“You have plans?”
“I thought I might spend some time in the archery range. Hunting season is almost upon us,” he replied. He could feel Zorvut’s interest piquing at that, but the orc simply nodded.
“I will meet you at the gate at sundown,” he agreed, and started to step away from Taegan, toward the main hall. Taegan grasped his hand quickly to stop him, though he could only grab one of Zorvut’s fingers.
“Your clothes,” Taegan said. “You’ll need finer ones now. I’m going to have my tailor take your measurements. Tomorrow morning?” Zorvut raised a quizzical eyebrow. His face repeatedly proved to be far more expressive than Taegan would have expected of the squat, square features shared by so many of his kin.
“That’s fine,” he agreed simply, and Taegan released him. The bond tingled faintly as their physical contact ended—he could not remember if he had felt the same strange sensation when he had grasped Zorvut’s hand this morning before breakfast. Zorvut seemed to feel the same thing, as he hesitated before turning once more to go.
Chapter Four
Taeganfirstsummonedtheroyal tailor to set up a meeting for Zorvut the next morning, then for the remainder of the afternoon he was out in the training yard. His horse had been saddled for him, and for several hours he worked on target practice while riding, as his skills had become rusty since the peace treaty went into effect. The warmest part of the afternoon had passed when he finally dismounted, sweaty and shirtless, to prepare for the evening’s celebrations.
He was bathed once more in warm, perfumed water, but rather than his most formal finery he dressed in a simple, fine tunic with a high collar and comfortable breeches, his hair loose and unbraided. He was not entirely sure what to expect of the orcish celebration, but at the very least, it seemed to have a relaxed dress code.
It was shortly before sunset when he left his quarters, only to find his father’s attendant waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
“My prince, the king requests your presence,” the elf said with a politely down-turned gaze—he was one of the oldest elves alive, having served not only Taegan’s father but his father before him. “He wishes to have only a brief word with you before your event.”
“Of course,” Taegan agreed, though it was an unexpected request. But any request of the king could not be refused, so he allowed himself to be led to his father’s private study.
King Ruven was dressed in a simple robe and soft fur moccasins, his usual wear when he was out of the public eye—despite the stereotype, Taegan knew his father had little in the way of vanity and preferred to be comfortable whenever possible. His table was a mess, strewn with scrolls and letters as if he were studying, but he smiled at Taegan as he entered.
“Father,” he said, bowing his head as the door was closed behind them to give them privacy. Despite Taegan’s formality, Ruven stepped forward and put both hands on his son’s shoulders with a warm expression.
“My son,” he said, observing Taegan’s face. He was silent for a long moment, and Taegan raised an eyebrow, uncertain of what he was trying to do. “I trust you are well?”
“Of course,” Taegan replied. “Do I seem unwell?”
“You are taking all of this in stride,” he remarked, letting his hands fall away from Taegan’s shoulders.
He supposed he did seem to be adjusting faster than the other elves, Taegan thought, though even he was not sure how much of that was a brave face and how much was genuine acceptance. For all that he had harangued the servants who could not address Zorvut directly, it was still a struggle to reconcile in his head that the orc was his husband, not an enemy he was strategizing around. His hesitance seemed to betray his thoughts to his father, however, as Ruven’s expression softened before he could answer.
“It is an adjustment, to be sure,” Taegan said carefully. “But Zorvut is... an interesting character, from what I can tell so far. The warlord was not remiss when he said he might adapt better than any other orc to elvish customs.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ruven said. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but you have found yourselves to be, ah... compatible?”
Taegan flushed, the frustration of last night flooding his mind anew, but found himself nodding quickly despite himself.
“Yes,” he lied, desperate to change the subject. “And, well, I wondered if...”
“If?” Ruven prompted, and Taegan hesitated, suddenly unsure if it was a question he truly wanted to know the answer to.
“Father,” he said slowly. “How long did it take for you to be able to understand Papa’s emotions through your bond?” Ruven smiled at the question.
“It took some getting used to,” he answered, a soft expression coming over his face. Though losing Taegan’s other father had been painful for both of them, enough time had passed now that his eyes were filled with a familiar look of fondness, rather than despair, when they discussed him. “Even when we both knew what to expect, I would say it took a few months before I could easily distinguish between my emotions and his. So don’t fret if it takes longer than that for you, my son.”
Taegan remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Already, he had a fairly accurate sense of what feelings were his and what were stemming from the bond. Were they that different, that the presence of Zorvut’s emotions was immediately recognizable as alien to his own mind? Or were they instead somehow so compatible that they intuitively knew how to communicate to the other through the bond? He had no idea how they might even tell the difference.
“Some are never able to get across more than basic emotions through their bond,” the king continued, seeming to take Taegan’s silence as worry. “And, to be frank, we have no actual knowledge of how the mind of an orc might link to the mind of an elf. Unions between elves and humans can vary, so don’t concern yourself over it if the connection doesn’t come. For some, it always remains simple, and there is no shame in that. It is no one’s business but your own—the strength of the bond has no bearing on the legitimacy of your union.”
Taegan nodded, but his father’s words addressed the exact opposite of his concern. He couldn’t bring himself to correct him, though, and simply replied, “Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”
“Now,” Ruven continued. “I asked you here mainly to tell you to be cautious at the celebration tonight. I understand it is an act of goodwill, and will help solidify the connection between our families for the two of you to be seen together, but there may still be some there who mean to do us—you—harm. There will be guards stationed all along the wall, but promise me you won’t wander off by yourself.”
“I promise,” Taegan agreed—though he was sure he could handle himself, staying with Zorvut still seemed like the most logical and safe course of action. Emboldened by the thought, he added, “I have no doubt that my husband will keep me safe.”
“Your husband,” Ruven repeated, and sighed, glancing away from Taegan. Though he had a diplomat’s skill in masking his own emotions, Taegan recognized the fatherly tone in his voice—but whether it was regret or concern or worry or despair, he did not know. Ruven seemed to realize this, though, and quickly masked his expression. “Forgive me, my son. I know all this was my idea, but it is still... an adjustment. I’m sure all parents have a vision in their head of what their children’s lives will be like, and I’m sure very few of those ever turn out accurately. But it is still something to reconcile with.”
