“They have all kinds of mechanical toys in there,” Piers said. “Too bad they’re closed.”
A mechanical toy? Young Wycke would have given his entire toy soldier collection for a flying dragon, even one so small.
Piers gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You probably think I’m being ridiculous.”
“Not at all. It’s fabulous!” Wycke meant every word. He wouldn’t mind watching a bit longer.
After a long, assessing gaze, Piers nodded, the tension on his face relaxing. “I’m glad you like it. I used to sneak down here sometimes as a kid. There’s just something fascinating about dragons. I like to draw them. In fact, I designed the dragon tattoo on Jess’s back.”
“So, you like to draw?” Wycke attempted to create a crude map of directions to his sister’s quarters for a new maid once. She’d found herself in a linen closet.
A blush spread up Piers’ face. He averted his gaze. “I’d never make a living of it, but yes.”
“I’d love to see your drawings sometime.” Wycke spoke the words by rote. Court life taught him to feign interest at a young age. But actually, he found he’d love to see Piers’ art.
They ambled down the sidewalk in relative silence, except for Piers pointing out landmarks or points of interest. He didn’t seem to expect anything of Wycke but his company, didn’t ask about the king and queen, or what King Broen actually thought of a particular issue. Piers definitely didn’t ask Wycke to finagle a meeting with the queen, nor did he hint at what jewels he thought Wycke should gift him.
So refreshing, so relaxing. When was the last time Wycke enjoyed another’s attention without having to be on constant guard?
Neither felt the need to fill any silences with small talk. The night was much cooler than the average Dhugach evening, and breath fogged before Wycke’s face before drifting away.
Restaurants advertised their wares with aromas straying from doorways. Tiny white lights on strings crisscrossed the streets like stars. They met a few fae folks, and an elf sat on a bench strumming a guitar.
So many magicals here.
“How about that dance now?” Piers pulled Wycke against his chest, swaying to the music. For a moment, Wycke stiffened, then noticed other couples danced.
Although kept apart by their coats, had anything ever felt as wonderful as holding this man in his arms? They fit together with a nearly audible click.
Piers rested his head against Wycke’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I was rude to you at the club. It’s just, so many guys hit on me, who don’t really wantme, you know?”
“I think I know exactly how you feel.” Wycke did. “Sometimes I think someone’s attracted to me when they’re really after the ki… my family’s influence.”
Piers lifted his head and nodded, a lock of hair brushing over his forehead. “That must suck. I’m sorry you have to go through that.”
“You do the same.”
Piers glanced up with those eerily pale eyes. “But I can get away from my job, go home. You can’t escape your family.”
No, Wycke couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried. “Too true.”
Their gazes held.
Then they were kissing. Who made the first move? Did it matter? Piers’ lips were a bit chapped. Still, nothing compared to the moment for perfection. Wycke opened his mouth. Piers slipped his tongue inside.
Fire shot to Wycke’s groin. Oh, gods. He wanted this man. Wanted to lay him down on a bed, explore every inch of his body.
They were kissing. In public. Where anyone could see. Damnation. Wycke couldn’t bring himself to care. The kiss continued, him sliding his tongue along Piers’, tasting wine, tomato sauce, and spices.
The music changed, the elf playing something slower, statelier. Piers pulled back, a lovely flush to his cheeks. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Whatever it is, feel free to do that again.” Wycke would happily keep the kiss going— indefinitely. Piers didn’t know Wycke’s family. While he might suspect Wycke came from money, he didn’t seem interested in wealth.
Not yet, anyway.
Piers seemed satisfied with his humble life. Wycke had never met anyone content in their position, who didn’t long for more power, more prestige, just… more.
Piers dropped some money into the hat on the ground in front of the elf. Wycke added a bit of silver. The elf’s eyes widened in recognition, but he said nothing. How many refugees from the magical realm now lived in this one? There’d soon be no one left back home but humans at this rate.