had healed. Even now he was careful of the younger man's
health, watching for signs of discomfort.
His care and pampering, especially in front of others, would bring a flush to Anyar's face.
He was not used to such things, and they warmed his heart far more than material expressions
could have.
Wrapped up snugly against the chill, Anyar wanted to sing with happiness, his eyes
shining with all he felt. The day was crisp, their breath floated on the air, and frost coated
everything in sight, lending a magical air to their surroundings.
The mare he rode was a joy, with a soft black winter coat, white blaze, and four white
socks. Her mouth was tender and responsive, and he treated her as the princess she was. She
danced beneath him as though picking up on his mood, and he looked over at Vanyae on his
larger chestnut stallion, unable to restrain his grin.
The prince grinned back, then let his stallion have his head. With a whoop, Anyar
followed, and the sun shone off the snow the horses' hooves threw up in glittering arcs.
They raced for the thrill of it, and the mare gave the stallion quite a challenge with her
nimble feet and lighter body. It was head and head when they finally drew to a stop, not wanting
to heat the horses too much in the cold.
Vanyae leaned over and captured a kiss from Anyar, his gloved fingers gentle upon his
chin. He drew back reluctantly, his thumb tracing lightly over the kiss-swollen lips.
Anyar smiled at him, a little flushed from the cold and his master's attentions.
Vanyae felt something within him warm at that smile, and he realized that he could no
longer see Anyar as slave. He was a person, a man—a lover.
70
J. C. Owens
He could not ever let him go, but if Anyar were slave no longer, how could Vanyae ensure
that the younger man would stay with him?
The slight frown that had creased his brow disappeared.
They had time. He would show Anyar that there was no place to be other than at his side.
* * * * *
Anyar stared out the window pensively, watching the thick snowflakes fall soundlessly. It
had stormed for three days now, and they had been confined to the palace, which was making
people restless and irritable. He had made sure to stay out of their way, unsure of his position
here.
Others also seemed to have that problem. Vanyae's actions seemed to indicate Anyar was
more than a slave, but…
The uncertainty left everyone unsure how to treat him, and Vanyae seemed to remain
oblivious of the tenuous position into which this put his younger love.
Anyar was not Nazarian, was not one of them—and he had done what no other had ever
managed—hold the prince's heart.
Not that Anyar realized that. On the contrary, he believed that Vanyae would still come to
his senses, and things would return to the way they were before.
* * * * *
The comfort of the stables surrounded the two of them as they stood in their horses'
respective stalls, grooming them into shining contentment. Anyar crooned to the mare, flattering
her and telling her of her great beauty. She preened like the royalty she was, and Vanyae laughed
as he watched. His own stallion leaned into the grooming with little grunts of enjoyment, head
lowered. It was warm here, the sound of the continuing storm muffled.
Anyar cleaned off the brushes carefully, then gasped as he was suddenly pulled off
balance, out of the stall, and into a convenient pile of hay.
He glared up at Vanyae for a moment, then could not help but laugh at the mischievous
expression on the prince's face.
“I think this is a perfect place on a cold day,” Vanyae rumbled as he bent down and
captured Anyar's lips in a long, passionate kiss, holding the younger man's hands over his head.
Wings
71
Then he delighted in slowly removing each piece of clothing, kissing every inch of
exposed skin. Anyar wriggled, ticklish on his belly and sides, but the prince held him firmly, not
allowing escape.
Vanyae paused to remove his own
health, watching for signs of discomfort.
His care and pampering, especially in front of others, would bring a flush to Anyar's face.
He was not used to such things, and they warmed his heart far more than material expressions
could have.
Wrapped up snugly against the chill, Anyar wanted to sing with happiness, his eyes
shining with all he felt. The day was crisp, their breath floated on the air, and frost coated
everything in sight, lending a magical air to their surroundings.
The mare he rode was a joy, with a soft black winter coat, white blaze, and four white
socks. Her mouth was tender and responsive, and he treated her as the princess she was. She
danced beneath him as though picking up on his mood, and he looked over at Vanyae on his
larger chestnut stallion, unable to restrain his grin.
The prince grinned back, then let his stallion have his head. With a whoop, Anyar
followed, and the sun shone off the snow the horses' hooves threw up in glittering arcs.
They raced for the thrill of it, and the mare gave the stallion quite a challenge with her
nimble feet and lighter body. It was head and head when they finally drew to a stop, not wanting
to heat the horses too much in the cold.
Vanyae leaned over and captured a kiss from Anyar, his gloved fingers gentle upon his
chin. He drew back reluctantly, his thumb tracing lightly over the kiss-swollen lips.
Anyar smiled at him, a little flushed from the cold and his master's attentions.
Vanyae felt something within him warm at that smile, and he realized that he could no
longer see Anyar as slave. He was a person, a man—a lover.
70
J. C. Owens
He could not ever let him go, but if Anyar were slave no longer, how could Vanyae ensure
that the younger man would stay with him?
The slight frown that had creased his brow disappeared.
They had time. He would show Anyar that there was no place to be other than at his side.
* * * * *
Anyar stared out the window pensively, watching the thick snowflakes fall soundlessly. It
had stormed for three days now, and they had been confined to the palace, which was making
people restless and irritable. He had made sure to stay out of their way, unsure of his position
here.
Others also seemed to have that problem. Vanyae's actions seemed to indicate Anyar was
more than a slave, but…
The uncertainty left everyone unsure how to treat him, and Vanyae seemed to remain
oblivious of the tenuous position into which this put his younger love.
Anyar was not Nazarian, was not one of them—and he had done what no other had ever
managed—hold the prince's heart.
Not that Anyar realized that. On the contrary, he believed that Vanyae would still come to
his senses, and things would return to the way they were before.
* * * * *
The comfort of the stables surrounded the two of them as they stood in their horses'
respective stalls, grooming them into shining contentment. Anyar crooned to the mare, flattering
her and telling her of her great beauty. She preened like the royalty she was, and Vanyae laughed
as he watched. His own stallion leaned into the grooming with little grunts of enjoyment, head
lowered. It was warm here, the sound of the continuing storm muffled.
Anyar cleaned off the brushes carefully, then gasped as he was suddenly pulled off
balance, out of the stall, and into a convenient pile of hay.
He glared up at Vanyae for a moment, then could not help but laugh at the mischievous
expression on the prince's face.
“I think this is a perfect place on a cold day,” Vanyae rumbled as he bent down and
captured Anyar's lips in a long, passionate kiss, holding the younger man's hands over his head.
Wings
71
Then he delighted in slowly removing each piece of clothing, kissing every inch of
exposed skin. Anyar wriggled, ticklish on his belly and sides, but the prince held him firmly, not
allowing escape.
Vanyae paused to remove his own
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