Yield Under Great Persuasion

by Alexandra Rowland

“Nicolau,” he sniffled. “Your name is Nicolau, and I’m sorry, I’m trying—I swear I’m trying, please.”

How many of Nicolau’s marrows had Tam smashed over the years?

And I will try my fucking best to figure out new, exciting ways of fucking up instead of—instead of the same old hateful, boring ones. Alright?”

Fucker. Who gave him permission to go around in public like that, with his—his—his shiny wheat-gold hair and his eyes and his face?

At least social propriety kept his prick under a couple layers of fabric, otherwise Tam would have had to haul him up in front of a magistrate at the assizes for crimes of—of being like that.

How was he supposed to help her grow if he couldn’t weed out his own bullshit?

He kept waiting for... for Tam to love him back. That was all he wanted, wasn’t it. Nicolau Lyford, lord of the manor and favored of Angarat, just wanted Tam to love him—and he believed Tam was capable of one day becoming a person who could love him.

I think he has poor taste because I don’t think I’m worth loving.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Nicolau sighed. He followed, plastering himself against Tam’s back and kissing the point of his shoulder. “You’re a goblin, not a monster. You’re bloody difficult, and you’re too strong-minded for your own good, and you make everything a hundred times harder than it has to be. So what? What’s the great unforgivable crime there?” “Being Tam Becket,”

“Maybe it is a crime to be yourself. But Tam Becket commits that crime every day, and I wish I were that brave. I wish I could do that.”

Gods, what was this shit? Who had he become? Someone who got to sleep in, that was who. Someone who got to be cuddled(?) and kissed(???) by someone who knew damn well that Tam was awful and liked him anyway.

“I’m making it my business. I think that’s an exciting new strategy to try in all my dealings with you—being lovely to you, and telling you the whole time that you deserve it. I’m going to whisper it in your ear the next time I’m making love to you.”

“I’m not sure. Small red fruits—large cherries, maybe, or plums, or little crabapples—” “Get out of bed,” Tam screamed at him.

“This motherfucker tricked me into sleeping in,” he said. “After he got a prophetic fucking dream that he didn’t think was important to mention immediately. He made me kiss him for a while instead of telling me about his prophetic fucking dream the very instant he was conscious. Can you believe this shit?”

“Thanks, crabapple, I like you too,” he whispered, choked up.

“Hey, can I put my head on your tits for a minute?” Tam said to Isa, who raised her eyebrows and looked mildly scandalized. “Please,” he added. She blinked at him and said, “Oh, to listen to my heartbeat? Yes, alright.”

his parents dying when he was very small, his aunt taking him in, his marrow smashing, his loneliness, how tired and sore and worn-out he’d felt for as long as he could remember.

And I remember I thought, ‘Seven gods, I’m going to marry him.’” Tam’s stomach lurched. “Oh.” Oh. Well. Fuck,

“And how to fuck you. Imagine if we’d never figured that out. University is good for some things, actually.”

Yes, I’ve done so many terrible, terrible crimes. I am filled with repentance.” Worst person alive. Worst person Tam had ever met besides himself. “Rake.”

“Are you in love with me?” He seized up in horror. Fuck. Goblin, he was a goblin, he wasn’t fit for polite company— “Yes,” Nicolau said softly, immediately, as if it were as ordinary and unremarkable as a daisy by the side of the road.

“Yes, very well,” Nicolau said. “Also ambiguously engaged, so that’s nice.”

“Fine, cats, fine, you can have all the cats you want, I don’t care—” “I already have one I like,” Nicolau said. “I’m going to see whether I can lure him into living in my house and eating all my food and drinking all my wine and being a tyrant about the bath and my land management.”