Inside, the house was pleasantly warm. Pia took their coats and gloves and disappeared with a bobbed curtsy after Maxen told her she wouldn’t be needed anymore that night.
Maxen turned to Faelen. “Some wine?”
“Yes, please.”
In the parlor, Maxen went to pour their drinks, and Faelen hesitated for a moment, uncertain in ways he hadn’t been since the first couple of times he’d visited Maxen’s house. Finally, he sat on the couch, attempting to relax again. He’d been afraid for a moment that Maxen might suggest going to his bedchamber, and Faelen wasn’t ready for that yet. But Maxen hadn’t, and he wouldn’t push. Faelen was sure of that. He shouldn’t have to always remind himself of it.
“Here you are.” Maxen held a glass out to him.
“Thank you.” He took the glass and sipped the smooth red wine.
Maxen sat beside him and slid an arm around his shoulders. Faelen melted into his side with a soft sigh. He made a contented little sound when Maxen began to toy with the ends of his hair, but otherwise they were both quiet, sipping their wine in the warm glow of the fire. The house was silent around them, the curtains closed over the window, and Faelen almost felt as if they were alone in the whole world at that moment. And he loved it. He let everything slide away except Maxen beside him.
By the time Maxen moved, Faelen had been lulled by wine and warmth and Maxen’s heat against his side. He made a little noise of protest. Maxen chuckled, but he only took Faelen’s empty glass and set it aside with his own, and then he settled back against the cushions and coaxed Faelen close again. Faelen needed little urging. He kicked off his shoes and lay against Maxen’s chest, contentment spreading through him as Maxen’s hand found its way into his hair again.
But it wasn’t only contentment—tingles of want moved through him as well, new and exciting, spreading warmth through his body.
Maxen moved under him, and Faelen lifted his head to look at him. He was staring at Faelen with such intensity that Faelen gasped, and Maxen raised a hand to Faelen’s cheek, caressing with a featherlight touch. Faelen barely breathed as he did. He never could have guessed how devastating such a light touch could be.
“May I?” Maxen whispered.
Faelen nodded, his throat too dry for words suddenly. He expected the kiss to be as intense as the look Maxen gave him, but it was soft, gentle, almost shy. Maxen’s arms were firm around him, holding him to his chest, and Faelen sank into the kiss, letting himself drown again in the feel of Maxen, in the scent and taste of him. Everything fell away, and Faelen’s world narrowed to Maxen as they tangled together on the couch, kissing and touching.
Chapter Ten
“It’s too cold to stand outside and paint this early in the morning,” Amory said, making his voice as firm as possible. “And it’s supposed to rain anyway.”
Flavian frowned at him. “We could set up a canopy. You’re the prince’s consort. We wouldn’t even have to set it up ourselves if we didn’t want to.”
They’d done such things in the past when they’d gone out to paint and needed shelter from the sun—sunburn was a danger for both of them with their fair skin. But they hadn’t done it in chilly early morning weather on the edge of winter.
“It’s too cold. It’s going to be a nasty winter if it’s this cold this early.”
Flavian sent him a narrow-eyed look.
Amory laughed. “Oh, don’t tell me about winter in the mountains where you grew up and how much worse it is.”
Flavian huffed out a laugh. “Well, it is.”
He’d grown up in the mountains of what was now the Ardunn empire, far to the east. He didn’t talk about it much, usually offhand comments when he was distracted, and Amory didn’t ask. It had to hurt Flavian to think about the place he’d been forced to flee.
“So, inside today?” he prompted. They were standing in Flavian’s studio—a room Cathal had asked be converted for Flavian when they’d married and decided to make their home in the palace. It was a request Philip and Amory had been happy to grant. Amory was nothing more than a talented amateur artist, and he didn’t have studio space set aside for himself—he was more likely to sketch than paint anyway—but Flavian was a genius and a professional. He needed a place to work.
The studio, with its wall of windows, had been completed as quickly as possible, and Flavian proceeded to fill the large room with paints and canvases and everything else he needed to make his art. He often invited Amory to share the space. Their mutual interest in art had drawn them together when Flavian first arrived in Tournai, and by now, Amory counted him one of his best friends.
“Fine, fine.” Flavian said it with reluctance and bit of sharpness to his tone, but that was no surprise. While Flavian had calmed in the year and a half or so that he’d lived in Tournai, he’d held on to his sharp tongue. What was a surprise was the jerkiness of his movements and the scowl as he set up a still life for them to paint.
Amory studied him, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. There were faint smudges under his eyes that spoke of a sleepless night and tension in the set of his jaw. His red-gold hair was tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it too many times. Usually Amory would assume Cathal had caused it—he notoriously tried to keep Flavian in bed some mornings—but today, Amory wasn’t so sure.
“Is there a reason you’re staring at me?” Flavian propped his hands on his hips. He’d dressed much like Amory this morning, which was to say in old, paint-stained clothes not fit to be seen at court.
“Are you all right?”
Flavian stared at him for a moment before turning back to the assortment of bottles he was arranging on a table. “Fine, just a little tired. I had trouble sleeping last night.”
Before Amory could express concern over that, Flavian continued, “Faelen came in quite late—or early, depending on your point of view.”
“Did he?” Amory wasn’t about to let himself get sidetracked from finding out what was keeping Flavian up at night, but that was an interesting development.
“Mhmm. I thought at first that it was Alexander, since he’s the more likely one to be out until all hours, but it was definitely Faelen.”
“Have you noticed how we talk about the twins as if they’re so much younger than us, but they’re really not?” Amory was about year older than them, Flavian a bit older but still not much.
Flavian stopped moving and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “I know. I keep having to remind myself. They don’t even seem that much younger, even if they haven’t had quite the same experience that we have.”
“Not many have.” There were parts of their lives that Amory wouldn’t wish on anyone, but the sum of them had brought him and Flavian here, where they were both happy, so he couldn’t complain.
“Anyway, I was surprised to see him. Maybe I was thinking of him as younger, though. He has every right to do as he pleases.”
“He went to Maxen’s house yesterday,” Amory said. He hadn’t been sure whether Faelen would take his advice, but perhaps he had if he’d been with Maxen for so long. Would that be too nosy for Amory to ask?
“Really?” Flavian’s eyes lit with interest. “Something going on between them?”
“It seems so.” And he hoped it worked out. He’d always liked Maxen, though he’d been closer to Tristan when they were all younger, and Faelen had become an important part of the little family they were building here. When Amory had first moved into the palace, the place had been echoingly empty, and Philip unwilling to admit how lonely his position made him. Philip would always stand apart—and he would too at Philip’s side—but it wasn’t as bad now with their family here, sharing in what burdens they could and magnifying all their joys.
“Interesting.” Flavian drew the word out as if he were considering the implications of Faelen and Maxen forming a more intimate relationship.
Amory had more immediate concerns than Faelen and Maxen at the moment. “I’m more interested in why you were wide awake
in the middle of the night to watch Faelen arrive home.”
“I told you I couldn’t sleep. It happens to all of us sometimes, I think.”
“It does. Though sleepless nights for me are because Julien keeps me awake, not that he does very often anymore.” He frowned at Flavian’s slight flinch. “Flavian, what is it?”
Flavian sighed and slumped back against the table. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“I’ve barely started. I just want to make sure you’re all right, and you don’t seem as if you are.” Amory bit his lip. “You don’t have to tell me, but maybe you should talk to someone if it’s keeping you up at night?”
“I’ve been thinking about children.”
“Children?”
Flavian pushed at his hair. “Cathal is a royal duke. He needs an heir.”
“Didn’t you talk about this before you married?” Amory thought they had. Cathal had mentioned something to Philip, mostly to warn Philip that the title wouldn’t be passing to a child of Cathal’s. Philip hadn’t pressured him. They were all too happy that Cathal and Flavian had found each other.
“We did, and we’d settled on not having children. But that was before we found out all we know now about the royal family’s Talent. Tournai needs more members of the family who have it to keep its magical protection strong.” Flavian pushed at his hair again. “Don’t we have an obligation to make sure the line continues?”
“I don’t…”
“You and Philip are going to have more children, aren’t you?”
“We’ve talked about it, yes, but the difference is Philip and I want more children. Beyond his need for heirs or the country’s need for the Talent to remain strong. We love Julien, and we love being his fathers. We’re lucky I can give us that.”
“I’m not a man who physically could carry a child. Not even with the help of magic, as you can. I wouldn’t want to even if I could,” Flavian said emphatically.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Flavian shrugged. “Etan mentioned that Corentin said where he comes from it’s common for men like us to find a woman willing to have a child for them. If they need heirs or want a child, I suppose. I know it isn’t something done much here, if at all…”
Amory didn’t know much about where Corentin was from—the mysterious land where those who possessed the Talent to change into dragons had settled generations ago—but he’d like to learn more. From what little he’d heard, its customs were quite different from theirs. Perhaps he’d have the opportunity, with Corentin marrying Bastien soon. “Is that what you want to do?”
“I think we might have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything. Yes, traditionally, Cathal should produce heirs for the dukedom, and those heirs have to be bloodline heirs by law—which we know now is to ensure the continuation of the royal family’s Talent—but children are more than heirs, and the dukedom is in no danger with Cathal’s siblings and the size of the rest of the family.”
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have an obligation to carry on the line. Tournai’s magical protections weakened over the years for lack of people with strong Talents.” Flavian looked tortured. “We can’t let that happen again.”
“The problem is there’s no guarantee that the Talent will be passed on. Etan and Faelen are trying to see if they can compile a record of who had the Talent going back in the genealogy of the family, though I’m not sure exactly what they’re hoping to accomplish.”
“I think they just like research and books and making lists of things.”
Amory laughed. “You might be right. My point is, though, that you can’t have a child because you hope they’ll have a particular Talent. I think my father might have tried to do that, having so many children in the hope that one of us would manifest a strong Talent for glass magic. He’s been disappointed so far.”
“Cathal and I aren’t like your father.”
“No, you’re not.” Not at all. Amory’s father was an abusive bully whom Amory avoided as much as possible and protected his younger siblings from however he could. “I only mean that you should want to have children, beyond the obligation. For Philip and me, it isn’t about obligation, not at the heart of it. We wanted Julien, and we want more children too.”
“That’s a radical idea among the nobility.” Flavian smiled a bit.
“It shouldn’t be. Do you want children? Does Cathal?” Amory asked quietly.
“I…” Flavian looked up at him, seemingly unable to find words.
“It’s all right if you don’t,” he said gently. “You don’t have to have children just to fulfill some duty you think is pressing on you. None of us would ever do that to you.”
“I know.” He didn’t sound as if he was convinced.
“If you’re worried about the dukedom or the magic, you shouldn’t. Besides Philip and me, Etan and Tristan might have more children someday. They’re enjoying being parents so much, and a future child could be of Etan’s blood. There are Cathal’s sisters and Vrai and Elodie. I can see Faelen wanting children one day with how good he is with Julien and Bria. Any of them could pass on the Talent to their children. The weight of obligation isn’t on your shoulders alone.”
“But it is still there.”
“We all feel the press of our duty in this family.” Amory went to Flavian and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “I don’t know what brought this on so strongly now, but have you talked to Cathal about it?”
Flavian shook his head.
“Well, then, you need to do that. Cathal may not want children at all, or not yet if he does.” Amory was betting on the former, but he could be wrong. “In either case, Cathal is the person you need to work this out with. You can’t make this decision on your own, based on what you think is best for him and the family.”
“I suppose not.”
“Talk to him.”
After a moment, Flavian nodded.
“Good.” Amory gave Flavian another squeeze. “Now, are we going to paint before I’m called into interminable meetings for the rest of my day?”
Faelen slouched in his chair, staring somewhat blearily into his chocolate. He hoped the rich liquid would help him wake up properly, but he didn’t expect it to work magic either. Last night, he’d lost track of time snuggled up on the couch with Maxen. They’d done nothing more than kiss and cuddle near the fire, talking a little, sipping more wine—dreamy hours that had slipped by faster than Faelen could have imagined. It had been a night he would remember for the rest of his life.
He’d been reluctant to leave—he’d been warm and almost sleepy but also excited at Maxen’s nearness—and he didn’t think Maxen had wanted him to go, but he had obligations this morning and so did Maxen. And really, it was best he hadn’t stayed. Sleeping next to Maxen seemed so intimate, and he’d only kissed him for the first time last night.
One kiss, perhaps a little awkward, but then many wonderful kisses that followed and seemed to only get better from there. Would they keep getting better? He wasn’t sure he could take it.
For the moment, he let himself laze at the breakfast table. Sometimes, he joined some of the others for breakfast, and he liked that he could and that it wasn’t required, that he could always have breakfast at the table in his own cozy sitting room and wake up at his leisure. He finished his first cup of chocolate and poured another from the little silver pot before finally turning to the food, filling his plate with pastry, fruit, and cheese.
He was enthusiastically eating a pastry filled with apples, nuts, and cinnamon when Alexander emerged from his bedchamber. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Alexander came to the table. Like Faelen, he was still in his dressing gown, which was one of the other benefits of being able to eat in their suite if they liked. Alexander went directly for the food, so Faelen poured him a cup of chocolate. “Thank you.”
“How was your evening?”
“Good. Th
e party I escorted Elodie to was amusing.” Alexander began eating his own pastry as he told Faelen about it. He didn’t have quite the sweet tooth that Faelen did, but it was close.
“That’s good.”
Alexander looked up, his gaze sharp. “And how was your evening? What did you and Maxen do? You both could have come with us. I doubt Elodie would’ve minded, and if she didn’t, then our hosts wouldn’t have.”
True. No one would have dared say a word about anyone Elodie brought with her, and it was nice that Alexander wanted them along. Still, Faelen wouldn’t have traded his evening for the world. He wouldn’t mind dancing with Maxen someday, though. “Maybe next time. We had dinner and then went back to his house.”
“Didn’t you say you might go out after?”
Faelen refused to blush. Unfortunately, he had little control over it. “We didn’t feel like it.”
“What did you do? I know you didn’t tear each other’s clothes off and carry each other off to bed.” Alexander’s teasing laugh cut off abruptly as Faelen’s cheeks burned. “Faelen? You didn’t, did you?”
“Of course not.”
Alexander’s frown didn’t disappear. “But something did happen between you?”
He was hesitant to say, and he wasn’t entirely certain why, except for the desire to keep the experience—precious and wonderful—to himself for a little while longer. “We kissed.”
Alexander sat up straight. “He kissed you? Did you want him to?”
“Are you going to go down there and have words with him?” Faelen smiled because Alexander would—and worse—if Maxen had pressured him into anything. “I said we kissed. Not that he kissed me. And, yes, I wanted it.”
“Oh.” Alexander seemed at a loss for a moment. “Was it—were you—are you happy?”
Faelen huffed out a laugh. “Yes, I’m happy. And, though you didn’t ask and really shouldn’t be concerned with it, yes, I hope to do it again soon.”
Alexander stared at him for a moment. “I didn’t mean to be nosy. I just worry about you.”
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