Chapter 5

LAUREL WAS ALREADYvery accustomed to tuning out family conversations during dinner, even when he didn't have so many more pressing things to ponder. As a result, his mind was miles away from the formal place settings and the polished mahogany, even as he speared a vegetable and brought it to his mouth. Should he have offered up an argument to Ash's suggestion that they meet again tomorrow? Was it too soon? Would he seem too eager?

He wasn't eager, he assured himself. Or if he was, it was only directed at the happening itself, and not the person he'd be navigating it with. Not that he hated Ash or anything. It would be nonsensical for him to hate the person he was, albeit begrudgingly, depending on to help him. But he certainly didn't buy into the healer's misguided fantasy about how they were destined to be together, not for a moment.

And no matter how clear he'd made himself on that front, the moron only continued to pelt him with relentless, insistent optimism. Again, he was reminded of a golden retriever. He wondered if there was anything rude enough he could say that would dash that terminally delightful attitude, but found he didn't enjoy the imagined outcome. Annoying as the auburn-haired male was, the thought of actually hurting his feelings, which seemed like an impossible task anyway, didn't appeal to him at all.

"Malory's getting married."

The one name, besides perhaps his own, that could pierce his self-imposed bubble of separation and drag his consciousness back into the voices around him sounded in his head like a warning. Crashing back down to the present, Laurel stared at his vatra, waiting for a continuation to his statement. Helio, a cool-headed and sometimes cold-blooded business executive, stared back at him.

Helio had been the favored youngest son in a wealthy family of three children, but privilege had never tempted him to be soft, or lazy. As a result, his expectations for his peers, and especially his children, were sky high. Though he'd been permitted to date freely, and to choose his own spouse, he'd agreed to marry a soft-spoken, fair-faced sorcerer from several kingdoms away. Not only because Minael met his requirements in terms of superior genetics and a pleasant personality, but because the idea of meeting a partner on his own, courting them, had seemed a terrible waste of his time and energy. He'd yet to regret the decision, and had never mused on what his life may have been like had he gone down another path.

"He proposed last week, on a vacation they'd taken to Whitestead Key."

Whitestead Key was a tropical island rife with luxury resorts and opulent shopping and dining. It was a very generic and predictable sort of place to become engaged, in Laurel's opinion, but he kept the thought to himself and only gave a hum of acknowledgment.

"Necia was so excited," Minael remembered with a sigh, referring to Malory's mother, a longtime friend of theirs. "Already they've picked a date for the wedding. She gave me our invitation by hand today."

"Malory's fiancé plays the flute in your orchestra, doesn't he, Ingrid?" Helio questioned. "What do you think of him?"

"Ah," Ingrid faltered, glancing guiltily at her brother. She'd never mentioned him to Laurel, had never seen a reason to. "Avi is, um, very nice. He plays very well," she added diplomatically.

Though he'd lowered his eyes to the table, Laurel could feel Helio's gaze boring into him. Irritation snapped to life, and he raised his face, meeting his vatra's dark brown eyes. "I can see you're wanting something from me. Why don't you just tell me what you expect, so I can perform for you, and we can move on?"

"To be frank, Laurel, I was hoping to avoid your melodrama by warning you in advance that we've been invited and plan on attending the ceremony. You have a tendency to overreact to these things."

"Do you feel I'm overreacting in this moment?" Laurel wondered coolly, leaning back in his seat.

"I can see you're determined to play the victim here, but you only have yourself to blame if you're upset at the prospect."

"Do I sound upset?"

"Yes," Helio answered, just as coolly. "I believe you do."

As if to punctuate his vatra's observation, Laurel's fingers audibly crackled with poorly repressed energy. With a painstakingly deliberate motion, he pulled his hand down from the table into his lap to hide it from view.

"Malory can marry whomever he wants, and breed a dynasty, for all I care. Go to the wedding. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself."

"Undoubtedly," Helio agreed. "You're welcome to come, of course. Despite how things ended up, Malory seems to hold nothing against you."

"I would rather eat a live tarantula, but thank you very much for the offer."

Though put off by the conflict between his husband and son, Minael was very much used to it by this point in his life. Laurel's bitter stubbornness had, of course, come to him naturally by way of Helio's own refusal to ever swallow his pride. They could be like brick walls, impassable and unbending. At times, it felt impossible for him to navigate between them. Having grown from an agreeable, biddable child into a congenial adult, Minael wished he had more experience dealing with the turbulent emotions that seemed to rule his son's personality.

"You… Won't be hurt, if we go, then?" Minael asked, to be sure, his pale brows drawn together as he watched Laurel carefully for his reaction.

"I'm not hurt." Laurel said. "Necia and Kauril are your friends. It's normal for you to go." And because he felt pushed to the edge already by Helio, he lashed out with a statement he would come to regret later when he replayed the conversation in his mind. "Obviously you won't be blessed with the excitement they're experiencing until Ingrid finds a spouse, so perhaps this can tide you over until then. I'm going out." He shoved his chair back, letting his fork clatter to his plate with an angry ring, storming out.

"Laurel," Ingrid rose from her seat, intending to follow him, but was halted by Helio's authoritative order for her to sit.

THE SOFTLY LITnight was a mocking contrast to the hot burst of anger bubbling inside him as Laurel made his way up the craggy cliffs behind his home. As he ascended, the wind picked up speed to whirl around him, sending tendrils of his hair whipping around his face.

When his legs began to burn with the effort of the climb, he let himself collapse onto the soft blanket of flourishing grass. The last lingering chills of winter clung tightly in the air, unwilling yet to give way to spring, but it wasn't terribly cold. Still, Laurel curled into himself, hugging his knees to his body.

Sharp whips of magic slammed up against his defenses, trying to rip out of him. To his surprise, despite the swirling storm of hatred and shame and resentment inside him, he could very nearly hold them back. But because he was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by lush, healthy grass, the spurts of flame that managed to wriggle from his grasp were ultimately harmless to everything but himself.

Of course Malory was getting married. Why wouldn't he be? He wasn't a damaged product. He wasn't plagued with sweaty nightmares and complexes and wounded pride and instability. Nausea curled like distended claws in his stomach, and he shuddered, willing the need to vomit back.

ON ANOTHER SOFTLYlit night, many moons before, on their way back to Malory's house from the castle, Laurel fretted. He tended to fret anytime his two worlds, Malory and his friends, collided even for the span of a few hours. The disapproval from both sides was palpable, so as a result he felt stretched thin already, weak and tense.

They'd taken a carriage on the way back, as Laurel preferred to do. The night air soothed him a little, but not as much as Malory's arm around his shoulders. A bit lightheaded from the drinks he'd had, the sound of hooves beating the ground coupled with the gentle rocking of the carriage had Laurel falling into a deep sleep, curled into Malory's side.

He awoke with a start, flailing for a moment as his body transitioned from being held in Malory's arms to his bed. Mind still hazy with sleep and drink, he struggled a bit as the older male's body covered his.

Eyes adjusting to the dim light with a rapid urgency, Laurel took in the familiar surroundings of Malory's bedroom. "I-I thought you wanted to take me home."

"I changed my mind."

"Your parents-"

"They're asleep. It's late." Malory's mouth was fiercely hot on his, pulsing with demand. Though he usually enjoyed their kisses, and didn't mind when Malory's desire for him seeped out in them, the urgency of the man's tongue on his was alarming.

"Wait."

"Don't give me that tonight, Laurel," Malory warned him, voice and eyes rough with lust. And anger, Laurel realized with a lick of fear in his stomach.

"Why are you angry?"

"Do you believe I can't see what your little friends think about me? Do they try to turn you against me?"

"N-no," he lied, shaking his head. "You're different, but-"

"But you love me."

"Yes. Yes, you know I do."

"And you belong to me."

"Yes." He struggled, but almost timidly, as if he couldn't bear to counteract his words by denying Malory's possessive groping. "But I…" His sentence cut off with a gasp as his pants were dragged down his legs and tossed aside. Adrenaline pumped through him, rushing a rosy blush to the surface of his skin, unwittingly fueling the older male's desire for him even more. Fear was overwhelming in its intensity, urging him to flail and scream and defend himself. But Malory's soft voice, such a terrifyingly stark contrast to his roughly probing hands, trickled in, leaving him conflicted.

"Show me with actions, not words."

"Malory, please. I'm begging you not to do this."

He stilled, and for one blissfully naive moment, Laurel thought he'd gotten through to him. The sounds of their panting filled up the dark room. But the older male's erection pulsed against his naked thigh, an emphatic declaration.

"If you're mine, then we're doing this my way."

The feeling of saliva-slicked fingers hurriedly probing him shot spears of ice up through his guts, his mind so blank with shock he could hardly process the repulsive sensation, let alone react. His virginity was taken brutally, in one merciless stroke. With his slim wrists braceleted in one of Malory's larger hands, Laurel's body bucked involuntarily, seeking escape with more fervor than he could ever explain. It hurt so badly, he wondered if he would live through it. He wasn't sure he even wanted to live through it. It was like having a knife, pulled straight from a flame, plunged between his thighs.

Even through the absolute shock and unspeakable pain of it, there was a dim corner in his brain that seemed unaffected, that could observe the situation with objectivity. That part of his brain was grateful when Malory's hand covered his mouth, harshly stifling his cries as his body plunged and pumped ceaselessly. He didn't want Kauril and Necia waking up, checking on them, seeing him like this.

Finally, Malory's ragged breaths gradually turned to groans, hot and damp against his ear, and it was over. But even though the worst was done, the feeling inside him was indisputable proof that the man he loved had taken pleasure from the most agonizing and degrading experience of his life. And that was almost worse, he thought, than the pain itself. Worse than the excruciating invasion of his body. That Malory would, that he even could derive enjoyment from that feeling. What kind of person could do that?

When Laurel's incessant trembling eventually disturbed Malory's limp, contented state, he raised himself up on his elbows to stare down into the younger male's face. As he'd done so many times before, he framed his face, using his thumbs to wipe streaks through the trails of wetness on Laurel's cheeks. The tenderness in the gesture bled into Laurel's skin, spread through him to mingle with the throbbing ache in his core.

Malory apologized, meaningfully. It was only that he'd been waiting so long, and he'd been so worried that Laurel was planning to leave him. How could he feel any different, having to sit among the sorcerer's tight-knit group of friends, judging him, looking down on him?

When finally, after so many remorseful excuses and pleading justifications, he gently scooped Laurel's body up into his arms to cradle him, the tears had mostly stopped their silent flow. Carding his fingers through the younger male's golden hair, Malory placed soft kisses on his cheeks, his closed eyelids, and finally his lips. When Laurel's shaky hand lifted to his shoulder, hesitantly squeezing, he very nearly let his lips curve into a triumphant grin, but held back the urge.

It had been stupid and counterproductive to let his control slip, Malory thought. Satisfying, but ultimately stupid. It was true that he'd been courting the spoiled brat for months now, longer than anyone could reasonably expect to wait for sex. But still, if Laurel had only been a little less pathetic, he'd have ruined the foundation he'd built over those months anyway.

Knowing this was the moment, when the tears were dried, and that he would accept comfort from anywhere, even from the person who'd hurt him, Malory seized his chance. "I love you, Laurel. I didn't mean to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

"But you did hurt me."

"And I told you I feel terrible about it. I just lost control. Even though you're always turning me away, always making me feel like I'm not good enough for you, I know it's no excuse. You can leave me. I would understand if you can't forgive me. But I love you so much. No one could ever love you as much as I do. Please just say something so I know I haven't ruined everything."

"I love you."

With Malory's arms locked tightly around him, he prayed for sleep. When it finally came, hours later, he had very nearly convinced himself that the cruel introduction to sex had been his fault.

PRESENT DAY LAURELwhimpered at the ruthlessly detailed memory, hating Malory for what he'd done, hating himself for staying, and hating his parents for not recognizing what had happened to him. His energy was spent, reserve of magic completely emptied while he'd spiraled. His muscles ached from releasing all that magic.

The sex had never become good, always rushed groping in the dark and hurried thrusts into him that usually left him feeling numb and cold. But he hadn't struggled since that first fierce, painful time. He'd gotten wise, understanding that submitting to Malory's desire, instead of battling against it, yielded more satisfactory results outside of the bedroom.

When he was good, Malory would dote on him, particularly in public and in front of their respective families. When people looked at him, they didn't see someone who'd been viciously defiled and humiliated. They saw someone in a happy, healthy relationship, with a partner that adored him.

There were other times, times that had nothing to do with sex, that Malory was too rough with him. Far too rough. But he couldn't think of those now, as sleep was mercifully dragging him under. The last thought he had, perhaps the reason his sleep was devoid of any more nightmares, was that he was supposed to meet Ash the following day.