by Megan Derr
Benedict stalked crossed the room. He was the one who'd earned Rae's love. He was the one who got glasses and books thrown at his head every other day. He was the one who got to stand that close. "Rae."
Rae looked up at him, clearly startled by the chilly tone. "Benedict," he said slowly. "You're late."
"I was kept overlong. You know how Lord Q goes on and on." Benedict couldn't help the ice in his voice. "I see you found other amusements."
Ah, there was the anger. Rae smiled in a way that promised Benedict would pay dearly for his obnoxiousness. "Highness," he said, reverting to formality. "This is Brian Demore, an old friend from school. He was just telling me he's finally proposed to a girl we used to harass on a daily basis."
"Highness," Brian said, mirth in his eyes as he watched the two of them. "It is indeed an honor to meet you. Rae speaks often of you in his letters. I would stay longer, but I'm afraid the girl in question is waiting for me, and I am running late. Good day to you. Rae." He vanished quickly from the room.
Benedict blinked. "You write about me? To a former paramour?"
Rae glared at him, hand going to a bronze figurine sitting on a small side table. "Bene, we are friends. We were paramours, as you say, for all of one night. Now, why are you being such a bloody arse?"
Benedict reached out and snagged his wrists, drew him close. "I'm the only one who can stand that close to you and live to tell about it."
Rae only glared. "Not at the rate you're going. Are you saying you don't trust me?"
"Oh, right. If that had been Lord F—"
"Mention him again and you will see what happens when someone stands this close to me."
"So you're allowed to be jealous of my former lovers, even though you know why I bedded them, but I'm not allowed to be jealous of your former paramours when I know nothing about them or why you had them to begin with?"
Rae only glared more furiously than ever, and tried in vain to jerk his wrists free. "I've had four lovers in my life, Bene. That doesn't even begin to compare to all the people you've been with. They all chose different people. I chose you. Now let me go or you will find out just how much damage my boot can do to your—"
Benedict cut him off with a kiss, suddenly in a very good mood. "I do love you, Rae."
"You are mad, and don't think you're out of trouble yet," Rae hissed, but his struggles, as Benedict leaned in to kiss him again, were token at best, and neither noticed a few minutes later when the master perfumer stepped inside—then immediately turned around again and locked the door behind him.
Always
DECEIVED
Benedict frowned as he entered his room and was greeted only with silence.
He looked around cautiously, expecting to be ambushed by the contents of his bookcase. He couldn't recall doing anything wrong, but that didn't mean he hadn't.
Instead he found Rae sitting glumly by the fire. Well, at least Rae had come here—that was a good sign. Nothing was worse than when Rae went back to his own room, which was so rarely used now it collected dust.
"Rae?" he asked softly, stopping to discard the bulk of his cumbersome evening clothes. Gods above he hated all the formal dinners and parties that plagued his life. Now that he had flat out refused to continue playing the role of royal whore, he had very little need to attend any of them.
Still, his family persisted. He supposed they hoped he'd grow tired of Rae and return to his 'usual self'. They hoped in vain. Though he would never have thought in a million years that his foul-tempered secretary would be the person he fell in love with, Benedict was not complaining…except about the fact that Rae still had not moved. He sat staring into the fire, as if utterly lost to his thoughts.
"Rae?" Benedict repeated, collecting the small tin he'd brought with him. Cautiously, expecting the storm to erupt any moment, Benedict knelt down in front of Rae and looked at him in concern. "Whatever is the matter?"
Rae said nothing, merely set his brandy down with a clink on the table and picked up a sheaf of papers. "Your parents gave these to me this morning, and told me to begin going over them with you. Highness."
Benedict frowned and took the papers—then began swearing profusely. "Bastards! No wonder they've been nice to me all day." He stared at them, then looked back up at Rae, who had returned to staring into the fire. "Why aren't you throwing things at my head?"
"It was bound to happen, Bene," Rae said tiredly. As if there was no fight left in him. Benedict didn't approve one bit. He preferred Rae when he was breaking the most expensive objects in the room. "She will be here next week so that you two might meet. A fine princess, I hear, though they say she has a bit of a temper. I'm certain that will suit you, however."
If Rae wasn't going to get angry, then Benedict would. "So that's it. All we've been through—our rough start, all the fights we've had, defying my family and everyone else and now you're giving up because my family thinks they can marry me off?" Benedict set down his gift before he did something stupid, like throw it. "You're usually so smart, Rae. Why are you choosing now to be so stupid?"
There was the fire he knew and loved, sparking from deep within those dark brown eyes. "Excuse me?" Rae said icily, hand tightening around his brandy glass. "You are a prince of the realm, you bloody idiot. It is one thing to refuse other paramours because of me; it is quite another to refuse a marriage."
Benedict snorted. "You're the one being stupid. Do you honestly think my family really wants me to marry?"
"She is, so far as political matches, utterly perfect."
"You really are being a bloody fool today. They don't care about that. The things she'd bring to a marriage, we could acquire far more cheaply by other means. The ports, the trade agreements and all the rest. Anything is cheaper than a marriage when royalty is involved, trust me. They're trying to get rid of you, Rae. Everyone knows how possessive you are. Lord B is still recovering from the bookend you threw at him. They think marrying me off will get rid of you."
The book end in question has been mostly wood—but with some bronze. Luckily Lord B had ducked and missed the worst of it. "He deserved it, after the way he touched you so intimately without permission."
"So you love me enough to harm Lord B but you give up at the mention of marriage?" Benedict asked.
"You are a prince," Rae said slowly. "As I said before, marriage is different. Countries have gone to war for less than a refused marriage, Bene. That doesn't mean…" he grimaced and slumped further in his seat. "Obviously you have not been in the office today."
Benedict quirked a brow at that, and started to feel much better. So Rae had completely destroyed the office in his rage? He hid a grin and reached down and retrieved the box he'd set aside. "Here. This is for you."
"What for?" Rae asked, frowning at the green box tied with a yellow ribbon.
"I like buying you things," Benedict said, smiling when Rae only eyed him uncertainly. So suspicious, his Rae, of things given to him for no reason. The very reason Benedict liked doing it; everyone else he'd ever been with expected things, thought they were entitled to them.
Carefully Rae untied the ribbon, and then unthinkingly held it to his nose, breathing in the scent that clung to it. "Amber and rose," he murmured, the ghost of a smile slipping briefly across his face. He lifted the lid and blinked. "Fruit?"
Benedict laughed softly. "Try a slice of orange."
Eying him as though he were crazy, Rae nevertheless obeyed and picked up a slice—immediately realizing something wasn't right. Biting into it, his eyes immediately widened. "Marzipan," he said, and licked traces of sugar from his lips. "They're all made of marzipan. I've never seen any of such quality…" he looked at the box, then at Benedict. "You don't have to buy me sweets, Bene."
Benedict rolled his eyes, moved the box to the table—right on top of the stupid marriage contract—and leaned up between Rae's legs to kiss him soundly, wrapping his arms around Rae's waist. He was warm from the fire, mouth flavored with brandy and almonds,
and Rae for the time being seemed more than happy to keep the kiss at a slow, steady burn. "Do you love me, Hunter?" he asked when the kiss finally ended.
"Always, pretty bird," Rae answered softly.
Benedict smiled and stole another soft, quick kiss, then reached into the box of candy and pulled out a marzipan cherry and pressed it to Rae's lips. The way Rae lit up over something as simple as sweets was a sight he would never grow tired of watching. He knew too many people who were insulted if they received less than emeralds and diamonds.
Those lips were too tempting, and Benedict leaned up again to lick red-dyed sugar from them. "So what did you do to the office?"
Rae's cheeks burned the faintest bit pink, and Benedict's mood improved a thousand-fold to know just how upset Rae had truly been. "I might have gotten carried away."
Benedict threw his head back and laughed. "I cannot wait to see. Unnecessary, Rae, for no matter how much my family screams—I want you and no other."
Fingers sank into his hair, a gesture that made him shiver no matter how often it was done, and Rae tilted his head just so, leaning down to kiss him hard, sharing the taste of sugar and brandy, and the flavors were almost as seductive as the scent of amber and musk that clung to him. "Good. I no longer feel like conceding defeat. The idiot princess had best not show her face if she values keeping it pretty for whomever she does marry."
"If you really want to have done with all such nonsense, you should marry me."
Rae froze. "What? You want to marry me?"
Benedict frowned. "Did you think I wouldn't? I hesitated only because, well, just being my lover is enough of a headache. Our lives will get even more difficult if we marry. And I hate making you miserable."
"Shut up," Rae said, voice rough-edged, eyes suddenly too-bright. "Of course I'll marry you."
"Of course," Benedict echoed hoarsely, and was grateful that words were no longer necessary as Rae pushed him to the floor.
The Balcony Incident
DECEIVED
Rae snarled in warning as he stepped onto the wide balcony, leaving the ballroom behind.
He'd let Lord L take Bene somewhere quiet for a 'private word' but he'd known the man was lying through his teeth.
When would people figure out that Benedict belonged to him?
Sometimes he wondered how many of them were put up to it by the king and queen, who had accepted their son's defiance with much displeasure. Those first weeks had been a nightmare, and more than once they'd nearly given in and called it off.
They'd persevered, though, even when quitting would have been easier. Benedict was his and Lord L was about to be reminded of that.
The bastard in question turned from where he was standing far too close to Benedict, who looked weary of enduring yet another attempt to entice him. If Rae had left well enough alone, Benedict would have solved the problem neatly and tidily.
Rae didn't want neatly and tidily.
He wanted blood.
"Burroughs," Lord L said with undisguised rudeness.
"I believe," Rae said, forcing his teeth to unclench, "that you have been told before that you are to keep away from what is mine."
Lord L laughed. "That temper…" He clucked and turned back to Benedict. "Highness, I wish you would see the reason in my argument."
"I told you my mind will not be changed," Benedict said.
Mouth tight, Lord L stepped forward and placed a hand on Benedict's arm. "But you must realize—"
"Do not touch him," Rae said angrily. He was overreacting, he knew he was, his nasty temper had always been at its worst when it came to his lovers—especially this one, for Benedict was so much more than a simple lover.
Lord L sneered. "Going to throw something else at me?"
"Oh, I'm going to throw something all right," Rae promised, voice ominously soft.
Too late Lord L figured out what that could possibly mean, and before he could do more than let out a startled yelp, Rae pitched him over the balcony, enjoying the satisfying sound of Lord L yelping in pain as he landed in Her Majesty's roses.
Benedict smiled faintly. "Just had to outdo the champagne incident, didn't you?"
"Shut up," Rae snapped. "Must I lock you in your room to get any sort of peace and quiet?" He sighed heavily and turned sharply away, stomping back through the ballroom and out of it, into the crowded hallways, tension easing only when he'd finally made it to Benedict's rooms.
Their rooms, really, except Rae was never allowed to forget that he was just a commoner, a secretary, and not truly worth of Benedict.
No one seemed to think of them as more than that—paramours, with the unspoken understanding that eventually it would end. That, more than anything, drove him to lobbing heavy objects at interlopers and pitching obnoxious fools off balconies.
Could none of them see they were more than that? Benedict had never brought anyone to his room back when he'd seduced all and sundry at the bidding of his family. They faced constant ridicule and harassment. Did everyone think they endured that for something as trivial as an impermanent liaison?
The sound of the door opening and closing revived the tension in his back and shoulders and he let another long, sad sigh as a hand landed gently on the small of his back, turned him so that he was pressed up against soft velvet, surrounded by the smell of myrtle, apple blossom, and the amber that seemed to cling always to Benedict. He breathed it in, tension fading away as Benedict simply held him.
"I am sorry," Benedict said, voice low. Guilty.
Rae pinched him and looked up with a glare. "If I were mad at you, you would know it. I am not, so do not make stupid apologies."
Benedict smiled faintly, some of the shadows in his eyes fading. "Yes, beloved."
Rae reached up to sink his hand in Benedict's hair. The gesture was as natural as breathing now, so too the way Benedict immediately bent to kiss him.
Rae immediately took control of it, feeding his anger and hurt into it, taking Benedict's mouth, bruising his lips, and he would feel guilty except Benedict matched the fury, and arms around Rae's were nearly tight enough to affect his breathing
He broke the kiss with a force of will. "I suppose I should absent myself from the palace for a time."
Benedict grinned. "Actually, if you've decided to start throwing people, I've a whole list for you."
"I wish you were half so enthusiastic about your work," Rae groused, but there was no heat behind it. He gave in to an impulse to taste Benedict's throat, his anger falling to emotions that only his prince could stir.
The moan Benedict gave him was a balm, a sound Rae was determined none but he would ever hear from Bene again.
Satin-gloved hands smoothed around his hips, then one slid up to tangle in Rae's hair while the other slid down to cup his ass, pull him closer. Rae hummed his approval and yanked impatiently at the neck cloth keeping him from more of Bene's delectable throat.
"Bed," Benedict said hoarsely.
Rae dragged him to the massive oak bed decked in blue.
Benedict's boot caught on the rug as they were nearly there, and with a startled cry he stumbled back, sending them both landing awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
Rae twisted, shoving Benedict properly onto the bed, then settled on top of him and pinned his wrists to the bedding. The scent of amber was thick and heavy here—Benedict's scent, pleasure's scent. Mingled faintly with it was the almond and sugar smell of the marzipan Benedict had fed him, bit by torturous bit, the night before. "If you hadn't noticed, brat, I am more than happy to throw people around."
"I noticed," Benedict said, eyes full of a warm fondness that Rae could not recall seeing in the eyes of anyone but his family—and his family's eyes didn't hold that additional heat.
Rae still wondered why from time to time. Why Benedict had ever seen fit to give him—mercurial, fussy, temperamental, jealous—a chance. How had they gone from wanting to kill each other to laughing at their own clumsiness, to teasing one another? He knew, a
nd yet sometimes he wasn't so certain he did. Three brief nights should not result in such drastic changes.
But they had. Even now, two years later, Benedict still possessed that last mask Rae had worn—emerald green decorated with teardrop amber.
Still holding Bene's wrists, Rae bent down to kiss him, slow and soft and thorough, different from the harder, hungry kiss of before but just as drugging. From that very first kiss Benedict had been more intoxicating than the finest brandy, more potent than any drug, more enthralling than the finest perfume. His lips were soft, warm, startlingly pliant—it had always taken his breath how eagerly Bene submitted.
Oh, not always, that would be boring…but Bene liked the way he took control, especially in their kisses.
Rae did not disappoint, kissing him until breathing became absolutely necessary, drinking in the sight of the wet, swollen lips, the passion-dark eyes, trailing his gaze slowly down the fine, lean body—still regrettably clothed—to the unmistakable evidence of Bene's desire. As if it wasn't apparent anyway. Smirking, he released his hold on Bene's wrists and cupped his hardness, pressing firmly before trailing his fingers lightly along the length, smirking all the while. "Do we still want to talk about my habit of throwing things?"
"Yes," Bene gasped, bucking beneath his touch. "However, we can set the discussion aside for a later time, if you prefer."
"I prefer," Rae murmured. Abruptly he let go and slid off the bed, stepping back. He shrugged out of his jacket and gave Benedict a look. "Undress."
Benedict grinned and moved to obey, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it carelessly aside before going to work on the studs of his shirt, eyes on Rae the entire time.
Rae returned the hot look, then let his gaze stray to lap up every new piece of flesh laid bare to him. Old jealously tried to stir, reminding him that more than a few pairs of eyes had seen this very sight, just as countless pairs of hands had touched the body he would soon take.
It was there his jealousy—he admitted, not his finest trait—always was soothed. Bene had ever been the seducer, the one in control. Only one person had ever possessed the prince, and Rae would do terrible, terrible things to any fool he caught thinking about it.