Fic: RPS (Jared/Jensen): The Lion at Starfall [1/2] | NC-17 | 11760
Title: The Lion at Starfall
Author: dragonspell
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bullshit, made up names.
Summary: Jensen, though he was only a seventh son and unlikely to inherit the throne of Redding, had a reputation that had spread to the surrounding countries. He was fearsome in battle, they said, and nigh invincible, the drumming sound of his mount at full gallop enough to strike terror in a grizzled soldier's heart. He'd been awarded the title of Dancer at age 23, one of eight titles given to only the strongest and most true of heart by the warrior monks of the Damascus Mountains. Jared had asked for Prince Jensen’s hand in marriage years ago, smitten by the legends and the reports of the man's beauty. His offer had been returned unread and unwanted. It was ironic that it had taken a badly battered army and the threat of extinction to achieve what all of Jared's riches had not. Jared would have what all that he wanted and Redding would have nothing.
Word Count: 11,760
A/N: Gift for hybridshade for the 2014 round spn-j2-xmas. I once read that to become an author, one needed to write a million words--and then burn them. Well, I don't have a million, but I do have a respectable big bang's worth of useless words now sitting on my hard drive as this monstrosity not only grew to be 3 times the size it was supposed to be but also forced me to rewrite the plot four times. It's a little rushed, but I hope that I can be forgiven.
The joint tribes of Redding were a proud people and warriors to the last, but they'd had no hope of winning the war. For all their vaunted skills and fearsome reputations, they simply couldn't compete with the vast resources of Milecki and even their fool of a king had eventually seen that. He'd thought that the flowing wealth of the marketplaces had somehow made Milecki soft. Jared’s armies had proved him wrong.
It had been Redding that had made the first attack, slaughtering border guards down in the Summer Valleys and, as such, Jared had driven a hard bargain for peace. His people wanted vengeance and Jared would not be able to assuage them with mere platitudes. He had demanded tribute of the very best the Redding had to offer: gold, jewels, horses, weapons. It would be poor comfort to those left bereft but it was all Jared could offer. Peace was in the best interests of both nations.
A fortnight later, the tribute now filled the throne room, most contained in heavy chests that were hand-delivered and stacked high by a small accompaniment of Redding's finest. There were hardly enough men to win a skirmish let alone mount a coup, and many would have assumed that the soldiers, with their ornately etched armor and tall, broad builds, were just for show-Redding's last bit of pride refusing to bend-but they would be wrong. Jared knew better, just as he knew that their mounts, left out in the stable, were jet black and danced rather than walked. The soldiers had not arrived with the chests: they had arrived with Prince Jensen, seventh son of King Alan of Redding, Commander of the Third Battalion, Dancer of the West Winds, and soon to be Royal Consort of the Kingdom of Milecki, Protector of the Seven Lands. Jared's face stayed impassive, but his heart pounded louder than thunder.
Jensen, though he was only a seventh son and unlikely to inherit the throne of Redding, had a reputation that had spread to the surrounding countries. He was fearsome in battle, they said, and nigh invincible, the drumming sound of his mount at full gallop enough to strike terror in a grizzled soldier's heart. He'd been awarded the title of Dancer at age 23, one of eight titles given to only the strongest and most true of heart by the warrior monks of the Damascus Mountains. He was the youngest man to ever be awarded such an honor.
Jared had asked for Prince Jensen’s hand in marriage years ago, smitten by the legends and the reports of the man's beauty. Surely such a prince would be worthy of ruling beside a king. Jared had been willing to trade just about anything as well, much to his advisors’ dismay. In his original proposal, he’d worked himself up to offering half the treasury and full fleets of ships. Luckily for his advisors’ health, Sir Roger had ripped the paper in twain before Jared could even sign his name and had called him twice a fool. Unfortunately, however, all Jared had learned was not to let others see the offer before he had a chance to make it, though he did manage to scale himself back to more reasonable terms on his second attempt.
His offer had been returned unread and unwanted, the wax seal with the rearing horses still intact, and Jared had known then that no amount of promised wealth would convince King Alan to part with his favored son. Alan had kept Jensen close at hand and Jared had reluctantly accepted the rejection. He liked to imagine that several such nobles had done the same as him, and all had been equally rejected. Of course, he also liked to think that no one came close to matching his offer.
It was just ironic that it had taken a badly battered army and the threat of extinction to achieve what all of Jared's riches had not. In exchange for Jensen's hand, Jared had offered the Summer Valleys, the disputed lands between their two borders whose rich soil Redding so coveted. Jared wondered what the people of Redding would say if they knew what their king had refused, preferring to waste their lives trying to take the land by force instead. In consequence, Jared would have what all that he wanted and Redding would have nothing.
Jared stood as the soldiers delivered the last chest, ready to accept his tribute as custom demanded. He waited on the dais, using it to add to his already impressive height. There was an anticipation thrumming through his body that he had only felt on the battlefield before now. He clenched his fists to stop their excited trembling, knowing that he was to appear calm and disciplined regardless of what happened. Around him, the courtesans whispered their rumors and plots but Jared paid them no mind. Their talk was an insect’s buzzing: annoying and unimportant.
The Redding soldiers formed a line of polished steel, facing the throne with admirable meticulousness. They waited, frozen like mountain ice, and Jared let the moment drag on. Good things, he assured himself, came to those who were patient. His anticipation was a living thing inside of him, now, writhing and threatening to overwhelm him: the culmination of years of waiting. The tall throne room doors opened once more and a hush fell about the room, saving for the steady clank of approaching armor. With the same pinpoint precision, the soldiers parted their line, angling towards the center where a solitary man stepped forward.
Jared’s breath left him and refused to return.
The man’s armor was an onyx black, intricately engraved, and it shone like the night sky, the skylights’ streaming sun serving as flaring stars on the polished metal. The prince’s hair was short, cropped close to his head to ensure few handholds on the battlefield should he lose his helmet, and his shoulders were broad, perfectly filling his armor as the guards winged out into sharp points. He wore a black cloak, silver etched along the clasp as due his station, and surely he was a god, descended from the heavens. Jared swallowed, drawn to the man’s uncovered face, visually devouring the smooth lines, the plush lips, and the eyes that promised hard-won victories. It was as if Jared were a young man of twenty all over again. He was smitten.
Jensen of Redding stood proudly in the throne room of Starfall palace, crowning jewel of Milecki’s capital city with its spiraling towers and gilded curves, and put it all to shame with just a look. The moment he met Jared’s eyes, the wealth and extravagance whisked away, leaving Jared with nothing but the man before him. Time ceased.
With a flick of his wrist, Jensen smoothly released the clasp of his cloak, letting the heavy fabric cascade to the floor like a night-filled waterfall. He kept Jared’s eyes as his fingers moved to the buckles of his belt, a blatant challenge that had Jared’s blood singing with the desire to answer it. Freed from its cinch, Jensen’s sheathed sword plummeted towards the floor but was caught inches from the stone tiles by Jensen’s quick hand and gently lowered. Jensen bent at the knees, reverently relinquishing his sword to the ground and when he stood again, Jared had to remind himself to exhale, for he knew now what was coming. Two soldiers stepped to Jensen’s side, quickly freeing the straps that held the armor against Jensen’s body.
It was a ritual among the Redding people, a rite performed for the victors by the vanquished, signaling total and complete surrender. There had been a chance that, with Milecki far removed from Redding ways, Jensen would have opted to forgo the formality, already vulnerable enough in the foreign land. Jensen was proud; he had never before bent his knee to any lord but his father; surely he would desire the armor to protect him from Jared’s unfamiliar eyes and the tittering of the court. Jared would expect no less; he himself would most likely not be brave enough to carry through with the ritual if their roles were reversed. He had memorized the ceremony on a whim, however, as his fantasies had run away with him during his more self-indulgent and languorous moments. It had also occurred to him that Jensen, a noble warrior from an ancient line, would cleave to his traditions-they gave him strength.
The polished black shoulder guards were lowered to the floor, and the whispering of the court reached a new crescendo but Jensen did not waver from his icy stare and Jared could not look away. The chest plate was next, reverently pulled away to reveal chain mail. The gauntlets and greaves followed, until Jensen stood in nothing but chain links and the soft clothes underneath. Then the chain mail was lifted, heavy poundage leaving Jensen’s body. If anything, Jensen stood straighter-even disarmed, unamored, he was still more capable than half of Jared’s men.
The soldiers stepped away and Jared scanned his memory for the ritual words but before he could utter them, he realized that Jensen was not done. With a quick, efficient motion, Jensen grabbed the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head. He dropped it to the floor and Jared could do little more than stare as his undershirt soon followed. Jensen pulled off his boots, his pants, his small clothes, stripping until he was standing completely naked in front of Jared, vulnerable and yet not. The challenge was still in Jensen’s eyes.
Gasps filled the room, the ladies tittering, while Jared reminded himself that he was of noble blood. He would see this through with dignity. Jensen picked up his sword and unsheathed it before he knelt and held up the beautifully crafted weapon to Jared like an offering. Only then did he bow his head.
Jared didn’t know where to look first. He followed the gleaming line of the sword, fine Redding steel, then the strong, muscled lines of Jensen’s arms across to his shoulders and down his belly, his legs, to the soft, nearly hidden parts on display. Jared forced himself to return to the sword and finally left the dais, approaching Jensen’s prone form.
The sword was one of the finest that Jared had ever seen, exquisitely made and perfectly balanced as Jared accepted it. “I take this as my own,” he said, catching the minute shiver along Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen hadn’t expected him to know the ritual words. Of course, why would he? Many in Milecki scorned Redding traditions as barbaric and outdated. “I accept this offering and find it pleasing." More than pleasing, Jared thought.
Jensen stood then, naked and proud before the amassed courtiers. Sly innuendoes whispered through the air, crude and insulting from what Jared could catch, and a queer sort of protectiveness overwhelmed Jared. Jensen had more honor than any other and Jared would not stand for this. Jensen, after all, was to be his and no one else had the right to look. He passed the sword off to Roger, who’d stepped to his side the moment that he’d beckoned, and then retrieved Jensen’s heavy cloak from the floor. He wrapped it around Jensen’s shoulders, covering him from all the other eyes in the room. Jensen was his and his alone, Jared vowed. The proud prince might have come to him as a war offering but Jared would make their marriage a happy one. Jared pitched his voice lower, sharing the words only to Jensen. "I take this as my own. I accept this offering and find it pleasing."
Jensen swallowed and lowered his eyes. He was Jared’s.
Jared leaned forward against the railing of the balcony that encircled the training arena, the wood solid and sunwarmed beneath his hands. He went mostly unnoticed as he looked down at the assembled crowd, only his personal guard and a few of his captains knowing of his presence. It was unusual and bemusing but, he thought, understandable. Not many in Milecki had ever had the honor of meeting a Dancer, let alone seen one perform, Jared included. It was something that a man had a hard time looking away from.
Jensen swirled and spun, thrusted and parried in a way that seemed as if his feet never touched the hard packed dirt at all, instead appearing to glide through the air itself. He had been loaned one of the wooden practice swords, not quite trusted with a metal weapon yet, but he wielded it as if it were the perfectly forged weapon he had surrendered to Jared. His hands expertly moved the wood through a series of precise, set routines, looking as deadly as a lion upon the plain.
Some of the younger, brasher recruits stood as close as they dared, their fingers upon the hilts of their swords, no doubt eager to test their skills, to see how well they could fare against such an accomplished opponent. Lasting even a few minutes in the ring with the Dancer of the West Winds would gain them any number of drinks down in the city taverns. Jared was sure that it was only the fact that Jensen was also the personal property of their king that kept them back as, to many, the bruises would be worth it.
Jared wondered if they’d think the same of a broken arm or leg-a just as likely result from facing down the pacing predator that Jensen was.
A slight sheen of sweat had collected upon Jensen’s skin, making him glisten in the sun. Jared saw that Jensen had taken advantage of the wardrobe provided for him and he approved. The clothes had been specially made for Jensen, fitted as close to his measurements as possible, with a mind towards the warrior fashions. Jensen had chosen the sleeveless leather shell that many Milecki soldiers favored for practicing their swordplay. The close-fitting hide served as better protection than a woven shirt, guarding against potential bruising, while the style allowed for a wider range of movement than heavy armor.
This was the first time Jared had seen Jensen since the man had stood naked in his presence in the throne room. Jared wasn’t disappointed; Jensen was every bit as impressive as Jared had remembered. He’d given the prince time to adjust to his new surroundings, acquiescing to Jensen’s request to not join him for dinner, and allowing him to stay in his rooms for as long as he pleased. Jared had sent Evelyn with a letter, welcoming Jensen to the Starfall and Evelyn had reported that it had been opened at the very least, even if Jensen still kept his own counsel. Their relationship was not off to a good start, but they still had time. The wedding was still a few months off.
It had been two days after Jensen’s arrival before he had ventured out into the castle proper, judging by the servants’ whisperings. Four days before Jensen had found the training fields and another three before he had done more than observe. Sir Peter, the Captain of Arms, had sent a messenger to Jared that his bride had taken the field and Jared had immediately pushed away Harrel and Wresting. Paperwork and accounting would always be waiting-seeing Prince Jensen of Redding, the Dancer of the West Winds in action, was a once in a lifetime opportunity and Jared had been waiting for years. Jensen had been ever bit as beautiful as the reports had claimed and Jared had known that the claims of Jensen’s battle prowess would prove to be no less true.
Jared was as excited as the young squires squirming with impatience and brashness. He rolled his hips to the side to ease the tightness in his underclothes and acknowledged that perhaps he was even more like the teenage boys below than he’d thought. With a sword in his hand, Jensen was a god in physical form, a work of art and one that Jared wanted to touch and make his own.
Jensen was focused on his task, not acknowledging the chaos surrounding him. He most likely didn’t want to. Living in Starfall Palace was quite the change, Jared knew, and most likely hard for Jensen’s pride to swallow as well. Through necessity, Jensen’s movements about the palace were being heavily monitored and Jared knew that if it were him, he would not take the constant hovering well, either. He’d given Jensen one of the finest rooms in Starfall, as befitting Jensen’s position, and hoped that Jensen was pleased with the room at least. Jared made a mental note to ask Jensen later, maybe over dinner if Jensen would be so kind as to join him tonight. Jared lived in hope as Jensen had finally emerged from his seclusion.
The thought of perhaps getting a chance to talk with the longtime object of his affections, brought a smile to Jared’s face. His childish fantasies were running wild again, as quick on the heels of the idea of talking with Jensen came other, more sinful thoughts on what else he could do with Jensen. A man that moved so incredibly well in battle surely had something to recommend him in the bedroom. Jared stored the ideas for later use.
Jensen kept shifting from one pose to another and Jared could watch his fluid movements all day, lost in the effortlessly smooth glide. However, there was something else he wanted more. The knight behind him frowned as Jared handed him his heavy, kingly robe. “Sir?” Jared waved him off.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as Jared stepped upon the arena ground. He’d shed his robe and crown and had wrapped a leather shell around his torso in order to step out on to the field not as a sovereign ruler, but as an equal. Jared shook out his arms. He pushed through the crowd easily, the soldiers stepping aside and bowing as he walked past, and made his way to the rack of practice swords. Across the ring, Peter silently asked if he was mad, his brows furling downward, but Jared waved him off as well. Though it might be suicide to step onto the field with a Dancer under normal circumstances, Jared would survive this; Jensen had offered himself and Jared took him at his word. Jared’s only wish now was to last longer than one of the new recruits would.
The noise of the crowd increased as Jared selected a weapon and stepped into the center. He caught snippets of their disbelief and anticipation and his lips curled upward. As the murmur turned into a roaring buzz, Jensen stilled, slipping from his reverie. He watched Jared’s approach with a wariness that once again reminded Jared of a prowling lion.
Jared stopped in front of Jensen, taking a moment to appreciate Jensen’s beauty once more, studying the strength in the hard set of his jaw and the lethal potential promised in his restrained posture. He raised his sword. “If I may?” he asked, his smile widening as Jensen’s eyebrows rose.
Jensen considered his offer for a moment before raising his weapon to answer Jared’s. “As you wish,” he said. It was the first time Jared had ever heard his voice. It was as pleasing as the rest of him.
They slowly circled each other, the noise of the crowd falling away into nothingness as Jared focused on only the man in front of him. Jared allowed a small smile to touch his lips as he felt excitement build inside of him. It had been awhile since he had found someone worthy to challenge him, ever since he had been crowned and Roger had started turn him down for practice bouts. Something about how it wasn’t fitting for the Captain of the King’s Guard to be swinging a sword at the king he was sworn to protect.
Jensen was a caged lion, pacing the edge of the ring. His feet never faltered and Jared spent a few more moments admiring him before he realized that not only was Jensen not attacking, but that he never would. Jensen was waiting for Jared to take the first strike. Jared chuckled at his momentary lapse and shrugged his shoulders, causing Jensen to pause, no doubt wondering what Jared was laughing at. Jared gave him a nod and lunged, a powerful strike from the shoulders, fully broadcasted and worthy of an opening move.
As expected, Jensen effortlessly dodged it, leaning back to miss the swing, and then danced to the side and waited with his sword up, not moving again. Jared smiled at him. Jensen looked sunkissed and beautiful, some heavenly creature who deigned to walk upon the earth. Jared wanted to muss him, just a little. Jared swung again, this time quicker and followed it with a return as he advanced.
Jensen ducked under the first swing and blocked the second with his sword before letting the momentum carry him over to Jared’s right and when Jared met his eyes again, there was a grudging respect there that made Jared’s blood sing. Jared thrust his sword forward and followed it up with a few steps that brought him in close, forcing Jensen to dodge again and swirl away like a dancer. It was little wonder he had been given such a title.
Once, when he was younger and his older brother had still been alive, Jared had entertained ideas about traveling to Damascus. He wondered now if anything would have come of it, if somewhere and some time that there might have been an alternate Jared of Milecki, who swirled and danced with deadly efficiency on the battlefield.
And if he might have loved a man dressed all in black that did the same.
Jared swung his sword in arcs, followed by thrusts as he drove Jensen back and across the ring. Jensen was still not attacking, preferring to dodge and move out of Jared’s way and Jared vowed that if nothing else, he would force Jensen to take a swing. Sweat started to drip down his face, but Jared didn’t dare take a moment to wipe it away. Regardless if Jensen wasn’t attacking, an obvious drop in Jared’s guard like that might be too much for the predator in Jensen to ignore.
Sweat stung Jared’s eyes and he blinked it away. That was all it took. He found himself on the defensive, holding his sword up and ceding ground as Jensen finally pressed his advantage. Again and again the wooden sword came at Jared, every connection with Jared’s own sounding a large, reverberating thwack that vibrated through Jared’s arms. Jared didn’t have Jensen’s seemingly endless agility, having to rely more on sheer power and reach to keep himself upright, and Jensen exploited every weakness Jared had. Jensen was everywhere, his dancing feet taking him around and around Jared until Jared felt more like a twirling ballerina than a warrior.
Jared struck out, cutting Jensen short and forcing him back, and they broke apart. Jared went down and to the ready, determined to not let Jensen have another easy opening. He might lose this match, but he was going to make Jensen work for it. When they met each other’s eyes again, though, Jensen was smiling. It was beautiful and predatory and Jared couldn’t quite find his breath. He was hard. Oh, was he ever hard. He wanted.
Right here, in front of Peter and the gods and everyone, he wanted Jensen. He had never seen anyone as perfect as Jensen.
Jensen swirled forward, his body like a force of nature and one last wooden crack echoed across the arena as Jared felt the practice sword wrenched from his hands. He instinctively followed the momentum and saw the sword arcing into the crowd, then felt a blunt point press against his neck. When he looked back, Jensen was standing regally above him, his smile not demanding Jared’s surrender but instead merely informing Jared of his loss, and Jared felt his heart skip a beat.
Without a second thought, Jared batted the practice sword away and moved into Jensen’s personal space. Jensen’s eyes widened and he took a step backward, but Jared didn’t let him get far. Jared grabbed Jensen’s face with both hands and pressed a kiss to Jensen’s inviting lips, putting all the passion of the bout into it. He wanted to give Jensen everything that he had, wanted him to know how much Jared desired him, how much Jared would seek to please him if only given the chance.
Jensen stood still in Jared’s grip for a long moment, neither fighting nor participating but merely accepting. Then, he moved. His lips pushed gently against Jared’s own, soft and inviting, and Jared sighed. He had dreamed of this moment for years. There was nothing that mattered besides him and Jensen and the slow slide of their lips against one another. Jared tilted his head and let his tongue flicker against Jensen’s sweet mouth, wanting everything that Jensen would allow him. Obediently, Jensen parted his lips and offered Jared entry, his own tongue licking against Jared’s before slipping away. He held himself ready and open, but made no further move, just as he had been on the battlefield-humoring Jared but taking it no further unless he was made to do so. It made Jared pause, reality slipping through the fog of dreams.
Jared broke off the kiss and studied Jensen’s face. There was no passion, simply an impassive wall, a warrior’s visage meant for battle, and Jared cursed himself as a fool. Of course. Jensen was accepting Jared’s advances as part the terms of surrender and not as how Jared would like. What other reason would Jensen have?
“Sorry,” Jared whispered, his voice low enough to be just for Jensen’s ears, and saw a crack in the façade-a minute furling of Jensen’s brow that betrayed his confusion. He let his thumb rub over Jensen’s face one last time and stepped backward, giving Jensen the space he no doubt desired.
Jared gave Jensen one last long look and then left him there in the center of the arena, still standing like a proud warrior and not the defeated prisoner he most likely considered himself. Jared felt as if he had stolen something.
The sun streaming in through the high windows of the royal chamber would be warm on Jared’s skin, but it wouldn’t hold a candle to the heat inside of him or the heat that waited inside of Jensen. Jared would kiss Jensen’s soft lips, making them both wait until Jensen’s warrior nature eventually overtook his finite patience. Jensen would roll them on the bed and force Jared to take more, his tongue licking inside of Jared’s mouth and his hands sliding down Jared’s chest. Used to giving orders and having them followed, Jensen would make demands of Jared that Jared would happily meet.
Then Jared would take over and Jensen would be rough and demanding underneath him, overcome with passion but allowing Jared to take the lead. It would be a struggle to remain on top as Jensen would fight him, but Jared would succeed-not because he was the better fighter but because Jensen wanted him to be there. That would make the victory sweeter, to know how much Jensen wanted him that he would be willing to bend and submit.
Jensen would gasp and moan beneath him, his hands gripping Jared’s shoulders and he would say things like-
“Your Majesty?”
Jared turned his head toward the voice, pulled out of his fantasies. He sighed at Westing’s expectant look. Right. His wedding night was still months away-farther, judging by how well he and his bride were getting along. “Whatever you think is best,” Jared said, not sure what the question had been but knowing that he’d been asked one. “Is there anything else?”
“No, Your Majesty. I shall leave you with your thoughts.” Westing snapped his fingers, calling his servant to gather up the papers that were scattered across Jared’s heavy desk. Jared sat back in his chair, giving Ollie room.
Jensen had once again refused Jared’s dinner invitation and it had been a day and a half since Jared had last seen him. It was hardly surprising. Jensen was a proud warrior of Redding. Jared didn’t much of Redding’s traditions, but he did know how he would feel in Jensen’s position. Jensen likely felt powerless and humiliated and under those circumstances, Jared likely wouldn’t want to play nice with his captor and new found husband either. Even if ‘captor’ was the last thing that Jared wanted to be to Jensen. Equal, friend, lover, if Jared was lucky.
The latest dinner invitation had been accompanied by a handful of flowers from the gardens and a letter of apology from Jared that ended with a request for Jensen to write him back.
“Someday, you’ll give that answer to a question asking you if you would like to give him half the treasury.” Roger shifted, leaning his hip against the sill of the window that he was peering out of.
Jared folded his hands behind his head and stretched, feeling his back crack. He felt as if he’d been chained in place. “And someday, you’ll be brave enough to ask Ledah on a walk around the garden instead of merely spying on her.”
Roger pulled away from the window and crossed his arms across his breastplate. “Are you hoping that your Redding prince will give you his heart if you merely wait long enough?”
Jared winced. He and Roger had never held themselves back from stating how they felt around one another. Some days, it was refreshing. Others, not so much. “Is that such a bad thing to want?”
“He just might cut your throat after you bed him,” Roger replied. “An actual lion might be a safer bed partner.”
A small laugh rumbled through Jared’s chest. “Prince Jensen is far more attractive than a lion.”
“Aye,” Roger said. “And far more deadly.” Roger’s hand fell to his sword and he strode from the room, leaving Jared with a truth that Jared had already known. It didn’t deter Jared in the slightest.
The tapestry stretched from wall to wall of the north wall of the secondary hall. It had been commissioned after the acquisition of Willow River and the surrounding area and had taken the work of hundreds of artisans to complete. It told the story of Milecki’s origin, from the fall of the first star to the founding of the capital city by the legendary king, Zachariah of the Golden Lands, and it was a work of art and a historical account at the same time. Jared could see why it held Jensen’s attention. Jared had grown up with it and he still found himself fascinating by it at times.
Jared had been taken aback to find Jensen waiting for him in the hall, but had gathered himself quickly. He stood beside Jensen with a socially appropriate amount of space between them and folded his hands to keep himself from giving into the urge to touch Jensen the way he longed to. “My grandmother worked on it,” he said. “She was young but quite skilled. She completed this section here.” His finger hovered over King Zachariah marching towards the sea and the fallen star.
“It’s beautiful,” Jensen said and Jared smiled at being allowed to hear the sound of his voice again.
“Yes. It is.” It didn’t, however, hold the fascination for Jared that Jensen’s face did. Jared found himself staring, unable and unwilling to look away. When Jensen caught him in the act, Jared couldn’t even feel shame. He would have the rest of his life to look upon Jensen, but it might just take a lifetime to grow used to the sight. “If it pleases you, Prince Jensen, I would be most honored if you would join me for dinner.”
Jensen nodded his head and Jared ushered him to the table where Evelyn was quietly directing servants in the setting of the dishes and the food. She was efficient and silent when she chose, as her training had prepared her to be. Jensen stood behind his chair and waited for Jared, honoring Redding custom despite being hundreds of miles away. Jared bowed his head. He had also read about this when the terms of Redding’s surrender and his marriage to Jensen had been agreed to. “Honored guest,” he said, “I would be much pleased if you would sit at my table.”
“I honor you, my king,” Jensen replied, “and thank you for your generous hospitality.” He took his seat and looked expectantly at Jared.
Jared searched his mind. He knew that he had another line but he couldn’t remember what it could be. “I…” He trailed off, swallowed, and then tried again when the words drifted back into his mind. “My table is yours. May the gods favor us both.” The ritual done, Jared mixed in a Milecki custom, taking the bottle of wine from the table and pouring Jensen the first glass. “May the gods shine favor upon you,” he murmured, setting the glass in front of Jensen.
Jensen stared at the glass, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he remembered himself and closed his mouth again. Jared smiled. “There is no return phrase,” he said. “You just take a sip.” Jensen’s eyes flicked up to meet Jared’s. “And possibly let the rest of the table know if the wine is worth drinking.” Jared chuckled and poured himself a glass as well. “Unless it’s not and you’re looking for a little bit of hilarity.”
Jensen took a sip and set the glass back down. Jared raised his eyebrows expectantly and inwardly crowed when Jensen honored him with a small smile. “It is quite good.”
“I am glad that you like it.”
“Yes.” Jensen paused, his teeth back at his lip again. “I was hoping that you would permit me a question, Your Majesty.”
Jared smiled broadly. This was going well so far. “Ask me whatever you like, Prince Jensen. And you may call me Jared if you’d like.”
“I was wondering where you learned of Redding traditions?” Evelyn and her assistants circled around the table, placing food upon their plates. “Jared.”
Jared ducked his head, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. It was embarrassing to admit now that he was confronted by the very person that he had learned the traditions for. “Ah, we have a few former citizens of Redding now living in Milecki.” He took a steadying sip of wine. “And I may have bought a book that detailed a few.”
“A book?”
“Yes.” Evelyn placed a slice of beef on Jared’s plate and Jared busied himself with cutting it. “It was written by a Sir Wesley? You should try the beef. The cook, I’m told, quite outdid himself today.”
Jensen looked down at his plate and then back at Jared. “Why?” It was blunt and to the point and for a moment, Jared thought that Jensen was asking why the cook had bothered to outdo himself, but then he realized what Jensen was really asking. It didn’t necessarily matter as the answer was one in the same: Jensen.
Jared carefully set down his silverware. “I had hoped to…” impress you “please you.” Jensen momentarily froze in place, then dropped his eyes back to his plate.
“You hoped to please me.”
“Yes,” Jared said. “I wanted to make a good impression. Is it working?”
Jensen’s silverware clattered against his plate. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” It was better than a no, Jared supposed.
Jensen favored Jared with another small smile. “Perhaps.”
The leafy branches of the garden trees spread out above them, enveloping them in a green cocoon. The flowers were in full bloom, peppering the grounds with vivid spots of varying shades of red, yellow, orange, blue, and purple. Here and there, were sections of pure white that seemed to draw Jensen’s eye the most during their walk. Jared made a mental note of that as they continued on their conversation from dinner. He would be sure and have a dozen of the white flowers sent to Jensen’s room later in the evening. It would be a good way to end the day.
“Redding’s gardens are not so…” Jensen lapsed into a momentary silence, looking for a certain word, and finally he settled on “extravagant.”
“Is this a good or a bad thing?” Jared asked, daring a small touch of Jensen’s arm. Jensen glanced at him and offered a small smile before turning away to regard the trees once more.
Jensen ran his hand under one of the hanging branches, letting the leaves trail against his skin. “Both have their charms.”
“You are welcome to walk in the gardens whenever you choose.” The words had evidently been a mistake as Jensen drew himself back from the pleasant openness he had been displaying.
“I have noticed that the gardens are within the sphere of which I am permitted to travel.”
Jared winced. “From this point on, you have free rein to go where you choose in Starfall. For the time being, you are my honored guest and Sir Roger will accept that.”
Jensen shook his head. “Though we would both like to pretend otherwise, you and I both know that I am not your guest, nor am I here due to my own choice.” He glanced back at the guards that waited in the shadows.
Jared scowled at the guards. Surely, they could do a better job of making themselves unobtrusive. Then again, that was a servant’s domain. Soldiers were far more used to making a solid impression that made possible opponents think twice before making a move. In a week or so, maybe Roger would relax enough to call off Jensen’s escort. Jared could convince Roger to give Jensen unrestricted access but he doubted that he’d be able to convince the man that Jensen didn’t need to be escorted just quite yet. “I had hoped that things might be better between us,” he said apologetically, lightly touching Jensen’s arm again.
Jensen pulled a leaf off a nearby tree and studied. “You wish to continue what was started in the training area.” His voice was noncommittal, as if it weren’t like an asp waiting inside a basket. The leaf was meticulously shredded in Jensen’s hands, betraying his agitation.
“No, I do not,” Jared said and waited for Jensen to finally lift his eyes back up to Jared’s. He knew what Jensen thought of what had happened in the training area and though Jared might wish very much for a repeat performance, he didn’t want to give Jensen the wrong impression. “I wish to start, perhaps, our courtship.” Their union had already been decided but there was nothing stopping them from enjoying each other’s company until then.
“I see.” A bitter smile twisted Jensen’s lips. “You needn’t bother. You have my word that I will do as you ask.” He dropped the remains of the mutilated leaf to the stones of the path. “If that’s what you want, perhaps we should start now.” As Jared took a moment to think, wondering how to respond, Jensen unbuckled the clasp of his vest and slipped it from his shoulders. Jared’s mouth went dry even as a sick feeling twisted in his gut. This was what he’d wanted and yet it wasn’t. Jensen let the vest drop to the ground and started in on the ties of his shirt.
Jared stopped him, covering Jensen’s hand with his own. “I think there might be a misunderstanding.”
Jensen raised his eyebrows. “I do not think so.” Jared could feel the steady thump of Jensen’s heart beneath their hands and felt his own answer. He pulled away, not wishing for Jensen to misunderstand the situation. Stooping, he scooped up Jensen’s vest and pushed it into Jensen’s arms.
“Then we must differ on the meaning of courtship, Jensen, for this sort of play generally comes later.”
“And I told you that you needn’t bother.” Jensen yanked the strings of his shirt, opening it wide and baring his chest to Jared once again. Jared’s eyes devoured the sight before he forced himself to look away. “I will do as you ask. I will satisfy you.” It was a tempting offer, even with Jensen’s cold tone of voice.
“Perhaps I wish to wait until the wedding night,” Jared replied, summoning what limited control he still possessed when being faced with the possibility of bedding Jensen.
“Wedding night?” Jensen repeated, his voice rising with disbelief. “What wedding?”
“Courtships usually end in weddings,” Jared responded. “And ours is scheduled for late August.” There was an angry flush rising in Jensen’s cheeks and his fists were clenched like they wished to be holding a sword instead of empty air.
“You think that we are going to marry?” Jensen demanded. “In less than three months?”
Jared was confused. This had all been agreed upon when King Alan had agreed to the terms of the treaty. “Yes?”
“Then this is why I am here.” Jensen closed his shirt over his chest, the laces hanging uselessly as he did not take the time to rethread them. “For you to marry.”
“I thought that you’d agreed to this.” Jared had been under the impression that the terms had been agreed upon by all of the involved parties. He should have known better. Roger was right about his naivety.
“Did my father know of this?” Jensen swung his vest around his shoulders and roughly redid the clasps. His earlier offer to please Jared was apparently off the table.
“Didn’t your father tell you?”
“He’d told me-” Jensen cut himself off and then started again, his body rigid and his eyes fixed on a point above Jared’s shoulder. “He told me that you meant for me to decorate your court.”
Of course that’s what Jensen’s father would say. “While your beauty outshines any jewel I may own, I did hope that you would be an equal partner in our union.” Jensen didn’t respond. “I had hoped that you would rule beside me.”
Jensen turned to look off into the garden, scanning the shadows. “And what of my choice?”
“I thought that you’d agreed,” Jared said, echoing his earlier comment. It was hardly a defense but it was all that he had. He had thought that Jensen had agreed to the match. “My advisors had wanted to exact a steeper price for peace from Redding. They thought a royal consort might be payment enough.”
“So that I could be used as a political pawn,” Jensen hissed.
“I would think that you would be too strong to be used as a pawn,” Jared told him, deciding that straightforward honesty would be best. “And I do not care about why they agreed, Jensen. I wanted someone to share my crown with me as my equal.” If Jared had wanted a pawn to play with, he would have married Lady Kylie from the rich islands to the south long ago. She was beautiful, courteous, and incredibly easy to manipulate.
Jensen wheeled on him. “And if I did agree to this, what could I expect? Them?” he jabbed a finger at the guards still lurking at the courtyard’s edge. “To be followed for the rest of my days and distrusted?”
“No.” Jared turned to the guards, feeling an anger rising in him. He’d told Roger that this would lead to trouble. “Please tell Sir Roger that your services are no longer needed.”
One stepped forward, her hand on her sword. “Sir?”
“I said leave us!” Jared accompanied the order with a hard wave of his hand and one by one the guards bowed and left.
“That was unwise,” Jensen said behind him, his voice a sibilant whisper. “What if I cut you down where you stood?”
Jared turned back to him. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jared narrowed his eyes. “You are a man of honor who has sworn himself to me. You won’t.”
“I am a man of Redding,” Jensen said, as if that were any argument at all.
“My point exactly.”
Taken aback, Jensen paused for a moment. Jared liked to think that somewhere a tally was marked down on an invisible scoreboard. He had managed to make the Dancer of the West Winds stop in mid-charge. Jensen licked his lips, his earlier anger dissipating. “You are very strange for a Milecki.”
“Ah, but all Mileckis are strange. So, perhaps I am merely normal.” Jared winked, startling Jensen into a laugh. It was a sound that Jared hoped very much to hear again.
“Milecki is not what I expected it to be,” Jensen admitted.
“Not enough baby-eaters and puppy-kickers?” Jared ventured, already guessing what Milecki’s reputation must be in Redding.
Jensen laughed again and Jared marked another tally down on his mental scoreboard. “No. You must be hiding them somewhere.”
“Yes. We keep them in the dungeons when we have company. How did you know?” Jared touched Jensen again, this time daring to take his hand. Jensen glanced downward, then wrapped his fingers around Jared’s. The contact set Jared’s blood on fire as surely as a kiss. There was something incredibly intimate about twining his hand with Jensen’s. “I will admit that I have been looking forward to our wedding. My advisors have told that I have not been acting very kingly.”
“No?”
“No.” Jared smiled. “They tend to frown on excited bouncing. It does do much for my reputation.”
Jensen licked his lips, drawing Jared’s attention instantly to his mouth. He wanted to chase Jensen’s tongue with his own. “I imagine that it does not.” Jensen brought their joined hands upward. “In three months we will be wed.” Jared nodded, rubbing his thumb over Jensen’s skin. “I know next to nothing about you.”
“I hate accounting meetings but secretly enjoy parades, but only when I don’t have to be in them.” Jared squeezed Jensen’s hand. “And I find you so beautiful that sometimes I wonder how the gods made something so perfect.” Jensen laughed, his eyes sliding away from Jared’s. Jared dared a step closer. “I also enjoyed watching you demonstrate your skills in the training area. I felt proud that you were to be mine as I have never seen your equal.”
“You should see Yveny,” Jensen muttered. “He is much better than me.” He swallowed. “Until this point, I might have resented that morning in the training area.” Jared’s heart gave a painful squeeze in his chest. “For you were better than I expected you to be and I was…attracted. I did not want to be attracted to one that I regarded as my enemy.”
Jared searched Jensen’s face. “I hope you can feel differently about me now?” He tried not to betray his apprehension, but it seemed as if his entire future hung upon Jensen’s answer.
The edges of Jensen’s mouth quirked upward. “Now, I may wish to have a rematch.”
Jared swiftly kissed the hand that Jensen had joined with his. “Tomorrow morning, if you wish. I will not guarantee any success against your skill, but I will promise the best of my ability.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Jared echoed, feeling foolish but not particularly caring. He glanced around the garden, at the dark, shadow-filled trees and the distant water fountain. It was late. The sun would rise in only a few short hours but yet the time seemed to stretch out in front of Jared, propelled by his own excitement. “May I walk you back to your room?
Jensen looked at the same places that Jared had before coming back to Jared. “Is this a dangerous area?”
Jared nodded solemnly. “I hear that there is a strange man that sometimes prowls these paths looking to molest handsome princes and drag them into the bushes to be properly ravished.”
Another surprised peal of Jensen’s laughter rang out across the gardens. “And you will protect me from this man?”
“To the very best of my ability,” Jared promised.
To Part 2
Author: dragonspell
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bullshit, made up names.
Summary: Jensen, though he was only a seventh son and unlikely to inherit the throne of Redding, had a reputation that had spread to the surrounding countries. He was fearsome in battle, they said, and nigh invincible, the drumming sound of his mount at full gallop enough to strike terror in a grizzled soldier's heart. He'd been awarded the title of Dancer at age 23, one of eight titles given to only the strongest and most true of heart by the warrior monks of the Damascus Mountains. Jared had asked for Prince Jensen’s hand in marriage years ago, smitten by the legends and the reports of the man's beauty. His offer had been returned unread and unwanted. It was ironic that it had taken a badly battered army and the threat of extinction to achieve what all of Jared's riches had not. Jared would have what all that he wanted and Redding would have nothing.
Word Count: 11,760
A/N: Gift for hybridshade for the 2014 round spn-j2-xmas. I once read that to become an author, one needed to write a million words--and then burn them. Well, I don't have a million, but I do have a respectable big bang's worth of useless words now sitting on my hard drive as this monstrosity not only grew to be 3 times the size it was supposed to be but also forced me to rewrite the plot four times. It's a little rushed, but I hope that I can be forgiven.
The joint tribes of Redding were a proud people and warriors to the last, but they'd had no hope of winning the war. For all their vaunted skills and fearsome reputations, they simply couldn't compete with the vast resources of Milecki and even their fool of a king had eventually seen that. He'd thought that the flowing wealth of the marketplaces had somehow made Milecki soft. Jared’s armies had proved him wrong.
It had been Redding that had made the first attack, slaughtering border guards down in the Summer Valleys and, as such, Jared had driven a hard bargain for peace. His people wanted vengeance and Jared would not be able to assuage them with mere platitudes. He had demanded tribute of the very best the Redding had to offer: gold, jewels, horses, weapons. It would be poor comfort to those left bereft but it was all Jared could offer. Peace was in the best interests of both nations.
A fortnight later, the tribute now filled the throne room, most contained in heavy chests that were hand-delivered and stacked high by a small accompaniment of Redding's finest. There were hardly enough men to win a skirmish let alone mount a coup, and many would have assumed that the soldiers, with their ornately etched armor and tall, broad builds, were just for show-Redding's last bit of pride refusing to bend-but they would be wrong. Jared knew better, just as he knew that their mounts, left out in the stable, were jet black and danced rather than walked. The soldiers had not arrived with the chests: they had arrived with Prince Jensen, seventh son of King Alan of Redding, Commander of the Third Battalion, Dancer of the West Winds, and soon to be Royal Consort of the Kingdom of Milecki, Protector of the Seven Lands. Jared's face stayed impassive, but his heart pounded louder than thunder.
Jensen, though he was only a seventh son and unlikely to inherit the throne of Redding, had a reputation that had spread to the surrounding countries. He was fearsome in battle, they said, and nigh invincible, the drumming sound of his mount at full gallop enough to strike terror in a grizzled soldier's heart. He'd been awarded the title of Dancer at age 23, one of eight titles given to only the strongest and most true of heart by the warrior monks of the Damascus Mountains. He was the youngest man to ever be awarded such an honor.
Jared had asked for Prince Jensen’s hand in marriage years ago, smitten by the legends and the reports of the man's beauty. Surely such a prince would be worthy of ruling beside a king. Jared had been willing to trade just about anything as well, much to his advisors’ dismay. In his original proposal, he’d worked himself up to offering half the treasury and full fleets of ships. Luckily for his advisors’ health, Sir Roger had ripped the paper in twain before Jared could even sign his name and had called him twice a fool. Unfortunately, however, all Jared had learned was not to let others see the offer before he had a chance to make it, though he did manage to scale himself back to more reasonable terms on his second attempt.
His offer had been returned unread and unwanted, the wax seal with the rearing horses still intact, and Jared had known then that no amount of promised wealth would convince King Alan to part with his favored son. Alan had kept Jensen close at hand and Jared had reluctantly accepted the rejection. He liked to imagine that several such nobles had done the same as him, and all had been equally rejected. Of course, he also liked to think that no one came close to matching his offer.
It was just ironic that it had taken a badly battered army and the threat of extinction to achieve what all of Jared's riches had not. In exchange for Jensen's hand, Jared had offered the Summer Valleys, the disputed lands between their two borders whose rich soil Redding so coveted. Jared wondered what the people of Redding would say if they knew what their king had refused, preferring to waste their lives trying to take the land by force instead. In consequence, Jared would have what all that he wanted and Redding would have nothing.
Jared stood as the soldiers delivered the last chest, ready to accept his tribute as custom demanded. He waited on the dais, using it to add to his already impressive height. There was an anticipation thrumming through his body that he had only felt on the battlefield before now. He clenched his fists to stop their excited trembling, knowing that he was to appear calm and disciplined regardless of what happened. Around him, the courtesans whispered their rumors and plots but Jared paid them no mind. Their talk was an insect’s buzzing: annoying and unimportant.
The Redding soldiers formed a line of polished steel, facing the throne with admirable meticulousness. They waited, frozen like mountain ice, and Jared let the moment drag on. Good things, he assured himself, came to those who were patient. His anticipation was a living thing inside of him, now, writhing and threatening to overwhelm him: the culmination of years of waiting. The tall throne room doors opened once more and a hush fell about the room, saving for the steady clank of approaching armor. With the same pinpoint precision, the soldiers parted their line, angling towards the center where a solitary man stepped forward.
Jared’s breath left him and refused to return.
The man’s armor was an onyx black, intricately engraved, and it shone like the night sky, the skylights’ streaming sun serving as flaring stars on the polished metal. The prince’s hair was short, cropped close to his head to ensure few handholds on the battlefield should he lose his helmet, and his shoulders were broad, perfectly filling his armor as the guards winged out into sharp points. He wore a black cloak, silver etched along the clasp as due his station, and surely he was a god, descended from the heavens. Jared swallowed, drawn to the man’s uncovered face, visually devouring the smooth lines, the plush lips, and the eyes that promised hard-won victories. It was as if Jared were a young man of twenty all over again. He was smitten.
Jensen of Redding stood proudly in the throne room of Starfall palace, crowning jewel of Milecki’s capital city with its spiraling towers and gilded curves, and put it all to shame with just a look. The moment he met Jared’s eyes, the wealth and extravagance whisked away, leaving Jared with nothing but the man before him. Time ceased.
With a flick of his wrist, Jensen smoothly released the clasp of his cloak, letting the heavy fabric cascade to the floor like a night-filled waterfall. He kept Jared’s eyes as his fingers moved to the buckles of his belt, a blatant challenge that had Jared’s blood singing with the desire to answer it. Freed from its cinch, Jensen’s sheathed sword plummeted towards the floor but was caught inches from the stone tiles by Jensen’s quick hand and gently lowered. Jensen bent at the knees, reverently relinquishing his sword to the ground and when he stood again, Jared had to remind himself to exhale, for he knew now what was coming. Two soldiers stepped to Jensen’s side, quickly freeing the straps that held the armor against Jensen’s body.
It was a ritual among the Redding people, a rite performed for the victors by the vanquished, signaling total and complete surrender. There had been a chance that, with Milecki far removed from Redding ways, Jensen would have opted to forgo the formality, already vulnerable enough in the foreign land. Jensen was proud; he had never before bent his knee to any lord but his father; surely he would desire the armor to protect him from Jared’s unfamiliar eyes and the tittering of the court. Jared would expect no less; he himself would most likely not be brave enough to carry through with the ritual if their roles were reversed. He had memorized the ceremony on a whim, however, as his fantasies had run away with him during his more self-indulgent and languorous moments. It had also occurred to him that Jensen, a noble warrior from an ancient line, would cleave to his traditions-they gave him strength.
The polished black shoulder guards were lowered to the floor, and the whispering of the court reached a new crescendo but Jensen did not waver from his icy stare and Jared could not look away. The chest plate was next, reverently pulled away to reveal chain mail. The gauntlets and greaves followed, until Jensen stood in nothing but chain links and the soft clothes underneath. Then the chain mail was lifted, heavy poundage leaving Jensen’s body. If anything, Jensen stood straighter-even disarmed, unamored, he was still more capable than half of Jared’s men.
The soldiers stepped away and Jared scanned his memory for the ritual words but before he could utter them, he realized that Jensen was not done. With a quick, efficient motion, Jensen grabbed the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head. He dropped it to the floor and Jared could do little more than stare as his undershirt soon followed. Jensen pulled off his boots, his pants, his small clothes, stripping until he was standing completely naked in front of Jared, vulnerable and yet not. The challenge was still in Jensen’s eyes.
Gasps filled the room, the ladies tittering, while Jared reminded himself that he was of noble blood. He would see this through with dignity. Jensen picked up his sword and unsheathed it before he knelt and held up the beautifully crafted weapon to Jared like an offering. Only then did he bow his head.
Jared didn’t know where to look first. He followed the gleaming line of the sword, fine Redding steel, then the strong, muscled lines of Jensen’s arms across to his shoulders and down his belly, his legs, to the soft, nearly hidden parts on display. Jared forced himself to return to the sword and finally left the dais, approaching Jensen’s prone form.
The sword was one of the finest that Jared had ever seen, exquisitely made and perfectly balanced as Jared accepted it. “I take this as my own,” he said, catching the minute shiver along Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen hadn’t expected him to know the ritual words. Of course, why would he? Many in Milecki scorned Redding traditions as barbaric and outdated. “I accept this offering and find it pleasing." More than pleasing, Jared thought.
Jensen stood then, naked and proud before the amassed courtiers. Sly innuendoes whispered through the air, crude and insulting from what Jared could catch, and a queer sort of protectiveness overwhelmed Jared. Jensen had more honor than any other and Jared would not stand for this. Jensen, after all, was to be his and no one else had the right to look. He passed the sword off to Roger, who’d stepped to his side the moment that he’d beckoned, and then retrieved Jensen’s heavy cloak from the floor. He wrapped it around Jensen’s shoulders, covering him from all the other eyes in the room. Jensen was his and his alone, Jared vowed. The proud prince might have come to him as a war offering but Jared would make their marriage a happy one. Jared pitched his voice lower, sharing the words only to Jensen. "I take this as my own. I accept this offering and find it pleasing."
Jensen swallowed and lowered his eyes. He was Jared’s.
Jared leaned forward against the railing of the balcony that encircled the training arena, the wood solid and sunwarmed beneath his hands. He went mostly unnoticed as he looked down at the assembled crowd, only his personal guard and a few of his captains knowing of his presence. It was unusual and bemusing but, he thought, understandable. Not many in Milecki had ever had the honor of meeting a Dancer, let alone seen one perform, Jared included. It was something that a man had a hard time looking away from.
Jensen swirled and spun, thrusted and parried in a way that seemed as if his feet never touched the hard packed dirt at all, instead appearing to glide through the air itself. He had been loaned one of the wooden practice swords, not quite trusted with a metal weapon yet, but he wielded it as if it were the perfectly forged weapon he had surrendered to Jared. His hands expertly moved the wood through a series of precise, set routines, looking as deadly as a lion upon the plain.
Some of the younger, brasher recruits stood as close as they dared, their fingers upon the hilts of their swords, no doubt eager to test their skills, to see how well they could fare against such an accomplished opponent. Lasting even a few minutes in the ring with the Dancer of the West Winds would gain them any number of drinks down in the city taverns. Jared was sure that it was only the fact that Jensen was also the personal property of their king that kept them back as, to many, the bruises would be worth it.
Jared wondered if they’d think the same of a broken arm or leg-a just as likely result from facing down the pacing predator that Jensen was.
A slight sheen of sweat had collected upon Jensen’s skin, making him glisten in the sun. Jared saw that Jensen had taken advantage of the wardrobe provided for him and he approved. The clothes had been specially made for Jensen, fitted as close to his measurements as possible, with a mind towards the warrior fashions. Jensen had chosen the sleeveless leather shell that many Milecki soldiers favored for practicing their swordplay. The close-fitting hide served as better protection than a woven shirt, guarding against potential bruising, while the style allowed for a wider range of movement than heavy armor.
This was the first time Jared had seen Jensen since the man had stood naked in his presence in the throne room. Jared wasn’t disappointed; Jensen was every bit as impressive as Jared had remembered. He’d given the prince time to adjust to his new surroundings, acquiescing to Jensen’s request to not join him for dinner, and allowing him to stay in his rooms for as long as he pleased. Jared had sent Evelyn with a letter, welcoming Jensen to the Starfall and Evelyn had reported that it had been opened at the very least, even if Jensen still kept his own counsel. Their relationship was not off to a good start, but they still had time. The wedding was still a few months off.
It had been two days after Jensen’s arrival before he had ventured out into the castle proper, judging by the servants’ whisperings. Four days before Jensen had found the training fields and another three before he had done more than observe. Sir Peter, the Captain of Arms, had sent a messenger to Jared that his bride had taken the field and Jared had immediately pushed away Harrel and Wresting. Paperwork and accounting would always be waiting-seeing Prince Jensen of Redding, the Dancer of the West Winds in action, was a once in a lifetime opportunity and Jared had been waiting for years. Jensen had been ever bit as beautiful as the reports had claimed and Jared had known that the claims of Jensen’s battle prowess would prove to be no less true.
Jared was as excited as the young squires squirming with impatience and brashness. He rolled his hips to the side to ease the tightness in his underclothes and acknowledged that perhaps he was even more like the teenage boys below than he’d thought. With a sword in his hand, Jensen was a god in physical form, a work of art and one that Jared wanted to touch and make his own.
Jensen was focused on his task, not acknowledging the chaos surrounding him. He most likely didn’t want to. Living in Starfall Palace was quite the change, Jared knew, and most likely hard for Jensen’s pride to swallow as well. Through necessity, Jensen’s movements about the palace were being heavily monitored and Jared knew that if it were him, he would not take the constant hovering well, either. He’d given Jensen one of the finest rooms in Starfall, as befitting Jensen’s position, and hoped that Jensen was pleased with the room at least. Jared made a mental note to ask Jensen later, maybe over dinner if Jensen would be so kind as to join him tonight. Jared lived in hope as Jensen had finally emerged from his seclusion.
The thought of perhaps getting a chance to talk with the longtime object of his affections, brought a smile to Jared’s face. His childish fantasies were running wild again, as quick on the heels of the idea of talking with Jensen came other, more sinful thoughts on what else he could do with Jensen. A man that moved so incredibly well in battle surely had something to recommend him in the bedroom. Jared stored the ideas for later use.
Jensen kept shifting from one pose to another and Jared could watch his fluid movements all day, lost in the effortlessly smooth glide. However, there was something else he wanted more. The knight behind him frowned as Jared handed him his heavy, kingly robe. “Sir?” Jared waved him off.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as Jared stepped upon the arena ground. He’d shed his robe and crown and had wrapped a leather shell around his torso in order to step out on to the field not as a sovereign ruler, but as an equal. Jared shook out his arms. He pushed through the crowd easily, the soldiers stepping aside and bowing as he walked past, and made his way to the rack of practice swords. Across the ring, Peter silently asked if he was mad, his brows furling downward, but Jared waved him off as well. Though it might be suicide to step onto the field with a Dancer under normal circumstances, Jared would survive this; Jensen had offered himself and Jared took him at his word. Jared’s only wish now was to last longer than one of the new recruits would.
The noise of the crowd increased as Jared selected a weapon and stepped into the center. He caught snippets of their disbelief and anticipation and his lips curled upward. As the murmur turned into a roaring buzz, Jensen stilled, slipping from his reverie. He watched Jared’s approach with a wariness that once again reminded Jared of a prowling lion.
Jared stopped in front of Jensen, taking a moment to appreciate Jensen’s beauty once more, studying the strength in the hard set of his jaw and the lethal potential promised in his restrained posture. He raised his sword. “If I may?” he asked, his smile widening as Jensen’s eyebrows rose.
Jensen considered his offer for a moment before raising his weapon to answer Jared’s. “As you wish,” he said. It was the first time Jared had ever heard his voice. It was as pleasing as the rest of him.
They slowly circled each other, the noise of the crowd falling away into nothingness as Jared focused on only the man in front of him. Jared allowed a small smile to touch his lips as he felt excitement build inside of him. It had been awhile since he had found someone worthy to challenge him, ever since he had been crowned and Roger had started turn him down for practice bouts. Something about how it wasn’t fitting for the Captain of the King’s Guard to be swinging a sword at the king he was sworn to protect.
Jensen was a caged lion, pacing the edge of the ring. His feet never faltered and Jared spent a few more moments admiring him before he realized that not only was Jensen not attacking, but that he never would. Jensen was waiting for Jared to take the first strike. Jared chuckled at his momentary lapse and shrugged his shoulders, causing Jensen to pause, no doubt wondering what Jared was laughing at. Jared gave him a nod and lunged, a powerful strike from the shoulders, fully broadcasted and worthy of an opening move.
As expected, Jensen effortlessly dodged it, leaning back to miss the swing, and then danced to the side and waited with his sword up, not moving again. Jared smiled at him. Jensen looked sunkissed and beautiful, some heavenly creature who deigned to walk upon the earth. Jared wanted to muss him, just a little. Jared swung again, this time quicker and followed it with a return as he advanced.
Jensen ducked under the first swing and blocked the second with his sword before letting the momentum carry him over to Jared’s right and when Jared met his eyes again, there was a grudging respect there that made Jared’s blood sing. Jared thrust his sword forward and followed it up with a few steps that brought him in close, forcing Jensen to dodge again and swirl away like a dancer. It was little wonder he had been given such a title.
Once, when he was younger and his older brother had still been alive, Jared had entertained ideas about traveling to Damascus. He wondered now if anything would have come of it, if somewhere and some time that there might have been an alternate Jared of Milecki, who swirled and danced with deadly efficiency on the battlefield.
And if he might have loved a man dressed all in black that did the same.
Jared swung his sword in arcs, followed by thrusts as he drove Jensen back and across the ring. Jensen was still not attacking, preferring to dodge and move out of Jared’s way and Jared vowed that if nothing else, he would force Jensen to take a swing. Sweat started to drip down his face, but Jared didn’t dare take a moment to wipe it away. Regardless if Jensen wasn’t attacking, an obvious drop in Jared’s guard like that might be too much for the predator in Jensen to ignore.
Sweat stung Jared’s eyes and he blinked it away. That was all it took. He found himself on the defensive, holding his sword up and ceding ground as Jensen finally pressed his advantage. Again and again the wooden sword came at Jared, every connection with Jared’s own sounding a large, reverberating thwack that vibrated through Jared’s arms. Jared didn’t have Jensen’s seemingly endless agility, having to rely more on sheer power and reach to keep himself upright, and Jensen exploited every weakness Jared had. Jensen was everywhere, his dancing feet taking him around and around Jared until Jared felt more like a twirling ballerina than a warrior.
Jared struck out, cutting Jensen short and forcing him back, and they broke apart. Jared went down and to the ready, determined to not let Jensen have another easy opening. He might lose this match, but he was going to make Jensen work for it. When they met each other’s eyes again, though, Jensen was smiling. It was beautiful and predatory and Jared couldn’t quite find his breath. He was hard. Oh, was he ever hard. He wanted.
Right here, in front of Peter and the gods and everyone, he wanted Jensen. He had never seen anyone as perfect as Jensen.
Jensen swirled forward, his body like a force of nature and one last wooden crack echoed across the arena as Jared felt the practice sword wrenched from his hands. He instinctively followed the momentum and saw the sword arcing into the crowd, then felt a blunt point press against his neck. When he looked back, Jensen was standing regally above him, his smile not demanding Jared’s surrender but instead merely informing Jared of his loss, and Jared felt his heart skip a beat.
Without a second thought, Jared batted the practice sword away and moved into Jensen’s personal space. Jensen’s eyes widened and he took a step backward, but Jared didn’t let him get far. Jared grabbed Jensen’s face with both hands and pressed a kiss to Jensen’s inviting lips, putting all the passion of the bout into it. He wanted to give Jensen everything that he had, wanted him to know how much Jared desired him, how much Jared would seek to please him if only given the chance.
Jensen stood still in Jared’s grip for a long moment, neither fighting nor participating but merely accepting. Then, he moved. His lips pushed gently against Jared’s own, soft and inviting, and Jared sighed. He had dreamed of this moment for years. There was nothing that mattered besides him and Jensen and the slow slide of their lips against one another. Jared tilted his head and let his tongue flicker against Jensen’s sweet mouth, wanting everything that Jensen would allow him. Obediently, Jensen parted his lips and offered Jared entry, his own tongue licking against Jared’s before slipping away. He held himself ready and open, but made no further move, just as he had been on the battlefield-humoring Jared but taking it no further unless he was made to do so. It made Jared pause, reality slipping through the fog of dreams.
Jared broke off the kiss and studied Jensen’s face. There was no passion, simply an impassive wall, a warrior’s visage meant for battle, and Jared cursed himself as a fool. Of course. Jensen was accepting Jared’s advances as part the terms of surrender and not as how Jared would like. What other reason would Jensen have?
“Sorry,” Jared whispered, his voice low enough to be just for Jensen’s ears, and saw a crack in the façade-a minute furling of Jensen’s brow that betrayed his confusion. He let his thumb rub over Jensen’s face one last time and stepped backward, giving Jensen the space he no doubt desired.
Jared gave Jensen one last long look and then left him there in the center of the arena, still standing like a proud warrior and not the defeated prisoner he most likely considered himself. Jared felt as if he had stolen something.
The sun streaming in through the high windows of the royal chamber would be warm on Jared’s skin, but it wouldn’t hold a candle to the heat inside of him or the heat that waited inside of Jensen. Jared would kiss Jensen’s soft lips, making them both wait until Jensen’s warrior nature eventually overtook his finite patience. Jensen would roll them on the bed and force Jared to take more, his tongue licking inside of Jared’s mouth and his hands sliding down Jared’s chest. Used to giving orders and having them followed, Jensen would make demands of Jared that Jared would happily meet.
Then Jared would take over and Jensen would be rough and demanding underneath him, overcome with passion but allowing Jared to take the lead. It would be a struggle to remain on top as Jensen would fight him, but Jared would succeed-not because he was the better fighter but because Jensen wanted him to be there. That would make the victory sweeter, to know how much Jensen wanted him that he would be willing to bend and submit.
Jensen would gasp and moan beneath him, his hands gripping Jared’s shoulders and he would say things like-
“Your Majesty?”
Jared turned his head toward the voice, pulled out of his fantasies. He sighed at Westing’s expectant look. Right. His wedding night was still months away-farther, judging by how well he and his bride were getting along. “Whatever you think is best,” Jared said, not sure what the question had been but knowing that he’d been asked one. “Is there anything else?”
“No, Your Majesty. I shall leave you with your thoughts.” Westing snapped his fingers, calling his servant to gather up the papers that were scattered across Jared’s heavy desk. Jared sat back in his chair, giving Ollie room.
Jensen had once again refused Jared’s dinner invitation and it had been a day and a half since Jared had last seen him. It was hardly surprising. Jensen was a proud warrior of Redding. Jared didn’t much of Redding’s traditions, but he did know how he would feel in Jensen’s position. Jensen likely felt powerless and humiliated and under those circumstances, Jared likely wouldn’t want to play nice with his captor and new found husband either. Even if ‘captor’ was the last thing that Jared wanted to be to Jensen. Equal, friend, lover, if Jared was lucky.
The latest dinner invitation had been accompanied by a handful of flowers from the gardens and a letter of apology from Jared that ended with a request for Jensen to write him back.
“Someday, you’ll give that answer to a question asking you if you would like to give him half the treasury.” Roger shifted, leaning his hip against the sill of the window that he was peering out of.
Jared folded his hands behind his head and stretched, feeling his back crack. He felt as if he’d been chained in place. “And someday, you’ll be brave enough to ask Ledah on a walk around the garden instead of merely spying on her.”
Roger pulled away from the window and crossed his arms across his breastplate. “Are you hoping that your Redding prince will give you his heart if you merely wait long enough?”
Jared winced. He and Roger had never held themselves back from stating how they felt around one another. Some days, it was refreshing. Others, not so much. “Is that such a bad thing to want?”
“He just might cut your throat after you bed him,” Roger replied. “An actual lion might be a safer bed partner.”
A small laugh rumbled through Jared’s chest. “Prince Jensen is far more attractive than a lion.”
“Aye,” Roger said. “And far more deadly.” Roger’s hand fell to his sword and he strode from the room, leaving Jared with a truth that Jared had already known. It didn’t deter Jared in the slightest.
The tapestry stretched from wall to wall of the north wall of the secondary hall. It had been commissioned after the acquisition of Willow River and the surrounding area and had taken the work of hundreds of artisans to complete. It told the story of Milecki’s origin, from the fall of the first star to the founding of the capital city by the legendary king, Zachariah of the Golden Lands, and it was a work of art and a historical account at the same time. Jared could see why it held Jensen’s attention. Jared had grown up with it and he still found himself fascinating by it at times.
Jared had been taken aback to find Jensen waiting for him in the hall, but had gathered himself quickly. He stood beside Jensen with a socially appropriate amount of space between them and folded his hands to keep himself from giving into the urge to touch Jensen the way he longed to. “My grandmother worked on it,” he said. “She was young but quite skilled. She completed this section here.” His finger hovered over King Zachariah marching towards the sea and the fallen star.
“It’s beautiful,” Jensen said and Jared smiled at being allowed to hear the sound of his voice again.
“Yes. It is.” It didn’t, however, hold the fascination for Jared that Jensen’s face did. Jared found himself staring, unable and unwilling to look away. When Jensen caught him in the act, Jared couldn’t even feel shame. He would have the rest of his life to look upon Jensen, but it might just take a lifetime to grow used to the sight. “If it pleases you, Prince Jensen, I would be most honored if you would join me for dinner.”
Jensen nodded his head and Jared ushered him to the table where Evelyn was quietly directing servants in the setting of the dishes and the food. She was efficient and silent when she chose, as her training had prepared her to be. Jensen stood behind his chair and waited for Jared, honoring Redding custom despite being hundreds of miles away. Jared bowed his head. He had also read about this when the terms of Redding’s surrender and his marriage to Jensen had been agreed to. “Honored guest,” he said, “I would be much pleased if you would sit at my table.”
“I honor you, my king,” Jensen replied, “and thank you for your generous hospitality.” He took his seat and looked expectantly at Jared.
Jared searched his mind. He knew that he had another line but he couldn’t remember what it could be. “I…” He trailed off, swallowed, and then tried again when the words drifted back into his mind. “My table is yours. May the gods favor us both.” The ritual done, Jared mixed in a Milecki custom, taking the bottle of wine from the table and pouring Jensen the first glass. “May the gods shine favor upon you,” he murmured, setting the glass in front of Jensen.
Jensen stared at the glass, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he remembered himself and closed his mouth again. Jared smiled. “There is no return phrase,” he said. “You just take a sip.” Jensen’s eyes flicked up to meet Jared’s. “And possibly let the rest of the table know if the wine is worth drinking.” Jared chuckled and poured himself a glass as well. “Unless it’s not and you’re looking for a little bit of hilarity.”
Jensen took a sip and set the glass back down. Jared raised his eyebrows expectantly and inwardly crowed when Jensen honored him with a small smile. “It is quite good.”
“I am glad that you like it.”
“Yes.” Jensen paused, his teeth back at his lip again. “I was hoping that you would permit me a question, Your Majesty.”
Jared smiled broadly. This was going well so far. “Ask me whatever you like, Prince Jensen. And you may call me Jared if you’d like.”
“I was wondering where you learned of Redding traditions?” Evelyn and her assistants circled around the table, placing food upon their plates. “Jared.”
Jared ducked his head, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. It was embarrassing to admit now that he was confronted by the very person that he had learned the traditions for. “Ah, we have a few former citizens of Redding now living in Milecki.” He took a steadying sip of wine. “And I may have bought a book that detailed a few.”
“A book?”
“Yes.” Evelyn placed a slice of beef on Jared’s plate and Jared busied himself with cutting it. “It was written by a Sir Wesley? You should try the beef. The cook, I’m told, quite outdid himself today.”
Jensen looked down at his plate and then back at Jared. “Why?” It was blunt and to the point and for a moment, Jared thought that Jensen was asking why the cook had bothered to outdo himself, but then he realized what Jensen was really asking. It didn’t necessarily matter as the answer was one in the same: Jensen.
Jared carefully set down his silverware. “I had hoped to…” impress you “please you.” Jensen momentarily froze in place, then dropped his eyes back to his plate.
“You hoped to please me.”
“Yes,” Jared said. “I wanted to make a good impression. Is it working?”
Jensen’s silverware clattered against his plate. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” It was better than a no, Jared supposed.
Jensen favored Jared with another small smile. “Perhaps.”
The leafy branches of the garden trees spread out above them, enveloping them in a green cocoon. The flowers were in full bloom, peppering the grounds with vivid spots of varying shades of red, yellow, orange, blue, and purple. Here and there, were sections of pure white that seemed to draw Jensen’s eye the most during their walk. Jared made a mental note of that as they continued on their conversation from dinner. He would be sure and have a dozen of the white flowers sent to Jensen’s room later in the evening. It would be a good way to end the day.
“Redding’s gardens are not so…” Jensen lapsed into a momentary silence, looking for a certain word, and finally he settled on “extravagant.”
“Is this a good or a bad thing?” Jared asked, daring a small touch of Jensen’s arm. Jensen glanced at him and offered a small smile before turning away to regard the trees once more.
Jensen ran his hand under one of the hanging branches, letting the leaves trail against his skin. “Both have their charms.”
“You are welcome to walk in the gardens whenever you choose.” The words had evidently been a mistake as Jensen drew himself back from the pleasant openness he had been displaying.
“I have noticed that the gardens are within the sphere of which I am permitted to travel.”
Jared winced. “From this point on, you have free rein to go where you choose in Starfall. For the time being, you are my honored guest and Sir Roger will accept that.”
Jensen shook his head. “Though we would both like to pretend otherwise, you and I both know that I am not your guest, nor am I here due to my own choice.” He glanced back at the guards that waited in the shadows.
Jared scowled at the guards. Surely, they could do a better job of making themselves unobtrusive. Then again, that was a servant’s domain. Soldiers were far more used to making a solid impression that made possible opponents think twice before making a move. In a week or so, maybe Roger would relax enough to call off Jensen’s escort. Jared could convince Roger to give Jensen unrestricted access but he doubted that he’d be able to convince the man that Jensen didn’t need to be escorted just quite yet. “I had hoped that things might be better between us,” he said apologetically, lightly touching Jensen’s arm again.
Jensen pulled a leaf off a nearby tree and studied. “You wish to continue what was started in the training area.” His voice was noncommittal, as if it weren’t like an asp waiting inside a basket. The leaf was meticulously shredded in Jensen’s hands, betraying his agitation.
“No, I do not,” Jared said and waited for Jensen to finally lift his eyes back up to Jared’s. He knew what Jensen thought of what had happened in the training area and though Jared might wish very much for a repeat performance, he didn’t want to give Jensen the wrong impression. “I wish to start, perhaps, our courtship.” Their union had already been decided but there was nothing stopping them from enjoying each other’s company until then.
“I see.” A bitter smile twisted Jensen’s lips. “You needn’t bother. You have my word that I will do as you ask.” He dropped the remains of the mutilated leaf to the stones of the path. “If that’s what you want, perhaps we should start now.” As Jared took a moment to think, wondering how to respond, Jensen unbuckled the clasp of his vest and slipped it from his shoulders. Jared’s mouth went dry even as a sick feeling twisted in his gut. This was what he’d wanted and yet it wasn’t. Jensen let the vest drop to the ground and started in on the ties of his shirt.
Jared stopped him, covering Jensen’s hand with his own. “I think there might be a misunderstanding.”
Jensen raised his eyebrows. “I do not think so.” Jared could feel the steady thump of Jensen’s heart beneath their hands and felt his own answer. He pulled away, not wishing for Jensen to misunderstand the situation. Stooping, he scooped up Jensen’s vest and pushed it into Jensen’s arms.
“Then we must differ on the meaning of courtship, Jensen, for this sort of play generally comes later.”
“And I told you that you needn’t bother.” Jensen yanked the strings of his shirt, opening it wide and baring his chest to Jared once again. Jared’s eyes devoured the sight before he forced himself to look away. “I will do as you ask. I will satisfy you.” It was a tempting offer, even with Jensen’s cold tone of voice.
“Perhaps I wish to wait until the wedding night,” Jared replied, summoning what limited control he still possessed when being faced with the possibility of bedding Jensen.
“Wedding night?” Jensen repeated, his voice rising with disbelief. “What wedding?”
“Courtships usually end in weddings,” Jared responded. “And ours is scheduled for late August.” There was an angry flush rising in Jensen’s cheeks and his fists were clenched like they wished to be holding a sword instead of empty air.
“You think that we are going to marry?” Jensen demanded. “In less than three months?”
Jared was confused. This had all been agreed upon when King Alan had agreed to the terms of the treaty. “Yes?”
“Then this is why I am here.” Jensen closed his shirt over his chest, the laces hanging uselessly as he did not take the time to rethread them. “For you to marry.”
“I thought that you’d agreed to this.” Jared had been under the impression that the terms had been agreed upon by all of the involved parties. He should have known better. Roger was right about his naivety.
“Did my father know of this?” Jensen swung his vest around his shoulders and roughly redid the clasps. His earlier offer to please Jared was apparently off the table.
“Didn’t your father tell you?”
“He’d told me-” Jensen cut himself off and then started again, his body rigid and his eyes fixed on a point above Jared’s shoulder. “He told me that you meant for me to decorate your court.”
Of course that’s what Jensen’s father would say. “While your beauty outshines any jewel I may own, I did hope that you would be an equal partner in our union.” Jensen didn’t respond. “I had hoped that you would rule beside me.”
Jensen turned to look off into the garden, scanning the shadows. “And what of my choice?”
“I thought that you’d agreed,” Jared said, echoing his earlier comment. It was hardly a defense but it was all that he had. He had thought that Jensen had agreed to the match. “My advisors had wanted to exact a steeper price for peace from Redding. They thought a royal consort might be payment enough.”
“So that I could be used as a political pawn,” Jensen hissed.
“I would think that you would be too strong to be used as a pawn,” Jared told him, deciding that straightforward honesty would be best. “And I do not care about why they agreed, Jensen. I wanted someone to share my crown with me as my equal.” If Jared had wanted a pawn to play with, he would have married Lady Kylie from the rich islands to the south long ago. She was beautiful, courteous, and incredibly easy to manipulate.
Jensen wheeled on him. “And if I did agree to this, what could I expect? Them?” he jabbed a finger at the guards still lurking at the courtyard’s edge. “To be followed for the rest of my days and distrusted?”
“No.” Jared turned to the guards, feeling an anger rising in him. He’d told Roger that this would lead to trouble. “Please tell Sir Roger that your services are no longer needed.”
One stepped forward, her hand on her sword. “Sir?”
“I said leave us!” Jared accompanied the order with a hard wave of his hand and one by one the guards bowed and left.
“That was unwise,” Jensen said behind him, his voice a sibilant whisper. “What if I cut you down where you stood?”
Jared turned back to him. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jared narrowed his eyes. “You are a man of honor who has sworn himself to me. You won’t.”
“I am a man of Redding,” Jensen said, as if that were any argument at all.
“My point exactly.”
Taken aback, Jensen paused for a moment. Jared liked to think that somewhere a tally was marked down on an invisible scoreboard. He had managed to make the Dancer of the West Winds stop in mid-charge. Jensen licked his lips, his earlier anger dissipating. “You are very strange for a Milecki.”
“Ah, but all Mileckis are strange. So, perhaps I am merely normal.” Jared winked, startling Jensen into a laugh. It was a sound that Jared hoped very much to hear again.
“Milecki is not what I expected it to be,” Jensen admitted.
“Not enough baby-eaters and puppy-kickers?” Jared ventured, already guessing what Milecki’s reputation must be in Redding.
Jensen laughed again and Jared marked another tally down on his mental scoreboard. “No. You must be hiding them somewhere.”
“Yes. We keep them in the dungeons when we have company. How did you know?” Jared touched Jensen again, this time daring to take his hand. Jensen glanced downward, then wrapped his fingers around Jared’s. The contact set Jared’s blood on fire as surely as a kiss. There was something incredibly intimate about twining his hand with Jensen’s. “I will admit that I have been looking forward to our wedding. My advisors have told that I have not been acting very kingly.”
“No?”
“No.” Jared smiled. “They tend to frown on excited bouncing. It does do much for my reputation.”
Jensen licked his lips, drawing Jared’s attention instantly to his mouth. He wanted to chase Jensen’s tongue with his own. “I imagine that it does not.” Jensen brought their joined hands upward. “In three months we will be wed.” Jared nodded, rubbing his thumb over Jensen’s skin. “I know next to nothing about you.”
“I hate accounting meetings but secretly enjoy parades, but only when I don’t have to be in them.” Jared squeezed Jensen’s hand. “And I find you so beautiful that sometimes I wonder how the gods made something so perfect.” Jensen laughed, his eyes sliding away from Jared’s. Jared dared a step closer. “I also enjoyed watching you demonstrate your skills in the training area. I felt proud that you were to be mine as I have never seen your equal.”
“You should see Yveny,” Jensen muttered. “He is much better than me.” He swallowed. “Until this point, I might have resented that morning in the training area.” Jared’s heart gave a painful squeeze in his chest. “For you were better than I expected you to be and I was…attracted. I did not want to be attracted to one that I regarded as my enemy.”
Jared searched Jensen’s face. “I hope you can feel differently about me now?” He tried not to betray his apprehension, but it seemed as if his entire future hung upon Jensen’s answer.
The edges of Jensen’s mouth quirked upward. “Now, I may wish to have a rematch.”
Jared swiftly kissed the hand that Jensen had joined with his. “Tomorrow morning, if you wish. I will not guarantee any success against your skill, but I will promise the best of my ability.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Jared echoed, feeling foolish but not particularly caring. He glanced around the garden, at the dark, shadow-filled trees and the distant water fountain. It was late. The sun would rise in only a few short hours but yet the time seemed to stretch out in front of Jared, propelled by his own excitement. “May I walk you back to your room?
Jensen looked at the same places that Jared had before coming back to Jared. “Is this a dangerous area?”
Jared nodded solemnly. “I hear that there is a strange man that sometimes prowls these paths looking to molest handsome princes and drag them into the bushes to be properly ravished.”
Another surprised peal of Jensen’s laughter rang out across the gardens. “And you will protect me from this man?”
“To the very best of my ability,” Jared promised.
To Part 2