Chapter Six: Buri

Sleeping with Buri, in the winter of 457, had been a mistake. When the urge was acted upon, it felt safe. She'd made it clear from the start, as she was unbuttoning his shirt, that there would be no strings attached.

Strings attached… it was one of the hundreds of things they had discussed on the way home from his family's Midwinter party. He told her about his past relationships—the awkward confessions about Gary and Cythera and the uncomfortable accounts of flings with the kind of people who didn't expect marriage. Buri disclosed her own handful of encounters, like always managing to keep to herself even while she shared. They were flip sides of the same worn coin, fearing commitment and changes that couldn't be predicted.

Like other affairs he'd had in the past, Raoul couldn't remember what had triggered that first kiss. They had been discussing something non-romantic—going riding in the morning? Their voyage to Tortall together fifteen years prior? —when Buri had pulled him into a kiss. Earlier in the day, had someone asked what kissing Buri might feel like, Raoul would have sneered and made a comment about incest. They were cut from the same cloth, after all. But her lips under his felt so gods-perfectly right. Her mouth was soft and mysterious; her kiss was passionate, almost brutal.

And when she finally pulled away, leaving him panting and aching for more, she smirked and said, "You wouldn't believe how long I've wanted to do that."

It was a matter of minutes before they found themselves in his bed, altering their friendship forever. Amid the new and wondrous thoughts tearing through his mind, one sentiment echoed, pulsing with his blood: we can't go back.

Hours later they whispered in the dark. Buri confessed that she had once fancied herself in love with him, when she was a teenager and new to Tortall. But Raoul has been such a confirmed bachelor that she gave up hope early, and moved on.

Even after Gary and Cythera, though, he'd kept his bachelor-reputation. He'd shut himself off because of the fear of losing it all again. Ten years before, when he had seen the looks of longing on Gary's and Cythera's faces, he's read plainly in their expressions the invitation into their bed. But he also saw the clasp of their hands. He saw the rings on their fingers. He saw the fatigue in their shoulders that shouted to the world that they were tired-but-happy parents. Yes, they could invite him into their lives for an evening, a fortnight, even the rest of his life. But they were dedicated to each other in a way t hat excluded him.

At the time he had been disgusted that two people with all they could desire would potentially throw it way for a walk down memory lane with him. The repercussions could have been severe. Maybe the Progressive King Jon would forgive his prime minister's sexual appetite, but Tortall could not. The Mithran priests would damn them all, if one world leaked out.

But Raoul had been less disgusted with them than he was with himself. It had been four years since their engagement and he still wanted nothing more than to haul one of them—or both—to the nearest bed. It was enough to send him to a tankard of ale, even though he had vowed to never drink again.

Over time he came to the conclusion that any pain he had felt was his own doing. He had refused to offer Gary a reason to not search for a bride. He had decided to leave Cythera rather than marry her. He had relied on affections waning over time to end his relationships instead of making clean breaks. It was never a matter of missing chances so much as turning away from them.

He would, of course, always love them. But a familiar friendship had replaced any lingering desire or passion. He no longer looked at them and felt betrayal or anger. Part of him wondered what could have been; he could never deny that.

But then came a newer, stronger voice that spoke as he held the K'miri to his chest and drifted to sleep: "Maybe having strings attached is all right."

And maybe sleeping with Buri was an accident, but not a mistake.