Page 22 of The Second Marriage

“Thereabouts. I can’t wait to sleep peacefully again instead of being kicked awake every night.” He rubbed at the side of his belly. “Your husband seems pleased with you.”

“Does he?” Taral hadn’t spent any time considering Sejun’s opinion of him. Pleased—what did that mean?

“He watched you all through dinner last night and smiled every time you did. I know the signs.” Gurratan gave Taral a sidelong look. “You said in your letter that you bonded with him.”

“Yes. I don’t know how. I didn’t intend to, obviously.” Taral gazed down at his own cup of tea, empty now. “There’s nothing wrong with him. I don’t object to him. He’s charming and good-natured. Anyone would be pleased with him.”

“Give it time,” Gurratan advised. “It hasn’t even been a month yet. It’s a big change for you, and so unexpected.”

Taral nodded. Yes, Gurratan was right. He didn’t know how his feelings might change in the coming months, even though they felt immovable as the mountains, petrified into their current form after so many years.

“And it will be good for you to spend some time with him here,” Gurratan went on, “where you can’t bury yourself in your office and claim that you have to work.”

“Idohave to work,” Taral protested, but Gurratan only raised his eyebrows and took a sip of tea.

Whatever further conversation they might have exchanged was forestalled by Sejun coming out of the house bearing a platter of breakfast. He smiled at Taral and wedged himself onto the sliver of bench at Taral’s side, and Taral found himself leaning toward the warmth of Sejun’s body, breathing in to catch his scent.

“Did you dream well?” Sejun said to him in a low voice, his eyes on Taral’s mouth.

Taral was conscious of Gurratan beside him, watching all of this transpire, and yet he didn’t move away. Sejun’s arm crept around his waist and settled low on his hip.

“My dreams were entirely pleasant,” Taral said.

Somehow it was arranged that Sejun and Taral would go for a stroll along the river. Taral felt, as he so often did with Sejun, that he was drifting along in a current, floating like a broken branch with no destination. But it was a lovely morning, and he had no reason to object, and as always the bond drew him toward Sejun. He left Gurratan lazing in the garden and followed Sejun downstream.

They kept close to the water’s edge. The river was low and lazy with summer. On the far bank, an egret waded beneath an overhanging tree. As they walked, the wind blew maddening hints of Sejun’s scent in Taral’s direction until he felt flushed all over and not from exertion. Maybe he was closer to his heat than he had realized, and they would need to stay here in Barun after all, although he hated to be away from Tadasho for that long. Iniya would sell the entire kingdom out from under him.

Sejun said nothing until they passed around a bend in the river and the farmstead was out of sight behind them, and the cow-cropped lawn had given way to tall rushes along the banks. Then he said, “This part of the valley reminds me very much of Merek.”

“Oh?” Taral struggled to think of some follow-up comment. “Your family’s steading is on the river, you said.”

“Yes. And the trees, and the light. It’s all very similar.” Sejun glanced at him. “How long have Gurratan and Ram been married?”

“Oh—a few years now. I have to admit I’ve lost count. Three or four years, I suppose. They were married at the beginning of winter, the year of the big earth tremor in Samtse. Whenever that was.”

“Four years ago, I think.” Sejun frowned at his feet as they walked. “Is this their first child?”

“Yes,” Taral said, with growing bewilderment about where this line of questioning was heading. “They didn’t bond for a while, and Gurratan miscarried a few times. I don’t think he’ll truly stop worrying until the baby is in his arms.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed. He seems so—” Sejun waved a hand. “I don’t know how to say it. Light of spirit.”

“That’s how he is. But he’s been through his fair share of suffering.”

Sejun continued frowning at his feet as if they had perturbed him in some way. “Would you like children? I don’t know your thoughts about this.”

“I—don’t know.” Taral stopped. His heart lurched. Bearing children of his own was a dream he had been forced to set aside, and he hadn’t probed that old wound in many years.

Sejun stopped, too, and stepped closer, his frown shifting from absent-minded to concerned. “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong.” Taral tucked his hands inside his sleeves and struggled to collect his thoughts. “I was only surprised. I haven’t thought of it. We’ve only just married.”

“I like children. We’ll wait and see how the One God chooses to bless us.” Sejun took another step closer. His voice dropped. “Your heat is soon.”

“It is.” Taral’s gaze drifted, without his permission, to Sejun’s mouth, and then to the haphazardly tied waist of his robe. “Are you saying you would enjoy making the attempt?”

“Immensely,” Sejun said. He took one last step and pressed his face against Taral’s neck, his hands gripping Taral’s hips through his robes. “The way you smell,” he muttered.

Taral had given up on himself. He had no hope of dignity. A quick glance around showed there was no one in sight, so, fine: he untied his robe and pulled it open to show Sejun his heavy cock hanging between his thighs, flushed and swelling.