“I did. I mean… yes, I don’t.”
“And I thought you didn’t want company anyway?”
“Right. Well, no.”
“Eloquent.”
Jarryn’s scowl deepened into a glare.
Summoning the barkeep with a wave of his hand, Leander ordered his usual: two meads, which were promptly brought over.
Leander grabbed his tankard and pushed the other towards Jarryn as he jerked his head. “Come on, let’s sit over there.” His lips parted into a grin, a challenge in his expression. He would not take no for an answer. “Unless you tire of me already. For all that erudition, you’re not your normal loquacious self.”
“Just savouring the moment of silence before you hit me with another round of quick wit. Don’t worry, I’m still here,” Jarryn replied monotonously as, resigned, he picked up his drink and followed Leander to the seats he had indicated to.
“Ah, so you’re saying my silence is as profound as my words. I’ll take that as a compliment!”
It was warmer here, farther from the door, so Leander shed a layer, removing his outer cloak and placing it carefully over the back of his chair before sitting down.
The flickering candlelight on the table cast a warm glow on their faces. Leander rested his elbows upon the table and his chin on his hands as he stared at his companion. Jarryn was just as pleasing on the eyes as he had been the first time they met, if not more so, since he had gotten to know the prince and realised just how much he liked being around him.
Jarryn traced the rim of his flagon with his fingertips,the condensation leaving a small trail as it fell in legs down the edge of his tankard. “It’s amazing just how stifling the palace can become. I much prefer being out. You were right when you accused us of not knowing the people.”
Leander thought back to when he had commented on Jarryn’s proclivity to think he knew his people, when he only knew the rich. Jarryn, more so than Lucien or Thiete, had taken his words to heart… it meant that they—Leander and Jarryn—met more often, on common ground.
“This place”—Jarryn gestured around the room of the White Fox—“it feels like a sanctuary of sorts. Even if I don’t feel particularly social.” He tapped his large tome twice with a rueful smile.
Leander nodded, his bright, amber eyes reflecting the glint of the candlelight. “It does. A haven away from the chaos that is the world of politics and godsforsaken royals,” he replied with a more genuine smile.
“Oh? Surely you’re not painting all royals with the same brush?”
“I like one or two,” he said mildly, his hand tentatively reaching out and finding Jarryn’s on the table, their fingers intertwining.
The sole minstrel started playing a soulful rendition of a classic piece of music, his soft voice lulling the patrons of the White Fox into a gentle tranquillity, setting the mood for Leander and Jarryn’s conversation.
As they sipped at their mead, Leander’s gaze lingered on Jarryn’s face. “I still remember that first time we met,” he said, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “You were quite something to look at. Something I wanted to do all manner of things to.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes really. Then I got to know you and realised what a terrible idea that would be.”
Jarryn grinned. “You think so? What a shame.” The prince ducked his head before continuing, “There were times for me even then”—he looked back up—“even when I was convincing myself that you were the enemy, that I wanted to do similar to you.”
They laughed together, and Leander couldn’t help but wonder what would have become of them, had he not been who he was.
“Play your cards right, Your Highness, and maybe you’ll get lucky,” he tested the waters after a moment’s silence.
It seemed Jarryn was in a playful mood… or at least wasn’t feeling so cruel as to shoot Leander down on his first attempt at propositioning him. “You can do better than that, Leo. Here, let me show you.”
Leander frowned in confusion as Jarryn downed the remainder of his drink and stood. The prince picked up his book in one hand and extended the other to Leander. “Are you coming? Because you will if you do.”
Glancing up into Jarryn’s eyes, he noted the playful sparkle in his eye, but he also saw the genuineness. He was serious.
Taking the hand with a shyness he didn’t expect to feel, he stood.
The two left the White Fox.
Within seconds, Leander had his back pressed up against the doorframe, Jarryn pressing against him, the intention clear.
