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Tir tipped that head, speculative. “He came by to thank you.”
“As I said.”
“And then he came back.” Tir extricated a hand from his blanket. “And he brought you a book. Can I see?”
One did not refuse a request from one’s Prince and friend; Fadi handed it over.
Tir turned pages, touched a name or two—fairy fingertips over fairy script—and looked up. “This is incredibly rare, you know. Most of us don’t bother trying to categorize or classify what we are, what we can do; there’s even a faction that thinks we shouldn’t make the attempt, that it’s an insult to the magic, to the voice of the land, to subject it to scrutiny. Of course there’re the odd ones who do try, every once in a while, and I’ve always thought it was a good idea. It can’t hurt to understand more about ourselves.”
“He said it was in the family library.”
“And he gave it to you.” Tir’s smile popped up like a shooting star. “I’d say he’s serious.”
“Oh,” Fadi said, and needed to sit down. His fairy lord was serious about him.
“If he only wanted to sleep with you, he might’ve brought flowers or jewelry. And he’d’ve asked you already. This…” Tir closed the book, handed it back. “This is personal. Have you thought about where you two would live? He’s a sixth son, so he doesn’t really have his own household, but then I’m also shamelessly willing to beg you to stay here.”
“That,” Fadi said, “is entirely leaping too far, thank you,” and put his book safely on the shelf. “Just because you’re getting married to the love of your life, you want to see me settled and moving in with him after a week’s acquaintance, as if that makes any sense.” Perhaps they could move into one of the new homes proposed near Ollie’s hospital expansion plan. He currently had palace quarters, and he’d not want to move far from Tir, who after all might need him, and he thought Oliver’d agree; perhaps they could be given one of the guest apartments on the upper floors, if Queen Eleuthenia did not mind, and they could grow snapdragons and order new lenses for improved microscopes…
“Who’re you moving in with?” said Oliver, from the door. “What did I miss?”
“How’s Lord Dustin?” Fadi retorted, and took great satisfaction in the Crown Prince’s expression, which indicated that he’d been subjected to long minutes’ worth of haranguing about changing times and mining rights in the North.
Oliver chose to ignore this, and instead nestled his betrothed back under a large arm. “How’re you?”
“Welcome back,” Tir said. “Fadi’s being wooed by one of my cousins, apparently.”
“Is he? Which one? You didn’t answer the question.”
“Beryllin, and I’m the same as I was last week, and the week before that. You worry too much.”
“I worry exactly enough. Have I met—”
“That’s technically not quite true,” Fadi put in, and his Prince’s head snapped his direction with impressive speed. Tir sighed, and muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Now look what you’ve done.”
“Quiet,” Oliver said to him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Should we—is there anything you need, medicine or magic or—I can get it, just tell me—”
“No, no, sorry, it’s for the better, I thought you knew—Tir, you idiot, you didn’t tell him?” Very few people could speak to two princes, one of them a fairy and one of them magic-infused, that way; Fadi had no compunctions about this. “Honestly, you two. I’d’ve thought you’d talk about everything, now that there’s no big prophecy to keep secret and protect.”
“We do,” Tir said. “I thought he’d noticed too.”
Oliver appeared poised to erupt; Fadi took pity on him. “I did say getting better. The headaches you’ve been having, they’re growing less frequent, aren’t they, Tir?”
“Yes,” Tir cooperated. “And less painful. I tell you when I’m not feeling well, you parsnip—” Fadi opted not to ask; it made Oliver smile weakly, which was the important part. “—and I thought you’d noticed that was happening a bit less. Not gone, but this week’s definitely been better, and I even thought so last week, but I wasn’t sure.”
Oliver melted into a puddle of relief and love, arms around his betrothed. The emotion billowed out like the rain, too unguarded and intimate; Fadi hastily glanced away, feeling like an intruder. “I’ll just, ah, go and get some feverfew and butterbur packets for you, shall I…”
By the time he got back they’d mostly finished kissing. Tir’s hair had come loose from its knot, and his eyes looked warm and soft; Ollie had scooped him more or less into his lap, and rested their heads together. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by not letting him overexert himself, please.”
The Crown Prince of Bellemare turned into a tragic puppy, one big sorrowful paw on Tir’s arm. “I knew I shouldn’t’ve let you talk me into you coming along to—”
“You didn’t let me do anything,” Tir said, cheerful but firm. “They’re my people and my country, as much as they are yours; I’ve spent more time here with you than I ever did at home. And I need to be visible. Bellemare needs to know that I’m still me and I’m still thinking about them, not proposing unification treaties that serve Fairy interests. Though…if it makes you feel better, I’ll admit that we should’ve stayed overnight at that last estate when they offered, and not tried to ride back. Slightly too ambitious. I’m sorry. I love you.”
Oliver sighed.
“Overexertion,” Tir asked hopefully, “doesn’t include sex, does it? Because he’s been treating me like a piece of Em’s glass eggshell collection, and I’d quite like it if you told him we could have sex again.”
