Fuck, he could have drowned in this.
To the point that Dorian had to force himself away from the Belwark's lips.
But he didn't move, hands still resting on Corbin's cheeks, their noses brushing as they tried to catch their breaths. Dorian’s fingers curled softly in Corbin's coarse hair, Corbin's grip tightening at Dorian's waist.Confusion settled in Corbin’s gaze, but he hadn’t pushed the Prince away yet.
"What—“
"Just shut up." The words barely escaped Dorian's lips before he kissed Corbin again. Hungrily, with that passion that made his heart sink. Corbin's hands moved to his neck, bringing him closer.
Until they heard the noise of Blackhand bellowing laughter sounding from the stadium, and Corbin stumbled at the rate that he released Dorian.
Dorian's eyes narrowed. The urgent way Corbin had let him go startled him. Both their chests heaved, confusion settled in Corbin's widened eyes, and a blush on his cheeks, Corbin looked down the tunnel to the men that had appeared. The two Blackhands passed by, giving Dorian a clap on his shoulder and a loud grunt about seeing him later at the tavern for drinking games. As the pair continued past, Dorian's hands sank to his hips, and he stared at his Second.
The fact that he'd pushed him away like poison made Dorian's heart knot.
But Dorian played it off. He shoved his own shirt over his head. Stomach knotting, heart still thumping in his chest, Dorian merely gave Corbin a pat on his cheek and a wink as he left him in the tunnel.
"Have a bath, Second," he called back. "You smell of sweat and sex. Not sure the women at dinner will appreciate the combination when they've had no part in it."
But even as his confident swagger stayed on the surface as he walked back to the Temple, inside, he was screaming in confusion as to what had just happened.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
DORIAN DIDN'T BOTHER heating the bath. He sank beneath the cold waters, his mind swimming with not only the kiss he'd just shared with Corbin but also the weight of his task the next day. They would be leaving at sunrise for the Bryn. He wasn't sure what to expect. Whether they would walk in to what Hagen feared or if perhaps the Elder was wrong.
Dorian packed his warmest clothing, including the pieces he'd bought from merchants during his stay. The Bryn sat at the highest peak of Haerland. Thick snows would cover the ground and the trail up. He made sure to pack all his daggers and leathers. If they walked into a fight, he wanted to be ready.
Hagen was downstairs chatting with Marius when Dorian emerged. The two joined Dorian and made their way through the square up to the tavern. The familiar noise greeted him, and Dorian made his way to the bar while Hagen said he would retrieve a table. Dorian hopped over a few games of dice as he walked around to the end of the bar on the other side of the room. A few Blackhands greeted him joyfully, most already well into their drinking for the night, and as they offered him a round, Dorian laughed and insisted he would get his own.
Smyths saw him approach and poured him a nyghtfire, pushing it to him when he leaned against the bar top. Dorian cheers'd him and sank it back in a single gulp, wincing as it burned his throat.
"I'll take one of those too, Smyths," came Reverie's voice as she slid to the bar beside Dorian, her hand grazing his hip. "You can put it on the Prince's tab," she smiled at the bartender. "If he's putting me in danger tomorrow, the least he can do is take care of my drinks tonight."
Dorian chuckled down at her. "Was there ever a time when I wasn't putting you in danger?" he asked.
Her brows lifted in agreement, and Smyths grinned as he poured the pair another round. "Keep them coming, Prince?" he asked.
Dorian shot back the drink and pushed the glass across the bar. "No more whiskey for me," he said. "I'll take the mead. But give her whatever she wants."
As Reverie leaned forward to tell Smyths exactly what she wanted, Dorian finally got a good look at her. Hair down and feathered over her breasts, bangs brushing her lashes and stray strands sweeping over her highlighted cheeks. The tips of her ears were just visible beneath the straight length. She turned to face him once Smyths had given her her drink, and Dorian had to swallow at the wash of her darkened lavender gaze over him.
"Something on your mind, Prince?" she asked, and he had a feeling she knew how mesmerized he was by her.
"I'm not sure I've ever seen you with your hair fully down," he noted.
"Finally washed it, actually," she admitted, to which he smiled.
"It looks nice," he said, and his voice squeaked. "I mean—not that you didn't look nice before, but this. This is—“
"Stammering, Prince," she mocked.
Heat rose on his cheeks. The crooked grin settled on his lips, and he couldn't help but stare at her another moment.
"Have you packed?" he asked.
"Mostly," she replied, swirling the drink. "And you? Where's Corbin? Do you have him packing your things?"
Dorian's stomach knotted, but he pushed it away. "If I know him, he's probably getting the horses ready and making sure we have everything. He's very thorough."
