The Laws of Ilyria - 10/17
Title: The Laws of Ilyria
Author: radiogaga33
Pairing: Adam/Tommy, Adam/Kris (friendship)
Setting: Fantasy AU
Rating: PG-13 (NC-17 overall)
Word Count: ~3900
Beta: sweet_poeia
Disclaimers: No claims to any copyrights, trademarks, or any other intellectual property. I do not own these characters. They belong to themselves. This is purely a work of fiction. It never happened.
Author’s Notes: And so on, and so forth.
Warnings: Pseudo-slavefic.
Summary: Adam is a conquering king hell-bent on revenge against the ruler who destroyed his life as a child. He ends up taking the ruler’s son, Tommy, as tribute after winning the war between the kingdoms. Events unfold.
The Laws of Ilyria
Chapter 10
As the days passed in rapid succession, Tommy found it increasingly easier to exist in Lord Lambert’s presence. The king still came each morning before the hunting party departed, tarrying longer with each passing day, coming up with random things to talk about, acting as if he were loath to leave Tommy. Unlike before, Tommy actively participated now in their amicable, if occasionally stilted, conversations. He would nod and murmur encouraging little words each time Lord Lambert’s voice trailed off and an awkward silence fell upon them. After a while, Tommy began to conjure up his own meaningless nothings to talk about, a plethora of silly things designed to keep Lord Lambert with him a little longer. Because Tommy found that he didn’t want the king to go. A little longer. Just a little longer, he would think to himself as they held on to the moments between them longer than they should.
As a week went by, Tommy noted and catalogued a dozen different things about the king. Like his nervous habit of worrying the signet ring on his finger. Or the way his lips curled just a little into the palest ghost of a smile when Tommy said something amusing-so hesitant, as if he didn’t completely believe that he could let go. Or the way his black hair framed his face at twilight, giving him the appearance of an untamed ethereal creature. Or the way he was with his soldiers, strong, forceful when necessary, but never once cruel. And, of course, there was the way his gaze tracked Tommy’s every movement, however infinitesimal, blue eyes hopeful but hesitant, eager yet restrained. Taken individually, they were insignificant things, but taken together, they helped paint a portrait of a man worth knowing, a man Tommy had stopped resenting, a man Tommy liked and respected.
But as more days hurried past, Tommy began to grow restless. It took him some time to identify what was troubling him, but when he did, the thought became all-consuming. I want more. Tommy wanted more than a few hurried minutes of conversation in the morning and intermittent glances later at twilight. He wanted to go to the king, to talk freely with him for as long as Tommy wanted. Should he go to the king’s tent? Tommy considered the option. No. Even now, a full month later, the memory of that night was never far from his mind. If he went to the king’s tent, if Lord Lambert touched him, Tommy knew he would spread his legs willingly and take everything he was given and beg for more. Because he wanted. Despite the sound of his father’s admonitions ringing constantly in his ears, he wanted. But he wasn’t ready to face that part of himself again. He wasn’t ready to experience it again, the aftermath of giving in to weakness. Perhaps he would never be ready. No, he couldn’t go to the king’s tent…but maybe there was another way.
A few days later, as the caravan drew close to the outskirts of Batuur, Tommy found his opportunity. That evening, Captain Thayer came back and announced that his fracture was fully healed. As a result, the hunting party suddenly numbered one man too many. Tommy didn’t want to permanently return to the slave camp, far behind in the formation where he wouldn’t have the opportunity he did now to be near the king. He wanted to stay. But only one man could grant that wish.
Tommy stared off towards where Lord Lambert sat at a table outside his tent, hand curled around a goblet of wine. Syriana claret. Yet another detail Tommy had filed away. This was his chance. Under the guise of asking for permission to stay with the hunting party, Tommy could get time alone with the king like he’d wanted for days. As he walked towards the king, Tommy found himself reflecting on the last few days and how far he had come from that morning when the king had commanded him to come to his tent after the hunt. There was no fear anymore. For the first time since he left Troianus to go to Elysia as tribute, Tommy felt completely like himself again, quick to smile, cheerful, playful. He liked the feeling, and he liked the man who gave that to him even more.
Lord Lambert looked up in surprise when Tommy came to a stop at his table.
“May I speak with you, my lord?”
“Of course. Please, sit.”
“At your table, my lord?”
“Yes.”
It was Tommy’s turn to be surprised. What was the king saying? It was unheard of for a king to share his table with a slave.
“I can’t sit at your table. It isn’t done.”
“I don’t care. I won’t have you worry your leg any more than you have to.”
“My lord, my leg is practically good as new.”
“All the same, please, humor me. Sit down,” the king said. Then a second later, he added, “With me.”
There was something in the way he said it that caught Tommy’s attention, something that implied intimacy. Tommy sat down on the opposite side of the table.
“I trust the hunt went well.”
“Yes it did,” Tommy replied. “I may not have caught the best prey today, but I acquitted myself well enough, I daresay.”
Lord Lambert’s lips curled a little. “In that case, I offer my thanks to you for helping to feed my caravan.”
“It is nothing, my lord.” Tommy leaned forward a little. “I live to serve the king.” There it was again, the playful streak he’d rediscovered. Tommy bent his head a little and stared up at the king from beneath long, delicate eyelashes, lips curved in a sly little smile. The king would have to be dense to miss the double meaning behind Tommy’s words.
“Do you now?” Lord Lambert replied, leaning forward a fraction of an inch, eyes glinting in the moonlight, playing along with Tommy when before, he would never have taken the bait.
“Yes, my lord. I live to serve the king in all things.”
Tommy felt everything slow to a crawl as the king’s bright blue eyes pinned him with an intense stare. The sounds of the camp faded into a dull murmur and his whole world narrowed down to this moment, seated at this table, across from this man. The air around them seemed alive, filled with an indescribable electricity. Tension arced wildly between them, heavy, palpable, so sharp that Tommy forgot to breathe for several moments. But when he finally, did, alarm kicked in. His pulse began to race as the boldness of what he was doing struck him. What did he think he was doing, playing lovers’ games with Lord Lambert? It was unbelievably foolish this, making an offer he couldn’t deliver on.
He had to end it. Tommy moved back, breaking the heated look and the tension with a laugh, hoping with all his might that Lord Lambert would play along once again. The king frowned in confusion at first to hear Tommy laugh, but a moment later, to Tommy’s relief, he joined in, seemingly content to grab on as well to the escape latch that the laughter presented. After the initial surge of relief had passed, Tommy watched the man seated across from him in amazement. Even if there was some falseness in it, the laughter had completely transformed his face. It brightened his eyes even further, and smoothed the omnipresent tension in his face. As he laughed, he looked almost as young as Tommy, and so breathtakingly beautiful that Tommy felt his heart skip a beat, then another.
I want him. Tommy wanted to touch him. He wanted to trace the curve of Lord Lambert’s lips, to memorize that smile with his hands, that smile that Tommy already thought of as meant for him alone. The impulse was sharp, so visceral that Tommy had to curl his hands into clenched fists to keep from reaching out and touching the king. He scrambled for something to say to keep the want at bay.
“We are almost at Batuur,” Tommy said, settling on the most innocuous topic he could think of.
“Yes. Only a few days more.”
“How long shall we make camp there? Will we stay longer than we did at Xien?”
“No,” Lord Lambert replied. “The Batuuri court has given me no trouble since the Elysian protectorate began. Lord Pittman is a practical king. He would not sacrifice lives unnecessarily by launching a doomed rebellion.”
“Seems he has learned his lesson well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember, my lord? Ten years ago, King Monte rebelled against the Troainus protectorate. I remember when my father left for that campaign. I was too young to go, of course, but my brothers went. Batuur lost thirty thousand men in that rebellion, and then three thousand more after the king had surrendered. My father was not merciful in his victory.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised,” the king mumbled quietly.
“My lord?”
“Is this all you came to say, or is there something you wanted?” Tommy frowned at the abrupt change in the king’s tone and demeanor. All of a sudden, his face had become cold and closed-off.
“I do have something to ask you,” Tommy replied, feeling considerably less confident than he had before the king’s sudden about-face.
“Yes?”
“Captain Thayer has returned to the hunting party. His fracture is completely healed now, and they won’t need me anymore. But…I’d like to stay, and I was wondering if you would let me.”
“The hunting party is always fifty men,” Lord Lambert began.
“I know. I know that tradition dictates that there shall ten formations of five, but I was hoping that you could bend the rules just this once and allow one formation of six.”
“It’s never been done.”
“But it could be,” Tommy countered softly. “If you said so, it could be. You could overrule tradition, just this once.” When it looked like the king might hesitate once more, Tommy reacted, more with blind instinct than with forethought. His arm reached out, hand coming to rest over Lord Lambert’s on the wooden surface of the table. Tommy stared at the king. “You could bend the rules, couldn’t you? For my sake?”
“For you,” Lord Lambert whispered.
“Yes. Do it for me.”
Once again, the world narrowed down to just the two of them, eyes locked in an intense gaze while the air around them grew hot enough to singe the skin. The heat filled Tommy’s body, blurred his thoughts, pushed at him until he moved, letting his thumb slide over Lord Lambert’s skin in a light caress.
Immediately, everything shifted. Lord Lambert jerked his hand back as if Tommy had cut him rather than stroked his skin. He rose abruptly to his feet, leaning over the table, broad shoulders heaving with the effort to contain some wild emotion. Tommy rose to his feet as well. Damn it. He had made a mess of things.
“My lord?”
“You cannot-you cannot do that,” the king cried softly. “You can’t touch me like that. Twice now, you’ve touched me. It isn’t fair. I know it means nothing to you, but to me, it means everything. You can’t do that.”
Tommy was stunned. Once again, he’d stumbled on another surprise. “My lord, please-”
“Let it go, Prince Thomas.”
“But my lord-”
“Just let it be!”
Tommy shut his mouth. For a long moment, they simply stood there, staring at each other in silence. Finally, Tommy spoke again.
“Perhaps I should go,” he said, hoping that the king would ask him to stay. When Lord Lambert said nothing, Tommy sighed and began to turn away.
“Wait!”
Tommy’s heart leapt in his chest. “Yes, my lord?”
“Tell Captain Thayer that from now on, for as long as you wish to remain, the hunting party shall have one formation of six.”
Tommy broke into a surprised smile. “Do you mean it, my lord?”
A sad smile greeted Tommy’s words. “Yes, I mean it.” And then quieter, something meant more for his own ears than for Tommy’s. “I’m beginning to think I would move heaven and earth, if you willed it so.”
It was quiet, barely audible, but Tommy heard it. And he could barely believe what he’d heard.
“What did you say?” Tommy asked, tone incredulous.
“Nothing. I said nothing.” The king stepped backwards and turned his back to Tommy. “I wish to be left alone.”
“Of course, my lord. Goodnight.”
The king didn’t answer, but then again, Tommy didn’t expect him to. Tommy walked back toward Captain Thayer in a daze, conversing briefly with the man before heading to the slave camp from the night. He chewed his evening meal absent-mindedly, his thoughts all focused on what had just happened between him and the king. Why had everything shifted so suddenly? Tommy didn’t know what to think, or what to make of the things Lord Lambert had said. He went around in circles for hours before exhaustion won out. But even then, his mind was still fixated on the king, burning with vivid dreams of long black hair and brilliant blue eyes and smooth freckled skin.
The next day, Tommy went about his morning as usual, bathing and eating in the slave camp before making his way up the caravan formation to the hunting party. He chatted with the soldiers nearest him as he bridled his horse and filled his quiver with arrows. He examined his bowstring, shifted his horse’s saddle, tightened the stirrup, patted the horse’s flank, strapped on the quiver-did everything there was to do except get on his horse and ride away, but…Lord Lambert was nowhere to be seen. Tommy frowned in confusion. Where was he? Usually, the king would be there by now, and Tommy would be standing off to the side with him, talking about meaningless things, things that were little more than excuses to stand entirely too close, to prolong the all too brief time they would have together.
So, where was he? It was time to go, and Lord Lambert had yet to appear. After a few more minutes, impatience and confusion gave way to worry. What if something had happened to the king? Tommy walked over to the captain. He had to know.
“Captain Thayer, is the king alright?”
“Of course he is.”
“Have you seen him today?” Tommy asked.
“I saw him earlier. A few minutes after the morning bell, I believe. He was fine. Wait, have you heard something?”
“No!” Tommy replied quickly. “I was…I was just wondering why he hasn’t come.”
“It’s nothing to worry about.” The captain looked off into the distance. “His tent is still up. Perhaps the king has a pressing matter to attend to this morning. I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Maybe we should wait. Maybe he’s coming?”
The captain shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky. “The sun is too high in the sky. We’re already squandering daylight.”
“Of course,” Tommy agreed reluctantly. “You’re right. We should go.” A few minutes later, the hunting party rode away.
In the evening, Tommy climbed off his horse and ran his hand across his brow. Immediately, he looked off into the distance, in the direction of the king’s tent, scanning the milling bodies, eyes searching out Lord Lambert. There. Tommy saw him talking with a soldier a few yards away from his tent. He looked perfectly fine and relaxed. So why had he stayed away this morning? As if the king could feel Tommy’s gaze, he lifted his head suddenly and looked in Tommy’s direction.
Tommy felt everything fade away into the background as those brilliant eyes locked with his. He trembled a little as the king’s gaze raked over him, staring Tommy down from head to toe, making his heart beat faster in his chest. Tommy smiled at Lord Lambert and moved forward a few steps, only to stop dead in his tracks when the king’s gaze shifted away abruptly. Tommy stared, mouth agape, mind ablaze with incredulity. Lord Lambert had just given him the cut direct. What in the Oracle’s name was going on?
Tommy wondered the same thing the next morning as the hunting party rode off into the woods. Once again, Lord Lambert had stayed away. Only this time, the king had come out of his tent, walking about, talking to soldiers, doing everything except coming to see-off the hunting party or sparing Tommy so much as one glance. It stung. As he galloped away, Tommy was surprised by how acutely he felt the loss.
What had he done that was so terrible that Lord Lambert wouldn’t even look at him? Tommy spent the rest of the morning thinking about that conversation at the king’s table and how Lord Lambert had jerked away from his caress. “You cannot-you cannot do that. You can’t touch me like that. He had meant no harm. And if he’d caused the king any pain, it was quite unconsciously done. Surely Lord Lambert knew that. So why was he suddenly acting as if Tommy were a stranger?
“Twice now, you’ve touched me. It isn’t fair. I know it means nothing to you, but to me, it means everything. You can’t do that.”
What did the king mean by that? Surely he understood what it meant for Tommy to reach out and touch him after everything that had happened between them? How could he think that it meant nothing to Tommy? Was he blind? Couldn’t he see the want pulling at Tommy? Couldn’t he see how hard Tommy struggled to keep the desire in check? ”It isn’t fair.” If there was any unfairness here, it was in the way Lord Lambert had cut him off, like he was nothing, like Tommy’s feelings didn’t matter.
Maybe he thinks that I don’t care. The thought broke through his frustration and burgeoning anger sometime after the midday meal. It made Tommy pause for a long moment as he turned the king’s words over again in his mind. ”I know it means nothing to you, but to me, it means everything.” “I’m beginning to think I would move heaven and earth, if you willed it so.” Lord Lambert genuinely cared for him. Tommy was more certain of that now than he’d ever been before. And two nights ago, there had been desire in his eyes when he’d leaned across the table, playing along with the lovers’ game Tommy had initiated. But he thinks that I don’t feel the same way.
Did he feel the same way? Tommy examined himself carefully as the hunting party began the journey back to the caravan. He thought of how happy he was during those precious few minutes he shared with Lord Lambert every morning before the hunting party rode off into the woods. He thought of how intoxicating it felt to be near him, to watch him smile, to listen to the sound of his voice, silken, gentle, a whisper of a caress along Tommy’s skin. He thought of how much he’d come to like and respect the king. Yes, he felt the same way. But it wasn’t an easy thing.
Tommy felt like he was being pulled apart, like the two halves of his soul were speaking in different tongues. He wasn’t ready to face these feelings, or to accept what they meant. But he wasn’t ready to let go of Lord Lambert either. Tommy wanted to be near him again, to talk with him again, to share a laugh with him again. Tommy squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t let go. Tonight he would go to Lord Lambert’s tent. Tommy would tell the king that he did care, that each time Tommy had touched him, it had meant something-it had meant everything.
And what if he wants more? What if your words alone aren’t enough? What if he touches you? the part of him that was content to run off and hide called out. Tommy held fast to his resolve. He would worry about that if the time came. When they reached the night camp, Tommy dismounted his horse, dropped his bow and arrow, and walked off in the direction of the king’s tent. He murmured encouraging words to himself as he moed, rallying for the intimidating task ahead. He was going to the king’s tent, and truth be told, it was all Tommy could do not to turn tail and run.
Barely three minutes later, he stood in front of the king’s tent, heart hammering wildly in his chest. He took a deep, steadying breath. Then he lifted the flap, stepped in through the entrance, and immediately stopped dead in his tracks.
For a few seconds, he did nothing but stand still, trying to make sense of the sight before him. He saw Lord Lambert seated at his table, dressed in nothing but his undergarments. He saw Vice-lord Allen standing between the king’s spread thighs with his arms clasped tight around the king’s shoulders. He saw their foreheads pressed together and their lips the barest fraction of an inch away from each other, as if they’d just broken apart from a kiss. Each image came in a blinding flash, shaking Tommy to the core and making him dizzy where he stood. He watched the king’s hands reach up to grip Vice-lord Allen tightly around the waist a moment before the other man lifted a hand to run a lingering caress along the king’s jaw. Just like that, everything came together, and he finally understood what he was seeing.
Lovers. Tommy had come here, ready to confess everything to Lord Lambert, ready to lay his soul bare in a bid to allay the king’s worries, only to find the man with his lover. Tommy felt like a fool. Instantly, anger flared hot and sharp in his chest. But there was something else there too. Something dark and uncontrolled. Jealousy.
“You…you…and….” The incoherent words tore out of Tommy’s throat, quiet, yes, but enough to make the two other men in the tent realize that they were no longer alone.
When Vice-Lord Allen pulled away, Tommy saw the king’s eyes widen with shock to see him standing there.
“Prince Thomas, this isn’t what you think.”
“Don’t presume to know what I think!” Tommy spat out sharply, too far gone with anger and jealousy to consider the fact that he was shouting at the Supreme Protector of Ilyria. “Please,” he continued, his voice cold and hard, “Carry on. Don’t stop on my account.”
With those words, he turned sharply and lifted the flap to exit the tent.
“Prince Thomas, wait!”
“No, Adam, stay here. I’ll go after him.”
Tommy ignored the voices behind him and raced out of the king’s tent. He hurried across the camp, walking past where the hunting party gathered, wandering outward until he’d reached the outskirts of the woods. Then, and only then, did he lean his head against a tree trunk and let out the angry cry that had been building in his chest since the moment he saw the king and Vice-lord Allen together.
Author: radiogaga33
Pairing: Adam/Tommy, Adam/Kris (friendship)
Setting: Fantasy AU
Rating: PG-13 (NC-17 overall)
Word Count: ~3900
Beta: sweet_poeia
Disclaimers: No claims to any copyrights, trademarks, or any other intellectual property. I do not own these characters. They belong to themselves. This is purely a work of fiction. It never happened.
Author’s Notes: And so on, and so forth.
Warnings: Pseudo-slavefic.
Summary: Adam is a conquering king hell-bent on revenge against the ruler who destroyed his life as a child. He ends up taking the ruler’s son, Tommy, as tribute after winning the war between the kingdoms. Events unfold.
The Laws of Ilyria
Chapter 10
As the days passed in rapid succession, Tommy found it increasingly easier to exist in Lord Lambert’s presence. The king still came each morning before the hunting party departed, tarrying longer with each passing day, coming up with random things to talk about, acting as if he were loath to leave Tommy. Unlike before, Tommy actively participated now in their amicable, if occasionally stilted, conversations. He would nod and murmur encouraging little words each time Lord Lambert’s voice trailed off and an awkward silence fell upon them. After a while, Tommy began to conjure up his own meaningless nothings to talk about, a plethora of silly things designed to keep Lord Lambert with him a little longer. Because Tommy found that he didn’t want the king to go. A little longer. Just a little longer, he would think to himself as they held on to the moments between them longer than they should.
As a week went by, Tommy noted and catalogued a dozen different things about the king. Like his nervous habit of worrying the signet ring on his finger. Or the way his lips curled just a little into the palest ghost of a smile when Tommy said something amusing-so hesitant, as if he didn’t completely believe that he could let go. Or the way his black hair framed his face at twilight, giving him the appearance of an untamed ethereal creature. Or the way he was with his soldiers, strong, forceful when necessary, but never once cruel. And, of course, there was the way his gaze tracked Tommy’s every movement, however infinitesimal, blue eyes hopeful but hesitant, eager yet restrained. Taken individually, they were insignificant things, but taken together, they helped paint a portrait of a man worth knowing, a man Tommy had stopped resenting, a man Tommy liked and respected.
But as more days hurried past, Tommy began to grow restless. It took him some time to identify what was troubling him, but when he did, the thought became all-consuming. I want more. Tommy wanted more than a few hurried minutes of conversation in the morning and intermittent glances later at twilight. He wanted to go to the king, to talk freely with him for as long as Tommy wanted. Should he go to the king’s tent? Tommy considered the option. No. Even now, a full month later, the memory of that night was never far from his mind. If he went to the king’s tent, if Lord Lambert touched him, Tommy knew he would spread his legs willingly and take everything he was given and beg for more. Because he wanted. Despite the sound of his father’s admonitions ringing constantly in his ears, he wanted. But he wasn’t ready to face that part of himself again. He wasn’t ready to experience it again, the aftermath of giving in to weakness. Perhaps he would never be ready. No, he couldn’t go to the king’s tent…but maybe there was another way.
A few days later, as the caravan drew close to the outskirts of Batuur, Tommy found his opportunity. That evening, Captain Thayer came back and announced that his fracture was fully healed. As a result, the hunting party suddenly numbered one man too many. Tommy didn’t want to permanently return to the slave camp, far behind in the formation where he wouldn’t have the opportunity he did now to be near the king. He wanted to stay. But only one man could grant that wish.
Tommy stared off towards where Lord Lambert sat at a table outside his tent, hand curled around a goblet of wine. Syriana claret. Yet another detail Tommy had filed away. This was his chance. Under the guise of asking for permission to stay with the hunting party, Tommy could get time alone with the king like he’d wanted for days. As he walked towards the king, Tommy found himself reflecting on the last few days and how far he had come from that morning when the king had commanded him to come to his tent after the hunt. There was no fear anymore. For the first time since he left Troianus to go to Elysia as tribute, Tommy felt completely like himself again, quick to smile, cheerful, playful. He liked the feeling, and he liked the man who gave that to him even more.
Lord Lambert looked up in surprise when Tommy came to a stop at his table.
“May I speak with you, my lord?”
“Of course. Please, sit.”
“At your table, my lord?”
“Yes.”
It was Tommy’s turn to be surprised. What was the king saying? It was unheard of for a king to share his table with a slave.
“I can’t sit at your table. It isn’t done.”
“I don’t care. I won’t have you worry your leg any more than you have to.”
“My lord, my leg is practically good as new.”
“All the same, please, humor me. Sit down,” the king said. Then a second later, he added, “With me.”
There was something in the way he said it that caught Tommy’s attention, something that implied intimacy. Tommy sat down on the opposite side of the table.
“I trust the hunt went well.”
“Yes it did,” Tommy replied. “I may not have caught the best prey today, but I acquitted myself well enough, I daresay.”
Lord Lambert’s lips curled a little. “In that case, I offer my thanks to you for helping to feed my caravan.”
“It is nothing, my lord.” Tommy leaned forward a little. “I live to serve the king.” There it was again, the playful streak he’d rediscovered. Tommy bent his head a little and stared up at the king from beneath long, delicate eyelashes, lips curved in a sly little smile. The king would have to be dense to miss the double meaning behind Tommy’s words.
“Do you now?” Lord Lambert replied, leaning forward a fraction of an inch, eyes glinting in the moonlight, playing along with Tommy when before, he would never have taken the bait.
“Yes, my lord. I live to serve the king in all things.”
Tommy felt everything slow to a crawl as the king’s bright blue eyes pinned him with an intense stare. The sounds of the camp faded into a dull murmur and his whole world narrowed down to this moment, seated at this table, across from this man. The air around them seemed alive, filled with an indescribable electricity. Tension arced wildly between them, heavy, palpable, so sharp that Tommy forgot to breathe for several moments. But when he finally, did, alarm kicked in. His pulse began to race as the boldness of what he was doing struck him. What did he think he was doing, playing lovers’ games with Lord Lambert? It was unbelievably foolish this, making an offer he couldn’t deliver on.
He had to end it. Tommy moved back, breaking the heated look and the tension with a laugh, hoping with all his might that Lord Lambert would play along once again. The king frowned in confusion at first to hear Tommy laugh, but a moment later, to Tommy’s relief, he joined in, seemingly content to grab on as well to the escape latch that the laughter presented. After the initial surge of relief had passed, Tommy watched the man seated across from him in amazement. Even if there was some falseness in it, the laughter had completely transformed his face. It brightened his eyes even further, and smoothed the omnipresent tension in his face. As he laughed, he looked almost as young as Tommy, and so breathtakingly beautiful that Tommy felt his heart skip a beat, then another.
I want him. Tommy wanted to touch him. He wanted to trace the curve of Lord Lambert’s lips, to memorize that smile with his hands, that smile that Tommy already thought of as meant for him alone. The impulse was sharp, so visceral that Tommy had to curl his hands into clenched fists to keep from reaching out and touching the king. He scrambled for something to say to keep the want at bay.
“We are almost at Batuur,” Tommy said, settling on the most innocuous topic he could think of.
“Yes. Only a few days more.”
“How long shall we make camp there? Will we stay longer than we did at Xien?”
“No,” Lord Lambert replied. “The Batuuri court has given me no trouble since the Elysian protectorate began. Lord Pittman is a practical king. He would not sacrifice lives unnecessarily by launching a doomed rebellion.”
“Seems he has learned his lesson well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember, my lord? Ten years ago, King Monte rebelled against the Troainus protectorate. I remember when my father left for that campaign. I was too young to go, of course, but my brothers went. Batuur lost thirty thousand men in that rebellion, and then three thousand more after the king had surrendered. My father was not merciful in his victory.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised,” the king mumbled quietly.
“My lord?”
“Is this all you came to say, or is there something you wanted?” Tommy frowned at the abrupt change in the king’s tone and demeanor. All of a sudden, his face had become cold and closed-off.
“I do have something to ask you,” Tommy replied, feeling considerably less confident than he had before the king’s sudden about-face.
“Yes?”
“Captain Thayer has returned to the hunting party. His fracture is completely healed now, and they won’t need me anymore. But…I’d like to stay, and I was wondering if you would let me.”
“The hunting party is always fifty men,” Lord Lambert began.
“I know. I know that tradition dictates that there shall ten formations of five, but I was hoping that you could bend the rules just this once and allow one formation of six.”
“It’s never been done.”
“But it could be,” Tommy countered softly. “If you said so, it could be. You could overrule tradition, just this once.” When it looked like the king might hesitate once more, Tommy reacted, more with blind instinct than with forethought. His arm reached out, hand coming to rest over Lord Lambert’s on the wooden surface of the table. Tommy stared at the king. “You could bend the rules, couldn’t you? For my sake?”
“For you,” Lord Lambert whispered.
“Yes. Do it for me.”
Once again, the world narrowed down to just the two of them, eyes locked in an intense gaze while the air around them grew hot enough to singe the skin. The heat filled Tommy’s body, blurred his thoughts, pushed at him until he moved, letting his thumb slide over Lord Lambert’s skin in a light caress.
Immediately, everything shifted. Lord Lambert jerked his hand back as if Tommy had cut him rather than stroked his skin. He rose abruptly to his feet, leaning over the table, broad shoulders heaving with the effort to contain some wild emotion. Tommy rose to his feet as well. Damn it. He had made a mess of things.
“My lord?”
“You cannot-you cannot do that,” the king cried softly. “You can’t touch me like that. Twice now, you’ve touched me. It isn’t fair. I know it means nothing to you, but to me, it means everything. You can’t do that.”
Tommy was stunned. Once again, he’d stumbled on another surprise. “My lord, please-”
“Let it go, Prince Thomas.”
“But my lord-”
“Just let it be!”
Tommy shut his mouth. For a long moment, they simply stood there, staring at each other in silence. Finally, Tommy spoke again.
“Perhaps I should go,” he said, hoping that the king would ask him to stay. When Lord Lambert said nothing, Tommy sighed and began to turn away.
“Wait!”
Tommy’s heart leapt in his chest. “Yes, my lord?”
“Tell Captain Thayer that from now on, for as long as you wish to remain, the hunting party shall have one formation of six.”
Tommy broke into a surprised smile. “Do you mean it, my lord?”
A sad smile greeted Tommy’s words. “Yes, I mean it.” And then quieter, something meant more for his own ears than for Tommy’s. “I’m beginning to think I would move heaven and earth, if you willed it so.”
It was quiet, barely audible, but Tommy heard it. And he could barely believe what he’d heard.
“What did you say?” Tommy asked, tone incredulous.
“Nothing. I said nothing.” The king stepped backwards and turned his back to Tommy. “I wish to be left alone.”
“Of course, my lord. Goodnight.”
The king didn’t answer, but then again, Tommy didn’t expect him to. Tommy walked back toward Captain Thayer in a daze, conversing briefly with the man before heading to the slave camp from the night. He chewed his evening meal absent-mindedly, his thoughts all focused on what had just happened between him and the king. Why had everything shifted so suddenly? Tommy didn’t know what to think, or what to make of the things Lord Lambert had said. He went around in circles for hours before exhaustion won out. But even then, his mind was still fixated on the king, burning with vivid dreams of long black hair and brilliant blue eyes and smooth freckled skin.
The next day, Tommy went about his morning as usual, bathing and eating in the slave camp before making his way up the caravan formation to the hunting party. He chatted with the soldiers nearest him as he bridled his horse and filled his quiver with arrows. He examined his bowstring, shifted his horse’s saddle, tightened the stirrup, patted the horse’s flank, strapped on the quiver-did everything there was to do except get on his horse and ride away, but…Lord Lambert was nowhere to be seen. Tommy frowned in confusion. Where was he? Usually, the king would be there by now, and Tommy would be standing off to the side with him, talking about meaningless things, things that were little more than excuses to stand entirely too close, to prolong the all too brief time they would have together.
So, where was he? It was time to go, and Lord Lambert had yet to appear. After a few more minutes, impatience and confusion gave way to worry. What if something had happened to the king? Tommy walked over to the captain. He had to know.
“Captain Thayer, is the king alright?”
“Of course he is.”
“Have you seen him today?” Tommy asked.
“I saw him earlier. A few minutes after the morning bell, I believe. He was fine. Wait, have you heard something?”
“No!” Tommy replied quickly. “I was…I was just wondering why he hasn’t come.”
“It’s nothing to worry about.” The captain looked off into the distance. “His tent is still up. Perhaps the king has a pressing matter to attend to this morning. I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Maybe we should wait. Maybe he’s coming?”
The captain shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky. “The sun is too high in the sky. We’re already squandering daylight.”
“Of course,” Tommy agreed reluctantly. “You’re right. We should go.” A few minutes later, the hunting party rode away.
In the evening, Tommy climbed off his horse and ran his hand across his brow. Immediately, he looked off into the distance, in the direction of the king’s tent, scanning the milling bodies, eyes searching out Lord Lambert. There. Tommy saw him talking with a soldier a few yards away from his tent. He looked perfectly fine and relaxed. So why had he stayed away this morning? As if the king could feel Tommy’s gaze, he lifted his head suddenly and looked in Tommy’s direction.
Tommy felt everything fade away into the background as those brilliant eyes locked with his. He trembled a little as the king’s gaze raked over him, staring Tommy down from head to toe, making his heart beat faster in his chest. Tommy smiled at Lord Lambert and moved forward a few steps, only to stop dead in his tracks when the king’s gaze shifted away abruptly. Tommy stared, mouth agape, mind ablaze with incredulity. Lord Lambert had just given him the cut direct. What in the Oracle’s name was going on?
Tommy wondered the same thing the next morning as the hunting party rode off into the woods. Once again, Lord Lambert had stayed away. Only this time, the king had come out of his tent, walking about, talking to soldiers, doing everything except coming to see-off the hunting party or sparing Tommy so much as one glance. It stung. As he galloped away, Tommy was surprised by how acutely he felt the loss.
What had he done that was so terrible that Lord Lambert wouldn’t even look at him? Tommy spent the rest of the morning thinking about that conversation at the king’s table and how Lord Lambert had jerked away from his caress. “You cannot-you cannot do that. You can’t touch me like that. He had meant no harm. And if he’d caused the king any pain, it was quite unconsciously done. Surely Lord Lambert knew that. So why was he suddenly acting as if Tommy were a stranger?
“Twice now, you’ve touched me. It isn’t fair. I know it means nothing to you, but to me, it means everything. You can’t do that.”
What did the king mean by that? Surely he understood what it meant for Tommy to reach out and touch him after everything that had happened between them? How could he think that it meant nothing to Tommy? Was he blind? Couldn’t he see the want pulling at Tommy? Couldn’t he see how hard Tommy struggled to keep the desire in check? ”It isn’t fair.” If there was any unfairness here, it was in the way Lord Lambert had cut him off, like he was nothing, like Tommy’s feelings didn’t matter.
Maybe he thinks that I don’t care. The thought broke through his frustration and burgeoning anger sometime after the midday meal. It made Tommy pause for a long moment as he turned the king’s words over again in his mind. ”I know it means nothing to you, but to me, it means everything.” “I’m beginning to think I would move heaven and earth, if you willed it so.” Lord Lambert genuinely cared for him. Tommy was more certain of that now than he’d ever been before. And two nights ago, there had been desire in his eyes when he’d leaned across the table, playing along with the lovers’ game Tommy had initiated. But he thinks that I don’t feel the same way.
Did he feel the same way? Tommy examined himself carefully as the hunting party began the journey back to the caravan. He thought of how happy he was during those precious few minutes he shared with Lord Lambert every morning before the hunting party rode off into the woods. He thought of how intoxicating it felt to be near him, to watch him smile, to listen to the sound of his voice, silken, gentle, a whisper of a caress along Tommy’s skin. He thought of how much he’d come to like and respect the king. Yes, he felt the same way. But it wasn’t an easy thing.
Tommy felt like he was being pulled apart, like the two halves of his soul were speaking in different tongues. He wasn’t ready to face these feelings, or to accept what they meant. But he wasn’t ready to let go of Lord Lambert either. Tommy wanted to be near him again, to talk with him again, to share a laugh with him again. Tommy squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t let go. Tonight he would go to Lord Lambert’s tent. Tommy would tell the king that he did care, that each time Tommy had touched him, it had meant something-it had meant everything.
And what if he wants more? What if your words alone aren’t enough? What if he touches you? the part of him that was content to run off and hide called out. Tommy held fast to his resolve. He would worry about that if the time came. When they reached the night camp, Tommy dismounted his horse, dropped his bow and arrow, and walked off in the direction of the king’s tent. He murmured encouraging words to himself as he moed, rallying for the intimidating task ahead. He was going to the king’s tent, and truth be told, it was all Tommy could do not to turn tail and run.
Barely three minutes later, he stood in front of the king’s tent, heart hammering wildly in his chest. He took a deep, steadying breath. Then he lifted the flap, stepped in through the entrance, and immediately stopped dead in his tracks.
For a few seconds, he did nothing but stand still, trying to make sense of the sight before him. He saw Lord Lambert seated at his table, dressed in nothing but his undergarments. He saw Vice-lord Allen standing between the king’s spread thighs with his arms clasped tight around the king’s shoulders. He saw their foreheads pressed together and their lips the barest fraction of an inch away from each other, as if they’d just broken apart from a kiss. Each image came in a blinding flash, shaking Tommy to the core and making him dizzy where he stood. He watched the king’s hands reach up to grip Vice-lord Allen tightly around the waist a moment before the other man lifted a hand to run a lingering caress along the king’s jaw. Just like that, everything came together, and he finally understood what he was seeing.
Lovers. Tommy had come here, ready to confess everything to Lord Lambert, ready to lay his soul bare in a bid to allay the king’s worries, only to find the man with his lover. Tommy felt like a fool. Instantly, anger flared hot and sharp in his chest. But there was something else there too. Something dark and uncontrolled. Jealousy.
“You…you…and….” The incoherent words tore out of Tommy’s throat, quiet, yes, but enough to make the two other men in the tent realize that they were no longer alone.
When Vice-Lord Allen pulled away, Tommy saw the king’s eyes widen with shock to see him standing there.
“Prince Thomas, this isn’t what you think.”
“Don’t presume to know what I think!” Tommy spat out sharply, too far gone with anger and jealousy to consider the fact that he was shouting at the Supreme Protector of Ilyria. “Please,” he continued, his voice cold and hard, “Carry on. Don’t stop on my account.”
With those words, he turned sharply and lifted the flap to exit the tent.
“Prince Thomas, wait!”
“No, Adam, stay here. I’ll go after him.”
Tommy ignored the voices behind him and raced out of the king’s tent. He hurried across the camp, walking past where the hunting party gathered, wandering outward until he’d reached the outskirts of the woods. Then, and only then, did he lean his head against a tree trunk and let out the angry cry that had been building in his chest since the moment he saw the king and Vice-lord Allen together.