by Kai Butler
“Poor polar animals! To have been thrown over so that one might have an outdoor fête during winter.”
Still grinning, he stepped out of the car when the driver opened the door. They’d arrived at Reget Park. It wasn’t as popular as Leke Park, which had the pressure of having been dubbed “Lus’s Central.” Reget, however, had the benefit of many small wooded areas that could provide privacy for picnics or assignations.
Zev led them down a path that followed the tranquil river running through the middle of the grounds, and found a spot he’d used before. Sheltered by trees, yet with a view of the river, it was intimate without pressuring either party.
“Beautiful!” Tiral exclaimed. He took the blanket from the top of the basket, and spread it out for them under a large tree. Settling himself on the flannel, he waited for Zev to set the basket down.
“What made you choose this for the third date?” Tiral asked, curious. Zev was reminded again of the tablet and stylus from their first date, and how eager he’d been to turn romance into a science formula.
“You count the tailor as a date?” Zev asked, pulling out a tray of cheese and some fruit that had been cut perfectly into bite sized pieces.
“No, I suppose not, and we can’t count our first encounter as a date, can we?” Tiral said. “Second date, then. Why here?”
“It encourages intimacy,” Zev said. He gestured to the food. “We are sharing food off the same plate, and the environment brings us together.”
“No further than a blanket away,” Tiral agreed, looking at their flannel boundary.
“Now then,” Zev said, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “What should we start with?”
The sight of Zev’s bare wrists and the creamy color of his forearms made Tiral feel suddenly parched. The cheese which had seemed so attractive only minutes earlier now seemed not enough to sate so great a hunger. He yearned to lean into Zev’s hands, feel them cup his face, run his lips over the soft skin on his knuckles.
Pushing away the improper thoughts and forcing a smile, Tiral gestured silently at the fruit on offer. Zev handed him a bunch of grapes, and he took them gratefully; they gave him something to hold onto as he tried to focus on anything other than the swath of skin Zev was showing off. He wondered how Zev had managed to remain so calm when Tiral had been stripped down to next to nothing at the tailor’s.
No, he reminded himself. Zev was doing this as a favor, perhaps even out of obligation for the poor earl who found himself helpless in unknown waters. Tiral had no right to demand anything else from him, even in his own thoughts.
“Did you want to be earl?” Zev asked, leaning back, his eyes closed. Dappled sunlight painted his skin in patches of bright color. Tiral could imagine unbuttoning his shirt partway just to touch the skin of his throat.
“Not really,” Tiral said. “My brother was always better at it than I am. He… looked the part, you know. Had more of our mother’s coloring than our father’s.”
“He looked like he was from Central,” Zev asked, eyes still closed. “I imagine he also carried himself like an earl.”
“Yes,” Tiral agreed. “Made friends easily with all the right people. He brought home one of the Empress’s own grandsons one year.”
“Cam?” Zev asked, a frown appearing between his brows. “Well, if that’s so, his taste ran more towards those who might give him political favor than one who’d be a true friend.”
“The prince was very polite,” Tiral said, feeling the need to defend a man he now only had vague memories of. “I think he called our estate ‘rustic.’”
Snorting, Zev said, “Oh, I can imagine Prince Cam polite, but I’ll wager your mother has different memories of his visit. She likely speaks the language of court more fluently than a child would.”
“I didn’t know that you knew the Crown Prince,” Tiral said. He tried to remember how he’d practiced the words. “Do you run in those circles… professionally? I imagine there’s a lot of information to be found there.”
Opening his eyes, Zev looked more puzzled than anything, and Tiral had to remind himself that Zev was likely not going to admit his game so easily.
“Not really,” Zev said finally. “I usually work by myself. I think you’ll be the better earl.”
Surprised at the conversational shift, Tiral rushed to cover it with a joke. “You are the only one who thinks so. I’ve heard that there’re bets about how long until my own people rise up to cut off the head of such a poor representative.”
“Too dark by half,” Zev chided. “Unlike your brother, you seem to care more for your people than your own needs.”
The words left Tiral feeling as though he was about to take a spacewalk without a helmet. He could find no air to respond. No one had ever made Tiral feel like he was more than second-rate compared to his brother.
Zev’s assessment that what was in his heart would make him the better earl was a thought so foreign that Tiral could barely grasp it. He knew that his people were important to him; their well-being was the only reason he was even going along with this marriage scheme. But he’d always assumed that Zev only saw him as someone who was desperate to hang onto his position.
“I think if it were just my mother and sister, I’d go back to teaching,” Tiral admitted quietly. He played with the stem of the grapes between his fingers, pulling apart the pieces.
“But you want to help your people,” Zev said. “You want to make sure that they’re taken care of.”
“Renn — our man of affairs — he said that if the estate went to foreclosure, likely it would either be sold to a megacorp or to some other noble for a younger child. The tenants would lose their farms,” he admitted the last quietly. When he looked up, Zev was staring at him, eyes golden and guarded.
“You’ll be successful,” Zev predicted. “You’re bright, handsome, and titled. The fact that you’re kind will mean most could see a future with you.”
Heat spread across Tiral’s cheeks and he muttered a soft, “Thank you. Without your help, I'd still be stuck without the slightest idea on how to proceed."
“On that note,” Zev said, selecting cheese and crackers for a small plate that he handed to Tiral. “We’re going to a ball.”
“A ball,” Tiral said, uncertainly. “Truly?”
He felt unprepared for a ball and took a bite of what he was sure was delicious, expensive cheese and only tasted the acid of terror in his throat.
“Don’t worry, my dear Earl,” Zev said. “It’ll be masked. No one will know it’s you if all goes poorly.”
“Poorly,” Tiral said, his brows coming together in a frown. He could imagine all manner of situations that would result in poorly.
“I’ve faith in you,” Zev said quietly. He reached out and touched Tiral’s shoulder. “You’ve grown even in the few encounters we’ve had. You’re more able to pull your weight in a flirtation, and you have the sort of humor that makes the one you're speaking with feel special to be so singled out.”
Tiral forced himself to continue looking at Zev and ignore the scalding sensation where Zev was touching him. It was like his whole body had become aware of that one piece of skin, hypersensitive where he could feel each of Zev’s fingers individually.
“I’ll take your word for it and steel my courage,” he said, watching Zev’s golden eyes.
Pulling back his hand, Zev raised an eyebrow. “Well in three days’ time, you’ll do more than that. You’ll have won over at least one to your side and I’ll be obsolete.”
“Never,” Tiral said before he realized he spoke.
Zev’s eyes caught his in an unreadable gaze and then he was smiling and passing Tiral a second plate of delicate cookies. Tiral let himself be led into conversation about the food and reminded himself that that was a good way out of a conversation that one didn't want to have.
He watched as Zev brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead and reminded himself that soon he’d be married to someone else. He sh
ouldn’t be thinking about his finger brushing aside that hair himself.
“I say! Is that the devil there?” Both Tiral and Zev turned at the same time, leaning apart as though shocked. “Asta, it is him,” Lord Deva continued. He gestured at them from the path he was walking on. Beside him, Asta rolled his eyes up towards the sky.
“Deva, they’re clearly having an intimate discussion; we should leave them be,” he said. He bowed to them formally, even if his expression made it more ironic than serious. “Lord Gret, Yuls.”
“Are you also enjoying the afternoon?” Zev asked, clearly unsure what else to say. Even Tiral could see that denying it was anything other than what it looked like — an intimate lunch for two — would hold no water with the blunt Lord Deva and his more adroit companion.
“Thing of it is, Gret,” Deva said. “My father was quite put out that I lost my whole allowance gambling in a single evening, so I was wondering if we might have a rematch. I told Asta that it would be just the thing. And if I won all the money back, my father couldn’t hold my feet to the fire anymore with this nonsense of it being a poor pastime for a lord.”
“I’ll wager that if you play him again, you’ll just lose the pin money your mother secretly sent you,” Asta said. “And, to be frank, I’m not about to loan you a single cent more, Deva.”
“A bet! Now I’ll be able to take two men’s money,” Deva said confidently. He grinned down at Tiral. “What say you? Conviction again the next time you’re at the club?”
“Of course,” Zev answered as Tiral struggled to come up with a decent excuse. “But perhaps until you’ve the benefit of his tutelage, you should avoid the game?”
“Good idea,” Deva said. “Wouldn’t want to waste my money before I can earn it back. Well, we’re off. Asta assures me that I can’t walk more than five miles in a single day, and I have good money that I can. How much farther must we go before I win, Asta?”
“Four and a half miles,” Asta said wryly. He nodded again at Zev and Tiral and led his boisterous companion away.
Tiral turned to Zev and said, ”I can’t play him again, I’d just take the rest of his money.”
“Don’t be so shabby! You might lose to him on purpose,” Zev said.
Throwing Zev a disdainful look, Tiral said, “I’m afraid that much like a well-trained dog who still chases squirrels, my competitive nature will get the better of me.”
Zev grinned. “Ah, so our mild-mannered scholar does have a weakness for sport.”
The conversation meandered for the rest of the afternoon, and Tiral found himself relaxing enough that by the time Zev’s driver had dropped him back at the house, he’d nearly forgotten that he’d promised Rexe to have her whole chapter finished that evening. He took the steps two at a time and was surprised when, after watching the footman take his jacket, Masub said, “A moment, sir.”
“Of course.” Tiral led the way into the study.
Masub waited as Tiral sat at his desk, settling himself before looking up at the butler.
“Mister Masub?” he asked.
“A break-in has been discovered,” Masub said. He looked stoic, as though Tiral would blame him personally.
“What was stolen?” Tiral asked, completely taken aback. “Did they get much?”
“As far as we can tell, nothing was taken,” Masub said. He looked over Tiral’s shoulder. “One of the maids went to clean the ballroom and found a broken window.”
“If it was only a window and nothing was taken, maybe it was just children?” Tiral asked hopefully.
“There was some blood on the glass, and we found more in the house,” Masub said. “I’m deeply sorry, sir. I have no idea how such a breach got past me. There’s no excuse.”
Holding up his hand, Tiral said, “No need to throw yourself on your sword. We’ll call a security company and have them install an alarm system. Have the servants keep an eye out for anything that might have been taken.”
“Of course, sir,” Masub said. “I’ll have it done immediately.”
Masub executed a short bow. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you, Masub,” Tiral said. After he left, pulling the door shut behind him, Tiral realized that there was something else, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted Masub to deal with it.
The question of Rexe’s capability had been posed when they went to the tailor earlier in the week and Tiral found himself still thinking about it. Although he’d hesitated to bring it up to her, after the most recent date with Zev, Tiral felt that he had to know.
With a sigh, he stood and left the study, heading towards the small office that he knew Rexe had taken as her own. Without knocking, he entered and found her deep in conversation with SIM. The AI was making a monotone point about the physical characteristics of the alloy she was suggesting when he cleared his throat. Rexe looked up and SIM finished its sentence and stopped talking.
“Finished already?” Rexe said. “I thought you’d have to push it until tomorrow what with your date.”
“It’s practice for real dates,” Tiral said, feeling the same exhaustion he always felt when talking to Rexe about his plan. Her judgment seemed to throw a wrench into the whole thing.
Rexe nodded amicably. “I’ve updated your schedule, if you’re ready for it. I’ll push it out now.”
As her fingers touched the screen, Tiral said, “Zev said his secretary contacted you?”
“Yes,” Rexe said, her stylus moving quickly over the screen. “Something about the parties.”
“It’s just,” Tiral faltered, and her eyes swung up to his. She must have seen something of his hopelessness on his face and she frowned, lowering the tablet into her lap. “I’m relying on you so much, Rexe. You’re the one who makes all the decisions about where I should go and that’s the only way that this is going to work. I need to know that you’re giving it your best. I know it seems frivolous to you, but everything matters here. The parties I go to, that’s where I’ll meet someone, and if I’m going to the wrong parties, then that word gets around, too, and it affects my chances.”
Rexe was staring down at the tablet now, her mouth pursed, and she glanced up at him. “You think I’m ruining your chances?”
“I don’t think you’re trying to,” Tiral said. “I just think that you still want me to make this all work without a marriage and I don’t know that I can. I’ve tried everything else and this is the only way through.”
Exhaling, Rexe said, “If that’s what you want—”
“It is,” he said fervently.
“I’ll do my best, Tiral,” she said.
He nodded and left, and knew neither of them felt exactly happy about the situation. At least now, though, he had her on his side in the endeavor.
10
The day of the ball, Tiral considered sending a note saying he was sick or that he had urgent estate business. He reminded himself that Zev would be there, but the reminder only made things worse when he pictured Zev, masked, using only his eyes and voice to seduce.
Tiral could imagine how that voice, maybe whispering, could make anyone do any number of things. Zev’s golden eyes flashing, his lips twisted into a private smile. Likely he’d use his hands, certainly while dancing, but maybe while talking, too, the slight pressure on a forearm, or the blade of a finger brushing a cheek.
He was drawn from his thoughts when a footman came into his room with the message that Zev had arrived. His valet finished settling the jacket over his shoulders and stepped back so that Tiral could look at what he was wearing. He’d chosen it on Zev’s request, a golden suit that made him feel slightly ridiculous, but via message, Zev had assured him that he’d look “delicious” in it.
Taking his time so as not to repeat his previous blunder, he walked into the sitting room to see Zev framed against the window, his shoulders broad and hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a king surveying his realm, although Tiral was sure that the window only looked out over the street.
Zev turned his head, high cheekbones accented by the shadowed sunset outside. “And have the party miss you? Never.”
“They certainly won’t miss one more domino,” Tiral muttered, still feeling rather an ass in his bright costume.
“You look like one of the kings of old, who built themselves temples of gold, so that their people could worship them as gods,” Zev said. He glanced at Tiral, his smile designed for Tiral alone.
Swallowing, Tiral said, “I hope that if I am expected to say such things to a potential lover of my own, you’ll have the courtesy to write some down for me.”
“Ah, but an impromptu compliment is the best one,” Zev said. He moved closer to Tiral, and then reached out and Tiral was faced with the reality of Zev’s finger on his face as he brushed a lock of hair off of his forehead.
“You are quite fetching, my lord,” Zev said. “Perhaps we should stay in, but only so that I may keep that secret to myself for a while longer.”
“Now you’re just funning me,” Tiral said, forcing a grin. He didn’t want to read too much into the way that Zev’s eyes lingered.
“Never,” Zev said, smirking. “I’d never stoop so low.”
“What should I do? During the ball,” Tiral asked.
“Observe,” Zev said. “I'll show you how to talk to someone you don't know.”
“How will I hear you over the roar of the crowd?” Tiral leaned forward as though they were already in a crowded room and he wanted Zev to hear him.
Taking Tiral’s hand, Zev turned it over so that Tiral’s was cupped in his own, his palm warming the back of Tiral’s hand. The heat was electric and seemed to spread through his whole body. He forced himself to breathe and glanced at Zev through his eyelashes. Zev seemed unaffected by the touch.
After a moment, he dropped something small onto Tiral’s palm, and Tiral looked down. It was a small receiver that he could put in his ear. One-way if he was any judge, which meant that he’d be able to hear Zev, but Zev wouldn’t be distracted by him.