A Suitable Consort (For the King and His Husband)

by R. Cooper

  Mattin exhaled in a melancholy fashion. “Now you can’t even seduce strangers in taverns.” His sadness on their behalf melded with a bit of displeasure. “Or do you?”

  “Not really an interest of ours anymore. Wasn’t even before we came back.” Arden gave Mattin’s hand another lingering pat. “And we’re far too busy besides. Don’t let that be another worry for you.”

  “Your new…. Your chosen.” Mattin clutched their sleeves even tighter. “They might not like that. You will have to discuss it.”

  “I suppose we will,” Arden agreed readily, without any rancor. “But, to my way of thinking, the real question is, why don’t you? Why doesn’t the young and pretty Mattin Arlylian make his way to more taverns to charm strangers into his bed? Does he not desire to? Or is there some other reason?”

  Mattin was guided farther along when his steps faltered. He turned to Mil first, sputtering at Arden’s cheek and effrontery. “Fusspot.” He pointed to himself, resisting the need to return Mil’s charmed smile. “It takes a lot of jewelry to make me sparkle. I don’t seduce anyone. We just sort of… agree that we might as well.”

  Mil’s smile disappeared. “What?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, my love, but even when I was a palace youth, I did not understand them.” Arden made a rude noise. “I understand them even less now. Mattin, you are….”

  “A bit of a magpie.” Mattin slid his arms free of theirs to pat his braids, which were still in order. The guards had stopped moving. Mattin did not seem to be walking anymore, either, and was not certain when that had happened. He touched a fingertip to one of the crescent moons helping to keep his hair neat. “Did you know they’re a pain to get out when I am tired? Sometimes I forget, and wake with a sore head.”

  “Ah. Then if I might be of use?” Arden’s tone indicated this was an offer, so Mattin turned to stare curiously up at him. Arden’s lips curved as he lifted a hand to lightly, carefully, press on one of the silver moons in Mattin’s hair. His eyes seemed especially dark, but there was only one brazier lit in the corridor that led to Mattin’s room. Perhaps that was why.

  “If you don’t mind,” Mattin heard himself saying. His breath caught when Arden reached up with both hands. The first tickle made him shiver.

  “Tricky fastenings,” Arden observed, to either Mattin or Mil. A flash of silver in Arden’s palm and then he was on to another. Mattin uttered not a word, chest abruptly, unbearably tight.

  “There are more along the back,” he finally managed, shivering uncontrollably when Arden stepped closer. Mattin turned quickly, his body acting on its own to make him face Mil with his eyes wide and searching. He was breathing fast, his breath small puffs of steam, there and gone. He had a passing thought that he should look at the guards instead, but Mil was far more interesting, broad and still, gaze heavy on Mattin as a king tended to his hair.

  “Mil,” Mattin pleaded, although that was all.

  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair loose,” Mil returned in a rasp.

  “It gets in the way.” Mattin shivered and shivered. The air was frozen and yet he was burning, trembling when Arden’s fingertips grazed behind his ear. Everything was so quiet except his pounding heart and Mil’s shallow breathing. “Can you braid hair?” he asked, a desperate sort of question.

  Mil inclined his head. “I can learn.”

  Mattin smiled without thought, then exhaled for the warm hint of Arden’s touch at his nape. “You are teasing me?” He didn’t want to wait for an answer. “If your chosen wears braids, then you should.” If they were a beat-of-four, they likely would. Mattin pushed that thought away and shuddered for the heat at his back. “It will help for afterward.”

  “Afterward?” Firelight was flickering and never to be trusted. Mil was not watching Mattin’s face or studying his mouth.

  Mattin wet his lips. “When you are getting dressed again,” he informed Mil in a husky whisper.

  Mil nodded seriously. “Then I’d best learn, hadn’t I?”

  Mattin raised a hand and had it nearly on Mil’s chest before he had the dizzying realization that Mil was making the offer for another. Because there must truly be someone they would prefer. Mattin dropped his hand but still could not look away.

  Arden’s breath trickled down beneath Mattin’s ear to his collarbone. “The necklace as well?”

  Mattin dragged a hand to his throat. Mil made a sound, pleased or denying, or both.

  “Just loosen it. Please.” Mattin’s eyes fell shut at the glancing feel of Arden’s hands at the back of his neck, the slide of the thin chain, and then he was sucking in a breath and moving away.

  He did not get far on his suddenly weak legs, but he did not have far to go. He stared in confusion at the door to his room until one of the guards opened it.

  “No lock?” Mil’s voice was rougher than usual. “Check it first.”

  Mattin opened his mouth to object, but two of the guards were already inside, lighting the candles in the sconces and then, at Arden’s thoughtful order, a fire in the fireplace. Mattin shuffled in after them, blinking a little at the mess he’d made in his search for the right outfit, the open door to his bathing area, the mussed blankets on his bed, the stacks of books so like his office.

  Tomorrow, he would wonder what Mil and Arden thought of it. Tonight, he was drifting toward the bed already, letting the guards move around him as they filed back outside.

  Arden and Mil stayed in the doorway, not stepping beyond the threshold.

  Mattin’s hand was still at his throat, holding the necklace as it began to slip. He had the feeling he ought to speak, although he had no idea what he should say.

  Mil broke the silence with quiet concern. “Get some sleep for once, Sass. I’ve never seen you so upset as you have been lately, and I’m sorry we caused it.”

  Mattin shook his head to refute that. Everything he had done he had chosen to do. They had trusted him with it. “I’m sorry I was trouble.”

  Arden’s gaze met his. “No trouble at all.”

  “Not enough trouble, some might say,” Mil added, with a feathery sort of gentleness that would have surprised Mattin if he had not had so much wine.

  “This was our pleasure, though you will not believe me, I think.” Arden should be more tired than Mattin, not pausing in his doorway to say such things. “Sleep well, Master Arlylian.”

  Mil barked an order to the guards before Arden had fully closed the door.

  Mattin tripped backwards to his bed, then fell onto it to stare blankly at his ceiling. His skin was pebbled with goosebumps although his cheeks were stinging. The fire was bright. He pulled the necklace slowly from his throat, and without moving his head, tugged at his braids to loosen them. Then he closed his eyes.

  Surprising even himself, he slept.

  The first meeting was uneventful. Probably because Mattin had been given no warning and so no chance to fret over it. He had known it would happen soon, if only because of Arden’s wish to have the atmosphere in the palace calmer by the end of summer, but he had not expected Cael to invite him along as she made visits, or to then end up in a sitting room occupied by King Arden, his sister, Captain Wulfa, and several nobles from different families. That one of these nobles was Hess Lilanatha, from Mattin’s list, and that Hess was seated before an exquisite window of dyed glass next to the king himself, had made Mattin falter beside Cael.

  Cael had given Mattin a look of concern, or warning, then ushered him the rest of the way into the room, where Jola Canamorra had immediately invited Mattin to sit beside her and thus blocked Mattin’s view of the window. Mattin had not spoken to Arden or Mil since his evening with too much wine, and in those two days, he had considered many times what he ought to say when he saw them. Rescued, or trapped, by Jola, he had no chance to say anything. He had been given treats of crushed pistachios rolled in honey and sweet, fried dough, and cups of tea of a familiar blend, and then sent from the room with Cael once again before
the meeting had concluded.

  Hess had looked to his best advantage in the pale pinks and blues from the window glass. So Mattin had thought. But the meeting was not mentioned during his next breakfast in the rooms of the king and consort, and no matter how the conversation had lulled once or twice while the two men had studied him, Mattin did not bring it up. Whether or not Hess was the one they may, or may not, have wanted, was for them to explore, and they could certainly do that without Mattin’s help—except for the short lesson in frivolous conversational topics that Arden had insisted that he and Mil needed and which he hoped would not inconvenience Mattin too much. As if walking through one of the palace gardens and asking Arden and Mil questions about the weather and the winter-blooming flowers had been a tremendous burden on Mattin’s time.

  They had actually wound up talking more about the fae and Arden and Mil’s encounters with them, which had been fascinating enough to nearly make Mattin forget his cold nose and his chilled hands and Arden’s tiny, fleeting frowns whenever he noticed them.

  After that, Mattin had gone back to grains and harvest information between researching royal wedding rituals of the past several hundred years. He had also taken some time to watch the assistants going to and fro on various errands for different Keepers, and considered the Great Library as a source of information in an entirely new way than he ever had before.

  All of that had been more than enough to keep him distracted until a message had arrived for him in his office, another invitation on richly textured paper, another small gathering in the temporary home of Jola Canamorra.

  For this one, a midday meal with several of Jola’s friends and acquaintances and their friends, Mattin had straightened his clothing and washed the ink from his hands, but had not had time to do more. Which meant he had been at one end of the table in rumpled linen with his hair in two long braids down his back and not a single piece of jewelry while Arden, with Mil nearby, had talked at length with Lan Balylithan down at the other end of the table. Lan had been in velvet the color of pomegranates with delicate gold cuffs at his ears and nose, and a gold necklace that matched the clasps at the ends of the tiny braids starting at his temples.

  Mattin spoke absently with those around him and smiled when he thought it appropriate, and when everyone finally got up to walk the room and chat and sip what was left of their wine, he slipped away to a balcony, closing the door behind him. He was hardly needed in there, whatever Arden would say.

  This many people in attendance for one initial meeting was either intended to disguise the purpose of the meeting or to see how well Lan would handle the pressure. It also seemed more Jola or Cael’s doing than Arden’s. Definitely not Mil’s.

  It was nearly evening, which came so early in the winter, and not snowing, although the air was crisp. Alone, Mattin reached into a pocket to pull out a set of gloves.

  The gloves were a gift. A present left on Mattin’s office desk the morning of Arden and Mil’s first meeting with someone from his list, although Mattin had not known that then. Mattin had arrived, bleary eyed and tired, to the sight of a pair of small gloves in pale brown leather with button closures at the wrists, and next to them, a handful of gleaming hair clasps in the shape of crescent moons. All of it had made his face sting.

  The gloves were similar to what the palace guards wore in winter, although much finer, and obviously not intended to be used while handling weaponry. The buttons were carved blackwood, dramatic against the light color of the gloves themselves. Mattin loved the gloves dearly, and touched them often, running his fingertips over the soft interior when he was alone in his office. But he had not worn them much, forgetting them at his desk a few times, or then finding himself reluctant to put them on once outside. Like his clasps being returned to him, it seemed something that ought to be brought up in the proper way—as soon as Mattin determined what that was.

  But he was chilled—he had remembered a cloak but removed it for the meal—and he was alone, and it was likely he would be alone for some time. So he put them on and fastened the buttons with trembling fingers. Then he placed his hands onto the railing to peer down at the courtyard below.

  “Be careful out here.” Mattin should have startled at the interruption. At the sound of Mil’s gruff warning, however, he merely turned. Mil soundlessly closed the door to the balcony behind him. “You’re a nice, fine target.”

  Since that made no sense, Mattin stared blankly at Mil as Mil came forward to join him. “A target?” he finally echoed. “For what?”

  Mil came closer. His sleeve brushed Mattin’s arm as he stopped to peer over the ledge. He nodded to someone. Mattin twisted to follow his gaze and saw a palace guard returning the gesture.

  He had been sure to not have any wine today. His thoughts still seemed a few paces behind.

  “Are you worried?” Mattin couldn’t believe it. “About me? Whatever for?”

  Mil pulled away from the ledge and put a hand to Mattin’s elbow just long enough to urge Mattin to take the step back with him. Then he slid Mattin a look that felt pointed. “The Tyrabalith’s cousin is next on your list,” he said, significantly. As if this explained anything except that he and Arden were methodically ticking off names.

  “Yes, well.” Mattin shivered a little but raised his eyebrows loftily when it made Mil scowl, and Mil did not comment on how cold Mattin must be. Mattin glanced to the balcony door, made of colored glass but covered by a curtain for warmth at this time of year, which meant he could not see inside. “You two hardly tore him to pieces for his suggestion. If Per Tyrabalith wants to provoke something that would be… foolish, really. He’s not going to try convincing me to add names the list, and even if I did, it wouldn’t change anything. Anyway… I still don’t think defending his love makes the king look terrible. Not even to the other beat-of-fours.”

  Mil scoffed. “The Traitor King does not need much to sour his reputation, you know that. It’s only been a few years.”

  “Anyone who meets him—”

  “But not everyone has, or will.” Mil’s interruption was gentle. “There is a point to be made about stronger alliances. I’m but a guard and I do not belong in finery.”

  Mattin looked up at him. Mil’s hair was back today. His ears were bare as ever, even of simple pewter jewelry. He must not care for it. But he wore brown today, deep brown, and it made him seem warm despite the weather.

  Mattin dropped his eyes, aware that he’d been staring. “You’re a hero,” he argued heatedly. “People regard you as such.”

  Mil gave a snort. “Nobles aren’t people—no offense.”

  Mattin jerked his chin up in surprise, then frowned. Mil lifted a hand.

  “I said no offense, Sass.”

  “Saying it doesn’t take away the offense, you know.” Mattin huffed, then shook his head at himself. “But you have been treated poorly, for no reason other than dismay that you are not a noble. Or perhaps because you knew so many of them when they were younger, and they are ashamed for how they acted, or did not act, to Arden or to you. So I cannot fault you for your bitterness.”

  Mil seemed taken aback. He waited a moment, then bent his head as if to study Mattin more closely. “You think it’s their shame over that, and not just the fact that I am not one of them but, in a manner of speaking, have more power than they do?”

  When Mil chose to speak on political matters, he was clear and direct.

  Mattin nodded respectfully and spoke gently. “I think it’s both. And also that you don’t know their ways, and have made it clear you don’t want to and will not be bothered—except for when you do bother. Because you can and you have when you feel you should. Like with Jola’s parties. So you remind them that they are not necessarily important, and that their ways are not, either. And they act resentfully at times.”

  “At times.” Mil seemed amused by that. His stare was hard to hold. In these moments, he was thoughtful and sincere and everything other nobles believed he could not be. “Their w
ays are also your ways, Sass.”

  “Yes,” Mattin agreed immediately, only to stop and look down. “I understand, a little, of having to claim your own space in the palace. But you are right. I am still one of them.” He thought of what Jola had said and smiled. “Not all of us get to run away to the Outguard.”

  He had expected Mil to find that funny. Not for his expression to sharpen and grow fierce. “Not all of us should.” Mil growled it. He also seemed to know who had originated the phrase. “Oh, Jola would have been fine. She’d lead armies, that one, if she were inclined. You should stay in your bright clothes and your little office.”

  “I…” Once again, Mattin was practically a helpless infant. But he could hardly argue against it. Not with Mil so concerned he had imagined Mattin as a target. “You’re changing the subject.”

  The ferocious look remained for a few moments more. Then Mil gave in. “And what good is it to mention their dislike of me, or my dislike of them? Not all of them are terrible, it’s true enough. But the past twenty years have proven that not many of them can be trusted. That’s a fact. And it’s my job to watch out for them, too, and they know that. It just helps that I am not one of them. Helps them keep me separate. And so, though I did not think of it in those terms at first, I can now see the advantage of having someone at Arden’s side who knows them and can talk with them. I think it will be good… if we can ever get the matter settled.”

  Mattin forgot to blink for a while, then did so, before frowning so intently at Mil that Mil should have commented instead of allowing it.

  “Mil,” he began at last, with a vague feeling that he had said it before in much the same way, “you do not have to answer, but I must ask.” Which was easier said than done. Mattin breathed in deeply, then let it out. “Are you worried he will love someone else more than you? Because you shouldn’t be. I don’t think that’s possible.”

  Surprise, unhappiness, and confusion flickered across Mil’s face before he fixed his expression to something inscrutable. He squared his shoulders. “He and I have discussed my worries, but I reckon I should have had it out with you, too.”