The Plans Trilogy Box Set

The Contingency Plan-3

“I see.” Marcelo’s chest expanded with pride. He’d never been anyone’s first choice for anything. His whole life he’d been last in line. Last considered. Cut from lessons his sisters continued.

As it turned out, being deprived of the political lessons as told from Sheburat’s perspective had possibly worked in his favor in this particular matter.

Discussion halted as servants came around with the first course, greens mixed with chopped and shredded raw vegetables. He used the time dining to sort his thoughts.

Or tried to. Prince Efren’s proximity had an odd effect on his ability to reason. Beyond the persistent tingles affecting various parts of his body, a peculiar fluttering in his belly couldn’t be explained by hunger. His whole body warmed, and he had to pointedly abstain from doing something so uncouth as fanning himself at table.

He put down his fork when Prince Efren did and waited for the prince to again open their conversation.

“To answer your question regarding your role in Zioneven, I would say your first project should be to spend time with our tutors to expand your education. Then, as your particular interests and abilities surface, we will revisit that subject.”

It was only Marcelo’s good breeding that kept him from sagging into the chair in relief. He hadn’t realized that, as much as he desired a purpose in his new life, he also felt woefully underprepared to take one on.

“Thank you, sir. I would dearly love to continue my formal education.”

Staring into Prince Efren’s eyes reminded him of something he’d first noticed when he’d come across Kemble speaking with one of the eligible lords. Besides the…less-than-prudent smiles that had adorned their faces, the pupils in their eyes had been enlarged. The uncharacteristic grins had cued him to their mutual attraction. The expanded pupils, he’d concluded, were an involuntary bodily reaction that no amount of good manners could eliminate—one he’d observed in multiple instances since then, although never directed toward him.

Prince Efren’s pupils had grown since Marcelo had first sat next to him. The crown prince of Zioneven was attracted to him. Were his own pupils doing the same? Evidently, a physical attraction to Prince Efren was behind the butterflies in his stomach, and the pleasant shivers drifting over his skin.

He gasped quietly when Prince Efren’s soft-leather-clad foot brushed against his own. Deliberately. It had to have been an intentional maneuver.

And then the half-smile that always seemed to short-circuit Marcelo’s brain appeared. The prince must have liked whatever he’d seen in Marcelo’s reaction.

How Marcelo made it through the rest of that dinner without embarrassing himself by forgetting every rule of etiquette he’d been taught since birth was a mystery.

* * * *

The rasp of the heavy draperies swinging aside on their rings woke him. The sun was thankfully behind a cloud or he’d have endured the added discomfort of being blinded by the bright light.

“Good morning, sir.” Erich’s voice wasn’t as cheery as it would typically be, despite it being Marcelo’s wedding day. The wedding would be in the afternoon. His sister Marcela’s burial would be this morning.

One servant started a fresh blaze in the fireplace, while a veritable army of servants trooped in, first placing a large copper tub in front of it, then filling the bath with bucket after bucket of heated water.

He sighed, threw off the covers, pulled off his nightshirt, and moved behind the screen to relieve himself in the chamber pot. Then he stepped into the tub and allowed Erich to prepare him for this eventful day. A day that would begin with sorrow and end with fresh hope, for himself and for all of Sheburat.

Clearing his throat first, Erich uncharacteristically interrupted their silent ritual with a question. “Sir, I’ve been tasked with asking if you intend to take me with you to Zioneven, or if you’ll acquire a new personal servant there.”

Resisting the impulse to state his own inclination—to have the comfort of keeping at least one person from his present life with him—he instead replied, “Which would be your preference, Erich?”

Erich gently kneaded suds into Marcelo’s hair. “I have no family tying me to Sheburat, sir, and I’ve enjoyed serving you. You’ve always treated me well. I’ve spoken with some of the servants from Zioneven, and believe I’d like it there.”

The tightness that had developed in Marcelo’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad to hear that. I’d very much like to take you with me.”

Erich expelled a soft breath. “Thank you, sir.”

“Have you…?” Marcelo paused and closed his eyes. He disliked encouraging personal gossip, but…“Have you heard anything from the Zioneven servants regarding Prince Efren’s disposition?”

“I’ve heard he’s fair-minded and even-tempered, sir.”

Marcelo nodded. “Thank you. That agrees with my own observations, but I imagine servants are best placed to know truths that might be successfully masked from outsiders.”

“Indeed, sir. I’m assured you need not worry.”

No, he’d already begun to feel secure in the knowledge that he would at least be treated with benevolence. But the more time he spent in the man’s company, the more he realized that he wanted more than simple kindness. The feeling was so new, it was difficult to analyze precisely what it was he wanted.

And at the same time, his gut churned when he thought of the physical aspect of their relationship. s****l relations was one of the categories where his formal education was severely lacking, but he’d spent time in the stables and touring farms in Sheburat, and he could extrapolate parallels to humans—at least in regard to relations between men and women.

His apprehension was at odds with the strange new sensations he experienced in Prince Efren’s presence. A slight smile crept across his lips. Not only in the man’s presence—simply thinking about the man brought it on.

Best to put that thought out of his mind for now. It would hardly be an appropriate preoccupation for this morning’s somber event.

* * * *

Prince Efren and the nobles of Zioneven stood respectfully to one side of the open grave while the royal family and nobles of Sheburat stood on the other. Marcelo stayed with his family, and seeing the earnest sorrow on the faces across from him helped chase the chill from his heart.

The anecdotes shared by his sisters served to drive home how aged many of his own happy recollections of his twin were. How had he not known that she’d rounded out her political training and love of the outdoors with a recent interest in painting landscapes? The Marcela he remembered as his friend and close companion had been but a memory for years, and had she lived, it was likely they’d never have seen each other again after her wedding today. Still, knowing she was no longer enjoying life saddened him.

He pushed away the melancholy thoughts, the same as everyone appeared to do once the subdued mood of the funeral breakfast had passed. The castle’s occupants seemed to welcome the excuse of that afternoon’s wedding to lift the atmosphere in a more optimistic direction.

He escaped to the privacy of his rooms while chaos once again reigned as preparations were made for the ceremony and celebratory dinner. He spent the time pacing, pausing now and then to stare out the window.

Fidgety actions he couldn’t get away with in the public rooms were loosed. His fingers drummed against his thigh. He just didn’t know for sure what to expect. He hated not knowing.

He paced again through his bedchamber. Marriages were consummated. Something needed to occur between two men to that end. “But what?” he whispered. He didn’t know with any certainty what to expect, but he could surmise based on what he knew happened between men and women.

Erich’s familiar presence in the background of his pacing—packing and putting the finishing touches on Marcelo’s long, silk wedding tunic—had a calming effect on his nerves, but did not completely alleviate them.

He stopped at the opening to his dressing room and grimaced, hating to put forth such a…personal inquiry. “Erich?”

“Sir?”

Marcelo sighed. “I don’t even know how to put this to words.”

Ever patient, Erich waited silently with a calm expression that was probably as much training as it was true serenity. Nevertheless, it had the same effect.

“I find myself unduly anxious about…things that will occur later tonight, after the celebration. My anxiety is rooted in not knowing what will happen.”

“I see. I don’t have any personal experience in such matters either, but…”

“But?”

“I know that there’s a lubricating oil involved, and that men who prefer men do repeatedly seek each other out, so the experience must be one that both parties consider pleasurable.”

A lubricating oil. Marcelo pressed his lips together. That likely confirmed his suspicions, but Erich’s observation helped to ease his fears.

“Thank you, Erich. What would I do without you?”

A small smile played at the servant’s lips as he bent over his embroidery. “I don’t know, sir.”

* * * *

When the time came, Erich helped him into the bright blue silk tunic, exquisitely embroidered with chains of white and pink flowers. While cut in a more masculine fashion, it was decorated similarly to the tunics he’d often seen on brides. He fastened Marcelo’s curls at the nape of his neck with a strip of silk with matching embroidery.

Together they walked to the courtyard, where the ceremonial portion of the wedding festivities would take place. Marcelo held up his chin as he stepped through the archway. He, the son no one had thought could contribute anything meaningful to their society, was fulfilling the terms of the peace treaty. He was the first royal son to marry, and the first citizen in all of Sheburat to marry another of the same s*x, setting a new standard. His mention in history books would now be more than a mere citation of his name.

Prince Efren waited in the sunshine, under the wide expanse of blue sky, and held out a hand to welcome Marcelo to his side. When they joined hands for the first time, Marcelo’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat.

His earlier fears vanished in that warm touch, replaced by restrained anticipation. Their gazes locked and held as Queen Giselle approached.

She smiled. “I think the answer is clear to all, but I must ask—do each of you enter willingly into this marriage?”

“Yes, I enter into this marriage as a willing participant,” Prince Efren replied in a firm tone.

Marcelo echoed Prince Efren. “Yes, I enter into this marriage as a willing participant.”

“You may proceed.” The queen stepped away.

Marcelo removed a ring—a bejeweled band that had belonged to one of his ancestors—from one of his fingers and placed it in Prince Efren’s palm. The prince pulled a ring off his smallest finger and placed it in Marcelo’s palm. The heat from the ring melted Marcelo as he slipped it onto the fourth finger of his left hand.

The modest ceremony was almost complete. Only one action remained to fulfill the requirements.

Prince Efren ran a finger along Marcelo’s jaw and tipped up his chin. Marcelo held his breath as Prince Efren lowered his head. A small sound escaped him as the prince’s warm breath wafted over his lips right before their mouths came together for a light, brief kiss.

Marcelo’s knees wobbled, but the prince’s other hand at his waist held him in place. With that one mild kiss, the curb on Marcelo’s anticipation slipped away, replaced by unlimited eagerness. Whatever pain might or might not be involved in the act would be worth enduring to be held in this man’s arms and thoroughly kissed.

With that, the ceremony ended. They were officially married. People milled about congratulating them before filtering into the castle’s great hall for the celebration dinner.