He’ll be happier still if Marek gets him back to the palace before the buzz wears off.
“I’m glad you had fun. Time to go home.” Marek grabs Sei’s hand, just to make sure they stick together on the way to the front door.
“Am I in trouble?” Sei asks, trailing at Marek’s side.
“What? No.” Marek squeezes Sei’s hand. “I don’t care how much you drank, though you’ll probably care in a few hours.”
Sei squeezes Marek’s hand in return. “That’s fine. As long as you’re not mad. We should do this again someday, except you should play cards with us too.”
Their journey home hits a snag in the tavern yard. One of Marek’s accompanying drasgard rushes up after a conversation with the tavern staff. The grooms hadn’t expected Marek to leave so early, and another carriage is double-parked behind theirs.
“Send the carriage back later,” Marek says. “We can just ride.”
“Yes, Stormrider,” the drasgard answers.
“Um,” Sei says, which is when Marek remembers Sei has never ridden a horse before. He probably shouldn’t try learning after his first shot of zalvin.
“Just bring my horse,” Marek tells the drasgard. “My claim will ride with me.”
Which seems like a perfect solution for the next five minutes. Right up until Marek settles into the saddle behind Sei and realizes what a terrible mistake this is. Because Marek’s saddle is large, but not that large.
Sei presses close to him, just like on dragonback. Except this time, Sei isn’t shocked quiet by the rushing sky, and he isn’t strapped down in the harness. He’s tipsy and excited and he keepssquirmingas he looks around. Luckily, North Wind is a very large, very tolerant mare.
“This is fun. I like riding.” Sei leans forward to pet the horse’s gray neck.
Marek hauls Sei back to sit properly in the saddle—and leaves an arm around his waist for good measure. “Sit still. You’ll like it more if you stay on the horse.”
“Yes, Your Highness. What’s the nice horse’s name?”
“North Wind. But the grooms all call her Hungry.”
“That’s cute,” Sei says, relaxing against Marek’s chest.
Sei falls quiet as they leave the tavern yard. Drasgard ride before and behind them, clearing the road as they travel. Marek focuses on the laundry drying from city windows. The multicolored smoke rising above apothecaries and magecraft shops. The grimacing gargoyles. Anything except the gentle weight of the man pressed against him.
Marek appreciates the ridiculousness of the situation. Shouldn’t a man want to be attracted to his betrothed? But Marek intends to break their arrangement as soon as he can. No gorgeous smile, no glimpse of unfettered joy, can change that. Marek is still a terrible match for Sei.
Drinking. Riding. What else has Sei never done?
Sei is far too eager to please. Marek would never forgive himself for leading Sei on with false promises.
“Can you really use lightning for sex?” Sei asks suddenly.
Marek chokes on his next breath. He coughs so loudly that even placid North Wind flicks her ears in irritation.
Sei tries to turn around. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Marek manages, holding Sei still. “What are you talking about?”
“Kamil says you can use Dire magic for more exciting things than blasting wraiths. I asked if he meant sex, and he started coughing just like you did.”
The only time Marek mentioned that to Kamil was a drunken game of truth-telling when they were teenagers. He can’t believe Kamil remembers. “I don’t use actual lightning. I can control much smaller amounts of magic electricity.”
“That makes sense,” Sei says. “I want to dye my hair.”
Marek welcomes the reprieve from electric sex talk. “Sure. What color do you want?”
“No idea. I also want a tattoo. Kamil has a tattoo.”