The room in which he found himself struck him with its pretentiousness. Anastas, who had grown up in old ancestral estates, would never have thought that an interior—a combination of fabrics and furniture—could be so provocative and shameless. There was not a single window here; the walls were draped in heavy rose-colored silk. The only source of light was dozens of wax candles placed in massive candelabras. Their uneven, trembling flames cast long, ugly shadows on the ceiling.
In the very center of the hall towered a huge four-poster bed, strewn with satin pillows. Anastas slid a gaze full of disgust over it and remained standing by the door, deliberately choosing not to sit. Who knew what had taken place on that bed.
At the same time, in the room opposite, Eist did not bother with unnecessary ceremonies. As soon as the lock clicked shut, the mercenary, with a sigh of relief, simply flopped onto the exact same kind of bed, throwing his arms out to the sides.
The bed turned out to be unusually soft. In roadside taverns, on straw mattresses or damp earth, where Eist had spent many long years, such luxury was definitely not to be found. The mercenary crossed his legs, looking up at the crimson canopy overhead, and caught himself thinking that he had already forgotten what it was like to sleep on such a bed. However, despite his relaxed posture, his gray eyes remained sober.
A guy entered the room, immediately sliding the bolt shut behind him like he owned the place. Anastas tensed. The youth was dressed in light, translucent fabrics that barely hid his body, and the lower half of his face was hidden by a thin veil.
Everything inside Anastas dropped. The very thought that Thomas had been forced to dress in such a thing...
The guy who entered suddenly let out a quiet, playful laugh. With a smooth, uninhibited gait, he stepped right up, showing not a drop of fear or embarrassment.
"What do you desire, master?" the youth purred.
He boldly placed his palms on Anastas's chest, his fingers sliding slowly and teasingly toward the collar. A blatant invitation and confident coquetry could be read in his gaze. The guy leaned in even closer, shamelessly pressing his hips against him, and deftly hooked the top button of his frock coat, intending to unbutton it.
Anastas instantly intercepted his wrist and yanked off the veil.
The youth let out a displeased yelp at the rough grip, but immediately arched his eyebrows petulantly and seductively licked his lips, clearly deciding that the client simply preferred roughness. Looking up at Anastas was the pretty, slightly flushed face of a fair-haired boy.
It was not Thomas.
Meanwhile, in the neighboring room, Eist lay with his hands behind his head, eyes closed.
At another time and under different circumstances, he wouldn't have minded having a good time here. But the silence was broken by the sound of a key grinding in the keyhole.
There was a rustle beyond the threshold, the thud of the closing door, and the click of the lock.
Eist listened without opening his eyes. The person who had entered did not move from the spot.
He sat up reluctantly. By the door, almost blending with the shadows, a silhouette stood motionless.
Eist squinted. The outfit had clearly been designed by some pervert. Some jewelry glinted in the dim light.
The mercenary got to his feet and took a few steps forward.
"Eist?.."
Eist froze. The guy in the shameful clothes took a step forward. The gold chains on his ankles let out a clink. A sweet smell of opium tincture emanated from Thomas.
"What a stroke of luck," was all Eist could manage to say.
In the flickering candlelight, they looked at each other.
Eist saw Thomas's paled face. The gaze of his amber eyes was clouded, his pupils dilated, but relief could be read in his eyes.