully, he knew how to wear a costume, unlike the rest of these fools. He'd even had new colognes blended specifically for the Masque, one for each of the three nights. His staff knew better than to reveal his costume or scents to another. For the next three nights, he could enjoy blissful anonymity.
"Leather, lavender…amber, and a hint of lemon," a thoughtful, husky voice said from behind him. "A seductive scent. Are you hoping to be seduced?"
Benedict started, not having heard anyone come up behind him. He spun around—barely kept his eyes from widening, so completely surprised was he by the man standing before him. His nostrils flared as the wind shifted, carrying the most enthralling scents to him.
The man's accent was the long, rough syllables of the coast—that would explain why he was definitely a stranger to Benedict. Rarely did he have dealings with anyone from that part of the kingdom; nothing there was lucrative enough for his parents to put him to work.
His hair was dark, either deep brown or black, and the light spilling from inside caught on flecks of something in the strands, making them shimmer. Golden skin, but it held a shine, and Benedict realized that part of the alluring scent was the lotion the man had rubbed into his skin to give it that gleam. That scent…Benedict wanted to strip the man bare and revel in that scent, see if it covered every bit of him. Unlike everyone else present, this intriguing strange had obtained cologne that blended with him, matched him…it was addictive.
Benedict took an unconscious step forward, breathing the man in. "If I am hoping to be seduced, you are clearly hoping to be a seducer, dark stranger." Benedict took yet another step forward, utterly enthralled in a way he'd never been before. "Musk, red rose…apple, vanilla…and teak." Uncaring about whether he was being too forward or not, Benedict buried his face in the man's throat, breathing in the intoxicating scent, absorbing it. "Your cologne is extraordinary."
"Impressive," the man murmured, and the leather of his glove was warm and supple as his hand curled around the back of Benedict's neck, sliding into his hair and gently tugging him up. "Not many would have picked all those out."
"Not many would think to combine them all," Benedict returned, and finally realized just how forward and improper he was being—not that he particularly cared or wanted to stop, but throwing himself at someone was not his fashion.
But that scent…so utterly perfect against the salty sweetness of his gleaming skin. Benedict wanted to taste, but forced himself to finally pull well away. "Did you create the blend yourself?"
The man nodded, his hair glittering as the light caught it. Strange, that, but rather than being silly, it only intrigued Benedict further. "Yes, specifically for the Masque." He once more reached up to wrap his hand around the back of Benedict's neck, leather warm, supple. Gently he tugged Benedict close again, voice a murmur when he spoke. "I liked you better here, pretty bird."
"Then here I shall remain," Benedict replied, dipping his head into the hollow of the man's neck
and breathing in the smell of him. This time he dared to taste, tongue flicking out and teeth grazing lightly when that won him a soft gasp. "Might I have some sort of name to put to you, my seductive stranger? What did I do to capture your attention?"
His head was tugged up and he found himself staring into the stranger's dark eyes. He wished he could see their true color. The man's lips curved in a faint smile. "You've been captivating many an eye tonight, pretty bird. I merely managed to be the first to see if I might stroke your feathers. I'm nothing but one of many hunters hunting elusive prey.
"Hunter, then," Benedict said with a smile of his own, and pulled away again. "You are close, Hunter, quite close—but I do not think I'll let you stroke my feathers quite yet."
Hunter chuckled, sounding genuinely amused. "Is that so, pretty bird? I was not aware the hunter needed permission from his prey."
Benedict flashed a grin and moved away, leaning against the balcony railing. "Are you implying, Hunter, that I am ordinary prey? Offending me will not get you closer to my feathers…" He laughed, surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. He was always the seducer, always doing as he was told, always playing games that were carefully calculated and precisely played.
That someone was seducing him, simple Benedict, instead of the beautiful, elusive, and fleeting Prince Benedict, was heady. Almost too good to be true, but Benedict refused to ruin this rare moment of genuinely enjoying himself.
"If you were ordinary, I would not be hunting you. Ordinary prey is for ordinary hunters." Hunter drew close, but stopped just short of actually touching.
"What makes you a far from ordinary Hunter?"
Hunter smirked and moved a bit closer, tilting his head up. "You have completely missed all the ordinary hunters who've been seeking you all night. You've also avoided all the other fluttering, less glamorous birds. Yet here you are speaking with me. So I must be a bit more interesting than the rest of them."
"I will concede you are not boring, Hunter," Benedict conceded. "What else about you is not boring?"
"Let me show you." Hunter closed the remaining space between them and took Benedict's mouth. Those dark, tempting lips were all they had promised to be and more. Benedict moaned softly into Hunter's mouth at the heat, the taste of wine and candied almonds. Hunter took his mouth like it belonged to him, like Benedict really was the prey he'd captured fair and square. Benedict shivered, gently cupped Hunter's face between his hands, and fed hungrily at that too-talented mouth.
He'd had hundreds—possibly thousands—of kisses in his life, ever since his parents considered him old enough for such things. None of them had left him so aching and hungry. Shouldn't he be long past being so affected by a mere kiss?
But there was nothing mere about it.
Loud, raucous laughter broke the silence, made Benedict startle and tear away. His panting breaths misted in the cool evening air, and he licked his well-used lips as he dragged his gaze away from Hunter's dark, bewitching eyes.
Three women had come out onto the balcony, murmuring not so soft delighted exclamations behind their feathery fans. Ignoring them, Benedict took Hunter's leather-clad hand in his own satin one and led him down the nearby stairs, away from the palace and into the gardens below. Lamps were scattered about, flames flickering behind colored glass and offering just enough light to avoid tripping without giving away the air of mystery of the Masque. Here and there he could see movement in the shadows, the kind that would not normally be so easily found in a garden—but at the Masque, rules were meant to be broken.
Benedict bypassed them all, determined to just get away, tired of everyone—except his Hunter.
At the last moment, he cut abruptly to the left upon a whim and dragged them into the entrance to the maze—then let go of Hunter's hand and vanished around the first turn with a laugh.
"It's to be a game, is it?" Hunter called after him, and Benedict quickened his pace, suddenly annoyed that the brandy he'd drunk was slowing his thoughts enough that he had to pause before remembering which way to turn.
He drew to a halt as his memories proved false and he found himself at a dead end—one occupied by a bench and a couple making full and creative use of it. Hiding his mirth—relieved that they'd not noticed him—Benedict retraced his steps and took the leftmost path, then continued on his way toward the center. Of course, his game relied heavily upon Hunter being able to find the center of the maze—although a dead end with a convenient bench would suffice if that was where they found each other.
Benedict grinned as he reached the center—where several of the colored lamps had been scattered about, making the massive fountain and garden seem like something from a child's story. A hand closed over his wrist and Benedict found himself yanked up against a hard, warm body.
"Pretty bird, am I going to have to lock you in a cage?"
"Am I not already in one?" Benedict asked, the words slipping out before he thought.
Hands tightened briefly on his arms in surprise. Benedict forestalled any questions or remarks by bending to kiss Hunter, surprised to find that it was even better than he had dared to remember. He'd thought perhaps it was the brandy, his own wishful thinking, but Hunter's kiss was more addictive than ever. Like the most potent drug, more captivating than even the perfumes he adored.
Despite his panting, however, and the obvious pleasure he took in the kiss, Hunter still seemed determined to press him on the curious remark. "The pretty bird does not like his home?"
"A cage is a cage, be it plain as dirt or gilded fine enough for a king." Or a prince, but that was knowledge he need not share. Let Hunter think him some spoiled noble. "Enough of this boring talk, Hunter."
Hunter reached up with one gloved hand to bury his fingers in the hair at the nape of Benedict's neck, tugging his head gently back so that Hunter could reach up to avail himself of Benedict's throat, biting sharply, and then soothing the mark with his tongue. "I have captured you, pretty bird, so you will sing the songs I say."
"I don't recall giving the impression that I was an obedient songbird," Benedict retorted, grinning as the hand in his hair tightened.
"That is true," Hunter murmured, and this time angled Benedict's head down to take a hard kiss. "Yet it is the cage that has made you such a pretty bird."
Benedict sighed. "You are harping on boring things, Hunter. This songbird does not wish to sing sad tunes. My cage would be less wearisome if I had someone to share it. Now come, Hunter, I would rather sing a happier melody." He twisted away and moved toward the fountain, boots clacking on the cold marble tiles that lined most of the center of the maze. "Do not say that you're going to demand a petulant tune from me."
Benedict stopped just in front of the fountain, impatient but still as Hunter approached him. The colored lamps caught on the diamonds that decorated the rightmost edge of Hunter's mask. His costume was simple but effective: black from head to foot with nothing but diamonds and the shimmer in his hair to offset the stark coloring. Benedict reached out to lightly trace the edge of Hunter's mask before closing the space between them and once more dipping his head to Hunter's throat and tracing his way up with soft kisses, before finally claiming those dark lips again.
No one had ever been like this. For once in his life, Benedict had no negotiations to keep in mind, no bargains with his family to be pushing, no argument from which to distract his paramour…there was nothing here but a man he did not know and who did not know him, which meant that there was nothing at stake, nothing to lose—no family to upset or kingdom to fail if he did not successfully seduce the person his parents had ordered him after. He was, for these free nights, free to do only what he wanted.
He pulled away, panting again, enjoying the bracing air on his overheated skin. "With a mouth like that, I bet you have many a songbird in your cage."
"Ah, and here I was going to say I'm surprised you've not already been captured."
Benedict barely kept back his grimace as he bent to reclaim the dam
p, swollen lips before him. "I guess none of them were good enough at the hunt." He cut off any reply with a kiss that left Benedict aching, needing. He skimmed a hand down Hunter's body and gently, teasingly, cupped his cock, stroking it through the soft fabric of his breeches. "Are you only going to tease me, Hunter? Or now that you've caught your prey, are you going to explore my feathers like you promised?"
Somewhere a bell tolled, preventing Hunter's reply, leaving only the revelry of the party and the occasional sound of pleasure to break the quiet of the night.
When the tolling finally faded, Hunter said, "Tempting as you are, pretty bird, the Masque is no fun if the prize is claimed the first night."
"So you sought me out merely to tease? To leave me aching and alone in the garden?"
Gloved fingers ran lightly down his chest, mimicking Benedict's movements, butterfly-soft across the hard heat trapped within his breeches. "I will claim my prize fairly on the last." Hunter leaned in and lapped at his throat, then bit down just hard enough to sting. "Your scent mingles nicely with mine; I'll revel in it when I'm alone in bed tonight. Will you do the same?" Then suddenly Hunter was gone, so quickly and silently that it took a moment for Benedict to register that he was alone.
"Bastard," he swore softly to the dark, questions ringing in his head. His body was hot and thrumming, and even the chilly breeze that sprang up could not erase the intoxicating scent of Hunter.
*~*~*
Rae filled his glass and drank the brandy down in two gulps, needing the resulting burn to chase away the lingering taste of Benedict—and hopefully drown his own stupidity. He filled the glass half-full and immediately downed it, then made himself shove both glass and decanter away before he drank all of it.
"Idiot!" he exclaimed aloud, furious and angry. He tore off his mask and dropped it to the floor as if burned. The diamonds along the right edge sparkled in the light of the flames. His clothes were next and he hated that even free of them, he still seemed to be surrounded not only by his own damnable cologne, but also Benedict's.