The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  He purposely did not think about how enraged Father would be if the guards had to escort him from the palace grounds. He also didn’t want to think about what Philip would say when he was alerted. Philip wasn’t pleased with Father as it was, for good reason, and he didn’t need another reason to be aggravated. Cathal especially didn’t want the reason to stem from Father’s personal attack on him. That was never something Philip should have to deal with. Cathal could only hope Father had left already, but he would hear about it if Father hadn’t, sooner rather than later. Since all he wanted was his bed, he doubly hoped Father went home quietly. After some sleep, Cathal would be able to think about Father again.

  The corridor leading to Cathal’s suite was empty and quiet, the lights burning low and leaving shadows against the walls. He reached his door and let out a long sigh. He would be in a hot bath then bed soon.

  “Cathal.”

  The low voice came from behind him, a whisper of sound he wouldn’t have heard if the corridor hadn’t been silent. He turned, and there was Flavian, barely visible in the shadows of the alcove that concealed the door to the secret passages.

  He stared at the other man, though Flavian was, as usual, dressed as a woman. In the unpleasantness with his father and his own unaccustomed response to it, he had nearly forgotten his daydreams about Flavian and his strange desire for Flavian to be waiting for him. And there Flavian was, but the man didn’t look happy.

  “Cathal?”

  FLAVIAN COULDN’T justify why he was going to Cathal’s suite. If he was trying to stay away from Cathal, going to Cathal’s suite alone at night to tell him Flavian was going to stop seeing him was a bad idea. And yet, he went. He didn’t even know if Cathal would be there or if not, when he would be back. Cathal was supposed to dine with Velia, her aunt and uncle, and Cathal’s father that night, but had apparently begged off because of business for Prince Philip. Flavian had eaten alone, thankfully spared the social obligation for once. He hadn’t minded missing it, but he might have if Cathal had been there. Dangerous thought.

  Velia had returned from dinner not long ago and gone straight to bed. And Flavian had crept out of the suite and into the secret passage. A knock on Cathal’s door had produced no response, so Flavian had scurried back into the shadows. He should have gone back to his bedchamber. To wait was to risk discovery, which would be a disaster. It had been a ridiculous notion to come to Cathal’s suite in the first place.

  Nevertheless, he waited.

  He hadn’t decided how long he would wait, hiding in the shadows of the secret door—he was uneasy that it might be until Cathal arrived, no matter how long that turned out to be. When the servants started their tasks in the morning, he might still be there, probably dozing against the wall. But he didn’t need to test that because Cathal arrived not too long after Flavian took up his vigil.

  Thankfully, he was alone. Flavian didn’t know what he would have done if Cathal had someone with him.

  “Cathal.” He kept his voice quiet, in case someone else was nearby.

  Cathal turned, his gaze finding Flavian where he stood back from the light. The low lights of the corridor clearly illuminated Cathal’s face. Cathal stared almost blankly at Flavian, only some faint surprise in his eyes. Time slipped by as Cathal stared in silence and Flavian waited for him to say something. Anything. He’d never known Cathal to look so blank, so… tired. He could see the weariness as he looked closer at Cathal, and worry welled up inside him despite himself.

  Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Cathal?”

  Cathal seemed to shake himself. “Flavian? What are you doing here?”

  He shushed Cathal sharply, even though Cathal’s voice hadn’t been loud. Cathal jumped a little but nodded. He glanced back and forth down the corridor. “Come inside.”

  Cathal turned from him and opened the door. He took one more look around and then motioned for Flavian to go inside. Flavian hurried across the corridor and through the door. Cathal followed and shut the door behind them. A click signaled the lock being engaged. He wasn’t certain if Cathal thought they were going to end up in bed or if he was trying to protect Flavian from discovery, but Flavian decided to let it pass.

  In the brighter light of the sitting room, Flavian could see even more clearly how worn Cathal looked—not just weary physically but more that his mind, his heart perhaps, was weary too.

  “What are you doing here?” Cathal asked again.

  “Are you all right?” Flavian blurted out. He’d meant to answer Cathal’s question. He hadn’t meant to ask a question of his own, hadn’t meant to take a step closer to Cathal either.

  “I’m fine.” Cathal seemed to sag where he stood suddenly, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Actually, it’s been a bit of a day.”

  More than a bit of one, Flavian thought. He stepped even closer, despite knowing he shouldn’t. He needed to step away from Cathal, not toward him. “What can I do?”

  Cathal shook his head. “Nothing. I just want a hot bath and bed. Thank you, though.”

  If Cathal’s courtesy was becoming an afterthought, something was wrong. Something welled up inside Flavian, something, he realized after a moment, protective. He wanted to care for Cathal, to comfort and soothe. He had never felt that for anyone before, except his younger sisters.

  He took Cathal’s arm and tugged him gently to the nearest chair. “Here. Sit.” He shook his head when Cathal began to protest. “I’ll prepare your bath for you. Just relax here. Do you want a drink while you sit?”

  Flavian straightened and glanced around the room until his eyes fell on a liquor cabinet against the wall. Without waiting for Cathal’s answer, he went to the cabinet. There was a decanter of pale gold liquor on top. It looked like the liquor he’d seen people drinking since he arrived, but he’d never been offered any. He splashed some in a glass for Cathal.

  “Pour yourself some too,” Cathal said from the chair Flavian had put him in.

  Flavian handed him the glass. “After I draw your bath. I’ll be right back.”

  Cathal caught his hand. “You don’t have to.”

  Flavian looked down into Cathal’s eyes, seeing more there than perhaps he wanted to. He squeezed Cathal’s hand. “I know. Let me anyway.”

  Cathal stared up at him for a moment more and finally nodded. Flavian smiled, just a small smile, and squeezed Cathal’s hand again. “Stay there. Have your drink.”

  He let his hand slip from Cathal’s and hurried into the bedchamber, then through to the bathing room. He couldn’t stay there and look at everything in Cathal’s eyes, all those jumbled emotions—the hurt and the weariness, the confusion and the resignation. The surprise and maybe the affection. The vulnerability and the trust that Cathal had to have in Flavian to show so much to him. Flavian couldn’t imagine what he had done to be worthy of such trust or the object of such affection. Better to walk away, to not see so much.

  In the large, blue-tiled bathing room, Flavian unfastened the cuffs of his gown and pushed the sleeves up. He opened the spigot and began filling the enormous inset tub with hot water. While it filled, he searched for towels and soap. He found both in a tall cabinet against the wall. He left two towels on a stool next to the tub and put a cake of soap on the edge. His hand hesitated over the soap. Giving in, he picked it back up and brought it to his nose, breathing in the scent, the subtly spicy scent he always smelled on Cathal’s skin. He loved that scent.

  He stood for a moment, letting it permeate his senses, letting himself revel in that Cathal scent… until he realized what he was doing. He whirled around, but the doorway was empty. Cathal hadn’t seen. He placed the soap back on the tiled edge of the tub and stepped away. Smelling Cathal’s soap? What was he doing?

  He went back to the cabinet and took out a cloth to put with the soap. As he was about to close the door, he saw a bottle of bath oil. He pulled the stopper. It smelled like the soap. He took the bottle and added a few drops of the oil to the bath water, s
wirling it into the steaming bath.

  With the tub full, he took a deep breath—but the whole room was warm and steamy and smelled like Cathal, and that deep breath did more to cloud his thinking than clear it—and went to fetch Cathal. Flavian stopped one step into the sitting room. Cathal was slumped in his chair, eyes closed, empty glass dangling from the fingers of one hand.

  Flavian meant to just tell Cathal the bath was ready, but he found himself drawn back across the room. Without even thinking about it, he stepped behind Cathal’s chair and put his hands on Cathal’s shoulders. Cathal stiffened as Flavian began to massage the tense muscles but relaxed again almost immediately, leaning into Flavian’s hands. Flavian rubbed Cathal’s shoulders for a few moments, just until Cathal wasn’t so painfully tight.

  “Come on,” he whispered. “There’s a hot bath waiting for you.”

  Cathal nodded and stood. Though it was his suite, Cathal let Flavian lead him to the bathing room. It was upsetting to see Cathal this way, and yet Cathal depending on him warmed Flavian as well. But the trust was somewhat disconcerting too.

  In the bathing room, Cathal began to pull off his clothes, but Flavian brushed his hands away and carefully removed Cathal’s clothes. He was gentle, but he didn’t caress, didn’t touch that way—Cathal likely didn’t need that at the moment, and Flavian shouldn’t give it. As soon as he was undressed, Cathal sank into the tub up to his neck.

  “Thank you,” Cathal said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Will you stay?”

  Flavian had already taken a step toward the door. Stay while Cathal bathed? That seemed… intimate. Ridiculous to think since they’d already been to bed together, but it felt like something far more. He should go, but the way Cathal was looking at him…. “Just let me get that drink you promised me.”

  “All right.” Cathal smiled.

  “Shall I bring you another as well?”

  “Just a little. Thank you.”

  Flavian nodded and walked out of the room, leaving Cathal soaking in his bath. His steps sped up as he moved through the bedchamber and into the sitting room. He went directly to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of the same liquor he’d given Cathal. Flavian stared into it for a moment, letting the golden liquid mesmerize him. It reminded him of Cathal’s eyes. The golden hue went liquid, molten, when Cathal was aroused.

  Flavian looked away, toward the window and the night outside. He had taken one look at Cathal tonight and felt this need to take care of him, almost a compulsion. He wanted to coddle and comfort until whatever made Cathal look so bleak faded away and the light came back to Cathal’s eyes. He hurt seeing Cathal so defeated. He needed to hurt whoever made Cathal feel it. And he had no idea what he was doing or where these protective impulses were coming from.

  He didn’t even know what caused Cathal’s mood, and he was considering hurting people for causing it. Flavian closed his eyes. He was supposed to concentrate on maintaining his disguise long enough to get out of the palace and into a new life. Instead, he was risking everything waiting in a corridor outside Cathal’s suite, drawing him a bath, letting Cathal take him to bed. But that last wasn’t going to happen tonight or ever again. He couldn’t let it.

  He should leave. Cathal seemed calmer. It would be fine. But he remembered the look in Cathal’s eyes, and he couldn’t abandon Cathal, not when he expected Flavian to return. He wasn’t certain what Cathal expected then. Company? Conversation? Flavian washing his back? Flavian blinked that image away before it had the chance to do more than spark a curl of heat in his belly.

  So, a drink, a little company. Cathal would feel better; Flavian would leave, return to his empty bed, and sleep. And he wouldn’t come back again.

  Chapter 19

  TAKING BOTH glasses, Flavian walked back to the bathing room. Cathal was where Flavian left him, his head tipped back against the edge of the tub. He opened his eyes when Flavian walked in and smiled, a small smile but one filled with gratitude. Cathal took his glass from Flavian with a dripping hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Flavian just nodded and glanced around. He wasn’t certain what to do. Yes, he had seen Cathal naked before, but that was in bed, not with Cathal in the bath and Flavian fully clothed. He had been right—it was far too intimate, too close.

  “Sit, please.”

  Sitting would probably be less awkward than just standing there. He moved the towels and perched on the stool, after positioning it a little farther from the tub. As tempted as he was, he would not sit and stare at Cathal’s naked body while the man relaxed in the bath after a day that had obviously taken a toll on him.

  Remembering he still held his glass, Flavian took a long sip of the liquid inside and then gasped. It was smooth and delicious with a faintly spicy flavor unlike anything Flavian had ever drunk before. It was also strong. He could feel the warmth of it blazing down to his stomach and out until his toes seemed to tingle with it.

  Cathal was watching him. “Your first taste of plaire?”

  “Yes.” He was vaguely surprised his voice sounded normal. His first taste of real, strong liquor had left him rasping. But that had been a harsh drink, far harsher than plaire. He thought his father might have given it to his sons on purpose.

  “I should have warned you. It’s stronger than you think.”

  Flavian stiffened and snapped, “I’m not some weakling who can’t hold his liquor. I’m fine.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Cathal sighed and dropped his head back again.

  The annoyance drained out of Flavian as if it never was. He had expected something more forceful from Cathal, more on the level of Flavian’s reply. That he hadn’t received it left him even more concerned about Cathal. Company and a quick exit didn’t seem quite adequate anymore.

  “Do you want to talk about your day?” he asked, hesitant. He wasn’t certain the inquiry would be welcome, but Cathal had surprised him tonight by letting Flavian take care of him so much. Perhaps Flavian was hesitant to ask because he wasn’t certain he wanted to know. Knowing, listening, would only draw him deeper.

  Cathal lifted his head and stared at him for a moment. He began to think Cathal wasn’t going to answer, but then Cathal sighed again and seemed to sink farther into the water. “Not really. Maybe.”

  Well, that was enlightening. Flavian bit back the sarcastic response. “You can tell me if you want. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I know.” Cathal said it so simply, Flavian had to believe it. It was a simple statement in itself, but it was another somewhat stunning display of trust. “I spent most of my day involved in questioning a spy who had infiltrated Tournai and insinuated himself so deeply into Jumelle that it took us months to find him. And we know there are more out there we haven’t gotten yet. Maybe even one in the palace. Ardunn is determined.”

  Spies? From Ardunn? Ardunn had actually sent spies to Tournai, and Cathal was telling Flavian about it. He hadn’t even known Cathal’s duties involved dealing with spies. “Should you be telling me this?”

  Cathal’s shrug made ripples in the water. “Probably not, but I haven’t told you anything too terribly secret, especially if you were a spy for Ardunn. You’d know there were other spies, and you’d figure out soon enough we’d caught one of you.”

  “I am not a spy for Ardunn.” The emperor couldn’t pay him enough for something like that.

  “I know. So don’t mention the spies, please.”

  Flavian nodded, bemused.

  “So there was that, which was difficult and tiring and disheartening. And I followed it up with an unpleasant encounter with my father, who is disappointed with just about everything I do. No matter what I do.” Cathal sounded a bit lost on that last, which pushed Flavian out of his shock. He couldn’t understand how Cathal’s father could be disappointed in him. Cathal seemed to be the epitome of the dutiful son and heir.

  But now that he really looked at Cathal, Flavian didn’t think it made for a very happy
Cathal.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Another shrug. “Not your fault.”

  “Still.” Flavian watched Cathal begin sipping his drink. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Cathal smiled, a sweet smile Flavian didn’t think he had ever seen from Cathal. “You’re already doing it.”

  “I am?”

  “You look so confused.” Cathal laughed a little, but it wasn’t unkind. “You’re here. Earlier, when I told Philip and Amory about the questioning, I kept wishing I had someone there the way Philip has Amory. I kept thinking of you. And here you are.”

  “I—oh.” He stared at Cathal, probably looking ridiculous in his surprise.

  But Cathal’s smile held only affection. “You always have sharp words and now you’re speechless?”

  “I’m sure I could come up with a few choice ones if you’d like.” But he wasn’t sure of anything of the kind. Cathal’s words kept swirling through his head.

  “It’s all right. I don’t know if I could respond well to them tonight.”

  “Then I’ll do my best to soften my words, shall I?”

  “I’m glad you’re not speechless anymore. It was strange. And I am glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad I’m here too.” And it was nothing but truth, Flavian realized as he said it. As oddly uncomfortable as it made him, he wanted to be with Cathal, to help him if he could.

  He didn’t want to leave anymore.

  “Thank you.”

  Flavian wasn’t sure whether Cathal was thanking him for what he said or what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. He nodded, and when that didn’t feel like enough, he left the stool and bent over the tub. He glimpsed faint surprise in Cathal’s eyes before they fluttered shut as Flavian kissed him. Softly, lightly. He wanted it to be comfort, and he thought maybe it was.

  And then Cathal’s hand, dripping wet, came up to rest on Flavian’s cheek, holding him in place while Cathal deepened the kiss. It was still slow, still almost lazy, but passion swirled and simmered, just waiting for a spark. And he realized then that maybe what Cathal needed was distraction. He pulled back from the kiss and nipped and nibbled at Cathal’s lips. When Flavian dove back in again, he knew he was right. He was also being devoured, and it was glorious.