“No. They moved me, something about needing me out of the way so they could clean. Like they ever cared before,” he muttered bitterly, and really, Loth couldn’t blame him.
Loth groaned internally as it all began to make sense. Prince Tarquin was dead and had been dead for years, except rumours of him persisted. So what did Lord Doom need to quash the rumours? A body. And that meant he needed a handy redhead to murder. He would probably explain it away as an attack by bandits or by rebels or something, but as long as he had a red-headed corpse to bury for the public, what was then to stop him from finally claiming the throne outright? Gods, he’d probably been intending to use poor Grub all along—maybe that was even the reason for his hostage status. But which poor sap had wandered unaware through the streets of Delacourt one night and accidentally come to the attention of the guards? Loth, with his henna-dyed hair.
Loth sighed and exchanged a wary glance with Grub. This just got worse and worse.
He knew he should have gone blond.
Chapter Seven
Loth attempted to bury his head under the pillow he was half-sharing with Grub, hoping to block out the disturbing noises coming from Benji’s room. He was only partially successful, since Grub insisted on tugging the pillow back to cover his ears. They were huddled together as they tried to keep warm since there was no chance of a fire, and the night winds cut cruelly through the swamp. At least Benji had found an old shirt for Loth to wear. It was black of course and slightly too long, but Loth tied a strip of blue doublet around the waist and called it good. At least it kept him warm.
Dave and Ada were sharing a blanket, and one of them was snoring loudly. Scott was curled up on his own since he still stank of swamp water. And Calarian?
Calarian was the reason they were covering their ears.
Well, Calarian and Benji. Loth groaned as the night was once more disturbed by the creaking of bedsprings and the muffled shout of “Yes! There!” followed by the dull thud of the headboard against the wall.
“They’re cousins!” Scott whined. “That’s—”
“Yes, well,” Loth snapped. “Elf families are incredibly close, apparently! Who knew?”
Loth was fairly sure the only reason Grub pulled his head out from under the pillow was to give him a judgemental look before observing, “That’s rich, coming from someone whose own grandparents were second cousins.”
Loth stared blankly for a second.
“Queen Frida and King Algernon?” Grub prompted. He obviously knew Loth had no idea what he was talking about, the little shit, and now Ada had lifted her head, listening.
Loth’s tired brain kicked into gear. Right. The old king and queen had been distantly related. He remembered now. “Excuse me for not having memorised Warp’s Peerage,” he huffed. “Besides, the rules for nobility are different. We’ll screw anything that takes our fancy, everyone knows that.” Loth ignored Grub’s hard stare in favour of tilting his head in the direction of the bedroom where the thud of the headboard had stopped. “Do you think they’re done?”
His question was answered by Calarian shouting “Ride me!”, followed by what sounded like the crack of a whip, and then the steady thunk-thunk-thunk of charcoal on charcoal picking up pace.
Grub blushed bright red at the noises, and Loth regarded him more closely. “Tell me, Grub, are you blushing because you’re embarrassed, or jealous?”
Grub’s lips thinned, and he harrumphed and turned his back on Loth, taking most of the blanket with him.
Loth nudged at the prickly little beast. “Oh, come on, don’t be such a prude. Honestly, listening to those two? I’m jealous. It must be weeks since I’ve had a good dicking.”
Grub mumbled something into the blankets.
“What was that?” Loth curled up close to preserve the heat, leaning in to hear. “Did you say something?”
Loth could feel his bedmate practically vibrating with the need to say something, and he didn’t have to wait long before Grub jerked out of his grip, turned to face him, and hissed, “At least you’ve had one!”
That brought Loth up short.
Of course. Grub was anywhere between twelve and twenty. It was honestly hard to tell. But if he’d been locked up at say, fifteen or sixteen, and was the son of a nobleman, odds were good that he’d never had the opportunity to do anything fun. His sexual experience so far probably consisted of his hand, a straw mattress, and an audience of rats.
Loth wasn't sure if it was guilt, pity, or something else that prompted him to make the offer. “Well, if you want me to show you the ropes, I can. I won’t even charge you.”
Grub went still at that. “No, thank you,” he said stiffly.
Loth wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t often words failed him, but then again, it wasn’t often he got turned down, either. As he pondered it, there was a loud cry from the bedroom, “Harder, Benji!”
The room went silent, and then Scott declared, “Do they really have to be so... theatrical about the whole thing?”
Benji’s voice came through the wall. “Shut up, Scott! You’re ruining it!” before the squeaking of bedsprings started up again, and yes, that was definitely the crack of a whip.
Grub snickered, the tense set of his shoulders easing, and Loth pulled him back against his chest, smiling to himself.
Loth woke to warm puffs of air against the back of his neck. He opened one eye and noted the dim, pre-dawn light filtering in, ghosting everything in shades of grey. Early, then. He closed his eyes again and snuggled back automatically against the warmth of another body, and there was a tiny sigh in his ear. Grub, he thought blearily. They must have rolled in the night.
He tried to get comfortable, but something was prodding at him through the fabric of his trousers, something hard and thick and... Loth was still mostly asleep, which was why it took a second to register that yes, that was definitely a cock pressed up against his arse. His eyes snapped open, and he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Grub might claim he wasn’t interested, but his body was telling a different story. Loth rolled his hips so he was pushing back against Grub in a sinuous motion and grinned to himself when Grub picked up the rhythm in his sleep.
If they’d been anywhere but on a floor in a room full of people, Loth might have woken Grub, whispered sweet nothings in his ear, then rolled them over and put his skills to use. Really though, he wasn’t the type to take advantage of someone who was asleep—he much preferred his partners awake and begging.
Besides, he’d been on horseback for two days, nearly been poisoned by swamp gas, and was covered in charcoal dust. In all honesty, he wasn’t confident he could perform at his best, not knowing two elves with ears like bats would be listening in, and likely judging him.
So he settled for reaching behind him and shaking Grub’s bony shoulder while whispering, “I’m flattered, Grub, but maybe later.”
Grub’s hips rocked once, twice, and then his whole body stiffened as he woke. “Fuck!” he hissed.
“We definitely could,” Loth murmured, “I’d be more than happy to, just say the word. But maybe now’s not really the time or place.”