Comforting affection flows through the dragonbond.This is nice. The night is beautiful. The stars are so bright they sing.
His shoulders finally unlocking, Marek closes his eyes. “This is nice,” he agrees.
Tomorrow can wait. Tonight, he’ll play the cliff wyrm and hide out under the stars.
***
Marek’s bedroom is empty when he returns at dawn, so he isn’t surprised to hear voices in his parlor the next floor down. Pausing in the doorway, he tries to gather a sense of calm. He had hoped Sei would still be asleep, so Marek could have more time to prepare. But apparently Sei is an early riser.
“Let me know what you like for breakfast, Lord Mallory.” That’s Clem, one of Marek’s aides. They have a fondness for studded leather boots and even more frequent hair changes than most Draskorans. This week, their hair is a mess of gold, green, and orange curls, and gold eyeliner gleams against their warm brown complexion.
Right now, they’re setting the usual spread out on the table.
“Please, I’m not lord of anything,” Sei says, so quietly Marek barely hears him. A cup of tea steams in his hands. Instead of his heavy coat from yesterday, he’s wrapped in a dark brown dressing robe. He looks far too comfortable in Marek’s parlor.
“Lord or no, you must like breakfast,” Clem says.
Sei sips his tea. “What does Prince Marek usually eat in the morning?”
“Sausage, fruit, and cheese, usually. Heavy on the gravy for the sausage.”
“Oh, good, I like those too.” Sei smiles. “Thank you for asking. I really appreciate it.”
Clem smiles back—far more cheerful than Marek has ever seen them this early in the morning. Though Marek tries not to see anyone this early in the morning. “Of course, dear. Just tell me if you have any special requests. Do you like pastries? I’ll bring some up with lunch.” Then Clem notices Marek and grins—the traitor. “Morning, Stormrider!”
Sei turns too quickly, looking down at his tea so he doesn’t spill it.
“Thanks, Clem.” Marek slumps down at the table. He reaches for the teapot—but there’s already a full cup at his usual place. And his plate is already full up with sausage, fruit, and cheese.
Clem doesn’t do that. They always drop off the tray and leave. So that must have been Sei—which Marek finds disturbing. Did he get saddled with a claim or a servant?
The way Sei keeps standing doesn’t help, like he’s going to try waiting on Marek or something. As Clem gathers last night’s dishes, Marek points at Sei. “Sit down and eat.”
Sei sits gingerly across from Marek. If Marek wasn’t paying attention, he might not have noticed the slight stiffness to Sei’s every moment.
“Did you take the hallabark?”
“I did, Your Highness,” Sei answers.
That was still a lot for the man’s first dragon ride. “Take more if you need it.”
For some reason, Clem chokes at the other end of the table.
“Are you all right?” Sei asks.
“Fine! I’m fine!” Clem picks up the tray of empty dishes. They fix Marek with a fiery, disapproving glare before leaving the room.
Only when the door closes behind them does Marek realize what that conversation sounded like. He suppresses a groan. In about five minutes, every rider in the Ostomar garrison is going to hear the rumor that Marek fucked his new claim so hard he needed extra hallabark the next morning.
Fantastic. Marek can take the teasing, but if any of them breathe a word to Sei, they’ll be scrubbing the lavatories for a year.
“How did you sleep, Your Highness?” Sei asks politely.
Digging into his breakfast, Marek pushes down his initial resentful reaction. It’s a normal, polite question. Except it’s too normal. Too polite. They aren’t an ordinary couple chatting over breakfast. They aren’t really a couple at all.
“I slept well,” Marek answers.
“That’s good. Where did…” Sei cuts himself off. “What are your plans for today?”
