With Pride by Megan Derr

Author:Megan Derr [Derr, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: M/M romance, fantasy, Princes of the Blood
Publisher: Less Than Three Press, LLC
Published: 2014-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

LOST

"Why does the air hurt?" Kristof muttered. That really did not seem at all fair. They were at sea, for Goddesses' sake.

He hadn't expected anyone to reply as he was alone—more or less—standing at the portside railing, watching the sea and distant clouds. He startled when Håkon's voice came from behind him. "It's been making my skin prickle all day." Håkon moved to stand beside him, delicate-looking hands curving around the railing, showing none of the strength that Kristof knew they contained. "There is hellish magic on the wind, as you've probably surmised. I think we are on the right trail, though I dread what we will find."

"I still do not know of any crumbling castles with inhabitants. Castles are too costly to build to let them fall into neglect. My mother ensures funds are always available for castle maintenance should any lords prove unable to pay for upkeep on their own."

Håkon shrugged. "I'm certain it will make sense the moment we see it. I did attempt to sketch out the memories I took from the Priest. I did not have much success, but I suppose something is better than nothing." He held out a large, leather-bound sketching book, already opened to the page where Håkon had sketched a castle.

It was beautiful, intricate work, made it seem like every stone and leaf and person had been captured and magically put upon the page. "You— you're an artist?"

"Artist is overgenerous," Håkon replied with a snort. "Anyone who studies magic can scratch out a few respectable sketches."

He believed it. Håkon was not a modest person. He was confident to the point of arrogant, brazen enough to let someone suck his cock right in the middle of Guldbrandsen where anyone could see, audacious enough to argue with the king about explicit orders, and had felt no remorse over the fact he'd killed a man by drinking too much of his blood. He had no use for false modesty—he truly believed he was no artist.

Kristof had seldom been given cause to feel flummoxed, but Håkon seemed to have a particular skill for making him feel in ways no one else ever had. He was … vexing, to put it mildly.

Focusing on the matter at hand, Kristof studied the sketch more carefully—and only then realized it wasn't pencil like he had thought. The whole damned thing had been done in ink. "What madness has you convinced you're not an artist? I have seen full paintings that do not possess half this skill."

No reply came and Kristof looked up to see that Håkon was scowling at the book as if it had done something to offend him, the slightest dusting of pink colored his cheeks. "I'm not an artist. Does the castle look familiar or not?" he asked, a hint of growl in his voice.

Burning with curiosity, Kristof nevertheless tried again to put his mind where it should be. The castle was beautiful, for all it was falling apart. Ivy and climbing roses had consumed most

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