Royals of Ruemri Book I: Betrothal

Chapter 7 - Part 2

RAFFE IGNORED the knowing looks that his cousins Raif, Jadel, and Risam threw at him when he and Soren came back from their little excursion. He's in for a lot of teasing in the morning, he grudgingly admitted.

Raffe grew up in their company, or at least those who had spent much time of their early youth in Ruemreon, including Halsem, Aren, and Isara as well. And perhaps they knew, in a way, that Raffe would strain the limits of constraint placed upon him out of love for them. In return, they offered unwavering love, devotion, and loyalty without the slightest hint of doubt. They were the siblings he never had, providing him with a sense of belonging that shielded him from the solitude of being an only child.

They were supposed to make his life a little bit easier, but right now they're making him miserable instead. Their knowing gazes, raised eyebrows, and sly grins irked him, prompting him to shoot them a glare that could've wilted flowers. But his attempt only elicited mischievous chuckles from them. Resigned, he sighed and left them behind, walking into the tent to join Soren.

Raffe did not miss, however, how numerous eyes seemed to follow the faie's every movement on the way to their tent. His wet golden hair clung to his flushed face and his damp clothes hugged his body in a way that shouldn't really be allowed. He walked confidently with wide strides, oblivious to the leering that he was getting from the soldiers around them. Raffe threw sharp icy looks to the men who met his eyes and grunted softly when they hastily turned away or lowered their gazes. His protective and possessive instincts rose to the surface without a sliver of warning, almost surprising Raffe himself.

He had never been so right before, except when he said that Soren was a dangerous walking temptation.

When they reached their tent, the two of them acted like the kiss never happened. Soren turned his back to Raffe and changed his wet clothes. Raffe did the same.

After a few seconds of silence, Raffe remembered the kiss again. The scent of fresh apples, the soft skin, and the sweet, pleasant moans. Fucking hell. The kiss was just an impulse. A stupid impulse, he reminded himself.

So when he spotted the fucking deer curled on the bed, he crossed his arms over his chest and sharply glowered down at the faie who tucked himself up to his chin beneath the thick covers. "Get that deer off the bed, Soren," he ordered, determined to be obeyed, or else.

"Jiri's not a deer. He's a stag. A marvelous stag," Soren answered, unperturbed.

Raffe breathed out, "Well then, the stag stays off the bed."

Maybe it was the exhaustion or perhaps Soren didn't want another long argument for he told the dee—stag in Alaia to get off the bed, muttering every blasted curse that he knew in various languages, and settled again beneath the covers. Raffe widened his eyes for a moment and was obviously impressed, recognizing several languages like Seleme, Hanayan, Istelia, Essa, and Tarn. He knew that Soren could speak another tongue when he ventured into a conversation with Jolas in Zani just the other day, but he never knew that he could also speak more than a few others.

Just how many fucking languages does he know? But the prideful dominant side of the prince refused to blurt out the compliments on the tip of his tongue. So he ignored the faie instead. He took silent steps towards his side of the bed and let out a groan when his back hit the soft covers, thankful for the silence that preceded.

He was halfway through his dreams when Soren suddenly prodded, "Why did you do it?"

Annoyed, Raffe turned sleepy eyes to him but the faie's gaze was fixed on the ceiling.

The soft glow of the lamp on Raffe's right side illuminated their small tent, casting a gentle light across the space and upon their skins. Despite the noticeable distance between them, Raffe sensed an unmistakable tension emanating from Soren's side of the bed, even without a clear view of his expression

"Does it bother you that much?"

"No." Soren freed his hands from the covers and settled them behind his head. "And yes."

Raffe shook his head blearily. "You're not making any sense."

"No, it doesn't bother me," Soren responded with a shaky sigh. "But yes, I'm utterly confused about why you did it. You, who seemingly despise every aspect of me. You, who would willingly abandon this entire betrothal arrangement. And yes, you—the last person I would ever anticipate to kiss me of their own accord."

Raffe swallowed a grin, feeling a little bit proud of this outcome. Such a thing wouldn't have had any effect on him at all in the past, but now it was feeding his ego and he can't help the satisfaction that accompanied the feat. There followed a long silence while Raffe was assessing and discarding plans for his next move.

"There was something I would like to ask you since our betrothal feast, but..." He deliberately let the question hang in the air, enjoying the way Soren finally turned to look at him, blue eyes flickering darkly against the lamplight.

"But?" The faie prompted.

Raffe looked him in the eyes, not wanting to miss Soren's reaction. "Am I the first man you kissed?"

First, there was the empty look, then Soren blinked slowly, once, twice, and a pretty shade of blush crept from his pale neck to his cheeks and to his ears before he turned away to look at the ceiling again. Raffe smiled smugly.

"It's no business of yours," Soren snapped, his voice was steady and calm.

But Raffe was relentless. "No one tried before?"

Soren let out a soft grunt. Unsurprisingly, his candor seemed to go amiss as he narrowed his eyes and set his jaw in that mulish way of his whenever he was pissed off or if he was about to snap something really incongruous and sarcastic. "I did not let anyone before."

"Why?" Raffe asked, nonplussed, propping himself with an elbow, curiosity now beaming from his eyes.

"Why do you ask?"

"I merely wanted to know. Is that bad?"

"Well, you never answered my question yourself so why should I answer yours?"

Raffe considered it for a while. "Fair enough." He nodded gravely, composing a mask to hide the full blast of his growing smugness. Well, he had gained ground at the moment. Pressing one's advantage was not always nice. Just one step at a time.

When Soren seemed to give up and let the subject drop and the question unanswered, Raffe finally closed his eyes, grateful, because he didn't really have a solid answer to give the faie.