Tristan lay back, silently accepting the appraisal until Austin traced a cut on his forearm. “It will heal quickly.”
Austin nodded absently, thinking of all the scars that adorned Tristan’s tail. There was nothing in this form. Not a single pale mark to hint at the violence of his past. Austin’s own body healed like that too. “One of my classmates used to donate blood once a year with his family, part of their tradition.” It was a story Austin had blatantly copied and told to Connor as his own, convincing the teenager to go with him to a clinic wherehis blood would be drawn and studied while he got to remain blissfully unaware that any wrongdoing had been committed against him.
“He’d donated blood five times and had five little white scars here to show for it. Right here.” Austin circled the crook of Tristan’s elbow, the remembered little scars superimposing themselves over the merman’s skin. “They were nestled together, like that constellation that hangs over Justerra’s palace. My blood was drawn more than five times. If it had scarred, my arms might resemble the constellations that hang over our ocean.”
Tristan studied Austin’s unblemished elbows, where his skin was pale and the blue of his veins was visible.
A strange feeling bloomed behind Austin’s eyes. “Have you ever been prodded with needles?”
“I had stitches here.” Tristan traced a dangerous line beneath one eye. “Once a year, the queen of Asar hosts the Soldier Games. Warriors from many nations travel to compete while businessmen and merchants gather to gamble. The final day is the most watched and most bet upon. Many train their whole lives for the chance to win, and the fortunes for those who prevail are great. My father entered me into the final day. My first match was against Nicias the Swift, a brutal swordsman. Most bets favoured him as the eventual winner.”
“You weren’t predicted to win?”
“No.”
“You were still a child, then. How young?”
A pause. “Nine.”
Austin’s shoulders stiffened, his thighs pressing in on Tristan’s sides. “Where was Hal?”
“In the Citadel by then, inland,” Tristan said. He dropped his hands to Austin’s bare legs, squeezing his thighs in reassurance before continuing. “His first strike split open myface. I thought I had lost my eye and dropped my sword to cup the wound. Many die in the games; only a forfeit ends a match once it begins. I had not forfeited, merely dropped my weapon. Nicias could have easily cut me down. His reputation suggested he would have—it’s why my father wanted me to fight him. I never fought viciously enough for him, and he wanted me to learn the bloodlust that all great warriors possess.”
Austin covered Tristan’s hands with his and squeezed.
“Nicias sheathed his sword and took hold of my shoulders. He told me to let him have a look and then reassured me that my eye was alright. He brought me to the healers and distracted me with stories of the inner continent as the stitches went in.” Tristan’s mouth softened. “I liked him. I asked if he’d be my new sword trainer.”
“What did he say?”
“He said if he lost the competition, he might have the time, but if he won, he was going to marry the queen.”
Austin’s brows rose.
A faint smile played upon Tristan’s lips. “He won, though the queen was not too impressed with his public proposal—the King had died only earlier that year. She rewarded him with a high position instead. He was anointed head of Asar’s army.”
“A busy position.”
“Very. Unfortunately, our lessons never came to pass, though I saw him often enough at court. My father despised him and advised the queen many times to dispose of him, but Nicias did a decent job and never gave her any cause to remove him from his position.”
“Would your father not be grateful to him? For not harming you further when the match hadn’t technically ended?” Cessair had often done Austin harm, but none of it was lasting. “You were an investment. Losing you would have been a waste of his time and money.”
Anger too quick to mask flashed across Tristan’s face. His fingers tightened on Austin’s thighs, going from a gentle rest to a firm hold. “We were not investments, Austin. We were children.”
It was the first time Tristan had directed such a fierce tone at Austin. Even when Austin had been sick and Tristan had been firmer, there had been a current of yielding in him. Something for Austin to prod at. Complain to. His tone now invited no such argument.
A knock came at the door.
Sitting atop Tristan, Austin called for them to enter. Eli’s head poked in. “Liam is searching the estate for you. Literally. He’s going door to door. I diverted him from here for now, though unless we’re allowed to restrain him, he’ll find you eventually.”
“No one may restrain him,” Tristan said. “Unless Austin gives permission.”
Subtly, Tristan caught at the sheets and lifted the silk to cover Austin’s bottom half. His cock was soft, and the tip rested in Tristan’s navel, hidden now beneath silk. Without looking at Tristan, Austin said, “Eli attends me when I bathe. He’s seen more of my cock than you have.”
“Has he?” Tristan asked, with no particular tone of any kind.
Eli shrank back, hiding behind the door now rather than peeking around it.
“Can you have Lassie prepare breakfast? It’s calm, so I’d like to eat on my porch. Make sure you get enough food to join us.” Austin paused to think. “And Reba.”
