Page 30 of The Pastel Prince

“We’ll rest here for a bit to give you time to recover,” he whispered, his hands moving over me to find tight muscles and rubbing them into submission. He stole a hundred kisses while working soap into my hair. I rested on his thighs, limp as seaweed, and basked in his tender ministrations. He took such care of me that I felt revered. “Your hair is so lovely. It reminds me of the gossamer vines that grow in the windswept caves of the Black Sand Isles.”

“Tell me of those islands. I’ve never been. Have you seen a Sandrayan?” I asked around a yawn that made my jaw crack.

“Only once, when I took a ship to the isles in search of a mystic who was rumored to be an old knight of the human realms,” he said, his voice as soothing as tea on a cold night. I tipped my head up so he could dribble handfuls of water over my soapy hair.

Eyes closed, his skin warm and flush to mine, I had nowhere else I would rather be. If the world fell into the vast neverlands of the goddess Danubia’s domain, I would die a happy man.

“Tell me of the Sandrayans and the old human knight. I wish to hear everything about you,” I said and got a small peck on the cheek.

“My life has been marked by moments of great despair as well as great joys. Loving you is one that has brought me great bliss.” He dropped his chin on my shoulder. “I do love you, Kenton, my brave, beautiful bosk orchid.”

“And I love you, Beirach, my strong, handsome protector.” We shared a long, deep kiss. “Now, fill this night of ours withtales of powerful Sandrayans, human knights, and sweet whispers of devotion.”

So he did. We spent hours soaking, with me in his embrace and dozing off as he relayed tales of his past. He spoke of his wife with great affection. Sleepily, I thought to ask about the flute he carried but never played, though I did not wish to bring up something that might make him sad. These few solitary hours were ours. I was greedy, yes, and perhaps a trifle jealous. I wished to keep him for myself for as long as I could. Which, it turned out, was not as long as I would have liked.

Midway through his tale of a port town brothel he had mistakenly wandered into, the door to the bath hut opened. Wind with small flakes of snow blew in as an old, bent woman no taller than Bissori stamped in.

“Elves,” she said in way of greeting before peeling off her ratty cloak to reveal she was nude. Her belly was as round as a plum, her breasts resting on her tummy. “Been working with the hogs.”

I hurried to scramble off Beirach’s comfortable lap, my cheeks hotter than the springs we lingered in. She padded to the edge and slid down into the smooth rock divot, mud smears on her wrinkled face. “Mind if I use your soap?”

“No, please do, good lady,” Beirach said as he passed over the bar of soap we had lathered with. He shot me a look as she began scrubbing her hairy armpits. “We were just finishing up.”

She held up the soap. He shook his head. “A gift,” Beirach said as we left the spring in haste, dressing as quickly as we could and exiting the steam hut. The night air was brisk, the tiny bits of snow melting as soon as they hit the muddy ground.

We made our way to Agathe’s home, giggling about the old woman who smelled of swine, and walked in to find everyone sound asleep. Tezen snored away atop the mantle, her bed anold matchbox, her blanket a washcloth, and her pillow a tuffet of black wool.

Agathe and Bissori were curled around each other on the fancy settee, his face buried in her breasts, her leg tossed over his hip.

“I wish to check on Eldar,” I whispered to Beirach and got a nod. I cracked the door and stepped inside. A low fire was banked in the small fireplace. The room was cramped but comfortable, the furnishings rather above what one would expect in such a modest village. My brother shuffled under the thick quilt, his eyes opening to find me hovering above him like a watchful mother hen. I tucked several long plaits behind one of his ears.

“Your braids are free,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. I ran my hand over my damp hair. He studied me closely, pushing up to rest on one bent arm. Air hissed through his teeth at the movement. “Why have you allowed the archdruid to see you with your hair down?”

“I asked him to unbraid them,” I told him flatly. His eyes rounded. “Do not think to lecture me. I know that is to be reserved for the night of a wedding, but I may never see the day that Beirach and I are joined.” His anger melted away as my words sank in. “I love him deeply. Say what you will about the shortness of time we have known each other or that he is half-human. None of that matters to me. I love him. I wish to spend whatever days I have left at his side calling him beloved. Yes, he undid my braids. And yes, he will braid my hair in the morning. That is the way of things. You may spit like a cat or you may accept my choices about my body and my heart.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up. “Truly, you are not the weeping lad who I left behind at the castle. You have great courage, little brother. And have chosen well. I pray that we will celebrate your vows with the rest of our family soon.”

“I pray that as well.” I sat beside him, made him drink cold tea with bits of moldy flower petals, and then pulled the covers up to his chin. He drifted off quickly. I tossed a few sticks into the fire before joining Beirach in his cousin’s bed chamber. It was not much different from the one Eldar rested in, other than having a larger bed and an ornate wardrobe with silver etchings and words I had never seen before.

“Sandrayan,” Beirach said as I ran my fingers over the flowing letters carved into the dark wood. “Bissori travels across the realm buying and trading things from pelts to furnishings to armor and weaponry. That wardrobe came from the Black Sand Isles. The writing is that of their people. They use melted silver for adornment of their bodies as well as the things they bring into their homes.”

“It’s so ethereal,” I whispered as he came up behind me, his thick arms circling my middle. “Eldar was awake,” I confided when he began kissing my neck. “He asked why my hair was down. I told him I gave you permission to unbraid it.”

The kissing stalled. “Will I have to face your elder brother in a duel over your honor come morning?”

“No.” I snickered as I melted back into him. “Eldar could not battle his way out of damp vellum. Also, I told him that I chose you to be the man to braid my hair this night and for all the nights to come.”

“Mm, I do love the sound of that.” He held me tight, his lips tugging gently on the pointed tip of my ear. “May I braid it for you now before we go to bed?”

“Yes, I would love that.” He led me to the fire where we sat on a thick russet pelt of a massive beast. He sat behind me, legs crossed. I rested on my heels, eyes closed, his touch as gentle as a flicker lighting on a branch.

“I look forward to braiding your hair for many years,” he told me as a fat log snapped into the narrow fireplace.

“I shall hold you to your pledge.”

“And I shall hold you to me every night.”

When we crawled into bed, a soft one with covers smelling of pine, I curled into his side. The first night of what I prayed would be thousands to come held in his arms.

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