The Golden Lily's common room embraced us with warmth and golden light, a stark contrast to the harsh stone halls of home. We settled at a corner table where shadows pooled like dark wine, affording us some measure of privacy from the other patrons. The serving boy, no older than ourselves, with eyes like polished amber, brought bread still warm from the oven, cheese aged in caves that smelled of earth and time, olives glistening with oil that caught the lamplight like liquid gold.
I tore a piece of bread with fingers that still trembled slightly from our earlier encounter in the grove. The memory of sun-bronzed flesh arranged with careless grace haunted me, but not as much as the way Serin had looked at that beautiful youth,wonder and hunger mingling in his grey-blue eyes like wine mixed with honey.
The travel grime clung to my skin like a second garment, salt and sweat layered over days of sea spray and sleepless nights. I longed for hot water and soap, for the simple luxury of feeling clean again. Beside me, Serin picked at his meal with distracted fingers, dust from the temple paths still streaking his golden hair. He must be yearning for a proper bath as much as I.
"Boy," I called softly to our server, who appeared at my elbow with practiced grace. "Could you arrange for a hot bath to be drawn in our chambers?"
"Of course, sir." The youth's smile was warm, uncomplicated by the careful deference I was accustomed to seeing. "Shall I prepare bathing oils as well? We have jasmine and sandalwood, myrrh and rose..."
"Whatever pleases you," I replied, though my attention was fixed on Serin's profile. Some subtle tension around his mouth eased at my words, the sharp corners of his lips softening almost imperceptibly. He said nothing, but I caught the ghost of gratitude in his expression before he turned toward the room's center.
A bard had taken position near the great hearth, his lute gleaming like burnished copper in the firelight. His voice rose clear and sweet astemple bells, weaving a tale that made the entire room fall silent.
"Long ago, when gods still walked among mortals, fair Elyon wandered fields of gold beneath Eletheria's blessed sun. His heart was light, his step was sure, but loneliness dwelt within his breast like winter shadow..."
The melody wound around the words like silk ribbon, and I found myself drawn into the story despite its strangeness. This was not the distant, terrible deity I knew from temple frescoes; Elyon moved with human longing, searched with mortal need.
"Then in a grove of olive trees, where grass grew soft as lover's sighs, he found a youth of perfect form sleeping beneath the dappled light. Hair like spun sunlight crowned his head, and limbs like marble carved divine lay gleaming in the golden hour..."
Heat crept up my neck as the bard's voice grew more intimate, describing in loving detail the sleeping youth's beauty. This was no chaste hymn suitable for temple worship, this was something raw and immediate, speaking of flesh and desire with shocking frankness.
"The god's heart thundered in his chest, for love had struck him like a blade. He knelt beside the sleeping form and woke him with a gentle kiss..."
I shifted uncomfortably as the tale grew moreexplicit, describing the joining of divine and mortal bodies with language that made my pulse quicken despite myself. Around us, the other patrons listened with rapt attention, as if such tales were commonplace rather than scandalous.
"And where their passion blessed the earth, a flower bloomed of gold and white, the sacred bloom we call love's star, born from the union of their souls..."
When the final notes faded, applause rippled through the room like gentle rain. I sat frozen, caught between fascination and mortification at hearing such intimate matters discussed so openly.
"Beautiful," Serin murmured beside me, his voice soft with wonder. "The way he tells it, love becomes something sacred rather than shameful."
I nodded slowly, though my throat felt tight as leather left too long in sun. "Yes. Beautiful."
But even as I agreed, my treacherous heart whispered dangerous thoughts. Just because Serin found poetry in ancient tales of divine love didn't mean he would ever seek such romance in his own life. His duty to the crown would always come first, would always stand between him and any tender feeling. And even if he were free to choose his heart's desire, what place could a mere bodyguard hold in such dreams?
I was his protector, his shadow, his faithfulhound. Nothing more, no matter how my foolish pulse quickened when he smiled.
"I think I'll retire," Serin said, rising with that fluid grace that never failed to catch my breath. "The day has been... full of wonders."
"Of course, Your Highness. I'll remain here a while longer. Give you privacy to bathe and rest."
He paused, something flickering in his eyes that might have been disappointment. Then he nodded and made his way toward the stairs, leaving me alone with my wine and my increasingly unruly thoughts.
I nursed my cup longer than necessary, watching the common room slowly empty as night deepened. When I could delay no longer, I climbed the narrow stairs to our chambers.
The door opened to reveal paradise made manifest.
Serin reclined in a brass tub positioned in the room's far corner, the vessel built atop a foundation of smooth river stones that seemed to glow with gentle warmth. Steam rose from the water like incense, and his skin gleamed with moisture that caught the light like scattered pearls. His head was tilted back against the tub's rim, eyes closed, golden hair darkened to bronze by dampness.
My tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. Every rational thought fled like birds before a storm,leaving only the terrible beauty of him naked and unguarded in the dancing light.
"Should the water not be cold by now?" I managed, voice rough as broken stone.
His eyes opened lazily, grey as winter sky. "Sunstones," he explained with drowsy contentment. "I have read about these. Stones that glow with captured moonlight, stones that hold the sun's warmth for hours. This island is full of wonders."
I pondered the countless times I'd washed myself in basins of cold water after training, gritting my teeth against the shock of it. These Eletherians must be soft indeed, though the youth I'd seen earlier had possessed a grace that spoke of hidden strength.
Serin began to rise from the water, muscles flowing beneath skin flushed pink from heat. I turned away quickly, but a polished bronze mirror on the opposite wall betrayed me. His reflection caught there, the elegant curve of his spine, the firm swell of his bottom, water streaming down his thighs like liquid silver.
