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The afternoon sun poured in through the window, illuminating motes of dust drifting lazily through the air. A look outside offered a picturesque view of the gardens. A gentle breeze teased through the boughs of the trees, rustling their leaves, as great, white clouds drifted across the bright blue sky. Even in a place as rigid and stuffy as the halls of justice, Lorraine’s idyllic beauty was unmistakable.
Adam glanced away from the window toward Joel. The Lord Montague stood facing the other way, humming and murmuring to himself as he surveyed the dusty legal tomes on the south wall of his office and made decisions about which would be coming home with him for the night. The voluminous white curls of his wig and the drape of his black silk robes obscured him almost completely. From this angle, the only glimpse Adam got of the man himself was the flash of Joel’s milky hands as he made his selections. Adam watched him delicately curl his finger over the spine of a book and tip it out, so he could catch it in his soft palm—unhardened by labor or war—and slide it from between its brothers.
Was there something erotic in that? Adam certainly felt there was. He watched Joel with rapt attention, gripped by the vision of those slender hands and the thought of them sliding up his chest, or through his hair, or—
Or even into his own, where they would nestle sweetly into the warm curl of his swordsman’s callouses.
That vision gave him pause; it was not the typical shape of his desire. He supposed it was another surprise of being in love.
Adam’s heart swelled fit to burst. He pressed his lips together and fought bravely against the instinct to cross the room in only a few quick strides, snatch Joel up into his arms, and bury his face in the soft curls of his wig.
“You’re staring a hole in the back of my head,” Joel grumbled. “Stop it.”
“I’m your guard,” Adam answered, delighted for the invitation to speak. “I have to keep an eye on you.”
Joel turned. From the corner of his eye, he cast Adam an exhausted look. “Well, I’m hardly in any danger here, so you can give your eyes a break, thank you.”
Regardless of Adam’s heartfelt desire to look upon Joel at all hours of the day and night, that much was probably true. The assailants that had fired upon Joel’s carriage the other night were certainly not going to kick down the door or swing through the windows, crossbows aimed and swords bared.
In the light of day—in this quiet, dusty office; in this tiny, beautiful country—it was almost hard to believe that such a thing was possible. But the aching wound on Adam’s right arm reminded him otherwise.
Joel came away from the south wall. Setting the rather weighty stack of books on the edge of his desk, he began to gather up the files and loose papers that would join them back at the manor. While he shuffled things around, Adam reached out to take the books. But as his fingers slipped underneath the stack, Joel’s head snapped around and he swatted Adam’s hands away. “No; don’t touch those.”
Bewildered, Adam withdrew his hands. “Wh— Why not?”
“Your arm.”
Adam stared stupidly at him, not making the connection. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Joel added his folios to the stack and then hefted the whole thing up into his arms. It seemed like more of a burden to him than it would’ve been to Adam—but the stern, almost contemptuous look in Joel’s eyes made it clear that he had no intention of handing it over. “I don’t need a wounded man to carry my things for me.”
“I’m not wounded,” Adam protested, despite the prick of that small rejection. “I’m fit as a fiddle! Like I said before, it was only a glancing blow.”
“A blow nevertheless. Or do you mean to argue that shields don’t feel the sting of the blows they take?”
Adam blinked. There was some strange little note in Joel’s voice that he couldn’t quite parse, even as it embedded itself in Adam’s chest. He searched for meaning in Joel’s face, but the eyes that stared back at him were hard and unreadable. “Not at all,” Adam said. He gently patted his wounded arm and smiled down at Joel. “But that’s what shields are for—they’re strong enough to withstand the pain on their bearer’s behalf.”
Behind his glasses, Joel narrowed his eyes. “So you are in pain?”
Adam faltered, belatedly realizing that he’d walked into a trap. “Er— N-no; not really. The pain is very little…”
By the look in Joel’s eyes, Adam now became aware that he was being probed for weakness. It wasn’t really an unpleasant feeling—Adam enjoyed having Joel’s eyes fixed so squarely on him and would have ordinarily been very happy to submit himself for Joel’s examination. But whatever stormy feeling was brewing in Joel made Adam uneasy. Adam much preferred to be direct with these things: if he had a thought or a worry, he liked to just come out and say whatever was on his mind. But that wasn’t Joel’s way, he was learning.
Remembering himself and wanting to ease his beloved’s mind, Adam rallied his composure and flashed Joel a winning smile. “Less than that, even, when I think about earning it in your defense! I came to Lorraine to keep you safe, and if one of us must be hurt, then I would be glad for it to be me.”
“Then shouldn’t you save your strength for when it really counts?” Joel retorted, sharp and biting. “We’ll both feel foolish if there’s another attempt against me and you aren’t equal to the task of dealing with it.”
Adam blinked, once again taken aback. Joel’s words hurt, not unlike the place on his arm where an arrow had grazed him the other night—a sharp zing of iron slicing through flesh, followed by the blossoming ache of an open seam of skin. But Joel’s words almost seemed to surprise Joel himself, as his gaze broke from Adam’s as the words left his mouth, and he fell into abrupt, thoughtful silence. His clever green eyes fixed on a spot on his desk and stayed there.
Wasn’t Joel lovely when he was thinking? Adam, of course, thought Joel was charming at all times, regardless of the particulars. Whether he was keen-eyed and locked in a debate about some bit of legal esoterica; or red-faced with fury or embarrassment, Adam’s heart tumbled and soared at the sight of him. But there was something really special about Joel when he thought so hard that Adam could practically hear the gears turning in his brain. Of all Joel’s many positive qualities, his mind was certainly chiefest among them. Joel’s mind was the thing that had won him his wealth and status, the favor of kings old and new—all the instruments that allowed him to mount his campaign for a more equitable and just Lorraine. That goal itself was a manifestation of his own intelligence and high-minded principles; and it was the stories of that great mind that had made their way to Xehana and first captured Adam’s imagination, long before the two of them had ever met, and even longer before Adam had fallen in love with him.
The sting of Joel’s words became fainter and more distant the longer Adam watched his face. He took in the pinch of Joel’s dark brows and the focused intensity in his green eyes. The sunlight coming in through the window washed over him, lighting up the curls of his wig like a halo. Despite the shroud of his false beard, Adam could imagine exactly the way his mouth curved into a frown. That thought made Adam’s own mouth arc in a smile.
Adam lost his grip on himself. He swept in, his hand finding Joel’s waist through his robe, and kissed him.
Joel started. He jerked back from Adam with such force that the books slipped from his hands. Joel fumbled to catch them, but was only able to grasp one; Adam dropped to his knee and managed to snatch another couple out of the air, but the rest tumbled to the floor.
“What?” Joel snarled, red-faced with fury, eyes blazing from behind his glasses. “What’s the matter with you?”
Adam laughed as he gathered the books up off the floor. Carefully, he smoothed out their rumpled pages and began to reassemble the stack, smiling so broadly up at Joel that it squeezed his eyes closed. A pleasant warmth gathered in his face and chest, and he longed to share it with Joel; with no other way to do it, he simply said what he felt: “You looked so beautiful just now, lost in thought with the sun behind you like that—I couldn’t resist you!”
Joel knelt down to collect the scattered papers, and his gaze locked on Adam, expression blackening, lips curling into a snarl beneath his beard. “Stop talking nonsense! We were just discussing you putting your life in danger on my behalf.”
“Lord Montague, I’m here to be your shield,” said Adam gently, confused by Joel’s anger. “You should feel comfortable relying on me for whatever you need.”
“Even if it should bring you harm?”
The smile fell from Adam’s face. “I thought we settled this the other night.”
Joel turned his eyes back to the papers in his hands. “Well, I’m still thinking about it.”
Amid the rustling of papers, Adam watched Joel’s face, still set into that scowl. On the night that archers had fired on his carriage—only nicking Adam, but more seriously wounding the driver—Joel had expressed a keen frustration with his own weakness and his inability to protect himself. Adam had reassured him then that there was no reason for shame, and that he was happy to risk his life in his name; that the demands of wielding power would require Joel to make peace with that. Adam had thought he’d put Joel’s mind at ease. Evidently not.
“It was one thing,” Joel went on, jogging the pages against the floor, “when you were only here to make a show of my protection; when the worst to have happened was the letters. But now it’s clear that your men’s presence alone was not a sufficient deterrent, and there is the threat of real harm—to me or to you.
“To be clear, I don’t disagree with you about the nature of power. As unpleasant as I find it, and as little as I want anyone’s blood on my conscience, I accept the political necessity of viewing my life as worth more than yours.” It was hard to tell beneath the beard, but Adam thought he saw Joel’s mouth twitch with disdain. “And evidently, I’ve felt that way for some time. Whatever the weight on my conscience, it can’t be too heavy, or else I would have already banished you from my side.”
“B— banish?” Adam echoed, the suggestion like an arrow in his chest.
Joel did not respond to that, but at last, his eyes came back up to fix on Adam’s. No longer frustrated or angry, the expression beneath his false beard was grave, his green eyes piercing in their intensity. “The other night, you described shields as disposable.”
“That’s right,” said Adam, nodding uncertainly.
“That’s a repellent way to view people, don’t you think?”
Joel asked it in a tone that brought Adam back to sitting in the study with his tutor—calm and genuine, inviting Adam to either agree or disagree, as long as he defended his reasoning at the end. But Adam gaped at him, taken aback by the question. Adam had never considered it before. His disposability had never bothered him.
After a few moments of silence, Joel continued: “The Lorraine I’m trying to build is one founded on reason and human dignity. I would see us leave the old world—one governed by old prejudices and the unknowable edicts of the divine—in the past. Although I may not live to see it, in that Lorraine, I hope there would be no room to view any person as disposable.”
Again, he stared at Adam like he expected a response, but Adam found himself at a loss for words. There was something in Joel’s voice—in the deliberateness of the way he spoke—that made Adam think he was talking about two things at once; but more than that, the shadow of a third thing clung to Joel’s words, and it was that third thing that Adam needed to address. As the silence stretched out between them, Adam stared dumbly back at him, his brain working to parse whatever Joel really meant.
But then the moment ended. Joel slid the papers back into their folio and added it to the stack of books; he got his feet under him and hefted the whole thing back into his arms. “But at a basic level, I dislike making my burdens into someone else’s,” he said. “So at least do me the kindness of only carrying one at a time.”
Joel turned away then, and without another word, strode briskly for the door. Adam scrambled to his feet and rushed ahead, seizing the handle and wrenching open the door for him. Joel crossed the threshold without pausing, his eyes forward and focused on where he was headed—but Adam’s eyes remained fixed on Joel’s face as he passed.
Joel continued out through the Halls of Justice, his steps echoing down corridors as he walked beneath vaulted ceilings and through pools of afternoon sunlight gathered on the tiled floors beneath high banks of arched windows—and Adam followed him, hanging close at Joel’s right elbow. They passed clerks and judges, and even the odd student; they crossed the threshold into the fresh air and descended the stairs to the square below. Joel climbed into the carriage that awaited him. As he mounted the steps, Adam instinctively reached out, cupping Joel’s elbow to help him balance as the cab tilted beneath his weight.
Then door closed after him, and Adam remained staring at the curtain drawn across the window until Paul tapped his shoulder and handed him the reins to his horse.
—
That night, moonlight slipped between the curtains, casting Adam’s chamber in silver. He lay among the bed linens, staring up at the brocade canopy stretched between the four posts of his bed. Sleep eluded him; he thought of Joel.
That was not so unusual. Ever since their first encounter at Lady McTodd’s manor, Adam had often spent his nights thinking about Joel—even before the dramatic reveal that uncle and nephew were the same. But usually what he thought about were his lips, or those sharp eyes; or putting his hands through his curls, or on his waist, or any number of other places or things. But tonight, Adam was only able to think about their bizarre exchange that afternoon, and Joel’s question to him:
That’s a repellent way to view people, don’t you think?
At the time, Adam had not quite grasped the shape of Joel’s discomfort, but now he understood that Joel disliked Adam describing himself as disposable—though he still struggled to appreciate why.
All his life, Adam’s greatest asset had been his body—whether as a lover or a fighter. When he characterized himself as disposable, he meant it only as a straightforward observation. He was a bastard: he had no claim to any title or land. In Xehana, he had been an amusing pastime for the wives and daughters and husbands and sons of the royal court, until they’d gotten tired of him. Then he had been sent to the front lines of battle, where death might have claimed him; and when it didn’t, he had been summoned to guard the esteemed Lord Montague with his life. But Adam had never taken any of that personally; and if he could use his body as a shield for the protection of someone he loved and admired, then that was by far its most important and worthy use to date.
Adam scowled up at the canopy. Flowers bloom and then fade; that was simply the way of things. It disturbed him that Joel didn’t see it the same way.
But if Adam’s greatest strength was his virility, then that was surely Joel’s—the ability to see things not just the way they were, but how they should, and could still, be. Of course he thought to question Adam’s belief in his own disposability; of course he was troubled by the idea that any life could be considered expendable. Of course he wanted a world where everyone was able to live with dignity and respect.
Adam’s chest swelled with a heady mixture of wonder and affection. That was precisely why he felt risking his life in Joel’s name was such a worthy task. He was proud to serve such a great man; he was proud to be Lord Montague’s shield.
Finally claiming the catharsis of understanding, Adam basked in its warm glow. He had been proud to be Lord Montague’s shield when he had believed Lord Montague to be a stuffy old man; and now that he knew better—and knew the charming creature hiding beneath the wig and false beard and glasses—his head spun, dizzy and gay. What greater joy could there be than to play such a key role in the life of his lord love? Perhaps if Joel finally acquiesced to Adam’s pursuit and welcomed him into his arms and bed. Adam let his eyes slide closed, the darkness providing a good blackboard against which he could perform the necessary calculations. For some time, he traced the shape of Joel’s body, until his visions grew fuzzy and indistinct, and Joel’s pale thighs faded into darkness.
But then Adam lurched upright with such force that he almost tumbled out of bed, another thought finding him in the twilight of his consciousness:
Wasn’t Joel’s discomfort with Adam’s expression of his own disposability an admission that Joel valued him?
Adam tore the covers off himself and leapt to his feet, his heart full and pounding in his chest like it wanted to escape. Was that the nature of Joel’s discomfort—the thought of losing Adam; of him forever leaving Joel’s side? Could Adam even be irreplaceable to Joel? Adam’s head swam with the prospect. His whole body felt hot, as if he’d been taken with a fever. He paced the floor in circles, striding from his bed to the door, to his dressing table, and back, again and again and again.
—
The wood floor was cold beneath Adam’s bare feet, but he barely noticed. He knocked on Joel’s door again.
At last, the door creaked open to reveal Joel standing there in his nightshirt, bleary-eyed and squinting in the darkness. “Adam?” he asked, voice still froggy from sleep. “What do you—”
But then his eyes snapped open, and as Adam lurched forward, he slammed the door—but not fast enough. Adam braced both hands against the wood, fighting to keep it open against Joel’s efforts to close it. “Joel!” he chimed, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Joel, do you value me?”
Joel glared around the door at him. “What?”
“Do you value me?”
“Not at this hour! Go back to bed!”