“I suppose there are also others who would react poorly to losing her,” Hamish murmured before drinking deeply. He peered at the ambassador out the corner of his eye, trying to gauge Darshan and finding the man favoured not reacting. “Children, maybe? It must be hard being so far away from your family.” The Udynean capital of Minamist was literally on the other side of the continent. He couldn’t imagine having such distance between him and home.
Darshan shook his head. “I have no children.” Chuckling, he scratched at the side of his nose with a thumb. “And what a bone of contention that is.”
“Your wife must be eager to remedy such an oversight.” Hamish knew without an ounce of doubt that he would already be a father if it wasn’t for the truth of what he’d have to do to turn that into a reality.
A weak, and slightly queasy, attempt at a smile stretched the man’s lips. He snatched up his tankard and mumbled into its depths, “Not married.”
“Oh?” The man was perhaps a little too pretty and foppish for Hamish’s tastes. And a little on the lean side, despite his protests at Nora pointing out the same thing at dinner last night.
“There is a very good reason for that.” Darshan set his mug on the counter and, giving a smirk, motioned him closer. “It is something of a secret.”
Intrigued, Hamish closed the already small distance between them. Amusement danced in the man’s eyes. Hazel. This close, the separate rings of brown and green in Darshan’s eyes were clear in the pub’s light, colours muddied only where they met and merged. That’s nae fair. Of course he would find the prettiest eyes belonging to a man he shouldn’t consider being alone with.
He also couldn’t help noticing the ring of black around the rim of Darshan’s eyes seemed slightly smudged in the inner corners, near where the glasses sat. Was it some sort of powder? The clans would sometimes plaster dyes and paints across their skin during war, but he had heard of men in foreign lands using such things in a more civil setting as fashion and tradition dictated.
The ambassador clapped a hand on Hamish’s shoulder, tearing his attention back into the present. “It goes a little something like this…” In one swift move, Darshan slid his fingers into Hamish’s hair and sealed their lips together.
There was no hesitation in the act, nor any forceful prying open of his mouth to invade with a tongue, just the bold press of his lips. There for a blissful moment then gone.
“Oh,” Hamish breathed. “I… er…” In all his years of fooling around, of rutting with strangers in the dark, he’d never met a man that forward.
Darshan returned to his drink, his face flushed by more than alcohol. His gaze slid back to Hamish as he drained the last of his drink. There was certainly something of an invitation lurking in that multi-coloured depth.
Hamish wet his lips. Should he dare to answer such an invite? It could cause a lot of trouble for the both of them if it was found out they had done anything more than a kiss. Probably best to leave it. The ambassador didn’t need Hamish’s past stirring up the future prospects for their countries.
He opened his mouth, prepared to tell Darshan as such.
“Oi!” a man roared from the other side of the room. “Udynean!”
Hamish hunched his shoulders. He recognised that voice. Big Billy. He winced as Darshan turned at the cry with one brow raised in question.
The man was one of the dockmasters, built like a bull and belligerent when drunk. He was also responsible for several people needing to be rushed to the cloister for healing. If Billy objected to Darshan’s presence, then things were going to get messy.
Please, dinnae be right. Hamish twisted in his seat, hoping that having to defend the ambassador wasn’t going to be necessary. His hopes sunk as he spied Billy stalking his way through the hastily parting crowd, flanked by two of his lackeys.
“You,” Billy growled, jabbing a thick finger at Darshan. “Just what did you think you’re doing planting your filthy mouth on our prince?”
Smirking, Darshan stood to face Billy. “What did I think I was doing?” He squared up before the three men, swaying slightly with his arms akimbo. “I was kissing him.”
Hamish groaned, leaning on the counter, his head in his hand. There went any chance of leaving without a fight.
Billy laughed coldly. He loomed over the ambassador, his shoulders squaring, his work tunic barely containing them. “You looking to die today, lad?”
The two men flanking the dockmaster gave twin chuckles. One rolled his shoulders, clearly eager to begin such a task, whilst the other cracked his knuckles.
Hamish laid a hand on Darshan’s shoulders. “Come on, the drink’s clearly gone to your head.” A drunk spellster. He thought the man’s magic would’ve kept him from reaching such a state. “You cannae win a fight with him. He makes two of you.”
“As if that matters,” Darshan replied. “I can still kick his arse.” Even so, he lowered his fists.
Billy’s lips parted to reveal broken and stained teeth. Hamish had seen similar expressions on starving feral dogs. “As if I’d let you near me arse, rutter.” He cocked his head and spat onto the flagstones at Darshan’s feet.
Hamish held his breath, tightening his grip on the spellster’s shoulder. Please, dinnae understand him.
The whole pub seemed to grow still the longer Darshan stared at the man, his expression blank.
“Bill,” Hamish hissed at the dockmaster. “That’s enough.” The man must have realised it would be the grandsire of all bad ideas to piss off someone capable of setting things on fire with a thought.
Ignoring Hamish, Billy continued to give the spellster a smarmy smile.
Darshan returned the grin, his tongue snaking out to run along the underside of his teeth. He calmly unhooked his glasses from behind his ears. “Hold these,
