Author's note: Thank you, redflame1020, for your kind and consistent reviews! I'm glad someone seems to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing!
Despite the fact that Michel hadn't seemed to suffer any ill effects from our activities the night of my fête, guilt still plagued me for some days afterward. I could not stop remembering that it had been my whims that had allowed another to touch him, to experience what I'd come to regard as something only Michel and I shared. He had made it clear that he kept himself reserved for me alone... And though he had endured Damien's presence for as long as he was willing, I felt that somehow I had betrayed him, betrayed what lay between us.
Several days after my fête at Valerian House, the guilt had grown to such a weight on my shoulders that I cancelled an afternoon's sword-training lesson, much to Master Perrault's surprise, and went to the stables instead. In no mood for conversation, I waved away the stable-boys' help and saddled my roan mare myself. Without waiting for the Royal Guards, who for propriety's sake should have escorted me into the City, I left the Palace alone.
It was a brisk autumn day, and would have been pleasant enough if I wasn't in such a dark mood. I nodded absently at the few passers-by who called out greetings. There were less than usual, and I could not say if it was because my lack of an escort made me less recognizable, or because my expression warned away most of them. I think, by the time I dismounted in the courtyard of Valerian House, people had begun to look at me with a bit of trepidation.
Dianne met me in the foyer, as was her custom; she looked surprised to see me. "A good afternoon to you, my Prince," she said, curtsying. "It is early for you, is it not?"
I managed to summon a polite smile. "It is, my lady Dowayne, but I have not come for an assignation. I need to speak with Michel, if he is in."
She raised an eyebrow, but said only, "I will have Celeste bring you to his room," she said, waving a hand. A young female adept stepped forward, ducking her head toward me with a murmured, "My lord...?"
I followed her, through halls of the House that I was not familiar with, to a corridor lined with doors; the adepts' rooms, I gathered. Celeste paused before one, glanced at me before knocking, and opened it without waiting for a response.
"Not now, Celeste," Michel's voice came, and I stepped into the room behind her.
The room was tiny, but well-appointed, a large bed taking up most of the space. To one side was a desk, piled high with books, over which Michel's head was bent, his wavy brown hair caught back from his face in a queue at the nape of his neck.
"Michel," Celeste began, and he looked up, eyes widening when he saw me.
"My lord!" He rose with alacrity, coming around the desk. Celeste made a hasty retreat, closing the door behind her. "I apologize, my lord, no one sent word that you were--"
"The fault is mine," I interrupted him. "I sent no word ahead; I only want to speak with you."
He quickly subdued the flash of worry that crossed his face, but not before I saw it, and felt all the more guilty for it. "Michel..." I hesitated; apologies have never come easily from me. Not sincere ones, at any rate. I reached out and stroked his cheek while I tried to gather the words I wished to say; he closed his eyes briefly, and they were beginning to grow dark with desire when he opened them again. "I must make you an apology," I finally managed. "I feel that I betrayed your trust when I allowed Damien to lay his hands on you. You have honored me with your choice to refuse other patrons, and I--"
I could not remember ever hearing him interrupt me, but he did then. "Nothing happened that night, at your command or otherwise, that I did not desire, my lord."
I let my hand drop to his shoulder, my thumb absently stroking his collarbone. "You would have given your signale, if I had not prevented it," I reminded him.
Michel shook his head. "I knew what was coming, and I was prepared to give my signale, my lord. But you gave it for me, before I needed to. If anything was happening for which you must needs apologize, I would have spoken it far earlier." He smiled slightly. "And I can assure you, my lord, that was the last thing I wished to do."
I returned the smile, a little, though I wasn't entirely convinced. "Perhaps. But it does not excuse my poor decisions that night."
Michel studied me seriously for a moment, and then his smile returned, deepening with a tinge of amused understanding behind it. It was a look I'd never seen him wear, and it reminded me that, though he took no other patrons, he was a Servant of Naamah. "If my lord is jealous, that is hardly something for which you need apologize to me."
That startled a laugh from my throat, and I began to feel a bit better. "True enough, and fairly spoken," I conceded, eyeing him thoughtfully. Somehow, he had seen the truth that I had not quite grasped: It was not he who blamed me for my poor decision. I blamed myself, and that was something I needed to tend to on my own. "Then it seems the only thing for which I must apologize is the unnecessary interruption of your studies, Michel. I beg your pardon."
"Not at all, my lord." He smiled at me, a little shyly. "I am always pleased to see you."
"And what are you studying?" I asked curiously, noticing for the first time how many books were crowded onto his small desk.
"Jeb'ez, my lord."
I blinked. "The language?" I asked, rather stupidly.
He didn't appear to notice, his eyes lighting with the spark of excitement scholars get when they talk about their passions. "Oh, yes, my lord!" He went into a complicated explanation of how he hoped to enter the Academy in the study of languages, and was determined to teach himself as much as he could before then, to have a head start on his studies. He ended with, "You look surprised, my lord...?"
"Not at all," I lied smoothly, and he colored slightly when I added, "I know something of the skill of your tongue, after all."
But I had been staring, I realized belatedly; suddenly struck by the realization that I knew very little about Michel except that he was an adept who enjoyed the ungentle pleasures of submission. I knew nothing else about his interests, his goals, and I suddenly wanted to. On impulse, I asked, "Michel, if it will not unduly interfere with your studies, would you care to take a walk with me?"
It was his turn to blink in surprise, but I was grateful that he did not hesitate to agree, and so we found ourselves out in the streets of Mont Nuit, leaving the other Valerian adepts to their speculative whispers. I began walking without a true destination in mind, and Michel fell into step beside me.
"Tell me more about your studies, Michel," I prompted, and he shot me another shy glance.
"Truly, my lord?"
"Yes," I said firmly, putting a hint of command into my voice. Michel shivered a little, and I didn't think it was from the cool breeze; but he dove headlong into a rather more coherent explanation of his interests-- languages, history-- and his hopes of entering the Academy someday, when he had made his marque.
We walked and conversed this way for some hours; I do not remember how long, nor where we wandered. I listened attentively while he spoke, and answered his own questions about life in the Palace, and began to see that Michel's quiet, unassuming demeanor concealed a mind as sharp and quick as any scholar's.
Eventually, we found ourselves in Night's Doorstep, appropriately as the sun was beginning to set. We wandered the narrow, paved roads, laughing at the occasional street performers and speaking of inconsequential things. There was a certain freedom in it, a pleasantly unfamiliar sensation. It had been years since I had had the desire or opportunity to leave the Palace unescorted, and I was enjoying the lack of entourage. A moment's guilt was quickly assuaged by the thoughts that Hubert had known where I was going, that many in Valerian House had seen Michel and I leave on foot, and that by now rumors would be flying through the City that the Dauphin was in Night's Doorstep. It would not be difficult for me to be found, if necessary... but until then, I was determined to enjoy the freedom from my usual obligations.
As full darkness was falling over the City, we came to a rambling inn and tavern that I recognized; it had been some years since I'd been inside, and the thought made me smile. "Have you ever been to the Cockerel, Michel?"
"No, my lord." He gave me a sideways glance. "I understand your family has a bit of history, here."
"Yes." I remembered the stories my father's foster-parents used to tell, of Phèdre's friendship with the inn's original owner, who would one day become the Master of the Straits. "Come, Michel. Let's have a drink."
Despite the crowd, the innkeeper saw us immediately, ushering us to a table and bringing our drinks herself. There were musicians, who were very good; and perforce there was dancing. I danced with quite a few young women, nobles and commoners and Tsingani alike, who recognized me and were daring enough to approach me, though I did ask anyone myself. Even Michel accepted a few invitations, with a glance at me that I pretended not to notice. Finally, I retreated to the relative sanctuary of our corner table, leaving the rest to dance while the musicians sweated and grinned in their own corner. Michel was engaged in learning the complicated steps of a Tsingani dance, smiling while the dark girl who'd become his tutor tried to correct him. I watched him, an echoing smile on my face, as the rest of the song played out. He moved with a natural grace, and though he was only just learning the steps, he made his way through them with an easy balance and coordination that would have shamed any attempt I might have made. He bowed gallantly over the Tsingani girl's hand when it was over, making her blush, and thanked her for the dance.
As the musicians struck up another tune at the crowd's urging, Michel returned to our table, dark cobalt eyes sparkling with excitement. Breathless and smiling, he dropped onto the bench beside me.
"You dance well," I told him, sliding a possessive arm around his shoulders. Grinning, he thanked me and leaned into my shoulder, close enough to press his thigh against mine.
"Do they teach you to dance, in Valerian House?" I asked idly, reaching up to tug at the ribbon that held back his hair. It came free easily, and his hair fell forward in its loose, chestnut-colored waves, half-hiding his face.
He glanced sideways, eyes flickering up towards me from under his lashes. "Only a bit," he said over the din of the crowded common room. "Enough to prevent us from embarrassing ourselves. Sephira always said I had an aptitude, though."
"Mmm." I slid my hand through his hair, grasping a firm handful and turning his head for a kiss. Elua, that kiss... It was sweet and fervent at once, both deepened by the pleasant afternoon we'd spent together, and promising the darker pleasures that we both sought. It was enough to make the room spin dizzily around me in a way that had nothing to do with the Cockerel's rot-gut wine.
When I let him go, his face was flushed, eyes dark and shining. I turned away to down a quick draught of my wine, and then set down the tankard and pressed my hand against his thigh. The cloth of his breeches was deliciously soft against my palm as I slid my hand higher. His phallus was hard as stone, pressing insistently against the confines of his breeches. He gasped softly when I touched him, his body tensing.
I pressed my lips to his temple, whispering into his hair, "Quiet, boy." He bit his lip and held silent while my hand moved on him beneath the table; he gazed out over the common room as if nothing occurred.
I let him endure, wordlessly, until the musicians began another song. Then I swept his hair back and brought my lips to his ear, whispering over the noise of the room. "Go speak to the innkeeper, boy. Find us a room for the evening, and assure her that I shall settle payment on the morrow."
"We need not, my lord, if you would rather return to Valerian House than pay for a room here..."
"No," I growled in his ear. "I want you now, boy... Here, where we need not be the Dauphin and his adept, but simply... simply Raniel and Michel." It was more than I'd meant to say, more emotion than I'd intended to trust to him, but he looked at me gravely for a long moment, and I saw that he understood.
He smiled slightly. "As my lord wishes," he whispered, and I let him slip out of my grasp to find the innkeeper. He threaded his way through the press of bodies with the ease of all Night Court-trained adepts. I watched over the rim of my tankard of wine as he spoke to the innkeeper, saw the woman glance in my direction and nod sagely, then lead him toward the stairs.
He caught my eye with a questioning glance through the crowd; I waved him on, and he followed the innkeeper alone while I sipped at my wine. After a few moments, she returned alone and approached the table, curtsying deeply. "Has our service tonight been acceptable, my lord Dauphin?" She asked, a trifle anxiously.
"My lady, it has been a very long time since I enjoyed myself quite so thoroughly," I answered truthfully, and was rewarded by a beaming smile.
"Your companion chose the room first on the right, at the top of the stairs," she said. "Do you require anything more to drink? Something to eat, my lord Dauphin?"
I raised my nearly-empty tankard. "No, madam, thank you kindly. I will be retiring for the night, shortly. Shall I send a courier on the morrow to settle my debt?"
There followed a lengthy discussion in which she adamantly refused to charge the Dauphin of Terre D'Ange for a night's rent, and which I eventually won, after some good-natured insistence. Downing the rest of my wine, I set aside the empty tankard and headed upstairs.
The noise of the common room was only slightly muted when I reached the second floor, which I supposed was just as well; I had no intention using the room for sleeping. The room that Michel had chosen was tiny, meant for only one person, lit by a pair of lanterns on either side of the headboard. The bed was scarcely large enough for two to share comfortably. Before it, Michel knelt, waiting for me.
I gazed at him for a long moment, while the only thing to disturb the silence was the faint strains of the revelry downstairs, drifting through the walls. He knelt patiently, as trusting-- and tempting-- as always. I did not think I would ever tire of the sight of him kneeling to await my commands, and I felt my own desire growing more urgent.
However, I realized, subservience not what I truly wanted that night. "Stand up, Michel," I said quietly, moving toward him.
He obeyed, but he kept his eyes down, and he wasn't prepared when I kissed him; he let out a startled sound against my lips. I slid an arm around his waist and drew him closer, deepening the contact, hoping for more of the sweet, hungry depth of our earlier kiss. It was there, for an instant, in the way he shifted to press against me, yielding and eager at once. Then he reached up to clench my shoulder, and kissed me back in turn, with all the skill to which he'd been trained. All thoughts fled before the sudden, engulfing need that overtook me, and I pushed him back toward the bed.
We dropped onto the mattress, fumbling with each other's clothing; Michel wrapped his legs about my waist, deftly undoing the buttons of my shirt. His lips closed on my earlobe as I rocked my hips against him, and I groaned, clutching a fistful of the bedclothes. In a confusion of limbs we rolled to the side, and I found myself on my back with Michel trailing kisses and fingertips down my bare chest. His hands drifted lower, working at my clothing, while he ran his tongue under the waist of my breeches.
"Michel," I breathed, watching him. "You needn't..."
"I want to," he replied, smiling up at me before he took my phallus between his lips. Elua, I thought, biting back another groan. That sweet smile, saying that truly there was no where else he wanted to be, and then the slick, hot pleasure of his mouth on my flesh... I was nearly undone before he'd hardly begun. Fighting for control, I let my breath out in a shaky sigh and leaned back, threading my fingers into his hair.
I closed my eyes, knowing that I would not last if I watched him, and I let him perform the languisement as the noise from the common room drifted through the walls. I bit the inside of my lip, sharply, while Michel worked between my thighs with lips and tongue and fingers. There was something different about it, some deeper sense of connection between us after the afternoon we'd spent as friends rather than lovers, and I wanted more.
"Enough, Michel," I said breathlessly, lifting his head. He smiled at me, eyes dark with desire, and it made things clench tightly, deep in my abdomen. "Elua," I muttered. "Take your clothes off, boy, before I tear them from you."
He slid off the bed to obey, and I shifted so that I leaned my shoulders back against the headboard. I watched him disrobe; his face was shadowed by the hair that fell forward to frame it, but when he straightened, bare skin gleaming in the lantern light, his eyes shone.
I held out a hand, wordlessly. He took it, kneeling on the bed to straddle my hips. "Closer," I told him, grasping his hips and drawing him forward. "Up, on your knees." He obeyed, gazing down at me with an expression of trust and need; a tremor shuddered through him when I closed my hand around his phallus.
I reached up to brush my fingertips across his lips. Guessing what I wanted, he drew them into his mouth, sucking gently. After a moment I pulled away, let my dampened fingers trail down the length of his spine and slide between his buttocks. He watched me with those dark blue eyes, wide and hungering, while I drew him closer and ran the tip of my tongue over his phallus. He gasped aloud when I closed my lips around his length and pressed my fingers into his body at the same time.
"Ah, my lord..." he breathed softly, and whatever else he'd meant to say melted into a groan instead. Hesitantly, he reached down to stroke his thumb over my cheek, as if unsure I would allow it. Growing bolder when I didn't stop him, he stroked my hair with his other hand. As I eased my fingers deeper inside him, he rasped out a harsh breath and clenched his fist in my hair.
The control I had taught Michel served him well, for he lasted longer than I'd expected. At the end, though, when my questing fingers found his hidden Pearl of Naamah deep inside, he spent himself with a hoarse cry. As he spilled his seed down my throat, body tensing under my touch, I could hear the wooden headboard creaking overhead, where he had gripped it with both hands.
I let him ease back when he had finished; he gazed down at me with an expression very akin to wonder. "Name of Elua," he said breathlessly. "My lord--"
"Quiet, boy," I said, for the second time that night, smiling to show him I was simply teasing. He laughed softly, and it turned into a gasp when I pushed at his hips, pressing him back against my aching phallus. I lifted him over my thighs with one hand and took myself in the other, gritting my teeth at the desire that throbbed beneath my skin.
It was a bit... challenging... without the ointment we frequently used. We had gone without it before, of course, but I had more of a care for his comfort, this time. We moved slowly, agonizingly so, but I counted it worthwhile to be able to see my own pleasure mirrored on his face. Downstairs, the musicians had begun a slower tune, and the beat of the drum carried clearly through the floorboards. It became the rhythm of our lovemaking, each slow beat measuring another rock of our hips together, a bit more of my length pushing inside him.
When I had finally fit myself completely within the heat of his body, he leaned forward to kiss me, firm and sweet, while his body moved over mine. Trusting to his skill, I let go of his hips and brought my hands up to bury them in his hair instead. He swayed against me with an easy, steady rhythm, muscles tightening around me. It was wordless and slow, and I never wanted it to end. I could feel that deeper emotion, binding us tighter, and it only goaded my desire further. He gazed down at me with blue-black eyes, and I knew he felt the same.
Toward the end, he sensed my growing urgency and rose up on his knees to move more easily. I clung to him as a drowning man clings to his rescuer, gasping against his neck as he brought me to a climax that, for a moment, seemed as if it would last forever.
Breathless, I leaned back against the headboard, bringing him with me. He leaned against my chest, resting his cheek against my shoulder. We lay there quietly for a long time, while I silently thanked Naamah for the adept whose service to her brought me so much joy. Idly, I let my fingers explore the lines of ink on his back, as the sweat cooled on both of our bodies. I gazed down at him, admiring the contrast of his dark hair against the pale skin of his shoulders, and then frowned.
"Michel."
"Yes, my lord?" His voice sounded drowsy.
I circled a fingertip around the top of his marque, where the ink stopped at the center of his spine. "Have my patron-gifts been so miserly, that your marque has not grown even a finger's width over the past months?"
"No, my lord! You are always generous," he said immediately, shifting to raise his head and gaze up at me. "But I... I have been saving every spare penny for the Academy fees."
I frowned again, brushing an errant strand of hair from his brow. "Even at the expense of your freedom?"
He smiled up at me, a smile with more than a touch of mischief about it. "For as long as you honor me with your patronage, my lord, I am in no hurry to make my marque."
I had wondered about that, wondered what I would do when his obligation to Valerian House was repaid and he was free to leave Naamah's service if he chose. His reply warmed my heart, and I chuckled. "Good," I murmured, and kissed him, slowly.
When we parted, he said, quietly but firmly, "And ere you ask, my lord, I will not accept a patron-gift for tonight."
"Oh, no?" I said, wondering how he had guessed my thoughts. Like as not, he had that uncanny ability of all adepts to gauge their patrons' desires, whether in bed or outside it. "And why not?"
"This was not an assignation, my lord. We both wished for a night that was not about the Dauphin and the adept, and it was not. It was... you and I, no more, and I can not accept payment for a night that was not spent in Naamah's service."
"Hmm." Idly, I toyed with that stubborn strand of his hair, twining it around my finger. For the second time that night, he had impressed me with his insight. "Shall I make an offering to her Temple, then, instead?"
"To Blessed Elua's Temple, my lord," he amended softly. "For it was he that we honored tonight."
"'Love as thou wilt,'" I murmured. I gazed into his deep, deep blue eyes, and thought about that deep, unnamed emotion that I had felt between us. "Very well, Michel; I shall pay a visit to Elua's Temple on the morrow. Would you care to accompany me?"
"Oh, yes, my lord," he breathed, just before I kissed him. He responded eagerly, and I could feel the tide of desire beginning to swell once more. I wanted to press him back against the bed and take him again, make him arch under me and utter breathless moans... But the weight of my responsibilities was beginning to return, slowly. With reluctance, I broke the kiss before it went any farther, giving him a rueful smile.
"If the Royal Guards have not yet come looking for me, they will soon. We should return to Valerian House before the rumors of the missing prince begin."
Michel laughed softly, and drew away obediently to don his clothing. I did the same... and though I knew it was no use wishing for the freedom to stay at the Cockerel with him all night, I wished it anyway.
