Table of Contents

Made to Serve a King

Marie Dees

Thank you for downloading Made to Serve a King. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated. Thank you

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Cover art provided by Skyla Dawn Cameron

For those who feel the magic of the earth in their lives.

Chapter 1

“You? You don’t even have the build to wield a sword.” The squire blocking the way to Lord Theobald’s chambers gave him a disapproving look. “What would my lord want with the likes of you?”

Blythe didn’t answer him. He couldn’t. He didn’t know why Lord Theobald had sent a page to find him. The lord might want to take him on as a squire, but he doubted it. No one ever looked for him. Not now that Kai was dead . Theobald’s squire was right; he didn’t have the build to wield a sword. But he had enough sense to stay quiet when he heard the sound of footfalls on the other side of the door. Heavy footfalls that had to be Lord Theobald. Best not to be seen arguing in front of the lord . The squire didn’t notice until the door started to open. Blythe dared a little smile. He often heard things before others did. Startled, the squire straightened and glared as if Blythe had somehow summoned his lord.

Lord Theobald peered out of the doorway and spotted him. “Ah, Kai’s foster son.” He opened the door wider. The squire fell back with a small bow. Blythe noticed that Lord Theobald ignored him. The lord wore a cloak of green wool over shoulders made broad more by fat than muscle. Blythe shivered in his thin tunic. Even in summer, it was cold inside the walls. “Come with me.” Theobald waved as he turned and headed back to his chambers.

Blythe followed, stepping into a large room with tapestries on the walls and heavy curtains draping the bed. The colors were muted browns and faded reds, as if the furnishings were old and poorly cared for. But the candles smelled of honey when the rest of the fortress smelled of fat and tallow. He took a deep breath. Even though they were in a small fortress meant for defense, Theobald had managed to find luxuries for himself and serving under him would mean regular meals and a place to sleep. But it could also mean closer scrutiny and that could mean his death.

“Stand there.” The command was issued without any explanation, and Blythe stood where Theobald pointed. The lord poured himself a goblet of wine then walked slowly in a circle around him. Blythe stood still, facing forward. He knew better than to move or speak until Theobald did. He was just the foster son of a minor knight who’d died serving those above him without being noticed. “How old are you, Blythe?”

“Nineteen, my lord.” He’d been nineteen for almost three years now. No one had noticed.

“It must be difficult for you, being without a father,” Theobald said. “No one to protect you. To guide you.” Theobald stepped behind him. “To keep you from making mistakes.” He paused then his voice sounded beside Blythe’s ear. “Mistakes with a certain lad in the stables.”

Blythe felt the color rising to his face. He knew what Theobald was referring to. Kai had caught him with a lad once. They’d both been beaten. Severely. He’d been careful after that. But Kai was dead, and he was alone. He’d been serving at table to get scraps to eat, and sleeping on the floor of the great hall. The hall floor was hard, the company loud and smelly. The stable smelled of hay and horses. It was kept cleaner than the hall. Horses were valuable. And Trow was there.

“So, you think to make your bed in here?” Trow towered above Blythe, the lantern he held throwing shadows on the wall. “And with one of my blankets?”

Blythe looked up from the bed he’d made in the straw. He’d watched Trow grooming the horses the last few days. He couldn’t help but notice him. Trow was tall and strong with dark hair that always fell in front of his face. Now Trow was looking down at him, his shirt off, baring his broad chest and shoulders. “I meant no harm.”

“I’ve noticed you. Son of one of the knights. Come down in life, haven’t you?”

Blythe shrugged off the insult. The drop in his status hadn’t been that great . “Foster son. Sir Kai was kind enough, but only as long as I was of use to him.” Kai had kept him isolated and away from the other squires. They’d both known the reason for that.

“Of use?” Trow dropped down to a squat, and the shadows on the walls changed. “I’ve known a knight or two who would keep a pretty lad like you around if he was of use.” Blythe knew he must have looked as confused as he felt because Trow burst out laughing. “Come now, have you not been bent over by some man who wanted to get his staff between your thighs?”

Blythe shook his head. “Sir Kai wasn’t that way. He even beat me when—” He stopped. It was a crime that he shouldn’t admit to.

Trow laughed again. “What? When he found you in the arms of some lad?”

Feeling the color rising in his cheeks, he closed his eyes. He felt the shift of the straw as Trow sat down.

“I’m cold. I might take that blanket from you, unless you’re willing to share.”

Blythe opened his eyes. Trow was only a hand’s breath away, his dark eyes gleaming with laughter and invitation. Slowly, Blythe pulled back the blanket. Trow climbed under and put out the lantern. Blythe heard him set it aside then he felt Trow’s hand on his legs. He gasped as he realized what Trow wanted. It was perversion. Forbidden . A desire he struggled to hide every time he watched Trow’s strong body as he worked with the horses. He didn’t protest as the other loosened his trouser ties and circled his cock with a warm hand.

“Return the favor, lad,” Trow said, taking one of Blythe’s hands and placing it over his crotch.

Trow had already loosened his own trousers. Blythe fumbled a bit working his hands under the material and finding Trow’s cock. When he wrapped his hand around it, it felt large and heavy.

“Like what you’ve got your hands on, lad?”

“Yes,” he muttered, wondering what Trow wanted to do. Bend him over and shove this heavy cock into him? He knew men did this. But it was perversion and meant a beating and possibly death. Wanting to do it was wrong. Kai had beaten that lesson into him, but it hadn’t stopped the desire.

Trow let go of him, stretching upward. There was a click of pottery from above their heads. Trow settled back down. “Lanolin, for the horses. Good for other things too. Give us your hand, lad. I’ll let it go back to finding out how a man is built soon enough.”

Blythe took his hand out from under the blanket and let Trow smooth the stuff into the center of his palm. Trow then pushed their hands together so they shared the oil.

“Better than spit. I take care of everything in the stable as long as it’s useful. Remember that.”

“I can help with the horses,” he offered. Anything to stay here and lie in the hay with Trow at night .

Trow chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but you’re willing and you’ll learn fast enough.” He reached under the blanket and grabbed Blythe’s cock again. “Ever polished a knight’s dagger, lad? Know how to do it? Slow strokes, up and down, like this.”

Blythe wrapped his hand around Trow’s thick cock and mimicked his rhythm, feeling clumsy and inexperienced. Trow didn’t seem to mind. He grew a bit bolder, letting his hand reach down to the wiry hair around Trow’s balls. For a moment he wondered if Trow would notice his hair was finer, his balls smoother. But Trow only thumbed the head of his shaft then drew him down into the straw.

“Turn to me.”

Blythe did, feeling the touch of straw on his face. Trow moved close and pressed his lips to him in a kiss. His tongue touched Blythe’s lips, and Blythe drew back. Trow tasted of ale and something stronger.

“Come on, lad, let us in.” Blythe hesitated, and Trow stopped stroking. Blythe rocked his hips, trying to move in Trow’s hand. “Let me, or I won’t keep doing what you want,” Trow whispered. Blythe moved his head closer. “Good lad.” Trow pressed his lips against Blythe’s, and his hand returned to its stroking. His tongue touched Blythe’s lips and demanded entrance. Blythe opened hesitantly, and Trow thrust his tongue deeply into his mouth with an eagerness that matched the rhythm of his hand.

Blythe kept his hand moving to match Trow’s as the other pulled faster on his cock. He let Trow’s tongue move around his mouth, touching and exploring. They pressed together so tightly he could feel the wiry touch of Trow’s hairy chest against his own smooth skin. Then with a shudder, Trow sent a stream of his seed out onto Blythe’s thighs. Blythe stopped, surprised by the suddenness and the feeling of warmth. Had he done it right?

Trow lifted from the kiss. “Good, lad. You’ve earned a reward. Come for me,” he coaxed, pulling faster on Blythe’s cock before pushing forward again into Blythe’s mouth. Blythe wanted it to last longer. To spend more time exploring each other’s bodies. But that was dangerous and something he couldn’t risk. He let his body answer Trow’s urging and came in a series of shudders. Trow dropped back to the straw with a sigh. “You’re new at this, but you’ll learn. If you’re good at your lessons, you can share the stables with me. Understand?”

“Yes.” He had safe place to stay and a secret love to share. At least, he hoped it was love.

Trow pressed a bit of rag into his hand. “Clean up. I’ll expect you to be out of here by daylight, but I like a little enjoyment in the afternoon. Find me. It’s payment for your bed.” With that he settled into the straw and was snoring before Blythe finished wiping himself off.

“Do you care for the stable boy?” Theobald whispered into his ear. Blythe shook his head. He’d learned quickly that it wasn’t love. Certainly not for Trow . “Answer me. Why do you let him use you?”

“He lets me sleep there.” He’d wanted to be in love with Trow and have Trow love him, but he was nothing more than a passing pleasure. Trow never touched him or kissed him except when they lay together and jerked each other’s cocks. In the afternoons, they didn’t even have that. Trow would simply lead him to an unused stall so Blythe could drop to his knees and suck his cock. Trow always came quickly, spurting in Blythe’s mouth, and then striding out of the stall, leaving Blythe kneeling and shamed.

“He’s beneath you,” Theobald said. “If I see you near him again, I’ll beat you.”

“Yes, my lord.” He kept his tone carefully obedient. Without Kai to protect him, any knight or lord in the castle had the right to beat him. For any reason. No one would question it.

“King Felor would hang you for perversion. Do you understand that?”

He swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. He’d seen what Felor would do to those like him. “Yes, my lord.”

Theobald moved so Blythe could see him. The big man crossed his arms and stood studying him, looking him up and down. Blythe held himself still, refusing to show his nervousness or to check that his hair still fell over his ears. Finally Theobald spoke. “Remove your clothing.”

So, the man did plan to beat him. “All of it?” he asked, resigned. A private beating . He’d heard of lords who took too much satisfaction in privately beating their squires. Satisfaction that was rumored to verge on perversion. But a beating was a minor punishment compared to what could happen.

“All,” Theobald said.

Blythe pulled the tunic over his head, making sure not to show his ears. He looked for somewhere to put it. He didn’t want to just drop it on the floor. That would show carelessness and a man like Felor wouldn’t appreciate carelessness in a servant.

“Fold it and put it on that chair.” Theobald pointed to a carved wooden chair. Blythe folded the tunic, making a mess of it in his nervousness. All Theobald said was, “Now the same with the trousers.”

Blythe dropped to the heavy rugs that covered the floor to untie his worn boots and pull them off. Then he stood to drop his trousers. He stepped out of them and bent to pick them up. He heard a little intake of breath from Lord Theobald and knew the man wanted more than just to punish him for his indecency with Trow. He folded the trousers and placed them on top of the tunic. He still had his undertunic on, but the loss of his tunic just showed how stained and worn it was. He stood, head bent, waiting for Theobald’s next order.

Theobald stepped closer and lifted the hem of the undertunic with one heavily ringed finger. Blythe dropped his gaze to the floor. He needed Theobald to think he was willing and harmless. He needed the man not to look too closely. “Arms up.” Blythe did as he was instructed, and Theobald took the undertunic in both hands and pulled it over his head. Blythe gave his head a quick shake to settle his hair. He stood naked and waiting.

Theobald put a hand on his shoulder moved him to a heavy table that sat against the wall. A jar of oil sat on it. Blythe swallowed. Trow always had oil but certainly Lord Theobald wouldn’t —

“Stand facing the table,” Theobald said.

Blythe did. Theobald took the jar of oil and poured some on his hand. Then he slowly massaged it between Blythe’s buttocks. “You’re already guilty of perversion. It carries a penalty of death, and I can see that penalty carried out, do you understand?”

Blythe nodded, his buttocks tensing under Theobald’s demanding fingers.

“I can have you and the stable lad tortured until your screams betray your guilt. Do you want to stop me from doing that, Blythe?”

He nodded. Theobald could do what he was threatening and more.

“Good. Because I understand perversion, lad. A man has needs. I won’t corrupt an innocent, but you’re an unholy temptation with your fair hair and smooth face. Oh, I know about that too. So you’ll do what I ask of you without question or hesitation. You really have no choice.”

A finger found Blythe’s hole and pushed against it. He gasped, tightening his buttocks and bumping into the table.

“So the stable lad hasn’t introduced you to this pleasure yet?” Theobald said, his voice low and husky. His finger prodded Blythe. “Does this hurt?”

“No, my lord,” Blythe whispered, his mind on something even more dangerous than the prodding finger. Theobald couldn’t know. He’d been careful, kept his hair long and his face smudged with dirt.

“Oh, yes it does,” Theobald said. “I’m going to measure the length of my dagger in you, boy.” Suddenly, he shoved two fingers in, and Blythe cried out. He squirmed, wanting to pull away, but he was trapped by the table. Stay still. Give in. It’s better than what could happen. “My dagger is thicker and longer by far, lad, but you’ll learn to enjoy it.” He pulled his fingers out. “Bend over and grab the other side of the table.”

Blythe hesitated. Perhaps he could bargain. “I can use my mouth. I know how to do that.”

Theobald reached up and stroked his hair. Then his finger flicked along an ear, running up to the gentle point. “My pretty fae lad, what do you think hurts more? My prick up your backside or being hung and fighting for breath until you’re ready to vomit, to beg for death. Only then they cut you down for the burning. Fire purges perversions. Do you want to burn, lad?”

Blythe felt the blood drain from his face. Felor hated the fae. He’d reward Theobald for bringing one to him. The only thing standing between him and death was Theobald’s lust. Give in now , he told himself. Just this once. Then run .

Theobald stroked his ear and shoved two fingers into him again. Blythe squirmed and Theobald chuckled. He moved the fingers apart, stretching Blythe’s hole. “You are tight, aren’t you? I don’t think a man’s enjoyed a fae virgin for over a century. It’ll be a new experience for both of us. One I plan to enjoy.” His voice dropped. “I can you keep you near me and keep you safe. But there is a price. Bend over the table.”

Blythe did, gripping the wood as tightly as the fear gripped him. If Theobald knew he was fae, others could find out. They might not be tempted to take only his body. They burned fae. He'd seen it. Theobald moved his legs apart until he couldn’t easily shift his buttocks. The table was cool against his face. The wood caressed his chest.

“Good, lad. You’re learning.” Blythe felt fine cloth against his bare buttocks. Theobald still had his leggings on. The fabric rustled as Theobald loosened the laces. “A good dagger is a well-oiled dagger, lad. Remember that. It slips in more easily.” Wet slaps told him the man was slopping oil on his own meat. He closed his eyes when hands grabbed his buttocks, lifting and spreading them.

He heard the click of a door opening and a rush of several boots on the stone floor leading from the corridor into the chamber.

“My lord, there are troops gathering. Lord Theobald!” The tone changed from urgent to condemning.

The hands dropped. A heavy thud sounded behind him. Blythe froze. Uncertain what to do and afraid to move. Maybe they’d believe Theobald only planned to beat him. That might save both of them.

“Lord Theobald?” the voice was more questioning than concerned, and he heard the movement of several people in the chamber.

“Who is this?” Someone place a hand on his shoulder and lifted him from the table. “Sir Kai’s foster?”

Theobald lay on the floor. His leggings were around his knees, but his rich tunic still covered most of his nudity. The thick rugs on the floor had made his fall less painful than it was meant to look. The men who’d entered looked back and forth from him to Theobald, unsure of what to do. Then Theobald seemed to rouse slowly as the squire who’d been outside the door bent over him and Sir Caldwell moved to his side. Theobald’s eyes opened and looked around with a bewildered expression. When his gaze rested on Blythe, his eyes opened wide with horror.

“Get him away from me.” Theobald crawled backward across the thick rug, his squire falling back in surprise. “Get him away.”

“My lord, control yourself,” Caldwell snapped.

Theobald reached up to grab at the man’s hand. “Don’t you know what he is? By the gods, he tried to enchant me. He came to me to ask for help since his foster father is now dead. No doubt another lord he enchanted. He means to have us all.”

“My lord,” Caldwell began.

“Look at him,” Theobald pleaded. “Look at his ears.”

Blythe pressed his naked buttocks against the table when the others moved toward him, but it was pointless to resist. They lifted his hair and saw.

“Fae scum,” Caldwell spat and two men reached to grab Blythe’s arms. “Take him and lock him away,” Caldwell ordered. “We’ll execute him when it’s convenient. Lord Theobald,” Caldwell paused. He could easily order Theobald tried and executed for perversion.

“They tempt men,” Theobald sputtered. “I didn’t know what I was doing. Thank the gods you came.”

Caldwell’s frown showed his doubt and Theobald’s squire seemed to be trying to fade into the background. But Blythe knew nothing that happened could save him. Caldwell sighed. “Stephan’s forces will be at the gates by morning. You’ll soon have a chance to prove yourself in battle.”

The men dragged Blythe toward the door, but he saw Theobald struggle to his feet. He faced Blythe. “You’ll think of what nearly happened here when you meet your death. A slow painful death fitting your fae treachery.” He turned and walked to a chair. He stopped, seemingly surprised to see Blythe’s clothes lying on it. “Dress the filth before you drag him off. We don’t want him to use his body to enchant anyone else.” He tossed the clothes at Blythe’s feet.

“Dress.” Caldwell said.

The hands released him, and Blythe bent to pick up his trousers. He fumbled with shaking hands to put them on. He pulled the undertunic over his head and reached for the tunic. It was snatched away.

“Kai’s colors,” Lord Caldwell said. “It’s best that the man is dead, considering. You’ve no need of this. Or the boots. Take him.”

He didn’t protest as hands grabbed him and dragged him into the hallway. He was fae, and in Felor’s court, fae were never innocent.

Chapter 2

In King Stephan’s tent, Garrick stretched out his long legs in a camp chair and accepted a goblet of wine from a squire. The main body of troops was still a day behind them, but they’d pushed the best of the mounted men in hopes of reaching this fortress while Felor was still in it.

“Rumor says they’re still here,” Stephan said.

Garrick nodded, absently, his mind on the upcoming battle. Those in the fortress would expect an attack as soon as morning. He didn’t plan to wait that long.

“The fae,” Stephan continued. “Rumors are that Felor and his father haven’t massacred them all.”

“Ancient history,” Garrick muttered, pulling his thoughts back. He let his gaze fall on the tapestry that always hung in Stephan’s tent, even when that tent was hastily erected after a long ride. The tapestry had been woven centuries ago and showed two fae locked in an embrace. Both fair. Both male. Not that he could tell from their faces. They were beautiful, in an odd angular way, with sharp cheeks and pointed ears. These two pressed closed to one another, each with a hand wrapped around the other’s penis.

Beside him, Stephan absently ran his hand along the thigh of one of his squires. Garrick had lost track of the eager seekers of Stephan’s affections. Not long ago, his bronze muscles and dark hair had tempted the king, and he’d enjoyed his caresses and love-making. Now he kept his hair cropped short to fit under a battle helmet and remembered lonely days when he longed for attention while Stephan plotted his next conquest. Lands and castles, not lads and love, were what truly drove the man. If he found him Felor... Ah, but then Stephan would give him anything he desired. Even himself .

Stephan should have been a minor king of a small run of eastern land. Then Felor decided he wanted more land, and Stephan decided to turn back Felor’s encroachment on the eastern territories. He’d taken Garrick with him, luring him with promises of land his own father couldn’t give him. Garrick had to admit, he’d followed willingly. He was a younger son and not even a legitimate one. His mother had been from more southern lands. She’d died at his birth, leaving him nothing except her coloring.

But by the gods, he was good at war. He won battles. He’d earned his own lands and commanded his own troops. He wasn’t thirty yet, but Stephan’s attention, as always, wandered to younger men, as if he were trying to find in youth the perfection of the fae in the tapestry. “You hope to find the fae?”

Stephan laughed. “Certainly not hiding in one of Felor’s fortresses. Perhaps when we take the Westlands.”

Garrick shrugged away Stephan’s dream. “Why seek to undo what was done a century ago?”

“Because they are what Felor destroys. What he fears.”

Garrick studied the fae in the tapestry. He could understand how men might find their strangeness disconcerting. Still, by all accounts, they’d been outnumbered and little threat. “How can Felor fear them if he’s never seen them?”

“Now you see my point,” Stephan said. “He’s seen them. Somewhere. Something has given him reason to fear them.” He paused and took a sip of his wine. Garrick kept silent, considering the idea. “You think me a foolish man to be distracted by such thoughts, don’t you Garrick? You’re far too practical to dream of the fae.”

“You wish for fae. I wish for—” He considered for a moment. How much to reveal? “Love, perhaps. But neither of us is likely to find our desire in the coming day unless we wish for blood and death.”

Stephan raised his wine glass “Blood and death.” He drank, pulled the squire onto his lap and kissed him.

Garrick rose and left. Stephan needed his pre-battle ritual, and Garrick needed to see to the men. He wanted to attack before first light. He’d pushed the men to travel quickly, and he wasn’t going to lose the advantage. Love, he mused. He had loyalty and strength. Willing partners when he wanted them. Even offers of daughters for a wife from lords eager to find a place nearer Stephan’s throne. But the offers were about money and position. Love was a passing phase.

Blood, battle and to serve his king. That was what he was made for.

Blythe sat on a pile of rotting straw with his back against the cold stone of the prison cell and his manacled hands resting on his knees. He didn’t want to think about what awaited him. He should have run away when Sir Kai died. Or perhaps before that. Kai had been foolish to think he could hide the secret forever.

He’d never seen the fae, and he’d never known his father. When he was a child, no one in his village had remarked on that. Or his pointed ears. Those showed up now and then in village families. For Felor, rumors of the old ways and pointy-eared children in villages along the forest edge had been enough for a death sentence. He’d ordered the entire village put to sword and burned.

Blythe had only scattered memories of that day. He’d been young, perhaps five, and had wandered into the forest to collect wild berries. He remembered seeing smoke and running back to the village, but it had been over by then. He wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered with the memory. Sir Kai had found him hiding at the edge of the village. Kai, who had no children and longed for a son. Kai who had smuggled him away from the village before he’d realized how large a secret he had to conceal.

The door to his cell clanged open and Blythe flinched. They couldn’t have come for him yet. Dawn had to be hours away. Light flickered in the doorway. A torch was thrust through and the jailer entered. The man wedged the torch in a metal bracket on the wall. He wore no tunic but carried a heavy sword, larger than any battle sword Blythe had seen. The man was big enough to hold it easily, though much of his muscle had run to fat. He rested the sword against the wall and undid the laces to his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. His thick cock, purple and swollen, pointed at Blythe. He picked the sword up and pointed it along the same path.

“Lucky lad, you. Before you die, I’m granting you one last choice. You’re going to drop your trousers and let me shove one of these up your butt.” He waved the sword. “You get to choose which one.”

Blythe looked at the sword. Perhaps it would be better than what awaited him.

“Oh, now, don’t be thinkin’ that,” the jailer said. “I know how to use it to cause you pain but leave you alive for the burnin’. Now you agree to be a good lad, and perhaps I can give you something that will help take the sting away, so to speak. It’s not the fine wine you’re used to, but at the end, you won’t care much. Death by fire’s a painful thing. I’ll be buildin’ the pyre. I can build it to burn hot and take you quick or to burn slow and let your screaming fill the courtyard. Do y’understand?”

Blythe nodded, slowly, his gaze moving from the jailer’s face to the sword. The man had let the point settle on the floor. It would be heavy, Blythe thought. The man would be glad for an excuse to put it down. He nodded again.

“Good lad. Now, stand up and show me what you have that tempted a fine lord so much he couldn’t resist you.” His free hand wandered down to stroke his cock. Blythe struggled to his feet and stood with his manacled hands at his side. The jailer waved the sword again. “Come now, lad. I want to see exactly what you showed his lordship. You can start by dropping them trousers.”

Blythe dropped his gaze to the man’s cock and widened his eyes. Look helpless , he told himself. Look frightened. He undid his trousers, fumbling with the ties and never moving his gaze from the hand that stroked the thick purple shaft. He let the trousers drop, knowing his undertunic would fall down concealing what the jailer most wanted to see. He stepped out of the cloth around his ankles. He needed his legs free.

The man tugged at his balls. “Now the rest.”

Blythe looked up from the man’s cock and held up his hands, showing the manacles. “My undertunic won’t go over these. Please, I’ll let you do what Lord Theobald—” he swallowed, “what he wanted to do. Just don’t hurt me.”

The jailer licked his thick lips. “I can’t promise that. A big man like me and a slender lad like you. It’s gonna hurt.”

“Not the sword,” Blythe said, giving the blade a terrified look. “Please, you said I could choose.”

“That I did.” The jailer leaned the sword against the wall. He kicked off the trousers that lay around his ankles and bent down to pulled a ring from them. “If you’re a good lad, I might leave the irons off until I’m done with you.” He stepped forward and unlocked the manacles around Blythe’s wrists. Then he stepped back, more quickly than Blythe expected. “Take the tunic off.”

Blythe gathered the material, bunching it in his hands while he looked down at the man’s cock. The sword still rested against the wall, but the jailer stood between him and it. He pulled the tunic up and over his head. The man would have to come close again to do what he wanted.

The jailer gave a low whistle and ran his gaze over Blythe’s naked body. “Them lords do keep the finest for themselves, don’t they. Tell me, did Lord Theobald slake his lust in you?”

Blythe shook his head. “They found us first, else they might not have let him go. He said I tempted him.”

“You’re certainly tempting me.”

“What...” Blythe let his voice break and gave a visible swallow. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, now, since you’re so obedient and willing, no reason to rush things. After all, it’s the last pleasure you’ll ever know, isn’t it?”

Blythe wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered. “Can I...” He paused. “Please, I’m thirsty. You said you had wine? And,” he let his gaze drop to that thick purple cock again, “Lord Theobald said he needed to oil his before he stuck it in me. You’re bigger than he is.”

The jailer chuckled. “Big enough to scare you, am I? I’ve got ale, lad. No wine for those of us down here. It won’t hurt to loosen you up a little before we get started. I’ve got some grease too. Nothing says a plain man can’t do things the way a noble does. But you’re gonna earn it.” The man turned toward the door. “A little ale, then I’ll give you something else to swallow.”

Blythe shot across the cell and grabbed the big sword with both hands. The jailer turned at the noise, and Blythe swung the sword up, slashing it across his stomach. Blood spurted, splattering Blythe’s naked body. The man fell to his knees, a surprised look spreading across his face then he dropped to the floor of the cell. Blythe brought the heavy sword down on his neck, the weight pulling him down with it. He pulled back, lifting it, and realized what was left of the jailer could never call for help. He stared down at the body. He’d never killed a man before. Kai hadn’t thought he’d had it in him. Well, he’d managed, though his stomach would have rebelled if there’d been enough food in it to matter. Now he had to focus on getting out of the dungeon.

Stepping over the puddling blood, he grabbed his undertunic and trousers. He rested the sword in the corner while he pulled them on. He tied the trousers and picked the sword up again. He’d need both hands to swing it, but if there was anyone else in the guard room, he had to attack before they saw him.

He stopped at the doorway and listened, his ears picking up nothing except the scrabbling of rats. Besides, the jailer would never have tried what he had if there had been someone else around. Blythe slipped out of the cell and down a short hall to the guard room.

The large stone room was empty. A brazier warmed the air and jug of sour smelling ale waited on a bench against the wall. Blythe considered the ale for a moment then grabbed the jug. He found a piece of rag in a corner and wet it with the ale. He cleaned the blood off of himself and the sword as best he could, and tossed the rag on the brazier, causing the flame to flare. In its light, he looked around to see what else might be of use.

He didn’t need manacles or pinchers. A clay jar filled with rank grease lay under the bench. Probably what the man had used jerking himself off to pass the time. Blythe kicked it into a corner and looked down at his bare feet. He wasn’t going back in the cell to get the jailer’s boots. Besides they’d be too large. He’d have to go barefoot and hope no one looked too closely. He noticed the tunic hanging in the shadows. The jailer’s tunic. He pulled it off the peg and then over his head. It was far too large, but boasted Felor’s colors. From a distance, it might fool a casual watcher. He didn’t know what a casual watcher would think of the sword, but he wasn’t willing to leave it behind. He’d need all the help he could find if he wanted to make it out of the fortress before they came looking for him.

The thing was too large to sheath at his waist, so he rested it, unsheathed, over his shoulder, as if he were a page sent to fetch it and carrying it the best he could. Then he lit a torch from the brazier, since a page wouldn’t stumble about in the dark.

He left using the same corridors and stairs they’d brought him down. He stopped to listen at each turn and door, but the lower parts of the fortress were dead quiet. One level up, he hesitated, considering his options. He couldn’t march up to the main hall and out that way. Someone would see him and know him. He couldn’t hide. They’d search the place once they knew he was missing. The stables . No, he couldn’t depend on Trow’s help. He was truly alone.

His gaze rested on the floor of the corridor. Centuries of use had worn away the stone where heavy boots had tread. The trail led off to one side. Centuries of jailers, he thought, men who would have known the quickest route in and out of their domain. He turned and followed the worn path, pausing at every turn.

He still hadn’t met anyone else. Something was wrong. There should at least have been servants around preparing for the morning. His instincts called for him to run, to hide, but he forced himself to keep moving. He soon neared the outer rooms and knew where he was. A few more steps, not many, would bring him to a door that opened to a side yard. He stuck the torch in a nearby bracket and headed towards the door, hoping his luck would hold.

Garrick rode through the open gates of the fortress. He could see his men fighting defenders here and there, but the place had fallen quickly. Too quickly. Normally his blood sang with the excitement of battle, but in the pale morning light, suspicion nagged at him. The men who faced him were poorly armed and lacking in skill. Men, not an army. They weren’t organized. The fortress’s chain of command had broken down, and a fiery glow from the direction of the inner keep made him suspect the worst.

He slashed downward, knocking a sword out of one man’s hands and sending him sprawling into the dirt. The man lay there, looking surprised, as Garrick rode past him, leaving him still alive. If the man had the sense to stay down, he might survive the battle. It was as if someone had armed a bunch of farmers and left them to fight for their lives. Which, gods help them, was probably what had happened.

An arrow glowed high in the dawn sky. Oil soaked rags had been wrapped around it and set alight to create a bright flame. A second followed close behind. He waited for the space of three breaths then five. No more arrows. The first signal meant that his men had found a tunnel. Many of these fortresses had them, and more than once their main quarry had escaped while leaving ground troops to hold off Stephan’s men. Garrick had countered the tactic by sending whatever troops he could spare out to circle the places at a distance. So far the technique had only netted him small game. Felor eluded capture.

The second arrow meant some of the escaping men had fled back into the tunnel. A third or fourth would have signaled the size of the force. This was a small group, nothing to threaten the success of the attack. And probably a sign that he’d lost Felor again. He was growing tired of playing cat and mouse across the countryside.

He worked his horse toward the keep, fighting through steadily declining forces. Those who’d been left to defend the place had been concentrated near the front gates. When he saw the barricade of burning barrels and timber that had been heaped in front of the keep and set on fire, he understood why. The barricade hadn’t been constructed to keep his troops out; it had been built to keep the fortress’s defenders at the front while men escaped through the rear.

He urged his horse through a gap where the fire had died out. The keep looked deserted. No one attacked or even showed themselves. Any servants left behind would be hiding, but he still needed to be on his guard. He rode through the courtyard, his horse snorting uneasily at the smell of smoke. Then he rounded a corner and saw him.

His first impression was of fear-widened eyes framed by fair hair. His second was that nothing was the right size. The slender lad held a two-handed executioner’s sword capable of taking a man’s head off. An unwieldy weapon for combat, but Garrick doubted Felor had been reduced to using terrified lads as executioners. The sword was likely meant to be used by the same man who had originally worn the overly large tunic that flapped around the lad’s slender frame as he turned and ran back through the door. The last thing Garrick saw was the bottom of a bare foot disappearing into shadow.

Garrick didn’t bother with pursuit. The lad hadn’t looked large enough to swing that sword, but he wasn’t about to dismount his horse and run through that door to find out.

Cracking open the door, Blythe was surprised to find that dawn had broken. He smelled smoke and remembered they meant to burn him. They’d soon be on their way to collect him from his cell. He’d have to move quickly to escape before the alarm was raised. He could already hear noise and cries in the distance and worried they’d discovered his disappearance and the dead guard.

Fear cut through his caution. Shoving the door open, he stepped into the early morning light to find a helmeted and mounted man staring at him. He dashed back inside and slammed the door. Then realized that he’d given himself away.

As he ran back down an empty corridor, the memory of the man pricked at him. He’d been dressed for battle and rode with his sword unsheathed. But none of Theobald’s men wore a hawk as their symbol. And none had bronze skin that glowed in the morning sun .

He stopped. He was running through an empty fortress. The sounds outside the walls weren’t men searching for him. They were the sounds of battle. Caldwell had mentioned troops, and he knew King Stephan’s men had been chasing King Felor. Felor had only spent a night in the fortress, leaving behind Caldwell and Theobald to slow Stephan’s advance. They hadn’t been successful. The fortress had fallen. Maybe he still had a chance. He stripped off the guard’s tunic. It wouldn’t help him now. If he could find a place to hide—

He heard pounding footsteps coming his way and slipped into a room that was barely more than a niche in the stone wall. Lord Theobald ran past without seeing him. He was followed by a dozen of his men. None of them looked like they’d been in a recent battle. Waiting until the sound of their passage had faded, Blythe slipped out into the corridor again.

He rounded the next corner and found himself facing a trio of armed men, ones with the same hawk insignia as the man in the courtyard. He dropped the sword and raised his hands. How did King Stephan kill the fae? Maybe they’d just run him through with a sword now instead of burning him later.

“Smart lad,” one of the soldiers said, pointing his sword to the floor. “Lie down.”

Blythe did.

“He’s naught more than a squire,” another said, straddling him and pulling his hands behind him to bind them. “Why isn’t he with the others?”

“He’s armed. Likely they left him behind to guard their passage.”

“With that?” A booted foot kicked at the executioner’s sword. “Bit weighty for a slender lad.”

Blythe saw more boots as others joined them. The boots left, heading in pursuit of Theobald and his men.

Then someone pulled him to his feet and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come along lad. We’ll take you to await King Stephan’s pleasure.”

Chapter 3

Blythe watched the guards slowly pace the length of the room with their hands on their swords. They’d checked to be sure his arms were tied before leaving him to sit on the cold stones, but other than that, these two barely glanced at him. They hadn’t realized he was fae and didn’t look as if they’d be distracted the way the other guard had been.

Besides, this time he wasn’t alone. A handful of Theobald’s men sat, like him, with their arms bound and their backs to the wall. Theobald had been dragged from the room earlier, shouting that he had valuable information for King Stephan.

At first Blythe worried Theobald would tell them about him and someone would come drag him away from the rest. When time passed and nothing happened, he wondered if Theobald had even noticed he was there. If Theobald planned to bargain for his life, would he bargain for his men too? Looking at the grim faces around him, he doubted it. And he doubted it would help him if he did. He let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. The guards continued pacing back and forth, their boots a steady rhythm in the chilly stone room.

Garrick ran a hand through still-damp hair. He’d been seeing to his men and making sure the wounded were being cared for when Stephan had summoned him. He’d only taken the time needed to visit his tent to strip off his chainmail and tunic and wash away the worst of the battle blood. He changed to a clean undertunic but didn’t put another tunic on. His damp hair and the simple, white undertunic would make him look younger than his twenty-eight years. He’d won the fortress, but Felor had already fled. Stephan would not be in his best mood .

Still, he had the situation well under control. His men occupied the keep and had one of Felor’s lords in custody. Most of the drafted fighters had thrown down their weapons and surrendered as soon as they were given an opportunity. He checked the sky. The day was half gone. Eventually he’d need to stop and eat, but Stephan awaited.

Stephan wasn’t alone. Even with the white tunic and damp hair, Garrick knew he didn’t have the youthful appeal of the sandy-haired squire who stood at the map table in Stephan’s tent.

“This one fell too quickly,” Stephan said from where he’d sprawled in a camp chair, looking unhappy.

Once Garrick would have moved toward him, offering his body as a cure for his king’s unhappiness. Once, but not now. And not in front of this pretty, young squire. “The lord who held this one tried to escape before the battle. We have him. He may have information.”

“He says Felor’s on his way to Ogden,” the squire said then paused to drink deeply from a wine goblet.

“Ogden?” Garrick studied the map and shook his head. “Too much undefended land. He has stronger holdings elsewhere.” Why was he explaining this to a squire and what was the lad doing drinking wine instead of serving it?

The squire glared at him. “He wants to keep space between our armies.”

“Who questioned the man?” Garrick tried to remember the lad’s name. Was he still a squire or was this another of Stephan’s battlefield promotions?

“I did. It wasn’t a difficult task,” the lad answered. “He practically begged to confess.”

Garrick looked at the map again. “He lied. I’ll talk to him.”

The lad pulled his shoulders back. “I—”

Stephan raised a hand. “I’ve already ordered the armed men found inside the keep hanged from the outer wall. Come, Derry, you’ve done well.” He held out a hand, and the lad moved to him, stopping just outside the King’s spread legs. “Garrick, sit and have some wine. I’ll not have fighting between my men.”

Garrick poured wine into a goblet, though it wasn’t going to do him much good on an empty stomach, and took a seat on a camp stool. His men had captured the keep, yet the escaping men had been turned over to young Derry for questioning. He told himself that the captured lord probably wouldn’t have provided useful information anyway.

It could have been worse. He could have been ordered to oversee the hangings. Stephan had used the same technique before, hanging a few and allowing the rest to change their loyalties. The land he awarded to his own men. Maybe he meant to give this fortress to young Derry. Garrick considered that possibility and decided the fortress wasn’t worth squabbling over.

“Where would you look for Felor?” Stephan asked.

He didn’t even glance at the map. “Tor.”

Stephan nodded his agreement.

“But the lord—” Derry began.

“Lied,” Stephan said. “Felor doesn’t have a strong enough force at Ogden to hold us off. He’ll hole up in Tor and wait for reinforcements.”

“He offered the information in exchange for his life,” Derry protested.

“He knows I won’t drag prisoners along with me. He hoped to be left idling in the dungeons until Felor could retake the place. Felor would be unlikely to show appreciation if he were betrayed, so the lord lied to you.” Stephan reached out, grabbed Derry’s tunic and pulled the lad into his lap. “And in return, I’ve ordered him hanged.”

Garrick’s gaze lingered on the tapestry with its amorous fae. Derry had to understand what was expected of him. The tapestry was most instructive . “How many were in the keep?”

“A dozen or so,” Derry said, his voice catching as Stephan’s hands sought to conquer new territory.

Garrick didn’t even look at the lad. A dozen or so. He couldn’t even be bothered to properly count. Stephan would notice that. He might not say anything, certainly not at the moment, but he would notice.

Derry spoke again, his voice lifting as he addressed his comment to Stephan. “Sir Garrick’s men reported that they found a guard in the dungeon already dead.”

“One less to hang,” Stephan answered.

Garrick took another sip of wine. Something about the tapestry tugged at his memory. He rose and strode over to study it more closely. One fair-headed fae embraced another, his head tilted up to show desire-widened eyes and the slant of high cheekbones. A face slipped into Garrick’s memory. The lad from this morning. The one who had run back into the keep. He stared at the fae in the tapestry. No, the resemblance was a trick of light and memory, nothing more.

Everyone inside the keep. A guard had been killed by someone inside the keep, and the lad had been carrying an executioner’s sword and wearing a tunic far too large for him. No, not in one of Felor’s keeps. He wouldn’t look for the fae there. But what about in one of Felor’s dungeons ? Garrick turned and bowed to Stephan. “May I go, Sire? There is still much to attend to.” He half expected to be ordered to remain. Stephan sometimes enjoyed an audience. But he was dismissed with a wave.

The sound of boots made the stone ring with a determined beat. Blythe opened his eyes as the door to the room opened and four soldiers entered. They strode to the nearest of Theobald’s men and lifted two from the floor, one soldier at each arm. They led them away, and the two remaining guards continued their steady pacing.

Blythe could see the nervous looks the other men gave each other, but no one cared to look in his direction. He pulled his knees up and let his head fall forward to rest on them. He didn’t look up when he heard the soldiers enter the room again. Or the next time.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Come lad.”

Blythe raised his head. He’d heard the boots, just one pair, stop in front of him. The soldier looking down at him was older, nearing fifty.

“I’m sorry, lad. It’ll go more quickly if you don’t fight it.”

Blythe looked around the room. He was the only one left. They’d only sent one soldier to fetch him. The guards had stopped pacing and stood back, silently watching. He tried to move his legs, but he’d sat too long in one position and they cramped. He looked up at the soldier. “I can’t stand.”

“It’s all right, lad.” The man took one of his arms and a guard walked over to take his other arm. Together they lifted him. “Give him a moment.”

They stood silently until Blythe felt his legs take his weight again. He stiffened his back and took an awkward step forward. The older soldier kept hold of his arm, but let him shuffle through the keep at his own pace. Blythe didn’t ask what was going to happen to him. He knew from the way the soldier looked at him what the answer was. Theobald hadn’t bargained for his men, and Blythe had heard stories of the other fortresses Stephan had captured.

He halted when he reached the keep’s main door. He’d been smelling smoke for some time and now the air reeked of it. They couldn’t mean to burn him .

“We’ve a cart outside,” the soldier said, steering him to through the door. “You won’t need to walk the whole way.”

Blythe blinked as he stepped into the sunlight. Burned timber littered the courtyard and oily smoke hung heavy in the air. Soldiers stood, weapons drawn, as some of the keep’s men worked to clear the area. He looked for any familiar faces, but Stephan’s soldier grabbed him by the waist and lifted him to a waiting cart.

They let him sit on the bare wood as the cart made its way out of the fortress. Blythe thought he saw Trow once, but whoever it was turned away from him. King Stephan didn’t kill all the servants. He might have been safe if he’d been found in the stables. A good stable lad was useful, and he could handle horses. Not that it mattered now. None of the men they passed gave him more than a glance.

The shadow of the gatehouse moved over him, and he saw gray stone walls on either side of the cart. Then they were outside the gates, and the cart turned to follow the great stone walls of the fort. Blythe’s stomach lurched when he saw the body. It was the first of the men the soldiers had dragged from the room.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t look, lad. It’ll be easier for you.”

He dropped his head. His breath came in gasps. Hanging took a long time. He looked down at his own legs and the bare wood of the cart until it creaked to a stop. The soldier lifted him out, as if he didn’t expect Blythe’s legs to work.

He looked up at the wall. It stood the height of five men, and a rope dangled down from the top. A noose had been tied in the rope. His knees went weak, and he would have fallen if not for the man holding him. He heard a strangled gagging sound and looked to that side. Theobald dangled halfway up the wall, his boots kicking futilely against the stone as he slowly strangled to death. The man hadn’t even managed to bargain for his own life.

“Pull him higher.”

At the top of the wall, two men struggled to heft Theobald’s weight farther up the wall. Theobald bucked and kicked with every pull. His eyes were open and his face turning purple, but he still lived.

The soldier checked Blythe’s hands to make sure the knots were tight before moving him to the wall and turning him so his back was against it. “Don’t struggle against the noose. It only makes the dying longer.”

He thought his knees would give way, but there were strong hands to hold him upright. He closed his eyes as the rough rope was lowered over his head and pulled tight against his neck.

“Go gently, lad.”

The rope tightened, and his feet were pulled from the ground.

Chapter 4

Garrick made his way through a collection of hastily erected tents back to his own. It was less grand than Stephan’s, but Oakes had a fire going outside it and his battle clothing was soaking in a large wooden tub. A clean blue tunic hung from a tent rope, waiting for him. He grabbed it. “I need my sword and horse.”

Oakes vanished into tent to get the sword. Garrick had the tunic over his head when Oakes returned. He took the sword from the man’s hand and fastened it around his waist himself. Oakes vanished behind the tent. The man was an ideal manservant, but limited in his ability to do buckles and ties since he’d lost an arm in battle. Still the battle-hardened older warrior spared Garrick the questions and rumors a young squire would have brought.

“Thought y’d be wanting him,” Oakes said, leading the stallion around from behind the tent. He had Djinn saddled. Garrick would have suspected he’d left him saddled from the morning except the battle blood had been washed off and Djinn carefully brushed. With a nod to Oakes, Garrick swung into the saddle and headed for the fortress. He’d be too late to do anything, but he rode Djinn through the camp fast enough to draw looks and the occasional curse.

He could see the men hanging from the walls as soon as he cleared the tents. Urging Djinn into a gallop, he scanned the hanging bodies. He didn’t see the slim, fair-haired lad. Had he escaped after all? Then he spotted him being pulled up the wall. Garrick flicked the reins, and Djinn pounded over the open ground between the fortress walls and the camp. The soldiers-turned-hangmen paused to watch him.

Garrick drew his sword and pointed to the lad. He waved the sword downward and yelled. “Down. That one.” One man shuffled on top of the wall for a moment then moved to the big man beside the lad. “No!” He waved the sword, pointing. “The lad.”

The other man grabbed the first man’s arm and gestured. They both looked at him.

“The lad.” The yell came from the soldier on the ground. “Get the lad down.”

The two men moved to the rope that held the slender, fair form. They tugged at it, working against the lad’s weight to untie it.

Then Garrick was under them. He threw his sword to the ground. “Cut the rope and drop him to me.”

He heard the clang of metal against stone, and the lad came falling toward him. He grabbed him to slow him as he slipped toward the ground. The soldier was there too, his meaty arms wrapping around the falling lad as if his weight were no more than a babe’s.

The soldier held the lad while Garrick worked to loosen the noose around his slender neck. He could hear feet kicking against stone above him. The lad had been the last pulled up the wall. If the other is alive so is he . Then the noose gave, and he heard an inward gasp of breath. The lad shuddered and retched, losing nothing more than a bit of bile into the grass.

“Lift him to me,” Garrick ordered.

“Give him a moment,” the soldier said.

Surprised, Garrick stared down at the man, a battled-hardened soldier who held the lad as carefully as if he’d been his own son. “I don’t plan to harm him.”

The soldier looked at him for a moment and nodded. “Aye. You can see he’s not like the rest of them. Come, lad, up you go.”

Together they managed to get him onto the horse in front of Garrick. By the time they’d settled him, he’d stopped coughing, but his breath still came in ragged gasps. Garrick wrapped an arm around him. “You’re safe now.” Not like the rest of them? He hoped the old soldier was right. Otherwise he’d have difficulty explaining why he’d saved the lad from hanging.

As the soldier moved to fetch the sword he’d tossed to the ground, Garrick pulled the fair hair back on one side. The top of the lad’s ear rose to a gentle point. Nothing like the flaring points of the fae in the tapestry, but definitely not a human shape. From this angle, the slant of a cheekbone and the tilt of an eyebrow were visible. Garrick let out a long breath. If the lad had been human, he didn’t think he’d have been able to order him dragged back up that wall at the end of a rope.

Still, this was the same lad he’d seen run from the keep holding the executioner’s sword. Which likely meant he’d killed the jailer . He didn’t seem to be much of a threat, but that would have been exactly what the jailer thought. The question was—why had he killed the man?

Hands still tied behind him, Blythe fought to pull air into his raw throat. Theobald had threatened this. They’d stop the hanging before he died so they could burn him. He lurched to one side when the horse moved.

“I have you, lad. You’re safe.” The voice belonged to the man whose arm was wrapped around him. He wasn’t safe. He couldn’t be . He was both enemy and fae. Fae were burned, and he’d felt the man’s fingers tracing his ear.

The horse turned away from the wall and headed toward a line of tents at a gentle trot. Men stood around fires, cleaning weapons and cooking. A few looked up with curious glances, but no one moved to follow them. Men always followed to watch a burning . Or at least they did under Felor. Burnings were meant to be instructive. He sagged back against his captor. He was shivering. He couldn’t control it. All the warmth had left his body, and if he hadn’t been held, he’d have fallen from the horse. The restraining arm just wrapped around him more tightly. But not harshly. The man was holding him with one arm and guiding his horse with the other. He hadn’t called for guards or other soldiers to help him.

The smell of roasting meat made his stomach gurgle. He counted back to when he’d last eaten. The morning before, but that had only been a bit of stale bread and old cheese. He hadn’t had roast meat for a month or so. Not that he expected any now. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of what was to come.

The horse stopped, and he felt the man behind him shift position. He opened his eyes. They were in front of a tent that flew a blue banner with a hawk on it. The same design he’d seen the man wearing inside the fortress. He’d only seen the man for a moment, but he could still remember bronze skin and dark eyes widening in surprise. The man had seen him wearing Theobald’s colors. The man thought he was Theobald’s squire and knew he was fae. He’d be tortured before they killed him.

A muscular man with cropped gray hair rose from beside the campfire to come hold the horse’s reins. Blythe stared. The man was missing an arm. “Best get the lad off the horse and in front of the fire. I can see him shiverin’ from here.”

“Swing your leg over and I’ll let you down,” said the deep voice behind him.

Steadying his panic, Blythe swung his leg over the horse and let himself slide to the ground. His legs weren’t ready to support him, and his arms were still bound behind him. He dropped to his knees. The one-armed man lurched toward him, holding out his good arm, but Blythe had nothing to grab it with. He toppled over into the dirt.

“Oakes, hold Djinn steady.”

Blythe struggled to turn to face the voice. He saw the horse’s hooves, then boots.

“What’s a slip of a lad like him done that you need to leave his hands tied?” the one-armed man asked.

“He killed Felor’s jailer with his own executioner’s sword.”

How could they know that? Blythe wondered. Then remembered he’d been carrying the sword.

The man called Oakes chuckled. “Well done, lad.”

Strong hands lifted him to his feet and held him from behind. “I’d prefer not to congratulate him until I hear why he was imprisoned.” The man leaned close. “Care to tell us that, lad? Consider carefully before lying. The truth is easy to come by.”

Blythe swallowed. They would torture him then burn him. Lies or truth. It didn’t matter. “Lord Theobald claimed I tempted him.” His throat felt raw and rough. His voice sounded huskier than it should have.

“Tempted him?” Blythe was swung around and a hand cupped his chin, holding his head up. Deep brown eyes met his. “I bet you did. What was the sentence for this temptation?”

“Death.” The eyes looked like they didn’t believe him. “It is an unnatural act.”

“You took part in this unnatural act with Lord Theobald?”

“No.” He couldn’t look away from those eyes. The man probably knew everything already. Or most of it. Any of Theobald’s men might have told him before he hanged them. He stumbled into his confession. “I was Sir Kai’s squire ‘til he died. Then Trow let me sleep in the stables in exchange for favors. Lord Theobald found out. He said he’d have me killed for unnatural acts with Trow if I didn’t— But, he was discovered before— He told them I tempted him.”

“Garrick, I can see the lad shiverin’ from where I stand. Bring him over to the fire or he’ll catch his death.”

The eyes staring at him softened, and the man’s thumb stroked his chin. “Nay, death hasn’t caught him yet.”

Chapter 5

Garrick turned the lad around and moved him to an upturned bucket near the fire. He sat him on it and sawed at the cords binding his hands. As he worked, Garrick found himself studying the way the lad’s hair fell about his shoulders and the way those slender shoulders shivered with cold and exhaustion.

Part of him questioned the wisdom of releasing the lad’s hands. Certainly after being sentenced to death by Felor’s men, he wouldn’t feel loyalty to his former lords. But after what he’d done to the jailer, Garrick didn’t doubt his resourcefulness. The lad dropped his head, and Garrick could see the red mark left where the hanging rope had rubbed his skin. No, he couldn’t expect trust from him. Not yet .

The cord fell away and the lad’s arms fell to his side. Garrick took one and rubbed the hand to bring the blood to it. “It’ll hurt until the blood flows again.” When he felt the fingers tighten and release, he set the hand in the lad’s lap and took the second. “What’s your name?”

“Blythe.”

“Blythe, I am Sir Garrick.” He moved the second hand to the lad’s lap. “I know you are thinking about trying to escape, but keep in mind that you are in the middle of King Stephan’s camp and right now I am the only thing between you and another noose.” Blythe nodded and a shudder ran through him. “I only meant it as a caution, not a threat. You must stay with me until King Stephan officially pardons you.”

“Pardons?”

Garrick heard the disbelief in Blythe’s voice. That more than anything else convinced him of the truth of the lad’s tale. He’d been condemned because of his pointed ears and because men wanted his body. He’d been given no reason to expect different treatment in Stephan’s camp.

“Stephan’s not a cruel man, lad,” Oakes said as he placed a blanket around his shivering shoulders.

Garrick watched the way his man took care of the lad. Oakes hadn’t questioned his rescue of Blythe. The battle-hardened soldier at the wall had released his prisoner without hesitation. And he had ridden to the lad’s rescue without questioning his own motives. It was said the fae could turn men’s minds.

Oakes headed toward Djinn. “Stephan is with his newly made knight. Let it wait ‘til morn. What the lad needs is a warm bath and some food in him. You could use the same. I’ve heated plenty of water, so you’ll go into the tent and bathe or I’ll pour cold water over you where you sit.”

Garrick chuckled at Blythe’s surprised expression. “He will too. Oakes hasn’t been impressed by knights since one took his arm off in battle.”

Oakes raised what remained of his arm. “Lucky for me he only got my left. Unlucky for him, I killed him with the axe I held in my right hand. Now go clean up, lad.”

Garrick stood. “Best to do what he says.” He wouldn’t mind a delay in turning the lad over to Stephan.

They can turn men’s minds , he reminded himself. Though if he had power, certainly the lad would have used it to stop himself from being hanged.

Blythe stood. He wasn’t going to be burned or tortured. Maybe it was a trick . He wasn’t sure he believed Garrick, but he wanted to. He felt so shaky he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it into the tent until Garrick’s arm went around his waist to steady him. He caught his breath at the touch, his eyes resting on Garrick’s strong jaw and the stubble that darkened it. Even after days without shaving, his own jaw barely showed the touch of fair growth. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Garrick and let that roughness rub against his lips.

“Have you found your legs?” Garrick shifted his arm in a way that pulled Blythe closer to him.

“Yes, Sir Garrick.” He was a knight. Only a knight would have a large tent and a servant to prepare a bath. He didn’t have a squire or page. Just a rough servant with only one arm. Maybe he needed a squire .

Garrick easily supported his weight and half-carried him to the tent. A half barrel sitting in the corner near the entrance served as the bath. A sleeping pallet took up one side of the tent and a couple of camp stools had been placed against another canvas wall. Garrick released his hold, and Blythe struggled to keep his feet.

Garrick steadied him with a hand. “I’ll have you bathe first.”

Blythe shook his head. Squires never bathed first. “I’ll dirty the water.”

“Then Oakes will heat more. Besides, I’ve washed once already. Most of this,” he brushed at his arms, “came from you. Or perhaps I should say from Felor’s jail.”

“I’m sorry.” The man didn’t seem to be angry about it. He wasn’t acting much like Felor’s knights did with a troublesome squire.

Garrick gave him a grin. “You didn’t have much choice in the matter, but Oakes is unlikely to feed either of us until we’re clean. You’re ready to collapse. Do you need help undressing?”

He shook his head and fumbled with the ties to his trousers. Among Theobald’s men, he hadn’t been able to bathe as often as he wished, but dirt had become a sort of protection. No one looked too closely at a dirty, scruffy squire. He let the trousers fall to the floor and tried to pull the undertunic off. The muscles in his shoulders screamed in protest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d strained them during those painful minutes he hung from the wall. He let his arms drop to his side, but Garrick was already there.

“Lift your arms.” He did, and Garrick pulled the undertunic up over his head. “Oakes will be boiling these for some time to get the smell out.” Garrick tossed the clothes toward the door of the tent and picked up a clay ewer of water. “In the bath and I’ll pour this over your hair. It seems to be as much dirt as hair at the moment.”

Blythe stepped into the tub of warm water, his hands cupped around his genitals. Garrick seemed even larger now that he stood naked before him. Not large like the jailer with his beefy fat, but well-muscled and strong. Blythe imagined Garrick ordering him to bend himself over one of the camp stools. His cock bumped against his hand.

The ewer of warm water drenched him. He reached up to push the hair out of his eyes, and Garrick pushed a thick bar of soap and a cloth into his hand. “Scrub well.”

He did, lathering his hands with the soap and rubbing it into his hair. Then scrubbing every bit of skin he could reach with the cloth. He tried not to look at Garrick, who moved around the tub, studying him.

“You scraped your back against the wall. Let me make sure it’s well cleaned.”

Blythe hesitated but handed over the cloth and the soap. He stood still as Garrick moved his hair to carefully wash the raw part of his neck and his shoulders. He could feel the sting where the soap hit raw skin. Garrick went gently, dabbing at some areas as he reached the middle of Blythe’s back. Blythe studied the wall of the tent and the sleeping pallet. Anything to keep his cock from giving away his thoughts.

“A few scrapes and bruises, but you’ve survived well for a lad who’s been hanged.” Garrick reached his waist. Blythe expected him to hand the cloth back. Instead he ran the cloth over Blythe’s buttocks. Blythe tensed and his cock swelled. Garrick moved past his buttocks to his legs.

“Turn around.”

Blythe cupped his genitals to cover himself. Garrick was still studying his legs; if he turned now, the man would see his half-erect cock.

“I just want to make sure you’re unharmed, lad.” Garrick stepped around the tub and in front of him, his gaze still on Blythe’s legs.

Blythe looked down at the short dark hair, hoping the man wouldn’t ask him to move his hands. “I’m not injured.”

Garrick hmm ed as he rose, his gaze moving along Blythe’s body. “You hid a few bruises under that dirt. Not all recent.” He took a few steps toward the door of the tent and returned holding another ewer of water. This time Blythe was ready as he raised the ewer and poured it over him. He let the water rinse off the soap and dirt. “Were you ill-treated? Before Theobald, I mean.”

Blythe wiped the water out of his eyes and regarded Garrick with surprise. “No more than most servants, sir.”

“I thought you were a squire.”

“No one took me on after Sir Kai was killed, except to give me orders to fetch and carry things.” No one had wanted him. Besides, it would have been too dangerous to let them close.

Garrick stepped back and looked him up and down. “You’re a slender lad. What weapons did Kai train you with?”

“I’m fast with a sword,” he lied. “And accurate with a bow.” He would have been, if Kai had given him a chance .

Garrick smiled. “And I suppose Kai taught you to ride at some point?”

“I can handle any horse you put me on.” That wasn’t a lie. Kai trusted him around horses. They kept him away from questioning eyes.

“I’ll remember not to leave one around then.” The words were soft, and Blythe dropped his gaze. He’d forgotten he was Garrick’s prisoner.

Garrick handed Blythe a cloth to dry himself with then tore another cloth into a long strip. Looking at the raw skin on Blythe’s wrists, he felt guilty about what he was going to do, but he would be naked and vulnerable while he bathed. He wasn’t ready to trust Blythe. Mostly because he wouldn’t have sat quietly waiting to hear his own fate if he’d been in the lad’s position. He tested the strength of the cloth by pulling it tight between his hands. Then he realized that Blythe was looking at him, his eyes wide with fear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What—” Blythe swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Blythe moved slowly, turning to face the tent wall and holding his hands behind him. Garrick wound the cloth around the slim wrists then knotted it. He left the binding loose enough that Blythe could move and relax his shoulders. Picking up the blanket Oakes had left folded on the sleeping pallet, he wrapped it around Blythe’s shoulders and guided the lad to the straw-stuffed mattress. He helped him lie down on it. Blythe curled up in the blanket, watching him with worried eyes.

Garrick could feel those eyes on him as he stepped over to the tub and stripped off his undertunic. With a glance at Blythe, he untied his leggings and let them drop to the ground. He picked up a jug of water and poured enough of it over himself to wash off the loose dirt before he gathered up the soap and a cloth. He ran the cloth over his chest and noticed that Blythe’s gaze followed his hand. He was surprised at the sense of satisfaction that brought. He moved more slowly as he scrubbed. How could a fae lad have ended up as a squire among Felor’s men ? “What was the last battle you fought in?”

He watched Blythe’s gaze shift to his face. “Sir Kai wouldn’t let me fight.” The eyes dropped. “He said I wasn’t ready.”

That, Garrick decided, was a lie. Or a partial lie. If this Sir Kai had known Blythe was fae, he wouldn’t have wanted to send him onto the battlefield. He wouldn’t have trusted him to come back if he had. Blythe must have served as something midway between a squire and a prisoner. Garrick scrubbed his arms as he thought. When Kai was killed, the others would have seen Blythe as a half-trained boy with no battle experience. They may even have thought him too gentle for battle.

Blythe’s gaze followed his hand as it moved down to his thigh. Garrick slowed for a moment and carefully rubbed the cloth over his cock. Blythe’s breath caught and his eyes widened. Garrick smiled. Felor’s jailer hadn’t survived lusting after the lad, but he wondered how the stable lad had fared.

Oakes entered the tent carrying a silver platter piled with roast fowl, cheese and bread. Since he didn’t own a silver platter, Garrick decided someone must have raided the fortress. Oakes put the platter on a stool and picked up the last water jug.

“Am I clean enough to deserve dinner?” Garrick asked.

“Almost.” He lifted the jug, steadying it with what was left of his arm, and poured it over Garrick’s shoulders.

There was little warmth left in the water, and Garrick shivered as he reached for a cloth to dry himself off. Oakes handed him his robe and slipped from the tent. Garrick tied the robe and placed the stool and platter beside the bed. Blythe stared silently at the food, like a lad used to watching others eat while he went hungry. Garrick considered the situation. He could untie Blythe and let him eat his fill. That would be the easiest solution, but the easiest solution was not always the most enjoyable.

“Can you sit up?”

Blythe shrugged, barely lifting the blanket he huddled under. Garrick took hold of his slender shoulders and raised him. That was easy enough, but Blythe felt unsteady under his hands. He solved that problem by wrapping one arm around him to hold him upright.

Garrick studied the platter of food. He took a bit of the roast fowl in his fingers and held it up to Blythe. “Open your mouth.”

Blythe did, looking very uncertain as Garrick placed the meat in his mouth. “Now, chew and swallow,” Garrick said. He spread some of the soft cheese on a bit of the bread. He held the piece between his fingers. “Open up again.”

As he stuck the bread and cheese in Blythe’s mouth, the lad closed his lips around his fingers and used his tongue to pull the bread into his mouth. Garrick chuckled. “You seem to be hungry enough.”

“Throat hurts. Bread’s hard to swallow.”

“We need to find a solution to that.” Garrick used two fingers to scoop up some of the cheese. “Try it without the bread. No biting.” He held out his fingers, and Blythe opened his mouth. Garrick put his fingers up to Blythe’s lips. As his tongue licked the cheese, his lips opened a bit wider. Garrick stuck his fingers in, and Blythe closed his mouth, sucking the cheese off them.

Garrick realized he shouldn’t have been surprised when his cock rose to attention. He scooped up another bite of cheese. “If you get your strength back, there’s no telling what we might do.”

Blythe’s eyes widened, but he opened his mouth. Garrick took his time, slowly inserting his fingers in Blythe’s mouth and letting him suck off the cheese. He ran his fingers around Blythe’s lips.

“I think perhaps some wine.” He poured some from the carafe Oakes had left and picked up the goblet. He started to hold it to Blythe’s lips, but when Blythe opened his mouth, he pulled the goblet back. Watching Blythe’s wide green eyes, he took a sip of the wine. He was surprised to recognize the vintage. Felor must have managed to import some Eastern wines. Trust Oakes to get his hands on some. “Tell me, Blythe, have you ever truly tasted a fine Eastland wine?”

Blythe shook his head. Garrick took another sip, letting it rest in his mouth a moment before swallowing. He moved toward Blythe and the tip of his tongue traced Blythe’s lips. He nipped at the bottom lip, and Blythe opened his mouth enough for Garrick’s tongue to enter. He began the kiss and Blythe’s head tilted back, letting him enter more. Garrick took advantage of the offer, exploring the sweet taste of the cheese as it mixed with the wine.

He lowered Blythe to the mattress without losing the touch of his lips. His blood pounded with desire and his cock pressed against Blythe’s thighs. There was only so much the lad could do with his hands tied. Garrick wondered if he’d be willing. The tongue that teased against his certainly suggested he might.

Moving his hand between his and Blythe’s body, Garrick untied his robe and pulled it open. Then he pulled back the blanket from Blythe’s body. He found Blythe’s cock, but it felt half-limp in his hand. He lifted himself off the lad.

Blythe tried to follow. Then he dropped back to the mattress. His green eyes seemed to beg for Garrick’s touch. Not unwilling , Garrick thought. Considering the lad’s day, he might just be unable.

“Perhaps, first we need to feed you and get your strength back.” He lifted him and let him gulp at the wine while his hand found the platter and another slice of fowl. “Do you trust me, Blythe?” There was a nod. “A simple test then. Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

Blythe complied without hesitation. Garrick placed the fowl just inside Blythe’s mouth. “Close and eat your dinner.” He did.

“Keep your eyes closed.” Garrick’s fingers found a bowl of soft berries. He put one of the berries between his lips and leaned forward. He met Blythe’s lips and used his tongue to push the berry between them.

“Did you enjoy that?” Blythe nodded. Garrick repeated the technique with another berry. He’d go slowly, earning Blythe’s trust.

“Sir Garrick?” Oakes voice came from just outside the tent door.

Garrick raised himself enough to answer. “I am somewhat busy.”

“Yes, sir.” He heard Oakes step inside the tent. “King Stephan requests your presence immediately. With the lad.” Oakes dropped his voice. “He’s sent soldiers to make sure you don’t get lost on the way to his tent.”

Garrick sighed. Once Stephan saw Blythe, he’d keep the lad for his own. It was probably best that he’d gone no further than he had. He rose.

Oakes held out his leggings and his tunic. “Put these on. I’ll find something for the lad.”

Garrick reached for the clothes. “Nothing more than a simple undertunic for Blythe. You’ll have to untie him first.” He looked at Blythe. Stephan would never be able to resist him .

Chapter 6

Blythe walked beside Garrick when they left the tent. His hands were free. They hadn’t tied them again after Oakes helped him put on one of Garrick’s white undertunics. Still, he knew he was a prisoner. Garrick kept a hand on his shoulder, and the two soldiers stayed close, one leading and the other following.

He crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to shiver. Although the undertunic was big on him and fluttered low on his thighs, it was too light to provide much warmth. He felt the chill of the evening air and the packed earth under his bare feet and wished he were back in the tent with the warmth of Garrick’s body against his.

Blythe studied the soldier in front of him. He wasn’t like the older man who’d taken him out of the keep to be hanged. This soldier, like the one following them, was young and broad shouldered with a thick wool tunic in King Stephan’s colors of red and gold. Both kept their swords sheathed, and they’d given Sir Garrick a respectful nod before they took their positions. They walked liked they were sure of themselves, but he could sense that something was bothering them. He looked at Garrick. Was the tall knight as much their prisoner as he was? He certainly looked self-assured, with his shoulders held back and his head high. He glanced over and gave Blythe a smile. Blythe smiled back and edged a little closer.

Men moved out of the way as they passed. They stopped to watch but didn’t follow. Their escort paid the watchers no heed as they headed for a large tent bearing the red dragon he recognized as Stephan’s standard. Blythe expected to be led into the tent, but the broad-shouldered soldier in the front turned and followed a path between tents. Blythe felt a slight hesitation in Garrick before he turned. Something was wrong. Garrick’s stride was off, and Blythe could tell the soldier in front had pulled his shoulders back.

Then they were past the tents and in an open area of grass. Blythe realized they were at the back of the camp. Behind these tents, the grass stretched away to a low line of brush and scattered trees. Horses grazed in the open space, but Blythe’s gaze moved to the group of men who stood in a semi-circle on the grass. Men too well attired and standing too stiffly to put him at ease.

He heard an intake of breath from Garrick as they strode toward them. Whatever Garrick had planned or expected had gone wrong. He could sense a shift in attention and followed it to a seated man wearing a deep red tunic. A strand or two of gray showed in the man’s honey-gold hair. King Stephan .

The man’s glare moved from Garrick to him and back. Blythe saw the king’s fists clench. “Garrick, I believe I ordered all of the men found in Felor’s keep to be hanged?”

“Stephan—”

Not Sire or Majesty. Just Stephan . Garrick knew this king well enough to call him by his given name. But the personal attempt didn’t work. The king cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I have been informed that you rode out and had my men release this,” Stephan’s gaze flickered to him, “lad despite my orders.”

“Stephan, I will explain.”

Stephan’s gaze flicked to Blythe again. “I think we can all figure out why you dragged the lad off to your tent.”

A couple of the watching crowd coughed, and Blythe felt Garrick stiffen beside him. He knew what would happen. In a moment, Garrick would accuse him of tempting him. Of making him violate Stephan’s orders. Garrick would save himself. They always did .

He judged the distance to the trees and assessed the watchers. Some of the assembled group were older. He doubted any of them could run as fast as he could. The two guards had stepped back and stood with their hands resting lightly on their swords. They were watching Stephan and Garrick, not him.

Stephan rose from his chair and reached behind it to pull out a sword. It gleamed long and heavy in the evening sun. Blythe heard himself gasp as he recognized it. The sword he’d killed the jailer with.

Stephan strode over to Garrick and thrust the sword into the ground in front of him. “I’ve already ordered the lad’s death. See to it.”

Blythe shifted his weight. No one looked his way. Everyone’s attention was on the two men and the sword. He spun. A couple of leaps took him through the assembled group and the surprised guard. No one moved fast enough to grab him. He dashed toward the trees. Garrick yelled his name, and he heard booted feet pounding behind him. He ran harder.

Focused on Stephan’s anger, Garrick had sensed Blythe’s fear, but he hadn’t expected him to bolt. He reached out to grab him, but he was too slow. Blythe dashed through the startled group of men and ran for the trees. Garrick took off after him.

Fool , he cursed, not sure if he meant himself or Blythe. He knew he could change Stephan’s mind, but Blythe didn’t know that. He didn’t understand that the one thing that had threatened his existence under Felor would protect him under Stephan. Didn’t understand because Garrick hadn’t taken the time to explain it.

He didn’t hear anyone pursuing him or Blythe. The others understood that the issue here was between him and Stephan. Besides, they didn’t need to chase. Stephan had archers. Blythe was fast, but not faster than an arrow. And Stephan didn’t know there was a reason to want Blythe alive. Garrick needed to keep himself between the archers and the retreating form.

He wasn’t going to catch Blythe, but Garrick doubted he’d make it to the safety of the trees. He heard something whir past him and saw Blythe pitch forward onto the grass. An arrow protruded from his left leg. The archer hadn’t been able to get a cleaner shot with Garrick between them.

Blythe lifted to his knees and crawled forward, but Garrick quickly covered the ground between them. The archers couldn’t risk another arrow without hitting him, and he hoped Stephan wasn’t that angry.

He reached Blythe. The arrow had embedded itself in his calf. Blythe’s fingers clawed at the grass as he pulled himself forward.

Garrick dropped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Stop. I’m not going to let them kill you.”

Blythe still struggled to crawl as a sob escape from him. Garrick wrapped his arms around him and lifted him, holding his shuddering body. “This is my fault. I’m sorry.”

He heard Stephan’s measured pace across the ground and knew the shadow that fell across him and Blythe. The sword impaled the ground beside him. “You could have saved yourself some trouble if you hadn’t put yourself between the lad and the archers.”

Garrick looked up. Stephan’s figure blocked the sun, his gold hair gleaming in the light. The others had followed but held back. Even the guards kept their distance. Clutching Blythe to his chest with one arm, he rose enough to grab the middle of Stephan’s tunic and drag him downward. “Look at him,” he hissed.

Soldiers moved forward, but he released his grip on Stephan’s tunic and pulled Blythe’s hair back to reveal one of his ears. Stephan dropped to his knees, his anger melting like snow in summer. He reached forward and traced the point of the ear. Then he turned to the nearest guard. “Get me a battle surgeon! Now!”

The guard took off running. The others took a few steps forward.

“We’ll need something to carry him on,” Garrick said.

“You heard him,” Stephan bellowed. “Find me a litter. Someone bring some strong drink. Have none of you seen an injured man before?”

The group assembled to watch the execution faded away. Stephan pulled off his cloak. “Can you get this under him? I don’t want him on the cold ground.”

“Blythe, we’re going to move you.” Garrick lifted him then gently lowered him to the cloak and wrapped it around him, being careful not to further injure his leg. Blythe groaned and grabbed at him. Garrick took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You might want to tell him you aren’t going to have him executed.”

“What?” Stephan looked at him then down again. “Blythe? Lad, rest easy. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His hand rested on Blythe’s hair as his thumb traced the ear point. “In one of Felor’s keeps?”

“In the dungeon. Sentenced to be executed,” Garrick said, understanding Stephan’s question. “Remember the dead jailer.”

“I hadn’t thought it important.” He met Garrick’s gaze. “I should have. Someone had to have killed him.”

“Blythe did. He was trying to escape when we took the fortress. I caught of glimpse of him carrying that.” He nodded at the executioner’s sword. “But in the midst of the battle, I let him get away. He ran back into the keep, which was why he was there when we took it.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me about him? I’d have ridden to rescue him myself.”

“What?” Garrick let his voice carry a mix of surprise and humor. “And embarrass myself in front of Derry if Blythe turned out to be nothing more than a pretty, blond squire?”

Stephan gave a low chuckle. “You’ve always had a fondness for blonds.”

Garrick let the need to explain further fade away. He’d known from the first that he wanted to be the one to rescue Blythe. That he wanted the lad.

The sound of boots thudding on the grass signaled the battle surgeon. The man headed to Garrick’s side, since he wouldn’t want to push Stephan out of the way. Garrick shifted his position, leaving Blythe to the surgeon.

The man bent close, studying Blythe’s leg. “I want to remove the arrow before we move him.”

Stephan nodded. “Blythe, lad, we’re going to remove the arrow. It will hurt, but I’ll be here.”

Garrick sat back on his haunches as Stephan and the surgeon moved into position. Stephan placed his hands on Blythe’s back and hips to hold him steady while the surgeon worked. Garrick felt his stomach go tight. He wanted to hold Blythe and comfort him. He wanted to feel his warm breath and the tight grasp of his hand. But now Blythe fell under Stephan’s protection.

He heard Blythe cry out as the surgeon pulled the arrow free and dug his fingers into his thighs when he heard Stephan murmur reassurances. By now others were returning with a litter to carry Blythe and a jug of apple brandy. Garrick watched as Stephan carefully moved Blythe, still wrapped in the royal cloak, to the litter and held his head while he drank some of the brandy.

“Take him to my tent,” Stephan ordered. “The surgeon will see that he’s settled safely.” The men lifted the litter and moved toward the tents. Stephan followed them, giving instructions to the surgeon.

Garrick noticed Derry standing forlorn on the grass. The new knight looked from his departing king to Garrick, then shrugged and walked away. Garrick knew who’d told Stephan that he’d rescued Blythe. Poor Derry. He’d had no way of knowing that the lad he was delivering to Stephan’s hands would be more appealing than he was.

Garrick looked back to the men carrying the litter. Blythe was safe. Stephan would take care of him. He’d give him gifts of land and money. He’d take him to his bed if he was willing. Blythe was safe, but he would no longer be part of Garrick’s life.

Chapter 7

Pain jarred his leg with every step the men carrying him took. He opened his eyes and saw a confusion of heads and sky. He tried to turn his head to find Garrick, but a rough step sent black shapes jarring through his vision. He yelped.

“Go softly.” The voice was sharp and commanding. King Stephan’s. He recognized the tone.

“Garrick?” he managed to mutter. Garrick had run after him. Placed himself between him and the archers. Garrick had saved him .

“Don’t worry, lad.” A hand moved over his hair. “He explained why he saved you. You’re safe now.”

He licked his dry lips to force out the rest of the question. Where was Garrick? “Where.”

“We’re taking you to my tent.”

Stephan’s tent, not Garrick’s . He twisted his head, looking around for Garrick’s tall, dark figure even though he knew he wasn’t near. He could sense it. He wanted to call out for him. To rise from the litter and go find him.

“Rest easy, lad.” Stephan’s hand rested heavily on his head and stopped his searching. “You’re safe. I won’t let you be harmed. Do you understand?”

He didn’t believe him. They’d discovered what he was. He’d be hanged again. Or burned. And they wouldn’t let Garrick near to save him. The sky darkened and became a blur of color. They’d carried him into a tent. He heard things moved around then the stretcher he lay on was lowered to some sort of supports.

“I want a cot set up for him. Find one and clean blankets.”

The men who’d been carrying the stretcher stepped back and a large balding man lifted his head and held a goblet to his lips. “Drink this. It will help with the pain.”

Blythe swallowed the apple brandy. It tasted strongly of herbs. The man kept the goblet tilted until he’d finished the last of the drink. It was then that he saw the tapestry. It had been woven in golds, reds and blues that caught even the least of the candle light and made it glint off a scene of pointy-eared fae. He stared at the image, wondering why King Stephan would keep such a thing in his tent. He realized what the fae in the pictures were doing and felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

Perversion . That had been one of King Felor’s accusations against King Stephan. That he was an unnatural man. Blythe remembered lying in bed with Garrick’s warm body stretched over him. He remembered the kisses and the touch. Felor considered that perversion. One the fae had taught to men.

“Rest lad,” a voice said. “I’m going to clean and bind the wound. It will hurt, but not as badly as pulling the arrow out did.”

Blythe felt a blanket laid over his arms and chest. He closed his eyes. The brandy dulled some of the pain. He smelled wine so acidic it must have been halfway to vinegar and felt a damp cloth touch his skin. Then the wound. Pain soared and mixed with the dizzying apple brandy he’d drunk. The tent blurred. The sound of voices and the feeling of pain both grew distant.

Garrick sat in his tent with a jug of wine on the table beside him. An empty jug lay on the floor. Oakes stomped over and picked it up.

“Getting drunk won’t help.”

Garrick looked at him over the wine goblet. “Won’t know ‘til I’ve tried.”

Oakes studied him for a moment, shrugged and left the tent. Garrick took another mouthful of wine. He’d only known the lad a few hours, and he’d known that Stephan would claim him. He felt the loss more strongly than he expected. He didn’t even trust himself to go to Stephan’s tent to check on Blythe. If he did, he’d want to take him back. He gulped another mouthful of the wine.

Oakes stomped in again and sat the raided silver platter with its food offering down beside him. “Eat. Stephan will lose interest of the lad in a few weeks. If you plan to stay besotted that long.”

“Stephan will never give up Blythe. He’s fae.”

Oakes stared at him for a moment. “What makes you say that?”

“He has pointy ears.”

Oakes pressed his lips together in thought then gave a little nod. “Likely he’s a midsummer babe. I knew a lass once. Sweet as summer she was.” He smiled and gazed over Garrick’s head for a moment. “But that was long ago.”

Garrick lowered his goblet. “What’s a midsummer babe?”

Oakes hooked a stool with his foot and took a seat on it. “Eat something and perhaps I’ll tell you.”

Garrick picked up a chicken leg and took a bite. He swallowed, suddenly realizing he was hungry. “Blythe isn’t fae? He has to be because right now being fae is keeping him alive.”

“Oh, the lad’ll have fae blood in him. Ever take part in the midsummer festival? Not in the towns but out in the villages where they celebrate the old ways.”

Garrick nodded, remembering the summer he’d escaped his father’s gaze and ridden most of the day to visit a village rumored to celebrate midsummer the old way. He’d lost his virginity that night. Three times. The first two had been women. Not girls, but grown women who’d spotted him and decided to help introduce him to the ways of the world. The last had been a lad drunk on wine. They’d lain together until the sun came up, and then he’d ridden back home. “Once.”

“I can tell by the smile. Babes born in late winter are midsummer babes, and in the old villages no one questions who the father is.”

He thought about that. He should go back to that village he’d visited one day and see if he spotted a dark lad or lass of the right age. “How does that explain Blythe’s pointy ears?”

“In villages nearest the old forests, the tales say that the fae sneak into the fields during the night and join in the celebration. Sometimes a babe is born with pointy ears. A true mid-summer babe.”

“Blythe,” Garrick said. “And Felor would be as likely to execute a pointy-eared lad as he would a true fae.”

“More so,” Oakes said. “After all, a midsummer babe represents the true corruption of human blood. They’re said to be unnatural creatures.”

“Certainly you don’t believe that?” Garrick asked. Blythe looked natural enough, and he’d taken the time to get a good look at every natural inch of him.

Oakes rose and moved the stool back. “Like I said. I knew a lass once.”

“You didn’t marry her.” At least he didn’t think he had. Oakes seldom spoke of his past, but Garrick would have remembered if he’d mentioned a wife.

Oakes expression clouded. “Meant to. Felor’s father visited her village one day. I wasn’t there. After that, I rode east and took up the sword.”

Garrick stared at Oakes as the realization dawned. “I’m sorry.” Felor’s father had begun the slaughter. Apparently not just of the mythical fae who dwelt in the deep forests, but of those like Blythe, the result of a mating between human and fae. And Oakes had once loved a pointy-eared lass.

“Eat. Tomorrow you’ll visit King Stephan and explain. It’ll do no good for him to think the lad holds the secrets to the fae.”

“He still won’t give the lad up.” He could tell Stephan that Blythe was nothing more than a pointy-eared human lad, but that was temptation enough. Blythe would soon recover enough to realize Stephan had more to offer than he did. Oh, Stephan had granted him lands, but he usually divided the spoils from each conquest with his men. His simple tent had none of the richness and comfort Stephan’s offered.

“Getting drunk isn’t going to help you solve the problem,” Oakes answered and left him staring at the bare walls of his tent.

Those pointed ears came from somewhere. Somewhere a village had celebrated the midsummer festival the old way. Somewhere Oakes had known a midsummer lass. Felor couldn’t have destroyed them all. The man hadn’t even spotted Blythe hiding among his own men.

They twist men’s minds .

He sighed and filled the wine goblet. He’d become as besotted with the fae as Stephan was.

Blythe blinked awake in dim light that slipped in from torches burning near the tent door. He lay on a mattress softer than any he’d ever used, and a finely woven blanket had been placed over him. Furnishing too fine for an army to carry. King Stephan’s men must have raided the keep.

Someone snored, and he turned his head toward the sound. He could make out the shape of a large man stretched out on a bed on the other side of the tent. A bit of light touched his hair. Blond . King Stephan, not Garrick.

He shifted and pain shot up his leg. He closed his eyes and thought of Garrick holding him. The pain seemed to lessen or at least become more bearable. He opened his eyes again. Despite the raided furnishings, the tent wasn’t as richly furnished at Lord Theobald’s chambers, and the sword and shield he could see near the king’s bed looked well used.

He sat up quietly. The king didn’t move. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he stood. The blanket slid from his naked body. He took a step, limping painfully. Careful not to moan with the searing ache in his calf, he took another step, moving toward the entrance of the tent. Behind him, Stephan continued snoring. It wasn’t far, he told himself. He could crawl if he had to.

He stepped out into the night. A fire burned a few steps from the tent and a couple of guards warmed themselves by it. He slipped through the shadows. He knew the way to Garrick’s tent. He could sense him, as if he called out in the night. A few men wandered the camp, but no one seemed to look his way as he made his way through the shadows.

Finally Garrick’s tent loomed in front of him. He slipped past Oakes’ still form and through the entry flap. He stopped, finally letting out his breath with a little moan of pain. The result was immediate. The figure on the bed rose, grabbing a weapon as he threw off his blanket. He faced Blythe, naked sword in hand.

Chapter 8

Blythe stepped forward until the point of the sword touched his chest. Another step and he’d impale himself on it.

The sword lowered. “Blythe?”

He nodded. The movement was a mistake. He’d been so focused on reaching Garrick, he hadn’t paid attention to his body. Now he felt lightheaded, as if he were falling. He heard the sword hit the ground before Garrick’s arm wrapped around him, supporting him. He leaned into Garrick to take the weight off his leg.

“You’re shivering.” Garrick’s voice was deep and welcoming.

“I want to be with you.” Blythe rested his head against the hard muscle of Garrick’s shoulder and pressed into the warmth of his body. Garrick had been sleeping naked, and Blythe longed for the feel him. He reached a hand out and tangled his fingers in the dark curls on Garrick’s chest. He didn’t know if Garrick would accept him or take him back to the king, but he’d never felt so strong a need for another’s body.

“You shouldn’t be walking on that leg.” Garrick didn’t head toward the entrance to the tent. He didn’t suggest that he go back to King Stephan. He just stood there holding him.

“I need you.” He breathed in Garrick’s musky scent. It seemed to ease the pain more than the drugged apple brandy the surgeon had given him. He shifted his stance and his hip found Garrick’s cock. He heard Garrick’s sharp intake of breath, though he was still soft against him. He turned his head, and Garrick’s lips found his.

The kiss was gentle. Just a touching of their lips before Garrick pulled back. Garrick’s hand cupped his chin, and he felt the pressure of a thumb tracing his jawline. “You came to me.” He felt Garrick’s breath against his hair. “I held you prisoner and, gods, I think I would have taken you bound and helpless this afternoon.”

“Take me now,” he whispered.

Garrick kissed him again. He moved slowly, catching his lips while his thumb tugged downward. Blythe opened his mouth and let Garrick enter. He tilted his head back, making himself more available. Trow had taught him how this part went. Now it would be Garrick who would thrust deep with his tongue, making him ready. Then Blythe would drop to his knees to take Garrick’s cock in his mouth. Maybe Garrick would even bend him over and take him that way.

Garrick pulled back and stroked his hair. “You’re injured.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He wanted Garrick to stop talking and go back to kissing him.

“Yes, it does.” Garrick moved one arm under Blythe’s shoulders and caught his thighs with his other arm. He lifted him and carried him across the tent.

Blythe wrapped his arm around Garrick. He’d never had a man carry him like this. The movement made him dizzy. Or maybe that was the pain and the apple brandy. Garrick lowered him carefully onto his cot. It wasn’t as soft as the one in Stephan’s tent, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t want to let go of Garrick’s shoulders. Garrick solved that by lying beside him and pulling the blanket over them both.

“Has no lover ever treated you gently, Blythe?”

“Not like this.” He snuggled closer to Garrick. “There was only Trow, and he mostly wanted us to be quick so we wouldn’t be caught.”

“I must be gentle then.” Garrick’s hand moved along his jawline and down his neck. “A virgin may have never known love, but you have only known it the wrong way.”

Garrick’s thumb touched his nipple, and he shivered. Trow never took time to caress him like this. He’d just groped and tugged at Blythe’s cock until he came. But he hadn’t really expected much more from Blythe. Garrick kissed him, another gentle touch of lips, but this time, his thumb circled and teased the nipple in time to the kiss. Blythe pressed against him, seeking more.

“Gently, Blythe. I promise not to stop, but I’ll go gently. You’re recently wounded.” His hand found Blythe’s hip and settled him back onto the cot.

Blythe reached up and ran his hands over Garrick’s chest, surprised at how wide it was. Muscles built through swordplay and war flexed beneath his fingers. He found Garrick’s nipples, which hardened under his touch. He grabbed one between his thumb and finger and pulled downward. “Kiss me.”

Garrick let out a strangled groan and lowered over him. Blythe opened his mouth at the first touch of those lips and let Garrick’s tongue thrust into him. Garrick’s hand moved from his hips to his crotch. It rested lightly, just beside his shaft. “Is this what you want, Blythe? Do you trust me enough to tell me?”

“I want you. I want to be your squire.” He let the words out in a rush and tensed against the response. Garrick wouldn’t want him. He was untrained. He didn’t even have the build to wield a sword.

Garrick brushed his lips in another kiss. His hand stroked the inside of Blythe’s thigh. “I will have to convince Stephan to agree. I think he rather expected to take you as his own.”

Blythe closed his eyes. He wanted to give into Garrick’s touch. To lose himself in the sensation of those strong, calloused fingers running up his thigh. Most of all, he didn’t want to go back to Stephan’s tent. “I know what he wants. I saw the tapestry. I’d rather...with you.”

“Am I the lesser of two evils?” Garrick whispered.

He shook his head. “You aren’t evil.”

“You’ve had very little chance to judge that, but no, I’m not evil. Blythe, you don’t need to do anything with me that you don’t want to do. And if you don’t want to be with Stephan either, I’ll explain that to him.”

Blythe opened his eyes. Garrick was a dark shadow above him. “I want you. I think I’ll die if you don’t want me.”

“I mustn’t let you die. Shall I prove to you how much I want you?”

“Yes.” he let the answer out in a breath.

Garrick kissed him, thrusting his tongue between his lips. Blythe tilted his head to open wider and let Garrick bury his tongue deep inside. He arched up against his body, feeling his cock rub against the thick curls of Garrick’s pubic hair. He whimpered, the desire so strong that he thought he would burst of it.

Garrick pulled out of his mouth and moved downward, nibbling at his neck as he went. Blythe ran his hands along Garrick’s broad shoulders. He loved the feel of the muscles under his hands. He’d never been able to do this, to explore another man’s body without worry about being discovered. To let another man explore his body without worrying about being found out. But Garrick knew what he was, and King Stephan kept a tapestry depicting perversion in his tent. He’d never even known men made tapestries of such things. He ran his fingers up and into Garrick’s short hair. Garrick should be in a tapestry. No, he didn’t want to share him. Garrick’s tongue touched one of his nipples and his fingers tightened. Garrick reached up to grab at his hands.

He untangled his fingers from the hair. “Sorry.”

Garrick looked up from his position at Blythe’s chest. “Perhaps later I’ll let you do that to guide me where you want me to go. But if you react that way to my licking your nipples, you’ll pull my hair out when I get to your cock.”

Heat surged through Blythe’s body at that thought. “Are you going to—” He broke off in a moan as Garrick nipped at his nipple.

“Yes, I’m going to. And you are just going to lie there and enjoy it. That way we won’t hurt you more. If you don’t lie still, I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“If you want.” He’d been tied up earlier and only able to look at Garrick, not touch. And too frightened to know showing his desire was safe or to realize that Garrick could think of him that way. Until Garrick had made it obvious . He liked the idea of just lying there and letting Garrick kiss and nip at him.

“I’ll remember that.” He moved down more, and Blythe felt Garrick’s chest hair rub against his cock.

He drew in his breath and bunched the blanket in his hands as Garrick kissed the area almost to his navel. “Go faster.” He wanted to feel Garrick’s mouth on him before he burst.

Garrick chuckled. “When you’re my squire, I’ll have to teach you patience.” He shifted downward again.

Squire , Blythe thought, as he felt Garrick’s mouth go around the head of his cock. He felt warm, not just his body or his throbbing cock, but his entire being felt warm knowing that he would be Garrick’s squire.

Garrick’s tongue circled him, and his thoughts lost focus. He wiggled his hips, wanting to push more of himself into Garrick’s mouth. Garrick’s hands pushed down on him. For a moment, he marveled at the feel of them on his naked skin. They were strong and well-calloused from wielding a sword. He wondered how they’d feel stroking his cock then Garrick came down on him. Blythe’s hands clenched at the blankets, and he arched, ignoring the flare of pain in his leg. He arched again with the suck, and Garrick’s hands pressed against his hips, holding him down as he licked and nibbled the length of his cock. Blythe gasped and groaned as he twisted the blanket in his fists.

Garrick chuckled and carefully sucked one ball then other before licking up from base to head. Blythe whimpered. Garrick’s tongue circled the head of his cock again, wetting it. And then he blew air across it. The cold of it made Blythe wiggle under the restraining hands. “A squire learns to keep still unless his knight gives him leave to move.”

“I can’t.”

“Hmm, should I stop?”

Blythe gasped in air and struggled to hold his body as still as he could. “No. Please. I need you.”

“Must I hold you down?”

Blythe made a noise that might have been “yes, sir.” Garrick chuckled and pressed his hips against the mattress with firm hands. He took him in his mouth to wet the full length of him before blowing air gently along the sensitive skin. Only Garrick’s strong hands kept him from lifting from the cot.

“I see I must end tonight’s lesson quickly tonight before you cause yourself more harm.”

“Please, no.” he begged. Garrick couldn’t stop now. Couldn’t leave him teetering on the edge like this .

Garrick’s voice sounded warm, as if he were pleased with himself. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you unfinished. That’s a lesson for negligent squires.”

Squire . He held onto that word as Garrick moved down on him again, taking him fully in and sucking hard. Blythe shuddered. The leg, where the wound was, grew warm and the air around him felt strange. He came in Garrick’s mouth, and for a moment, the air around the two of them seemed to shimmer. He arched, trying to lift from the bed, then dropped back down, crying out with the release.

“I’ve hurt you.” Garrick’s voice sounded near his chest.

“No, that was—” He hesitated. Maybe that was always supposed to happen . He didn’t want to sound ignorant. “My leg, a bit.”

Garrick moved closer. Blythe felt his touch against the bare skin of his leg before his fingers moved over the bandage. “I don’t feel fresh blood so I don’t think we’ve reopened the wound.”

“No, I just put too much pressure on it when I lifted.”

“And I thought you’d lie there quietly while I sucked your cock.” He sounded amused, which reassured Blythe. Then he heard a clink. “At least Oakes didn’t take away the last of the wine. Here, I’ll lift you up, and you can drink some of this.” Garrick wrapped an arm around his shoulders and lifted his head. He held a goblet to his lips. Blythe had to gulp the wine to keep up with the flow as Garrick tilted the goblet. Then Garrick lay him back down on the mattress. He heard Garrick swallow what was left of the wine.

“Not that you don’t taste wonderful,” Garrick breathed in his ear as he sat the bottle down. “But tonight, we both need to sleep. Tomorrow I have to deal with Stephan.”

Garrick woke to find he’d wrapped himself around Blythe’s warm body during the night. Moving slowly and taking care not to put pressure on Blythe’s injured leg, he pushed to his elbow and looked down at him.

Blythe’s eyes were closed in sleep and his breathing even. Garrick edged his hair up and traced a finger along a pointed ear. Fae or midsummer lad, neither mattered to him, but there was still Stephan to confront. He heard Oakes enter the tent. Some food to break their fast first, he decided, turning.

Stephan stood there, dressed in the royal red, his lips pressed together in an angry line. No food then , Garrick thought and rose, naked, to put himself between Stephan and Blythe.

Stephan’s fist slammed into him and sent him sprawling to the floor. He held up a hand. “I can explain.”

“Get up.” Stephan’s voice was as tight as his clenched fist.

Garrick pushed to his feet. This wasn’t going to be fun, but perhaps once Stephan worked his anger out, he’d be willing to listen. He saw Stephan’s arm draw back and tightened the muscles in his abdomen.

He didn’t see Blythe move. All he knew was that one moment, Stephan’s fist was heading toward him and the next Blythe was between them. Stephan didn’t have time to stop. The punch landed, and Blythe slammed into him, sending him staggering back. He wrapped his arms around Blythe’s slender body and listened to his strangled breath.

Stephan’s anger turned to shock. He grabbed Blythe’s shoulder as the lad bent double. “Gods, lad. Are you hurt?”

“Of course he’s hurt,” Garrick snapped. “Help me get him on the cot. Blythe, don’t try to speak. Just breathe.”

“Are you alive, lad?” Stephan scooped up Blythe’s feet, and they shifted him to the bed. “I didn’t even see him move.”

“I thought he was still asleep,” Garrick said. Blythe’s eyes were closed and his lips drawn tight with pain. He curled his lean, naked body and after a moment, coughed, drew in a breath and shuddered. Garrick knew how much strength Stephan could put behind a punch, and that one had been meant for him, not a slender lad. He brushed Blythe’s hair with his fingers. “Whatever possessed you to get between us?”

“My ... fault...”

So that was it. He picked up a blanket and draped it over Blythe. “No. I did nothing I did not wish to do. Now, lie there and be quiet while I explain to Stephan.”

“Explain?” the word exploded behind him. “I wake up to find the fae lad gone from my tent and in yours. How will you explain that?”

Garrick saw Blythe’s mouth move and pressed a finger against it. Blythe’s eyes pleaded with him, and he gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He turned to meet Stephan’s angry gaze, keeping himself between Blythe and the man. He didn’t bother to reach for a robe or blanket to cover himself. Not that Stephan looked as if he was going to be distracted by his naked body . Still if Stephan was going to be angry, it was going to be at him, not the lad. “Blythe showed up in my tent last night, naked, shivering and dazed from the drugs the surgeon gave him. Who set the guards?”

As he hoped, the question distracted Stephan. “No one expected him to wander off in the night. I could hardly tie him to the bed.”

Blythe made a noise that sounded like a cough, and Garrick forced himself not to smile. “He woke frightened and made his way to my tent.”

“Frightened?” Stephan’s fists went to his hips, and he lifted his shoulders. “I assured him was safe.” He softened his stance a bit. “Does the lad not know who I am?”

“Stephan, you sentenced him to be executed—twice. Your archers shot him with an arrow. And a moment ago you punched him hard enough to break ribs. Knowing who you are might not be entirely reassuring.”

“That last was meant for you. The others were before I knew what he is.”

Garrick seized the opening. “Before we knew what we think he might be.”

“Might be? I’ve seen the ears.” Stephan stepped to one side so he could see Blythe more clearly. “Tell me now, lad, are you one of the fae?”

Blythe’s gaze flicked to Garrick then back to Stephan. “I don’t know.”

Garrick let out a quiet sigh of relief. Things would have been more difficult with Stephan if Blythe had answered yes. But the answer he gave left possibilities open.

“Don’t know?” Stephan reached out and grabbed a stool. He dragged it close to the bed and sat. “Now, there’s no need to be frightened, lad. I mean you no harm if you’re fae.” He smiled. “Or even if you’re not. Though the ears might take some explaining. Now, tell me, how did you come to be taken by Felor’s men?”

Blythe closed his eyes. “When I was a child, Sir Kai found me after they burned the village. Felor’s men search the villages for any sign of fae blood and then burn it out.”

Garrick moved closer. Why had he been so quick to just accept the information about Sir Kai without wondering how a knight in Felor’s court had come to have a fae lad in his possession? Blythe hadn’t spoken about Kai in a tone that suggested the man had been his father.

“They burn the houses?” Stephan asked, a deeper question hidden behind his words.

“And the people,” Blythe said. “You have to burn fae to kill them and one drop of fae blood can corrupt an entire village. That’s what Felor says. They search the villages for signs and then burn them. All of them. I was in the forest. Kai found me and took me with him. I had to keep my ears hidden.”

By the gods, what had the lad been through ? He’d been a child. He’d had a family. A family that Felor’s men destroyed.

“So, you weren’t the only one with pointed ears?” Stephan asked, quickly grasping something that Garrick had missed.

Blythe gave a shake of his head. “There was an older boy and his father. Maybe others. I don’t remember. No one talked about the ears and women have long hair so I wouldn’t have seen them.”

Women, like Oakes’ fair lass, Garrick thought. How many of his own people had Felor destroyed out of fear? Maybe Stephan was right. The fae and why Felor feared them was important.

“How did you escape burning?” Stephan asked.

“I was in the woods, picking berries.” Blythe’s voice broke a little on the words.

Garrick wanted to drop to the bed and wrap him in his arms. Blythe still looked pale from Stephan’s punch and this questioning was equally painful. “Stephan, can’t this wait?”

Stephan silenced him with a look. “What happened to this Sir Kai who rescued you?”

“Killed in battle.” Blythe gave a half shrug. “He wasn’t that good at fighting. If I’d tried to escape, they would have caught me and noticed what I am. Lord Theobald found out anyway.”

“We hung Theobald yesterday,” Garrick explained before Stephan could ask his question. “He tried to force himself on Blythe. As did the jailer.”

“Fae tempt men,” Blythe said. “But I don’t know how I do it.”

Stephan broke into a laugh. “Shades help us all if you ever do figure out how. You’ve already seduced my best knight.”

“He came to ask if he could be my squire.” Garrick refrained from mentioning the activity they’d been engaged in at the time. “Keeping him here was my own doing.” He could have taken him back to Stephan’s tent. Now he knew he had no intention of letting Stephan walk out with Blythe.

Stephan looked from him to the quiet form in his bed. Hitting Blythe had calmed him faster than anything else could have. He rubbed his unshaven chin. “The lad seems to have made his choice. I assume I either accept it or keep him tied to my bed.” He rose. “Garrick, you owe me a fae. From what the lad says, they must still be around somewhere. Find me one.” With that, he stalked out of the tent.

Chapter 9

“That went better than I expected,” Garrick said as Stephan’s footfalls faded.

“How are you going to find him a fae?” Blythe asked, wondering if Garrick would have to give him to Stephan if he didn’t.

“I found you.”

Blythe moved carefully as he stretched out on the cot. The king’s punch had hurt, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been hit. And the king had stopped immediately. He was sore, but not battered. “I’m not a fae. Not completely.” That had never mattered before, but he knew his mother hadn’t had pointed ears. Or his grandmother. “What does King Stephan think the fae can do? He’s already winning against King Felor.” Felor’s men still dangled from the wall to offer proof.

“He isn’t worried about what fae can do. He’s simply captivated by their beauty.”

Surprised, Blythe thought about that. No one had ever suggested he was beautiful. They just yelled about perversion. “Because of the tapestry.” King Stephan displayed it in his tent where anyone could see it. The king had ordered him executed until he’d seen his pointed ears then he’d had him taken to his own tent. Did the king really think he looked like the creatures in the tapestry? Did he look like them ? He’d never seen anyone who was fae, and Felor didn’t allow images to be displayed. “Do we have to find a male fae who wants to be with Stephan? Or he’ll...” He hesitated to say what was really worrying him. “He’ll want me back, won’t he?”

“A pretty male fae would be helpful.” Garrick sat on the bed and stroked Blythe’s hair. “Stephan thinks every young man he’s interested in returns his interest. A fair number of them do, but I’m pleased you prefer me.”

“If you can’t find him what he wants, he’ll be angry with you.” He knew what that anger felt like. He didn’t want the king punishing Garrick because of him.

“He’s been angry with me before.” With that, Garrick rose from the bed and pulled on his robe. He strode to the front of the tent. Pulling open the flap, he called for Oakes. Blythe gathered the blanket around himself. He didn’t mind being naked in front of Garrick, but he didn’t want to be naked in front of Oakes.

“Do you need breakfast or bandages?” Oakes asked as he entered the tent with a clay jug under his half-arm and a couple of tankards in his hand. He nodded at Blythe and didn’t seem surprised to see him there.

Garrick took the mugs and jug from him. “This for now. I’ll check Blythe’s wound before I let him up and about. He seems to be recovering from Stephan’s blow.” As he spoke, he poured ale into the mugs and passed one to Blythe.

“Stephan hit the lad?” Oakes sounded disapproving. That surprised Blythe. Why would Oakes care if the king hit him ?

“Only because he stepped in between the two of us.” Garrick took a seat on the stool Stephan had used.

Oakes looked at Blythe. “Next time, lad, let the two of them battle it out. They’ve done it before.” Blythe nodded, wide-eyed at the thought of the two men grappling with one another. He should have realized...Garrick called the king by his given name, even when the king was angry with him. None of Felor’s knights would address him so familiarly. Garrick had stood completely naked and faced Stephan down. And Stephan had let him. Had the two men been lovers ? That would explain some things.

“Before you leave,” Garrick began as Oakes turned toward the tent entrance. Oakes turned back. Garrick took a long gulp of his ale and stretched his legs out in the front of him. Oakes waited. “Stephan expects me to find him a fae. I don’t know where to start.”

“Hmm.”

“Unless you have a suggestion.”

Oakes walked over to Blythe and looked down at him. Blythe resisted the urge to squirm under the blanket. Oakes pulled back his hair and studied his ears. “Born in late winter, were you lad?”

Blythe nodded. He remembered his mother and grandmother remarking on that one winter when he was four or five. Winter had been cold that year and food scarce until his mother had found a deer, slain and dressed, outside the front door. Venison had kept them alive and later his mother had taken him into the forest to leave a new-baked loaf of bread on a wide, flat stone in a clearing. After that he’d noticed they ate venison more often than others did. Then he’d be sent to the clearing with milk or a fresh baked loaf to leave on the stone.

“Perhaps what you need to consider,” Oakes’ voice brought him to the present, “is that the fae might be able to find the lad.”

Blythe sat up, the blanket falling to his waist. “Then why haven’t they? Why didn’t they stop the village from being burned and everyone being killed?” Why hadn’t they rescued him ? He didn’t voice the last thought.

“Perhaps they couldn’t stop the burning. And perhaps you haven’t been where they could find you,” Oakes said.

“They couldn’t look for him in Felor’s fortresses,” Garrick agreed. “But even if we take him elsewhere, how do we know that the fae will look for him? And how do we know where to take him?”

“We head for the forests,” Oakes said. “If I’m right, I suspect that the two of you will find a way to attract their attention.”

His tone made Blythe suspicious. He drew the blanket back up. “How?”

Oakes smiled. “Lad, I felt your joy last night.”

Garrick straightened. “Felt what?”

“A strong surge of passion passed through me last night when you led him to ecstasy,” Oakes said. “Those close to the tent noticed, though they wouldn’t have known what it was.”

Blythe saw Garrick look at him with a question in his eyes. “No one ever said anything before,” he said.

“Has anyone made you feel like Garrick did?” Oakes asked.

He thought about Trow and shook his head. “Not like Garrick.”

“So we take you someplace where the fae might be hiding and let Garrick do that to you again.”

Blythe looked at Garrick. He was smiling through the dark stubble of a new beard on his strong jaw. Blythe felt the heat rush to his face when he remembered the feel of those lips on his cock. He shifted as he started to harden. Then realized what Oakes had suggested. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“Wait that long for what?” Garrick asked.

Blythe wanted to rub his fingers along that darkly stubbled jawline. “To...again,” he managed to mutter.

Garrick chuckled. “Oh, I see. I don’t think Oakes is suggesting that.”

“It might be best.”

Blythe watched Garrick turn to Oakes in surprise. “You can’t mean—”

“The more restraint you show now, the stronger the lad’s reaction will be. Actually, what might be best...” Oakes hesitated. “Perhaps if I can explain to you outside.”

“Explain to me,” Blythe demanded. “I’m the one you need to find the fae.”

Garrick rose. “Oakes, wait for me outside.” His voice was tight. The man left and a step brought Garrick beside Blythe. “You wish to be my squire?”

Blythe nodded. He couldn’t have messed up so quickly. Would Garrick send him back to Stephan ?

“My squire does not use that tone with my man servant. If you weren’t injured, I’d beat you for insolence.”

Blythe dropped his gaze. He heard Garrick sigh. “I suspect you’ve had enough beatings. Perhaps.” Blythe kept his gaze down while listening to Garrick toss clothing around the tent. “Ah, this will do.”

“What—” He stopped at Garrick’s frown.

“Lie down.”

He did. He wasn’t being sent back to Stephan, and he could endure any other punishment Garrick had in mind.

Garrick dropped to the bed. “First I’m going to check your leg and rebandage that wound.”

Blythe stared up at the tent as Garrick pulled back the sheet and gently unwound the bandage on his leg. He didn’t care what Oakes said. He wasn’t going to be able to wait until they found the fae. Maybe he could convince Garrick that he needed to practice so he’d be better at it.

Garrick’s hand stopped unwinding the bandage. Blythe shifted his gaze to look at him. Garrick’s brow was wrinkled, and he was staring down at Blythe’s leg. “That can’t be.”

“What’s wrong?” Blythe pushed to his elbows. His leg looked fine, except for a half-healed scar and streaks of dried blood on the calf.

Garrick touched the scar with a finger. “How does this feel?”

“Tickles. A little sore.”

“Hmm.” Garrick bundled up the used bandages and tossed them into a corner of the tent. “Do you always heal this quickly?”

Blythe shook his head. “Kai always said I healed faster than most, but not like this. I think it happened when we....well, you know.”

Garrick raised an eyebrow. “I wonder what other powers you’re hiding. No, don’t protest. I doubt you know what they are, but perhaps I won’t mention this to Stephan yet. I want him to continue feeling a little guilty. Though I don’t think we need to rebandage it.” He rose. “But we still have to deal with the matter of your insolence. Turn and put your hands behind your back.”

Blythe shifted so he was lying with his hands behind him. He felt Garrick’s strong, calloused hands take his and wrap a strip of cloth around the wrists. He left some give to the knots, and Blythe knew he could work his way out if he needed to. He felt himself going hard with memory of that first day when he’d lain, with his hands tied, under Garrick’s strong body. He wouldn’t mind that. Lying there and letting Garrick do whatever he wanted.

Garrick helped him turn back. His gaze moved down to where Blythe’s cock was making a tent of the blanket. “Yes, this will be much more effective than beating you. I will not touch you and you will not touch yourself until I decide you’ve earned it. And when I return, Oakes will decide what chores you can do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suspect you can work your way out of those bonds. As your knight, I order you not to.”

Blythe nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He heard Garrick chuckle on his way out of the tent. He lay back and looked up at the ceiling. His cock was so hard, he could feel every thread in the weave of the blanket against his skin. Garrick couldn’t really make him wait until they found the fae. He’d burst if he did that .

Chapter 10

Garrick found Oakes waiting outside the tent with a mug of ale in his hand. The man raised it in greeting. “I take it you didn’t beat the lad.”

Garrick groaned. “If I’d tried, I’d have gone so stiff you could lay me on my back and use me as a tent pole.”

“The lad mightn’t have minded that,” Oakes said. “Make a beating worthwhile.”

Garrick crossed his arms. He’d rescued Blythe from execution and all but stolen him from his king’s bed. Not his usual behavior. That nagged at him, and he could trust Oakes to speak his mind. “Do you think Blythe has used some sort of fae power to enchant me?”

Oakes studied him for the length of time he needed to take a long drink of ale. “I think he uses the same power any handsome young lad might have over you. Perhaps you’ve waited so long that that you feel it’s an enchantment. The lad is human. Well, partly.”

Partly. Except for the pointy ears, healed wound and ability to stir up passion in those around him. “Explain how he walked unnoticed through the camp last night.”

“You think he went unnoticed? The lad was unarmed, naked and determined to get into your tent. Should we have stopped him?”

“So he was seen.”

“Seen and noted. Had you called for help, the guards would have responded.” Oakes shrugged. “It has been sometime since you’ve enjoyed yourself, but no one expected you to need help to manage it.”

Garrick tried to decide whether or not he should take offense. Blythe had found his way, and no one in the camp would have harmed the lad knowing he fell under his or Stephan’s protection. “I take it Stephan was also noticed coming into my tent.”

“A man can hardly stop the king from going where he wishes. Both you and the lad made a choice last night. You both survived. You’re learning joy again, Garrick. But if we’re going to rush off on a foolish quest to find the king another pretty fae lad—” Oakes left off with a knowing nod toward the tent.

Foolish quest . Well, Stephan had ordered it. A day ago he would have dismissed all this as a foolish fancy, but a day ago, he hadn’t seen Blythe. If Stephan wanted to send him off on a foolish quest, he would go. It wasn’t like he’d had much success in finding Felor. Then he caught the meaning in the man’s tone. “Oakes, you’re not suggesting I don’t touch him until we find something no one has seen in over a century? Because I’m not sure I can do that. Not if I have to keep him near me.”

Oakes took another drink of ale and stared thoughtfully at the entrance to the tent. “What exactly did you do with him last night?”

Garrick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s your business.”

His tone could quell men. Oakes only quirked a smile. “Do you want to find the fae? Look, if you haven’t sheathed your dagger in him yet, leave him untouched that way until we reach the forests. Take him then.”

Garrick’s cock started to thicken at the thought. Still, it left possibilities open . He nodded. “I’d have left that until he recovered from his injury in any case. Though,” he paused, “the wound seems nearly healed already.”

“Fae heal quickly from wounds that would be fatal to a man.” Oakes glanced back at the tent and lowered his voice. “That’s why Felor burns them. It’s hard to come back from ash.”

“How do you know this?”

“There are tales. Perhaps we heard them more in the west. One tells of a hunting party that came across a group of fae feasting in the woods. Lacking other sport, the men slaughtered the fae then sat down to finish their feast. When the sun set and the moon rose, so did the slaughtered fae. They killed all in the hunting party.”

“Then who related the tale?” Garrick asked in a teasing tone.

Oakes shrugged. “There are half-truths to every tale. We may find the lad is more resilient than expected.”

“That’s for the best. I want to leave soon.” Blythe’s fast healing would make that easier. Keeping the lad around Stephan wasn’t going to make things any easier. “We’ll head to the forests, as you suggested.”

“Eager to find Stephan another fae, are you?” Now Oakes had the teasing tone.

“Perhaps more anxious to get Blythe away from camp. I don’t want him close to Stephan until we find something else to interest him, be that a fae or another midsummer lad.”

“We’ll scour the countryside for pointy ears if we have to,” Oakes said. “How many men for the journey?”

“Just the three of us. Too many and we may cause the fae to retreat.”

Oakes nodded, and Garrick felt he’d made the correct decision. War he knew about, but he’d never hunted the fae before. Now he had to tell Stephan of his plans to leave and take Blythe with him, and hope he agreed.

He spotted Stephan inside the walls of the conquered fort and stood watching him move among the men, head bare and golden hair shining in the sun. Stephan strode the courtyard confidently as he gave orders. The men followed him. Not just his orders. They followed the man with their eyes and their hearts. Stephan would leave a force behind to hold the fortress, and he’d leave wounded men who needed time to heal. Or to die. The local farmers would be sent back to their farms. The country needed food no matter who ruled. Some of their sons would be offered a place in Stephan’s army. Hostages for their fathers’ loyalty. Or they’d start out that way. Stephan was good at dividing spoils and winning loyalty.

Garrick realized he was looking at Stephan for the first time without longing and regret. Maybe Oakes was right. He’d held on to his memories of their relationship for too long, and Blythe’s only enchantment was to make those lose their hold on him. Now he had to convince Stephan to let go of both him and Blythe. Well, finding the fae had been Stephan’s suggestion.

As he strode across the ground toward Stephan, he noticed the way the men paused to watch him pass. Word about the discord between him and the king must have run through the camp. He’d need to make sure that he put those rumors to rest before he rode out or life would be difficult for the men he left behind. There was always someone waiting for a favorite to fall out of favor.

Stephan turned in his direction. “The lad is well?”

“Sore but healing. Can we speak about the errand you proposed?”

A smile spread across Stephan’s face. “You’ll do what I asked?”

Garrick nodded as Stephan draped an arm over his shoulder. “We think we can find them,” he said quietly. “I want to take him to the forest. Maybe to the village where he was born.” Or as close as he could find, but Stephan wasn’t a man for minor details. “The fae there may be familiar to him.”

Stephan didn’t object. Instead he nodded in agreement. “When will you leave? He’ll need a few days to recover from his wound.”

“We’ll ride slowly,” Garrick said. “I want to leave tomorrow morn.”

Stephan withdrew his arm. “Afraid I might be able to tempt him from you?”

Garrick judged his answer carefully. “Afraid I would have to let you if you tried. Have I always loved you more than you love me?”

The distrust vanished from Stephan’s face as he grabbed Garrick’s shoulder and pulled him close in a hug. “I was never meant for one man, Garrick. It would have hurt more if I’d tried to hold you to me.” He dropped his voice. “Share him with me.”

Garrick gripped Stephan’s shoulder and kept his own voice down. “He’s frightened. I can’t just send him to you.” And he wasn’t about to.

Stephan shook his head. “No, I’m not asking that. I want both of you. Together. I want to see you happy again Garrick.”

He drew in breath and felt himself tighten at the thought. To enjoy Stephan’s mature muscles and Blythe’s slender youth at the same time. A transition, he thought. One love for another. But Blythe would have to trust him utterly to do this. And there was another problem. “No man has entered into him.”

Stephan raised an eyebrow. “Last night?”

“I tasted him. The other has to wait. It may help us find the fae.”

Stephan looked surprised. “You’ve always shown remarkable restrain, haven’t you? Did he object?”

Garrick remembered Blythe’s outburst at Oakes. He’d been glad that the lad hadn’t simply accepted Oakes’ suggestion, though he wasn’t sure if his own restraint was remarkable enough to get them to the forest. “I made certain he was satisfied.”

Stephan laughed at that. “I’m sure you did. Share what you will with me, Garrick. Let me touch him. Let me taste him. Let me know that much of him before you take him away.”

He looked into Stephan’s pleading eyes. He’d never been able to resist that look. Stephan knew it. “If he’s willing. We can’t force him.”

He shook his head. “No, not that. He trusts you Garrick. Convince him to trust me. I won’t do anything he doesn’t desire.”

Garrick remembered Blythe on his cot with the blanket tenting and revealing his desire. He wasn’t a complete innocent. There had been the stable lad. “If he agrees, we’ll come to your tent this evening.”

Stephan reached out and rubbed the stubble on Garrick’s jaw. “That will give you time to shave.”

Garrick bent closer. “I think Blythe likes me when I’m a little rough.”

Stephan slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll bet he does. But let him see you one night shaved and bathed before you drag him off to search for the fae. I’ll send for you this evening.”

Garrick stepped back and bowed. Stephan headed deeper into the fortress. As he strode back to the camp, Garrick noticed that the men now made way for him as he approached. Trust Stephan to make it clear to all when he’d forgiven his favorite.

He judged the position of the sun in the sky. He needed to check on is men and make arrangements before he left. There was much to see to. Oakes would stay by the tent so Blythe was safe. Besides, the lad needed sleep more than he needed to do chores or worry about what the evening would bring. That Garrick would need to explain carefully.

Blythe was back in the stables stretched out on a blanket that had been thrown over the hay in an empty stall. He could hear the snort of a horse and the squeak of hinges as the door to the stall opened.

He looked up to see Garrick, tall and naked, step into the stall. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I was waiting here.”

“So, I see.” Garrick dropped to the straw, kneeling beside him. “Waiting and ready for me.” Garrick’s hand moved along his thighs and wrapped around his cock. Blythe moaned at the touch. Garrick’s strong hands moved up and down along his length. “My squire should always be ready for me.”

“Always,” he breathed back. “You can take me if you want.”

“When we find the fae,” Garrick said. “Then you’ll be mine and I’ll measure my length in you. But first you must find me the fae.”

“I don’t know how.”

Garrick bent over him. “This is how.”

Blythe moaned as he felt himself come, and woke to the sound of the canvas at the tent entrance being pulled back. He looked down to find his cock had relaxed, and he’d left a wet spot spreading on the blanket that covered him.

Garrick stood over him, looking as darkly handsome as he had in the dream. He pulled the blanket down to Blythe’s waist. “Well, you didn’t untie your hands.”

“I feel asleep. I dreamed about you.”

Garrick chuckled. “Is that what happens when you dream about me?” Blythe didn’t know what to say, but Garrick didn’t seem to need an answer. Instead, he helped him turn to his side and untied the strip of cloth that bound him. “I’ve asked Oakes to prepare plenty of hot water. This evening we go to see Stephan, and we both need to wash and shave.” Garrick’s hand ran over Blythe’s jaw. “Well one of us needs to shave before tonight.”

“Stephan wants me back.” His stomach clenched at the thought. He’d known it would happen. Maybe Stephan would keep him until Garrick brought him another fae in trade. But would Garrick do that? Would either man really want him if they found real fae?

Garrick sat on the bed. “No, Stephan isn’t asking for you to stay with him. Tomorrow you’ll go with me to search for the fae. After all, I need you if we’re going to do what Oakes suggests. But tonight, if you’re willing and only if you’re willing, we will visit Stephan’s tent.”

Blythe searched his dark eyes. Garrick wasn’t telling him something, but the morning’s lesson had taught him that he should show Garrick the respect a squire showed his knight. That meant not questioning his knight’s orders. He struggled to stay silent and lost the battle. “What does Stephan want?”

Garrick ran a finger over Blythe’s lips. “Stephan wants to be sure that the camp knows we travel with his permission. He wants to bid us farewell. Together.”

He moved away from the searching touch. “He’s not going to take me away from you?”

“No.” Garrick’s reply was soft. “He’s decided that instead of having just you, he’d rather have both of us. For one night.”

“You mean... Oh.” Blythe felt his eyes widen as he realized what Garrick meant. How would that work? Would Garrick do things and then Stephan? Or would they do things at the same time? Did this mean Garrick didn’t care that Oakes said they should wait until they find the fae? Because Stephan didn’t have to listen to Oakes. So that would solve one problem.

Garrick pushed a lock of hair back and paused for a moment, as if surprised to see Blythe’s ears. “Is this all right, Blythe? I’ll have Oakes saddle the horses and we’ll leave now if it isn’t.”

“Then Stephan would be angry,” Blythe said. And Oakes would keep suggesting that they wait. He took a breath, closed his eyes and thought of the two men fighting beside his bed that morning. Both broad shouldered and strong. He tried to imagine them kissing instead of hitting each other, and realized the thought excited him. Both of them wanted him. He nodded. “As long as you’re with me.”

“I will be. I’m not letting you go alone. First we need to bathe, and then I’ll wrap your leg. I don’t want the entire camp to know how quickly you heal, and I want Stephan to remember to be gentle tonight.”

“What will he want me to do?” He could kiss him, he thought. Or do what he did to Trow. Stephan would probably like that.

“Mostly he will want to look at you and to touch you. Perhaps to taste you as I did last night.” Garrick ran a finger over the point of Blythe’s ear. His voice was deep, as if he were talking to himself. “He wants everyone to see you enter his tent with me so that when we leave tomorrow, he will be bidding farewell to two lovers, not sending off a rival with the lad he craves.” Garrick looked into his eyes. “Stephan is the king, Blythe. He can’t allow himself to be seen being bested by me. Even in this. Do you understand?”

Blythe nodded. He began to understand better what Garrick was up to. He also began to suspect that Garrick was smarter than Stephan.

Garrick smiled. “I may share you with Stephan tonight, but I’m going to have you to myself now.”

Blythe swallowed as his cock tightened in response to that. He pushed to his elbows and kissed Garrick. Garrick returned the kiss, slowly touching and pulling at Blythe’s lips until they parted. Then Garrick flicked his tongue in, touching Blythe’s and withdrawing. Blythe tried to follow, but Garrick closed his mouth. Blythe kissed him again, trying to tempt him back into his mouth.

“Sir Garrick,” Oakes called from outside the tent, his voice sounding less urgent than it had when Stephan summoned Garrick. Blythe thought there was a hint of amusement in it.

Garrick pulled back. “The water must be ready. I never realized how eager a squire could be. Perhaps I should start training you in your duties. A squire should assist his knight at his bath. Would you like to do that?”

Blythe nodded. He’d be able to touch Garrick. To feel those muscles beneath his hands.

“Good.” Garrick rose and strode to the tent entrance. Blythe grabbed at the blanket to cover himself. Oakes entered with a couple of men carrying a large tin bath.

“Stephan sent a tub along.” Oakes motioned the men to place the tub in the center of the tent. “He also sent along a razor and offers a man to serve as barber if you need one. Does he think I am not seeing to your needs?”

“It’s his needs he’s thinking about,” Garrick said. “Is there enough water for the tub?”

“I’ve plenty hot and waiting, but I’m not filling it twice.”

Oakes led the men out but returned followed by them again. This time carrying buckets of water. They filled the tub with water while Blythe stared at the luxury of it. He’d heard that they even had entire rooms for bathing in the east.

“Surely you’ve bathed before,” Garrick said, noticing his expression.

Blythe shook his head. “Not like that. Felor says it weakens a man.”

“And tempts him?” Garrick asked, dismissing the others from the tent.

Blythe nodded. He looked at the tub again. “Does it?” He could imagine a luxury like this would certainly be tempting after a day on a battlefield. Or with a lover. The second was what Felor feared.

“It certainly makes being tempted more enjoyable.” He stripped his tunic, boots and leggings off, dropping them beside the tub. “Now, tend to your knight.”

Blythe stared. He should have helped undress Garrick. A squire helped his knight dress and undress . But Garrick had moved too quickly, and he wasn’t yet used to the thought that he could freely touch a man he desired. He sat enjoying the sight of Garrick’s naked bronze body. He’d seen him this way after Garrick first rescued him, but he’d been too frightened to know it was safe to enjoy the sight of another man’s body. It hadn’t been under Felor. Now he drank in Garrick’s tall, well-muscled form. He was bronze everywhere. Not like the farmers whose skin darkened in the sun but whose bums stayed as white as the full moon.

Garrick raised his eyebrows. “Are you just going to sit there and stare at me? Not that I mind, but the water will get cold.”

He bounced off the cot. “What do you need me to do?”

“First, Oakes will appreciate you keeping my clothes off the ground.”

Blythe bent over and picked up the clothing. When he stood, Garrick’s gaze dropped to the clothes he held. Or maybe he wasn’t looking at the clothes. Blythe realized he was naked too. Did Garrick enjoy looking at him ? “Um, where should I put them?”

“Hmm? Oh, on a chest or stool for now.”

Blythe folded the clothes and placed them on a stool. He’d done this much as a squire for Kai. He heard a splash behind him and when he turned back, Garrick sat naked in the bath, with his legs pulled close to his chest.

“It’s a shame the tub isn’t large enough for two. Stephan hasn’t managed that when it comes to traveling.”

Blythe considered the implication of the statement. “What about when he’s not traveling?”

“He enjoys a fine bathing chamber with plenty of room for companions. Certainly with enough room for a spare squire or two.” He held out a cloth. “Start with my shoulders. You can work your way down from there.”

Blythe took the cloth. Garrick leaned forward, against his knees, while Blythe scrubbed the thick muscles of his back. Muscles that seemed to ripple as the water dripped over them, darkening the bronze skin. He moved slowly, savoring the moment. He reached Garrick’s waist and paused. “If you stand, I can get the back of your legs.”

“I like a squire who shows initiative.” Garrick stood, water dripped down his hips and flowed along the dark hair of his legs.

Blythe touched Garrick’s left buttock with the cloth. He moved his hand in a circle, feeling the muscles tense to his touch. When he put the cloth on the right buttock, he leaned close so his cheek was against the left. Garrick’s skin felt warm and soft. Then Garrick shifted his weight and moved his legs further apart. Blythe moved the cloth between his buttocks and through the thighs until he felt Garrick’s dangling cock. He kissed the buttocks as he wrapped the cloth around Garrick’s cock. Garrick grabbed the cloth and then Blythe’s hands.

“Perhaps two will fit in the tub after all. Come around.”

Blythe rose and stepped around the tub. He joined Garrick in the warm water and slid down to his knees. Garrick’s cock was already thick with desire. Blythe knew what Trow had him to do when this happened, but Trow expected him to rush. Garrick didn’t expect that. Garrick liked initiative . He reached out and touched Garrick’s cock with one finger.

Garrick lowered the cloth in front of him. “Don’t neglect your duty.”

He took the cloth. After a moment’s thought, he started with Garrick’s right calf and worked his way up. The shaft had grown thicker by the time he reached the thigh. He moved to the left calf and carefully washed that. This time he bumped into Garrick’s cock on the way up.

“Open your mouth, Blythe.”

He did. After all, a squire must obey his knight . He moved slowly, licking as he went. No one was going to interrupt him or drag him off for a beating this time. He felt the silky, sensitive skin against his tongue. He opened wider and let Garrick’s head slip into his mouth. He tried circling it with his tongue and tasted a little saltiness.

“Take me in as far as you want.”

Not yet , he thought. He played some more, pushing Garrick’s head back and forth with his lips. He was bigger than Trow. What would it feel like when Garrick pushed his length into him? Would he do that tonight? Would Stephan? No, he didn’t want it to be Stephan. That he wanted to be Garrick.

“By the gods, Blythe. A squire should not become distracted when tending to his knight.”

Caught up in his thoughts, he’d stopped in his attentions. Well, he’d make up for that. He pushed forward until Garrick’s cock filled his mouth then pulled back quickly.

Garrick’s hip thrust forward to follow him. He found Blythe’s hair, his gathering it in his fingers. “Take me again.”

He did. Garrick’s hands guided his rhythm as he sucked on the hard, pulsing cock. He heard Garrick moan and pulled, sucking harder. He pushed forward until it felt like Garrick was sliding down his throat, then pulled back fast. Garrick’s hips rocked, and Blythe knew for that moment, Garrick belonged to him.

Garrick groaned. “Gods, yes. That’s it.”

He held Blythe tight against him for a moment, and Blythe twisted his tongue around the thick shaft then reached up and took Garrick’s hands from his hair. Garrick didn’t protest, instead he entwined his fingers with Blythe’s, his hips moving as Blythe sucked hard on his cock, moving back and forth as quickly as he could and splashing water out of the tub. Faster, until the air around them shimmered with energy. He focused on the energy, trying to send it back into Garrick.

Garrick’s knees bent and his calves thumped against Blythe’s shoulders. He moaned and came in a series of shuddering thrusts. Blythe held him, sucking and swallowing until he’d taken the last of him and felt him go limp in his mouth.

Garrick dropped down into the tub, sending a wave of water out onto the floor of the tent. He wrapped Blythe in his arms and pulled him close. “Shades, if you do that to Stephan, he may not let you leave.”

Blythe rested in Garrick’s arms. “Then I’ll only do that to you.”

“Hmm. We’ll let Stephan taste you, but perhaps I will keep your talents to myself. Did the stable lad teach you that?”

He smiled and wiggled a little tighter in Garrick’s embrace. Garrick wouldn’t let Stephan have him . He knew that now. Somethings were just for him and Garrick. “Mostly it’s because I like the feel of you inside my mouth.”

Garrick kissed him. He ran a thumb along Blythe’s jaw. “I would taste you as you tasted me, but I want to leave you ready for tonight.”

Chapter 11

A squire should walk a few steps behind his knight and be prepared for orders. He knew that, but he wasn’t striding behind his knight. Garrick had an arm over his shoulder and his thumb caressed Blythe’s neck beneath the ponytail that his fair hair had been combed into. Tonight his hair was pulled back to reveal his ears. He wanted to pull it down, to hide his differentness. He watched the gaze of the men they passed shift to his ears. Their expressions showed curiosity, but none of the anger or fear he expected.

Garrick had dressed him. The leggings were so tight Blythe felt them pull on his crotch with every step. They must have come from somewhere in the conquered fortress, but he didn’t know whether their previous owner had fled and abandoned them or been killed. He tried not to worry about that. The tight leggings were a soft butter color. Oakes had also found a pair of common brown trousers that fit better and a cloak of some sort of rough material, but those had been left in Garrick’s tent. A white undertunic fell to his hips and barely covered anything important. Over that he wore a dark blue tunic that belted at his waist but left his thighs exposed with every step. Garrick hadn’t given him boots but soft blue slippers of the type nobles might wear inside. He’d never worn anything so impractical, and he felt almost barefoot.

Remembering the big, blond king who’d ordered his execution, he moved closer to Garrick. Garrick squeezed his shoulder, and Blythe was glad he wasn’t following a few steps behind like a regular squire. Stephan’s tent loomed in front of them, the entrance flaps tied back to reveal the interior.

Stephan must have seen them approaching because he stepped out from the entrance to cross the remaining ground. The king wore a rich red tunic embroidered with a dragon in shades of black and gold. No crown, no royal robes, but the man’s very stance proclaimed that he was a king. Garrick opened his arms as he strode forward. Blythe watched the two men embrace, slapping each other on the back and exchanging quick kisses on the cheeks. He knew the others were watching too. A day ago, Garrick had been called in front of his king in disgrace. Now Stephan was letting his men know that Garrick was back in his favor.

Stephan turned to him. He didn’t pull him into a hug, but put his hands on Blythe’s shoulders and held him carefully at arm’s length. He studied the ears then looked back to meet Blythe’s eyes. “Does your wound bother you much?”

Blythe shook his head. “No, Your Majesty.” He remembered the bare glance Stephan had given him before ordering his execution. If Garrick had taken him to Stephan dressed like this that first day, Stephan would never have told Garrick to kill him. He wouldn’t have been hit with an arrow...but he might not be with Garrick now.

“Good. I see Garrick has finally let you have a proper bath.” Stephan’s hand moved from his shoulder to stroke his cheek and then an ear. Without thinking, Blythe ducked his head and reached up to cover the point. Stephan stopped his hand. “Nay, lad. You’re safe here. You’re the first fae to join me. I’ll think of a suitable reward later, but tonight I will see that you’re fed and amused before you leave on your errand with Sir Garrick.” Stephan leaned close and kissed him softly on the cheek. He put an arm around Blythe’s shoulder and motioned to his tent.

Blythe took a cautious step and Garrick reached out to take his hand. He let the two men lead him into a tent that he had memories of sneaking out of the night before.

Tonight it was different. Candles burned in tall stands that Blythe recognized from the great hall of the conquered fortress. His eyes went to small tables that held more food than he’d seen anywhere except at a banquet. Food he’d never been able to enjoy. Cheese, bread, fruit, roast fowl and honey cakes on silver platters. The cot he’d been placed on after being hit with the arrow had been removed and rugs and cushions scattered on the floor. Two chairs sat near the pile of cushions. Stephan took the one with a rich cushion on the seat.

Blythe stopped nervously at the edge of the rug, but Garrick took his arm and led him to the cushions. “Sit and be comfortable.”

Blythe sank down to the cushions. He didn’t think he could stand for long while waiting for Stephan to order him to do whatever he had planned. He could see the tapestry on one side of the tent. Candles burned on either side of it. Would Stephan tell him to do what those fae were doing?

But Stephan didn’t order him to do anything. Instead he sliced some of the fowl and put it on a plate with fresh berries and a honey cake. “Garrick, I don’t believe you feed your squire enough.”

“He does look hungry,” Garrick said, taking a step toward the other chair. Stephan put some cheese on the plate and held it out to him. Garrick looked at the plate. “Perhaps another honey cake?” Stephan placed another of the sweet cakes on the plate. Garrick nodded, turned and held it out to Blythe. “Save the honey cakes for last. They’ll make your lips taste sweet.”

Blythe nearly dropped the plate, and Garrick had to steady it as he placed it on the rug.

“I believe the lad is nervous,” Stephan said.

Garrick took the second seat. He stretched his long legs out. “Perhaps a little wine?”

“Do you keep him thirsty too?”

Garrick took the goblet Stephan handed him. “I’m still learning his tastes.” He passed the goblet to Blythe with a smile on his lips. “And he is learning mine. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” He managed to take the goblet without spilling the wine on his new tunic. Kai would have beaten him for doing that.

Garrick winked at him and turned back to Stephan. “So, when will you continue your pursuit of Felor?”

Stephan poured himself some wine. “I chase, he runs. I’ll settle things here soon and move onward. Tell me, Garrick, where will you and our young fae be going?”

Blythe waited for Garrick’s answer. Instead of responding, Garrick rose and picked up a folded cloth from the top of a chest. He sat down on one of the cushions beside Blythe and unfolded the cloth. Blythe realized it was a square of linen with a map of the Westlands.

“To the woods. Blythe, do you know maps well enough to show us where your village was?”

Blythe moved to look at the map. “No, sir. Lord Kai refused to show me where it was on any maps. He said it was best forgotten. But I think it was here.” He pointed to an area of forest near Kai’s old holding. Kai wouldn’t have been at the burning if others had been closer. The area was south and west of where they were now. A long ride. Especially if Oakes kept insisting that they wait.

“And the fae?” Stephan asked. “Were there fae there?”

“Yes, sire.” Blythe whispered the answer. He remembered them. Well, shadows in the forest that he thought were them, but they were such a long ride away . “I think there are fae in all the deep forests.” He ran his fingers along the line that stretched from west to south, ending as they ran into a mountain range not far south from where Stephan’s forces were now.

Stephan leaned over the map. “That close?”

He could say he didn’t know, but no one knew. So no one would say he was lying. Even if he and Garrick had to ride the whole length of the forest trying to find them, at least Oakes wouldn’t object when they tried. He wanted to Garrick to the forest as fast as he could. “Maybe, sire. Felor tried to burn them out of the forests where he could, but the trees just grew back. Some people say they grew back angry. Felor hasn’t held the lands here as long. There might be more fae.”

“Then that is where we’ll go,” Garrick said, moving back to his chair and giving Blythe a smile. Maybe he wanted to get to the forest quickly too.

Stephan nodded. “Yes. I approve of the plan. It will be faster than riding further west. I don’t want to lose you too long, Garrick. Find what you can and then meet me. Bring the fae if they are out there and together we’ll defeat Felor.” Stephan took a gulp of wine. “They must be as eager to destroy him as I am.”

Maybe more eager, Blythe thought, but Garrick didn’t disagree with his king. He didn’t point out that he might be searching to find something that no one could find. Instead he just nodded. “Where do you plan to march?”

Stephan moved the map closer. “Tor. We know he’ll head there.”

“A direct march? There are a couple of smaller fortresses, here and here.”

Relieved that the attention was no longer on him, Blythe sat back and ate the fowl and cheese Stephan had given him while the two men talked. Stephan argued for marching directly to Tor. Garrick advised to take one at least one of the smaller holdings first to throw off Felor’s supporters. Blythe picked up a honey cake and stretched out on the cushions. The two men leaned so close as they debated strategy that they could have kissed one another. He imagined their lips touching and licked a bit of sweet honey from his own. “Kiss him ,” he whispered.

Stephan looked toward him. He’d heard the whisper. “Is that what you want to see, lad? Me kissing this handsome knight of yours?” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded pleased.

Blythe nodded. Stephan reached out and wrapped an arm around Garrick. Garrick leaned forward, opening his mouth as he moved. Blythe saw their tongues touch before they pulled together. He knew Stephan’s tongue was thrusting into Garrick’s mouth by the way they moved. Stephan ran a hand over Garrick’s cropped hair, pulling him close.

Then Stephan pulled back. “Shades I’ve missed doing that with you.” He reached for Garrick’s tunic. “Should I start with you or the lad?”

“I think the lad is enjoying watching.” Garrick pulled off his tunic and then the undertunic. Bare chested, he leaned back to let Stephan unlace the front of his leggings. “But we don’t want him to feel left out.”

“We should set an example though,” Stephan said. “I always tell my knights to set an example for their squires, and I must set an example also. So, first we’ll undress. Then we will assist him in following our example. What do you say to that, Blythe?”

Blythe licked his lips and nodded. He could see Garrick’s cock now. He wasn’t hard yet, but Blythe knew he could make that happen with a touch of his mouth. The men were kissing again, hard bodies touching. Blythe watched their muscles move as they grappled at one another, Garrick’s darker skin shining against Stephan’s tan arms.

What did they do together when they were alone? Did the king kneel to suck Garrick’s cock? Did Garrick bend over... His mind whirled at the thought. Garrick bent over a table or some of the cushions, moaning as Stephan pounded into him. Did they do that? Would Garrick do that to him ?

Not tonight . Garrick wouldn’t want to share that with Stephan. But now Garrick was tugging at the king’s laces, and Blythe thought hungrily about what the leggings might give way to reveal. He’d seen men naked, but usually in passing or out of the corner of his eyes. To gaze directly, to be caught enjoying the sight, would mean at least a beating. Probably worse.

But tonight. Tonight he could look and feast without any fear of punishment. “Are you as thick around as Garrick, sire?” he asked.

Stephan laughed. “Thicker lad. And longer.”

“Lies,” Garrick said.

“We’ll let the lad decide.” Stephan challenged as the laces gave way.

Blythe watched eagerly as the leggings dropped to reveal a heavy cock and fur of blond hair. “You have more hair than Garrick,” he said to Stephan’s questioning gaze. He wasn’t hard yet, not as swollen with blood as Garrick, but Blythe guessed that he would be even thicker than the knight. A bulk of a man, ready to conquer with his body and his sword.

“Aye, that I do.” Stephan pulled out of his tunic to reveal a broad chest thick with blond hair. “I keep my lovers warm on cold winter nights. Don’t I, Garrick?”

Garrick chuckled. “I thought it was I who warmed the bed.”

The king cast a hungry eye over him. “I’d forgotten what you look like naked. I had them weave sheets of the finest white linen so your skin would stand out against them when you lay there waiting for me.”

“It was my pleasure to wait for my king.”

Blythe watched the interplay between them, suddenly feeling too slender, too pale and too far beneath them to be of interest. Then Stephan dropped down beside him and lifted the edge of the tunic. “You look a bit warm. Why don’t you take this off?”

So, he hadn’t been forgotten. He sat up and let Stephan flip the tunic off to reveal his tight leggings. Ignoring the undertunic, Stephan’s hands found the laces that bound the leggings and pulled at them, untying them. His hands moved around Blythe’s waist, sword-roughened hands touching skin but not quite going beneath the top of the leggings.

Garrick knelt and lifted Blythe’s undertunic. “Arms up.”

Blythe lifted his arms, and Garrick pulled the undertunic off him. Then Garrick dropped to a cushion beside him. He traced a finger along Blythe’s chin, and Blythe turned to him. Garrick’s lips touched his as Stephan’s hand went under the band of the leggings. Blythe jerked, startled even though he’d expected it.

“Shhh,” Garrick whispered against his cheek. “Relax and let me kiss you.” Garrick moved, laying him back against the cushions. His lips touched and tugged at Blythe’s lips. His hands stroked his hair.

Blythe tried to relax into Garrick’s kisses, but Stephan’s hands were pulling down his leggings. He felt them slip past his hips and his knees. The slippers were off in a moment then he was naked on the cushions.

The weight on the cushions lifted as Stephan sat back. “Garrick, let me see.”

Garrick’s lips left his, and he moved from where he reclined. Blythe looked up into Stephan’s blue eyes and stretched out on the cushions. Stephan’s breath caught. Blythe tried to imagine how he must look, naked except for the white bandage on his legs, lips still flushed with Garrick’s kisses, and his ears revealed by Garrick’s caresses. Stephan’s thick cock curved up toward his stomach, and he knew the man wanted him because of what he was, a fae. Then he looked into Garrick’s eyes and could see the question in them. Garrick wanted him too, but Garrick was worried that he might choose Stephan over him. He reached out to him. Garrick took his hand.

Stephan knelt on the cushions and leaned over to kiss him. Blythe felt surprise at the gentleness of the touch of Stephan’s lips on his. He parted his lips in invitation. Stephan paused, just above him, his eyes asking for permission, before kissing him again, his tongue tracing the outline of Blythe’s lips. Then he dipped into Blythe’s mouth, touching his teeth and twining around his tongue. Blythe tilted his head back a little, as he’d seen Garrick do, and Stephan plunged deeper.

He gasped when a tongue flicked over one of his nipples, and Stephan pulled back. “What made you do that?”

“Garrick,” Blythe said, with another gasp.

He saw Stephan’s gaze flit downward to see what Garrick was doing. With a smile, Stephan moved down, and Blythe felt his tongue circle the other nipple. He moaned and wiggled against the cushions. Stephan grabbed the hand that Garrick wasn’t holding and draped his other arm over Blythe’s waist, holding him in place. Then he and Garrick each slowly circled a nipple before running their tongues over the sensitive skin. Blythe moaned against the tingle that seemed to drive into his spine.

He stared up at the softly lit canvas of the tent as Garrick and Stephan sucked and nibbled on him until he almost came from it. Then they moved down, licking and kissing. They weren’t the same. Garrick kissed more. Stephan sometimes nipped him. But they both moved their free hands to his thighs as their mouths reached the top of his pubic hair. He felt their heads lift for a moment and heard a whisper. He forgot it all as two mouths closed on his balls. When they pulled back and blew cold air across the wet skin, he whimpered and clutched the hands that held his.

One of them chuckled. Blythe closed his eyes and tried to breathe as they repeated the sucking and blowing. He wanted to wiggle away from them and arch into them at the same time. Only their hands held him steady.

Someone kissed the head of his penis. He opened his eyes to find Garrick gazing down at him. “You are beautiful,” Garrick said, then lowered to kiss him as Stephan’s mouth enveloped his cock.

The world became warmer than he’d ever known. Garrick’s tongue slid in and out of his mouth, teasing him by mimicking the movements of Stephan’s mouth on his cock. Stephan’s tongue twisted around his throbbing cock as he sucked. Blythe lifted into him. Blood pounded in his ears. He couldn’t breathe or maybe he forgot how to in this world of demanding warmth.

He opened his eyes and the tent seemed to glow. He arched his back and thrust deeply into Stephan’s mouth. Hands steadied him as he came in shudders. He cried out as he rode the last throbbing wave the collapsed on the cushions, gasping and helpless.

Chapter 12

Garrick reached for Blythe who was spread, unmoving, on the cushions. He’d thought the wound was healed, but Blythe had been through so much in the last few days. “Blythe, talk to me. Have we hurt you?”

Blythe stretched and moaned. A sound that made Garrick let his breath out in a sigh of relief. “That was good.” Blythe’s response was a whisper.

“If what Oakes thinks is correct, the whole camp probably felt that,” Garrick said, sitting back on the pile of cushions.

“A fae thing?” Stephan moved to stroke Blythe’s blond hair. “I don’t think he’s harmed. Perhaps some more food?”

Blythe pushed to his elbows. “I’m hungry.”

With a chuckle, Stephan reached for the platter of fowl. He tore a strip of flesh from one of the breasts and held it out to Blythe in his fingers. “Open your mouth.”

Garrick felt his stomach fall. Stephan had managed to completely exhaust Blythe. Now he’d lured Blythe away from him and was feeding him. Maybe Stephan had asked for this night of sharing to try to tempt Blythe away from him. Perhaps he’d succeeded.

As Blythe chewed, Stephan spread soft cheese on a chunk of bread. He held that out next. Blythe leaned forward eagerly to eat it. Garrick sat up and poured himself some wine. He was surprised when Blythe turned to him with an eager look in his eyes. He held out the goblet and let him drink from it. Blythe gulped the wine down and then turned to take the bread and cheese from Stephan.

“You really are starving,” Garrick said. Blythe nodded as he chewed. “Has this happened before?” Garrick asked.

Blythe swallowed. “Squires didn’t get a lot to eat. Most of us were hungry.”

“Yes, but you’re sort of, well, glowing.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Stephan sat back to get a better look. “We seem to have pleased him. Here, have some honey cake.”

Blythe opened his mouth and let Stephan pop the cake in.

Garrick moved back to where Blythe sat to wrap an arm around him and pull him close. Blythe snuggled into his arms. “We’ll be eating off the land when we travel,” he warned. “So eat your fill tonight.”

“We won’t starve,” Blythe said. “I’m good at hunting hare with a slingshot.”

Garrick’s stomach relaxed. Blythe showed no hesitation about traveling with him. “Then we’ll have to find you some leather to make one.”

“Can I have more wine?”

Garrick handed him the goblet. Blythe gulped it and handed the goblet back. Then he stretched out in Garrick’s arms and closed his eyes.

“Sleepy?” Stephan asked.

“Hmm.”

“I don’t think they gave the squires much wine either,” Stephan said.

Garrick chuckled. “Should we leave him on the cushions or get him to bed?”

“Bed, I think.” Stephan took Blythe’s feet and together they lifted him from the cushions. “He’s lighter than I expected,” Stephan said as they carried Blythe to the bed and lay him in the middle of it. He looked down at him. “The lad is beautiful. I expect the fae you find me to be equally beautiful.”

Garrick let out a sigh of relief. “You’re going to let me leave with him.” He’d worried about that. That Stephan would keep Blythe and demand he produce another fae before releasing him.

Stephan smiled and draped an arm around his shoulder. “I have to. You’re terrible at hunting hare with a slingshot. You’d starve on your own. But tonight, I will join both of you in bed.”

Garrick stroked Blythe’s blond head. “I don’t think he’s up for much more.”

“He’s special, Garrick.”

He nodded his agreement, afraid to say anything that might change Stephan’s mind about letting him go.

“Take care of him.”

“I will. And tonight?” He looked down at Stephan’s erect cock. “Should I take care of my king?”

Stephan gestured to Blythe. “With this waiting for you, why would you want an old man like me?”

“Hardly old.” He leaned over Blythe and kissed Stephan. The kiss lingered, and he reached for Stephan, wrapping the length of him in his hand. Stephan returned the grasp. It wasn’t the vigorous bed sport they’d once shared, this bittersweet touching of one another. They leaned into each other, forming an arch over the sleeping Blythe. “You know I love you,” he whispered.

“I know. It always worried me. I know I’ve hurt you because I couldn’t love the same way.” Stephan gave a soft chuckle. “Now, you’ve found what I’ve always sought. The gods are sending me a message.”

“I’ll find you the fae, and together we’ll create a kingdom worth bringing them back to.”

Stephan looked down at Blythe. “He’s made me even more determined.”

They didn’t speak for the next few minutes, except for grunts and gasps as they worked each other to orgasm. Two men. Two friends. Knowing they would now take different paths.

They collapsed on either side of Blythe, reaching for each other as they wrapped him in their warmth.

Blythe woke to find himself embraced between two hard bodies. He could hear the breathing of the men on either side of him. He could even feel their bodies move with each breath and realized how well suited these men were for each other. They matched each other and knew each other better than he could ever hope to know Garrick. Garrick needed him to find the fae. That was all. Stephan wanted lover with pointy ears. Sex really didn’t have to mean anything to men. He’d learned that with Trow.

Garrick wanted him now because he was fae and tempted him. Just like he’d tempted Theobald and the jailer. Men wanted him when he was near them, but being tempted wasn’t the same thing as being loved. Then Garrick moved in his sleep, turning to wrap an arm around him. He surrendered to Garrick’s embrace. At that moment, he didn’t care how he was tempting Garrick. He’d tempt him for a lifetime if he could.

He heard someone enter the tent and smelled fresh bread. Stephan’s men must have taken over the keep’s kitchen. The cooks wouldn’t worry about which group of soldiers was eating their bread as long as they were alive to bake it, but the smell meant someone else was in the tent. Someone who could see that they were all in bed together. Then Stephan stirred, raising to look across the tent with bleary eyes. “Some ale, lad.”

A leggy young man strode across the tent to hand the king a mug. He glanced at Blythe and gave him a quick smile before striding back to a laden table and pouring two more mugs of ale. His long legs had him back at the bed before Blythe could move. “Ale?” The lad held out a mug.

Blythe nodded his thanks and squirmed out from under Garrick’s arm to sit up. Stephan reached across the bed and gave Garrick a swat on the rump. “Wake up, man.”

Garrick stretched and squinted up at the two of them. “You look too cheerful for early morning.”

“Have some ale. It’ll change your outlook.”

Garrick grunted and grabbed the final mug. He tipped it up and drank until Blythe thought he was going to drain it in one drink. He finally lowered it and smiled. “That’s better. Breakfast first. Then we prepare for the journey.”

The leggy lad vanished, and Blythe stared over at the bread and cheese. He knew he couldn’t eat before the king did. His stomach growled. He hadn’t tasted freshly baked bread since Lord Kai died.

“Out of bed and to the bread, lad,” Stephan said. “Eat all you want. I’ll have them bring more.”

“A squire doesn’t eat before his knight,” Blythe said. “Or his king.”

“See, the lad’s had training.” Garrick sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He threw off the blanket and strode naked to the table and the platter holding bread and cheese. He picked up the whole platter and carried it back to the bed. He sat it at the foot of the bed and tore off a hunk of bread. He tasted it, his eyes watching Blythe. “A soldier doesn’t often get fresh bread.”

Blythe nodded. A squire ate last. Usually that meant stale bread that had been sitting out too long. Garrick broke off a second chunk of bread. He held it out. “Open your mouth.”

Blythe did as he was told. Garrick’s fingers placed the bread in his mouth. He closed his mouth, tasting the soft, fresh sweetness. Garrick spread cheese on the next bit of bread. Blythe opened his mouth again, and Garrick placed the bread and cheese in it.

Stephan groaned. He rose from the bed, holding a blanket in front of him and made his way to the tent’s entrance. “Derry!” The bellow echoed across the camp. Stephan turned back to them. “Garrick, take the bread and your fae lad and go, or I’ll spend the day with my cock showing everyone where I plan to walk next.”

Garrick chuckled. “You finished Derry’s training too early. A good squire swallows what his knight gives him.” He tossed his tunic over one shoulder. “Come, Blythe. We’ll take our breakfast with us.”

Blythe reached for his tunic as Garrick strode out of the tent, mostly naked and carrying the tray of bread and cheese. He managed to wrap the tunic around his waist as he rushed to catch up. Soldiers nearest the tent called out a greeting. Garrick called back as he strode by with Blythe following in his wake.

Chapter 13

Oakes was waiting with the packs and saddles sitting in front of the tent. He nodded at Garrick as they approached. “Well, I’ve seen you in worse shape.” He looked at the tray Garrick was carrying. “Enjoy the bread, lads, it’ll be some time before we taste a fresh loaf.”

Garrick tossed him half a loaf then pushed aside the tent flap and strode inside. Blythe stopped and gave the saddles a longing look. There were three of them. That meant a horse for him. He wanted to ride almost as much as he wanted Garrick.

“Eat, lad,” Oakes said. “And see to your knight. Can’t expect him to take care of himself.”

Blythe nodded and hurried into the tent. Garrick put the tray down on the table, and grabbed him, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “So, you don’t want to leave me for handsome King Stephan after all.”

He leaned forward, giving another longer kiss as his answer. When Garrick broke free, he asked the question that was still worrying him. “Do you think we can find the fae?” He wanted to ride off with Garrick to hunt for them, but he was worried about what would happen if there just weren’t any to be found.

Garrick traced the point of his ears. “These came from somewhere. There must still be others like you. Half-fae if not full fae. That will be enough.”

“They won’t want to be found. Everyone knows not to talk about it. Felor is always suspicious of the villages nearest the forest.”

“Hmm.” Garrick pulled him down to the bed and handed him a piece of bread. “Did anyone ever go into the forest?”

He nodded while biting off a piece of bread. “I did.”

“Chew first then talk. Did you ever see fae in the forest?”

He chewed slowly, thinking. “Maybe.” He really had never been sure what he’d seen. No one ever talked about what hid in the forest. He swallowed. “I saw shadows mostly, but they would leave me presents.”

Garrick’s eyebrows rose. “What kind of presents?”

“Feathers, shiny rocks. That sort of thing. I would leave some bread or milk on a tree stump back where it was quiet, and the next day that would be gone and there would be a feather or stone or something in its place. I kept them, but they probably burned up with the house and everything else.”

Garrick stroked his hair. “The loss of a few feathers was the least of your problems.”

Blythe looked at a piece of cheese but didn’t touch it. Garrick noticed his gaze. He picked up the cheese and handed it to him. “Eat as much as you can. You’re still too thin, and as Oakes pointed out, we may not have much food for a while. It’s a shame we can’t keep bread fresh long enough to reach the forest. If that’s what the fae like, it might help tempt them out. Maybe we can barter for it at a village.”

“No.” His stomach sank. Garrick still didn’t understand . “There won’t be villages near the forest, and even asking questions will be dangerous. They’ll hide the children, especially those with pointy ears if there are any left.”

Garrick pulled him close. “When we win, they won’t have to hide anymore.”

Blythe gave into the kiss. Then his stomach rumbled, signaling his hunger. Garrick left off with a laugh. “Eat. I don’t think Oakes is going to leave us alone long enough for us to enjoy each other’s bodies and our breakfast.”

“You’re his knight. You could just tell him—”

“Yes, I could,” Garrick ran his thumb along Blythe’s chin. “But Oakes serves me loyally and there is always a reason for what he does.” He reached for the bread. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s hungry.” He tossed a hunk of bread into the air, caught it and bit into it.

Blythe took some more bread, trying not to eat it as if he were afraid someone would take it from him. Fresh bread, cheese that wasn’t going hard or moldy. Even meat. These had been reserved for lords and knights when he was with Felor. Now Garrick thought he was too thin. “Too skinny to be much of a fighter.” He’d heard that from Felor’s knights. But it took food to build up muscles like Garrick’s, and he’d never been given enough food.

Oakes brought them ale to wash the meal down with and vanished again, leaving him alone with Garrick. They wouldn’t be alone on the road. Oakes would be there. He took another bite of his bread. Still, he’d be with Garrick. Maybe there would be times when Oakes would ride ahead or something. Times when they’d be alone.

Garrick tossed something at him. It was the brown trousers and the plain tunic that Oakes had found for him. “Time to get dressed.”

“I should help you dress first.”

Garrick chuckled. “If you help me, it will take a lot longer for us to get dressed. I can manage.” He shook out a pair of trousers slightly better than those Blythe had, but nothing as fine as Felor’s knights wore. The thick leather tunic he put on could serve as a protection in battle. Garrick wasn’t going to be mistaken for a farmer or trader. Blythe doubted he would have been taken as anything other than a soldier. His bronze skin would attract attention if he got too close to people, and Blythe wasn’t sure how he planned to explain that. Did he even know it was a problem? Garrick pulled on his boots and strode out of the tent. Blythe grabbed the last of the cheese and shoved it in his mouth. Then he finished dressing and followed Garrick to find Oakes saddling three horses.

“This one’s yours, lad,” Oakes said gesturing to a gelding so gray in color he was almost blue.

Blythe stared. He’d taken care of Kai’s mount and others. Horses couldn’t tell anyone that he was fae, though he sometimes suspected they knew. This horse was finer than he had right to expect. Almost as fine as Garrick’s mount. He stretched out a hand and stroked his horse’s neck. “What’s his name?”

“Risk,” Garrick said. “Mine is Djinn, and Oakes rides Sunny.”

Blythe looked at the bulky black gelding Oakes would ride. “Sunny? He looks more like a storm cloud.”

Garrick chuckled. “He was cheerful as a colt. He and Oakes get along well.”

Blythe reached over to pat the big horse. He was a lot of horse for Oakes to control with one hand, so he and the man had to get along well. “What about Risk?” There had to be a reason for King Stephan to let him ride out on what had to be one of the camp’s most promising horses.

“Oakes had to find a horse someone was willing to let us have. You told me you could ride any horse I put you on.” Garrick looked over at the gelding. “Risk threw the last two squires who tried to ride him. Gelding him hasn’t calmed him down.”

“That would probably make me angry too,” Blythe said and heard both men chuckle. He moved his hand along Risk’s back, pressing and checking for sensitive spots. Horses would buck if a saddle pressed on a bruise or sore. But Risk was healthy and well taken care of. “I can ride him.”

Garrick slapped him on the back. “Give him a try. Remember, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to him on the journey. He probably won’t throw you.”

“He won’t.” He knew that. Kai had used him to break the foals. He hadn’t lied when he said he could ride any horse.

“Confident, isn’t he,” Oakes said, as he adjusted Sunny’s saddle bags.

Garrick winked at Blythe. “Perhaps you should show him what you can do.”

“If he throws you, I can try trading him for a cart horse,” Oakes added.

Blythe ran his fingers through Risk’s mane, and the horse nickered in response. No, he wasn’t going to let Oakes trade this beauty for a cart horse. He moved his hand slowly down Risk’s back, leaning into the horse and letting Risk feel his weight. When he felt calmness coming from him, he smoothly lifted himself into the saddle, settling in before the horse knew he was there. Risk gave a shake of his head and pranced a bit, as if preparing to buck. Blythe leaned forward.

And the young horse bucked. Blythe let his body relax into the movement. Fighting Risk would only make him more determined to get the weight off his back. Risk tried again and then danced around shaking his head. Blythe stroked him and thought calming thoughts.

He lifted his hand off Risk’s neck when he felt a tingle. The horse snorted and shook himself. Blythe quickly went back to stroking him. This time he wasn’t surprised when he felt the energy move between him and Risk. Maybe he’d always been able to do this. Maybe he hadn’t realized it until he felt the energy moving between him and Garrick. But now Risk calmed under his touch and soon he let Blythe’s touch on the reins guide him around the space in front of the tents.

Oakes raised his eyebrows in surprise then gave a shrug. “Once saw a traveling jester who could ride a horse standing on his hands, so don’t expect me to be impressed.”

“On his hands?” Blythe asked, amazed.

“Yep. Feet pointing straight up in the air.”

Blythe tried to imagine that. He let go of the reins and put his hands on the saddle.

“Don’t try it,” Garrick warned. “I don’t need you breaking bones before we get started.”

Oakes chuckled. “You’re supposed to be a squire, lad, not a jester. But you know how to sit a horse.” Then he mounted Sunny with more ease than Blythe expected. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Garrick swung into his saddle. “Nothing. I want to be well on our way before nightfall.”

“What’s the story?” Oakes asked. “We can’t tell them that we’re Stephan’s men looking for fae, but you’re not going to pass for anything except a soldier.”

“We’ve escaped after Stephan took the fortress,” Garrick said, smoothly. “At the worse, they’ll think we’re trying to avoid being drafted back into Felor’s troops.”

“Men do try to escape,” Blythe said. “But your color is wrong.”

“My color?” Garrick looked down at his arms. “Yes, I think all the men we’ve captured have been fairly pale. Any suggestions?”

“You might be a trader from the Southlands?” He made the suggestion hesitantly. Garrick didn’t really look like a trader.

“Sword for hire,” Oakes suggested. “Unhappy with the pay Felor offered.”

“Either of those,” Garrick said. “We’ll decide when the matter arises.” He flicked his reins and headed through the edge of the camp. Blythe followed, noticing that Oakes fell in behind him. Men did try to escape, and he didn’t think Oakes trusted him yet.