‘It would be my honour,’ said Ancel.
‘Since you like to play with fire,’ said Nicaise.
Ancel’s pulse hadn’t settled when Berenger returned, his blood beating with success. He threw his arms around Berenger’s neck and said, ‘Did you see? I’m a triumph!’ Berenger took the opportunity provided by physical closeness to say in a low voice, ‘You have helped me a great deal tonight.’
‘I told you I could make everyone look at me,’ said Ancel.
Even the Regent.
The rumours started right away.
The swirling interest around Ancel now had a malicious edge—Ancel was an upstart, a cheap brothel prostitute. Ancel was mercenary, he’d do anything for a contract. Ancel was dangerous, with a dark past.
Ancel liked it, a sign of success. He knew the pets at court disliked that a newcomer had been singled out for royal attention.
In the relaxed, wine-loosened atmosphere after meals, courtiers liked to indulge. Men and women dallied with their pets, the atmosphere disinhibited and carnal. And they talked, tittering, needling, speculating, the pets in particular raking the hall with their eyes looking for any new subject of dissection. Ancel liked being the centre of attention. But thanks to Berenger, there was a line of attack that had never been there before.
‘I’ve heard that Berenger likes women, and that he disappears sometimes from court, so that he can—’
Ancel flushed. He left the main hall and made straight for Berenger, who was sitting in an adjoining antechamber, on one of the long reclining couches, amid a handful of acquaintances, talking in small relaxed groups.
‘Kiss me,’ said Ancel as he settled, one knee on the couch on either side of Berenger’s thighs, his hands linked behind Berenger’s neck.
‘What?’ said Berenger.
‘On the mouth,’ said Ancel.
‘What are people saying?’ Berenger said after a long moment.
Ancel’s flush deepened, he was unable to keep the reaction from his face. He didn’t answer. Berenger continued to look at him searchingly.
Then Berenger turned his head in a brief glance at the small knot of people standing near them, and gave a little grimace. He leaned in and kissed Ancel a moment later.
Ancel felt the kiss against his lips, with Berenger’s hand on his waist. It lasted a second or two, before Berenger drew back. Ancel could see people watching, overly conscious of the glances, the whispered words, the oily rumours that would begin to surface, like those swirling around the Prince.
‘Everyone’s watching. Do it like you mean it,’ said Ancel.
Berenger was beginning to frown. Ancel thought, with a burst of irritation, I know you don’t want to, but can’t you just pretend? How hard was it? Ancel pretended all the time. Berenger had a reputation to maintain. But if Ancel said that, Berenger would probably reply with something idiotic like his own reputation didn’t matter to him.
Ancel said, ‘My value goes down if people think I’m not holding your attention.’
For a moment they just looked at each other. Then Berenger tightened his grip on Ancel’s waist, and kissed him.
It was a shock to feel Berenger’s tongue in his mouth. He wasn’t expecting a real kiss, even though he had asked for it, and it surprised and unbalanced him. Berenger was usually so reserved. Or perhaps it had simply been a long time since Ancel had kissed anyone. He was no longer used to it. It didn’t feel impersonal. He was instead extremely conscious that it was Berenger that he was kissing.
When Berenger pulled back, Ancel was straddling Berenger’s lap, looking down at him. He was still struggling to process his over-awareness of Berenger, the staid, serious man who preferred reading to talking. His lips were tingling from kissing Berenger, and that didn’t seem to make sense.
‘Ancel—’ said Berenger.
‘Like you mean it,’ said Ancel, and kissed him again.
Ancel was good at kissing. He knew how to make it feel good, and how to make it look good. He kissed with expertise, subtly coaxing for more, even as he positioned his body to look its best to anyone who was watching.
‘My lord,’ he said, and he sounded turned on, which was how he was supposed to sound. ‘Berenger.’
The kiss deepened. Ancel closed his eyes. He could imagine exactly what Berenger liked, lovemaking in the dark with a young man in a plain shirt. If they ever—Ancel would have to feign at least a degree of innocence, physically experienced but emotionally unprepared, looking up at Berenger and saying it’s never been like this before.
He imagined that: imagined Berenger kissing him in private. A strange shaky feeling grew in him. Berenger would kiss with the same seriousness as he was now, he probably fucked like that too, strong and steady.