Marcelo, the next day
The blow knocked all the air out of Marcelo’s lungs and propelled him backward into Efren, causing them both to stumble. Sharp pain radiated from the center of his chest.
Marcelo sensed Efren turning, putting strong arms around him, swinging him in a half-circle, putting himself between Marcelo and further danger from the riders.
But it wasn’t necessary.
Reaction from the training field was swift and sure. As if watching in slow motion as he spun in Efren’s arms, Marcelo sagged into that safe embrace as Prince Artemis dropped from his perch atop his horse with no less than three arrows in his chest and one through his neck.
The riders who’d been with him turned, and their horses kicked up dust as they galloped away. Whatever their purpose in coming here, it hadn’t been that. They were vastly outnumbered, their leader had fallen, and they didn’t stand a chance if they held their ground.
Marcelo’s chest burned, but a calm warmth overcame him, despite the pain, despite the clamor of Zioneven riders giving chase, and others swarming the two of them.
Efren rocked him, murmuring something soothing into his hair, and Marcelo let his eyes drift closed. Efren was alive and uninjured.
All would be well, just as Efren had said.
* * * *
When Marcelo next opened his eyes, he lay atop his and Efren’s bed. He still wore his leggings, but his tunic was off, and Doctor Brookse was softly pressing various spots on his chest.
“Ouch.” Marcelo winced.
“I don’t doubt it,” Doctor Brookse said matter-of-factly. “The hilt of that heavy knife hit you hard. Knocked the wind out of you and left what I’m sure will be a very tender contusion. Doesn’t feel like any ribs were broken, though they’re likely bruised, so that’s better than it could have been.”
Just being alive was good.
He turned his head when a soft noise alerted him to another in the room. Efren walked to his side and lifted one of Marcelo’s hands to his lips.
“My darling,” he whispered, and wiped an unshed tear before it could fall. “I almost lost you before having a chance to fully know you.” He swallowed. “I owe my life to you. You put your own life at risk to save mine.”
“It was my fault.” It had been the least Marcelo could do to make things right.
Although he hadn’t known the precise incremental distance it typically takes a knife to rotate through each spin, he’d been relatively sure that he’d been close enough to Efren that he’d been unlikely to be hit directly blade-point on.
But true, his own safety hadn’t been a one-hundred-percent guarantee. Marcelo could have been wrong about the approximate distance it took a knife to complete a full spin. And if Artemis hadn’t been the expert Marcelo had assumed, properly able to gauge the distance he needed to be from his target, Marcelo might have been stepping into the blade’s point whereas Efren would have merely taken a hit from the hilt.
“Never think that.” Efren shook his head vigorously. “Every bit of the fault lies on Artemis’s shoulders.” Just as every bit of the intensity in Efren’s eyes backed up his belief in that statement.
“I understand your point.” Marcelo blushed remembering the scene. Still, it was true that his initial reaction had provoked the prince. Angering him that a man such as Marcelo had bested his brother. Efren would realize that, too. “I don’t think he came here planning to attack us.”
“I don’t think so either. The prince’s short temper got the better of him.”
“Is he…” Marcelo gulped.
“Dead? Yes.”
“I guess his reaction confirms the theory we’d been discussing?”
A corner of Efren’s mouth quirked up. “I think so, yes, though I’m still trying to work out their full motive.”
“Princess Udine,” Marcelo murmured as a random memory crossed his mind.
“Udine?”
“Possibly? I never met the twins, but I did meet her. Years ago, shortly after they’d visited Zioneven. She spoke dreamily of both you and Rolland.” Marcelo snorted. “I suppose if I were a typical man, I should have felt insulted that she was sitting next to me speaking thus of other men, but that thought never occurred to me at the time.”
“Hmm. Yes, I recall King Ulric once expressed regret to my father about the marriage agreement in our peace treaty with Sheburat. My father commiserated, but…” Efren gazed at Marcelo as the explanation coalesced. He shook his head. “Father laughed when he told me about it, because he knew that agreement was the only reason I would marry a woman.”
“But they didn’t realize that. King Ulric had had his lover for longer than he’d been married. He would assume you’d prefer the same. A marriage that would bring you legitimate heirs, keeping your true love on the side.”
That had been the primary motive for the first and second attacks. Not directly for financial gain by either Gagel or Proye, but rather to free up Efren to marry Princess Udine.
“Seems like we should have considered that.” Efren ran splayed fingers through his already well-ruffled hair. “Other than that one offhand comment years ago, the subject never came up. But you’re absolutely right. That would have been an advantageous marriage for her and for all of Proye.” Efren shook his head again. “Cultural differences can be blinding. I doubt they intended anything more after the Forget-Me-Not to cover up their failed attempts. As I said, Artemis’s temper got away from him.”
“Excuse me, sirs.” Doctor Brookse approached the bed, carrying a load of folded cloth.
Marcelo’s brows rose.
“A cold compress to minimize the bruising,” Doctor Brookse said. He laid the chilly layers on Marcelo’s sore chest, and Marcelo shivered. To Efren, the doctor said, “I’d like him to rest and minimize activity for most of the rest of today. He can emerge and join the family for supper tonight. Then nothing strenuous for a few days.”
“I’ll see to it.” Efren gave Marcelo a look, indicating that Marcelo would be wasting his time if he tried to do more.
No worries. The only thing Marcelo wanted right then was a warm blanket and a blazing fire.
* * * *
A nap, additional cold compresses and ministrations from Doctor Brookse, a few bites from a tray of food, another nap, and eventually a luxurious bath with a fair bit of pampering later, and Marcelo was able to walk around the room without experiencing excessive pain. Not unless the tender red and purple area of his chest was pressed.
Doctor Brookse gave a final nod of approval and released Marcelo into Efren’s hands to be escorted to supper.
“Feeling better, my darling?” Efren presented his arm.
“Hungry, but yes. I will be fine.”
Marcelo tucked his hand underneath and gripped it near the elbow before glancing up, expectantly. Efren winked and flexed his arm muscles twice in quick succession.
Marcelo laughed, and warm fuzzies tickled his belly as Efren’s chuckles joined his. He stepped lightly as they strode through the halls and down the staircase.
A footman opened the door as they approached the dining hall and announced them. The family was assembled on one side of the hall, and their conversation halted when Efren and Marcelo stepped into the room.
Queen Ellyn’s hand flew to her throat, and her eyes glistened as he and Efren joined the group. She shook her head but kept her gaze fixed on Marcelo.
She choked, “Oh, my dear boy,” and threw open her arms.
After a quick glance at Efren, Marcelo stepped into her embrace. Her hug remained gentle, perhaps mindful of the injury to his chest.
She rubbed, rather than patted his back. “Thank you for saving my son.”
His face heated, and he didn’t know what to say, so he smiled and said nothing. He cast another glance at Efren, who was no help at all, offering the faintest of shrugs and a half-grin.
“I know you’re uncomfortable when you’re the center of attention,” the queen continued, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with us for a few moments.”
With that warning, he was passed through a gauntlet of careful hugs, sniffles, and murmured expressions of pride and gratitude. His face was so warm, its color probably matched the wine by the time the king came to his rescue.
“All right now. Let’s give Marcelo a little breathing room. And let’s sit, he’s probably famished,” he said with a wink reminiscent of Efren’s, “judging by how little he ate off his midday tray.”
Marcelo expelled a breath as everyone turned toward the table. With a hand at his back, Efren led him over and pulled out his chair. He pressed a kiss to Marcelo’s cheek before taking his own seat at the bottom end of the table.
Marcelo’s lips twitched when Efren’s foot rubbed alongside his. He took a couple deep breaths, returned the rub, and sent Efren a sidelong glance and a wink of his own.
Efren truly cared, that was obvious. Marcelo’s lips curved a little higher, and he sat a little straighter.
Once everyone was seated and served, the king said, “We’re going to break our usual custom of eschewing political discussions at family meals. Much has happened throughout the day, and a number of pigeons have made the long journey between here and Sheburat, some arriving very recently. I’m sure everyone would like to be brought up to speed.”
Heads, including Marcelo’s, bobbed all around the table. He suspected plenty, but knew less than anyone else.
“First,” King Alnod said, “we captured the men who’d been with Prince Artemis, and they admitted that Prince Artemis’s official mission for coming here was to appeal directly to us for help in their quest to free Olstin.
“Meanwhile, Ulric himself had gone to Sheburat. They’d left under cover of darkness to keep their purpose secret for as long as possible, hoping the surprise might help their case with Queen Giselle.”
King Alnod nodded at Marcelo at the mention of his mother. “Or at least catch her unaware and without an official response prepared.
“We sent pigeons to notify her of both the Forget-Me-Not poisoning yesterday and this morning’s physical attack as well as the theory you and Efren discussed out on the field regarding Bertram’s death immediately prior to Artemis’s appearance, and that theory’s apparent confirmation by Artemis’s attack. She had King Ulric taken into custody for questioning.
“News of his remaining son’s death, coupled with whatever…uh…methods of questioning the queen employed, broke Ulric, and he’s confessed to all three attacks.
“He claims he had no inside assistance from Zioneven residents, and that his men coerced Mr. Othes into cooperating, then murdered him and dumped his previously murdered family in their apartment. He confirmed that it was Marcelo who’d killed Bertram, and he’s admitted to the motive Marcelo suggested to Efren this morning after the attack.”
“Princess Udine?” Rolland said. “They truly thought Efren might marry her if he were free of the peace treaty requirement?”
“Yes.” The king nodded. “They truly did.”
“What…” Marcelo cleared his throat. “What happens now, sir?”
“Excellent question.” The king scratched his chin. “Let’s see. I think the tour of the realm should be pushed back for a moon cycle. Rolland wouldn’t want to replace the two of you and leave Bridget and Hugon right now. Merewina’s in no condition for travel either. And you and Efren should have that much time together here before taking it on.
“Concerning King Ulric, I don’t precisely know because I’m going to let your mother deal with him. We can rest assured, though, that he won’t be reinstated as ruler of Proye. As a patriarchy, neither Princess Udine nor his granddaughters will ascend to the throne.
“The Duke of Westbury, an eminently reasonable man, has the best claim, and your mother and I have agreed to back him should he encounter any resistance.
“As for King Deverick in Gagel, your mother and I will be apologizing to him for the next year, at least.” The king snorted. “Ah, he’s a sensible man and had already admitted the evidence was compelling. Even he was suspecting one of his nobles might be behind it, so I think he’ll simply be glad it’s over.”
Efren said, “And so peace once again settles over the four realms.”
“Indeed it does,” the king said with a firm nod. “And our supper conversation hereby ceases to include anything political in nature.”
“Hear, hear!” Merewina laughed. “Bridget, do tell us what Hugon has done this afternoon.”