Vasily watched, fascinated, as Mother made soothing noises while his big, clever hands twisted the hair into smooth, even braids. He’d never suspected Mother possessed such a skill, and he was torn between admiration and envy.
“I wish my hair looked like that,” he said wistfully. He hadn’t even managed a ponytail this morning, choosing an extra ten minutes wrapped around a sleeping Mother over personal grooming, and his hair hung loose and messy.
Mother stepped closer, wiping his palms on his shirt. “We have time. I could do it?” He looked almost hopeful.
Warmth settled in Vasily’s chest as he imagined Mother tending to him in that way. “I’d like that.”
Mother dragged a low wooden stool into a corner of the courtyard, and Vasily sat down. Standing behind him, Mother ran his fingers through Vasily’s hair, massaging his scalp. Vasily couldn’t hold back a moan.
Mother chuckled. “I’ll remember to do that again later.” His hands stilled. “I don’t have a brush, so it won’t be perfect.”
“I don’t care,” Vasily said. “Anything’s an improvement on this.” He ran a hand through the mess.
“I don’t know,” Mother said, voice low as his hands worked. “I like it like this. It looks like you’ve just had a tumble in the sheets with some lucky soul.”
Vasily’s face heated. “I think I was the lucky one.”
Mother hummed, tilting Vasily’s head this way and that. He sat loose and relaxed with his eyes closed as Mother tugged gently on the strands of his hair and arranged them to his satisfaction. It seemed barely any time had passed before his hands disappeared and Mother declared, “Done.”
Vasily opened his eyes to find Mother standing in front of him holding a hand mirror. “Where did that come from?”
“Davin,” Mother said. “Kept it stashed in the tack room in case he needed to make himself pretty for one of his lasses.” He extended the mirror. “You look like you’d fit in up at the castle, even if I say so myself. What do you think?”
Vasily took the glass, looked at himself, and swallowed.
Mother was right. Despite the lack of a brush, he’d done an excellent job of taming the waves in Vasily’s hair, pulling them back to create a long, smooth braid and tying it with a leather strip, and the image he saw in the mirror wasn’t Vasily the groom. It was Vasily Petrov, Prince of Koroslova, fifth in line for the throne.
He’d forgotten he could look like that—wasmeantto look like that.
He found himself straightening his spine and tensing, the years ofshoulders back, chin out, no slouchingthat had been drummed into him as instinctive as ever.
Some of his disquiet must have shown because Mother crouched in front of him, brow creased. He winced as he did so, and the reminder of last night loosened something in Vasily’s chest. Here, at least, he could still be himself. Here, he was just Vasily the groom, who was lucky enough to have a handsome older lover.
Mother tilted his head, considering, before he reached out a hand and smoothed it over Vasily’s hair. Then he tugged at the tie and pulled it off, running his fingers through the braid and freeing the strands of hair until they once again fell in loose waves around Vasily’s shoulders.
Vasily felt the tension leave him along with the tightness of the braid. “Better,” Mother said quietly. “I prefer you undone.”
His gaze was so open, so affectionate, that Vasily couldn’t help himself. He surged forward, pulling Mother in for a savage, heated kiss. It was uncoordinated at first, but then Mother wrapped one broad palm around the nape of Vasily’s neck, angling his head and making the kiss more, better.
He wasn’t sure when, exactly, Mother pulled him to his feet, but he went willingly, sliding his hands over Mother’s shoulders, the flex of muscle under his fingertips sending a thrill through him. Mother walked him backward until he was pressed against the stable door, and the kisses turned syrupy-slow and lazy as Vasily closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the rasp of stubble. He inhaled Mother’s scent, an intoxicating mixture of hay and fresh sweat that made Vasily want nothing more than to get him naked and kiss every inch of that lean, muscled frame.
He was just contemplating slipping a hand inside Mother’s trousers and seeing what sort of noises he could pull from him when they were disturbed by the steady rhythm of boots marching on the cobblestones.
The guards were here.
Mother straightened and stepped away—but not before pressing one last kiss to Vasily’s cheek and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, the casual affection in the gesture somehow making it more intimate than anything they’d done the night before.
“Horses ready, Vasily?” King Leopold asked cheerfully as he walked into the yard flanked by Felix, Davin, and the guards, resplendent in their dress uniforms. “Of course, sire,” Vasily said, hastening to untie Blackbird from the hitching rail and leading her over to the king. Mother did the same with Shadow.
The king and prince consort were wearing royal blue surcoats with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar, crisp linen shirts, and fitted black trousers. Matching gold coronets and fur-trimmed capes topped off the ensemble.
Felix reached up and fidgeted with his coronet and Leo sighed, reaching out and pulling his hand away. “Leave it, sweetheart.”
The prince rolled his eyes. “I think I preferred being a groom,” he grumbled.
“Apologies, sire, that job’s been filled. You’ll have to stay married to His Majesty,” Mother said, and Vasily bit back a smile.
“Are we going?” Davin interrupted. He looked every inch the crown prince in his own outfit of surcoat, cape, and coronet. His face was wreathed in smiles, and his youthful excitement was obvious. Without waiting for an answer, he untied his mount and hoisted himself into the saddle.
