Tuesday Tales – Mouth

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

 

 

Today we have an excerpt from my current WIP. The Pastel Prince, an MM fantasy romance.

Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

 

 

 

Eyes closed, back straight, hands resting on my brown robes, I sought the peace to meditate.

“Good morn, Kentan! I’ve brought you some of the honey cakes from the kitchen to break your fast,” the voice of my young ward rang out. The Stillcloud heir has yet to learn the fine art of speaking softly. I smile to myself, open my eyes, and glance to the right to see Aelir standing beside me in his royal blue trousers, a white shirt, and grass stained leather shoes. The morning sun making his golden hair glisten like the crown I once wore. “They’re still warm and quite sticky.”

He held out a pilfered cake, light yellow and spongy, amber honey dripping through his fingers. Behind him, at perhaps ten paces, stood V’alor Silverfrond, his guard. The man in the copper-colored armor nodded at me, his posture relaxed here in the gardens. He is a rather stoic man, roughly my age, with short hair and a build honed from hours of training with sword and shield. I have seen V’alor strike like an asp when his charge is threatened or endangered. I would not think to run up to the heir of this vills unbidden. The last fool who had done so wound up at a healer with several cracked ribs and a broken nose. V’alor brooked no fools where his duties to Aelir were concerned. A guard of nobility has lightening reflexes and a sword sharp enough to cleave a man in twain. V’alor was the best of the best as the future of the vills rested in his care.

“Thank you,” I replied, plucking the treat from his hand. Aelir grinned, his chin coated with honey, and dropped to his knees beside me. “Your grandfather will be angry if Widow Poppy informs him that you’ve eaten before morning prayers.”

The smile on his lean face fell away. “I’m hungry. He made me go to my chambers last night without supper simply for not replying to dumb old Raewyn Frostleaf’s letter.” As was typical for a boy of ten, a pout overtook his face. The gentle wind blew through the garden, tinkling the windchimes by the small fountain in the corner, and tossing long strands of Aelir’s hair into the honey coating his face. He thumbed it away. “Why does he feel the need to make me speak to girls?”

“Well, there are many reasons to speak to girls,” I replied, sliding to the grass then crossing my legs. My bare toes peeked out from the hem of my plain green and brown robes. Aelir rolled his gaze to the sky before taking a large bite of his honey cake. “Replying to the young lady’s missive shows that you are courteous and conscientious. Important traits for the heir to this vills to possess.”

I pulled off a small bite of cake, dropped it into my mouth, and moaned in pleasure. Widow Poppy certainly knew how to bake. Her social graces could use work, and her treatment of the castle cats infuriated me, but she was gifted in the kitchen.

“But she’s sooooooo boring! She never talks about swords or horses or archery. She just goes on about her handmaiden and sewing and earrings.” His face is comical in its disgust.

“Someday her letters will have more appeal,” I told him. His nose wrinkled as if he had just gotten a sniff of the pig farmer’s slurry. “Someday you’ll find her flowery words entrancing, her delicate handwriting engrossing, and the soft scent of pink rose water on the pages captivating.”

No I will not. I’m never going to get married. I’m going to rule Renedith like King Raloven rules the empire,” Aelir states with all the assuredness of a boy of ten summers.

 

Tuesday Tales

 

 

©Copyright V.L. Locey 2024