The messenger went to one knee. “Prince Deron request permission to come aboard for a visit.”
“Will Prince Deron come with his escort?” Veldar, head of Orrin’s guards, asked before Orrin could open his mouth.
“You protect your prince. We protect our prince,” the messenger stated matter-of-factly after a nod.
“I don’t like it,” Veldar growled.
Orrin rolled his eyes. “Deron is my best friend. He could have come straight, and I wouldn’t have minded. He’s been a nice boy following protocol. Veldar, do not make this something it isn’t,” he admonished his guardian. He turned to the messenger. “Please tell your prince I’ll happily welcome him.”
The messenger moved to his feet, bowed, turned to climb on his gryphon, and was swiftly in the air.
As Orrin saw the gryphon return to Munus, a series of clicks and whistles starboard made him run athwartship. His orca, Desta, undulated playfully beside the ship. “Hey, boy! Where have you been? We’re getting closer to our new home!”
King Joran had promised to find a way to keep Desta close to Orrin. He wasn’t sure how the King of Doriar would accomplish that, but it would certainly earn him some points. The thought of going for a swim to play with Desta crossed Orrin’s mind, but Deron would be there any moment, and he didn’t like to start things he couldn’t finish properly.
An hour later, Orrin sat with his best friend in the sumptuous deckhouse of Zigag’s flagship.
“I did not see that coming,” Deron said with a snort. “I mean, Joran is not old, but I never thought you’ll end up with a grey-haired man.”
“Well, if my informants are correct you were lucky. Joran just wants an alliance with an Ocean Kingdom. It could have been you.” Orrin waggled a finger at Deron. “Just because you and Fern have been so vocal about your love, you were not contemplated as a sacrificial pawn.”
Deron did a guard-me-from-evil sign, swiping forward his right thumb from under his front teeth. “Blessed Father Apheilon keep darkness away from me!”
“So dramatic,” Orrin cackled.
“First of all, I am not being dramatic. A prince is not dramatic,” Deron recited in his most theatrical voice, making Orrin cackle even more. “And you know what they say about him, right?”
Oh, gossip! Yes!
“Let’s hear it.”
“He eats raunchy boys like you for breakfast!” Deron roared and started tickling Orrin.
“Sweet Erin! Stop it! You’re more brother of Landra than me!” Orrin tried to fend off Deron’s tickling attacks but was failing miserably and ready to pee himself right there. “We are supposed to be princely, remember?”
“Seriously,” Deron stopped, “you, Prince Orrin, Rider of narwhals, Sun of Zigag, and Fucker of Royal Guards, are asking me to be princely?” His face was one of mock disbelief; he even had a hand over his chest in fake outrage.
“I do not,” Orrin straightened himself, “only fuck Royal Guards. I have ample preferences.”
Deron seemed unable to hold it any longer and doubled cackling with a massive snort. He was rolling on the deckhouse floor a heartbeat later, his unbraided dark hair spilled about him.
Orrin moved to his feet. “Honestly, Deron. I’m trying here to pour my heart out, and you’re making fun of me,” he huffed.
Deron heaved as he turned into a sitting position, pulling his knees toward his chest and wrapping his arms around them. They had grown to love each other as brothers from early on, and this was a moment when Orrin needed Deron’s mature approach to things. “It is very difficult to take you seriously when your biggest problem is that you’re not going to be able to fuck everything that moves but are gaining a handsome husband and a kingdom.”
Orrin tilted his head and studied Deron; he didn’t roll his eyes, though. “I heard the same arguments from Landra. I need something different.” He crossed his arms. “I already had a kingdom waiting for me, remember?”
“And sooner or later you would have needed a spouse,” Deron added.
“At least it would have been someone I chose.”
“You don’t know that. It could have been duty, just as Joran’s. He’s doing this out of duty to his people. Can you understand that?”
Yes. Orrin knew that being a ruler wasn’t always about doing what was best for you but what was best for your subjects. “I’m not a total drone, you know. I’m aware of those things.”
“Then what is the real problem here?” Deron perked up, apparently reaching fixer mode finally.
Orrin took a deep breath. He sat again. His eyes settled on a very attentive Deron. “I am afraid I've lost the ability to decide for myself,” he sighed. “I know I put myself in this situation, but it doesn’t make it less scary. I am in the hands of another man now. Am I still my own person? Will I be able to make decisions?”
Deron rested his chin on one knee. Orrin could see the inner workings of his best friend’s brain looking for a soothing answer. The silence extended; it became so complete within the deckhouse Orrin could clearly hear the men outside and below deck, even other orcas, which had probably come to play with Desta. “I think we’re analyzing the problem from the wrong perspective.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have been raised to be kings our whole lives. Think for a moment. You’ve already been King for so many years, had kids, lost the woman you loved, and now for your people, you’ve decided to marry again, and a bratty prince is what’s thrown in your lap as response. What would you do?”
Put that way, there was not much to say but “Fuck.”
“Exactly,” agreed Deron.
****
THREE
The eyes of the massive Treptikó had not been painted black as usual but green like the eyes of Erin and Apheilon. Perhaps, it had been a further trick to intimidate if its sheer bulk wasn’t enough. The gods did not intervene in men’s wars directly; they simply gave them strength and wisdom to do their best. If you failed, it was your turn to fail; no one was immune to that part of life. Nonetheless, those huge green eyes seemed a scheme to avoid attacks out of respect for their deities.
Joran turned his memory to a different eye color. The naughty prince of Zigag had eyes colored like honey. He shouldn’t be thinking about his future husband with too much desire. Still, there was nothing wrong with appreciating beautiful things. However, the beautiful thing approaching port wasn’t the handsome prince he had settled his mind on.
Landra wasn’t the one on the ship.
Landra would have been a pleasant companion.
Yes, it might be the same body, same eyes, same voice, but Orrin was a dissolute wastrel. Hard work would be the keyword in their union. True, all heirs apparent had a rebellious phase— most would go incognito to a brothel, take their father’s favorite mount for a ride without permission, or have an orgy to see what was what. And yet, Orrin of Zigag had been debauching everything in his path regardless of gender or status without a second thought longer than most rebellious phases should last.
How do you tame a sex fiend?
Joran had never shied away from any obstacle, no matter how insurmountable it seemed. Orrin would not be the thing to rob him of his sleep. Perhaps Joran’s more dominant side, which he had never let fully surface around Erindore, could come handy with the blond prince. Maybe the prince didn’t need a firm hand but a rough one.
An idea started forming in Joran’s mind, and his body pleasantly responded to it.
Crewmen lowered the ramp. Guards and the usual dignitaries started to disembark. Joran searched through the raucous mass emerging from the ship: standard bearers, musicians, and people looking lost like they were being unceremoniously kicked out at the wrong port. What had started as a diplomatic procession turned into a street carnival. There were even jugglers!
Leave it to Orrin to turn his arrival into a convoluted affair just to show that he wasn’t pleased with the arrangement.
Joran shook his head. Orrin would ce
rtainly be a handful, but this little nonsense was nothing compared to Joran’s own stunts when he was that age. He would have to appear disapproving or completely unconcerned by the unruly display as if it was a common event in his presence.
When everyone seemed to have descended from the ship and Joran was seriously contemplating to send his guards to retrieve his future husband, Orrin appeared at the top of the ramp surrounded by his escort.
With a flick of the reins, Joran urged the horse. His chariot and the guards surrounding him moved forward. He didn’t bring a retinue because there would be public and formal receptions for Orrin at Chryso, so a great fuss was unnecessary at the port. He thought about bringing a chariot or a carriage for Orrin, but then considered it from the perspective of their need to get used to each other as soon as possible. What could be closer than standing side by side during a sixty mileh ride on a one horse chariot?
Joran and his men stopped near the foot of the ramp. Orrin was still atop as if waiting for something. Clouds dispersed. The afternoon sun came out in full force behind Orrin’s head giving him a halo and protecting Joran’s eyes. His chiton was a bluish green that gave his tanned skin a healthy glow, and his chlamys a creamy yellow like that of a baby chick. The leather thongs of his sandals hugged his well-formed calves lovingly. His hair was loose and slowly waving with the breeze. The damn prince seemed to glow as if he were an otherworldly vision.
Of course, they had seen each other before, but Joran had never see Orrin like this— static, as if waiting for a painter or sculptor to immortalize him, his masculine beauty flagrant and absurd.
Courtesy demanded Orrin addressed Joran first, but Joran jumped from his chariot and trotted to the end of the ramp, extending his hand. “Orrin, Rider of narwhals, Sun of Zigag, Golden Prince, welcome to Doriar.”
****
Did Joran just call Orrin Golden Prince?
What the King names the King owns.
Fuck.
There were no Kept left in the Ten Kingdoms, but that was something all Kings did with the members of the male harems, change their names to let them know their previous life was over. Was that what Joran was doing even before Orrin truly set foot in Doriar?
Orrin needed to open his mouth. Breaking protocol, his future husband had just addressed him first (never mind the ominous purpose for it), and he stood there, at the beginning of the ramp, probably looking like a flabbergasted, starstruck newbie. He almost tripped as he tried to descend the ramp as quickly as possible. The damned thing hadn’t seemed this long when he used it to get on the ship. He went to one knee before Joran. His guards did the same. “Joran, Diamond King of Doriar, Dagger of Andar, Defender of Chryso, thank you for choosing me.”
Fake it till you make it.
Something between a chuckle and a huff reached Orrin before Joran’s hands touched his shoulders.
“Did I?” Joran asked with dry amusement. “Rise, Sun of Zigag.”
Orrin bit off the retort ready to rise with him. Joran still held him when they became face-to-face. His eyes were a strange color, like the violet of a sunset or perhaps a sunrise; one was an ending— the other a beginning. Orrin couldn’t be sure yet which one he faced.
Nevertheless, you could always ask a question if you knew the right way to do it. Orrin lowered his eyes in apparent submission, but also because Joran’s big hands holding him by the shoulders felt strangely right, and that was confusing. “Am I still the Sun of Zigag?”
“Look at me.” Joran didn’t sound angry or offended. Their eyes met, but Orrin got distracted by Joran’s lips this time. “Doesn’t the sun come up every morning?” Those inviting lips twisted in a minute smirk. “You are not losing your birthplace. You’re gaining a kingdom,” Joran said.
“Thank you.”
“Stop thanking me.”
“Why?” There went Orrin’s mouth.
Joran tilted his head, seeming to study Orrin for several heartbeats. He squeezed Orrin’s shoulders. “You’re right. It’s good to be thankful.” He released Orrin.
Did I offend him?
Was this going to be their life, Orrin constantly worrying if he had done something wrong, and Joran being unnecessarily enigmatic? Deron had told Orrin to stop being afraid and trying to solve problems that hadn’t arisen yet. To act like a King would. Yes, one thing was to fake it, and another to get so caught up in the role to believe it real.
Joran pointed to a gold-gilded one-horse chariot. “You’re riding with me.”
Orrin had expected a parade. Joran was taking him to Chryso as if he were something to keep under wraps— hidden because you weren’t completely proud of it.
You need to stop questioning everything!
See this as a battle— be a warrior, not a worrier!
Orrin took a deep breath. “King Joran, if I may.”
They hadn’t moved toward the chariot, and Joran turned to him. “You may.”
“The crew should be unloading our horses at the other end of the ship. If we could wait for that, so my guards have their mounts?”
Joran nodded with a half-smile. It seemed he had forgotten Orrin’s guards couldn’t jog all the way to Chryso, never mind Orrin’s belongings. “Did you bring your own horse too?”
“Yes, but I am riding with you, my King.”
“That’s a good prince.”
****
FOUR
Ample and well-paved, the thoroughfare to Chryso had low hills flanking it, their green almost too bright to be real. Spring seemed to have unleashed its beauty on this area with a vengeance.
They’d driven in silence for a ridiculous amount of time. Orrin remembered something. “I need to apologize, my King.”
Joran didn’t look at Orrin. “Did you do something?” He tilted his head toward Orrin but kept his eyes on the road. “You haven’t been here long enough to do something.”
Snapping wasn’t a good beginning for an apology. Orrin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Luckily Joran had his eyes somewhere else. “I did something without your blessing on my way here.”
That made Joran look at Orrin sideways. He had that face King Ouranio sported every time he was about to yell at Orrin. “Do I really need to know?” He didn’t yell but the voice wasn’t friendly either.
“A Doriar vessel had been attacked by a sea monster, and there were about forty people stranded on several boats. They were wailing and screaming thinking the monster will come back to finish them, so we took them aboard and brought them to Me Diell.”
“Oh.”
“At first we thought it might be a ruse to gain our ship because we couldn’t find any debris around, and there were nobles amongst the people, and their servants still had their standards, and the carnival folk had their implements. They didn’t seem like they had truly jumped ship to save their lives. They were too put together.”
Joran pulled the reins to stop their chariot and raised his hand to halt the convoy too. He turned to face Orrin with his whole body and gave him his full attention. “I see.”
“We thoroughly searched them of course. They had everything, and I seriously mean everything but weapons.” Orrin chuckled a little. “It was as if they had actually started their voyage in those dinghies.”
“An absolute possibility.”
Orrin knew his expression must have been one of true confusion because Joran added, “Sometimes land people do stuff like that to avoid paying full fare.”
“Are you serious?”
“These are things they don’t teach you at King School.”
“There is no such thing as King School!”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Joran said and pressed his lips into a hard line.
Orrin stood there agape for a heartbeat, then huffed, “You are making fun of me!” He almost raised an accusatory finger but thought better of it.
“Just the King School part.” Joran grinned and his violet eyes sparkled. He was an obnoxiously handsome man.
And he was all Orrin’s.
Silver lining much?
“You went cold really fast there.” Joran’s features changed too quickly into paternal concern, something that wasn’t really in tune with Orrin’s current thoughts. “Are you all right? Do you want us to take a break?”
Orrin lowered his eyes; he wasn’t faking it this time. He shook his head. “I am fine. Thank you.”
“Your outrage should have been longer.”
“You’re very distracting,” Orrin murmured before his tongue connected with his brain.
“Hmmm. Then you’re very easy to distract.” Joran elbowed Orrin before turning his body forward again and flicking the reins. “Let’s go!”
The convoy advanced at a brisk pace, but Orrin couldn’t pay attention to the rolling hills and the blooming trees and shrubs anymore. With furtive glances, he noticed the many hues of grey, mixed with black and white in Joran’s long hair, the wide shoulders and tall frame encased in the colors of Doriar, red and brown. He admired the way the muscles of the King’s forearms flexed graciously as he controlled the chariot, the big hands with their wide fingers (adorned with thick, bejeweled rings), and fleetingly imagined how those hands would feel over his skin.
The man smelled like a bow Orrin had once, made with precious rosewood. It was ridiculous that the King of Doriar had reminded him of a weapon he’d lost long ago. The first weapon he had learned to handle. There must be some kind of message in that memory, but, by Apheilon, Orrin couldn’t focus enough to decipher it.
This time the silence between them didn’t feel like a slight but an opportunity for reflection. Orrin had been around Joran in several summits, had heard the man laugh while talking to others, but he had never had the attention of this King so concentrated on him like now.
Soon they would be sharing a bed. What would that even be like? Should he simply submit because Joran was the one with the power, the one who had chosen him? Would it have been different if there had been a spontaneous attraction between them during one of those previous encounters?
Golden Prince Diamond King Page 2
