Painting the Sea-Part IV (end)
Part I | Part II | Part III
And so they travelled in de Aislin’s carriage. Every day the frozen roads were eaten under their horses’ hooves as they broke fast in the blue-padded carriage and Serr dozed as de Aislin talked. And talked. And talked some more. About his brother and his marriage. About their king he had met. About his quest to find Serr.
By the end of their third day, Serr was about to strangle him.
‘You’ve sighed three and thirty times since I’ve started my tale, painter Serr.’
Serr sighed once more, his eyes fixed on the running landscape. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that I might not be terribly interested? …Sir,’ he added with an after thought.
‘You seem to do that a lot. Forgetting my title,’ De Aislin said with a little smile.
At that, Serr just stared at him.
‘It might be because you have been in the habit of not using yours for far too long.’
Serr’s knuckles turned white as his nails dug into his palms; he couldn’t find his voice.
De Aislin’s head was tilted, his eyes hooded in the obscurity of the carriage and his arms folded as he waited patiently. The silence was so thick one could cut it with a knife. ‘Are you not going to ask what I meant?’ he finally said.
Serr swallowed audibly. ‘I have no inkling as to what you’re referring to.’
‘I am sure you do not.’ Sarcasm dripped from de Aislin’s lips. ‘Prince Serafino.’
Serr started so badly his palms bled. ‘Let me out,’ he seethed, barely audible over the racket of the carriage.
‘No. I have searched the highs and the lows of the Mainland for you-’
‘But why? Why would you look?’ Serr cried out.
‘Because I hated you for taking over me, damn all the hells that there are! Five years I have learned all I could about you, five years I have hunted you so I could exorcise you, and now I just- It’s not-’ De Aislin’s voice died out as if he’d been strangled and he buried his contorted face in his hands.
‘I don’t understand,’ Serr murmured in the stark quiet after de Aislin’s outburst.
It was a few moments before the other man began to speak. ‘It was your morning, the one you left at Alexis’ door. No one who looks at it long enough does not feel the relief and freedom you poured into it; the same feelings caught me at the throat when I visited our King. They came from the dancer in the mists.’
Serr’s breath caught.
‘The painting itself is framed in our Highness’ study. I chanced upon it by mistake, and… So I asked. About the painter, about the dancer, but no one would tell. The palace’s lips were sealed. Thank the Gods tavern alcohol never fails to untie tongues.’
‘…What did you learn?’ Serr choked out.
‘That we had had a prince, once. A prince and a princess, but wickedness had befallen them both. I heard the princess defied her father, running away from marriage with a poor courtier; they were chased and he perished, leaving her with her brother. They say she was so angry to still be alive she cursed her sibling, dooming his feelings to bleed him dry just as hers were slowly killing her. They say she died the day he turned of age and he disappeared.’
Serr snorted but his tears choked him.
‘T’is true, then.’
‘Of course not. People really will spread anything around.’ Serr wiped away his damp cheeks, studiously avoiding de Aislin’s gaze. He could feel the grey eyes heavy upon him and a shiver raked his frame. The tightness in his chest wound up just a little more.
‘Enlighten me, my Prince.’
‘My dear Auba ran from this slime of an advisor who wanted her for himself. She’d found love, or what little you could call love when you are sixteen and to be wedded, and that thrice bastard took him from her, then tried taking her. She fought him.’
De Aislin waited for more, but nothing else was forthcoming. ‘My Prince, this really does not enlighten me.’
‘I am no prince.’
‘T’is not for you to decide. Now the least you could do is finish your tale.’ De Aislin’s voice was the slightest bit pleading, and tipped the scales in his favour.
‘I killed him. She wanted to take her life right away, to leave and be with her beloved, but-’ Serr sighed. ‘I was here. He had been a court painter, brought in for a wedding portrait of her to be sent out to her suitors. I had dogged her every step, the dress fittings, the hair styling, the painting… She had fallen in love with him under my gaze. He had painted the sea, and neither she nor I had ever been outside the castle walls. I promised myself I would see the sea before I left this world. She stayed, after he had been murdered, to wait until my skills would allow me to do render the sea as he had. Then she left us all.’
‘…You killed a man?’
‘I am not hopeless, contrary as to what you may think.’ Serr raised an eyebrow, his ankle daintily crossed as he sat just a little bit straighter. ‘Would you happen to have some bread? We’ve not broken fast today.’
.::.
Theodric was overwhelmed. He’d firmly believed this painter had worked a little sorcery in retaliation to his demands five years ago, he’d firmly believed finding him and beating the counter-curse out of him would allow him to go back to his profligate lifestyle and not see golden eyes and soft brown hair and those hands-
He’d found the Prince. The elusive Prince Serafino, documented only in the oldest genealogical trees no one had thought to cross his name out of.
Theo was not as flummoxed as he thought he’d be.
He scoffed at the thought; that was because he had known, right as he’d seen the painting of a dancer in the mist hanging on the palace’s wall. He had known; the same feeling of shame had flooded his chest as relief and escape poured out of the oil strokes. So he had asked. And now, he had found.
It still did not explain much.
Serr’s behaviour had not changed, but now that Theodric shut his mouth during the day, the silences between them were many and heavy. And while Serr was looking much better than when Theo had first stumbled upon him on a frozen corner of the Sea Trail, he was still emaciated, his fingers beautiful but reed thin. His skin was diaphanous, the scars an angry white marring it; Serr moved as if some deep pain was pulling him apart.
There was something he’d not been told.
‘You are cursed nonetheless, are you not?’
It seemed the other man had been jarred from his thoughts; he gathered his limbs close and away from Theo, the proximity in the carriage still unsettling him. It had already been a week, and still Serr hadn’t thawed. To think he'd been their prince all this time... And yet, Theo had no trouble imagining it. There had been something in his demeanour, something in his eyes... The thought alone sounded trite, and yet, had Theo's niggling instinct not panned out? As verbose as Serr had been when revealing his identity, Theo’s question elicited no response from him now. Tight-lipped, Serr glared at him from under hair better suited to a bird’s nest before going back to the roaming landscape.
Theo let it rest. There would be time for answers later. ‘I asked the driver to stop for the night. We have made good time, but a storm is brewing. I did not find you to fall ill to the fickleness of winter’s weather.’
The response to Theo's statement was a raised eyebrow, but Serr did not ask him to clarify.
.::.
Serr was being pushed around. He knew, but he was so tired of it all. So weary; it seemed as if the past moons had caught up with him at last. The trek in the frozen woods, the long road before that, and his shacking up in the large shrubs for weeks had left him weak-and weak-willed. He had only wanted to rest after finally sighting the sea. He had promised his sister, and finally his word had been fulfilled. It did not matter his works had been scattered to the winds, children gazing at his painted blue immensity and thanking him solemnly when he had presented his canvas to them. Or old women who gave him a loaf of bread in exchange for a charcoal sketch, or fishermen who thought he did their mistress justice.
Just as his paintings had been scattered, he was also. Hollow, he had emptied himself with pride: to know people would feel his awe and just a little bit of the swell he had had in his chest when he had first seen so much beautiful, singing water… He’s thought so many emotions would tie him down. They had made him feel better, feel a little bit fuller for a while, but it was only a matter of time he became as hollow as the paintings he had been gifting away.
And yet, as true emptiness had finally claimed him, he had still not been able to leave. His body was cold and his heart was frozen. Why could he not just fall and be done with it? It would be so easy, and he had given in. He had given in!
De Aislin. The man was the bane of his existence. Let the fields of Hell take him away and let Serr leave in peace! He’d not thought of his name in years. He’d not thought of that filth of an Advisor-his blood warm and gushing on Serr’s palms, his strangled chokes the sweetest music to Serr’s ears-in even longer. He was so ashamed to remember the glee, the awful laughter, the way Auba had barely known how to push his madness back into himself. She had stayed for his sake, broken and torn but not wanting to see him damaged. And he had defiled her in thought, hating his yearning, hating her beloved even more.
It ached in a worse manner than the emptiness ever did.
There was nowhere for him to trudge towards, no end to his lonely torment in sight.
‘You’ve not struck me as prone to self pity, your Highness.’
Serr barely registered de Aislin’s deep baritone. He sat, motionless, not even noticing the softness of the mattress under him.
‘Prince Serafino.’
‘Why won’t you just let me be?’ Serr finally whispered. He was drained; the memories were more vivid now that he had no more purpose, that there was no buffer between the past and the terrible emptiness.
‘Because you are cursed.’
‘You know nothing of what I am.’
De Aislin’s eyes narrowed. He stalked forward, dropping to his knees and slapping two broad hands on Serr’s knees. Serr jerked; no one had been as close in years, but de Asilin’s fingers were digging into his thighs so forcefully Serr knew he was going to bruise after their heat faded.
‘Listen to me. The First City is rife of rumours of the King’s so-called Advisor and his demise. It seemed the swine practiced witchcraft in the spare hours he wasn’t bleeding the kingdom dry. There are books too, if one knows where to look.’ De Aislin took a deep breath, his cheeks flushing as he met Serr’s bewildered eyes. ‘I looked.’
‘Surely, you jest.’
‘You cannot begin to comprehend the lengths I would have gone to free myself from you. Highness. Painter.’ Serr’s blood pulsed so rapidly in his veins it was a wonder de Aislin didn’t hear it.
‘You speak in the past,’ Serr choked out, the heat between them rising to his throat and strangling him.
‘Because now that I have you within my grasp, I would do well by both my needs and your own.’
It was all Serr could do not to slap the offending face away as he jerked up and stepped away, leaving de Aislin in a heap by the bed. ‘You know nothing of my needs,’ he sneered. ‘Leave me be.’
‘You have emptied yourself.’ De Aislin’s voice rang clear with desperation. ‘You are hollow but you cannot die, whether you long for death or not.’
Serr stood, frozen. ‘How would you know?’ he whispered. ‘T’is all my foolish and bloody yearnings that have punished me. The sea should have liberated me.’
‘But it couldn’t, do you not see?’ De Aislin picked himself up from the floor and taking a few steps cautiously. ‘This has nothing to do with your promise and everything to do with that swine you killed.’
‘No. No.You cannot be correct, you must be wrong, you must-’ Serr’s next words were muffled by fine linen and the scent of spice as strong arms engulfed him and it was then he realized he must be weeping, for his frame was wracked with strangled sobs and de Aislin’s shirt tasted damp and salty.
It took a long time for him to come to; he felt his throat was laden with lead and he just couldn’t move away from fingers caressing his hair and a deep voice crooning sweet nonsense, de Aislin’s large arms trapping him in more heat than he had ever felt since Auba’s death and his departure.
‘It is the curse of the Sieve, Highness,’ De Aislin murmured at last. ‘You robbed him of his life and in his last instants, he robbed you of what would make your existence meaningful. He cursed you to live but remain empty.’
‘So how do I die?’ Serr mumbled.
De Aislin’s arms tightened around him and it was all Serr could do to keep breathing. ‘You do not.’
‘But I need…’ Serr sighed wetly, his eyes burning. De Aislin’s hand was still stroking his hair, gently pushing his head to rest on his strong shoulder. ‘I need.’ Serr’s voice was barely audible over the roaring sound of his surrender.
‘I know you do, Highness.’ De Aislin tried to soothe, his hands rubbing small circles in between Serr’s shoulders. ‘I…’ His voice died out and Serr jerked, de Aislin’ warm hands running down the stark line of his spine to where his rag-like shirt was tucked in. ‘Let me.’ His voice was husky.
Serr could not make himself pull away. De Aislin’s arms were muscled and heavy and warm, and his fingers left a hot trail under Serr’s shirt. He only sighed as de Aislin lifted the ragged fabric and his palms skimmed Serr naked back, making him shiver. It was warm and growing warmer, hotter, as de Aislin’s tongue wet the lobe of his ear slowly, drawing the sensitive flesh in his mouth at an even slower pace and making Serr’s entire body tremble, making his breathing quicken.
Ever so gradually, de Aislin’s arms settled across his shoulders, bunching up the old shirt under Serr’s armpits and drawing him into a tight embrace; the action had bared Serr’s stomach and pressed him against de Aislin’s finely spun shirt. The heat of the other man was so foreign it verged on being painful.
‘T’is facile to remain hollow. Mayhap filling you to the brim is the answer we seek,’ de Aislin mouthed quietly against Serr’s cheek. His palms came up to cup Serr’s face and he tasted of spiced wine and dry apple, his lips soft and open and his mouth wet.
Through eyes at half-mast Serr could distinguish an aristocratic brow wrinkled in concentration as his listless lips were coaxed open unhurriedly and a warm tongue explored his mouth slowly, so very slowly, the broad hands at his neck tilting his head slightly and he moaned, his head spinning because it was too warm, too hot, and not in any way could he have foreseen this, could he have foreseen him.
Their mouths parted and both were out of breath; Serr was bewildered. His skin was too tight, as if he’d stayed too long under the sun but here they were in winter, he was not rational, and his arms sported gooseflesh-he could not remember any instance of these occurring while he was not freezing. ‘What do you do to me,’ he murmured, resting his head one a broad shoulder as de Aislin embraced him again.
‘We fray the curse, Highness,’ and Serr could just see those full lips rising in their wicked smile so he sighed once more, lips curving upwards just a little as he was tumbled down the mattress. His shirt was disposed of and suddenly, there was so much skin he could touch-de Aislin had gotten naked to the waist, defined muscles shifting under an expanse of golden skin; he truly was beautiful. There was a soft chuckle above him then Serr gasped, drowning in de Aislin’s warmth as the other man pressed their bodies together unhurriedly; he unconsciously spread his legs to better cradle the heavy frame almost suffocating him in spices and glorious heat.
He was blanketed, there was no other term for it-Serr’s thoughts could not seem to order themselves beyond the abject relief he felt at the soft and sweeping strokes caressing him in his entirety, at the foreign taste de Aislin was leaving on his tongue, in his mouth, . He was so full of de Aislin’s touch it was as if he was going to burst out of his skin.
It did not even occur to him to seize those hands as they reached the apex of his thighs, deftly undoing his breeches and slipping the garment off his hips. Dread wanted to fill him then, cold and as heavy as lead, but the sentiment was slipping, wasting away before the luminous heat enveloping him.
‘Wait. De Aislin-Theodric…’ Serr could only plead.
De Aislin inhaled sharply as he rested his hand right on Serr’s lower abdomen, nestling it between his spread legs and cradling a peeking arousal. His eyes were piercing. ‘I won’t. Not now- but this… this is mine. Say it is mine’ De Aislin stumbled on his words, his cheeks heating as Serr’s body shuddered under his minuscule squeeze and Serr raised a shaky eyebrow.
‘Why do you make me say such things,’ de Aislin bemoaned quietly, burying his head in Serr’s shoulder before smoothing his palms on the inside of Serr’s thighs, both his hands creeping up over the sharp jut of Serr’s hipbone to finally run up his sides to his face.
Serr’s knees tightened fractionally, effectively trapping the taller man above him. De Aislin’s eyes widened as he tried to surge up and away but Serr reached upward as well, lips seeking lips as his legs forced de Aislin’s hardness into the crease where hip met thigh.
Their tongues tangled and de Aislin’s recriminations were kissed away. ‘I thought you would run,’ de Aislin said when they finally parted for breath. His eyes seemed wet. ‘You disliked it so.’
‘T’is not as such right now, Theodric,’ Serr murmured. ‘This… T’is unlike anything I’ve felt before.’
De Aislin shifted them abruptly and settled behind Serr, trembling arms encircling his waist. ‘You let me manhandle you, Highness.’
‘The curse has eased so far,’ Serr said, mischief colouring his tone.
De Aislin tightened his grip around Serr’s smaller frame. ‘This curse is easily broken by a loved one, Highness.’ His head bent to Serr’s shoulder.
‘There is no love between us. Theodric.’
A shudder racked through Theodric’s frame, and his hands clenched on Serr’s breastbone possessively. ‘Not yet.’
.::The End::.