Part Two

He traveled to the Arlylian territory to visit his family at the end of summer and was glad for the chance to see his loved ones, and to clear his head away from the palace and the confusing, maddening, wonderful royal couple. He even stayed longer than his usual visit of a few weeks so he could witness a cousin's hand-fasting. The festivities were merry and the wine plentiful enough that Mattin could look on the happy pairing without too much of an ache in his chest. But truthfully, he'd been ready to return home before he'd even unpacked his trunks upon arrival.

The voyage down the river to the capital was endless, the weather too wet and cold and then too hot. Mattin got to his room in the palace late at night and slept past the time when he should have gone to meet with Arden and Mil over breakfast. But, having been gone, he had nothing to bring to them, and since his movements were slow with exhaustion, he decided to save his energy for the work sure to be waiting for him on his desk in his office. He likely hadn't been missed anyway. Another Master Keeper would have sat in on the council meetings and could have answered Cael's questions.

The assistants were pleased to see him, although they kept trying to offer him meals and tea despite how Mattin insisted he was still queasy from his oddly rough boat trip. He accepted the tea at least when his mouth felt dry as a bone, but then it was so hot that he had to wait until it was cool and the bitterness kept him from having more than a sip.

The fever hit him hard that evening, when he was the only one, or hoped he was the only one, left in the library. He staggered outside, probably not locking the doors behind him, and made it to his room only because the path was familiar.

He shook and moaned and ached for three full, horrible days, waking up more than once in his makeshift nest on the floor by the bed, trying to take comfort in gloves and a cushion and a cloak that only smelled like him and Blessed-wet and the oil that he'd reached for when his wet hadn't been enough.

He kept to his room the fourth day despite the gnawing in his stomach, his throat constricting when Cael was the one to knock on his door and ask if he was well.

One could not leave Cael of the Rossick on the other side of a closed door, so he answered, begging her to wait while he dressed. But that or the rawness of his voice must have alarmed her, because she ordered food for him without asking, and left a message for him with the meal tray, to come and see her the following day—and, if possible, to visit with the king and his husband sooner than that.

The note also suggested that, if not possible, Mattin ought to visit them sooner anyway.

Mattin had never been in the king's rooms in the evening hours but didn't think Cael's words should be ignored. He bathed several times, cold scrubs at first, and then a longer soak in hot water after he'd eaten. His hair was in two simple braids, which had taken most of his strength, and he wore a heavy robe and pants. Putting those on had taken the rest of it.

He gave the guards at the king's door at wary look but they didn't indicate he ought to turn around and go back to his room, so he forced himself to keep walking.

Arden was probably disappointed with him for the unexpected time away. Mattin was supposed to have been gone three weeks at most but then had spent an additional half a week in his room. He must have been needed, and though Mattin took a bit of vicious pleasure in being the only librarian the king relied on, Arden and Mil should have been able to work with his temporary replacement. Perhaps whichever Keeper had been chosen hadn't understood Mil and Arden the way Mattin did.

Which was a horribly presumptuous thought to have as he was about to step into their private quarters unannounced after disappointing them. He cleared his throat loudly to give them some warning, and then said, "I'm sorry, but Cael told me I ought to come see you," as though his heart wasn't racing and his cheeks weren't flushed.

They were at their table, at dinner, in undershirts and pants and not a single piece of armor. Much like they were in the mornings, only they looked far more tired in the glimpse Mattin got before they were both up out of their seats and ushering him to the seat at the table closest to the fireplace. Their hands were big and very warm and pressed to him in many places for several confusing, torturous moments.

They were hale and healthy, and Mattin was almost grateful they were too busy fussing to notice how he could not look away from them. They did not seem to have the same opinion of Mattin's appearance that he had of theirs, but they couldn't be expected to have missed him as he had missed them.

Still, Mattin did wish for a moment that they thought him beautiful, or at least would not speak of how horrible he must look.

"What did they do to him?" Mil asked Arden above Mattin's head. "Hasn't eaten in a week, I'll bet."

"I ate today," Mattin objected, feeling very silly for speaking at all when they both ignored him.

"Probably his first real meal since he left home," Arden replied to his husband, then sat down to study Mattin closely.

Mattin's face was no doubt blazing red. A plate was nudged in front of him, loaded with potatoes, carrots, and venison covered in gravy. Mattin had to swallow to keep from openly salivating.

Mil picked up Mattin's hand and placed a fork in it. "Eat, please, and then tell us about your trip."

Really, Mattin should have said something or glared at them both—handing him a fork as if he didn't know how to eat—but the food did look good, and they certainly had plenty so he wasn't denying them anything. He did manage to ask if they were sure and caught Arden with a smile on his face that was so indulgent, Mattin had to glance at Mil to see what Mil had done to cause it.

Mil grunted, "Eat," at him, which was the only answer Mattin got. With both of them looking at him it felt like an order, so Mattin took the smallest possible piece of potato and ate it, pretending the first hint of spice and butter didn't make him weak.

"Very delicate," Mil commented in a rough voice. "Very proper. Eat more, please, if you'd be so kind."

Mattin put more potato in his mouth just to keep in his sighs of longing. "I don't mean to make you worry," he said softly when he could.

"And yet," Arden answered gravely, "nearly a month you've been gone. Then you return pale as a ghost except for the color in your cheeks. It's good to see you again, dear h—Master Arlylian, but I think seeing you has made us worry more."

"Not that it helped, hearing that you'd returned but that you were unwell." Mil pronounced the word as though he'd been practicing saying it instead of whatever he actually wanted to say. So many beat-of-fours complained Mil couldn't be diplomatic, but he could when he wanted to.

Mattin glanced up, then went very still as Mil wiped a bit of gravy from his cheek for him. Mil licked the gravy from his fingers, casual as anything. Mattin turned quickly to Arden, then dropped his gaze entirely to his plate when Arden's attention was too much.

The potatoes were all gone. Mattin frowned.

"Carrots next?" Arden suggested. Except Arden of the Canamorra's suggestions were actually polite orders.

Mattin nodded and wondered how long the look he had just interrupted would haunt him. "You've both been well? It takes a while for news to reach Arlylian territory, so I wasn't sure that… I mean, I hoped that you were well."

"Oh, some of the usual beat-of-four families kicking up a fuss over any old thing." Arden spoke lightly of something that was a real problem and, if Cael was to be believed, a danger. "Some of them posturing. Some wanting something else from me. And some… well, not a topic you need to fret over at this moment in time, Mattin Arlylian."

Mattin opened his eyes, which seemed to have fallen closed, and resumed eating carrots, although he didn't care for them and drowned them in gravy first. A little too late, he realized this was probably Arden's dinner he was eating and glanced over. Arden responded by dropping a dinner roll onto Mattin's plate and smiling.

He had a very charming smile, even if the scar down his cheek made him look ratherforbidden and illicit, like a bandit of old. Mattin turned to Mil, who smiled at him as well. Mil's warm smiles just made Mil look even more handsome, as though he could be easily charmed, which wasn't at all true. Although when he was charmed, it was usually by his husband or Arden's young niece. Or Mattin when he supposedly sassed them.

But Mattin had come here to say something and it had nothing to do with dinner or smiles. He turned back to his food while he tried to remember what it was. The gravy was quite good. He sopped it up with the roll, then wiped his hands on a napkin, which made Mil sigh for reasons unknown.

After not eating, not as he should have, for several days, and then his fever days where he had not swallowed even a scrap, so much food made Mattin's stomach hurt, but also made him aware of how tired he was. The fire was incredibly warm. Arden and Mil, on either side of him, were hot as well, although Mattin shouldn't have been able to feel their body heat where he was. He might have imagined it. Or it was his fever lingering in odd ways.

Arden handed him a cup which held wine mixed with fruit juice, and Mattin was so very thirsty. He emptied it and put it down, then closed his eyes.

"Mil, my love, are your plans for tomorrow still to ride out to look over the back sections of the old palace wall?"

The question was voiced softly over Mattin's head. Arden must have bathed this evening; he smelled of plain soap and maybe a bit of wine. No leather on him now. Just Arden-scent and traces of bathwater.

Mil must have been busy until late. No soap scent around him, but clean sweat at his neck and then spiced tea on his breath, as if he'd needed the tea to keep going. "Aye, but I'll be back in time for the council meeting. Wouldn't leave you to handle that bunch alone. Will you be there too, Sass? Or do you need more time to rest?"

Mattin gave a start, then put his hands to his cheeks as he realized he had been sitting between them with his eyes closed, inhaling their scents. He could not look up. Not even if Cael herself were to ask him to. He hoped they thought he'd fallen asleep, but even that was beyond rude. Anyway, he doubted he was so lucky. They'd noticed. Of course, they would have.

"I'm sorry." He'd known he would miss them when he left, but he hadn't thought about what it would be like to return to them, especially so close to a fever. "I didn't mean to… I'm sorry. I forgot my fever was near. That's why I was late. I'm sorry." That was what he'd come here to say.

"We didn't," Mil revealed easily, and then paused in reaching for more wine when Mattin squawked.

"What? What do you mean you didn't?"

"We didn't forget your fever was due," Arden explained. "But you were with your family, so we assumed they would make sure you ate enough. I can see now that we'll have to do better next time since they obviously won't."

"Did you think we'd be mad you had your lust-fever and couldn't visit?" Mil briefly looked hurt. "Why would we?"

Mattin blinked dry eyes, then turned on Arden. "You… remembered my fever was due?"

Saying it out loud was a mistake. Humiliation stung him as he realized they had remembered his own fever schedule better than he had. That was followed by a sweeping, all-over heat to imagine them thinking of Mattin and a lust-fever at the same time, even if they'd only done so abstractly.

Arden met Mattin's stare without hesitation. "We rely on you, and we like to consider you a friend, and we worry when you don't appear."

Now Mattin could not look anywhere else. "Oh."

"And you don't have anyone you'll let care for you," Mil grumbled. "And you never remember to prepare in the days leading up to it."

"Too used to ignoring his body's needs," Arden agreed. "A bad habit among librarians, I hear."

Mattin briefly and spitefully wondered if Arden had been an outguard fond of tupping library assistants but didn't ask.

"It's fine," he said instead. "I'm fine, despite that."

Mil scoffed rudely. "You don't see yourself after, Sass. You needed caring for. Still do, and something better than what can be offered from a distance. No partners in sight for you yet? Not a one has caught your eye?"

Mattin had no idea how the subject had gotten to his fever-partners, or lack thereof, but faced Mil just to glare at him and ignored the conciliatory, "Now, Sass," Mil tried to offer.

"Maybe you don't want any kind of partner, in or out of a fever?" Arden said, or asked, Mattin wasn't sure. They were both staring at him now.

Mattin's stomach gurgled again. How it could do that with him already stuffed full, he had no idea.

"I keep telling you I am plain and small and not interesting," he huffed, although he wasn't sure he'd ever told them anything like that. He accepted the second dinner roll from Arden with another huff, then tore it to pieces over his plate. "It wasn't… the palace wasn't safe for a long time. All the years of fighting…. People were terrified, and nobody was…. It's not like it is now, or was before. So I'm not very experienced with any sort of… that." He only had to explain this to them because they were both too confident and handsome to understand his predicament. "Not casually and definitely not for several days of me… being how the Blessed are in their fevers."

"We didn't mean to embarrass you, Sass."

Mattin gave Mil a huff too. He didn't see what else anyone would be but embarrassed to have their lust-fevers the subject of conversation between the king and his husband.

Well, aroused, but Mattin was not going to think of that here if he could help it. He had already spent the last few days imagining other things between the king and his husband. Like himself. And it was not a thought to make it stop throbbing between his legs or to keep him from wanting to put hand over his cock underneath a robe that now did not seem heavy enough.

"So…" Arden was being delicate, which was somehow touching and alarming together, "it's more that you don't know, and not that you don't want?"

Mattin darted a look up, saw the two of them exchanging a glance, then dropped his gaze again. "To be… like that in front of someone." He knew what he was like, even if the fever days were a blur. Sweating and moaning and crying out until his throat was raw. Waking to bruises and a sore body and all sorts of damage to whatever had happened to be in his way. Mattin during a fever was, unfortunately, rather wild. "I'd probably startle them. Or repulse them."

Mil made a noise, a stifled growl that carried into his words. "I highly doubt that."

"I think whoever you choose would be deeply honored, Mattin Arlylian, and delighted to be chosen."

Mattin's gaze came up.

Arden was so serious. "If you ever need help, if you ever want it, you're welcome to ask us."

The strangled sound Mattin made might have been a growl too. A pathetic sort of a growl that led to Mil pushing his own wine toward him as though Mattin had something stuck in his throat.

Arden had not looked away. "Or just one of us if that makes you more comfortable. I won't be offended when you choose Mil."

Mattin swung around to stare at Mil.

"Well, now," Mil said, blinking several times before looking at his husband with his eyebrows raised.

"I'm not saying he would," Arden explained, gentle with the both of them, "but Mattin—Keeper Arlylian, is proper, and I'm the king, aren't I?"

Mattin turned back to him. "You'd be needed elsewhere," he admitted softly.

Arden gave him a crooked grin. "Exceptions would be made for the Blessed, everyone knows that. No one is going to spit in the face of a fae gift, no matter how much they dislike or hate the king, or require something from him."

"But I wouldn't…" Mattin started, then fell silent because he had no idea what he meant to say. He would have been angry if they offered out of pity, but they had just called him a friend and he knew that was true because they allowed him to see them like this, private and half-undressed, enjoying their meals in peace. "I'm sure you would be very good partners," he declared at last, with manners enough that Mil should have teased him. Mattin decided to study the torn pieces of roll on his plate. "But I'm not much of a Blessed." A real Blessed wouldn't care about more than being pleased during their fever. Mattin suspected that getting that from them and then losing it when the fever had ended would hurt worse than a fever spent alone.

For one moment, Arden's hand covered his on the table. "The offer wasn't meant to upset you."

"I know." Mattin did know it. "But…."

"Just think on it," Mil added, gruff. "Know that it's available to you, rather than suffering. Or, if you only want more things to aid with your fevers, let us know, and we'll get you what you need."

Mattin frowned and then finally, much, much too late, realized that he had been given gifts for his nest on purpose. They'd loaned their scents to help ease his pains. The best and worst thing he could have been given.

"Scent matters to the Blessed," Arden said while Mattin burned with humiliation and flattered pleasure over their thoughtfulness. Arden's manner was manner-of-fact, because of course, he was experienced and knew how best to help a Blessed through a fever.

"Now, you see," Mattin said at last, because they both were watching him in a way that suggested they were anxiously waiting for him to speak, "how much of a poor Blessed I am."

"Poor Blessed, my ass." Mil took Mattin's hand and held it in his. Like Arden's, the touch lasted only a moment. "You're fine as you are. It's just that when you should have been learning about and trying these things, the palace was a bloody mess, and trust is a hard thing to grant. Maybe you should have gone back to your family territory then to wait it all out, and learned there. But… I have to say, I'm glad you stuck, Sass. I'm very glad you're here."

"Oh," Mattin murmured again, quite foolishly. That seemed to be all he could say, except for an even softer, "Thank you," a few moments later when he got his breathing even again.

"Would you like some tea?" Mil asked a bit awkwardly when the silence went on and Mattin had trouble raising his head. When he finally did, they were both watching him carefully. "We can get you some tea."

Mattin's heart thumped uncomfortably against his ribs, or seemed to.

"Thank you," he said, which Mil took as a yes, and got up to ask someone to bring tea before returning to Mattin's side. "I'm sorry. I'm still very tired and you're both…"

"Pushy?" Arden quirked a smile.

"Wonderful," Mattin finished. "It's embarrassing, really. I can't… It was especially difficult this time, you see. Harder than before." Because the two of them hadn't been there to make sure he ate more, or to give him trinkets worn close to their bodies.

"We'll do better next time," Arden promised. "Even if you're far away."

That was not their job or their role. But they knew that and had said it anyway.

"Just think on it," Mil said again. The nobles at court who thought him a brute without gentleness did not know him. He put a new roll on Mattin's plate and then put more gravy next to it. "Eat now, though, yes?"

"All right," Mattin agreed quietly, still burning, and felt his heart thump again when Arden began to talk to Mil about the old palace wall so Mattin could fret tiredly, and eat, and inhale the scents he had missed so much it had pained him even before his fever.

But that was something to fret over more and in greater depth later. Or never. But probably later, when he was rested and had time.