Page 8 of Wildflower (Tales of Tavamara #8)

Aaralyn looked up as the main chamber door slid open, and smiled warmly as Bakhtiar stepped inside—alone, which was odd, as he'd left with Farrokh and Reza at his side.

"Welcome back, my prince."

Two such small, insignificant words they were, my prince.

But he'd learned quickly it was an endearment of sorts, something only concubines and spouses used.

No guard or noble would ever address Bakhtiar so, and if they did, it would be considered more than a little strange, and possibly a serious breach of etiquette.

Bakhtiar returned the smile.

"How is the studying?"

"Interesting but also boring, if that makes any sense."

"Oh, definitely.

That was how I described my history lessons.

The information was interesting, the method was exhaustingly boring."

He removed his elaborate outer layers, tossing them on the bed to be dealt with later, likely by someone else.

Not because Bakhtiar expected someone else to handle his clothes, but because he would forget about them entirely in the next few minutes.

The door opened again, and Pejman came in with a tray of wine and food.

Sitting down, Bakhtiar said, "How are mother and daughter?"

"She just started walking!"

Pejman said excitedly.

"Asal is still sick, but she brightened considerably watching our daughter walk over to her.

She fell once, but got right back up."

"Of course she did.

Takes after her father in sheer determination,"

Bakhtiar replied.

"Is Asal improving?"

"Considerably.

The healer says she will get better, it will just take time, and we're not to rush anything."

Bakhtiar smiled.

"I'm glad.

If you need anything, let me know.

I'm always happy to help."

"You've done more than enough, Your Highness.

Lord Farrokh said to tell you he'll be a couple of hours yet, but should still be back in time to attend dinner."

"Thank you.

Tell your family I said hello.

I expect a visit from the little one once she's well on her feet."

"Of course, Your Highness."

He bowed and left, leaving them alone once more.

Aaralyn poured the wine.

In their rooms, Bakhtiar seldom bothered with any sort of formality, pouring and drinking on his own.

But Aaralyn offered the cup up anyway, still not nearly as graceful as the others in his movements, but always more than happy to keep practicing.

Bakhtiar smiled and took the sip of wine, let Aaralyn drink the remaining sip, then bent and kissed him softly.

Kissing was rapidly becoming his favorite thing to do, and he didn't think that would change when they all finally fucked.

"So how did you lose Farrokh and Reza?"

"My leg was being troublesome, so instead of working further, I agreed to come back here and rest it for a bit, which freed up Farrokh and Reza, though they offered to return with me.

Farrokh is helping my mother in the library, and Reza went off to do some training with Beynum, Aikhadour, and Witcher, since they also wound up with some free time today unexpectedly.

My father has a nasty headache and was still feeling unwell from whatever made him sick at dinner last night, so he took the day off.

An incredible moment for him, but I'm glad he's being less stubborn.

Kurosh is probably at the training too. I've no doubt someone dragged him away from stalking the Havarin group."

They'd been tentatively allowed to wander the palace again, though only during certain hours.

According to Bakhtiar, Lord Nigidius would be leaving by the end of the month, as soon as his replacement arrived.

Thankfully, because he was confined to the royal wing until he was fully healed, Aaralyn hadn't been forced to see either Nigidius or Seius again.

What he had received was an obscene number of apology gifts.

He would have loved to see their faces as they were forced to concede defeat on that point.

He highly doubted they'd even seen the gifts, at most maybe they'd looked them over for final approval, but they definitely would have had to pay for them.

If only he could tell his mother that Grand Duke Seius had been forced to send him apology gifts.

Bakhtiar poured them more wine and offered it to him, looking entirely too pleased with himself when Aaralyn drank it.

"I know I haven't been your concubine long, but I think you've got this backwards."

Scoffing imperiously, Bakhtiar said, "I'm crown prince.

How I do things is the right way."

Aaralyn giggled.

"Yes, my prince."

Bakhtiar kissed him again, a slow teasing drag across his lips before pressing deeper, until the taste of tart wine was lost entirely to the warm, salty-sweet flavor of Bakhtiar.

The kiss left Aaralyn aching—for more, for every touch Bakhtiar would give him, but mostly just over the simple wonder he was here and so clearly, ardently wanted by this kind and beautiful man who could have chosen anyone.

"Is there something you want, my prince?"

he asked breathlessly when they finally parted.

"You must know I'm happy to serve."

Making a low, rough noise, Bakhtiar sank fingers into his hair and pulled his head to the side so he could put his mouth to Aaralyn's throat.

The bruises had finally faded over the past almost two weeks, and any worries he might have had about reacting poorly should anyone touch him there vanished beneath the wave of heat that raced through his blood.

He might not like hands wrapped around his throat, but he did not mind Bakhtiar's mouth, that teasing hint of teeth, in the slightest.

No one had ever done that before.

They'd barely even bothered to kiss him most of the time.

He really was woefully ignorant where these matters were concerned, but oh was he going to enjoy learning.

"I want many decadent things,"

Bakhtiar said eventually, "but before I get wholly distracted in my quest to obtain them, I had a question for you."

Despite knowing full well it would be nothing bad, Aaralyn tensed anyway, a lifetime of conditioning that would likely take years to undo.

"What was that?"

"Quite boring and innocuous, I assure you."

Bakhtiar carded a hand gently through his hair, probably trying to neaten the curls he'd mussed, but it was a lost cause.

Aaralyn's hair did as it pleased and not even a crown prince would change that.

"One of my chamber servants, Niusha, is moving away with her husband, so I need to find her replacement.

She'll be leaving in a couple of months, plenty of time to train someone, even if they're completely new to such things, though I'd prefer to hire somebody already in the palace and at least somewhat familiar with such duties.

You are uniquely qualified to know who amongst the palace staff might suit and want such a promotion."

Aaralyn immediately replied, "Mehr.

She works for Lady Atousa, who makes her miserable, even though she's always good-natured about it to all of us.

She's been her chamber servant for at least six years.

I mean, it's probably wrong to recommend a friend, but—"

"As I said, you know everyone in a way I never could, and you would not recommend someone who was ill-suited."

He grinned, entirely boyish mischief, and winked.

"I trust you, Havarin."

"Oh, no,"

Aaralyn said with a groan.

"How did you know they all called me that?"

"The staff like me, or at least do a good job of pretending they do,"

Bakhtiar replied easily.

"That tidbit in particular, though, I heard from the guards at the entry doors to the royal wing.

They mentioned it to me the same day you visited to draw my mom's frogs."

Aaralyn's cheeks did not cool remotely.

"I never learned their names, though they seemed to know Mehr really well."

"If it's the woman I'm thinking of, she's cousin to one of them, and sister-in-law to the other."

"How do you remember so much about every person in the palace? I doubt the margrave or his son knew my name before they needed it to send the summons."

Anger flickered across Bakhtiar's face as it always did when he was reminded of the heinous people Aaralyn had fled.

Aaralyn reached up to caress his cheek and the anger vanished.

Shaking himself, Bakhtiar said, "I remember it because I should.

I like knowing everyone in the palace, especially the people who keep it standing and functioning.

I certainly wouldn't know what to do if everything caught on fire or all the food mysteriously went bad at the same time. I'm not even sure I could successfully change my own sheets. Of course I should know the people who do."

Aaralyn kissed him, went easily as Bakhtiar shifted back enough to pull Aaralyn into his lap.

He hadn't bothered with his leg that morning, as it was easier to sit at the low tables favored everywhere but the servant halls without it.

Large, warm fingers skated over his skin, dipping ever so slightly into the soft, slinky harem pants he wore.

Going around bare-chested was definitely taking getting used to, and it would be even stranger when Kurosh had his way and pierced his nipples, but he definitely was all right with the change whenever Bakhtiar or the others touched him.

Bakhtiar kissed his throat again, right at the spot he'd touched earlier that made Aaralyn shudder and melt.

"Can I fuck you?"

"Of course,"

Aaralyn gasped out.

"I thought you preferred it the other way around, though."

Bracing himself, Bakhtiar lifted them both up with a surprising, heady strength.

He walked over to the bed and lay Aaralyn out on it gently.

"Usually, yes.

I am greedy and like all the attention I can get, and the others do enjoy lavishing it upon me.

They are bossy, dominating things with greed to match my own. Kurosh was right when he said you were something soft and sweet for us, and even I am eager to have you. Though I'm sure in the future I'll be eager to have you in me."

Aaralyn was so hot.

Nobody had ever spoken to him so, let alone so casually.

"I will…I will do whatever you ask, my prince, but I admit I've never been much for the…doing."

Bakhtiar finished removing their clothes and crawled onto the bed, shifting them so Aaralyn was sprawled with his head on a pillow, the many other ones tumbling and scattering around them.

He brushed fingers over Aaralyn's lips, then bent to kiss them again, deeply and thoroughly, before putting his mouth elsewhere.

Reaching up, Aaralyn did some touching of his own, trailing his hands over warm skin, lingering on various scars.

"You've suffered a lot of wounds."

"Most of it is pretty boring stuff, from all the races I do for charity, my days traveling.

My leg is the worst, though obviously not as bad as yours.

It gets stiff and sore at times, and I end some days limping, especially after… Well, it doesn't matter.

I'm more interested in you than recounting unhappy stories."

He kissed Aaralyn again, right as he wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked it, loose and easy, far from satisfying enough to achieve anything.

Aaralyn groaned, digging his nails into Bakhtiar's shoulders. "Bakhti…"

"Oh, using my nickname now, are we? You must want something to be that sweet,"

Bakhtiar said, letting go of his cock, making him whimper.

He drew away entirely, but before Aaralyn could complain too much, returned with a small jar of glittering crystal.

How needlessly extravagant, given its likely contents.

This part he knew, at least, though no one had ever touched him as gently as Bakhtiar did, caressing his inner thighs and teasing him slowly, circling and pushing and tormenting, damn him before finally, gently, pushing one slick, warm finger inside.

Aaralyn grunted at the sensation, familiar but not felt for a long time.

For so long everything had been too terrifying, and then too stressful as he settled into a new kingdom, a new life.

It was welcome, though, something he hadn't realized he'd missed so much.

He spread his legs more, throwing his arms back to grip the pillows, moaning as he shamelessly enjoyed Bakhtiar working him open.

By the time Bakhtiar withdrew his fingers and slid inside him, Aaralyn was on fire, burning from the inside out, so hot he didn't know if he'd fall to pieces or pass out.

For the time being, he clung tightly to Bakhtiar, holding him close as he thrust over and over, filling Aaralyn deeply, steadily, savoring every moment instead of rushing the matter so they could be home before curfew.

"Ba-Bakhti—"

he said on a groan, almost but not quite there, shuddering and panting, every breath hot.

Bakhtiar kissed him, trailed his wet mouth along his sweat-slick skin.

"Come for me, pretty wildflower."

Aaralyn's body needed no input from his brain to obey that command, the orgasm tearing through him so hard he blacked out for a moment.

He wasn't even sure for a moment if Bakhtiar had finished, but when he could see and breathe properly, Bakhtiar was sprawled out next to him, clearly well-spent.

Rolling over to sprawl across his chest, Aaralyn asked, "Am I an acceptable concubine then, my prince?"

"You already were,"

Bakhtiar said, draping an arm across him.

"Fucking you did not help my leg at all, but I'm not remotely sorry about it.

Rest with me a bit? An hour or two, and then I can get back to work until dinner."

"The work isn't going anywhere, my prince.

Take all the time you need.

I'll be here as long as you need me."

Bakhtiar smiled and kissed him softly before settling back more comfortably in the soft bedding.

"That will be for a very long time, wildflower."

"Good,"

Aaralyn whispered, and snuggled in close as Bakhtiar drifted off to sleep.

End