Rasnake(33)

"Shut up," Cecil snapped. "I've never encountered someone so fucking stupid in my life."

"Now that's not very nice," Tallant said, then realized he'd already said that. "Uh—I don't know what's going on." They'd been fighting a dragon. Lord Marden was dead. Oh, he'd tried to fix the wards. Had it worked?

Milton's laughter rang out, and Tallant tried to turn in the direction of the sound, but only gasped as pain and dizziness struck him. "What—what happened?" he croaked out.

"Hold still or I'll kill you myself," Cecil said. "I swear you are the dumbest person I have ever known, and likely will ever meet."

"Not if you ever have the misfortune of meeting my family," Tallant replied.

"Shut up," Cecil hissed again, looking furious enough to carry through on his murderous threats.

Tallant frowned, and tried to reach up a hand to touch him, but found that his limbs simply would not cooperate. "Do not look so upset, kel," Tallant said, using again the cant word for treasure, or lover. "As stupid as I am, I am obviously still alive to be stupid another day. I just wish I could remember what happened."

"You repaired the ward," Cecil said. "You used His Grace, and then suddenly the obelisk had you or something. You were screaming and crying and—and we couldn't get you free of it and you're a stupid fucking fool and if you ever do something like that again I will throw you in the underground lake and leave you there to rot!"

Tallant smiled.

"Do not think this is funny," Cecil snarled. "You say you want to court me—is this your idea of courtship, you stupid elf? Trying to kill yourself only hours after you give me your fate token? Doing reckless things with magic you told me even you shouldn't mess with? After you were already exhausted and when you didn't know what you were doing? I am not interested in being the kel of an imbecile."

"I think that we would both feel better if you kissed me," Tallant said. "But you will have to do all the work, because I don't think I can move yet."

Cecil looked like he wanted to throttle Tallant—but then he just seemed to sag, and bent, placing a shy, soft kiss on Tallant's mouth. As miserable as he felt, Tallant could not be happier, because Cecil had kissed him, instead of just responding to a kiss Tallant initiated. "Stupid elf," Cecil whispered.

"But you'll love me anyway," Tallant replied, and passed out again, a smile still on his face.





Chapter Twelve





"What in the hell are you doing out of bed?" Cecil demanded, slamming down his tankard and stalking over to Tallant, abandoning the table where he had been eating lunch with Milton and Irene. Tallant smiled briefly at the image they had made, the duchess, her duke, and their brother enjoying a quiet meal in their castle. In the two months since Irene's father had died, and Tallant had somehow managed to restore the wards, life in the castle had been improving by leaps and bounds.

Or so Tallant had been told, whenever someone wandered into his room to visit. Beyond that, he had nothing but a little window. He was going to go insane, and not because he'd messed with magic over his head. Boredom was infinitely more dangerous than magic, he'd decided. He was sick of being stuck in that damned bed, with nothing but books and conversation. Granted, he loved it when Cecil came to talk to him, and they could talk for hours upon hours, and when he managed to get Cecil to lie or sit next to him in bed—

But he wanted to do more than sit or lie still, and it he could not do dirty, delightful things with Cecil in bed, the he was not going to stay in bed for one more minute. "I'm sick of being stuck in bed," he said as Cecil reached him. "It's been two very long, very boring months. I'm fine. Look—I'm standing. I dressed myself. I'm walking. I'm fine."

"Don't pout, and don't be petulant," Cecil snapped. "You still can't even use magic! And you're pale!" He whipped around to glare at Milton and Irene, who were doing a very poor job of hiding their amusement.

Tallant did not bother to point out that if he was pale, it was because he'd been in bed for two months. "Kel, I'm fine," he said instead. "I'm sick unto death of being in bed. My magic will return, I can already feel the beginnings of it. Another couple of weeks and I'll be back to full strength. Surely sitting at a table is no more difficult than sitting in bed? Please, Kel?"

Cecil flushed, still disconcerted even after two months at the way Tallant called him that. "Fine," he bit out. "Sit—but you had better not strain—" Tallant smiled into the kiss, catching Cecil's hands when Cecil tried to hit him and shove him back. Two whole months, he'd had Cecil close, had Cecil growing increasingly comfortable with him, opening more to him—and nothing more than short, brief kisses, the barest of touches, because Cecil was a dragon of a caretaker.

Now that he was rebelling against bed rest, he had every intention of getting more than kisses. He finally broke the kiss, and grinned at Cecil's furious face. "See? I'm in perfect health."

"You won't be if you do not stop all this nonsense!" Cecil snapped, stepping well out of reach.

"Yes, Kel," Tallant replied, and walked to the table with him, sitting down next to Cecil, across from Milton and Irene. "Hello, Your Graces," he said cheerfully. "How does the day find you?"