DEREK let out a sigh as he finally heaved his pack on top of the low chest set at the foot of the thickly mattressed bed covered in freshly washed linen. Travel to Dennor had been uneventful, at least as much as could be expected when traveling in winter, and the gelding he had originally hired in Delfore had proven to be a sturdy beast that had handled both the elements and the harried pace well. Still, reaching the port city was a relief, even if the warmth of the rented room and the promised comfort of the bed couldn’t undo the tension that had knotted his stomach from the moment he left Gravlorn behind.
But then again, the four days that had passed since he had ridden out of the Defender city wouldn’t have been peaceful even if the season had been the gentlest months of spring. He let out his breath as he rubbed his hands across his face, then brought his hands together as if he were about to pray as he stared at the far wall without seeing it.
Gods, he hadn’t wanted to leave Kherin, and it was a choice he would never have made if he had had the power to make it, but the truth was, he hadn’t. The northern attacks, which were happening far too often and for no discernible reason, were a chilling reminder that peace was often too easily taken for granted, and staying in Gravlorn now would have meant failure in his responsibility to the king and the kingdom—a responsibility he had accepted willingly years ago and had taken seriously every year after. And that failure would affect more than himself and Kherin as long as northerners continued to invade Llarien soil.
But the memory of the painful emotion he had seen far too clearly in the eyes that had watched him in the early hours of that last morning in Gravlorn had torn his heart, and had done so as deeply as his own certainty that he would have to leave Kherin. He closed his eyes as he breathed over his hands, remembering his words as he tried to ease the pain for Kherin and in himself.
“If the choice were mine, I would spend every moment I could spare with you, and every night in your bed if you would have me.”
And it hadn’t been a lie. He had told Kherin he held no regrets, and he didn’t. He had admitted that what had happened in the way-stop had been the result of his own desires as well as Kherin’s, and it had been the absolute truth. And in the early hours of that last morning in the city, when they had finally given answer to their desires under the slat-tiled roof of the Harper’s Den—when he had finally taken Kherin with a fierceness that fired his blood even now, and had watched Kherin surrender and succumb to the lust that burned through his own body and Derek’s—it had been because he had wanted it as much as Kherin.
Subtle warmth bloomed in his stomach and trailed lower as the memory of that night swept over him. Neither of them had been virgins, but the depth of passion Kherin had shown in the tangled sheets was rare among the casual lovers Derek had taken before, and never had the experience been so overwhelming as it had been with the second prince of Llarien. When he had said he wanted Kherin to stay rather than return to the hospice, it was because he had wanted Kherin to stay.
His breath sounded again as he dropped his hands long enough to pull the dark shirt he wore over his head, and a smile mixed with sadness and vivid memories crossed his face as he touched the fading bruises that still marked the skin of his upper arms. Kherin likely had no idea that he had left them, though Derek would never begrudge him the marks of passion, and Derek had little doubt he had left his own marks on the prince’s skin while the passion had burned hotly in his blood. But Kherin had said nothing of them if he had, and he could only hope that any offense taken had been forgiven. His only regret now was that his own marks wouldn’t last longer than a few more days.
Derek blew out his breath this time and he lowered his hands as his eyes went to the packs he lived out of. Memories of their last night in Gravlorn had proven just how much Kherin had grown from the rambunctious six-year-old who had tripped over his own feet as he had run to meet him in the castle courtyard, and had clung to him like a shadow even after the prince had grown too old to be teased with candy and tickled into laughing submission. The impish cheeks of the child had grown into the handsome features of the prince, while the gangly knees and elbows of the adolescent became the strong and certain limbs of the man—ones strong enough to hold a man to him as he gave himself up to the pleasures of his body, and certain enough to open willingly and welcomingly when Derek offered his body in return.
And that in itself had been a bittersweet surprise, that day when he had first learned it was indeed men whom Kherin sought for pleasure. The gossip concerning his taste for roughness in addition to his preference for men had since given Derek thrilling and often demanding thoughts to take with him no matter where he bedded next. Acting on those thoughts, however, had been a line he had refused to cross, not when Kherin’s father was king, and not when it would have been Kherin alone who had answered for it.
But having finally crossed that line in Gravlorn, having finally opened himself to what he had so diligently kept at bay….
“I do love you, my prince. Whatever else happens, that will never change.”
Derek closed his eyes as he breathed out, letting the memory of uttering those words drift over him. He had meant them when he had said them, but only during the last four days had he begun to recognize them as coming from somewhere deep within his heart. Awakening in the Harper’s Den to find Kherin lying next to him, peaceful and asleep, had filled him with a deep, warm affection he hadn’t thought to name in the cold shadows of attic room, and the shift of the prince’s body as he burrowed against Derek for comfort and warmth had inspired the tenderness in the kiss he placed on Kherin’s forehead before he slipped out of their bed, though Kherin hadn’t been awake to feel it.
Another breath swept from his lungs.
“I do love you, my prince.”
“I love you too.”
Then the memory of Kherin’s last words in Gravlorn vanished abruptly in the cry that came through the window of the rented room, and Derek’s eyes shot open as he threw a look at the curtained window that overlooked the city’s market square. The sounds continued as the argument outside was joined by others, but Derek didn’t bother to look as he listened to the voices rise and fall.
Was Kherin faring well in Gravlorn and the Defender camp? Had he taken Derek’s advice and sought out Jarak, the Delfore blacksmith whose loyalty wouldn’t be swayed, and who could prove to be his staunchest ally should the tides of the Defender camp change? Had his anger at the poor manner in which the camp was run in turn earned him the anger of the Defenders and their Leader, thus placing him in a danger that not even Jarak could protect him from?
Or had he succumbed again to fever and illness because his worries over Adrien and the behavior of the northerners had made him oblivious to the concerns for his own health?
Derek felt the twist of dread inside him as his thoughts wandered to the dreary city of Gravlorn. The king’s distant behavior and Kherin’s own actions had combined to make the prince’s life at the castle difficult and often volatile, but until the moment he had ridden from Gravlorn, he had always been able to take comfort in the fact that Adrien’s presence and the influence of the royal house would at least keep the younger prince safe.
But now….
Now Adrien was too ill to come to his defense and Delfore was too far away to claim the protection that royal blood would give him in the capital. And while Kherin wasn’t stupid, he could be foolish at times, and the danger that rash words or actions would place him in….
Worry over what was and could be happening in Gravlorn had plagued Derek every moment of the four days since he had left the Defender city, and his worry over Kherin had deepened to almost painful dread with every galloping stride his gelding had taken to Dennor. But though there was little he could do now besides pray that Kherin remained safe, afterward, when the threat of the northerners had passed and Adrien had regained health, there was one thing he could—and would—do to ensure the prince’s heart at least remained unscathed.
He sighed he closed his eyes again. Kherin would face a difficult road once Derek returned to the capital and the castle, but Derek vowed now that he wouldn’t walk it alone.
“I do love you, my prince.”
And not even the king of Llarien was going to come before that.
The silence in the street outside his window was what finally drew his attention back to the clean though sparsely furnished room he had found available at the Sleeping Sheep, and the absence of the shouting from moments ago said whatever altercation had been taking place outside had ended, for good or ill. And given what he knew of the port city….
Dennor was a far cry from his memories of it as an apprentice to the man who had started him on the road to becoming the kingdom’s most favored trader. The cobbled streets weaving past painted inns and shops, the loud voices and whinnying horses, the smell of spices and baking bread, the occasional whiff of salt air from the sea—those remained the same, though in recent years the city had become more deteriorated and dirty.
And though the invitation of sleep was tempting, he had business to tend to in those deteriorated and dirty streets, not the least of which was visiting the alleys in hopes Dar had not yet succumbed to either the elements or the tempers of those he angered. He would also need to see what the taverns in Dennor had to offer, though he had little interest in lingering in them longer than he needed to learn the most recent rumors of the city. His visits to the city council and guardhouses would be later, once the word from the street told him what was lurking inside the city’s official quarters.
The coolness of the air brought chill bumps to his skin as he moved to the window overlooking the city, and in the light of the lamps glowing along the streets he picked out clearly the beggar across the road, the prostitutes a little farther down, and what could only be thieves eyeing passersby from the shadows of the alleyways. The faces of the people merely passing by were pinched and wary as they appeared and vanished in the square, with dark looks more common than polite smiles when they passed close enough to each other to offend.
Derek sighed with a hint of sadness at the reality of the life outside the capital city, and he hoped that whatever he learned here, he learned quickly.
And he hoped it would be enough to ease his prince’s mind when he finally had the chance to pull him back into his arms.
THE crowd that had gathered in the market square was immense despite the lateness of the hour and the spitting drizzle that came intermittently from the depths of the Silver Sea. He hadn’t expected to witness a speech so soon after entering the city, but rumors that Sethan Alderson himself had called the citizens together to listen to his talk had been more prevalent in the market square and taverns than anything having to do with the northerners directly. And the fact it was to be given well after most families would have found their beds seemed a sure indication to Derek that what Sethan had to say would be dire.
And Derek hadn’t been wrong. As the councilman’s son stood before the gathered citizens, Derek heard him speak about the northerners and the threat they posed to the peaceful citizens of the city. The failures of the Defenders to protect the citizens of Dennor figured prominently as well, as did talk of the magic he was certain would both save them and free them. Dennor would no longer be forced to rely on the king and court in Delfore for its security—a king and court that held little care for the livelihoods of the port city, or so Sethan proclaimed—as the return of the magic would defeat the northerners and the royal house alike, and thus return Llarien to the glory it had known in former generations.
And in doing so ensure Sethan Alderson’s place at the top of the new hierarchy, with the power he so obviously coveted being his for the taking.
Sethan hadn’t said the last out loud, but Derek recognized the man’s greed, and even if no others in his audience had understood Sethan’s true meaning, the talk was loud once the speech was over. More often than not it rose to shouts as the efforts to be both heard and listened to grew frantic among those in attendance. Derek had expected as much given the nature of Sethan’s words, and wasn’t truly surprised to note how few gave any thought to the ideas they were supporting or the consequences of success or failure beyond this night.
And though he hadn’t seen the constable of the city in attendance, he had taken note of the city guards positioned protectively around the market square, and was thankful when they intervened at last to stop the countless confrontations from coming to blows as emotions ran rampant. They would have had little success had they sought to quiet or contain the crowd, but they were at least successful in keeping the dissension from becoming a riot that would see many injured, and more than one likely dead.
He had also taken note of the Defenders he had seen among the citizens, though he caught only glimpses of their faces as the speech began. He did, however, recognize them as Defenders from Delfore: Carrick and Bran, a miller and a royal armory attendant, and not two people he would have expected to see at this meeting in Dennor, let alone wearing their leather armor in the port city. That the king had sent them was unquestionable, but the reason for their orders was something he would have to learn later. Carrick had only offered a nod when Derek finally caught his gaze near the end of the speech, and though Derek returned it, he made no effort to approach. The slight change he had seen in the elder Defender’s expression had said Carrick was as curious about Derek’s presence as Derek was about his.
Or maybe, Derek thought as he eyed those around him, it wasn’t his own presence as much as the absence of Kherin’s that had widened Carrick’s eyes for just an instant. Kherin’s departure from the capital city in his company may have been subdued, but it hadn’t been unknown.
The sounds of the crowd continued as Derek pushed his way to edge, and he tensed when the shouts became a roar as yet another suggestion about exactly how the magic could be used to their benefit was bandied about. Then he stopped his steps short when he caught sight of the one man who wasn’t shouting into the ruckus. Standing tall and nearly hidden in the shadows to the side where the masses were the thinnest, it was the man’s stillness itself that drew
Derek’s attention. The calmness of the man’s expression and the ease of his posture appeared as unthreatening as the hands he held loosely at his side….
Though Derek’s heart chilled with immediate recognition.
He hadn’t seen Tristan since the last months of summer, when Kherin’s leg was still in splints and the prince’s temper still ran to boredom. Tristan’s dismissal may have only been days before Derek’s return to the capitol had found Kherin inside the dangerous walls of the Mouse, but those mere days had kept them from meeting upon Derek’s arrival at the castle. Derek had seen him then and countless times before, however, and knew Tristan had filled Kherin’s bed as well as his position in the royal stables, though castle gossip rather than personally witnessing the act had confirmed the former.
Tristan must have felt Derek’s gaze on him, for he turned his gaze to the crowd after no more than a few moments had passed. It took another moment for his eyes to settle on Derek, but when they did, his lips curled up in a sneer.
“I say we have had enough!” a man shouted suddenly, nearly in his ear, and Derek swung to him with a curse ready on his lips, though the man was already moving away, heading toward the target of his shouts. “The Defenders no longer protect us! The Defenders have left us to be butchered by the northerners! They have failed us!”
The shouts were soon taken up and repeated as the man gained a following, and Derek let his curse go unsaid as he turned back to where Tristan stood—
And found his place at the edge of the crowd was now vacant. Finding him a second time took little effort, however, and he did so almost immediately when he turned his gaze to where Sethan Alderson still stood outside the swarming mass. The crowd had thinned around Derek enough to give him a clear view of the two of them talking quietly, though the knot in his stomach only tightened when he saw the furtive glances cast his way as the words between them continued.
Not that he was afraid of Sethan, or even Tristan for that matter. He had little doubt that either of them possessed the true courage it would take to form an attack on what reputation had deemed the most favored royal trader. But seeing Tristan here—and seeing his association with Sethan—was not something Derek wanted to tell Kherin. Whatever had passed between Tristan and Kherin may have long since vanished, but to learn that someone Kherin had taken to his bed more than once was now a part of this….
Yet he would have little choice if Kherin were to learn of it before it became castle gossip in Delfore.
He had just witnessed the beginnings of treason right here in the market square of Dennor, and Tristan, the king’s former stablehand—and Kherin’s former lover—was a part of it.