Do not live it before it has happened.
But he could not help it. The fight with Celyn had left him raw, and his mind latched on to what might come. Images reeled.
Prince Osian helped him out of the trapdoor, and the touch of his hand prickled.
Ironic, a cruel part of Meilyr’s mind pointed out,since he is just your type.
He had not thought on it, but since he was being forced to imagine the approaching intimacy, it slipped in. The prince was painfully attractive: angled features, tall with that strong physique – that voice. That presence, pulling like the tide.
It could be worse, that sardonic, fatalistic part suggested. But could it? He knew painfully well that physical attraction did not miraculously make everything better, and could certainly not trick his body into sensations his heart could not muster. His flesh crawled with the reality of what might soon happen.
But if the prince wanted it, that was part of their bargain.
The prince closed the hatch and headed into the parlour. Meilyr followed.
‘Would you like your drink now?’
That, and several more. ‘Thank you.’
Tiny flowers lifted their heads. Meilyr did not dare move as the prince approached him. He took the drink with trembling fingers and glanced involuntarily at the bedchamber.
Prince Osian followed his gaze, and his eyes widened slightly. ‘I… am truly sorry for causing distress. I should have expressed myself more clearly.’ He stepped away, to a blasted window, free hand behind his spine. ‘I have no desire whatsoever to force someone into unwanted physicality. There would be no pleasure in that, for either of us, and I swear – on my honour and my life – I will never pursue you in that way.’
Meilyr stared. ‘Your Majesty?’
The prince turned, eyes piercing. ‘My word is my life, and you have it. I swore an oath, and meant every word – we are wed, but only in title, and I will ask for nothing more. It would, however, be better that the court believe you and I to be… intimate, lest they consider something amiss.’ He regarded Meilyr, and his stunned silence. ‘You have questions.’
Yes – gods!– but none of them untangled themselves from the confusion. All Meilyr managed was, ‘I still do not understand.’
Prince Osian came to stand before him, in that measured way of his, as though he did not wish to make Meilyr jump. He took the glass from his hand, his touch no longer stinging. ‘Sit,’ he offered. ‘Take a moment.’
Meilyr sat in an ornate armchair before he could fall.
The prince handed him back his drink. ‘Drink.’
Meilyr drank. Almost choked. Recovered.
The prince settled on the divan across from him. ‘We had little time earlier, but for this ruse to be believed, we may need to discuss presentation.’
‘Presentation,’ Meilyr repeated, dazed. This was not exactly where he had expected this to go.
‘Yes. We are to appear as lovers, though you are welcome and perhaps expected to appear more hesitant in that occupation.’
Lovers.It had been a long time since he had shared in any kind of physical intimacy, and that had not exactly ended amicably.
‘Forgive me for not making this clear before we made our oaths,’ the prince said. ‘It is a great deal to ask of you, and if you need time—’
‘I agree.’ Meilyr surprised himself with the interruption, but continued, ‘I do not need time. I will do whatever you ask, if there is even a chance… for Celyn.’
There was a flicker of something in the prince’s eyes. He set down his drink. ‘I know you have no reason to trust me, but this is not a trap, and I have no malicious ulterior motive. I swear it to you.’
Yet there had to be something else he would gain, something he hoped to achieve.
Before Meilyr could attempt to fathom what it might be, the prince rose and drew a short, beautiful dagger from its sheath at his hip. The surface of the dark metal swam, a sharp taste on Meilyr’s tongue: gwaed-steel.
Without warning, the prince opened his palm across the base of his thumb. Red beaded. Their eyes met. ‘On my blood, and before the eyes of the gods.’
Meilyr’s mouth went dry.