The Merchant's Love

by Antonia Aquilante

Alexander’s frown deepened. “I can’t believe that.”

  “I’m hardly perfect, Alexander.”

  “I know that, but you don’t do things to make people angry.”

  “Even you?” Faelen gave him an innocent smile.

  Alexander tilted his head, contemplating him. “Are you certain I can’t do anything?”

  “Yes.” He hugged Alexander quickly. “We have to go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Somehow, Faelen got Alexander off the topic and out of the suite. Faelen wasn’t deluded enough to think he wouldn’t mention it again—and they still had to talk about Alexander’s actions in the city the other day. But tonight was not the time. Tonight, they were celebrating the anniversary of Philip and Amory’s wedding. Anyone who was or wanted to be anyone would attend the ball, and he and Alexander would have to skillfully navigate those waters while hopefully enjoying themselves with their cousins.

  They walked to the ballroom talking of the party to come. They’d done the same before every function they’d attended in their lives, strategizing and listing who among the guests they’d have to be aware of. It was different now, at their cousin’s court instead of a foreign one, but not so different. Court politics remained the same, and the princes deserved proper respect.

  They weren’t the first to arrive in the large room, nor had they left it so late that they were in danger of arriving after Philip and Amory, which would be unforgivable. Faelen followed Alexander through the milling crowd—no one was allowed to dance until after Philip and Amory did—to their family. Faelen and Alexander joined Cathal, Flavian, Etan, and Tristan at the right of the thrones. They were greeted warmly, and Faelen couldn’t help marveling once more at how easily and immediately they’d been accepted.

  They stood and chatted for several moments, Faelen refusing to let himself look for Maxen. When Philip and Amory were announced, the assembled guests quieted and sank into bows and curtsies as they walked into the room arm in arm. The circlet of Amory’s rank rested as easily on his auburn curls as Philip’s did on his dark locks. If Amory still wished for a smaller celebration, no one would ever see it.

  Philip and Amory went directly to the center of the room. The musicians began to play, and they swept each other into a dance. They were gorgeous together—physically, yes, but more just the way they were. Their devotion to each other, their love, even in the face of all they dealt with in their position, seemed to radiate from them. As they danced, they looked only at each other. It was as if, to them, no one else in the crowded room existed.

  Faelen ached with wanting that for himself. What would it be like to have someone so constant in his life who loved him so utterly? Only Alexander had ever loved him unconditionally. Faelen had always dreamed of someone of his own, of romance and support and companionship, with less distinct imaginings of kisses and touches. Now everything was different because he knew how wanting someone felt, how being touched and touching in return could turn him inside out. He still wanted everything he’d dreamed of—even more than he had—but only with Maxen.

  Faelen gave himself a mental shake. He shouldn’t think of it now, couldn’t take the chance of someone seeing something on his face and starting to wonder. Bad enough if that person was family, worse if it was someone else. He focused on Philip and Amory, not allowing himself to think about anything at all.

  Which would have worked if he hadn’t seen a flash of rich antique gold in the crowd across the dance floor.

  He couldn’t stand up any straighter, but his entire body went tense and alert. He stared at the area where he thought he’d seen it, willing the people standing there to move. They didn’t, and Philip and Amory kept dancing, and it was impossible for Faelen to tell if it was Maxen, or if his hope had him imagining things.

  “Something wrong?” Etan murmured.

  “No.” Faelen glanced at him. Etan didn’t look convinced, and a wave of weariness made him suddenly too tired to pretend. “Do you know if Maxen planned to come? I know he meant to before, but…”

  Sympathy came into Etan’s eyes. “I don’t. I’m sorry. Tristan spoke to him, but Maxen didn’t say.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I know you’ll be disappointed.”

  Faelen nodded, letting Etan talk but not really knowing how to respond. He looked back at Philip and Amory—they might not care if everyone remained rapt watching them, but being caught with his attention wandering by a courtier would be a much different story, one he didn’t need to deal with.

  The dance ended, and the guests all clapped as the couple walked hand in hand to their thrones. After they sat, Philip lifted Amory’s hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over his knuckles. Amory smiled, loving and just a bit amused, and gestured for the musicians to begin playing again. They struck up a lively dance, and couples took to the floor, led by Elodie and Alexander.

  Faelen didn’t look for a partner. He accepted a goblet from a servant and stood where he was, watching Alexander and many of his cousins in the dance. Sipping the ruby-red wine, he let it wash over his tongue and enjoyed a brief moment of solitude before he dove into the party. Tonight, he wanted solitude—a cozy nest of blankets on his bed, something warm to drink, a book that would distract him from everything. Or to just snuggle among the blankets as a cat and drowse.

  Maybe not, though. His Talent had been odd since Savarin’s spell, though Faelen still thought it was just him being too aware and making it strange.

  “Not dancing?”

  He turned and smiled at Adora. “Not right now. You aren’t either?”

  “Not yet. It’s…” Adora shrugged just a bit, as if someone had told her she shouldn’t. She fit in well with the other ladies in her ivory silk embroidered all over with a pattern of flowers and leaves in gold thread. Her auburn hair was in a complicated style of coils and twists threaded through with gold beads. She wasn’t noble born, though, and some of the more hidebound members of the nobility would look down on her for it while being polite to her because of her relationship to Amory and Philip.

  “It’s difficult for me sometimes,” she finished finally, her smile self-deprecating.

  Faelen nodded, understanding exactly what she meant and thinking again of his nest of blankets. Court was a whole different animal, and he’d been raised to it, unlike Adora. “For me too.”

  Her smile warmed. “My sister Alva doesn’t seem to have the same problem, and it’s her first court event. But she always was more outgoing. She’s over there.”

  Faelen followed the direction of her small gesture to see the younger woman. Her auburn curls were caught up with silvery ribbons, but they seemed to vibrate as she talked and laughed. Adeline, the oldest of Amory’s sisters, who was married to the second son of the Earl of Calixto, was beside her, but she didn’t seem to need her sister’s support.

  “Alexander is like that too, but you don’t have to be a social butterfly to be good at this.” He sipped his wine. “It’s like a game, and you can learn the rules. Learn how to play it well.”

  Her quiet laugh was musical and turned a few heads nearby. She didn’t seem to notice. “I’m about as far from a social butterfly as I can get. And I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “I do. I’ve been drilled in it practically since I could talk. I’ll show you.”

  “Thank you. Though I assumed you’d be with Maxen tonight.”

  “Oh. I don’t know that Maxen even wanted to come.” He glanced away again.

  “I don’t think it mattered whether he wanted to or not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Adora frowned. “Well, he’s here.”

  “He is?” That flash of gold that might have been the gleam of Maxen’s hair…

  Her frown deepened, creasing her forehead. “You didn’t know?”

  “We had…” Natural reticence fought with the desire to give her some sort of explanation. “We had a disagreement. I wasn’t sure he still planned to attend.”

&nbs
p; Sympathy slid over her face. And an almost maternal look, despite the fact that she was a few years younger. “Well, he did, so he can’t still be angry. Are you?”

  “I…no.” Had he been angry? Maybe? Now he was just scared and hurting.

  “You can make up, then.” She slid an arm through his. “I know that’s too simple, considering I have no idea what your argument was about. But I hope you reconcile. If you want to.”

  “I do.”

  She looked at him, dark eyes large in a sweet, heart-shaped face. “Shall we find him?”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  She nodded, accepting his words with no argument. “All right. What shall we do?”

  He couldn’t just stand around and mope. “Let’s take a turn around the room, and I’ll give you some pointers. We’ll see if we can enjoy ourselves too.”

  Maxen had woken from his nap with the knowledge that he would go to the princes’ anniversary ball. He spent some time that afternoon telling himself he wouldn’t, pretty sure attending would be a bad idea. He bathed and dressed in the new formal clothes he’d had made in something of a rush while continuing to tell himself attending was a poor decision. Despite the tailor’s haste, the clothing fit perfectly and was perhaps the nicest he owned, barring what he’d worn to Tristan’s wedding. Which he might have worn tonight if it had been at all seasonal, and who cared if anyone noticed?

  He did, or he wouldn’t have had something new made. Or perhaps he just wanted Faelen to admire how he looked.

  What was he going to say to Faelen?

  Despite everything he told himself, he made his way up to the palace. He was tempted to find Tristan as soon as he arrived. A friendly face in the sea of courtiers—some of whom had to have made the journey into Jumelle for this ball—would have been welcome. But he wasn’t ready to speak to Faelen yet, and Faelen would likely be with the rest of his family. Maxen lost himself in the crowd of guests instead, and his speculation was proved true when he caught a glimpse of Faelen walking through the ballroom with Alexander, going directly to where Tristan stood with several other members of the family.

  Faelen was…well, beautiful.

  There was always a luminous quality to him, but the rich red of his clothing made his skin glow. He’d pulled his hair back in a way that seemed more deliberate than the messy tails and twists he sometimes wore, but a few curls had still escaped around his forehead, dancing slightly as he moved. Maxen could have looked at him all night. The danger was that he’d want to touch at some point as well.

  Maxen drifted through the crowd. He didn’t know many people, only Tristan, Amory, and Amory’s sisters. And Etan, though Maxen didn’t know him that well yet. He remained somewhat awestruck at Tristan’s family by marriage, and while he’d met some of them, he wasn’t comfortable with everyone. He would have to figure out how to exist among them, though, if he and Faelen were to make any sort of serious try at a relationship. Perhaps that was why Maxen had come tonight, to see if he could.

  Or perhaps he just wanted to see Faelen.

  He always wanted to see Faelen. It should have been a humbling realization, but he didn’t feel humbled, except maybe that someone like Faelen wanted to be with him. If he still did after the things Maxen had said to him. Maxen didn’t know what to say to him now. He was still upset, still hurt, and a ball wasn’t the place to discuss anything serious. Yet he’d come.

  “Why are you over here and not over there with Faelen?”

  Maxen jumped so violently he nearly spilled his wine. He turned to find Tristan staring at him with his eyebrows raised. “Tristan. Weren’t you dancing?”

  “I was. Then I saw you. He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he?”

  He hated the censure in his brother’s eyes. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?” Tristan shook his head and moved closer to Maxen, giving them a little privacy. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I can guess. But you’re here, and you came for him. Because he invited you. You never expressed any interest in court functions before this.”

  “I don’t have much interest.”

  “You’re here for him.”

  As he’d been at Tristan’s wedding for Tristan. “Of course, I am.”

  “Then you should be with Faelen, not hiding over here.”

  “I’m not hiding.” The protest sounded weak even to Maxen’s ears.

  Tristan’s look became even more pointed, but then he sighed. He took Maxen’s arm and drew him through the crowd and out into the corridor. There were a handful of people there, clustered in small groups or couples. Tristan led Maxen a little way from them.

  When he spoke, it was still in a low voice. “Maxen, you’ve always been the more sensible of the two of us, the less likely to overreact—”

  “You think I’m overreacting?” Was he?

  “I didn’t say that. You feel what you feel. But, if you want to be with Faelen, if you’re considering some kind of future with him, you have to figure out how to work this out.” Tristan gripped his shoulder. “You are so sensible usually that I guess I assumed these matters wouldn’t have you as twisted up as they do the rest of us.”

  “I’m not that sensible.”

  “You are, and you’ve given me the perspective and the push I’ve needed more than once before. I’m trying to return the favor.”

  Maxen nodded, only a little reluctantly. “Thank you, Tris. I do appreciate it.”

  “Are you going to go in there and see him? Or…well, if not, you should probably go.”

  Maxen reared back, his mouth opening but no words coming out.

  Tristan raised his hands. “I love having you here, and Amory would too, but you said you came for Faelen. He’ll only be hurt if he finds out you’re here and you don’t go see him.”

  “More hurt than if he thinks I didn’t come at all?”

  “Do you want to stay if you’re not going to be with him?”

  He considered for a moment, but the answer was obvious. “I’ll go back in.”

  Tristan smiled at him. “I’m glad.”

  They walked in together, and this time, Maxen didn’t dally. Tristan kept pace with him, whether to keep him company or make sure he didn’t stray from his course, Maxen didn’t know. But, no, he was being uncharitable.

  It didn’t take long to find Faelen. He was strolling away from a small group with Adora at his side. Faelen’s gaze latched on to Maxen almost as soon as Maxen saw him. Maxen’s stomach swooped, but he didn’t turn back.

  “Faelen,” he said when he and Tristan had walked the last few steps to Faelen and Adora, who Maxen belatedly greeted as well.

  “Hello, Maxen,” Faelen said and then just stared at him, peridot eyes glowing in the candlelight, very green against the red velvet of this clothes.

  After a moment of silence, Tristan spoke. “Adora, have you danced yet?”

  “No, not yet.” She glanced at Faelen.

  “May I have this dance, then?” Tristan asked, the attempt to leave Maxen and Faelen alone blatant.

  Adora glanced at Faelen again. Whatever she saw must have reassured her because she accepted Tristan’s invitation and put her hand in his, letting him lead her away.

  Faelen continued to watch Maxen.

  “Fae?”

  Something rippled across Faelen’s face. “You came.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think I really expected it, after…”

  “I wasn’t sure either.”

  “But you came.” There was a spark of hope in Faelen’s eyes that Maxen hurt to see, in a different way from at the stiltedness between them.

  Maxen made a sudden decision. “I did, but let’s not talk about everything right now.”

  Faelen frowned, his forehead furrowing. “We have to talk.”

  “I know, but not tonight. I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

  After a pause that probably felt longer than it was, Faelen nodded, his brow smoothing out. “We should
talk about it, though.”

  “We will.”

  “Soon.”

  “Yes.” At the moment, he just needed it to go away so he could find the ease he treasured with Faelen.

  “You could write it to me, but I don’t think that will keep us from having to talk at some point.” Faelen nodded again. “What shall we do tonight?”

  “I think we should dance.”

  Faelen looked mildly surprised. Had he not realized that Maxen would want to dance at a ball? Or did Faelen not want to?

  “If you want to dance,” Maxen added.

  “I do,” Faelen said quickly.

  Maxen smiled and held out an arm. “I’m glad.”

  Faelen took his arm, and they went to the dance floor. Maxen glimpsed the princes dancing nearby and Tristan with Adora, but they were peripheral observations, barely noticed before slipping away. His focus was on Faelen to the exclusion of almost all else.

  They’d never danced before—there hadn’t been an opportunity, but Maxen still felt as if he’d missed out. There was something wonderful about dancing with Faelen, about feeling him close and moving with him in time to the music. Maxen knew the steps. He and his siblings had all had lessons, even if he hadn’t had much opportunity to use them since. But Faelen was easy to dance with. He followed effortlessly, matching his movements to Maxen’s. Perhaps that had less to do with Faelen’s dancing skills—though they were excellent—and more to do with how in tune they seemed to be with each other, even now. It had only been a day, but Maxen had missed it.

  They danced two more dances before stopping for a rest and a goblet of wine. Maxen let Faelen deftly steer him to avoid certain people and join others, Faelen whispering that there was little point in speaking to aggravating people when he didn’t have to. Maxen did have to visit the princes, giving his anniversary wishes and making his bow.

  Amory greeted Maxen warmly—he’d remained as kind and generous as ever, but with a new maturity from his marriage and fatherhood and his position—though he did glance at Faelen, and Prince Philip eyed him sharply. Tristan often said the prince knew everything. Did he know about Maxen and Faelen’s argument? How much did he know about Faelen and Maxen’s relationship at all? They hadn’t hidden anything, but they hadn’t declared anything either. Faelen drew him away what seemed to be as quickly as was polite, and Maxen was content to follow Faelen’s lead.