Nadir bit his lip. "Are we lovers despite being brothers? Yes. Why? Long story, but we didn't know the other existed until not so long ago. Can you watch us fuck? I should hope so. We were hoping you'd say yes, Peacock."
Berkant chuckled from where he stood watching them, larger than all of them but in a comforting way rather than a looming one. "Seemed like fate, with an epithet like that following you around."
Ender laughed. "All we're missing now is… a cat, perhaps?" He turned Jankin's face to kiss him, sweet and teasing. He'd barely withdrawn when Nadir was kissing him instead.
When the twins eventually let him go, it was only to push him playfully into Berkant's arms. His very large, very strong arms. Everything about him was so wonderfully strong. "Bet you could pin me to a wall with no effort."
"Oh, he definitely can," Nadir said.
Shafiq chuckled. "Not today, I think. According to the guards, he was left to suffer in the west green room all night. He is not yet used to the ridiculous hours we must keep. Let him get some rest. Maybe we'll all rest, after a night of barely any sleep."
"I'll go arrange for your morning appointments to get moved back a few hours," Nadir said. "Back soon."
"I'll go see about collecting his belongings," Ender said.
Berkant only finally kissed him, lips hot, firm, and commanding. Then he drew back and, with a move that Jankin completely failed to follow, swept him up into his arms and carried him like an elderly penitent who couldn't walk themselves to temple. "Put me down!"
Smirking, Berkant held fast as he walked across the room to the enormous bed.
"You can sleep here, or in one of the other beds. You each have your own, to do with as you please," Shafiq said. "We'll get you acquainted with all the little things later. For now, you really do look like you're ready to fall over."
Jankin yawned. "I hate to admit it but you're right."
Shafiq cupped his face and kissed him softly. "Sleep. When you wake, your new life awaits."
"I'm looking forward to it immensely," Jankin said with a smile, and kissed them both one last time before climbing into the soft, warm bed that smelled of flowers and Shafiq's spicy cologne, other little scents that collectively just described home.
The Lynx
Ramsay heard the cry for help a split second before he saw the boy coming in his direction at full speed, chased by half a dozen heavily armed men, bright sunlight reflecting off their metal breastplates. Dropping the dipper from which he'd been drinking water at the well, he drew his sword and ran forward with a roaring cry.
The men fought tenaciously, and if they had not been so strung out while chasing the boy, they might have stood a chance. Six against one should have been an easy victory for them, but they were scattered and tired from running in the exhausting heat, and Ramsay had not lost his edge, despite his unexpected and extremely early retirement.
He was still panting heavily when he finished. Kneeling, he cleaned his sword on the robe of a dead man, then sheathed it. He used his own sleeve to wipe the spatters of blood from his face. Turning, he sought out the boy and found him hiding behind the well Ramsay had only just abandoned. "Ho, there," he called, taking care with his Tavamaran. "You all right there, lad?"
"Y-y-yes," the boy stuttered, visibly shaking and crying as he slowly stood up. "T-t-thank you."
"You are welcome. Why is a boy so young out here all alone, being chased by dangerous men?"
The boy looked guilty and afraid, but only shrugged and looked at his feet.
Ramsay examined him. Despite sweat and dirt and grime, the boy was clearly of noble breeding. The clothes were high-quality linen, dyed expensive colors, and he wore a plain gold bracelet that plenty of people would certainly see as sufficient motivation for killing.
So likely taken for ransom, or wandered off following something curious and found himself in over his head. "Were they trying to kidnap you?"
The boy nodded, looking guiltier and more miserable by the second. Ramsay rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It will be all right, lad. What's your name? We'll see you home safe."
Rather than give his name, the boy went from scared to terrified, and tears began to stream down his face in earnest.
Ramsay had a sudden awful realization. No noble's son wouldfeargiving his name to a complete stranger—especially not one as glaringly foreign as Ramsay. But even a foreigner was likely to recognize the name of royalty, and the king had only one son, a boy of about eight years.
Kneeling, gripping his shoulders, Ramsay said softly, "You are Prince Kajan, aren't you?"
The boy started to sob then and appeared ready to bolt. Ramsay scooped him up and hugged him tight, holding him as he had once held his own little brother. He spoke soft, soothing words, switching between Tavamaran and Tritacian, until Kajan's tears finally calmed.
"It will be all right, Your Highness," Ramsay said. "I promise, I will not hurt you. Neither will I let another harm you, understand? I promise I will see you returned to your father. Come, come," he said, and finally let Kajan go. "No, you do not need to see that," he said when Kajan tried to look at the bodies.
He guided Kajan to his horse, Feather, and settled him on it. Then he went carefully around the rest stop, removing all signs of himself from the area that he possibly could. After that, he went to each of the bodies and removed anything useful.Many said it was bad luck to take things from the dead, but the dead had no use for coins and food and a headwrap for Kajan.
