[ He sighs happily into the touch of those cool fingers on his bare skin; these little touches always seem particularly perverse when they're out of doors, even half-concealed as they are.
Only a snatch of conversation from somewhere in their vicinity will startle him out of his drugging contentment. He raises his head, spotting some silhouettes at a distance. This, too, is thrilling; not for the first time this night, the distant threat of discovery shivers down his spine, all the way to the hidden tip of his tail. ]
...what a marvellous gift you've given me, husband, [ he says -- and means everything, all of it: Fairfold's stars, the soft breeze ruffling his hair, the stud nestled against Liem's tongue, and his husband himself, who let Cardan trick him into running around a foreign palace like a child playing at subterfuge, and is indulging him now still.
He suspects Liem is not quite done with surprises this night, either -- but this once, he can be patient. There is so much for him to enjoy as it is.
But he does want to go somewhere, though he has no particular destination in mind. There is much to discover: unlike Elfhame's forests, Fairfold's woods are foreign to him, and unlike the Talbott lands, they are saturated with magic. When he finally takes a step back from Liem, it is only so that he can pull his husband along, starting an a path deeper into the forest. ]
[It warms Liem to receive such praise from Cardan, to be able to so clearly see his husband’s delight and know with confidence that he has well pleased him. As they slip deeper into the wood, putting the hill and its hidden palace behind them, Liem’s hand tightens briefly on his husband’s: an unbidden gesture to reaffirm that he is there, he is real; he is Liem’s alone, and Liem intends to reward that loyalty with his unerring devotion.
It pleases him to do so, more than any pleasure he had ever known in the time before his marriage.]
It is no more than I felt was your due.
[Even if the night is full of mystery and promise, even if he has ambushed Cardan with unforeseen delights, this is still the least of what Liem might wish to give him. Were he able to pluck the moon from the sky and lay it at Cardan’s feet, it would still not be enough. And yet, it is his royal husband, the prince who claims to expect to be spoiled with every luxury, who is so content with his paltry offerings.
Liem has long since learned that the truths his husband speaks are rarely honest, and still, the reality of his husband’s joy undoes him.]
It pleases me to give you things no-one else has, Cardan.
[ Liem surprises the soft laugh out of him -- not that it is particularly difficult, when he's already so delighted with everything around him. The kind of greedy want Liem speaks of strikes him as uniquely tender, and yet so very like his husband, who is so committed to excelling in all he does.
He doesn't deserve it, but he's known that all along. He knows, too, that he's too selfishly hungry for Liem's affection to ever refuse it. ]
I've wed such a possessive man.
[ And how strange, that such a thing is precious to him now. For so long, he'd chafed at the idea of being claimed by anyone at all -- not that his wishes ultimately mattered. Still, he doesn't know how Liem so effectively snuck past his defenses. It would be a terrifying thing, if Cardan had cause to mistrust him.
It's a little terrifying even so. He feels his heart speed with it, and the strange ache that pangs through him makes him squeeze Liem's hand in his. ]
I dreaded it, you know -- a marriage to someone who may have wished to own me. Though, of course, I was still offended when you made it clear that you didn't.
[ Hence his inconvenient quip at the end of their wedding night, the one that had cost them their wedding fuck and a whole lot of trouble besides.
But that doesn't matter, now. His glance over at Liem is a little sly. ]
I had not considered how much I'd come to relish your avarice.
[Liem cannot refute Cardan’s assertion. He is possessive; he has come to depend far too much on Cardan’s companionship to not be possessive of it. It is one of the few things he has that is truly irreplaceable, and that realization has made him regard many things about his life quite differently.
Sometimes it seems to him that he must be the only person in Cardan’s life who has realized this about him. But that makes him doubt the intelligence of everyone who has ever known his husband, and he will not give credence to a worldview that requires everyone else to be stupid. Besides, he knows the truth is just that he, in addition to being possessive, has always wished to belong to someone who cared for him. Having Cardan’s affection has only made Liem wildly insensible about him.]
I never understood that, [he admits. Cardan seems well pleased now, content in the knowledge of Liem’s desire for him—but surely even then, his desire was never in question. To the best of his knowledge, he never even implied to Cardan that he didn’t want him.]
There is a world of difference between having something and owning it. Particularly when it comes to one’s own spouse.
[ But Liem is right, of course. He has Cardan, more wholly and definitively than -- Cardan suspects -- Liem himself realizes. No one who'd had him on a leash had ever enjoyed such a privilege. By asking nothing from him except his willingness to stay, by treating him like someone worth keeping, worth protecting, Liem had ensnared him more effectively than Cardan had thought possible.
He pauses in their trek so he can turn to face Liem fully, under the dappled moonlight. From somewhere in the distance, music filters through the trees -- some merry gathering under the stars. But in the immediate, they are alone but for the rustle of nighttime creatures. ]
I am yours, husband. In case you harboured any doubts.
[ He'd said so plenty, but usually during sex -- and though he cannot truly lie then, either, he suspects his husband may not take him as seriously in the throes of passion. ]
[Even after a full year of marriage, a year in which his husband has rarely left his side, Liem is still unprepared for the effortless way Cardan makes his still heart thrill in his chest. He cannot weather such words, spoken so deliberately into the musical quiet of the woods, or the windblown beauty of his husband looking so intently at him amidst the forest’s moon-dappled shadows. He craves these things too much; he cannot help but take meaning from them that isn’t truly there.
He doesn’t think Cardan knows just how this undoes him. At least, he hopes Cardan doesn’t know.
But a smile still spreads slowly over his face despite himself, warm and helplessly pleased. Never did he imagine that the contract marriage his father arranged for him would become something he truly cherished.]
As I am yours, [he agrees. This is what he should have said a year ago, during that very first dawn following their wedding. He had acted clumsily then, frustrated and overwhelmed as he had been. Now, he stretches up to steal another kiss, simply because his husband is there and impossibly lovely against the backdrop of the forest.]
[ Often, when Liem tells him such things, he cannot banish a traitorous mote of doubt -- after all, his husband is so obliging, it is not difficult to imagine that he might claim to return Cardan's feelings, if only to spare his ego. This is, perhaps, unfair, as he has never actually known Liem to lie to him. But he is a suspicious creature by nature and upbringing alike; it is difficult to shake the habit now.
Tonight, even he cannot question the open pleasure in his husband's smile. He had told Liem, some time ago, that joy made him radiant — and so it does now. When Liem reaches toward him, he can only bend, helpless against his allure. His hand slides into Liem’s hair; his other winds around Liem’s waist, intent on cradling him close, on breathing him in.
He cannot help if the way that he kisses Liem is a little desperate, like he’s not certain that he’ll get to kiss him again. But then, he’s never quite sure if tomorrow is guaranteed, and he’s never had quite so much to lose as he does now.
All the more reason to make this night perfect, he tells himself. The music still filters through the trees, buoyed by the breeze. It is a fiddle, played by a merry if slightly inexperienced hand. Perhaps it is only the magic of the night that makes the song more charming for its imperfections, accompanied as it is by laughter and cheering. ]
…a human revel, [ he breathes, the sudden realization distracting him even from the pleasure of his husband’s mouth. He turns his head to listen more closely. He had heard — from Ben Evans — that the young people in Fairfold sometimes came to the woods to be merry, though it had seemed like an impossibly stupid idea to him then. ]
Shall we take a look at it, husband?
[ He’s curious. And here, at least, glamour should protect them. ]
[The desperate eagerness in Cardan’s kiss takes Liem by surprise. He had expected more languid smugness, the product of an evening during which Liem had explicitly made it his mission to cater to his husband’s whims. Instead, he is swept up in the heat of Cardan’s mouth and the possessive slide of the hands trapping him close against Cardan’s body. For a long moment, he is content to forget everything else and simply map the contours of his lover’s mouth while tucked into his embrace.
Even when Cardan brings his attention back to the distant revel, he is slow to pull himself away. Only his ever-present desire to oblige his husband persuades him to agree instead of trying to lure him deeper into the privacy of the wood.]
Mm… Very well. Let us indulge our curiosity.
[Admittedly, he cannot recall ever having seen humans making merry in the woods before. He is curious what would draw them out to frolic in the night air, and lured a little by the sounds of music filtering through the trees.]
[ Liem's clear reluctance to separate from him is relatable. Cardan, too, is ever torn between the desire to experience adventure with his husband by his side -- and the blind, greedy need to simply steal him away and have him, the rest of the world be damned.
But he does so love their adventures together, and besides -- he is immediately rewarded for his impulse. His smile blooms on his face, slow and pleased. ]
So it is.
[ The little flutter in his stomach is inexplicable. They've danced before, of course, but always with an audience, always to the same formal rhythm which governs all of their public appearances. Somehow, the thought of dancing with his husband alone, under the stars, makes him pleasantly nervous.
Which is absurd. He is a tremendously clever dancer; what has he got to be worried about? ]
[Liem is cautious as they approach the source of the cheerful music, drawing nearer to the babble of the human revel. Though he is not exactly worried about a mess of partying humans, he has no wish to be spotted and potentially become the focus of attention. They have been busy enough with parties and events over the preceding days to make him loath to share his husband’s company with anyone else.
Even so, he will not try to persuade Cardan to cut their time here short. He accompanies his husband readily towards the circle of warm, flickering firelight marking the edge of the revel, tipping an ear towards the source of the music as they draw near. The hand clasped in Cardan’s squeezes gently as he leans close to murmur in his ear.]
I am pleasantly reminded of the last time we went among carousing humans.
[There had been no dancing then, but he must admit, the atmosphere of human revelry is charming. It lacks the air of menace he is used to associating with parties.]
[ Liem oughtn't have worried: with a lazy wave of Cardan's hand, glamour will settle over them, making them no more noticeable than an errant breeze among the trees. Cardan, too, is not particularly keen on being interrupted -- nor interrupting the revel itself.
The soft caress of Liem's breath against his ear makes him shiver. He's a little sensitized: the endless kisses had done much to bait his impatience. Still, he only brings Liem's hand up to his lips, brushing his mouth over his husband's pale fingers. ]
I do not plan on being as demonstrative with you, this time.
[ Not that anyone had truly seen them, of course. Still, he is in no mood to share his husband, even in the most peripheral way. Tonight, Liem has promised himself to Cardan, and Cardan alone. ]
...but I do think my husband ought to ask me to dance.
[ His tone is coquettish; the shameless grin he flashes at Liem is not. The fiddler's previous lively tune has just wound to a close amidst cheers and whisles. Through the trees, Cardan glimpses her throwing her head back to indulge in a drink, her instrument clutched close. ]
[As they draw closer to the revel and begin to see the participants mingling beneath the surrounding trees, Liem’s alert observation of the humans marks those around them—and then, as the partygoers conspicuously fail to notice them back, he returns his attention fully to his husband. The memory of their night in the human tavern brings a small, nostalgic smile to his lips.
He had wished to please his husband on that night, too. But the tavern had not been suitable for dancing. Tonight, with Cardan’s breath warming his fingers and his smile brilliant in the moonlight, Liem is eager to correct this lack.]
You raise an excellent point.
[As the fiddler downs her drink, Liem shifts toward Cardan so he is facing him completely, reaching for his husband’s free hand to catch it in his own. Unexpectedly, the prospect of asking him to dance now, for no reason other than for their own private enjoyment, makes a fragile-feeling delight thrill beneath his skin.]
Will you grant me the pleasure of this dance, Cardan?
Always, [ Cardan agrees, just as the musician hands her empty mug off to a young man and lifts the fiddle to her shoulder once more. As if sensing her unseen audience's intent, the tune she starts in on is slower and sweeter than the merry jig from before. Though, as Cardan slides his palm over his husband's slim back, he notes that the song carries a tone of yearning just as well -- something wistful, something questioning.
He inhales, softly, caught by a strange surprise. Then, he moves.
It should not be this magical, he thinks, this human girl playing such an imperfect tune. But the night is warm, and the air is fragrant, and moonlight paints Liem's features with heartbreaking, regal elegance. It makes his throat a little tight; he cannot tear his eyes away and doesn't want to. The silk of Liem's waistcoat warms under his palm. His breath speeds. He does not feel the ground under his feet -- only the keen pleasure of movement, buoyed by the violin and the beauty of the night around them.
None of their other dances have been like this. He wonders if this is what mortals feel like, dancing with Faerie princes. ]
[There is always something about being tucked against his husband, moving in concert with him, that seems so impossibly natural, like a puzzle coming seamlessly together to slide into its final shape. In their bedroom, in grand dance halls, or here; everything else falls away in the face of Cardan’s arm holding him close, Cardan’s dark eyes gazing into his, and the way their bodies tell each other all they need to know.
The music is questing and imperfect and alive, like a heartbeat, like the sighing of roused breaths, and they bind themselves to its rhythm. Liem’s hand is warm in Cardan’s grasp; the steadiness of Cardan’s shoulders beneath his touch and the coy nearness of their bodies as they move together are every bit as intimate as a kiss. And although the music is inexpert and the forest floor is uneven beneath their feet, the dance itself is magic enough to lay its spell over everything else.
Even without faerie magic compelling him, he cannot break away—not while music still shivers through the air and his lover still has him captive in his embrace. He can only dance, and revel in the moment for as long as the fiddler continues to play.]
[ I love you, he doesn't say. In moments like this, it feels like a poorly guarded secret, like it might just beat out of his chest, like an unwary breeze might whisper it in Liem's ear. Surely, Liem must know. On some level, he must be able to tell how important he is, how central to Cardan's thoughts and his happiness alike. Cardan is so foolish around him, and so often. It must be obvious.
Cardan cannot tell him. Not yet, not yet. Not when it might become yet another burden on his husband: to live up to Cardan's expectations, to reciprocate. He is already so taxed with all the demands on him; to please his father, to protect Cardan, to keep his staff safe. Perhaps after they deal with Dain -- a thing that he, foolishly, has started to believe might be possible -- perhaps he can tell Liem then.
There is cowardice in it, he knows. He has not made peace with the idea that Liem is unlikely to feel the same, and he is afraid of the way it might sting him. But he also knows that even this fear will become familiar with time, worn smooth and dull by his time ruminating on it.
Right now, he will cradle Liem close, and commit the moment to tender memory. They are together, and the night is beautiful, and his husband seems happy -- that is enough and more than enough. And when the dance finally comes to an end, a heartbeat and an eternity later, he will lean forward and kiss his husband, sweet and slow and earnest about it.
Right then, he cannot bring himself to worry about being obvious at all. ]
[The only thing that could be more perfect than their slow, unseen dance amidst the trees and the unknowing revellers is the warmth in the kiss they share upon its completion. Never in Liem’s life has anyone else kissed him like this, like the moment might be spun out for eternity to accommodate the breadth of tender feeling within it. His hand finds the nape of Cardan’s neck, keeping him close as Liem indulges in as much of that eternity as he possibly can. His husband seems in no hurry to pull away, and Liem is not about to rush him.
He will always be hungry for this, even if Cardan remains by his side for a hundred years. Even now, he cannot quite believe it is his to claim. It takes him some time to recall the forest and the revel and the purpose of their outing, and that is only after he has finally withdrawn enough to look once more into his husband’s face.]
I have a gift for you, [he says into the quiet between them, softly, as though afraid to break it. Perhaps now is not the ideal moment to break for a gift, but the air is warm with sentiment, and he cannot imagine a more appropriate atmosphere in which to deliver the object he has to give. At the very least, he thinks, he should offer his husband the choice to claim it now, if he is willing to be diverted.]
[ He sighs happily into the touch of Liem's hand. It always delights him just how eagerly his husband responds to his to his touch, and especially to being kissed. For all his other doubts, this much is certain: Liem is every bit as weak to the lure of affection as Cardan.
But, eventually, even he must pull away -- only to field a confession in an entirely different vein. Cardan's eyebrows twitch upward. He thought he'd felt the outline of a box on Liem's person; it is difficult to kiss, dance, and hide in broom closets with a man for several hours without coming chest to chest. ]
I see you had a surprise up your sleeve, after all.
Have you a twin stud for me?
[ It's not an unattractive idea -- matching, hidden jewelry -- though he is only teasing Liem. As always, gifts make him feel a little unbalanced, teetering between curiosity and the vague anxiety of indebtedness. Still, he understands that his husband does not consider these things the way he does. And tonight, with wild adoration in his chest and Liem's soft, careful question, he cannot help but feel pleased more than anything else.
[Cardan’s suggestion coaxes a slyly amused smile onto Liem’s face. No; he did not get a matching piece of jewellery for his husband to wear in his own tongue, though the idea has a certain allure. But surely his husband knows by now that Liem would not presume to gift him with something that would require Cardan to get an entirely new piercing just to wear it.]
It is not jewellery this time.
[This becomes self-evident when Liem retrieves the package from his coat: a paper-wrapped rectangle the size and shape of a slim book. As soon as Cardan takes it in his hands, it will be quite obvious that it is just that. Beneath sky-blue paper and emerald ribbon, the gift has a book-like shape and give that do not belong to a box or case.
Unwrapped, the book’s dark leather binding is fancifully tooled with flowers, leaves and thorny branches, with a wolf pup framed in the centre. Inside the book, on paper that practically shines with newness, the title page reads in flowery calligraphy, Liem’s Book of Stories. It is a collection of short tales printed in Liem’s precise, elegant hand, featuring faerie-tale titles like “The Boy who Couldn’t Lie” and “The Boy who Shunned the Woods” and “The Boy who Loved Birds.” Liem forces himself to be patient while Cardan looks at it, despite the fact that he is still not entirely confident it will be well received.]
I had the binding done professionally, [he cannot quite help but add, lacing his hands together,] but the stories are mine.
[ He weighs the wrapped little package in his hand for a moment, ever intrigued with a mystery -- and, after all, it is only meet to admire the wrapping, before he tears it open with careful fingers. Once the book reveals itself, Cardan will draw an admiring fingertip over the engraved designs, taking his time. Startlingly, he realizes that he does not know what kind of book Liem might gift him -- a collection of poems, perhaps? Something interestingly historical?
The wolf pup makes him smile.
It is not until he sees the title page that surprise makes itself plain on his face. He blinks -- then turns the page and blinks again, recognizing Liem's familiar script, more astonished with every new discovery.
Only Liem's interjection makes him look up. ]
You-- wrote these? For me?
[ Stupid questions, given that Liem just said as much, and yet he is too dumbfounded not to ask. When did Liem find the time? The transcription alone would have taken ages, given what he knows of his husband's perfectionism. If he had ever worked on anything like this at the office, Cardan had not noticed.
Already, the surprise on his face gives way to delight. He is terribly curious about the kinds of stories Liem might have written down; if they weren't quite far out from the brugh, he might have plopped himself down to read right then and there. He has to keep glancing between Liem and the little book, his fingertips a little twitchy for their desire to browse through the crisp pages. ]
[Thus far, Liem has only given a gift to his husband on a very few occasions—but he is learning to like the stunned look Cardan wears when Liem has surprised him with something nice, and the way his attention seems glued to it, eyes and fingers roaming every detail. It is well worth the hours spent painstakingly writing the book’s final copy in pilfered moments of privacy—and before that, the hours of writing and rewriting, often done right there in his office, when Cardan was not keeping close enough watch on the actual subject of his labours.
He watches Cardan’s examination of the book with quiet satisfaction.]
I hope it pleases you, husband, [he says, though he knows the gift already has, more clearly even than he could have hoped. And as always, his husband’s delight captures Liem completely, paints itself over the backs of his eyelids and tucks itself into the spaces behind his ribs. He savours it.]
I know you are ever hungry for things that are mine. [The look and sound of him, the secrets he harbours, even the baubles he wears. Perhaps he should not dole these things out too heedlessly, but what is the point of celebrating his husband, if he cannot give him what he so obviously desires?]
[ Grinning like a fool is an inelegant way to accept a gift, but then, he doesn't think Liem is particularly concerned with Cardan's elegance in moments like these. Especially since all Cardan can think of is Liem, carving out spaces in his day to do this for Cardan, for no reason other than he wanted to give him a treasure.
He will close the slim volume carefully, clutching it to his chest as he leans in -- to kiss Liem again, this time with some ceremony, on both of his chilly cheeks. ]
What a marvel you are, husband. Elowyn was a fool not to keep you to herself.
[ Of course, Elowyn had other considerations -- like not wanting to share the Blood Crown with a husband.
He will stay there, for a moment, his brow leaning gently against Liem's, his fingers splayed over Liem's jaw. ]
It is beautiful. And I am terribly tormented with the desire to devour it.
[ Indeed, even if the rest of him is perfectly still, the tail has not stopped being twitchy since he'd first spotted the title page. ]
[Cardan’s delighted grin is the best thing Liem can imagine receiving in response to his gift. He soaks in his husband’s pleasure, feeling his cheeks colour happily beneath the warm brush of his husband’s kisses, his face tilted towards Cardan like a flower seeking the light of the moon.
And if his heart hurts a little at the reminder of their marriage’s contrived nature, at the implication that his devotion would belong to whomever his father’s contact bid him wed, he brushes that feeling aside briskly enough. Now is not the time to be dwelling on trivialities.
He smiles warmly at his husband instead, his hands slid loosely around Cardan’s hips, feeling the twitch of his restless tail through his clothes.]
Are you finished with the revel already? [The night still feels secret and intimate as they linger there amidst the laughter and chatter and music, ignored by the mortals on the fringes of Liem’s awareness.] We have only just arrived.
Ah, but I am too full of desires, [ laments Cardan, only half in jest. ] I wish to dance with my husband, and to enjoy my gift, and to get my hands all over you, all at the same time. How am I to choose just one, Liem?
[ But Liem has a point -- the revel is still going, and he does wish to stay. There is a strange freedom to being on the fringes of the fire's light, unseen and yet present. He is a twilight creature, after all, most comfortable at the cusp of one thing turning into another.
Being in shirtsleeves, Cardan has no pockets. To this end, he will reach inside Liem's jacket, tucking the book into the spot where it had nestled before. ]
Keep it safe for me a little while longer.
[ Then he turns his face to the firelight and calls, ] A lively tune, mistress, if you please!
[ For a moment, the youths look startled; but glamour smooths his voice, makes it sound like that of one of theirs -- though, whose exactly, none of them could say. Cardan only grins, confident in his trick, and takes Liem's hand in his once more. ]
--
[ The fiddler wakes the next morning, having dreamt of the scent of cedar and someone's warm hand on her cheek -- and gasps when she sees the earrings dangling from her ears, glittering with gemstone stars. ]
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Only a snatch of conversation from somewhere in their vicinity will startle him out of his drugging contentment. He raises his head, spotting some silhouettes at a distance. This, too, is thrilling; not for the first time this night, the distant threat of discovery shivers down his spine, all the way to the hidden tip of his tail. ]
...what a marvellous gift you've given me, husband, [ he says -- and means everything, all of it: Fairfold's stars, the soft breeze ruffling his hair, the stud nestled against Liem's tongue, and his husband himself, who let Cardan trick him into running around a foreign palace like a child playing at subterfuge, and is indulging him now still.
He suspects Liem is not quite done with surprises this night, either -- but this once, he can be patient. There is so much for him to enjoy as it is.
But he does want to go somewhere, though he has no particular destination in mind. There is much to discover: unlike Elfhame's forests, Fairfold's woods are foreign to him, and unlike the Talbott lands, they are saturated with magic. When he finally takes a step back from Liem, it is only so that he can pull his husband along, starting an a path deeper into the forest. ]
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It pleases him to do so, more than any pleasure he had ever known in the time before his marriage.]
It is no more than I felt was your due.
[Even if the night is full of mystery and promise, even if he has ambushed Cardan with unforeseen delights, this is still the least of what Liem might wish to give him. Were he able to pluck the moon from the sky and lay it at Cardan’s feet, it would still not be enough. And yet, it is his royal husband, the prince who claims to expect to be spoiled with every luxury, who is so content with his paltry offerings.
Liem has long since learned that the truths his husband speaks are rarely honest, and still, the reality of his husband’s joy undoes him.]
It pleases me to give you things no-one else has, Cardan.
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He doesn't deserve it, but he's known that all along. He knows, too, that he's too selfishly hungry for Liem's affection to ever refuse it. ]
I've wed such a possessive man.
[ And how strange, that such a thing is precious to him now. For so long, he'd chafed at the idea of being claimed by anyone at all -- not that his wishes ultimately mattered. Still, he doesn't know how Liem so effectively snuck past his defenses. It would be a terrifying thing, if Cardan had cause to mistrust him.
It's a little terrifying even so. He feels his heart speed with it, and the strange ache that pangs through him makes him squeeze Liem's hand in his. ]
I dreaded it, you know -- a marriage to someone who may have wished to own me. Though, of course, I was still offended when you made it clear that you didn't.
[ Hence his inconvenient quip at the end of their wedding night, the one that had cost them their wedding fuck and a whole lot of trouble besides.
But that doesn't matter, now. His glance over at Liem is a little sly. ]
I had not considered how much I'd come to relish your avarice.
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Sometimes it seems to him that he must be the only person in Cardan’s life who has realized this about him. But that makes him doubt the intelligence of everyone who has ever known his husband, and he will not give credence to a worldview that requires everyone else to be stupid. Besides, he knows the truth is just that he, in addition to being possessive, has always wished to belong to someone who cared for him. Having Cardan’s affection has only made Liem wildly insensible about him.]
I never understood that, [he admits. Cardan seems well pleased now, content in the knowledge of Liem’s desire for him—but surely even then, his desire was never in question. To the best of his knowledge, he never even implied to Cardan that he didn’t want him.]
There is a world of difference between having something and owning it. Particularly when it comes to one’s own spouse.
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[ But Liem is right, of course. He has Cardan, more wholly and definitively than -- Cardan suspects -- Liem himself realizes. No one who'd had him on a leash had ever enjoyed such a privilege. By asking nothing from him except his willingness to stay, by treating him like someone worth keeping, worth protecting, Liem had ensnared him more effectively than Cardan had thought possible.
He pauses in their trek so he can turn to face Liem fully, under the dappled moonlight. From somewhere in the distance, music filters through the trees -- some merry gathering under the stars. But in the immediate, they are alone but for the rustle of nighttime creatures. ]
I am yours, husband. In case you harboured any doubts.
[ He'd said so plenty, but usually during sex -- and though he cannot truly lie then, either, he suspects his husband may not take him as seriously in the throes of passion. ]
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He doesn’t think Cardan knows just how this undoes him. At least, he hopes Cardan doesn’t know.
But a smile still spreads slowly over his face despite himself, warm and helplessly pleased. Never did he imagine that the contract marriage his father arranged for him would become something he truly cherished.]
As I am yours, [he agrees. This is what he should have said a year ago, during that very first dawn following their wedding. He had acted clumsily then, frustrated and overwhelmed as he had been. Now, he stretches up to steal another kiss, simply because his husband is there and impossibly lovely against the backdrop of the forest.]
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Tonight, even he cannot question the open pleasure in his husband's smile. He had told Liem, some time ago, that joy made him radiant — and so it does now. When Liem reaches toward him, he can only bend, helpless against his allure. His hand slides into Liem’s hair; his other winds around Liem’s waist, intent on cradling him close, on breathing him in.
He cannot help if the way that he kisses Liem is a little desperate, like he’s not certain that he’ll get to kiss him again. But then, he’s never quite sure if tomorrow is guaranteed, and he’s never had quite so much to lose as he does now.
All the more reason to make this night perfect, he tells himself. The music still filters through the trees, buoyed by the breeze. It is a fiddle, played by a merry if slightly inexperienced hand. Perhaps it is only the magic of the night that makes the song more charming for its imperfections, accompanied as it is by laughter and cheering. ]
…a human revel, [ he breathes, the sudden realization distracting him even from the pleasure of his husband’s mouth. He turns his head to listen more closely. He had heard — from Ben Evans — that the young people in Fairfold sometimes came to the woods to be merry, though it had seemed like an impossibly stupid idea to him then. ]
Shall we take a look at it, husband?
[ He’s curious. And here, at least, glamour should protect them. ]
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Even when Cardan brings his attention back to the distant revel, he is slow to pull himself away. Only his ever-present desire to oblige his husband persuades him to agree instead of trying to lure him deeper into the privacy of the wood.]
Mm… Very well. Let us indulge our curiosity.
[Admittedly, he cannot recall ever having seen humans making merry in the woods before. He is curious what would draw them out to frolic in the night air, and lured a little by the sounds of music filtering through the trees.]
That is a fine tune for dancing.
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[ Liem's clear reluctance to separate from him is relatable. Cardan, too, is ever torn between the desire to experience adventure with his husband by his side -- and the blind, greedy need to simply steal him away and have him, the rest of the world be damned.
But he does so love their adventures together, and besides -- he is immediately rewarded for his impulse. His smile blooms on his face, slow and pleased. ]
So it is.
[ The little flutter in his stomach is inexplicable. They've danced before, of course, but always with an audience, always to the same formal rhythm which governs all of their public appearances. Somehow, the thought of dancing with his husband alone, under the stars, makes him pleasantly nervous.
Which is absurd. He is a tremendously clever dancer; what has he got to be worried about? ]
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Even so, he will not try to persuade Cardan to cut their time here short. He accompanies his husband readily towards the circle of warm, flickering firelight marking the edge of the revel, tipping an ear towards the source of the music as they draw near. The hand clasped in Cardan’s squeezes gently as he leans close to murmur in his ear.]
I am pleasantly reminded of the last time we went among carousing humans.
[There had been no dancing then, but he must admit, the atmosphere of human revelry is charming. It lacks the air of menace he is used to associating with parties.]
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The soft caress of Liem's breath against his ear makes him shiver. He's a little sensitized: the endless kisses had done much to bait his impatience. Still, he only brings Liem's hand up to his lips, brushing his mouth over his husband's pale fingers. ]
I do not plan on being as demonstrative with you, this time.
[ Not that anyone had truly seen them, of course. Still, he is in no mood to share his husband, even in the most peripheral way. Tonight, Liem has promised himself to Cardan, and Cardan alone. ]
...but I do think my husband ought to ask me to dance.
[ His tone is coquettish; the shameless grin he flashes at Liem is not. The fiddler's previous lively tune has just wound to a close amidst cheers and whisles. Through the trees, Cardan glimpses her throwing her head back to indulge in a drink, her instrument clutched close. ]
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He had wished to please his husband on that night, too. But the tavern had not been suitable for dancing. Tonight, with Cardan’s breath warming his fingers and his smile brilliant in the moonlight, Liem is eager to correct this lack.]
You raise an excellent point.
[As the fiddler downs her drink, Liem shifts toward Cardan so he is facing him completely, reaching for his husband’s free hand to catch it in his own. Unexpectedly, the prospect of asking him to dance now, for no reason other than for their own private enjoyment, makes a fragile-feeling delight thrill beneath his skin.]
Will you grant me the pleasure of this dance, Cardan?
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He inhales, softly, caught by a strange surprise. Then, he moves.
It should not be this magical, he thinks, this human girl playing such an imperfect tune. But the night is warm, and the air is fragrant, and moonlight paints Liem's features with heartbreaking, regal elegance. It makes his throat a little tight; he cannot tear his eyes away and doesn't want to. The silk of Liem's waistcoat warms under his palm. His breath speeds. He does not feel the ground under his feet -- only the keen pleasure of movement, buoyed by the violin and the beauty of the night around them.
None of their other dances have been like this. He wonders if this is what mortals feel like, dancing with Faerie princes. ]
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The music is questing and imperfect and alive, like a heartbeat, like the sighing of roused breaths, and they bind themselves to its rhythm. Liem’s hand is warm in Cardan’s grasp; the steadiness of Cardan’s shoulders beneath his touch and the coy nearness of their bodies as they move together are every bit as intimate as a kiss. And although the music is inexpert and the forest floor is uneven beneath their feet, the dance itself is magic enough to lay its spell over everything else.
Even without faerie magic compelling him, he cannot break away—not while music still shivers through the air and his lover still has him captive in his embrace. He can only dance, and revel in the moment for as long as the fiddler continues to play.]
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Cardan cannot tell him. Not yet, not yet. Not when it might become yet another burden on his husband: to live up to Cardan's expectations, to reciprocate. He is already so taxed with all the demands on him; to please his father, to protect Cardan, to keep his staff safe. Perhaps after they deal with Dain -- a thing that he, foolishly, has started to believe might be possible -- perhaps he can tell Liem then.
There is cowardice in it, he knows. He has not made peace with the idea that Liem is unlikely to feel the same, and he is afraid of the way it might sting him. But he also knows that even this fear will become familiar with time, worn smooth and dull by his time ruminating on it.
Right now, he will cradle Liem close, and commit the moment to tender memory. They are together, and the night is beautiful, and his husband seems happy -- that is enough and more than enough. And when the dance finally comes to an end, a heartbeat and an eternity later, he will lean forward and kiss his husband, sweet and slow and earnest about it.
Right then, he cannot bring himself to worry about being obvious at all. ]
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He will always be hungry for this, even if Cardan remains by his side for a hundred years. Even now, he cannot quite believe it is his to claim. It takes him some time to recall the forest and the revel and the purpose of their outing, and that is only after he has finally withdrawn enough to look once more into his husband’s face.]
I have a gift for you, [he says into the quiet between them, softly, as though afraid to break it. Perhaps now is not the ideal moment to break for a gift, but the air is warm with sentiment, and he cannot imagine a more appropriate atmosphere in which to deliver the object he has to give. At the very least, he thinks, he should offer his husband the choice to claim it now, if he is willing to be diverted.]
Would you like it now?
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But, eventually, even he must pull away -- only to field a confession in an entirely different vein. Cardan's eyebrows twitch upward. He thought he'd felt the outline of a box on Liem's person; it is difficult to kiss, dance, and hide in broom closets with a man for several hours without coming chest to chest. ]
I see you had a surprise up your sleeve, after all.
Have you a twin stud for me?
[ It's not an unattractive idea -- matching, hidden jewelry -- though he is only teasing Liem. As always, gifts make him feel a little unbalanced, teetering between curiosity and the vague anxiety of indebtedness. Still, he understands that his husband does not consider these things the way he does. And tonight, with wild adoration in his chest and Liem's soft, careful question, he cannot help but feel pleased more than anything else.
He grins, shamelessly impatient. ]
Of course I would like it now.
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It is not jewellery this time.
[This becomes self-evident when Liem retrieves the package from his coat: a paper-wrapped rectangle the size and shape of a slim book. As soon as Cardan takes it in his hands, it will be quite obvious that it is just that. Beneath sky-blue paper and emerald ribbon, the gift has a book-like shape and give that do not belong to a box or case.
Unwrapped, the book’s dark leather binding is fancifully tooled with flowers, leaves and thorny branches, with a wolf pup framed in the centre. Inside the book, on paper that practically shines with newness, the title page reads in flowery calligraphy, Liem’s Book of Stories. It is a collection of short tales printed in Liem’s precise, elegant hand, featuring faerie-tale titles like “The Boy who Couldn’t Lie” and “The Boy who Shunned the Woods” and “The Boy who Loved Birds.” Liem forces himself to be patient while Cardan looks at it, despite the fact that he is still not entirely confident it will be well received.]
I had the binding done professionally, [he cannot quite help but add, lacing his hands together,] but the stories are mine.
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The wolf pup makes him smile.
It is not until he sees the title page that surprise makes itself plain on his face. He blinks -- then turns the page and blinks again, recognizing Liem's familiar script, more astonished with every new discovery.
Only Liem's interjection makes him look up. ]
You-- wrote these? For me?
[ Stupid questions, given that Liem just said as much, and yet he is too dumbfounded not to ask. When did Liem find the time? The transcription alone would have taken ages, given what he knows of his husband's perfectionism. If he had ever worked on anything like this at the office, Cardan had not noticed.
Already, the surprise on his face gives way to delight. He is terribly curious about the kinds of stories Liem might have written down; if they weren't quite far out from the brugh, he might have plopped himself down to read right then and there. He has to keep glancing between Liem and the little book, his fingertips a little twitchy for their desire to browse through the crisp pages. ]
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[Thus far, Liem has only given a gift to his husband on a very few occasions—but he is learning to like the stunned look Cardan wears when Liem has surprised him with something nice, and the way his attention seems glued to it, eyes and fingers roaming every detail. It is well worth the hours spent painstakingly writing the book’s final copy in pilfered moments of privacy—and before that, the hours of writing and rewriting, often done right there in his office, when Cardan was not keeping close enough watch on the actual subject of his labours.
He watches Cardan’s examination of the book with quiet satisfaction.]
I hope it pleases you, husband, [he says, though he knows the gift already has, more clearly even than he could have hoped. And as always, his husband’s delight captures Liem completely, paints itself over the backs of his eyelids and tucks itself into the spaces behind his ribs. He savours it.]
I know you are ever hungry for things that are mine. [The look and sound of him, the secrets he harbours, even the baubles he wears. Perhaps he should not dole these things out too heedlessly, but what is the point of celebrating his husband, if he cannot give him what he so obviously desires?]
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[ Grinning like a fool is an inelegant way to accept a gift, but then, he doesn't think Liem is particularly concerned with Cardan's elegance in moments like these. Especially since all Cardan can think of is Liem, carving out spaces in his day to do this for Cardan, for no reason other than he wanted to give him a treasure.
He will close the slim volume carefully, clutching it to his chest as he leans in -- to kiss Liem again, this time with some ceremony, on both of his chilly cheeks. ]
What a marvel you are, husband. Elowyn was a fool not to keep you to herself.
[ Of course, Elowyn had other considerations -- like not wanting to share the Blood Crown with a husband.
He will stay there, for a moment, his brow leaning gently against Liem's, his fingers splayed over Liem's jaw. ]
It is beautiful. And I am terribly tormented with the desire to devour it.
[ Indeed, even if the rest of him is perfectly still, the tail has not stopped being twitchy since he'd first spotted the title page. ]
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And if his heart hurts a little at the reminder of their marriage’s contrived nature, at the implication that his devotion would belong to whomever his father’s contact bid him wed, he brushes that feeling aside briskly enough. Now is not the time to be dwelling on trivialities.
He smiles warmly at his husband instead, his hands slid loosely around Cardan’s hips, feeling the twitch of his restless tail through his clothes.]
Are you finished with the revel already? [The night still feels secret and intimate as they linger there amidst the laughter and chatter and music, ignored by the mortals on the fringes of Liem’s awareness.] We have only just arrived.
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[ But Liem has a point -- the revel is still going, and he does wish to stay. There is a strange freedom to being on the fringes of the fire's light, unseen and yet present. He is a twilight creature, after all, most comfortable at the cusp of one thing turning into another.
Being in shirtsleeves, Cardan has no pockets. To this end, he will reach inside Liem's jacket, tucking the book into the spot where it had nestled before. ]
Keep it safe for me a little while longer.
[ Then he turns his face to the firelight and calls, ] A lively tune, mistress, if you please!
[ For a moment, the youths look startled; but glamour smooths his voice, makes it sound like that of one of theirs -- though, whose exactly, none of them could say. Cardan only grins, confident in his trick, and takes Liem's hand in his once more. ]
--
[ The fiddler wakes the next morning, having dreamt of the scent of cedar and someone's warm hand on her cheek -- and gasps when she sees the earrings dangling from her ears, glittering with gemstone stars. ]