“We may try it again now?” Timothy asked, hopefully polite, although his voice was still strained and he could not seem to breathe normally. “Or,” he hesitated, “you will doubtless want to do what is proper and wait…”
Nathaniel, the very good and perfect prince, cupped the back of Timothy’s skull to urge him down for a kiss that did incredible things to Timothy’s body. Timothy’s stomach flipped. His heart raced. His toes tingled. He could not think or breathe until Nathaniel pulled back, and then Timothy’s only thought was that he had deprived himself of that for years now.
He licked his lips before looking up into Nathaniel’s golden eyes. “Or, we have so much time to make up for, and since the Regent is not on his way, it seems I will be here all night.” His breathless words made Nathaniel smile, which did even more to Tim’s already kiss-warmed body. Timothy traced the curve of Nathaniel’s mouth. “I don’t have to look away now,” he said, marveling.
Nathaniel startled him by kissing his fingertips. “You never really did,” he informed Timothy, charming and merciless. “But your wide-eyed longing had a definite effect.”
Timothy would have scrambled off Nathaniel in a huff and stalked away, if he hadn’t, in that moment, started to appreciate what Nathaniel meant.
“We’re two months from our wedding,” Timothy realized abruptly, shifting to better feel what he,Little Prince, did to Nathaniel. “And the advantage to this dress was that it was very easy to put on and to remove.”
Nathaniel stared at him, then pulled Timothy down again to press a soft, laughing kiss to his mouth, that quickly became another, and then one slower and warmer and heavier than the others.
After a while, Timothy forgot to count the number of kisses in favor of untying the laces of Nathaniel’s tunic and learning the stinging pleasure of love bites along his neck. He lost track of everything but the knowledge that his true love liked to be called so, and did not seem to mind Timothy’s lack of experience, and that his true love thought Timothy tempting enough to lay kisses all along his bodice and to slip his incredible hands beneath Timothy’s skirt.
Timothy had worried about the marriage bed all this time, but it turned out the floor would do just fine.
Clematis of the Cinders
THE MASKED BALL was the first of three masked dances to bring His Royal Highness, Prince David to the attention of all eligible—and suitable—parties in the kingdom of Madera. Of course, everyone was already well aware of Prince David, who was handsome and kind… and somewhat awkward, although only Maderan citizens were allowed to say so. The Prince had not been betrothed as a child, which only made him more desirable, and was likely one of the reasons he had been allowed to avoid the whole issue of marriage and keep to his education and university for so long.
One of the reasons, anyway. The Prince had also loved his time at university. Clematis knew that because the students often gathered at the nearby home of Lord Hyacinth, and the Prince and his entourage had been frequent visitors. The Prince had spent countless days using Lord Hyacinth’s library, and debating both his friends and Lord Hyacinth himself on philosophy and current political matters over luncheons and dinners, while occasionally indulging in too much wine. Lord Hyacinth’s most unusual house offered the freedom to think and discuss and learn, and the Prince had seemed very happy there. Were he not someday to be a king, Prince David likely would still be at college as some bespectacled and slightly befuddled professor, with his best friend and fiercest champion, Flor de Maga, by his side.
But Prince David had been called away by this unexpected push from the King and Queen for him to marry, or at least, to pretend to be interested in marriage. The Prince, who had so far resisted all official matchmaking, had, for reasons of his own, agreed to play along.
Clematis happened to know some of those reasons. But it was not his place to speak of them, not that anyone would listen to a servant. And not that Clematis planned on speaking with anyone, no matter what Lord Hyacinth insisted he should do.
Clematis adjusted his costume, which included an arrangement of silver netting over most of his hair, as well as stiffer netting at his back that had been curved to resemble a dragonfly’s wings. His mask of silver and white went across his eyes but did not quite reach the bridge of his nose. Lord Hyacinth was not much one to care about current fashions, but, as this was a costume party, no one seemed to notice or care that Clematis was outfitted in something slightly old-fashioned.
Truthfully, Clematis was not certain what to make of the clothing, all of it soft to the touch but so revealing. Silver-buckled shoes, and embroidered stockings with green ribbon garters tied below his knees, and a short coat of silver, cut tight, that Clematis would have removed to give himself some freedom, except then he would have been even more exposed in his simple linen shirt, green waistcoat and breeches, and sparkles painted across the alabaster skin of his face and his neck.
Lord Hyacinth had declared him perfect. Clematis only had cold nerves in his stomach. He had felt stares since he arrived, and shivered for them, although he had safely positioned himself with his back to a wall.
He avoided the eyes of a curious footman and wondered if he could slink away to some forgotten, abandoned hall for the duration of the dancing. But he didn’t know this palace well. Clematis had worked in a few grand houses before he had found his way to Lord Hyacinth’s estate, but nothing approaching this. Though this house was only a summer residence for the royal family, it was still far more than Clematis was used to.
Despite that, he was grateful for the chance to see it, to look upon the glittering dancers, the beautiful lords and ladies displaying themselves for the unfortunate Prince and the slight, scowling, brightly dressed hummingbird at the Prince’s elbow.
Clematis helplessly turned his attention back to the dais where Prince David was nodding politely but without interest to some hopeful miss dressed as a butterfly. The Prince did not care for misses, but that did not stop them from trying, and the proposed marriage was only to be a political match, after all. The Prince looked as handsome as ever, but weary, burdened with a sadness that Clematis wondered if others saw. Flor certainly had, judging from his frown and how closely he had been watching Prince David all evening.
But this time, when Clematis looked for him, Flor de Maga was nowhere to be seen. Clematis straightened from the wall in surprise, searching through the ballroom for some sign of the iridescent green and black feathered wings Flor’s costume, the scarlet of his coat.
He didn’t find them.
Flor de Maga was known for his energy as well as the compelling strength of conviction so unusual in someone so young. His, at times, forceful manner drew people to him though he was not royalty or even higher-ranking nobility. It was not difficult to imagine he had found an interested eligible party of his own. Not everyone was here for the Prince. Some were here for a good time.
Clematis looked down at the floor in confused distress, then jerked his head up quickly when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach him. A man in a tiger costume was smiling at him, and Clematis’s stomach lurched with unease. Though he knew he was likely mistaken, that this was the harmless flirtation Lord Hyacinth wanted him to experience, Clematis fled without another thought, his steps too loud in his buckled shoes.
He would have removed them, but would never risk damaging his fine, borrowed stockings, although he did not care if they showcased his calves or not. He would have preferred not. Yes, Clematis had wanted this evening, this chance, had wanted it so much that His Lordship and his husband had noticed, but he did not want everyone to gaze upon him hotly. He wanted only one person to, although that was not likely to ever happen.
His heart hammering in his ears, Clematis rushed past a few startled footmen and through the first open door he saw. Thankfully, the room was empty, and seemed to be a waiting or sitting room, with a closed door in one panel that likely led to some even grander space. Clematis let his breathing even out before he wandered cautiously to the cushioned window seat and the small stack of books atop one pillow.
This room probably caught the midday sun, but it was filled with moonlight now. Clematis smiled a little as he bent down to peer at the books and found them to be novels. The young Princess’s, perhaps. Clematis picked up the top book and perched on the edge of the window seat while he flipped through the pages. There were a few words he did not yet know, although Lord Hyacinth had given him free run of his library and would encourage him to discover their meanings.
After a while, when no one came in, and Clematis wondered how the story began, he scooted farther back into the light and frowned down at the pages in earnest.
“Oh.”
Clematis was on his feet before he could blink or contemplate the husky, breathless quality in the voice of the man in the doorway.
