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“You don’t have to do it,” Felicity said. Ray wishes it were true as he tries to persuade his horse to take the steep, rocky path that was clearly not built with large animals in mind. He feels a little trapped himself, with the giant slopes of the mountains looming above him, and he cannot begrudge his gelding for dancing around nervously when Ray’s own stomach coils without the rolling plains and open sky surrounding him.
He does not have to do it, Felicity was right: but the only other option is leaving the eastern Kingdoms to keep expanding far into the lands that once were his clan’s, unmarked but undisputed and free for them to roam as the seasons command. Now, cut off from the best grazing lands and steadily pushed to the north by the surrounding Kingdoms, they feel their lack of warriors more firmly than ever before. They need all the support they can get, all the alliances that Ray can secure so that they are not driven off their ancestral lands for good. And if the only alliance open to him is that with the mountain King, he will take it, even though the idea of marrying a woman he’s never seen doesn’t sit well with him.
The sun’s already setting by the time he finally arrives, the last light of the day casting the village in a golden light. Ray’s breath catches at the sight – most of the houses are wood and stone, rising tall from the ground and so very much unlike the low thatched roofs he’s used to, houses half underneath the earth, making him feel safe and grounded. The building surrounding him are reaching for the sky, not even attempting to hide in the rocky terrain, and the highest place of the village is occupied by a great hall, wooden pillars artfully carved. There is a man standing on the stone steps and Ray knows, without needing to be told, that this is King Leonard, the man who sent messengers offering his sister’s hand as a beginning of an alliance between their people.
He's a striking figure, tall and broad-shouldered, draped in a heavy fur cloak that Ray can appreciate even from afar as the early evening’s chill seeps under his skin. His own clothes feel flimsy all of a sudden, too ornamental, too impractical for this terrain in comparison to Leonard’s simple greys and blues, and Ray has to force himself to keep his back straight instead of hunching under the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. He does not feel equal to Leonard – Ray’s father never officially proclaimed himself a King and so Ray does not hold that title either. But equal or not, with these new Kingdoms closing in from every direction he needs this alliance – he needs Leonard, and his sister, and Felicity might think that he does not have to do this, but he really, really does.
“Welcome,” the King says, his voice a low drawl, half-amused, or maybe teasing, “we’ve been awaiting your arrival, Raymond.”
Instantly, Ray feels like a little boy, sneaking to his father’s horse even though he wasn’t supposed to. It’s ridiculous, because there’s not that much difference between them, six winters, maybe ten at most? But something about King Leonard makes him feel unsettled. He doesn’t know what is expected of him, so he does not bow, merely inclines his head as an equal would. Ray’s no King, but he is the leader of his people, and so maybe they are closer in status than their titles would suggest. No displeasure mars the King’s neutral expression, so Ray decides it was the correct choice – he’s waved into the building that turns out to be the King’s household, a large fire pit in the center, wooden benches and tables carved with clean lines and sharp symbols.
“Lisa is out hunting,” the King says, and Ray is not surprised anymore: he has learned the conditions of this union from the messenger already. Ray is to respect the mountain people’s way – here, women go hunting and march into battles, and Lisa is said to be one of their best warriors. He’s made his peace with that, or at least tried to, and he simply nods in acknowledgement. He will see her tomorrow – he is marrying her people and she is marrying his lands, and neither of them needs to see each other first. A part of Ray that used to grow up hoping for the kind of marriage his parents had, full of love and trust, wishes that he could have something like that with someone; he wishes that Lisa would want that too, that they could build something else than just a nation, something more private, just for the two of them, and for their children.
But he has no way of knowing whether that will be possible, so he eats the simple dinner offered to him and burrows under the furs in what looks like a guest room, hoping that he will dream about the future he could still have, if only he works hard enough.
…
The first time Ray sees the woman he’s about to marry, they are walking towards each other from the opposing entrances of a grand wooden hall, far larger than anything Ray has ever known. The drums beat with the rhythm of his racing heart and the unfamiliar pipes don’t let him forget for a moment that he’s far from home. The flames of the fire pit in the middle of the hall dance high and wild in the draft and he doesn’t see much of her until she’s standing right next to him, eyes the same piercing blue as her brother’s, and a smirk on her lips that makes Ray shiver. She’s no blushing maiden, that’s for sure, and Ray’s glad for it: he was dreading marriage to a girl still barely on the cusp of adulthood, even though he knew he did not have the freedom to decline if that were to happen.
She’s maybe a head shorter than him and not much younger, with dark brown hair twisted and braided away from her face, and Ray thinks that if he did not have to marry her for the sake of his clan, if they met as people, not as lands and warriors and promises, he might have grown to like her anyway. The simple cut of her deep blue dress emphasizes her waist, but also her strong shoulders, half-hidden by a fur cloak – Ray suspects it’s a bear, due to its sheer size and dark, rich color, even though he hardly has any frame of reference for animals that have not made their home in the grassy plains of Ray’s birthplace. She turns away from him and Ray follows suit, unfamiliar with the foreign ceremonies, but he feels her presence at his side with a steady thrum of excitement and expectation.
Ray wonders, once more, how different the traditions are in this place. In his homeland, they would all be adorned with ornaments and beaded jewelry, with paint over their skin to symbolize wealth and fertility and luck. Here, everything seems simpler but heavier, and there’s no doubt that these are all warriors: even their wedding ceremony includes an exchange of weapons. Lisa turns to him with a dagger – an old one, with a slightly chipped blade and a worn-out leather wrapping, but it must be dear to her because she gives it a wistful look before pressing the handle into his hand. He does not offer a knife in return – his weapons are merely functional, with no deeper meaning among his people. Instead, he reaches to his belt and plucks off the small pouch he’s carried from his homeland. She reaches out her hands – she was likely instructed by the same messenger who told Ray about the mountain people’s traditions. He pours soil and grains into her palms for all to see, a ritual promise to provide for her and for their family, and it strikes him how well the traditions of their people fit their situation. He came here for weapons, for protection – and her people need his lands, his grains, possibly even his horses.
They drink from the same cup at last, heavy mead that goes straight to Ray’s head and flows generously throughout the rest of the day. There’s roasted meat and honeyed treats and Ray almost feels content, drowsy and tired by the time they stumble together to the marital bed. They have been given a house of their own, not far from the King’s home – Lisa says something disparaging about how Lenny could have splurged for something bigger, and Ray finds himself giggling about her nickname for her brother. She pushes him down onto the furs and kisses him, sloppy and wet and wild, her hair coming undone as he pulls out the tiny pins holding all the braids up. She doesn’t let him take control much, but that’s okay – neither of them has much stamina or strength left and Ray feels boneless afterwards, in that way that makes him wonder about everything that is waiting for him in the future.
“Good night,” he tells her and kisses the back of her neck, and doesn’t think twice about it when he feels her pulling away a little.
…
He does think twice about it when she does not come home several nights in a row. He walks through the village square, the space strangely large and empty without people bustling about. There’s a night guard passing through, but otherwise, Ray is alone with his thoughts and the cold, cold air sneaking under the fur cloak he draws tight around his body. The King’s household seems vast in the darkness, the torches extinguished and all that space illuminated solely by the embers of the fire pit. Ray hears a hushed voice from the back and he thinks it’s Lisa, so he goes to find her, ask her what’s wrong – he heard talks about a raid on their western borders and maybe Lisa’s up with King Leonard and his generals to plan a counter-strike.
He brushes away the leather-strip curtain dividing the communal area for the household from the King’s quarters and freezes at the sight.
His wife has, indeed, stayed up for King Leonard’s generals – or, to be precise, one of them: the blonde woman who had glared fiercely at Ray the first day he met her and attempted to hold the door open for her, as was the custom among his people.
Sara, that’s her name – and her hands are resting possessively on Lisa’s buttocks. Lisa’s very naked buttocks, resting in Sara’s lap, Lisa’s hands tangled in the golden mess of the general’s hair.
“Yes?” Sara asks pointedly, and Ray’s lungs refuse to work for a second. He feels out of place here, out of his depth, even though he has every right to ask what his wife is doing, sitting on someone else’s lap with kiss-swollen mouth and her clothes discarded on the floor.
“I-I’ll wait, at home,” he stammers and backs out of the room, unable to stand there and ask the questions that are obviously answered already. It hurts him because he was not expecting it, the betrayal, the reminder that they are nothing more than political allies. During the past several weeks, when she would let him kiss her, would crawl into his bed and unceremoniously pull his pants down, he came to believe that they were building something, that despite the circumstances of their union, they could be more to each other than promises to their people.
Now, it becomes painfully clear that she only wanted one thing from him, aside from his lands: an heir. All there was between them was the need for a child, because King Leonard has, curiously, remained unmarried in the twenty years of his rule, leaving the kingdom without a rightful heir. That Lisa has been growing more and more distant must mean that their first weeks together have been fruitful – but Ray cannot truly feel the joy at the thought of possibly being a father soon. All he sees is Lisa’s face when she saw him in that doorway – there was guilt twisting her features a little, but she did not look too apologetic. She did not look like she wanted to pull away from Sara and explain herself, and when Ray thinks about it, he just feels more and more alone in this cold, sharp place.
He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even register someone calling his name until there’s a hand closed around his bicep, stopping him in his tracks.
“Raymond. What’s wrong?”
The King is frowning and Ray does not have the heart (or guts, or strength) to admit that he just caught his wife cheating and it cracked his world a little bit, so he smiles and shakes his head.
“Nothing. All is well.”
“Come,” Leonard tilts his head and Ray follows, not knowing and not caring where to. They end up at the edge of the village, with only rocks to sit on, and Ray fears that Leonard will ask again – but the King just silently offers the wine-skin he must have grabbed before they left the village. Or maybe his plan had been to come out here and drink alone, before he found Ray stumbling about: he feels like he might be intruding, but he’s lonely and hurt and too grateful for the company to walk away.
The wine washes down some of the bitterness lodged deep in his throat, but it takes a couple of healthy swigs, and Leonard is smirking at him by the time Ray’s done. It’s a slightly twisted version of that smirk, as if he knows what Ray’s going through without asking.
“Apologies,” Leonard says and reaches for the wineskin; Ray’s eyebrows shoot up.
“What for?”
It’s incredible how Leonard’s eyes remain the same piercing blue even in the uncertain moonlight, when most things blur into shadows and half-guessed outlines.
“Didn’t think you’d fall for her.”
Ray turns away, the words twisting the knife in his side, the knife that’s made of his own naivety and silly hopes.
“I didn’t.”
“Mmmhm.”
It sounds like Leonard knows Ray’s not telling the truth – maybe it’s too early for him to declare that he’s in love with Lisa, but he was definitely letting himself move that way in the past few weeks, and now that he’s been yanked off the beaten path, he’s not quite sure where to step next. It must have been obvious, not only to Leonard but also to Lisa, quick, sharp-tongued Lisa, and something in Ray bristles at the thought that she knew about his feelings and yet never said anything. He wants to blame her, blame her brother, but the truth is, this marriage has always been about using each other’s resources, and he was the only fool to find meaning where there was none.
They drink in silence for a while, but the wine skin doesn’t last forever, and Ray finds himself regretting the loss of the silent companionship when Leonard rises to his feet. Ray makes a motion to stand up as well, but before he can, sudden heavy warmth envelops him and he lets out a surprised breath, drawing Leonard’s furs tighter around himself before he realizes it’s not an appropriate response.
“I wasn’t cold,” he tries to lie – only as he feels the warmth of Leonard’s body through the layers of fur and fabric does he realize just how chilly the night has become. The King looks comfortable in his simple tunic, even though his laughter turns into soft white puffs in front of his mouth.
“Sure looked like it from where I was sitting,” he gestures vaguely towards Ray, who shivers as if on cue and sighs, rising to his feet. He’s taller than Leonard, but he feels the years that separate them more than ever before.
“Thank you.”
He can feel Leonard’s eyes on him as they walk back to the village, more or less steady – the shared wine was not enough to make two moderately large men stumble like young boys. He doesn’t acknowledge the searching gaze, even though he feels unsettled, not knowing what it is that Leonard is looking for in the lines and angles of his face, in his slightly hunched shoulders made broader by having two cloaks draped over his back. Leonard must not find whatever it is he’s seeking because he keeps looking, all the way to Ray’s house. He wonders if it’s only his house now, if Lisa will come back, contrite or irritated or silent, if he will be denied the right to his own child, if he will be asked to go.
Under the stone steps to the house, he moves to drag Leonard’s cloak off his shoulders and return it, but a steady hand closes around his fingers, the touch buried in the coarse fur.
“Keep it for now,” Leonard says, his face closer than Ray remembers – his breath smells like wine and Ray’s eyes seek out the King’s lips. He doesn’t know why he’s looking, but there’s a vague sense of loss and regret in the pit of his stomach when Leonard moves away and stalks through the dark village to his own house, looking like a lone predator, dangerous even in the calm of the night.
That night, Lisa does not come back. Ray’s not sure why he keeps shivering through the night even though he sleeps bundled in Leonard’s cloak, why his dreams leave him breathless and sweaty in the morning – but there is something oddly comforting in the smell of another person soaked deep into the fur and so he holds on tight and imagines that he’s not alone.
…
The sun is high up in the sky at mid-day, but it hardly offers any warmth. Ray is sweating from exertion, the axe swinging loosely from his grip when he takes a break to wipe his brow and glance, again, at the heavy blue cloak draped over a stump nearby. He knows he should have probably returned it before he went to work with the men from the village – the cloak is all too recognizable, if the shifty looks he has received all morning are anything to go by. But the sight of the dark fabric and soft furs comforts him whenever his thoughts stray back to his wife, who is not his after all.
That is, until he spots a well-known figure walking towards him, from the direction of the village. He wants to turn away from Lisa and he spends a moment imagining how great it would feel to just take off into the woods – but he does not know the terrain and he would only get himself lost, so he watches her approach with a sense of dread that she will say it is over, that he should return to his own people, alone. It is not that he particularly loves the rocky slopes and the cold draft everywhere in the mountain settlement, but he does not want to let his child grow up without knowing him, knowing about his life, his customs, the history of his people as well. After all, his son or daughter will be the ruler of the plains too – it is only fair that Ray should have a say in the child’s upbringing.
He is so ready to argue against anything that Lisa might say that it catches him completely off-balance when her first words, harsh and reluctant, are: “I brought stew.”
She hands him a stone bowl with a carved lid and when he takes it, mute with surprise, she produces a small loaf of the dark, grainy bread they eat here, and a wooden spoon. Ray sits on the nearby felled tree and stares at the fat circles swimming the surface of his meal, not really knowing what to do until she speaks again.
“I’m sorry.”
He jerks his head up to stare at her so fast that some stew sloshes over the edge of the bowl, dripping down his fingers, but he barely notices it. Lisa’s frowning into the distance, her hand resting protectively over her (still flat) stomach, and the gesture draws Ray’s eyes, makes his heart soft and achy inside his chest.
“I thought,” Lisa starts again, but she doesn’t look at him, “that you knew how it would be, between us. I am your wife, and I will give us both the heir we need, but… my heart belongs to Sara,” she adds quietly, and Ray knows then, more intensely and irreversibly, that she means it. That is also the moment he realizes he has been holding on to some sliver of hope that maybe Lisa was just having fun, that she could not be satisfied with a man all the time. And it breaks his heart a little more to know that she will never truly belong to him, as he was ready to belong to her with all he has; but at the same time, he rejoices that he has not done anything wrong: Lisa merely gave her heart away before she even met him.
He does not take pleasure in the thought of being alone in this foreign land, throughout the long winter, but he braces himself and voices the last of his fears, still lodged deep in his mind:
“I want to be here for the baby. When it is born, and when it grows up.”
Lisa’s eyes widen for a moment, and Ray worries she will say it is impossible, but she scoffs slightly and tosses her thick hair over her shoulder:
“Well, of course. If you think only I am going to get up five times every night, you’re wrong. It is your child too, after all.”
Ray chuckles and eats his lunch, and his heart is a little bit lighter when he steals a glance or two at her and she returns his looks with a small smile of her own.
…
“Keep it,” Leonard tells him at the end of the day, when Ray has chopped down enough trees that the dull ache in the pit of his stomach finally drained away. He stands in the King’s hall, the chill of the early evening seeping into his bones through the sweaty shirt, and the heavy fur he’s clutching in his hands feels so inviting.
“Are you sure?” he blinks – the coat is exquisite and the color unusual, vibrant enough that Ray thinks Leonard might want to hold on to it after all. But the King waves his hand, like he has three other cloaks just like that one stashed somewhere, and his lips spread into that unsettling, mischievous half-smirk of his:
“Yes. You seem to have more need for it than I.”
Ray would get upset about being teased, but his discomfort with the cold weather in these mountains is no secret. Leonard might be mocking him on purpose, but he does speak the truth.
“Thank you,” Ray says, and the King’s smirk molds into something softer, nearly private, almost fond. Ray walks away before that shimmering, foreign feeling behind his breastbone has a chance to crystallize.
…
Sara warms up to him, slowly, after they circle each other warily for a couple of weeks like two animals competing for the same prey. It is not like Ray has expressed any intention to take Lisa to his bed again, after what she told him – but she is carrying his child while being secretly sworn to Sara.
The blonde general straddles the bench during one of the evening feasts and holds a simple carved cup of mead to him. He accepts, not much out of thirst – the heavy drink is not to his liking – but out of respect for what she has set out to do.
She empties her own cup and with a wooden ‘clank’, sets it on the table. Her eyes burn like the liquor when she turns her stare to him, determined like on the eve of a battle:
“I won’t stay away from Lisa or the child, when it is born.”
Ray honestly doesn’t know how to react – the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind, but something in her gaze reminds him of himself, mere months earlier, when he watched Lisa walk up to him and feared that she would want him to leave, without seeing his child.
And suddenly he understands that it is the same for Sara – the child might not be hers, and a tiny jealous part of Ray scrambles up to shriek in his ear that this woman has no right, no right, to demand this; but Sara loves the mother of Ray’s child, and that, on its own, gives her every right, if she is brave enough to claim it.
“I would never ask you to,” he says simply, and Ray is once again reminded of his talk with Lisa, how it felt when such terrible weight fell from his shoulders and stopped pushing him to the ground. Sara straightens in her seat, just a little, but Ray knows what it means, and he can’t help but smile at her, even though he’s half-sure she’ll glower at him and leave.
She doesn’t – she waves at the maid for more mead, and then sets up the local game with tiny stones and difficult strategies. The noise of the hall falls away and only the logic of the moves remains in Ray’s head; Sara looks oddly pleased when he beats her by a handful of stones in the end, and he knows then that they have formed a tentative bond that will only grow when the child arrives, a child with three parents who will all love him, or her, very much.
“Take care of them when I’m gone,” Sara mutters to him at the end of the evening, surprisingly coherent considering the amount of mead she’s drunk. Her eyes are sharp and serious, too, and Ray knows that she is riding out to check the borders of Ray’s lands, to establish boundaries for the other Kingdoms not to cross, and he nods at her, slowly and solemnly, a vow without words. She grasps his shoulder, for a short while, and then she’s off to get some rest before tomorrow’s ride.
Ray is surprised to find himself wishing for her safe return as he watches her walk away.
...
The mountain winter is even harsher than Ray would have expected. He tries to keep moving, otherwise he would spend his days in front of a fireplace, and he feels the need to fit in, to become more like these rough-faced people who often still laugh at him when he shivers too much or breathes on his frozen hands to warm himself up. Work seems to help, but some days are just too cold for him to hold an axe properly, or to go hunting, and the deeper into the winter they get, the more likely Ray is to just stay home or help around the King’s hall. He knows that some men sneer at him for keeping to the kitchens or playing with the children, but he does not mind, so long as Lisa and Leonard seem fine with his occupation.
The mid-winter celebrations come and go; Sara returns victorious, Lisa’s belly rounds and they all feel the child’s kicking for the first time. Ray has to blink away the sudden sting from his eyes as he feels incredibly proud and oddly humbled at the same time, and for the first time in a while, he does not feel quite so alone.
The days are short now, the chilly winter sun hidden behind the mountains more often than not, and Ray is hopeful for the spring, but the men laugh at him when he mentions it at the table.
“Spring won’t come for some time yet,” Mick tells him and slaps his back affectionately – Mick is one of the very few men here who have never been outright mean, despite his threatening appearance. Mick teases, from time to time, and has nicknames for Ray that put his differences into sharp light, such as the different way Ray cuts his hair or that he holds to his people’s traditions on the important days, but he has never shoved past Ray too roughly or called him a thief – which is apparently the reputation Ray’s people enjoy in the mountains.
Though now that Ray thinks about it, nobody has been truly unpleasant towards him for at least a couple of months now.
He sighs at the thought of a winter longer than expected, and Mick leans in, nudges Ray’s shoulder with his own:
“Time to find another way to occupy your time, huh? Nights are long, beds are cold… someone should warm yours, right?”
Ray blinks as he makes sense of the words, and then promptly gets flustered at the suggestion.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea, you and me,” he says – he doesn’t want to offend Mick, but he really can’t think about the mountain of a man ‘warming’ Ray’s bed. It feels wrong, and Ray thinks of Lisa and King Leonard; he doesn’t even know why, since Lisa is happily warming someone else’s bed and the King does not have a say in Ray’s life, or at least his bedroom. Nonetheless, it feels wrong to accept Mick’s offer-
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, pretty boy,” Mick roars with laughter, slapping Ray’s back again, “I meant with someone else. I’m not stupid, you know.”
Ray tries not to feel a bit hurt: he does not particularly want Mick in his bed either, but the suggestion that only someone stupid would want that… it stings, to say the least.
“I don’t think I’ll find anyone willing, then,” he smiles, but he can feel how it twists his mouth into a self-deprecating line. Mick raises an eyebrow at him, and then shakes his head as he pushes away from the table, muttering something about how he has no time for this.
Ray decides to forget the whole talk, much like the one when Mick sidled up to him, already quite tipsy from all the mead, and told him that he liked fire too, while staring a bit too intensely into the flames.
But just like the disturbing insinuations of that conversation, Ray can’t seem to shake the memory of this one either.
…
The snowstorm blows through the village and leaves heaps of snow everywhere. Ray is freezing even in the King’s hall, right next to the fire pit, and Lisa is cursing and screaming loudly, her voice tearing through the house. Ray is not allowed to her bedside, which he finds unfair because Sara is in there, along with the healer and several other women from the village, but he does not fight them about their rules, just huddles by the fire and tries not to radiate misery.
Lisa has been increasingly nervous and agitated in the past weeks, and with her belly heavy and growing larger every day, Ray can hardly blame her. She has moved to their house, for the time being, due to the proximity to the King’s hall and to the village’s healer. And Ray did not mind having her, and their child, close by, but she hasn’t slept well at night, and as a result he has not slept properly in such a long time that he can feel the exhaustion wrapping around his bones like resin, making him feel slow.
He’s curled by the fire, weariness making him shiver even more than the cold, when a hand on his shoulder startles him.
“You should not be here,” Leonard says, voice soft, but his eyes are dark when he looks up towards the bedroom when another scream reverberates through the house. His face is pale and drawn, and Ray can see that he is worried as well. He seems to realize the irony of his advice, then, because he glances down at Ray with a small smirk. “Neither of us should. Follow me.”
Ray does, more because he doesn’t have the strength to fight a direct command at this point – he’s led outside, through the village and through the snow, up a rocky path, and he shivers and stumbles, but eventually, they reach a small cave, hidden away in the side of the mountain. Warmth washes over Ray the moment they enter and he lets out a slow breath; Leonard gives him a small smile.
“Thought you might like this. Unwise to indulge too often, but for special occasions, it will do.”
With that, he lets his cloak (this one deep grey) fall from his shoulders. Ray does not move until the shirt comes off as well, revealing an expanse of a strong back lined with old scars. Leonard looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, and that is when Ray finds it in himself to move again, look around and notice that the cave ends in a shallow, rocky pool, filled to the brim with steaming water. The smell is strong but not unpleasant, and for the first time in months, Ray feels too hot to wear his (Leonard’s) coat.
He shrugs off the furs and Leonard smirks, already kicking off his boots and unlacing his pants. A part of Ray balks at the idea – his nation does not do well with complete nudity, despite being used to a warmer weather. But he finds it difficult to avert his eyes; Leonard is lean all over, well-proportioned and muscled from years of fighting, and so very alive among the unmoving rocks that something in that sight compels Ray to forget his embarrassment and pull his own shirt over his head.
Leonard is the first in the water, and soon, Ray awkwardly joins him, the slippery stones making his descent into the pool trickier than the King made it seem. The heat prickles under his skin and makes him shudder for a while, but soon, he can feel his body melt into the pleasant sensation. He leans his head back against the stones and shifts around for a while until he finds a comfortable position, and then lets out a loud, happy sigh.
“I take it you like it here?” Leonard says, amused, and his voice lifts off the water surface in a strange echo, like the voice of the ephemeral creatures guiding people through the swamps in the tales Ray heard from his grandmother once. The memories of his family, along with Leonard’s proximity and the strangeness of being naked make Ray feel loopy, almost drunk.
“I do. I want to sit here for weeks,” he sighs, again, and Leonard chuckles, softly and quietly even with the echo.
“Pray then that your child takes after you more than Lisa – she was a handful as a baby, hard-headed and always screaming. Much like she is as an adult, really.”
Ray laughs at that and forces his eyes open, even though his head feels too heavy to be lifted from the stone pillow he has found for himself, the small hollow in the rock perfectly cradling his skull. He turns his head a little, just enough to look at Leonard, and smiles:
“Does that mean you think me better behaved than your sister?”
There’s something in Leonard’s eyes then, not quite a shadow, maybe a glint – he’s closer than Ray would have thought, within an arm’s reach in the water and studying Ray like a particularly intricate piece of treasure.
Ray feels naked; it is a silly feeling, because of course he is naked, but there is something raw inside him that feels exposed to Leonard’s searching gaze, and Ray finds himself swallowing hard, but unable to break away and look somewhere else. In the shadows of the cave, winter light seeping through the crevices between stones and breaking against the ripples in the water, Leonard looks less like a legend of a King and more like a man, a handsome man and a generous invitation, and when he shifts closer, a shiver echoes down Ray’s body even though he’s not cold anymore.
It is not what Ray’s people do, men alone in the dark, but when Leonard brings his hand up to Ray’s cheek, trailing hot and wet across his skin, Ray cannot think of a reason why this should be wrong.
“I think you are brave, and smart, and a good leader,” Leonard near-whispers, eyes straying to Ray’s mouth and making him lick his lips in expectation. Ray reaches out, blindly, and his knuckles bump into Leonard’s tight stomach – he slides his fingers, slowly as the water lets him, to Leonard’s hip and relishes in the way the King’s eyes suddenly burn, fiercer than any hot spring.
“I think,” Leonard continues, and he’s so close Ray can feel his words against his lips like a caress, like the first kiss he’s suddenly craving, heart hammering in his chest almost painfully, “I think you need to think better of yourself. I think you need someone to show you just how much you are worth.”
And then Leonard’s mouth is showing him exactly that, in a slow, determined kiss, scalding and intense and everything Ray has ever wanted. He wanted it all from his wife, once, but life had other plans for him. And when Leonard drags his teeth down Ray’s damp, heated neck, making his embarrassingly loud groan reverberate through the cave, Ray thinks that maybe the gods knew what they were doing after all.