4

"Happy. Cared for."

"Loved?"

Antero turned to face him.

Strong curiosity colored the question, but no bitterness.

"That doesn't seem to be my fate, unless you say otherwise."

Melis' hands became fists as he briefly pummeled the air in frustration at human stubbornness.

He stalked closer to the window in the hopes that cooler air could calm him and glared at the wind-swept sea.

"I will find you a husband and a beloved,"

he said through gritted teeth, vexed enough to come dangerously close to a vow he might not be able to fulfill.

"Or at least a husband who is not indifferent to you, and who might develop affection for you in the regular way.

A hero, maybe, who should be courageous enough to see your quality without flinching from it.

Warm feeling will be sure to grow. You are a fertile garden waiting only for…"

"A bee to ensure flowers?"

Antero finished for him, a hint of amusement in his voice like… like The Fair-Shaped herself, who forever knew more than she would say.

But his resignation quickly returned.

"Finding a suitable match for any king is a significant request.

A friend who is not family or a subordinate would do. Even,"

hesitation from Antero was unnatural and uncomfortable, "even an occasional visitor, at night when I am alone, would be a kindness."

Melis immediately scoffed.

"Crumbs.

You must have more than that, rare one."

Antero spoke as if wounded, though his desires stayed warm.

"I don't think others view me as you do, Melis."

Melis scoffed again and scowled at the sea that had not wronged him.

"I think they do and are afraid of their own weakness."

"And yet,"

Antero must have decided to step closer to where he believed Melis to be, because his words grew louder, "crumbs are what you allow for yourself.

If I am the only one to ever praise you properly, you must be very lonely."

Melis shrugged that away as much as he could.

"They think I stand in the way of their desires, even when I don't.

That's how it is, even with the elders."

"Elders?"

Antero prompted.

"Gods."

Melis tried to shrug that away too, leaving his feathers ruffled.

"The ones greater than me."

Which was nearly all of them.

"They say I am small and spiteful, call me a wasp and a bee for the stings of rejection and failure I dole out, as though they don't kill out of pique or on a whim.

The Ever-Present makes bets with his husband on human fates."

Running his mouth would likely cost Melis if he was overheard.

He glanced around before letting his gaze linger on Antero.

"Kano the Satisfied, known as Indulgence,"

who would surely would tell Melis to take Antero to sate this new hunger, "believes they are frightened of me."

Antero regarded the air where Melis stood.

"Is there a reason they shouldn't be? Love makes fools of even gods."

"Love?"

Melis stepped back, bumping first into the edge of the window, then the wall beside it because he couldn't take his eyes from Antero.

"That's not my domain.

Many speak of that when they really mean lust, which is a desire—the one most think of.

Many also wish for friends or bedpartners or a spouse. But those are things—people,"

he amended his words quickly so as not to offend the human in the room with him.

"They're not… I do not rule hearts.

I can only bring them together, the rest….

I couldn't guide them if I wanted to, or teach them anything of…"

he was compelled to whisper the word, "love.

I don't know it."

"Ah."

Antero bent his head, considering the floor for a moment before glancing to Melis.

"May I help you there, my Melis?"

Melis gasped, although if Antero was his claimed favorite, it was his right to call Melis his.

His god as Melis wouldn't be for anyone else.

"Sex is a part of love for many, for me,"

Antero added that almost thoughtfully.

"And sometimes even an expression of it.

But sex can also be had without love or outside of it.

But I imagine the rush of infatuation can make people confuse the two. And, at least from what the poems say, love and physical passion can be intertwined, one heightening the other. Love means finding joy in another person and them finding joy with you—wanting you to be happy, however that is. I've wanted someone to listen, and someone to listen to and share burdens with. A husband, as you rightfully said. I want that—and smiles. Smiles must also be shared, but that is part of joy, is it not? That is—that would be—bliss."

"I don't deal in bliss,"

Melis informed him tightly.

"I might stick two soulmates in a confined space and leave them there to find each other, but they must work for bliss on their own.

And even with part of their soul standing in front of them, far too many don't."

Antero raised his head.

"Is that how even gods end up unhappy? Or do you cause that?"

Melis crossed his arms as he glanced away.

"I may have, once or twice, steered an immortal to what they insisted they wanted though I knew it would leave them miserable."

The admission brought some warmth back to Antero's gaze.

"And the happy stories? Princesses rescued from abandonment and death by enamored gods who dote on them for eternity and the like?"

"I might have helped those along."

Melis did not enjoy blushes.

"But only for the gods I like.

It still doesn't mean I granted them love."

"You don't know it,"

Antero said, warmth rising in his thoughts as well as his gaze.

"So there is no beloved waiting for you in your palace?"

The sea under the moon's light was actually quite beautiful.

It didn't compare to Antero in the moonlight, but was far safer despite the creatures lurking beneath the waves.

"I don't have a beloved."

Melis was the smallest, most pathetic of gods.

He might as well own to it.

"Or a palace.

What home is there for me among the realms of the gods, anyway? Desire is everywhere. I do visit them sometimes… mostly the palace of The Fair-Shaped."

"As a lover?"

Fire raged through Antero, then was gone.

Melis should have laughed at the idea as The Fair-Shaped certainly would have.

But the flames of Antero's jealousy had left his mouth dry.

His voice rasped.

"More as Mother."

"Oh,"

Antero said, swallowing something else Melis couldn't catch in time.

Discomfort lurked in Antero's mind alongside something like clean, soft wool.

Fondness, it might have been.

A new affection though Melis didn't know what he'd said that might have caused it. Antero gave Melis' approximate location a study. "So where do you go to be at ease if you have no palace or realm of your own? Where do you sleep, as even gods sometimes do?"

Gods slept more for pleasure than need, but Melis supposed a human would ask that.

They were so vulnerable while asleep that it often worried the ones caught outside or among strangers.

"If I sleep, I sleep wherever I am.

I would make a palace if I needed one, but it would be a building occupied only by me and the sound of the wind."

Melis didn't know why that would earn him another study and then a frown.

"That bothers you?"

"Forgive me, Melis, but you seem…"

"What?"

Melis demanded. "Lonely?"

He stepped away from the wall with his wings partly extended, the wind roaring through the window to lift and tangle the curtains around the bed.

"What do you know of it? You with your family, and your home, and your people who love you? I could answer every wish that comes to me and people would still hate me when their dream goes wrong, or for the wishes not granted even though those wishes would have led to suffering or pain.

Longing is what makes a fulfilled desire all the better—or worse, but they are meant to learn from that.

They are meant to feel it all and because of that they do not like me! No one likes me, I…."

Melis took a breath.

Antero watched him, braced against the wind, relaxing only when the wind subsided.

Melis sighed and shut his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Longing can hurt. It can hurt even the one who is meant to rule over it."

"It doesn't have to hurt,"

Antero whispered, closer than before.

Melis opened his eyes and had not even a moment to pull his hands down to his sides and step back before Antero was directly in front of him.

Antero tipped his head down, clearly tracking the sound of breathing to tell him where Melis' face was.

He inhaled through his nose and smiled crookedly when he must have found the scent of roses.

Melis curled his fingers into his palms.

This close, with his wings brushing the stone wall and the window to one side, Antero seemed the only warm thing in the world.

"I cannot touch you.

I don't want to bring you more pain."

The warning might have been more effective if Melis could have spoken above a whisper or kept the tremor from his voice.

Antero leaned ever closer, his lush mouth near Melis' cheek.

His gaze went behind Melis, and Melis realized he was listening to the constant shiver of his wings.

"God of Desire, are you trembling because I nearly have you in my arms?"

"Yes."

Melis chose not to lie.

"But I still don't understand."

"What is it you don't understand?"

Antero's soul was a growing bonfire the longer Melis allowed him close.

He had to know what he'd done.

Even Indulgence might mock Melis for his ignorance, yet Melis did not believe Antero would.

"I don't know what I'm doing here.

Will you tell me?"

"You said you came to see me,"

Antero answered with some pride, but then paused, his head slightly tipped to one side as he reconsidered either the question or his response.

"Do you see everyone you decide to help?"

"Of course not."

Only after Melis had said it did he realize Antero had guessed that before he'd asked.

But Antero was gentle in victory.

"Do you need to see those you help?"

This time, Melis held onto his answer, hesitating. "No,"

he admitted softly at last, and the brave heart before him blazed with hope.

"You wanted to see me."

This, Antero did not ask.

"I'd listened to you for so long,"

Melis confessed.

He'd spoken of it often to The Fair-Shaped.

Too late, he understood why she'd looked so knowing before he'd last left her.

He swallowed, then added, quieter, "I told myself I didn't need to, but I wanted to."

"As if I were your desire before you ever knew me?"

Antero said, almost breathless, and inched closer after Melis turned toward him, startled.

His lips nearly brushed Melis' temple, the tip of his nose glanced over a rose petal.

"Stung by stories of me, though I was here alone, waiting for your touch?"

Melis clenched his hands so tightly he felt pain.

"I can't.

Faithful, if I touch you, I might create desires where there aren't any."

Antero's breath was damp and warm, but it was his lips against Melis' ear that left Melis shuddering.

"Silly boy,"

he murmured—no, purred, as if humans could do that, "do you feel a shortage of desires from me?"

Melis' breath hitched painfully in his chest, not that pain could stop him from tilting his head to keep Antero's mouth close to his skin.

"I am a god,"

he reminded Antero unsteadily.

"A silly god,"

Antero agreed, soft against Melis' jaw, "who will not touch me though he knows he could."

Melis groaned.

The brief press of Antero's lips silenced him.

"Am I permitted to touch you?"

"I…."

Melis had never stammered like this, struggling for each word with his voice high and nervous.

"No one's ever…"

Antero's mouth brushed his. "Hush,"

he ordered lightly, skimming his hands down Melis' chest, the tunic ensuring Melis couldn't feel much more than a tantalizing hint of warmth.

It didn't matter; merely that, and Melis' cock began to fill.

Embarrassment made him squirm.

"I'm sorry,"