Thomas laughed. “You know I don’t care what you do, love, but I’ll never say no if you want to take me to bed.”
And it was true. He didn’t care what Evan did. And it wasn’t like he expected Evan to share his secrets with him—once a spy, always a spy, after all. When Evan had started hanging around the training yards and watching his guards carefully, for example, he hadn’t asked any questions. And he had continued to not ask any questions when Evan had started disappearing into the woods with Sam and Darcy and a handful of knives for half a day at a time, or when the king had told him with studied casualness to take both of them off the duty roster.
There were some things he didn’t want, or need, to know.
As it was, Evan’s transition to not technically being a spy had gone remarkably smoothly. One of the best things, as far as Thomas was concerned, had been watching Evan slowly shed his addlepated persona over the months. He’d gradually transformed into the clever, charming man he’d always been underneath until it was generally accepted by the staff and occupants of the castle that he’d been prone to the foolishness of youth, but had now left that behind him.
Or, as Mother Jones had said to Thomas at the pub one night after they’d both had several stiff drinks, “It looks like you’ve finally fucked some sense into him.”
Evan propped himself up on his elbows, eased off Thomas’s still-softening cock with a hiss, and rolled over onto his side. “As it happens, I do want to ask you something.”
“Let me guess,” Thomas said. “You want to try keeping chickens again.”
“Oh lord, no. Who knew they were so messy and vicious or that they smelled so bad?”
“Everybody who’s ever kept chickens,” Thomas said, smiling at the memory of Evan’s outraged expression when he’d discovered that chickens peckedhard,and even renowned spies weren’t safe from an attack to the ankles. The birds had been sent to join the castle flock the following day, and Thomas had teased him about it for weeks.
“Anyway, it’s not chickens,” Evan said, and something in his tone caught Thomas’s attention.
He pulled himself up into a sitting position. “What is it then?”
Evan sat up as well, fiddling with the edge of the bedding. “Well, I was just wondering. It’s been half a year. Is there a reason I’ve never met your family? Have you had a falling out?”
Oh. This.
Thomas had been hoping Evan might just sort of… not notice that Thomas never talked about his parents, but he should have known better. Evan noticed everything.
He ran a hand down his jaw. “No,” he said. “No falling out.”
“Oh good. So can I meet them?”
Thomas blew out a long breath. “Yes?”
Evan raised an eyebrow at that. “That was a no dressed up as a yes if ever I heard one. Sweetheart, do you not want me to meet your parents?”
Warmth bloomed in Thomas’s chest at the pet name, followed by a wave of guilt that Evan might think Thomas didn’t want to introduce him to his family. Ofcoursehe wanted them to meet. He just hadn’t found a way to tell Evan about his unconventional upbringing yet. “No! I mean, yes, you can meet them. I mean, they travel a lot, that’s all. It’s hard to know exactly where they are at any given time.”
Evan’s eyes grew bright with interest. “Thomas, who are your parents exactly, and what do they do? Wait, are theyspies?”
Thomas shook his head. “Not spies, no.” He reminded himself that Evan loved him, and he wouldn’t care who his parents were or what they did, even if it was a little out of the ordinary. He took a deep breath. “They’re sort of… players.”
Evan’s face lit up with excitement, which was not the reaction Thomas had expected. “Really? I love travelling players! Do they sing and dance or are they part of an acting troupe? There’s one act with a couple that throws knives. Their aim is impeccable. They’re my favourites.”
Of course they were.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “That’s them.”
Thomas could see the moment Evan put the pieces together, and his jaw dropped. “Wait. Your parents are The Throwing Malones? Bullseye Bess and Four-Fingered Jack?”
“Well, my mother’s aim was slightly less impeccable when they were younger,” Thomas said drily. “She started out as Best Guess Bess.”
Evan let out a startled laugh. Then he tilted his head to one side and said, “Suddenly, your skill with a blade makes so much more sense.”
“I learned at my mother’s knee. Cut my teeth on a knife blade—literally,” Thomas said. “The stiletto in my boot was a gift from my father when I joined the guards. He said it might save my neck one day.”
“Well, in that case I definitely need to meet them and thank them,” Evan said, “because it certainly saved mine.”
Thomas regarded him steadily. “Why the sudden interest?”
