SMP Fairytale
Aug. 23rd, 2007 10:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrWritten for the luffly ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ceria_taliesin.
The Curse
It was the hair which made him agree.
Not because it was pretty, though it was certainly that – pale gold, like honey mixed with cream. Unbound it would likely be a riot of long, loose curls, if the one small stray strand was anything by which to judge.
Rather, it was that, minus that one strand, the beautiful hair was neatly, severely restrained in a long braid. He'd only caught a glimpse when the man had first walked inside, the waist-length tail of hair swinging back and forth. The intricacy of the braid bespoke significant amount of time put into it, and the man did not look like one who could afford to pay another to do it. There was no decoration or extraneous frippery to it.
More than once as he went through his motions, the young man had reached up as though to tuck back errant strands of hair, a habit so ingrained it was obvious his hair was seldom pulled back. That he had gone to the trouble of the braid said he was making an effort at presenting himself, without spilling over into the vain displays of so many others who had come here for the same reason.
The young man – Sendoa snorted, for he was himself only just twenty-seven years, this man looked only a few years younger – was dressed quite simply in shirt and breeches, scuffed riding boots and a faded green robe, the long sleeves reaching his knuckles, frayed around the edges, the front fastenings simple ties which stopped at his waist. Though worn and of only simple quality to start, the clothes were well cared for, as carefully tended as the hair.
Genuine, honest effort had been made by the young man to make himself presentable. That effort swayed Sendoa where he would have otherwise ordered the man from his sight.
He was graceful as he knelt, soft-spoken as he made his request, straightforward rather than carefully measuring every word. When Sendoa bid him rise, still the young man kept his eyes respectfully lowered.
"The curse?" Sendoa asked softly. "No one has asked permission to try and break it for nearly a year now." Mostly because he had refused so many, they had given up asking – but he was tired of getting his hopes up only to have them cruelly dashed all over again.
The man's head dipped lower, fingers twitching before finally forced to stillness. "I beg your Majesty's forgiveness," he said, voice soft, almost lyrical, with the rhythmic quality all mages acquired from their constant recitation of spells, "if I have behaved objectionably. To the best of my feeble knowledge, the proclamation…"
"It is still in effect," Sendoa replied. "You may try, but I would ask what makes you think you will succeed where so many others have failed."
The man shook his head, briefly raising his eyes – palest green – before swiftly dropping them again. "I do not know that I will succeed, your Majesty," he said quietly. "The only promise I can offer is that I will do my very best. The reward for success is whatever I desire that is within your power to give. You desire his Grace freed, I most desperately need that reward."
"Your honestly is appreciated, good mage," Sendoa said, meaning it. After so many pretty phrases, delicately-spun lies…the simple honesty was refreshing. "What is your name?"
"Zahi, your Majesty," the mage said softly.
"Then welcome to my palace, Zahi. I will have someone show you to the chambers you will occupy during your stay here. If there is anything you require, you have only to ask."
Zahi bit his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth, before giving the faintest of nods, as if coming to a decision. "By your leave, Majesty…I wonder if I might be granted permission to examine various of his Grace's personal effects. Often a curse is contained within an object precious to the target. If I can locate that object, I could possibly gain additional knowledge of the curse and thereby the means to break it. Barring that, it is possible some manner of clue or key might reside within one."
Sendoa started to shake his head, immediately loathing the idea of anyone touching Armel's belongings – but the simple, quiet honesty on the mage's face once more drew him, gave him pause. He gave a slow nod instead. "Yes…spend the evening settling in, exploring the palace if you like. I will grant you leave to go wherever you so please. Tomorrow morning you will join me for breakfast and I will give you what you require."
"Your Majesty," Zahi said, voice somehow a balm. "I thank you."
"I hope you manage to break the curse," Sendoa said, then rang for a servant to show Zahi to his room.
He waited until the mage was gone, then ordered the rest of his affairs be set aside for the next half hour. Abandoning his audience chamber, he wandered through the private royal halls of the palace until he reached his personal garden.
The world beyond might be covered in snow, tormented by freezing temperatures, but here it was always spring. Midday sunlight shone through the glass dome high above, spilling across trees, bushes, benches tucked cleverly away among them, the small brook wending its way through the whole and the statue in the very center.
Three years later, the pain had not eased.
It was a beautiful statue, but Armel had been a beautiful man. Tall, broad, soft brown eyes and hair that never stayed neat because Armel loved to ride and hunt. One of those confounded hunts had been the reason for this, when he had killed a creature belonging to a witch.
Turned to stone, and the witch vanished before they could force the answer from her, and here in the garden his beautiful lover had remained for just over three years.
Sendoa reached out and gently touched Armel's cheek, hating the hardness of it, remembering when it had been smooth and warm, the way Armel had always turned his head and kissed his palm, then dragged him close for a real kiss.
With a rough sound he turned away, looking back toward the palace proper, recalling the pretty mage with long hair and unfashionably tanned skin. A balm, he'd thought before, and it still seemed fitting. Such honesty was refreshing, and though he fervently hoped the mage freed his cursed lover, Armel thought that if he failed he would still help the mage solely for that simple honesty.
Sighing, Sendoa turned back to the statue and again touched it briefly, tracing the lines of Armel's face before finally pulling away and returning to the palace.
Most called him stupid, to stand by a lover who had fallen to a witch's curse. The curse could not be broken, what was the point in trying?
He refused. Armel and he had loved one another it seemed all their lives. Armel would, no doubt, want him to move on and be happy…but Sendoa could not, would not. Armel was his heart.
Slowly he returned to his audience chamber, the endless work that came with being King. Once upon a time Armel would come and sneak him off to the garden, or lock the door to his study, drag him into a shadowy corner of the private halls.
More fond still were the memories of Armel working quietly alongside him when Sendoa had to work late into the night, their early morning rides when the sun was only just rising.
Armel had loved him, not the King, and for that Sendoa would wait a thousand years to see the curse broken.
*~*~*~*
Zahi took a deep breath, not surprised when it did nothing to calm him.
He'd actually managed it.
Now he was about to have breakfast with the King.
He started taking more deep breaths.
In his wildest imaginings…who back home would believe this? Permitted to try and break the curse, and having breakfast with his royal highness!
The curse. He bit his lip, hands clenching and unclenching anxiously as he thought about the curse. He's scraped together every last bit of information he could on his journey here.
It was the work of an angry witch. Twenty seven men and women had all tried to break it – all had failed. Of those, six had suggested 'True Love's Kiss' as the cure. Zahi had immediately dismissed that notion. Such a basic solution did not fit with what was known of the witch in question.
No, the witch in question was rather more cruel than that. Master Alahi hadn't gathered much on her, but he'd gathered enough. At least, Zahi hoped it would be enough. His Master's compilation on witches was his sole advantage in this. He bit harder at his lip as he thought upon Master Alahi. Hopefully he was being left alone, though he doubted it. Would the King listen to his request?
His thoughts immediately shifted to the King, who had been surprisingly kind, gray eyes surprisingly warm despite the sadness in them. It had been more kindness than he'd seen for a long time, and an unexpected source. Before, the task of breaking the curse had merely been a last desperate attempt to ensure his Master kept his home.
Now, suddenly, he wanted to do it to see the King happy.
A sharp rap on the door startled him from his thoughts, and Zahi rapidly stood up and crossed the room.
Outside, a servant bowed. "Master Zahi, if you will come with me, the King awaits."
Zahi nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and nervously followed the servant through the halls. He was being escorted through the royal palace by a servant to have breakfast with the King.
Lord and Lady, was he wearing the appropriate attire? He should have woken early enough to braid his hair again, it looked hopelessly stupid spilling every which way but binding it took forever and he could hardly cut it…
If there was one thing about being a mage which drove him mad, it was the unspoken rule that mages keep their hair long. Could afford such a luxury, ha! He would prefer to sell his hair and buy a nice winter cloak which would actually keep him warm, rather than spend precious hours every week keeping his damnable hair clean.
Ah, well. There was nothing for it. Mages with short hair were considered too poor to be competent, and incompetent mages did not make money. Stifling a sigh, Zahi shoved back a strand which had already slipped free of the ribbons in which he'd bound his hair, and mentally recited a prayer for luck.
He was escorted to the table and only years of practice keeping a straight face as people asked for the most absurd and ridiculous spells allowed him to keep his dignity intact. Whatever he'd been expecting to see this morning, it wasn't the king dressed so casually in nothing but breeches, shirt, and an old pair of boots. His hair, somewhere between blond and brown, had only been minimally combed.
The breakfast table was a clever little nook set beneath a wide, curving window. The seat was a long padded bench that ran the length of the window, a round table set in front of it. He'd never seen anything like it. Everything was deep green and rich brown, trimmed with deep yellow-gold. It was still dark out, winter making the sun slow to appear, but still it was beautiful. Were the sun up, he had no doubt it would be magnificent.
"Good morning," the King greeted. "I hope I have not dragged you out of bed at too awful an hour."
"Not at all, your Majesty," Zahi replied, belatedly remembering to drop his gaze. Had he used up all his manners yesterday? Lord and Lady, he was a nitwit! "I am quite used to the hour."
The King chuckled. "Come, sit. You are more commendable than I, then. I fear I shall never grow used to this hour. I merely have no choice but to endure it." He motioned when Zahi hesitated. "Sit, get comfortable. I assure you there is no better place to dine than here. The chairs in the main dining halls are horribly uncomfortable – I think to keep people from falling asleep when the meals run long."
Zahi barely smothered a laugh, daring a quick look up.
"You need not keep avoiding my gaze," the King said. "Please. You are here to attempt to break the curse, and I meant what I said about your honesty being refreshing and appreciated."
Slowly Zahi met the fine gray eyes, the warmth in them startling, the sadness in them wrenching. "Yes, Majesty," he said softly.
A servant moved quietly, preparing their plates, inquiring gently as to how Zahi liked his tea, and vanishing soundlessly as he finished.
"From where do you hail?" the King inquired.
"The village of Strathmore," Zahi replied. "It is where I was apprenticed to Master Alahi."
The King nodded. "You have been apprenticed since fourteen, I presume? That is the normal age for mages to apprentice, I believe."
"It is," Zahi said, hiding a grimace. "I was apprenticed at ten, however." His parents had wanted to move on to better land, and without the burden of a child who was useless for farming. But they'd had his interests in mind too, he knew. If they hadn't, they would have left him, instead of essentially selling him to the first Master Mage they encountered who was willing.
"What is your specialty?"
Zahi fiddled briefly with his tea, then forced his hands to hold still, placing them firmly in his lap. "Master prefers a broad range, rather than a single focus, but we have become known for our counters."
"Impressive," the King replied. "Counters are amongst the hardest of spells. I knew you must be of significant skill, to be so bold as to request a chance at breaking the curse, but it is remarkable. I hope you break the curse, for your own sake and not just mine."
Surprised by the words, Zahi dared another look up, flushing at the warmth in those eyes. No one was ever this pleasant to him, and this man who was the most powerful in the land had no reason at all to be – especially since Zahi very likely could fail to break the curse. "Thank you, Majesty," he said quietly. "I will do all that is within my power."
"Well, enjoy your tea first," the King said, and winked. "Not as good cold as it is hot."
Zahi smiled back, unable to resist. He had not known a King could be like this…and half-wondered when he would wake up. Gingerly he picked up the teacup, which must cost more than nearly everything he owned combined, and sipped the tea. "It's marvelous, I've never had anything like it."
Of course he hadn't, he was a peasant. What a stupid thing to say. Zahi sighed at himself.
The King smiled. "I am glad you enjoy it. Now – eat. Then I shall give you those things which you desire." He nodded past Zahi.
Turning, Zahi saw what he indicated – a large trunk, closed and locked. His heart sped up. "Majesty…"
"I confess, I do not like sharing," the King said, a thread of strain slipping into his voice. "However, if sharing his things will bring him back to me, then I shall share." He reached out and covered one of Zahi's hands with his own. "Only, I ask that you never share with another whatever you might learn."
Zahi shook his head, using his free hand to tuck back an errant strand of hair. "No, Majesty. I apologize for my audacity in looking through those things which my eyes do not deserve to see. I do it only because I must, and take no pleasure in the deed."
"You have a soothing voice," the King said. "Has anyone ever told you this?"
"N-no, Majesty. I am humbled by such a comment."
The King laughed softly, and slowly withdrew his hand. "Your manners outshine those of my well trained courtiers. But I am keeping you from eating – please."
Zahi nodded and bent to the food, answering the questions put to him and making conversation as best he could, falling silent and pretending to be invisible as men appeared occasionally with a question or document to be signed for the King.
"Here you are," the King said at last, as the dishes were cleared away and peopled vanished for a time. He handed Zahi a small iron key. "You may look at his belongings here, or have the trunk taken to your room."
Zahi froze, uncertain which decision to make. He sighed and went with admitting his stupidity. "I am torn, Majesty. Certainly I am not fit to linger here, but I would not take such important belongings from you if it was not necessary. Gladly will I do whichever most pleases your Majesty."
The King smiled. "By all means remain here. Have servants fetch whatever you may require. I will see they know to do so. I invited you here because Armel was fond of this room, especially this table. It was his design, in fact. He always sat on my right, here." He motioned to the spot next to him.
Zahi nodded.
"Ah, you never did say what you hoped to obtain upon success…"
"My Master has been ill the past few months, and only recently has begun to regain his strength. The illness was severe enough to put him out of work, and he still is not quite up to it. The money went primarily to his care. Even now I detest leaving him alone so long, but caring for him left precious little money for anything else. In our trade, we occasionally make enemies. One of these enemies is seeking to take away my Master's home, on the grounds he has neither made relevant payments on his home nor kept up with his taxes. Should I succeed, I am hoping to ask that my Master be permitted to keep his house no matter what."
The King nodded. "Then I bid you good luck in your work."
"Thank you, Majesty," Zahi said, bowing his head. "I hope I can bring you success."
He stood up as the King did, remaining there until he had departed, worrying his lip as he pondered what to do. First, he would need to fetch his things. Looking around, he nervously approached a servant standing patiently by the door. "Pardon me, but would it be possible for me to get some things from my room and return here?"
The servant blinked, then his mouth quirked in a faint smile. "What do you need fetched, Master Zahi?"
"Oh—no. I can get them myself. It's just books and a small trunk."
The servant's faint smile became a full-fledged grin. "We’ll fetch them right away. Bet a fresh pot of tea while working would help too. Just a few moments, then." He vanished before Zahi could get a word out, leaving him standing there feeling completely out of his element.
A few minutes later three servants appeared – two bearing his trunks and another carrying a tray of tea. "Here you are, Master Zahi," said the servant who had so quickly taken command. "On the table, then?"
"Um—I suppose—"
The servant clapped his hands and motioned briskly for the others to set things up, depositing the books and tea on the table, the trunk at the end of it, before waving them from the room. He executed a short, graceful bow. "My name is Jamis, Master Zahi. If you have need of anything else, you've only to ring that bell."
Zahi shook his head when he was finally alone. Lord and Lady, he wanted to be done with this so the world would right itself.
Having nothing else to do, he focused on his work, moving to the trunk and unlocking it. He threw back the lid, assaulted by the pungent smell of herbs meant to keep away moths and other such nuisances.
Inside were a number of items he knew he were not his to see, but his shame was not as strong as his determination mingled with curiosity. He first lifted out a small jewelry case, moving to the table to sit down with it.
Piece by piece he went through the jewelry; it was a small collection, and none of the pieces were particularly ornate. Earrings, a few plain necklaces, three cloak pins, a couple of bracelets…but several incantations proved each one to be wholly untainted, and further exploration revealed nothing useful.
Well, it wasn't as though he had expected a clue to fall right into his lap.
Still, they had not found the statue in the forest. Curses took time; they did not happen instantly. Such a curse as the one to befall his Grace would have taken at least a day, and though he likely would have been spelled against speaking of it, ideally he would have left some clue.
Setting aside the jewelry case for the time being, he returned to the trunk and debated over what to try next. He settled finally on the books – six of them, each one on a different subject. The books were worn, obviously well used and likely dear to have been included here.
Returning to the table, he bent to his work, murmuring spells to search for anything magically hidden – or any hint of magic at all – while he read them. It would be slow-going, but merely flipping through the pages would not suffice.
He paused to rifle through his own books, pulling close the three he most often used in his own work – a book on curses, a book on counter spells, and the copy he had made of his Master's book on witches. They were the only two such books in existence, constantly appended, highly dangerous if anyone should discover such a book had been created.
Flipping all the books to their relevant pages, he returned to his work pouring over the pages of the history book with which he had chosen to start.
Vaguely he noticed people coming and going, and thought at one point someone spoke to him, but his concentration was not to be broken, and soon the room returned to absolute silence.
When he finished the history book, he snapped it shut and picked up the next volume, repeating the searching spells before settling back to read.
*~*~*~*
Sendoa wasn't surprised to see Zahi had fallen asleep again. Just over two months he had been working now, examining everything thrice over, spreading his search out to encompass everything and anything which came to mind.
It was frustrating, for every day he hoped to hear of some progress, but he tamped it down because of so many nights like this – though he always swore he could not be so careless again, nearly every night Zahi worked himself to the point of exhaustion, falling asleep slumped over whatever he was examining.
Not that Sendoa minded…no, he didn't mind at all. Finding Zahi here, either awake or asleep, made it all too easy to bid him stay for dinner. More than once he had given Zahi permission to use his name, a privilege he had not felt compelled to give to anyone. Only Armel had ever done so.
He did not like the way his eyes lingered on that hair, the long throat…it was a betrayal of the worst sort, to lust even the slightest bit after the man who was attempting to free his lover. Yet there was little point in denying he was.
Zahi was honest, hard-working, soothing, and beautiful. He was, in a word, breathtaking.
Sendoa felt ashamed, and that shame drove him daily to avoid the mage who overtook his private sitting room every day – but nearly every evening he returned to dine here in private, ignoring his guests and obligations and not really caring.
He didn't know what to do. His first impulse was to send Zahi away – but not while there was the slightest chance he could break Armel's curse.
Motioning the servants to silence, though they already moved quietly, he took his place at his table and reached out to gently nudge Zahi awake.
Yet his fingers betrayed him, taking up a strand of that fine gold hair. It was softer than it looked, as fine as silk, and in the light of the candles upon the table it was as brilliant as spun gold.
He wondered what it would be like to sink his hands fully into all that beautiful hair, to feel it fall across his skin.
Shame struck him hard, and he dropped the strand of hair as though burned. Firmly he shook Zahi's shoulder, ignoring every poisonous, traitorous thought that tried to slip into his mind as he noted yet again how delicate that shoulder seemed, how it did not seem a poor fit for his hand at all.
Disgusted with himself, Sendoa shoved the wretched thoughts to the back of his mind. He would not force his ire upon Zahi, who was not at fault despite being the reason for his awful thoughts.
"My apologies, Majesty," Zahi said slowly. "I seem to insist upon turning your table into a bed."
Sendoa chuckled. "No harm in that, as I have often told you. I fear I daily want to turn my courtroom into a bedchamber, especially when certain persons begin speaking. If there is one quality absolutely necessary to being King, it is the ability to look utterly awake and enthralled when one is bored out of his mind."
Zahi laughed, clapping a hand over his mouth as he realized he did so.
It was a fine laugh, one Sendoa had already realized he was rather too fond of hearing.
He was helpless to stop himself though, and the realization was a bitter one. Three years he had been miserably alone while one mage after another promised to break Armel's curse only to fail miserably.
No doubt it was 'only natural' to react so to this mage so different from all the rest, and beautiful in addition.
It didn't keep him from hating himself. He loved Armel deeply; it seemed he always had and he knew he always would. All he'd ever wanted was Armel…
Why, then, was he lusting after this mage?
Then again, the only real question was why was the mage available for lusting? He was in every way desirable, yet he gave no indication of a lover – unless of course he was intimate with his Master, but that wasn't the impression Sendoa had.
He stifled a frustrated sigh and forced himself to focus. "So, tell me how things progress. I have been doing my best to display patience, but I confess it has been difficult."
Zahi ducked his head, loose strands of hair sliding forward across his cheek. Sendoa barely snatched his fingers back in time, dismayed at his actions. "I apologize, Majesty, for presuming so long upon your generous hospitality. The curse is difficult…I begin to perceive a hint of it, but I cannot quite grasp it."
"That is unlike anything anyone else has said," Sendoa said, heart hammering in his chest despite stern reminders he was not to get his hopes up. "What do you mean a hint of it?"
Servants reappeared with their evening meal, and Zahi fiddled restlessly with his wineglass, discomfited as always to speak freely when they were not alone. It was something he would have to get used to, though, if he was going to—
To what?
Stay?
Sendoa fought despair. Why should he think Zahi would be staying?
Mercifully, the servants departed, and Zahi began to speak. "I know that in the past, many have told your Majesty that the solution was a classic 'true love's kiss'."
"Yes," Sendoa said bitterly. "I tossed them all out."
Zahi nodded. "I have determined only two things – that a kiss is required, and that true love is involved in it somehow." He turned away briefly and fumbled with the books hastily shoved down beside him on the long, curving seat.
A moment later he set down a book that was bound in plain leather, stamped with various runes and symbols, tied closed with leather cord at three points. "This a copy I made of the book my master wrote…is constantly writing, really…that relates every scrap of information we've been able to gather about every known witch. Discretely gathered, of course.
He flipped through several pages, finally landing on one and moving slightly closer to show Sendoa the indicated page. "This is, I believe, the witch who cursed the Duke. She is known for being rather cruel. Her spells always hold some twist. She turned his grace into a statue and made it clear you had something to do with the matter. This would imply that your relationship had something to do with breaking the curse, a conclusion drawn by everyone. It is well known you and his grace were in love."
Zahi's cheeks were flushed slightly, and he held himself close, not looking up at Sendoa though of late he had slipped from the custom of keeping his eyes respectively lowered.
"Yes," Sendoa said. "It was never disputed that I in some way was key to breaking the curse."
Nodding, Zahi again motioned to the neatly penned pages listing all that was known about the vile witch who had ruined his life. "There is some twist to it," Zahi said. "Such a solution to a curse only works when the true love is not known, and stands a good chance of never being known. The point of curses is to cause pain and suffering to all relevant parties. You are his grace's true love, so such a simple solution is unlikely. No, it is my firm belief there is some vile twist to it." He hesitated. "In many circumstances…"
He drifted off, and Sendoa could see he was nervous. "In many circumstances…?"
"I do not wish to cause offense, and fear my words will be taken as such," Zahi said quietly, slowly looking up. "The idea is a ridiculous one, that I could see in a moment, Highness, but everything must be explored…"
Sendoa shrugged. "Then speak, and I will attempt to listen without being offended."
Zahi licked his lips and nodded, then dropped his gaze. "In many circumstances, a bitter twist would be for his grace to have had another lover – meaning, of course, you are not the one to break the curse. But as I said, that is obviously not true—"
The words were a slap in the face.
Not because he thought for one moment that Armel had once had another lover. No.
Because maybe he wasn't Armel's true love the way he'd always thought.
He couldn't be, not if he was lusting after the pretty mage who had come to try and reunite him with Armel…
"I'm sorry, Highness," Zahi said, looking stricken. "I should not have spoken. It was foolish, anyone can see you two were – are – in love."
"Maybe not enough," Sendoa said bitterly, miserably.
Zahi frowned. "Majesty…the one thing no one has ever doubted in this is how deeply you and his grace loved each other."
"Perhaps that is the flaw," Sendoa said, anguish growing. "Never have I doubted the depth of my feelings for Armel…" He reached out and wrapped his fingers around a strand of Zahi's hair. "Until you," he whispered, unable to meet Zahi's eyes. "More than a few have whispered about the favoritism I am showing you…and when my thoughts do not linger on business or Armel, they linger on you, mage."
He heard Zahi's sharp intake of breath and finally forced himself to look up, for it was not fair of him to do this – yet he did not expect his own misery to be matched in Zahi's eyes. Zahi flustered easily around him, but he had always attributed it to his being the King. Precious few were not flustered by that title.
Yet now, quite suddenly, he wondered.
Zahi dropped his gaze, but not once had he made to move away from the fingers still holding his hair. "I am hardly worth your Majesty's notice," he said, voice so low Sendoa barely heard him.
"That is most certainly not true," Sendoa said. "You are worth much notice, and the point is that I do notice you." He slowly let go of Zahi's hair to stroke his cheek. "Far too much. If I were Armel's true love, I should not notice anyone else. Until you, I did not. What I do not understand is why."
With a rough sound he tore his hand away from skin he found far too soft and warm.
"I…I'm sorry," Zahi said softly, and Sendoa heard him gather his things and swiftly depart. More than once he wanted to stop him, ask him to stay…but to do what? Prove that he was not Armel's true love?
He picked up his wine glass and downed the contents in one long swallow, then buried his face in his hands.
What was his problem? Even now, thoughts of Armel tangled with thoughts of Zahi. Memories of Armel's touch, that firm mouth consuming his own, blended with fantasies of Zahi's skin, of how that pretty mouth would taste. Images of Armel above him, grinning and taunting, mingled with thoughts of how Zahi would look beneath him with that hair spread decadently across his pillows.
He could feel the cold press of metal against his cheek and pulled his hands away to stare miserably at the braided gold and silver ring on his finger. On Armel's stone hand was its mate.
Did he even deserve to wear it? When he lusted after another? Not just anyone, either, but the person attempting to break Armel's curse. Somehow, that just made it worse in his mind.
He clenched his hand tightly and stood up, resisting a childish urge to inflict his temper upon the food and dishes, striding from the sitting room into his bedroom.
Even here – especially here, perhaps – his mind continued to torture him.
Three years. A mere three years since Armel had been cursed. They had been together their entire lives, and he was not certain he could pinpoint all the different stages that eventually ended in lovers. A lifetime and after only three years he was lusting after another?
He had never realized how despicable he was.
Full of despair and self-loathing, he doused all the lights and stripped before climbing into bed, trying and failing to turn his mind off. When he finally fell into a restless slumber, his thoughts still warred with each other.
*~*~*~*
He never should have come, Zahi thought miserably.
Yet it had been all he could think of. Even now, he could not decide what to do. If he left, there was nothing more to be done to save his Master. He'd exhausted every other possibility. This remained his only chance for saving his Master, who would invariably die if thrown from his home – if not from anguish, then certainly from the elements.
But he could not stay.
He had not seen the King for the past several days. Not since that last dinner. The next day all of his belongings left in the King's salon, along with the Duke's trunk of belongings, had arrived with a note that he was to continue his efforts no matter what.
Zahi didn't know what to do.
It was one thing to quietly accept that his own feelings had shifted from wanting only to save his Master to wanting to see the King happy to…thoughts he should not permit himself to think. It was fine, though, because he hurt no one but himself in every now and then wishing he was the object of so much devotion.
No one had ever shown him the devotion the King so clearly gave the Duke. It was so easy to tell when the King's thoughts strayed to his lover. Whenever Zahi had begun to despair of ever solving the riddle of the curse, those brief moments renewed his determination.
If occasionally those same moments caused a pang of longing – well, that was his problem and no one else's.
Until the King had touched him…had said…
Zahi swallowed, still unable to believe it several days later. The King wanted him. A poor, feeble mage. He'd seen lust before, but never the way it looked in the King's eyes. Like he wanted more than a quick session in the backroom while Zahi's Master was away.
He didn't know what he'd done, but he hadn't meant to cause the King more pain. Certainly he could not even begin to compare with the Duke, and did not know how he'd garnered such notice.
Which meant he would have to set all to rights – and the only way to do that was by breaking the curse. Then he would slip quietly away and all would be as it should. He would go home and take care of Master and the shop, and quietly bury his stay here at the palace. That was the only realistic solution to the matter.
If the matter made him absolutely wretched, that was his problem and he would deal with it. Later.
Right now he had a curse to break.
Firmly setting aside his thoughts, he focused on the trunk. He'd been over its contents dozens of times, along with his books and the few notes he'd cobbled together on what all the other mages who'd attempted the curse had managed to learn. He'd even examined the statue itself, which was where it became clear that something to do with his Grace's true love had something to do with it. It was a strong enough element of the curse to extract if one knew the proper spells.
The only catch was the cruel twist for which the witch had been so famous.
He refused to believe either of the men had dallied with other lovers. Anyone could see in the King's face that he would rather die than betray the Duke – it obviously was tearing him apart he lusted after Zahi.
Zahi couldn't blame him. If it was his lover who had been turned to stone, and he the key to it, he would feel the worst sort of betrayer to find himself lusting after another. Despite the doubts the King now obviously carried, Zahi knew the King was the key to the Duke's curse.
If he wasn't, he wouldn't be so tormented. He wished he could tell the King that, but he wouldn’t upset him more by forcing the King to see him.
He was missing something. Always the trunk and its contents nagged at him. But what? There was nothing left to go over. If his grace had left a clue as to how to break his curse, he had not left it among his things.
Zahi had considered the King's things – but if his grace had let a clue there, the King would have already found it. That aside…no, he could not examine the King's personal belongings. He just couldn't.
Huffing, annoyed with himself, he began methodically to take everything out of the trunk and spread it out on the floor in neat stacks and piles. He wasn't certain what bothered him, but he would figure it out once and for all.
But reexamining each object only turned up what he'd expected – nothing.
He fought an urge to pitch everything into the fire and stared glumly at the empty trunk, not certain what to do. Despite his best efforts, he was at an impasse. Sighing, he ran his hands idly along the trunk, tracing the edges, the soft lining of the body before trailing up to the lid.
The lining was soft velvet, padded lightly to cushion the contents. The top was curved to allow for more…except…
Except inside the top was flat, which allowed for no extra storage space.
Heart racing, though he didn't know why exactly, Zahi fumbled at the edges of the trunk, pausing only long enough to get his penknife, at last cutting the lining away – and barely catching the small book that tumbled free.
He turned it over and over in his hands. It was beautifully worked leather, white, decorated with all manner of magical marks in myriad colors. A…whimsical book. Obviously for private use, heavily guarded against prying eyes.
Stroking a thumb over the lock – magical, rendering a key feeble and pointless – he contemplated what to do—
And gasped, dropping the book in surprise as it opened in his hands.
Lord and Lady…why had it opened for him?
It was too late, though. He'd broken the spell before he could determine what the spell had been.
Heart feeling as though it were about to pound right through his chest, he turned to the first page. It was nothing but a simple inscription.
All great stories deserve to be committed to eternity. My life is great indeed, for one reason. I commit that reason to eternity. ~Armel Therol, Eleventh Duke of Hasca.
This was the Duke's private journal? A dangerous thing for such a man to keep, yet look at how long it had remained hidden.
His eyes widened to see the date – it had been started more than a decade ago. It had been kept a secret for a very long time indeed.
He shouldn't be reading it. Shouldn't even be thinking about it.
Yet he could not seem to stop his hands as they turned to the next page, nor could he stop his eyes from reading the words.
Helplessly he read and read, lost utterly to the story laid out in a neat, precise hand. For it read more like a story than a mere journal, relating how a Duke had come to love and be loved by a King.
The world faded around him. Once or twice he thought he heard a knock at his door, but no one entered – they couldn't, he vaguely recalled, because he'd locked it in order to focus and avoid any sort of distraction.
He read on, pausing only to light a taper as the sunlight faded and fetch his cloak as a winter chill began to dominate the room. He could not be bothered to stop longer than that, wholly absorbed by the story laid out before him.
It was, as the inscription had stated, a story worth relating to eternity. No exciting adventure, no dark and twisted tale, but it was one he would never forget.
He was only pages away from the end when a hand fell heavy on his shoulder. Crying out, Zahi jerked away from the touch, tumbling as his stiff muscles protested such sudden movement, winding up on his back.
Staring up at the King.
"Zahi," the King said gently. "Are you…" his words trailed away as his eyes fell upon the book Zahi had been reading. "Where did you find that?" he asked softly, but answered his own question when he saw what had been done to the lid of the trunk.
"I'm sorry," Zahi said miserably, the grievous nature of his error finally crashing down upon him. "I—I shouldn't have—"
The King shook his head, and knelt to retrieve the book. "I have searched ages for this…he showed it to me a few times, but it was always closed. I could never open it, and he only smirked when I demanded to know why. He said he'd show me one day…how is it you can open it? Did you break the spells?"
Zahi shook his head back and forth vehemently. "No," he said. "It opened for me, too suddenly for me to tell the nature of the spell. That does not mean I should have read it." He flushed, thinking of all he had read. With the King right here, close enough he could smell the warm spice of his cologne, every last word he'd read burned.
Burned and ached, because he wished so badly…but there was no point in such a stupid wish. He was an idiot, but he would not be a fool.
"If it opened, then for whatever reason Armel thought you fit to read it." The King smiled, and it hurt, that tangle of amusement, affection, and anguish. "I know not why or how, but Armel decided you were worthy. May I?"
Zahi nodded. "It's your story," he said softly, curling his legs up. "He probably intended to show you once the story reached a certain point."
The King nodded, but absently, already absorbed in the book. Unlike Zahi, he did not read straight through, but only spent several long minutes skimming, flipping back and forth between pages, expression changing every few seconds.
He closed it with a faint snap. "I had no idea…"
"I'm sorry," Zahi said again. "Whether it opened or not, I should not have succumbed to my own selfish curiosity…"
A warm hand gently cupped his cheek, urging him to look up. "It's all right," the King said quietly. "I trust Armel implicitly. If the spells he set permitted you to open this, then I can only conclude there is very good reason."
"I don't know why you doubt yourself," Zahi said, private misery overridden by a need to drive the pain from the King's face and voice, for he could see that despite his words the King was hurt that Zahi could open a book he'd never been able to…and it probably hurt, too, that Zahi had been the one to find it. "Every line in that book makes it clear you were the center of his world. It is easy to see he means as much to you. If his true love is the key to breaking his curse, then I firmly believe that you are the key. This book only makes that even more obvious than it already was."
The hand still resting so gently on his cheek slid back to comb through his hair, which had worked free of its restraints hours ago. "Yet the past two months, dining and conversing with you, I have felt more myself than I have in the past three years. Since your arrival, I have been told more than once that it was good to see me smile and laugh again. These past several days, separated from you, were like a return to that awful misery. When I sleep, you invade my dreams."
"Majesty…" Zahi could manage nothing more, not certain what he wanted to say.
A thumb brushed across his lips, those gray eyes dark in the weak light, but still so very intense. "When they said you had locked yourself away, and would answer to no one, I was relieved for an excuse to come and see you. What sort of true love am I, that after seeing the story Armel wrote with such care I still want so very badly to kiss you?"
Zahi smiled sadly. "A man, Majesty, nothing more or less than that. No better or worse than a foolish mage who is jealous of a cursed man."
He tried to pull away, but his body was slow and would not obey – instead he found himself leaning forward, realizing too late that the King did the same—
The kiss felt as wrong as it did right, warm and firm and flavored of wine, but with an edge to it that spoke of the conflicts tearing them both apart.
This was in every conceivable way wrong. The King was taken. Zahi had no place here. But it didn't stop him from wrapping his arms around the King's neck and holding on for dear life, nor did it keep him from resisting when he was pressed down upon the floor.
It was the chiming of the bells that broke them apart, the striking of midnight jarring, leaving him cold as the King pulled abruptly away.
They stared at each other with shared expressions of shame and misery, turmoil and hopeless longing.
With an anguished sound the King stood and fled the room.
Shakily Zahi pulled himself together, righting his clothes and raking back his hair.
Curse or no curse, he had to leave.
Lord and Lady, sometimes he wondered who was truly the more cursed – the King or the Duke. At least the Duke was nothing but stone. His Majesty was the one suffering constant anguish – always hoping to see his lover restored, or reduced to feeling like the worst sort of betrayer by moving o…
Realization cut through him, and Zahi froze. He turned the sudden thought over and over in his mind, and laughed bitterly as he realized just how beautifully twisted it was.
He had no reason to think…but he knew he was right. It was exactly the sort of thing she would do.
Trembling, he tugged on his cloak and shoved his feet into his slippers, then raced through the halls to the private areas to which the King had granted him access. At last he reached the garden, shivering despite himself as he approached the statue.
Armel was every inch the handsome noble, and after reading the book he had written, Zahi could see why the King was so completely in love with him. He could not understand what appeal he held next to the Duke.
Well, it didn't matter. If he was correct, and he knew suddenly he was, then he had only to break the curse and then slip quietly away.
That the thought of leaving was tearing him apart was his problem and his alone. He had caused enough trouble here, though he'd never intended it. Struggling to ignore the way he could still taste and feel the King on his lips, his skin, Zahi gripped the statue's shoulders for balance and reached up to place a kiss on the cold stone lips.
"Zahi?"
He stumbled back, collapsing into warm arms, struggling away with a rough sound.
"What are you doing here?"
Zahi didn't look at him, knowing it would hurt too much. "I believe I've figured out the curse," he whispered.
The King let out a startled cry as Zahi's words proved to be true, and a living, breathing Armel suddenly collapsed at their feet.
Before either of them could speak, Armel stood. "Idiots!" he said fervently, looking at them both. "You should have let me be."
Zahi blinked. Stared.
"Armel…"
"Sendoa…" Armel looked for a moment as though he wanted nothing so badly as to throw himself into his lover's arms. Instead he backed away, eyes as dark as good tea but blazing in their intensity as they landed on Zahi. "You figured out how to break the curse."
Zahi's eyes stung. "Yes. I figured it out just a moment ago. After—" he bit his lip and cut himself off, looking guiltily at the ground.
"I don't understand any of this," Sendoa said.
Armel sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. If he was any the worse for wear after spending three years as a statue, he gave no sign of it. "She knew how deeply I loved you, Sen. Everyone knew it. When I unintentionally killed her familiar, the creature she loved most in the world, she decided to take my love from me. The real curse was never me being turned to stone…the real pain was what would come with the waking."
Sendoa shook his head, but did not voice the questions so plain upon his face.
"The true curse," Armel said with a grimace, "was that I could only be woken by the person with whom you next fell in love."
"W-what?" Sendoa asked.
Zahi clenched his hands into tight fists. "It came to me after you left. She was known for her cruelty."
Armel nodded. "What could possibly be more cruel than stipulating that I could only be restored by a kiss from the new love in your life?" he asked.
Sendoa stared at them. "So the only way I was only ever going to get you back was by…falling in love with someone else…and his waking you?"
"Yes," Armel said. "Leaving this fine mess, for I can see that's what it is." He smiled faintly. "Have you had anything but tea or wine in the past several days, Sen? You look haggard."
"I certainly feel haggard," Sendoa said.
Zahi could feel when Sendoa's gaze shifted to him, and could not bring himself to look up. Is this where they asked him gently to go? But Sendoa had just said he loved him, hadn't he?
A well-laid curse indeed.
Fingers lightly touched his cheek, but the touch was not the one he knew. He jerked his head up, surprised to see that it was Armel touching him. The gentle smile was more than he could take. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll go." He turned away, misery a deep ache in his chest.
"Go?" Armel snagged his wrist and hauled him back. "No, you can't go."
Zahi struggled to get away, but somehow only found himself closer to the other two.
"We have a problem here," Armel said gently.
Sendoa laughed bitterly. "You don’t say. How can you even stand to look at me, Armel?"
"I love you," Armel said. "When the witch explained to me the curse she had laid, I hoped you found someone else and moved on and never figured out how to save me. Your mage is clearly as smart as he is beautiful…"
"Yes," Sendoa said softly.
Zahi flushed at the words, but guilt stripped away any pleasure he might have taken from them.
"He also opened that damned journal of yours," Sendoa added.
Armel, to Zahi's surprise, laughed. "I bet that provoked your ire like nothing else!"
Zahi yelped as he was yanked into a tight embrace, noting vaguely that Armel smelled like flowers, probably from being so long in the garden except he'd been stone—
"Do you know why it opened for you, pretty mage?" Armel asked, smile teasing and Zahi didn't know how Armel could be so lighthearted when he should be angry, but he was too confused and upset to voice the question. "It can only be opened by someone who really loves Sen."
He smiled briefly at the cleverness of the spell, before realizing there was nothing in this situation about which to smile. "Why don't you hate me? If I hadn't come…"
"If you hadn't come, Sen would still be sad and I would still be stone," Armel said firmly. "As it is, he's growing more annoyed with me than anything else." He grinned. "I refuse to let that nasty witch ruin my life. I did not mean to kill her familiar. I regret it. I do not deserve to suffer more than I already have; neither of you deserved to suffer in the first place."
Sendoa shook his head. "So what do you propose, Armel?"
"First, you have not given me a welcome back kiss," Armel said, still holding fast to Zahi's wrist as he moved forward and lifted his chin expectantly.
Obviously fighting a smile, affection making his gray eyes bright, Sendoa gave the requested kiss. It was the finest and most painful thing Zahi had ever seen. Sendoa had said he loved him, and he had more or less admitted he loved the King he should not – yet the kiss they shared proved his were not needed.
He attempted to tug his wrist free of Armel's again, but still his efforts came to no avail.
"I missed you," Armel murmured when he finally broke the kiss.
Sendoa made a low, indistinct sound and leaned against him. "Armel…"
Armel kissed him again, then tugged Zahi forward. "Now, pretty mage. Thank you for saving me. More importantly, I am glad that even if I had remained stone, you would have made Sendoa happy."
Zahi nodded and waited for the dismissal.
"Sen," Armel said, and Zahi frowned at the look on his face. It was the same look some of the village boys had before they pulled some prank. "Tell me what you think of this."
For the second time that night, Zahi found himself being kissed. Armel's mouth was hot, and where Sendoa had kissed firm but gentle, Armel was hard and sure.
Zahi held fast, not trusting himself to remain standing, torn between the consuming heat of the kiss and the shame he felt at wanting to return it. Was he truly so reprehensible that he would so freely kiss two men who could not be his?
But Armel was the one who had kissed him.
When the kiss broke, he gasped for breath, closing his eyes against the emotions tearing him apart.
Armel's laughter startled him into opening his eyes, and he slowly looked up – to see Armel was watching Sendoa. Cautiously turning his head, Zahi blinked to see that Sendoa was simply staring at them, shock and unmistakable lust plain upon his face.
The arms around his waist did not feel as strange as he thought they should, and the look on Sendoa's face briefly halted his own turmoil. Where was the anger? The contempt?
"Armel," Sendoa finally said, speaking slowly. "You cannot be suggesting what I think you are suggesting."
"Why not?" Armel demanded. "He loves you as I love you. That is reason enough for me to think quite fondly of him. You love me, you love him. That further endears me to him, and his kisses are sweet." A hand traced up his spine, making Zahi shiver, and his mind gave up functioning entirely as Armel dropped a warm, chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. "What do you say, pretty mage. Do you think you might be able to grow fond of me?"
Zahi nodded. "Your story was beautiful," he said softly, mind awhirl. They couldn't be…surely not…
"Then there you have it," Armel said firmly, and Zahi suddenly found himself pushed into Sendoa's arms.
He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but then Sendoa was kissing him and all thoughts faded away. The warm weight at his back made him jump, for it was strange indeed to be trapped between two people, especially when there was kissing involved…
When he finally was permitted to breathe again, only one doubt still clouded his mind. "I'm only a peasant, I'm hardly—" he was cut off by Armel's mouth this time, this kiss hard enough to bruise his lips, and he helplessly moaned his defeat.
"You broke the curse, Zahi," Sendoa said quietly. "If you are willing to give this strange relationship of ours a chance, I would say nothing else matters."
Zahi nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Sendoa dropped a brief kiss on his mouth. "And if your next worry is for your Master, he was long ago taken care of. If you want to be closer to him, that can also be arranged."
Words now were completely beyond him, and Zahi could only reach up to give Sendoa another kiss, hoping it conveyed what he could not say. Two sets of hands touched him, and it should have felt wrong but it didn't, and when he was suddenly kissing Armel rather than Sendoa it seemed only natural, and watching them kiss each other was the finest thing he'd ever seen.
"Shall we go inside?" Armel asked at last. "I am famished, and we've much to discuss and explore."
Zahi nodded as Sendoa gave his own agreement, more than content to walk between them as they returned to the palace.
ceria_taliesin. The Curse
It was the hair which made him agree.
Not because it was pretty, though it was certainly that – pale gold, like honey mixed with cream. Unbound it would likely be a riot of long, loose curls, if the one small stray strand was anything by which to judge.
Rather, it was that, minus that one strand, the beautiful hair was neatly, severely restrained in a long braid. He'd only caught a glimpse when the man had first walked inside, the waist-length tail of hair swinging back and forth. The intricacy of the braid bespoke significant amount of time put into it, and the man did not look like one who could afford to pay another to do it. There was no decoration or extraneous frippery to it.
More than once as he went through his motions, the young man had reached up as though to tuck back errant strands of hair, a habit so ingrained it was obvious his hair was seldom pulled back. That he had gone to the trouble of the braid said he was making an effort at presenting himself, without spilling over into the vain displays of so many others who had come here for the same reason.
The young man – Sendoa snorted, for he was himself only just twenty-seven years, this man looked only a few years younger – was dressed quite simply in shirt and breeches, scuffed riding boots and a faded green robe, the long sleeves reaching his knuckles, frayed around the edges, the front fastenings simple ties which stopped at his waist. Though worn and of only simple quality to start, the clothes were well cared for, as carefully tended as the hair.
Genuine, honest effort had been made by the young man to make himself presentable. That effort swayed Sendoa where he would have otherwise ordered the man from his sight.
He was graceful as he knelt, soft-spoken as he made his request, straightforward rather than carefully measuring every word. When Sendoa bid him rise, still the young man kept his eyes respectfully lowered.
"The curse?" Sendoa asked softly. "No one has asked permission to try and break it for nearly a year now." Mostly because he had refused so many, they had given up asking – but he was tired of getting his hopes up only to have them cruelly dashed all over again.
The man's head dipped lower, fingers twitching before finally forced to stillness. "I beg your Majesty's forgiveness," he said, voice soft, almost lyrical, with the rhythmic quality all mages acquired from their constant recitation of spells, "if I have behaved objectionably. To the best of my feeble knowledge, the proclamation…"
"It is still in effect," Sendoa replied. "You may try, but I would ask what makes you think you will succeed where so many others have failed."
The man shook his head, briefly raising his eyes – palest green – before swiftly dropping them again. "I do not know that I will succeed, your Majesty," he said quietly. "The only promise I can offer is that I will do my very best. The reward for success is whatever I desire that is within your power to give. You desire his Grace freed, I most desperately need that reward."
"Your honestly is appreciated, good mage," Sendoa said, meaning it. After so many pretty phrases, delicately-spun lies…the simple honesty was refreshing. "What is your name?"
"Zahi, your Majesty," the mage said softly.
"Then welcome to my palace, Zahi. I will have someone show you to the chambers you will occupy during your stay here. If there is anything you require, you have only to ask."
Zahi bit his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth, before giving the faintest of nods, as if coming to a decision. "By your leave, Majesty…I wonder if I might be granted permission to examine various of his Grace's personal effects. Often a curse is contained within an object precious to the target. If I can locate that object, I could possibly gain additional knowledge of the curse and thereby the means to break it. Barring that, it is possible some manner of clue or key might reside within one."
Sendoa started to shake his head, immediately loathing the idea of anyone touching Armel's belongings – but the simple, quiet honesty on the mage's face once more drew him, gave him pause. He gave a slow nod instead. "Yes…spend the evening settling in, exploring the palace if you like. I will grant you leave to go wherever you so please. Tomorrow morning you will join me for breakfast and I will give you what you require."
"Your Majesty," Zahi said, voice somehow a balm. "I thank you."
"I hope you manage to break the curse," Sendoa said, then rang for a servant to show Zahi to his room.
He waited until the mage was gone, then ordered the rest of his affairs be set aside for the next half hour. Abandoning his audience chamber, he wandered through the private royal halls of the palace until he reached his personal garden.
The world beyond might be covered in snow, tormented by freezing temperatures, but here it was always spring. Midday sunlight shone through the glass dome high above, spilling across trees, bushes, benches tucked cleverly away among them, the small brook wending its way through the whole and the statue in the very center.
Three years later, the pain had not eased.
It was a beautiful statue, but Armel had been a beautiful man. Tall, broad, soft brown eyes and hair that never stayed neat because Armel loved to ride and hunt. One of those confounded hunts had been the reason for this, when he had killed a creature belonging to a witch.
Turned to stone, and the witch vanished before they could force the answer from her, and here in the garden his beautiful lover had remained for just over three years.
Sendoa reached out and gently touched Armel's cheek, hating the hardness of it, remembering when it had been smooth and warm, the way Armel had always turned his head and kissed his palm, then dragged him close for a real kiss.
With a rough sound he turned away, looking back toward the palace proper, recalling the pretty mage with long hair and unfashionably tanned skin. A balm, he'd thought before, and it still seemed fitting. Such honesty was refreshing, and though he fervently hoped the mage freed his cursed lover, Armel thought that if he failed he would still help the mage solely for that simple honesty.
Sighing, Sendoa turned back to the statue and again touched it briefly, tracing the lines of Armel's face before finally pulling away and returning to the palace.
Most called him stupid, to stand by a lover who had fallen to a witch's curse. The curse could not be broken, what was the point in trying?
He refused. Armel and he had loved one another it seemed all their lives. Armel would, no doubt, want him to move on and be happy…but Sendoa could not, would not. Armel was his heart.
Slowly he returned to his audience chamber, the endless work that came with being King. Once upon a time Armel would come and sneak him off to the garden, or lock the door to his study, drag him into a shadowy corner of the private halls.
More fond still were the memories of Armel working quietly alongside him when Sendoa had to work late into the night, their early morning rides when the sun was only just rising.
Armel had loved him, not the King, and for that Sendoa would wait a thousand years to see the curse broken.
*~*~*~*
Zahi took a deep breath, not surprised when it did nothing to calm him.
He'd actually managed it.
Now he was about to have breakfast with the King.
He started taking more deep breaths.
In his wildest imaginings…who back home would believe this? Permitted to try and break the curse, and having breakfast with his royal highness!
The curse. He bit his lip, hands clenching and unclenching anxiously as he thought about the curse. He's scraped together every last bit of information he could on his journey here.
It was the work of an angry witch. Twenty seven men and women had all tried to break it – all had failed. Of those, six had suggested 'True Love's Kiss' as the cure. Zahi had immediately dismissed that notion. Such a basic solution did not fit with what was known of the witch in question.
No, the witch in question was rather more cruel than that. Master Alahi hadn't gathered much on her, but he'd gathered enough. At least, Zahi hoped it would be enough. His Master's compilation on witches was his sole advantage in this. He bit harder at his lip as he thought upon Master Alahi. Hopefully he was being left alone, though he doubted it. Would the King listen to his request?
His thoughts immediately shifted to the King, who had been surprisingly kind, gray eyes surprisingly warm despite the sadness in them. It had been more kindness than he'd seen for a long time, and an unexpected source. Before, the task of breaking the curse had merely been a last desperate attempt to ensure his Master kept his home.
Now, suddenly, he wanted to do it to see the King happy.
A sharp rap on the door startled him from his thoughts, and Zahi rapidly stood up and crossed the room.
Outside, a servant bowed. "Master Zahi, if you will come with me, the King awaits."
Zahi nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and nervously followed the servant through the halls. He was being escorted through the royal palace by a servant to have breakfast with the King.
Lord and Lady, was he wearing the appropriate attire? He should have woken early enough to braid his hair again, it looked hopelessly stupid spilling every which way but binding it took forever and he could hardly cut it…
If there was one thing about being a mage which drove him mad, it was the unspoken rule that mages keep their hair long. Could afford such a luxury, ha! He would prefer to sell his hair and buy a nice winter cloak which would actually keep him warm, rather than spend precious hours every week keeping his damnable hair clean.
Ah, well. There was nothing for it. Mages with short hair were considered too poor to be competent, and incompetent mages did not make money. Stifling a sigh, Zahi shoved back a strand which had already slipped free of the ribbons in which he'd bound his hair, and mentally recited a prayer for luck.
He was escorted to the table and only years of practice keeping a straight face as people asked for the most absurd and ridiculous spells allowed him to keep his dignity intact. Whatever he'd been expecting to see this morning, it wasn't the king dressed so casually in nothing but breeches, shirt, and an old pair of boots. His hair, somewhere between blond and brown, had only been minimally combed.
The breakfast table was a clever little nook set beneath a wide, curving window. The seat was a long padded bench that ran the length of the window, a round table set in front of it. He'd never seen anything like it. Everything was deep green and rich brown, trimmed with deep yellow-gold. It was still dark out, winter making the sun slow to appear, but still it was beautiful. Were the sun up, he had no doubt it would be magnificent.
"Good morning," the King greeted. "I hope I have not dragged you out of bed at too awful an hour."
"Not at all, your Majesty," Zahi replied, belatedly remembering to drop his gaze. Had he used up all his manners yesterday? Lord and Lady, he was a nitwit! "I am quite used to the hour."
The King chuckled. "Come, sit. You are more commendable than I, then. I fear I shall never grow used to this hour. I merely have no choice but to endure it." He motioned when Zahi hesitated. "Sit, get comfortable. I assure you there is no better place to dine than here. The chairs in the main dining halls are horribly uncomfortable – I think to keep people from falling asleep when the meals run long."
Zahi barely smothered a laugh, daring a quick look up.
"You need not keep avoiding my gaze," the King said. "Please. You are here to attempt to break the curse, and I meant what I said about your honesty being refreshing and appreciated."
Slowly Zahi met the fine gray eyes, the warmth in them startling, the sadness in them wrenching. "Yes, Majesty," he said softly.
A servant moved quietly, preparing their plates, inquiring gently as to how Zahi liked his tea, and vanishing soundlessly as he finished.
"From where do you hail?" the King inquired.
"The village of Strathmore," Zahi replied. "It is where I was apprenticed to Master Alahi."
The King nodded. "You have been apprenticed since fourteen, I presume? That is the normal age for mages to apprentice, I believe."
"It is," Zahi said, hiding a grimace. "I was apprenticed at ten, however." His parents had wanted to move on to better land, and without the burden of a child who was useless for farming. But they'd had his interests in mind too, he knew. If they hadn't, they would have left him, instead of essentially selling him to the first Master Mage they encountered who was willing.
"What is your specialty?"
Zahi fiddled briefly with his tea, then forced his hands to hold still, placing them firmly in his lap. "Master prefers a broad range, rather than a single focus, but we have become known for our counters."
"Impressive," the King replied. "Counters are amongst the hardest of spells. I knew you must be of significant skill, to be so bold as to request a chance at breaking the curse, but it is remarkable. I hope you break the curse, for your own sake and not just mine."
Surprised by the words, Zahi dared another look up, flushing at the warmth in those eyes. No one was ever this pleasant to him, and this man who was the most powerful in the land had no reason at all to be – especially since Zahi very likely could fail to break the curse. "Thank you, Majesty," he said quietly. "I will do all that is within my power."
"Well, enjoy your tea first," the King said, and winked. "Not as good cold as it is hot."
Zahi smiled back, unable to resist. He had not known a King could be like this…and half-wondered when he would wake up. Gingerly he picked up the teacup, which must cost more than nearly everything he owned combined, and sipped the tea. "It's marvelous, I've never had anything like it."
Of course he hadn't, he was a peasant. What a stupid thing to say. Zahi sighed at himself.
The King smiled. "I am glad you enjoy it. Now – eat. Then I shall give you those things which you desire." He nodded past Zahi.
Turning, Zahi saw what he indicated – a large trunk, closed and locked. His heart sped up. "Majesty…"
"I confess, I do not like sharing," the King said, a thread of strain slipping into his voice. "However, if sharing his things will bring him back to me, then I shall share." He reached out and covered one of Zahi's hands with his own. "Only, I ask that you never share with another whatever you might learn."
Zahi shook his head, using his free hand to tuck back an errant strand of hair. "No, Majesty. I apologize for my audacity in looking through those things which my eyes do not deserve to see. I do it only because I must, and take no pleasure in the deed."
"You have a soothing voice," the King said. "Has anyone ever told you this?"
"N-no, Majesty. I am humbled by such a comment."
The King laughed softly, and slowly withdrew his hand. "Your manners outshine those of my well trained courtiers. But I am keeping you from eating – please."
Zahi nodded and bent to the food, answering the questions put to him and making conversation as best he could, falling silent and pretending to be invisible as men appeared occasionally with a question or document to be signed for the King.
"Here you are," the King said at last, as the dishes were cleared away and peopled vanished for a time. He handed Zahi a small iron key. "You may look at his belongings here, or have the trunk taken to your room."
Zahi froze, uncertain which decision to make. He sighed and went with admitting his stupidity. "I am torn, Majesty. Certainly I am not fit to linger here, but I would not take such important belongings from you if it was not necessary. Gladly will I do whichever most pleases your Majesty."
The King smiled. "By all means remain here. Have servants fetch whatever you may require. I will see they know to do so. I invited you here because Armel was fond of this room, especially this table. It was his design, in fact. He always sat on my right, here." He motioned to the spot next to him.
Zahi nodded.
"Ah, you never did say what you hoped to obtain upon success…"
"My Master has been ill the past few months, and only recently has begun to regain his strength. The illness was severe enough to put him out of work, and he still is not quite up to it. The money went primarily to his care. Even now I detest leaving him alone so long, but caring for him left precious little money for anything else. In our trade, we occasionally make enemies. One of these enemies is seeking to take away my Master's home, on the grounds he has neither made relevant payments on his home nor kept up with his taxes. Should I succeed, I am hoping to ask that my Master be permitted to keep his house no matter what."
The King nodded. "Then I bid you good luck in your work."
"Thank you, Majesty," Zahi said, bowing his head. "I hope I can bring you success."
He stood up as the King did, remaining there until he had departed, worrying his lip as he pondered what to do. First, he would need to fetch his things. Looking around, he nervously approached a servant standing patiently by the door. "Pardon me, but would it be possible for me to get some things from my room and return here?"
The servant blinked, then his mouth quirked in a faint smile. "What do you need fetched, Master Zahi?"
"Oh—no. I can get them myself. It's just books and a small trunk."
The servant's faint smile became a full-fledged grin. "We’ll fetch them right away. Bet a fresh pot of tea while working would help too. Just a few moments, then." He vanished before Zahi could get a word out, leaving him standing there feeling completely out of his element.
A few minutes later three servants appeared – two bearing his trunks and another carrying a tray of tea. "Here you are, Master Zahi," said the servant who had so quickly taken command. "On the table, then?"
"Um—I suppose—"
The servant clapped his hands and motioned briskly for the others to set things up, depositing the books and tea on the table, the trunk at the end of it, before waving them from the room. He executed a short, graceful bow. "My name is Jamis, Master Zahi. If you have need of anything else, you've only to ring that bell."
Zahi shook his head when he was finally alone. Lord and Lady, he wanted to be done with this so the world would right itself.
Having nothing else to do, he focused on his work, moving to the trunk and unlocking it. He threw back the lid, assaulted by the pungent smell of herbs meant to keep away moths and other such nuisances.
Inside were a number of items he knew he were not his to see, but his shame was not as strong as his determination mingled with curiosity. He first lifted out a small jewelry case, moving to the table to sit down with it.
Piece by piece he went through the jewelry; it was a small collection, and none of the pieces were particularly ornate. Earrings, a few plain necklaces, three cloak pins, a couple of bracelets…but several incantations proved each one to be wholly untainted, and further exploration revealed nothing useful.
Well, it wasn't as though he had expected a clue to fall right into his lap.
Still, they had not found the statue in the forest. Curses took time; they did not happen instantly. Such a curse as the one to befall his Grace would have taken at least a day, and though he likely would have been spelled against speaking of it, ideally he would have left some clue.
Setting aside the jewelry case for the time being, he returned to the trunk and debated over what to try next. He settled finally on the books – six of them, each one on a different subject. The books were worn, obviously well used and likely dear to have been included here.
Returning to the table, he bent to his work, murmuring spells to search for anything magically hidden – or any hint of magic at all – while he read them. It would be slow-going, but merely flipping through the pages would not suffice.
He paused to rifle through his own books, pulling close the three he most often used in his own work – a book on curses, a book on counter spells, and the copy he had made of his Master's book on witches. They were the only two such books in existence, constantly appended, highly dangerous if anyone should discover such a book had been created.
Flipping all the books to their relevant pages, he returned to his work pouring over the pages of the history book with which he had chosen to start.
Vaguely he noticed people coming and going, and thought at one point someone spoke to him, but his concentration was not to be broken, and soon the room returned to absolute silence.
When he finished the history book, he snapped it shut and picked up the next volume, repeating the searching spells before settling back to read.
*~*~*~*
Sendoa wasn't surprised to see Zahi had fallen asleep again. Just over two months he had been working now, examining everything thrice over, spreading his search out to encompass everything and anything which came to mind.
It was frustrating, for every day he hoped to hear of some progress, but he tamped it down because of so many nights like this – though he always swore he could not be so careless again, nearly every night Zahi worked himself to the point of exhaustion, falling asleep slumped over whatever he was examining.
Not that Sendoa minded…no, he didn't mind at all. Finding Zahi here, either awake or asleep, made it all too easy to bid him stay for dinner. More than once he had given Zahi permission to use his name, a privilege he had not felt compelled to give to anyone. Only Armel had ever done so.
He did not like the way his eyes lingered on that hair, the long throat…it was a betrayal of the worst sort, to lust even the slightest bit after the man who was attempting to free his lover. Yet there was little point in denying he was.
Zahi was honest, hard-working, soothing, and beautiful. He was, in a word, breathtaking.
Sendoa felt ashamed, and that shame drove him daily to avoid the mage who overtook his private sitting room every day – but nearly every evening he returned to dine here in private, ignoring his guests and obligations and not really caring.
He didn't know what to do. His first impulse was to send Zahi away – but not while there was the slightest chance he could break Armel's curse.
Motioning the servants to silence, though they already moved quietly, he took his place at his table and reached out to gently nudge Zahi awake.
Yet his fingers betrayed him, taking up a strand of that fine gold hair. It was softer than it looked, as fine as silk, and in the light of the candles upon the table it was as brilliant as spun gold.
He wondered what it would be like to sink his hands fully into all that beautiful hair, to feel it fall across his skin.
Shame struck him hard, and he dropped the strand of hair as though burned. Firmly he shook Zahi's shoulder, ignoring every poisonous, traitorous thought that tried to slip into his mind as he noted yet again how delicate that shoulder seemed, how it did not seem a poor fit for his hand at all.
Disgusted with himself, Sendoa shoved the wretched thoughts to the back of his mind. He would not force his ire upon Zahi, who was not at fault despite being the reason for his awful thoughts.
"My apologies, Majesty," Zahi said slowly. "I seem to insist upon turning your table into a bed."
Sendoa chuckled. "No harm in that, as I have often told you. I fear I daily want to turn my courtroom into a bedchamber, especially when certain persons begin speaking. If there is one quality absolutely necessary to being King, it is the ability to look utterly awake and enthralled when one is bored out of his mind."
Zahi laughed, clapping a hand over his mouth as he realized he did so.
It was a fine laugh, one Sendoa had already realized he was rather too fond of hearing.
He was helpless to stop himself though, and the realization was a bitter one. Three years he had been miserably alone while one mage after another promised to break Armel's curse only to fail miserably.
No doubt it was 'only natural' to react so to this mage so different from all the rest, and beautiful in addition.
It didn't keep him from hating himself. He loved Armel deeply; it seemed he always had and he knew he always would. All he'd ever wanted was Armel…
Why, then, was he lusting after this mage?
Then again, the only real question was why was the mage available for lusting? He was in every way desirable, yet he gave no indication of a lover – unless of course he was intimate with his Master, but that wasn't the impression Sendoa had.
He stifled a frustrated sigh and forced himself to focus. "So, tell me how things progress. I have been doing my best to display patience, but I confess it has been difficult."
Zahi ducked his head, loose strands of hair sliding forward across his cheek. Sendoa barely snatched his fingers back in time, dismayed at his actions. "I apologize, Majesty, for presuming so long upon your generous hospitality. The curse is difficult…I begin to perceive a hint of it, but I cannot quite grasp it."
"That is unlike anything anyone else has said," Sendoa said, heart hammering in his chest despite stern reminders he was not to get his hopes up. "What do you mean a hint of it?"
Servants reappeared with their evening meal, and Zahi fiddled restlessly with his wineglass, discomfited as always to speak freely when they were not alone. It was something he would have to get used to, though, if he was going to—
To what?
Stay?
Sendoa fought despair. Why should he think Zahi would be staying?
Mercifully, the servants departed, and Zahi began to speak. "I know that in the past, many have told your Majesty that the solution was a classic 'true love's kiss'."
"Yes," Sendoa said bitterly. "I tossed them all out."
Zahi nodded. "I have determined only two things – that a kiss is required, and that true love is involved in it somehow." He turned away briefly and fumbled with the books hastily shoved down beside him on the long, curving seat.
A moment later he set down a book that was bound in plain leather, stamped with various runes and symbols, tied closed with leather cord at three points. "This a copy I made of the book my master wrote…is constantly writing, really…that relates every scrap of information we've been able to gather about every known witch. Discretely gathered, of course.
He flipped through several pages, finally landing on one and moving slightly closer to show Sendoa the indicated page. "This is, I believe, the witch who cursed the Duke. She is known for being rather cruel. Her spells always hold some twist. She turned his grace into a statue and made it clear you had something to do with the matter. This would imply that your relationship had something to do with breaking the curse, a conclusion drawn by everyone. It is well known you and his grace were in love."
Zahi's cheeks were flushed slightly, and he held himself close, not looking up at Sendoa though of late he had slipped from the custom of keeping his eyes respectively lowered.
"Yes," Sendoa said. "It was never disputed that I in some way was key to breaking the curse."
Nodding, Zahi again motioned to the neatly penned pages listing all that was known about the vile witch who had ruined his life. "There is some twist to it," Zahi said. "Such a solution to a curse only works when the true love is not known, and stands a good chance of never being known. The point of curses is to cause pain and suffering to all relevant parties. You are his grace's true love, so such a simple solution is unlikely. No, it is my firm belief there is some vile twist to it." He hesitated. "In many circumstances…"
He drifted off, and Sendoa could see he was nervous. "In many circumstances…?"
"I do not wish to cause offense, and fear my words will be taken as such," Zahi said quietly, slowly looking up. "The idea is a ridiculous one, that I could see in a moment, Highness, but everything must be explored…"
Sendoa shrugged. "Then speak, and I will attempt to listen without being offended."
Zahi licked his lips and nodded, then dropped his gaze. "In many circumstances, a bitter twist would be for his grace to have had another lover – meaning, of course, you are not the one to break the curse. But as I said, that is obviously not true—"
The words were a slap in the face.
Not because he thought for one moment that Armel had once had another lover. No.
Because maybe he wasn't Armel's true love the way he'd always thought.
He couldn't be, not if he was lusting after the pretty mage who had come to try and reunite him with Armel…
"I'm sorry, Highness," Zahi said, looking stricken. "I should not have spoken. It was foolish, anyone can see you two were – are – in love."
"Maybe not enough," Sendoa said bitterly, miserably.
Zahi frowned. "Majesty…the one thing no one has ever doubted in this is how deeply you and his grace loved each other."
"Perhaps that is the flaw," Sendoa said, anguish growing. "Never have I doubted the depth of my feelings for Armel…" He reached out and wrapped his fingers around a strand of Zahi's hair. "Until you," he whispered, unable to meet Zahi's eyes. "More than a few have whispered about the favoritism I am showing you…and when my thoughts do not linger on business or Armel, they linger on you, mage."
He heard Zahi's sharp intake of breath and finally forced himself to look up, for it was not fair of him to do this – yet he did not expect his own misery to be matched in Zahi's eyes. Zahi flustered easily around him, but he had always attributed it to his being the King. Precious few were not flustered by that title.
Yet now, quite suddenly, he wondered.
Zahi dropped his gaze, but not once had he made to move away from the fingers still holding his hair. "I am hardly worth your Majesty's notice," he said, voice so low Sendoa barely heard him.
"That is most certainly not true," Sendoa said. "You are worth much notice, and the point is that I do notice you." He slowly let go of Zahi's hair to stroke his cheek. "Far too much. If I were Armel's true love, I should not notice anyone else. Until you, I did not. What I do not understand is why."
With a rough sound he tore his hand away from skin he found far too soft and warm.
"I…I'm sorry," Zahi said softly, and Sendoa heard him gather his things and swiftly depart. More than once he wanted to stop him, ask him to stay…but to do what? Prove that he was not Armel's true love?
He picked up his wine glass and downed the contents in one long swallow, then buried his face in his hands.
What was his problem? Even now, thoughts of Armel tangled with thoughts of Zahi. Memories of Armel's touch, that firm mouth consuming his own, blended with fantasies of Zahi's skin, of how that pretty mouth would taste. Images of Armel above him, grinning and taunting, mingled with thoughts of how Zahi would look beneath him with that hair spread decadently across his pillows.
He could feel the cold press of metal against his cheek and pulled his hands away to stare miserably at the braided gold and silver ring on his finger. On Armel's stone hand was its mate.
Did he even deserve to wear it? When he lusted after another? Not just anyone, either, but the person attempting to break Armel's curse. Somehow, that just made it worse in his mind.
He clenched his hand tightly and stood up, resisting a childish urge to inflict his temper upon the food and dishes, striding from the sitting room into his bedroom.
Even here – especially here, perhaps – his mind continued to torture him.
Three years. A mere three years since Armel had been cursed. They had been together their entire lives, and he was not certain he could pinpoint all the different stages that eventually ended in lovers. A lifetime and after only three years he was lusting after another?
He had never realized how despicable he was.
Full of despair and self-loathing, he doused all the lights and stripped before climbing into bed, trying and failing to turn his mind off. When he finally fell into a restless slumber, his thoughts still warred with each other.
*~*~*~*
He never should have come, Zahi thought miserably.
Yet it had been all he could think of. Even now, he could not decide what to do. If he left, there was nothing more to be done to save his Master. He'd exhausted every other possibility. This remained his only chance for saving his Master, who would invariably die if thrown from his home – if not from anguish, then certainly from the elements.
But he could not stay.
He had not seen the King for the past several days. Not since that last dinner. The next day all of his belongings left in the King's salon, along with the Duke's trunk of belongings, had arrived with a note that he was to continue his efforts no matter what.
Zahi didn't know what to do.
It was one thing to quietly accept that his own feelings had shifted from wanting only to save his Master to wanting to see the King happy to…thoughts he should not permit himself to think. It was fine, though, because he hurt no one but himself in every now and then wishing he was the object of so much devotion.
No one had ever shown him the devotion the King so clearly gave the Duke. It was so easy to tell when the King's thoughts strayed to his lover. Whenever Zahi had begun to despair of ever solving the riddle of the curse, those brief moments renewed his determination.
If occasionally those same moments caused a pang of longing – well, that was his problem and no one else's.
Until the King had touched him…had said…
Zahi swallowed, still unable to believe it several days later. The King wanted him. A poor, feeble mage. He'd seen lust before, but never the way it looked in the King's eyes. Like he wanted more than a quick session in the backroom while Zahi's Master was away.
He didn't know what he'd done, but he hadn't meant to cause the King more pain. Certainly he could not even begin to compare with the Duke, and did not know how he'd garnered such notice.
Which meant he would have to set all to rights – and the only way to do that was by breaking the curse. Then he would slip quietly away and all would be as it should. He would go home and take care of Master and the shop, and quietly bury his stay here at the palace. That was the only realistic solution to the matter.
If the matter made him absolutely wretched, that was his problem and he would deal with it. Later.
Right now he had a curse to break.
Firmly setting aside his thoughts, he focused on the trunk. He'd been over its contents dozens of times, along with his books and the few notes he'd cobbled together on what all the other mages who'd attempted the curse had managed to learn. He'd even examined the statue itself, which was where it became clear that something to do with his Grace's true love had something to do with it. It was a strong enough element of the curse to extract if one knew the proper spells.
The only catch was the cruel twist for which the witch had been so famous.
He refused to believe either of the men had dallied with other lovers. Anyone could see in the King's face that he would rather die than betray the Duke – it obviously was tearing him apart he lusted after Zahi.
Zahi couldn't blame him. If it was his lover who had been turned to stone, and he the key to it, he would feel the worst sort of betrayer to find himself lusting after another. Despite the doubts the King now obviously carried, Zahi knew the King was the key to the Duke's curse.
If he wasn't, he wouldn't be so tormented. He wished he could tell the King that, but he wouldn’t upset him more by forcing the King to see him.
He was missing something. Always the trunk and its contents nagged at him. But what? There was nothing left to go over. If his grace had left a clue as to how to break his curse, he had not left it among his things.
Zahi had considered the King's things – but if his grace had let a clue there, the King would have already found it. That aside…no, he could not examine the King's personal belongings. He just couldn't.
Huffing, annoyed with himself, he began methodically to take everything out of the trunk and spread it out on the floor in neat stacks and piles. He wasn't certain what bothered him, but he would figure it out once and for all.
But reexamining each object only turned up what he'd expected – nothing.
He fought an urge to pitch everything into the fire and stared glumly at the empty trunk, not certain what to do. Despite his best efforts, he was at an impasse. Sighing, he ran his hands idly along the trunk, tracing the edges, the soft lining of the body before trailing up to the lid.
The lining was soft velvet, padded lightly to cushion the contents. The top was curved to allow for more…except…
Except inside the top was flat, which allowed for no extra storage space.
Heart racing, though he didn't know why exactly, Zahi fumbled at the edges of the trunk, pausing only long enough to get his penknife, at last cutting the lining away – and barely catching the small book that tumbled free.
He turned it over and over in his hands. It was beautifully worked leather, white, decorated with all manner of magical marks in myriad colors. A…whimsical book. Obviously for private use, heavily guarded against prying eyes.
Stroking a thumb over the lock – magical, rendering a key feeble and pointless – he contemplated what to do—
And gasped, dropping the book in surprise as it opened in his hands.
Lord and Lady…why had it opened for him?
It was too late, though. He'd broken the spell before he could determine what the spell had been.
Heart feeling as though it were about to pound right through his chest, he turned to the first page. It was nothing but a simple inscription.
All great stories deserve to be committed to eternity. My life is great indeed, for one reason. I commit that reason to eternity. ~Armel Therol, Eleventh Duke of Hasca.
This was the Duke's private journal? A dangerous thing for such a man to keep, yet look at how long it had remained hidden.
His eyes widened to see the date – it had been started more than a decade ago. It had been kept a secret for a very long time indeed.
He shouldn't be reading it. Shouldn't even be thinking about it.
Yet he could not seem to stop his hands as they turned to the next page, nor could he stop his eyes from reading the words.
Helplessly he read and read, lost utterly to the story laid out in a neat, precise hand. For it read more like a story than a mere journal, relating how a Duke had come to love and be loved by a King.
The world faded around him. Once or twice he thought he heard a knock at his door, but no one entered – they couldn't, he vaguely recalled, because he'd locked it in order to focus and avoid any sort of distraction.
He read on, pausing only to light a taper as the sunlight faded and fetch his cloak as a winter chill began to dominate the room. He could not be bothered to stop longer than that, wholly absorbed by the story laid out before him.
It was, as the inscription had stated, a story worth relating to eternity. No exciting adventure, no dark and twisted tale, but it was one he would never forget.
He was only pages away from the end when a hand fell heavy on his shoulder. Crying out, Zahi jerked away from the touch, tumbling as his stiff muscles protested such sudden movement, winding up on his back.
Staring up at the King.
"Zahi," the King said gently. "Are you…" his words trailed away as his eyes fell upon the book Zahi had been reading. "Where did you find that?" he asked softly, but answered his own question when he saw what had been done to the lid of the trunk.
"I'm sorry," Zahi said miserably, the grievous nature of his error finally crashing down upon him. "I—I shouldn't have—"
The King shook his head, and knelt to retrieve the book. "I have searched ages for this…he showed it to me a few times, but it was always closed. I could never open it, and he only smirked when I demanded to know why. He said he'd show me one day…how is it you can open it? Did you break the spells?"
Zahi shook his head back and forth vehemently. "No," he said. "It opened for me, too suddenly for me to tell the nature of the spell. That does not mean I should have read it." He flushed, thinking of all he had read. With the King right here, close enough he could smell the warm spice of his cologne, every last word he'd read burned.
Burned and ached, because he wished so badly…but there was no point in such a stupid wish. He was an idiot, but he would not be a fool.
"If it opened, then for whatever reason Armel thought you fit to read it." The King smiled, and it hurt, that tangle of amusement, affection, and anguish. "I know not why or how, but Armel decided you were worthy. May I?"
Zahi nodded. "It's your story," he said softly, curling his legs up. "He probably intended to show you once the story reached a certain point."
The King nodded, but absently, already absorbed in the book. Unlike Zahi, he did not read straight through, but only spent several long minutes skimming, flipping back and forth between pages, expression changing every few seconds.
He closed it with a faint snap. "I had no idea…"
"I'm sorry," Zahi said again. "Whether it opened or not, I should not have succumbed to my own selfish curiosity…"
A warm hand gently cupped his cheek, urging him to look up. "It's all right," the King said quietly. "I trust Armel implicitly. If the spells he set permitted you to open this, then I can only conclude there is very good reason."
"I don't know why you doubt yourself," Zahi said, private misery overridden by a need to drive the pain from the King's face and voice, for he could see that despite his words the King was hurt that Zahi could open a book he'd never been able to…and it probably hurt, too, that Zahi had been the one to find it. "Every line in that book makes it clear you were the center of his world. It is easy to see he means as much to you. If his true love is the key to breaking his curse, then I firmly believe that you are the key. This book only makes that even more obvious than it already was."
The hand still resting so gently on his cheek slid back to comb through his hair, which had worked free of its restraints hours ago. "Yet the past two months, dining and conversing with you, I have felt more myself than I have in the past three years. Since your arrival, I have been told more than once that it was good to see me smile and laugh again. These past several days, separated from you, were like a return to that awful misery. When I sleep, you invade my dreams."
"Majesty…" Zahi could manage nothing more, not certain what he wanted to say.
A thumb brushed across his lips, those gray eyes dark in the weak light, but still so very intense. "When they said you had locked yourself away, and would answer to no one, I was relieved for an excuse to come and see you. What sort of true love am I, that after seeing the story Armel wrote with such care I still want so very badly to kiss you?"
Zahi smiled sadly. "A man, Majesty, nothing more or less than that. No better or worse than a foolish mage who is jealous of a cursed man."
He tried to pull away, but his body was slow and would not obey – instead he found himself leaning forward, realizing too late that the King did the same—
The kiss felt as wrong as it did right, warm and firm and flavored of wine, but with an edge to it that spoke of the conflicts tearing them both apart.
This was in every conceivable way wrong. The King was taken. Zahi had no place here. But it didn't stop him from wrapping his arms around the King's neck and holding on for dear life, nor did it keep him from resisting when he was pressed down upon the floor.
It was the chiming of the bells that broke them apart, the striking of midnight jarring, leaving him cold as the King pulled abruptly away.
They stared at each other with shared expressions of shame and misery, turmoil and hopeless longing.
With an anguished sound the King stood and fled the room.
Shakily Zahi pulled himself together, righting his clothes and raking back his hair.
Curse or no curse, he had to leave.
Lord and Lady, sometimes he wondered who was truly the more cursed – the King or the Duke. At least the Duke was nothing but stone. His Majesty was the one suffering constant anguish – always hoping to see his lover restored, or reduced to feeling like the worst sort of betrayer by moving o…
Realization cut through him, and Zahi froze. He turned the sudden thought over and over in his mind, and laughed bitterly as he realized just how beautifully twisted it was.
He had no reason to think…but he knew he was right. It was exactly the sort of thing she would do.
Trembling, he tugged on his cloak and shoved his feet into his slippers, then raced through the halls to the private areas to which the King had granted him access. At last he reached the garden, shivering despite himself as he approached the statue.
Armel was every inch the handsome noble, and after reading the book he had written, Zahi could see why the King was so completely in love with him. He could not understand what appeal he held next to the Duke.
Well, it didn't matter. If he was correct, and he knew suddenly he was, then he had only to break the curse and then slip quietly away.
That the thought of leaving was tearing him apart was his problem and his alone. He had caused enough trouble here, though he'd never intended it. Struggling to ignore the way he could still taste and feel the King on his lips, his skin, Zahi gripped the statue's shoulders for balance and reached up to place a kiss on the cold stone lips.
"Zahi?"
He stumbled back, collapsing into warm arms, struggling away with a rough sound.
"What are you doing here?"
Zahi didn't look at him, knowing it would hurt too much. "I believe I've figured out the curse," he whispered.
The King let out a startled cry as Zahi's words proved to be true, and a living, breathing Armel suddenly collapsed at their feet.
Before either of them could speak, Armel stood. "Idiots!" he said fervently, looking at them both. "You should have let me be."
Zahi blinked. Stared.
"Armel…"
"Sendoa…" Armel looked for a moment as though he wanted nothing so badly as to throw himself into his lover's arms. Instead he backed away, eyes as dark as good tea but blazing in their intensity as they landed on Zahi. "You figured out how to break the curse."
Zahi's eyes stung. "Yes. I figured it out just a moment ago. After—" he bit his lip and cut himself off, looking guiltily at the ground.
"I don't understand any of this," Sendoa said.
Armel sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. If he was any the worse for wear after spending three years as a statue, he gave no sign of it. "She knew how deeply I loved you, Sen. Everyone knew it. When I unintentionally killed her familiar, the creature she loved most in the world, she decided to take my love from me. The real curse was never me being turned to stone…the real pain was what would come with the waking."
Sendoa shook his head, but did not voice the questions so plain upon his face.
"The true curse," Armel said with a grimace, "was that I could only be woken by the person with whom you next fell in love."
"W-what?" Sendoa asked.
Zahi clenched his hands into tight fists. "It came to me after you left. She was known for her cruelty."
Armel nodded. "What could possibly be more cruel than stipulating that I could only be restored by a kiss from the new love in your life?" he asked.
Sendoa stared at them. "So the only way I was only ever going to get you back was by…falling in love with someone else…and his waking you?"
"Yes," Armel said. "Leaving this fine mess, for I can see that's what it is." He smiled faintly. "Have you had anything but tea or wine in the past several days, Sen? You look haggard."
"I certainly feel haggard," Sendoa said.
Zahi could feel when Sendoa's gaze shifted to him, and could not bring himself to look up. Is this where they asked him gently to go? But Sendoa had just said he loved him, hadn't he?
A well-laid curse indeed.
Fingers lightly touched his cheek, but the touch was not the one he knew. He jerked his head up, surprised to see that it was Armel touching him. The gentle smile was more than he could take. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll go." He turned away, misery a deep ache in his chest.
"Go?" Armel snagged his wrist and hauled him back. "No, you can't go."
Zahi struggled to get away, but somehow only found himself closer to the other two.
"We have a problem here," Armel said gently.
Sendoa laughed bitterly. "You don’t say. How can you even stand to look at me, Armel?"
"I love you," Armel said. "When the witch explained to me the curse she had laid, I hoped you found someone else and moved on and never figured out how to save me. Your mage is clearly as smart as he is beautiful…"
"Yes," Sendoa said softly.
Zahi flushed at the words, but guilt stripped away any pleasure he might have taken from them.
"He also opened that damned journal of yours," Sendoa added.
Armel, to Zahi's surprise, laughed. "I bet that provoked your ire like nothing else!"
Zahi yelped as he was yanked into a tight embrace, noting vaguely that Armel smelled like flowers, probably from being so long in the garden except he'd been stone—
"Do you know why it opened for you, pretty mage?" Armel asked, smile teasing and Zahi didn't know how Armel could be so lighthearted when he should be angry, but he was too confused and upset to voice the question. "It can only be opened by someone who really loves Sen."
He smiled briefly at the cleverness of the spell, before realizing there was nothing in this situation about which to smile. "Why don't you hate me? If I hadn't come…"
"If you hadn't come, Sen would still be sad and I would still be stone," Armel said firmly. "As it is, he's growing more annoyed with me than anything else." He grinned. "I refuse to let that nasty witch ruin my life. I did not mean to kill her familiar. I regret it. I do not deserve to suffer more than I already have; neither of you deserved to suffer in the first place."
Sendoa shook his head. "So what do you propose, Armel?"
"First, you have not given me a welcome back kiss," Armel said, still holding fast to Zahi's wrist as he moved forward and lifted his chin expectantly.
Obviously fighting a smile, affection making his gray eyes bright, Sendoa gave the requested kiss. It was the finest and most painful thing Zahi had ever seen. Sendoa had said he loved him, and he had more or less admitted he loved the King he should not – yet the kiss they shared proved his were not needed.
He attempted to tug his wrist free of Armel's again, but still his efforts came to no avail.
"I missed you," Armel murmured when he finally broke the kiss.
Sendoa made a low, indistinct sound and leaned against him. "Armel…"
Armel kissed him again, then tugged Zahi forward. "Now, pretty mage. Thank you for saving me. More importantly, I am glad that even if I had remained stone, you would have made Sendoa happy."
Zahi nodded and waited for the dismissal.
"Sen," Armel said, and Zahi frowned at the look on his face. It was the same look some of the village boys had before they pulled some prank. "Tell me what you think of this."
For the second time that night, Zahi found himself being kissed. Armel's mouth was hot, and where Sendoa had kissed firm but gentle, Armel was hard and sure.
Zahi held fast, not trusting himself to remain standing, torn between the consuming heat of the kiss and the shame he felt at wanting to return it. Was he truly so reprehensible that he would so freely kiss two men who could not be his?
But Armel was the one who had kissed him.
When the kiss broke, he gasped for breath, closing his eyes against the emotions tearing him apart.
Armel's laughter startled him into opening his eyes, and he slowly looked up – to see Armel was watching Sendoa. Cautiously turning his head, Zahi blinked to see that Sendoa was simply staring at them, shock and unmistakable lust plain upon his face.
The arms around his waist did not feel as strange as he thought they should, and the look on Sendoa's face briefly halted his own turmoil. Where was the anger? The contempt?
"Armel," Sendoa finally said, speaking slowly. "You cannot be suggesting what I think you are suggesting."
"Why not?" Armel demanded. "He loves you as I love you. That is reason enough for me to think quite fondly of him. You love me, you love him. That further endears me to him, and his kisses are sweet." A hand traced up his spine, making Zahi shiver, and his mind gave up functioning entirely as Armel dropped a warm, chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. "What do you say, pretty mage. Do you think you might be able to grow fond of me?"
Zahi nodded. "Your story was beautiful," he said softly, mind awhirl. They couldn't be…surely not…
"Then there you have it," Armel said firmly, and Zahi suddenly found himself pushed into Sendoa's arms.
He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but then Sendoa was kissing him and all thoughts faded away. The warm weight at his back made him jump, for it was strange indeed to be trapped between two people, especially when there was kissing involved…
When he finally was permitted to breathe again, only one doubt still clouded his mind. "I'm only a peasant, I'm hardly—" he was cut off by Armel's mouth this time, this kiss hard enough to bruise his lips, and he helplessly moaned his defeat.
"You broke the curse, Zahi," Sendoa said quietly. "If you are willing to give this strange relationship of ours a chance, I would say nothing else matters."
Zahi nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Sendoa dropped a brief kiss on his mouth. "And if your next worry is for your Master, he was long ago taken care of. If you want to be closer to him, that can also be arranged."
Words now were completely beyond him, and Zahi could only reach up to give Sendoa another kiss, hoping it conveyed what he could not say. Two sets of hands touched him, and it should have felt wrong but it didn't, and when he was suddenly kissing Armel rather than Sendoa it seemed only natural, and watching them kiss each other was the finest thing he'd ever seen.
"Shall we go inside?" Armel asked at last. "I am famished, and we've much to discuss and explore."
Zahi nodded as Sendoa gave his own agreement, more than content to walk between them as they returned to the palace.
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Date: 2007-08-24 05:54 pm (UTC)They should send the which a baby familiar-type-creature with one of those photo cards of the three of them looking happily in love. Haha, take that, Evil Witch!! Or, maybe not. Wouldn't want to get cursed again!
*glomps* This story has made my day.^_^