“Please don’t shut me out,” Tadek whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you to summon me. I thought you might be angry with me. But then I thought that wouldn’t make sense. Just don’t do that again, Highness, please. Don’t shut me out. You’re all I have now.”
“I know,” he rasped. “I’m going to try to do better.” But what did better mean, in this new, strange world where Tadek’s very life had been laid in his hands? Tadek was right, that was the thing. Kadouwasall he had now.
A life was a terrifying burden to carry.
He squeezed Tadek’s hands, and Tadek pressed his forehead to them again. “May I sleep here? On the divan?” he whispered into Kadou’s palm, looking up at him beseechingly. His cheek was a little rough under Kadou’s fingertips. He hadn’t shaved that morning. “I don’t want to go back to the cadet dormitories. I could stay, and we could talk. We can sort this mess out.”
Kadou closed his eyes. How good would that be? Oh, very. They were the only two who really understood what had happened—they could speak honestly and openly to each other about it. That was all that Kadou really wanted. They could talk, and then Tadek would flirt, because Tadek always flirted, and Kadou would let himself be convinced into bed—it wouldn’t be very difficult, especially not after the day he’d had—and Kadou could lose the rest of himself in Tadek’s arms, in his soft mouth. Just like before, months ago, when his terrors over Zeliha’s pregnancy had torn him up and Tadek had been there to help him past it.
He’d be making a liar of himself, of course, if he did that. Everything he’d said to Eozena and Zeliha about how that part of things with Tadek had ended ages ago, how he wasn’t going to do that again—well, all of it had been true when he’dsaidit. What did it matter, anyway? He’d wrecked everything else already, what was a little bit more? And wasn’t he allowed to want anything for himself? Wasn’t he allowed to ask for comfort? Wasn’t Tadek allowed to offer it, or ask for the same for himself?
“Highness,” Tadek breathed against his skin. “Please. I’m yours.”
It couldn’t make anything worse, and it might make both of them feel a little better. Tadek was really the only one here who knew how he felt, who understood the whole story in all its complexity.
He wondered vaguely if this was one of Usmim’s trials, sent to test the mettle of Kadou’s character. The only problem was what the trial concerned—was it about the struggle of resisting temptation? Or was it about the struggle of accepting warmth and comfort when he felt that he didn’t deserve either? Perhaps it was both, and Usmim was only interested in seeingwhichpath he would choose to face.
He opened his eyes. He’d been rubbing his thumb against Tadek’s cheekbone. He’d only just noticed. “Yes, all right,” he whispered. Maybe Tadek wouldn’t even have to convince him.
No, he definitely wouldn’t. Tadek’s eyes were so bright and pretty, his mouth so soft, his presence and scent so familiar that it hurt a little in the center of Kadou’s chest . . . He wouldn’t have to be convincing in the slightest. Kadou was eighty percent of the way there himself already.
Maybe closer to ninety percent. Certainly no higher than ninety-eight and a half—
Kadou gave up on thinking that he wasn’t going to do it. He licked his lips. “Can I—” He dipped forward just a little, hesitant, and Tadek surged up, meeting his mouth with an eager noise, burying his hands in Kadou’s hair.
This was probably a very bad idea.
Evemer sat at the table and felt no shame at all in listening to what he could hear of the quiet conversation through the half-open door while he ate from the untouched platters of Kadou’s dinner, right up until it got conspicuously silent for a time. Then, even more conspicuously, the bedroom door slammed closed.
He was still eating when Melek tapped on the door and let çemself in. “Here for the night watch,” çe said with a smile. “Ah, good, I was so hoping to pass you at the shift change when I heard you were joining us! Congratulations on the promotion, the gods themselves willed it. I had afeelingit was going to be you, you know.” Melek beamed at him, and Evemer inclined his head politely in thanks. “Everyone’s pretending like they’re not mad with jealousy about your exam scores—the whole garrison is talking about it,” çe added impishly, then eyed the food. “Is that allyourdinner, or . . . ?”
“His Highness didn’t eat today,” Evemer said. He wasn’t about to go reminding theprinceabout it, but someone else should know. “Other than approximately five glasses of wine.”
“Oh.” Melek frowned. “Is he already in bed?”
“He is in his room. In private conversation.”
“With whom? The commander?”
Evemer weighed his options—a kahya should be discreet about his lord’s activities, but Melek had been serving His Highness for months now. In all likelihood, çe already knew about it. “He’s with his armsman,” Evemer said. If Melek knew, then çe would know what that meant. If çe didn’t, then it revealed nothing.
“Oh.” Melek gazed at the bedroom door for a long moment. “So it’ll probably be a while before he needs anything, then.”
“I don’t presume to make assumptions about His Highness’s plans for the evening.”
“Right, of course, yes,” çe said, nodding. “But it’s not really an assumption, is it.” There was some soft noise from behind the door, just loud enough for them to hear, and Melek gestured grandly at the door, as if to say,You see!“Look, I haven’t had a chance to eat dinner properly yet either—I know I’m supposed to take over for you now, but you’re not finished with your food . . . Will you be angry if I go to the kitchens for a bit?” Melek pressed çir palms together in supplication and adopted a pleading expression. “I won’t take long, I promise.”
“I won’t be angry,” Evemer said. “Go, if you want to go.” Things were . . . surprisingly lax here in the core-guard, he was discovering. There was less attention paid to strict routine than in the cadets or the fringe-guard. Perhaps it was just Prince Kadou’s tendency toward flightiness—his kahyalar had to be ready to adapt and be flexible. It wasn’t like Evemer had anywhere to be. As Prince Kadou’s primary, he had a small room down the hall. As soon as Melek returned, he’d go there, read for a little while, write a letter to his mother, and sleep.
“I’ll owe you one,” Melek said, grinning.
“I do not require you to do so.”
“Just keep it in mind.” Çe paused at the door. “Actually, do you like the day shift? Getting up at the crack of dawn to attend him until he falls asleep?”
“I am honored to serve however I am commanded.”
“Well, sure, yes, me too. But if you wanted to sleep in . . . We could ask His Highness if he’d mind us adjusting the shifts. I’m not much of a night owl, honestly—I’d be happy to take the dawn shift if you didn’t like it. We could divide it at noon and midnight instead of dawn and dusk.”