It was signed,Arden of the Canamorra, Traitor King.
“Tricky,” Zelli said fiercely though his thoughts were racing. “Fae bless him.”
Tahlen, equally fae blessed, came to stand at Zelli’s desk. Within reach, if Zelli wanted. Silver glinted at his throat. He stroked up the length of Zelli’s ear, pointed now at all times, then did the same to one of Zelli’s horns.
He did not ask what Zelli wanted to do or if Zelli had considered the stares that were sure to follow him. Tahlen, who would bare those bite marks in any sparring ring in the summer when shirts were often optional, wouldn’t. Sometimes, Zelli suspected Tahlen bared those marks to make Zelli feel better. Then Tahlen would submit himself for more, gasping quietly with his pleasure, and Zelli would remember the truth.
“I didn’t expect to be remembered.” That was what confused him, in this moment at least. But he looked up at Tahlen with wide eyes in the exact way that drove most of the reason from Tahlen’s thoughts.
“Tahly,” he began sweetly, “would you like to visit the capital?”
The End
