“Reading, of course.”
Trill twisted his head so he could give the other man a look. Molun darted in and pressed a kiss to Trill’s cheek. Trill felt his breath catch.
“I didn’t mean we couldn’t still spend time together. I’m not ready to do anything sexy without Arvus, that’s all. But we can still cuddle. You like that, don’t you?”
Trill could only nod, because he definitely did like that—and he appreciated more than he could say that Molun appeared to have figured that out and hadn’t let him just sit in his own chair awkwardly, certain he’d messed everything up.
Molun picked up his book again, managing to prop it on Trill’s leg. Trill held half the book, and Molun turned the pages. Trill stared at it out of curiosity but no comprehension.
“What’s it about?” he whispered after a while.
Like speaking quietly would interrupt Molun less.
But he didn’t seem to mind. “Elemental magic. With a lot more words than are really necessary. The Princess said that only pompous windbags write in the Old Tongue, and I must say that the more books I read, the more I’m forced to agree with her. There are a few that are fine, of course, and you sort of get used to the prose after a while, but it’s actually really doing us a disservice, because the longer it takes to say one thing, the longer it takes to read, and we don’t havetimefor that right now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Trill said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Molun gave him a half hug with the arm that was free.
“Keep me company so that I don’t fall asleep while I’m supposed to be reading this.”
“Can you read it to me?” Trill asked.
Hesitating for a moment, Molun said, “It might take me some work to translate it.”
“No, no,” Trill protested. “In the Old Tongue. I know I won’t understand it. But I’d like to hear it.” He was silent for a moment. “When I was quite little, my mother used to read to me at night. It was a nice memory. I thought—It’s silly, sorry.”
Molun hugged him again. “There’s nothing silly about that. And since you don’t know any of the Old Tongue, you won’t be able to tell me that my accent is terrible.”
Trill laughed, and then he closed his eyes, leaning more comfortably against Molun’s warm, strong chest as he listened to his voice. The steady rhythm was very soothing.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up; Arvus was back in the room with a large tray of food for them. Apparently, it was lunchtime. Fortunately, Arvus didn’t seem at all perturbed to find that Trill had fallen asleep on top of Molun.
Trill climbed carefully off the man, making sure to push a little extra energy into him. He might be quite slender compared to Molun and Arvus, but he’d just been sitting on Molun for who knew how long.
Arvus pulled Molun carefully to his feet and then held him there, arms around his waist, making sure he stayed steadily upright.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good,” Molun said cheerfully. “If one has to read boring texts in the Old Tongue, the experience is much improved with someone in your lap.”
“Oh, should we suggest that to Cormal?” Arvus asked.
Molun laughed, although there was a trace of something in it that Trill didn’t like to hear. Was that bitterness? Anger? It was something harsher than the amusement that Trill had started to grow used to.
“Somehow, I don’t think he’d go for that,” Molun said.
“Inviting the Prince was a good idea,” Arvus pointed out.
“Who said that was his idea?” Molun asked.
“Not kicking the Prince out, then?”
Molun huffed a breath, and then he sighed, leaning harder against Arvus. “Yes, that was all right, I guess. I just—”
“—want to drown him in the moat?” Arvus suggested with wry amusement.
“Preferably,” Molun grumbled, but he sounded pouty now, and while it wasn’t good, it wasn’t that same harshness from before.
