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“There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man.”
— A Game of Thrones
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For some years of Jayce’s youth, there had been a second minstrel living at Forgekeep. This would normally have meant music would spread through its halls twofold, but in those days the Harpwitch was at the height of their craft and so the second spent her time being called on to remember old borders and agreements or practicing in quieter corners of the Keep. Not for peace, but privacy—as much as the prince would allow. In the long afternoons of her first summer there, he could often be found at her knee, pestering her relentlessly until she sated enough of his curiosity for him to run off.
On one of those days, Jayce was introduced to the concept of a Before and After. The moment when a person’s path diverged in a way that closed the road behind them, that inciting incident that turned man into a hero or a shadow of himself. The sort of divergence that would have a minstrel sitting down to compose a name for themselves.
Jayce did not fully understand it then, but he would in the future. Especially when he caught his face in a looking glass. In the years to come, he would grow into a fine man, a future king and son of kings stretching back in an unbroken line for well over a century. He’d have the sort of golden face that could have belonged to a kind man, a good one, if only his world were kinder.
But it wasn’t. Because the first time Jayce saw his sister, he could never again be a truly good man.
It was the only time he saw her before his father died. He’d been well-behaved on the journey, as if his innocent nature was celebrating a final send-off. His sister had not been born in the castle, was barely his sister at all save some distant relation far back in the family tree, enough to satisfy the way Talises held onto their throne. As luck would have it, the entirety of her close family had been quite efficiently dispatched by a rival lord in a rather nasty run of poisonings, so there was no one to fight the King about her being taken for his son.
Jayce didn’t think they would have anyway. His father was wise and caring. He did the best to protect those he loved, making sure neither his Queen nor his son wanted for anything, and he had to take special care with Jayce’s sister. Keeping her far away so she wouldn’t be targeted or catch an illness before she could do her duty.
But her duty would be to Jayce, and he knew that from the moment he’d been aware of her. So he begged and begged to see her—no holiday was safe from his demands, gift-giving or otherwise. He went on a hunger strike twice before his father showed mercy. It was the only thing he’d ever been truly denied, and he could not understand why without being near her. His father must have known that.
He brought Jayce on horseback to the tower with a small retinue. They rode on Malleus, a stallion 18 hands high and dark as coal. His temperament made him far from the King’s favorite, but Jayce loved him and would suffer a much longer ride than his hyperactivity could normally stand if his father allowed him to sit with him. Since it was a special occasion and Jayce’s attention was necessary, his father made the sacrifice even though they weren’t staying long.
It was the snow, he said later. It drifted slowly and too early in autumn to stick to the ground, but no chances could be taken with their kingdom’s future, and so their pace increased. Jayce held onto Malleus tightly and kept his posture ramrod straight. His face was whipped red by the wind whistling past them, but a future king could not slouch or hide in his father’s coat. Not on the way to see his future bride.
Before long, the detour from the main road emerged into a path that led to a crumbling tower hidden deep in the King’s hunting grounds, with a stable and first-floor building to match. But it was no ruin. Even from a distance, Jayce caught where the illusion of disrepair was shored up internally to keep the area unassuming. All in service of protecting one tiny future queen.
And she was tiny. Jayce thought at first they’d dragged a mouse of a servant girl out to welcome them, given the way she leaned on a cane and coughed without the daintiness of a lady, but his life split when their eyes met. His Before and After, the moment any future minstrel worth their salt would know he had no choice but to become whatever would keep his queen safe.
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Caitlyn did not wait for the council to fully exit before she deposited her newest armload of scrolls and envelopes onto the table. Jayce thought his ass might mold to the chair at that rate, but he knew better than to do anything but sit back down. He used to think being King might grant him more respect from her; all it had proven was that it was tenfold more embarrassing to have his arm publicly twisted by her, to say nothing of it “not instilling confidence in him as a ruler.”
That was a sentiment he’d been hearing too much of lately. One the council had spent the better part of the day on, one Jayce wanted nothing more than to put behind him. His father’s body was barely cold in his mind. He still found himself waiting for him to turn a corner, to hear his mother’s laughter follow the low murmur of his voice, but no reprieve from this new world ever came.
Nor would it, he knew. The hunting accident his father had been caught in was no accident at all. Whether it was a foreign enemy angling for general instability or a closer villain reaching for his birthright, Jayce did not know, but he did know that he had a duty to his kingdom to rule steadfastly.
Apparently, the only way to do this was through marriage, or so the entire council seemed to feel. A grand ceremony that his father would never see resulting in more heirs he would never bounce on his knee and a stronger grip on the Anvil Throne he would never appreciate.
“Have you been carrying all these around?” Jayce busied himself by pretending to sort, knowing full well Caitlyn had handled that already.
“I’d been informed you told your servants to hold them until you had more to review, and behold, more to review.” Caitlyn’s tone and arched brow cut deeply. “Besides, if you don’t choose a bride soon, I fear my mother may resort to drastic measures.”
They shuddered in tandem. Knowing House Kiramman’s ambitions, Jayce did not feel like starting off his reign by spurning one of his closest allies by refusing to marry her daughter. Her daughter who did not care for men, but the freedoms afforded to those of royalty were few and far between and it wasn’t as if no one ever entertained a mistress within Forgekeep’s walls.
Anything for power, and it was power Jayce needed to hold onto. Regardless of how his every sense rejected the idea of marrying Caitlyn, a wife from House Kiramman would not be the way forward. They needed House Talis at full strength and adhering to its most sacred traditions, as King’s Hand Medarda and Master Steward Reveck continued to stress. Master of Whisperers Silco had even alluded to the secret of the royal hunting grounds at that day’s meeting, all but a clear threat that he would send for the girl himself if Jayce did not decree it of his own free will.
His sister. The bride he’d dreamed of for years, the one who’d haunted his every waking thought since the physician declared his father dead. No letters had been exchanged between them, no words passed beyond those of that first night when Jayce took hold of her fragile hands and swore to protect her always—and now he’d bring her into a pit of vipers that would seek to destroy her as soon as they learned of her?
He looked at Caitlyn, wishing he did not know her well enough to know what her advice would be. He’d wished the same of his Hand and the rest of the council. Every road led back to that snowy evening and his little mouse.
Perhaps it could not hurt to see how she’d grown.
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Vander insisted on sending a few of the Kingsguard with him. Jayce allowed it for the Queen’s sake and made sure to tell him that; he hadn’t realized how badly he needed a measured scolding rather than royal platitudes until he saw Vander’s vein pop from his forehead. Somewhere in this strange interim, Jayce could still be seen as himself.
And he could nearly see his father on their journey. It was too late into spring for snowfall, but the music of plain armor and the chatter of Claggor and Ekko behind him still sent him back to that night. It couldn’t be perfect without him, but Jayce and Malleus were doing as well as they could. He was even behaving as they made their way off the path—Malleus, to be clear. Jayce would wager a guess it had to do with the sweet mare he was leading.
Show-off, he wanted to say, but he had no room to speak of. Jayce had Thistle bred and trained specifically for his queen, a strong horse with an easy nature. He had no news of how his sister’s leg had progressed as they aged apart from each other, but in case it had worsened, he ordered her to be conditioned to a wide variety of riders. Her handlers had done exceptionally well. She hardly flicked a tail at noises that made Malleus shift off-pattern beneath him.
“Nearly there,” he muttered lowly, patting the horse’s neck. The last time they’d made this journey, Malleus had dwarfed him. Now Jayce was the taller one. He wondered, if his queen did not recognize him, would she recognize his horse instead and recognize how well he’d grown?
He couldn’t help but hope it was noticeable enough for her to say the first word. Jayce was not sour company on the road and quipped back at his guard when he felt like it, but he wasn’t feeling conversational himself. All those years and he’d never once thought about how to greet her. His mind had been too busy barrelling ahead to everything he wanted to show her and do with her, skipping to the part where she was a fixture without spending much time on how to get her there.
Jayce had not yet settled on what to say when the tower loomed into view. Behind him, his Kingsguard fell silent. Time had only added to its disguise. The structure was entirely unbefitting of a queen, and yet he would be grateful to it for keeping her safe. As creepy as it was.
“We will rest here for a night before returning to Forgekeep.” He declared this loud enough for all his guards to hear despite making no move to dismount. Jayce could not say what kept him in the saddle beyond the sensation of being pinned. Watched.
He turned his head just so. Between the stable and the main building, a man sat on a crate with his nose in a book. Even from a distance, his bearing intrigued Jayce enough to urge Malleus closer. There was something oddly elegant and aware about him despite most likely being a mere servant to his future queen. Was this the effect she had on those around her?
“If you’re here to seek shelter, I would suggest you seek elsewhere,” the man called out without picking his head up once the group was close enough. “We have no rooms and little food to offer, and certainly not enough for that beast you’re riding.”
Jayce waved a hand back on instinct before anyone could reach for a hilt. He wouldn’t have the youth punished by his guards for impertinence to his King when they’d purposefully traveled in disguise. Especially not when it was clearly out of loyalty to his sister. The cleverness was a bonus.
“I am here to discuss a matter of royal importance with Ser Young,” he said. He let a bit of kingliness bleed into his voice in the interest of impatience. “He has been expecting my arrival for some time. Is he inside?”
“Royal importance,” the man repeated. “Expecting you?” He was beginning to sound like an exotic bird, if they preferred more understated plumage. Jayce could be an impartial appreciator of this servant’s feathery curls and lilting echoes. Even more so how his fingers gripped the cover of his book nervously, nails nearly scoring the soft leather. “We did not receive any word of guests.”
“Ah... no, you wouldn’t have,” Jayce admitted. He’d been perhaps a bit enthusiastic, but surely they’d been informed of the King’s passing. Ser Young and his family had been guarding the hidden Talis bride long enough to know what it would mean for Jayce to take the throne. Surely the servants were also aware. “We are here to discuss his ward.”
“Whatever you wish to say to him, you may say to me.” Jayce heard Mylo click his teeth as the servant closed his book leisurely and nearly matched it, if not for—“I am well acquainted with this ward.”
“The crown personally thanks you for your dedication,” he replied, or at least attempted to. It might have slurred together in the undignified rush through the formalities. He wanted to see her. He needed to. “Bring her to me, then.”
“I....” The man swallowed audibly, sending Jayce’s heart into his throat. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. She is, eh, no longer here.”
Jayce’s jaw clicked loudly enough that Malleus reacted. He dismounted in one smooth movement, crossing the distance between them in only two strides. There was some odd emphasis in the man’s words, but he couldn’t parse it through his own mental onslaught.
“What happened? Why was word not sent to Forgekeep the moment it occurred?” How could he have lost another member of his family without feeling it? Jayce’s hands itched for his hammer, for his army. He didn’t understand how someone could sit and read while his bride was missing, much less refuse to look him in the eye and make a report. “Do not keep your King waiting.”
He didn’t like to take a tone even he could tell was too harsh, but he would never apologize for it. Not when the maelstrom of anger and fear caused the man to finally look up at him.
His eyes were just as Jayce remembered. Liquid gold, captivatingly catlike. He thought he’d hallucinated the moles, but they were in their proper places. In his face, Jayce could see the echo of the little mouse he met in the snow beneath the man who had made himself in its place.
“Our father assured me it would not be a concern,” he said. Without taking his eyes off Jayce, as if he’d dreamt of this moment as long as he had, the man reached for the curved walking stick leaning against his crate and used it to stand. They could have stared at each other well into the next age without Ekko’s plausibly deniable cough to break the enchantment.
“He—no, it will be no concern at all. I simply wasn’t informed.” Jayce’s face burned an appropriate shade of Talis Red, he could feel it. But as long as his brother could still produce heirs, the council would take no issue with him. Jayce wouldn’t let them. “You have been a mystery to me this whole time.”
“Have I?” He tilted his head, peering at Jayce as if the new angle might uncover something interesting. His eyes sparkled, though whether with excitement or discovery, Jayce couldn’t tell. He wanted to be able to tell. He wanted to know everything about his wife. Including, most importantly—
“I wasn’t even told your name.” The admission earned him not a full laugh but a still delightful quirk of his brother’s mouth.
“Then it is time we no longer be strangers, I think. I am Viktor of House Talis,” he said, “and it is an honor to finally meet you again.”
“Viktor.” Jayce allowed himself to say it once, knowing as soon as they were alone, he would say little else. He removed his glove and took Viktor’s free hand in his. It wasn’t nearly as soft as he expected, but of course it was no lady’s hand. His brother and bride wouldn’t be idle. “I am more glad than you know to finally bring my future queen back to Forgekeep.”
To look back on it, Jayce’s Before and After had been fixed in place by the hands of fate so early that he developed a sense for when others had their split. Some, like Silco, wore it on their face. Viktor’s was far more subtle than that.
If he’d only smiled, perhaps nothing that followed would have come to pass. Or it still would, but with far less fire. But instead, the expression Viktor offered him was one of wide-eyed shock. Not quite an aversion but still a reluctance. Jayce, who knew his bride by soul if not sight for nearly two decades, could read him plainly. Viktor did not want this.
Unfortunately for him, a kingdom could not be balanced on the desires of a single person.
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Jayce would have no choice but to hire the minstrel himself at the pace he was setting.
No, perhaps that was too hasty—he could do with a careful monitoring and friendly suggestion, only that being King meant he could never again give any criticism in jest. Even being Prince held a sort of safe, innate petulance to it. Pardon me, but that’s not how it happened would be expected. For a King to send such a message and convey either a schoolyard tantrum or a hammer silencing dissent would do nothing but weaken the respect House Talis earned and breed whispers.
Make me sound valiant and legendary or you won’t get paid and perhaps will be executed, on the other hand, was understandable and implicit when the hiring was done directly. Yes, that was what Jayce would do. Hire a minstrel who knew better than to write that Jayce had carried his queen off first slung over his shoulder, then in a bridal carry, then stuffed under one arm. One who, if they chose to include it, would pin the blame to Viktor squirming and fighting despite how he’d gone glassy eyed at the manhandling.
That would sound worse, like he’d shirked the proper raising of his parents the first time he got his hands around a slender waist and become a complete brute. Or worse, that his queen was a siren who made him take leave of his senses—which was perhaps true, but didn’t need to be committed to national memory. He would have a hard enough time suffering the looks from his Kingsguard until the next time he did something ridiculous in front of them.
If only they could heckle him for the night or on the return ride and be done with it. What he had learned through mourning his father was that the man he’d known had not died once or died alone. He died again each morning when Jayce opened his eyes and seemed to take the whole world with him; the mother he grew up with was a changed woman, the friends he’d known nearly his whole life could no longer tease him as loudly or freely, and the partnership he’d dreamed of for years was withering before his eyes. Perhaps he might have known what to do about it before, but Jayce thought sometimes he might have died alongside him. Some childish form of him slipped into the coffin just as it closed, curling against his father’s side to keep him company.
He wondered if Viktor felt their shared loss with any sort of keenness. Jayce had considered him a full sibling for a long time, but had never stopped to think about whether Viktor shared that sentiment about him or their parents. Had something of him died as well? It consumed Jayce’s mind as he watched him pack up the room he’d stayed in for most of his life.
It wasn’t fit for a queen in the slightest, but Viktor seemed to treasure it regardless. His touch was everywhere, in the sketches stuck to the walls and the springs of flowers hung to dry and the small collection of tomes laid flat in stone alcoves. It had not been a cell or a place to wait, but a home. He’d lived a happy life there, however lonely or solitary.
Jayce knew he spent the time chattering aimlessly while he helped Viktor sort through his belongings, wandering from topic to topic. People he was to meet, places he had to see, wedding preparations. He had forgiven him for the apprehension too quickly. But when he looked back on it, Jayce remembered what he should have noticed right away: the slight furrow in Viktor’s brow that meant he was sorting through a puzzle. It did not disappear when they returned below to the Kingsguard and Viktor’s chests and bags were divided among the horses, nor when he was helped onto Thistle.
If he looked back at his brother before they crossed the gate back into Forgekeep, Jayce might have recognized it in time. But he was returning as a King, not yet a husband, and so his eyes were kept detrimentally forward while a shadow stretched behind him.
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In the weeks that followed, a predictable series of incidents occurred that lulled Jayce into a false sense of not peace, but order.
Viktor refused to unseat Ximena from her chambers despite her long traditional mourning stay in her home country, which hardly anyone was ungrateful about, and took over an empty apartment near those historically meant for the King. Jayce thought he might have had an uncle or aunt who stayed there once, but no matter. It was his betrothed’s now, and he settled into it nicely. A physician was called soon after to thoroughly examine Viktor and confirm his virginity, after which he was presented to the Hand of the King and the Master Steward. Viktor did not come out of his room for a full day afterward. (Jayce found himself not minding—he felt it best that Mel and Corin’s pointed looks go unwitnessed.) Once he was well again, Viktor was subjected to a full run of tasks that laid him in bed for another day: bathed and oiled by servants, measured by tailors and kept after to sample fabrics, introduced to a gaggle of potential ladies-in-waiting, subjected to meeting the full council, assigned a plethora of tutors to shore up what Ser Young had been able to teach.
Through it all, Viktor was perfectly polite, openly grateful for Jayce’s company when he could spare it and seemingly happy to defer to him most of the time. He had only made one request of his own that his King was happy to grant. Ser Young’s daughter would be collected to serve as a confidante and friend to the future queen within the week. All was seemingly well.
Jayce had grown used to an extra darkness falling over his door, but it was still an acquired skill to not jump out of his skin when the torchlight moved just so and revealed Silco lying in wait for him. He had yet to not curse about it. As ever, Silco’s mouth quirked into what could pass for a smile, but the tilt of his head was less than welcoming.
“I could have good news for you, Your Majesty. Whispers can be neutral,” Silco drawled. Now that he’d been seen, he opened the door to Jayce’s chambers. A meal waited inside with only one plate; of course the man already knew the King had taken dinner with his fiancé.
“Well,” Jayce said as he took his seat, “given that it was the Lord Commander’s rest day, I doubt you’d part from him for anything that couldn’t wait until morning.”
“His bed, more like,” Silco muttered, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “A light crushing seems to be the only way one sleeps these days.”
Jayce poured himself some of the wine and toasted to that. If only they all cared less! His could have been a reign of decadence and shorter days when they weren’t feasting or partying, but that was not how he’d been raised nor the kingdom that had been left to him. Acclimating Viktor had only added to his duties. At least the reward would be well worth it.
“What whisper have you brought me, then?” Something about the villains behind his father’s death, another rumor, or something so far-flung from the kingdom’s edges that he couldn’t be bothered to care for the moment?
“There will be a move against your future queen in the coming days,” Silco said. Jayce’s functions slowed to a predator’s stillness. “It will function to test you as well. How much you care about him, how far your rage will extend. The rat’s nest will expose itself when they play their hand.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it almost sounds as if you have names already.” Jayce’s tone was measured twice and cut once. The rest of his face twitched without calculation. “If you have any motives not to strike before your future queen’s life is at risk, I trust they are important ones, or else you’ll be risking yours.”
“My King.” In an expression he’d seen on his mother’s face more than a few times, Silco’s good eye squeezed shut for a long moment and then opened again. “I will not lie and say your father never questioned me, but my work requires degrees of freedom you must learn to put up with. I have my reasons.”
“Right. As I recall, I’ve had just as much time to learn to trust you as he did, so I should sit back and twiddle my thumbs until the wedding.” Jayce royally rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, glaring at the wall. For as often as Viktor politely asked if he realized he was thinking so loudly, Silco’s brain turned at a dull roar.
“You’ve had much more time than you realize,” he said once he seemed to gather himself. “Do you think your bride dropped from the sky, Jayce?”
One carefully gambled overfamiliarity and he felt five again, a pudgy intrusion in Silco’s chamber attempting (very poorly) to hide behind his desk and be one of his spies. He would peek out to look at him, writing his missives with his hair tied up before he’d cut it short to prevent it being grabbed, and walk away with either a sweet or a lesson for his trouble. It was exactly the effect his Master of Whisperers intended.
“No, obviously not.” Jayce fought with his posture. “His family was murdered. Father told me it was some border dispute gone wrong. Poison for everyone but him, or he was sick in bed and ate something different. Am I right?”
“More or less,” Silco granted. “‘Border dispute’ is somewhat generous, but regardless, it could have resolved itself had the lady’s family tree not been traced far back enough to be dangerous information. You’d survived enough winters to be counted on by then. Despite his constitution, it seemed the lord’s only child would as well.”
The story began to take a fuller yet twisted shape in his mind. “They were murdered because of me.”
“Because of your family, my King, and their status, as has been done to distant relations of royalty many times over. Don’t take much more on your shoulders than is necessary. These wheels have been turning since long before you or I were born.” Silco’s eyes tracked to the far wall, where a tapestry of Talis accomplishments had hung since the time of Jayce’s grandfather. “It’s not your fault short-sightedness warps our world. Why wait for your neighbor to learn their past and call the royal hammer down on you when you can do away with them all and double your miserable land!”
“Flame forbid anyone choose compromise. They might run the risk of being logical,” Jayce sighed. “But I don’t think that was your point, Ser.”
“Not everything has a point, Your Majesty.” Silco’s fingers danced over the plate of biscuits lazily. “But if you were to wonder why one little sprite of a child managed to survive a coordinated assassination and end up in the hands of the royal family anyway, it might have something to do with the visitor that child met months before, who heard most of the sordid tale directly from his mouth.”
He plucked a biscuit with finality and so, despite Jayce’s nosiness, he allowed the conversation to steer toward other matters. All the while, he followed the threads Silco had carefully laid in his hands. That he had found and saved Viktor himself years before was important, yes, but so was the restrained softness when he spoke of him. His Queen would take the throne with the Master of Whisperers already behind him.
It also hadn’t escaped his notice that, if Silco told the truth, his little bride had been the one to notice the going ons of his estate and gather enough information to secure his own life. A child with wide eyes and open ears seldom outgrew a habit like that. And if there were any who had survived the culling by House Talis and knew of Viktor’s precise heritage...
Before they retired for the night, Jayce ordered for a few dogs to be placed near their feast table. Over their next few meals, a pit yawned in his stomach when he caught Viktor reaching down to scratch their heads, but he couldn’t say anything without giving their aim away.
In truth, he’d been unprepared for how thoroughly Viktor would come to expand his rule over him. His presence in Jayce’s mind had become a process as natural as breathing since their eyes first met, but as he became a real fixture in his life, Jayce found his entire body tuning itself to his melody. His ears stretched to catch hints of his soft voice through the hallways, his hands twitched toward him when he was near. Every sight and fleeting touch was the finest food. Every bit fueled him, as if Jayce could nibble his fingertips and be sustained for weeks on only the mission of arranging his life for him.
That, perhaps, was the underlying issue he’d neglected to address. As was the way in Forgekeep, the cracks began to show at the most unlikely times. Another sun-dappled afternoon when Jayce’s wanderings subconsciously pushed him toward Viktor’s chambers, and a servant exiting at the right time brought him his future queen’s voice. A deep curtsy and Your Majesty drowned out by “Jayce, is that you? Come here!”
He swept past the servant on the floor and into Viktor’s apartment. The boxes and tailor’s assistants milling around should have given a hint, perhaps, but his queen called and he came—just in time to see his pale, smooth back disappear as he was laced into a new dress.
“Viktor.” Jayce held one wrist behind his back. Not a single person besides his betrothed was making eye contact with him, and yet he felt scolded just by standing there. “This—it isn’t proper for me to be here with you like this before we’re married. Court custom and all.”
“Mm. Well, I don’t think they can blame the king for being pushed in by the wind. How strange that it, heh, shut the door behind you as well.” Viktor grinned widely. Jayce hoped the strength of it never faded. He adored the tilt of his teeth, so perfect for his little minx who spun so carefully to give him a little show. It was slightly stilted given how he had to lean on the new cane Jayce commissioned for him. He’d have to make one for him himself, if he ever had the time to again. “Do you like this?”
“It looks...” Jayce trailed off, his eyes picking up where his mouth left off. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he had no way with words—his speeches, however spur-of-the-moment, had become a thing of a legend—but his hands knew well how much more succinctly and thoroughly they could make the point of Viktor’s beauty. His naturally flat chest and slender frame were the perfect canvas for the tailor Jayce had selected.
“I hope you being speechless is a good thing?” Viktor’s eyes flicked around, but none met his save Jayce’s. His helpless gaze was snared easily. “I haven’t worn dresses in years, Jayce, which I’m sure is plain to see. Please tell me you ordered different cuts of men’s clothes as well.”
“A set or two.” Jayce couldn’t restrain his laugh at his little brother’s dismayed expression. “Is it really so bad? You’re beautiful, Viktor. Don’t tell me you really called me in here for my opinion. You hardly need me, you can see yourself.”
“It is still good to know you’ll like what you’ve paid for.” The response was careful with a halting quality that dragged a memory from Jayce’s mind. Some session of womanly advice from Cait, a tail end of a conversation about the strong differences between her as his sister and the sister who was one no more—Jayce’s memory was a bit busy recording other things to remember later, but he recalled the shape and intent of Cait’s lesson.
“Viktor.” He stepped closer, eyes trained not on the fabric but on the man in them. “It’s my fault and my fault alone that I haven’t studied poets and minstrels well enough to give you the compliments you deserve. I swear, if they all look like this on you, I will make a point of it.”
“I... you don’t have to...” But when Viktor turned back to the mirror, his reflection was pleased. Jayce let his attention drift to the other offerings, inspecting the ones Viktor seemed to have already tried on, laid neatly in a pile next to the patterns Jayce remembered exceptionally well.
“Have you tried these ones yet?” A phantom tail began to swish behind him. There were enough clothes for another hour of watching Viktor’s body disappear and appear beneath layers of brocade and linen. But his bride’s pretty head shook, mouth pulled into a frown.
“A few, but I’m afraid the measurements must have been a bit off,” Viktor said. “The stomach areas are a bit... ah... distorted?”
“Ah.” Jayce crossed over to them, nodding to the first one on the stack. Just the pattern he chose. “You won’t have use for these right away, but I thought we might as well have them prepared ahead of time. They’re for when you’re with child.”
And then, to illustrate, he picked one of the dresses toward the bottom of the pile. Before a servant or two could scramble to hold it up toward him, Viktor took it from him and held it up to his own shoulders. Jayce stepped closer to push his hands behind him and hold the center panels from within. His brother could only hold eyes on it for a mere moment before they searched Jayce for explanation.
He had none. Despite knowing it was his birthright to be a guide and protector, not only for his family but for every inch of the kingdom beyond their walls and the virtues his house’s reign had been founded upon, Jayce’s mouth was dry. He could think of nothing but Viktor. His future queen and bride swollen with heir and spare and spare and spare, a new line with bright eyes and brighter minds.
“Jayce?” If not for the soft whisper of his name being punctuated by a needle dropping, reminding him of their witnesses, he might have taken Viktor then and there. There hardly seemed to be a point to waiting—but Jayce had brought him there in the name of tradition and wouldn’t be swayed. No matter how deeply they both desired it.
With an effort even greater than it had taken to rise from bed and put his father’s coffin to the flames, Jayce stepped back and let the dress fall once more. Viktor passed it off hurriedly, a blur carrying it back to the pile it had come from. Jayce kept his eyes on the dress he was still in. Wine red brocade with gold trim, tailored close to his neck and wrists before allowing the skirt to fall freely.
“You’ll wear that to dinner.” Jayce only pictured taking his hand and kissing the back of it. He couldn’t trust his touch to only linger when his betrothed looked like that and a bed was barely five strides away. He would gather himself before the meal. “I will see you then. Viktor.”
“Jayce.” He only dipped his head. It was the best he could manage on unsteady feet and it was no trouble at all for Jayce to forgive him. Especially when Viktor turned back to the mirror and gave him a beautiful view of the lace at his back.
It was, strangely, the strongest memory Jayce had of that evening, as every following detail seemed to revolve around it. When he arrived at the feast table, Viktor pushed himself to bow low enough for Jayce to see it. As they waited for the dishes to be brought, Jayce let his hand make a home at his back, fingers playing with the gaps. His future bride blushed with every whispered compliment and unsubtle push to seat himself closer. And when the dog at Viktor’s feet was fed his meal and began to seize, the ribbons twisted at his neck as he held his queen back.
“No—no, please,” he begged, but Jayce couldn’t allow him to get close. He had a practical reason to hide behind. Until the corpse was tested, the nature of the poison would be unknown, and he didn’t want to risk any tainted form or spittle endangering Viktor. But far more importantly, Jayce wouldn’t allow a mutt to take this from him. The sweet press of Viktor’s sobs against his neck, how he burrowed against him when he accepted that he had no one but his King for comfort. Jayce held his weight as he stood up and moved back, guards already at arms and his council ready to take action. The silence had already broken among the other nobles.
“Lord Commander,” Jayce barked. Vander struck his breastplate in answer. Neither of their eyes drew attention to the empty seat at his side; Silco had his rats to flush out, and they would have to make a show of capturing whoever they left to take the blame. “Take your best and find the root of this plot. Whoever strikes against your future queen strikes equally against your King, and I will not let this disrespect to House Talis stand.”
“I will leave Claggor to your protection.” He bowed and left with Ekko and Vi at his heels, no time to be wasted on court pleasantries. The dog had gone still by the time the sound of their armor faded, leaving Viktor trembling against him. He felt so much, Jayce wished he could hold it for him, but not there. Not with so many eyes on them. He turned to Mel at his other side, but her gaze was already scolding before her mouth opened.
“Your Majesty,” she said in the tone that meant she would have hissed Jayce if they were alone, “allow us to serve our future queen in this. I will have an untainted meal for you both sent to his chambers.”
Jayce couldn’t find it in himself to care if this was a display of weakness. Viktor had been so well protected that he was a stranger to this sort of violent, needless death. He was glad that Mel knew him well enough to know he intended to have her watch him, and gladder still that she knew it would be best if his mind wasn’t elsewhere. He nodded to her and then angled his face toward Viktor, who had made a home in the side of his neck.
“Come,” he said. At the sound of his voice and the command, Viktor went gratefully boneless. His to control and guide for his own safety and peace of mind. “I have you, Viktor. I have you.”
With no servants allowed in, rumors be damned, the night ended how it began: Jayce’s fingers in the lace and his eyes trained solely on Viktor’s beauty, only this time it was to undo his trappings. He didn’t allow his hands to wander further than that. Not until he had names.
⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊
Silco brought them a week later on a silver platter. He had always been one for theatrics regardless, but it was a better foundation for the pyramid of fingers, tongues, and ears to rest on. The scroll perched on top, neatly rolled.
“There will always be others, but this faction has had its last day in the sun,” Silco intoned as he placed the cover back over it. Residual enemies from the death of Viktor’s family had colluded with his father’s killers, leaving their dungeons with much to deal with before the wedding. Jayce knew several had taken joy in weeding out the lackeys and movers whose parts were presented to him, but his mind was, as ever, on Viktor.
“I don’t know that our queen will be happy to hear it,” Jayce sighed. They both knew of whom he spoke. His mother had arrived for the wedding after the attempted poisoning, and even she routinely referred to Viktor as the future queen without malice or jealousy. Jayce thought she might enjoy the respite to continue mourning his father, or perhaps she was helping Viktor settle into his proper place.
Regardless, he spoke the truth and Silco echoed it. Soon after the incident, Viktor had requested a long list of herbs, poisons, and materials, all of which were provided at Master Steward Reveck’s direction—Jayce would have had someone’s head over it if Lady Young hadn’t bravely stepped in and reported on the sort of natural teachings her father had imparted onto Viktor over the years. They chalked it up to a need for understanding and control and left him to it, but now Jayce had no other distraction from it.
“His reactions will numb with time,” Silco advised. “I wouldn’t put an animal in harm’s way in front of him again, however. He seems to have an affinity for them.”
“So I’ve heard.” Jayce laughed, shaking his head. He’d seen it as well; the horses and stray cats adored him. Even the birds often came to share breakfast or tea with him, scattering at Jayce’s still-too-heavy footfall. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“You might not have to—for this, anyway.” With that cryptic statement, Silco stood and gathered his display. Before Jayce could tease an explanation from him, the door to his chamber opened and the sight of Viktor stole his focus. He approached with such nervous energy that Silco’s exit was merely a shadow passing behind him.
“Your Majesty.” His bow was lighter. He’d been deepening it with obvious intention, happy to practice, but between his cane and the chest he was holding, Viktor could only manage so much. Jayce was quick to cup his chin and lift it.
“There’s no need to be so formal, even when you are bringing me something.” He smiled at the blush that flooded Viktor’s face and turned his ears red. Jayce appreciated its heat for a moment and then drew his hand away to wave at the vacated seat before him. “What do you have for me, Viktor?”
The answer to that was an unexpected gift by way of a short demonstration. Somehow, his bright little bird had enough sway with the kitchen staff to be allowed to make a poisoned biscuit and a safer twin. Jayce had little else but Viktor’s word to go on, until two vials of a clear concoction were procured. One was poured on the plain biscuit without much effect beyond a soggy center, and the other immediately turned red on impact.
Jayce’s mind neatly divided itself. Half of it, the inventor and scientist that had been muzzled by the weight of a crown, eagerly listened to Viktor’s spirited explanation. The herbs he’d used and the poisons that had been tested, how he figured it out, the notes he’d taken. He would certainly circle back to discuss this development at length and all the possible avenues of exploration.
The other half was wholly dedicated to Viktor. His brilliant mind was breathtaking on its own, but every corner and curve of him was improved by knowing what lay beyond his beauty. Jayce had fought himself valiantly for his brother’s honor since the moment he’d found him again, but never had he been so in danger before that moment. The sparkle in Viktor’s eye, his animated movements, his voice. Jayce wanted to know every inch of him. He needed to see what he was made of. What would reveal itself when Jayce sunk his hands inside and made a wife of his little brother.
His brain reunited at the tail end of Viktor’s speech, knitting itself back together with each twirl of those elegant fingers. Jayce hadn’t seen him so enthusiastic and animated since he arrived. It was always good for rulers to have passion projects, and the vein of research he’d seemingly started down would be far more impressive than a social club or a well-kept garden.
If only Viktor had stopped talking.
“—but I thought I might—well, Your Majesty, perhaps I would be better suited being sworn to study rather than to rule with you?”
He gave Jayce the hopeful, soft smile he should have greeted him with when he first declared Viktor as his future queen. Seeing it then stunned Jayce so thoroughly, his reply lost all craft and cleverness when he finally made it.
“You mean you’d rather focus on experimentation than politics?” He nodded to himself. “Viktor, many queen consorts prefer it that way. I will make sure you have what you need, but your hobbies don’t require approval from me.”
That should have been the end of it. That sweet smile should have sustained itself, and yet it faltered as Viktor ventured, “you misunderstand me. I appreciate all you have done for me, truly, and I will always consider you my brother, but it might be best if you were to marry someone more suited to this role. I could pursue this at the Academy...”
He trailed off, as was truly for the best. Jayce did not need more evidence toward just how out of line Viktor had been since the moment he laid eyes on him as himself. He was not unruly or rude, no. Viktor had been perfectly pleasant and kind to all he’d met. But it seemed he did not understand his place, and Jayce had neglected to teach him a most important lesson.
“If you have been misunderstanding me,” Jayce said as he stood up, “let me be clear now.” He crossed to Viktor and took his face in both hands. “There are none more suited than you. No others of Talis blood I desire more than you. And none in the keep at all who compare to your beauty and brilliance. I will allow you your research, but you will not be leaving me for the academy. You are going to be my wife, Viktor.”
“Your Majesty—my King, Jayce, please.” A flutter of resistance, as if a bird struggled against him. He had no choice but to keep looking at him. “How long can it last? How many lives will you sacrifice for my sake? It is not fair. Perhaps you can try another first—”
“So you can only stomach bloodshed you personally approve of?” Jayce barked a laugh that was interrupted by a sharp whimper. He loosened his grip, not realizing he’d begun squeezing so hard. “Point me to who you think should replace you, and I will tell you how quickly any protection would be stripped from her to hasten your return. They would not have the time to wash her blood from the sheets before I took your maidenhead over them. I might even let the assassin escape as a wedding favor.”
“You cannot be serious,” Viktor gasped, and yet—and yet, he had so generously come to see his King in a fitted doublet and hose, all the better to see his thighs tremble closer together. “I have not been kept from court by accident. There are many who would better suit you. You are brilliant, Jayce, so I beg you, see reason.”
“And if I beg the same of you, will you yield to me?” Jayce searched his eyes for the root of this doubt. The fault was his own, he knew. His hand had not been firm enough to show Viktor how secure his position was through Talis might. His will had not been exerted obviously enough for him to meet and prove himself, but he would remedy that and more. “You will have no better care for your health anywhere but here. The villains who slayed our family are rotting beneath our feet as we speak. There will always be threats against us, but we are not weak. If you don’t care for politics, so be it. I’ll handle it as I have been trained to, and all I ask is for you to be my partner. However that looks, we can invent it together. Who will question their rightful King and Queen?”
“Please. You cannot be so insistent.” Viktor’s eyelids quivered, poorly disguised in a shake of the head Jayce allowed. His hands moved down to Viktor’s waist, thumbs crossing over in the center. He would enjoy that discovery while he still could. “I cannot be the wife you’ve waited for all this time. I am no longer your sister, Jayce. I am no longer the girl you remember. I am not one at all.”
“As true as that may be, it won’t save you from being fucked like one.”
Viktor jerked back as if struck. Jayce could hardly blame him. His own vulgarity took him by surprise, but he refused to back down. Courtly restraint and woven words had not brought him this: the sight of his brother’s eyes blown wide, his need finally laid bare. He trusted Jayce to satisfy it. There would be no other.
“You are mine.” He bowed his head low enough to speak the words against Viktor’s skin, close enough to feel it warm from the heat of his breath. “You have a task to complete and your King will see it done. You will stay where you belong while he spoils you within an inch of your life and loves no one better than you. Not even the many, many children he will fill you with.”
He turned his face away and Jayce nosed after it. The string had been tied between them and would not be cut, not for this. Viktor’s hands rested on his forearms as if to push him away, but he gripped them too tightly to hide what he needed. Grounding, stability. For Jayce not to allow him to roam too freely when he’d been perfectly bred for this captivity.
“How much can you love a broodmare, Jayce? A pet?” Viktor arched when Jayce pulled him closer, pressing against his front to let lust not be questioned next. “Am I even tangible enough for you to love? Or am I merely a concept to conquer? This dream you’ve hunted down, this next accomplishment. What is to become of me if I fail you, Jayce?”
His hitching breaths and rising panic, unfortunately, did nothing to quench Jayce’s desire. Viktor’s body shook against him and only made him harder. Despite how foolish it was—they were too close to ruin it now, and he wouldn’t ruin his brother more than he already had—he couldn’t move away.
“What impression have I given you to think I would allow that? That it would even be possible for you to fail me?” Jayce finally, finally let his lips drift to Viktor’s skin. Not to the tempting lips that would damn them both, but to his cheekbone, his jaw, the very corner of his mouth. “You are not going to be my partner and queen as the mouse I met back then. Who could spend the months with you that I have and not see you for the man you are?”
“And I am only a man.” Viktor’s voice broke as he pressed closer. “Jayce, do not make me say it. I can’t.”
“You’re wrong.” He turned away from the door, as if a more plausible angle would lessen his crime, and then forced a hand between Viktor’s legs. Forced only because his thighs clamped down so readily, hips rocking instinctively without allowing him to touch high enough to give the friction he craved. And when he did, Jayce resolved to never allow him to wear hose again. One ruined pair was enough. “You are so much more than that. A genius and inventor hiding a tempting little nymph.”
“Only for as long as you want me, but I will still be a man once you’ve satisfied yourself,” Viktor pleaded. His lashes glimmered so prettily, Jayce had to fight the urge to swipe his tongue across them. “I will still be here when you’re done with me. I can’t—after so long, I can’t—”
Jayce’s heart ached to see how clearly Viktor had suffered for being alone. Yet he was being so perfectly brave in flinging what little of himself he could bear to his King to be caught and kept, he had no choice but to reward him.
“You are a man, but you will never just be that to me.” Jayce rolled his palm upward and Viktor gave him his first moan. A lovely startled noise, as if unaware he could make such a sound. Jayce wrapped his other arm around him and drew him close, pulling another and another from him. “You will be a man and still be my queen, Viktor. A man, my wife, and a sweet girl for me.”
“Please. Please,” Viktor gasped, clearly ignorant of just what he was begging for. But his body knew it well. Innately, as if the faint trace of shared blood prepared him for how to please and find pleasure in belonging to Jayce. His eyes glazed over and he moved with him rather than against him, trembling harder the higher he climbed.
“I will give you what you want if you swear to be mine.” He dragged his teeth down Viktor’s neck, not caring who heard his cry. “Mine forever. Viktor of House Talis, future mother of my children. Not a day will pass without everyone knowing who you belong to. You won’t be hidden again, I won’t allow it.”
“Please,” Viktor sobbed, but he was too good to resist for long. “I’m yours, all yours, please, Jayce, my husband, please—”
Viktor fell apart in his arms, barely having enough sense to bury his scream into his shoulder. Even muffled, it was the sweetest sound Jayce had ever heard. He would set the entire kingdom on fire to hear it again, come what may—and his bride would certainly come again.
⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊
Every Talis wedding was a red wedding. True Talis marriages made stronger by shared blood would not let any participant forget what bound them together, the entire wedding party traditionally in house colors—but Jayce was somewhat more focused on no one forgetting what was his: a pure bride, beautiful and treasured. Neither his mother nor the King’s Hand could fault him when Viktor was such a vision in white... not to mention how fantastically it paired with his new red collar.
His wife wore it well. Jayce couldn’t help but reach behind him to play with his fastening, especially when it distracted his fingers from more dangerous places to explore. They had to put up with the song and dance of the feast, the never-ending stream of overly familiar he would have been so proud of both of you, the pleased nods from Silco and every other member of his council, the rousing speech he came up with on the spot. As soon as he could throw Viktor over his shoulder, Jayce didn’t hesitate.
“My lord husband!” Viktor’s mock protest nearly drowned under cheers and well-wishes, but Jayce had become attuned to his particular song. He carried my husband, my husband with him as he carried his wife to their chambers himself.
(Ekko and Claggor made the mistake of asking about the bedding ceremony only one time—Jayce did not wish to have anyone see his Viktor that way, although when his lovely wife begged to be bent over the altar while grinding on his thigh, he’d been prepared to grant his wish. The clarity post-climax, however, saved more people than either of them knew.)
“My wife.” Once the door shut behind them, Jayce’s mouth opened and could not close. He laid Viktor out and waged holy war against his dress, cursing it as breathlessly as he praised him. “My lady wife. Tastes so much sweeter when it’s real.”
“I am real.” Viktor laughed when Jayce awarded him a bite on the neck, arching into him to help the hands snaking around, and then shrieked when he was bodily turned over to allow a better view of the enemy’s defenses.
“If I had any idea how much trouble this was going to be, I would have ordered you to marry me without any clothes at all,” he growled. Something tore but better, something loosened, and he staged an attack.
“Ah... Wasn’t it lovely, though?” Viktor cast his eyes back and blushed hard enough to match Jayce’s doublet. “I might be starting to understand your obsession. They do look nice.”
“You were lovely. Still are. Always are,” Jayce said, “much more lovely than this villain keeping you from me.” He made his last stand and in a flurry of fabric, the wretched bindings were cast to the floor to reveal his prize: his beautiful Viktor, bright and beautiful, reduced to a needy naked thing.
“Jayce. Let me see you.” Viktor turned onto his back and at the sight of his tiny, perfect breasts, Jayce nearly lost all sense. He instead leaned forward and allowed Viktor to undress him as well, lithe fingers and wanton gaze lingering at each new peek of glistening skin and hard muscle. But at the end, when he expected him to be entirely focused on the final reveal of the cock Jayce kept dutifully hidden until then, his eyes drifted upward.
There was too much there to put into words, but he knew the language of Viktor as well as he knew his own blood. He kept those golden eyes on him for as long as possible. Every afternoon in the tower spent longing for Jayce’s approach, every letter begging to know more of the brother he was forbidden to meet, every moment since he arrived at Forgekeep wondering if he belonged in the life he’d dreamed of.
And when Viktor couldn’t keep speaking to him that way, when his eyes squeezed shut and he screamed from the unrelenting heat of his mouth, Jayce could be forgiven for listening to his body and hearing what he wanted. He twisted his fingers and coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from his wife until he was shaking his shoulders.
“You have to—Jayce, my Jayce, I am not a fool. I know how children are made and this is not it,” Viktor protested breathlessly. “Do not waste our time!”
“So impatient.” Jayce kissed the inside of his thigh and traced a long line with his tongue back to the center. The kingdom outside did not exist, the world he had to run tomorrow would not come. Not until he’d had his fill of his wife—he decreed it so and dared anything to get in his way. “It’s never a waste to have you like this. Even when you’re full of our heirs, you’ll be able to find me here.”
“You’ve been bewitched,” Viktor moaned. He dropped his head back and wrapped a hand around his weaker leg. Jayce was quick to bully it over his shoulder and get those fingers back in his hair, despite his wife’s less than gentle pulling. “If you have mistaken me for a lute, please—”
“Could you blame me? You make the sweetest music for me.” A generous eye roll, but even he was losing patience with himself. Jayce made his goodbye kisses to every slick and swollen part of him, slapping it when Viktor squirmed too hastily, and then let the trail continue up to his chest. “One day soon, you’ll make the sweetest milk, too.”
He would make sure of it. Perhaps it was the kind of delusion born from being still hard and now pressed against Viktor’s leg for relief or a siren spell woven from his desperate whining, but Viktor’s body responded to him and his commands so perfectly, Jayce had no reason not to believe it would follow its King’s order and make any kind of milk he liked. Viktor couldn’t even deny it. Only arch his back as far as he could and let his legs fall open.
That was where the poetry ended and nature took over. Jayce, always drafting for the future minstrels spinning their tale, got as far as taking himself in hand like a hammer primed to strike true. Overdoing it, of course, and he’d hit himself for it later. Anything too flowery was a disservice to Viktor.
There was no holding him, this, at arm’s distance. From the moment the head of his cock pushed inside, there was only the hot, wet heat of him. Air filled with panting, nails drawing fire down his arms and back. A fever drawing him deeper and crying out for more every time his hips paused. Too tense and tight at times, but Jayce was there to shape him. He would make a wife and mother of his brother, as was his birthright, as they were born to do together. No one would be needed to craft a song for them when the words to it were ingrained in their hips. Each thrust wrote a new line, the stutters close to climax a spiral toward the final verse.
And this, the harmony: Viktor’s voice, my Jayce my husband please my Jayce my King, with Jayce’s, my wife Viktor my pretty girl sweet wife so good for me. He would sooner steal all the ears in the kingdom than let anyone else hear how far his little mouse had come. Insanity, one or both of them gasped. But he only felt stronger about it later, when he turned Viktor over and fucked his own spend out of and then back into him.
In the years to come, especially after the majority of their children were born, Viktor would learn precisely when to say his name and persuade him to rest. On that first night, there was no hope for either of them. They were too drunk on each other, on owning and belonging, on being husband and wife. Viktor took what he was given until he could do little more than twitch and sob. Once Jayce was sure he was spent, he rallied one last time to clean his wife and then hold him close to watch the sun rise.
He thought not of legacy, of minstrels, of eyes on him and his every deed. He only thought of how, when he buried his nose into Viktor’s hair, he swore he could smell snow.