Page 10

Orin let Tiiran bully him into the chair Tiiran had last seen him use in the reading nook on the second level. He set his pack on the floor under the table with a tired sigh, left his sword propped against the side of the chair, removed his cloak, and then fell into the seat as Tiiran had been insisting he do.

He tipped his head back and shut his eyes, opening them again when Tiiran hesitantly stepped closer. Tiiran met his stare before focusing on the cut, which was truly small and probably had only been stitched to stop the bleeding.

“It will scar,” he observed quietly. There didn’t appear to be anyone else on this side of the second level. He couldn’t hear anything from downstairs, and the third level was rarely used.

“And mar my handsome face?” Orin joked, or Tiiran assumed it was a joke at least. Orin was not handsome in the way that many others were considered handsome, but he turned heads and must know it, so it had to be a jest.

Tiiran crossed his arms. “It isn’t funny. You… does it hurt? Has a healer looked at it yet?”

“Jonal is better than most palace healers, limited only by being out on the road instead of in a workshop surrounded by potions.” Orin regarded Tiiran evenly, likely waiting for Tiiran to control himself.

Tiiran did his best, breathing deep and forcing his gaze away from the tiny, neat stitches.

“You have not explained how it happened,” he said at last, as calm as he could be.

Evidently, he was not calm enough, because Orin hummed before remarking, “Touch helps some in your situation, and I wouldn’t mind. It might help me in my situation too. I liked our embrace before I left, and the one downstairs just now. That needn’t be another worry of yours, Tiiran.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tiiran told him, nearly silent. “You pulled me to you downstairs.” After Tiiran had clearly been about to run into his arms and had stopped himself. “Obviously, you liked it. I wasn’t worried about that… much. My ‘situation?’” he asked finally, reaching out to brush his thumb beneath the bruising around the cut. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Orin answered honestly, gently capturing Tiiran’s hand again. “But not much right now. So if you want, you should come closer, little cat.”

“There is nowhere closer to go,” he informed Orin, only to stand there, staring, when Orin patted a knee. “Over it?” Tiiran whispered in shock, his chest so tight that he couldn’t have shouted if he tried.

Orin lifted both eyebrows, then graced Tiiran with a small smile. “To sit , kitten, although now I’m considering saying yes. You asking that question in this moment makes me even more curious about what’s bothering you.”

“Isn’t it enough that you were injured and are avoiding talking about it? That would be enough for most people, I’m sure.” Tiiran couldn’t raise his voice. He looked down to Orin’s broad thighs and the knee in question. “I wouldn’t be a burden?”

“My pack weighs more than you,” Orin said pleasantly, lying, but only slightly.

“You’re not telling me to?” Tiiran glanced up again, momentarily more intrigued than upset.

“Oh, I could.” Bears did not purr, not as far as Tiiran was aware, but Orin came close. “But I want you to know you’re free to sit on my lap, or request comfort from me in a touch, whenever you please.”

“ If I please,” Tiiran corrected as he understood. “I’ve wanted to,” he admitted, cheeks burning, then gathered up his robe, turned, and sat so he wouldn’t have to see Orin’s reaction. Orin made a strange noise, almost pained, but then looped an arm around Tiiran’s waist to draw him back against his chest when Tiiran tried to wriggle to his feet.

Orin was solid and very warm, which was not a surprise. He didn’t smell like any familiar library or palace smells at the moment, only travel and something herbal, probably an ointment to keep his wound clean. Tiiran should look up more herbal knowledge, and maybe even healer knowledge if Orin was going to keep getting injured.

Which—Orin had better not, actually. And he’d better explain himself soon, and not try to distract Tiiran with an arm like iron around him and thighs that might have spread to fit Tiiran between them if Orin had been in a larger chair.

Or on a bed.

Tiiran sucked in a breath and eyed the entrance to the nook for several anxious seconds although he’d heard no one approach. Orin inhaled and exhaled behind him, deep, slow breaths, and though it seemed deliberate, it did also feel good against Tiiran’s back, so Tiiran decided to follow Orin’s example.

“You can lean back if you like, or move, or decide it’s not for you.” Orin’s measured words carried through Tiiran. His arm was steadying. “I’ve got you. No matter what, I’ve got you.”

Tiiran leaned back. His legs fell open around Orin’s knee, but his shoulders were supported, and Orin had him. He’d said so. Tiiran could stay there and Orin not only did not mind, he was pleased; his warm approval wrapped around Tiiran as surely as his arm.

“You’re really all right.” Tiiran didn’t ask, though he did shift to get more comfortable.

Orin made that strange, pained sound again, followed by a short laugh, his nose in Tiiran’s hair. “There could be no man in better condition than me at this moment. What’s in your hair? Normally, you smell of common soap or sometimes dust from the books. Today, there is something else.”

“Bad?” Tiiran wondered instead of thinking about Orin sniffing his hair. “The palace has been slow to dispense some things—I think someone in the housekeeping staff left. So we all gave Po money and she went into the capital to get us soap there. This is chamomile.”

“Good.” Orin made him hot all over with one word. “You should find more scents you like, if you can. If you like this one. It makes you smell welcoming, like a drink by a hearth.”

Tiiran grasped Orin’s arm at his waist as he scoffed, which did not stop him from shuffling a bit further back against Orin until he had both of Orin’s arms around him and he could rest his head against Orin’s shoulder. He turned his head to exhale and liked how Orin’s arms tightened when he did. Everything Tiiran did, even filling his lungs, reminded him that he was held securely and that Orin had asked him to sit with him like this. He could move if he wanted, but why would he ever want to?

“Oh,” Tiiran murmured after a moment or perhaps several moments of breathing and feeling Orin’s hold on him, strong and unchanging. “Oh, I didn’t know it would be this nice.”

“Being held?” The question carried through him.

Tiiran closed his eyes. No one was there to see and Orin wouldn’t mind. “Being held by you.” It was as if the blanket of Orin’s approval was around him, except the blanket was Orin. Which didn’t make sense but Tiiran didn’t seem to care. He’d thought this would be like the hug, or it would start that way and then turn into something more of what an assistant would normally do on the lap of an outguard.

Orin probably wouldn’t mind Tiiran’s amorous attentions if Tiiran attempted them, but Orin had received plenty of those from librarians already, and Tiiran didn’t want what they had to become only another library game.

And he didn’t want to disappoint Orin. He never wanted to do that. Which he surely would if he tried to be seductive. Tiiran had no business trying to seduce anyone. Orin was generous to give him this .

“I worry all the time when you’re gone.” Tiiran opened his eyes in alarm at the words from his own mouth, but Orin tightened his hold again, pinning Tiiran to him. He was big and strong and Tiiran breathed in and then said, “Tighter,” and Orin held him so tightly that all the nerves seem to leave Tiiran when he exhaled. He fell against Orin and closed his eyes. “I worry all the time for you. I try not to think about it, but then your friends come in and….” He tensed. Above him, Orin sighed faintly. “This is strange, isn’t it? We’re friends, but this is strange. Because of me.”

Many people played games where they had to obey and it didn’t always mean bed sport. Nikoly had said so. Tiiran just… had to be told things most others didn’t, but it pleased Orin, and that made Tiiran feel better in return, so it had to be enough.

Which meant, of course, that if he wanted to do something similar with Nikoly, and Nikoly was not only teasing him, then he could. And yet, that could not be true. It didn’t feel true.

“Now you’re breathing fast again, just when I had you calm,” Orin murmured above his ear, raising goosebumps all over Tiiran’s skin.

“No.” Tiiran opened his eyes, then inched up from how he’d slouched into Orin’s chest. Orin let him, although he didn’t let go. “First, you tell me what happened. That’s more important.”

“Hmm.” Orin expressed his doubt in the same warm manner that he did anything. “I mentioned accidents to you, did I not? And how outguards sometimes end up victims of them?” Tiiran tensed, but nodded. “This part you will not share with anyone. Agree.”

“I won’t share it with anyone,” Tiiran replied, impatient to hear the rest.

Orin squeezed him a little, then relaxed again. “I could not say for certain that some noble families have begun plotting against our current ruler for their own chance at the throne, but they are watchful of the information released to us. Perhaps they don’t have eyes-and-ears in the palace, and so don’t realize Piya has forgotten the Outguard and the Great Library are at the ruler’s disposal. Or perhaps Piya doesn’t have eyes-and-ears focused on anything but rumors within the palace. Either way, outguards are being robbed on the roads, which in better times would not happen. So, you will no longer see outguards returning to the palace alone.”

“Orin.” Tiiran dug his fingers into the back of Orin’s arm, which Orin probably didn’t feel through his sleeve. “Did you have an accident?”

“No. I am—and you’re not to fret over this, Tiiran—no longer gathering information on official assignment for the Outguard. I have been traveling outside the capital to help escort pairs of outguards on the final leg of their journeys to hand in their reports. As a precaution.”

“Precaution!” Tiiran wriggled and Orin allowed him to turn around to glare accusingly into his face. “You were wounded!”

“Amateurs.” Orin had bullshit ideas of what might be reassuring. “Bumbling lackeys. Not even sworn or hired guards. They probably either didn’t want to really risk injuring outguards and earning the king’s displeasure—if he would care—or didn’t realize we are actually trained to fight as other guards are. Tiiran,” he whispered over Tiiran’s ear, “Tiiran, listen. The word has already gone out. No outguard will be alone now, and anyone nearing the capital will have extra protection. Not just me. There have been rumors,” he paused again and though they were pressed close, lowered his voice even more when he spoke again, “you must keep this to yourself. I tell you only to protect you. There are rumors that Piya has taken action of some kind. Certain figures from the palace and capital have gone silent. Perhaps forced to flee, perhaps taken, we don’t know. It wouldn’t be our concern except…”

“If Piya frightens the nobles, they will act too, and do something rash,” Tiiran finished for him. “I see.”

“But so far, Piya seems unaware of the Great Library, or those of us in the guards. Not even as tools to use.” Orin reached up to run the back of his hand down the side of Tiiran’s neck and hummed when Tiiran shivered. “So let’s keep it that way. We will protect ourselves. You keep the assistants focused on their work and try to control your temper. And I will guide my friends home.”

“And protect yourself?” Tiiran demanded as if there was no tremble in his voice.

“Ah.” Orin sighed it. “The first thing I wanted after getting them here safely was to see you. I’d not risk your temper for anything.”

“Hmph.” Tiiran raised his chin, which Orin seemed to take as a request for him to pet Tiiran’s neck again. Tiiran’s lips parted as he shuddered. He was going to make a fool of himself if he did not move soon. “You aren’t afraid of my temper.”

“Not in the way others are.” Orin petted him carefully. Tiiran was not a cat, but it did feel nice. “Your temper means you’re anxious about something. And you seem especially in an uproar today.” Tiiran froze. Orin pressed on, gentle but relentless. “You were flushed before you approached me. Care to tell me about it now? Or should I ask the handsome fellow at the tables who could not take his eyes off you?”

Tiiran scrambled off Orin’s lap in less than a heartbeat, more surprised that he didn’t fall than at how easily Orin released him. He spun around to glare, then couldn’t manage more than a quick frown before looking away. If he wanted Orin to help soothe the tangle inside him, he shouldn’t complain when Orin did exactly that.

But he wanted to complain.

Only to wonder, really wonder, what Orin would do if he did. If he would treat Tiiran as he treated his others, and if Tiiran would beg for more too, as they must.

“All right,” he agreed finally. “There’s something I don’t understand. Several things,” he added a moment later. “But one thing right now that I cannot make make sense. And,” he paused to grumble and then growl, faintly, “it’s frustrating.” He had a suspicion before he finally he returned his gaze to Orin and his suspicion was confirmed. “Why are you smiling now?”

It was the fond one. It usually meant Tiiran had done something right, although Tiiran never knew what that was.

“You’ll get mad if I say,” Orin answered mildly.

“I’ll get mad if you don’t,” Tiiran replied in turn, crossing his arms.

Orin bowed his head to allow that Tiiran was right. “I know you don’t like them, but what a gift the fae gave me when they brought you to me.”

“Oh.” Tiiran gave a start, then felt his arms drop to his sides.

“I expected a snarl. Instead, you seem confused.” Orin studied him. Well, Orin noticed things quickly, so Orin was making a show of studying him, for Tiiran’s benefit more than likely.

“I don’t know how to react when you or anyone says these things,” Tiiran admitted. “Nothing I’ve done is that special, surely? I mostly yell at people.”

Orin shook his head. “You’re worried and you care. My family… they love me. I love them. But I don’t belong with them. Which is a difficult thing to understand as a child, and still painful as a man grown with gray ready to appear in my hair any day. I keep my visits there short, because what do I have to talk about with them? What do they have to talk about with me? They’d worry over this too,” he waved toward his cheek and the stitches, “but they don’t understand the palace, or the danger, or why it’s worth it for me to stay. My friends in the Outguard do, obviously. And it’s nice to have friends or the occasional lover from among them before we’re off on assignments. But few of them will let me discuss books with them, or worry for me as openly as you do.” He waited for Tiiran to meet his gaze again. “None of them wait for me to come back, or are such a lovely sight to behold once I get here.”

Tiiran held tight to the edge of his robe. “And then I yell some more.”

“Then you bring me tea, or let me talk about poetry, or history, or philosophy even though you are a practically-minded kitten. You listen, and you try to understand what I say, and that in itself is a gift.”

Tiiran frowned. “Orin, any of the assistants here would love to sit with you and listen to you.” And then be fucked by you , though Tiiran would not say it. “No one in the barracks will do that? I’d doubt it even if I hadn’t heard about your… about your others.”

“My others. ” Orin seemed to nearly purr again, sinking slightly in the chair too small for his bulk while he watched Tiiran grasp at his robe and fidget the longer the stare went on. “Come here, please, kitten. Let me look at you better.”

“You can see me fine from there.” Tiiran was certain of that, if nothing else. Yet, after a moment of indecision that he hoped looked like defiance, he took the step to stand in front of Orin again.

Orin stood with no warning, putting their bodies very close, making Tiiran crane his neck and tip his head back just to feel smaller than he’d ever felt in his life.

Orin curled a finger under Tiiran’s chin so Tiiran couldn’t look away. His eyes were full of that warmth and fondness and hunger from before, setting Tiiran’s insides on fire and making him want to squirm, or look away, or plead for Orin to be merciful.

A strange impulse when Orin was always kind to him. Though perhaps he was not to the others. Perhaps he would not be with Tiiran if Tiiran were better.

“Now,” Orin said pleasantly, leaving Tiiran to shiver because he could not wriggle, “let’s start with something simple. You can tell me what you got up to while I was gone.” He had to see and feel Tiiran’s jolt; Tiiran couldn’t control it in time. “Did you get my letter?”

Tiiran exhaled softly. “Yes. I’ve never gotten a personal letter before. Or a gift. I… I carry the petals with me, although I’m worried the scent will fade if I open the pouch too much.”

“I’m happy you liked them. I’ll have to get you more.” Orin watched Tiiran react to that too. “And did you do as the letter said?”

The question was so soft and warm, Tiiran let his eyes close. “I went to the garden. I also ate more meals, and I mostly tried not to say things that I thought might worry you.”

“‘Mostly.’” Orin seemed amused. But only for a moment. “ And ?”

Tiiran looked up again. “I fell asleep in the library instead of going to my room for the night, and skipped a meal because of it. Are you going to punish me? Like your others?”

“‘Others’ again,” Orin mused, his thumb brushing Tiiran’s chin. “And punishment again as well. You’ve mentioned it twice now, when my Tiiran is not usually so direct.” He watched Tiiran intently. “Do you want me to punish you?”

It was so like Nikoly for him to ask that Tiiran frowned without thinking.