“Orinakin,” Remin said, “come with me.” Taking his hand, Remin walked away, tugging him through a slim pass between two booths to a small nook discreetly tucked away from the crowd. Then, looking directly at him, firmly, Remin said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Sex isn’t enough anymore,” Orinakin said. “I need something deeper.”
“How much I would give to be able to make that statement,” Remin said, shaking his head. “Still, we are not here to discuss my concerns,” he added. “Simply because one man lacks food of any kind, that does not negate the worries of the man who eats only bread. Now.” He crossed his arms over his chest, pinning Orinakin with his sharp gaze. “What brings you to this profound conclusion?”
“It isn’t profound,” Orinakin said. “I lack meaningful companionship. It’s a problem that’s been apparent for some time.”
“Yes, but it didn’t bother you before now,” Remin said. “It was obviously unacceptable, but that seemed to escape your notice. Now your plight has attracted your attention, and so I ask you, why now? What’s changed?”
“Selorin always has a boyfriend, Kudorin draws ever closer to finding his husband, and it occurred to me that I’m alone.”
“Not alone,” Remin said. “But lonely, perhaps, yes. I understand the dilemma. Does it bother you, that Kudorin’s closer to marriage?”
“No,” Orinakin said. “I’m happy for him. I know how much it means to him, to find his husband, and I want him to have the partner that he wants.”
“Then you don’t begrudge Kudorin his happiness.”
“No, never,” Orinakin said, surprised by the question. “You know me better than that.”
“You needn’t act indignant,” Remin said mildly. “I only ask because I know that you’re in love with Bade, and if-”
“What?” Orinakin demanded. “No, no,” he said hurriedly, lowering his voice, “I’m not-”
“-Kudorin married him, obviously you’d be heartbroken, so-”
“-in love with him, I’m not - - we’re friends, of course we’re friends, but-”
“-although I know that you wish Kudorin only the best in life, it stands to reason-”
“-I certainly don’t, I wouldn’t, I brought him here for Kudorin, I want him to marry Kudorin, I’ve done everything to bring them together, I’d never-”
“-that you might secretly, privately wish for them not to unite their lives in such a permanent-”
“-ever be so selfish as to stand in their-”
“-way.”
“-way.”
Remin raised his eyebrows. “Then you deny it.”
“Of course I deny it,” Orinakin whispered, horrified at the thought of being overheard.
Calmly, Remin crooked his finger, motioning Orinakin closer. When Orinakin cautiously obliged, when they were so close that Orinakin could almost feel the sweep of golden lashes against his cheek, Remin quietly, gently said, “I wish that you wouldn’t lie to me, Orinakin.”
Orinakin jerked back, scalded. Confiding the secrets of his heart to the twin who’d shared his life from its earliest moments was one thing. Confessing his treasonous thoughts to the royal high priest was quite another. Besides, if he said anything, Remin would feel compelled, as a brother, to tell Kudorin.
“You don’t trust me,” Remin said. “Or you don’t trust Kudorin.”
As if either answer could be remotely acceptable. “I wouldn’t bring anyone to Kudorin if I felt something for him. It would be a conflict of interest. I wouldn’t put Kudorin, Bade, or myself in that position.”
Remin nodded. “All right. I won’t press further.” He turned aside, then paused, his hand rising to his temple. Turning back, his gaze shuttered, he hesitated, hand dropping. “This is the weakness of my ego speaking, perhaps, but I do wish to know. Is it your brother Anoremin with whom you won’t speak openly, or is it your priest?”
Orinakin ached helplessly. “They can’t be separated, Remin.”
Remin’s lips twisted dryly, vulnerability quickly masked in his eyes. “How silly of me, that I once believed that they could.” Turning away again, he left, slipping out between the booths.
Alone, Orinakin dropped to sit on the grass, lowering his head to his hands.
