“Hush now, kitten. It’s not often I get to wear the crown for a moment.” Kershai yelped as Pallosar waved his hand and muttered something that snapped in midair like lightning, giving Kershai a shock that sent his hair up, followed by more laughter, laughter that even Seidrik partook in.
Stamel, for his part, smiled, his eyes a wash of fondness, not for his parents precisely but the longing he had made Seidrik wonder if he wished for something like that, misplaced power dynamic with playful rebuttal… Seidrik vowed to try and love him more, but it was so hard to give in, to admit defeat until he’d been worn away. Stamel forced his vulnerability.
He wondered if Kershai did something similar to earn Pallosar’s affections. Or perhaps the other way around. In either case, when Stamel snuck his hand under the tablecloth and brushed his fingertips over Seidrik’s, he turned his hand slightly, gripping his hand in return. Their bond hummed between them, as if their minds shared a thought.
Who will we be, together?
They said their farewells and mingled until the wine wore thin and guests left. They gave one another hugs with promises of seeing them off on the morrow’s first light.
Rather than fight the secret much longer, they took to the baths together that night. Anyone that walked in on them might notice a certain camaraderie, but they kept their space, washing up on opposite ends while shooting one another frustrated glances disguised as impassive moues. It hurt, to a degree,having Stamel so close, bare a mere few strides away. “Were I but a fireshark in these fine waters.”
Stamel glanced up, brow furrowed. “Hmm?”
“I’d stalk my prey and bite your ass for all the turmoil you put me through.” Seidrik took a deep breath of the steamy air and avoided his gaze. One wrong blink and Stamel might have descended upon him.
“Ah, that.” Stamel’s gaze wandered, focusing on Seidrik’s chest. His nipples had swollen from the piercings, a vibrant pink from healing. “Bite away, my dear, no finer steak will you feast on.”
“Let us not call a wilderboar roast a steak. Perhaps mine might be a steak, or a fine filet.” Seidrik held his head up and avoided Stamel’s stare.
A splash of water, minimal and slight, told Seidrik that Stamel had moved. Silence stretched, and when he glanced over his shoulder, hoping to be coquettish, Stamel’s gaze had locked firmly and shamelessly on his ass. “Filet? Eh, perhaps a cutlet. Tough meat, needs pounding to tenderize.”
“And at that, I’m done bathing!” Seidrik’s cheeks set aflame, his teasing gone too far. He grappled for a towel for his hair and a robe before routing his way upstairs. His pajamas waited for him, a full tunic and trouser set in a fine linen that would ensure that Stamel would have his work cut out.
Stamel followed suit, but Seidrik kept his pace brisk. He didn’t want to engage at that moment, nor did he want to be spotted giving flirtations to the alpha. Their union would be secret until it could be no longer.
When they finally reached their chambers and dressed, Stamel didn’t press Seidrik, but his eyes could burn holes in whatever he adorned himself in, he swore. Despite this, Stamel spoke so evenly. “Fancy a nightcap?”
“It’s dark as Drashili skies out there. We’d have to carry a lantern.” Seidrik jumped a little when Stamel procured one, using his thalms to whisper a spell for fire over the tips of his fingers and touch the lantern’s wick.
Seidrik glared and flicked his fingers, far better studied in his thalms than Stamel. The fire flared and extinguished without touch.
“Waste of thalms. I could have done so with a breath.” Stamel relit the wick and closed the glass before Seidrik could end his work again.
“And I could have lit it with a match, but there you are showing off.” Seidrik sniffed imperiously, secretly not feeling the superiority he usually convinced himself of. It was but a mask that Stamel saw through.
“Come, omega. I’ll feed you fine things. If we have to suffer Alluin’s slop for the next eternity, I’ll want to treat my tongue.” Stamel marched out, holding on to Seidrik’s wrist.
“If you wished to treat your tongue, I have a few choice places you could find something far more gourmet than my father’s table.” Seidrik followed, stumbling along.
“Speaking of a treat to your tongue. I need you to be honest, Seidrik. Did you drink of the font?” Stamel marched them down one corridor and a flight of stairs, keeping closer to the western wall where the moonlit windows gleamed.
“No, I did not. I spoke the truth. I was warned of the consequences.” Seidrik took a deep breath as they entered the kitchen and found himself very interested in a covered plate of tallroot pastries, the flaky bread and creamy pink filling calling to him more than Stamel’s knot.
“And what were they?” Seidrik stowed a few, lining his robe pockets with flaky crumbs.
“I’d rather not say. It was somewhat indecent and knowing you, it’d be a challenge I’d not want to engage with.” Seidrik selected one and tore into it, humming as they slipped out, wary of footsteps or listeners. He had the distinct feeling someone was near but didn’t see a light.
Stamel extinguished his lantern and pushed Seidrik to a wall by the stairs, their gazes locking. “And what were those side effects?”
Seidrik turned his eyes away and cleared his throat. “Private.Betamatter.”
“Tell me.” Stamel turned Seidrik’s face to his, forcefully gripping his mate’s jaw.
Seidrik only glared until Stamel gritted his teeth and did what Seidrik had secretly both dreaded and hoped he’d do—flicked one of his throbbing piercings. He hissed in response and stiffened. “It’s nothing of consequence.”
“Then what harm is there to tell me?” Stamel leaned in closer, mouth hovering so near that he could smell the tallroot and buttery pastry on his breath.
“It’s embarrassing.” Seidrik tried to turn his gaze away as his cheeks burned fiercely.
