“And will you hand me that book, please? Sawyer has finally gotten comfortable and I’d hate to make him move.”
Sawyer thought he was going to die from embarrassment. He was sitting in Eduard’s lap, stark naked, while the man talked about him like it was an everyday occurrence. Cecil handed Eduard the book, then walked quietly from the room.
“I do hope you’ll outgrow this embarrassment soon. Trust me when I say Cecil has seen much worse. You should have seen me during my early years. My hormones were all over the place. I think I even fucked a chair at one point. Oh, those were the days.”
“Shut up and read to me,” Sawyer complained. He pulled the pillow from over his crotch and tucked it behind his head before closing his eyes and letting out a slow, relaxed breath.
Eduard opened the book before glancing down to Sawyer. “Would you like to hear the prophesy of the chosen one?”
Sawyer peeled open one eye and looked up at Eduard. “Yeah. I would.”
Eduard smiled down at him and opened the small, leather bound volume. The pages were old and slightly yellowed, but it was obvious that it had been taken care of for a long time. Eduard’s voice was so soothing, his elegant tone adding to the heft of the words that had brought them all together.
When the children cease their cries
And true love’s light goes dark
When the sisters interests divide
and the hidden ones emerge.
Nothing will stand in their way.
The guardians will rise
Two by fire, earth, air, water
The chosen one brings strength and balance
For peace and love to survive.
Sawyer frowned up at him. “That’s it? It doesn’t even rhyme.”
Eduard pinched his stomach, then rubbed the sting away. “It sounds better in ancient Greek.”
“Read it to me that way then.”
Eduard sighed but complied. The old language was definitely prettier, even if Sawyer didn’t understand a word of it.
“In English again.”
Eduard laughed, but repeated the verse again. “Anything else, your highness?”
“Stop laughing at me. And it’s weird. How did you guys make sense of it at all?”
“I think the first ones called must have understood more of the nuances of the language. You know this from your undergraduate history studies.”
“Yeah, I know. Back in the day, Shakespeare was slapstick funny and now we struggle to understand the words.”
“Exactly. So we follow the traditions they first laid out and wait.”
“Have you ever wondered why now?”
“Every day since the mark appeared.”
“Where is your mark anyway? I don’t remember seeing it.”
“On my arm.” He sat the book on Sawyer’s stomach, then unbuttoned his cuff before rolling up his sleeve. The mark was on his inner arm, just below his elbow. It looked like a tattoo, dark ink against the golden tan of Eduard’s arm.
