The Solstice Prince (Realms of Love Book 1)

by SJ Himes

  The space around them grew as the pair of them drew nearer to the doors, and Jaime curiously looked over his shoulder, seeing that there were a dozen feet behind them, the crowd having paused. Maxim stopped just shy of the heralds, and Jaime realized with a sudden hitch in his pulse that Maxim was letting the heralds finish with those in front of them, so they could be announced with more pomp, more fanfare. Jaime gulped and gripped Maxim’s arm even tighter, hoping his sudden terror didn’t show on his face.

  The people in front of them moved on after their introduction, and still Maxim waited. The herald closest to them approached once the way before them was clear, and bowed low to them both, holding it for a heartbeat before rising. “Your Highness, it would be an honor to announce you and your guest. May I have his name?”

  “James Buchanan, Healer, of…” Maxim paused. He looked down at Jaime and asked, “Do you wish to claim Marlec Pointe? Or perhaps Corinthia?”

  Jaime thought hard, but he wanted to claim neither, not really. For all he enjoyed Corinthia and the Hellebore Empire, the cost of the Academy eventually led to his father’s demise, and Marlec Pointe was merely a place he wanted to forget. He swallowed his fear and said, “I would claim nowhere but here, but you. This is home now. You make this home.”

  Maxim’s smile was blinding. Jaime smiled back, and Maxim leaned in and whispered something to the herald. Beyond the doors, the thrum of conversation was quieting, as if the people beyond were expecting something momentous. Eventually there was silence, a loud quiet—as quiet as many, many people could possibly be while eagerly waiting. They likely knew a royal was at the door and were wondering which one it was.

  The herald bowed once low, then went to the threshold. Maxim lead Jaime over, letting him see ahead.

  A wide staircase led down in a sweeping arc to a spectacular ballroom, the ceiling five stories high at least. The room, grander than anything he had ever seen before, was made of white and gray stone with gryphons of stone and steel leaping and flying from all surfaces of the room and large tapestries hanging in the open spaces on the walls. More torches of magic, some yellow, some white, illuminated the room, no corner was cast in shadow. Thick, heavy curtains of blues and greens and silvers adorned the tall windows that looked out over the nighttime sky, the glass so clear Jaime could see hints of stars.

  Over a hundred people, nay, two hundred, awaited them at the bottom of the stairs, all looking upwards, waiting. The herald coughed quietly, before lifting his chin and announcing them.

  “His Royal Highness, Prince Maxim Amalsan Angharad, son of King Llyr the First, Swordmaster of Pyrderi, and his companion, Healer James Buchanan of Angharad Palace.”

  The herald’s words carried over the crowd and the whispers began, alighting like fireflies from a summer field, spreading across the ballroom and to their rear within the stalled crowd at their back. The speculative voices rose and fell in waves, and Jaime wondered what mischief Maxim may have summoned with the herald’s declaration. The herald stepped away, the guards saluted, and Maxim stepped forward with Jaime on his arm. The crowd below did something they had not done for those before them in line, they applauded. Jaime flushed, both hands now clinging to Maxim, who put his free hand over both of Jaime’s, reassuring him and somehow claiming him all at once.

  They were halfway down the stairs, the applause ringing in his ears, when Jaime leaned into Maxim and asked, “Angharad?”

  “My family lineage and the name of the palace itself,” Maxim said with a smile. “I hope you do not mind—by naming you of the palace alone, I may as well have declared you my lover before the entire world. Those named of the palace have traditionally been royal lovers.”

  Jaime’s face went red, but he shook his head. “I do not mind.” He met Maxim’s eyes as they reached the main floor of the ballroom. “And I think lover will be accurate enough, and soon.”

  He had the pleasure of rendering Maxim speechless. His prince froze, but his eyes heated, and the hand on top of his held tighter. Jaime dared a small smile, biting his lower lip, and Maxim’s eyes locked onto the path of his tongue as he then licked them. He might have underestimated the effect that would have on his prince, as Maxim swooped in for a kiss, making Jaime gasp.

  Twitters of amused laughter and gasps came from the crowd, but Jaime didn’t care. Maxim took and gave, claimed and let Jaime claim him back, and Jaime loved every second of it.

  The kiss ended too soon for Jaime, but Maxim made him laugh when his prince stepped forward into the glittering crowd of dancers, and musicians began to play. Presumably the world continued around them, but Jaime could only see Maxim. Silver and greens and blues spun in his periphery, a forest in winter, his heart racing and his body shivering. But not from cold. From heat and a joyous ache that came up from his core making him want to cry out, but he held it in, hoping he could eventually say everything he wanted to the man who spun him around the ballroom floor.

  His worries about not knowing the dances were cast aside, as all he had to do was follow Maxim’s lead. Maxim held him close, guiding their steps with a soft touch here and gentle nudge there; Jaime followed without qualm.

  The circlet about Maxim’s brow caught the light, winking and flashing, his honey brown eyes brighter for the color of his tunic. Maxim matched the room they danced across, the jeweled dancers around them fading into the background, a formless wash of color, a rainbow of light.

  Jaime danced until his legs begged for relief and his heart raced in a gallop, and that was when the music changed, became softer, more melodic. Maxim pulled him in, chest to chest, an arm around his waist. Maxim took Jaime’s other hand in his, and they swayed together. Jaime could not tear his eyes away from Maxim. Maxim held his gaze, moving about the floor as if he knew they would not crash into another pair, seeming to know where they were always. At one point, Maxim untied Jaime’s cape and tossed it away, making him smile as they spun before slowing to a gentle sway.

  “What is this dance called?” Jaime whispered, leaning into Maxim, the muscular arm about his waist holding him securely.

  “I’m not sure, actually, but I can tell you that it is my favorite,” Maxim replied, whispering in his ear. Jaime grinned, and tilted his head, kissing just under Maxim’s jaw.

  “And why is that?” Jaime said, though he could guess. “Is it because you get to hold me so close? Such dancing in Eistrea is scandalous, and we would both be in trouble.”

  “Thankfully we are not in that horrid place, and I may hold you as I wish. The only one who can tell me no, is you,” Maxim said, and Jaime rewarded his prince with another kiss, this one closer to his mouth.

  “I don’t think I could tell you no about anything,” Jaime whispered, and Maxim looked down at him, face suddenly serious, though they kept swaying.

  “But you could,” Maxim spoke softly, but firm. “If you told me no, I would listen, and respect that no. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

  Jaime’s face grew hot, and his vision swam. Tears escaped, and he buried his face in Maxim’s shoulder, breaths shuddering. Strong fingers slid down his hand and gently over his scarred wrist, bringing his arm to Maxim’s mouth. Soft lips kissed the scars, each one making Jaime shiver with fear and remembered pain, but those emotions were swiftly lost, swept away by the tender care and acceptance in the careful touches. Maxim kissed his hand one last time before tucking Jaime’s hand over his heart, holding it there, letting Jaime feel the steady thumping under his palm.

  “You are brave and sweet and kind,” Maxim murmured, “and I think we both need a moment to find our feet.”

  Guiding them out of the glittering mass of dancers, Maxim went towards a door under the staircase. It was open, and benches were arranged in the cool area, the stone walls keeping the temperatures from rising too much. Small stands of fruity drink and bottles of alcohol filled every available space. Jaime sat on one of the benches with a grateful groan, eyeing his feet. Now that the rush of adrenaline from dancing in Maxim�
�s arms was fading, his whole body was feeling the ache of so much physical activity. He still wasn’t recovered from months of captivity, and he hadn’t been doing more than working in the infirmary since he left the kitchens. Occasional jaunts across the palace would help eventually, but his stamina still had a long way to go.

  A glass of punch was held out to him and Jaime took it eagerly, all but inhaling the whole thing in seconds. It tasted of red berries and something that fizzed and popped in his mouth, making him cough. It was good, and he wordlessly held out the glass, asking for more. Maxim chuckled and refilled it, handing it back. He sat beside Jaime on the bench, sipping from his own glass.

  Jaime eyed the fruity drink suspiciously. He may not have attended many parties when he was younger, but the few he did, the punch always ended up getting laced with alcohol. “Is this the spiked punch?”

  “Damn well shouldn’t be, but I think we’re both safe,” Maxim said, taking a bigger mouthful, brows furrowed as he tasted the punch. He swallowed and shook his head. “Alcohol free. Which is good, since I really don’t feel like acting the prince tonight. I’m usually the one who gets stuck yelling at people when Janis has to be in public.”

  Jaime sighed, and drank some more, relieved. He didn’t feel like having his judgment impaired, not tonight. He wanted a clear head to remember every detail. “How long did we dance for?”

  Maxim finished his drink and leaned back against the wall, kicking his feet out, the boots still shiny. “A few hours, at least. I know Janis and Mother made an appearance around our second turn on the floor, and Elric a few dances after that.”

  Jaime remembered the task Maxim undertook the day before. “Did you manage to get Diana back to the city?”

  Maxim nodded. “She’s up with Father now, or should be. She was far too tired, or so she said, to be prancing about in a silly dress. Her words, not mine.”

  His tone was dry, and Jaime chuckled, leaning back on the wall as well, shoulder to shoulder with Maxim, resting his head on the cool wall. The music echoed off the walls around them, and the murmur of people was muffled enough to be nothing but background noise, easily dismissed. Jaime set his glass down, and dared to take Maxim’s hand. Fingers curled around his, and Jaime hummed in delight, closing his eyes.

  “How long do we have to stay?” Jaime asked, thinking about the warmth and strength in the calloused hand that tenderly held his. His mind went back to the way Maxim moved against him as they danced, and his breath hitched, fingers squeezing. He opened his eyes and rolled his head, looking at the man beside him. Maxim gave him a slow, devilish smile, one that made his toes curl and the urge to giggle bubble up from this center.

  “I think we’ve stayed long enough,” Maxim said, husky tone doing things to Jaime’s heart rate. “Do you want to leave?”

  Jaime nodded, not once breaking eye contact. Maxim put down his cup, and pulled Jaime to his feet as he too stood. Maxim walked backwards, towards another door hidden in the recesses of the small room under the stairs. He opened it and took a swift glance, before motioning Jaime to follow him.

  He followed Maxim into the narrow, shadowed hall without hesitation, body thrumming with heat.

  This time their journey through the palace was without fanfare, the servants’ halls quiet but for faint echoes that followed them through twists and turns. Jaime smiled when he realized Maxim knew the colored arrow system better than he did, leading them without hesitation through the underpinnings of the palace, away from the ballroom.

  Jaime knew they were near the kitchens when he heard the jumbled, discordant chiming of the bells, the ones that carried orders from residential suites in the palace. It was subdued, and Jaime figured it was due to the late hour and the likelihood that most of the nobles were at the ball on the other side of the palace complex. It was still a sweet, and somehow homey, sound and settled his faint nerves.

  Maxim paused at the servant entrance to the kitchen, leaning over to sneak a glance. Maxim held up a hand, bidding him silently to wait, and slipped in the kitchen without a sound. Jaime put a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles as his prince deftly stole a wine flask, two earthenware mugs, and filled a brown linen sack with sweetmeats and pastries. Maxim slipped out before anyone noticed, the kitchen staff at a minimum and the few staff Jaime could see too occupied to notice a prince pilfering from their stores.

  Maxim slipped out, bounty over his shoulder, and took Jaime’s hand again, heading without pause for the servants’ halls, taking a path Jaime recognized from the fateful day he met Maxim face to face while delivering him breakfast. “I was so nervous that morning,” Jaime whispered when they reached the lift, and Maxim’s hand hovered over the levers. He gave Jaime an inquiring glance, and Jaime explained. “The morning I brought you breakfast, and I saw you for the first time. I was terribly nervous. Scared, even.”

  “What about now?” Maxim asked, looking down at him. Jaime shrugged with one shoulder and smiled.

  “I’m so tired of being nervous,” Jaime replied. “I didn’t used to be.” He ran a finger over the scars on his wrist, Maxim’s eyes tracking the movement. “Once upon a time, I blushed a lot, but I was never afraid. I can live with the blushing, but I refuse to live with the fear. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  “You’re far braver than you think,” Maxim told him, making him smile wider. Maxim gestured to the lift levers. “Gold lever or the one for the healers’ level?”

  Gold lever to take him to the royal residency floor. The one with the small green healers’ emblem would take them to Jaime’s room. Jaime reached out, and without hesitation, pulled the golden lever. The lift groaned, and Maxim opened the doors, gesturing for Jaime to step inside.

  His stomach still quivered when Maxim shut the doors and the lift began to climb, but he breathed through the fear, letting it go as best he could. He refused to let fear stop him from getting what he wanted, what he needed. Maxim watched him, taking in every small movement, every emotion that flickered over his face, and he warmed, knowing that Maxim truly cared and was concerned for him. Maxim would honor his word and stop the second Jaime asked him to. He’d never felt this degree of trust for anyone before. Never felt this safe, and so free at the same time. Free to be who he was before his life fell into nightmare and pain. Free to become who he was meant to be, and he wished with all his heart that Maxim would be there to see him through.

  The lift stopped, its passage largely unnoticed by them both. Maxim opened the doors, and a few short turns later, they left the servants’ halls and entered the main hall outside Maxim’s room. Jaime followed Maxim inside, and his prince shut the door firmly, and with a flick of his wrist, turned the key in the lock, securing the suite. He left the key in the lock, making sure Jaime saw him do so. Every little thing Maxim did to show him he was safe made his heart jump, a smile tease at his lips.

  The suite was dark, moonlight pouring through the windows. Maxim was naught but a shadow in the night, and as was quickly becoming his habit, Jaime followed him without hesitation. Maxim’s bedchamber was dark as well, a shaft of moonlight pouring across the floor, stopping just shy of the foot of the massive bed. Maxim tossed the pilfered goods onto a small table, and he hesitated. Jaime walked to the bed, and looked between it and his prince. Maxim waited, unmoving, Jaime’s eyes adjusting to the darkness enough to discern the other man’s patient gaze.

  Jaime unbuckled his belt, the metal and leather swinging as he dropped it into the shadows off to the side. He sat on the bed, and toed off his boots one by one, pushing them under the edge of the bed so no one tripped over them. He lifted himself backwards onto the bed, climbing to the center of it. He sat, breathed in and out, settling his stray nerves, and then beckoned to Maxim.

  “Maxim,” he whispered. The shadow that was his prince came nearer. He could see enough to watch as Maxim copied his movements, tossing aside his belt, removing his boots.

  The bed dipped, Maxim’s greater weight coming closer. Jaime ex
haled, rough and eager, and his hands found muscular shoulders. Lips touched his in the dark, questing, seeking entrance, and Jaime opened to Maxim. A happy sigh, a pleased hum, from either of them he could not tell, eyes drifting shut. In the dark, it did not matter if he could see or not. He could feel. He could taste, hear, scent.

  Feel.

  There was so much to feel. His fingers wandered, lifting aside tunic and undershirt, the garments tossed into the night. Maxim’s body was as perfect to touch as he was to behold, scars and dips and ridges. Hot skin, racing heart, Jaime could feel it all. He pulled back long enough to tug off his own tunic and undershirt, bare to the waist. He loosened his breeches, and then returned to exploring every inch of Maxim he could reach. Maxim gasped out a laugh when his thin fingers poked along his ribs, and Jaime smiled. Ticklish spots to exploit later, in quiet moments, but Jaime was focused on more delightful places.

  Maxim chuckled, the deep rumble teasing Jaime’s senses, and the prince let himself be guided to his back, Jaime hovering over him. Jaime leaned down, kissing and tasting hot skin, tasting faintly of sweat, pine, and the warmth Jaime’s mind associated with Maxim alone. He paused on his journey south along Maxim’s sternum. “May I?” he asked in a whisper, lips brushing over skin that reacted with fine goosebumps.

  “Yes,” Maxim roughed out, lifting his hips, hands digging into the bedlinens. “Please.”

  Jaime smiled, and pressed a kiss to Maxim’s belly, muscles jumping under his touch. He ran his hands up Maxim’s thighs, enjoying the way the muscles moved and tensed beneath the fabric of his breeches. He grabbed the waistband and tugged down, giggling breathlessly when Maxim cursed, lifting his hips to help. The top hem slid over a sizeable bulge before coming free from around Maxim’s hips. Jaime tugged and struggled until the breeches were gone, tossed into the dark. He breathed heavily, suddenly aware that Maxim lay before him on the bed, shadows caressing hot, bare skin and surging muscle.