Page 77 of The Hidden Fae Prince
“Wait,” Nevander says, catching up. The stairs are only a few feet wide. He has to brush bodily past Seren. “I welcome you to this home. You may partake of any food or drink beneath this roof without obligation. The door will open for you, with or without a host.”
Permission rustles through branches and leaves. The treehouse purrs in relaxation, welcoming its new honored guest.
Delight brightens Seren’s exhaustion. He climbs the last few steps, and gasps. “Oh, this is gorgeous.”
Nevander joins him, and the trapdoor closes at his heels. Rainbow light dapples the single room in nostalgia. Decades of memories pile like the fur and wool blankets in the corner.
“Nobody in Wymond had stained glass in their treehouses,” Seren says, turning slowly. Then he laughs. “Wait—are those bottles?”
“We filled in the windows as we finished liquor bottles.” Nevander moves to a cabinet, which contains more liquor, but the wooden cups are what he’s after. “We drank a lot.”
“I can tell.” Seren appears at Nevander’s elbow. “What are you doing?”
Nevander pauses as if spellbound. He left his breastplate at the roots, and even with his emotions shielded, he feels exposed. “I’m getting you water.”
“That’s very considerate.” Seren touches Nevander’s shoulder. His chest. “I don’t want you to be considerate right now.”
They lean together, each taste sweeter than the last. Nevander groans, hands suddenly full of stained silk and flushed skin.
“You used too much power,” Nevander says between kisses. They’ve reached the bed of furs. “You should lie down.”
Seren’s eyes gleam gold. “I changed my mind. A little consideration is all right.”
Stomach aching, Nevander sinks to the furs. His back muscles wince as he eases Seren down, though the injuries are mostly healed. The twinges are just a reminder of his duty, his failure, his determination to do better, and that isn’t a bad thing as he lies beside his prince.
Rainbows ripple across Seren. He’s too beautiful to be real, a creature of glamour and dreams. But his arms wind around Nevander’s shoulders, and his leg hooks around Nevander’s hip, and his heated pulse is the realest thing Nevander’s ever felt. A wordless invitation, dangerous as a promise.
Nevander kisses the corner of Seren’s mouth. The edge of his jaw. He inhales the sweet lilac scent of Seren’s hair, then steals Seren’s gasping breath as well. He’d intended to kiss them both to exhaustion, then stand guard as Seren slept. But Seren presses up, hard. Leaving him like this would be…
Inconsiderate.
Seren tenses as Nevander’s hand lowers. Nevander pulls away to meet his eyes, searching for hesitation and finding none.
“Don’t tease me,” Seren says, pupils blown.
“I’m not teasing,” Nevander says, and loosens Seren’s belt. Holding Seren’s gaze, Nevander caresses him through the fine trousers. One slow stroke, then another, until an animal whine breaks from Seren’s throat. Then Nevander’s hand slips between fabric and skin to grasp Seren’s cock.
Seren bucks, head falling back. “Oh, fuck. That’s good.”
More truth echoes without words. Seren has suffered too much in his short lifetime. In this moment, Nevander wants to be a source of joy.
And pleasure is a good start.
25
This Troublesome Throne
SerenrocksintoNevander’sgrasp, his mind in disarray. He’s never gotten so close to another man. Stray feelings always drive him off too quickly. All the natural unpleasantness that Seren can’t even blame people for, because he understands them all too well. Flashes of boredom or frustration or jealousy that complicate even the smoothest of relationships.
There’s none of that in this rainbow-dappled sanctuary. Nevander is shielded again, but his obsession echoes through Seren’s soul. Louder still is Seren’s own desire, rushing water finally finding a break in the stone. He’s spent so long listening to other people’s hearts. Surrendering to his own is strange and wondrous.
Nevander always seems so untouchably perfect, yet every touch is so viscerally real. Golden hair spills over hisshoulders like an enchanted waterfall—but it sticks to Seren’s heated skin. Nevander’s torn, bloodstained shirt reveals flashes of fresh-healed skin with every movement.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nevander murmurs. “So brave.” His palm, slick with precome, twists over Seren’s head.
Muscles tense in Seren’s thighs and stomach. Plush furs caress his arched neck. “I don’t feel brave.”
Nevander’s smile curves, brilliant as summer. “Even so, my prince.”
