Once Upon a Time (Calluvia's Royalty 3)

“Why are you telling me this? Are you feeling guilty about it?” Knowing Jamil, he was probably beating himself up over it. Mehmer shook his head with a wry smile. Walking over to Jamil, he took his shoulder and forced him to look at him. “Is that why you don’t want to touch me? Because you feel guilty?”

Jamil’s eyes were full of contradictory emotions. “Of course I feel guilty,” he said with a laugh. “But it’s not just that.”

Mehmer searched his face.

He let out an uncertain chuckle. “What, you liked his ass so much better that you can’t get it up for mine?”

Jamil’s expression became pinched. “I never… I didn’t fuck him, Mehmer. He fucked me.”

Oh.

Mehmer stared at Jamil, absolutely stunned. He’d always assumed Jamil liked being on top, that he was fine with Mehmer pretty much always being the one to take his cock rather than vice versa. Fuck, how had he not noticed that? Except he had. He’d always known Jamil wasn’t as enthusiastic about sex as him, but he’d assumed Jamil just had a low sex drive. It hadn’t even occurred to Mehmer that he was being selfish in bed.

“We can switch, I guess,” Mehmer said, his forehead wrinkling. Jamil was certainly beautiful enough to inspire the desire to fuck him in any man—any man but Mehmer. Mehmer blamed it on his throwback genes: he was naturally submissive when it came to sex and had no inclination to fuck and take. The few times he’d fucked Jamil in all the years of their marriage had been… not bad, exactly… but definitely weird. Still, if Jamil actually preferred being fucked too, it would be extremely selfish of Mehmer not to find a compromise that made everyone happy. “I could fuck you,” he said, firmer, feigning enthusiasm. “Sometimes.”

Jamil let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I know how much you don’t like it, so it isn’t exactly arousing to force you into it. And it isn’t—it isn’t just about sex, Mehmer. I need—” He cut himself off, looking away.

Mehmer frowned again, studying him.

His mouth fell open. “You got attached.”

Jamil flinched. His throat working, he looked down. “It’ll pass. You’re my husband. You’re… very dear for me. I’ll forget him. I will. I promise.”

Mehmer wondered if Jamil realized how unconvincing he sounded. Now that Mehmer looked at him—really looked at him—he could see the dark circles under Jamil’s eyes, the air of desperation around him. Despite being tall and muscular, Jamil had never looked so small. Fragile. It seemed as though he was holding himself together only by sheer force of will and might break at the slightest provocation.

So Mehmer pushed away his own hurt and wounded pride and tried to be a good friend. They had been friends before they were husbands, best friends since before they could talk. This was nothing they couldn’t overcome. “Hey,” he said softly. “Come here.” He pulled Jamil’s tense body into a hug and stroked his rigid back until Jamil relaxed slightly in his arms. The hug was still a little awkward and strange. He wasn’t used to hugging Jamil and giving him comfort—it was normally the other way around, with Mehmer being the more emotional, sensitive one. It had always seemed natural to him: Jamil was the eldest brother, the Crown Prince, and had always been much better at being the strong, responsible one than Mehmer was. But at that moment, he could feel that the man he held in his arms wasn’t capable of being his rock; he was worn thin at the edges and needed something Mehmer was ill-equipped to provide him with.

“Who is he?” Mehmer said, unsure why he was even asking. He didn’t know if he wanted to punch the guy in the face for turning Jamil into someone Mehmer didn’t recognize or demand him to fix Jamil.

“No one you will ever meet.”

Chapter 28

Jamil sat in the throne room next to his mother, a polite expression on his face.

He’d always disliked the Court days. In the old days, it was an opportunity for ordinary people to get an audience with their monarch and try to resolve their problems. In modern times, it was nothing more than an opportunity for the nobles to gather and gossip about everyone and everything.

Jamil could barely focus on smiling and nodding to people who bowed to him. His sleepless night certainly didn’t help his concentration.

Last night’s conversation with Mehmer both eased his conscience and made him feel guiltier.

We’ll figure it out, Mehmer had told him, hugging him awkwardly, and left.

Jamil wasn’t sure how they were supposed to figure it out when even hugging Mehmer felt just plain wrong—when he wished for another man’s arms around him, another man’s voice whispering endearments into his ear—when he felt guilty even for needing comfort, knowing that Mehmer wanted him to be the strong one.