A Noble Affair
Bower Lake was even more beautiful at sunset, bloody reds and oranges spilling into the shimmering water. The wealthy nobles of Millfields were just waking up, though it was nearly midday. Children played outside in immaculate clothes and shining buttons while fond nannies watched and gardeners began their daily work. His dog turned around in circles, chasing his tale in the front yard, rolling gaily in the grass. Reaver's maids moved behind him, silent as ghosts, making up his bed and bringing in a tray of food. Sonya came to stand beside him on the balcony.
"Sire, you should come inside and have some breakfast," she said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Master Reaver is supposed to be returning today, and you are so thin."
"I do not live to impress that man, Sonya," he answered a little more harshly than he meant to. "The only good thing I can say about his return is that I will finally have someone to help me expand Bowerstone Industrial." Shrugging away her hand, he turned back into the warmth of the house, all trimmed in crimson and gold. The room he stayed in was at the opposite end of Reaver's, a guest bedroom with all the expansive overindulgence that was so attributed to Reaver's taste. Sliding past the maids, he slipped on a white cotton shirt and began buttoning it.
"Apologies, Sire, if I offended you," she was at his side again, helping him with the buttons.
Sonya's hands were warm against his cold flesh, fingers running over an old wound by accident. He shivered in remembrance of that particular scar, a bullet gone right through his shoulder while he and Reaver grappled at the bottom of the stairs. But the memories disappeared quickly when her petite fingers smoothed his collar and began rearranging the cuffs on his wrists. Once she was finished, he grabbed his worn, black coat and slid it on, eyes catching again on the gazebo in the middle of the lake.
He'd written off the night of his capture and the events that followed as a terrible mistake, unlikely to be repeated long ago. Their dalliance in the gazebo was flavored with regret and bitter violence. Back then he had been young and reckless, the discovery of a new thing making his heart swell and his pulse quicken. Reaver used to bring it up at every turn before leaving, kind enough not to mention it in front of his wife but unkind enough to berate him in private almost as if to make up for it. Page never questioned his disappearance. Jasper never wondered about his clothes. What did it matter when everyone was saved and Logan was dethroned? As for what might have been, it didn't matter. With Reaver he had nothing, was nothing.
"Sire, did you hear me?" Sonya asked, gently shaking his shoulder. Christian blinked at her and then gave a wry smile. He was becoming an old man, lost in memories of his youth, though he wasn't even twenty-nine yet.
"No, kindly repeat it for me."
Holding his sword out for him, she gave a tentative smile in return, "I asked if we should prepare your room tonight for your return."
Gripping the hilt in his hand and sliding it home in the sheath on his back, he shook his head. There would be no reason to return once Reaver arrived. He would give ownership of the mansion back to the businessman and go home to the warmth and familiarity of his castle and children. "No, thank you. I won't be returning tonight."
"The next day, then?" she pressed.
"No, I'm afraid this will go back to being a guest bedroom, my lady," he inclined his head in a respectful bow that brought a flush to her cheeks. "The true Master of this house will be returning, and I will not be coming back."
The maid by the bed who was fluffing the pillows gave a sad sigh and glanced at him. Sonya frowned. "Not even to visit, my lord?"
"Maybe to visit," he assented, snatching his rifle from its perch atop the gun rack. "Reaver will be taking up most of my time, no doubt proposing cost-efficient and devious new laws he's seen in other lands." There was also the fact that Reaver would probably continue to pursue him, remind him of their affair and hint at repetition.
He would come back as a different man, as well. The last Christian saw of him, there were laugh lines on his face and wrinkles above his brow. Though the king found them to be slightly charming, compliments to a man who could enjoy life, Reaver ran off to make another sacrifice at once and took an extended vacation while he was at it.
"Sire, may I ask you a question?" Sonya's sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. He nodded.
"Of course."
"Why is it, exactly, that you have come to stay here in Master Reaver's absence? We would have continued cleaning anyway, or he would have shot us when he returned," she said. Looking at her, Christian understood why she was Reaver's favorite. She was intelligent, beautiful, and resourceful. If not for the jealous tendencies of his wife and Reaver's coveting, he would have taken her with him to the castle.
As for the question, she probably knew better than he did. "I'm not sure," was his answer. "No matter the reason, I'm glad I did if only to make your acquaintance."
Planting a kiss on Sonya's forehead, he excused himself. She did not follow him as he made his way down the stairs and out into the sunshine. The light was blinding after so many hours inside a house darkened by ill intentions and oppressive decorating. Christian sighed as the smell of wet earth and spring welcomed him.
The guards nodded at him as he passed through the gate, the insignia of Reaver industries glaring at his back, matching the reversed R burned into his collarbone. Long ago he had forgiven Reaver for such a trivial thing. Whatever he and the king's father had shared was over with Sparrow's death. If, perhaps, a moment of grief had seized Reaver to do something sadistic, then that was that. One could not change the past. Walking around branded by the pirate was a small price to pay when, armed with his Dragonstomper .48, Reaver could have done so much worse.
The dog caught up with him. A few of the nobles paused to gasp and bow in his direction, still awed at the sight of their benevolent king. Christian smiled at each of them and made his way to the gazebo, desiring some peace before he became a father and a husband once more.
If he thought long and hard, he could just remember clinging to his father's leg as the adventurer visited Bower Lake. It was much changed since then, mostly by Reaver's influence but also by the dwindling gypsy camps. Strange, he thought, that he had been unfaithful to his wife for the first time at the exact place they were married. Amazing that Reaver hadn't known of his marriage since it literally had happened in his front yard. Christian buried the thought, clenching his first on the white railing as he glanced down at the water. He had never told Beryl of his unfaithfulness or of the dreams he often had of that cold morning.
Barking, the dog whined and licked his hand, catching the tips of his fingers with a wet and eager tongue. Smiling, Christian bent down and ruffled his fur, happy for the company. The lake glistened as though littered with diamonds. It was be a good day to return home, one long overdue. Despite how lovely it had been to meet Reaver's staff and mingle with the folk of Millfields, he had missed his son and daughter something terrible. He would have to stop in Bowerstone to pick up gifts to make up for his absence. As for his wife, he had a special necklace in the Sanctuary for her.
"Come on, boy," he said to the dog. "Let's go home. I'm tired of this place, aren't you?" There would be little enough time to rest once Reaver was settled in again.
The dog barked and turned in a circle before racing back toward land. Smiling, Christian cast a glance at the lake again, patting the railing in farewell before turning around. However, he froze mid-step before getting off the dock as a black carriage draped in gold stopped just in front of the mansion. He didn't need to be an oracle to know who it was.
The guards stood up a little straighter. Noble women and men paused in their tasks to stare while Christian hung his head. Out in the open and dressed in black on such a warm day, the king was a stark contrast to his surroundings and easily spotted. As such, he continued walking, determined to greet Reaver rather than run and hide. When Reaver descended from the carriage, Christian almost laughed at his youth and the innocent face belying the monster within.
His hair was lighter, bleached a dirty blonde instead of the inky black that Christian was used to. The wrinkles were gone, of course, and replaced with smooth, carmel skin. His still wore those dark goggles, hiding his eyes from the sun as if it hurt him. The hat he wore was tipped to the side, shining white and blinding like the rest of his suit. The same cane hung between his fingertips, glittering with a single ring on the left hand that Christian did not remember. Reaver turned to face him and tapped his cane on the ground twice.
"Why, if it isn't the king himself coming to greet me after such a long trip!" he exclaimed, smiling wolfishly. Christian forced himself to be pleasant, taking careful consideration in approaching. His rifle was loaded, he remembered, and his sword was reassuring against his spine. Friend or foe, Reaver was dangerous. Spreading his arms as if to embrace the man, Christian tried to smile.
"An accident of sorts, I assure you," the king gave a curt incline of his head, stopping just at the path's edge to Reaver's mansion. "I had meant to be long gone by the time you arrived. A man should be able to relax in his own home before dealing with intruders such as myself."
"Nonsense!" Reaver took off his hat and handed it off. "It has been such a long time, after all, and friends should not be forsaken. Come inside and we shall have a proper party." Christian's eyes flickered over to the new help he had acquired, three young women with dark skin and strange tattoos. The king wondered vaguely if he had visited Samarkand.
A soft chuckle escaped Christian's lips. "In memory of your masque, perhaps not." They were defying words, meant to nettle, but not to harshly.
"Oh, but I believe you enjoyed the masque much more than you would like to admit," Reaver inclined his head, "and the aftereffects." Before Christian could scowl, the pirate continued. "How do your wife and child fair?"
"Children," the king corrected him. "They are well, my wife more so with your absence. She will be heartbroken to know you have returned."
"Ah, my sympathies," he replied. The light glinted off his teeth as he bared them in a smile meant to disguise the hostility brewing beneath the surface. "Children are such little monsters, after all." Christian felt the scar on his collarbone burn.
"Not so," the king argued. "I enjoy spending time with my family."
"Oh, I'm sure you do," Reaver assented. "And I suppose that children do grow up to be such gems sometimes," he said, eyes sliding up and down Christian's body with lewd interest. "You have a son, yes? How intriguing."
It was a threat.
"A son and a daughter," Christian told him calmly, folding his arms and refusing the bait.
"Intriguing, as I said," the business man widened his smile. "Introductions are a necessity! I should like to meet your lovely wife, again, as well. As I remember, she was a piece of work." Reaver's eyes bore into his even behind the dark lenses of his goggles. "If a bit too old for one as young as you."
"I love my wife, Reaver," the king said. "Her age has nothing to do with it."
"Oh, I understand. I am not opposed to sampling a vintage every once in a great while. Women of experience are just that more interesting," he glanced at the women who were unloading his bags. A few of the maids were gathered outside his mansion, ready to assist him in any way possible. He had trained them well. Of course, the threat of a bullet between the eyes could inspire anyone to do anything. "Speaking of sampling as we are, are you sure you would not like to stay for a party? I did bring back some interesting new wines, and, as I always say, drinking alone is not quite as entertaining and drinking together."
"I'm on my way home, actually, but I thank you for your invitation." Reaver seemed to expect the snub and shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm rather tired from my travels, as I'm sure you are. I need a bit of a rest."
"Yes, my friend, you do look quite worn out," he agreed, clicking his tongue. "Such youth shouldn't be wasted."
"I have duties that come before my own personal health."
"Hmm, there is that look again, so like your father's," Reaver chuckled. " Such a shame that he died before you could know him."
Christian gave a sigh and glanced at the lake. "A shame…"
"But you should take better care, my king, before you do the same to your children." The truth of it struck deep like an arrow, but he hid the wound well.
"Now is no place to have this conversation, my old friend," Christian tried not to grimace, stressing the word 'old'. "Come to my palace tonight, and you can regale me with stories of your travels."
Arrogantly, Reaver tipped his hat. "Of course, my king. It is such an honor to be invited to your home."
"I will see you there," Christian nodded. It took more will than he thought it would to turn his back and walk away from the glaring sun over Bower Lake and the demon that could end his life with the pull of a trigger. Startling how much power Reaver really had over him. Shattering how much power Christian had over the untamable thing that was Reaver—which was to say, none really. He wondered in the end who would really be holding the crown.
It took an hour to reach the castle with the aid of the carriage station. When he finally climbed out, he was relieved to hear the cry of his daughter as she belted down the steps and threw herself into her father's arms. Christian picked her up and inhaled the scent of mud and his mother's perfume. He hugged the girl hard before setting her down and handing her a pretty porcelain doll with a sweet china face. Beryl met him with a little more class, holding their son in her arms as she clasped his hand and kissed his lips. Reaver was right about her. She was a sight, voluptuous curves accented by a beautiful green dress, face painted white like all the nobles, a common woman elevated to the status of queen. Christian bounced his son in his arms a few times, kissing his forehead before handing him back.
"I am sorry for my absence," he said later in their bedroom while their daughter played in the adjacent room. "I should have visited more."
"Oh, I don't care," Beryl assured him. "I'm so glad to have you back now. I have missed you." She kissed him, and he threaded his fingers into her hair. They were sweet, honeyed kisses that couldn't quite satisfy his thirst even as she slipped her warm fingers under his shirt. He pulled her hands away, motioning with his head to the baby sleeping softly in the crib. Beryl smiled and gripped his fingers, thinking she understood. The passion of their marriage had bled away with the darkness of her hair and the middle-aged beauty he had married her for. She was at least twice his age. Besides, he found himself with the desire to touch gold—
Christian clenched his fist and gritted his teeth.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I've suddenly remembered some unfortunate news," he replied, though that wasn't even the beginning of it. Meeting her eyes, he told her, "Reaver is coming to visit."
Beryl was suddenly all spitfire. "That vile serpent is back?" she demanded angrily. "And he dares to intrude on your first day home?"
"You can't have expected him to leave forever," Christian said calmly. "This is his home. Besides, Reaver has done some marvelous things for Bowerstone." The king wondered why he was defending him.
"Yes, enslaving children and shooting his factory workers," Beryl snarled. "How could I forget what a generous man he is? Not to mention the way he looks at you!" Christian had never seen her in such a fury, and it did fit her wonderfully. Light came back into her dull eyes, and her cheeks were flushed. He tried to keep the mirth off his face.
"And how does he look at me?"
She bit her lip and glanced away. "You know how he does. He watches you like a dog hungry for a piece of meat. Like you were a woman to invite back to his bed!" She frowned. "If I didn't know any better, I would say that he's already had a taste of you and is simply eager for more. Just imagining that filthy savage so much as shake your hand makes me shiver."
Christian nearly choked on that but forced it into a sort of strained laughter, lifting her from the bed. "He is an old friend of my father, so do try to be kinder to him. Besides, you know I would never stray from your bed." Ghostly voices in the back of his head accused him of lying, but he willed them away.
"I know," she smiled. "I'll keep the children out of your way, and especially out of his."
"That's a good idea," he told her, pulling her into his arms for a hug. Reaver had said during his capture that Christian's children would hold no fascination for him, but it might have been a lie. He wanted to keep his delicate daughter and pudgy baby boy out of his sight at all costs. Just imagining the brand shining on his children forever made him sick to his stomach. Was that how his father had felt? Even after such a betrayal, had his father gone back to Reaver's charming whispers and demanding kisses?
Christian wasn't sure he wouldn't hunt Reaver down and kill him for such a thing. Obviously his father had felt differently.
The king spent the day visiting with old friends and giving out orders in the throne room. He'd been gone for only a month or so, and he'd always returned to the castle when called. Apparently most of the staff had missed him terribly while he was gone, however. As for the staff at Reaver's manor, he hoped that none of his actions had caused any repercussions for them. Maybe the distraction that night would help.
After dinner, Reaver arrived with all the indulgence that Christian expected of him. The children were put away in their rooms and told not to come out under any circumstances. It made Christian's heart sink to see the Dragonstomper on Reaver's hip, but he was suddenly glad to have his sword and rifle nearby. Hobson had tried to tell him that seeing to a guest while armed was rude, but Reaver knew that while they were friends on the outside they didn't trust one another. If he had not brought a weapon, Reaver would have thought him terribly foolish for it.
"Ah, and where are the little ones?" Reaver drawled, glancing around as they walked toward the war room. He had come dressed finely in a dark tunic shirt and pants, his fur coat abandoned for something a little cooler given the weather. The black hat suited him much better, clashing nicely with the new blonde in his hair. Christian felt dwarfed for once with his long, smooth limbs and wiry muscles. Reaver was only taller than him but an inch or two, but the feeling of being loomed over put him on edge.
"My wife took them out," Christian lied smoothly as servants opened the doors for them. "She does not approve of our friendship, as I've said." Two glasses of rich wine were sitting out for them on an oak table, the green bottle open and in the middle. Christian hardly ever drank, but he figured that if he didn't have refreshments of some sort, Reaver would complain.
"How unfortunate," Reaver smiled, removing his hat and placing it on the couch. Neither man sat down, but the pirate's gaze did flicker toward the wine. "But are you sure that it is our friendship she does not approve of?" He was teasing, and Christian clenched his hand so hard that his knuckles went white. Dreams over the past year while sleeping in a house that reeked of him came flooding back.
"I believe it is you she does not approve of," the king smiled, leaning casually against the side of the couch. He gestured to the wine. "Please, help yourself."
"Such delicate hospitality on my behalf!" Reaver exclaimed but did not bend to take the glass. Whether he suspected poison or not, the king didn't know "You have really planned everything, I take it?"
"I have neither plans nor expectations for tonight, Reaver," Christian swallowed, looking at the fire just beyond Reaver's head. "I suspect that you probably have an agenda of some sort." Their eyes met, and Christian suddenly noticed the color change in his eyes as well. No longer were they a muddy sort of brown, but a clear green flecked with gold. It startled him.
Reaver chuckled softly. "Your suspicions wound me, your majesty."
"They shouldn't," Christian whispered. "You can't trust everyone you want to." Absently, his fingers touched the scar on his collarbone, the reversed R perfectly burned there forever. The thought of his father's negligence from earlier on in the day still hurt him, and he touched it without thinking.
"Did you want to trust me, my prince?" Reaver mocked. "Trust is for the foolish and the young. Who needs trust when you have blind lust and desire? Doesn't the thought of another person being able to drive a bullet into your skull at any given moment make it all the more thrilling?"
"Make what thrilling?" Christian demanded. "Friendship? Lust? Desire?"
"All of them," Reaver replied, his finger on the hilt of his Dragonstomper in moments. The pistol whipped up, and Christian ducked out of the way just as a bullet lodged itself into the wall behind him. Christian swore but didn't pull out his rifle. Reaver meant him no real harm; if he had, he wouldn't have missed his shot.
"You're in my house now, Pirate, my palace," Christian said measuredly anyway, the warning clear. "Shooting me here will guarantee your arrest."
"How boring you've become in such a short amount of time, my boy," Reaver gave his pistol a whirl in the air. "Why I remember like it were only yesterday that we fell down the steps of my mansion, your blood staining my doorstep. Now you throw out a threat to arrest me? How annoying."
"I have a family now," Christian replied. "I can't afford to be so reckless anymore."
"Because you know you will lose," Reaver laughed, lowering his pistol and approaching. In seconds he had the king by the collar of his shirt and pressed the warmed barrel against his throat. "Should I brand you a second time, prince? In a different way, perhaps?"
Christian swallowed, heart picking up and beating loud enough that Reaver had to hear it. "You've already done that."
"Ah," Reaver whispered in his ear, "but not to the king. The boy I played with was a prince, a revolutionary. You've grown so much."
"Is that a compliment?" he asked.
"A confession, maybe," Reaver slid his hands inside his coat. There was the shiver that he expected to feel when his wife did that. Reaver's hips pressed against his sent heat straight to his groin, and that was another sensation he expected to feel when he held his wife. But he didn't. "Little sparrow, have you been reckless at all while I was gone?" he whispered.
If Christian closed his eyes, he could almost think that Reaver meant the words as a sweet sentiment. He didn't. Reaver had no feelings to toy with, no heart to break. Maybe that was why he was the perfect scapegoat, the perfect lover. "I told you that this would never happen again," he said, but he didn't try to pull away. The fire crackled in the background, making the room hotter than it should have been. There were guards posted outside. Why hadn't they come in when they heard the gunshot?
"Ah, but forbidden things are all the sweeter, non?" Reaver kissed him then, and the heated memories that flooded forth wouldn't let him pull away. Reaver was right, after all. With this man things were in chaos. There was swirling heat and mindless passion and exhilarating danger.
They toppled to the ground like lovestruck teenagers, inexperienced and sloppy. Reaver was anything but. Straddling the king, he yanked off his jacket in an instant and threw it to the ground, bracing his arm above Christian's head and kissing him again. Christian's hand went to that slim, young waist, bunching up dark cloth in his fingers, drunk on kisses as Reaver's hand moved up his side. Their teeth clacked together, most of the desperation and want coming from Christian.
"How eager," the pirate noted, planting hot, wet kisses down his jaw and lavishing his collarbone, the scar there all the more prominent in the firelight and shining with saliva. He sat back to admire the old wound, bunching up the king's shirt around his chest.
"You've poisoned me, Reaver," he accused breathlessly, yanking him down to devour his mouth, arching his belly into Reaver's buttons and scratching the soft flesh there. Cold pressed into his stomach, making him shiver all the more as gloved fingers dug bruises into his side, the heavy weight of another man lying on him making him all the more wonton.
The truth was that he hadn't touched his wife in little over six months and before that sparingly. Reaver had given him a taste of something new and exciting, something overpowering and carnal. The taste lingered on the back of his tongue and polluted anything that did not measure up. He dug his fingers into Reaver's spine, pulling him closer though there was no possible way. Reaver pressed their hips together and linked their fingers, tongue sliding across Christian's lips, hot breath inside the king's mouth. Christian winced when Reaver found the hole in his shoulder, scarred over, and pressed his thumb deep into the flesh there.
Their fingers unlaced, and Reaver's hand went around his neck, bruising his jaw with his fierceness and kissing him again, panting and breathless. Christian sat up on his elbows and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders, eager to rid Reaver of the rest of his clothing. With fumbling and shaking hands, Christian unbuttoned Reaver's shirt and threw it over his head somewhere behind with the rest of their clothes. Up close, Christian could see the boyish charm of his body, feel the lanky limbs tangle with his own. Soft and revitalized hair brushed against his forehead, the smoothness of youth enchanting. This younger body lacked the stamina of the older man, his breath coming in short pants just as Christian's was.
Feeling bold, the king gripped Reaver's shoulders and flipped him over, slamming his back against the ground and kissing him with ferocity. He didn't miss the breathless chuckle either, so arrogant even wearing the body of a weaker man. Reaver's hands went to his pants, pulling at the buckle with startling deftness. Christian interrupted his work by bending low, kissing a trail down his flat stomach, seeing it undulate with stolen breath. Reaver laid his head back, smiling as he stared at the ceiling, one hand buried in Christian's hair lazily.
"Like a lion," Reaver laughed as though enjoying a private joke. "A lion with a big heart."
Christian lay down on top of him, gripping his blonde hair with long fingers, staring into his newly green eyes as the fire played on his skin. Yes, Reaver was beautiful as they all said. He was breathtaking in all forms of his long life. "You destroyer," the king whispered with lidded eyes, staring at the luscious curve of the pirate's mouth.
"Child," Reaver retorted. "You are naïve."
"I know," Christian replied, kissing his throat. Reaver reached down and slid his cotton pants down to his wiry thighs. The king kicked them off, lavishing the bud on Reaver's thin chest. A strong hand held him there even as his hands fumbled with Reaver's own pants. The fire was hot, Christian's passion and desperation burning him up inside. Probably deciding he had had enough, just as he arched his hips and slid his pants down, Reaver rolled them over again, nails digging so deep as to make blood well to the surface. Christian could already feel the bruises.
When their teeth clacked together again, Christian tasted his own blood flavoring the kiss. Why was he the only one to be damaged from their exchange? Why was Reaver so distant, so untouchable? His thought disappeared as he cried out, a firm hand around his member. Long fingers clasped over his mouth, Christian not wanting to be caught. Reaver smirked above him, the fire twisting his features, catching his eyes and making them burn so he appeared to be a demon. Another pull had him crying out again, muffled by his own hand. He writhed as Reaver worked him, fingers digging into the carpet, his bones jelly, his mind liquid. Nothing else mattered but release—nothing else mattered but Reaver, and the young pirate knew it.
After removing his underwear, Reaver hastily took off his own pants, kissing him again as he calmed down, trembling fingers against stark and flawless skin. Then Reaver was inside him, and he saw stars. Everything disappeared, his wife, his children, the hard burden of being a ruler. Again nothing else mattered, his fingernails digging into Reaver's arms. Memories of an early autumn morning and the sweet smell of lake water took him away. He cried out again and again, fingers over his lips. Reaver bent him almost double to kiss him again, and the pirate tasted of sweet tobacco and vintage wine, perfumed skin against his.
An explosion of white against his eyes signaled the end of the line. Warmth filled him, undulating waves of pleasure ghosting over his skin and making him roll back his eyes. Reaver gripped his shoulders hard, thumb bruising his thigh as he spilled over. The pirate had the arrogance to not even make a sound but a small whimper in the back of his throat. Pulling out, he slumped to the floor on his back, all cat-like grace and elegance.
Catching his breath, Christian let the warmth of the fire wash over him, hand resting on his belly. It didn't occur to him in that moment that Reaver had a gun and he did not. The guilt that came with a single pleasurable action was overwhelming. He shared a sudden sympathy with his father. He had endured Reaver's presence for nearly ten years, put up with the branding of his son, those awful comments, Reaver's consuming revenge multiple times, and the fights that went along with being a part of his inner circle. Did that not mean, to put up with all of that for so long, that his father must have loved him?
Christian crawled to his feet, lanky limbs unsteady. He frowned as he reached for a towel to clean himself off. Throwing one at Reaver, he grabbed his pants and shirt and slipped them on, sinking into a plush chair by the fire, bare feet by the pirate's hand. His shirt hung open over his abdomen, fire catching each and every new scratch and forming bruise. He kneaded the bridge of his nose, deep hatred clashing with gratitude for someone finally making him feel.
Unfortunate, he thought, that it had to be Reaver.
Reaver cleaned himself off rather quickly and put on his own pants, slim body shirtless as he grabbed one of the glasses of wine and sank into the opposite chair. "How you love your precious guilt," he toasted, holding up his glass before taking a sip.
"Shut up," Christian retorted, unable to come up with a more creative response.
Pinky finger tracing the shape of the glass, Reaver smiled. "Your father regretted it every single time, as well. He spoke of you and your brother, you who he loved more than anyone in the world, I should say. He spoke of betrayal and his guilt. I thought he would kill me when he visited after the little incident with you. Or try to. He didn't."
"You're wrong," the king said wearily.
"Oh?" Reaver raised an eyebrow, appearing intrigued.
"He didn't love us more than anyone in the world," Christian clarified, staring into the fire. No, there was no contest, and it took him nearly all his life to figure it out. Sparrow—his father—had loved Reaver more than his family. The knowledge felt like a knife in his ribs, but he felt a singular tie with his father for the first time in a very long time. He, too, was caught by Reaver. In time, he felt he could fall in love, could lose it all in the mind games and searing pleasure.
Reaver climbed into his lap like a scorned child, straddling his waist in the large chair, but Christian didn't touch him. He kept one hand shielding his eyes, the other gripping the arm of the chair. Reaver smirked at him and touched the brand. "Get off," Christian said, but there was no bite in the words.
"How impudent," Reaver scoffed. "Why should you feel guilty for enjoying yourself? Would your family not wish you happiness?"
Christian sneered and gripped Reaver's jaw, wary of how impudent—as the pirate had called him—he was really being. He ran his eyes along the youthful face, the collarbone, the smooth chest and then met those green eyes. "You don't understand. How could you? It's the unfaithfulness of the thing." He dropped his eyes, submissive, and loosened his grip, caressing instead of holding.
"She never has to know."
"Just like I didn't have to know either?" Christian tilted his head, leaning it on the palm of his hand while his elbow sank into the plush arm of the chair. A warmth was spreading through his limbs, fatigue of a long day settling in. "I wonder, Reaver, just how much of a liar you are when you say you'll have no interest in my children."
"How cruel you are to call me a liar," the pirate feigned injury. He was dodging the question. "I have to say that you are much less somber than your father, but your tongue is sharp." Christian didn't know if it was a compliment. He didn't know anything anymore. He placed his hands on Reaver's hips, cold flesh making goosebump, their noses touching as he stared into Reaver's eyes. How easy it was to pretend with him! Had he not been so snobbish and proud, Reaver would have made a good prostitute, selling the illusion of love as he did.
"Allow me a moment of sentiment if you will," he whispered against those smirking lips, "and promise that you will not hold this against me."
"Promises, your majesty, fade with time." Reaver's eyes sparkled. "In the end, they are nothing but words." He knew Reaver was only entertaining him, but, again, the illusion was so bittersweet.
"Then I will blabber on without your promise at the risk of sounding like a frightened child," Christian closed his eyes. "Stay with me tonight." Self-revulsion flooded through him.
It was hard to hate Reaver in that moment, though. Indulgent for perhaps the first time in his life, kind if only pretending, and sweet if only when it was drawn out of him, he smirked in such a way as to blow the façade of innocent youth aside. Still, he said, "As my king commands."
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