by R. Cooper
That did not mean anything. Or perhaps didn’t. Arden and Mil had likely just removed him to the nearest safe location. They hadn’t known Mattin would say what he had. Mattin hadn’t known he would say what he had.
Which was mortifying, would be mortifying, tomorrow. Today. Whenever it was. Whatever day Mattin could rest and think clearly.
He paced again, or tried to, but it seemed that a night of terror and no rest took his strength from him. He collapsed onto the bed on unsteady legs and waited. Soon, he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, in front of what was left of the fire. Then, he pulled the fur over his lap.
When he opened his eyes again, his head was on a pillow, the fur was tucked beneath his chin, and Arden and Mil were holding a quiet conversation somewhere close.
Mattin listened to them without a care for what was said. It was the sound of their voices that lifted his heart and let him close his eyes again for a few moments more. When he finally looked up from the pillow, it was to find them.
They stood in front of the fire, which was blazing bright. Mil was gently tying and untying the laces of Arden’s simple shirt. They were both out of their armor, wearing trousers and the loose, thin shirts that went beneath their tunics. The laces seemed more decorative than practical. Mil was fidgeting, Mattin realized. Fretting.
Arden was the one The Tyrabalith had ultimately wanted to kill. Mattin and Mil, the guards, might have been in his path, but it was a path that led to Arden. The Tyrabalith would not be the only one with royal murder on his mind; he had merely been the one today.
Arden looked tired, but his lips were curved when he finally stopped Mil. He brought Mil’s fretting hands up to his mouth and kissed them, then leaned in and paused, waiting.
Mil grumbled something that might have been rough, but he kissed Arden gently and was slow to pull away.
The firelight flickered over them, warm and loving.
Mattin exhaled shakily and they both turned toward him.
He sat up immediately, then blinked at the rush of sparkles before his eyes before the world steadied itself.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep. I’ll—”
“Stay!” Arden stilled, then smoothed the harshness from his tone with obvious effort. “If you please. Stay.”
Mil joined in, gruff as ever. “There have been few good things about this day. Coming back after all that to see you here was one of them.”
Mattin did not squeak, but was a close thing. He had been on the bed before, not in it. One of them had set him here, and the other likely made him comfortable. Now Mil was petting him with words.
“You’ve flustered him, my love,” Arden remarked, as seriously as he might have at court.
“He could use some flustering,” Mil returned. He did not seem to be teasing either.
Mattin frowned at their odd stillness, his gaze dropping to Mil’s hand, which had fallen back to Arden’s chest. Mil’s fingers were tangled in the laces of Arden’s shirt, as if he could not let go.
Mattin tugged the fur down to his waist, hardly noticing that he was fully dressed except for his cloak and his boots. “Tell me what happened? Are you both all right? No injuries? Show me.” He was too tired to note his own audacity until Arden flashed a surprised smile and then moved as if to take off his shirt. “Oh!” Mattin exclaimed, grateful the firelight would hide any color in his face. He studied them both regardless, first Arden, who sighed and left his shirt on, and then Mil, who had at least cleaned away the blood that had marked him before. “Are you well?” Mattin asked, quieter this time.
“Aye.” Mil was staring at him in a way Mattin could not handle while sitting in their bed.
“Merely exhausted.” Arden’s answer was more honest, and horrifying as Mattin recalled himself.
He turned quickly back toward Arden. “Then I should leave you to your bed and your rest.”
“Or just move over a bit,” Mil suggested, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed and sighing as he removed his boots. “Fuck me, I can’t believe I used to march for days without a problem.”
“I think the emotions of the night are more wearying than they can seem,” Arden remarked, watching his husband remove his thick winter socks with an almost tender expression on his face.
“Emotions?” Mattin realized he still had not gotten his answer. “What happened? Tell me this time.”
Mil heaved a breath, then surprised Mattin by flopping backwards to lie with his legs over the side of the bed. The bed was so large that he was nowhere near touching Mattin.
Mil rubbed his eyes with his palms as he answered. “His friends and allies were not so many, but some were clever at hiding, and it took a while to roust them out. We’re still after a few of them, in fact. Cael is up and talking to people. In a couple of hours, after a bit of sleep, we’ll go back out to try to determine who is guilty and of what. We’ve alarmed more noble families than we’ve calmed, at the moment, but since most invited themselves to stay within the palace wall because of tradition, or pride, or nosiness, they can deal with the occasional attempted uprising in the middle of the night.”
“And The Tyrabalith?” Mattin pressed, pulling the fur back up to his chest. “His family?”
“I’m hardly one to condemn a whole house for the acts of a single member,” Arden replied, stretching his neck until it popped, then sighing. “Not without cause, anyway. Which is not something that can be discovered in one night, or even one day. Nor am I a king who has the right to condemn another for treason.” He stopped to meet Mattin’s eyes. “For attempting to harm you, however, I can.”
“Fortunately,” Mil cut in when Mattin had trouble catching his breath, “that will not be a problem since Per Tyrabalith was stuck by one of the guards he attacked, and bled out in his hiding place.”
“Oh,” Mattin said.
The fire crackled.
“Oh,” Arden agreed gravely. “You should know that many were distressed to learn that you had been the target.”
Mattin’s eyes widened. “You told them?”
“No one touches my family.” Arden spoke quietly, in a room with only two other people in it, but his words were rolling thunder. “No one will harm what is mine without consequences. I have made this clear, and still, The Tyrabalith acted as he did.” Arden stopped to watch Mattin. When he continued, the storm was far away. “You are well-liked, a respected Keeper, admired by others your age, in your circles. Further, you are innocent of any scheming, as anyone who meets you quickly realizes. Very few were pleased that The Tyrabalith would try this. Many asked after you, including Jola. I assured her you were safe. Did you eat?”
The storm had dissipated altogether.
“Did I eat?” Mattin repeated back to him, uncertain how this was a concern after everything else Arden had just said. He threw out a hand to point at Arden accusingly. “You called me dear heart!” He may have shouted it. His finger went toward Mil, who sat up. “You kissed me!” He may have shouted that, too.
Mil squinted at him. Arden flashed a wry little smile, very like the one when they’d first met.
“He often calls you that,” Mil answered at last, “just not where you can hear.”
“I’ve sense enough to know better.” Arden was far too pleased with himself. When Mattin recovered his voice, he ought to say something about that.
“Pfft. Mil flapped a hand. “He likes it when I call him Sass. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t speak to me when I do it. I suspect he just feels he is supposed to object.”
“To the intimacy?” Arden guessed, then made a small noise of revelation. “Ah. What is proper. Rules that would have suited Queen Lyni, bless her memory.”
Mattin stared between them with a tired frown until Mil stopped and leaned toward him. “Ah, Sass.” He put his hand on the bed to hold himself up. “If I could keep you as gentle in your ways as you are, forever, I would. They’re admirable things, your colors and kindnesses, and your courtly manners even with someone like me
… most of the time. You do have your temper.”
Mattin did not know how to respond to that. “I didn’t even get a list right,” he mourned softly.
Mil turned to Arden in alarm. “What did I do wrong? He’s upset!”
“Someone tried to kill me!” Mattin flailed his hands a bit, then grabbed the fur over his lap and held tight. “And you kissed me, and he called me… what he called me… and that is why they tried to kill me.” He was suddenly too warm and restless. His voice was husky. “And I worried! All night, or however long I’ve been here. I worried for you, and you did not even send word, and now you are here and I am tired. I am so very tired even though I didn’t do anything but sit on the ground and listen. I’m—” He dragged in a long breath. “Tired,” he finished, after a shuddery exhale.
“We sent food and tea,” Arden objected, as Mil opened his mouth as if to say the same. But then Arden nodded slowly. “However, we did not send word. For that, I am sorry. We are sorry. I suppose… I suppose we weren’t sure how concerned you would be. And perhaps I also thought that the news might upset you more. I should not have.”
Mattin stared at the two of them, not sure he had heard correctly. “How concerned I would be? I told you—I said—I embarrassed us all with what I said.”
“You had just been through a…” Mil met Mattin’s incredulous stare, then trailed off before clearing his throat to try again. “We are doubly sorry.”
“You kissed me before you left.” Mattin said it quietly this time and regarded Mil with wide eyes.
The corners of Mil’s mouth drew down. “I am sorry for that, too.”
Mattin’s frown deepened. “You are?”
Mil looked as if he had several things he wanted to say, but in the end, scratched the back of his head and glanced away. “You’re about what’s proper. I should have asked.”
“I would have said yes,” Mattin snapped, without knowing that at all. It instantly brought Mil’s gaze back to him, which Mattin regretted when his face began to grow hotter. “Surely you knew that,” Mattin insisted anyway. “You’ve teased me enough for it.”
“That part was…” Arden was too kind to say glaringly obvious. “It gave us hope.”
“Who was teasing?” Mil wondered, scowling.
“The rest was not nearly as promising for us as your blushes were,” Arden continued smoothly. “You can be difficult to read as well, Master Keeper.” Mattin shifted his attention to him in question and Arden’s smile lit the room. “I did hear correctly? You love us, Mattin Arlylian?”
Mattin worked his mouth but no sounds came out. He shut his eyes and let the silence answer for him.
Arden’s sigh was deep and satisfied. “But you asked us, in your way, to stop.” When Mattin opened his eyes, Arden was no longer smiling. “And we would have. We thought we were too old, after all. Or it was too dangerous for you, which we understood.”
“Or that we were still too rough for someone like you,” Mil muttered.
Mattin was shaking his head before Mil was even finished. It was not any of those reasons, although Mattin should have thought of the danger. “I could not marry you and sleep in another room, or sleep here while knowing that if my surname were different, you would have chosen someone else. I could not be an alliance when I wanted—” he paused before saying what he had never allowed himself to say or even think “—when I wanted to be a husband.” He wet his lips, then dropped his head to consider the fur over his knees. “But we can forget that, never speak of it, if you like.”
“You are a constant puzzle.” Arden did not sound as upset by this as Mattin would have. If anything, Arden seemed cautious. “There are other beat-of-fours who would do for an alliance.”
The furs got a scowl. Then Arden got it too, for a moment. “You already know me. I’m convenient.”
The quiet that held the room had a stunned quality. Mattin imagined the two of them having an entire conversation with just their faces. Then Arden made a noise in his throat. “With any others, a courtship would have been, as you said, a dance. A dance with known steps, simple to follow. With you…”
“There’s nothing convenient about you,” Mil interrupted. “Except that we generally know where to find you.”
Mattin shuffled and reshuffled these remarks before finally, warily, lifting his head. “Is that a compliment?”
Mil gave him a cheeky grin. “You fuss.”
“And you don’t like mornings,” Arden added, “though we do.”
“You’re scared of weaponry and fighting—understandably so.” Mil growled a little. “Which I’m glad of, even if it might also make you scared of me.”
“You’re younger, enough to make us worry.” Arden was just ticking off points now despite Mattin’s soft gasp.
“You ought to be dripping in suitors, but you’re not.” Mil seemed ready to growl again. “That worried us too. Maybe you didn’t want any. Maybe we were bothering you.”
Mattin shook his head again.
Arden’s regard was nearly enough to set him on fire. “You stare at us as though we are incredible.”
“Or like you want us to eat you up,” Mil pronounced it with relish, making Mattin burn even hotter.
But then Arden sighed. “Yet you didn’t put your name on that list.” He let Mattin sit with that for several beats before adding gently, “At least now we know the reason for that.”
“Sent us running to Cael, that did,” Mil complained. “Made me feel about fifteen.”
Mattin ignored that for the sake of his pounding heart, and traced back through all their declarations to return to the point. “So I am not convenient?”
“I wanted to get you more clasps,” Mil volunteered. “But neither of us had any idea how to choose or order such things, and Jola laughed at us, and then it seemed like it would be too much, by your rules. Too public. Too forward, maybe, to hand you jewels.”
“The cloak and gloves were public enough,” Mattin heard himself saying, in a queer, faint voice.
“But you wore them.” They were both briefly smug and well-pleased with themselves.
Mattin was too tired to feel ruffled. He suspected that if a hair clasp from them had shown up at his door, he would have worn it and walked on clouds.
He tried to recover the ground he seemed to have lost, while not knowing why he was holding the ground at all. “But you said the idea had occurred to you before—oh.”
They had been thinking of him long before he had foolishly come to his senses last night.
“I told you we should have just seduced him first,” Mil said to Arden. “We could’ve worked the rest out afterward.”
“I think your cock was making that decision, my love,” Arden answered, dry. “But… it may have worked better than trying to be discreet.”
Mattin huffed. That either of them thought they had been discreet when the entire population of the palace had known after only a few days—and some before, like Cael—was ridiculous. The palace guards must have suspected, at least some of them. How many of them had winked or smirked or grinned at Mattin as they’d let him into the royal chambers?
“You are careful with others, but I was permitted into your rooms whenever I wished!” Mattin realized aloud. “To share your breakfasts with you!”
“Would you like some tea now?” Arden inquired earnestly, and something lighter than laughter bubbled up in Mattin’s chest; a silly, joyous feeling that made him bounce as he turned to Mil.
“You were worried about me not loving you?” he demanded of Mil’s startled, then wary, face. “I’ve wanted to buy you a clasp, too,” he confessed. “Nothing like mine. But you should wear something to the council meetings to show that you are valued. You let him get you armor, and it’s beautiful. But you should have something with you that isn’t only that.”
Mil seemed to struggle to catch his breath. “Don’t think I’m meant to sparkle,” he answered at last.
“You are to me,” Mattin told him
fiercely, and Mil made a sound, low and rasping. Mattin had never imagined such a sound coming from him and wasn’t sure if Mil was embarrassed or angry or pleased.
But Arden was smiling. Mattin turned to him.
“And you! With your one cuff of gold, lovely though it is, and your collection of borrowed crowns you do not wear!”
Arden blinked, then dropped his smile. “Many recent rulers have been power-hungry, or greedy for treasures. I didn’t want to seem extravagant.”
“You could wear anything as long as it was yours!” Mattin declared with quiet passion. “You could wear pewter and look like a king. How dare you. The country would kneel for you in a crown of iron or paper, but you’d have to choose one first. You are The Canamorra and the king, and your people love spectacle, have I not made this clear? What kind of handsome, heroic king is happy to wear shine from his beloved but not a simple crown to please his people? How dare you?”
Arden lifted his chin, though he seemed more baffled than challenging. “How… dare I?”
Mil threw back his head and laughed, making Mattin jump. “Oh, Sass,” Mil began when he was able to speak, wiping his eyes, “is it any wonder we’ve wanted you for so long?”
“He means loved,” Arden corrected, although, from his expression, he was still puzzling over Mattin’s small tirade.
No wonder Mil was laughing, if he also felt this.
“Loved?” Mattin tossed his head, denying the giddiness to frown in consternation. “I only admitted that I loved you today—last night.”
Arden shrugged. “Some of us are fools who brave gates and walls and swords. Some of us are wise and hide. There’s nothing to be done about it, though, is there? I’m pleased with the result.”
Mattin tossed his head again. “But I hurt you yesterday.”
Arden looked at Mil. Mattin found he did not mind this silent discussion, because Mil explained it. “You confused us, often. First, with that list. Rushed to read it, he did.”
“Just me, was it?” Arden wondered, with a sly look at Mil.
“Well...” Mil hesitated while admitting nothing, “we thought you’d put yourself on it, if you had considered us—it. We hoped you would.”
