The invitation had been slid under Yeijiro’s door, a plain envelope containing a card that only said, “Dinner, tonight,” and bore the Miyōshi crest.

Yeijiro knew how important it was to manage his expectations. He didn’t know why Tōru wanted to see him. Those two words included no promises, no implications. To hope for anything would be foolish. But last time…last time…

Since the note hadn’t indicated otherwise, Yeijiro assumed he was to attend Tōru here in the palace. So far, Yeijiro hadn’t had any reason to come to the sections claimed by the Serpent, and it had seemed best to stay away. But now he had no choice.

The Serpent gardens and courtyards were every bit as elaborately designed and carefully crafted as in the Swan compound, but no one would ever mistake one for the other. Swan gardens were shaped and guided—every leaf, every blade had a purpose. Serpent gardens were wild, crowded, a riot of colors and heights and shapes.

But that chaos held patterns, meaning buried within the disorder. Anyone could see the intent of a Swan garden. You had to work to find the artistry in a Serpent creation.

Another time, Yeijiro would have slowed his pace, taking the extra time to study the gardens, the murals, the sculpture he passed. Today, all he wanted was to reach his destination. And as he walked, his mind churned.

What did it look like, his moving through Serpent space? Serpents would see a marshal, invading. Marshals would see a Serpent among his own kind. If someone saw him, reported this to Roderich, what would the Lord Marshal think?

Yeijiro hadn’t forgotten Tōru's insistence that Roderich know nothing of their encounter. Yeijiro hadn’t forgotten anything about that night. He replayed it over and over, the heat of Tōru's touch, the drawing in oil, the feel of Tōru inside him.

One thing Yeijiro had learned, listening at the edges of conversations, was that Tōru liked to keep close track of his Serpents. From high to low, there wasn’t a clan member in the palace who hadn’t passed some private time with their Lord. So from the outside, there was nothing unusual about this invitation.

It was even possible that was all this dinner was—Tōru keeping tabs on Yeijiro as he did every Serpent. At the very least, if anyone asked…

Yeijiro felt his face heat merely at the thought. If anyone asked, Yeijiro would be in trouble.

Shō waited for Yeijiro just inside a wrought-iron gate of twining snakes, bowed politely at Yeijiro’s approach. “Sur Yeijiro. With me, please.”

The inner sanctum of the Serpent was a palace all on its own, and Yeijiro could imagine getting lost in the mazes of high hedges and tight corridors. There was no shimmer of nima guardians here, no visible guards, no cameras. Yeijiro couldn’t spot security of any sort. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t there, but guards you couldn’t see were harder to circumvent.

The Swan compound was open, airy, sprawling. The Serpent space was tight, twisting, windowless. Beyond private—this would be impenetrable to someone who didn’t belong, who wasn’t invited.

Deep inside the building, Shō opened a door on a luxurious sitting room and gestured for Yeijiro to enter. “Lord Miyōshi will be along momentarily. Is there anything I can bring you?”

Yeijiro resisted the urge to order something strong enough to steady his nerves. “Some tea would be perfect; thank you.”

Shō bowed and retreated, leaving Yeijiro to take in his surroundings.

This room had no windows, but three stained glass designs had been set into the walls, with lights behind them giving the illusion of twilight. Each held one of the Serpent crests—the three houses—Miyōshi, Oshiro, and García.

The Serpent were the smallest of the clans—the smallest population, the fewest families. It was how they remained tight, unified in their mission. But it left few options for those like Yeijiro who didn’t fit the mold the Serpent wanted.

The rest of the wall space was covered in thick velvety curtains and tapestries woven in black, greens, reds, and golds. In combination with the thick rugs on the floor, they soaked up the sound so the room felt quiet, meditative.

On a round, black lacquer table at the center of the room, an assortment of finger foods had been arranged. Two matching chairs had been pulled up across from each other. Yeijiro considered them. Was it presumptuous to sit? He’d been invited. The note had said dinner. Every indication was that the table was meant to include him, but to just sit down—like a friend, like an equal—was beyond what Yeijiro could bring himself to do. So he knelt, and waited.

Not for long. Yeijiro had barely settled when one of the stained glass designed revealed itself to be a door, swinging open, and Tōru came through. At the same moment, Shō returned with a tea serving for two. Tōru sat at the table as Shō set things out. Only after Shō had once again retreated did Tōru finally acknowledge Yeijiro. “Join me.”

Yeijiro took his seat at the table, across from Tōru. Tōru's mask today was something simple, gold-dusted black, contoured to his face. It stopped at his upper lip, sweeping down across his cheeks, leaving his mouth exposed. Yeijiro found his eyes drawn to Tōru's lips, couldn’t help imagining what they might feel like against Yeijiro’s skin.

He managed to keep his hands steady as he poured himself some of the fragrant black tea. He added honey, stirred it in, took a sip, and by the time he’d set his cup back down on the table he was calm. Focused. Ready, he hoped, for whatever game Tōru intended them to play.

Tōru indicated with a sweep of his hand that Yeijiro should feel free to eat.

Yeijiro took a finger sandwich, conscious of Tōru's eyes tracking it as he raised it to take a bite. Tōru sipped his tea, silently studying Yeijiro. Yeijiro wished he had the first idea what Tōru was thinking.

“Tell me how you found the conspiracy.”

So it was back to this. The same request Tōru had made twice already. And it wasn’t as though Roderich had given Yeijiro any more permission to discuss it than the had before.

But the situation had grown more complicated. Roderich refused to give the matter any further consideration, and Yeijiro still had questions that made him uncomfortable. And Tōru had seen all the information Yeijiro had gathered, had been in the room with Roderich and the Emperor for all the discussions of the attack. And wasn’t Yeijiro already committed to one deception involving Tōru?

Yeijiro could see the slippery slope in front of him. He knew exactly what Elena would think. One corruption leading to another. Coercion leading to betrayal.

Except that Yeijiro didn’t feel at all coerced, and hadn’t for a single moment of his time with Tōru. All Tōru was asking was for Yeijiro to share information that would help Tōru better protect the Emperor. Wasn’t that the whole point?

“Yeijiro,” Tōru prompted, an edge of impatience in his voice.

“It was entirely by accident.” It was a strange relief to talk about it. Knowing Tōru was listening, that he’d understand. “I spent most of the court at the edge of things. No one paid attention to me. And it happened that I was close enough to hear Asher Kala and Kosuri Vivek talking twice. And I noticed they had the exact same conversational exchange.

“It was innocuous, what they were saying. Small talk. But exactly the same small talk twice. At least, the first few exchanges. And so I kept listening. And that was when I noticed a rhythm to their words. And a…an awkwardness. A disconnect.” Yeijiro wasn’t sure how best to explain what had been an entirely instinctive reaction. “There was something odd about what they were saying. Or how they were saying it. So I memorized what I could and wrote it all down and studied it. And that was when I realized they were talking in code.

“So I kept following them. Whenever I could without it being obvious. I started piecing together their code, and that led me to the rest.”

The rest, that Tōru had seen. He’d traced finances. Noted travel. Researched connections. As a marshal, he’d ben able to access communication logs. And slowly he’d uncovered the web of the conspiracy.

“At the end, it was more luck. I found where they were amassing their strike force. I went alone because I still wasn’t sure I had enough to convince the Lord Marshal to arrest such trusted, high-ranking people. As it turned out, their security system was exactly what you’d expect from the Dragon—it was entirely nima based. And the nima didn’t see me. So I got in, grabbed what information I could, and then ran. My lord knows the rest.”

Tōru was quiet for a long time. Yeijiro wished he knew what Tōru was thinking. Until finally Tōru asked, “What do you want, Yeijiro?”

Yeijiro answered as he had before. “To serve my Lord, to serve my clan, and to serve the Emperor.”

“A truthful answer,” Tōru acknowledged, “but evasive, nonetheless.”

“It is the truth,” Yeijiro insisted.

“A very broad truth. And not the whole of it. It fills the space where an answer should be without revealing anything. It has a shallow sort of prettiness. An answer well crafted to please the Lord Marshal. An answer I would expect to hear from a Swan.”

Yeijiro’s cheeks burned.

No pretty words. No shallow games. What was the Serpent answer?

What did Yeijiro want? To serve Tōru. To please Tōru. Not in the abstract. Not in any sort of pretty, idealistic, Swan sort of way. Yeijiro shouldn’t need to hide behind games. He shouldn’t need to hide behind words. That was what Tōru was reminding him.

Yeijiro could be honest with Tōru. He could trust Tōru.

How bold could he be? The last time they’d been alone together, Tōru had simply reached out, had done what he liked with Yeijiro. Without any of the evasive, dancing preamble Yeijiro had always imagined was an unavoidable part of sex. Could Yeijiro do the same? Could his answer be something so simple? Because what he wanted…what he wanted was more.

He stood and walked around the table. Tōru turned his chair so he was facing Yeijiro when Yeijiro stopped. Yeijiro dropped gracefully to his knees, landing in between Tōru's conveniently-spread legs. “I’m sorry.” He bowed his head respectfully. Which put his face mere inches away from the silky-smooth fabric of Tōru's pants. “My lord deserve a better answer from me.”

Tōru picked up his tea, took a sip. “I accept your apology,” he said in a mild tone. “And await this better answer.”

Yeijiro leaned closer, just shy of touching. Close enough for the heat of his breath to sink through the fabric. But before he could think of what to say, there came a soft scratch at the door.

Tōru's hand moved to the back of Yeijiro’s head, holding him still. “What is it?” he called out in a voice that betrayed no irritation at the interruption.

The door opened and Yeijiro recognized Shō's voice. “Forgive me, Miyōshi-más. I would not intrude, but Lord García insisted this could not wait.”

The beginning of a sigh, quickly checked. Yeijiro only heard it because he was so intimately close. “Bring me the mirror.”

Shō's footsteps, approaching, then Tōru shifted as he took the mirror from Shō's hand. All the while, Yeijiro held his position. He should have felt embarrassed, but the light pressure of Tōru's hand continued, that gentle restraint insisting he was where Tōru wanted him. That he was where he belonged.

Shō retreated again and Tōru held the mirror up to face-height. “Be silent,” he ordered Yeijiro. And then the back of Yeijiro’s neck tingled as Tōru summoned the nima.

Nima-glass meant that when Tōru said, “What is it, Danilo?” Yeijiro wasn’t going to hear whatever matter had Lord García so worked up.

Yeijiro tilted his head just enough to look up at Tōru's masked face. It betrayed nothing. Even studying what little of Tōru he could see—Tōru's deep, dark eyes, the line of his mouth—there was nothing to reveal any reaction to Danilo’s report or even that the report had interrupted…

An idea flashed through Yeijiro’s mind. A horrible idea. A dangerous idea. An irresistible idea.

He turned his head back down. Tōru's hand remained a light pressure. Yeijiro would never have considered daring this, if not for two things. First, that Tōru could easily stop him if Tōru didn’t like what Yeijiro was doing. Second, the clear line of Tōru's erection visible against his thigh.

Yeijiro leaned forward just enough to press his open lips against that line, letting out a long, slow breath.

Tōru's thumb stroked down the back of Yeijiro’s neck. Permission. It made Yeijiro bolder.

He unfastened Tōru's pants and reached in, finding his way through layers of fabric to heated flesh. He stroked first with his fingertips, feeling the soft skin, then wrapped his hand around the thick shaft. The first time his fingers had touched another man’s cock.

He carefully worked it free, and—testing—licked his lips and slid the head into his mouth.

“Outside of Tapti?” Tōru asked. “What was she doing?” His voice was iron, not the slightest shake to betray what was happening outside of Danilo’s sight.

But Tōru's hand twitched tighter. A fleeting gesture, as it quickly returned to the light, steady touch against Yeijiro’s head. But it was something. A response Yeijiro had caused. A tiny fracture in Tōru's perfect mask.

Yeijiro pulled his head back, took the opportunity to stroke his hand up and down, to look, to touch, to feel. He rubbed his cheek against the flushed-dark skin, inhaled the fleshy, salty scent.

He ran his tongue around the base, and up. Slid his mouth back over the head and down. He wasn’t able to get more than halfway before the blunt end of Tōru's cock hit the back of his throat and Yeijiro had to consider the logistics problem of how to go farther.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Tōru said. “Do we have an akashic on Pax?”

The timing of what? And why an akashic? As much fun as Yeijiro was having, he couldn’t turn off the magpie part of his mind that collected every tidbit of useful information.

“Use whatever resources you must. Follow this.”

Something outside of Tapti. Something important. Something to deal with akashics. He filed that information away in his mind to be examined later. Right now he had other things to think about.

Although the blowjob was turning out to be more complicated than he had anticipated. He’d fallen naturally into a rhythm with one hand stroking the half of Tōru's shaft that his mouth couldn’t reach, but even still it wasn’t the most comfortable angle for Yeijiro’s neck, and his jaw was getting a little tired. He pulled back, but didn’t want to lose contact, so he once more pressed his face against the silky skin. It was slick with a mix of Yeijiro’s saliva and Tōru's own fluids, and as Yeijiro rubbed with his cheek and his nose and the side of his face, Tōru's hand fisted in his hair and stayed that way.

“Thank you, Danilo. We will discuss this further when you have more information.”

The mirror clattered against the table as Tōru dropped it and his other hand landed on the back of Yeijiro’s neck, pulling him closer.

Now Tōru took charge. Now he was the one pressing his cock against Yeijiro, holding Yeijiro’s head in place, a surface to fuck against. Yeijiro worked his tongue out, kept Tōru's flesh slick, but otherwise closed his eyes and let Tōru use him.

Yeijiro had never felt this brightly aroused in his life. If his hands hadn’t been caught between Tōru and himself, he probably could have made himself come with the barest touch.

Instead, it was Tōru who came, his fingers locked like a vise on Yeijiro’s head. Making a mess of Yeijiro’s hair, his face, the shoulder of his jacket. Tōru's breathing was heavy, and he continued to hold Yeijiro in place. Until Yeijiro flinched at a stinging drip in his eye.

Tōru released him, handed him a napkin. His eyes had gone distant, and he stared thoughtfully over Yeijiro’s head as Yeijiro wiped at his face. Now the excitement was fading, as he sat here, a mess on the floor, Yeijiro felt the first flush of discomfort.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our evening short,” Tōru said, poised and distant once more. “Matters have been brought to my attention…”

“I understand.” Yeijiro did. He knew that look—that mental space when you’d just been given a new piece of a puzzle you were trying to solve.

Tōru looked down, his eyes refocusing. He brushed a couple stray hairs back from Yeijiro’s face. “We will continue this discussion.”

Yeijiro closed his eyes at the touch. “I am ever at Lord Miyōshi’s disposal.”

Yeijiro felt the movement as Tōru stood, heard Tōru walk away. Heard the door open and close and, without another word, Yeijiro was left alone.