“No kidding. But we actually don’t use it much against wraiths. A scalestone blade would hurt a wraith, but they don’t exactly sit still for that.” Marek brings his hand up, then down in a sort of swooping motion. “We can’t waste that much scalestone shooting them out of the sky. So, we use other means.”
“Magic and dragonfire,” Sei repeats.
“Things aren’t as scary when you can light them on fire.” Marek grins again, then moves back to the wardrobe, leaving Sei alone to recover.
How can a man’s smile be so blinding?
Then Marek pulls off his shirt, and Sei can’t help his undignified squeak.
Marek’s exquisitely contoured back muscles tense up. “Sorry. Forgot myself.”
“It’s fine,” Sei says faintly. “Completely fine.”
Drooling like that is not completely fine,Osric comments, his amusement clear.
Sei throws the Legendarium at Osric’s head.
Osric telekinetically catches it, then sets it on the bed.
“I’m used to living with other riders,” Marek explains, instead of putting on a shirt. Every moment’s delay allows Sei to trace another faint scar on Marek’s back. “We all share space when we’re on-duty.”
Which means it’s fine that Sei can’t tear his eyes away, right?
“Of course. Yes,” Sei manages. “We each had our own quarters in the guild.”
“Never would have guessed.”
Sei would be pleased to recognize the friendly sarcasm if he wasn’t still stunned by Marek’s muscles. He knew about Marek’s biceps and shoulders thanks to Marek’s apparent sleeve allergy. But he didn’t know backs could look like this.
Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. He spent an entire day surrounded by Marek’s bulk when they flew to Ostomar. But seeing is entirely different, especially when Marek turns around.
The bed frame creaks as Osric stretches out.Stop. Please. You’re embarrassing me.
Marek’s chest is no less impressive than his back. He isn’t cut and rippling—he’s solid. Pure, functional strength.
A shirt dangles from Marek’s hand. He seems in no hurry to put it on. “Why do they call it the Porcelain Guild anyway?”
Sei rubs his hand through his hair. His coat is too warm now. “The founding guildmasters thought of their purpose as crafting. Shaping grails into masterpieces.”
Marek doesn’t respond, long enough that Sei looks up—to face Marek’s cold disgust.
“Crafting?” Marek spits out. “Like you’re a fucking teacup?”
The warmth shatters into ice.
Sei can’t deny the cruel description. That’s what he is, isn’t he? Sei has been shaped and trained since birth to be the perfect power source. He can’t feel or control the magic sleeping within him, waiting for someone else to sip from.
Sei’s power will make Marek stronger than ever, transcending his already legendary abilities. Sei himself will kneel quietly in Marek’s shadow, supporting him without stealing any of his glory.
Except Marek says it like grailhood is disgusting. Not beautiful.
Marek drags his shirt on. He doesn’t apologize, but his voice is softer when he says, “I’m heading to the city to track down Ludvik. Did you want to come with me?”
Reluctance stings Sei’s heart. He doesn’t want to accompany a man who thinks he’s a teacup. But this is an opportunity to be close to Marek. If Sei just doesn’t mention the guild, maybe he can make progress.
Besides, Sei enjoyed their last outing, except for the grieving countess. And one more thing…
“Can I open the carriage windows this time?”
