Chapter Seventeen

There was some cleanup involved when they finally separated. Since Fox’s legs were unsteady and he was not leaving the room with rags in his hair, Conall was forced to fetch water and a towel. Fox managed to wipe himself up but not much more than that, and found himself rudely pushed and prodded into lying with his head on a pillow instead of partially hanging off the bed.

Conall didn’t bother with blankets, nor did he probably need to except in the depths of winter. He settled beside Fox in the dark with a long, satisfied exhale and then should have fallen asleep immediately. Fox had a wonderful hum in his blood and should have done the same.

He was on his side facing away from Conall. The tip of Conall’s tail lay against the small of his back. “Foxlike?” he wondered.

“Mm.” That could have meant anything, which was likely why Conall elaborated a moment later. “I don’t speak much of old Kaskan but that’s well known. Foxlike and cunning is our clan.” His sigh was almost sad. “What was the name of the family who rules where you’re from? I might be able to tell you the meaning.” He paused. “Are any of them at court? That must have been uncomfortable for you.”

Fox laughed a little without meaning to. “Most of us commoners do not dream of meeting the nobles who claim dominion over us. Most don’t even want to—it’s nothing but trouble. Anyway… I don’t know.” He considered it but there was nothing in his memory. “I was young when I was there, and no one would have discussed the local nobles with me even if they’d been thinking of them. Then I left and had no one place that was mine.” He never knew whether to be suspicious or not when Conall went quiet. It might mean courtly tact. It might also mean Conall thinking things he had no business thinking. “I wasn’t abandoned or mistreated, Conall. My parents had a farm and there was sickness and they died. I don’t remember the name of their farm. I was too young to work it. Too young to care for myself either, so the people on the neighboring farms took me in. One after another, whenever they had the food and space to spare. But there were bad years, and they all had many mouths to feed, and I was never meant to toil in a field. So I found my own way. Which led me here. The story is only unusual in that I ended up at court.”

“How old were you when your parents died?” The bed creaked as Conall moved. Fox suspected he was trying to get comfortable without crowding Fox off the bed. The struggles of being built like a tree.

“Eight or nine or so.” Fox frowned at the shadows. “My bearer gave me a wooden flute; my first instrument. My other parent taught me kitchen work.”

“You can cook?”

He did not appreciate Conall’s astonishment. “Some foods, yes. Though it’s not something I speak of here. I’d rather not deal with more sneers than I already do.”

Conall shifted again, rolling onto his side, which put more space between them. “It’s not solely because you aren’t byr, you know. That would have made you a target but it’s not what scares them. It’s that you captivated him and then he didn’t treat you how he’s treated so many others.”

“Yes, he did.” Fox raised his head from the pillow. “You were there,” he reminded Conall tightly. “I was discarded like the rest.”

“No. You were in his bed for a long time, and then one of the rare few invited to stay close… as close as he allows. That scares them because they truly don’t know where to put you. They don’t know where he puts you. Above them, almost certainly. But that sort of power in the hands of…”

“A jumped-up street musician,” Fox finished when Conall hesitated.

“And you don’t use that power as they would.” Conall exhaled hard enough for Fox to feel it through the nightshirt. “Which is probably another reason why he favors you still… although not enough.”

Fox slowly lowered his head to the pillow. “You talk about Domvoda like you know him well.”

“I didn’t always look like this,” Conall remarked, and judging from his stillness, was taken aback by how quickly and coldly Fox snapped, “Is there something wrong with how you look now?”

Then, of course, Fox caught up with what Conall was telling him—in the worst way possible—and went quiet. “Oh,” he said at last, “you too?”

“Domvoda and I are the same age and from two very old families. We’ve known each other almost all our lives. Of course we did, although he wasn’t king then. He wasn’t… like he is now. He was happier.”

“So he keeps you around. Close but not too close.” Fox considered that, or would in the future. At the moment, he thought of other things. “You played the fertile for him?” Conall got wet too, but not like someone eager to be filled. He’d shown no inclination for that with Fox. Fox didn’t know if he was bothered by that or not.

The bed creaked again, perhaps from Conall shrugging. “Once or twice. It was pleasant enough. But you have the wrong idea.” The bed was silent but suddenly Conall was whispering into Fox’s ear. “He squealed quite prettily on my knot.” He buried his nose in Fox’s hair while Fox gasped. “Although he fought the pleasure. Even then, he worried about people witnessing him in moments of weakness. What he would call weakness. I would call it choking my knot on that tight hole and frowning furiously while begging for more but…”

“Conall!” Fox stopped him there, half scandalized, half aroused. Domvoda was not beautiful but he was forceful and attractive. Conall was huge and very happy to let his partners ride his cock until they’d exhausted themselves. It was a compelling image. Fox had to take several moments with it. Then he cleared his throat. “But I squeal the prettiest?”

Conall let out a small puff of surprised laughter. “You don’t squeal. You shout and plead and feel it all.” He nuzzled Fox’s hair again and Fox couldn’t be bothered to scold him for disturbing the curls. “I’ve never had sweeter.”

“Liar,” Fox chided, but preened inside at the rough note in Conall’s voice.

“Never had sweeter,” Conall insisted, no less rough. “Domvoda…” he paused, and of whatever he might have said, chose to murmur only, “is a fool for giving you up.”

Fox lay still and quiet while that warmed him, then turned abruptly, giving Conall no warning or chance to pull back.

“You’re very chatty for someone who has a tournament to win in the morning,” he observed. “I seem to recall you having no problem falling asleep the last time I was in your bed. Are you worried about the tournament and what others might say?” Fox wouldn’t have considered that before, the Dragonslayer feeling fear over something like malicious courtiers, but Conall had remarked on how others saw him, so clearly it did bother him. Maybe not as much as it might bother someone else, but Conall heard and remembered. The other byr had gleefully shared that this was likely to be Conall’s last tournament, his final chance to be publicly recognized for his skills and abilities outside of the song he detested. He would have heard that too.

Conall’s tail landed over Fox’s hips, a nice, steady weight. “Perhaps I’m too excited, thinking of my prize.”

Fox did not think he was speaking of the money. “Roll over,” he said, breathless again.

The moment Conall obeyed, his silence significant enough to mean he had questions, Fox scooted in to curve his body around Conall’s, his chest to Conall’s back. He reached over Conall’s bulk to find Conall’s cock and didn’t waste any time pretending he wasn’t going to stroke him off.

“So you will sleep,” he bit out against Conall’s shoulder. “And then win.”

“And claim my prize,” Conall replied around a quiet groan. “Should I consider myself as having the Fox’s favor?”

“Shut up,” Fox smiled into his skin, “or you’ll have my favor all over your back before too long.”

Conall’s answer was another low groan and the restless smack of the tip of his tail over Fox’s side as Fox pleasured him.

When Fox stirred again, the room was dark but the window offered enough light to tell him the sun was thinking about rising. Conall was a large outline moving soundlessly through the room, not so much as stubbing a toe on Fox’s trunks as he prepared for his day.

He must have already removed any armor or tools he might need from the room and would probably go downstairs to bathe before getting dressed, leaving Fox to sleep.

Fox debated calling to him or getting up to offer him a kiss for luck, but uncertainty kept him silent. He watched Conall head to the door, then stop at the small table to take something. Conall was gone in the next second, shutting the door behind him without a sound in that way of his.

Fox closed his eyes again, chiding himself over the lost opportunity for another kiss, although any kiss between them might have turned into more, which would not have helped Conall. It was best that Fox had stayed still and let Conall steal the lock of his hair before going on his way.

Fox sat up to blink into the darkness.

Conall had taken a lock of his hair.

There were several possible reasons for someone to do that, but only one that made sense for Conall to do. It was the first day of the King’s Tournament… of Conall’s final King’s Tournament, and favors were said to bring good fortune. Conall had even mentioned them the night before. He’d been thinking of them, even if he hadn’t asked Fox for one.

Fox had seen favors handed out by byr, and occasionally by a maid or gardener or stable hand, to grant luck to their chosen knight. Mostly bits of cloth or ribbon, but often locks of hair meant to be worn close to the heart.

He pulled the pillow from beneath his head so he could wrap his arms around it and hide his face in the top. Then he made all the sounds he wanted to make while his tail swished wildly about and his cheeks grew hotter.

Fifteen forever for one knight who had no idea what he’d done.