[ He cannot help the smug pleasure that spreads through him when Liem praises his efforts. In all his life, Cardan has never had cause to plan anything for anyone -- nothing like this, anyway. He had not expected Liem's enjoyment of it to feel so satisfying, so very worth every hour of shortened sleep and sneaking around he'd had to do.
Of course, Liem might be overstating his delight because it's polite. But with Liem's hand on his, with his soft mouth on Cardan's ear, he chooses to ignore this possibility entirely. There is nothing he can do for it, anyway -- and nothing to repress the pleased grin that takes over his expression, nor the satisfied loops his tail draws through the fragrant night air.
The fact he wins their counting game only underscores the success of the scheme.
Their days in Elfhame are numbered after that. Cardan makes good on his promise of arranging a hunt with Princess Rhyia, whose little half-smile reveals canines nearly as sharp as Liem's own. Her company proves much like that of the redcaps, as she is plainly disinterested in mincing her words -- though, unlike the redcaps, she does not bother maligning Cardan on their hunting trip to the Milkwood. They will track a white stag deep into the bleach-white forest; along the way, she asks Liem about his family and the woods at his estate. Before they part at the end of the night, she will pat his cheek and tell him to feed her brother less wine and more cheese.
Shortly after that, their trip comes to an end.
Even with the extra rest he had gotten, the winter cold hits Cardan like a punch to the gut. He finds himself unable to get fully warm again once they land on Ironside's grey shores. It had been challenging to crawl out of bed before; now, he has to bargain with himself to emerge before midnight. But there is simply no time for rest: he has a house to source and purchase and outfit, and, since it is supposed to be where he conducts his supposed affairs, it is not as if Liem can take over the paperwork as per usual.
And so he gets up, and he works, and he drinks a lot of wine to keep his hands and toes from feeling like blocks of ice. The day after the sale is finalized, he rises from the office couch to acquire more coffee, and feels his vision go a little wobbly. This is not particularly unusual, and so it does not alarm him. As he doesn't wish to be tripping over furniture, he waits for it to pass; by the time he realizes the world is tilting sideways, it is already too late.
At least his lack of coffee is a blessing: this way there is nothing to spill as he goes down. ]
[Just as Liem had predicted, their night in Cardan’s secret hideaway lingers pleasantly in Liem’s thoughts for the rest of their time in Elfhame, and even after it is once again time for them to depart. The nerve-wracking trip over the ocean is eased somewhat by the comforting nearness of his husband, the weight of the beautiful watch in his pocket, and the surprising number of delightful memories he carries back home along with his other souvenirs. Even his time spent with Cardan’s middle sister leaves him feeling unexpectedly charmed, which none of his spouse’s other siblings had ever managed to accomplish. He finds himself a little sad to pack up and return to Ironside’s bitter winter and the host of responsibilities intent on stealing him from his marriage bed.
But he is pleased with the trip overall, and not even the mountain of work awaiting him back home can dim his spirits. The only troubling aspect of their return is the way the cold seems to sap the vitality from his spouse, even after their vacation in Faerie. Despite the way Cardan waves off his inquiries, he cannot help but mislike the pallor and sluggishness that their time away has not managed to dispel. If anything, since returning from Elfhame’s eternal summer, his husband’s fatigue seems to be even worse. Whether it is the iron, the cold, or something else entirely, worry about it lives uneasily in his stomach, making him restless whenever his mind is not occupied with work.
He is frowning when movement from Cardan’s couch draws his gaze away from his discussion with Gusairne and towards that side of the room. The sight of his husband’s long form crumpling to the floor has him on his feet before he even registers his own shock.]
Cardan—!
[The list of roofing contractors they were in the midst of examining is forgotten in a jolt of alarm as Liem hurries to kneel on the rug beside his husband’s senseless sprawl. His hands find Cardan’s face, and after a moment’s hesitation as he listens to the rapid beat of his pulse, Liem gathers his head and shoulders carefully into his lap.]
Gusairne, send for Dr. Samari.
[To his credit, the ever-efficient Gul Gusairne does not quibble about this demand. He slips out of the room to see the task done, leaving Liem to set the fallen coffee cup distractedly on a nearby end table as he frowns over his husband.]
[And he does. Though working through the night without even his husband’s idle commentary already seems strange, the mindless flow of it nonetheless swallows him up, until dinner time arrives, and then dawn, and Liem crawls into bed already knowing just what to expect from the coming nights: more desk work, more meetings, and far, far less opportunity than he would like to touch his spouse.
Predictably, he misses this constantly: When he is wrapping himself around Cardan in the morning, and prying himself from his arms each evening. When he is at his desk, budgeting; when he is up and digging through his files. He would dearly love to devote even half an hour to kissing the feline smile back onto his husband’s face.
But he cannot do this, and Cardan is not the only one who’s cross about it when snuggling up to his husband and falling into a dead, exhausted sleep becomes the extent of what he has to look forward to after he finishes the night’s pile of duties.]
[ Cardan throws himself into his recovery -- partially to spite everyone who believed he wouldn't, partially because he realizes immediately that convalescence is awful, and partially because he has little choice. Between the doctor's instructions to the kitchen and Liem's fanatical dedication to keeping a schedule, he finds not a moment of his time spared from the demands of eating, hydrating, or sleeping. Furthermore, while he had already resigned himself to the fact Liem would not take his blood, he is soon met with the unwelcome realization that he is not permitted to fuck, either.
His suggestion that his heart might just explode from boredom is roundly ignored by all concerned.
By night five, he has done more sleeping and eating than ever before in his life, and he is thoroughly sick of his good health. He is loath to admit that the doctor may have been right about anything, so he doesn't -- but as he needs something to do when Liem is in meetings, he takes to strolling over to her office and planting himself on her couch, that she should rue the day she restored him to his normal vigour. When she's out (surely by necessity and not because she's avoiding him), he resorts to stealing papers off of Liem's desk and completing his paperwork for him.
Boredom is the cruelest of curses.
None of it exhausts him sufficiently, especially as sheer tedium leads him to overindulge in nighttime naps. The first day he finds himself lying awake -- a week into his forced abstinence from life's pleasures -- he decides not to disturb his husband's exhausted sleep, especially given that Liem barely stirs when he pulls away. With daylight in full bloom and naught else to do, Cardan goes for a rare sunny walk through the snowy grounds. This still leaves him with enough time to pilfer some freshly baked buns from the baker and make it back to bed before his exhausted husk of a husband rises for his calisthenics.
But even this diversion grows stale after a day or two. Cardan is not meant for the early rising, and midday is early indeed, even by Faerie standards. There is no reason for him to be lying awake, with not so much as the soft cadence of his husband's breaths to distract him from his persistent, insidious yearning.
It has been over a week, and he is desperately horny, probably due to the recent excess of blood in his body. Liem is too busy for Cardan to get many opportunities to corner him, but even when Cardan has, he has found himself rebuffed, lest he get too excited. If this is what it means to be healthy, then to hell with it; he would rather live pleasurably and die in glorious ecstasy. Not that he voices these thoughts to Liem, as they seem to appall his gentle, overly considerate spouse.
But he is fed up, and it is midday, and there is only so long a man can stare at the ceiling and ignore the raging erection he has been cursed with. He doesn't mean to do anything at first -- only shift, just a little, so he can brush his nose against Liem's hair and inhale his familiar scent. But the fire is still not quite dead in its hearth, and the pale curve of Liem's neck is so longingly familiar and achingly attractive; could he be blamed for brushing his mouth against it, when he has been permitted nothing else the entire week? And if his fingertips skim down his husband's flank, it's only... only to gauge how deeply he is asleep, given his terrible exhaustion.
Cardan would not want to wake him, after all. At least not yet. ]
He owes the discovery to Nicasia. He is in the midst of responding to her letter -- which had arrived with the usual gossip about Elfhame, accounts of gaiety under the waters, and the thinly veiled implication that he's wasting his time in Ironside. Cardan crunches away at an apple as he pens his reply, sidestepping her accusations with his own bits of gossip, tales of his newly purchased house, and little anecdotes that suggest Liem is being annoying. Although, he will suggest, probably not as annoying as some other people in their mutual acquaintance. He is about to append a very mean, extremely clever joke about Locke when he... pauses, pen hovering above paper. The thought that it may be unwise to bitch about Locke to Nicasia occurs to him -- what if they are still in cahoots now? Surely she is lonely enough in Elfhame, and Locke is almost as clever as Cardan. Perhaps it would be smarter to spare him, just in case it sours their friendship.
This strikes him as an alarmingly unnatural impulse towards either of his two closest friends.
Frowning, he looks up at Liem -- seated at his desk, looking handsome and serious as he works on his own correspondence -- and considers. He thinks about the day before, when he had walked by that very desk, ruffling some papers with the voluminous sleeve of his shirt, and... stopped to straighten them, lest they fall to the ground. The day before that, he had made sure Gusairne was on an errand before pressing Liem against the bookshelf and shoving his hands down his trousers. Even the apple is suddenly suspicious: he had thought it was wise to maintain his snacking habit, lest someone yell at him again for his lacking vigour. Why had he thought that?
He sets the apple and pen down, rises, and stalks out the office, closing the door gently behind him.
Dr. Samari declares him healthy. Indeed, he feels fine -- none of the faintness or dizziness from the previous months has returned to him. Having been rudely dismissed (he is really starting to suspect she is lying about her busy schedule), he decides to head back to their rooms. There, he finds the mirror, confronting his own bewildered stare. He looks fine. He feels fine. How is it possible to be more worried now than a month ago, when he had been stubbornly ignoring suspicions of his own poisoning? He's so fine that even Liem, who usually worries about everything, has seemed unusually at peace as of la--
Even Liem. ]
No, [ he tells his reflection, somehow indignant. But the reflection looks unsure, and he recognizes the furrow of its brows as frustrated resignation.
It is, all things considered, not particularly easy to peek at one's own magic. Perhaps if Cardan had been something closer to a hag... but he isn't, and his practice of the magical arts has thus far been largely haphazard. It takes him the better part of an hour to find the right feeling for it, to sense -- more than see -- the faint, glittering threads of his own power. It feels like a thorny thing, both strange and familiar, weaving restless patterns within his chest. He follows it down, to the thickest part, a knot wound tight beneath the place where his heart beats through his ribs-- and feels something else there. Small, like a dove's egg, crystalline and cool.
It is, undoubtedly, Liem's.
Naturally, he tells his husband nothing. Having concluded his arcane examination, he returns to the office, picks up the pen and the apple, and finishes his insult of Locke's departed mother. Then he seals the letter, stuffs it inside his jacket pocket, and looks up at Liem once more. ]
[It’s amazing how much simpler everything becomes when Liem no longer has cause to worry about his spouse. Just bringing his doctor-enforced convalescence to a close seems to please Cardan immensely, and that, really, is all Liem requires for his peace of mind.
Though the return of some amount of rest and the licence to taste his husband’s blood are certainly appreciated as well.
He does not waste time fretting about things that might never happen. When he sees Cardan each evening after he has changed and readied himself for work, he doesn’t hesitate to beckon him close to begin their labours with a kiss. When business takes them to a neighbouring estate, he eagerly makes efficient use of their carriage rides there and back—and never mind if his collar is a bit crooked after. At a party partway through the week, his jests flow more readily and cut more keenly, perhaps due to his uncharacteristic willingness to drink throughout the night.
And every time he looks his husband’s way, a smile seems waiting to curve the corners of that serious mouth.
It’s a very fine way to spend a week or so, even with how busy they still are, and how much they have yet to accomplish. But he continues to make arrangements, and they inch ever closer to their goals, so he cannot find it in him to be too concerned even about that.]
Ought we?
[Liem sets down his pen, pausing his work to regard his spouse, returned from some unknown errand of his own. The keenness of his look suggests that he suspects mischief, but the half-amused set of his mouth says he intends to oblige it.]
Could it be that my office is boring you, husband?
[Once he has relinquished any more of his husband’s kisses, Liem is eager to return with him to the house’s warm embrace. The idle pleasure of the last few hours seems to follow them back in from the cold, and even once they are again among the servants, Liem cannot quite care to disguise the spring their trip has added to his step.
He is, perhaps, a little pleased with himself over the success of their adventure. It is a rare kind of delight for him, so he sees no harm in savouring it.
This time, he asks the house to ready a bath ahead of time, before they’ve even returned to their rooms. The noise of running water greets them on their return—a welcome sound for Liem, who has politely avoided touching Cardan on their walk back through the halls, and is impatient to rid himself of his rudely persistent chill. The door has barely closed behind them when he begins flicking open the buttons of his waistcoat, already wandering in the direction of the bathroom.]
[ In contrast to last time, Cardan has allowed the servants to exchange his boots for shoes and replace his sweater with one that isn't damp with snow -- though his tail is still out, trailing him with pleased little loops. He is still chilly, which is why he lingers in front of the fireplace with his cup of steaming, briskly astringent pine tea.
Liem's sojourn toward the bathroom gets him a raised eyebrow. ]
Eager to avoid your punishment from last time?
[ His smirk is incorrigibly smug. Now that they're back on solid ground, he is free to draw his arrogance around him once more like a cloak; all the better to disguise the alarmingly tender delight he feels at Liem's satisfaction with the trip. ]
He feels it as he steps over the threshold: a shift -- a lightness that he hadn't hitherto been feeling. Ordinarily, he might not even have noticed, except that they're heading into the offices of Bird & Bird, attorneys at law, an environment which has consistently failed to inspire in him any sort of levity.
It's not until they've sat down that he realizes what it must be. Cardan frowns -- groping, mentally, for that place beneath his heart where the cool, dense core of Liem's caution had nestled. Predictably, he finds it empty.
His glance at Liem is carefully casual.
He'd never told his husband about his trick. It would have been difficult to explain, for one. For two, Liem would have demanded his caution back, missing the entire point of the scheme: to watch him be relatively unrestrained, for once, willing to indulge in pleasures he so often denied himself. Within days of his initial discovery, Cardan had concluded that while being overcautious was an annoying drain on his mood, he was evidently better at ignoring his inner warnings than his husband ever had been. Ergo, if one of them had to keep it...
Well, it's Liem's again, at any rate, which probably means that Cardan ought to pay better attention to the contract negotiations. For the next half hour, he sips his wine (which is very good if not very potent) and dedicates himself to the world's most boring tax exemption clauses.
By minute thirty-five, he feels twitchy with boredom; so much so that he must stop his foot from tapping compulsively against the rug. By minute thirty-nine, he realizes that it is not the contract that's doing this to him. He feels strangely unmoored; he wishes, more than anything, to move -- to sweep Liem up into his arms and take him for a dance, or better yet, a fuck. Except, of course, that Bird is still droning on, and the other Bird has just entered with yet another stack of papers, and Cardan feels--
He has spent the past two months helping Liem work out this deal and is rapidly realizing that he may become the cause of its demise. He feels the way he did when he was a small child, and there was some urgent thing he wanted from his mother while she was busy with her friends. Just like in his childhood, staring at Liem meaningfully fails to communicate to him the urgency of Cardan's need, even though he can feel his heart rate rising -- which means Liem can hear it, too. Surely he would notice, and question why. Wouldn't he?
Cardan glances at the clock on the wall. By his estimation, they have at least an hour yet to go. Only an hour, he tells himself, as convincingly as he can muster. After that they will leave, and he will tell Liem all about his problems in the carriage. He can manage an hour. Anyone can manage an hour, of anything.
Exactly forty-eight minutes later, he reaches forward and upends the dregs of his wine over the contract, dyeing it the dark red of venous blood. ]
Gentlemen, [ he will drawl -- then turn to the second Bird, sketching an insultingly careless bow, ] Lady. I am afraid you are boring me.
[ They had worked on this for months. He can't, for the life of him, convince himself not to ruin it -- but then, hasn't he always been like this? Cardan will turn, slide his hand over the back of Liem's cool neck, and lean far too close. ]
And you, my terribly diligent Liem...
[ He trails off, distracted by his own racing thoughts. What did he mean to say? Something terribly clever -- but the thought has slipped away like a silvery fish in murky water. On the other hand, it feels lovely to lean his forehead against Liem's cool one, and the smile he levies at his husband is genuinely pleased. No matter how angry Liem might get, he remains delightful first and foremost. Cardan likes him so horribly much.
His pupils are blown so wide that his eyes are entirely black. ]
[Isn’t it funny how one can be completely confident about something they’ve spent months preparing for, and then arrive at their destination and feel a whole host of doubts crop up like summer weeds? This is not an unfamiliar experience for Liem, yet for some reason he fails to anticipate it entirely, until they’re already in the foyer, saying their hellos to their host in preparation for the night’s business. Then, suddenly, he recalls the many ways in which things might still go unfavourably, and by the time the wine is poured he’s already deep into a mental list of things to keep track of while finalizing this agreement.
Ironically, he takes comfort in his husband’s easy presence at his side. They have both been working for weeks upon weeks to work out the details of this deal, and whatever else might be true of Cardan, Liem knows him to have a keen eye for contracts. Even if Liem might doubt himself, he cannot doubt his husband.
Even if the meeting itself does drag on, and even if Cardan’s attention clearly does wander. Liem might be keeping his gaze on their hosts and on the papers, but he cannot fail to notice the way the single heartbeat in the room begins to climb somewhere around the half-hour mark. Presumably their hosts notice as well; even if Mr and Ms Bird were born human, their hearing now surely works just fine. Fortunately, professionalism prevents them from so much as aiming a questioning glance his way.
It does not, however, prevent them from looking at Cardan as though he’d dumped wine on them when he upends his glass over the contract.]
Cardan—
[Startled, Liem stares at him, bewildered by the turn this meeting has suddenly taken. He doesn’t even think to object when his husband reaches for him and leans close to press against his forehead—something he is sure Cardan has never before done in public.]
Are you drunk?
[He’s incredulous, both because of his husband’s rude behaviour and because the wine they were served wasn’t potent in the least. Liem has seen him knock back heartier vintage in less time and not seem so heedlessly intoxicated.
Meanwhile, the Birds are overcoming their shock. Ms Bird demands to know the meaning of this sudden insult, while Mr Bird huffs that if Liem’s husband is unable to act seriously, he should have left him at home.
On his feet, his hands cautiously framing his husband’s shoulders, Liem aims a cutting look at the pair of vampires, who balk visibly. Firmly, he suggests,] Have a care what you say to me, especially about my husband.
[ Things go back to normal, as they must; Cardan refuses to let them be otherwise. He doesn’t want to dwell on his own vulnerability, nor his clumsy attempts at cheering Liem up in the aftermath of the failed assassination. It seems like every time he finds some sense of equilibrium, peace, or — horror of horrors — personal joy, Dain will manifest to steal it from him once more. It doesn’t really bear thinking about, chiefly because he cannot do much to stop his eldest brother.
So he pushes it to the back of his mind alongside every other inconvenient fact and moves on. And when, one grey spring morning, a brine-scented missive arrives from the Undersea with an invitation, he doesn’t hesitate. He cannot take Liem with him, of course, but that’s all the more reason to treat with Queen Orlagh: if he can secure safe passage across the sea, their future travels to Elfhame will be far less perilous.
A few days later, he will kiss Liem goodbye — careful not to linger, especially as they are being watched — before turning to walk into the foamy ocean waves. The strange ache in his chest is matched only by the stabbing cold of the water, and in fact this is fine, as it distracts him quite efficiently. By the time he has the chance to think of Liem again, they are already most of the way to one of Orlagh’s many palaces.
To his astonishment, he is immediately and fiercely homesick. When he had started thinking of his marriage bed as home, he doesn’t know. What he knows is that he misses his husband’s cool touch, the softness of his mouth in the amber light of a dying fire, and the pleasure of his measured voice when he tells Cardan his (wrong, hideous) opinions on brocade. He thinks about these things incessantly. They invade his dreams, leaving him to wake up aching and distracted with his strange, awful loneliness.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Nonetheless, despite this wounded longing taking up residence in his chest, it is easy to fall into the familiar rhythm of parties and dances, of gossip and intrigue — easier still because day and night are difficult to tell apart in Orlagh’s kingdom. He is treated surprisingly well. Although the queen makes it obvious that she considers him to be foppish, and foolish, and largely unworthy of her daughter’s friendship, he is nonetheless called to dinner with the both of them often, and even manages to make Orlagh laugh once or twice in the process. Nicasia, for her part, is at her brightest and most dangerous under the waves; he suspects he has her to thank for the summons in the first place. He suspects it more fervently when, after he mentions returning to land, the princess only laughs and beckons a serving boy closer to refill his cup.
Well, it’s not unexpected; he hasn’t even brokered a deal yet, and at least no one has indicated he’s a prisoner, exactly. Besides, panicking would not help him in either case. Instead, he drinks the wine, and he endeavours to write to his husband.
The first letter-in-a-bottle will arrive at the Talbott estate some few days later, carried by a very confused fisherman. It reads, in Cardan’s sweeping, impatient script:
Husband,
Something I imagine you may not know: sometimes, when you worry, you develop an enchanting little furrow right between your eyebrows. I assume you are manifesting it presently, and am afraid I must demand that you cease at once. Queen Orlagh’s hospitality is overwhelming; I am perfectly well, if not positively drowning in luxuries.
Besides, your tedious contractors do not deserve to see your charming expressions, and I do. Save them for my return, so that I may kiss the worries from your noble brow.
He follows this with a restrained update on the state of negotiations in general and Undersea gossip in particular – nothing too salacious, just in case someone intercepts the letter.
The paragraph after this has been clearly added some time later, and the lettering is less restrained even than Cardan’s usual.
I hope to remain in your thoughts, husband, for you haunt mine each morning and every night with alarming punctuality – which seems rather like you, actually, but would be embarrassing for being one-sided.
[It is astonishing that Liem’s routine can return to such normalcy, that his life can appear so mundane (as much as a vampire lord’s life ever does) after it has been so profoundly shaken. Fear and terrible, grim determination have piled new items onto his list of things he must do as quickly and as quietly as he can manage, but the sun still sets and rises as it always does, and the household still runs at his somewhat harried direction, and there are still parties and meetings to attend or arrange.
And Cardan seems to all appearances to be his usual self, so Liem cannot burden him with his own worries, even though attempting to address them with action of his own only makes his anxieties keener. He is ever aware of the many variables he has no control over, any one of which might at the slightest chance destroy the one person he has come to so dearly wish to protect. All he can do is keep Cardan close and avail himself of his husband’s considerable charm and allure in an attempt to keep himself sane.
Until, despite Liem’s fussy protests, Cardan departs for the Undersea, intent on treating with its queen. Though Cardan is right to insist that they need an agreement with the Undersea, and though Liem tries to have faith in him, the unease that has lived in him since the night of the poisoning begins to sting and bite the moment his husband vanishes beneath the waves. The threshold of foamy water swallows his lover with such finality; the knowledge that he cannot possibly pursue Cardan below it grabs Liem’s throat like a noose, and departing further from the shore only makes the grip strangle tighter.
He should take advantage of Cardan’s absence, and he does; the arrangements he makes in the coming days will be easier to set up without his husband shadowing him at every opportunity. But addressing himself to work does not keep loneliness from breathing down the back of his neck, nor does it make his sleepless days any shorter or more restful. He worries about failure: Cardan running afoul of an assassin or some Undersea scheme and never coming home, lost forever beneath the waves Liem cannot penetrate. He worries about success: the future in which Cardan has a murdering liar for a husband and a Dain-free Elfhame beckoning him back across the sea. When Cardan’s letter arrives, the wrinkle between his brows is already threatening to carve a permanent home there.
Just reading it makes the slumbering ache in his chest so much worse—but he is still greedy for every word. He clutches the message like a lifeline, and drinks the words without restraint, even though they are a poor substitute for the familiar smell of his husband’s skin and the warmth of his embrace.]
Cardan, [he writes, in neat, elegant script, with the first, fretful drafts of his reply already blackening in his hearth.]
How thoughtful of you to gift me, even now, with an opportunity to indulge your wishes. You have a talent for distracting me from vexing matters; the next time Gusairne is getting on my last nerve, I shall try to please you rather than him, and bank my frown for another night instead.
But I cannot promise to grant your demand and put my troubles away, lest you return to discover my deception from the house staff. If you wish to hoard my expressions for yourself, you will need to return to catch them.
[He writes a little of the matters that continue to trouble him in Cardan’s absence, but most of his troubles should not be put into writing, and some he cannot tell his husband even in person. So he fills the page with token mentions of estate projects and parties made dull by Cardan’s absence, and to him the anecdotes echo with the lack that has inhabited his nights since his husband’s departure—but perhaps with a different set of eyes, it is less apparent.]
When you think of me, know that I am wishing for your nights to remain joyful and free of trouble, and that I am awaiting your return with exactly the appropriate amount of impatience, so that you may tell me of your adventures in person.
[ Torrential spring rains delay Cardan's luggage, which mostly means he spends the next three days whining and using the excuse to steal Liem's ties. When it finally arrives, he unpacks a trove of souvenirs: for Iago, black pearl cuff links that shine with an oily iridescence; a silver pen inlaid with abalone for the doctor; a clever little pot of magically preserved caviar for the scullery maid who sneaks Cardan gossip and freshly baked buns. Liem receives coral ear studs carved in the shape of seahorses.
For some reason, Cardan is both fidgety and smug for the rest of the night.
The reason, as it turns out, is an object that had been brought into their bedroom between Liem's rising and the early morning hours. It is tall, rectangular, and draped in velvet -- one might suspect it of being a portrait, albeit quite a narrow one.
Having (finally) herded Liem away from his papers and into the bedroom, Cardan will direct him, quite insistently, in front of the new addition. Then he'll further insist that Liem close his eyes. ]
[No amount of complaints and petty thievery from his spouse could persuade Liem to be annoyed about his husband’s return from the sea. He spends the next few nights indulging Cardan’s whims with weary good humour, juggling the many demands on his time with his own desire to have his spouse wrapped around him like a warm cloak. That Cardan seems in agreement on this matter only pleases him further.
When his luggage finally arrives—imagine if he had to wait for Cardan as well that whole time!—Liem receives his tiny seahorses with open pleasure, already wondering what best to pair them with. What colours in his wardrobe? Which pieces from his collection of jewellery? Obviously the best means of displaying his appreciation for his husband’s gift is to wear them, and as he is about many things, Liem cannot help but be scrupulous about this too.
Though in this case it is pleasure that compels him, rather than duty.
He wonders, as Cardan herds him back to their rooms, whether the return of his husband’s belongings will mean he feels less need to liberate Liem’s accessories from his wardrobe. Perhaps some of Cardan’s own jewellery might pair well with his new earrings; this seems only fair, given his husband’s larcenous habits.
When he finds himself standing before the mysterious velvet-covered object in their bedroom—surely the source of Cardan’s restlessness, in retrospect—he lets his eyes sink closed after only a brief, meaningful look at his spouse.]
I thought I already received my souvenir, husband.
[But putting the future from his mind does not stop it from arriving, and bringing various demands along with it. The following weeks are busy; meetings and paperwork for the estate pile atop similar for his own affairs—business matters, personal projects, political studies, Faerie arrangements. All require his attention, either with or without his husband’s assistance. But after yet another meeting with a correspondent Iago is not meant to know about, Liem at least allows himself to feel tentatively optimistic about the momentum these efforts are generating. Even if he does feel stretched thin at times, at least he can take pleasure in the knowledge that his and Cardan’s schemes are beginning to bear fruit.
It is enough to put him in a good mood the next time he gathers himself for a meeting with his father. Iago has been in good humour lately besides; he has seemed pleased with Liem ever since the end of Cardan’s long trip to the Undersea, and despite the added pressure keeping Liem busy, lately he hasn’t earned a single criticism about his handling of estate matters.
But the most terrible thing about his father’s displeasure is how often it falls upon him entirely without warning.
He so easily forgets this, during pleasant stretches—and yet, once he is alone with his father, how small and feeble his better efforts seem to become; how stupid and numerous the mistakes he’d previously put out of his mind. It feels so unfair, when he has tried so hard to please his father despite everything else demanding his attention. Only, Iago has always demanded all of what he has to give; he has always had a special talent for making Liem feel wretched for withholding any scraps for himself.
He leaves his father’s sitting room in a haze of tightly-held misery, his diligent mien long since collapsed into a despairing, submissive quiet. It is a poor state for him to be encountering anyone else in, and when he passes his husband on his way from Iago’s quarters, he can manage only a curt facsimile of a greeting before he must excuse himself to escape the strangling confines of Iago’s house, even if just for a few hours.
Without so much as pausing to change his clothes, he disappears into the woods.]
[ For all that he has not trusted Iago for a single second since his arrival and for all that the Duke has loomed, spectre-like, over their plans -- his awfulness had always been a rather conceptual thing. Whatever tension Cardan had felt between father and son had usually come from Liem. If Iago was sometimes backhanded, if he seemed exasperated with his son's rigid work ethic and uncompromising focus -- well, Cardan could not rightly condemn him without branding himself a hypocrite.
(Except, of course, that he's a prince, and Liem's trusted companion besides, which makes his heckling entirely different.)
At any rate: it is not until that night that he sees it. Liem's closed-off, muted expression sinks into his gut with an aching familiarity. Watching his tense silhouette retreat nearly prompts Cardan to hurry after him. Except: he cannot. Iago expects him in his chambers presently. This in itself does not matter to him, but his second realization does: Iago has set the timing of their respective summons, and he must, inevitably, know that they would meet in the hallway.
He knows this trick. He loathes this trick.
He breathes out, affects his most self-satisfied expression, and swans into his father-in-law's rooms.
It's not as difficult an hour as he expects. Liem may not have been charmed by Dain, but Cardan has no such immunity to his father-in-law. If he ignores the part of himself that's seething, it is easy enough to go along with the pleasant conversation and easy jokes at his husband's expense. His petty, cruel impulses are never so far from him, and he has much practice at being foolish.
He drinks quite a lot of wine.
Eventually, he will bid his pleasant adieu and saunter unhurriedly back to the office he knows will be empty. Well, empty of the occupant he's looking for, at any rate. He spends several minutes getting into a fight with Gusairne by insinuating that it is he who is Iago's favourite, then flounces smugly back out. It is a lovely spring night: the moon is shining, and the breeze is warm and fragrant. A perfect night for a ride by anyone's account.
A short while later, he lands the moth in a clearing, jumps from its fluffy back, and sets off into the woods, silent as a glittery shadow. It does not occur to him to be wary of the thicket -- not in an ordinary wood like this, not when he's focused on his husband's near presence. Only his twitchy fingers hint at his disquiet, worrying at the wedding band that glints in the sparse silver light. ]
[It is some weeks after that before Liem finds cause to abandon the main house again. Dutifully, he finishes Iago’s projects and placates his father with shows of tension between him and his spouse, hinting at cracks forming in their already-tenuous marriage. Put on or not, the little fights and impatient words wear nonetheless on his spirits.
He does not want to waste the time he has with Cardan by finding things to be cross about for the benefit of onlookers. More and more, he finds himself begrudging the pretense, which endeavours to suck the joy from his marriage even while he still remains wed. Yet no matter how loath he is to make so much of his life a gruelling spectacle, they cannot afford to become hermits. It is tedious, and frustrating, and still he endures, as he always has. He only worries, continuously, for his husband, who is less married than he to the idea of being miserable.
One evening, the clouds are so thick when he rises that it may as well be night already, despite the length of the summer days. He is distractible all throughout the first hours of the night, cocking his head like a hound hearing an unfamiliar footfall, until the distant, muffled sounds of wind and rain howling against the house’s upper levels become too much to bear, and a rumble shaking the manor’s ancient stones sends him impatiently to his feet.]
Enough of this, [he decides, hastily neatening his desk as he throws a glance at his spouse.] Cardan, can you hear the thunder? Let’s get out of this little cave. [By which he means his spacious and comfortable office, but anyway.]
[ Cardan looks over from his perch -- which is atop Liem's desk rather than the couch, for once -- and raises an eyebrow. It's rare for Liem to suggest they go somewhere; typically it is Cardan who gets fed up with correspondence and drags his weary husband out into the wild.
It's just that he's recently become aware of the consequences his distractions carry. ]
I can smell it, [ he replies, lowering the Faerie contract he had been reading. In spite of the lack of windows, the house is drafty enough for the scents of petrichor and ozone to permeate just enough.
Not that he didn't hear that last, bone-rattling crack of thunder, too. And, though coyness would demand that he faff about just a little more, he doesn't even bother pretending that he'd rather keep going with paperwork -- already he is busy sliding off the desk and stuffing the stack of papers into their envelope for safekeeping.
The smile he directs at Liem is sly. ] I thought you'd never ask.
[ The return trip is even more soggy, which is a thing Cardan did not think possible.
Though he is still happy to be alone with Liem, and happy for the smells and sounds of forest all around them, he has to admit -- as is usual for their outings -- that he has gotten to be somewhat chilled. The relentless rain has swept away the heat of the day drop by drop, and he is longing to be dry and out of the wet clothing that clings to his skin. Still, he doesn't particularly hurry; the house, more than ever, looms with uncomfortable oppression in his thoughts, and so he makes himself slow his steps, even as his thumb strokes restlessly over Liem's hand clasped in his own.
It is, therefore, with mixed feelings that he spots the little stream from earlier in the night.
In all of his earlier excitement, he had not considered that the rain might swell it considerably. The extra water has added both velocity and breadth -- while still narrow, it is not so narrow that he could avoid stepping in the water to cross. This may have been permissible if it had been any other night, with any other weather, where he was responsible only for himself.
Carrying Liem across makes it a different thing entirely.
He is too familiar with the deceptive nature of streams, and this one strikes him as particularly dangerous. He cannot tell what's beneath the swirling, frothy surface; worse, he cannot tell what's in it, so turbulent and opaque is the stream. If he chances trying to find a foothold there, he may well lose his balance, or else be knocked off his feet entirely.
His frown deepens. ]
...we cannot cross here.
[ Foolish. He should have expected it. He glances up to the sky, futilely, as the cloud cover is too dense to show him the slant of the moon. But they have been out for some time; dawn cannot be so far off. It makes anxiety whisper over his skin, prickling, unpleasant. ]
It may narrow further upstream. [ He forces himself not to squeeze Liem's hand; it would only reassure himself and concern his husband, surely. ]
[With the thick, water-laden blanket above cloaking the night sky, it is easy to lose track of time amidst their explorations. Liem is far more interested in smelling the damp forest air and sneaking sidelong glances at his husband than he is in trying to keep an exact measure of the passing hours. By the time they trek home, bowing to his husband’s chilled flesh and his own desire to be beneath a roof well before sunrise, he knows only that dawn is slowly nearing, behind the thick cover of clouds. Without the watch in his discarded jacket or a clear view of the sky, he does not know how long they still have until the sun begins its approach of the horizon in earnest.
They surely have some time yet, and the clouds are in no danger of parting soon regardless. Even so, he feels the urgency of their journey home—and when they find the stream rushing swollen and fierce on their way back, concern pulls his brows into a small frown. Automatically he worries about the delay, and the possibility of dawn arriving while they are still navigating the obstacles between them and the manor. Their wandering now takes on a slightly more anxious character.]
Let us see, then.
[He, too, mislikes the look of that rain-swollen rill. The thought of letting Cardan attempt to carry him across it makes his stomach clench, and as he turns to pace alongside it, he hopes fervently that they will not be forced to attempt any such crossings.
During the tense stretch of walking that follows, his attention is split between the forbidding rush of frothy brown water to one side of them and his own efforts to recall salient landmarks in the surrounding woods. The course of the brook is taking them further from the house as they follow it upstream; sooner or later, they will have to either find a crossing, or abandon it and seek shelter elsewhere. The longer he mulls over this choice, the more restless the nebulously-looming dawn makes him.]
This is availing us little, [he eventually judges, stopping to look around them as the narrow, earth-laden torrent rushes past. At no point so far has the stream calmed to the point where he would wish to ask his husband to cross it, especially burdened with the weight of his entire person.] We should seek shelter elsewhere, while we still have the time.
[Though neither of them are in any hurry to disentangle once they’ve warmed up, especially since they have nowhere at all to be, eventually Liem’s ambitions demand he rise. They can do better for comfort than a blanket-draped sofa, and he would prefer to not make the trek home in damp, wrinkled clothes. While his dear husband seeks necessities in the shelter’s wine cabinet, Liem ensures their wet clothes are hung up and the fire is well fed. After that, they have only to pilfer the many cushions and blankets tucked about the cabin for the construction of a nest both larger and cozier than their previous perch.
The results of their brief intermission are well worth the interruption. The plush expanse of their nest makes for a comfortable setting in which to drink and flirt and briefly attempt a game or two. Cards cannot hold Liem’s attention for long when he would rather his hands be on his husband instead, but he likes giving Cardan opportunities to cheat him, and the unfettered attitude of the forest still clings to him even though they have thoroughly shed the damp.
It is why he has no thought of sleep even as the sun continues to climb behind the thick cover of clouds, from which scatterings of rain still patter lazily against the dripping greenery. The muffled sound blends together with the crackling of the hearth as Liem, pleasantly tangled with his husband, stamps a trail of slow, affectionate kisses along Cardan’s neck.
He has had a thought. It is not a new thought, but he has had a long while to turn it over in his mind, and it is about time he made it reality.]
Cardan.
[Liem purrs just beneath his lover’s jaw, content and catlike in the grasp of his new, much-anticipated decision. His hands pause their wandering, fingers tracing tiny, idle movements against heated skin.]
[ On a different day, he may have sensed the minute shift in Liem's mood. Or perhaps he would not have; after all, he is so thoroughly content -- smug and warm and ensconced in all of life's most delectable pleasures. Why should he be suspicious of his husband, who is only indulging in the same? Besides, the dangerous, languid mouth at his throat is so distracting; it makes him sigh and tilt his chin up to offer more of himself to Liem's kisses. Heat simmers deliciously in his veins, pools in his belly; his hand strokes lazily down the elegant line of Liem's spine. ]
Mm.
[ Liem's confession isn't news. Still, hearing him say it sends an insistent jolt of desire through Cardan, bright and eager. No matter how relaxed he may be, no matter how soft-edged and hazy the world around him -- he can never deny his persistent need for his husband.
He shifts, fitting indulgent fingers over Liem's cheek so he can kiss him, slow and lingering. With the diffuse, grey light of morning barely filtering from outside, it feels like the hours are endless. Dusk might as well be eternities away. All that matters is his husband, and the heat of the wine warming his skin from within, making the touch of those cool hands feel like such fervent relief.
When he pulls away, he's already a little breathless. ]
Have you not had me quite thoroughly already?
[ The hungry little grin he directs Liem's way suggests that despite his arch tone, his own answer is a resounding no.
[ Although further storms visit the estate over the next weeks, there is no time for lengthy adventures: it turns out that whatever financial magic Liem has been weaving has finally started bearing fruit, and so another trip to Faerie is due. Cardan had meant to go to Fairfold much earlier, in truth. As he had outlined to Liem at the very beginning of their venture, it is a court far from his father's seat of power and favourable to Ironsiders. Besides, as Lord Severin had only recently taken the throne, with shaky standing among Elfhame's low courts, he would likely welcome both Liem's and Cardan's attentions.
As a bonus, they needn't travel over any oceans; the Alderking's court lies inland, only a few days' travel from them.
Lord Severin has a ram's curled horns and a lovely smile. It belies the wariness lurking in his green eyes when he welcomes them to his palace -- which, like Elfhame's, has been built inside a magic-veiled, hollowed-out hill. My father exiled his father, Cardan had told Liem, before their journey. For treason, though I do not know of what sort. He supposes it is reasonable that Severin feel some suspicion toward them -- though, given the young Alderking's involvement in his own father's murder, Cardan can only hope that he is more concerned with practicality than sentiment.
As it turns out, he needn't have worried -- not about winning Severin over, anyway. The king appears to be genuinely interested in tedious topics like policy and economic growth and patent law, which is to say that Liem -- who, unlike Cardan, can hold a conversation on these matters -- charms him quite immediately. At this point, it is Cardan's turn to watch with suspicion, but even he has to admit that the king seems to be entirely earnest in his intentions. And, after all, it's not like Liem is unable to handle himself.
And so, after extracting assurances that his husband will not treat with Severin without Cardan's explicit approval, he leaves them to their talks and heads out to engage in strategic schmoozing and gossip procurement. This is a pleasing division of labour, although it does mean that he does not see his husband for hours at a time. Still, so long as they find each other in the end, he does not mind -- and, after all, is it not a special kind of pleasure to stumble across Liem nearly by accident in some quiet sitting room of the palace, or a woody clearing under the canopy of stars? ]
[Preparing for their trip to Fairfold is much different from most diplomatic journeys Liem has been on before. For one, he is going of his own volition, to secure agreements of his own (and his husband’s) devising. For another, he does not anticipate the need to sniff about for weaknesses while they are there.
Not that he plans to be unobservant, either. But the less dangerous information Iago can wiggle out of him when they return, the happier Liem will be.
The overland journey, though, is familiar, and he much prefers it to the harrowing trip across the sea. Despite the dangers inherent in leaving his father’s lands, Liem feels excitement seize him as they near their destination. He has ever enjoyed visiting foreign places, and he especially enjoys learning more of the lands Cardan’s own people inhabit.
Still, business demands his attention. He is alert in taking in the whimsical underground palace, and attentive in his exchanges with the king. Lord Severin surprises him by expressing sustained, apparently genuine interest in learning about Ironside topics that Liem couldn’t force his own husband to care about. It is a pleasure to attend to the task of making a good impression on him, so much so that he almost doesn’t mind that for once Cardan isn’t trying to fill in for his non-existent shadow.
But the late evenings spent letting his husband trap him in bed go a long way toward making up for it.
Even so, his restless energy demands its own kind of outlet. Liem finds himself in the training hall with the palace knights more than once, fighting imaginary foes and then graduating to physical ones. Here, he keeps his bloodlust carefully sheathed; precision is the goal, not savagery. He cannot start a scandal by mauling one of the Alderking’s loyal vassals—even if he does want to win. Even if victory thrills more when the scent of spilled blood fills the air.
The denial only helps him practise his discipline, anyway.]
[ It has become common for them to spend time apart while at the Alderking's court. Cardan makes the rounds at parties, charming courtiers and dodging Benjamin Evans' puzzling attempts at friendship. Liem is busy teaching Severin how to saddle his subjects with an unnecessarily complex tax code, because Cardan's husband -- as he's learning -- is a terribly degenerate sadist.
It is a little strange, but Cardan finds himself more content than he'd expected. After all, the fey go abed in the late of night, which is to say prudishly early, by vampire standards -- and so it is not as if they are denied each other's company altogether. Besides, he has come to enjoy watching Liem win the Alderking's favour, however demented he might privately find their discussions.
Which is all to say: it is not so unusual for him to be heading back to their room by himself as another revel wraps up. He manages to keep the impatience off his face as he demurs invitations to further, more private revelry, barely paying attention to his own excuses. He is too eager to find the door to their rooms and slip inside.
To his delight, it appears that Liem has beaten him there. He does not bother suppressing his grin. ]
It is rare for you to finish early. Surely Lord Severin has not reached his limit on sole proprietorship bylaws?
[It is rare indeed for Liem to be the first one to return to their rooms at the end of a revel. On most other nights, he would still be taking advantage of Lord Severin’s uncommon interest in the mundane minutiae of Ironside governance, and monopolizing his attention to the irritation of various faerie courtiers. Lord Severin is an engaging man, and Liem is quite content to devote himself to the task of winning his favour during Fairfold’s many revels, which as always, he’s obliged to spend largely away from his husband’s company.
But he is back early tonight, standing rather aimlessly to one side of their sitting room, hugging himself with one hand while he cups his own face with the other, fingers compulsively drumming against the soft skin of his cheek. Initially he had been patting his face and pacing the floor, trying to keep himself alert, but his restless wanderings have dragged to a stop, and the sluggishness infecting him has stripped his movements of any vigour. When he turns with deliberate effort to regard Cardan upon his entrance, his heavy eyes make him look drugged.]
I wanted to see you.
[Too much, evidently. The deceptively cheerful faerie who had tried to convince Liem to stay and indulge in other merriments had taken offense at being so roundly dismissed just so Liem could return to his rooms in search of rest.
Then let sleep find you quickly, she had sniffed, and let your search be uninterrupted.
And by the time he had made it back to their suite of rooms, the weariness upon Liem felt as heavy as if the sun were already high in the sky. But he misliked the idea of crawling into bed without letting Cardan know what had transpired, so he had wandered the sitting room instead, too drowsy to risk even sitting down to wait.]
[On the night before their wedding anniversary, Liem rises early, as he often does. Excitement has made him restless, and restless nerves often steer him to the training hall to work out his energy. But on this occasion, he has another destination in mind.
Promising his swift return to his husband, he extracts himself reluctantly from Cardan’s embrace and disappears on his errand. But as promised, he attends quickly to his last-minute preparations, and soon he is letting himself back into the guest suite he shares with his husband, intent on kissing him awake and luring him out of bed—or perhaps allowing himself to be lured back into it.
He slides his jacket and boots off before slipping back into their bedroom and seeking his spouse, padding quietly across the plush carpets to bend over Cardan’s tousled head and place a kiss upon it.]
[ It takes Cardan a moment to stir, buried as he is between pillows and duvets. He had tumbled back into sleep almost immediately after Liem's exit from their bedroom, only taking time to draw the bedding tighter around himself, to make up for the Liem-shaped space left in it.
Still, no amount of drowsiness can compete with his husband's return -- besides... He shifts, turning his face so he can peer at Liem, his frown puzzled. ]
Already?
[ Not that he minds. But his sense of time suggests that Liem wasn't gone long enough for a training bout, especially with how keyed up he'd seemed. Then again, perhaps his husband has simply decided to burn his nervous energy off on Cardan, instead.
It's a pleasant thought. He blinks sleep out of his eyes, trying not to yawn, and considers -- somewhat unsubtly, given the way his gaze slinks along Liem's body -- just what the best angle of attack for toppling him back into bed might be. ]
[ Cardan does not remember the last time he had Liem all to himself two nights in a row. For all the luxuries he has been surrounded with most of his life, this one feels somehow the keenest, the most fragile. He endeavours to drink it down to the dregs and enjoy every mouthful along the way.
Unlike the glorious whimsy of the night prior, he suspects that their anniversary is subject to a multitude of plans, his and Liem's both. As such, it behooves him to wake up early -- or rather, less debauchedly late -- so he may enjoy his husband properly in his sleep-warmed and handsomely disheveled state. After all, they must not be late to dinner, and after dinner: the opera.
Benjamin Evans was the one who had suggested it, strangely enough -- well, perhaps not so strange, given his musical proclivities. Cardan has never been to an opera, but he has been made to understand that it is both grandiose and dramatic, which is promising, and that their particular seats afford them a significant measure of privacy. That Ben mentions the latter surprises him; either he and Liem are more obvious than they suspected, or the boy is more perceptive than he'd given him credit for.
Regardless, Ben Evans is right: the box seats are secluded, with heavy curtains meant to shroud them further in velvet shadow, should they so desire. This is a little bit of a shame, as they are both looking sharply handsome this night, despite the glamour's best effort at helping them blend -- but it's not as if the lack of light is an impediment to either of them. The rest of the opera guests have plenty of time to enjoy them as they ascend the staircase to the box, at any rate. ]
[Liem has been looking forward to this night for many weeks now—ever since he’d begun to hope that they might actually still be married after a year’s time. The anniversary represents a first for him, and though he doesn’t know precisely what significance his spouse attaches to the milestone, he is confident by now that Cardan is pleased as well by the chance to celebrate it. One year after the night of their wedding, they are both still alive and well, and Liem is pleased to still be granted the opportunity to devote himself to his husband’s happiness.
That their anniversary, unlike their wedding, cannot be overshadowed by his father’s watchful presence is an added bonus.
Even their choice of venue is novel; Liem has never before found the time to attend an opera. He delights in the chance to dress up and attend on his husband’s arm, even if the humans around them all fail to properly appreciate how dazzling they look. Cardan’s attention more than makes up for the lack, and as they find the private little balcony that holds their seats, Liem spends almost as much time stealing glances at his spouse as he does appreciating the opera house itself.
When they are there, Liem leans in to murmur in his husband’s ear.]
Had we done this back home, we would certainly have run into other gentry there to be part of the spectacle. I think I prefer this more.
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Of course, Liem might be overstating his delight because it's polite. But with Liem's hand on his, with his soft mouth on Cardan's ear, he chooses to ignore this possibility entirely. There is nothing he can do for it, anyway -- and nothing to repress the pleased grin that takes over his expression, nor the satisfied loops his tail draws through the fragrant night air.
The fact he wins their counting game only underscores the success of the scheme.
Their days in Elfhame are numbered after that. Cardan makes good on his promise of arranging a hunt with Princess Rhyia, whose little half-smile reveals canines nearly as sharp as Liem's own. Her company proves much like that of the redcaps, as she is plainly disinterested in mincing her words -- though, unlike the redcaps, she does not bother maligning Cardan on their hunting trip to the Milkwood. They will track a white stag deep into the bleach-white forest; along the way, she asks Liem about his family and the woods at his estate. Before they part at the end of the night, she will pat his cheek and tell him to feed her brother less wine and more cheese.
Shortly after that, their trip comes to an end.
Even with the extra rest he had gotten, the winter cold hits Cardan like a punch to the gut. He finds himself unable to get fully warm again once they land on Ironside's grey shores. It had been challenging to crawl out of bed before; now, he has to bargain with himself to emerge before midnight. But there is simply no time for rest: he has a house to source and purchase and outfit, and, since it is supposed to be where he conducts his supposed affairs, it is not as if Liem can take over the paperwork as per usual.
And so he gets up, and he works, and he drinks a lot of wine to keep his hands and toes from feeling like blocks of ice. The day after the sale is finalized, he rises from the office couch to acquire more coffee, and feels his vision go a little wobbly. This is not particularly unusual, and so it does not alarm him. As he doesn't wish to be tripping over furniture, he waits for it to pass; by the time he realizes the world is tilting sideways, it is already too late.
At least his lack of coffee is a blessing: this way there is nothing to spill as he goes down. ]
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But he is pleased with the trip overall, and not even the mountain of work awaiting him back home can dim his spirits. The only troubling aspect of their return is the way the cold seems to sap the vitality from his spouse, even after their vacation in Faerie. Despite the way Cardan waves off his inquiries, he cannot help but mislike the pallor and sluggishness that their time away has not managed to dispel. If anything, since returning from Elfhame’s eternal summer, his husband’s fatigue seems to be even worse. Whether it is the iron, the cold, or something else entirely, worry about it lives uneasily in his stomach, making him restless whenever his mind is not occupied with work.
He is frowning when movement from Cardan’s couch draws his gaze away from his discussion with Gusairne and towards that side of the room. The sight of his husband’s long form crumpling to the floor has him on his feet before he even registers his own shock.]
Cardan—!
[The list of roofing contractors they were in the midst of examining is forgotten in a jolt of alarm as Liem hurries to kneel on the rug beside his husband’s senseless sprawl. His hands find Cardan’s face, and after a moment’s hesitation as he listens to the rapid beat of his pulse, Liem gathers his head and shoulders carefully into his lap.]
Gusairne, send for Dr. Samari.
[To his credit, the ever-efficient Gul Gusairne does not quibble about this demand. He slips out of the room to see the task done, leaving Liem to set the fallen coffee cup distractedly on a nearby end table as he frowns over his husband.]
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Predictably, he misses this constantly: When he is wrapping himself around Cardan in the morning, and prying himself from his arms each evening. When he is at his desk, budgeting; when he is up and digging through his files. He would dearly love to devote even half an hour to kissing the feline smile back onto his husband’s face.
But he cannot do this, and Cardan is not the only one who’s cross about it when snuggling up to his husband and falling into a dead, exhausted sleep becomes the extent of what he has to look forward to after he finishes the night’s pile of duties.]
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His suggestion that his heart might just explode from boredom is roundly ignored by all concerned.
By night five, he has done more sleeping and eating than ever before in his life, and he is thoroughly sick of his good health. He is loath to admit that the doctor may have been right about anything, so he doesn't -- but as he needs something to do when Liem is in meetings, he takes to strolling over to her office and planting himself on her couch, that she should rue the day she restored him to his normal vigour. When she's out (surely by necessity and not because she's avoiding him), he resorts to stealing papers off of Liem's desk and completing his paperwork for him.
Boredom is the cruelest of curses.
None of it exhausts him sufficiently, especially as sheer tedium leads him to overindulge in nighttime naps. The first day he finds himself lying awake -- a week into his forced abstinence from life's pleasures -- he decides not to disturb his husband's exhausted sleep, especially given that Liem barely stirs when he pulls away. With daylight in full bloom and naught else to do, Cardan goes for a rare sunny walk through the snowy grounds. This still leaves him with enough time to pilfer some freshly baked buns from the baker and make it back to bed before his exhausted husk of a husband rises for his calisthenics.
But even this diversion grows stale after a day or two. Cardan is not meant for the early rising, and midday is early indeed, even by Faerie standards. There is no reason for him to be lying awake, with not so much as the soft cadence of his husband's breaths to distract him from his persistent, insidious yearning.
It has been over a week, and he is desperately horny, probably due to the recent excess of blood in his body. Liem is too busy for Cardan to get many opportunities to corner him, but even when Cardan has, he has found himself rebuffed, lest he get too excited. If this is what it means to be healthy, then to hell with it; he would rather live pleasurably and die in glorious ecstasy. Not that he voices these thoughts to Liem, as they seem to appall his gentle, overly considerate spouse.
But he is fed up, and it is midday, and there is only so long a man can stare at the ceiling and ignore the raging erection he has been cursed with. He doesn't mean to do anything at first -- only shift, just a little, so he can brush his nose against Liem's hair and inhale his familiar scent. But the fire is still not quite dead in its hearth, and the pale curve of Liem's neck is so longingly familiar and achingly attractive; could he be blamed for brushing his mouth against it, when he has been permitted nothing else the entire week? And if his fingertips skim down his husband's flank, it's only... only to gauge how deeply he is asleep, given his terrible exhaustion.
Cardan would not want to wake him, after all. At least not yet. ]
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He owes the discovery to Nicasia. He is in the midst of responding to her letter -- which had arrived with the usual gossip about Elfhame, accounts of gaiety under the waters, and the thinly veiled implication that he's wasting his time in Ironside. Cardan crunches away at an apple as he pens his reply, sidestepping her accusations with his own bits of gossip, tales of his newly purchased house, and little anecdotes that suggest Liem is being annoying. Although, he will suggest, probably not as annoying as some other people in their mutual acquaintance. He is about to append a very mean, extremely clever joke about Locke when he... pauses, pen hovering above paper. The thought that it may be unwise to bitch about Locke to Nicasia occurs to him -- what if they are still in cahoots now? Surely she is lonely enough in Elfhame, and Locke is almost as clever as Cardan. Perhaps it would be smarter to spare him, just in case it sours their friendship.
This strikes him as an alarmingly unnatural impulse towards either of his two closest friends.
Frowning, he looks up at Liem -- seated at his desk, looking handsome and serious as he works on his own correspondence -- and considers. He thinks about the day before, when he had walked by that very desk, ruffling some papers with the voluminous sleeve of his shirt, and... stopped to straighten them, lest they fall to the ground. The day before that, he had made sure Gusairne was on an errand before pressing Liem against the bookshelf and shoving his hands down his trousers. Even the apple is suddenly suspicious: he had thought it was wise to maintain his snacking habit, lest someone yell at him again for his lacking vigour. Why had he thought that?
He sets the apple and pen down, rises, and stalks out the office, closing the door gently behind him.
Dr. Samari declares him healthy. Indeed, he feels fine -- none of the faintness or dizziness from the previous months has returned to him. Having been rudely dismissed (he is really starting to suspect she is lying about her busy schedule), he decides to head back to their rooms. There, he finds the mirror, confronting his own bewildered stare. He looks fine. He feels fine. How is it possible to be more worried now than a month ago, when he had been stubbornly ignoring suspicions of his own poisoning? He's so fine that even Liem, who usually worries about everything, has seemed unusually at peace as of la--
Even Liem. ]
No, [ he tells his reflection, somehow indignant. But the reflection looks unsure, and he recognizes the furrow of its brows as frustrated resignation.
It is, all things considered, not particularly easy to peek at one's own magic. Perhaps if Cardan had been something closer to a hag... but he isn't, and his practice of the magical arts has thus far been largely haphazard. It takes him the better part of an hour to find the right feeling for it, to sense -- more than see -- the faint, glittering threads of his own power. It feels like a thorny thing, both strange and familiar, weaving restless patterns within his chest. He follows it down, to the thickest part, a knot wound tight beneath the place where his heart beats through his ribs-- and feels something else there. Small, like a dove's egg, crystalline and cool.
It is, undoubtedly, Liem's.
Naturally, he tells his husband nothing. Having concluded his arcane examination, he returns to the office, picks up the pen and the apple, and finishes his insult of Locke's departed mother. Then he seals the letter, stuffs it inside his jacket pocket, and looks up at Liem once more. ]
I think we ought to do something daring.
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Though the return of some amount of rest and the licence to taste his husband’s blood are certainly appreciated as well.
He does not waste time fretting about things that might never happen. When he sees Cardan each evening after he has changed and readied himself for work, he doesn’t hesitate to beckon him close to begin their labours with a kiss. When business takes them to a neighbouring estate, he eagerly makes efficient use of their carriage rides there and back—and never mind if his collar is a bit crooked after. At a party partway through the week, his jests flow more readily and cut more keenly, perhaps due to his uncharacteristic willingness to drink throughout the night.
And every time he looks his husband’s way, a smile seems waiting to curve the corners of that serious mouth.
It’s a very fine way to spend a week or so, even with how busy they still are, and how much they have yet to accomplish. But he continues to make arrangements, and they inch ever closer to their goals, so he cannot find it in him to be too concerned even about that.]
Ought we?
[Liem sets down his pen, pausing his work to regard his spouse, returned from some unknown errand of his own. The keenness of his look suggests that he suspects mischief, but the half-amused set of his mouth says he intends to oblige it.]
Could it be that my office is boring you, husband?
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He is, perhaps, a little pleased with himself over the success of their adventure. It is a rare kind of delight for him, so he sees no harm in savouring it.
This time, he asks the house to ready a bath ahead of time, before they’ve even returned to their rooms. The noise of running water greets them on their return—a welcome sound for Liem, who has politely avoided touching Cardan on their walk back through the halls, and is impatient to rid himself of his rudely persistent chill. The door has barely closed behind them when he begins flicking open the buttons of his waistcoat, already wandering in the direction of the bathroom.]
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Liem's sojourn toward the bathroom gets him a raised eyebrow. ]
Eager to avoid your punishment from last time?
[ His smirk is incorrigibly smug. Now that they're back on solid ground, he is free to draw his arrogance around him once more like a cloak; all the better to disguise the alarmingly tender delight he feels at Liem's satisfaction with the trip. ]
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"...and be welcome."
He feels it as he steps over the threshold: a shift -- a lightness that he hadn't hitherto been feeling. Ordinarily, he might not even have noticed, except that they're heading into the offices of Bird & Bird, attorneys at law, an environment which has consistently failed to inspire in him any sort of levity.
It's not until they've sat down that he realizes what it must be. Cardan frowns -- groping, mentally, for that place beneath his heart where the cool, dense core of Liem's caution had nestled. Predictably, he finds it empty.
His glance at Liem is carefully casual.
He'd never told his husband about his trick. It would have been difficult to explain, for one. For two, Liem would have demanded his caution back, missing the entire point of the scheme: to watch him be relatively unrestrained, for once, willing to indulge in pleasures he so often denied himself. Within days of his initial discovery, Cardan had concluded that while being overcautious was an annoying drain on his mood, he was evidently better at ignoring his inner warnings than his husband ever had been. Ergo, if one of them had to keep it...
Well, it's Liem's again, at any rate, which probably means that Cardan ought to pay better attention to the contract negotiations. For the next half hour, he sips his wine (which is very good if not very potent) and dedicates himself to the world's most boring tax exemption clauses.
By minute thirty-five, he feels twitchy with boredom; so much so that he must stop his foot from tapping compulsively against the rug. By minute thirty-nine, he realizes that it is not the contract that's doing this to him. He feels strangely unmoored; he wishes, more than anything, to move -- to sweep Liem up into his arms and take him for a dance, or better yet, a fuck. Except, of course, that Bird is still droning on, and the other Bird has just entered with yet another stack of papers, and Cardan feels--
He has spent the past two months helping Liem work out this deal and is rapidly realizing that he may become the cause of its demise. He feels the way he did when he was a small child, and there was some urgent thing he wanted from his mother while she was busy with her friends. Just like in his childhood, staring at Liem meaningfully fails to communicate to him the urgency of Cardan's need, even though he can feel his heart rate rising -- which means Liem can hear it, too. Surely he would notice, and question why. Wouldn't he?
Cardan glances at the clock on the wall. By his estimation, they have at least an hour yet to go. Only an hour, he tells himself, as convincingly as he can muster. After that they will leave, and he will tell Liem all about his problems in the carriage. He can manage an hour. Anyone can manage an hour, of anything.
Exactly forty-eight minutes later, he reaches forward and upends the dregs of his wine over the contract, dyeing it the dark red of venous blood. ]
Gentlemen, [ he will drawl -- then turn to the second Bird, sketching an insultingly careless bow, ] Lady. I am afraid you are boring me.
[ They had worked on this for months. He can't, for the life of him, convince himself not to ruin it -- but then, hasn't he always been like this? Cardan will turn, slide his hand over the back of Liem's cool neck, and lean far too close. ]
And you, my terribly diligent Liem...
[ He trails off, distracted by his own racing thoughts. What did he mean to say? Something terribly clever -- but the thought has slipped away like a silvery fish in murky water. On the other hand, it feels lovely to lean his forehead against Liem's cool one, and the smile he levies at his husband is genuinely pleased. No matter how angry Liem might get, he remains delightful first and foremost. Cardan likes him so horribly much.
His pupils are blown so wide that his eyes are entirely black. ]
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Ironically, he takes comfort in his husband’s easy presence at his side. They have both been working for weeks upon weeks to work out the details of this deal, and whatever else might be true of Cardan, Liem knows him to have a keen eye for contracts. Even if Liem might doubt himself, he cannot doubt his husband.
Even if the meeting itself does drag on, and even if Cardan’s attention clearly does wander. Liem might be keeping his gaze on their hosts and on the papers, but he cannot fail to notice the way the single heartbeat in the room begins to climb somewhere around the half-hour mark. Presumably their hosts notice as well; even if Mr and Ms Bird were born human, their hearing now surely works just fine. Fortunately, professionalism prevents them from so much as aiming a questioning glance his way.
It does not, however, prevent them from looking at Cardan as though he’d dumped wine on them when he upends his glass over the contract.]
Cardan—
[Startled, Liem stares at him, bewildered by the turn this meeting has suddenly taken. He doesn’t even think to object when his husband reaches for him and leans close to press against his forehead—something he is sure Cardan has never before done in public.]
Are you drunk?
[He’s incredulous, both because of his husband’s rude behaviour and because the wine they were served wasn’t potent in the least. Liem has seen him knock back heartier vintage in less time and not seem so heedlessly intoxicated.
Meanwhile, the Birds are overcoming their shock. Ms Bird demands to know the meaning of this sudden insult, while Mr Bird huffs that if Liem’s husband is unable to act seriously, he should have left him at home.
On his feet, his hands cautiously framing his husband’s shoulders, Liem aims a cutting look at the pair of vampires, who balk visibly. Firmly, he suggests,] Have a care what you say to me, especially about my husband.
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So he pushes it to the back of his mind alongside every other inconvenient fact and moves on. And when, one grey spring morning, a brine-scented missive arrives from the Undersea with an invitation, he doesn’t hesitate. He cannot take Liem with him, of course, but that’s all the more reason to treat with Queen Orlagh: if he can secure safe passage across the sea, their future travels to Elfhame will be far less perilous.
A few days later, he will kiss Liem goodbye — careful not to linger, especially as they are being watched — before turning to walk into the foamy ocean waves. The strange ache in his chest is matched only by the stabbing cold of the water, and in fact this is fine, as it distracts him quite efficiently. By the time he has the chance to think of Liem again, they are already most of the way to one of Orlagh’s many palaces.
To his astonishment, he is immediately and fiercely homesick. When he had started thinking of his marriage bed as home, he doesn’t know. What he knows is that he misses his husband’s cool touch, the softness of his mouth in the amber light of a dying fire, and the pleasure of his measured voice when he tells Cardan his (wrong, hideous) opinions on brocade. He thinks about these things incessantly. They invade his dreams, leaving him to wake up aching and distracted with his strange, awful loneliness.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Nonetheless, despite this wounded longing taking up residence in his chest, it is easy to fall into the familiar rhythm of parties and dances, of gossip and intrigue — easier still because day and night are difficult to tell apart in Orlagh’s kingdom. He is treated surprisingly well. Although the queen makes it obvious that she considers him to be foppish, and foolish, and largely unworthy of her daughter’s friendship, he is nonetheless called to dinner with the both of them often, and even manages to make Orlagh laugh once or twice in the process. Nicasia, for her part, is at her brightest and most dangerous under the waves; he suspects he has her to thank for the summons in the first place. He suspects it more fervently when, after he mentions returning to land, the princess only laughs and beckons a serving boy closer to refill his cup.
Well, it’s not unexpected; he hasn’t even brokered a deal yet, and at least no one has indicated he’s a prisoner, exactly. Besides, panicking would not help him in either case. Instead, he drinks the wine, and he endeavours to write to his husband.
The first letter-in-a-bottle will arrive at the Talbott estate some few days later, carried by a very confused fisherman. It reads, in Cardan’s sweeping, impatient script:
Something I imagine you may not know: sometimes, when you worry, you develop an enchanting little furrow right between your eyebrows. I assume you are manifesting it presently, and am afraid I must demand that you cease at once. Queen Orlagh’s hospitality is overwhelming; I am perfectly well, if not positively drowning in luxuries.
Besides, your tedious contractors do not deserve to see your charming expressions, and I do. Save them for my return, so that I may kiss the worries from your noble brow.
He follows this with a restrained update on the state of negotiations in general and Undersea gossip in particular – nothing too salacious, just in case someone intercepts the letter.
The paragraph after this has been clearly added some time later, and the lettering is less restrained even than Cardan’s usual.
Yours insistently,
Cardan
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And Cardan seems to all appearances to be his usual self, so Liem cannot burden him with his own worries, even though attempting to address them with action of his own only makes his anxieties keener. He is ever aware of the many variables he has no control over, any one of which might at the slightest chance destroy the one person he has come to so dearly wish to protect. All he can do is keep Cardan close and avail himself of his husband’s considerable charm and allure in an attempt to keep himself sane.
Until, despite Liem’s fussy protests, Cardan departs for the Undersea, intent on treating with its queen. Though Cardan is right to insist that they need an agreement with the Undersea, and though Liem tries to have faith in him, the unease that has lived in him since the night of the poisoning begins to sting and bite the moment his husband vanishes beneath the waves. The threshold of foamy water swallows his lover with such finality; the knowledge that he cannot possibly pursue Cardan below it grabs Liem’s throat like a noose, and departing further from the shore only makes the grip strangle tighter.
He should take advantage of Cardan’s absence, and he does; the arrangements he makes in the coming days will be easier to set up without his husband shadowing him at every opportunity. But addressing himself to work does not keep loneliness from breathing down the back of his neck, nor does it make his sleepless days any shorter or more restful. He worries about failure: Cardan running afoul of an assassin or some Undersea scheme and never coming home, lost forever beneath the waves Liem cannot penetrate. He worries about success: the future in which Cardan has a murdering liar for a husband and a Dain-free Elfhame beckoning him back across the sea. When Cardan’s letter arrives, the wrinkle between his brows is already threatening to carve a permanent home there.
Just reading it makes the slumbering ache in his chest so much worse—but he is still greedy for every word. He clutches the message like a lifeline, and drinks the words without restraint, even though they are a poor substitute for the familiar smell of his husband’s skin and the warmth of his embrace.]
Cardan, [he writes, in neat, elegant script, with the first, fretful drafts of his reply already blackening in his hearth.]
How thoughtful of you to gift me, even now, with an opportunity to indulge your wishes. You have a talent for distracting me from vexing matters; the next time Gusairne is getting on my last nerve, I shall try to please you rather than him, and bank my frown for another night instead.
But I cannot promise to grant your demand and put my troubles away, lest you return to discover my deception from the house staff. If you wish to hoard my expressions for yourself, you will need to return to catch them.
[He writes a little of the matters that continue to trouble him in Cardan’s absence, but most of his troubles should not be put into writing, and some he cannot tell his husband even in person. So he fills the page with token mentions of estate projects and parties made dull by Cardan’s absence, and to him the anecdotes echo with the lack that has inhabited his nights since his husband’s departure—but perhaps with a different set of eyes, it is less apparent.]
When you think of me, know that I am wishing for your nights to remain joyful and free of trouble, and that I am awaiting your return with exactly the appropriate amount of impatience, so that you may tell me of your adventures in person.
Faithfully yours,
Liem
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For some reason, Cardan is both fidgety and smug for the rest of the night.
The reason, as it turns out, is an object that had been brought into their bedroom between Liem's rising and the early morning hours. It is tall, rectangular, and draped in velvet -- one might suspect it of being a portrait, albeit quite a narrow one.
Having (finally) herded Liem away from his papers and into the bedroom, Cardan will direct him, quite insistently, in front of the new addition. Then he'll further insist that Liem close his eyes. ]
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When his luggage finally arrives—imagine if he had to wait for Cardan as well that whole time!—Liem receives his tiny seahorses with open pleasure, already wondering what best to pair them with. What colours in his wardrobe? Which pieces from his collection of jewellery? Obviously the best means of displaying his appreciation for his husband’s gift is to wear them, and as he is about many things, Liem cannot help but be scrupulous about this too.
Though in this case it is pleasure that compels him, rather than duty.
He wonders, as Cardan herds him back to their rooms, whether the return of his husband’s belongings will mean he feels less need to liberate Liem’s accessories from his wardrobe. Perhaps some of Cardan’s own jewellery might pair well with his new earrings; this seems only fair, given his husband’s larcenous habits.
When he finds himself standing before the mysterious velvet-covered object in their bedroom—surely the source of Cardan’s restlessness, in retrospect—he lets his eyes sink closed after only a brief, meaningful look at his spouse.]
I thought I already received my souvenir, husband.
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It is enough to put him in a good mood the next time he gathers himself for a meeting with his father. Iago has been in good humour lately besides; he has seemed pleased with Liem ever since the end of Cardan’s long trip to the Undersea, and despite the added pressure keeping Liem busy, lately he hasn’t earned a single criticism about his handling of estate matters.
But the most terrible thing about his father’s displeasure is how often it falls upon him entirely without warning.
He so easily forgets this, during pleasant stretches—and yet, once he is alone with his father, how small and feeble his better efforts seem to become; how stupid and numerous the mistakes he’d previously put out of his mind. It feels so unfair, when he has tried so hard to please his father despite everything else demanding his attention. Only, Iago has always demanded all of what he has to give; he has always had a special talent for making Liem feel wretched for withholding any scraps for himself.
He leaves his father’s sitting room in a haze of tightly-held misery, his diligent mien long since collapsed into a despairing, submissive quiet. It is a poor state for him to be encountering anyone else in, and when he passes his husband on his way from Iago’s quarters, he can manage only a curt facsimile of a greeting before he must excuse himself to escape the strangling confines of Iago’s house, even if just for a few hours.
Without so much as pausing to change his clothes, he disappears into the woods.]
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(Except, of course, that he's a prince, and Liem's trusted companion besides, which makes his heckling entirely different.)
At any rate: it is not until that night that he sees it. Liem's closed-off, muted expression sinks into his gut with an aching familiarity. Watching his tense silhouette retreat nearly prompts Cardan to hurry after him. Except: he cannot. Iago expects him in his chambers presently. This in itself does not matter to him, but his second realization does: Iago has set the timing of their respective summons, and he must, inevitably, know that they would meet in the hallway.
He knows this trick. He loathes this trick.
He breathes out, affects his most self-satisfied expression, and swans into his father-in-law's rooms.
It's not as difficult an hour as he expects. Liem may not have been charmed by Dain, but Cardan has no such immunity to his father-in-law. If he ignores the part of himself that's seething, it is easy enough to go along with the pleasant conversation and easy jokes at his husband's expense. His petty, cruel impulses are never so far from him, and he has much practice at being foolish.
He drinks quite a lot of wine.
Eventually, he will bid his pleasant adieu and saunter unhurriedly back to the office he knows will be empty. Well, empty of the occupant he's looking for, at any rate. He spends several minutes getting into a fight with Gusairne by insinuating that it is he who is Iago's favourite, then flounces smugly back out. It is a lovely spring night: the moon is shining, and the breeze is warm and fragrant. A perfect night for a ride by anyone's account.
A short while later, he lands the moth in a clearing, jumps from its fluffy back, and sets off into the woods, silent as a glittery shadow. It does not occur to him to be wary of the thicket -- not in an ordinary wood like this, not when he's focused on his husband's near presence. Only his twitchy fingers hint at his disquiet, worrying at the wedding band that glints in the sparse silver light. ]
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He does not want to waste the time he has with Cardan by finding things to be cross about for the benefit of onlookers. More and more, he finds himself begrudging the pretense, which endeavours to suck the joy from his marriage even while he still remains wed. Yet no matter how loath he is to make so much of his life a gruelling spectacle, they cannot afford to become hermits. It is tedious, and frustrating, and still he endures, as he always has. He only worries, continuously, for his husband, who is less married than he to the idea of being miserable.
One evening, the clouds are so thick when he rises that it may as well be night already, despite the length of the summer days. He is distractible all throughout the first hours of the night, cocking his head like a hound hearing an unfamiliar footfall, until the distant, muffled sounds of wind and rain howling against the house’s upper levels become too much to bear, and a rumble shaking the manor’s ancient stones sends him impatiently to his feet.]
Enough of this, [he decides, hastily neatening his desk as he throws a glance at his spouse.] Cardan, can you hear the thunder? Let’s get out of this little cave. [By which he means his spacious and comfortable office, but anyway.]
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It's just that he's recently become aware of the consequences his distractions carry. ]
I can smell it, [ he replies, lowering the Faerie contract he had been reading. In spite of the lack of windows, the house is drafty enough for the scents of petrichor and ozone to permeate just enough.
Not that he didn't hear that last, bone-rattling crack of thunder, too. And, though coyness would demand that he faff about just a little more, he doesn't even bother pretending that he'd rather keep going with paperwork -- already he is busy sliding off the desk and stuffing the stack of papers into their envelope for safekeeping.
The smile he directs at Liem is sly. ] I thought you'd never ask.
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Though he is still happy to be alone with Liem, and happy for the smells and sounds of forest all around them, he has to admit -- as is usual for their outings -- that he has gotten to be somewhat chilled. The relentless rain has swept away the heat of the day drop by drop, and he is longing to be dry and out of the wet clothing that clings to his skin. Still, he doesn't particularly hurry; the house, more than ever, looms with uncomfortable oppression in his thoughts, and so he makes himself slow his steps, even as his thumb strokes restlessly over Liem's hand clasped in his own.
It is, therefore, with mixed feelings that he spots the little stream from earlier in the night.
In all of his earlier excitement, he had not considered that the rain might swell it considerably. The extra water has added both velocity and breadth -- while still narrow, it is not so narrow that he could avoid stepping in the water to cross. This may have been permissible if it had been any other night, with any other weather, where he was responsible only for himself.
Carrying Liem across makes it a different thing entirely.
He is too familiar with the deceptive nature of streams, and this one strikes him as particularly dangerous. He cannot tell what's beneath the swirling, frothy surface; worse, he cannot tell what's in it, so turbulent and opaque is the stream. If he chances trying to find a foothold there, he may well lose his balance, or else be knocked off his feet entirely.
His frown deepens. ]
...we cannot cross here.
[ Foolish. He should have expected it. He glances up to the sky, futilely, as the cloud cover is too dense to show him the slant of the moon. But they have been out for some time; dawn cannot be so far off. It makes anxiety whisper over his skin, prickling, unpleasant. ]
It may narrow further upstream. [ He forces himself not to squeeze Liem's hand; it would only reassure himself and concern his husband, surely. ]
But we should hurry.
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They surely have some time yet, and the clouds are in no danger of parting soon regardless. Even so, he feels the urgency of their journey home—and when they find the stream rushing swollen and fierce on their way back, concern pulls his brows into a small frown. Automatically he worries about the delay, and the possibility of dawn arriving while they are still navigating the obstacles between them and the manor. Their wandering now takes on a slightly more anxious character.]
Let us see, then.
[He, too, mislikes the look of that rain-swollen rill. The thought of letting Cardan attempt to carry him across it makes his stomach clench, and as he turns to pace alongside it, he hopes fervently that they will not be forced to attempt any such crossings.
During the tense stretch of walking that follows, his attention is split between the forbidding rush of frothy brown water to one side of them and his own efforts to recall salient landmarks in the surrounding woods. The course of the brook is taking them further from the house as they follow it upstream; sooner or later, they will have to either find a crossing, or abandon it and seek shelter elsewhere. The longer he mulls over this choice, the more restless the nebulously-looming dawn makes him.]
This is availing us little, [he eventually judges, stopping to look around them as the narrow, earth-laden torrent rushes past. At no point so far has the stream calmed to the point where he would wish to ask his husband to cross it, especially burdened with the weight of his entire person.] We should seek shelter elsewhere, while we still have the time.
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The results of their brief intermission are well worth the interruption. The plush expanse of their nest makes for a comfortable setting in which to drink and flirt and briefly attempt a game or two. Cards cannot hold Liem’s attention for long when he would rather his hands be on his husband instead, but he likes giving Cardan opportunities to cheat him, and the unfettered attitude of the forest still clings to him even though they have thoroughly shed the damp.
It is why he has no thought of sleep even as the sun continues to climb behind the thick cover of clouds, from which scatterings of rain still patter lazily against the dripping greenery. The muffled sound blends together with the crackling of the hearth as Liem, pleasantly tangled with his husband, stamps a trail of slow, affectionate kisses along Cardan’s neck.
He has had a thought. It is not a new thought, but he has had a long while to turn it over in his mind, and it is about time he made it reality.]
Cardan.
[Liem purrs just beneath his lover’s jaw, content and catlike in the grasp of his new, much-anticipated decision. His hands pause their wandering, fingers tracing tiny, idle movements against heated skin.]
I want you.
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Mm.
[ Liem's confession isn't news. Still, hearing him say it sends an insistent jolt of desire through Cardan, bright and eager. No matter how relaxed he may be, no matter how soft-edged and hazy the world around him -- he can never deny his persistent need for his husband.
He shifts, fitting indulgent fingers over Liem's cheek so he can kiss him, slow and lingering. With the diffuse, grey light of morning barely filtering from outside, it feels like the hours are endless. Dusk might as well be eternities away. All that matters is his husband, and the heat of the wine warming his skin from within, making the touch of those cool hands feel like such fervent relief.
When he pulls away, he's already a little breathless. ]
Have you not had me quite thoroughly already?
[ The hungry little grin he directs Liem's way suggests that despite his arch tone, his own answer is a resounding no.
This surely cannot be news to Liem, either. ]
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As a bonus, they needn't travel over any oceans; the Alderking's court lies inland, only a few days' travel from them.
Lord Severin has a ram's curled horns and a lovely smile. It belies the wariness lurking in his green eyes when he welcomes them to his palace -- which, like Elfhame's, has been built inside a magic-veiled, hollowed-out hill. My father exiled his father, Cardan had told Liem, before their journey. For treason, though I do not know of what sort. He supposes it is reasonable that Severin feel some suspicion toward them -- though, given the young Alderking's involvement in his own father's murder, Cardan can only hope that he is more concerned with practicality than sentiment.
As it turns out, he needn't have worried -- not about winning Severin over, anyway. The king appears to be genuinely interested in tedious topics like policy and economic growth and patent law, which is to say that Liem -- who, unlike Cardan, can hold a conversation on these matters -- charms him quite immediately. At this point, it is Cardan's turn to watch with suspicion, but even he has to admit that the king seems to be entirely earnest in his intentions. And, after all, it's not like Liem is unable to handle himself.
And so, after extracting assurances that his husband will not treat with Severin without Cardan's explicit approval, he leaves them to their talks and heads out to engage in strategic schmoozing and gossip procurement. This is a pleasing division of labour, although it does mean that he does not see his husband for hours at a time. Still, so long as they find each other in the end, he does not mind -- and, after all, is it not a special kind of pleasure to stumble across Liem nearly by accident in some quiet sitting room of the palace, or a woody clearing under the canopy of stars? ]
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Not that he plans to be unobservant, either. But the less dangerous information Iago can wiggle out of him when they return, the happier Liem will be.
The overland journey, though, is familiar, and he much prefers it to the harrowing trip across the sea. Despite the dangers inherent in leaving his father’s lands, Liem feels excitement seize him as they near their destination. He has ever enjoyed visiting foreign places, and he especially enjoys learning more of the lands Cardan’s own people inhabit.
Still, business demands his attention. He is alert in taking in the whimsical underground palace, and attentive in his exchanges with the king. Lord Severin surprises him by expressing sustained, apparently genuine interest in learning about Ironside topics that Liem couldn’t force his own husband to care about. It is a pleasure to attend to the task of making a good impression on him, so much so that he almost doesn’t mind that for once Cardan isn’t trying to fill in for his non-existent shadow.
But the late evenings spent letting his husband trap him in bed go a long way toward making up for it.
Even so, his restless energy demands its own kind of outlet. Liem finds himself in the training hall with the palace knights more than once, fighting imaginary foes and then graduating to physical ones. Here, he keeps his bloodlust carefully sheathed; precision is the goal, not savagery. He cannot start a scandal by mauling one of the Alderking’s loyal vassals—even if he does want to win. Even if victory thrills more when the scent of spilled blood fills the air.
The denial only helps him practise his discipline, anyway.]
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It is a little strange, but Cardan finds himself more content than he'd expected. After all, the fey go abed in the late of night, which is to say prudishly early, by vampire standards -- and so it is not as if they are denied each other's company altogether. Besides, he has come to enjoy watching Liem win the Alderking's favour, however demented he might privately find their discussions.
Which is all to say: it is not so unusual for him to be heading back to their room by himself as another revel wraps up. He manages to keep the impatience off his face as he demurs invitations to further, more private revelry, barely paying attention to his own excuses. He is too eager to find the door to their rooms and slip inside.
To his delight, it appears that Liem has beaten him there. He does not bother suppressing his grin. ]
It is rare for you to finish early. Surely Lord Severin has not reached his limit on sole proprietorship bylaws?
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But he is back early tonight, standing rather aimlessly to one side of their sitting room, hugging himself with one hand while he cups his own face with the other, fingers compulsively drumming against the soft skin of his cheek. Initially he had been patting his face and pacing the floor, trying to keep himself alert, but his restless wanderings have dragged to a stop, and the sluggishness infecting him has stripped his movements of any vigour. When he turns with deliberate effort to regard Cardan upon his entrance, his heavy eyes make him look drugged.]
I wanted to see you.
[Too much, evidently. The deceptively cheerful faerie who had tried to convince Liem to stay and indulge in other merriments had taken offense at being so roundly dismissed just so Liem could return to his rooms in search of rest.
Then let sleep find you quickly, she had sniffed, and let your search be uninterrupted.
And by the time he had made it back to their suite of rooms, the weariness upon Liem felt as heavy as if the sun were already high in the sky. But he misliked the idea of crawling into bed without letting Cardan know what had transpired, so he had wandered the sitting room instead, too drowsy to risk even sitting down to wait.]
And then a woman… bid me sleep…
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Promising his swift return to his husband, he extracts himself reluctantly from Cardan’s embrace and disappears on his errand. But as promised, he attends quickly to his last-minute preparations, and soon he is letting himself back into the guest suite he shares with his husband, intent on kissing him awake and luring him out of bed—or perhaps allowing himself to be lured back into it.
He slides his jacket and boots off before slipping back into their bedroom and seeking his spouse, padding quietly across the plush carpets to bend over Cardan’s tousled head and place a kiss upon it.]
Husband—I return.
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[ It takes Cardan a moment to stir, buried as he is between pillows and duvets. He had tumbled back into sleep almost immediately after Liem's exit from their bedroom, only taking time to draw the bedding tighter around himself, to make up for the Liem-shaped space left in it.
Still, no amount of drowsiness can compete with his husband's return -- besides... He shifts, turning his face so he can peer at Liem, his frown puzzled. ]
Already?
[ Not that he minds. But his sense of time suggests that Liem wasn't gone long enough for a training bout, especially with how keyed up he'd seemed. Then again, perhaps his husband has simply decided to burn his nervous energy off on Cardan, instead.
It's a pleasant thought. He blinks sleep out of his eyes, trying not to yawn, and considers -- somewhat unsubtly, given the way his gaze slinks along Liem's body -- just what the best angle of attack for toppling him back into bed might be. ]
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Unlike the glorious whimsy of the night prior, he suspects that their anniversary is subject to a multitude of plans, his and Liem's both. As such, it behooves him to wake up early -- or rather, less debauchedly late -- so he may enjoy his husband properly in his sleep-warmed and handsomely disheveled state. After all, they must not be late to dinner, and after dinner: the opera.
Benjamin Evans was the one who had suggested it, strangely enough -- well, perhaps not so strange, given his musical proclivities. Cardan has never been to an opera, but he has been made to understand that it is both grandiose and dramatic, which is promising, and that their particular seats afford them a significant measure of privacy. That Ben mentions the latter surprises him; either he and Liem are more obvious than they suspected, or the boy is more perceptive than he'd given him credit for.
Regardless, Ben Evans is right: the box seats are secluded, with heavy curtains meant to shroud them further in velvet shadow, should they so desire. This is a little bit of a shame, as they are both looking sharply handsome this night, despite the glamour's best effort at helping them blend -- but it's not as if the lack of light is an impediment to either of them. The rest of the opera guests have plenty of time to enjoy them as they ascend the staircase to the box, at any rate. ]
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That their anniversary, unlike their wedding, cannot be overshadowed by his father’s watchful presence is an added bonus.
Even their choice of venue is novel; Liem has never before found the time to attend an opera. He delights in the chance to dress up and attend on his husband’s arm, even if the humans around them all fail to properly appreciate how dazzling they look. Cardan’s attention more than makes up for the lack, and as they find the private little balcony that holds their seats, Liem spends almost as much time stealing glances at his spouse as he does appreciating the opera house itself.
When they are there, Liem leans in to murmur in his husband’s ear.]
Had we done this back home, we would certainly have run into other gentry there to be part of the spectacle. I think I prefer this more.
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