Caught by the Nordari King Pt 6
As the Nordari longhouse bustled with activity, King Cadell leaned back on his carved wooden throne, his eyes resting on Prince Julian. His eyes followed the Calendrian prince as he ordered his servants to carefully unpack his personal effects—exquisite tapestries, intricate ornaments, and scrolls of literature—all so alien to the rough-hewn grandeur of the Nordari halls.
Cadell took a deep sip of his mead, savoring the rich, honeyed flavor as it warmed his insides. His thoughts swirled, much like the golden liquid in his cup. "You know," he started, setting the cup down, "in Nordari culture, touching a man's chest is seen as an invitation. A gesture laden with... romantic intent."
Julian's head snapped up at this, and his amethyst eyes met Cadell's with a mix of confusion and surprise. "I didn't know," he stammered, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "That wasn't my intention, I assure you."
His eyes quivered like the surface of a pond caught in a gentle breeze, and Cadell felt a flicker of something stir within him. Regret? Longing? He couldn't quite tell. "I understand," Cadell said, his voice more tender than he'd intended. "Cultural differences are a labyrinth, aren't they?"
Julian nodded, turning his attention back to the unpacking. But Cadell's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, tracing the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw. The young prince had been distant since his arrival, avoiding anything that could be construed as intimacy. Despite their forthcoming nuptials, Julian had opted to stay in separate chambers, dodging Cadell's advances and playful banter as if they were poison darts.
Frustration gnawed at Cadell's gut. They were to be married, bound not just by law but by a shared destiny that would unite their peoples. Yet here they were, separated by more than just the walls of their chambers—a divide of culture, of history, of personal experience. Cadell yearned to bridge that gap, to pull Julian into the stormy embrace of his world and let themselves be swept away together.
But as he watched Julian, so cautious, so meticulously respectful, Cadell couldn't help but wonder: was the prince simply too innocent to understand the magnitude of what lay ahead? Or was it something else, a deeper reluctance that had yet to show its face?
Cadell drained the last of his mead and set the cup aside, contemplating the fine line between patience and desire. As their eyes met once more, and he saw the blush rise on Julian's cheeks, he thought perhaps that line was beginning to blur. And that, he realized, was a dangerous game—though not one he was necessarily unwilling to play.
Julian paced within the confines of his chambers, a room furnished with furs and simple wooden furniture, a stark contrast to the gilded elegance of his rooms back in Calendria. His thoughts were a tangle of confusion and emotion, centering around the powerful man who would soon be his husband—King Cadell.
He walked over to the carved wooden mirror, framed with intricate designs of Nordari mythology. His amethyst eyes caught his reflection, staring back with a mingling of doubt and excitement. "He wants me," Julian thought, recalling the spark in Cadell's gaze, the tension that pulsed through the room when their eyes locked. It was a realization that brought both exhilaration and trepidation.
Back in the safety of Calendria, Julian had been ensconced in his father's protection. Emperor Lucian Alerius Septimus was not a man to judge Luminarians, those who loved the same sex; still, he was a father who cherished his children's innocence. "Chastity," he would often counsel them, "is a virtue best kept intact until one's wedding night."
Julian chuckled ruefully to himself, suspecting that some of his siblings had perhaps not heeded their father's advice as faithfully as he had. But Julian had always been the obedient one, the child who listened, who learned, who followed the rules. And now, here he was, on the precipice of a union that would tie two worlds together, yet unravel his own in ways he couldn't yet fathom.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands clenched into fists. "Nervous?" he asked himself, laughing at the obviousness of the answer. Yes, he was nervous. But it wasn't just about losing his chastity or about entering a new phase of life. It was the notion that the rugged, intense man who would be his husband seemed to yearn for him in a way Julian had never before experienced.
And that was both empowering and utterly terrifying.
He reached for a piece of parchment and a quill, thinking to pen down his feelings, but paused. Writing wouldn't change anything, and sooner or later, he'd have to face whatever it was that lay between him and Cadell. His heart quickened at the thought, excitement warring with apprehension.
With a deep breath, Julian rose from his seat. He couldn't control the future, couldn't predict how things would unfold. But he could choose to face it head on, to walk into this new chapter of his life with eyes and heart wide open.
And so he decided he would do just that.
The moon hung like a silver orb in the darkened sky, casting ethereal rays upon the Nordari lands. Within the depths of the grand longhouse, King Cadell lounged on his fur-lined bed, a goblet of mead beside him. His mind wandered, as it often did these days, to Julian—those amethyst eyes, the dignified manner that clashed so vividly with his own untamed spirit.
A sudden knock at the heavy wooden door jolted him from his thoughts. He set his goblet down, took a calming breath, and walked over to the door. When it creaked open to reveal Julian standing there, his heart involuntarily skipped a beat.
"Julian," Cadell found himself murmuring, "what brings you to my chambers at this hour?"
"May I come in? There's something I'd like to ask you," Julian replied, his eyes carrying a blend of earnestness and hesitation.
"Of course," Cadell gestured grandly, allowing the young prince to enter. "Would you like some Nordari mead to warm your bones?"
Julian nodded and took a tentative sip from the goblet Cadell handed him. As he set it back on the table, his eyes met Cadell's. "I was wondering if you might teach me some things about your people, your culture," Julian began. "I feel like an outsider, and if this alliance—this marriage—is to work, then I should understand who I'm allying myself with."
Cadell felt an inexplicable pang of disappointment. Was it too much to hope that Julian had come for a different reason? Still, his teeth gritted at the innocence and formalities the young man insisted upon. "A delicate flower," he thought, taking a deep breath to suppress his frustration.
"Very well," he finally said, letting out a resigned sigh. "Ask away. What would you like to know?