TFW a ship takes even you, the author of these books, by surprise in the best possible way.
Sol paced back and forth throughout his large bedroom, running his fingers through his dark hair and pulling at the ends. There was a part of him that wanted to scream and punch something, but there was also a part of him that wanted to be sick. He didn’t know why his stomach was all cramped up, left in knots at the thought of them.
Sol smacked his temples twice to try to snap himself out of it, but it didn’t work.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before the door to his bed chambers swung open, slamming against the nearby wall. Domick sauntered in, looking furious, the pointed tips of his ears bright red.
“How dare you,” he said, slamming the door behind him.
“Get out.” Sol didn’t want to see him. Not now. Not when his lips were still swollen.
“I fucking told you not to follow me,” he snapped, his voice dripping with venom.
“I said, get out,” Sol said through gritted teeth. Now he knew how Domick felt when he’d said he’d wanted to be alone not even two hours ago.
But Domick didn’t listen. “What I do in my spare time,” he said, “is none of your business. I may be your right hand, but I have the right to a life, too, and sometimes I just need to go out and—“
“Shut up!” Sol roared, the sound shaking the room.
Domick shut his mouth, frowning.
“I can’t look at you right now,” Sol said, his voice lower now. “I can’t look at you without seeing you with that-that man.”
“Are you disgusted by me?”
“No,” Sol said, and that was true. What he was feeling was definitely not disgust. It was something unpleasant, but he had no problem with whom Domick preferred to spend intimate nights with. At least … he thought he didn’t have a problem with it.
“Then why the hell did it bother you so much? Huh? Why did you run out of the tavern like your feet were on fire?” Domick asked.
“I don’t know,” Sol admitted, and he didn’t. Sol turned and faced the fireplace, watching as the flames crackled and roared, grateful that it was there to keep the room warm. It was colder at night than usual. Sol knew his father was up to something. He made a mental note to ask him about it another time. But, for now, he was focused on Domick, who still wasn’t making any moves to leave.
“You don’t know,” Domick repeated. Then he scoffed and shook his head.
Sol gritted his teeth. “No, I really don’t know, Domick,” he snapped. “I don’t know why seeing you kissing him like that made me feel like I was swallowing knives. I don’t know why my chest hurt when you looked at me, all out of breath. I really don’t know.”
Domick didn’t say anything to that and Sol was kind of glad. Maybe he’d managed to make the elf speechless. That would be a first.
“So can you just leave?” Sol asked, keeping his back to him. “I want to be alone.”
Domick didn’t say anything, but Sol didn’t hear the door open, either, so he groaned, annoyed as he turned around.
But Sol didn’t finish that sentence because when he turned around, Domick was standing not five inches from his face. He was shorter, the top of his fluffy hair only reaching Sol’s nose, but he looked at him like he was the taller one.
Domick cocked his head to the side. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”
Sol didn't say anything, the only sound coming from the crackling fireplace. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mouth suddenly dry.
“But you’re not,” Domick said, his voice a whisper. “Right?”
Sol swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. For too long, he didn’t say anything. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Domick leaned in closer, the tips of their noses touching and Sol wanted to scream. His feet felt like they were suddenly on fire. He was stuck between Domick and the fire. Then Domick grinned and took a step back.
He was still grinning as he turned around and he was about to leave the prince’s room when someone grabbed his wrist and shoved him against the nearest wall, his back hitting the stone. He gasped, looking up at Sol with wide eyes.
But even Sol didn’t know why he grabbed him, why he pressed him up against the wall, or why he ran his fingers over the forming bruise on the base of Domick’s neck, right in the spot where that man in the tavern was kissing him. Sol wanted to rip that skin off, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. But in that moment, as they were breathing the same air, that was all he wanted to do.
“What are you doing?” Domick breathed.
Sol shrugged. “I don’t know.”
And then he kissed him and they melted together like two puzzle pieces. Sol’s knees practically buckled under him when he felt Domick open his mouth with his tongue and it was in that moment when he pulled away, avoiding Domick’s eyes as he stepped back, licking his lips.
“You should—uh—go,” Sol said, clearing his throat.
Domick was breathing heavily, his cheeks bright pink. Sol hated how he thought he looked good like that. “Yeah,” he breathed, running his fingers through his hair and pushing himself off the wall. “Sorry, I—sorry,” he grumbled before walking out the door, forgetting to close it behind him.
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