Little Moments, #2

by Megan Derr

  So instead he slipped into the familiar 'peasant' accent he'd grown up with, before he'd learned how to speak 'properly' in various languages. "'Twas you what ran into me, milord."

  That got him the backhand he expected, the man's ring slicing into his cheek, leaving a cut that would scar if not properly tended. "Watch your tongue. Be on your way before I decided to summon the guards to deal with you."

  Esmour smiled, and the man at least had enough sense to recoil slightly. "Accidents happen on crowded streets. Bit of patience and kindness wouldn't have hurt you none. But being a mean, rude bastard just because you can be—that will hurt you. G'evening, milord." Esmour strode on while the man was still sputtering, vanishing easily into the crowd even as the man started bellowing for guards. Who would only be greatly annoyed that they were being disturbed simply because someone had been rude.

  He reached the royal castle a short time later, slipping through a side gate with a smile and wave at the guards as they let him through. He stole into the kitchens briefly to nick a couple of pies, taking a playful swat from the head chef with good grace and a kiss to her cheek.

  They were stuffed full with hen and vegetables, dripping gravy and burning the roof of his mouth. He finished the last couple of bites as he reached his chambers, and was greeted by a familiar chuckle. "Sometimes I think you only love me for the access to the royal kitchens."

  Esmour grinned and licked the last remaining bits of gravy from his thumb. "It's a perk."

  "Somehow—" Teigh broke off, a scowl overtaking his face. "Who hit you?" He dropped the papers he was holding and strode across the room, spurs ringing with every hard step, and took gentle hold of Esmour's face. "Only a jeweled ring could cut like that. Tell me who did it."

  Esmour tugged free of his grip. "Leave off, noble prince. I have the matter well in hand. Anyway, I've no idea who the man was. He's not a face I've seen before, but that doesn't mean much. Given your brother has returned today, however, I'm sure I'll see him again before the night is out. Now do I get a kiss, or are you just going to keep scowling?"

  "I'm going to attend that cut on your cheek," Teigh said, not quite growling the words as he took hold of Esmour's wrist and dragged him back across the room, shoving him into the chair at his table before going to fetch the healer's kit he always kept in the room.

  Esmour rolled his eyes. "It's barely a scratch."

  "You know very well it's worse than that." Teigh unrolled the kit on his table, shoving papers carelessly out of the way, and grasped Esmour's chin to look the cut over critically. "I really want someone to suffer for this."

  "For a simple backhand?" Esmour scoffed. "I told you, I have the matter well in hand. I know how to deal with spoiled brat nobles." He fluttered his lashes. "Does my prince no longer find me appealing, without my pretty face?"

  That got exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for: dragged out of the chair and practically thrown right across the table, sending papers scattering everywhere as Teigh settled between his spread thighs and kissed him until they were both gasping for breath.

  "You're a brat," Teigh finally said, barely withdrawing enough to get the words out.

  Esmour kissed his nose. "I wanted a kiss, damn it."

  "That cut needs tending."

  "And you can tend it all you like now I've gotten my kiss."

  Teigh sighed and dragged him back off the table, looking over the mess he'd made. "You certainly know how to get your way."

  "I am the King's Lymer," Esmour replied with a smile, and resumed his seat when Teigh pointed, tilting his head so Teigh could fuss over the cut as he wanted.

  Gentle fingers rubbed a sweet-smelling salve over the cut. "That reminds me of something I wanted to discuss with you."

  Esmour's good mood vanished as the suddenly serious tone struck him. "What?"

  "By the gods, Esmour, it's nothing bad!" Teigh tugged him to his feet and brushed a soft kiss across his mouth. "You are mine. That will never change if I have anything to say about it."

  "Sorry," Esmour said. "Despite everything, I still sometimes fear I'll wake up cold and alone in an alleyway, all of this a dream."

  "You're my dream come true, poet," Teigh replied, wrapping him up close and kissing him deeply. "Which is what I wanted to talk to you about."

  Esmour gave him a look. "You want to discuss my being a dream?"

  "Stop being a brat!" Teigh shook him gently. "No, I want to discuss the fact you're mine. And my father's precious Lymer. You've served him now for a little over four years, and have been mine, not Amabel's or anyone else's, for more than a year."

  "You don't usually ramble this much."

  Teigh groaned. "You're right, I don't. But in my defense you're the only person in the world who makes me nervous."

  "That's stupid."

  "Shut up and let me talk!" Teigh pinched him. "How would you feel, King's Lymer, about being His Majesty's son-in-law as well?"

  Esmour stared blankly. "How in the world would I be his son-in-law? I'd have to marry—" His eyes snapped open wide. "You can't mean—are you asking me—"

  "To marry me, yes, although in my head I was a lot more elegant and intelligent about it." Teigh sighed. "Why do you look like you swallowed a frog?"

  "Because four years ago I slept on the streets and stole to survive, and one year ago I was in penance bracelets, and now you want me to marry into the royal family." He sat down before he fell down, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, too many thoughts and emotions swirling through his head for any single one to really latch on properly.

  Teigh knelt in front of him, covering Esmour's hands with his own. "Surely you knew this is where our path would eventually lead."

  Esmour gave him a look. "You must be joking. It is one thing for a prince to take some tarted-up thief for a lover. Quite another to marry him. Your father—"

  "Has already given his permission," Teigh said quietly.

  "Oh." Esmour stared at their joined hands, hating that his trembled but unable to help it. He still couldn't believe he was an earl most days, and now Teigh wanted to make him a prince?

  Teigh's hands tensed, and withdrew slightly. "You don't have to say yes, if the idea troubles you."

  Esmour laughed shakily and grabbed his hands back. "It doesn't trouble me, not the way you clearly think. It's intimidating, and you could do a thousand times better than—"

  "No, I couldn't," Teigh said, with all the fierceness that made him such an excellent Chief Royal Inquisitor. "You loved me when I was a merchant. You loved me when I betrayed you. You're steadfast and true, and lovely inside and out. There is no better person in this whole kingdom, and I want you at my side, officially and forever."

  Tears stung Esmour's eyes. "You know that's all I ever wanted, be you merchant or prince or if tomorrow we both woke up gutter rats. Of course I'll marry you, Teigh."

  Teigh rose and dragged him out of the chair and into his arms, kissing him ravenously, possessively, before shoving-guiding him over to the bed and making quick work of their clothes. Normally Teigh loved to take his time, take Esmour apart piece by piece, until he was left wrung-out and practically melted.

  But right then his legendary patience was nowhere to be found, and it was only moments before he spread Esmour wide and sank into him, fucking him with rough, eager strokes that had Esmour clinging for dear life, his moans filling the room.

  He came a short time later, spilling between them as Teigh fucked him a last few times before coming deep inside him, face buried in Esmour's throat.

  When they could move again, sweat cooling on Esmour's skin and making him slightly chilly, Teigh rolled off him and sprawled across the bed. "There's a bath for you, by the way."

  Esmour glanced over toward the fire place, where sure enough, a bath was still steaming gently. "Thank you. Though I'm not sure I can move now."

  Teigh laughed and helped him up, then ushered him into the water and, despite Esmour's protests, set to washing him.

&
nbsp; Nearly an hour later, and after Teigh had made liberal use of Esmour's mouth, they were finally dressed and ready for dinner. Teigh kissed him gently, mindful of Esmour's poor, well-used lips, and went over to his wardrobe. He came back with something tucked into his fist, and uncurled his fingers one by one to reveal a simple, but handsome ring: three small emeralds set in gleaming gold.

  Esmour swallowed and offered his left hand, watching as Teigh slid the ring into place, noting belatedly that he already wore a matching ring, though it had glittering yellow diamonds instead of emeralds. "Engaged to a prince. If my old crew could see me now, they'd not believe it." He smiled and kissed the corner of Teigh's mouth. "Take me to dinner, Highness."

  Teigh's eyes glittered. "Yes, Highness."

  "Stop that!" Esmour was still laughing, torn between elation and terror, as they headed down the hallway. It faded as they neared the great hall, and a familiar figure caught his gaze.

  The man's eyes widened. "You! What are you doing here?"

  Teigh's brows shot up into his hairline. "I beg your pardon, Lord Marsten?"

  Marsten seemed to realize something was amiss. "Beg pardon, Your Highness, but I met this man a short time ago on the streets. He was dressed quite common, and had no manners to speak of."

  "So what explains your lack of manners?" Teigh asked, in a voice that had sent many a soldier and inquisitor looking desperately for escape routes. "I forget, though, that you've been out of the country for quite some time. I'm sure that explains much of your… misunderstanding. Let me clear things up for you. Lord Marsten, this is Lord Esmour Locke, Earl of Halfnight, King's Lymer, Deputy Chief Inquisitor, and as of an hour ago, my betrothed. Esmour, this is Lord Hannigan Marsten, Marquis of Grace. If you are my father's Lymer, he is my father's trash collector. Isn't that right, my lord?"

  Marsten looked as though he'd been slapped, or like he was about to toss up his stomach, but he gave a terse nod and said, "Just so, Your Highness. I apologize for my behavior, Lord Locke. Congratulations on your engagement." He didn't wait for their replies, simply fled the scene against all protocol.

  Esmour cast Teigh a look. "I told you I had the matter well in hand."

  "I'm not just going to simply stand by and let some rude upstart treat you that way," Teigh said. "You're far too nice to all these rude bastards. He's lucky I was in too good a mood to give him what he really deserves."

  "Down, sweet prince, my honor has been thoroughly defended. I'd much rather go show off my ring."

  Teigh grinned. "Steal all the attention from my brother?"

  "That is not what I said."

  "But it is what I'm going to do," Teigh said, offering his arm, smiling unrepentantly as he led them into the crowded hall.

  FIN