I know very little about the man who will soon be marrying the love of my life. By all accounts the Duke of Crissomid, Prince Fionn, is a reclusive bookworm who neglects his duties as the second prince and speaks very little to anyone at all. So far, he seems to be living up to that reputation. I suppose I can’t fault a guy for being shy, but damn, his cold blue stare is unnerving.

I thought it was very unfair of Saoirse to ask me to greet the man who is destined to take her away from me, but then again, it is my fault she is not ready to meet him herself. I smile as I remember the glorious hour we spent together after she finished meeting with the Assembly. We didn’t invite anyone else to join us as we often did, but it was still vigorous and satisfying. I think both of us were feeling desperate for each other, wanting to be alone for what very well may be the last time for quite a while.

It is a ridiculous thought, fed by my insecurities. Saoirse told me we can still be together after the Duke arrives and even after they marry. In all honesty, I probably will be in her bed tonight just as I was last night, but I can't quite squash the feeling that everything is about to change.

I catch the Duke staring at me as we walk, and realize I should probably at least try to make small talk. After all, we will be seeing quite a lot of each other from now on. “How was your journey, Your Grace?” I start cautiously.

“Long,” he says in that indifferent, gravely voice of his.

“The weather here has been quite lovely. Did you encounter any storms or troubles on the road?” I probe.

“It was hot.”

Wow, this guy is colder than a block of ice. I study his appearance from my peripheries, noting that I wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually a statue carved from ice. All his features end in sharp points, from his nose to his chin to his triangular torso, and his coloring is pale, marking his foreign heritage. He is an exceptionally tall man, much taller than any Douburg, with broad shoulders and cut, angular muscles. His straight wheat-colored hair is pulled back neatly into an ice blue ribbon which matches his conservative blue tunic.

“I suppose without cloud coverage, it must have been a very difficult journey,” I say diplomatically to the block. He, unsurprisingly, does not respond. “Would you prefer to rest and wash before I take you to the king?” I ask.

“Are you implying that I am dirty?” the prince snaps.

Shit, I forgot my manners for a moment. “Of course not, Your Grace--” I quickly say, dipping into a half bow.

“Brother,” the other, younger prince, cuts in. “Be nice. Our host was just being polite.” Prince Alec, at only eighteen years of age, looks much like a younger version of his brother, but with softer features. His cheeks are rounded out from a hearty diet and his blue eyes appear as clear as a midday sky, instead of as unforgiving as winter. “Thank you… Gilroy, you said your name was?” he says addressing me.

I nod, “Yes, my lord.”

“We appreciate the offer, but we freshened ourselves at midday before entering the city. My brother did not wish to delay greeting his soon-to-be father-in-law and wife once we arrived.”

I feel a bit of tension melt at the young prince’s words. He was so different from his brother! Polite and cordial. Kind and friendly. I continue to engage him in small talk while we walk to the throne room, deciding to ignore his imposing brother completely, just as he continues to ignore me.

As we talk, my mind drifts to more base thoughts, as it often does after spending time with Saoirse. Prince Alec’s appearance seems warmer than his brother; his blue and white coloring coming off as sweet and pure, instead of cold and harsh. On him, I could appreciate Crismond aesthetics, and might even think of inviting him to share our bed… If only he wasn’t the brother of my future king.... And if only the last man Saoirse and I had sex with didn’t immediately threaten to expose us. That was a mess to clean up.

After that we agreed to keep only female lovers, who (as unjust as it might seem) were viewed as much less credible sources in the eyes of the law. If any of them tried to blackmail us, we could always play it off as one of my jilted lovers. Fortunately, no woman had ever so much as suggested they might betray us. Like Saoirse said this morning, she knows how to please women and is actually on very good terms with all of our long-term partners.

Saoirse claims she doesn’t miss having other male lovers, and truth be told I don’t really mind either. We still talk about which serving boys we find cute or which guards we want to pound us into oblivion, but it has been over four years since either of us have indulged such fantasies. Saoirse prefers to be in control during sex, and I don’t mind letting her take the lead most of the time, satisfying my desires to submit and be given pleasure. A small, selfish part of me is actually happy to be the only man in her life. The only one she ever, on occasion, lets dominate her. The only one she loses her cool around. The only one she ever crumples under.

But, starting today, I wouldn’t be the only man in her life. Maybe it was unfair of me to judge so quickly, but I can’t shake the feeling that this Prince Fionn character has no idea how to please a woman. He probably takes what he wants, and doesn’t think twice about whether his partner is satisfied or not. I bet his stamina is as short as his sentences.

His very existence irks me, but I always knew this day was coming. At least Saoirse escaped marrying his loathsome older brother, Ballinamore, whose ego is as big as his oversized tiara. Now there is a man who thinks he knows how to please women and probably won’t stop torturing them until they fake an orgasm. Good Aed, I hate that guy.

It is too early to judge, but if Prince Fionn acts as coldly to Saoirse as he does to me, perhaps he really isn’t looking for an intimate relationship with her. Perhaps their marriage really will be nothing more than a matter of state business, restricted to producing heirs. Saoirse already told me she planned to keep separate bedchambers from him, a practice considered strange by Douburg standards, but apparently not uncommon among the more conservative Crismond nobility.

Then again, maybe he is just short to me because I’m not nobility, legally anyways. With no title beyond the one Saoirse gave to me, some people, particularly foreigners, are uncomfortable with the fact that I’m a bastard. Personally, I don’t really mind. My father and adoptive mother loved me and gave me everything I could ever want or need growing up. Plus, if it weren’t for the circumstances of my birth, I might have never even met Saoirse, let alone grown to be her closest friend and lover.

And Good Aed, did I love her. Like, everything about her; from her strong will to her tireless dedication to her people. I’ve never told her how I feel, but she knows, just as I know she loves me. An unspoken agreement rests between us to never say those three words aloud. Speaking the words would solidify the truth that we can never be together in the way we truly want to. We can never tell anyone else that we love each other, so we won’t tell each other either. It may seem like a precarious ledge we walk, but it is a fine line we’ve been walking since we were teenagers. It works for us, and we’ve been happy.

As I lead the Duke of Crissomid and Prince Alec into the throne room, where King Raghnall III waits, I wonder how much longer we will be able to balance on that precarious ledge.