“You gonna slip us some secrets then?” Bo asked sarcastically. Ever glanced at him, still once more, but didn’t try to quiet him.
“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” Declan countered, and Bo swore he could hear the man smirking. Goddamn fae, answering questions with questions. “Everil, the next judge is Leana, then Kesk and Veroni. Be wary of the latter. Since you’ve been gone,they’ve been recognized as the Monarchs’ heirs, grown cocky with it. When I say take this time to rest and reflect, I say that as your friend and not solely at Leana’s behest.”
“Kesk and Veroni,” Ever murmured, his voice level and soft. “My thanks for the warning.”
“I wish it were better news,” Declan said. He sounded like he meant it, too. “I’ll see you on the other side, my friend.”
And then: silence.
Chapter nineteen
Everil
Respite. A warm, pleasantspace. As much as Everil might be tempted to worry over the coming trials, it wasn’t the time. Veroni and Kesk would be a problem soon enough. If Everil allowed them to be a distraction now, he risked upsetting Leana. The woman was a brownie, ancient and well respected. Ignoring her hospitality would not endear them to her.
Best to eat. Rest. Just the thought was enough for a table to press up from the ground, with plates of sugar glazed pastries and cups of hot tea. The air warmed with the scent of vanilla and honey, a rather too blatant nod to the direction of Everil’s affections. Never before had peeled orange segments felt so presumptuous.
“You can eat,” he said into the quiet. “That is, it’s safe to do so. I should have asked if you were hungry.”
“I’d make a joke, but it’s Faerie. You’re good, Ever. I’m not about to get bristly about food. Or get stuck here forever if I eat, from what you said?”
“Talia is your ward. Even if someone were to attempt to chain you through hospitality, you’d have very little trouble leaving.” Everil eased his grip, giving Bo enough room to turn and face the table. It felt good to hold him, all the more so because of Bo’s own pleasure in that closeness. “But you’re correct; there’s no entrapment here.”
“Good.” Bo reached out, picking up a segment of orange. “Does the peeled fruit mean you’re thinking about me naked?”
How could he not? The scent of oranges in the air, and Bo’s hip under his hand. He could too clearly remember the roughness of Bo’s fingers. In his hair. On his tongue. The heat of his breath and the way their bodies had moved together.
But he didn’t know, now, what Bo wanted of him. Where the lines existed. Closeness, touch, that was clearly acceptable. There weremanyways to touch.
“You’re very much on my mind,” he confessed. He could feel Bo’s amusement, with no anger behind it. “I’m not usually so demanding.”
“Demanding? What makes this you being demanding?”
And Bo, sweet Bo,temptingBo, selected another orange segment and held it for Everil to take. Rough fingers so close, and they would taste of the fruit Everil took between his teeth. Cautious, not letting his lips brush skin.
Bright on his tongue and down his throat, tasting of desire and flame, ofBo, and Everil swallowed, then swallowed again.
Bo had asked a question. Everil had promised not to prevaricate. He should have known clarity would be uncomfortable.
“The figment I spoke to on the path accused me of cleaving to you out of obligation. But I’m familiar with obligation, and this is its opposite.” Everil’s voice shook as he leaned in closer, breathing Bo in. “I don’t wish to be a distraction or an irritant. But when you’re close, I find it very difficult to check my desires.”
“I think we both qualify as distractions. Not saying I mind. You’re not a fuckingirritant.I mean, yeah, I’ve been irritated and shit. Frustrated. Tired. But not because of you or your,” Bo offered up another orange segment, gem-like and glistening, “desires.”
Breathless, Everil leaned in, took what was offered with careful lips and hungry tongue, still not allowing himself to touch Bo’s skin.
“I–” But the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know how to ask.
Bo’s voice was soft, when he spoke again. “Whatever it said, I never thought last night was from obligation.”
No? Perhaps not. And still, Everil needed him to understand.
“None of this has been obligation.” Everil kept his voice quiet but couldn’t hide the insistence in the words. “My obligation is to break what binds us. That’s my duty as the head of a House, as the guardian of a Gate, and as Nimai’s oath-tied. Even to you. You’re ill-served, being bonded to me. My inadequacies are too myriad to list. But we remain bonded because you’ve not asked to be released. And I am too selfish not to take all of you that you’ll allow me.”
Bo leaned back against Everil, taking an orange slice of his own, and Everil watched his mouth close around it, the juice wetting his lips.
“You aren’t inadequate. Not to me. If you mean to the fae, fuck ’em. They think I am, too. I don’t want to break our bond. Not because of magic or me being swept away by it, either. I want to be withyou, however served you think I am.”
Another segment of glistening orange, lifted toward Everil’s lips, this one held fast in half-curled fingers. There’d be no taking it without tasting Bo’s skin.
