Part Three

"If His Highness is so preoccupied by the concerns of the court, perhaps he should consider finding a new consort suited to handle such matters."

The words rang in Mattin's ears for hours after he left the council chamber. The beat-of-fours who persisted in troubling Arden had grown tired of petty complaints and had now issued a challenge that could not be ignored.

There was even some truth in it, though Mattin hated to admit it. The country was recovering from decades of war between the noble families. Arden as king they could accept—at least most of them—but Mil was no diplomat, and certainly—and proudly—not from a noble family. It didn't matter that he was a hero who had helped save the capital; if peace was to be maintained, Arden would need to make another alliance.

That not all alliances were marriages didn't seem to matter in Mattin's thoughts. He could not stop frowning during his frozen walk in the snow from the council chamber to his office, and then could not be still, although his feet dragged.

He expected Arden and Mil to be upset in private at the mere suggestion that anyone could possibly stand at Arden's side as Mil did, but though they had been serious, in their way, they hadn't been worried as Mattin was. Nor had they been saddened or dismayed or furious. They had been… amused, almost, at the idea of an alliance with some beat-of-four and the possibility of a new spouse in their bed.

That this also meant that they would now be unlikely to help Mattin through his fevers, well, Mattin didn't have time to think on it and they hadn't spoken of it. Only that they would need to marry—to ally with but possibly eventually marry—a suitable noble. Someone with an ancient family name of four beats. Someone who could accept and maybe love Mil as well as Arden. Someone who belonged with them in the big bed Mattin imagined they had beyond the second set of curtains leading out of their sitting room. A nest they would not welcome just anyone into. A place that not many deserved, not as far as Mattin was concerned.

And Arden wanted Mattin to help them find this person. Or so it had seemed with Arden and Mil watching Mattin frown and fret and try not to snarl like a hungry Blessed in a fever, and serving him tea to calm him, and saying, "We trust your decision, Mattin of the Arlylian. Who would you choose for us?"

"Who would you put in our bed?" Arden had added alone.

As if Mattin wanted to do that, put someone else in their bed, choose someone else for them.

But he couldn't deny them and the country was at stake. So he trekked through the winter snows to his office and poured through library records of the other beat-of-four families and made list after list of suitable candidates, of Gifted and Blessed and those in between and some not even a little fae-touched.

He was at it for days, until his vision began to swim and he was sure the assistants had seen how upset he was and pitied him.

A pain in his stomach was making itself known when Elbi rapped on his door and came in with a tray of food that Mattin hadn't asked for. He accepted it politely and meant to get to it when he was done, but it was pheasant with wine and mushrooms, which was a personal favorite, so he stopped long enough to eat it, and then the breads and pastries that came with it.

Another tray replaced it hours later, this one heavy with cake and tea. He finished that too while scowling at histories of families that contained far too much scandal to be suitable for Arden and Mil's political needs. He didn't know how to make a list for their other needs. He would have to ask them what they liked, if Mil liked to only be taken by Arden or if he also did some taking. If they wanted someone as strong and tall as they were, or someone small and weak. Someone simple and austere in tastes, or fond of flowers and clasps and pretty things. They probably would want someone sensible who could be trusted to feed himself or to get enough sleep. Someone who, if he had lust-fevers, prepared for them and knew how to call sweetly and beckon Gifted to his side.

Someone who would make them smile and allow Arden to feel safe enough to show those smiles. Someone to be patient as they fussed, and snap only a little when they went too far. Who would love them in no time at all, and fit snugly between them in sleep or out of it.

Someone who would not care for Mattin breathing them in or sharing their table.

Mattin's lips curled. A tiny sound rumbled in his chest. The tea made him sweat, so he didn't add more logs to the fire in his office fireplace.

Then he got too cold and gave up, trudging to his room in the dark of night without his cloak which he had forgotten again.

He threw the list he'd made in the fire the next day and started over. His head ached from his fitful, restless night. He let his fire go out and was vaguely aware of an ache in his bones as he neatly wrote out a final list of candidates.

The rap on the door was another assistant, a new one whose name he didn't know, with a tray of toast and jam. Breakfast foods.

Mattin had not taken breakfast with Arden and Mil—the king and his husband, they must stay the king and his husband—for several days now, he realized, and longed to be at their table, where the heat of a fire did not plague him. They would be there, of course, the king and his husband, Arden and Mil, to watch him and fuss over him and offer him fruit and speak of hunger and… he had to give them the list.

Once they had it, once they chose…. Mattin ended the thought there.

He folded up the paper and ignored the toast, knowing he'd find it later and eat it, cold or stale, without tasting it. Then he headed out, grateful for the snow to cool his stinging face and slow his rushing blood.

He wondered absently where he'd left his cloak. People gave him strange looks as he passed, perhaps for that, or his lack of winter gloves, or for the sweat at his hairline and the back of his neck.

He stopped in a corridor halfway to his room to unfold the paper and look at his list again. Once Mil and Arden chose someone, Mattin would probably never know them as fever partners. Or anything else, but he hadn't been offered anything else. Only that.

He started to walk again, the paper crumpled in one fist, and startled a passing guard with a growl that rumbled from him with no warning.

The sound shocked him into stopping to give a flustered apology. Then he hurried away, flushed to his ears, pulling at the buttons on his vest until it was loose enough for him to shrug away. The cold still did not reach him. It didn't take the low pull in his belly for him to realize what was happening.

He had growled at a guard. Word would get out. Mil would tease him.

The second pull hit him at the thought of Mil's smile, and Mattin dropped to his knees in the snow. This pull was sharp and hot and slow becauseMil would tease him but Mil would also fuck him if he asked. If Mattin sighed Mil's name and curled his fingers to summon him like a real Blessed would, Mil would answer. Mil was bigger than Mattin, so much bigger, larger even than Arden, and he would crush Mattin and fill him, and smile, satisfied and smug when he turned to his husband. Because Arden would be there. Mattin couldn't beckon one without the other, not for a heat, not for a fever in his blood and such an ache that he could barely walk around it.

He imagined if he demanded it as was his right as a Blessed, they would take him together, stretch him so wide he would never feel empty again. If they were his Gifted, he could make such a request and fit perfectly between them while they obeyed and ravished him.

Mattin bit his lip hard but it did not keep him from moaning on his knees right there in the corridor.

"Are you all right?" someone asked very far away. Mattin stared at them blankly for too long, then nodded and got to his feet, legs shaking, his clothes wet with more than snow, snarling a little when the stranger tried to help him up because he didn't want that person to touch him. He gulped around another apology but could feel the snarl lingering on his face. He had ruined his pants but couldn't seem to feel upset about it, in the same way that he had forgotten his approaching fever once again but wasn't bothered, because they'd sent him food. They had remembered not only that Mattin would need to eat, but his favorite foods.

And now they would marry and he would never know them unless he….

He stumbled to a stop at the door to the king's rooms, confused to be there and then aware of himself enough again to be embarrassed at the stunned expressions on the faces of the guards.

Mattin glanced down at himself, half-undressed, dirtied and wet from snow at his knees and then… and then wet elsewhere, sticky at his backside and down his thighs. His clothes were too fine for the winter, too thin, as Mil would say. Mattin's arousal would be obvious who anyone who glanced down. He imagined his eyes were fever-bright, his cheeks as red as his lips, which he kept biting because he kept wanting to moan.

The stickiness against his skin would have bothered him at another time. Like mess. Like the juice of a peach, it had to be dealt with right away before it became a problem. He thought of Arden's hand, and Mil's mouth, and bite marks and deep kisses, and felt his knees wobble.

He dropped his head and said, "Excuse me," in his politest voice before hurrying into the waiting room outside Arden's study. No one was using it to wait today. He thanked the fae for that.

Behind him, one of the guards called for the other one to run, and quickly. Mattin paused for that, worried that perhaps there was a threat or some danger, but they'd let him in, so he continued to the study, also unoccupied, and then with no announcement, into the sitting room.

That was silent and cold. Of course it was. Arden and Mil were out, and would likely be out all day. Mattin was silly for being here. He didn't have much time left before he embarrassed himself further.

Without the fire lit, the room was chilly, although he noted the goosebumps on his arms without feeling them. He didn't know when he'd rolled up his sleeves. In the snow, possibly, on his hands and knees, when he'd nearly dropped the list.

The list was damp and stained now. Mattin frowned at it, feeling another snarl build that he forced down. He put the cursed list on the table and let go.

He took a breath. He had to be calm, although he couldn't recall why. The air in the sitting room remained cool. He could smell Arden and Mil but only faintly, and wondered if they would mind if he took a cushion back to his room, or maybe a shirt they might have lying around.

He inhaled again and turned blindly toward the stronger scent of them. Of Gifted. Of Arden and Mil. Of his Gifted.

Then he was beyond another curtain, in another room, and the scent was so powerful that he put his hands over his mouth to muffle his whimpers. Before him, like something from his fever dreams, was a bed. A large bed, covered in blankets and furs that had been tossed over it as though Mil and Arden had woken late or been in a rush that morning. There was no fire in the fireplace by the bed but Mattin could feel one beneath his skin. He licked his upper lip and then sank his teeth into his lower one, which was already bruised.

He should not be there. If he stayed, he should at least not touch anything unless they said he could.

But they would let him. Perhaps they would even let him burrow into that nest.

Oh, but he had stained his clothes. That was a worry. He disliked mess. He normally disliked mess, especially waking up to it. If he got in that bed…

Mattin stopped. He wasn't supposed to get into that bed. He remembered that much before getting distracted once again. His clothes were too tight and soaked now with snow and slick, so much slick from the thought of Arden and Mil. Oh, he had thought of them, and how he would have them both no matter what Arden imagined. They would take turns and use him together and then take turns again. Mattin needed that and they would give it to him. They had promised they would if he asked. He was not much of a Blessed, but he could do that. Politely, and not how he wanted to, but he was not a beast.

His clothes were dirty. That was what he was trying to remember, and he didn't want his dirty clothes in their nest even if his clothes smelled of how much he desired his Gifted. It was a very good nest. Mattin couldn't have made one better, a firm mattress and soft bedding, with furs soothing against his skin, and the scent of the two of them now mingling with his, faint with lilies. He rubbed his cheek against one of the furs as Mil pushed the curtains back and stopped dead in the doorway.

"Fuck me," Mil muttered without moving. "Fuck me hard. He's just… Arden. Please."

Mattin scowled at him and then at Arden who pushed past Mil only to also stop by the door to stare.

Arden opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced around the room until he found Mattin's clothes on the floor. The alarm or fear on his face, whatever had him and Mil panting as though they'd run here, seemed to fall away. He inhaled and then said softly, "Is that a nest you've made in our bed, Mattin Arlylian?"

"Your nest for me," Mattin corrected him, then, just for a moment, worried. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," they both agreed immediately, nodding until Mattin sank into the furs again.

"Smells of you," Mattin revealed, tensing at the hoarse noise from Mil. He peered with blurry eyes at the two of them looking back at him, then wriggled to sit up, getting as far as on his hands and knees when the brush of fur over sensitive skin made him whine with how good it was. He rolled his hips to feel that again and closed his eyes as he curled back into the fur, running his palms over the silky surface until he found the ticklish patch over his ribs. Then he ran his palm over that too, sliding it down to the curve of his backside and then beneath his body to the steadily growing puddle before reopening his eyes to find his Gifted. Fur teased his cock as he twitched his hips up. His fingers did not quite reach where Mattin wanted them to go. Not as deeply as he wished they would.

The sound Mil made this time was more choked.

"Did you have Mil here this morning?" Mattin asked Arden in a throaty, husky voice. Arden used plain soap and sturdy mugs, yet had such perfectly soft bedding. He had done that for Mil, and now Mattin. He would give them all he had. He would give Mattin all he wanted. A whole country if Mattin asked, Mattin thought dizzily, although all he wanted now was cock and inched his knees apart. "I can smell it."

"Fuck. Me." Mil pronounced each word distinctly.

"Me first," Mattin insisted. "I'm so hot."

Mil let out a shaky breath. "Of course, you are, Sass. This is your lust-fever. This is… you in a lust-fever. In our bed—our nest. Fuck. Your nest. It's been waiting for you. We've been waiting for you. We just didn't expect—fuck, you're beautiful."

Mattin opened his eyes, which he had closed while pressing his fingertips into tight, soft heat. Mil was closer and still breathing hard, barely seeming aware of Arden behind him hastily removing his armor for him. Mil was the beautiful one, and large, and handsome, and he smelled strong and lovely, and he was so, so big that Mattin's whole lower body tightened and let go with one sudden overwhelming pull.

Mattin moaned all the way through it, open and ready now, wet and starving.

"I'm hot," Mattin informed Mil again. "You offered to help me and it… it smells good here and I'm hot, and it, ah," he heard his tiny, breathless cry as if it came from someone else. "Ah, there's an ache inside, Mil. Mil, please. I'm ready for you."

Mil's breastplate fell to the floor with a terrible sound that didn't quite cover Arden calling to the guards outside. He shouted something about Cael, and his apologies, and the next few days.

"Is there anything you need, dear heart?" Arden asked when he was done, drawing Mattin's attention to him. Arden's voice was concerned and low. It dragged heat through Mattin's spine and pulled another throbbing spasm from his lower body. He felt wet trickle to his knees and shifted until he was on his elbows. It put his hips higher.

His legs were shaking. His braid fell to one side, damp with sweat. He didn't know where his pretty clothes had gone. He didn't care. He was made of fire and need and emptiness.

"Arden," Mattin complained. "You're too far away."

Mil wasn't. He was close enough now to touch Mattin, and finally did, resting one large hand on the back of Mattin's neck. Mattin pushed into his palm and wished he could purr.

"Oh, you are hot, aren't you, poor thing?" Mil said sympathetically, but not doing anything to help. Mattin raised his head to scowl. "Oh, Sass," Mil purred for him as if the scowl had pleased. "Is there something particular you'd like us to do?"

Arden was more warmth next to Mattin, more good scent, more heat, another hand on Mattin's bare skin and another solid weight around him like a bookend. He brushed the back of his hand over Mattin's shoulder, then turned his hand to run his palm down Mattin's spine. Mattin tried to get his hips higher and his clever Gifted Arden understood and curved his hand over the source of Mattin's heat. He was hotter than Mattin was, hotter still once his fingers opened Mattin and pushed inside. "What a gift you are to come home to, dear heart. Our Blessed Mattin here in our nest waiting for us. I bet you're as tired of waiting as we are. Ah. You are." He pressed deeper and Mattin welcomed his fingers without any resistance. "He wasn't lying, my love."

Mattin nodded with eager, yet annoyed gratitude to be understood at last, then looked to Mil. Arden had fingers inside him and yet Mattin bit his lip and whimpered until Mil said, "None of that now. Whatever you want, Sass. Say it and he'll give it to you. We both will."

He stroked Mattin's cheek before gently tugging Mattin's lip from between his teeth.

His mouth now open, Mattin turned his head to follow the scent of Mil to his cock and nuzzle that before taking the tip into his mouth. It was large. Mattin, unpracticed and hungry, suckled clumsily, pausing to swallow the spit that kept gathering in his mouth and spilling down his chin before pushing forward to try again. He took more, or wanted to, falling back with a moan when Arden moved his hand. Mattin returned almost immediately, sucking hard with a noise that, if Mattin had been able to think, would have made him blush.

Mil grunted. His hand fell into Mattin's hair, tightened painfully, then let go. "Sorry, Sass." He ran an apologetic touch down Mattin's braid that Mattin could barely feel.

Mattin pulled off Mil's cock to gaze at Mil reproachfully.

"Mil." The name and taste were on his tongue. Mattin was not weak, he was hungry. "Arden." He pushed back, gasping at the pressure from Arden's fingers alone as they went still deeper, and then were slowly drawn out before Arden slid them back in. Mattin's chest rumbled with another growl. He let it out, then pulled in a shaky breath.

"Sorry, Sass," Mil said again, properly contrite as he took Mattin's braid and wound it around his wrist and tightened his hold again the way Mattin had liked. Mil would hold Mattin in place now, as he should. He had his cock in his other hand and brought it to Mattin's lips and groaned when Mattin surged forward to take as much as he could. He started to say several things, warnings perhaps, worries about the sounds of Mattin's gagging, but he kept his hold on Mattin's hair and let Mattin suck how he liked.

Mattin was vaguely aware of the mess he was making and that he was still burning. But it was a good mess, and having his mouth full soothed him as much as holding Mil's bright, mesmerized gaze while he worked his tongue, and choked, and dribbled spit.

Mil brushed the corners of Mattin's mouth when they grew too wet no matter how often Mattin swallowed. His hand shook, although Mattin didn't know why, and he said things about Mattin's red mouth that drew another long pull of need from deep within Mattin and made him briefly inch away to drop his head and moan. Then Mil took him by the hair and gently pulled him back to his cock and Mattin hummed his gratitude in between licks and swallows.

Arden kept one hand on Mattin's back as if to settle Mattin, but then would not stop tormenting him. Steadying you, he said more than once, readying you for what you'll take, but Mattin thought it was more that he enjoyed the sight of Mattin with his mouth full while Arden stuffed him with his fingers. Mattin was ready. He shook and shuddered, and growled around the head of Mil's cock because he could not fit the rest in his mouth, and every time Mattin coughed and stuttered over taking a breath, Arden kissed his shoulder or the base of his spine and continued his readying.

Mattin was alight. He was raw inside without being used, on fire from the tastes he coaxed from Mil's cock and the slide of Arden's fingers. Mattin finally pulled away from the cock meant for his mouth and pushed back onto Arden's hand with a rough snarl. "I'm so hot. You smell good and I'm wet. I'm messy. I'm… I'm empty. I don't like it." His mind was almost clear. He held to his thoughts for another moment, worrying over something, perhaps that he had not said please, perhaps that Arden was right and he wasn't ready for what he would take, but he wanted it. He wanted so much he was roasting with it, so he put his face to the furs and lifted his hips as high as they could go.

"That's more than ready," Mil said in a rasping, sticky sort of a voice, as if he had some of Mattin's slick in his mouth. He dropped Mattin's braid to pet the top of Mattin's head and the back of his neck before he bent over Mattin to kiss his shoulder where Arden had, and then again to kiss Mattin lower, at the base of his spine.

Slick dripped from Mattin when Arden pulled his fingers out. Mattin sobbed for being even emptier than before, and they both kissed him again, mouths close to where they could be, their breath mingling over overheated, wet skin, which did nothing except make Mattin shiver.

Arden was careful, as though he hadn't moved his hand and his damp fingers to Mattin's thigh, then up to tease Mattin's little cock. "Tell us what you want while you still can, dear heart."

Mil slid his fingers into Mattin, bigger than Arden's but welcomed just as readily. They were both on either side of him, nearly behind him, watching Mattin grow wetter, watching him take Mil's fingers and then Arden's again alongside Mil's, Mil fucking in and out and Arden pressing in as if he knew exactly what Mattin wanted despite what he'd asked. He stroked Mattin's cock slowly, and when Mattin began to shake, said, "Tell us," as an order; a real one, no longer pretending to be polite.

Mattin did not hesitate, too hot to even know what a blush was. "Both—" a cry interrupted him, rising to the ceiling, carrying out into the sitting room and perhaps farther. Arden and Mil moved their fingers together, opening him up with wet sounds that left Mattin even hungrier. Needier. Emptier. "—Both of you." He could not even writhe away from the pleasure because Mil held him in place. It would take Mil no effort to do so, even distracted and panting while he and Arden readied Mattin.

They knew what he wanted or they wanted it too. Mattin arched into the pressure, the lust-fever pull that meant his body wanted mess and load upon load of seed and their beautiful cocks pounding into him. He could not bear having that. He couldn't bear not having that. All the while, they did not let up, his Gifted, asking him what he wanted when they knew.

"Both of you." Mattin put his face to the fur and left his lower body to their control. He felt so good, so hot and so empty but so good. They would give him what he needed. "Fuck me."

He demanded it like the Blessed he was and cared only that they obeyed as they should.

Arden was next to him when Mattin opened his eyes, looking so wickedly handsome that Mattin stared at him for a long while before he even realized he was staring. With some confusion, Mattin considered the side of Arden's face and then the fireplace in Mil and Arden's sitting room, currently blazing with a toasty fire. Then he studied the table in front of him, laden with quite possibly every fruit the palace greenhouse had to offer as well as a pot of tea and platter full of sweet buns.

There was a cup of tea before him. Mattin had the vague thought that he'd had some tea already, milkier than he usually drank it, but someone had insisted he needed it.

He supposed he did. He was… very tired.

He turned back to Arden for explanation and then jolted, which made Arden put down whatever he was reading to look at him.

Arden was not just next to him. Mattin was pressed against Arden's side from chest to thigh, and while Arden was dressed in an undershirt and pants, Mattin was not. Mattin was wearing a blanket. Or—he looked down—a large towel, with a blanket thrown over his legs.

He turned to Arden again, who stared back at him, interested and warm despite the shadows beneath his eyes that said he was also tired. His hair was damp, so he must have bathed not long ago, which was when Mattin realized that his hair was wet too but wrapped in another towel.

He left Arden to stare at him with that mortifyingly indulgent expression on his face to glance around the rest of the room, but Mil didn't seem to be there.

Mattin was in their rooms but he wasn't…. He'd come here for help, but he couldn't be post-fever. He was tired and confused and hungry, but nowhere near as worn out as he should be.

"Did you… did you not want me?" That was also mortifying, but it was saying the words that made him aware of his hoarse throat and how the rest of his body was somewhat raw.

Very raw. Sore in places and tingling and sensitive in others. But not aching. Not pained.

He recognized this with wonder, then turned back to Arden.

"Not want you?" Arden clucked his tongue.

"I'm sorry," Mattin apologized immediately. "I've never felt this good befo…" He trailed off at Arden's obviously smug expression. "I've never not hurt the next day," he said anyway because Arden should hear it. He had a feeling his face was red but he still felt the fever enough that it meant nothing. "Thank you. I hope I wasn't too much trouble."

Arden snorted softly, then angled his head so Mattin could better see his neck and the four raised lines that Mattin took several moments to recognize as scratches. Arden lifted one of Mattin's hands and raised it to the spot, where Mattin's fingers lined up perfectly.

"Dear heart," Arden was fondly amused, "you had two Gifted with you and we could barely keep up. Trouble? We are blessed indeed."

"You should see the marks on my backside," Mil announced as he pushed aside the curtains that led to the bedroom to enter the sitting room.

Mattin had a sudden, vivid memory of the bed in that room, the furs covering it clumped and wet with spend and Mattin's slick, Mattin's cheek sliding against a place not yet sullied as Mil plowed into him. Arden's hand had been at Mattin's neck, holding him down, not that Mattin had struggled.

Or had he? Mattin's lips curled with a remembered snarl, and then he heard, "More," in his voice, before hands went to his hips to move him. Arden ordered Mattin to breathe, as if Mattin would ever forget to do that. Then Mattin was shaking out a gasp and gazing up at nothing as he was filled, and filled, and he couldn't move and did not take in air until just before he heard his voice again, commanding, "More," sweet and slow as honey.

Then Mil's remark sank in and Mattin snapped his attention to Mil while Mil calmly took a seat at the table and began to eat.

"I did not scratch your…" Mattin didn't even get a chance to finish before Mil waggled his eyebrows. "Oh no." Mattin turned to Arden, who was no less smug. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." Mil nearly purred it. "Sassed us good and proper too. Kept us in line and focused on our work as surely as any Blessed ought to."

Mattin tried to hold in another protest but a squeak emerged.

"Absolutely ruined one of the blankets," Arden revealed. "Mil wants to display it somewhere."

"Wild little thing under all those fancy vests." Mil sighed happily. "More than I ever expected. Think you about killed me when we ran in and found you like that, Sass."

Mattin should not ask. He knew he should not, because they wanted him to. "Like what?" he asked anyway, blushing so much he could feel it through the fever.

"Naked and hungry." Mil's hot stare held Mattin in place, no matter how much he wanted to duck his head against Arden and never look up again.

"Helped yourself to our bed, which was unexpected," Arden added like someone trying to sound thoughtful but who was just as aroused as Mil was. "But a good surprise. Our pretty Blessed waiting for us. I'm sorry it took us so long to get there, and that I had to be sure you were ready."

Mattin wondered with distant hysteria if they expected him to scold them for it. He supposed he should. That was their role and their duty, or would have been, if he'd ever properly asked them to assist him during his fever before all this.

"I…." He still could not look away from Mil, who eyed Mattin like he was a sweet bun filled with cream. "I doubt you kept me waiting long," he finally said.

The previous images—the memories—were blurred and vague until they suddenly weren't. Mattin's spine went straight as a long, deep pull carried through his body, as if his fever had not entirely faded. But then he thought thosesorts of memories might have made him feel that way no matter what time of year it was.

"‘Ready?'" he asked Arden in a croak. Arden had said he'd made Mattin wait so Arden could ensure he was ready. Mattin's face was flaming because he could imagine how Arden would have determined that, and if Mattin had truly been "naked and hungry" in their bed, he would have also been hot, open, and dripping. "I don't like to discuss the specifics, but I should have already been," he whispered it, "ready."

He shifted in place, not squirming, although it felt like squirming when his thighs rubbed together, and his cock grew hot and throbbing, and he felt… decidedly used, as if he could feel where Arden and Mil's cocks had been inside him. As if he could still feel where they weren't, because he'd been hollowed out and left with a memory that was not enough.

His thighs were, in fact, stinging as if chafed, but also slippery with oil or salve, probably applied by one or both of them at some point to soothe his reddened skin. They might also have given him food or water, although that Mattin did not recall.

He was going to die of embarrassment. He had been unable to care for himself, whining and demanding and apparently scratching them. All the while naked and full of their spend—a great deal of it if they had both repeatedly had him. That was a mess Mattin normally tried to avoid but now he only flushed at the thought and burned while wondering how many times they had taken him in the day or days of his fever. If he had just spread his legs to allow them to rut by the end, if he had moaned for that and they had been indulgent there as well, or if they had been shocked at his wantonness as he continued to make demands and scratch them for responding too slowly.

"You were nearly ready when you got here," Arden explained apologetically, sending a glance to Mil. "But Mil is… large."

Mattin worked his jaw and felt it sore, and looked to Mil as he remembered the stretch of his lips around Mil's cock, then trying his best to get Mil to fuck his throat because he'd been so… Blessed. Mil had watched all the while, his gaze almost exactly like it was now.

Mattin made a noise he could not define.

Mil was abruptly serious. "A fever can make you want things that might pain you later. So Arden wanted to be sure, for your sake and for mine. I'd never hurt you, Sass. Not like that."

"I know," Mattin said immediately. "That's why I lov…" He quickly gulped that back down. "That's why I came here. And you didn't. Hurt me, that is. I don't feel more than…" He had no way to describe the sensation of having apparently been filled so well that he still felt it. No way he was willing to tell them, anyway. Their expressions if he said he was ruined for any others would haunt him almost as much as knowing it was true, and yet they were going to marry someone else. He forced himself to glance to Arden before facing Mil again. "I'm not in pain."

"That's the funny thing," Mil added, a twinkle in his eye that vanished when Mattin crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "Not that I'm laughing at you, Sass."

"He was laughing at us for being surprised." Arden gave Mattin a probing look. "Are you certain you're not in pain?"

"I know what pain is!" Mattin snapped at them without feeling a need to apologize. "And no. Although I am…." He had that sensation again, increasing his desire to shift around and bring his thighs together to better feel where there were no longer any cocks inside him. "I'm…."

The two of them appeared to be hanging off his every word.

Mattin forced himself to be still and hoped they did not look down to the blanket over his lap.

"I can tell I was satisfied," he said primly, putting the twinkle back in Mil's eye and making Arden sigh with pleasure. "You don't need to keep fussing over me."

"He likes fussing over you." Mil snorted. "So do I, for that matter. Thought that at least would be obvious by now."

"He's a little embarrassed, my love," Arden informed his husband. "And perhaps not yet fully aware and awake. Be gentle."

"Gentle?" Mil protested. "I'm the one who got his ass clawed by a wee, sparkly beast!"

"I'm sure I had a reason," Mattin defended himself weakly, not even bothering to be offended about the rest of it.

"You were trying to choke yourself on my cock and I was trying to keep that from happening," Mil answered bluntly, leaving Mattin to contemplate how he had been positioned for that to happen and then precisely what he had been doing to Mil. He sank down against Arden's side before realizing it and trying to pull away.

Arden, who had kept a hold of Mattin's hand, kissed it, stopping Mattin in place. "I think our worry for you outweighed our sense. For that, I am sorry. You are a true Blessed, Mattin Arlylian. You ask for what you can handle and we won't forget again."

"Ask." Mil scoffed quietly to himself.

A demand to know what that meant was on Mattin's tongue but he kept it inside. He stared at Arden, not Mil, since for once, Arden was marginally safer to study. Mattin still didn't understand, but if this fever was like his others, he would remember more as he rested and ate. Although he didn't usually allow himself to linger over his fevered actions unless he had done something particularly strenuous and he had to figure out how he'd injured or exhausted himself.

Arden seemed as if he was waiting for Mattin to pepper him with questions.

Mattin dropped his gaze to Arden's other hand, then cleared his throat. "You're reading?"

Arden gave Mattin's knuckles another peck before turning to his reading with a sigh. "I am sorry for this too, dear heart, but as we didn't exactly get to schedule this ahead of time, I still have some things that must be attended to."

"You're the king," Mattin reminded him foolishly.

Arden merely nodded. "But you should eat, and bathe again if you like."

"I bathed before?" Mattin wondered aloud and caught that twinkle in Mil's eye again.

"He bathed you. Washed your pretty hair for you too," Mil revealed.

"My very great pleasure," Arden assured Mattin, taking a drink of his own morning tea before looking over his reading once more, which was the list of alliance candidates Mattin had left on the table when he had first… when he had stumbled in here and then apparently crawled naked into their bed and demanded to be fucked. Which they had done, and then cleaned him so he wouldn't return to himself in a sticky, itchy body. That was their soap he smelled on his skin instead of his mint or flowers, and yet he didn't mind it. They had cared for him so well.

"I've never felt good before. After my fevers, I mean." It escaped Mattin with the gentlest sigh. Then Mil was sitting next to him, holding up a pastry for Mattin to take, which he did. "Thank you," he told Mil as well. "I wasn't too demanding, was I? I didn't really scratch you? Not deeply?"

"Want to see?" Mil offered with a proud grin. "You can always look later if you'd like another go. Some do in their waning days, but if you're worn out, that's all right. We can wait. And… we might be a little worn out too. Some of us are not as young as we used to be."

"Slightly younger than me and never lets me forget it," Arden complained mildly. "Eat, dear heart," he ordered without looking up.

Mattin ate, stopping only once he was finished to stare at Arden. "‘Dear heart?'"

"You don't care for it?" Arden looked up from the list, a line between his eyes. Perhaps Arden knew some of those nobles already and disagreed with Mattin's choices.

Bright heat flared around Mattin's heart at the idea.

"Seems late to object to the name now," Mil observed, unaware of Mattin's heart and its troubles. "After everything else that was said in our nest."

Our nest. Mattin stared at Mil with wide eyes. "I called it our nest? Oh no," he worried with barely a pause, "what else did I say?" It couldn't be worse than the scratching. It couldn't possibly.

"Ah." Arden put the list down again. "Things said in bed, especially in the heat of a lust-fever, might not reflect real desires out of bed. So if you didn't mean it, we won't hold it against you."

"Fuck you, I'll hold it against him," Mil huffed, then deflated. "No, I won't, Sass, I'm sorry."

"What did I say?" Mattin demanded in his rasping voice, then choked when Arden answered.

"That you love us."

Mattin put his head down and accepted the cup of tea Mil hurriedly pressed into his hands mostly because it gave him something to look at.

Arden was being deliberately reasonable. "If you don't, then we should still discuss the matter. Or if, say, you only love Mil, we should discuss that too."

"Why do you keep suggesting that?" Mil snapped at his husband over Mattin's head. "If he's going to fall for just one of us, we both know it'll be you."

"You're better with people, my love, and a hero, and rather handsome, which you know."

"And you're fucking Arden Canamorra and it's a trial every day of my life to not burst with love for you, so quit acting like our Sass couldn't feel the same."

Mattin raised his head. "‘Our Sass?'"

The sitting room was silent. Then Arden leaned over and put his lips to Mattin's forehead in a soft kiss. "Yes, if you'll agree, dear heart."

Mattin twisted around to see Mil on his other side peering at him almost anxiously.

"There's already such love between you," Mattin said first, then twisted back around to look at Arden. "You have that list! And an alliance that needs to be made!"

Arden gave Mattin a strange look, a cross between puzzled and amused. "I agreed to consider a political alliance with a suitable beat-of-four of your choosing—" Mattin made a small noise as that was not what Arden had agreed to "—because I thought it was wise, and because the country needs peace, and because Mil and I already had our eye on a suitable beat-of-four."

"A pretty thing, despite what he thinks," Mil chimed in. "Bit more used to books than people, or I suspect he'd know that by now. Snippy at times, but in a way that stirs the blood. Smarter than he's got any right to be. And a hungry little Blessed who mewls and begs and demands so sweetly I won't even mind the scars."

"Yet not on this list." Arden looked sad, and it was a trick, it had to be, but Mattin protested anyway.

"Those won't scar," he said of Arden's scratches since he hadn't seen Mil's. "And I'm not on that list because… because…" there was no other way to say it, "you're both heroes, and handsome, and wonderful. I didn't think you'd want…. Arden, I've never even been courted."

"Hmm," Mil interrupted. "You might want to rethink that, Sass. Maybe tomorrow, when your head will be clearer."

"Admittedly, we are older and our methods might be out of fashion. Perhaps I am too much of a Canamorra and act through gestures instead of words." Arden nearly sighed it, as though Mattin wasn't remembering a copy of a copy of a copy of a Canamorra consort at their wedding and the tales of a Canamorra conquering an entire country for them. "Or too subtle," Arden continued, "although if you ask Cael, she will argue we were anything but subtle and I suspect she's right." He hummed, pleased with himself. "Perhaps we should apologize for that, and for possibly scaring off whoever else might have chased after you, but… I don't feel like apologizing for anything today. And if we did scare anyone, it was an accident."

Arden was a tricky liar who didn't do anything accidentally. Mattin didn't call him on it.

"Oh no." Mattin couldn't seem to stop saying it. He started to gesture and Mil had to take the cup from him before he spilled his tea. "That was courting? I thought that was you two being kind about my lonely fevers."

"Mattin," Mil used Mattin's actual name for once, drawing Mattin's attention to him, "courting is about pleasing the other person and giving them things they want or need."

"And spending time with them," Arden added. "Whoever certain nobles thought to have me marry when they suggested an alliance with a beat-of-four, everyone else in the palace knew the most likely candidate was you. Mattin of the Arlylian," Arden pronounced each beat intentionally slow, "you made a charming sight in our nest."

"Be happy to see you return to it when you're in your right mind and freely decide to," Mil continued. "Which could be now or whenever you like. It's your choice, you see. We've made ours."

"My choice?" Mattin echoed. He had never dared to imagine any of this and now they were telling him it was up to him? That he could have them in all the ways he hadn't allowed himself to want?

"Tea?" Mil prompted nervously after several moments of Mattin staring blankly at the fire and struggling to breathe normally. "Something to eat? You don't have to decide now. We can try to convince you some more."

Mattin gave up and hid his face against Arden. The towel in his hair impeded him somewhat, so he impatiently tugged it free and tossed it aside. Arden turned to meet him, using one hand to stroke the top of Mattin's spine beneath the curtain of wet hair, soothing all the little stinging places where bruises might show later.

Mattin heard Mil put down the cup of tea, then shift on the seat, so he reached behind him without looking—it was easier without looking—and awkwardly clasped Mil's hand before he pulled it to his chest.

Arden whispered above him, "Flustered, I think." Mil grumbled in reply but let Mattin keep his hand.

"I wasn't too out of control?" Mattin asked, just to be sure.

Mil's breath was warm in more stinging places. "You were perfect."

Flattery. Mattin sighed for it anyway, then raised his head to look at Arden from very close. "I didn't like making that list. I burned the first one."

"We can burn the second too," Arden suggested without hesitation.

Mattin nodded, then dropped his head back to Arden's shoulder. "I can feel… or rather, I can't feel, where you were. That is to say, I am empty again." He was so hot. His face, his chest, everywhere. "I think I would like another go," he said next, dizzy for making even an implied demand. "If you don't mind."

"‘Mind,' he says," Mil remarked with barely a pause, and tugged his hand free of Mattin's to settle it in Mattin's lap above the blanket. When he realized Mattin was already aroused, he flicked the blanket to the side, then put his hand firmly over Mattin's cock and said, "Ah, Sass," as if breathlessly pleased by how Mattin squirmed against him.

Arden stared down at Mattin's lap and Mattin wanted to squirm for that too, although he was almost afraid to look for himself now that he was nearly feverless. Mil's hand dwarfed his cock, for one. And as for the rest, Mattin imagined his thighs were pink, if not a furious red, and shining with salve. His blood was pounding. Slick welled up inside of him then trickled out, making him shift to get one knee up on the seat so he could get his legs apart. Mil pushed up closer behind him, looming over Mattin in a way that left Mattin shivering with his back against Mil's chest.

Arden watched it all, letting the paper with Mattin's list flutter to the floor somewhere out of sight.

"Are you certain you're not too sore?" he asked while Mil took his hand from Mattin's cock in order to pet the inside of Mattin's thighs. He found what had already leaked from Mattin and made a small noise above Mattin's head.

Mattin hurried to cover himself only to freeze and gaze at Arden with his hand not entirely hiding his stiffening cock from Arden's admiring view.

"Why do you keep insisting I must be sore?" Mattin wondered with less ire than he expected, perhaps because Arden reached down to tug his cock for him, turning as he did so that he could kiss the side of Mattin's neck. Mattin's voice rose on a cry. "Ah, there. I mean… please, there."

"Oh, I know you like kisses here." Arden's tone was mean but he kissed Mattin again as Mattin had requested. "You were very clear with your needs, and it was an honor to fulfill them." He raised his head to bring Mil in for a quick kiss, then gave Mattin's neck more attention, kissing a spot that seemed to have been well-loved already, nuzzled often by someone unshaven and a little rough, because Mattin was sensitive there.

His cry grew louder.

"An honor," Arden was a torment, pausing only to run a palm over Mattin's wet thigh before continuing to tease Mattin's cock, "and a joy."

"Please." Mattin had no idea what he was asking for, except, "More."

"More of what?" Mil slipped his hands over Mattin's backside, spreading Mattin wide before sliding his hands between Mattin's thighs again and forcing them apart when Mattin started to wriggle. "Still hot with some fever. Still rubbed raw all over that soft skin from fucking. But you want more." He didn't seem surprised, but he also did not push his fingers where Mattin might have liked them. "Not feverish enough to demand now, Sass? Or is it that you're too sor…?"

"I wear glass. I am not made of it!" Mattin snarled, seizing Arden by the hair and holding him to his neck, only to gasp when Arden—the king himself but every inch a Canamorra—laughed and bit him.

Mil would not let him rub his thighs together. Mil's thumbs swept back and forth over sensitive places, close enough to make more wetness well up and spill. Mattin felt as if he was bright red with heat. "Did you do this to me before?"

"Tease you on purpose?" Mil huffed, moving a thumb to nearly press inside of Mattin. Nearly, but stopping when Mattin whined. "No. A fever's solely about what the Blessed wants. You without a fever… maybe I want to rile you up a bit. See what I can drive you to."

Arden laughed again with warm affection. "Tell him what to do and he will do it," he confided to Mattin in a whisper that Mil could undoubtedly still hear. "Or do nothing and let us show you what you do to us." He used his teeth again and a spasm went through Mattin so strong that Mil had to hold him up.

"Brute," Mattin said anyway, leaving Arden to do as he wanted… and apparently how Mattin wanted. It was not fair how Arden knew what Mattin liked when Mattin did not and couldn't remember.

"Yes," Arden and Mil said together, as they did so many things together, and Mattin abruptly did know what they had done, at least some of it. What he had demanded they do. What he wanted again now, with his mind clear enough to remember it.

He trembled and flooded an embarrassing amount of slick onto Mil's hands, the spill of it as hot as Mattin was inside. Mil swore. Mattin closed his eyes and fell back against him.

"Gentle brutes," he corrected himself for them, while they bit and groped him and petted over soft, wet skin and kissed him. "Mine." It was a whisper, but they both went still. "My Gifted?"

"Yes," at once and immediate, the two of them speaking as if they knew each other's minds and hearts on the subject and Mattin was the one slow to know the truth.

He was. He blushed for that too, but slid a hand back into Arden's hair and thought of them and understood why he felt marked and carved out inside.

"Then I will have both of you," he continued to whisper, not an order but also not a question, "again. Because we did that, didn't we? In our nest?"

He remained embarrassed but it was difficult to care when they each kissed him; Arden at his neck again, Mil on the top of his head. Mil answered, "‘Course we did." But Mattin wasn't sure he understood.

"At the same time," he further explained, as if they were discussing research he had done for them over breakfast and tea. He knew Arden, if not also Mil, were going to worry, and he reveled in that and frowned about it, and added, "It's why I'm so wet now, you see. I've been thinking of it. What I can remember of it. What I can still feel. I was so hungry and then you took care of me. Will you…?"

He had an arm around his waist and was lifted from his seat before he could blink, and raised his voice in startled protest before he could stop himself. Mil froze at the curtains to the bedroom, making all kinds of outraged noises when Arden began to laugh again.

Mattin was held firmly to Mil's chest, his feet dangling without touching the floor. It was not dignified. But something stirred in his chest, and then lower, to know how easily Mil held his weight.

"Do not say sorry," Mattin told Mil. "But you might have chosen a different method to get me there."

"Impatient," Mil answered gruffly, as though he hadn't already had Mattin over the course of at least one day, probably two, possibly three.

Arden appeared next to them to part the curtains and then Mil swooped Mattin into his arms properly to take him into the bedroom.

The bed was bare of many of the blankets, which were puddled on the floor. But Mattin dropped his face to it the moment Mil set him down, rubbing his cheek over the strong scent of his Gifted and the shockingly abundant scent of his slick.

"There he goes again," Mil remarked, hand to the back of Mattin's head as Mattin nuzzled their nest and then turned to roll in it.

Mattin recalled himself a moment too late, already too warm to feel it but aware he must be blushing furiously. The two watching him only seemed pleased. Smug, even, in Arden's case.

"A good nest then." Arden's tone was beyond satisfied. "It will hold that scent for you all of my days, Mattin Arlylian, if you choose us. And you will never be left hungry."

Mattin, on his knees with Mil moving eagerly behind him, blinked several times. "I could never choose anyone else," he answered, because surely that was obvious, and Mil took hold of his thighs, spread them apart, and put his mouth to use.

Hot, Mattin thought in one startled rush of lust and slick. Mil's mouth was hot.

When Mattin blinked again, dazed and struggling to get his eyes unstuck, he was on his back on the bed, being thoroughly cleaned of his own spend by Mil's tongue, and Arden was smoothing salve over Mattin's thighs as though Mattin was not soaking the bedding beneath him with steady pulses of Blessed-wet.

"Just trust me, dear heart," Arden murmured when he noticed Mattin watching him, then pulled back, taking a handful of Mil's hair as he did to bring Mil up with him. Mil looked rather glassy-eyed.

"Oh," Mattin realized aloud, almost dreamily, "he will do whatever you say." He understood now.

"And you," Arden informed Mattin with relish, then gently pushed Mil toward the head of the bed. Mattin rolled onto his stomach to watch, his legs splayed quite boldly. Happily, without even a hint of a snarl for Arden directing him, Mil went. He sat with his back to the headboard and his legs out. He was naked, as he had not been when this had started, and his cock was….

"Oh," Mattin said again. He could not remember getting a clear look at it before, but his jaw ached at the sight and his recently spent cock throbbed. Mattin realized he had clamped his thighs together.

They were abruptly but gently eased apart by Arden's big, warm hands.

"Still want us both?" Arden spoke above Mattin's ear, working even more salve over the back of Mattin's thighs, which still tingled from the work of Mil's tongue. Eyes on Mil's cock, Mattin didn't stop him. Perhaps the salve was more necessary than he'd realized. "Mattin?" Arden prompted.

"You are my husbands-to-be," Mattin answered, skin prickling with the sudden return of his fever. "Aren't you?"

"Oh yes." Arden patted the curve of Mattin's ass, abandoning the salve to test Mattin's readiness. Mattin flushed but did not object, only whining softly when Arden slid several fingers in him and spread them wide.

Mil watched them, gaze a little unfocused, and put a hand to his cock.

Mattin had to swallow a sudden flood of spit. Likewise, a gush of wet followed Arden's fingers when Arden momentarily withdrew them. Arden pushed it back into him, giving Mattin's ass a little kiss when Mattin shifted up onto his knees to make it easier for him.

Mattin kept his gaze on Mil and Mil's hand working Mil's cock.

"But you're both so pretty," Mattin remarked, voice hitching.

"Pretty?" Arden carefully withdrew his fingers, then put his slippery hands to Mattin's waist and lifted him. He set him back down in Mil's lap and let Mil keep him upright. Mattin had to stretch to straddle Mil's legs, the salve easing the way only slightly.

Mil was large, and hot, and smelled of nest and Mattin's slick and he held Mattin easily while he positioned him. He filled Mattin a moment after that in one long, smooth push, while Mattin shuddered and tried to be still but couldn't. It didn't hurt but he couldn't breathe with the pressure. Mil's cock seemed to keep going and he would not allow Mattin to squirm. Mattin took, and took, and could not stop a long, desperate moan when Mil was finally deep within him.

"That is pretty," Arden said from somewhere behind Mattin.

Mattin, arched and trembling, turned his head to see Arden naked, all dark skin and hair and scars from when he had died. He reached out and Arden came to him, letting Mattin press his hand against his mouth and trying to soothe him with kisses to the top of his head, although he couldn't know why Mattin was upset.

Mil might have, tipping his head up in a way that Arden interpreted as asking for a kiss, which he gave him. Mattin watched closely, and when it was over and Mil's gaze met his, Mattin stretched to kiss Mil too. Arden was theirs and had died. Mil had seen it happen. He should have kisses.

"Beautiful." Arden's hands slid to Mattin's hips as he knelt next to them on the bed. "Look at him, my love." Mil was already looking at Mattin, gripping him tightly and inching up instead of taking him properly. "He doesn't need your care now. Do you, dear heart? You want him to fuck you?"

"Yes." Mattin brought a hand up to pet Mil's mouth, then dropped it to his chest. He started to rock back against Mil's small thrusts, making Mil hiss and grip him tighter.

Arden was as pleased as a Canamorra with a crown in his hands. "Then demand it like the Blessed you are."

Mattin put both hands to Mil's chest and scratched a trail through the hair. "Mil—"

It was all he got out.

Mil moved him as if Mattin was no more than a pillow, fucking into Mattin's slight body by pulling him down, then lifting back up to take his cock again. Mattin was split open, burning inside with slippery heat and friction and outside with distant, already fading embarrassment at the sounds he made and how easily Mil used him.

And Arden watched, stroking his hard cock when Mattin glanced to him, salve on his fingers as if he did not trust Mattin's slick alone for this. But he came forward when Mattin called his name and he guided Mattin's mouth to his cock without being told and held him there, careful but unrelenting. With a groan, Mil stopped thrusting into Mattin. He ground up instead, lighting Mattin's every nerve on fire. Mattin could not suck and moan at the same time, but he tried, failing without concern because Mil did not stop and Arden tangled a hand in his hair and hummed a compliment about his mouth.

Mattin would have kept going, ashamed and thrilled to be ashamed, because he was not lost in a fever, not completely, but he was wild and they didn't care. They liked him this way and wanted to see him even more so.

For that, he eventually stopped, gasping for air and licking his swollen lips and watching Arden with heavy-lidded eyes while Mil teased his cock and pressed insistently inside of him. "Later," Mattin decided in a throaty, husky voice, making Arden's gaze light up. "I want to do this again later. But you know what I want now."

Arden nodded. "We do. Lean forward, dear heart, and remember to breathe."

"Fuck," Mil said fervently, but took hold of Mattin's thighs.

Arden seemed to take forever to get behind Mattin, and paused once finally there to move Mattin's hair to the side so he could kiss the top of his spine. He put a hand on Mattin's hips and pushed down to hold Mattin still. Mil tightened his grip. Then Arden began to guide the head of his cock into Mattin and Mattin was….

Burning. Not breathing, then breathing in sharply when Mil reminded him, tense with worry.

Mattin had been prepared. His body was still somewhat fever-ready, a faint trickle of slick escaping the tight clutch of his body only to be brushed back over the hot skin by Arden. All the while, Arden did not stop.

Mattin panted, desperately pulling in air now that he'd remembered to, then, all at once, just when it was too much and Mattin nearly cried out for them to stop and his hands tightened and pulled at Mil's chest, he exhaled softly and slowly and deliberately, and he sank into the sensation of full, of complete, and tight, and almost, almost pain.

"That's it, Mattin-blessed. Dear heart. That's it. Let us in at last." Arden kissed his neck again. Arden kept kissing his neck, breathing hard, his hands clamped down to keep Mattin from moving.

"Fuck, Sass. You feel…. He's not fever-loose, not like—fuck. Sass? You breathing?" Mil was petting Mattin's thighs, anxious and yet still so hard inside him. Both of them were so hard inside him.

"Incredible," Mattin said faintly at last, drawing a small, relieved puff of air from Arden. Mattin opened his eyes, unconcerned with how long they had been closed, to stare at Mil. Mil gazed hotly back at him, biting his lip in his effort not to move.

Mil said, "Arden," in a choked voice. Then, "Sass," when Arden urged Mattin in a whisper to kiss him. The kiss was clumsy, open-mouthed, but Mattin didn't mind. Didn't care except to have Mil close and then Arden close too, no longer doubting him. Mil twitched up, just once, jarring Mattin into a groan, and then they were moving, or Mattin was, it didn't matter which. He was aching and full and ruined, bruised very possibly, with how they both held him. He was wet and his thighs burned. He could not take any more and then he could.

"Sass," Mil said again, bright-eyed and pretty.

"More," Mattin answered against his mouth, shuddering as it was given to him.

Mattin was Blessed. He kissed Mil messily and whined high and pleased when Mil reached between them to find his cock. Arden kissed up the side of his neck and down to his shoulder, fingers trailing to where Mattin was stretched until Mattin keened and nearly pleaded for him to stop. but Mattin was on fire as he welcomed them, pained and not-pained, wet and slick and hot because the fae had made him so. They had given him this, he realized, finally understanding why the Blessed were called what they were called.

"An honor," Arden said, a groan between the words, "and a joy."

"Please," Mattin answered, barely able to speak with how full he was. He tipped his head up and closed his eyes to do nothing more than feel his Gifted please him. And they were. His Gifted. He allowed himself the growl. "More."

His husbands-to-be obeyed.