Forever Moore (Forbidden Love #2) Read online

  A shiver raced through him, but not because of what Orien had confessed to him about being some sort of mercenary. It was because even now he could almost feel the solid warmth of his skin. Their shoulders would remain pressed together as he read the story of Achilles and Patroclus.

  Thalia had probably lent him the book knowing he needed just such a story, but he dared not confess to her that he now shared the magic of the pages with Orien. He suspected the Huntsman would not approve of such an admission—it appeared to be their secret, which thrilled Ansil as much as confounded him.

  And each night he read, he’d developed a thick bulge. It was not only from the sordid thoughts of what Achilles and Patroclus might be up to off the page and between the seemingly innocent lines, but also from feeling the solid pressure of Orien’s torso against his own. Orien was apparently just as taken, sometimes shifting to adjust himself, but Ansil never dared glance in his direction, or he might make a mess in his breeches.

  Ansil dug into his pie to busy his hands and mouth as he recalled each of the nights with Orien. How the air was thick between them, the tension nearly unbearable as he longed to entwine their fingers, to turn and capture Orien’s mouth with his own, but he did not know how the action might be received. He hoped it was not merely a physical reaction for the Huntsman. Ansil felt naive when it came to such matters. He had never been intimate with anyone, had only romanticized what it might be like to touch another man, and lately Orien had starred in every one of his dreams.

  He was reminded of the handful of instances when he had stopped in the marketplace to watch a theatrical performance that inevitably led to a kiss between the characters onstage. Sometimes one of the actors would be dressed in women’s clothing, and when the men groped each other, Ansil would be so titillated, he’d have to turn away.

  As soon as Ansil heard a sneeze followed by a meek blessing, he knew that Herry and Dimitri were coming in from the stables. Herry’s nose and eyes were always a bit reddened, most likely due to his allergies, and Dimitri’s head always seemed in the clouds.

  “I love your cherry pies best,” Herry said in a bashful manner as he reached for the plate Cadence held out to him. To Ansil’s utter amazement, Thalia blushed at the compliment.

  As they enjoyed their desserts around the table, Herry relayed a story of when Gaius’s stallion had a nasty burr embedded in its hoof, and then Dimitri, surprisingly, inquired about Ansil’s newest carving. Lately they treated Ansil as if he were simply another resident in the manor, most likely because they had all been new at one time or another. Ansil felt unnerved by it all the same—the fact that they would accept him so easily only because Orien said it was to be so.

  Or perhaps he might allow himself some credit that they had grown more comfortable around him as well. Only Gaius seemed wary that Ansil might bolt out the door at a moment’s notice. Perhaps he felt responsible for his well-being, and that made Ansil’s gut twist with guilt. My, how things had changed from when he was first shackled in the dungeon.

  Just as Ansil was finishing his last bite, Arya swept through the door, announcing she would need her mare for an errand. Dimitri rose immediately to assist her.

  “Where does she go?” Ansil asked Thalia as he watched them dash out the door.

  “My sister is restless,” she replied, stacking the empty plates. “She loves riding into villages and bartering at marketplaces. She is very clever and driven and a strong fighter—an excellent shot with her bow. I am afraid she will leave me one day.”

  Herry offered Ansil a look of sympathy as Cadence clucked her tongue at Thalia. “Arya must find her own happiness, as do you.”

  Thalia pouted. “But why must it take her so far from home?” Then she threw Ansil a distressed glance. “You will leave soon enough too.”

  Cadence patted his shoulder in sympathy. “You must miss home.”

  Ansil nodded. “I do, but all of you make good company.”

  “I am sorry, Ansil,” Thalia said, her expression apologetic. “I was feeling sorry for myself. How about we sit in the solarium for a change of scenery? That will brighten my spirits.”

  Ansil smiled, then turned to Herry. “Would you like to join us for a game of chess?”

  “I…” His cheeks flushed. “I do not know how to play.”

  “Maybe I can sit beside you and help strategize against Thalia your first game,” he suggested with a wink, and Herry’s eyes became animated.

  Thalia scoffed. “I will not allow you to win again.”

  Herry agreed to meet them once he made sure Dimitri did not need further assistance in the stables that afternoon.

  As Ansil walked with Thalia toward the solarium, they bumped shoulders. “I think Herry is handsome.”

  “When he is not busy sniffling.” Thalia rolled her eyes dramatically. “Doc has tried to help, to no avail.”

  Ansil recalled a section in one of the medical journals that listed possible ways to manage allergy symptoms. So many were listed that Ansil’s eyes crossed. He had not realized that some might even have a reaction to certain types of foods.

  “Maybe Doc can try again. Perhaps there’s a newer remedy,” Ansil suggested, and Thalia agreed they should ask him.

  Ansil thought perhaps Thalia and Herry might complement each other well if she’d only come to see him in a new light. He didn’t know why he was suddenly playing matchmaker, but maybe it was because he was feeling especially emotional and out of sorts himself.

  By the time they’d set up the chessboard, Herry had joined them in a seat across from Thalia. Once Ansil pulled up a chair beside him, he and Thalia taught him the basics of the game, then got started.

  When he heard a deep throat-clearing in the hallway, he looked up to see Orien watching them, eyes soft and an amused grin playing along his lips.

  19

  Orien

  After he bathed, Orien sat on the edge of his bed, telling himself to stay in his chamber. There was no reason he should spend his evenings with the little lord, but he found he wanted to. Each evening he told himself he would not go, yet go was exactly what he did. Tonight would be no different, no matter how much time he sat there stalling and telling himself he would stay.

  Ansil intrigued him.

  He made Orien feel…something he couldn’t put into words. He just made him feel, and he had not known he desired that. When he had returned home that evening to see Ansil with Herry and Thalia, to see them laugh and talk and Ansil instruct Herry on how to play chess, it had given him an ease in his chest he didn’t often experience. The people in the manor were his family, and he enjoyed seeing Ansil spend time with them.

  Shaking his foolish thoughts from his head, Orien stood, plucked from the table the apple he had carried upstairs with him, and moved toward the door. He unlocked it and knocked. When Ansil called for him to enter, Orien did so, closing the door behind him.

  “I fear you are trying to fatten me up,” Ansil teased. It was something he did more often, showing that his comfort with Orien had grown.

  “You do not have to eat them,” he replied, for a moment wondering if Ansil hadn’t been jesting. “Do I bring too many? I just thought…”

  “No. I appreciate each one. Especially because they are from you,” Ansil replied, a blush upon his pretty, pale cheeks. “We can share it.”

  Orien nodded, going to the bed. Each time, he lingered before sitting down; each time, he tried to talk himself out of it, but always failed. He sat with his back against the headboard, his little lord beside him.

  He used his knife to slice into the juicy, red fruit, handing a sliver to Ansil before cutting his own. They ate that way, silently, side by side, until their treat was finished and Orien set the core and knife aside.

  “Shall we read?” Ansil asked.

  “We shall.”

  “Only a chapter or two. We do not want to finish too soon,” Ansil told him, and Orien simply nodded.

  This time Ansil turned, crossing his legs
and sitting so he faced Orien. The words began to flow effortlessly from his blood-red lips. Orien watched them move, saw the shape they made with each word and syllable. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Ansil’s lips tasted of the apples he always ate or if he just had his own natural sweetness. The boy would be sweet. That was something he knew, and like always, his body began to react. Why did his body react so intensely to Ansil, in ways it had never reacted to another?

  He listened as Ansil spoke of stolen glances and secret, innocent touches between the demigod and his close friend. Ansil’s body reacted as it always did, and Orien found his mind journeying away for the story and lingering on the little lord. Did he desire men? If how his prick reacted and how he had touched Orien said anything about it, he did. Had he always? Had Ansil lain with men in secret?

  The thought sent a shock of jealousy through him.

  Did Orien want to lie with him? It was wrong for many reasons. He had kidnapped Ansil and kept him away from home. They were both male. Ansil was of the nobility, which Orien was supposed to loathe. Yet he didn’t hate Ansil. He did not think it possible to.

  “Orien?” Ansil asked, and Orien’s eyes flashed to him. The book was closed in his lap, his head cocked, his dark hair hanging over one eye. “Are you well? I said your name three times and you did not reply. Oh no. Are you catching my fever?” He reached out and placed a gentle, soft hand against Orien’s forehead.

  Then, like a few nights before, his hand slid down Orien’s face. Ansil cupped his cheek in his small hand, brushed his thumb against the hair there.

  “I am sure the men you are used to are clean-shaven.” Most men in proper society were.

  “I am not used to touching men at all…not this way. And I like the way you feel, Orien.” Ansil’s lashes fluttered as he looked down, and somehow the simple movement stole Orien’s breath straight from his lungs. “Should I not have said that?” he asked. “I thought… I know it’s wrong…”

  No, he likely should not have said that. It should have prompted Orien to rise from the bed and keep his distance, but it did not. “You are honest and brave. Those are qualities not many possess.”

  Ansil dropped his hand, and Orien nearly asked to be touched again. Christ, he just longed to be touched by him.

  “You did not answer my question, though, and I do not believe myself brave. There are many things I fear—how I feel, my responsibilities…”

  “Me?” Orien found himself asking.

  “No. I do not fear you. Not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “How, then, Little Lord?”

  Ansil shook his head, making his hair brush his forehead. Orien fisted his hands to keep himself from running the strands through his fingers, easing it back from Ansil’s pretty face.

  “I cannot say, but the reasons lie within me and not because of who you are. You are brave and kind, as I told you.” He took a deep breath, setting the book aside. Ansil still sat with his legs bent, one knee against Orien’s thigh, facing him. “May I ask you something?”

  “You may,” he replied.

  “Why am I here? You said it was to keep me safe. I have tried to keep from asking, but it’s difficult.”

  Orien nodded. He should have seen that question coming. Disappointment stabbed into him. He had thought Ansil was going to ask about Orien…about them. “To keep you safe,” Orien replied simply.

  “You know that is not what I meant.”

  No, it wasn’t, and Orien had known. The truth was, he was not sure how Ansil would take the news that his own stepfather had hired Orien to kill him. He feared it would cause Ansil to rush home…he feared it would hurt him. Yes, he believed Ansil brave, but he was also sweet and kind. He would feel this betrayal like a knife to the chest. Ansil had said they were not close, yet still, Reginald lived in his home. Reginald was supposed to be his family.

  Fired burned through his veins, scorching everything in its wake. The thought of Reginald near him, being able to hurt him, even breathing the same air as his little lord, set his whole body ablaze.

  “You’re angry,” Ansil said softly.

  How had he known? “Not at you. And I’m sorry. I can’t tell you yet. Just know that you are here so I can keep you safe.” Though the words were true, they felt wrong, like a lie had fallen from his tongue. Would Ansil understand when he knew Orien had been hired to kill him? That he had accepted but decided to kidnap him instead? That in the beginning, it was not Ansil’s safety he cared of, but hurting his own brother?

  “You do not trust me,” Ansil replied.

  “Do I not? I am in this room with you every night. I lie in this bed with you when I should not. I allow you to read to me, when most do not know. I have given you freedom to walk about the manor, even when my closest confidant believes it unwise. I trust you, Ansil, more than I do most.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief before he nodded in a sad, understanding way. “I know. Forgive me. I just… You cannot keep it from me forever. I will need to know soon.”

  This time, it was Orien who reached out to cup Ansil’s cheek. He trembled at the softness of his little lord’s face. He had never known it could feel so electrifying to simply touch another.

  To his surprise, Ansil leaned toward him. He proceeded slowly as though he was waiting for Orien to stop him. When he did not, Ansil curled up beside him, resting his head on Orien’s shoulder, Orien’s arm twining around his slender body.

  “I know it’s not appropriate, but…is this okay?” he asked.

  Orien’s breath caught. He opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure words would come out. “Yes,” he finally replied. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done…for taking you from your home and that you have to be here.”

  “I am not. I know that’s weird. I miss my mother terribly, but Thalia and the others, I like them…and you. I like being here with you like this.”

  Stupid, brave boy. What was he doing to Orien? He wanted to gather him in his arms, pull him into his lap and kiss him. Hold him. Give him whatever he desired. Orien would never be able to say those things as freely as Ansil had just spoken. “I…I shall stay here if you wish it.” I wish it too…

  “I do.”

  Orien nodded, tightening his hold on Ansil. “Tell me of your childhood. Your favorite memories. I want to hear them all.”

  And that’s what they did. Orien held Ansil as he spoke of his mother, his father. He told stories and laughed, and Orien could imagine a pink-cheeked Ansil looking at the world with wonder and kindness the way he still did.

  He spoke until his words softened…slowed…until he drifted off to sleep, and still, Orien stayed, holding him and listening to him breathe.

  20

  Ansil

  “Shhhh.” Thalia hushed them as they huddled together. “Do not spoil the surprise.”

  Orien had been gone since dawn, but now they heard his deep voice ring out in the vestibule as he spoke to Gaius. It’d been Ansil’s idea to organize a little celebration for Orien to mark his birthday, though he was currently having second thoughts about his impulsive notion.

  He was hidden in the kitchen with Doc, Arya, Cadence, and Thalia, who had helped Cadence make a special cake for the occasion with buttercream frosting, apparently his favorite. Learning of Orien’s preferences sent a small thrill through Ansil, and ever since Thalia told him of the plan, he had been working on something special to gift him with tonight.

  “He will be cross with us,” Doc said, amusement in his eyes. “He does not take kindly to attention or praise.”

  “Well, he’ll have to put up with us for one evening,” Arya replied with a shake of her head. She had only beat Orien home by minutes from her own ride through the forest, and her cheeks were still rosy from her trip. He imagined her trotting into villages and fiercely bartering for wares like some warrior princess. He thought she and his mother might get along well.

  Before gloomy thoughts about home could assail him, the rear door creaked open and Dim
itri tiptoed inside, followed by Herry, who only had eyes for Thalia. Over the past week, the two of them had challenged each other in chess, checkers, and old maid in the solarium, and sometimes Ansil would play the winner, unless they were oblivious to his presence. Ansil loved teasing Thalia about how fond she was growing of Herry despite his sniffling, which had lessened a degree since Doc recently suggested he drink his tea with peppermint or eucalyptus in the evenings.

  Ansil had also read that menthol or cedar leaf might help reduce inflammation in the nasal passages, so they tasked Arya with searching for those items in her travels. Ansil loved poring over the journals with Doc for a solution, if only because it made him feel useful.

  Yesterday afternoon, Doc had joined Ansil in the sunniest corner of the solarium, where he usually read or carved in his favorite chair. Doc told him stories of his time at the king’s palace, as well as in other villages, and Ansil pretended not to be too terribly interested when the topic changed to Orien. He’d geared his curiosity toward Orien’s upbringing, but Doc seemed to steer clear of that timeline, either because he knew it was off-limits or because he thought it was Orien’s tale to share.

  When Doc inquired of Ansil’s childhood in Ravenswood, there was a sad set to his shoulders, as if he did not want to upset Ansil. But the more Ansil described his life in the small village, the more he realized just how lonely he’d grown since his father died. He was still close to his mother, but she’d become more distracted with duty and, of course, her marriage to Reginald, which Ansil tried not to be bitter about, especially if the aloof man pleased her.

  But the same thoughts continued to plague him as he lay awake at night. Was she truly content, or had she married out of obligation, to provide Ansil with a man of the house until he came of age? Ravenswood was the only province in the kingdom run by a duchess, and he imagined his mother felt pressure to conform, though she never spoke of it aloud. He told himself the moment he was able to be alone with her again, he would ask. He realized since his captivity that time was of the essence. He needed to know if she was truly happy.