He awoke with his arm still wrapped around Aryn’s waist. The gentle sound of his breathing subtly filled the quiet morning air as cold sunlight filtered through the curtains in the bedroom. Rousing his consciousness, he took in a slow, deep breath and steadily blew it out, nuzzling his forehead into Aryn’s back. The prince’s skin was slightly chilled, but the rest of them was quite warm beneath the thick fur blankets that adorned the bed. He lay there for a few moments more, taking in the content peacefulness of it all.
Eventually he carefully sat up, not wanting to jostle the featherbed, and came to rest on his elbow, looking down at him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Aryn’s face look so calm before; most nights he usually had to wake the prince once or twice because he would begin to toss and turn, mumbling in an incoherent yet clearly uncomfortable way. He had wished just once for him to be able to escape his thoughts and truly rest. Apparently last night had finally been that time.
His fingers gently brushed the cool blonde hair from his forehead, and he leaned down and placed a featherlight kiss to it before carefully sliding out of bed. Moving quietly, he donned a comfortable grey sweater made of thick wool and slid on a pair of slippers to keep the cold from his feet. He left the bedroom door slightly cracked before he trekked down the stairs.
The fire in the great hearth had diminished to embers, and the house contained a pretty intense chill. Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, he shuffled over and began to refill it, piling up a good amount of logs to get a proper blaze going. He waited a moment, but thankfully the embers were enough to eventually catch the rest of the wood on fire. With that, he made his way past the dining room and into the kitchen. The room was freezing, so he quickly threw some logs onto the cooking hearth, along with some kindling, and started the fire.
Aryn had hired a few people to help keep the estate stocked, but there were no servants. The prince had known he wouldn’t have wanted to throw away his entire lifestyle; he felt that having someone do everything for you took away one’s worth, one’s independence. If anything, it just simply made him feel like a lazy bastard. Not to mention they wanted their privacy. The pantry was stocked with all manner of ingredients, as well as produce and animal products such as carrots, potatoes, leeks, eggs, and several different hardy cheeses. In another pantry, constructed of stone, cuts of salted meat wrapped in paper sat on the cooled slabs. He had asked for the date the animal was butchered to be written on the papers, so he would know when to cure it and dry it out. Even though he was well-off now, he still felt it a crime to waste any food.
He procured a cut of pork and prepared an iron skillet, setting out to cook a proper breakfast. Thankfully the kitchen had started to warm up, as he could no longer see his breath in the air. Setting out some eggs, leeks, and potatoes, he went to work.
The kitchen began to fill with the mouthwatering smells of savory cooked meat and the herbal, earthy scent of leeks and potatoes. Once the pork had been turned to thick, chewy strips of bacon, he moved on to the eggs.
Shit, maybe I should’ve started on some coffee before–
“Morning,” a groggy, raspy voice greeted from the kitchen doorway.
He turned to spot Aryn, dressed in a dark green sweater that was too big for him, leaning against the doorframe still half-asleep. His lips curved upward into a warm, endearing smile as the prince covered his mouth in a yawn.
“Morning. You hungry?”
Still mid-yawn, he nodded with blue eyes squinted shut. “It smells really good. I didn’t know you could cook.”
He stirred the eggs around the skillet some more before they began to stick.
“Mum taught me. Said the ladies love a man who can cook, so… well, I figured it’d still be good to learn for my own sake,” he explained with a shy smirk.
He heard the soft patter of slippered feet approach him before Aryn wrapped his slender arms around his waist from behind. A soft chuckle escaped his chest as the prince’s hands could barely overlap one another.
“You and your mum are close then?” he murmured against his broad back.
“Yeah. Pa taught me how to be a protector, but my mum taught me how to love people.” He threw the chopped leeks in with the eggs. “Don’t get me wrong, my pa has a big heart. But he also believes that showing emotion as a man is showing weakness. Ma was always trying to convince me otherwise.”
“She’s right though,” Aryn stated softly. “Emotions are powerful, not weak. And you can either let them build you up or tear you down.”
A pensive smile tugged at his lips. “You’re very introspective in the morning,” he pointed out playfully.
The prince scoffed through his nose, something like a laugh. “It’s because my brain isn’t a pile of anxious mush yet.”
A heaviness began to grow in his chest, and that smile started to slowly fade.
“Do you know how to make coffee? I forgot to get some going before I started cooking,” he prompted, itching to change the subject.
His slender arms slid away from him, and he turned to see Aryn giving him a playfully annoyed glare. “Yes, I know how to make coffee, Percy. I also know how to wipe my own arse, believe it or not. Where are the beans?”
He felt a subtle heat rise on his cheeks as he laughed, nodding towards a cabinet across from the prepping table. The eggs almost ready, he stirred in some salt and pepper and tossed in the diced potatoes, finally not scalding hot from the boiling water. Aryn reappeared beside him and grabbed the tools he needed to begin roasting the coffee beans. It was rather nice that the hearth was big enough to do more than one thing at a time.
As he watched the prince quietly work, adorably focused on the task at hand, images of last night flashed through his mind. Particularly when he had come to retrieve him for the bath. The panic he had felt in that moment had had a hard time leaving his chest; he thought maybe he had hurt him, or said or done something to make him so upset. He thought he’d ruined it for Aryn, and that was something the prince would never be able to get back.
But when he’d realized Aryn had been emotional for a different reason, there was still a weight that settled in his chest. As he’d scrubbed his back and held the prince to him in the bath, he kept thinking about the King, about how he treated his son behind closed doors. And even though it seemed like his relationship with his brother was mending, what had it been like before that, and for how long? And with his mum gone… he couldn’t imagine just how unbearably lonely Aryn had been. How isolated and unwanted he’d felt.
“What?”
He blinked and quickly moved the eggs from atop the hearth, as they were beginning to sizzle, before turning back to Aryn. “Sorry?”
“You’re staring at me,” he pointed out shyly, his eyebrows furrowed in amused curiosity.
An embarrassed chuckle escaped his mouth as he shook his head, smiling at him guiltily. “Sorry, am I not allowed to stare at you?”
“You can stare at me all you want, but I can tell the difference between your horny stare and your thinking stare.”
“My horny stare?” he interrogated, dark eyebrows shooting upward in disbelief.
A bemused giggle left Aryn’s lips as he turned the attention of his blue eyes back towards his roasting coffee beans. “Yes, your horny stare. Don’t try to play dumb, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He shook his head in joking disappointment. “That’s unbelievable.”
“Okay, so you don’t look at me in any particular way when you want to rip my clothes off?” he prodded.
“Well, I do, but I can’t believe you call that my horny stare,” he laughed.
“What else should I call it then?”
“I don’t know, it just seems so… uncivilized. Like I’m some sort of animal.”
“Percy, that’s exactly how you act when you get worked up,” he accused with a smirk.
He rolled his emerald eyes, but a mischievous smile lit up his face as he began plating the eggs. “Fine. You win.”
With the coffee beans roasted, Aryn moved them off the fire and threw them into a large mortar, but before he could set to work, he snatched the pestle from him.
“Go sit. I’ll take care of it,” he insisted, beginning to grind up the rich, dark brown beans.
Aryn frowned at him. “But you asked me to make the coffee–”
“And now my hands are free. Sit. Eat, before the eggs get cold.”
“Then yours will, too. We can just have coffee after. It’s Sunday anyway, there’s no work to be done. There’s no rush. Just eat with me, please?”
His hands paused their work as he glanced over at Aryn, his deep blue eyes staring at him insistently. With a defeated sigh, he set the pestle down and finished plating their food. It was a robust assortment of scrambled eggs mixed with chopped leeks and potatoes, bacon, and a couple slices of fluffy bread. He carried them into the dining room and pulled Aryn’s chair out for him, motioning for him to sit. As he did, he heard the prince’s stomach growl. Giving him a knowing smile, he sat himself down and began to dive into the food.
He had to hand it to himself, it was pretty goddamn delicious. Warmth spread slowly through his chest as he watched Aryn tear up his eggs, clearly returning the same sentiment. They both hadn’t eaten much last night, just little finger foods at the ball, and they had been too exhausted to even wander down to the kitchen and grab a makeshift snack. They ate in comfortable silence, gratefully filling their bellies as the sun began to rise higher in the late morning sky.
“So, what would you like to do today?” he prompted, taking a bite of his bread.
“Hmm… I thought maybe we could just stay here and relax. You can work on your art, and I’ll do some reading. Come to think of it, I would like to put a harp over here–”
“Hold on, a harp? Why?” he asked, confused.
His fair face began to flush slightly pink as he stared down at his food. “Because I know how to play it…”
A broad smile spread across his lips, and he cocked his head to the side slightly, brown curls shifting. “You never told me you played any instruments.”
“Well, that’s because I kind of lost my passion for it, since my mother had gotten really sick. I… I would play for her when she was having a really rough day. It always seemed to make her feel a bit better. Ever since she passed I… I haven’t so much as touched the strings.”
He watched Aryn’s face fall as he ruminated on those horrible memories, his fork idly pushing around his eggs. Sadness always seemed to ruin his appetite. When they first met, and he had held him that night, he was shocked at how thin he had been. It was like he’d been starving himself. But over the past few months, he had thankfully begun to put some meat on his bones. Although still slim, he looked natural now, healthy.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Well I would love to hear you play,” he declared, his smile becoming more gentle. “We can go find one for you tomorrow, when the shoppes open back up.”
His soft, pink lips twitched upward slightly, but he knew the prince was still lingering on the past. A weight began to sink in his stomach as Aryn set his fork down, his blue eyes growing distant.
“You haven’t eaten much,” he pointed out, keeping his tone extremely gentle. “We barely ate yesterday. Are you done?”
Aryn’s eyes darted around the plate, the small smile that had threatened to occupy his lips now turning slightly downward. “I’m just not very hungry anymore.”
“Love, I need you to eat,” he stated a bit more sternly, though his voice was still warm. “Finish up your plate and I’ll go make that coffee, okay?”
Reluctantly, he picked his fork back up. With an encouraging smile, he rose from the table and headed back into the kitchen, working on grinding the beans again. Once ground, he began to boil them. A few minutes had passed when Aryn wandered in with an almost empty plate. Putting a filter over the pot, he carefully poured the coffee into two ceramic mugs, handing one to the prince.
“You wanna head up to the study after this? I can carry one of the armchairs up there for you to sit in so we can still spend time together,” he offered before taking a careful sip.
Smiling shyly behind his mug, Aryn nodded. “That sounds nice. Thank you.”
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, just sipping at their hot coffee as the world continued to wake up. His mind kept wandering to last night, and he couldn’t fight the subtle flushing heat that rose on his neck. He hadn’t completely known what to expect, but what had surprised him most was how he felt during it. Being their first time, he thought things would be slow (which they were, in the beginning at least), maybe a bit awkward and, well frankly, not terribly successful. But once they had settled in, it was… intense. He had quickly lost himself in Aryn, and between the noises he was making and the way his body was responding, he’d felt absolutely feral. The thoughts that’d been running through his mind, looking back on them now, even made himself flustered.
And he could not wait to do it again.
Finishing his coffee, he grabbed the armchair from the sitting room and hauled it up the stairs, his ankle protesting slightly. Everything had healed now, but there was still a lot of tightness in the joint. Nevertheless, Byron had told him it was important to start challenging it. He managed to get the chair up the stairs without incident and placed it in the drawing room, by one of the windows. Aryn followed closely behind, a book in hand that he’d grabbed from one of the bookshelves in the sitting room. The daylight readily filtered into the study, casting a cool, golden glow onto everything. Aryn placed a kiss to his cheek before plopping down into the chair, cracking open the novel as he crossed his legs.
He wasn’t sure what to draw, but as the prince sat there with the sunlight streaming onto him, ashen hair casting perfect shadows across his face, he’d found his inspiration for the day. His hand glided the charcoal across the large paper, putting down the outlines that he would begin to fill in as he continued on. The sounds of scribbling and page turning quietly filled the room for the better part of a few hours, each of them perfectly content with their activities and current company.
“What do you think?” he prompted, turning to face Aryn.
The prince cluelessly looked up from his book and set his deep blue eyes on the paper, his cheeks instantly turning a rosy color. “I love it.”
Warmth spread through his broad chest as they locked gazes, accompanied by the intrusion of a fluttering sensation when the look in Aryn’s eyes shifted.
“Can we talk about last night?” he prompted shyly, gently closing his book.
He swiveled in his chair to face the prince fully. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”
Aryn began fidgeting with the corner of the novel, his lips pressing together timidly as his foot started to bounce.
“Did you… like it?”
“I told you I did,” he pointed out, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. “Why, was there something I did to make you think otherwise?”
“N-no, no I just… I’m just having a hard time accepting that this is real,” he stated with a nervous chuckle.
He could see the insecurity worming its way onto Aryn’s face. With a sigh, he stood up from his chair and stepped over to him, reaching his hands down to hold his cheeks. His fair skin still flushed, Aryn tilted his head up, locking eyes with him once more.
“This is real, Aryn. We’re real. I am utterly and completely obsessed with you.” He brushed his thumb across his rosy cheek. “And I will do whatever it takes to convince you of that.”
He saw his slender chest heave subtly and realized just how close he was standing to him. That electricity between them began to build, and he pulled at Aryn’s face, making him rise from the chair. Without breaking their gaze, he slowly took the book from his hand, plopping it down onto the small side table. He could see beneath the prince’s clothes, remembering the way his naked body had looked under the candlelight, begging to be ravaged.
“Did you like it?” he asked in a near whisper, their mouths getting closer and closer to one another’s.
“Yes,” he murmured back shyly. He caught his blue eyes darting briefly towards his lips.
“What did you like about it?” he goaded, his free hand now coming to slide its way around his waist.
Aryn bit at his own lip timidly, a shy chuckle escaping his mouth. “It makes me feel weird saying it.”
“Do you want me to guess then?” he asked playfully, working his fingers up underneath his sweater onto the small of his back.
Aryn nodded and slid his hand under his shirt, brushing his delicate fingers along the well-formed muscles on his abdomen. He could feel the blood already begin to rush downward at his touch.
“Well, if I had to guess,” he let his other hand trace along Aryn’s throat, “was it when I was deep inside of you?”
He watched his face instantly turn red, and his blue eyes flicked away from his, unable to maintain their gaze. Smirking softly, he leaned forward and brushed their lips together, teasing him.
“I assume I was right with that one.”
“Mayhaps…”
Teeth suddenly tugged at his bottom lip, and he responded by gripping Aryn’s face firmly in his hand. “You better be careful, or you might end up right back in that bed.”
“Yes, that’d be such a shame,” he murmured against his lips teasingly, a flirtatious grin spreading across his fair face before he pressed their mouths together.
God, he wanted him so bad. But they need to take at least a day, especially Aryn. That didn’t mean he couldn’t touch him, though. There were other ways of making the prince feel good besides what they did last night.
A firm knock sounded on the front door, and Aryn pulled away with a groan. “I swear, every time,” he complained. “Should you get it?”
He chuckled defeatedly and nodded, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before making his way downstairs. To his surprise, he opened the door to find Philip standing there, dressed in a thick, dark grey coat lined with fur.
“Good morning,” the crown prince greeted politely. “Is my uh, is my brother here?”
He stepped aside to invite Philip in. “Yes, he’s still passed out in one of the guest bedrooms. Drank a bit too much last night. I’ll go grab him for you.”
The lie ran off his tongue smoothly, but his heart raced wildly inside his chest. Why would Philip be here, of all people? Had something happened? He trekked back upstairs to Aryn, who waited expectantly.
“It’s your brother,” he murmured lowly.
The prince’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? Ugh, let me get dressed.”
He made his way back downstairs to keep Philip occupied. The crown prince had wandered over towards the fireplace, warming his gloved hands, and turned to receive him with a polite, if not slightly awkward, smile.
“This is a lovely home, Percy,” he prompted. “I might actually like to live somewhere like this myself if I didn’t have to reside in the castle. Those huge stone walls tend to make things feel a bit less cozy.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I can imagine. It has been very nice living here.”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs caught their attention as they both turned to receive Aryn. He was dressed in his attire from last night, which further solidified the lie that he had crashed here unexpectedly. A terse smile occupied his face as he strode over to Philip.
“Brother, I didn’t think I’d ever expect you to come round here. What’s going on?”
“Father wishes to speak with you, about the incident last night. I informed him of everything I saw, but he wants the full story before he removes Benjamin from the council,” he explained.
“Then I guess we should be going then.” Aryn turned to face him with a soft, secretly regretful expression. “I’ll see you later, Percy.”
“Goodbye, Aryn.”
He escorted them both to the door, brushing his hand against Aryn’s behind his back, as they exited the estate.
Lonely drawing it is then.
***
“Why does it bother you so much?” Dahlia asked as she brushed her long, dark hair.
The clear thoughts and opinions he had formed were now quickly turning to mush as he stared at the smooth lines of her bare back. She sat at the vanity completely naked, perfectly unbothered by her lack of clothes. He would think after their rather vigorous tangling in their sheets, he’d have gotten it out of his system, but with her, he had begun to learn it truly never would be enough.
“Philip?” she called in a sing-songy tone, an affectionate smirk growing on her full lips.
It took him a moment to remember what they were talking about.
“Sorry, I don’t know, it’s just… odd. I suppose I already have a hard enough time understanding my brother, so maybe I just don’t understand this but… he’s been acting differently.”
“What, happier?” she challenged, turning to face him, the peak of her breasts now visible.
“Well, yes. But you must admit the amount of time he and Percy spend together is unnatural. He slept at his home last night, Dahlia–”
“Well I wouldn’t want to trek through the freezing cold in the dead of night while being intoxicated either, darling. Besides, have you seen Percy? They are friends, Philip. I do not know from where you get these scandalous delusions.”
A frustrated sigh left his mouth. “Dahlia, I do not believe they are delusions. Aryn has never once tried to court a woman, ever. I mean for God’s sake, he looked as if he were going to be ill any time a lady came to talk to him last night.”
She set her brush down and crossed her legs, turning to face him fully. “Alright, humor me then. So what if your brother does not fancy women? Would that truly be an issue for you, for your family? We’re already married. The future of your family’s legacy is inevitably secure. So what if Aryn does not have children?”
“Dahlia, it is not my opinion I worry about. If he is in fact… abnormal, and God forbid lying with Percy, the things my father would do–”
“Well then it’s good fortune that that’s not the case.”
It was too convenient. She was too quick to dismiss it.
“Do you know something?” he interrogated quietly, eyebrows furrowing.
“My love, it is not my place to get involved in this–”
He stood from the bed, the back of his neck growing hot. “So you do know something. Dahlia, if something is going on, I need to know. Not for my sake, but for my brother’s. How else will I be able to protect him?”
The expression on her beautiful face shifted, becoming vulnerable, nervous.
“I promised not to tell anyone, Philip…”
She looked… scared. A hard wall of realization crashed into him as he saw himself in the mirror. The way he was standing, the look in his eyes, it was just like Father. He let out a soft breath and took a careful step towards his wife, easing himself onto his knees in front of her before taking her hand.
“I know. And I know promises are important. But this is serious, my love. I will make a promise to you then: I swear Aryn, and Percy, if he is truly involved, will never know you told me. I will not shame you like that. But I need to know.”
He watched as conflict danced across her gorgeous features, but eventually she let out a shaky sigh.
“They are partnered, yes.”
“Who all knows?”
“Just me, Oliver, and now you,” she stated quietly. “But Philip please do not get between them.”
An overwhelming sense of confusion fogged up his head. “What… Why not? Dahlia, it has to stop, before something happens.”
She leaned forward in her chair, a sense of desperation coming over her and filling her hazel eyes. “You have not seen them together, truly. My love, I know it is difficult to understand but… they love each other. Could you imagine what that would do to Aryn if you forbade him from seeing Percy? After everything you’ve told me he’s been through, I fear he will not recover from that…”
Thoughts swam through his head wildly. He had known it; deep down, he knew, at the very least, that Aryn was different. When his brother had brought Percy to that hunt, it was strange enough that he had made friends with a commoner. But when the accident happened, he’d caught how Percy was dragging himself, desperately, over to his brother, even when he was on the brink of death. It enraged him when Aryn would not leave his bedside save to finally sleep, not even eating the rest of the day. He hadn’t been able to wrap his head around it.
But seeing Percy in the council chamber the last fortnight, he thought he understood what was happening, thought that Aryn simply admired Percy and aspired to be more like him. But he’d noticed the way Percy had been looking at his brother last night. There was a deep sense of adoration, of longing in his eyes; men did not look at other men like that. When he’d entered Percy’s estate, been given the excuse of Aryn’s intoxication, the lie almost landed had he not laid eyes upon the barely drank bottle of wine sitting at the edge of the dining table. Neither had been drunk in the slightest upon leaving the ball.
“Philip…”
He lifted his rich brown eyes to find Dahlia staring at him anxiously, expectantly.
“Promise me. Please.”
It was a horrible idea. But she was right; he simply could not be the one to take away yet another person Aryn loved, another person that loved his brother. So against his better judgment, he sighed and kissed her cheek.
“I promise.”