Change of Plans

by Addison Albright

  “So do I.”

  No more words were said as they reversed their earlier path and moved swiftly through a corridor, up a wide staircase, and down another corridor leading to Efren’s…no…their suite of rooms.

  Funny how he hadn’t noticed there were two matching armoires in their bedchamber either time he’d previously awoken. Efren must not have noticed this morning, either. Yet here they were, side by side, just as Marcelo and Efren were standing…side by side, surveying the room.

  Efren went into mock-officious tour guide mode and swept his free arm to encompass the room. “This, my darling husband—and may I reiterate how happy I am to be able to say those words—is our bedchamber.”

  “Very nice, dearest husband.” Marcelo’s mellow tone flowed smoothly. He might be new to this flirting thing, but it felt natural, as if he would have to force himself to follow the stricter protocols he’d grown up with. He gave himself a mental shake and refused to do that. Clearly Efren enjoyed it, too. Welcomed it. So instead of letting his past inhibit his present, he stood straighter and added, “And the view of the mountains is truly lovely when it isn’t adding to an alarming confusion.”

  “It is. When we reschedule our tour of the realm, you’ll see the mountains up close. We’ll visit several villages at the base, and trek part way up one of the gentler slopes.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Efren opened the two armoires. “Looks like the one on the right is yours.”

  Marcelo peered into it. Some of the clothing was comfortingly familiar, but much was new, better suited to Zioneven’s climate and style. He sifted through the hanging tunics, pushed down a tug of homesickness, and selected a set of suitable riding clothes.

  His gaze drifted over the room. The chair where they’d apparently abandoned the clothing they’d worn yesterday. The bed, now pristinely made, no longer displaying the disarray of tumbled pillows, sheets, and blankets from earlier.

  He swallowed, remembering the way he’d been, quite literally, wrapped around Efren when they’d awoken. Did Efren remember how Marcelo had been snuggled into the crook of his arm, head lying on his shoulder?

  Marcelo turned to Efren just as his husband did the same. He’d been staring at the bed, too.

  Recollecting Marcelo’s handling of their initial meeting? Maybe, but Efren had said he fully understood that reaction and felt it was justified. And judging by the enlarged black centers of Efren’s eyes, no negative thoughts were affecting his current mood.

  Marcelo swallowed again and allowed his lips to twitch into a small smile as he held Efren’s gaze.

  Efren crossed the short distance between them, and Marcelo caught his breath when his husband placed one hand firmly at his waist, and the other tipped up his chin, promising more. Then Efren paused.

  “My darling, I think—”

  Efren’s words cut off when Marcelo closed the gap between them to place his lips on Efren’s.

  Thank all that was good in the four realms that Efren took that cue and pulled Marcelo closer to properly kiss him. Assuming that was a proper kiss, since the only kiss Marcelo had memory of was the one from that morning, and he’d spinelessly run from that.

  Marcelo melted into it as unfamiliar heat coursed through his veins. A heady clean masculine taste overpowered hints of the breakfast they’d recently eaten.

  His head fell back when Efren moved from his lips to trail nips and nibbles down his neck. First, Marcelo drew deep breaths as he allowed himself to revel in the overwhelming sensations, then he snapped to attention, realizing Efren would probably like the same attentions returned to him.

  But Efren held him away, gulped, and gave the slightest of nods like he was fortifying a decision he’d made.

  “My darling, I think it would be best if we allow this teasing preview to simmer until tonight, after we’ve spent at least this one full day in each other’s company.”

  With wide eyes, Marcelo panted and swallowed the urge to beg for confirmation that Efren wasn’t bowing out due to lack of interest. The lust in Efren’s eyes answered that.

  Marcelo nodded. “You’re right, of course. My apologies for inappropriately…uh…” Inappropriately what? Had he misread Efren’s cues leading up to the kiss?

  “No apology required, my darling. I know that in reality we’ve been together for more than a moon cycle, but as far as our memories know, you are an innocent. I want to do things right and show you the respect you deserve.”

  Marcelo peered at Efren and allowed the zings tickling his belly to present in a coy smile. “Will we…uh…” His face warmed, but he pushed forward, using Efren’s own words from this morning, although refraining from adding the accompanying hip grind. “…make the most of the glorious evening?”

  Efren choked on a laugh. “You have my word.”

  Even without the unfamiliar fluttering in his belly that followed Efren’s assertion, he felt odd, changing without Erich’s assistance. Not that there was anything particularly tricky about the fastenings, which were all in front, only that it was one of those things that hadn’t been deemed proper in Sheburat. He was a royal prince, and royal princes had a personal servant to assist in every minute detail of dressing and grooming.

  Yet here was Efren, a crown prince, swiftly changing and even running a brush through his own hair as if it were a common occurrence for him. He did toss his discarded garments across the same chair where Marcelo had found two sets of previously worn clothing this morning, so there were limits to what he did for himself.

  Was this typical in recent weeks for Marcelo, too? Quite likely. He felt an urge to assimilate. After all, the tasks were easily handled himself. His forgotten self probably would have done the same, and he really was, after all, the same person.

  Leaving the room, they turned toward the staircase, but stopped before reaching it, in front of a closed door. Efren knocked. “You must meet Bridget,” he whispered. “I wonder if Hugon is with her. I’d like for us to meet him, too.”

  Marcelo stood straight but kept his hand on Efren’s arm as the door swung open to reveal a tall, gray-haired woman.

  “Nanny!” Efren’s face brightened as he said the single word.

  Nanny’s face went from neutral to widened happy eyes when she saw them before finally drooping into sadness as she shook her head. “Oh, sirs. We’ve heard the awful news.”

  Efren started to reply, “Ah, yes—”

  At the same moment, a woman with a mop of fiery red hair and brilliant green eyes who must be Bridget called from a rocking chair in the room, “Efren! Marcelo! Do come in.” She shook her head, too, directing a confusing—censorious meets amused—look at Efren before turning a fond gaze to Marcelo. “Dear Marcelo, I am Bridget, and I hope Efren’s behavior when you awoke this morning wasn’t too awfully shocking.”

  Marcelo’s jaw dropped, but nothing more than a squeak came out of his mouth. Apparently, he could take out well-trained and armed assassins while he himself was armed only with a concealed tent stake, but he was once again no match for a woman tossing out unexpected and…well…quite personal inquiries.

  “Awfully shocking?” Efren choked and narrowed his eyes. “Awful? Has Merewina already been up here feeding you exaggerated tales?”

  “Aha!” Bridget pointed a finger reminiscent of Merewina’s earlier gesture at Efren. “She didn’t have to. I know you so it was easy enough to surmise what would have happened when you awoke.”

  “Now, now.” Nanny patted Marcelo’s shoulder as if he needed consoling, and perhaps his strained expression as he tried to maintain some sense of decorum by not laughing could have been interpreted as someone in distress. “Don’t you worry, sir. Whatever his conduct before marrying you, it’s been clear to one and all since the day you arrived here that Prince Efren is devoted only to you.”

  “It’s—” Marcelo sputtered. “It’s quite all right, I assure you.”

  “And for the record—” Bridget huffed and cocked an eyebrow a
t Efren “—and as you well know, ‘awfully’ is an adverb that I used to boost ‘shocking.’ It didn’t imply that your behavior was awful, although your reaction to my words might be telling on yourself.”

  Marcelo could spend an age trying, but he never would be able to imagine anyone speaking to his eldest sister—his mother’s heir—in such a manner. But again, he liked the approachability of the Zioneven royal family. And to be fair, nobody outside of other family members—and perhaps Nanny, who would have had a big hand in raising the three siblings and now their children—spoke to them with quite the same casual familiarity.

  But the gentle ribbing and openness everyone demonstrated contributed to the overall sense of caring he felt directed not only toward himself, but to each other.

  The prim politeness he’d grown up with didn’t necessarily discount the possibility of caring—he knew his family did care about him—but he’d never felt so enveloped in it. So warmed to the core, knowing that his new family would defend him, fight for him and for each other.

  Efren groaned. “Enough about it, please. I do feel awful, although I hope my actions weren’t truly awful.” He patted Marcelo’s hand, which still lay on his arm, and stared into his eyes. “And again, my darling, I beg your forgiveness.”

  “There is no need for forgiveness, dearest husband,” Marcelo breathed. “You ceased your pursuit immediately upon my initial befuddled reticence and were never less than considerate and helpful.”

  He returned Efren’s stare and did his best to convey the parts that must be left unsaid, at least while in the company of others. That surely it was a good thing for one of them to have the experience implicit in Efren’s actions and statements from this morning. And Efren’s confidence and bold moves would be exhilarating when they weren’t so terrifyingly confusing.

  “Aww,” Bridget cooed. “You two are still so sweet together, and after just a few hours of familiarity. Although I wish Merewina wouldn’t have told you your pet names for each other. I wonder what you would have come up with on your own this time?”

  “Actually…” Efren’s grin was a bit smug. “She didn’t.”

  “Truly? That’s even sweeter!”

  Efren sighed. “Please stop referring to me and ‘sweet’ in the same sentence.”

  Marcelo stifled a snicker. Partially. Efren truly was kind, and even sweet.

  Although the action had turned disastrous, he’d ordered Nutter Buzzers all the way from Sheburat simply because they were Marcelo’s favorite treat. And he’d tried to put Marcelo at ease first thing this morning despite clearly being frustrated by Marcelo’s rejection. But he was also well-built with bulky hard-earned muscles Marcelo couldn’t begin to aspire to with his slighter frame.

  Marcelo pressed Efren’s arm and shook his head. “I grew up in a society where only women ruled because men were considered to be too rough and violent to be competent at the task. You, dearest, are a prime example negating that assertion. Men and women are equally capable. One lesson that’s already been driven home to me this morning is that sweet and manly are not mutually exclusive, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

  Efren blushed, but he also gave Marcelo a cheeky wink.

  “Hear, hear.” Bridget flapped her arms, waving them in. “And do come properly into the room. You both must re-meet Hugon!”

  Nanny walked swiftly to a bassinet placed mere steps from the rocking chair and lifted a small bundle as the two men approached.

  Marcelo held his breath. He’d never been invited into a newborn’s nursery before. Not since he’d been old enough to remember, anyway.

  Efren’s approach was bolder even though he and his siblings were close enough in age he might not remember seeing them as infants, assuming he’d been allowed near them.

  “Look at you,” Efren cooed. “Aren’t you a handsome fellow?”

  “Isn’t he just?” Bridget said. “I think he’s going to look like Rolland.”

  Marcelo smiled as he peered at the scrawny little face peeking out of the bundle made of a lightweight blanket. Difficult to say what the baby would look like when he grew up, but he did have Rolland’s hair color.

  “Hard to imagine we were all this small once upon a time,” Marcelo said.

  Efren nodded. “Or that he will someday be as big as we are.”

  “And just as sassy?” Bridget said.

  Efren snorted. “Well, you are his mother, so…”

  Bridget laughed, then she bounced her gaze between Efren and Marcelo. “Go ahead and hold him, if you wish.”

  Marcelo’s eyes widened. “I don’t know…”

  “Nonsense.” Bridget scowled. “I told myself I wouldn’t interfere with you rediscovering yourself, but I fear that’s a challenge I’m doomed to fail. You simply loved holding little Hugon before, and you are ever so gentle with him. Please, sit over there—” she gestured to a nearby cushioned chair “—and Nanny will hand him to you.”

  Marcelo swallowed the lump in his throat representing the doom that would fall upon him if he dropped the royal family’s first grandchild on his head, cast a quick glance at Efren’s encouraging face, set his jaw, and did as he was told.

  Assassins hadn’t defeated him, and neither would an infant.

  He steadied his wobbly hands as Nanny approached with the baby. She showed him how to support Hugon’s head and settled the warm bundle into his cradled arms.

  Warm…and squirmy. “He’s waking up,” Marcelo said.

  “You can do it.” Efren squatted beside the chair and petted the baby’s head. “You are doing it.”

  “Yes,” Marcelo breathed. Of course he could hold a baby. The little guy couldn’t move that—Marcelo bounced but held the baby firmly as something erupted from Hugon’s underside just as he screwed up his face and let loose an un-baby-like grunt. What in the four realms had Marcelo done so wrong? He’d been holding the baby just as Nanny showed him. “I’m so sorry. Is he all right?”

  But everyone was laughing. To his credit, Efren’s face was red as he tried to stifle his laugh.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” Efren choked out.

  “He’s…” Marcelo cast a quick glance at Bridget, but she was completely unconcerned as she held her belly and strove to get her laughter under control. Marcelo whispered, “He’s exploding!”

  “Think about it.” Efren said. “Babies are helpless, but they drink milk, therefore they…” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Of course. Marcelo turned a wary eye to Hugon. “Are you pooping on me, you adorable little guy? Hmm?”

  Bridget’s laughter ratcheted up a notch.

  Nanny approached with a broad smile and reached for Hugon. “Not to worry, sir, there are several layers of nappy, clothing, and blanket between your hand and the, um, explosion.”

  No doubt, but that area was getting warmer so Marcelo relinquished the baby without the reluctance he would otherwise have felt.

  “Sweet baby.” Marcelo cleared his throat and grinned slyly at Bridget. “He might look like Rolland, but perhaps he’s got a bit of you in him as well.”

  “Oh, ho!” she said and chortled. “Look at you, already joining the family’s way of teasing one another. Took you at least a week, first time around.”

  “He’s rather quick on the uptake,” Efren said, offering Marcelo a hand to help him stand. “I can easily imagine that the family was on best behavior for at least the first few days around him.”

  “Very perceptive.” Bridget nodded. “Indeed we were.”

  Marcelo giggled. “The banter is unfamiliar to me, but I do rather like it.”

  “You’re a natural.” Efren gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You fit right in. It’s no wonder I’d fallen in love with you. Intelligence, kindness, strength of mind, and humor all rolled into one lovely package. After only a few hours, I’m well on my way again.”

  Marcelo’s face felt so warm, it had to be as red as Hugon’s had been mid-”explosion.” But his chest expan
ded as he gave voice to his thoughts. “And I, you, for all the same reasons.”

  Despite the way Efren’s family teased him, it was also abundantly obvious that they—as well as the servants and soldiers—respected him. That meant a lot, too.

  “Anyway…” Efren turned to Bridget. “I imagine Hugon will be hungry again now, and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, showing Marcelo around the castle and the grounds and reintroducing him to everyone, so we’ll bow out.”

  “Thank you so much for stopping by. I’ll worry less about you now that I’ve seen you both,” Bridget said. “And I may see you again at supper. I think I’m recovered enough to start coming downstairs again.”

  “Wonderful,” Efren said. “We’ll look forward to visiting with you again.”

  Out in the corridor, Efren again slipped into tour guide mode, although without the earlier over-zealous gestures. And Marcelo turned back into well-bred prince mode, refraining from overtly staring at Efren as his muscles flexed with the simplest of movements. Even the newer bolder version of himself recognized that proper public behavior had limits.

  First Efren showed him around the castle and introduced him to the indoor servants. Marcelo was reasonably good with names, but he was going to have to hope people would forgive him needing a little time to commit so many to memory.

  Again.

  He met the butler, short in stature but tall in intensity, the tall-in-every-way housekeeper, the ample cook, their high-level assistants, and various maids and footmen. The Zioneven castle was bigger than the one he’d grown up in.

  Rosy cheeks indicated each worker received plenty of sunshine. Servants worked different shifts and had far more free time than their counterparts in Sheburat. All wore sincere smiles on their lips and concern for what had happened, although relief that they were otherwise fine, in their eyes.

  He met Wilson and Lester, assistants to Erich and Dru, working primarily behind the scenes, but occasionally standing in when the primary personal assistants had time off.