CHAPTER VIII: The Couple's Night

ALXINFIELD, Venningham Manor, Year 079 Y.D.

As the luminous, fat moon reigns at the sea of sparkling lights, Ilayan finds himself a wooden trestle to sit, at one side of the small, four-seater slab table. A maid on a ruffle, white and black livery had knocked on their humble, timber door before, invited their presence for the dinner party at the main hall, to celebrate both his return and the feast of Khie'lal, only to be blatantly refused by him, ordering her to fetch him and his family some dishes instead. Forcing her head to nod, the maid scurried back, beads rolled down her forehead.

It was not to Ilayan's knowledge on how did she manage to comply with his rude demand, neither he is interested to know. But, half an hour passed, and she led three neat-looking servitors to the house, bringing the food, of which he suspects are all aligned to his preference.

Similar to the courses on the Prince's banquet earlier, most are lavish meat—mutton, beef, and pork—and green, fleshy vegetables boiled into a rich, fragrant broth, making Laya beam in exuberance. His lips extending wide and his round eyes bouncing from one porcelain platter and bowl to another, unconsciously, he would lick his lips, looping Ilayan's neck.

When all were served, he chased them all away, placed Laya on a tall children's stool beside him, and enthusiastically invites Erin to dine. Although he had eaten back in the royal estate earlier, still, it has been years since he had indulged himself with his favorite dishes—especially the spicy beef stew that his mother always cooked for him before. But unlike him, his son, despite the evident eagerness in his growling stomach, stares at the food, knitting his brow, stealing glances from him and Erin.

"What's wrong, son?" he asks.

"Can I really eat them father?" he lowers his voice.

"Of course, little man," he says—smiling. Then his gaze travels to Erin, who tries to cover the guilt in his blushing face. Living within the outbuildings and not on his wing, deprived of the privileges of a noble. It is clear to him. Although he had premeditated the possible injustices that befell on his son and consort, still, witnessing it himself strangles his chest. And he is certain that their lives these years were not peaceful either.

"From now on, you can eat whatever you desire, and I will have them serve for you," he teases, ruffling his hair.

The boy giggles in response then praises his father for being powerful.

However, his innocence only makes the weight in Ilayan's heart heavier. Both he and Erin share the same mind of self-reproach. For a moment, his feet are pulled to the ground again, feeling the helplessness and powerlessness he felt several times already during the day. And the food on the table, of which he looked at with appetite earlier, had now lost its flavor.

He let out a deep breath, easing himself. Now that he had returned, he will set the things in his household right, for the only thing he can do to comfort himself is to promise a better future for his family.

His hand catches the wooden server on the platter, scoops a spoonful of sliced, tender meat, and delivers it to Laya's messy, sticky plate. "Here, eat more."

By the time their hunger was satiated, Erin removes the used dishes from the tables and proceeds to the cramped kitchen to wash them. While Ilayan brings Laya to the narrow bathroom and clumsily wipes his body. When both of them are done, Erin lets Ilayan coax his son to sleep while he takes the opportunity to cleanse himself.

This night, he had prepared Ilayan's room, and nervous he might be; he still hopes to be in the same bed with him. Although presumptuous, the three years of separation had created a deep yearning in his heart, and tonight he can't help but want to vent it all out; all the longing and emotion that his untruthful letters had failed to expressed and his mind continues to deny. He might have acted restrained and calm earlier, but now, it all pours down on him, he wanted to be in his tight embrace and feel his reassuring warmth again, as how it was during the night of their marriage.

And, he wanted to apologize to him, for failing him, for not being a good parent to their son, and for letting Laya suffer.

Closing his eyes, he eases himself by thinking of Ilayan's handsome smile. His figure has now matured, bulkier than it was—when they are both eighteen years old—and as the image of his broad shoulder and prominent adam's apple flashes in his imagination, his body gradually becomes hot and his cheeks redden. Ashamed of his indecency he hurriedly washes away the obscene thoughts in his mind.

Suddenly, as his hand slides on his back, he felt the rough remnant of the lashings that he received a week ago, and then, Ilayan's self-blaming reaction comes to him.

He must hide it. He must not let him know.

He doesn't want to stir Ilayan's emotions, for he had done more than enough for him. He had given him a place to stay, a good, reliable husband, a smart, jolly son—a family. More than what he deserves, considering the real, treacherous him that, now, only existed in his deeply buried memories.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his contemplation. "Erin?"

"Um… Yes, my lord?" He finds himself panicking, unprepared. "Do you perhaps need something?"

"Nothing, it's not that. Laya has already fallen asleep, but you haven't yet returned, so I wanted to check on you since you have been there for almost an hour already."

"I'll be done in a moment, my lord. Please cease your worries."

"Then I'll be back now," Ilayan says as his footsteps fade from Erin's ear.

After they have both washed, Erin nervously walks to Ilayan's room, eliminating his hesitation with an exhale, he knocks. It is soft at first, but then, it grows louder. Then, a man in a white undershirt opens the entrance, he greets him with pleasantries of the night and they exchange perfunctory words, only after several awkward exchanges that the man invites him to enter.

They both stiffly lay next to each other, facing the ash ceiling. There is silence in the room, blending with their steady breathing, no one spoke, until the ticking time gradually transforms the delicate air into subtlety, and after a moment Ilayan slowly lifts his arm to encircle Erin.

He flinches for a second, but when Ilayan buries his head on his white, slender neck and inhales his soft, sweet scent—like a lotus' fragrance—does his eyes drop, his heart settles, and his tapering fingers glide on the other's short, raven hair.

"I missed you, husband."