Even masters of the game can meet their match…
Elio and Sestro are beautiful, seductive, and talented—in more ways than anyone knows. They are known for taking lovers back to their room to share for the night—but each lover only enjoys one night with the notorious brothers. Practically no one realizes the true nature of the lovers they choose. It is a game they created, and which they play masterfully.
Until they choose a lover who proves that the best way to win a game is to ignore all the rules.
A Delicate Game
By Sasha L. Miller
Published by Less Than Three Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by M.M. Young
Cover designed by Megan Derr
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition July 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Sasha L. Miller
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-1-936202-75-1
A Delicate Game
Sasha L. Miller
Elio lounged against the high rail separating him from the garden, a small smile curving his lips as he watched the dancers in the ballroom through the patio doors. They turned in time to the music, most of them effortlessly keeping pace with the other dancers. Only a handful were so inexperienced or so inebriated that they couldn't keep pace with the music.
His eye was on one of the dancers, dressed in blue velvet and wearing a beautifully carved gold mask. Elio would dearly love to see it more closely, but the dancer was currently occupied with tripping over his own feet as Sesto led him through the dance.
Inexperienced, Elio decided. The man didn't lack for grace—one of the reasons he and Sesto had noted him as he'd descended the far staircase. The gold mask looked real enough, though Elio wouldn't be able to tell for certain until he got a closer look. A real gold mask would cost a pretty penny, as would the immaculately tailored clothes the man wore. So the masked man was rich enough to warrant an invitation to the ball but inexperienced with one of the most popular dances of the season…
That made the dancer far more interesting than his simple-cut yet expensive clothes and the gold mask did. Elio liked new things, new people—only Sesto got away with being an old friend, and that simply because they were related. Taking a leisurely sip from his wine glass, Elio ignored the noise of the ballroom and waited for Sesto to bring the dancer to him.
The mask was even more gorgeous as it came closer, the dancer easily guided by Sesto. He had the fluid, liquid grace of one who had had a touch too much alcohol as he and Sesto approached. Elio's attention was caught again by the mask as Sesto and the dancer came closer; it covered the dancer's forehead and nose, with perhaps half an inch of metal extending below the man's eyes. It was intricately carved in loops and whorls and molded to the man's face as though it had been cast there. Small diamonds winked in the candlelight from within the whorls of metal, flashes of light setting off the bright gold in which they were embedded.
Elio was so distracted in picking out details in the man's mask that he nearly forgot they were approaching him. He knew the sight he made, dressed in black with a matching mask. Edged with the brightest sapphires, the mask covered only his eyes. It contrasted sharply with the spill of his dyed, white-blond hair and the feathers that edged the mask only accentuated the waves of his hair as they spilled freely over his shoulders.
Sesto was dressed similarly, except in cream instead of black, with a bright white mask edged in rubies. Goose coquille lined his mask, soft and dyed the brightest of white. His hair was dark to Elio's light, but tied back tightly to keep the dark waves from getting caught in the feather lining of his mask. The mask brought out the color in Sesto's hazel eyes, as the gold mask of the dancer brought out the color in his honey brown eyes.
"Enjoying yourself, Sesto?" Elio asked, ignoring the dancer for the moment. The man didn't seem particularly concerned by Elio's seeming inattention; usually the men Sesto picked were anxious to get past the introductions and into the bedchambers of the infamous Accorsi twins, be it for work or play.
"Quite," Sesto said, handsome smile never leaving his face. "How do you fare, in your dark little corner?"
"I would hardly call this patio dark," Elio said. The patio really was anything but—light spilled from the brightly lit ballroom, framed by the three sets of glass doors between the ballroom and patio. There was a bonfire burning in the garden behind him, throwing yet more light, and the patio itself was lit by dozens of candles burning in wrought-iron stands placed at intervals along the smooth wooden surface.
It was more than enough light to take in the dancer Sesto had brought him. The man had dark hair, shorter than fashion currently dictated as it barely touched his ears. He was well-muscled beneath the fine velvet of his dark blue jacket, the fabric heavily embroidered with a subtle pattern in a shade of blue only one or two degrees lighter than the blue of the garment; it was beautiful, no doubt expensive, work.
His eyes were sharp and clear as he surveyed the mostly deserted patio and the garden beyond. He wasn't paying enough attention to Elio and Sesto for Elio's liking—perhaps this was a poor choice after all. As soon as that thought crossed Elio's mind, though, the dancer turned and caught him in that intent look, banishing all thoughts of finding another plaything for the evening.
He wasn't as inebriated as he was taking pains to appear, Elio decided, and something about the smile that turned the man's lips was familiar. Elio couldn't place it, and it was unsettling to not be in complete control of the situation. The dancer dipped a slight bow, well aware he'd caught Elio's attention.
"Shall we dispense with the games, my lord?" the dancer asked, straightening. A quick glance proved that Sesto still found him amusing, so despite the slight wariness the dancer's actions elicited, Elio inclined his head, agreeing silently.
"Your name?" Elio asked, holding the man's gaze without blinking.
"Tore," the man pronounced in two sing-song syllables. Tor-eh. Tore's smile twitched back into place, as though the name was some source of private amusement for him. It wasn't a proper introduction by any means, but Elio didn't push, liking the mysteriousness of it.
"Tore," Elio repeated thoughtfully. Like Tore's smile, the name was familiar, though Elio could not for the life of him place it. He knew no one by that name, nor by any other name that could be shortened to the diminutive. Banishing the thought—he'd inhaled too much smoke from the candles was likely all—Elio pushed away from the railing and stepped forward, into Tore's space, until they were a hair's breadth apart.
Tore was shorter than he and Sesto by only an inch or two. The gold mask was beautiful this close, but examining the mask was the last thing on Elio's mind at the moment, and he didn't resist the urge to taste Tore's familiar-but-not smile.
Tore didn't protest, but then, he wouldn't be on the patio with them if he didn't want the kiss and more. Tore tasted sweet, like fruit, but not of wine, confirming Elio's observation that he'd only been playing at having drunk too much. Elio sunk a hand into Tore's hair, pulling him closer, pleased as usual at Sesto's choice in partners for the evening. His brother had immaculate taste—
Elio swallowed a surprised noise when Tore took control of the kiss, kissing him hard enough to make his lips sore. Elio's thoughts completely scattered, startled and impressed by Tore's audacity. That Tore could kiss was part of it, but Elio was used to taking the lead, not following it. It was a pleasant—extremely pleasant—change. Tore broke the kiss, leaving Elio's head spinning. Elio struggled to catch his breath, to appear composed, but he rather thought he wasn't carrying it off very well.
Tore's smile was firmly in place now, more of a smirk than that somewhat familiar twist of his lips. "Shall we take this someplace… quieter, my lords?"
Elio didn't answer, content to let Tore sweat the question. Tore didn't look anywhere near concerned enough, despite the lack of immediate reply, and Elio didn't like that all of his usual means for baiting their playthings weren't working on Tore.
"Sesto?" Elio asked finally, instead of answering. He glanced at Sesto, who played along, not immediately answering either.
"He dances well," Sesto said thoughtfully, his hazel eyes intent. He'd say yes—Elio wanted him to say yes, after all—but it wouldn't do to appear too interested.
"I do more than dance well," Tore said, each word a promise that Elio found he was eager to test. Stepping away from Elio, Tore approached Sesto, leaving Elio to admire his backside. Sesto didn't move to meet Tore, but he didn't back away as Tore approached, allowing Tore to draw him into a kiss that looked just as thorough as the one he'd graced Elio with and sparked no small amount of heat as Elio watched.
Usually Sesto picked men they could control; that Tore was very obviously dominant was a change, but one Elio found he wasn't adverse to. It would be interesting, which was good; their bedroom had lacked for something recently, and Tore might just be what they needed to get back into their normal routines. It was a good thing they didn't have work to do tonight, though that had probably added to the fatigue with their usual preferences. Elio relaxed, content to watch and take his time with this evening, planning to thoroughly enjoy himself as he and Sesto hadn't been able to in a very long time.
"All right," Sesto breathed, as Tore pulled away looking more than a little pleased with himself. Tore cast a smirk at Elio, who smirked back, not befuddled enough to not respond to that. He and Sesto could wipe that smirk from Tore's face, once they reached their bedchamber.
"So I've passed the audition?" Tore asked, looking amused. He was flushed, but not obviously affected otherwise. That shouldn't have had such an effect on Elio, but he did like challenges every once in a while. Tore would be an excellent challenge, and Elio wanted to see him lose his cool.
"I suppose," Elio said, smiling slightly to take the cool edge off his words. Turning on his heel and trusting that Sesto and Tore would follow, Elio left the patio and walked further into the garden rather than cutting through the crowded ballroom. He didn't want to be stopped or for anyone to attempt to distract them; he and Sesto were in high demand. To earn their affections for even a night was enough to guarantee fame for a fortnight or longer.
Their rooms were not far from the ballroom, barely a level up and half a wing to the east. Elio let himself in, graciously holding the door for Sesto and Tore. The room was set up as they'd requested. Wine chilled in a tub of ice, set a reasonable distance from the fire; candles were set up around the room, waiting to be lit. The fire was roaring, as though it had just been stoked. It made the room overly warm, a contrast to the cool evening air they'd so recently left. Elio moved around the room, lighting the candles even as Sesto led Tore over to the sofa and poured him a glass of wine.
Elio removed his mask, setting it down on a table before lighting the tapers in the stand there. The candlelight added more illumination to the room, but it was still dim enough to give the room an air of sensuality.
Tore wasn't drinking his wine and Elio frowned briefly, wondering if he'd misread the situation. It was entirely possible that Tore wasn't fond of wine, but it was also entirely possible that Tore was trying to preserve his wits for something, and that concerned Elio.
"You can remove your mask," Sesto said, setting aside his glass of wine—also untouched, so he'd likely had the same thought as Elio. He was standing in front of the sofa, slightly to the left of where Tore was sitting, and he reached down, running a finger in a light touch over one of the whorls in Tore's mask.
Tore smiled, somewhat wistfully, and Elio set aside the matches he'd been using to light the candles, turning to pay attention to the situation. "It would be more fun if I kept it in place."
"For you, perhaps," Sesto said, unclasping his mask and letting it fall carelessly to the sofa beside Tore. "Remove the mask, please." Sesto's voice was pleasant but firm, and Elio casually returned to the table he'd left his own mask on, turning the latch that held the drawer in place but not pulling it out.
Tore didn't reply, but he reached up and slid the gold mask from his face, letting it fall to his lap without a word. He was handsome enough Elio noted distantly, even with his face half in shadow from where Elio stood. Unfortunately, he had his brother's distinctive nose, and Elio really should have marked it sooner. The mask was extraordinary to have obscured it as much as it had.
"Did Nazario send you?" Sesto asked, stepping back, away from Tore's seated position and out of range of a knife strike.
"In a way," Tore said quietly. He didn't seem as though he was planning to do anything dangerous, but Elio pulled open the drawer and palmed one of the throwing knives hidden within, just in case. Tore didn't so much as glance his way, and Elio slid the drawer shut again, careful not to draw attention to it. "He wasn't able to get word to you."
"It's been three months," Sesto said, taking the lead on questioning Tore instead of leaving it to Elio. "There are established channels—"
"He was poisoned," Tore said, and Elio was willing to bet the poisoning—if true—had been fatal, if the way Tore's face tightened was any indication. "Prussic acid. There was nothing… he told me to come here."
"To what end?" Sesto asked, sharing a look with Elio. According to their reports, Nazario wasn't dead but had turned traitor to the Crown, deciding his loyalties laid better with the country he'd been born in—the country Elio and Sesto had convinced him to turn traitor against.
"To give you information, of course," Tore said, smiling a twisted little smile. "He had perhaps an hour of cognizance before the poison took him. I don't know if it was important enough to die for, but Nazario certainly thought it was." Tore stood then, reaching into his jacket and removing a folded packet of papers. "He had me transcribe this and made me promise to deliver it in person. He didn't trust the usual means of communication, with good reason."
"Mmm," Sesto said, moving forward and accepting the papers. He unfolded them, then stepped closer to the fire to read. Tore resumed his seat on the sofa, his expression giving nothing away.
"Nazario told us he had no relatives," Elio said, keeping the knife out of sight and stifling the urge to fidget with it.
"He was disowned," Tore said, emotion flickering across his face, but the room was too dimly lit for Elio to determine what it was. So much for a pleasant evening. "Nearly twenty years ago. My parents don't talk about him or to him; it was only chance that he and I found each other five years back."
Five years… that would have been after Nazario had been enlisted into their employ. So his initial statement of having no relatives would have been true, at least to him. Elio didn't press the issue, content to keep an eye on Tore as Sesto read. It was quite the letter, if the expressions on Sesto's face were anything to go by. Not that Sesto was being very expressive—it was only by dint of growing up with Sesto and living with him for the past thirty-five years that Elio could glean anything from his face in the dim light.
Sesto moved after several minutes of agonizing stillness. He crossed the room to where Elio stood, passing him the letters and discreetly accepting the throwing knife that Elio still held. Sesto moved away, returning to the fireside; putting a respectable distance between them so Tore wouldn't be able to take them both out at once. Elio angled the papers towards the stand of candles behind him, reading through the scrawled, almost messy handwriting.
It had been written in a hurry, Elio determined. The hand smoothed into neatness here and there, but it was mostly rushed, slanted writing that Elio was willing to bet wasn't normal for the author. For Tore. Elio read quickly, keeping one ear out for movement from the couch. Tore didn't so much as shift though, and Elio wondered at that. He was younger than Nazario had been, Elio was sure of that, but Nazzario had never had the patience and composure that Tore was exhibiting.
Crossing the room, Elio joined Sesto at the fireplace and tossed the letter into the fire, watching as the flames quickly burned through the paper. When it was ashes, Elio turned towards the couch where Tore still sat quietly, his fingers tracing along the whorls of the intricate gold mask.
"What's your stake in this?" Elio asked. The letter had explained everything except Tore, from Nazario being caught snooping to being offered a deal—one that he'd accepted, planning to return to report to Elio and Sesto and not actually work with the foreign government—only to realize that the celebratory drink he'd been offered had been laced with poison. Nazario had even gone so far as to detail what he thought they'd do—cover up his death and make it seem as though he had turned traitor, forcing Elio and Sesto to pull back their entire network and to scrutinize their other agents.
"I don't have a stake," Tore said, shrugging. "I'm no loyalist, but I don't much care for politics in any case. Nazario was my brother, and I think that's more than enough stake to have."
"A brother you'd been reconciled with for only a few years," Sesto pointed out. "You have no stake in politics, but you're willing to go against your country's government to deliver a missive to us that will support our efforts to spy there."
"My country's government killed my brother," Tore said frostily. "I have no doubt everything I wrote in that missive was true. He worked for you, he was caught, and poisoned. He died maybe half an hour after dictating that message to me, in my house. It took me three months to duck out from beneath the gaze of the agents watching my home, in order to deliver said message. You can believe it or not, but it doesn't change the fact that I can't return to my country, my home, and I did it because Nazario died and my country killed him."
Tore stood again, gold mask gripped in his hand as he smoothed down the front of his jacket. Elio stepped forward at the same time Sesto did, making Tore pause, startled.
"What are your plans now?" Elio asked, distracting Tore as Sesto moved to block his line to the door. They had letters and missives to write, but that could wait until they sorted out what to do with Tore. They couldn't let him go, not when it was all too likely that he'd be found easily by his country's operatives; Tore wasn't trained, after all. He'd likely left a trail that was easy to follow, and that was if his country hadn't purposely let him go in order to follow him.
"Travel," Tore said stiffly. "I thought I'd go north."
Elio frowned, shaking his head. "That will just make it easier for them."
"For who?" Tore asked, suspiciously. His eyes cut to where Sesto stood, between him and the door, and his mouth tightened unhappily.
"They won't let you go that easily," Elio said, shrugging. "You know too much. You know they're responsible for Nazario's death, even if you can't prove it. They can't take the risk that you'll talk about it and, by coming here, you've shown you're willing to do just that."
"No one knew where I was going," Tore said. His naivety made Elio smile faintly, and Sesto shook his head.
"They'll have tracked you, or will track you in another day or two," Sesto said. "I doubt you covered your trail half so well as you think you did."
"What do you suggest, then?" Tore asked, his lips turning in a scowl that really was familiar. Nazario had often worn the same expression, and Elio wondered how they hadn't caught that earlier. "Since obviously you have some sort of plan for me."
"Stay here," Elio said, shrugging. "We'll keep you safe for a few weeks, which will make your country's government back off. After all, you've already told us what you know; there's no need for them to pursue you in order to keep you quiet. Any attempts at retribution will occur over the next few weeks; we can prevent them, and then you'll be free to do as you like without fear of reprisal over coming to us with this information."
"It's the least we can offer after everything you've been through," Sesto said, shooting Elio a look that meant Sesto didn't think he was being compassionate enough. Elio rolled his eyes—Tore had lost his brother and risked a lot to come to them, but Elio didn't think he needed his hand held about it.
"That's it?" Tore asked, obviously not convinced of their sincerity.
"Yes," Elio said, shrugging elegantly. "What else would there be? You're not a trained operative and you have no other information that we need."
Tore snorted softly, then turned to Sesto. "And how will you ensure I'm safe without blowing your own cover? It wasn't a secret that I left with you two tonight. If I immediately go from here to being protected, won't people be suspicious?"
Sesto glanced at Elio, then smiled. "You'd be staying here, of course."
"Here, here?" Tore asked, raising his eyebrows. "How is that allaying suspicions?"
"Well, obviously," Elio drawled, giving Tore a thorough once-over with his eyes, "We took a fancy to you."
"You don't keep lovers," Tore said, shaking his head. "Not for more than a night. Naz was very clear on that point."
Elio grimaced, exchanging another look with Sesto.
"Nazario wanted more than we could offer, in terms of a relationship," Sesto said quietly. "He was never very happy that we couldn't—"
"That we wouldn't," Elio interjected.
"—ruin the established cover we have in order to…" Sesto hesitated, frowning.
"In order to take him as a full-time lover," Elio finished, picking up where Sesto had trailed off, obviously worried about Tore's feelings regarding his brother. "Never mind that we never did more than flirt with him openly, out in public, for appearances' sake."
"Ah," Tore smiled wryly, a little sadly. "Naz was always a romantic. So it wouldn't be unusual?"
"It wouldn't be usual," Elio said, pleased Tore hadn't taken that news badly. "But it's also not unheard of."
"All right," Tore said, offering a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. Elio didn't comment; it wasn't his place.
"Thank you for coming to us," Sesto said, walking toward where Tore stood in front of the sofa. Elio barely saw the knife disappear behind a candle stand on a side table. "I understand that it would have been easier to stay—"
"No, it wouldn't have been," Tore refuted, with a cynical twist of his lips. Elio completely understood that; he wouldn't be able to stay quiet and complacent and continue to work with his country's government if they had Sesto killed, especially if he died in Elio's arms, as Elio was sure was the case with Nazario and Tore.
Sesto didn't look at Elio, but Elio was sure their thoughts were along the same lines. Tore would make a good operative; he was forthright and loyal, but able to hide his emotions well. Elio wouldn't ask it, though. He wouldn't even suggest it. For all Sesto liked to think he was too blunt, Elio wasn't stupid. Tore would not say yes, and it would only do harm to ask.
"Come, forget for a night," Sesto coaxed, stepping close to Tore and brushing a light kiss across his lips.
"This doesn't mean anything," Tore said, quiet and sure, and he leaned up, kissing Sesto again, much more thoroughly than the brief kiss Sesto had given him. Elio smiled faintly, pleased with Tore's acceptance; it would have been a long few weeks if they had Tore in their bedchambers but had to keep their hands to themselves.
"It doesn't," Elio agreed, moving to join them even as Tore broke away from Sesto. Tore didn't give any quarter to Elio, dragging him close by the front of his jacket and kissing him hard and sure, as though he knew exactly what Elio wanted—which, he truly seemed to. Elio relaxed into the kiss, surprised all over again at how presumptuous Tore was, and how much he liked that presumptuousness, when he was usually the one in charge.
"Bedroom," Sesto ordered, already removing his jacket. He left it draped over one of the chairs, leading the way to the darkened doorway in the back of the sitting room. Tore went easily, guided by Elio, who stripped out of his own jacket, dropping it carelessly on the floor inside the bedroom. Kicking the bedroom door shut, Elio set to making Tore forget what had brought him to them, Sesto moving with him in perfect concert.
Sesto glanced up over the letters he was reading when Tore appeared from the bedroom. He was obviously freshly awakened, but despite that he'd managed to get dressed. His jacket wasn't buttoned properly and his hair was still a mess, though that was much better than he managed most mornings. Tore headed straight to the table on which breakfast was laid out, not even greeting Sesto.
Again,
that was usual, and Sesto wished he wasn't getting used to "usual"
because usual wouldn't be usual for much longer. Three weeks had
passed since Tore had caught his eye at the masked ball. It was nice
having Tore there, though Sesto knew Elio wouldn't admit it even
under the pain of torture. He was too focused on sorting out the mess
Nazario's death had left and making sure Tore was safe.
Sesto frowned at the letters, finally giving up and setting them aside. He wasn't reading them; there wasn't anything in them to read. They were fluff, distraction, not meant to do anything except keep their cover in place. Sesto could read them later, since they never changed; on the other hand, he didn't know how many more times he could enjoy breakfast with Tore.
"How did you sleep?" Sesto asked as Tore sat down on the sofa, a respectable distance between them. Tore held a steaming mug of strong, black coffee, foregoing actual food until later. Like he usually did.
"Mmm," Tore mumbled, shrugging with one shoulder. Sesto smiled, but left him alone. Tore would perk up after his coffee. Retrieving the letters, Sesto attempted to focus on them again, but found he his attention drawn instead to Tore.
Elio was off reporting—ostensibly just enjoying breakfast with one of their cousins, the younger prince—but he'd be back shortly. He'd been making mention that the danger to Tore had probably passed. It had certainly not escaped the notice of the agents who worked for Tore's country that Tore was here. The cryptic letters they'd intercepted had said as much, though not in so many words.
Sesto shuffled the letters, because even half-asleep Tore was incredibly perceptive as to when they weren't actually doing work. It didn't matter, really, and Sesto shouldn't even be contemplating how to make keeping Tore work, since that would require Tore wanting to be kept. Sesto couldn't say that was what Tore wanted, either; Tore went willingly to bed with them, and seemed to enjoy the sex—enjoy it a lot—but Sesto wasn't stupid enough to believe that great sex was all that was required for a relationship, especially when their occupation was so complex and involving.
"You seem pensive," Tore said, quietly observing but not actually asking a question. He was good about not asking questions—not once had he asked about what was going on with his situation, nor had he asked about Nazario and what he'd been doing or even why he'd turned against his country to supply Elio and Sesto with information.
"I am pensive," Sesto said, smiling faintly. He watched as Tore stood, moving to refill his now-empty cup of coffee. He set the letters aside again, giving up any pretense of not paying attention to Tore. "Do you know… what are your plans for when you're safe?"
"Am I?" Tore asked, sitting down again. He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, and Sesto ignored the urge to reassure and make elaborate promises to Tore, since Tore was anything but stupid and would see right through that. "Safe, that is."
"I couldn't say with certainty, but it will come up soon," Sesto said truthfully. Elio would start pushing soon—he was too practical for anyone's peace of mind.
"I see," Tore said, falling quiet. He looked thoughtful, but tired still. He probably wasn't completely awake, and it really wasn't fair for Sesto to be bringing up complex questions at the moment. He didn't want Elio's practical interruptions, however, and despite the strength Tore had displayed so far, Sesto wasn't above giving him some time and space to process the changes that would be coming.
"I can't return to my country," Tore said after a moment. "I'd be watched, and perhaps even thrown into jail under some pretense of a charge. I've got a few retainers there that are taking care of my business. I'll probably have them sell the properties and liquidate or ship my belongings here."
"Here?" Sesto inquired, wishing his heart didn't speed up at the mention that Tore might be staying here. It would be nice… except it wouldn't mean anything, since a relationship wasn't something he and Elio could do.
"I have no family outside my country," Tore said, shrugging. He smiled then, a small quirk of the lips that was more genuine than his previous smile. "What little I've seen of the city is pleasant, though granted I haven't seen much. It's as good a place as any, and I can always move on if I find it doesn't suit my needs."
"Elio and I can see you get set up properly," Sesto said. They could get Tore his own rooms in the palace; being related to the Crown wasn't good for much aside from headaches, but rooms in the palace they could do. Whether Tore kept them after he settled into the city was another matter, but perhaps, with him around, they could still see each other…
Sesto stifled a sigh. He'd gotten too involved—it would be better to simply cut ties. Elio would pitch a fit if he knew how deeply Sesto wanted to keep Tore around. He had Elio all the time. That should be sufficient. He shouldn't want more than that.
As though summoned by his thoughts, the door opened and Elio entered. He was immaculately dressed in black and green, with gold embroidery on his jacket. He smiled distractedly, tossing a packet of papers at Sesto on his way through to the bedroom. Sesto caught them reflexively, quickly untying the ribbon twine that held the folded papers together.
Tore watched curiously, but didn't ask or try to lean closer. Sesto smiled briefly, unfolding the papers. Whatever lovers Elio and Sesto had previously had always been curious, had always asked, though they'd never known the full of what Elio and Sesto did. Tore was the first lover they'd taken who had known, and yet he was good about never asking.
The papers were written in the neat, flowing hand of the younger prince. Sesto scanned the pages, surprised—he hadn't known Elio had brought Tore to anyone's attention. The court knew, of course, but it was cursed hard to hide anything they did socially. Tore was a huge source of gossip among the court, given how long he had been their lover now.
There were only a few pages in the packet, but they laid everything out. Elio had been busy, and Sesto scowled. Elio wasn't supposed to leave him out of things, and this was definitely leaving him out of things. Standing, Sesto held the papers out to Tore, who stared at him in surprise for a long moment before accepting them.
Sesto left him to reading, trusting that Tore wouldn't run off. He wasn't the runaway sort, unlike Elio, who had obviously chosen to hide in the bedroom. Crossing the sitting room, Sesto followed Elio into the bedroom and shut the door loudly behind him. Elio sat quietly on the bed, not flinching at the noise and stared at Sesto with a flat expression.
"Why did you go over my head?" Sesto asked, keeping his voice level and not shouting as much as he wanted to do so.
"I didn't," Elio said, shrugging fluidly. He stood, stripping off his jacket and draping it across the bed. "It would have had to be done eventually. I don't know that he'll want to stay in the city, but—"
"He does. You could have asked," Sesto said flatly, annoyed by Elio's impatience, and wondering if it truly meant what he thought it meant. What he hoped it meant. "Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of him?"
"Why are you so annoyed that he can leave now?" Elio asked, snappishly. "I'm not stupid, Sesto, and neither are you. The longer he stays here, the harder it will be to make him go, and we can't have him stay."
"Why not?" Tore asked from the doorway, making Sesto and Elio both start. How had they not heard him open the door? Elio opened his mouth to reply, and from the look on his face it wasn't going to be a pleasant answer, but Tore didn't let him get any further than that. "I know the risks your job entails. I also know that you probably wouldn't be able to acknowledge that I mean anything more than a fling."
"It's not fair to you," Sesto said, because it wasn't and it wouldn't get better, as long as they continued coordinating the network of spies for their country.
"A lot of things aren't fair," Tore said quietly, shaking his head. "I'm not… idealistic about this. I'm aware that it could end badly, and in just weeks or months. I think it would be worse, though, to not give it a chance."
"You're just fine with what we do?" Elio asked coldly, unimpressed.
"At least I know," Tore said bitterly, and Sesto was willing to bet that Nazario had never breathed a word about his activities on behalf of Elio and Sesto until he'd shown up, dying, on Tore's doorstep. Tore didn't waver, though, and that was one of the things Sesto liked best about Tore. He never backed down, not even to Elio, who was entirely too stubborn about some things. "I know it's dangerous, but I know you're careful."
"And you'd be fine with not being acknowledged? Being ignored in public? Like you mean absolutely nothing to us?" Elio asked, not wavering a bit.
"We don't have to do it that way," Sesto said, drawing Elio's attention and no small amount of his anger. "I don't see why we can't continue on as we have, except with Tore part of it."
"Part of it?" Tore asked, furrowing his brow. "How do you mean?"
"Not working with us, of course," Sesto elaborated. "But I don't see why we can't spend some of our time with Tore, publicly, and some of our time carrying on as we always have, pretending to bring our contacts back here to be bedded. It would be unusual, and garner a lot of gossip, but gossip about us is normal."
"It's too dangerous," Elio said flatly, cutting Tore off when he tried to speak. "For us as well as you. Having attachments is dangerous. You could be used against us."
"I'm willing to take that risk," Tore said, solemn and sure. He smiled then, quick and fleeting. "I could play along, bringing your contacts back."
"No," Elio snapped, and Sesto stifled a snicker. Elio was protective, jealous; that was a good sign.
"I'm willing to take the risk as well," Sesto said, having no qualms with siding against Elio in this. Elio wanted it, Sesto could tell, but he couldn't admit it yet. "Though there would have to be rules."
"Rules?" Tore asked, curious but not put off. "Such as?"
"You'd have to have your own set of rooms," Elio said, frowning pensively. He was thinking about the logistics of it. Sesto smiled, since that meant the battle was more than half won. "You're not allowed to snoop into what we're doing."
"I'll ask if I want to know anything," Tore said, shrugging. He glanced at Sesto, and Sesto winked briefly, pleased with the direction this was going. "If you can't tell me, don't."
"Fine," Elio said, after a moment's hesitation. "You can't ask about any of the people we bring back here, either."
"That falls under 'snooping,' I'd think," Tore pointed out, looking somewhat amused. That was good, though Sesto had expected nothing less. They stood a chance of making this work, if they tried, and if Elio could get over his trepidation.
"I think the benefits outweigh the risks in this case," Sesto said when Elio didn't say anything further, just looked pensive. "Tore fits well—"
"It's been three weeks," Elio said, scowling. "That's not enough time—"
"I'm not asking for a permanent commitment," Tore interjected, not letting Elio finish his protest. "I'm not looking for anything but for you to give it a chance. If it doesn't work, then at least we'll have given it a shot. I…" Tore hesitated, and Sesto stared, surprised. He couldn't remember Tore hesitating over anything before. "I held back before, with Nazario. I lost the chance to really know my brother, and I regret it. I don't want to regret not taking the chance here, with you."
Sesto waited, watching Elio. Tore watched him too, obviously knowing that Elio was the one he had to convince. Elio hesitated, frowning as he poured over all the ways it could end badly, everything they'd have to do to make it work, the changes they'd have to put in place. Sesto let him; knowing Elio, he wouldn't commit until he could quantify it and had strategies in place for dealing with most everything that he thought would crop up.
Knowing Elio, he'd probably done most of that already, even if he hadn't meant for it to be anything but fantasy and conjecture.
"Fine," Elio said, the finality in the word making Sesto smile. "We can try, but it stops the moment it becomes too dangerous."
"Only if all of us agree on the danger," Tore said firmly. "You don't get an easy out that way."
"Only if all of us agree," Sesto confirmed before Elio could open his mouth and try to argue his way out of that. Elio shot him a dark look, but Sesto easily ignored it, long used to Elio's underhanded tactics. "Though, we reserve the right to add additional rules. Guidelines, really."
"Guidelines," Tore repeated, snorting softly. "Only as pertains to your work. Don't expect me to follow rules in the bedroom."
Elio scoffed, and Sesto was pleased to see the familiar flash of desire in his eyes. Tore certainly shook things up nicely. Elio was used to taking the lead—Sesto much preferred to be led—but Tore was definitely their leader, no matter how much Elio tried to swap their roles. He always lost it somewhere, and it was always a treat to see.
Tore ignored Elio for the moment, however, crossing the room to where Sesto stood. Tore clearly meant to tease Elio, and Sesto didn't object—Elio deserved a bit of teasing. Especially when that teasing involved Tore dragging Sesto close for a long, lingering kiss that promised the removal of clothing that Sesto had only put on a few hours ago. Sesto didn't mind that either, not in the least, because Tore could kiss and he was staying, and that made getting undressed again in the morning perfectly acceptable.
Tore broke away after a moment, his fingers trailing against the smooth skin of Sesto's neck. He smiled, bright and brief, and then the touch was gone, leaving Sesto breathless and no small amount turned on.
"Lose the clothing," Tore directed, his voice deeper, rougher than usual. He didn't stop to see whether he would be obeyed, just turned and pulled Elio, who'd closed the distance between them, into his arms. Sesto nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing, watching Elio melt into Tore's arms, complacent in a way Elio never was.
Sesto smiled, then set to removing his clothes, content to take the risk to see what the three of them could do together.
Fin