The High King's Golden Tongue (Love Is Always Write) (5 page)

"It all worked out in the end, though I think everyone will rest easier in the future if you leave the palace only for official reasons."

"Yes, Majesty," Allen said teasingly, and finished his coffee. "Is there anything else I can do to help? I feel rather at loose ends sitting in here all day."

Sarrica finished his coffee and set the cup aside, looking Allen over thoughtfully. "I can certainly sympathize with being idle. I'm not very good at it myself. Are you certain you can handle wandering about? Not that you'll do much actual wandering, but..."

"I'm fine," Allen said, and slowly stood up, turning around to display his wounds. He ran a hand over the back of his head, and Sarrica realized he was reaching reflexively to lift hair that still wasn't there.

Sarrica stood up and moved around the table, reaching out to gingerly examine the wounds. They did seem to be healing well and quickly. By the time they left, Allen should have no real problems getting down the mountain. Sarrica let his hand linger a moment, then slowly pulled it away. "You do seem to be healing well. I see no reason you cannot be as bored as I somewhere else in the fortress."

Turning, Allen smiled up at him. If there was a man alive who could resist that sort of temptation, Sarrica did not want to be him. Allen tasted like coffee and porridge, warm and male beneath that, returning Sarrica's kiss with genuine enthusiasm.

He barely remembered in time not to wrap his arms around Allen and draw him in close. Instead, he cupped Allen's face, ate ravenously at his mouth, mind running through everything he suddenly wanted to do and picking out what was actually possible.

A knock at the door forced him to stop, but he lingered a moment, rubbing his thumb over Allen's bottom lip before stepping back with a sigh. "Enter," he called out.

The door opened to admit a guard, who swept them a low bow. "High King, I was bid inform you that all are assembled and await only you."

"See arrangements are made for Prince Allen to join me. He will be assisting me with the hearings today."

Sweeping another bow, the guard said, "Yes, Majesty." He closed the door quietly behind him.

Reluctantly stepping away, Sarrica said, "I think I might have something suitable for you to wear, though it will be a trifle large."

"Only a trifle?" Allen asked, mouth twitching with amusement. "What are these hearings that they would come all the way up here to hold them? Why could they not wait until your return?"

"One is a murder that took place on neutral land, so I must settle it. The victim was a sheriff. The other pertains to the contracts you just sorted for me. The last has to do with a marine dispute, and involves sorting out some rather valuable cargo. I'm sure it will take all day; they all seem to think the more they speak the better their chances of getting what they want."

Allen's mouth quirked. "Yes, that certainly does seem to be the case. I've sat through court sessions with my parents often. There was one occasion they had a man gagged because he refused to be quiet long enough to let anyone else speak."

"I need to remember that trick," Sarrica said, and took another kiss, and several more after that, unable to tear himself away from Allen's warm, eager mouth. He curved his hands around Allen's hips, smoothed them lightly across the small of his back, then shifted lower to grip his ass, tugging him closer and higher.

Slender arms wrapped around his neck as Allen ate at his mouth, meeting Sarrica measure for measure. Heat flooded Sarrica, threaded with relief, because no one had really made him burn since Nyle. He hadn't realized until that moment how much he had missed wanting someone so desperately.

It was easy, natural, from there to unlace Allen's breeches and pull out his cock. He teased his fingers along its length, ran his thumb over the head, then began to stroke with slow, firm pulls, all the while keeping their mouths firmly sealed together, feasting on every gasp and moan Allen fed him. Nails bit into his skin, and he pulled away as he began to stroke faster just to enjoy the sight of Allen's flushed face, his eyes bright with lust, the pupils wide. Best of all was the way Allen clung to him and said his name as he came with a shudder in Sarrica's arms.

Reluctantly letting him go, Sarrica grabbed a napkin from the table to clean them up as best he could. Tossing the napkin aside, he drew Allen close again and kissed him softly. "I think perhaps taking you to the hearings is a mistake after all," Sarrica murmured, then swallowed Allen's answering chuckle in another kiss. Eventually, he managed to make himself pull back, drawing in a much needed breath and while trying to think cooling thoughts.

Allen's hands slid down to his breeches, but Sarrica captured them and drew them back up, and kissed the back of each. "But—"

"I am more than happy to have you repay the favor later," Sarrica said. "Do not strain your wounds more than I already have. Besides, if we are much later to session, they will all come in here and then we'll never get rid of them." Pulling away, he walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a light weight, dark blue tunic. It was soft, well-worn, something he often wore when he settled in to work on paperwork through the night. "Try this. It's a bit too light for the cold, but a good cloak and some mulled wine will counter that."

He helped Allen into the tunic, using a cloth belt to cinch it up at his hips. Satisfied with that, he returned to the wardrobe and drew out a heavy, dark blue cloak trimmed and lined with soft, dark brown fur. Swinging it over Allen's shoulders and twitching it into place, he pinned it with a silver pin portraying a dragon and a gryphon twined together. "All set, then," he said, and stole one last kiss before moving away to finish dressing himself.

The great hall fell silent as they entered, but Sarrica ignored it, simply walked on hand in hand with Allen. When they reached the dais, he settled Allen in a seat prepared with his back in mind.

After he took his own seat, and arranged the relevant papers on the table between their seats, Sarrica said, "For those not formally introduced, I make known to you Prince Allen Gaulden, my betrothed. As my future consort, he will be assisting me in session today. Bring the first case forward."

"Majesties," the bailiff replied and swept a bow before turning and beckoning forward nearly a dozen people, one of them in chains. Sarrica looked the lot over, noting the poor state of the accused, the better condition of the vendors accusing him. The accused also seemed rather slight, not strong enough to easily kill a healthy, fit Sheriff. "Explain the details to me again, bailiff. All parties will remain silent until he finishes the recounting."

Sarrica listened as the bailiff recounted the tale of a theft gone wrong, the vendor's son capturing the accused, the sheriff brought in to sort the matter out, but instead devolving into tragedy. He already saw a few flaws in the telling. "I'm still not clear as to why the man attacked the sheriff. Accused, tell me your version of events."

Instead of replying, the man just looked terrified, staring wide-eyed and looking on the verge of tears. Sarrica frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked the man. "You need not be afraid, you may tell your version of events without fear of punishment for speaking."

One of the vendors—the son who had made the formal accusation—said, "He's been that way since he was clapped in chains. Won't speak a word, just stares and acts jumpy. Half the time he acknowledges killing, the other half he denies it."

"He can't understand what is being said," Allen interjected. "You said the matter happened at a neutral market in an area where Mesta, Outland, and Gearth intersect. That also puts it near the main port of Outland. He probably speaks very rough Outland, enough to trade, purchase food, small things. I assume you've mostly spoken Outland to him? Have you tried anything else?"

"He only reacts to Outland," the bailiff replied, looking over his own notes. He glanced at the accused. "He looks Outland, with those eyes and hair."

Allen's mouth tightened in irritation; it was the most emotion Sarrica had ever seen him display outside their bedroom. "What do you think?" he asked quietly.

"I think he's a sailor, from the Far Islands," Allen said, and before Sarrica could reply he began to speak to the man in a language that Sarrica did not remotely recognize. But the way the man's face lit up, the way he began to cry openly with relief...

It made Sarrica painfully aware that language barriers were a far bigger problem than he realized. When they finally stopped speaking, Sarrica looked at Allen in silent query.

"His name is Tima. According to him, he thought he was buying three loaves of bread and two bits of dried meat. He handed over his coin and took his purchases, and suddenly was being accused of thieving. They bound him, threw him in a shed, and kept him there for two days until the Sheriff came by on his rounds. At that point, Tima does not know what happened. He was clapped in irons and watched as the street vendors who had him arrested handed money over to the Sheriff. He thought he was being sold back into slavery when he had only just recently obtained his freedom. He panicked and tried to get away. He says they drew their swords and tried to stop him. He claims it was not he who stabbed the Sheriff, but the son, and that it was an accident due to so much going on in such a small space."

Sarrica nodded, not really surprised. "Would you translate for me, for all parties?"

"Of course."

Smiling briefly at him, Sarrica turned to the group before him and said, "The accused is set free, with the sincere apologies of the high crown for the misunderstanding. He is to be compensated thrice over. The son will face penance for the accidental slaying of a Sheriff. Trial fees will be covered by the high crown. This case is closed."

When they were gone, Sarrica was not the only one who stared at Allen with awe. "What in the world were you speaking? I was not familiar with it at all. I suppose I should have asked what twelve languages you know, when I have only nine kingdoms."

"Farland, which is spoken mostly by sailors and merchants. It's derived from Outland, but has changed so much over the centuries that they're only still vaguely related. It explains why he knew enough Outland to get by, but not enough to get himself out of trouble."

"Quite the silver tongue, indeed," Sarrica murmured, pleased by the look Allen shot him at the unsubtle tease. "I don't think silver does you justice, though."

Allen's mouth quirked with amusement. "No, Majesty? What am I, then?"

"My golden tongue, of course. I think you will seduce away my kingdom when I set you loose upon it."

"I don't want to seduce a kingdom, Majesty. Only a High King."

Sarrica smiled, and took his hand, twining their fingers together. "That, you have already done, consort. Shall we move on to the next case?"

"Bring them forward," Allen said in reply, smiling at him one last time before they went back to work.

Megan is a long time resident of m/m fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. She loves to hear from readers, and can be found all around the internet.

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