Berenger’s voice in his ear, roughened. ‘You’re so good at faking it.’
‘I know,’ Ancel said. ‘I know I’m good.’
He slid his own hand lower, to the lacings over Berenger’s crotch, and in the next moment Berenger was pulling him up and towards one of the private bowers in the coupling gardens. Ancel stumbled after him.
Leafy vines and branches sheltered them, the small space dim and secluded. Berenger pushed him in. Ancel half expected Berenger to crowd him against the ironwork. He could smell the crushed leaves and the heady scents from the flowers. He felt hot and confused, and there was something drumming in his head that had never been there before.
He looked back at Berenger, opened his mouth to say—he didn’t know what—but before he could—
‘How long do we have to stay here?’ Berenger said.
‘What?’ said Ancel.
‘How long do you normally take?’ said Berenger.
It took a moment before he understood the words, and their meaning. But the way Berenger was standing off from him, like a man who has had his evening interrupted for a charade in which he has little interest, made everything clear.
Ancel pushed down the feelings in his chest, closing his eyes briefly. ‘At least half an hour. I have a reputation to maintain.’
‘All right,’ said Berenger, and stood there, awkwardly.
Ancel heard himself say, ‘Unless, do you want—’
Me.
Do you want me.
He thought, he could make Berenger like it. Ancel knew how to please men. It would be the least he could do, and wouldn’t it be better than standing about awkwardly for half an hour? They could go back
to kissing, and more than kissing, and Ancel could go to his knees and pleasure Berenger in the way he knew best.
‘I think we both know this isn’t working,’ Berenger said in a low voice.
‘This,’ said Ancel.
Berenger wasn’t looking at him. ‘I’ll pay out your time in full. We can separate after you perform for the Patran delegation. You can tell people your contract simply came to the end of its time.’
‘You’re ending our contract,’ said Ancel.
He heard Berenger’s voice as if from a distance, the cool evening air of the gardens against his hot skin. The sound of the breeze in the leaves seemed loud, and he was too conscious of the rise and fall of his chest.
‘Everyone will want you after your performance. You won’t have trouble finding men to bid for you—’
‘I know,’ said Ancel. ‘I’m the best pet at this court.’
CHAPTER FOUR
He didn’t know why, but the next day when Ancel saw Berenger talking in a low voice to Lord Droet’s pet, it made him angry, and he stalked out of the stuffy, overlit rooms, into the cool shade of the gardens.
Inside, people were thronging and gossiping wildly at the latest outrage from the Prince. Here there were only pleasing lamps, not the blazing bright of a thousand candles, and Ancel could think.
There were plenty of lords at court wealthier and higher in status than Berenger. Ancel could get any one of them. But that wasn’t a triumph. He had come here to rise to the top.
He heard footsteps behind him. Berenger. He turned.
It wasn’t Berenger. It was the Ambassador to Vask, her face familiar to him from a dozen evening entertainments. Ancel knew her sculptured style of dress well, the Vaskian elements she incorporated into her clothing. She had the straight-backed posture and poise of a woman used to power.
‘Lady Vannes,’ he said.