hall. He was out of his fighting garb, and instead was adorned a southern outfit—high brocade collar, stiff shoulders, gold trim all along the forest green silk. Raleigh clenched his jaw, close to grumbling. Although he enjoyed how these costumes lay open as they did, leaving a coy strip of the wearer's chest bear, he was always discomforted when Moshe wore them to court.
"Ah," the baron said, "does your husband often return to his homeland?"
Raleigh's lips thinned. "Occasionally." Nothing soured his mood more than talk of Moshe's "home," when his true home was Chaylain.
A cold dose of realization hit Raleigh all at once, however, at the baron's words. Was this some sort of sign? Some cruel way of Moshe telling Raleigh that he was leaving for the south? Raleigh stared at Moshe, trying to discern where his mood was.
He was sitting next to Frederick, smiling. He had purposely chosen not to sit next to Raleigh, an insult that sank deep in Raleigh’s chest.
All thoughts of the south flew away. Raleigh sat up straight, gripping his hand into a fist on the table as he watched Moshe speak so animatedly with Frederick—laying a hand on Frederick's arm.
Exhaling, Raleigh told himself to calm. He had no right to this jealousy …
Moshe laughed at something Frederick said, and then leaned in to whisper a reply into his ear.
Raleigh shot up, his chair clattering back. He heard the baron say "oh my," as he stalked all the way along the table up towards the dais where the head table sat. As he did, Moshe continued to speak with Frederick, not turning his head at all. When Raleigh reached him, he barely even looked up.
Pausing, hesitating, Raleigh stood there. Moshe continued to ignore him.
"Moshe," he said.
Finally glancing at Raleigh with a flat expression, Moshe said, "Yes?"
"May we speak outside?" Raleigh replied, his voice tight.
Moshe smiled. "No," he said. He turned back to Frederick, leaning in close to him. He had the gall to scoot from Raleigh, to slide a hand onto Frederick's shoulder.
Close to shaking, Raleigh dropped a palm on the table to loom over Moshe, and said into his ear, "You are humiliating me, husband. In front of the court."
Moshe glanced at him with narrowed eyes. "Do I care?"
At that, Raleigh snapped. He grabbed Moshe's arm and dragged him up.
In the next instant, Moshe slapped him right across the cheek.
There were some low gasps, and several chuckles, and from behind Moshe, Raleigh could see Frederick considering him with raised eyebrows—then Frederick turned away, lifting his glass to his lips as he said to the man on his other side, "And that is a household with no head." The other man laughed.
Raleigh's gaze moved from them to Moshe's face, and he saw the cruel, mocking smirk there—saw the challenge.
An intense flash of rage shocked him, but then Raleigh's lips spread into a smile of his own. "I've tolerated enough shameless disobedience from you," Raleigh said.
Moshe opened his mouth. Raleigh could just hear the biting retort, but it never came because Raleigh bent, grabbed Moshe, and lifted him over his shoulder. The surprised gasp was pleasing to Raleigh's ear, but he was most likely the only one to hear over the roar of laughing and jeering that had started up.
Ignoring the court of drunks, Raleigh looked down at Frederick. "You shouldn't encourage this childishness from Moshe, cousin. It only ends up worse for him in the long run."
"You bastard," Moshe said against his back, and it sounded so breathless. Raleigh simply patted his ass in reply.
Frederick shook his head, laughing. "Then keep your house in line, Raleigh."
Nodding at that, Raleigh turned and headed for the doorway of the main hall, Moshe attempting to squirm away from him the entire time. He could feel the court's eyes on him, all of the people witnessing who, at the end of the day, held authority at Chaylain. A few called out with humor, bidding Moshe to just give up; he had never been able to escape Raleigh
"Ah," the baron said, "does your husband often return to his homeland?"
Raleigh's lips thinned. "Occasionally." Nothing soured his mood more than talk of Moshe's "home," when his true home was Chaylain.
A cold dose of realization hit Raleigh all at once, however, at the baron's words. Was this some sort of sign? Some cruel way of Moshe telling Raleigh that he was leaving for the south? Raleigh stared at Moshe, trying to discern where his mood was.
He was sitting next to Frederick, smiling. He had purposely chosen not to sit next to Raleigh, an insult that sank deep in Raleigh’s chest.
All thoughts of the south flew away. Raleigh sat up straight, gripping his hand into a fist on the table as he watched Moshe speak so animatedly with Frederick—laying a hand on Frederick's arm.
Exhaling, Raleigh told himself to calm. He had no right to this jealousy …
Moshe laughed at something Frederick said, and then leaned in to whisper a reply into his ear.
Raleigh shot up, his chair clattering back. He heard the baron say "oh my," as he stalked all the way along the table up towards the dais where the head table sat. As he did, Moshe continued to speak with Frederick, not turning his head at all. When Raleigh reached him, he barely even looked up.
Pausing, hesitating, Raleigh stood there. Moshe continued to ignore him.
"Moshe," he said.
Finally glancing at Raleigh with a flat expression, Moshe said, "Yes?"
"May we speak outside?" Raleigh replied, his voice tight.
Moshe smiled. "No," he said. He turned back to Frederick, leaning in close to him. He had the gall to scoot from Raleigh, to slide a hand onto Frederick's shoulder.
Close to shaking, Raleigh dropped a palm on the table to loom over Moshe, and said into his ear, "You are humiliating me, husband. In front of the court."
Moshe glanced at him with narrowed eyes. "Do I care?"
At that, Raleigh snapped. He grabbed Moshe's arm and dragged him up.
In the next instant, Moshe slapped him right across the cheek.
There were some low gasps, and several chuckles, and from behind Moshe, Raleigh could see Frederick considering him with raised eyebrows—then Frederick turned away, lifting his glass to his lips as he said to the man on his other side, "And that is a household with no head." The other man laughed.
Raleigh's gaze moved from them to Moshe's face, and he saw the cruel, mocking smirk there—saw the challenge.
An intense flash of rage shocked him, but then Raleigh's lips spread into a smile of his own. "I've tolerated enough shameless disobedience from you," Raleigh said.
Moshe opened his mouth. Raleigh could just hear the biting retort, but it never came because Raleigh bent, grabbed Moshe, and lifted him over his shoulder. The surprised gasp was pleasing to Raleigh's ear, but he was most likely the only one to hear over the roar of laughing and jeering that had started up.
Ignoring the court of drunks, Raleigh looked down at Frederick. "You shouldn't encourage this childishness from Moshe, cousin. It only ends up worse for him in the long run."
"You bastard," Moshe said against his back, and it sounded so breathless. Raleigh simply patted his ass in reply.
Frederick shook his head, laughing. "Then keep your house in line, Raleigh."
Nodding at that, Raleigh turned and headed for the doorway of the main hall, Moshe attempting to squirm away from him the entire time. He could feel the court's eyes on him, all of the people witnessing who, at the end of the day, held authority at Chaylain. A few called out with humor, bidding Moshe to just give up; he had never been able to escape Raleigh
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