Of Thrones and Heartstones #BL

9. Of Passion and Fashion

The melody of the harmonious song felt no different than the clanging of shackles around Myriem's feet. 

Nevertheless, Myriem gave the Siren Princess a cordial smile. He placed one hand on her waist and kept her other hand in his and began leading the dance. 

The Siren Princess followed his lead. Myriem wasn't sure if she had been trained on their dances, so he started simply. As she kept up with his movements, he decided that as a Princess, she likely was trained in dance, and stopped holding back. She kept up with every turn, swirl and drop.

Myriem took every step with calculated precision. Step, step, turn. The song was only a few minutes long, and all he had to do was complete it to have fulfilled his part for the day. When he was done, he'd have to send letters to all his acquaintances to let them know of his plans, lest they think he sold his heart to the Sirens.

His thoughts were quick to stray from the woman in his arms, and it was only when he saw Keel out of the corner of his eye that he was jarred into paying attention. 

Myriem assessed the Princess as they danced. 

She was rather tall, a few finger widths away from his own height, though he could not determine if she was wearing those height-enhancing shoes that were in fashion at the moment. 

Myriem knew and cared little about women's fashion, so he could not determine the statements presented by her current garments. Ruey would soon inform him she was being rather bold by wearing red, as red was not only a sign of royalty - Queen Karin wore red herself, and likely took it as a sign that the Princess Siren aimed to become the next queen - but it was also the colour of blood: the Princess was deigning herself a sacrifice to the vampires. The white and pink displayed images of feminine innocence, attempting to quell the boldness of red with  demure display of obeisance.

Myriem was endlessly baffled by the needless complexity of women's wear. The Princess looked like a mere passive, pampered lady to him.

There was nothing especially delicate about her frame, though her hands were rather thin and soft. Myriem felt as though he could shatter the bones of her wrists if he held her too tightly. 

It got on his nerves. Holding such fragile hands made his hands feel itchy. He was unused to being so delicate with someone else - he'd never have to do that with Darien. Darien's hands were large and calloused, with scars on the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. Darien's skin wasn't soft, his fingers were tough, conveying a man who worked hard, who was strong and capable. 

Myriem looked through the veil, at the Princess who was demurely looking down. There was nothing he could see through the display of passivity she presented, so his gaze drifted down the veil to where it ended, fluttering with her movements on her chest. 

Her breasts were not noticeable, likely due to the layers of her dress. He was glad they were covered up. The mere idea of breasts made him uncomfortable. Rather than soft lumps of fat, he was much more drawn to the smooth, hard muscle of a toned chest. 

His fingers twitched with the urge to squeeze Darien's chest muscles. It was one of Myriem's favourite things to do.   

Myriem's grip tightened on the Princess without his realizing, but she didn't flinch. She did glance up him, but he was deep in thought and didn't notice. 

Myriem had grown up with Darien, had been together since they were children. They first met on the training grounds, where the general who was then responsible for Myriem's military training had brought in an age-mate as a training partner for Myriem.

Both Myriem and Darien had been proud. Darien sneered at Myriem, resenting the pampered prince, and Myriem had been flabbergasted by the audacity of this rude servant. 

It was fine for Myriem to lose to generals, but someone his age? Myriem was infuriated. 

They fought like dogs everyday, neither noticing how effective their rivalry was for their progress, nor did they notice how their teachers intentionally caused the two to argue for their own amusement.

Eventually, Darien and Myriem were sent out on minor expeditions, more to give them a sense of leadership and independence than actually bring home military achievements. To their frustration, they were always teamed up together, and their bickering and quibbling became a circus show for the soldiers. 

However, spending so much time together would eventually lead to a sense of respect and camaraderie between the evenly-matched rivals. They continued to fight without restraint, but soon, they stopped complaining when they had to share a sleeping bed during overnight camps.

After all, there was a thin line between love and hate. After losing to him so many times, Myriem had never had any dignity in front of Darien, so why hold back? He felt no embarrassment being shameless and cheeky with Darien. Groping Darien was simply Myriem's way of greeting him.

Myriem had first poked Darien's chest out of envy, comparing their muscles. But entirely unexpectedly, Darien had squealed and jumped.

He was woefully ticklish. How could Myriem not make fun of him for it? 

But soon, Myriem realized he liked touching Darien's muscled body for an entirely different reason than just harmless teasing. 

Darien had realized it soon as well, and while he allowed some shameless flirting, his sense of decency and self-respect and shyness preventing anything further.

But Myriem had sneaked touches many times. His hands ran over Darien's smooth muscles like water. He knew every dip, every curve, every lump and scar. He knew exactly where to press to get his tall, dark, and handsome man blushing and fidgeting, where to press to make him laugh, how to make Darien's clenched jaw relax into a breathtaking smile. 

Myriem's eyes fell to the floor as he moved mechanically. There was a slight ache in his chest. He didn't even realize that the song had ended.

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