But awakening with Riordan and Amira both snuggled up on either side of me had gone a long way to mending what felt shattered. It was all I could think about while we walked toward the archives. Not just the wildly enticing juxtaposition of their two bodies, hers soft andsafewhile his was hard andprotective, but the scent still on my skin. The heady mixture of all of us in that bed had made my Ktínos senses tingle with anticipation.
Some of my previous lovers enjoyed scent marking, using the invisible glands in their brows, lips, and chin to rub pheromones all over me. In the heat of the moment, such additions could heighten the mood, but I was always sure to wash after. It was one of the few times that simply shifting into my animalform was not enough to get clean since pheromones were rather stubborn.
But I had never felt an impulse to mark anyone back until awakening that morning. I had not dared indulge the primal need, of course. It was yet another aspect of my people that the Imítheos found so distasteful. Too animal. So I had merely contented myself with breathing in their scents until Riordan had reluctantly informed us that we were expected in the archives today.
Amira had slipped from my arms to leave the room in silk that did nothing to hide her. I didn’t even care when Riordan made a soft chuff of amusement. I watched her shamelessly as she walked away, devouring the brief glimpses of her gorgeous body through the sheer dress.
Riordan claimed my attention next as his hand stroked down my wing and made me shiver as he adjusted it out of his way. Then he bent over me from behind to press tantalizingly sweet kisses across my shoulder and all the way up my neck. It was purely affectionate, but it still sent a searing spike of need straight to my damned cock. There was a wordless promise in his kisses of what came next when I was ready. And I would have been tempted to turn my head for him if not for the way my bare forearms seemed to still burn with shame.
And now it was too late to indulge either of them as we trekked across campus.
The training fields and residences were separated from the educational buildings on campus by a belt of trees that dissected Ergastiri called The Grove. The little woodland did not usually elicit a reaction when I passed through. But I could not help grimacing now at the nights I’d spent entangled with meaningless lovers amidst these trees in an attempt to bury my yearning for the man I truly loved. The Grove was now a reminder of how those dalliances must have hurt myskiá. And how they hurt me too.
I could not help glancing at Riordan and remembered thesensation of his mouth on my shoulder. Amira’s hand brushed mine, and she did not even bother to pretend that it was accidental when I glanced down at her. The wink she gave me let me know she had seen me admiring our oblivious companion.
On the other side of The Grove was the entrance to the Archeío Agéraston, the Archive of the Ageless. The stone building above ground was impressive all on its own with its ionic pillars and colourful murals that were mostly covered in vines. This part of the archive was accessible by everyone in Ergastiri, but beneath the library was the true wonder. A catacomb of books and scrolls equating to millenia of our people’s knowledge. All fiercely guarded by the royal family so it could collect dust in the dark.
A shame that still rankled me.
As a lowly pleb from the slums of the Rookery, I was not given access to books or scrolls. I had actually been illiterate when I first arrived at Ergastiri and would have promptly flunked out of the academy. It was only thanks to Helena’s patience and long hours of her personal time every evening that I was able to learn quickly enough to keep studying. And my own steely determination to never go back to the Rookery, of course.
And so books and scrolls had solidified into something of a symbol to me, and my access to them had been like a point of no return from my old life. As long as I could read and write, then I could never be that boy who was forced to serve patrons in exchange for his next meal and a safe place to sleep at night.
The memory of Amira telling me that humans burned their books still made me shudder.
“Wow,” breathed Amira as she took in the high golden dome of the ceiling inside the library and then the stacks. There were shelves for books and cubbies for the scrolls, all of it arranged in neat rows based on year and subject.
“Your Majesty,” a woman greeted us in a soft voice before excusing herself from a conversation at one of the study desks. She walked toward us in the blue and gold robes worn by thephilosophers, which swayed elegantly around her ankles. “We are expecting you.”
Most students of Ergastiri were familiar with Metis as the Chief Philosopher, but I knew her better than most. Especially for a Ktínos student. She had attended college at the same time as Helena, and the women had forged a friendship despite the divide between Imítheos and Ktínos that was even greater at the time. Metis had helpedmitérateach me to read fast enough to stay at Ergastiri, but only as a favour to an old friend. She did not acknowledge me in front of other Imítheos, which I never took personally since I suspected it was about protecting her relationship with Helena. Before Riordan had shaken the kingdom by choosing me as hisskiá, fraternization between Imítheos and Ktínos was nearly forbidden. It was still frowned on, even now that the king was bonded to me.
“Metis,” Riordan greeted, bowing his head in respect for the Chief Philosopher. “My mate, Amira.”
Metis turned to Amira as Riordan presented her and bowed for the witch in the way she had for the king.
“And you know myskiá, Orion,” Riordan continued with a hand on my shoulder that felt almost protective. Possessive. As if he wordlessly dared the other Imítheos to treat me any differently.
“Indeed. Orion is still one of the most studious on our entire campus,” Metis praised me. I was surprised when she bowed to me, just as she had for Riordan and Amira, and I had to jerk into my own bow to her in return.
Perhaps Riordan’s kingship made her bold enough to embrace her relationships with my people or maybe my king’s wordless threat had hit home. Riordan was about as subtle as a bull, after all, even when he tried to be gentle.
We walked through the library, and Amira marvelled at the architecture. She was possessed by the same awe that I’d felt when Helena first dragged my still-bruised body through here for my initial meeting with Metis.
Most of the philosophers and scribes working in the library were still Imítheos, although Riordan had made it legal for Ktínos to take the exams as well. I often thought, in another life that was unburdened by the circumstances of my childhood, I might have chosen that path.
We reached the offices where philosophers met with students to help them with research projects and walked all the way to the end of the hallway. We stopped before a door that I knew from our one and only visit before this was enchanted to only allow certain people through.
Metis reached into the front of her robe to produce one of only two archaic keys, the other now worn by Riordan, which were spelled like the door. The Chief Philosopher unlocked the heavy door to the archives, and as before, Riordan took my hand to pull me through wards that felt like I was pushing through thick spiderwebs. Amira was equally challenged, grunting in effort while Riordan tried to help tug us until we finally reached the landing on the other side. Breathing heavily from exertion, I braced my hand against the cold stone wall and stared at the spiraling stairwell ahead that was dimly lit by fire sconces.
“Thank you,” Riordan said to Metis who had stayed on the other side of the ward. She bowed before closing the door on us with a heavy clang and the click of a lock.
“You have a key, right?” Amira squeaked to Riordan when we were plunged into near darkness.
“I do,” Riordan replied with a chuckle and a reassuring kiss on her forehead.
We descended, taking the stairs slowly for Amira who had worn one of her more customary periwinkle chitons with long and wispy skirts. Despite threatening to trip her on the stairs, I thought the feminine dress suited her better than the militaristic style she’d adapted lately. She did not need such armour to command the King’s Council.
She shivered, rubbing her hands down her bare arms, and Riordan quickly removed his cloak to cover her.
