“Aye, for the last half hour,” Indra answers.
That’s good. It’s early, but Vana could always use more sleep. “How was the day?”
“Uneventful,” Indra says. “Just like we want it.”
Daromir accepts that with relief, shoving down his other questions. What did Vana do all day? Did he eat properly? Did he fly Stanza? Did he rest enough?
It’s unreasonable, possibly insane even by bloodguard standards to envy Indra and Zuzana for the day they spent with Vana. Thoroughly unreasonable, considering Daromir was the one who asked for the day off. Instead, Daromir just says, “Thanks for covering for me.”
“No problem,” Indra says. “I’d be happy to do it more often, if you ever take more time off. We must be the most underworked drasgard in the country.”
Daromir raises an eyebrow. “We can always increase your workload if you’re that bored.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Indra says, shaking her finger in mock outrage. She remains in the hallway as Daromir enters the parlor.
Vana slumps on the sofa, his head tipped sideways. A heavy book rests in his lap. In the lantern light, his hair looks like a river of moonlight. He’s safe. Daromir knew Vana was safe—he would have felt any injury. But knowing is different from seeing.
Zuzana is at the aviary, failing to coax Stanza to her arm. She leaves with a silent wave. Before the parlor door closes, Daromir barely hears Zuzana whisper, “Are you sure they’re not—”
Before Indra cuts her off with a hissed, “Shut up, you idiot.” Insults are how they flirt with each other.
Daromir locks the door, then makes his usual rounds of their chambers. He strips off his boots and outer coat before allowing himself to return to Vana’s side. Like a moth finally succumbing to the candle. Crouching in front of Vana, Daromir attempts to pull the book from his hand without waking him.
But Vana stirs with the movement. “You’re back early.”
He sounds unhappy. Daromir doesn’t know why, which bothers him. “Were you waiting up for me?”
“My nursemaid wasn’t here to tuck me in.” Vana rubs his eyes. There’s some measure of the earnest, needy teenager he used to be in the gesture, seizing Daromir’s heart.
“Well, I’m here now.” Daromir stands up. “Bedtime for baby princes.”
Vana wrinkles his nose. “Make me.”
Easy enough. Daromir scoops Vana off the couch before Vana can do more than laugh in feigned protest. Vana isn’t particularly tiny, but he’s easy to carry. Daromir knows exactly how to balance the familiar weight, and his arms fit naturally around Vana.
Vana’s arms loop just as naturally around Daromir’s neck. So naturally that Daromir just stands there for a moment, struck by how right this feels. Like the broken half of him has been sealed back into place.
Then Vana’s head droops against Daromir’s neck, and his breath is warm against Daromir’s skin. “Missed you,” Vana says, each syllable a lightning strike.
Daromir stands dumbstruck as Vana fuckingnuzzlesinto his neck.
They’ve been bound by more than the bloodbond for half their lives. Friendship and loyalty. They’re closer than brothers. But there’s nothing brotherly about Daromir’s reaction to Vana’s lips on his skin.
Normal, Daromir tells himself. This is normal, for his every nerve to electrify at Vana’s soft touch. It’s normal to need every ounce of well-honed willpower to carry Vana into the bedroom without groaning aloud.
Vana is more than half asleep already, too drowsy to notice anything amiss as Daromir sets him on the bed. He leans against Daromir’s chest, completely trusting, as Daromir removes his slippers and maneuvers him onto the pillow. Vana crawls under the blankets himself, but Daromir is the one who tucks him in. Just like Vana asked for.
It’s normal, very normal to brush the hair from Vana’s forehead. To wait, holding his own breath, until the furrow between Vana’s brows smoothes out. Until Vana’s breath slows into peaceful slumber.
Any good bodyguard would do the same.
Skin buzzing, Daromir retreats from the bedroom, past his own empty bed. Past the couch, because it might still smell like Vana, and finds himself instead at Vana’s working desk.
In the brightly lit office, Daromir feels very foolish. It’s quite the improvement after his brief crisis of arousal.
Daromir has never lacked a sex drive, and Vana is surely the most attractive man in Draskora. The most attractive man in all of Alantha, probably. It would be unreasonable never to notice that, especially when Vana is all soft and quiet and relaxed, completely at ease in Daromir’s arms.
Normal. Nothing to worry about. This was a brief moment of weakness, not a disaster.
