011 – Diversion
Lord Marcellus Mereius makes a visit to the palace.
Cassius was heading towards the training ring when he noticed an attendant hovering a respectful distance behind him. He stopped and turned. “Well?”
“Lord Cassius, there is a Lord Marcellus Mereius here to see you.”
“Really?” Cassius felt his heart lift. “Where have you put him?”
“In the fourth waiting room, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Changing course, Cassius made his way to the public part of the palace. He walked quickly, half out of eagerness, and half because he was bringing the entire family into disrepute by wearing his old training rags in the public rooms.
Marcellus was sitting on one of the stools lining the room, hands on his lap, thumbs tapping against each other. When he saw Cassius he stood carefully, then checked. “Am I interrupting you?”
“No, I was just on my way to the training ring,” Cassius said, striding forward.
“Still keeping in shape?” said Marcellus as Cassius clapped him on the back.
“It is good to see you, Marc. Welcome to Monsilys Palace. And yes, one never knows when one’s imperial overlords will ship one out to active duty again.”
“I wish I could match up against you, Cassius,” Marcellus said as they headed down the hallway.
Adjusting his stride to Marcellus’ rolling limp, Cassius said, “Me too. What are you doing in Monsilys?”
“Caia sent me up to buy her some Ilasian perfume she can’t live without,” said Marcellus, shrugging one shoulder. “I think she may be pregnant again, the demands she is making on me. And her attendant has suddenly gotten very protective of her. Anyway, while I was in town, I thought I might take you up on your offer to visit.”
“Marc, I’m so glad you’re here,” said Cassius, relieved of the obligation of saying something appropriate about Lady Caia’s delicate condition.
“So am I.” Marcellus hesitated. “I know who Llewellyn is now. Your body slave.”
“Oh.” Cassius waved away the lump that threatened to form in his belly. “He is the son of King Adder of Sha-Pensei. His current—legal position—is… an oddity, nothing more.”
“I see.”
“I intended to have the brand struck off in Baetica when I was recently abroad, but circumstances conspired and it ended up being impossible to stop there in either direction.”
“Yes, how goes the Empress?”
“She’s recovering. So until my duties allow me to make the journey to Baetica or Ilas, Llewellyn is staying at the palace as my guest.” He slowed and looked over his shoulder at Marcellus. “You know I hold slavery in abhorrence.”
“Of course,” said Marcellus. “So, are we going to the training ring?”
“Only so that I can tell Tamlin he is free for the afternoon. Then I will take you on a tour of the palace.”
“I thank you.”
After dismissing Tamlin, it occurred to Cassius that he had better change his outfit so he took Marcellus back to his suite. As he pushed open the door, he peered inside. Sure enough, Llewellyn was there, straightening up objects on a side-table.
Cassius opened the door fully. “Please excuse us,” he said as Llewellyn turned around.
Shaking his hair into his eyes, Llewellyn studied Cassius and, behind him, Marcellus. “My apologies, Prince Cassius,” he said quietly. He slipped, head bowed, past Cassius.
As he gestured Marcellus inside, Cassius watched the slender figure receding down the hallway.
Not for you, old soldier, he told himself, shutting the door. Caith’il Deran had taught him that. He needed to get Llewellyn’s slave brand removed, and in the meantime he needed to avoid corrupting the boy further. “Give me a moment,” he said. Llewellyn had laid out a clean tunic, shirt and hose on the chest. Shucking his shirt, Cassius shrugged into the clean one.
Marcellus had seated himself in an armchair, crippled leg stretched out in front of him. As Cassius emerged from the shirt, he caught Marcellus giving him—or more accurately, his abdomen—a very warm look.
Clearing his throat, Cassius changed trousers too. His muscles seemed to tingle with the intensity of the look Marcellus had directed at him. He was hardly surprised when Marcellus stood slowly and came over to put his hands on Cassius’ hips, slipping under his shirt so his thumbs rested on bare skin. Cassius had to look down slightly to make eye contact.
He put one arm around Marcellus’ shoulders and took his jaw in the other. Their lips were so close, it seemed to make the best sense to just kiss him. His lips opened and their tongues met and separated as Marcellus pressed against him. The sensation sent sparks through Cassius. He broke the kiss and tilted his head back.
“Has it been a while?” Marcellus dipped his hands inside Cassius’ waistband.
“Mm.”
“Well then.” Putting his hand on Cassius’ chest, Marcellus pushed him back towards the bed. As Cassius’ knees hit the footboard, he fell backwards and Marcellus climbed atop him, pushing down his hose and freeing his cock.
Putting one hand over his face—the other clutched the bedding—Cassius lay back and let Marcellus go to work on him.
Quickly enough, Cassius felt the familiar sensation of tension coiling in his gut. He could feel himself arch off the bed, his head pushing against the mattress, and both his hands now grasping at the bedding. He thought he was mumbling, “Blessed few, Marc,” but it was hard to hear over the roaring in his ears. Then the tension uncoiled in one sudden climax and every muscle in his body went weak and trembling.
Marcellus crawled up beside him and put his arm across Cassius’ hips. Cassius cracked open one eye and turned on his side so he could fiddle with Marcellus’ clothes.
“Not now, it’s all right,” said Marcellus.
Cassius made a vague protesting noise. He could feel a smug smile plastered on his face.
“Later,” said Marcellus. “Isadora doesn’t expect me back today.”
“It’s so good to see you,” said Cassius with complete sincerity.
“You too, Commander,” said Marcellus. “Now, I think you promised me a tour.”
“Oh, right.” Lazily, Cassius pushed himself to a seated position and rolled off the bed. He tucked himself back into his hose, donned his tunic and went over to the washstand to wipe a damp cloth around his neck. He turned to see Marcellus sitting on the bed watching him with amusement. “Come on, then, Lord Marcellus Mereius,” he said.
They started with the public rooms, and Marcellus was appropriately impressed by the frescos painted by the last century’s greatest painter, and the masterly mosaic floors. He admired the perfect symmetry of the Astral Courtyard and clasped his hands together with delight when Cassius led him into the first waiting room, where rulers of foreign nations would wait for an audience, and which housed four tapestries depicting the four great dynasties of Jovan and a clockwork canary, a personal gift of the Shah of Passa-il-Anah.
After that, as the sun was sinking towards its resting place, they moved on to the private parts of the palace, including the hundreds of bedrooms which were spread across the whole complex. Cassius gave Valentin’s rooms a wide berth.
Eventually, they found their way to a dining room somewhere in the back of the palace and sat down. Cassius unearthed a bell from the dust beside the door and pulled it.
“They’ll think it’s the ghost of old Emperor Ephasius,” he said with a laugh. “Nobody has used this wing since his time.”
Lounging on a chair, Marcellus said, “Tell them to bring us some wine.”
An attendant arrived, agog at this unusual summons, and was sent away to bring them dinner.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed the tour,” said Cassius, sitting down.
“I have, thank you.” Marcellus’ square features had acquired a feline expression. “But I am looking forward to after dinner even more.”
Cassius felt his face heat up. “Indeed?” he said.
“How long do you think it will take them to bring the food up?”
“Perhaps half an hour.” Cassius raised his eyebrows.
“Well, unless you intend to explain to me the provenance of this sturdy-looking table, I think you should come here, Lord Commander.” Marcellus leaned back in his chair, inviting, but giving Cassius space to deflect.
Cassius stood and came around the table. “I believe I am in debt to you for earlier, Lord Marcellus,” he said.
Marcellus said, “Easily repaid,” and watched with a glazed expression as Cassius crouched in front of him and pushed his knees apart.
Later, they sat down to food and wine, then stumbled back to Cassius’ room and fell into bed. Sometime, late in the night, as Marcellus lay curled against his side, knee digging into Cassius’ thigh, Cassius thought that if nothing else, this should cure him of his stupid, impossible passion for Llewellyn.
In the morning, Marcellus left before breakfast, citing the need to ride back to Falona.
“Please visit again any time you’re in Monsilys,” said Cassius.
“You might invite me, you know,” said Marcellus. “What would be more normal than Lord Cassius summoning his old comrade to town for a week?” He paused, raising his eyebrows. “Unless you have no rooms to accommodate me.”
Cassius laughed. “You know we do. You could have an entire wing.”
“Keep it in mind, then.”
Nodding, Cassius clasped Marcellus’ forearm and watched him mount his horse and ride out of the courtyard.
He was sitting down to breakfast in his room an hour or so later when Valentin let himself in. “I hear you had a guest last night, brother.”
Popping an egg into his mouth, Cassius said, “I did.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Was it Lord Marcellus Mereius ne Caelus?”
“Why, do you still suspect him of trying to distract me for his family’s dastardly ends?”
“If that was his plan, he clearly succeeded.” Valentin sat down and reached over to snag a bread roll.
“Hey.”
“Do you know who told me? Llewellyn. Of course he didn’t know your visitor’s identity. I had to find that out from the steward.”
“You and Llewellyn are friends now? Perhaps I should transfer his ownership to you, then,” said Cassius sourly.
“Would you feel free to bed him if he were my slave not yours?”
“Let it go, Valentin.”
“I am only trying to help you, brother. I only ever want to help.”
“I think I’d rather be left to my fate.”
Putting his hands up in defeat, Valentin stood. “Fair enough. At any rate, you do look happier than I’ve seen you for weeks.”
“It was nice to spend time with someone uncomplicated.”
“Don’t do Lord Marcellus the injustice of thinking him uncomplicated, Cassius.” Valentin suddenly seemed terribly tired. “Just because you chose not to scratch the surface.” He left Cassius to finish his breakfast with diminished enthusiasm, wondering whether he should call Llewellyn in to talk to him.
But what would he say? I couldn’t have you, so I had Marc instead?
To which Llewellyn would say that of course Cassius could have him, and all the good of his idyll with Marcellus the previous day would be completely undone. Pushing back his tray, Cassius went to get changed, and sent a servant in search of Tamlin. He would distract himself the way he had always done. Practice and hard work. He could endure.