Page 4 of Blessed

“And rest properly?” Arden wondered, mild again, worryingly so.

Arden Canamorra grew up with palace intrigue and bloody reprisals and the deaths of most his family. He didn’t share his softer emotions with others often. Almost never, Mattin sometimes thought. And when he did, even sometimes when he was in the privacy of his sitting room with just his husband and Mattin, he’d hide them.

He did that now, because he was worried. For Mattin.

A long, soft whine escaped Mattin, silencing whatever Mil had been going to say and making Arden pull in a breath.

A weak, hungry,unsatisfiedBlessed. That’s what Mattin sounded like.

He looked into their suddenly fixed, intent gazes, one after the other, then was ashamed to say he squeaked before bolting from the room.

He bolted past the study in the same manner and then out of the door, leaving the guards to stare after him. His legs carried him to his room before they gave out, and he curled up on the soiled sheets he hadn’t had a chance to send to be laundered while he tried to contemplate everythingbutthe king or the king’s husband’s concern.

At least, until a knock on his door announced the arrival of food, specially ordered from the kitchens for him by the king and his husband.

Mattin waited a day in his room, as he should have done from the start, and then took a few days to keep to the library and make sure his contact with the king and his husband was limited to notes, which Mattin sent to Cael and had her pass them on.

When Mattin entered the council chamber after that, freshly bathed, his stylishly long hair held neatly in place with new clasps of colored glass in the shape of cherries, his stomach full of a meal that hadn’t only been cold tea and stale pastries found in his office, he nodded in greeting to both the king and his husband and then kept to the back of the room as he always did.

When he saw them in their sitting room the following morning, Mattin’s humiliating post-fever behavior was not spoken of. He spotted a sweet bun on the table, but it was not placed on a plate and set in front of him. His favorite teacup remained, but he poured his own tea into it.

He was warmed with gratitude at their thoughtfulness and saddened to know he would never be accidentally cared for again now that they knew about him. Foolish, to feel both things, but at least they were feelings Mattin could keep to himself.

Of course, it helped that he was far out of his fever time and that he had plenty of work to keep him distracted.

Some of the old families, the noblest of noble blood, of lines so ancient their names often held four beats, were still making trouble for Arden and the country’s tentative peace. Their pride could not be allowed to cause more blood to be spilled, especially not Arden’s. Mattin would not allow it, although admittedly, unlike Mil and Arden he was no warrior, and the best he could do was providing Arden with whatever information he required to appease or silence the more annoying beat-of-fours.

There was nothing more satisfying than watching Arden do just that. Well, perhaps some things were more satisfying but Mattin was unlikely to find out for himself. It was only unfortunate that Mattin had the regular work of a Master Keeper at the Great Library to keep him busy as well. Perhaps overly busy, at times.

Mattin didn’t mean to fall asleep at his desk, as he had assured Mil more than once. He never intended to forget meals. There was just always something else that needed to be done and he got distracted.

The matter of cloaks… that was more that Mattin had other things on his mind. But it didn’t matter much anyway. Mattin spent most of his time inside the library, and the spring and summer months meant he didn’t need a cloak.

Mattin was sweating in his tiny office already and it was not even noon. He looked to his fireplace more than once, surprised each time to see no fire lit. He pulled at his clothes, newly made and surely not too tight around the collar despite how they tugged and pinched him today. He scowled at the ancient scroll in front of him, written in archaic language in faded ink, which was why the words melded together and were giving him a headache.

He would open the office’s small window but the last time he’d tried, he’d unfortunately happened to hear a library assistant and member of the outguard fucking in some alcove behind the building. That happened from time to time. It was a game to the assistants, Mattin suspected, although he’d never been propositioned by any outguards when he’d been an assistant. He had spoken to outguards in the course of his duties, of course, but nothing had ever come of it. The palace had been different then, full of danger and spies and paranoia. Everyone had been tense and afraid, and Mattin wasn’t the kind of person who could easily coax smiles from others. He shouldn’t ache over it now. He shouldn’t even be thinking of it, or how it would feel to have an outguard’s callused hands tear away his fine, new clothes.

He wouldn’t like that anyway, he was certain. Mattin was fond of his clothing and didn’t want it torn, especially not for some one-off encounter with a guard, no matter how big or kind or Gifted they were.

But think of it he did, and the breathless sounds the assistant had been making, and realized he was growing aroused right as someone knocked quickly on the door. Thankfully, Mattin was seated at his desk and all anyone would see that might give him away was his reddened face.

Elbi, an assistant, gave him a small, almost nervous smile. “Apologies,” she began before stepping into the room, which put her at Mattin’s desk because Mattin’s office truly was tiny. “We found these outside,” she added in a strange tone, not meeting his eyes as she held up a pair of gloves, “and thought they might be yours or that you might know whose they were. They’re very fine.”

That they were, although they were obviously not Mattin’s. The gloves were large, made of sturdy leather, and well used. They looked more like a guard’s gloves than a librarian’s, although they were also clearly well-made and would have cost more than most guards would spend. Most librarians too; Mattin was unusual for being noble and choosing to work here. That and his interest in fashions made him a good person to ask about the gloves, although he didn’t know why Elbi seemed to expect him to hold onto them. She left the gloves on his desk and then ducked out of the room before Mattin could say a word. She shut the door behind her.

Mattin picked up the gloves to better examine them, so hot he was prickling with sweat and didn’t want to imagine wearing anything so heavy. Just the weight in his palm was enough to make his cheeks sting, and the scent…. He knew the scent of the leather, anyone would, but this was something else on top of that. Something familiar. Something hot and strong.

He pulled the gloves away from his face when he realized he was sniffing them and hastily set them down so he could continue his work.

The words did not stop swimming. The room was sweltering. Mattin couldn’t wait for summer to end and it had not even begun yet. His clothesweretoo tight, which was vexing. The gloves were heavy in his hands and warm against his face, their scent pleasing. He thought there was a hint of herbs beneath everything else, the kind that reminded him of remedies from a healer, as though the wearer had been bruised and worn ointment on their skin. The rest of the scent was confusing but good, weighty like the gloves themselves.

Mattin put them down. He picked them up. They were Mil’s, he suspected, or maybe Arden’s, or maybe shared between them. They shouldn’t have been in the library unless Arden and Mil had stopped in. Although that meant they had been near and hadn’t come to see Mattin.

Which was ridiculous. They had no reason to.

Mattin took a deep breath. He smelledGifted. He felt Arden and Mil in his lungs and then in his blood, and licked sweat from his lip only to get the taste of leather instead.

He was so hot.

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