Someone was coming.
Panic engulfed Meilyr’s chest. There was already so much suspicion surrounding him, if they were found here at this time, it would truly be damning.
Osian shifted to shield him from whoever approached. But would that be enough? He was the prince, allowed to be anywhere, but explaining this when the court was already so rife with rumours?
The sound of boots drew closer. They had seconds, less than seconds.
Was there any reason to be down here? What could they possibly be doing in this damp, deserted—
Oh.Oh.
Meilyr grabbed the front of Osian’s tunics, pulled himself up against his chest and kissed him.
Shock froze the prince as motionless as a mountain. Then hemelted, deepened the kiss as though it was the most natural thing in the world: instinct burned physical.
That same instinct made Meilyr reach around his broad shoulders to bury his hands in his hair, pulling him closer. They stumbled, and Meilyr’s back met the wall with a thrill of pleasure as Osian’s body fixed him there, his mouth devastatingly warm and soft.
Instinct slipped Meilyr’s tongue past his lips. Instinct made the prince respond in kind, a surge of motion and a small, unleashed sound of frustrated want as he pressed against Meilyr more firmly, one hand tangled in his hair, the other grasping the small of his back, as though even this contact was not enough. As though he needed more.
The sun blazed through Meilyr, burning away everything else, replacing it with this. With Osian.
The footsteps that rounded the corner stopped sharply.
Osian stiffened, going deathly still.
‘Really, Osian?’ Prince Wystan sounded tired and annoyed. ‘You couldn’t have waited until you made it to your rooms?’
Osian withdrew his mouth with undisguised frustration. His voice was low and rough, sparking fresh hunger in Meilyr’s flesh. ‘Do you very much mind, Wystan?’
A pause. ‘Not really.’ The youngest prince strode off. ‘It’s your castle, I suppose.’
They listened intently for his footsteps to disappear. Silence returned to the corridor.
Osian stepped away. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, a hint of raw heat still in the words.
Meilyr’s body sang with want. The distance between them was an ocean, and he had to swallow, tamping down the treacherous pull to plunge and grab Osian. Heave him back to his mouth, his body. ‘No,’ he managed. ‘I – forgive me, Majesty, I should have asked.’
Osian shook his head, not looking at him. ‘No, it was… a good idea. A good solution. I am sorry I… took it too far.’ His hair was tousled by Meilyr’s fingers. His lips kissed-pink and perfect, too far away—
Enough.Meilyr took a long, unsteady breath. Gods, he could still taste him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You responded – I mean, it worked because you responded.’
‘We should… leave.’
‘Yes,’ Meilyr agreed.
‘Now.’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you all right?’ Osian asked abruptly, genuinely concerned.
‘What? Yes – yes, I am fine, just very glad that did not go… worse. It could have gone worse. A lot worse. He could have…’
It came into Osian’s gaze the same instant Meilyr thought it.
They both stepped into the cloistered courtyard to look the way Wystan had departed. Alone, in a deserted part of the castle.
There was no sign of him.