Laughing, Jaime dodged the handful of soapy water Maxim splashed in his direction. The bathing room was awash in morning light, the cart holding their breakfast a disaster after they hungrily tore it apart before hopping in the stone bath that could hold ten men. Maxim’s suite was large, and the bathing room was far from the water closets Jaime was accustomed to.
A wet, slippery arm roped around his waist and pulled him closer, his lips taken in a soft kiss broken by giggles. Jaime tickled Maxim’s sides under the bubbles, his prince laughing, trying to escape. “No! I yield, I yield!” Maxim begged, and Jaime crowed in victory.
“Fear me, the Master of Tickles!” Jaime demanded, arms raised to attack, and Maxim had to catch his wrists, the other man laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
“This swordmaster yields to the master of tickles, good sir,” Maxim gasped out, smiling wide, pearly teeth flashing.
“I accept your surrender,” Jaime replied magnanimously, and Maxim pulled him over to offer his wet and sudsy surrender.
A long, languid kiss later, they broke apart. Maxim fiddled with some of the metal faucets, and Jaime jolted as the water began to rush out of the large basin, and clear, warm water began to flow in to replace it. Maxim pulled him under one of the spouts, and rinsed him first before helping him from the monstrosity of a tub. Maxim made quick work of cleansing himself, and Jaime smiled through the very thorough and personal drying that followed with a warmed towel taken from a set of brass bars over a small cast iron oven.
It was still early, and Jaime wasn’t expected at the infirmary until that evening for the overnight shift with Greaves. They had the day to themselves, but Jaime voiced no complaint when Maxim wished to visit his father. He wanted to see how the king was fairing, and a thread of nervous fear wound through his happiness. He knew it was selfish to wish for the realities of life to leave him to enjoy his love in peace, but he couldn’t help but wish they had that time. He did his best to enjoy the moment, no matter what may come.
Jaime was torn between embarrassment and pleased surprise when he found a fresh set of pressed novice robes waiting for him when they left the bathing chamber. Jaime dressed and dug out the boots he wore the night before to the ball, since his regular pair were still in his own room, half a palace away. Maxim dressed in what Jaime had come to recognize as his usual garb, a simple white shirt tied down the front, black breeches, boots that looked well loved, and a belt to which Maxim attached a long dagger. Only his bearing and the jeweled hilt of the blade spoke to his station in life.
Watching Maxim get dressed left him warm in the chest, a soft smile on his lips. He knew he looked like a man made silly by love, but since Maxim matched him in foolish grins and sparkling eyes, he didn’t mind.
Jaime went to the door, feeling invigorated. The warm bath had soothed aching and tender places, though he could still feel it. The reminder of their union from the night before keeping a slight blush on his cheeks. He enjoyed it, the ache, the stretch to muscles unaccustomed to such activity. He relished in it, and in the way his skin remembered Maxim’s touch. He wanted it again, and just thinking of being in Maxim’s embrace made his breath hitch.
Maxim must have been able to decipher where his thoughts went, as he promptly prowled over and kissed him, and Jaime melted into his embrace.
“I wish I could take your right back to bed, but we’ve some place to be.” Maxim kissed him once more, quick and hard, before opening the door, and gallantly bowing Jaime through first.
His faint blush bloomed into an inferno, but his smile was wide and foolish. Maxim came out behind him, shutting the door and extended his elbow. Jaime tucked his hand into the crook of Maxim’s arm, and his prince lead the way down the hall toward the rest of the royal residences.
Maxim did not have far to take him, for a few turns later the tall doors to the king’s room appeared. Inside, Jaime was nervous. Would Maxim’s family be able to tell he spent the night in the prince’s bed? Would they care? If this were Eistrea, Jaime wouldn’t even be allowed in the royal quarters, much less to be publicly known as the prince’s lover. He would be a quick tumble in the prince’s bed, then expected to leave before morning. Yet here, he was arm in arm with a man who loved him and paid him every courtesy, making no secret of the fact he respected Jaime and cared for him.
The ever-present guards opened the doors, and they entered the outer chamber. The door to the king’s room was open, letting them see into the room. They walked on and into the bedchamber, and stopped.
The bed was empty, the covers made, perfectly in order.
Jaime’s heart seized, cold terror starting to bloom through his veins.
“Don’t look so scandalized,” a raspy voice said from near the windows. Jaime gasped and saw the king sitting in a spacious chair under the windows. King Llyr’s lips twitched, as if he had an idea of what terrible thought had raced through Jaime’s mind for that second.
Relief was heady, and he clung to Maxim’s arm. “Father, that was unkind. I take it you’re feeling better?”
Maxim guided Jaime closer to the windows. He saw Princess Diana sitting not far from her father, dark circles under her eyes. Master Eames nodded to Jaime from the far side of the small group clustered under the tall windows, his presence telling Jaime more than enough.
The king might be well enough to get out of bed, but the end was still coming. Soon enough that Master Eames was in attendance, though he appeared relaxed, if watchful. Not today, but soon.
“I feel like a man dying, but well enough to sit in a chair with his children in attendance. Diana was just telling me this delicious rumor she heard from her maids. One of my sons caused a stir at the ball last night. Elric does it often enough that it’s common place. Janis was with his stepmother, and he never does gossip-worthy things in public. So that leaves my youngest. Anything to tell your ailing father?” King Llyr’s voice was raspy and soft, but full of teasing.
Jaime smiled, and let Maxim seat him not far from the king. Maxim went to his father, leaned down and gently hugged the old man. Maxim whispered something to his father, who blinked for a few seconds, before patting his son lightly on his shoulder and returning the embrace as best he could. Queen Amal came from a far door Jaime hadn’t noticed before, his angle in the chair letting him see it was a short hall that likely connected their suites. Maxim pulled back from his father and went to hug his mother, who clung to her son for a long moment.
King Llyr motioned to his daughter, who leaned in. Jaime couldn’t hear what was said, but she gasped, before a bright smile lit her tired eyes. She stood and wove through the chairs to her mother, speaking quietly to her before both royal ladies disappeared back down the short hall. Jaime eyed the king with suspicion, but the old man merely smiled serenely back at him, giving nothing away.
“How was your night, my dear boy?” The king asked, and Jaime flushed hard. The king chuckled, and Jaime had the sinking feeling that King Llyr knew exactly how his night went. Jaime figured at this point, the whole palace knew.
“I had a wonderful time, Your Majesty.” Jaime risked a wide grin, which surely conveyed his love-struck state. “Maxim is a fantastic dancer.”
King Llyr laughed, delighted. Jaime couldn’t help the grin that followed, and chuckled. Maxim’s father was remarkably down to earth, and far kinder than anyone might assume a king to be.
“Have you seen your older brothers yet?” King Llyr asked Maxim, still chuckling. Maxim sat in a chair beside Jaime, reaching over to take his hand.
Maxim laughed. “I doubt we’ll see Elric before noon, and Janis is likely in the courtyard with Marcus, letting off some steam. Janis detests parties, and the Grand Ball would have had him on edge all night.”
“Takes after his father,” King Llyr grumbled, winking at Jaime. “Though I always spent the day after the Grand Ball in the private garden off my library. I know you’ve shown Jaime the palace library, but have you shown him the private one here in the residence?”
“I haven’t, no,” Maxim answered, grinning. “Would you object?”
“Certainly not,” King Llyr waved a frail hand, dismissing the idea. “Take him to see it now, actually. The view of the mountains from the garden this time of morning is spectacular. Come back and see me after you do, I’ll have that item you asked for.”
Jaime found himself escorted out with remarkable alacrity, puzzled, a borrowed cloak about his shoulders. Maxim led him down that short hall, which had a branch halfway down, one heading to a set of rooms he presumed to be Queen Amal’s, and an older passage with a faint layer of dust on the floors. If the king had been ill for a long time, it likely explained the lack of traffic to his private library.
“I love libraries, but why are we going to see this one, and now?” Jaime asked in a whisper, as Maxim shouldered open a door. It was a smaller room than the king’s bedchamber, and it held nothing but books, a desk, and a small cast iron stove that was unlit. A pair of glass doors, the planes frosted, stood opposite of the entrance, and glowed with the rising sun.
“I promise I’ll explain everything in a minute.” Maxim promised, heading for a nearby shelf, and looked for a moment before grabbing a tome. He tilted his head to Jaime, gesturing for him to follow. “Come and see.”
The doors resisted being opened, but eventually they did, a shower of snow and small icicles falling as Maxim pushed them open. The terrace was a converted garden space, hedges and heritage pine trees groomed to remain small hugging the stone walls, and perhaps twenty feet deep. Jaime had no idea how high they were, but the view to the mountains made it feel as if he could reach out and touch them. The snow wasn’t horribly deep, and Maxim guided Jaime to a bench with a stone arch bowing over it and ancient pines hugging the stonework. Maxim brushed off the bench, before gallantly bowing to Jaime to sit.
Jaime did, bemused, but willing to humor his lover. Maxim handed over the tome and smiled down at him. “I need to grab a cloak; I’ll borrow one from my father. I’ll be a moment only. Stay right here.”
Maxim took off, not even bothering to close the glass doors behind him. Jaime frowned, but curiosity had him opening the book.
The drawing of the gryphon on the front page had him flipping through, interested. It was a journal, written by one of Maxim’s ancestors, a king who was also a Gryphon Knight. He wrote about having the terrace outside his private study converted into an aerie for his mount, a large gryphon he called Sapphire. The beast had been gold and white with ice blue eyes. Jaime looked up, realizing he was sitting in the very garden the ancient king spoke off, and sure enough, at the edge of the terrace was a peculiar flat area, constructed of oak and stone, a place for the gryphon to land and take off from. The terrace’s position on the palace allowed for safe landings, according to the king’s notes, as the winds were reduced, and there was a straight path directly over the royal forest to the mountains.
Jaime was so engrossed in the journal that he didn’t hear Maxim return until he was standing right in front of him. Jaime blinked, looking up. Maxim wore a cloak, which Jaime was thankful for, as it was cold out there, despite the protection from the wind. Maxim had an odd expression on his face, holding something in small brown leather pouch. Maxim looked unsure, nervous.
“Maxim?” Jaime asked, worried. He grew even more so when Maxim sucked in a deep breath, and knelt, going to one knee in the snow, his cloak billowing out behind him before it settled. Jaime let the tome fall open in his lap, an inkling of what was about to happen shocking his nerves, his thoughts halted.
Maxim looked down, fingers working to open the pouch. He pulled out a ring, a band of silver and gold carved into feathers, a single heavy stone of the deepest blue cradled by the exquisite workmanship. Jaime lifted his hands, stilling, frozen, when Maxim looked up at him, honey eyes vulnerable.
Jaime’s heart ached for the apprehension he could see in Maxim’s eyes, but soon his prince found his resolve.
“Jaime,” Maxim began, voice deep, rough with emotion. Jaime waited, patient, his heart bursting with love and wonder. Maxim smiled, and lifted the hand holding the ring, the sun catching on the stone which glimmered like the winter sky above them. “Jaime Buchanan, I love you with all of my being. You are a man of kindness and compassion, selfless and strong. You have scars, but you are all the more wondrous for surviving their making. You seek to help the people of this world, and I wish to protect them. The fates may have brought us together, but I believe our love will keep us forever entwined with each other. Will you accept my heart, my love, my hand in marriage? I will love you forever, and the greatest wish of my heart is to live this life by your side.”
Jaime forgot how to breathe, but his hands knew the answer he wanted to give. He cupped Maxim’s handsome face and leaned over, kissing his prince. Their lips were cold, but Jaime couldn’t feel anything but love. He pulled back just the tiniest amount, eye to eye with Maxim. He gave the only answer his heart and soul would accept.
“I love you. Yes.”
The ring, cold in the winter air, found its way onto the third finger of his left hand. It was too big, but then there was a brief hum of warmth, and the band shrunk just enough to be the perfect fit. Jaime smiled, delighted by the small magic, and then yelped when Maxim picked him up in a soul-tight hug.
Jaime laughed, hugging Maxim back, his prince lifting him off his feet. They kissed, humming in mutual delight, breathing each other in, content in that perfect moment in time. Maxim slowly lowered him to his feet, smiling down at him. There were tears on Maxim’ lashes, happy ones this time, and Jaime wiped them away with tender strokes across high cheekbones, adoration glowing from honey depths. “I do love you. I love you, Maxim. The sweet, kind man beneath the crown. You are a marvelous prince, I am sure. A fearsome warrior. But beneath it all, you are an amazing man, and I love you so very much. I love you more than I did yesterday, and tomorrow, I will love you more than I do today. My love for you will never end, always growing, always true and certain.”
More tears escaped, and Jaime spilled a few of his own. They hugged, Jaime resting his cheek on Maxim’s chest, right over his heart. Strong fingers carded through his hair, cradling his head. Jaime smiled, utterly content. They both looked out over the forest to the mountains, the skies clear and a deep, pure blue. Jaime sighed, hugging Maxim tighter, when Maxim stiffened.
“Jaime,” Maxim whispered, awe in his voice. Maxim let go with one arm and pointed to a mountain peak, and Jaime blinked, seeing nothing at first. Maxim dropped his arm, and Jaime wondered what it could be…
He saw it then. A speck of black in an otherwise clear sky, it dipped and glided, twirled in the currents. It steadily grew closer, until Jaime could make out details. No artist, no matter how gifted, could do the living miracle that soared over the slumbering forest justice. A flash of white wings, a long tail, and eyes that caught the sun. Great sweeping beats of the gryphon’s wings scooped the treacherous mountain air, and it soared, majestic against the backdrop of the gray stone and ice.
The gryphon danced in the winter air, strength and majesty in every beat of its wings and sweep of its feathers, in its thick mane, deep, muscular chest, and fierce beak. It was grace in motion, pure power, and absolute freedom.
Jaime and Maxim watched the gryphon, the great beast coming no closer than the edge of the grounds, though it danced in the sky as if it knew they watched. Maxim dropped a kiss in his hair, and Jaime smiled.
The End…for now.