Aerion’s cry broke anew, but this time it was joy tangled with terror. He clutched Clyde’s bloodied face in both hands, raining frantic kisses over his brow, his temple, his mouth, sobbing into each one. “You bastard,” he whispered between them. “You impossible, stubborn bastard.”
And Clyde, barely conscious, smiled the faintest ghost of a smile.
Epilogue
The spring rains had come early that year, soft and silver against the slate roofs of Valemont Keep. The garden beyond the western walls had burst into wild green—overgrown, alive, full of the scent of wet stone and lilac. From the terrace, Aerion could see the hills hazed with mist, the world washed clean and tender.
Clyde stood beneath the archway, watching the rain with that same stillness he always carried. His hair had grown longer in the months since the war, brushing the nape of his neck, darkened now by the damp. The wound across his side had long since healed, but he still moved like a man cautious with his strength. Aerion pretended not to notice when the stiffness caught him.
He crossed the room anyway, the silk of his robe whispering over the marble floor. “You should sit,” he said, soft but firm. “You’ll undo the healer’s work.”
“I’m fine, my lord.”
Aerion arched a brow. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Aerion stopped beside him, close enough to catch the warmth of his breath. “You nearly died, Hound. You don’t get to define ‘fine’ anymore.”
Clyde’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite defiance. “I’m your knight. You shouldn’t fuss.”
Aerion’s voice dipped low, “and you’re mine to fuss over, whether you like it or not.”
Before Clyde could answer, a small voice cut through the hush. “Uncle Clyde!”
Little Isolde came bounding across the rugs, curls wild, skirts gathered in both fists. Clyde barely had time to turn before she collided with his knees, clinging with fearless affection. He bent, careful and gentle, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Easy, dove,” he murmured. “You’ll knock me over yet.”
She laughed, peeking up at him with a grin missing two teeth. “Papa says you’re made of stone. Stones don’t fall over!”
Aerion smirked, leaning against the balustrade. “Then your uncle is the most dangerous stone I’ve ever tripped over.”
Isolde’s laughter filled the chamber, bright as birdsong. She darted off again, leaving the echo of joy in her wake. The door closed softly behind her nursemaid, and silence settled once more.
Aerion turned back to Clyde, his smile fading into something quieter. “You’re good with her.”
Clyde straightened. “Children are honest. They see no use in fear.”
“And yet she calls you ‘uncle,’ not ‘hound.’” Aerion tilted his head. “Strange, isn’t it, how easily she knows the truth of you?”
Clyde looked away, jaw tightening. “I’m not family.”
“You are,” Aerion murmured, stepping closer. “You are my family.”
When they reached the bed it was inevitable, as if a tide had finally accepted the moon’s invitation. Aerion undressed Clyde with a trembling greed. He traced every old line of scar with reverent fingers, as if memorizing a map of battles. Clyde tried to speak, to stall with protest, but Aerion silenced him with another kiss, softer this time, before the hunger returned to his mouth.
“Let me,” Aerion whispered against his throat. “Let me take care of you.”
Clyde let him. Always he let Aerion in. Because the Archduke could be cruel and daring and reckless, because Aerion’s barbs masked a private, ferocious tenderness, and because Clyde wanted nothing more than to please the man he loved.
Aerion slide lower then, hands steady on Clyde’s hips as he sank to his knees. He felt himself stirring in equal desire as his lips brushed the dark head of Clyde’s cock. As he wrapped his lips around the thick member, he took delight in the sharp inhale from his hound’s own mouth.
“My lord,” Clyde groaned, voice dripping with desperation. His hand grasped Aerion’s golden hair, driving the Archduke deeper onto his cock, despite his own reservations.
For his part, Aerion was delighted, moaning around him, one hand digging into Clyde’s thigh, pulling the knight ever deeper. His other hand loosened his own trousers and stroked himself, his wet desire making for slick work. He slid slowly along Clyde’s length, tongue stroking, lips sucking, throat tightening, pace increasing. He wanted to feel Clyde’s cum spill down his throat. He knew some part of him wanted this since the moment he first laid his eyes on the massive knight.
But it was not to be.
