Chapter 22: Diversion
As usual, it's quiet in their chosen library nook. Mid-afternoon sunlight peeks through the windows, casting yellow shadows along the shelves and floor. It catches on little dust motes in the air as they dance gracefully in spirals. There are rainclouds spreading across the sky, ready to give Aesind his favorite reading weather and Emrys a reprieve from the season's growing warmth, but for now, Emrys basks in the sun.
The nearby desk is clear at the moment, but once Aesind arrives, it won't stay that way. He'll fill it with books and his journal's sprawling pages and sheet music as inspiration strikes and wanes only to rear up yet again minutes later between sentences in his book.
Emrys smiles at the empty desk from his seat in the windowsill. He wonders what the topic of the day is. Practical applications of spatial magics in the kitchen, perhaps. Or maybe something having to do with that pirate novel he'd been devouring late last night, nestled in one of Emrys's armchairs long after he'd intended to return to his own rooms. Emrys would've told him the hour, but the pretty man sat comfortably sprawled with his leg over the arm of the chair, finally still after hours of shifting. He looked so enraptured with tales of wind and waves and adventure that Emrys couldn't bear to have it end. They hadn't spoken a word to each other in well over two hours, and Emrys couldn't have been happier.
Their plan to talk about Reeves had long since been abandoned, because neither wanted to talk about the asshole for longer than they needed to. It was late, and they were tired, and Aesind desperately wanted to unwind. Emrys was all too happy to agree, eager to let Aesind be happy for once. That book had Aesind smiling and laughing and then, as time ticked onward, utterly consumed with childlike wonder. Emrys is still thinking about the delighted gasp Aesind let out as something shocking happened on the page. He didn't even bother asking about it; gods forbid he interrupt and miss another opportunity to hear Aesind's absentminded noises.
Emrys made a point to arrive at the library earlier than usual to try and find the rest of the novel series for Aesind, but his library navigation skills aren't the strongest. He feels more at home weaving between tall pines and gnarled oaks and thick brambles than between endless stacks of books, but he did his best. The small pile of novels at his hip aren't of the series, but they do have sailors and winding adventures in them. One even claims to be based on a true story from history.
He hopes Aesind hasn't read them yet.
A small commotion catches his attention. Emrys is on his feet, alert for danger, when Aesind comes scurrying around the corner. He has nothing in his hands, no books or journals or pens. His emerald eyes are wide with subdued panic, and Emrys has to physically restrain himself from putting his arms around the man to protect him from whatever's pursuing. Even with their game of pretend, that would be a step too far.
"What's wrong?" Emrys asks, hands hovering as they meet halfway down the aisle.
"Reeves," Aesind hisses. "I caught him repeating the same things you mentioned before to his attendant. But now..."
"He's putting his plans in motion already." Emrys frowns hard, glaring past Aesind toward the dim end of the aisle. "Where is he now?"
"Not far. He's --" Aesind swallows, quells the violent tremor in his voice to a minimal waver. "He's aware we come here sometimes. It seems his goal is to make it appear as though he and I are... attached. To scare you off. Immediately."
"As if that'd work," Emrys says past a possessive growl in his chest.
"I don't know what to do. I can't cast him out without tangible proof, it would be a disaster. And I can't confront him, either, unless he does something provably malicious to me. And even then, it would be my word against his, and I can't know that his -- his patron and whoever else is involved will believe me or let it go even if they do believe me." He pulls in a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know what to do, Emrys."
Aesind's eyes are huge and pleading. Emrys feels his panic deep within his own breast, absorbing it and turning it toward the need to protect, to defend, to keep.
An idea blooms. It's a bad one. A dangerous one.
The library's heavy, groaning door sounds in the distance. Aesind sucks in a sharp breath, and Emrys can't help when he reaches out to set his hands on Aesind's shoulders.
"Do you trust me?" Emrys asks, heart pounding as though it intends to escape his ribcage.
"Of course," Aesind replies so quickly it sets Emrys's head reeling.
Emrys takes one of Aesind's hands, guides him to the tall windowsill. He urges Aesind to sit, then situates himself between his legs. Like this, they're at the same height. Aesind watches him with those huge eyes, filled with confusion but swimming with trust.
"He won't think he can scare me away if he thinks you've already officially chosen me," Emrys whispers into the meager space between them. "Not just flirtation like we've been doing, but a choice. What if we turn his plan against him and use it ourselves?"
Aesind's lips part as he searches Emrys's urgent expression.
Swallowing, Emrys takes another half step forward and cups Aesind's cheek. It's cool and smooth and so soft under his callused fingertips, and he worries momentarily that his touch is too rough to be kind. But Aesind leans into it almost imperceptibly, lashes fluttering.
Footsteps echo in the vast library.
Emrys tips closer, their noses brushing together.
"Can I kiss you, Aesind?" he asks softly.
Aesind's eyes fall shut. He whispers, "Yes."
All it needs to be is obvious. Just enough to make it clear that Emrys won't be chased off, that Aesind isn't interested. That's it. A little kiss, brief and chaste.
Friendly, really.
The second their lips touch, though, Emrys's body has other plans. His brain fizzles and goes entirely blank. Aesind's lips are as plush as they look, soft and inviting and parting ever so slightly as Emrys presses that much closer for a second kiss. His hands land on Aesind's waist, holding him steady at the edge of the sill. And when Aesind's hands slide up his chest, grasping at the front of his shirt and winding up and around the back of his neck to meet the way Emrys tilts his head to the side to deepen the third kiss even further --
To say Emrys gets lost in it is an understatement. The entire world falls away. Nothing exists but them, floating on a sea of quiet sighs and shared breath.
A little voice in the back of Emrys's mind pipes up, warns caution. It's swiftly drowned out by the electrifying brush of tongues meeting almost by accident in the space between their teeth. And the sound Aesind makes then, soft and wanting, pulling Emrys closer to himself and locking his ankles around Emrys's hips, kills it entirely.
It's everything he wanted and more. The possessive, growling beast at his core is soothed with every meeting and parting. Mine, mine, mine, it chants, heedless of whether it's true.
It isn't. It can't be.
His fingers dig into Aesind's sides, wander to his back to hold him more firmly, splaying his hands wide to touch as much of him as possible. The tips of his fingers find the loose ends of the braid containing beautiful auburn curls, and the urge to untie the leather strip holding it together and let Aesind free of it is almost unbearable.
Emrys wants to see him wild and free and happy. He wants to tangle his fingers in those curls and get lost in fathomless green eyes and find himself again in bright, unabashed laughter. Wants to taste cinnamon and honey at the tip of that tongue and trade endless jokes beyond the threshold of a shared bedroom. Wants to hear every tale in that beautiful mind and suffer lecture after lecture in subjects no normal person could possibly care about. Wants to strip Aesind bare right here and hit his knees to show this beautiful man exactly how badly Emrys has wanted him from the very first day they met.
He wants this.
He wants this.
The clearing of a throat startles him far more than it should. He whips around, arms splayed to shield Aesind from their onlooker, and instantly remembers the purpose behind asking for a kiss. Guilt crashes down over his head, but Emrys squares his shoulders and fixes Reeves with a cold stare.
"Can I help you?" Emrys asks, breathing heavily and not bothering to hide it. It's part of the ruse. Of course.
Reeves runs his eyes down Emrys, haughty as ever. He then looks past, toward Aesind, but Emrys shifts to obscure his view.
"I said, can I help you?"
The bastard smiles. "Yes. You can leave."
"I've just as much right to be in the library as anyone," Emrys says. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, knowing just how intimidating his size and physique can be. He's a big guy, not quite so big as his brother Aryn, but mean-looking when he wants to be. And right now, he's using every inch to his advantage. Even injured and bound up in the shoulder brace, he's more than a match for this pampered lord's son.
"I mean the manor." Reeves gestures loosely to Aesind, still sitting behind Emrys on the sill. "You cannot possibly think you're worthy of him, or of Archimedes."
The lack of honorific rankles Emrys something fierce. He's got explicit permission from the godkin man himself to drop the "His Lordships." This intruder does not.
"Worthy or not, I'm a finer candidate than you." Emrys's lip curls into a sneer, imitating Aesind's best, most noble air. "And the man's made his choice. Fuck off."
Reeves bristles like a cat pet the wrong way but runs a hand over his thick yellow coif, flawless as always. He says, "You really have no idea, do you? The godkin nobility will never accept someone like you. I couldn't care less what this worthless outcast wants. His slutty tendencies don't matter. What matters is power, something you would never understand, peasant."
"Don't you dare insult him," Emrys growls. He takes a threatening step forward.
The posh man scoffs, examining his nails. "I'll say whatever I please. There's no longer any need to pretend. It's already decided."
Ice pours through Emrys's bloodstream. Behind him, Aesind finally sets foot on the ground and peers around Emrys, wide-eyed and more than a little flushed.
"What?" he whispers, eyes darting to Emrys.
"Oh, little magician," Reeves says with effected, patronizing patience. Seeing Aesind, he takes a few meandering steps down the aisle. "Your opinion no longer matters. My sponsor has decided I'm to be Archimedes's second mate."
"That's not his choice to make," Aesind says. He takes a step closer to Emrys's side, not quite cowering. "It's ours."
"No. Not anymore." Reeves makes a dismissive, flicking gesture. "Your opinion on the matter is less than worthless. I am from a powerful family, blessed by Lord Sylas of the Wandering Mists and well-favored in society. Our magic is proven, our pedigree impeccable, and our worth unmatched. You are an inconvenience at the very best. A useless, peasant outcast, incapable of even giving Archimedes a child."
Hurt ripples across Aesind's face before he can shove it back beneath the surface. Fire ignites in Emrys's chest, hot and dangerous and threatening to blaze out of control. Emrys's fists twitch tighter.
Reeves takes another step toward Aesind, hand extended, palm up. "It's time to wake up. I am your only option. Unless, of course, he has changed his mind."
Emrys steps in front of Aesind again to break Reeves's line of sight with a low, rumbling snarl. There's an undeniable threat in his words. Even if Emrys doesn't understand what Archimedes has to change his mind about, the intent is clear. He won't tolerate someone bullying Aesind like this.
"Put your dog back on its leash," Reeves says, bored. "I'm not playing with it."
"Emrys, it's alright," Aesind mumbles. He puts a hand on Emrys's arm, pushing him aside. His gaze is down-turned, confused, calculating. "It's... It's not worth fighting him about."
"Precisely."
Reeves darts forward and grasps at Aesind's wrist to yank him closer. Aesind hisses, both in surprise and in pain, and immediately jerks his arm to try and break free.
He doesn't even feel himself move. In mere moments, his hand is around the bastard's throat, his body filled with righteous flame. Emrys slams Reeves up against the shelves with a bare-toothed snarl. Taller by inches, Emrys towers over the little man as he trembles, wide-eyed, in his grasp.
"Don't fucking touch him," Emrys growls.
"Unhand me, brute!" Reeves squeaks past the grip on his neck with a note of shock, as though he can't believe someone would actually dare put their hands on him. He beats feebly against Emrys's chest.
"You will not touch him. You will not speak to him, you will not look at him." Emrys squeezes just a touch tighter. "Do you understand me?"
"You -- worthless!!"
"You're the one who's worthless," Emrys says, lowering his voice to a soft, dangerous whisper. "Aesind is good and kind. He's smart, powerful, strong and gentle all at once, and one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen in my life. He is incredible, and none of you fucking ingrates see it past how far you've shoved your heads up your pompous asses. He's worth more than all of you combined." He squeezes again to cut off whatever Reeves might try to say. "You don't deserve him or Archimedes. None of you."
Reeves chokes, "He's -- mine."
"No." Emrys shakes his head, fury blazing in his bones. "He's mine."
It isn't true. It can't be true.
"Leave," Emrys says, thrusting the man sideways.
Reeves trips, hits he ground on his ass with a resounding thud, and skids along the wooden floor several feet. He coughs and splutters for air, hand to his reddening throat. Rising with some difficulty, incredulous and disbelieving beneath a terror he's acutely unfamiliar with, Reeves wheezes, "How dare you!"
"Leave," Emrys repeats, taking a heavy step toward the cowering man, "while you still have both arms attached."
Now understanding that Emrys can and will make good on that threat, Reeves scurries to his feet and runs for his worthless life. Emrys waits until he hears the library's door slam shut before turning back toward Aesind, apologies already at the tip of his tongue.
They stutter and stick in his throat at the look on Aesind's face. Stricken, relieved, wary.
Terrified.
"I'm sorry," Emrys mumbles. He steps backwards, swallowing the bitter ice at the back of his throat. "I'm sorry."
It can't be true.
"For which part?" Aesind asks, trembling, and Emrys can't stand himself for putting that tremble there.
"Any of it. All of it."
"All of it," he repeats in a voice so fragile it shatters on the floor.
Stepping over the shards, Emrys backs away. Backs away because everything in him is screaming to leap forward, to gather this beautiful man up in his arms, to kiss him again, to promise to never leave his side. Backs away because he has to.
Because something like Emrys could never have someone like Aesind or Archimedes. Reeves is a son of a bitch, but he isn't wrong: Godkin society would never accept Emrys, even if he were noble.
They could never be his. No matter how much he wishes they could be.
"Where are you going?" Aesind asks, that same panic coloring his words. "What if he...?"
What if he comes back?
The coward in his heart screams to run, to hide, to let his emotions calm and logic to prevail. But he can't just leave Aesind here. Not when he's forbidden to protect himself properly. Not when he's so afraid, even if it's of Emrys. Not when he wants Emrys here, even only as a shield.
"Right," Emrys mumbles. He runs a hand over his face, down the side of his stiff neck. His shoulder aches. "Right. I'm not going anywhere." He gestures to the windowsill. "I, uh. Found a few books I thought you might like. If you haven't read them yet."
Aesind blinks. He glances at the novels, still sitting in their neat pile where Emrys left them. The ghost of a smile flits over his lips. Emrys wrenches his gaze away.
"Thank you," Aesind says. "I've read this one, but not the others."
"If you'd still like to sit and read, I'll stay as long as you want."
Aesind's green gaze lifts to Emrys, but Emrys still doesn't look him in the eye. He can't.
"I'd like that very much."
They sit at opposite sides of the windowsill like always. Emrys curls a little tighter into himself, intent on keeping his legs from brushing Aesind's, fixed on the rain-misted sky beyond the glass. Aesind doesn't give a running commentary on the book he selected -- the one based on history. They sit in perfect silence broken only by the turning of pages and the occasional sigh.
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