The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Twenty

Ale tasted awful—it hit his tongue like a fist. How humans and dezmek drank it regularly was beyond Mirthal, but Tracou wanted him to drink so he did his best. It had to be a horrible, dreadful, terrible idea. But... Tracou had held his hand when he had asked. Mirthal would do anything Tracou asked if he held his hand while asking. Of that he was certain.

Over the course of some forced chit-chat, Tracou and Pendaer managed to finish four cups of ale while Mirthal had barely made it halfway through a second. Because Mirthal had never had alcohol before, he felt the effects of it much easier than he might have otherwise. Tracou, being rather small, had fallen prey to the effects of alcohol as well. His cheeks and nose had turned red, which was cute. He was so cute that it hurt to look at him.

He also was leaning against him and holding his hand again. These two things happening at once made him feel better than the alcohol. His heart bubbled pleasantly in his chest and, despite the way he was doing something outrageously taboo for an Elven Prince, Mirthal relaxed.

"Are you tired?" Mirthal asked Tracou. Leaning against someone else was something one did when they were tired, right? It was nice, regardless.

"No. Why? Do you not want me against you?"

Mirthal shook his head. "No, I do."

"Your highness, you can't encourage this behavior," Pendaer said, butting into the conversation.

"I can and I will," Mirthal announced. But, shortly after this declaration, he frowned. "Maybe you're right..."

Even though Mirthal liked having Tracou so close to him, he shouldn't. They were both men. Sure, Tracou didn't love Serpouhi (thank heavens), but the core problem remained. What Mirthal felt towards Tracou was warped somehow. Two men couldn't be perfect halves—it didn't make sense. Something inside him had become misaligned and he didn't know how to fix it, but he could at least not inflict his problem on someone else.

And yet, he found himself indulging in Tracou. He let him hold his hand, let him rest up against him. His attempts to dodge Tracou hurt them both, but he had to try harder. He couldn't let this happen if he could avoid it—only by his avoidance could he do something good. Maybe if he tried to focus more on women he could stop this.

Back in his palace, he had stumbled upon a collection of ink paintings depicting naked women. Those images had captivated him. A normal reaction, surely. But now, the idea of seeing Tracou nude thrilled him just as much, if not more. Tracou would smile at him, stepping out of a pool of his discarded clothes, moving closer to him...

No! He couldn't think about that—not now, not ever!

"Of course I'm right," Pendaer huffed.

"Wait! Why?" Tracou squeezed Mirthal's hand, making Mirthal's heart skip a beat. "Why would he be right?"

"Because I know best!"

Tracou glowered at him. "Shut up, Pendaer!"

How could he explain why? That would reveal too much to Tracou.

With a light grunt, Tracou forced himself into Mirthal's lap, straddling his thighs, and placed both hands on Mirthal's face. Mirthal's entire body stiffened, his face frozen.

Tracou was on top of him! What should he do?! He should recoil or get him off, but he didn't want to. Did Tracou realize what he was doing? They had been close before, but not this close. Not with Tracou's soft legs on him.

"Why would he be right?" Tracou demanded

Mirthal blinked at him, struggling to get a grip on himself.