He didn’t have a full-length mirror, but the awed expression Greaves wore told Jaime that he looked decent, if not great. Jaime blushed, smoothing his hands down the incredibly soft tunic, admiring the way it felt. He was warm, but not overly, and his outfit even came with boots and a cape.
“I feel like a fairy godmother from some tale,” Greaves muttered as he stacked empty boxes and tissue paper.
Jaime looked down at himself, admiring the cream and gold tunic that fell to mid-thigh, the supple brown breeches, and the light-doeskin leather boots trimmed in brass and copper. His tunic was cut open on both sides up to his belt, which was a simple copper and leather piece that looped once around his waist before a long tail hung down over his right hip. The tunic was trimmed in what looked to be actual gold thread, and there was a thin underlayer of golden lace around the edges that flashed subtly as if implying there was treasure underneath the cream silk and cotton overtunic. The tunic collar was short, less than an inch, but it too was trimmed in gold, a short V in the fabric under his chin cutting down to his collarbone.
Jaime brushed his hair back from his face as best he could, and the only thing he wore that was similar to jewelry was his metal and leather belt. Jaime took a deep breath and picked the lightweight cape up from the bed, the fabric of which was a lovely brown as well, but reminiscent of hot chocolate. He hung it over his arm since he didn’t want to start sweating before he even got to see Maxim.
“Thank you,” Jaime told Greaves, who left the empty boxes on the desk. “I wouldn’t have been able to handle this on my own.”
“I don’t mind at all. What are friends for?” Greaves smiled then tilted his head to the door. “I think a prince may be here soon. Shall we go wait?”
Jaime led the way from the room, walking down the hall to the common area. No sign of Maxim yet, but Jaime was early. He stopped at the last table before the exit, and lay down his cape, still nervous, and not wanting to rumple the fabric.
Jaime blinked then turned to look at Greaves. “Friends?”
Greaves frowned, confused, then his expression cleared and a subtle hint of humor made his lips twitch. “I don’t beg my mother for a Solstice Ball outfit at the literal last minute for just anyone, you know. Friends, Jaime. I might be your mentor, but we both know you need very little in the way of guidance. You’ll earn you healer patch in short order. I’d much rather be your friend than mentor, anyway. I hope my next novice doesn’t have a prince fall in love with him. So stressful.”
Jaime snorted, covering his face with both hands as he laughed. Some of the sick nerves swirling in his gut abated, and he was grateful for Greaves in more ways than one. He dropped his hands. “Thank you. And you never know, I might get a trainee who wants to tame a gryphon.”
Greaves tilted his chin down, mouth pinched, and laughter shook his shoulders. Jaime rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Has that already happened?”
“I say we buy you a mirror next,” Greaves finally said, leaning on the table.
Jaime frowned, but Greaves didn’t elaborate.
They waited in silence, until Greaves spoke up again. “I do hope I don’t need to explain…” he trailed off, and it took Jaime a moment. The almost terrified expression on Greaves’ face clued him in.
“Oh! I know how that works,” Jaime assured Greaves. They were not having that conversation, not while waiting for Maxim to walk through the door at any moment.
“Even between men?” Greaves made sure to ask, and Jaime felt gratitude even through the burning embarrassment heating his cheeks. They might have just decided they were friends, but this was a conversation best suited for a less personal moment. He’d learned everything he thought there was to know about sex, between both sexes, in his first-year classes. The academy even had drawings. Lots of drawings.
“Yes, all the ways. Every way. Not a problem,” Jaime hastened to add, and he groaned when Greaves perked up.
“There’s more than one way?”
Jaime dropped his head into his hands again, Greaves cackling. “I’m sorry. I figured you knew already, but there’s a difference between knowing and doing, especially with sex,” Greaves pointed out, quite logically, but the effect was ruined by the occasional snort of giggles escaping his mouth.
“I was thinking you were a somber, slightly awkward fellow, but you’ve been a brat all along, haven’t you?” Jaime dared, and Greaves threw back his head, peals of laughter escaping.
“I’m not sorry, after all.” Greaves chortled, wiping at his cheeks. “I wish you a merry time with your prince, and if it goes that way tonight, I snuck a vial of oil into your nightstand earlier. Just remember patience and plenty of oil.”
Jaime’s jaw dropped, and he twirled away from Greaves, firmly not thinking about sex and Maxim at the same time.
Jaime hadn’t seen Maxim in over a day. Princess Diana had been on a diplomatic trip south, traveling by ship along the shore, and the magi sent a message to the nearest town along her expected route, calling her home. Due to the weather, her ship hadn’t gotten as far as they feared, and the message was relayed a few times until it met up with her. Electing to return to the capital by land, Maxim and Elric went south to meet her sometime yesterday morning, and they should have returned to the capital just after noon. Maxim had, thankfully, sent Jaime a message upon his return. Maxim must be exhausted, and Jaime was worried his prince might not be up for a party. Dancing could be strenuous.
Other things with Maxim could be strenuous. Jaime flushed, head to toe, and diligently pulled his mind away from the bedchamber and back to dancing.
Jaime knew how to dance. Sort of. He learned the small country dances common in Eistrea, and some dances while at the Academy in Corinthia, but he knew nothing of local customs or traditions, and wondered if he would make a fool of himself.
The door to the infirmary opened, and Maxim swept inside.
His prince was a vision. In every tale Jaime ever read, heard told over a late winter fire, or shared in whispered and quickly hushed conversations, the prince was always dashing, handsome.
Perfect.
And he was.
Maxim wore a circlet about his brow, holding just enough of his hair back from his face for the warm honey brown of his eyes to be seen. He wore a green and blue tunic that was longer than Jaime’s, falling to his knees, with cuts in the sides running up his powerful thighs to just below his belt, a silver and gold metal chain embossed over leather that was wrapped around his lean waist. His legs were clad in skintight black breeches, and black leather boots to his knees were shined to a mirror finish. Maxim was a vision in deep jewel tones.
The tunic was tied down the front with gold and green leather thongs, darker than the rest, somehow encouraging the eye to take in the whole miracle that was Maxim. Gold and silver thread, and metal lace trimmed every hem in designs that brought to mind feathers and snowflakes. The whole outfit was nothing compared to the emotions Maxim wore openly on his face, or the urgency with which he swept Jaime up into his arms.
The kiss was everything Jaime had ever hoped for, sweet and sharp with a heady thread of need. Love was there, along with a deep undercurrent of aching desire to never leave this man’s arms. Jaime opened his mouth to Maxim, who took the invitation and invaded deep, a low growl of satisfaction rumbling up from his chest. Jaime sighed into Maxim’s mouth, legs ready to give out, arms tight about his prince’s neck.
A discreet cough brought them back. Maxim lifted his head slowly, lips wet and swollen, and Jaime feared he looked just the same. He wanted to stay right there in Maxim’s arms.
Maxim set him down on his feet, keeping him in the circle of his arms. Greaves was smiling at them, though doing his best not to give away the laughter Jaime could see brewing.
“He’s not a child, so have fun. No big brother lecture from me,” Greaves said by way of greeting, waving his hands at them. “I managed to get the night free as well, and I need to change. I do know that the few other healers on our hall are going to parties or are on duty in the infirmary, so the hall should be vacant all night long.” With a swift wink, Greaves left, heading for the residence hall.
Jaime bit his lip, looking up at Maxim, clutching his hard biceps, their bodies plastered together from waist to thigh. Maxim burned hot enough to set Jaime on fire, and he gave a soft whine of need, squirming his hips.
Maxim pressed a swift and hard kiss to his lips before backing away and offering his arm. “As much as I wish to spend the night alone with you, my love, we’ve a Solstice Grand Ball to attend. Are you ready?”
Jaime grabbed his cape and swung it about his shoulders, tying the clasp. He took Maxim’s arm and let his prince lead him from the infirmary, a bounce in his step. “Ready.”
The walk to the far side of the palace had started out quietly, Jaime clinging to Maxim’s arm, his prince smiling down at him reassuringly. The foot traffic increased as they went along, a respectful distance held around them by the bejeweled and elegant throng. Jaime didn’t notice at first, but red-caped guards in light chain mail mixed with the crowd, many of them with watchful eyes on Maxim. After the story he heard from Greaves, he was appreciative of their presence.
A long, wide, and tall hallway bedecked with fireless, starlight torches lit the way, light dancing off jewels and precious metals adorning the slow-moving wave of fragrant humanity all walking towards a set of doors. The doors were taller than any Jaime had seen yet in the palace, two guards at each side, and four servants, who Jaime soon identified as heralds. They would switch off, a pause between each announcement, one after the other, alerting the arrival of nobles and important personages.
The space around them grew as the pair of them drew nearer to the doors, and Jaime curiously looked over his shoulder, seeing that there were a dozen feet behind them, the crowd having paused. Maxim stopped just shy of the heralds, and Jaime realized with a sudden hitch in his pulse that Maxim was letting the heralds finish with those in front of them, so they could be announced with more pomp, more fanfare. Jaime gulped and gripped Maxim’s arm even tighter, hoping his sudden terror didn’t show on his face.
The people in front of them moved on after their introduction, and still Maxim waited. The herald closest to them approached once the way before them was clear, and bowed low to them both, holding it for a heartbeat before rising. “Your Highness, it would be an honor to announce you and your guest. May I have his name?”
“James Buchanan, Healer, of…” Maxim paused. He looked down at Jaime and asked, “Do you wish to claim Marlec Pointe? Or perhaps Corinthia?”
Jaime thought hard, but he wanted to claim neither, not really. For all he enjoyed Corinthia and the Hellebore Empire, the cost of the Academy eventually led to his father’s demise, and Marlec Pointe was merely a place he wanted to forget. He swallowed his fear and said, “I would claim nowhere but here, but you. This is home now. You make this home.”
Maxim’s smile was blinding. Jaime smiled back, and Maxim leaned in and whispered something to the herald. Beyond the doors, the thrum of conversation was quieting, as if the people beyond were expecting something momentous. Eventually there was silence, a loud quiet—as quiet as many, many people could possibly be while eagerly waiting. They likely knew a royal was at the door and were wondering which one it was.
The herald bowed once low, then went to the threshold. Maxim lead Jaime over, letting him see ahead.
A wide staircase led down in a sweeping arc to a spectacular ballroom, the ceiling five stories high at least. The room, grander than anything he had ever seen before, was made of white and gray stone with gryphons of stone and steel leaping and flying from all surfaces of the room and large tapestries hanging in the open spaces on the walls. More torches of magic, some yellow, some white, illuminated the room, no corner was cast in shadow. Thick, heavy curtains of blues and greens and silvers adorned the tall windows that looked out over the nighttime sky, the glass so clear Jaime could see hints of stars.
Over a hundred people, nay, two hundred, awaited them at the bottom of the stairs, all looking upwards, waiting. The herald coughed quietly, before lifting his chin and announcing them.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Maxim Amalsan Angharad, son of King Llyr the First, Swordmaster of Pyrderi, and his companion, Healer James Buchanan of Angharad Palace.”
The herald’s words carried over the crowd and the whispers began, alighting like fireflies from a summer field, spreading across the ballroom and to their rear within the stalled crowd at their back. The speculative voices rose and fell in waves, and Jaime wondered what mischief Maxim may have summoned with the herald’s declaration. The herald stepped away, the guards saluted, and Maxim stepped forward with Jaime on his arm. The crowd below did something they had not done for those before them in line, they applauded. Jaime flushed, both hands now clinging to Maxim, who put his free hand over both of Jaime’s, reassuring him and somehow claiming him all at once.
They were halfway down the stairs, the applause ringing in his ears, when Jaime leaned into Maxim and asked, “Angharad?”
“My family lineage and the name of the palace itself,” Maxim said with a smile. “I hope you do not mind—by naming you of the palace alone, I may as well have declared you my lover before the entire world. Those named of the palace have traditionally been royal lovers.”
Jaime’s face went red, but he shook his head. “I do not mind.” He met Maxim’s eyes as they reached the main floor of the ballroom. “And I think lover will be accurate enough, and soon.”
He had the pleasure of rendering Maxim speechless. His prince froze, but his eyes heated, and the hand on top of his held tighter. Jaime dared a small smile, biting his lower lip, and Maxim’s eyes locked onto the path of his tongue as he then licked them. He might have underestimated the effect that would have on his prince, as Maxim swooped in for a kiss, making Jaime gasp.
Twitters of amused laughter and gasps came from the crowd, but Jaime didn’t care. Maxim took and gave, claimed and let Jaime claim him back, and Jaime loved every second of it.
The kiss ended too soon for Jaime, but Maxim made him laugh when his prince stepped forward into the glittering crowd of dancers, and musicians began to play. Presumably the world continued around them, but Jaime could only see Maxim. Silver and greens and blues spun in his periphery, a forest in winter, his heart racing and his body shivering. But not from cold. From heat and a joyous ache that came up from his core making him want to cry out, but he held it in, hoping he could eventually say everything he wanted to the man who spun him around the ballroom floor.
His worries about not knowing the dances were cast aside, as all he had to do was follow Maxim’s lead. Maxim held him close, guiding their steps with a soft touch here and gentle nudge there; Jaime followed without qualm.
The circlet about Maxim’s brow caught the light, winking and flashing, his honey brown eyes brighter for the color of his tunic. Maxim matched the room they danced across, the jeweled dancers around them fading into the background, a formless wash of color, a rainbow of light.
Jaime danced until his legs begged for relief and his heart raced in a gallop, and that was when the music changed, became softer, more melodic. Maxim pulled him in, chest to chest, an arm around his waist. Maxim took Jaime’s other hand in his, and they swayed together. Jaime could not tear his eyes away from Maxim. Maxim held his gaze, moving about the floor as if he knew they would not crash into another pair, seeming to know where they were always. At one point, Maxim untied Jaime’s cape and tossed it away, making him smile as they spun before slowing to a gentle sway.
“What is this dance called?” Jaime whispered, leaning into Maxim, the muscular arm about his waist holding him securely.
“I’m not sure, actually, but I can tell you that it is my favorite,” Maxim replied, whispering in his ear. Jaime grinned, and tilted his head, kissing just under Maxim’s jaw.
“And why is that?” Jaime said, though he could guess. “Is it because you get to hold me so close? Such dancing in Eistrea is scandalous, and we would both be in trouble.”
“Thankfully we are not in that horrid place, and I may hold you as I wish. The only one who can tell me no, is you,” Maxim said, and Jaime rewarded his prince with another kiss, this one closer to his mouth.
“I don’t think I could tell you no about anything,” Jaime whispered, and Maxim looked down at him, face suddenly serious, though they kept swaying.
“But you could,” Maxim spoke softly, but firm. “If you told me no, I would listen, and respect that no. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
Jaime’s face grew hot, and his vision swam. Tears escaped, and he buried his face in Maxim’s shoulder, breaths shuddering. Strong fingers slid down his hand and gently over his scarred wrist, bringing his arm to Maxim’s mouth. Soft lips kissed the scars, each one making Jaime shiver with fear and remembered pain, but those emotions were swiftly lost, swept away by the tender care and acceptance in the careful touches. Maxim kissed his hand one last time before tucking Jaime’s hand over his heart, holding it there, letting Jaime feel the steady thumping under his palm.
“You are brave and sweet and kind,” Maxim murmured, “and I think we both need a moment to find our feet.”
Guiding them out of the glittering mass of dancers, Maxim went towards a door under the staircase. It was open, and benches were arranged in the cool area, the stone walls keeping the temperatures from rising too much. Small stands of fruity drink and bottles of alcohol filled every available space. Jaime sat on one of the benches with a grateful groan, eyeing his feet. Now that the rush of adrenaline from dancing in Maxim’s arms was fading, his whole body was feeling the ache of so much physical activity. He still wasn’t recovered from months of captivity, and he hadn’t been doing more than working in the infirmary since he left the kitchens. Occasional jaunts across the palace would help eventually, but his stamina still had a long way to go.
A glass of punch was held out to him and Jaime took it eagerly, all but inhaling the whole thing in seconds. It tasted of red berries and something that fizzed and popped in his mouth, making him cough. It was good, and he wordlessly held out the glass, asking for more. Maxim chuckled and refilled it, handing it back. He sat beside Jaime on the bench, sipping from his own glass.
Jaime eyed the fruity drink suspiciously. He may not have attended many parties when he was younger, but the few he did, the punch always ended up getting laced with alcohol. “Is this the spiked punch?”
“Damn well shouldn’t be, but I think we’re both safe,” Maxim said, taking a bigger mouthful, brows furrowed as he tasted the punch. He swallowed and shook his head. “Alcohol free. Which is good, since I really don’t feel like acting the prince tonight. I’m usually the one who gets stuck yelling at people when Janis has to be in public.”
Jaime sighed, and drank some more, relieved. He didn’t feel like having his judgment impaired, not tonight. He wanted a clear head to remember every detail. “How long did we dance for?”
Maxim finished his drink and leaned back against the wall, kicking his feet out, the boots still shiny. “A few hours, at least. I know Janis and Mother made an appearance around our second turn on the floor, and Elric a few dances after that.”
Jaime remembered the task Maxim undertook the day before. “Did you manage to get Diana back to the city?”
Maxim nodded. “She’s up with Father now, or should be. She was far too tired, or so she said, to be prancing about in a silly dress. Her words, not mine.”
His tone was dry, and Jaime chuckled, leaning back on the wall as well, shoulder to shoulder with Maxim, resting his head on the cool wall. The music echoed off the walls around them, and the murmur of people was muffled enough to be nothing but background noise, easily dismissed. Jaime set his glass down, and dared to take Maxim’s hand. Fingers curled around his, and Jaime hummed in delight, closing his eyes.
“How long do we have to stay?” Jaime asked, thinking about the warmth and strength in the calloused hand that tenderly held his. His mind went back to the way Maxim moved against him as they danced, and his breath hitched, fingers squeezing. He opened his eyes and rolled his head, looking at the man beside him. Maxim gave him a slow, devilish smile, one that made his toes curl and the urge to giggle bubble up from this center.
“I think we’ve stayed long enough,” Maxim said, husky tone doing things to Jaime’s heart rate. “Do you want to leave?”
Jaime nodded, not once breaking eye contact. Maxim put down his cup, and pulled Jaime to his feet as he too stood. Maxim walked backwards, towards another door hidden in the recesses of the small room under the stairs. He opened it and took a swift glance, before motioning Jaime to follow him.
He followed Maxim into the narrow, shadowed hall without hesitation, body thrumming with heat.