by Ariel Tachna
“How do you know this?” Rhicer asked, surprised at the details the young woman knew. “We have been at war with Mordyna for longer than that. Surely you have had no commerce with her.”
“War is the purview of uncouth men,” the witch informed them with a regal air that would have set queens to shame. “Those of us who follow the old ways have better things to do with our time than meddle in such affairs. This will not be an easy spell to break. When did you drink it?”
“Five days ago,” Kanath replied.
Mistress Rodard frowned. “Five days, you say. I will do my best for you, but this may well be beyond my power. My mother, perhaps, would have had more luck, had she still lived, or if you had come to me right away, but Maeve’s elixir grows more potent over time. The longer you wait, the harder it is to break the spell.”
“We came as quickly as we could,” Rhicer insisted, his mind already calculating what to do if the antidote failed.
“And I will give you what I can. You will take it and it will work or it will not. ’Tis the best I can do for you.”
They had waited in nervous silence while she brewed the antidote, not looking at each other as they tried not to think about what would happen if the wise woman’s potion did not work. Though Rhicer would never have admitted it, he dreaded success almost as much as he did failure.
The sound of applause drew Rhicer’s thoughts back to the present, to the smiling faces of his lord and new lady as they accepted the congratulations of the court on their wedding. He thought wistfully of his youthful dreams of sharing such a moment with Eldvese, but those thoughts had lost the power to hurt him over the past two weeks. He thought of her more often than before, but the memories had lost their potency. His heart was completely under Kanath’s sway now, a fact he had given up trying to deny to himself even though he was no closer to finding a solution that would allow him to give free rein to those emotions.
Instinctively, his eyes sought his lieutenant. He did not allow himself to think of Kanath as his love except in the privacy of his chambers in the dead of the night, for fear that he would say or do something that would give him away. For once, Kanath was not looking back at him, focusing instead on the royal couple. Rhicer knew he should be watching them as well, but he could not tear his gaze away. He so rarely saw the other man in anything except the leather jerkin and breeches he wore on patrol. To see him now in his wedding finery… his eyes closed as he struggled against the upwelling of desire. Battle gear was for protection, not to show off the figure of a man. The burgundy velvet tunic and tight breeches, on the other hand, had that exact purpose, and they drew Rhicer’s eyes like a magnet to Kanath’s broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long, long legs. An image of those legs wrapping around his hips flashed into Rhicer’s mind. With a muffled groan, he pushed the thoughts away.
Across the room, Kanath knew the exact moment Rhicer looked his way. His sensitivity to that powerful gaze had grown over the past two weeks, until he could feel Rhicer’s eyes as if they were a caress. The witch had been kind, but her potion had been no match for the one that already bound them. He could feel the two spells warring within him and had known the moment Mistress Rodard’s elixir failed. His face had fallen, yet his heart had leapt in his chest, a conundrum that continued to haunt him. His mind told him that this could not be, but his heart insisted that it had to be.
The trip back to court had been, if anything, more fraught than the trip north. As they traveled to see the wise woman, Kanath had held tight to the thought that the spell would be broken as a way to keep his desires in check. It had not stopped him from dreaming, but it had stopped him from acting on those dreams. Having that hope taken away, the reasons for denying himself had grown progressively more difficult to remember. He would lie awake at night, listening to Rhicer shift on the bedroll next to his, soft sounds escaping him as he dreamt. Kanath did not need to ask what Rhicer thought of as he slept. The moans and sighs spoke volumes of the passion his captain experienced in his dreams. Kanath’s only question, though unspoken, was who evoked those sighs. He jealously hoped it was him, even though he knew they could not act on their feelings. His conscious mind continued to utter those protests, flinging up every nightmare image of men being castrated to stop their unnatural impulses, but when he finally escaped into dreams, the nightmares did not follow. Only tenderness colored his dreams, and love, as Rhicer turned every bit of his reputed skill on the younger man, wringing climax after climax from his willing flesh.
Those three nights had been hard enough, but at least Rhicer had been close by. In the week since they returned to court, he had only seen the other man from a distance, and even then, only fleetingly. He would have feared Rhicer was avoiding him, except that preparations for the wedding and subsequent coronation had kept him so busy that Rhicer probably thought Kanath was the one avoiding his captain. The separation had done nothing to ease the dreams, though. They still assailed him every night, so vivid that he awoke gasping Rhicer’s name, his own seed wet on his belly. He found the entire situation more than a little embarrassing, but at least he had the privacy of his own chambers to hide his situation. He could only imagine how mortified he would have been if that had happened while they were still traveling. Even as he thought that, he wondered if Rhicer would have taken that as an invitation, if he would be sharing his passion with the older man now instead of spending himself alone in his sleep had he but let Rhicer see the depths to which the elixir had affected him.
He crushed those rebellious thoughts mercilessly, driving them back into his subconscious, reminding himself that it was the potion making him feel this way, not his own true heart. Those words were easy to say, but with each passing day, he found them more and more difficult to believe. How could he when the smallest glimpse of the older man made his heart race, when the barest hint of acknowledgment fired his loins? And when Rhicer looked at him the way he was doing now, eyes raking over him, studying him intently, Kanath’s knees weakened and his body throbbed with aching need. Only his iron will kept him from crossing the room and begging Rhicer to take him, to ease this terrible passion. He suspected Rhicer was just as on edge as he was, that his captain would not deny him if he asked, yet he kept his distance, and that gave Kanath the strength to do the same. He had never wanted to disappoint his captain, even when they had only been comrades-in-arms. The thought of disappointing his love was anathema to him.
The movement of the court startled him from his thoughts, and he followed the others from the chapel into the hall where the celebratory feast was laid out. Usually, the prince preferred informality, the various members of court mingling freely, and that would hold true again after dinner, but for the feast tonight, they would sit according to rank. That meant he and Rhicer would have to sit side by side, their shared command of their patrol determining their seats. He said a silent prayer for fortitude, not wanting to embarrass Rhicer or put them in a dangerous position through some indiscretion.
He approached the head table, making his bow to his new lady. To his surprise, she gestured him forward.
“My lady?” he asked hesitantly, stepping up to the table deferentially.
“You helped lead one of the patrols that escorted me to my new home,” Nische observed. “Take this rosebud as a sign of my appreciation.”
Kanath took the flower she removed from her bridal bouquet in numb fingers. If it had been any other flower, he could have accepted it with aplomb, but holding the same flower that had been on the potion bottle left him unsettled again. He murmured his thanks for the honor and stepped away, moving toward his seat with thoughts and emotions roiling. Could she know? Had she guessed that he and Rhicer had consumed her mother’s potion? Was she about to reveal their situation to the court? Before real panic could set in, he passed Tinrelm and Melot, Prince Emyl’s nephew, who had led the other patrol. Both of them already held roses identical to the one in his hand.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Kanath took his seat, sch
ooling his face to a simple welcoming smile as Rhicer joined him, also bearing a rose from Nische’s bouquet. He set his rose between their plates and scooted over on the bench to make room for Rhicer next to him.
Rhicer slid into his seat next to Kanath, setting his rose next to Kanath’s on the table. He turned to smile at his lieutenant when movement on Kanath’s other side pushed the young man closer to him, their legs brushing under the table. He managed to stifle the groan that wanted to tear from his throat, but he could not stop the shiver that went through him at the first contact between their bodies in more than a week. He almost shifted away, but then he realized this would possibly be the only chance he would ever have to be this near to Kanath. As much as he knew it was a bad idea, this one night could well be all he would ever have with his lover. Could it really hurt to bask in this momentary closeness, this one indulgence in a lifetime of denial? Surely not.
As soon as everyone was seated, the servants brought out the platters of food, setting one in front of each group of four people. Rhicer leaned forward, his shoulder brushing Kanath’s arm as he reached for the dish. The electrifying contact nearly made him drop the spoon in his hand. The slight gasp he heard from his friend did not help his composure any. He took a deep breath, settling his singing nerves before serving Kanath and himself. Only after he had regained his seat did he realize the gesture was one usually shared between couples. No one seemed to look at them askance, though, so he shrugged and let it go, picking up his knife and beginning to eat.
Next to him, Kanath trembled with suppressed desire. He wanted to look at Rhicer, to see if the other man was as affected by their closeness as he was, but he dared not turn his head, for fear the naked longing in his heart would be visible on his face for all to see. He forced himself to focus on his trencher, to lift the food to his mouth as if Rhicer serving him was an everyday occasion, as if he did not wish the rest of the court would disappear so he could give free rein to the lust that was riding him hard. He squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position for his aching cock, the movement bumping his hip against Rhicer’s, only compounding the problem.
“Sit still,” Rhicer muttered, the friction of Kanath’s body against his straining his control.
Kanath shot his friend a disbelieving look. Before he could consider the wisdom of his actions, he dropped his hand beneath the table, grabbing Rhicer’s hand where it rested on his thigh and bringing it to the stiff shaft that was currently tormenting him. He hissed at the contact, not having thought that far ahead. “I can’t,” he ground out.
Rhicer jerked his hand back as if burned, but instead of the horror he expected to feel, that he told himself he should feel having had his hand on another man’s cock, he was overcome by the rightness of it, the perfect way it curved into his palm, even confined within Kanath’s breeches. That did not solve their current dilemma, though. Thinking quickly, he bumped a flagon of ale, allowing them both to jump up to avoid getting the dark liquid on their finery. “Go,” he whispered to Kanath under the cries of dismay and confusion.
Kanath slipped away, stepping outside the overheated hall into the cool night air. He leaned on the wall surrounding the upper landing, hoping the separation from Rhicer would cool his ardor. The quiet, though, had the opposite effect, giving him the privacy to linger on the sensations evoked by Rhicer’s hand. He could not have said what possessed him to do such a foolish thing, but he could not regret it. That simple touch would fuel his fantasies, waking and sleeping, for months, along with the memories of Rhicer’s lips on his neck and the moans that escaped his friend’s lips when he dreamed. Resigning himself to suffering through the rest of the feast lust unquenched, he adjusted himself as best he could in his breeches, the touch of his hand enough to have him hissing again, his body arching into the touch. He considered giving himself relief, but he dared not be gone that long. Already, his absence would surely have been noticed. Even more than that, as much as it still bothered him to admit it, his own hand was not the touch he craved. ’Twas Rhicer’s hand he needed.
With a groan, he lowered his head to the cold stones. What had possessed him? He could not do this anymore. After only two weeks, he was ready to break, ready to beg Rhicer for a moment of his time, for the simplest of touches. And when he could not do that, what had he done? Practically forced his best friend into molesting him! Something had to give, but he had no idea what.
He remained outside for as long as he could justify, finally stepping back inside the hall, brushing at his tunic with a scowl on his face to lend credence to the illusion that he had been splattered by the ale. His erection had not subsided at all, but at least his long tunic would hide the evidence from everyone. Everyone except Rhicer, that was. Rhicer would surely take one look at him and know he still ached with unfulfilled desire. To his relief and disappointment both, the meal had almost finished, many of the guests now milling around the room. Kanath returned to his seat to eat, for he was indeed hungry, but Rhicer had risen from his place, leaving Kanath plenty of space at the table.
He had been so busy worrying about the close quarters at the feast that he had not considered what would happen after. Any celebration, but especially a wedding, was an excuse for socializing, and for the unattached ladies, and even for some who were attached, it was an opportunity to cast their lures among the men. To his dismay, the women swarmed around Rhicer like flies to honey. Or buzzards to fresh meat, he thought uncharitably. His hands curled into fists as he watched them flirt with the older soldier, their hands petting him subtly as they tried to catch his attention.
Feeling suddenly nauseated, he pushed away from the table and barged into the crowd with every intention of driving them away from his lover. That thought drew him up short. Damn it! He simply could not make a spectacle out of them that way, especially when he had no idea if Rhicer wanted to be rescued. The man was giving every indication of enjoying the fawning attention. Scowling, Kanath decided that what was good for the, well, the gander was good for the gander. Taking a deep breath, he plastered his best smile on his face and set about gathering his own throng of admiring ladies.
Despite the façade he presented to the court, Rhicer was painfully aware of Kanath’s absence and his return to the hall. The distraction he had engineered had served its purpose for a few minutes, but as soon as the mess was sorted and he resumed his seat, his eyes had landed on the two rosebuds Nische had bestowed on them. In the chaos that had followed his spilling the ale, they had been shoved together so their leaves now brushed. The sight had brought back thoughts of another touch, of Kanath’s hand on his, and his hand on Kanath’s cock. He had finished eating quickly, knowing if he was still seated when Kanath returned, he would do something rash, something they would certainly both regret.
Taking refuge in long-familiar behavior, he had risen from his seat as soon as he politely could, gathering around him a circle of fawning ladies, sure to distract his attention from his absent lieutenant. It had not worked, though. Their calculated caresses had the opposite of their intended effect, leaving Rhicer cold. He supposed that was better than being so heated from Kanath’s presence that he could not trust his own judgment. Then Kanath had stepped back into the hall and all thoughts of control disappeared. He had to fight not to turn his head, not to rake the other man with his gaze to ascertain his state of mind. Had he used the time outside to relieve the passion that had clearly been riding him? The mental image of Kanath with his hand on his cock, stroking himself to completion, sent lust surging back through Rhicer’s body. Even in his mind, he wanted to push Kanath’s hand away and replace it with his own.
Forcibly turning his back on temptation, he smiled down at one of the ladies whom he had often favored with his attention in the past. Mistress Rynyl had used her status as a widow of the war to move among the court with impunity, seducing as she saw fit. Her marriage had not been a happy one, so she was not looking to snare another husband, simply to enjoy the occasional liaison to sate her
passions until the next time. They had made no promises, and would make none, but she was convenient and could be relied on to provide him with release when he needed it as well.
Blacha recognized the look on Rhicer’s face. She had seen it often enough in the privacy of her chambers or his, as he tended to her pleasure or she to his. Smiling coquettishly, she slid her hand up his arm. “Dance with me?” she purred.
“Gladly,” Rhicer replied with what he hoped passed for interest. It was hard, though, to focus on her when his senses were screaming at him to drive the harpies away from Kanath, to keep them from touching his lover. Kanath, though, did not seem at all bothered by their attention. Fine, Rhicer thought. If that’s the way you want things to be…. He drew Mistress Rynyl into his arms, holding her close enough that her breasts brushed his chest as the dancing began. He could hear her surprised gasp—they were not usually quite so forward in public—but the sound did nothing for him this time. It was Kanath’s gasps he wanted to hear, Kanath’s passion he wanted to inspire.
Kanath glared daggers across the room at the trollop in Rhicer’s arms. Never mind that he liked Blacha, that he had spent hours in pleasant conversation with her. All he knew now was that she was where Kanath wanted to be, where he belonged—in Rhicer’s arms. Determined not to let his jealousy show, he turned away and sought out the first woman he could find. Mistress Lorod was not the companion he would have chosen had he been thinking rationally, but his only thought now was to evoke in Rhicer the same unreasoning jealousy that seeing Blacha in Rhicer’s arms had evoked in him. He pulled the skinny girl into his arms, guiding her roughly through the dance, uncaring that his grip was too tight.