My father dropped his hand from his face and wrapped me in a hug, which I gladly returned. “You had us worried there for a second, daughter.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his shoulder.
“No need to be, it wasn’t your fault. Jarius will figure it out, I’m certain.” He ended the hug and pulled back to look at me. “If you’re sure you’re alright”—I nodded my head— “then I would like you to continue your responsibilities for the day. But I would like to talk with you soon about your dreams, if that’s okay?”
I nodded again. “Of course, Father.”
“Then we must be going, Ellowyn. There is much that needs to be done today, and we’ve spent more time in here than was necessary,” my mother said as she strode from her place by the window. “Please go and try to figure something out with your hair. I’ll send Jaclyn up to try and wrangle it for you. Then gather your brother and Finian. They have business in Katiska today as well.”
I agreed and then tried to hurry from the room before my mother could say, or request, anything else from me. Just as my hand was on the door to the study, she called out again.
“Oh, and Ellowyn. See one of our healers about those cuts on your face. They’re unbecoming.”
“Yes, Mother.” I curtsied before hurrying from the room and down the hallway toward our healing room in the back of the manor. Most rulersemployed a variety of Mages for different household tasks; the richest, and the most influential, also employed a Creation Mage who used their magic to heal minor injuries and maladies. Creation Mages were few and far between, and those who focused on minor healing even less so. But I supposed that employment in a Lord’s manor had its perks—money and higher paying job opportunities later to be specific—and, thus, my parents had a Creation Mage employed as a personal servant.
The back wing of our house was primarily servants’ quarters and other rooms used for things my parents didn’t want our high-society guests to see. There was even a separate door to enter the wing, guarded by two Mages from my father’s personal guard. The Mages saw me approaching and one opened the door with a key that hung from his belt.
I thanked him and made my way down the darkened hallway. There were no windows in this corridor of the house—probably because there was a door every six feet or so, each leading to a room that housed a few servants or guards. There was a separate kitchen and dining area, and the whole corridor functioned like a separate home. It was simultaneously intriguing and saddening. Once you were employed by a ruling family of any territory, you generally stayed employed by them until your death, which meant whole families ended up living in the house they served.
Our healing room was toward the middle of the corridor on the right, and I quietly knocked before letting myself in. Our Healer was an older, dumpy Mage who talked under her breath with a lot oftuttingnoises scattered about. She didn’t even ask why I was there, simply assessed the damage to my face before lightly touching each wound, a trickle of magic knitting my flesh back together. There was a slight burn as the magic worked, but otherwise, the process was relatively painless and quick. Our Healer had no Vessel, most servants didn’t, and the crystal that stored her magic was inlaid into a ring that had direct contact with her skin. It was an inventive way to ensure bodily contact with the crystal that held her well of magic while still being able to use both hands if necessary.
I thanked her and quickly made my way back out of the servants’ corridor and up to my brother’s room. It was past midday at this point, and I was shocked that neither Finian nor Peytor had emerged for any type of food. Maybe they had the servants bringing it to them.
I knocked on the door, waiting for either man to answer. When no oneresponded, I began to tap my foot impatiently, arms crossed over my chest. Mother’s personal maid was supposed to be meeting me in my room any minute now, and her personality matched Mother’s. Plus, any type of lateness or perceived lateness would be reported back to my mother, which would only accumulate consequences for me later.
Ugh.
I knocked again, this time louder and a little more forcefully.
“Peytor, Finian!” I called as I knocked. When there was no answer, I put my ear to the door. Our doors were impossibly thick, which made for phenomenal personal privacy but greatly inhibited any type of eavesdropping.
I sighed and tried the door handle.
Miraculously, it was unlocked. I pushed it open, ready to chastise Peytor and Finian for leaving me in the hall, but what I saw froze me completely in the doorway. My mouth gaped open, but instead of finding words to throw at the boys, shock rendered me speechless. My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as I took in the scene on my brother’s large four-poster bed. His bed was positioned against the opposite wall to the door, in between the two large windows. Unfortunately for me, the bed was kitty-corner from the door, and I saweverythingthat was happening.
Both boys were completely naked, Finian lay face-up beneath Peytor, and Peytor was thrusting hard into Finian’s ass. Finian’s eyes were closed in apparent pleasure, and my brother focused his gaze on where their bodies were joined. If the two men weren’t my brother and closest friend, I’d find the difference in their bodies to be almost poetic—Finian was wiry and strong, his thin arms pinned to the bed by Peytor’s more massive form.
“Yes, fuck yes.Justlike that. Shit, Peytor,shit,” Finian panted from beneath Peytor. His voice was husky and low, and a slight whine accompanied the end of his sentence.
Peytor thrust hard again, his muscles clenching from the force of it. Every time he thrust, Finian’s dick bounced against their stomachs, leaving an obscene trail of what I could only guess was precum. I’d seen dicks before when helping to facilitate the intimate moments after a Bonding Ceremony, but I never stayed for the physical act of sex. My job was to help get Mages hard or wet, and I saw enough penises to judge size. From what I could see, Finian seemed rather average, though that didn’t seem to bother mybrother. He reached between them and grabbed Finian’s dick in his hand, stroking up and down in time with his thrusts.
I shook myself from my stupor as their grunts grew louder.
“Ohgods!” I shouted before slamming the door closed behind me and covering my eyes, my face as red as a ripe tomato.
“Oh FUCK!” I heard Peytor shout. There was the distinct squelching sound of something wet slipping out of something else wet—I didnotwant to think about that—then the rustle of covers and a few other muttered curses.
Finally, after what felt like ages, Peytor spoke again, though he was out of breath and his voice sounded strained.
“Okay, Ell, you can open your eyes.”
I peeked through my fingers splayed over my eyes and saw that both Finian and Peytor were in the bed, covers pulled up nearly to their chins, looking thoroughly chagrined and flushed with embarrassment. Though maybe that flush was something else.
Don’t think about that!I shuddered and shook my head, trying to rid myself of that visual.
I groaned before removing my hands, keeping my eyes closed, and leaning my head back. “Please tell me there’s some sort of magic that can erase a memory.”
Finian chuckled. “Nope. Not possible.”
