“Fucking shut it. I’m not short, you people are just giants.”
That was true, actually. Milo wasn’t short. He was a good height for a man. But Rowan’s family had always been giants, and in comparison, Milo looked of average height.
Ruben cackled, pleased his teasing had hit its mark. Rowan shot him a warning look. He could tease, yes, but if he pushed Milo too hard, Rowan would come down on him like a hammer, brother or no.
Honestly, some would say given Ruben’s reputation, Rowan should keep a close eye on his brother. Ruben fucked anything that moved. But he knew in the depths of his being, Ruben would never touch someone Rowan dated. His brother would never betray him.
Tease mercilessly, yes. Be an asshole, no.
Gentle fingers carded through his hair and along his scalp, and for a moment, Rowan’s eyes closed in pure, simple pleasure. It felt really nice. Surprisingly so. None of Rowan’s past lovers had ever played with his hair. Could he convince Milo to do this more often?
Ruben’s expression changed from teasing to intrigued. He came around to stand at Rowan’s side, looking on. “You really are braiding his hair. Fishtail braid?”
“Yup.” Milo’s fingers didn’t even pause.
“You know how to do that…how?”
“I was my great-aunt’s caretaker toward the end of her life,” Milo explained simply. “Her hands were badly snarled with arthritis. Even my healing potions just didn’t have any real effect after a while, except to dull the pain. There were a lot of things she couldn’t do—hair was one of them. Ethel taught me how to braid hair and do buns for my great-aunt.”
And wasn’t that so like Milo? To assume the burden of care for someone he loved. To learn skills he might never use again just to aid one person. It spoke well of his heart.
The jokester fell away and Ruben studied him carefully. “Was there no other family to help?”
“No. I’m the only member of my family left.” Though his fingers were braiding steadily, his voice sounded soft and sad. His words made Rowan’s heart ache, but before he could try to comfort him, Milo announced, “All right, Rowan, done. I added a bit of magic to make it windproof, so the braid should hold. Shall we go?”
Rowan turned to see Milo’s usual smile in place as he moved toward the cart’s bench, the perfect picture of composure. But Rowan knew him better than that.
“Milo, I need Ruben’s help over here. One moment.” Without waiting for a response, Rowan caught Ruben by the shoulder, dragging him into one of the empty stalls before hauling him in closer, dropping his voice to a soft, menacing growl. “You make him sad, I rip your throat out.”
“Peace, Brother. I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew.” Ruben’s ginger brow was in a single line, like he was worried now. “He’s really all alone? That’s so sad.”
Yes, it was. It broke Rowan’s heart sometimes. “He’s not alone now. He has me.”
“You’re really latching on to him, eh? Sex must be fantastic. Then again, after a dry spell of three years…”
For that, Rowan smacked him upside the head. Ruben chortled, pleased to get a reaction, and skipped to his own cart, calling out a “Nice braid!” as he went.
Rowan reminded himself, again, that he loved his brother. He’d regret strangling him.
Maybe.
They got on the muddy road, Rowan riding alongside Milo once more. This open, windswept grassland wouldn’t be the dangerous part of the trip. Bandits wouldn’t start popping out until they reached the forest surrounded Gravegarde. Rowan’s main job was keeping the fortress secure and defended, but he did make sweeps through the duchy every six months or so to keep the bandits down. It helped. He just wished they could think of a better solution.
An hour into the trip, the wind became so strong, they couldn’t easily talk to each other. The wind would snatch their words and leave them more lip reading than anything else. Rowan’s ears started to ring, so he stole a bit of cotton from the packing around Milo’s potion bottles and stuffed both ears with it. He helped Milo do the same.
Ruben could suffer.
They kept going, the road becoming a bit steeper as they approached Duskwall, named as such for the rocky outcropping just inside the foothills. By noon, they’d started to gain significant elevation, and Rowan could just see the roofs of the watchtowers peeking out over the tops of the trees. The cliffs looked closer than they actually were, he knew that, but still his heart longed to be home. Mostly because he missed his bed. When they finally did hit the tree line later that afternoon, they unanimously decided to stop for a belated lunch break. With the trees as a windbreak, it was feasible to stop and eat now.
He’d had food packed for lunch at the inn: cold cut beef sandwiches, potato crisps, and sliced-up fruit. Plus a large clay jar of sun tea. He’d made sure enough was packed for Milo’s bottomless pit, too. Hopefully he had, anyway.
Ruben pulled up a log near them and unpacked his own lunch, which was more of the same fare. He didn’t say much at first, intent on stuffing his face, and Rowan accepted the silence with gratitude.
Something shifted on his brother’s face, more thoughtful than scheming. “Hey, Milo? Rowan fill you in on what needs to be done at the duchy?”
Milo had his mouth full but nodded.
“The basics,” Rowan clarified.
