Page 58 of The Scent of the Ideal

He demonstrated that with a pleased rumble and a curling of his tongue.

“We might be late,” Viau warned fondly. “We might get looks.”

The miné who had worn Rafi’s bites at his throat before the entire court didn’t care much about those looks, but Rafi still flinched from them.

The king had a cool, hard-to-read expression, more impassive than any swersoldi. But the first time Viau had let those mouth-shaped bruises on his neck show, the king had turned to look over the back of the room until he’d unerringly found Rafi even though they had never been introduced.

Rafi was perhaps not meant to mark the favorite.

Viau had drawn Rafi’s mouth back to his throat a week later, so Rafi left the matter to be a dispute between the cousins and, for his part, worked to keep away from the king’s notice. Bellai insisted that could not stand, not if Rafi wanted his name to become known, and had taken it upon himself to do something about it.

Viau slid a hand to the back of Rafi’s head and gripped a handful of his hair, stopping Rafi before he could inch forward to get Viau’s cock in his mouth.

“Purring cat.” The fond warning was back.

Rafi stopped teasing Viau’s fingers to glare at him. “Pareli is the cat.” A side character in one of Bellai’s newer plays. A swersoldi who stalked about the stage, studied everyone, and spoke rarely. He was also in love with the hero, or so everyone in the audience believed, somehow gathering that from his gait or the cautious way he spoke. Rafi only understood it because the hero was not Viau, but he might have been.

In the play, that character who was not Viau was a king, of course. Well, a prince but soon to be the king. With his faithful swersoldi, Pareli the Cat, there to support him.

“I am not a cat,” Rafi went on, as though he were not being petted as he sat at his master’s feet. “I’m your storm cloud. Your tumbling rosikai vine. Your Rafi. But no cat.”

Viau made a sound, neither a rumble nor a growl, then released a long, slow breath.

“And I’ve no choice but to let you have your way.” A complaint uttered with a smile and a push at the back of Rafi’s skull to tell Rafi he could have what he wanted.

“You won’t stop petting?” Rafi had only that question. Viau drew him in, and stroked a slow, shivery touch down his cheek all the way to his neck, until Rafi dropped his jaw and surrendered himself to be used.

Sometime later, dressed, bathed, Viau freshly shaven, Viau pressed a kiss to the back of Rafi’s neck before tying a ribbon into his hair for him. Rafi fussed unnecessarily with his coat. The coat was meant for traveling and thus was sturdy and well made, but not as well made as the one he wore to court, which was still nowhere near as fine as anything Viau wore.

Viau said that was a matter of time. That Rafi would learn his own tastes now that he earned his own money, and anyway, noble families liked their swersoldi to dress well, especially the pretty ones, and would have clothes made for him soon enough. All the same, Rafi was grateful the coat wasn’t too out of the ordinary for the academy, and that his curls were as arranged as they could ever be.

“I can feel your nerves,” Viau murmured above his ear before coming around to look Rafi over in a professional manner.

Rafi stood still for the inspection, though he was being chided. He had been nervous before, but it wasn’t as if nerves were the only reason he wanted to have Viau’s hands on him.

“I’m acceptable?” he asked, disliking the flutter all through him, although it did earn him a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“More than acceptable.” Another kiss. “My aertotius.” Viau always whispered that word, as if it frightened him. If he was like Rafi—and he was—it was out of fear that was he mistaken. That Rafi still might someday throw him away, that he might do the same to Rafi.

Rafi grabbed Viau’s fine coat to keep him close for another moment, comforted by how aer was given to calm him, and how it felt to have that trust and warmth near his own. Then he sucked in a breath, straightened his shoulders, and pulled back.

“All right.” He made his voice firm as if Viau would ever be fooled, then led the way from the room. Viau’s hand found his, making his cheeks burn, but Rafi didn’t shake the touch away.

His heart was thumping. The sting in his face almost a distraction as he walked through the academy grounds, still familiar from all his visits though he had left for his placement half a year before. A few nodded to them, to Viau, mostly, but some had a friendly greeting for Rafi.

“Not a cat,” he insisted again after Viau had paused to exchange a few words with one of the gardeners.

“As though now third-and-fourth years don’t still tremble at your name.”

Viau had a distinct curl at the edge of his mouth when Rafi glanced up. Rafi stopped him to tug him down to kiss it, freezing when someone whistled, although he was slow to pull away.

“Giving me a reputation.”

“Giving yourself that reputation,” Viau returned, pleased because Rafi had kissed him. He liked kisses in public. Rafi assumed it was because he did nearly everything in public but the kisses were only for him. Rafi didn’t want to kiss anyone else. He didn’t think he ever would.

That said, Viau’s teasing was likely also meant as a distraction. Rafi welcomed it, focusing his attention on Viau as much as he could until they entered the Arms Room.

Except for the older ones, the students there still paused whenever they realized Viau di Ruzé was among them. Some of the younger ones did also glance to Rafi with wide eyes, though not as Viau claimed they did.