Page 23 of Honeythorn
Milan huffed. “I was not asking for your permission. I was informing you.”
“Then go.”
“I shall.”
The rest of the dinner passed in silence. Milan stood without ceremony when he finished his plate. “I think I’ll retire now.”
Milan stretched just enough to grab Raphael’s hand briefly. Raphael twitched, almost pulling away, but Milan held on, exasperated that Raphael would be so childish as to make this necessity more of a chore than it was.
“Goodnight, then,” Milan said. Raphael did not respond.
Milan took a deep breath as he arrived at his room. He would not let the dinner ruin his day, even if it had left a bitter taste in his mouth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Milan was eating breakfast alone when he realised he hadn’t gotten a full tour of what was now supposedly his home. Instead of calling Orson or one of the servants to guide him, he took it upon himself to explore.
The manor, although stuffily decorated, really was beautiful. The great hall, fit for grand balls, was one of his favourite rooms. It was structured like the entry hall, only much larger—cavernous and empty but full of possibilities. The gleaming marble floors, the chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling, the balcony that curved around the room…it was enchanting.
Instead of entertaining, he could see his future children filling the room with laughter and joy on days too cold or wet to spend outside. Perhaps he could purchase soft furnishings or even some creative invention in order to make it a fantastical playing ground. He had no idea if Raphael would approve, although he would probably be too busy to notice.
Milan went up one of the two staircases that flanked the room, leading to the balconies that let him peer down at the room. At the end of the hall, there was an open sitting room with a number of couches and tables. Milan could imagine people lounging there at a party, laughing and drinking and playing cards.
He could not imagine Raphael ever hosting such a thing.
It was through a door on the right that Milan found what he hadn’t even known he was looking for.
The library.
Shelves upon shelves stacked with books, going deep into the long room. Wide windows let the light stream in, large, rectangular tables placed perpendicular to the wall so that one could turn their head to look out at the sky.
“Oh, I should have married this room instead. I bet you’re a much better conversationalist than my actual husband.” Milan brushed away the bitterness that rose and set to exploring the room. What should have taken mere minutes lasted an hour as Milan perused the different, clearly-labelled sections.
There was a whole world within the room: stories of travel filled with detailed maps, technical manuals of engineering and mechanics corroborated by diagrams, curious books of research both human and animal, accounts of other lives lived long ago. Then, there were the shelves filled with fiction. He could only read a few words, look at the title, the cover, before moving on, but Milan saw fanciful stories filled with strange creatures, myths about ruling spirits he knew nothing about, adventures and dangers that would take him away. There was even an impressively extensive collection of poetry—romantic poetry, no less.
Milan started by sitting in one of the stuffed, comfortable chairs in the reading section, but soon moved to the table, taking a few books with him. When not even that provided enough space, he sprawled on the floor, surrounded by books. Milan was quite adept at concentrating on one task at a time, but he was not able to stop himself from going from book to book. He was spoilt for choice and couldn’t seem to help collecting more, even as he made sure to learn how to shelve them in the correct space.
It was, therefore, a great surprise when he suddenly saw Raphael looming in the doorway.
“Husband!” Milan burst out, not being able to contain the residual happiness at having spent so much time with books.
Raphael, who, as always, did not look particularly glad to see him, took a step back as if Milan’s uncharacteristically joyful greeting was an assault on his person. Milan wrinkled his nose but did not let it defeat him.
“I found our library.”
“Our?” Raphael grumbled.
Milan resisted rolling his eyes. “We are married. We share all things.”
Raphael only scowled in response, immediately dampening the excitement that had taken a hold of Milan all day. Milan had been steadfastly trying to think of these rooms as his rooms, this manor as his manor, these lands as his lands, these people as his people, but perhaps it was fruitless. Perhaps his husband would always make sure he didn’t belong.
Milan shook himself. There was no point in such morose thoughts. “Pardon my presumptuousness. I foundyourlibrary. I must commend you on your collection, for it is quite extraordinary,” Milan said sincerely.
Raphael frowned. “It’s dinner time.”
Milan’s surprise overshadowed his reaction to Raphael’s rudeness. He looked around. It was pitch-black through the windows, the glass reflecting the library. Milan did have a faint recollection of someone coming in and lighting the candles, as well as the sconces humming to life.
“Oh. Have I been here all day? I haven’t even eaten lunch,” he exclaimed as he saw an untouched platter of sandwiches. Raphael did not look happy at the wasted food.
