Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (27 page)

Long minutes passed before Riodan lifted his head from Dylen’s shoulder to look at him with gleaming eyes.

“I felt it,” he whispered. “The heat in my belly—had I not taken
mirash
…”

“Yes, a child,” Dylen murmured.

“Your child,” Riodan said with wonder. “And mine. I almost wish—”

“Don’t say it,” Dylen interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s not the time or place. Not yet.”

Riodan gazed at him searchingly. At length, he cupped Dylen’s face in his hands with reverence and softly said, “I love you. While I have life and breath, I will always love you.”

Dylen sealed his mouth to Riodan’s in as tender a kiss as he could muster, savoring the taste and texture of his lover’s lips as if he had never known them before. Without breaking the kiss, Dylen turned them over and eased him down beside him, slipping from Riodan’s body as he did. For several minutes more, they simply held each other, their lips never parting for long.

“Have me again,” Riodan pleaded. “Have me all night.”

Dylen smoothed his hand possessively down Riodan’s back. “With pleasure.”

He would be unable to sit down for long tomorrow, even on the softest of cushions, Riodan thought as hard flesh plowed into him over and again. His sheath was deliciously raw from its repeated ravaging, which explained why he was on his knees and his face half buried in a pillow while Dylen made good use of his upraised arse. Saints, but Dylen was indefatigable!

Not that Riodan wanted a reprieve from his ravishment. Not when it was Dylen who ravished him with a concupiscence that hinted at deep-rooted affection the former
hethar
had not yet admitted harboring for him still. If Dylen would not say the words, Riodan would happily settle for what his body communicated to him.

He cried out hoarsely when completion overtook him once more then groaned with pleasure as liquid warmth filled him. Fighting for breath, he swiftly reached behind to stop Dylen from withdrawing from him.

“Stay,” he breathlessly said, peering over his shoulder at Dylen. Saints, but how beautiful he looked with his raven locks tousled just so, his cheeks flushed, and lips enticingly swollen. And his eyes agleam with appreciation and—dare he hope?—

affection.

“You’ll be sore,” Dylen quietly warned him as he carefully eased them both down on their sides. He pulled Riodan closer into the curve of his body to keep his shaft securely embedded up Riodan’s backside.

Riodan wriggled back, relishing the continued presence of Dylen’s flesh inside him.

“I don’t particularly care,” he said, tiredly taking Dylen’s arm and wrapping it around his waist. Much as he yearned for them to continue making love, his body refused to cooperate. “I just want to feel you… after so long,” he drowsily added.

“You weren’t jesting when you said all night,” Dylen murmured, kissing Riodan’s shoulder.

Riodan shivered at the sweet caress, but sleep beckoned more insistently. “All morning, too, if you like,” he mumbled, exhaustion finally blunting the sharp edge of desire.

“I’ll take your word for it,” was the last thing he heard before he drifted into slumber.

Chapter Twenty-One

Setback

Riodan studied the coffered ceiling as he lay amidst the stained and crumpled sheets of Dylen’s bed. Saints above, but his body ached. As did his sheath. And as for his arse…

He closed his eyes as he remembered the reasons for his present discomfort. And his deep felicity.

He had awakened ever so slowly to the sensation of flesh sliding into him from behind. Full awareness came when his stirring shaft was clasped and stroked until it was hard and throbbing with need. He opened his mouth, but nothing intelligible came out, and he could only gasp and moan as Dylen slowly and maddeningly wrung another climax out of him.

This time, he winced when Dylen pulled out of him afterward. Like it or not, there was a limit to what his body could take, and he had finally reached it.

He listened to the gush of water from the bathing chamber. From the sound of it, the tub was almost full. He turned his head to see Dylen emerge from the other room.

Dylen reached a hand to him, saying, “Come, a hot bath will do you good.”

Riodan grasped his hand and, groaning, sat up. “Only if you join me.” He did not let go of Dylen’s hand as he slipped off the bed. “I dare say it would do you good as well after riding me all night.”

A smiled curved Dylen’s lips. “I do hope I didn’t wear you out overmuch. It would be a pity.”

Riodan’s eyes widened. “A pity? Why?”

Dylen only chuckled and pulled him toward the bathing room. Chafing a little at the lack of an answer, Riodan promptly set it aside when Dylen settled in the large tub of steaming water and motioned to him to join him. He quickly did so, settling between Dylen’s legs and leaning back against him.

Memories of their first bath together assailed him, and he closed his eyes in regret.

How many lazy morning soaks would they have shared all these years if he had only been braver and true to his heart’s wishes? He turned around and kissed Dylen briefly before reaching for the soap. Determined to make the most of this intimate interlude, he lathered Dylen’s body, relishing the feel of every plane and contour of his lover’s body under his palms and fingers.

Perhaps Dylen understood what drove him for he did not question him but returned the favor, massaging the aches and kinks out of Riodan’s body even as he soaped him.

Riodan closed his eyes when Dylen gently cleansed him of all remnants of his semen. He was sore, but the intimacy of the gesture more than offset his discomfort.

He returned to his apartment afterward to dress for the day, taking care to avoid being observed leaving Dylen’s rooms by any embassy personnel. He might not mind being romantically linked to Dylen in staff gossip, but the same could not be said for Dylen. Not at the moment. It simply was too soon to define just what it was they were to each other.

They met in the dining hall, studiously ignoring the curiosity of the other diners as to why they were rather late this morning, and proceeded to discuss their respective schedules over breakfast.

“I was promised the contract renewals would be approved today,” Riodan said. “I think I’ll stay close to Dimas to ensure he keeps to our agreement. What about you?”

“I shall visit the craftworkers market this morning,” Dylen replied. “The chair I ordered for
Adda
is ready to be picked up. Afterwards…” He pushed a note across the table to Riodan. “This arrived while I was waiting for you. Malkon invited me to have lunch with him. In his apartment. It seems his interest in me got the better of his pique over last night.”

Riodan stared at him in consternation. “Dy, you can’t mean to—”

Dylen shook his head. “We’ll do no more than talk and dine. It isn’t easy for me either, Rio,” he somberly said. “It never was even when it was part of my duties as a
hethar.
And it became harder after I met you.”

Riodan was abashed. “I’m sorry. What I said was uncalled for.”

“Perhaps,” Dylen said. He reached for Riodan’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “But the reason for saying it was not.”

Dylen returned to the embassy after his visit to the craftworkers market to change into more proper attire for his lunch appointment. As he entered the lobby on his way out once more, he saw a Deir in royal livery talking to one of the embassy aides. When the aide saw him, he informed the messenger of Dylen’s arrival. The Deir hastened over and, after uttering the usual courtesies, handed Dylen a folded sheet of parchment, the insignia of the crown prince stamped on its wax seal.

“His Highness Prince Laral desires that you and Ambassador Leyhar join him for high tea,” the messenger said as Dylen broke the seal and unfolded the sheet. “He said it is very important that you come.”

“Did he say why?” Dylen asked, swiftly reading the short note.

The messenger shook his head. And then he hesitantly said, “But he seemed quite perturbed when he gave me this letter to deliver.”

Dylen frowned then handed the invitation to the waiting aide. “Please make sure that Ambassador Leyhar is informed of this. Tell him I will return for him.”

He walked out of the building and boarded the waiting carriage outside. He arrived at the palace just as the midday chimes sounded.

Dylen proceeded to the visitors’ audience hall whence he would be fetched and conducted to Malkon’s apartment. To his annoyance, several minutes passed by, and no attendant came for him.
Trust that pompous ass not to be considerate of other folks’

schedules,
he sourly thought.

A rather large group of Deira entered the hall—diplomatic folk it appeared from the clasps on their mantles. Dylen recognized three of them from the dinner last night.

Terazan embassy people then. He idly wondered who they were meeting with and why.

He could not help feeling indignant, however, when they were met by an attendant just minutes after their arrival. Dylen watched them leave the hall then decided he had waited long enough.

Just as he started for one of the stewards to inquire about Malkon’s tardiness, a Deir

seemed to appear out of nowhere and fell in step with him. Dylen stopped and looked inquiringly at Talvas Halvan
il
Moran, Captain of the Guard. Amir’s bastard son carried himself with the dignity of a scion of the Royal House and the martial grace of a seasoned warrior.

“You have an appointment with Lord Malkon,
Dyhar
?” Talvas ventured.

“At his invitation, yes,” Dylen replied.

“Ah! Well then, I hope you enjoy yourself. That is, if Lord Malkon is fit to entertain anyone.”

Dylen regarded Talvas more closely. “Is there anything I should be aware of, Captain?” he asked.

Talvas’s smile was faint and humorless. “Only that little more than an hour ago, Prince Laral visited Lord Malkon in his quarters and they appeared to argue about something.”

“I see. Do you know what it was they argued about?”

“I only gathered that they did because they raised their voices enough to be audible in the hallway outside. But His Highness was obviously displeased about something when he came out of Lord Malkon’s apartment. And, as for His Grace, I have not seen him so white of face and shaking quite badly to boot.”

“I wonder what could have frightened him so,” Dylen mused out loud.

Unexpectedly, Talvas said, “Then you haven’t spoken yet with Ambassador Leyhar?”

“About what?”

“This morning’s events at the Ministry of Trade.” Talvas’ expression turned grim.

“Minister Dimas killed himself.” Dylen stared at him in shock. “He was discovered by Leyhar-
tyar
,” the captain added.

“Holy Veres,” Dylen murmured. “Why? Do you know why?”

“He left a letter for Prince Laral. I don’t know its contents, but judging from Laral’s reaction afterward, I have my suspicions.”

Dylen pursed his lips, deeply disturbed by Talvas’ news. “What do you suspect, Talvas? Or is it who?”

“I’d rather not say until I have more information. But I think you know this touches quite closely on the royal family.” Talvas paused. “And surely you can guess Laral’s reasons for wishing to meet with you this afternoon.”

An attendant suddenly approached Dylen. He was breathless and looked quite harried. “Essendri-
dyhar
?” he addressed Dylen. “His Grace Lord Malkon begs your pardon for keeping you waiting.” He paused and glanced at Talvas somewhat nervously.

“A good day to you,
Dyhar
,” Talvas courteously murmured. With a slight bow, he strode away.

Dylen turned his full attention to the attendant. After a short while, he murmured an appropriate reply to the Deir. As the latter hurried off, he quickly looked around the hall for Talvas. Finding the Captain, he briefly dipped his chin to him then turned on his heel and left the hall.

Riodan was tempted to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He frowned at the embassy staffer who was his acting aide. The young Deir paled, aware he

had displeased the ambassador but not quite sure how.

“Why did you bring him here?” Riodan softly demanded, briefly eyeing the visitor who was currently ensconced on the couch in his bedroom sitting area. “You know our private quarters are off limits to non-embassy personnel.”

The aide nodded. “Yes, Your Excellency, but I thought it was permissible to let him in since he’s your intended.”

“
Was
my intended,” Riodan corrected him. “And just how did you know who he is?

Are you acquainted with Barath-
tyar
?”

The aide gulped. “Nay, I have never met him. But he showed me your latest letter to him. And-and you wear matching earrings.” He stopped abruptly upon noticing that Riodan no longer bore his betrothal earring but had reverted to the plain milkstone set in ley-silver that had identified his standing in society before his betrothal. “That is, you used to wear…” The Deir said anxiously, “I’m so sorry,
Dyhar
! I—I didn’t realize—

Shall I show him out?”

Riodan sighed. Taking pity on the hapless aide, he said, “Nay, I might as well speak with him and find out why he has come. Fetch me some food—bread and cheese will do and a cup of
kahvi
, no milk. I’ve had naught to eat since breakfast. Then stay close by. I expect I will need you to escort him out of here before too long.”

“Yes,
Dyhar
.”

Riodan scowled then entered his suite. He had arrived back at the embassy following a most distressful day at the Ministry of Trade. After spending the past few days alternately cajoling and bullying Dimas into promising that the trade contracts would finally be ready, the last thing he’d expected when he arrived at the Minister’s office was to find Dimas hanging from one of the rafters. No one at the Ministry, not even his adjutant, had had any inkling of tragedy in the offing. Dimas’ mood had seemed as usual that morn, they informed him.

Adding to the bewilderment over his suicide had been the promised contract approvals all signed and neatly stacked on his desk. It appeared Dimas had hanged himself after preparing the documents.