Page 3 of The Lost Art of Seducing a Mage Warrior

There was a large fireplace with several weapons—two swords and a shield—mounted above it, and two armchairs in front of the fire. Here, Perian was wrapped up in a cozy blanket and able to rest in a semi-upright position. He often dozed or drifted, staring into the fire, but at least it wasn’t all flat on his back in bed.

There was a nice-sized window that Perian couldn’t see out of very well from his vantage point, a desk, as well as a small table with four chairs which he hadn’t tried sitting at. There were rugs on the stone floor, and comfy furnishings. It seemed both a bit fancier and much homier than the inn Perian was staying at. He was grateful he’d told the inn staff he was staying for at least two weeks—he couldn’t imagine needing to rush back and secure his belongings right now—and he was glad he was here in the city at his leisure. His father had left him set for life, putting him in a very fortunate position—though he’d much rather have the man back than his wealth.

Once Perian was more mobile, he discovered not only did the food, drink, and tonic appear at Brannal’s door regularly, but also that they were coming from elsewherein the castle.

Because Brannal was a Mage Warrior, and Perian was now functional enough to take that to its logical conclusion. In Royal City, there was only one place a Mage Warrior was likely to live. Perian wasin the Queen’s castle. Fortunately, the chances he would encounter her or anyone else were quite remote when he could barely get out of bed.

Brannal continued to care for Perian himself, checking on his injuries, keeping him company while he worked at his desk, bringing him water, tea, and those tonics to drink—but also more hearty soup, and once he was feeling better and could actually chew properly, bread and cheese and meats.

“Thank you, Brannal, truly,” Perian said as he accepted yet more tea.

He’d said it before, but those two little words didn’t seem to adequately express just how grateful he was.

“You’re welcome,” the man said simply, just as he always did.

Perian reached out and laid a hand over Brannal’s, squeezing it. The other man stilled.

“I mean it,” Perian said earnestly. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come, but it wouldn’t have been good.”

Perian could quite easily have died, though he hoped his attackers would have come to their senses before then. The thought made him uneasy, but just looking at Brannal’s solid form made him feel safe. No one had cared for him like this since his father had died. His staff cared in their own way, of course, but they were paid to do so.

After a moment, as though he couldn’t figure out how to respond, Brannal covered Perian’s hand with his own and said, “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“Thanks to you,” Perian couldn’t help but repeat. “Because you didn’t just stop them, you’ve taken care of me too. You didn’t have to do that.”

A dark eyebrow rose, a glimmer of humor in Brannal’s eyes. “You think I would have just left you lying in the street because you were no longer being actively attacked?”

Perian huffed out a laugh. “I think we both know that many people wouldn’t have stopped at all.”

Whether they were indifferent, unwilling to get involved, or scared, the outcome would have been the same for Perian.

“I’m not ‘many people’,” Brannal said simply.

“That is entirely obvious,” Perian agreed.

Brannal’s dark eyes snapped to Perian’s, and his breath caught. He had known from the beginning that Brannal was well-muscled and fierce, but as Perian had begun to feel better, he’d been better able to appreciate the full scope of the Mage Warrior’s appeal. His eyes were dark and intense, his lips wide and a little thin but altogether appealing, his chin strong, his dark hair shiny and soft-looking. It was pulled back, neatly tied in the prevailing fashion, the small braids with his beads neatly caught up as well.

Perian really, really wanted to pull out that tie and run his fingers through the man’s hair.

At a guess, he was perhaps a half dozen years older than Perian’s twenty-two, though it was hard to tell for sure. He certainly possessed the gravitas of someone older, but there was no hint of gray in his hair, and only the beginnings of fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Perian would dearly love to inspect him everywhere, but the occasion had not yet arisen.

Periodically, there was this instant of awareness, where Perian could swear that the air actually crackled, their gazes catching and holding, and then… nothing, because Brannal turned away, just as he did now.

“Get some rest,” he said softly.

As if Perian had been doing anything else. Grumbling to himself, Perian nevertheless found himself dozing off. It was disconcerting to feel quite this bored and so unexpectedly well-cared for at the same time. Perian was grateful, restless, and wanted nothing more than to bury his nose at the juncture of Brannal’s neck and shoulder and inhale him. Sometimes, he thought Brannal wouldn’t mind that, moments where his eyes flared hot with what Perian was sure was want… but then the moment was gone, and Brannal was standing up or turning away or taking a look at one of Perian’s injuries.

Perian didn’t think Brannal was indifferent to him, but there could be myriad reasons why he chose not to act. Perian had crashed into his life unexpectedly; it wasn’t like Brannal had asked for any of this, even if he was doing a wonderful job caring for Perian. He’d fed him, tended his injuries, even helped with bodily needs and cleaning him. He’d mentioned the possibility of a bath tomorrow, now that Perian was more healed, which would be amazing. Brannal had been unfailingly patient and kind about everything, but Perian was definitely an imposition.

It had been perhaps six or seven days—he had entirely lost track—when the bruising had mostly faded to a bit of yellow or green. He wasn’t completely healed, but he looked and felt worlds better than he had when Brannal had found him. Perian was now able to walk around the sitting room with minimal discomfort. He wouldn’t be winning any races, but he felt nearly normal.

Perian sat shirtless on the bed so that Brannal could undo the binding on his ribs to check if the scrapes had healed, which they had. Brannal brushed his hand across Perian’s nearly unblemished skin, and Perian sucked in a sharp breath, goosebumps erupting at the gentle caress.

Brannal snatched his hand away as his eyes flew to Perian’s.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Perian reached out, retrieved that hand, and carefully pressed it back to his torso. Very deliberately, he said, “You didn’t hurt me, no.”

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