Conquered

By Lux Caverna

The end of an empire. The beginning of a life.

Rykl was reared to be an aristocrat’s concubine. But his life turned out very different: man after man, none willing to commit. Then, prison.

Then, the end of his world.

Now Rykl’s free-wheeling Eofan Empire has been destroyed by the strict-minded Rihadeshi, and love between men is forbidden. He’s lonely, impoverished, and repressing his longing for a love that will surely get him executed. But he’s surviving. Barely.

Until he meets Drift, a luscious stablehand who was a captain in the Eofan army. Intelligent. Honorable. Irresistible. A man Rykl yearns to submit to.

Love can get them killed. But their hearts won’t let them refuse.

Conquered is a 100,000-word male/male romance set in an imaginary empire. It has scenes of corporal punishment and explicit sex between two men and, of course, an HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lux Caverna
• Release date: May 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463801925

Book preview

1

The tip of the sword never moved. It stayed at his throat, the man’s hand steady, that muscular arm keeping the blade perfectly horizontal. This is what a warrior looked like: steady, courageous, sure of himself. Invincible. Handsome face calm, shoulders broad, ass— Oh, it was a lovely, tight ass. But a servant’s. A groom’s.

Rykl lifted an unamused eyebrow, feeling himself flush at the groom’s sudden smile. Self-satisfied bastard. He was going to have to dent that confidence, or the ride to Lanvil House would be a nightmare.

It’s a beauty, the blacksmith said, leaning on the table where he’d laid out his merchandise.

Yes, it is. The groom’s voice was deep and firm. Good, sharp blade. Deep and firm and a little amused. The groom flashed Rykl another delicious smile as he lowered the sword tip.

Cliff People, I thought. If the blacksmith were a dog, Rykl thought, he’d be fawning. And, honestly, so would you. Though probably for a different reason.

Stone Valley, the groom corrected, admiring the ripple pattern in the steel of the sword’s blade. You can tell by the pommel. He showed the blacksmith. That’s the face of an iron cat; Cliff People have no such clan symbols. His jaw tightened. "Had. The Cliff People had no such clan symbols."

And no clans now. And no cliff: the Rihadeshi had seen to that, clearing the plateau of its villages and temples and farms. Building a fucking palace there now, to house their new fucking emperor. Our new fucking emperor, Rykl reminded himself, repressing a grimace of distaste. Our new fucking emperor and our new fucking emperor’s fucking palace. And our new fucking imperial fortress and our new fucking government buildings and our new fucking city at the heart of our new fucking Rihadeshi Empire.

The groom sliced the air with the sword. Beautiful balance. His voice no longer sounded amused. Good, Rykl thought. Few things more annoying than an amused servant.

I knew it was special when I bought it, the blacksmith said. This isn’t just another piece of steel; this one’s going in my personal collection.

The groom flicked a glance at him. I wish you joy of it, he said. No: no amusement at all.

You were in the war. What was your sword made of? the blacksmith asked.

Rykl saw the groom’s hand tighten on the sword hilt, and for a breathless second he thought he’d be witness to a murder.

Sky iron, the groom said placidly. He looked down at the sword.

I’d like to work with that, the blacksmith gushed.

It makes good steel, the groom said absently. He seemed to be trying to make out some faint lettering on the hilt.

Rykl stifled an urge to yawn, repressed a hint-filled sigh. You never used to have to stand waiting for a groom to finish gossiping. Grooms stood waiting for YOU. Another thing wrong with your life, he reminded himself. You’re better than these people, than this life, than this groom. If you just hadn’t fucked up your life … And he still had to go through the humiliation at the constables’ station …

Ssst! the blacksmith’s boy said, turning from the window.

With a smooth movement, the groom presented the sword’s hilt to the blacksmith, who took the sword and slid it beneath the black cloth covering the table. Something going on here, Rykl thought. And it was strange: in the hands of the groom, the sword looked like a weapon, sleek and deadly; in the hands of the blacksmith it looked like … scrap steel.

When the constable entered the shop, the groom was studying a knife: really big, really sharp. Suits you, Rykl was thinking. Hard-muscled, probably stupid, spending his pay on a flashy big knife to show off to a sweetheart …

Rykl saw the constable survey the room, and his mouth dried with fear. Just a constable, on his own business, though if he asked for Rykl’s papers, there was going to be trouble: he really should have insisted on going to the station instead of stopping at the blacksmith’s so this lummox of a groom could buy a new shiny toy. At least the lummox had stepped in front of Rykl’s trunk; the constable apparently didn’t notice it.

Got your blade right here! the blacksmith said, handing it over. Rykl knew little about knives, but this one looked plain, utilitarian. I put it on the department’s tab.

The constable grunted and surveyed everyone in the room before leaving. Rykl smiled pleasantly when the constable looked his way; he hoped he didn’t look relieved. He really had to get to the station; it was getting late, and this kind of thing always took forever …

"I—I made that one." The blacksmith’s boy was looking anxiously up at the groom, who was still holding the knife.

My son’s first blade! the blacksmith said, his arm going around the boy’s shoulders. At least, it’s the first blade we considered selling.

Good balance, the groom said, slicing the air. He smiled at the boy. And the handle’s shaped well. It fits well and feels good in the hand.

The boy’s anxiety turned to joy; he fairly glowed. That just doubled the price, Rykl thought.

I’d be pleased to buy it, said the groom.

Your knife; your sale, the blacksmith said, stepping away from the table and smiling proudly at his son.

The groom paid the first sum the boy mentioned, which told Rykl that probably he hadn’t doubled the price. Then the groom waved away the offer of a new sheath, sliding the knife into the worn sheath at his side.

Good, Rykl thought. It was cloudy and starting to rain, and they needed to be at the—

Constables’ station, he reminded the groom as they left the blacksmith’s shop. I—I have to … 

 … register, the groom finished for him, carrying Rykl’s trunk on one shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Station’s just over the way, sir.

It was sprinkling as they crossed to the constables’ station. Rykl kept his gaze away from the groom’s hard ass, his muscled shoulders, his well-shaped hands. You’re a degenerate now, Rykl reminded himself. Best to remember that. A degenerate walking into an unknowable future. Behind a groom with magnificent thighs.

I—I may be some time, Rykl said.

Got nothing else to do, sir. The groom put down the trunk and leaned against the wall near the open door, under the eaves.

Insolent bastard. Rykl quashed a sudden anger, took a deep breath, and entered the station.

Actually, he entered the room: unheated, unadorned, and evidently recently added to the side of the station. It was small, so it was full. Clock; door into the station house proper. Table, with a young and nervous-looking Rihadeshi constable with a short beard, fumbling with papers and a stack of thick books, beside a long-bearded bloviating Rihadeshi windbag— Head constable, Rykl corrected; it didn’t help to think insults about the people who now controlled your life. Another bearded constable with a truncheon who gave Rykl a sharp glance as he came in. And … a family. Two women, man, child. Obviously a man and his wife, with their daughter and the child’s nurse.

Rykl studied the floor, wishing he hadn’t come in. Because they were so obviously a master and two concubines and their daughter. And so very obviously illegal.

Zun … Watersoul, the head constable read from the family’s papers. And his wife, Zun Rivil.

Yes, one of the women murmured; and Rykl’s heart sank when he heard her voice. Ardil. Captain Ardil and her two concubines. And, was that little Remi? My, it had been a long time: Remi had been an infant in arms the last time he’d seen her. And now she was— He hid a smile. Now she was a bored-looking five-year-old. But, so much was different now … He took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself.

And— The male concubine’s voice was faint. Rykl sympathized; the man was unused to attention. And to being looked at; Ardil’s concubines veiled in public. —our daughter’s nurse. Zun—Zun … 

Windshadow, Ardil supplied. My dear. Her shoulders were so tense, you could have broken stone on them. She—She’s new, she explained to the constables. Just hired.

The head constable silenced her with a look. Is that so? he said to the female concubine.

Y-Yes, sir. She curtsied.

The head constable glared at her suspiciously. So you’re Stone Valley as was?

Born Stone Valley, sir. Another curtsy.

And you, too, Zun … Watertree. The head constable’s glare turned to the male concubine.

Watersoul, sir, the man corrected, not curtsying.

Didn’t work, Rykl thought with glee. Ardil’s concubines were submissive, not stupid.

"Water … soul. And married to … an Eofa?"

Y-Yes, sir. Ardil’s concubine relaxed when she linked her arm through his and smiled fondly at him. He tried a joke. She—She swept me off my feet, sir.

Ha. Ha, Rykl thought. Of course she had. Rihadeshi women weren’t allowed to sweep anyone off their feet; it wasn’t proper in a female. Eofan women, however … She would have had him before they pledged, Rykl thought. Multiple times. And the female concubine, too: no sense in pledging before you’d fucked and learned how compatible you were.

He tried to ignore the stab of jealousy. Fucked and pledged and loved as a concubine before the Rihadeshi took over and—

I’m sure. The head constable didn’t seem to think much of the joke.

No ‘Watersoul’ here, sir! the young constable announced triumphantly, looking up from one of the books.

And ‘Rivil’? the head constable said; and the young man gulped and dove back into the stack.

The head constable gave Ardil a smug glance and looked at Remi, who was trying to touch her nose with the tip of her tongue. Now, then, little one. Remi? He showed a considerable number of teeth in what he seemed to think was a smile. What’s your mama’s name?

Go for the weakest link. Rykl’s heart faltered, and he saw Ardil’s free hand clench.

Remi stared at him, perhaps mesmerized by the teeth. The female concubine was casting apprehensive glances at her.

Your mama’s name? the head constable coaxed.

More staring happened. Remi’s feet began to shuffle her backward, behind the male concubine.

Can you tell me? the head constable said.

"Mama," Remi said as if speaking to a dolt.

The dolt didn’t join in the murmur of amusement that rippled through the room. Have you, he said to the male concubine, never spoken your wife’s name in front of your child?

She— That’s what children call their mothers, the concubine protested mildly. They—They call their mothers ‘mama.’ Don’t they? Didn’t you?

"I certainly knew my mother’s name before I was this one’s age. Is your child an idiot?"

"Of course not! the male concubine snapped. Sir, he added hastily, shrinking a little under the head constable’s glare. She’s—She’s young, and she’s tired, and she’s just a child … " Ardil patted his shoulder, terror in her eyes, the little wife trying to soothe her outraged husband. The female concubine’s hands were visibly shaking.

No ‘Rivil’ either, sir! the young constable announced, closing the book.

By now Remi had shuffle-backed away, past Ardil, past the female concubine, and into Rykl’s reach. She looked like a child who would enjoy a sweetie; Rykl smiled encouragingly at her and offered his open pastille box with its lonely piece of the most tooth-gluing taffy he’d ever encountered. She hesitated; she took the taffy; and when she went back to clutch Ardil’s hand, Remi had the thoughtful air of someone whose jaws were hopelessly stuck together. Rykl sympathized—it was his favorite candy—and envied—it was an expense in which he didn’t dare indulge himself for the foreseeable future.

The young constable looked up as another constable leaned through the door into the station house and pointed meaningfully at the clock. He nodded vigorously and fumbled for the official stamp, eyes on the papers the head constable was still clutching—the ones he needed to stamp before he could go off duty.

So, little one, the head constable said, trying again, what’s your mama’s name?

Staring happened; a lot of hopeless jaw movement happened. Then more jaw movement happened; and—

Rykl sighed audibly, lifting an eyebrow as attention focused on him. Where. is your. superior? he said loudly, in the drawl that once had made even head waiters quiver in fear. "I am here on important business; I must not be kept waiting." He saw Ardil’s eyes widen in surprise and recognition and then saw her face go carefully blank. It didn’t do to connect yourself with someone about to have the might of the Rihadeshi Empire visited on him.

"I am in charge here. The head constable stood and dropped the family’s papers on the table, seeing a fresh target. And you, my good man, will wait until we are done here."

My good man. The insult burned, and Rykl felt the urge to battle. "My business cannot wait. I cannot wait. Out of the corner of his eye, Rykl saw the young constable pounce on the papers, happily stamp them all over, thrust them at Ardil’s male concubine with a friendly smile that probably wouldn’t survive another month of registering dissidents next to that fucking head constable. Sir, I have registered in cities and towns all over this—this new empire— He was glad to see Ardil pause as she passed him—the automatic action of someone used to aiding the unfortunate—but he was gladder to see her shoo her family through the street door—the apologetic action of someone protecting those who depended on her. —and the efficiency here is … unimpressive."

He braced himself as the head constable came out from behind the table, the truncheon-wielder following him; fun as it would be to demolish this trumpery dictator, things were likely to get violent. Not that he actually gave a fuck; death would be better than life in this petty empire.

Sir? a deep voice of amiable imbecility asked from the street door.

"What?" The head constable glared at the groom. Good gods, Rykl had forgotten about the man.

I’m begging your pardon, sir— And the idiot actually tugged his forelock, hunching his shoulders to show how reluctant he was to interfere. Sir, it’s just that— Another tug at his forelock, and an abashed foot-shuffle. I’m supposed to be taking the master to Lanvil House. They said I need to get him there tonight, sir. So if he ain’t going to be finished registering tonight, sir, I’ll have to go tell them—the ones at Lanvil House, sir— Good gods, that forelock was going to be tugged out. —that he won’t be there when they want him. And then I’ll have to come back to get him, sir; and they won’t be pleased … 

A flash of terror crossed the head constable’s face; apparently he was accustomed to bowing to the dictates of the ones at Lanvil House. Surely he knows that the owner’s dead, Rykl thought; but the words Lanvil House still seemed to have power.

Your papers. The head constable snatched them from Rykl and slapped them onto the table.

Rykl closed his eyes against a dizzying wave of relief. Death would probably be better than life in this petty empire, but he wasn’t actually ready to find out for sure.

There was silence as the young constable scrawled information from Rykl’s papers into a ledger and then hurriedly leafed through his books, looking for Rykl’s name. Not there, Rykl thought. It’s not there. I never joined the military; I never fought against you; I’m not on the list of those you want to torture. I’m just on the infinite list of those you’re torturing already.

He swallowed his relief as the young constable stamped his papers and handed them over. Thank you, sir, he said meekly. He looked at the head constable. "And thank you, sir."

He tried not to run to the street door.

The groom was outside, lounging against the wall and admiring his new knife. Sir, he said, tugging his forelock.

Rykl fixed him with a look. Smart ass. I believe I’m ready, he said, his voice shaking only a little.

Sir. An amused tug of the forelock before the groom picked up Rykl’s trunk and swung it onto his shoulder.

Rykl laughed silently at the groom’s back as they walked across the square. Smart ass, indeed; but sometimes a servant should be indulged, especially one with such a lickable mouth.

Walking through the drizzle, Rykl tugged up the collar of his jacket, trying not to shiver. It was supposed to be warm—it was spring, wasn’t it? and wasn’t spring supposed to be warm?—so naturally he wouldn’t have brought a cape, even if he hadn’t sold his to get his best suit out of hock. Blasted groom, though, had a coat. Treated to resist the rain, too. Probably warm. And, curse it, that hole in the sole of Rykl’s right boot was going to leak. Miserable fucking weather; miserable fucking town; fucking miserable Rykl …

Best to stand dry under the eaves, sir, the groom said when they reached the stable. Thiffl gets testy, being put into the traces; I don’t want you in the wagon if he takes it into his head to make trouble and run it into something.

Of course. Rykl gave an automatic smile and stood beside the open stable door, trying to look like someone not shivering, not completely soaked in despair.

Stood straight and seemingly relaxed as the groom checked the wheels of the wagon, which was fortunately covered with canvas against the rain, and fastened the canvas flap that enclosed the wagon’s back and then tucked Rykl’s trunk under the wagon’s seat. Watched him hitch up a mismatched pair of handsome geldings, the white one of which nosed at the groom and sidled into him in an affectionate way.

Oh, hush, you brute, the groom said, affectionately shoving the horse’s nose away.

At last, the man helped Rykl onto the hard wagon seat and climbed up, himself. The canvas kept off the rain as they rumbled and creaked through the emptying streets of Reskol, but the air seemed full of chilly damp. The cursed wagon seat was very narrow; Rykl was thigh-to-thigh with the groom. He hadn’t been thigh-to-thigh with a man since— Well, it had been a very long time.

Chilly for this time of year, the groom said. Best get your cape, sir.

Don’t have— Didn’t bring one. Rykl tried to look warm and unconcerned.

The groom ruminated on this as they clattered out of the town and into the country. Then he stopped the wagon in the middle of the road and to Rykl’s dismay struggled out of his coat and draped it over Rykl’s shoulders.

You don’t … have to, Rykl protested faintly. Oh, it was warm, from the groom’s body. And luxuriously dry; and for an instant the gesture made it seem as if someone genuinely cared about him …

Wouldn’t do to have you get to Lanvil House soaking wet, sir. And my jacket’s plenty warm enough, and dry enough, now that we’re out of the rain. The groom picked up the reins. Move on, he said to the horses.

Thank you. Rykl wrapped the coat around him; it smelled a little of horse and a lot of warm, clean man. And … th-thank you for stepping in back at the constables’ station. I— It might have gone … very badly.

Don’t mention it, sir. The groom’s eyes were merry as he tugged his forelock. Wouldn’t do to have a visitor to Lanvil House stomped on and thrown in jail, sir. People might talk, sir. Another tug of the forelock, and an impish smile—the groom mocking his earlier servility. Rykl found himself unable to completely swallow a laugh.

How—How far is the house?

About half a day in good weather, sir. And with us leaving so late and the rain and all—well, the roads aren’t the best.

Oh, wonderful. Half a day sitting cheek-and-thigh with a muscular cheek and thigh belonging to an exceedingly fuckable man, wrapped in the man’s scent and sick with the misery of being among strangers in a hostile part of an empire that humiliated him daily and would like to see him dead—the kind of misery that had before caused Rykl to follow his cock into some of his most embarrassing adventures. Do NOT offer to suck this luscious Rihadeshi groom’s cock just to cheer yourself up, he reminded himself. He’ll cut out your heart with that big knife of his, and everyone will celebrate the death of another degenerate dissident.

If it’s not too bold of me, sir, the luscious Rihadeshi groom said, what brings you to Lanvil House?

Oh, why not? "I’m—I’m clerk for Zun—I mean, Mar Lanvil’s lawyers. Making an inventory before the estate is sold."

Rykl felt the groom jerk in sudden surprise. Neris is—is selling? he asked. The household’s to be broken up?

Yes. Rykl gave the man an appraising glance. The man’s tone of amiable idiocy had dropped away; something crisper had taken its place. This man was a groom, wasn’t he?

Too bad, the groom said. This was a good place. Quiet. Out of the way. Convenient. Then, Did I hear your name? he asked, looking at Rykl. Sir.

Something was going on here. Rykl.

The groom smiled. That’s a fine old Eofan name.

Rykl gave him a sharp glance. No groom in his experience had ever used the phrase fine old. Something definitely was going on here. And yours? he asked.

The quirk of the man’s delicious-looking mouth was almost a smile. Drift, Zun Rykl.

Rykl was unable to completely swallow his shock. Not a luscious Rihadeshi man. Of course, you ninny, he thought. He hasn’t a beard. You’re Cliff People.

Born there. Drift’s voice had tightened.

Oh, thank the gods, there would be— I thought the household was … all Rihadeshi.

"Mostly, Zun Rykl. One Cliff Person, once I get there. And an Eofa. He smiled. Once you get there."

Rykl’s answering smile was automatic. Dismaying: for a giddy instant he’d looked forward to the relaxation of being with other Eofa and Cliff People and Stone Valley People—the new detritus of the new Rihadeshi Empire. Instead, he’d be surrounded by Rihadeshi looking for an excuse to humiliate him— He shuddered. Rain is coming down harder, he commented, as if that were the cause of the shudder.

Yes, we’re in for it. We may not make Lanvil House tonight, what with the dark and the state of the roads.

Are there inns? He had exactly one copper coin; but perhaps the price of supper and a bed could be added to the law firm’s fees …

Bed down in the wagon, sir, Drift said cheerily. There’s room, if we lie close.

Oh, the gods were not being kind. All night lying against this delicious-looking man. At least he won’t cut out your heart if you offer to suck him off, Rykl mused. Cliff People shared the Eofan views of morality. But some non-Rihadeshi had found it prudent and profitable to betray their own people to the authorities; it would be disheartening if Drift were one of these.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Rykl said faintly. All night lying against this beautiful man, stewing in his own desires for comfort and a vigorous fucking …

The road was steeper now, and running with small streams. Drift swayed with the jolting of the wagon; Rykl clutched the edge of the seat. This was not the way he usually travelled.

Let’s hope Captain Ardil and her family have found shelter, Drift said conversationally; and Rykl’s start nearly unseated him.

You won’t—? he gasped.

The look of contempt Drift gave him made Rykl swallow the rest of that sentence. If I were going to report them, I’d have done it, Zun Rykl.

Of course, Rykl said, abashed. How did you— How do you know her?

Fellow captain, Drift said crisply. We met in the hospital at Shadow Hill after Leioshin.

Fellow captain. That explained the man’s sudden air of authority, his surge of intelligence. A soldier became captain only when other soldiers offered to follow him or her, usually after the would-be captain had built a reputation for acts of superlative courage and intelligence and skill. Shame washed through Rykl; he’d misjudged this man to a stunning extent. The—The Battle of Leioshin was— I heard it was brutal.

It was. The tone of Drift’s voice halted all questions.

How—How many soldiers did you lose?

None. When Rykl stared at him, agape, Drift gave him a smile of pride. All of us were wounded—some grievously—but all of us lived.

None, Rykl repeated, stunned. Eighty-five out of a hundred soldiers fighting for the Eofan Empire had died or been permanently disabled in that battle; it had forced the Empire to capitulate to Rihadeshi demands. I—I’ve met captains not so fortunate. Actually, he’d been fucked by a number of them.

My soldiers were very competent, but the weapons were new to us, and the Empire’s forces had no real defenses. If the People of the Bay hadn’t given gunz to the Rihadeshi, the Eofan Empire might have stood.

"Gunz? Rykl said. What is ‘gunz’? The veterans of Leioshin who’d fucked him hadn’t mentioned gunz": they’d laid the blame on their generals, the Emperor, the weather, and anything else that wasn’t them and any mistakes they’d made themselves. And they’d all been astonishingly bad at fucking.

Guns, Drift corrected. They— His brow furrowed. They’re … hard to explain if you haven’t seen one. They’re weapons that hurl small bits of lead through the air very fast. The lead pierces armor, shields, flesh, bone— He flinched. And guns can be used at a distance, so the ones using them are safe from swords, though not from arrows. We were fortunate that they were too expensive for all Rihadeshi soldiers to carry, but casualties were— It was devastating.

Yes, Rykl said softly. Devastating was putting it mildly: loss of a generation, loss of an empire, loss of a way of life, of love, of everything that made life valuable.

The wagon rumbled in silence. Evening was closing in.

Were you in the service, Zun Rykl? Drift asked.

No, but half of the service was in me at one time or another. But Rykl couldn’t utter his standard joke—not to a man who’d endured what Drift had, not to— A captain. A captain who survived Leioshin. And you’ve been rude to him.

No, Rykl admitted. Did he really have to go on? Surely he wasn’t obliged to explain himself to a—a mere groom. But he was a CAPTAIN, some part of him insisted. It was more difficult to become a captain that it was even to become emperor: emperors are simply born to it; a captain has to earn it. And soldiers commanded by this one survived the worst battle of the war.

Rykl took a deep breath. I was—I was in prison. Debtor’s prison. And then, when Drift gave him an inquiring glance, he found himself babbling. Actually, earlier I was in— He felt his face heat, but the babbling was going to continue; something was compelling him to be honest, agony that it was. —in prison proper. For—For … forgery. Just an imitation of his parents’ signatures on a rather impressive number of trifling bills … And then for debt, after I’d served my sentence. And after his family had disowned him; on his parents’ deaths, the entire estate had gone to a cousin.

Well, that’s past, Drift said after a moment, with a heartening practicality.

So are a lot of other things, Rykl murmured. Why did you TELL him? he chastised himself. It’s none of that man’s business what you were in prison for or THAT you were in prison; he’s just a servant; he doesn’t need to know all your secrets. Get a grip on yourself. I—I would appreciate it … if the information … didn’t … get back to my employers. He lifted the corners of his mouth in what he hoped resembled a smile. They—

 … wouldn’t employ a forger, Drift finished for him. Rykl hoped that wasn’t amusement in his tone. Especially an Eofan one. Fortunate that so many records didn’t … survive the war.

Insolent … Rykl’s face felt hot. He’s a servant; you’re— Well, you’re not a servant. But to the Rihadeshi there was no difference between him and Drift; they were both on the same level.

Well, Zun Rykl, Drift said, looking at the sheeting rain, at the darkening forest, we’re not getting much further tonight. The road just gets worse from here; it wouldn’t be safe in the dark and this rain.

As you think best, Rykl said, his voice thin. All night, lying against this luscious, capable, courageous, intelligent man …

They turned off the road onto a patch of rocky ground sheltered by tall pines.

As dry as we’re likely to find, Drift said, making ready to spring to the ground.

Your coat, Rykl said, shrugging it off. You’ll be soaked, he noted, holding it out to Drift. Then, Please, he said.

Drift still hesitated, then pulled off his jacket. You still don’t have your cape, he pointed out. He took the coat and handed over his jacket, waiting until Rykl gratefully pulled it on before donning his coat.

Oh, Vintu, the man smelled good. Rykl pulled the jacket close, watching Drift dash to block the wagon’s wheels with rocks and squelch to take the horses from the traces. The white gelding nosed affectionately at him.

Thiffl, you blockhead, Drift growled. Stop that.

As Drift settled the horses, Rykl sat in the dimming light, surrounded by the scent of a man he wanted more than he’d wanted any man in years. Quick and rough—the way he liked it. Those calloused hands snagging his skin; what had to be an exquisite cock filling his mouth— Oh, stop that. He was going to disgrace himself. And, even if Drift fucked men, likely he was already someone’s concubine, or he had one and didn’t need another, or he was cautious and wouldn’t fuck another man because the penalty for that was death … Maybe you can get a quick wank when you go off to piss. Though one wank probably wouldn’t satisfy him enough to hold him the whole night …

Whew! Drift was climbing into the back of the wagon. Rain’s coming down hard. It’s muddy even under the trees. He began to rummage through things in the