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Simple, safe, boring. Nothing like the daring pirate adventures Bellamy reads about—though some of the sailors are brawny enough to star in those novels. There’s this one man with incredible arms, and a woman with even better arms… Not that Bellamy’s had a chance to talk to either of them. Gregoire would never let him.
“Shut up,” Green says, and Bellamy shuts up. “Nothing personal, got it? Wrong place, wrong time. The trouble is you’ve seen us.” “I wouldn’t have seen you if you hadn’t told me to turn around,” Bellamy points out, before realizing he shouldn’t have. “Sorry, I’ll shut up.”
“Please just be unconscious. Don’t be dead, I can’t deal with you being dead.”
House Tem’s hereditary magic isn’t flashy. Not like House Dire’s storms or House Komar’s earth-sundering. But there’s a reason the other houses drove Rakos’s family into impoverished obscurity generations ago, when they failed to breed the power into their own lines. Tem magic earned Rakos the nickname Shadow of Draskora after his first real battle. He can nullify other magic.
“Bastard!” “Hey, what did I do?” Rakos asks. He slams the cellar door shut and throws the latch. Might slow Indra down for a minute. Bell detours towards the kitchen table. “Sorry, not you. Bastard, get back here!” He grabs something from the table, then runs over to rejoin Rakos. A sinuous, furry shape wiggles in his hands. “Is that… yours?” Rakos asks. “She was playing with a keyring.” Indignation colors Bell’s face. “Which would have been really useful about thirty minutes ago.”
“Are you coming, Bastard?” The blinkmink rolls around in the flowers, ignoring him. “Fine. Be that way.” A soft weight appears on his shoulder, and a cold nose invades his ear.
The blinkmink is to blame for his waking—perched on his shoulder, she braces her tiny forepaws against his jaw and stares directly into his right eye. Whiskers tickle his nose and cheekbone. “Bastard, is it?” Rakos mumbles, still half asleep. “Good name.”
Fuck, he’s stiff—in more ways than one. His cock aches with the morning’s rise. Most days, the first thing Rakos does is resolve that with a lazy orgasm. But most days Rakos doesn’t have a skinny minstrel sprawled sideways over his lap, face pillowed on his thigh. Whenever Bell breathes too deeply, the movement pulls Rakos’s trousers teasingly over his cock.
It wasn’t Rakos’s fault Count Bernek’s hair piece looked like food was stuck in it. It might have been Rakos’s fault for trying to helpfully pull it off and undoing the whole wig.
Bell blinks at him. “You’re a nice person.” “You take that back.”
“You’re really reckless for someone who won’t eat blackberries.” “They were highly suspicious blackberries.”
“Sorry. I’m just… sorry.” Rakos exhales. Fights down the urge to touch him again. “No worries. Just punch me if you need to let off some steam.” “Noted,” Bell mutters, and they continue.
“So, I spoke more harshly than I should have. Also, I shouldn’t have choked you.” Bellamy touches his own throat. He had forgotten those bruises. “I’m not stupid. You meant every word about not falling behind.” Rakos groans. “Fine. Yes. I meant it. But that was yesterday, and today is today. Do you understand?” “I really don’t.”
“You keep rubbing your neck. Mind if I try?” There are probably reasons Bellamy should refuse the offer. He doesn’t know Rakos. He doesn’t trust him. But his thoughts are muddled with pain and the fluttering warmth of Rakos’s laughter. He scoots forward and bows his head. The tension only builds as Rakos shuffles through the fallen leaves behind him. Kneels at his back, the heat of him radiating through the night. “It won’t fix my head,” Bellamy says, as Rakos’s fingers alight on his shoulders. “Maybe it will still feel good. No, it’ll feel amazing. I’m amazing at this.”
“They’re from stress. Or too much exertion, or too little. Dehydration, skipping a meal, too much tea, not enough tea. One of my mothers says they’re from reading too late, but I refuse to believe her.”
Pillowing his head on his arm, he peers at Rakos’s shape out in the shadows. His dangerous prowl, a shadow himself in that black wyrmskin coat. Bellamy recalls something Mother once told him. Pay attention to what people do, instead of just what they tell you. Words are just what people want you to hear. For all Rakos’s talk about leaving Bellamy behind, he hasn’t yet. Maybe that means something. Or maybe Bellamy’s just been lulled into complacency by those amazing hands.
Bellamy recognizes Rakos kneeling on top of her. Holding a long knife against the blood mage’s throat, Rakos turns to Bellamy with a grin. “I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?” “Your hair is different,” Bellamy says, dazed. “I know. Isn’t it hideous?”
Bell’s lip trembles. “You’re back. Why are you back?” “Because I left something very important, and I didn’t realize it until now.” “What was it?” Bell asks. “You,” Rakos answers simply.
That blood magic was…” Bell’s eyes dart towards the dark end of the alley. “Wait, did you—did you kill her?” “Of course, I killed her. I’ll kill anyone who hurts you.”
I’ll be right in that corner. If anyone bothers you, wave and I’ll kill them.”
Rakos is sure of one thing, though. For seven silver, the room shouldn’t have only one bed.
“Your modesty’s safe with me, minstrel.” Pity, Bellamy thinks.
How long are you going to take? If the water’s cold when you’re done…” Bellamy drops the towel and grips the side of the tub. He swings a leg over and winces as his foot breaks the surface. “Don’t worry, it’s already cold.”
Submerging is an exercise in willpower as cold water laps up his shins. His balls nearly crawl into his body when he finally sits. Bellamy swears under his breath, then jumps with a splash as Rakos laughs from across the room. “Were you looking?” Bellamy demands. “Just listening,” Rakos answers, which isn’t better.
“My brothers are very kind. Very capable. Far more capable than me. This was supposed to be my first journey without them, and look where it got me. Kidnapped again, twice, and I spent seven silvers for a single bed like a useless idiot.” Oops. Too much truth there, Bell.
“That’s a heavy purse. What did you sell? A few internal organs?” Bell tilts his head, sunlight glowing in his hair. “Are organs worth that much?”
“That suits you,” Rakos says with a grin. Bell grins back, his eyes as bright as the lanterns. In his hands, the wreath seems to blossom, the petals deepening in color. “It isn’t for me. Duck down.” “Seriously?” Rakos asks, but obeys. He closes his eyes as Bell sets the crown on his head, and the fragrance of the flowers surrounds him. Bell’s fingertips brush through his hair as he pulls away. Bell reaches up again and adjusts Rakos’s new crown. “It suits you.” “Fucking adorable,” Petunia chimes in. “Now scram.
“If we’re pretending to kiss, we could play it a little more realistically.” Rakos startles, then eases into a grin. The flowers in his hair make him look even more gloriously wild. “Could we?” “Just kidding.” Bellamy bites his lip. “Unless…” Rakos leans down.
I think—fuck.” Bellamy staggers as Rakos drags him between a wagon and a wall. Before they round the corner, he catches a glimpse of a thin man with pale blue hair. “What’s wrong?” Bellamy asks. “Nothing.” Rakos loosens his grip on Bellamy’s shoulder. “Okay, fine, stop glaring. Did you see the guy with blue hair? I cheated him at cards the other day. Stay away from him.” Bellamy stares. “We’ve barely been in Orthin a week. How have you made so many enemies?” “Talent.”
“Jump down. Did you miss me?” Jumping from the wagon is difficult on his numb, shaky legs, and he staggers on landing, right into Rakos’s embrace. He clings to Rakos, inhaling, until he steadies himself—but still doesn’t let go. Rakos doesn’t let go either. His grip moves hesitantly from Bellamy’s arms to his shoulders. A hand in his hair, one stroking gently down his back. Like they’re bound into purely physical communication. “Yes,” Bellamy murmurs into Rakos’s broad chest. “Yes?” Bellamy’s hands tighten in Rakos’s coat. “Yes, I missed you.”
Julien Sandry, second prince of Silaise, is knuckle-deep in his lover’s ass when someone pounds on the door. “Seriously?” he mutters, continuing to probe for—there. Whisper jerks beneath him, biting his pretty pink lip on a moan. Julien will never tire of that shocked ecstasy on his face—the way he always looks so surprised to feel so good.
Whisper untangles his hands from Julien’s hair. Pushes him away. “You should get the door, or I will.” “You will not,” Julien retorts, withdrawing his fingers. He’s still mostly dressed, while Whisper’s clothes are… somewhere.
“Enough stalling, Audric. What’s wrong?” Audric tosses the scroll on the coffee table. “Bellamy’s missing.” The bottom drops out from Julien’s stomach. All around him, the temperature seems to drop five degrees. Just his own shock, he thinks, until the furniture and trees rattle in the uncontrolled wind. The disturbance lasts only a moment before Whisper jumps from the couch and grabs him by the hand.
Gregoire says that one crew member had already separated from the group before they were captured, and he signs off under a false name.” Julien stares. “You mean…” “There are more details, but yes. Reading between the lines, it seems Bellamy somehow got lost on his own before the crew was captured.” “Fuck.” Julien laughs helplessly, because it’s that or scream. “That’s the most Bellamy thing I’ve heard.
Don’t go, part of him wants to command. Whisper would obey. But Bellamy is in danger, and Julien trusts Whisper far more than anyone else thinks he should. So, all Julien says is, “Come back to me. That’s an order.” “Yes, Your Highness,” Whisper says, and leans into Julien’s kiss.
The lanterns illuminate Bell’s tousled hair and sleepy squint. But there’s nothing sleepy about the way he drops to a seat beside Rakos—nearly on Rakos—and rests a possessive hand on Rakos’s thigh. “Hi,” Bell says neutrally. Eyes dancing, Merry retreats to his blanket with Teodor. Rakos’s skin vibrates under Bell’s hand. There’s something so deliberately possessive about the gesture.
Merry raises his bottle. “I’ll be working my ass off. Or my mouth. You know, they say—” “That you have the loudest mouth in Draskora, yes,” Teodor says. Merry shoves him. “That is not what they say about my mouth.”
And fuck is a strong word.” Teodor stretches, cracks his neck, and a smug smile crosses his face. “He cried while I watched him jerk off, then paid triple.
“So, let’s be clear. I would absolutely, gladly fuck you.” Bell’s hand goes rigid in his. Rakos continues. “But I can’t give anything more than that. I can’t give you anything serious, besides my promise to get you home. All right?” Bell doesn’t answer. “Am I clear?” “Crystal,” Bell finally whispers.
“Do you want me to blow you out here, or inside?” Bellamy’s cock twitches in his trousers. “I’ll admit I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Rakos laughs into his hair. His fingers dig into Bellamy’s ass. “Really? I’ve definitely been thinking that far ahead.”
“You want to keep this casual. Are you already subtly angling for a second date?” “Are you?” Rakos tightens his grip. Bellamy whimpers again. “I have no idea what I’m thinking right now.” “Good,” Rakos purrs. “When I’m done with you, you aren’t going to think about anything.” “You arrogant—oh fuck!”
“Rakos,” Bellamy exhales. “I’m not going to last.” Rakos pauses to kiss his cockhead. “I’m not sucking your cock to prevent you from coming.”
“That’s a lot of syllables for cocksucking. And who’s subtly angling for a second date now?” “Not subtle.” Bellamy bites his lip on a new moan as Rakos sucks a bruise into his neck. “I’m explicitly saying I want to blow you. In a casual, noncommittal sort of way. Is that a problem?”
I was just wondering how you avoid, um. Developing feelings, after intimacy?” “No, we’re not doing this.” Teodor rolls his eyes when Bellamy stares in confusion. “First, I don’t give advice for free. Second, what works for me won’t work for you. Merry would happily give you three hours of advice, but what works for him definitely won’t work for you. So, whatever you’re trying to figure out, figure it out on your own.” The kettle whistles. Teodor leans forward to pull it from the fire. “Actually, that’s pretty good advice,” Bellamy says after a moment. Teodor grimaces. “Ugh. I guess it is.”
“There are no weapons or unauthorized magic allowed on the premises,” Rakos says, “Which mostly means the noble assholes are more subtle than usual. So, if you see anything weird and sparkly coming your way…” “Run?” “Jump behind me.”
Nobody seems to recognize Rakos in his mask, with his hair muddy-brown, out of uniform. It’s kind of nice. Not nice: the number of hungry eyes on Bell.
Rakos laughs, and they fall into the rhythm of the dance. They try to, at least. Rakos holds his tongue the first three times they nearly knock into other dancers. But when he almost loses an eye to a noblewoman’s hair pin, he has to say something. “Bell.” “Hm?” Bell stumbles over his own feet, barely remaining upright with Rakos’s grip on his waist. “You said you knew how to dance.” “I did.” Bell rights himself and smiles winningly. “I never said I was good at it.” “You are a menace,” Rakos growls, but smiles back.
Meet your friend. I’ll go chat with—okay, actually I’ll avoid Teodor, wow.” Over at the couch, Ludvik is now on his knees. Teodor fists a hand in Ludvik’s blue hair and says something inaudible to him. Rakos silently congratulates Ludvik, or extends his condolences.
Rakos was attracted to her ten years ago, when they were both teenaged recruits and hadn’t realized they disliked each other yet.
Bell’s voice warms with amusement. He pushes from the edge of the crate and slides into Rakos’s lap, forcing him back from his knees onto the wagon floor. Bell’s breath tickles Rakos’s lips as he continues. “Later, at the end of all this, I want you to remember how kind and understanding I’m being right now.”
