Daromir has never been more in love, and that’s saying something. He can’t believe he wasted his youth dreaming of an ordinary bloodbond. Simply devoting his life to protecting his ward. Daromir’s younger self never could have imagined how much more was possible. “I had so many plans, love.” Daromir grins. “None of them involved hitching a ride on Loska. That was definitely more convenient.”
Vana squeezes Daromir’s hands one last time before letting go. “I hope Marek doesn’t get in too much trouble over it.”
Daromir should probably care about that, but he doesn’t. He only cares that Vana is safe with him. Daromir’s next priority is getting Vana settled before the night gets too cold. “Come on, let’s go before the storm hits.”
The green, clean air fills Daromir’s lungs and eases his exhaustion. They travel just outside the tree line, as the rocky ridge slopes down into stretches of soft meadow grass. It’s quicker than moving through the dense, dark trees, at least as long as the rain holds off.
Daromir pays close, instinctive attention to Vana at his side. He turns to listen even before Vana speaks.
“Imrik was never going to give me the crown, was he?” Vana muses. “He knew we helped Rakos escape.”
That’s one thing that still doesn’t make sense. Not that any part of House Dire makes sense. “Why didn’t he haveyoukilled, then?” Daromir asks. “That whole incident was one treason after another.”
Vana touches a silver hanging vine. “I don’t know. Maybe I was still useful enough. He never trusted me with anything beyond governing the southwest anyway.” Vana sighs. “I wonder who talked. We had too many drasgard involved.”
Only a handful, beside Indra and Zuzana. “Maybe nobody talked.”
“How would Imrik know, then?”
“Maybe he didn’t know,” Daromir says, and shrugs when Vana stares in disbelief. “Imrik wanted me dead, and Petir was a useful go-between. Everyone knows Petir was obsessed with Irenka, so putting her blood on your hands would be very motivational.”
Vana pauses. “You think Imrik framed us for a crime we actually committed?”
“And Kazia overheard Imrik or Petir or someone else,” Daromir says. “Imrik would frame anyone for anything. That was his plan with Rakos, remember? A stopped clock is right twice a day.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Vana continues forward. “I can’t tell if it’s more cynical than my theory, or less.”
Daromir inhales the fresh air. This forest is a far cry better than Ostomar, but he’ll be glad to put the Draskoran shore behind him completely. “There wasn’t a winning move with him.”
Vana sighs again, the sound lighter this time.
The first raindrops hit Daromir’s head and hands. One speck of cold, small enough he could have imagined it, followed by another and another. Daromir keeps walking until the raindrops patter down faster, and Vana’s footsteps stop at his side. Vana stands still, head lifted to the blanketing clouds. The scant remaining light catches in his hair, painting him like a silver statue.
Daromir waits for a moment before he realizes Vana isn’t calling his magic.
Vana isn’t stopping the rain.
Water slides across Vana’s upturned face. He blinks, and droplets skate down the line of his cheek. Rain glitters in his hair. The fine material of his coat darkens across his shoulders.
Vana opens his eyes and holds his hand towards Daromir. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice a melody above the rhythm of the rain.
Daromir can’t answer, his breath caught in his throat. He leaves his bag beneath the sheltering tree line, then meets Vana under the quickening rain. Vana’s smile is so beautiful it hurts. Everything hurts until Daromir traces the wet line of Vana’s jaw, the curve of his smile, and kisses him.
Daromir is under no illusion that life in Kaiskara will be perfect. They may be jumping into an entirely new set of problems and dangers and expectations. But right now, lost between destinations, Vana doesn’t need to be perfectly controlled. He can forget his image. He and Daromir can simply exist together in the falling rain.
Vana kisses back greedily. He clings, wrapping his arms around Daromir’s head to hold him in place.
“One second,” Daromir gasps against Vana’s lips. “Give me your coat.” He’s barely able to extricate himself from Vana’s grasp, but he manages to strip both their coats off and toss them with the bags under the trees. They’ll want their coats dry later.
Untethered, Vana spins in a circle, arms outstretched. His grin is pure and infectious. He laughs, and Daromir’s heart skips a beat. Daromir moves on reflex. Catches Vana by the wrist and spins him into his arms and kisses him again.
Vana groans, and his entire body seals against Daromir. His arousal presses against Daromir’s, and the electricity could belong to either of them. Daromir surrenders himself to Vana’s grasping hands, and every time they move together, the sensation is doubled. Twice the friction, twice the pressure, twice the exhilaration driving Daromir gloriously mad.
“I love you beyond reason,” Vana says, as if he shares Daromir’s thoughts too. “You’re so gorgeous and perfect and wonderful andmine.”
“Vana,” is all Daromir can say in return. He kisses Vana’s throat, then sinks to his knees. The long grass is already wet and cold beneath his knees. He doesn’t care, enraptured with the scent of rain and wet grass and Vana. He mouths at Vana’s cock through the fabric, and the shared sensation makes them both groan. Daromir feels drunk on the rain, drunk on adoration.
“Daro, you beautiful man,” Vana says, and shoves his shoulders.
