by R. Cooper
Mattin did not even think to object. He looked to Mil. Mil’s gaze was heavy.
Arden whispered in Mattin’s ear. “Tired or not, he will try to pick a small fight with you later so that he can lose.”
“Oh?” Mattin inquired vaguely, then focused on what Arden was hinting at. “Oh. When he lets you win?”
Mil’s heated stare shifted to a glower, although he did not actually object when Arden answered. “Oh, yes. He will need it.”
Mattin tipped his head to the side and received another kiss, this one over the necklace. His voice rose higher. “Is that how you always fuck him?”
“Not always.” Arden was a thoughtful suitor, or at least, he could be. “But he does like it that way. When he does it, I think it’s when he wants to be weak. Fortunately for him, he chose a Canamorra.”
The glower on Mil’s face intensified. “I’d wager other members of your family might fuck me, but would they take care the way you do?” For the first time, Mil Wulfa was embarrassed by his own words, but the embarrassment was fleeting and seemed more about finding the words than what the words were. “It’s nothing to do with strength and everything to do with wanting that care so I can… so I can… I am always a guard, you see, Sass.”
“So you can not think?” Mattin understood. He had seen Mil fret just as Mattin did. Mil had more to fret about. “So you can not worry?” Mattin put a hand to his necklace, worrying even now. “But I wouldn’t be like Arden. I wouldn’t tup you. Or possibly, I could…” All that strength beneath him was so much to think about. “Oh.” Mil’s gaze went to Mattin’s hand, still resting at his throat, over the silver. Mattin felt a tingling in his cheeks, a warmth spreading down to his chest. “Is it the necklace?”
Mil scoffed but did not lift his gaze. “It’s when you’re Sass.”
“But the necklace helps?” Mattin tugged the links to expose the proof of how both of them had kissed him. He touched the spot, then shivered. “I could wear it while I ride you? Or… I could have Arden bathe you with my soap and wrap that collar around your throat, and then I would ride you? Wearing only this?”
The sound Mil made was better than a growl. Mattin flushed at his daring.
“You won’t even have to order him to stay down,” Arden revealed, delighted. “Though he likes that too.”
“How dare you,” said Mil flatly, just as Mattin had. “We have duties to attend to now and you’re telling him this?”
“I believe we are allowed a moment or two,” Arden declared gravely, before pausing. “I will take a moment or two. With all else that comes with the throne that you must deal with, I will make you both happy.”
Mattin turned to look up at him. He would not like to pick a fight to get what he wanted, even if the game was known. He met Arden’s stare and shivered for what was in it. “You will take your moments before I am dressed.”
Mil made that sound again. Arden pulled Mattin to him, a hand slipping beneath Mattin’s robe to spread over damp, bare skin. Then Arden kissed him, fiercely, meanly, as he had not before. He had hidden this the first time; Mattin had known it then and sighed for it now. The air was cool on his skin and Arden’s hands were hot, and Mattin shivered to be soft and small and wanted, to be someone his king would take like this, when Arden would not even wear a crown.
Arden lifted Mattin into his arms and kissed Mattin’s panting, open mouth as if he liked how Mattin fitted against him, and the tumble of Mattin’s hair, and how easy it was to carry Mattin to his own bed with every intention of having him again in some way with Mil watching.
He also seemed to like that Mattin pulled him back down when he tried to move away. Armor was unpleasant in bed. Mattin protested that and that only, yet whined when Arden stepped back to obey Mattin’s impatient demands that he remove it. Perhaps that was why Mil took his place, kissing Mattin softly across his bare chest and shoulders.
Mattin’s robe seemed to have disappeared. Wearing only a necklace made Mattin somehow more naked than he would have been otherwise. Fairly wild, he tugged at Mil’s hair so he could whisper into Mil’s ear. “I will put you in shining clasps, too, big, pretty, Mil.”
Having left Mil breathing hard, Mattin turned to his other chosen with narrowed eyes. “No more meetings?”
Arden, struggling to remove his breastplate, practically snarled his answer. “Yours is the only name we wanted to see on that list. The only consort that would ever suit.”
“Oh. Good.” Mattin nodded, feeling very foolish and then much less foolish when the breastplate dropped to the floor. Arden tugged his belt free as he returned to the bed. Mil shifted to give him room, but did not seem to mind. He stayed, pressed close, as Mattin drew Arden back down to him, and laughed when Mattin complained about Mil’s armor as well. But Mattin did not complain for long.
Perhaps he would not leave bed today, after all. Or perhaps they wanted him to stay here, weary and well-fucked, but safe, or for others to see that Mattin lived and thrived and had claimed them for his own despite what some nobles might have wished. Mattin did not know which idea he preferred. It was a decision for another time. Not when one of his chosen was breathing hard against his neck and touching his thighs, or when his other chosen was bringing Mattin’s oils to them and then removing his armor slowly as he watched a Canamorra take what they wanted.
It was thrilling, and it was lightness in Mattin’s chest and a smile when he finally beckoned to Mil.
His bed was not nearly the size of theirs, but it would do for today.
Epilogue
Mattin considered an exquisite ear cuff of glass and silver meant to look like a spider’s web, complete with a dangling spider made of banded black onyx. The cuff was not his usual style and the price was high, but it was nonetheless beautiful. It seemed… dangerous, or implied the wearer was, and Mattin was anything but a threat. Regardless, while he waited for the shopkeeper to return, he imagined himself wearing it.
He would not wear such a thing in public. But in private…. In private, in one or two rooms in particular, he wondered what the reaction would be to that little spider hanging near his neck.
Then he remembered that for all of Mil’s teasing about the subject, Mattin was hardly the type to seduce anyone. That was part of the reason why the nobles around the palace thought Mattin was a good choice; he was studious, and a bit boring, and was quite unlikely to lead their king around by his cock. It was for the best that Mattin was not, and that Arden and Mil seemed content to abide by Mattin’s ideas about what was appropriate in public spaces, and constrained themselves to flustering him by occasionally taking his hand. Mattin could only imagine what might happen if other nobles decided their king was besotted and that Mattin was a threat.
Unless, of course, they wanted Mattin to control Arden and Mil and what they considered their rough ways. In which case, having the king and consort’s devotion might be a good thing. Although Mattin would be the one under scrutiny, no matter what.
Arden and Mil had warned him of it, and so had Cael, once Mattin had confessed his concerns to her. That was why Mattin still hesitated over giving any definite answer.
Well, it was part of the reason why.
What everyone else in the capital, in the country, thought, Mattin was less sure of. But since, although their courtship was public, it had not been officially announced, the opinion of those outside the palace remained a mystery. He could ask, of course—Mil had eyes-and-ears, as did Jola—but wondering what answer he might receive made Mattin’s stomach twist with nerves.
He looked up as the shopkeeper returned, Mattin’s purchase wrapped in soft cloth. It was a bracelet in the design of a honeycomb, a present for Jola. It was only made of glass and wire, but Mattin hoped it would please her. Since he had already paid, he offered his thanks and turned toward the door, nearly bumping into his guards, who took up quite a lot of room in such a tiny shop.
A condition for Mattin to go out in the capital; he was to have guards now. He’d
almost had Mil Wulfa himself, but Mil had duties to attend to, and Mattin had slipped out of the library and through the palace gate while Mil was occupied.
Arden was away from the palace, visiting Canamorra lands as well as his other sibling, Ral, and meeting with some lower-ranking nobles and a few beat-of-fours while he was there. Nominally, to discuss plans for the next winter, but also to reassure them about the stability of the capital.
Mil should have gone with him, but after a lot of staring from Arden and Mil snarling in reply, Mil had stayed behind to hold the palace, and likely to protect Jola, although Jola was back at her home in the capital and outside the palace wall.
Mil might also have stayed behind to keep an eye on Mattin. In fact, he almost certainly had. Not that the danger had increased—or decreased, for that matter—but Mattin suspected that Arden and Mil were trying to assuage Mattin’s fears. Such fears were normal. Everyone told Mattin that. Well, everyone Mattin had spoken to of his, or who had witnessed them. Mil was here to make Mattin feel protected.
Which he did. Quite well.
But Mil had worries of his own, and Mattin was no good for those. Mattin had statistics and stories and jewelry and… ordering Mil to keep still could work for a time, but with Arden away and potentially at risk, Mil could not truly relax.
Or perhaps Mattin did not have the presence that Arden had.
He definitely did not. Mattin caught sight of himself in a silvery mirror by the shop’s door, meant to allow customers to view themselves in the jewelry. His hair was dark and neatly divided into two braids, and dotted with clasps of silver wire and iridescent glass shaped like the wings of dragonflies. He wore no other decoration. His eyes were brown and his eyelashes short, the lids smooth and the corners uncreased, although the areas beneath his eyes were dark from a lack of good sleep. They nearly always were. One of the unofficial duties of the king these days seemed to be finding Mattin at his desk late at night and escorting him to a bed so that Mattin would rest.
But there always seemed to be more to do, which Mattin had protested to said king more than once, and received only a knowing look in reply.
Mattin’s cheeks were full and faintly freckled. He looked like he did not get enough sun, which he did not. He also did not look like a stunning beauty who might have two powerful figures on their knees. He was merely, as Mil had once said, a wee, sparkly thing.
He turned away from his reflection to stow his purchase in his satchel before leaving the shop. Then, his task complete, he turned toward the market instead of toward the road to the palace. One of his guards muttered something but otherwise did not comment. It was likely Essa.
Mattin was not ready to return. He was thinking, and it was better to do that here than in his office where Mil would eventually find him and say something tender that would be Mattin’s undoing.
Mattin could not be Arden, not in any case and especially not what Arden was to Mil. Mil and Arden both cherished Mattin for some other reason, and that should be enough. It was enough, when Mattin had worries that did not multiply or end with him wandering through the capital with two politely irritated palace guards instead of returning to his room, or the library, or Mil and Arden’s rooms.
But Arden was due to return today or tomorrow, and Mil would want the time alone with him, might even need it, so Mattin was staying away.
He could have done that in his office, of course, but they might feel compelled to include him, and Mattin was giving them the time to themselves.
He was not moping, no matter what Cael might have implied. He was trying to give them what they needed. His job as a lover, as a potential consort, was to help them.
He supposed the rest was secondary to that. But knowing it and living it were quite different. So today, he was outside the palace wall, in the mud and chilly air, away from prying and curious nobles and any of their plans for him.
A clamor in the distance stopped him in the middle of considering a cart selling hot, fresh handpies. Essa and Kit abruptly stepped forward from their discreet distance to tug Mattin farther from the road. The noise was loud enough that many of the people in the market turned to seek out the source as well, or came from inside their shops to look. Mattin stood on his toes to try to see over their heads and swayed as he finally made out what some of the shouting was about.
“The king!”
Business in the market came to a standstill as more and more people came out to line the road. They must have seen Arden before. He was not one to hide himself away, even when he should. But he was admired, here more than anywhere else save the guardhouse, which might explain the crowd.
Mattin could see a few banners now, bright colors waving in the late afternoon sunlight. Arden intended to be seen, then. Jola must have suggested it; Arden riding in like a hero, happy to see his people. Happy to be home as well.
Mattin stood on his toes again, studying outguards on their horses and palace guards in carriages and wagons, all of them dressed for travel but more cleaned up than they normally might have been. Arden was learning about spectacle. Now, there was a danger.
Nonetheless, Mattin caught his breath at his first glimpse of Arden in nearly two weeks. Arden still wore no crown, but he had chosen a fine, vibrantly blue cloak and shining vambraces as he walked in between rows of outguards. He put himself at their level. Truly, he was more skilled at this by the day. The nobles were still a problem, but the people liked their king who had brought peace.
It didn’t hurt that Arden was handsome, especially in the sun, and devoted to his family, and, of course, gorgeously in love with his commoner husband.
Horns sounded from another direction as Arden grew nearer, and Arden’s sudden smile was blinding. Mattin turned toward the new commotion, although he already knew the source of Arden’s joy. Arden only smiled like that for one person.
The contingent of palace guards on the large black horses they preferred when they rode, meant someone in Arden’s camp must have sent word he would be arriving this evening and Mil had not wanted to wait. Mil was in his usual simple cloak and armor, unsmiling yet practically glowing, to Mattin’s eyes, at the sight of his husband. Mattin gripped hard at the strap of his satchel as Mil drew to a stop and slid from the back of his horse to cross to Arden.
Arden said something Mattin could not make out before pulling Mil in for a kiss so hungry it tugged, low and hot, in Mattin’s belly, and the person next to him let out a long, envious sigh.
A cheer went up, loud enough to startle Arden, although he did not release Mil immediately and Mil did not move away. They stared at their audience with clear surprise.
They still did not understand the power of their love story.
Mattin reached for one of his braids, one over each shoulder today, and held it tight as Mil turned his back on the crowd to run his hands over Arden’s chest. Some of those around Mattin snickered, but that was Mil’s way of assuaging his own worries over Arden’s well-being. It wouldn’t do much; Arden doubtlessly had armor beneath his travel cloak. Mil knew that and did it anyway.
“And some beat-of-four thinks they can come between that?” someone wondered, somewhere to Mattin’s right. Mattin turned reflexively to find them, but saw only shoulders and backs, with everyone watching the king and his husband fuss over each other.
Someone else answered the original question in a voice deep and carrying. “It’s how nobles do things. It’s likely all arranged. I almost feel sorry for the poor soul, if the rumor is true.”
One of the guards at Mattin’s elbow shifted. Mattin held very still.
Several people were now glancing back toward the speakers, who must have been the pair in cook’s aprons, as if they had dashed out of a kitchen to watch Arden and Mil reunite.
“What’s there to feel sorry about? Half the nobles are always scheming, aren’t they? At least half. They pushed this on them, I’m sure. So what if some beat-of-four might have gotten pushed into it too, for the sake of some Earl’s feelin
gs? I’ll keep my concern for the one they’re trying to replace, thank you.”
“That’s what he said,” another person stepped in to argue. “There will be no replacing that.”
“Is it true, then?” A young lad minding a small child turned to ask them all. “He’s planning to marry again?” He said it with a nod toward Arden, who had started to slowly move forward again, Mil at his side, their heads together in conversation.
“I only know what I hear,” one of the cooks responded, with a little sniff that any noble might have done if they had gossip but no actual proof. “And the palace is full of talk of courtship and has been for weeks, with some noble I’ve never heard of getting shoved into that bed.”
“...Don’t think they’d have to be shoved,” someone in the crowd muttered.
“Or planning to shove the Captain of the Guard out of it,” that particular cook carried on, undeterred. “The noble’s meant as a wedge, nothing more. You mark my words. If he can, the king will likely try to be rid of him.”
Mattin dropped his braid to pull up the hood of his cloak. No one would recognize him, but he felt better hiding behind the fur. No one even knew his name yet. Those who did were out in the street, yards away and increasing the distance with every moment. Mattin stepped back as Arden and Mil passed him, mumbling apologies to the person behind him and ignoring how quickly and efficiently that person was replaced by one of his guards.
Kit and Essa were possibly wondering why Mattin didn’t dart forward to chase after Arden and Mil. Then again, they would have heard the same words Mattin had, and might not be wondering.
They shifted again, pointedly, and Mattin nearly smiled to think of them glaring at the strangers around him on his behalf, as if this was a threat.
