And at least Lucien’s stopped making stupid jokes. Kazia twists around between Lucien and the wall. A hint of light outlines the door, and Kazia might be able to see through the crack.
“Quiet,” Lucien hisses. He touches Kazia’s shoulder, then yanks away. “Don’t move. She’ll hear us.”
Kazia bites back an order.Don’t touch mewon’t work right now. “She won’t hear us as long as we whisper. I’m using a quiet talisman.”
Lucien exhales. His head thunks gently against the wall. “So you kept ordering me to stay quiet for fun?”
Kazia did it for redundancy, or in case they got separated. He doesn’t owe Lucien a proper explanation, though, even if he had the breath for it. “Pretty much.”
Awkwardly wriggling, Kazia manages to peek through the crack. Nobody’s in sight, just a narrow slice of the cluttered parlor.
“Who’s outside?” Lucien asks.
“Bretka. Father’s herald.” Kazia tenses as Bretka crosses his line of sight. She’s gone the next moment, moving deeper into Aliza’s quarters. Her footsteps grow quiet, then silent.
Kazia slumps against the wall, trying to put more space between him and Lucien. Impossible. He can’t comfortably fidget with his sleeves, and has to fiddle with the hem of his jacket instead. His belts dig into his hip bones with the pressure of Lucien’s body.
Bretka’s presence is unfortunate, but not too strange. There’s surely a reasonable explanation, if only Kazia could think clearly. He can’t even focus on the mystery hiding behind the starry tapestry. Kazia’s phylactery may have been in arm’s reach, and all he can think about is the man sharing breath with him.
Panicking was better. Kazia knows how to live with fear. He doesn’t know how to live with the undeniable intimacy of this moment. Every expansion of their ribs pushes them closer together. Lucien’s pulse beats louder than Kazia’s own where they meet.
This must be normal for Lucien, unless all that talk about having a great dick was just talk. Between soldiers, nobles, and dragonriders, Lucien could likely choose bed partners by blindly throwing darts. He plays Silaisan party games that involve cuddling in closets. He’s been his own man since…
Kazia frowns. “How old are you?”
“What the fuck?” Lucien’s head thunks the wall again. He sounds tense. “Twenty-nine.”
Since Kazia was still a child learning to be hurt. Learning to keep everyone away, except the two people he can’t escape. Draskorans play party games like this too, but Kazia never joins.
Lucien’s silence doesn’t help now. Kazia remains far too aware of him. He’s relieved when Bretka’s footsteps return. Then they stop. Kazia squirms around to peer out the door again.
Lucien grunts. “Could you please stay still?”
“I see her.” Kazia squints through the crack. “I think she has a book. She’s… she’s sitting down to read. Fuck.”
“Even more reason to stay still, Your Highness,” Lucien grits out.
“Don’t worry.” Twisting to look at the door isn’t comfortable. Kazia scoots awkwardly back. “We have another hour on the quiet…”
Kazia’s mind blanks out as his hip slides past the very hard reason Lucien wants him to stay still.
Flattening against the wall doesn’t help. They’re too close together. Now that Kazia’s noticed, he can’t think of anything else.
“Stop that!” Kazia demands, his whisper rising to an embarrassing pitch.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” Lucien says, strained. “The obedience collar doesn’t work on my erection.”
Hearing it out loud is worse. Kazia tries to flatten better against the wall, which continues not to help. “Stop it anyway!”
“Maybe if you stopped fucking squirming,” Lucien growls in his ear, which stuns Kazia still even before broad hands clamp down on his shoulders. The dim light gilds Lucien’s profile, turned towards the door. “Hold still, just like that. Fucking perfect.”
His thumb brushes the bare skin of Kazia’s neck. A terrible accident, and Kazia’s indignation melts into something far worse. The heat and shadows of proximity twine around his limbs. Turning his face away shifts his clothes beneath Lucien’s hands, and the rhythm of his own breath turns traitor.
Kazia attempts to recall his mother’s harp. The disjointed melody helps cool his nerves.
Several torturous minutes later, a chair scrapes outside. Bretka’s clicking footsteps carry her across the room, until a door opens and Drasgard Nekla helpfully declares, “Have a good day, Herald.”
The door closes. Kazia jerks towards the closet door, but Lucien’s grip tightens.
