The Exile Prince

by Isabelle Adler

  Alaim shrugged. “It’s a war, not a revolution. Those with money to spend would still have it—and the northerners do like their luxuries. No offense.”

  Warren chuckled, and Stephan glared at him pointedly.

  “I’m planning on hauling a shipment of grain to the islands, and I need help covering the initial cost,” Alaim continued as they made a pass of the upper deck. “It’s already scheduled to be delivered for transport.”

  “When?” Warren asked, studiously avoiding looking at the water below. The tamed waves in the harbor lapped around the keel gently, but even this small rolling motion was clearly making him uncomfortable. Stephan was no stranger to seasickness himself, but he was rather enjoying the fresh wind blowing in his face and tugging at the ends of his scarf. The shoreline curved around a wide bay, the green-blue expanse dotted with the silhouettes of tall ships, resting serenely on the waves like sea birds. Tiny fishing boats and oyster sloops drifted in and out of the harbor. The entire city of Varta lay before them, stretching far and wide, its white plastered walls and the gilded domes of the palaces too bright to gaze upon under the dazzling morning sun.

  Stephan ran his hand on the smooth taffrail, the wood still light, untouched by the elements, and breathed deeply of air that tasted like sunshine and freedom. Sometimes he couldn’t quite believe the worst was behind him, or come to terms with this new sense of belonging. Not to a place (because more than anything else he was missing the serene landscapes of his homeland), but to a moment in time when everything just felt right, as if all the broken pieces of his former self had reasserted themselves into a new, better version of him, one devoid of all the things that used to weigh him down—his lineage, his title, his futile efforts at dutiful propriety. Now, every day was full of new promises, of new experiences, with nothing holding him back. He was untethered and set free, like a new ship on a maiden voyage of exploration. This was everything he’d dreamed about ever since his downtrodden childhood at the royal palace, everything his life should have always been.

  He turned around in time to catch Warren watching him. The keenness of the gaze brought a faint smile to Stephan’s lips, but he turned away to listen to the shipmaster.

  “The grain will arrive tomorrow,” Alaim said. “We set sail the following morning, gods willing, so as you can see, time is of the essence.”

  “Tell him we’d still like to think this through and give him our answer tomorrow, if we may,” Warren said to Stephan. “If we do decide to go through with the deal, we’ll also need the drawn contract to be approved by the magistrate.”

  They were conducting all of their transactions under false names, of course, but those names were registered at the local court. With so much of their available money tied into high-risk ventures, legal protection was an absolute necessity.

  “Of course.” Alaim threw his hands up in a pacifying gesture after Stephan translated Warren’s request. “Take the time you need. But you won’t find a faster ship, or a better crew. Your cargo will be safe with us.”

  “WHAT DO YOU think?” Warren asked as they stepped onto the solid ground of the dock. They made their way into the city along the small streets made narrower by the long rows of stalls selling food and fruit wine. Mule-driven carts filled with crates and barrels heading to the loading wharfs passed them by, sometimes at an alarming speed.

  This far from the water, the air shimmered with dry heat that bounced off the cobblestones and the whitewashed sides of the buildings. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, but the stillness was oppressing in a “quiet before the storm” way—only this storm wouldn’t be carrying rain clouds.

  Stephan shrugged. “I like him. He seems passionate about what he does, and the ship was fine indeed. I’m sure he’s as eager to test her as he is to recoup all the money he’s spent building her. And he does propose a sound plan.”

  “His plan comes with a hefty price tag. If we do decide to back him up on this voyage, it’d mean our money will be tight, at least until the other shipment comes through. And with a brand-new vessel, there’s considerable risk, even for an experienced shipmaster.”

  “If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past year, it’s that there’s no gain without risk.” Stephan touched Warren’s arm so there would be no mistaking his meaning. He’d risked his life to gain the liberty to choose how he wanted to live it, but his greatest gain was the love of a man who made him feel like a prince in all the ways that truly mattered.

  “You were so pretty standing there at the stern.” Warren moved closer to murmur in his ear. “Like a white sea bird against all that blue. I can’t wait to take you home and get you out of these clothes.”

  Stephan shuddered as a pleasant shiver of anticipation ran straight down to his groin.

  “I’d rather you fuck me with them still on,” he said, dropping his voice suggestively.

  “Anything my lady wishes.”

  A passerby dodging one of the carts bumped into Stephan, effectively jostling him out of his lurid daydreaming. Warren steadied him as he stumbled, pulling him upright.

  Stephan scowled at the man, who launched into profuse apologies, but then his gaze latched on to something behind him—a tall figure in traditional Segorian sailor garb, standing in the shadow of a fish stall. The man’s face was shrouded in shadow, but Stephan had the distinct impression he was watching him intently, unmoving and ignoring the lively bustle all around them.

  Granted, Stephan’s near fall had drawn some attention. He was used to the appreciative glances his smooth face and willowy figure garnered, but this sort of unwavering focus was making Stephan’s skin crawl. He waved off the unlucky pedestrian with a curt bow, assuring him he was fine, and then tugged at Warren’s sleeve.

  “Over there.”

  “Where?” Warren obediently turned in the direction of the fish stall, but the mysterious watcher was gone.

  Stephan frowned. He peered up and down the street. Two sailors were haggling with the vendor for portions of fried shrimp, but neither of them was the man he saw earlier. Or thought he saw. He shook his head. Perhaps he’d imagined it. It was probably nothing more sinister than another chance spectator agape at Stephan’s undignified gaffe.

  So why couldn’t he shake off the feeling of being watched—or that there was something familiar about the watcher’s silhouette and posture?

  “It was nothing,” Stephan said, vexed at himself for letting Warren’s unfounded suspicions fuel his imagination. And yet, he was suddenly wary about going straight home by their usual route. Whoever that man had or hadn’t been, Stephan didn’t want to take the chance, however tiny and improbable, of leading him to their little two-story house. “Let’s take a walk through the market. I fancy some of the cinnamon cider Mistress Nalia treated us to the other day.”

  “All right.” Warren’s disappointment was evident, despite his efforts to conceal it. Stephan regretted putting a damper on their prospective noonday fun, but he was equally loath to explain his sudden urge to take the long way home via the market—at least not until they were safely off the streets.

  He did his best to stay vigilant as they trudged on through the throng of people, casting about and peeking around street corners. But as far as he could see, no more mysterious watchers shadowed their steps, and after a while, he let himself relax, determinedly pushing the earlier encounter out of his mind.

  BY THE TIME they arrived home, Stephan had all but forgotten about the incident. The heat was already at its sweltering peak, and he couldn’t wait to get indoors and wash his face of the dust and grime.

  “You are such a tease,” Warren said with tenderness rather than aggravation. He left the jug of cider they’d bought on the dining table and followed Stephan into the bedroom. Coming to stand behind him, he waited as Stephan filled the porcelain basin that stood on a small side table with water from the pitcher and splashed his face.

  Stephan huffed a laugh and patted his face with a towel. He’d forgotten abo
ut the kohl lining his eyes, and the towel was now streaked with black—as probably were his cheeks. “Sorry.”

  Warren unwound the scarf from around Stephan’s neck, the silk caressing his skin briefly before falling to the floor. “May I?”

  Stephan nodded and leaned back as Warren’s lips latched onto his neck. He shuddered with the spike of arousal Warren’s touch always brought forth and made an impatient humming sound at the back of his throat. They would often spend long, leisurely hours in bed, exploring each other’s bodies with tongues and probing fingers, letting their desire ebb and flow between wakefulness and slumber. But now, he wanted— needed —their lovemaking to be hard and fast.

  Warren lifted the hem of Stephan’s long tunic and slid his hands up his flanks to find his nipples. Stephan sucked in a sharp breath when Warren flicked the hard buds with his thumbs and then pinched them. He bucked his hips, pressing against the bulge in Warren’s pants.

  “Like that, don’t you?”

  Warren gave another flick, and Stephan whimpered, his own cock now desperately begging for attention. He turned around and pushed Warren toward the expansive bed before taking off his tunic in one fluid motion.

  “I thought you wanted to do it with the clothes on.”

  “It’s too hot for that now.” Stephan untied his pants and let them drop to the floor, standing there in nothing but his lace-trimmed underpants that barely accommodated his straining erection. Hips swaying with an intentionally exaggerated movement, he stepped over the pile of clothing and followed Warren to their bed. He waited only long enough for Warren to remove his own shirt and pants before straddling him, the flimsy fabric barrier between their cocks frustrating and exhilarating at the same time. He leaned down to claim Warren’s mouth in a sloppy, hurried kiss, his long hair hanging around his face like a veil.

  “Someone’s all eager and raring to go,” Warren remarked when they broke off, gasping for air. A deep flush tinged his lightly tanned cheeks, and his eyes shone with simmering lust. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  Stephan barked a laugh and shoved him back, so Warren was prostrate on the bed, and reached for the sweet almond oil they kept on the nightstand. He poured some in his palm and used it to slick Warren’s cock, squeezing just hard enough to elicit a low moan of pleasure from him before lifting himself off the bed to remove his underwear.

  They had left the window open that morning as they prepared for the day, and now the white curtains gusted and billowed above the bed, creating a cocoon around them, shielding them from the outside world. A breeze ghosted over Stephan’s overheated skin, sending goose bumps down his arms despite the humid warmth outside.

  The initial burn of penetration flared and gradually eased as Stephan breathed through it. He focused on the way Warren bit his lower lip, holding himself back from bucking, and the way he caressed Stephan’s thighs in slow circular motions, soothing the discomfort.

  “You feel so good,” Stephan murmured, gazing down at him.

  And it did. Nothing else felt as good as Warren holding him, filling him, touching him. No other sensation ever came close—not because Stephan had been inexperienced, but because with Warren, unlike with his previous lovers, he could be entirely himself. There were no secrets and no shame to taint their connection, nothing but the unabashed joy of mutual pleasure that extended well beyond the bedroom.

  He rolled his hips, slowly picking up the pace as the burning gave way to delicious friction. Warren arched beneath him, finally allowing himself to thrust up, striving to meet Stephan halfway. Stephan gasped when Warren’s cock grazed just the right spot inside, and bore down with more vigor, riding his lover hard and fast in a frantic race to the finish.

  Warren gazed up at him with a smoldering mix of lust, desire, and something else, something tender and vulnerable. It was too much to bear, and Stephan tossed his head back, closing his eyes and losing himself in the sensation of pure physical bliss.

  “Stephan,” Warren panted, his voice raw with urgency and need, and his whole body stiffened as he came, his hands tightening on Stephan’s legs with punishing force.

  The hint of pain along with the sound of his name uttered in that broken voice finally drove Stephan to the edge. A wave of searing heat rolled from the base of his spine to his brain, exploding in a flourish of fireworks behind his eyelids.

  When the tide of ecstasy receded, Stephan finally opened his eyes. Even that required supreme effort. He breathed heavily, looking down at Warren. Droplets of his semen glistened like strands of pearls, caught on the dark hair dusting Warren’s powerful chest. He plopped on top of him, crushing and smearing those gossamer strands between their bodies, not caring if he made a mess. He was boneless, sated to the point of lassitude.

  “You’re so beautiful when you come,” Warren murmured in his ear as Stephan buried his face in the crook of Warren’s neck. “I’m jealous of everybody who’s ever seen you like this.”

  Stephan chuckled softly against his skin.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Should I now be jealous of every boy and girl you’ve ever bedded?”

  “I was never in love with any of them the way you were with Prince Arlen.”

  “Yes,” Stephan said after a long pause. “I was in love with him. I don’t regret it, nor do I pretend it meant nothing. But it was the kind of love that is snuffed out at the first sign of trouble, not the kind that holds steady through the storm. It’s different with you.”

  “You are still very young,” Warren said gently. The implication hung heavy between them.

  “And you’re twenty-six. Hardly in your dotage.” Stephan propped himself on one elbow, searching Warren’s eyes. He didn’t like the shadow of sadness in them, as if Warren was already preparing himself for the inevitable heartbreak. “Perhaps I’m young, but I’ve been through enough to know what I want. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. Surely you know that?”

  “People want different things when they are in peril and when they are content.”

  “That’s a fine opinion you have of me.” Stephan frowned and pushed himself upright, sitting on the bed. The sweet afterglow of their lovemaking was slowly dissipating, replaced by fear that perhaps this idyll of a happy couple had been at least partially imaginary. Did Warren really believe Stephan would grow tired of him, or set his eyes on another man, now the two of them were no longer bound by misery? Did Stephan somehow miss the telltale signs of Warren’s insecurity in their relationship?

  In the past, he had been selfish in his distress. Was he now just as selfish in his happiness?

  Warren sat up too and reached to brush a damp lock of hair off Stephan’s face. His touch was tender, so unlike his iron grip on Stephan’s thighs during sex. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just…”

  He shook his head ruefully, falling silent.

  “What?” Stephan insisted.

  “When you’re granted everything you’ve ever wanted, it’s difficult not to wonder whether it can really last,” Warren said quietly, his eyes solemn as they held Stephan’s gaze. “And this—being with you as your lover, your equal—is more than what I could ever have hoped for.”

  Stephan’s tension eased. It seemed they saw their relationship much in the same light—as something precious and miraculous, blossomed on tainted soil. It was only fitting they might share the same fear of losing it to change of heart or circumstance.

  He lowered himself back on the bed, pressing against Warren’s warm body, and threw his arm around his chest. They really should clean themselves up, he thought lazily, but made no move to get off the bed.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, watching the outline of Warren’s profile etched against the backdrop of the rippling white curtain. “And neither are you.”

  Chapter Three

  WARREN LEFT FOR the docks right after their morning coffee. They had decided the day before to accept Alaim Yotein’s proposal, despite the apparent risk associated
with it. Warren thought it a good idea, and Stephan was used to relying on his instincts and grounded common sense. It had served them well so far, and he wasn’t about to question Warren’s judgment in business matters—especially not when his opinion coincided with Stephan’s own intuition.

  So Warren went to meet with Alaim to close the deal and approve the contract with the magistrate—a required step to make the investment legally binding—but it could take all day if the courts were busy. Stephan had offered to go with him, but, this time, Warren was adamant he didn’t want Stephan to risk the exposure. The magistrate had its own translators on staff who could help him with the more sophisticated wording, and the offices were located too close to the Governor’s palace to his liking.

  Stephan wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of staying home, but he couldn’t argue this was the most prudent course of action. While waiting for Warren to return, he went about his morning routine, unhurriedly picking a soft linen tunic, heavily embroidered around the collar, pairing it with a matching crimson sash, and combing his hair to a high shine before plaiting it in a simple braid.

  The wind had picked up during the night, and the sky drained of color. A sandstorm was drawing closer, which meant that soon the streets would empty, and all the windows would shut, bringing the city to a brief standstill. It was a common occurrence in these parts, one that wasn’t terribly dangerous in itself. But it wouldn’t be the best time to be outside, with the scorching wind carrying sand and dust making breathing difficult. Stephan hoped Warren would be back home well before the storm hit the city in earnest.

  He’d spent about an hour tallying up their expenses for the past month to get a better idea of where they could be more frugal, when there was a scraping on the door. Stephan froze, quill in hand. The scraping resumed, more timid than threatening.

  Really, it was silly to be jumping at every little sound. Stephan pushed the papers aside and rose to open the door. A kid of about ten or eleven stood on the threshold—a street urchin by the appearance of his ragged clothes and dirty face. He looked up when Stephan opened the door and offered a wide smile that was on the wrong side of sincere.