Marcelo’s next younger sister, Kemble—the one everyone from Sheburat had expected Efren to choose as his alternate—seemed a little too cheerful with her perky grin and easy chatter with one of her younger sisters this morning for Efren’s ego. She’d probably dreaded the expectation she’d have to marry Efren with the same strength he had shrunk from the thought of marrying any of Marcelo’s sisters.
Nonetheless, Queen Giselle, Prince Consort Elmer, and Marcelo’s six surviving sisters were sincere kindness personified as they wished their son and brother happiness in his new life. Efren’s heart thawed as the queen unbent enough to actually hug her son. But that internal warmth was short-lived. Icy hands squeezed his core as a glimpse of Gideon standing by the door reminded him of the prospective danger awaiting them on their passage home.
When Marcelo finally turned to Efren, the earlier unbridled enthusiasm for his new life had dimmed from his eyes. Perhaps due to a touch of impending homesickness after that gauntlet of familial good-wishes, or maybe because he was clever enough to understand the risks of their upcoming journey. He was also bright enough to have developed second thoughts—worries—now that his initial enchantment with his new husband was viewed in the light of day and all the realities of life that came with it.
That last possibility was the one Efren could best allay. Witnesses be damned, Efren lifted one of Marcelo’s slender hands to his lips, then cupped the younger man’s jaw to raise that delicately rounded, but surprisingly strong chin. Marcelo’s eyes widened when Efren lightly kissed him in front of everyone, but the magical captivating sparkle from the previous night relit.
Some of the tension in Efren’s shoulders relaxed. He nodded to Queen Giselle, then kept Marcelo’s hand in his when they spun to join the Zioneven entourage.
* * * *
Marcelo
Marcelo held his head high as he strode out of the castle hand in hand with his new husband. Husband. A notion that would have never crossed his mind when he’d awoken just two days prior.
As they marched down the stone steps, the two of them shared a smile when Efren gave Marcelo’s hand a comforting squeeze. It was as if Efren could read his mind, or at least his moods, and knew when he needed encouragement, wanted the comfort of being with someone who demonstrated fondness, and the relief of knowing he wasn’t embarking on this unforeseen segment of his life alone in a sea of uncaring strangers.
This castle had been Marcelo’s home for all of his eighteen years, but even knowing he would lose the reassurance of familiar surroundings, it hadn’t taken him long to see the upside to this new plan for his life. In the matriarchal society of Sheburat, Marcelo was…superfluous. Rare royal sons, such as himself, were little more than pampered pets.
To be fair, he hadn’t been curbed by many restrictions. He’d been free to wander the grounds and peruse the library, but his formal education had ended much earlier than that of his sisters, and he’d been left completely on the outside of everything to do with politics or running the kingdom. As such, he hadn’t felt particularly attached to any of his sisters. Not even his now-deceased twin.
That awareness of his comparative lack of knowledge had been driven home when Efren had explained what one of his men had witnessed and discovered. Likely any of his sisters, even the youngest, would have connected the dots without Efren first having to lay out those additional facts.
Marcelo had been so ignorant, he hadn’t even realized the extent of his ignorance. He’d attended state dinners and had discussions with ambassadors from other kingdoms. He’d been given a rudimentary outline of Sheburat’s history. He simply hadn’t realized how edited the version he’d been told was.
Apparently, all that would change with his new life in Zioneven. Marcelo would never be his husband’s full equal, as Efren was destined to become king. But Efren had promised to further his education and training, and eventually Marcelo would be on a more even plane with other nobles—respected and valued for his contributions.
Marcelo glanced at the broadsword hanging from Efren’s scabbard. Swordsmanship was one of the many skills in which Marcelo was deficient. He’d never received any military training. He couldn’t even wield a knife other than to cut his meat during meals.
The travelers were gathered inside the castle’s gates, with mounted security personnel spaced throughout the line of people on horses, in carriages, and wagons laden with supplies.
Marcelo nodded to his personal servant, Erich, who’d agreed to come with him, as he and Efren made their way to a position near the front of the caravan. A number of security personnel were ahead of them in line.
Efren placed his hands at Marcelo’s waist and gave him a boost onto his horse—the same horse he’d been comfortably riding for more than a year, a gift from his mother—then Efren easily leapt onto his own. That was yet another way in which Marcelo was wanting, but was determined to remedy…physical prowess. He couldn’t even safely mount his horse without a stool or a boost. He’d never been expected to do so.
He’d never felt himself to be inadequate in any way before. He was a royal son in a matriarchal society, and he was everything he’d been expected to be. He’d never had reason to compare himself to a man from another kingdom’s royal family, and it was only now that he’d done so that he found himself lacking.
Jeremy Cook, who reported to the security leader, Denis Byrde, but functioned more as a general aide, rode up and addressed Efren. “We’re all accounted for and ready to ride out at your command, sir.”
Efren nodded, raised his left hand, and gave it a forward wave, hollering, “Homeward on!”
The jovial cheer that went up at Efren’s command further raised Marcelo’s spirits. That shout of approval had been earnest, and not something they’d performed out of a sense of obligation. The people of Zioneven obviously felt free and relaxed in Efren’s presence.
Having his personal servant jump at the chance to move with him after speaking to the Zioneven servants had been the best endorsement of the mood of that kingdom that could be given. This observation merely added to it.
They pulled out. A few of the security riders in front of them stayed close, but the others picked up their pace and were quickly out of sight to scout ahead. The sun was higher in the sky than they would have liked for the start of their long journey.
Even so, Marcelo was not lacking in his horsemanship. Like all his sisters, he’d been encouraged to ride. Granted, he hadn’t spent all day atop a horse, but he had often devoted hours at a time to riding, and he’d done it frequently. This journey would be taxing, but not overwhelmingly so.
Marcelo sat a little straighter in his saddle. At least this was one way in which Efren would not see him as a burden.
A pleasant breeze gusted through the sparse trees and scattered cottages on either side of the lane for the first stretch of their journey. Marcelo pulled in deep breaths of the fresh air, sometimes rich with the clean scents of the forest beyond, or mixed with loamy hints from the nearer fields, and the occasional waft of fresh bread and fruity pastries as they passed a cottage.
The air was cool, but not cold. Perfect for easing the flush that threatened to creep up his face every time his thoughts slipped from remembrances of childhood laughter shared with his murdered sister, to the prior night and the beautiful consideration with which Prince Efren had consummated their marriage.
Marcelo didn’t flatter himself with the thought that his husband could possibly hold him in any particular regard—they’d met only the day before the wedding—but Efren was considerate and caring. Whether by training or by nature was difficult to call, but Marcelo was inclined to think it was a combination thereof. Efren had…kind eyes.
Marcelo’s goal was to earn Efren’s respect and affection, and dare he hope…love. Marcelo was well on the path to loving Efren. He already felt a warm respect for the man, and certainly he was smitten.
The caravan moved along silently, or rather without unwarranted talking, bec
ause a moving procession of horses, carriages, and wagons couldn’t be considered silent. But a wise traveler was an alert traveler even at the best of times, and he knew enough not to distract Efren’s attention, considering their elevated risk. Regrettably, outside of the obvious, Marcelo wasn’t entirely sure what he should be watching or listening for.
The suppression of speech didn’t prevent him from daydreaming, though. And sneaking furtive peeks at Efren, or more specifically, Efren’s muscled thighs, the definition of which was clearly on display through the tautly pulled leather of his riding trousers.
Thank goodness for cool breezes. Although, judging by the quirk to Efren’s lips during Marcelo’s last glimpse, his observations weren’t as stealth as he’d hoped.
Marcelo snapped his gaze back to the road ahead. But really, did it matter that Efren knew of his attraction? Surely that was one goal in a marriage, wasn’t it? Marcelo would be delighted to know that Efren thought of him with desire.
Yet, perhaps it would be prudent to be less conspicuous in his preoccupation with Efren’s…charms. He didn’t need everyone noticing his naïve infatuation, even if he didn’t mind Efren perceiving it. His goal was to earn the people’s respect through his efforts to assimilate, and to become a valuable asset to Zioneven, not to become a joke.
Until they stopped for their midday meal, he kept his attention pointedly focused on the long stretch of road facing them. The first meal of their travels would be a substantial one of fresh poultry, fruits, and breads provided by the kitchens of Sheburat. Much of the kitchen staff had worked through the night to prepare their initial feast as a gift from Marcelo’s mother.
Hereafter they would dine on provisions they’d brought with them from Zioneven. Jerky, dried apples, honey oat cakes, nuts and the like. He’d been told they would occasionally eat heartier meals, or at least pick up fresher provisions when passing through towns along their path.
At a field that seemed to have been designed for such a purpose, Efren put up an arm indicating their stop, and steered them to the side of the road. There were a couple fire pits, not that they would avail themselves of those for this stop, and even several outhouses. The nearby stand of trees looked more appealing as a location to relieve himself, though. He’d wait and see what the other men did.
Efren leapt from his horse with seemingly no effort, then was immediately at Marcelo’s side, offering his assistance. Heat rose to Marcelo’s cheeks as Efren’s hands landed on his waist to steady him as he dismounted.
“Thank you,” Marcelo said.
“It’s my pleasure.” Efren lifted one of Marcelo’s hands, and a tingling warmth spread up Marcelo’s arm when Efren planted a light kiss to his inner wrist. “Come, my darling.” Efren hitched his head toward the stand of trees. Several men headed in that direction, while some of the women proceeded toward the outhouses. A number of people took care of the horses, and still others delved into one of the supply wagons, presumably to set up the meal.
In the trees, the men took turns between standing guard while the others were vulnerable, relieving themselves. When they returned to the clearing, another group took their turn, and Efren and Marcelo lent a hand with the horses.
Everyone appeared to know the routine, and everyone, no matter their station in life, contributed in some manner. In no time at all, blankets were spread on the ground, each with a platter laden with food in the center. He’d thought he would be happy simply to have the chance to stretch his legs and sit cross-legged for a while rather than in the saddle, but Marcelo ran a hand over his grumbling stomach at the sight of the food.
Efren led him to one of the blankets where several men and women already sat. They looked at Marcelo with curious, but not unkind expressions. Each welcomed him with a smile and a nod, and Efren refreshed the introductions—apparently recognizing that Marcelo wouldn’t remember all the names that had been thrown at him at their wedding—before everyone commenced with the business of filling their bellies as expeditiously as was politely possible.
Traveling food was all of the sort that could be eaten with their hands, so individual plates were not distributed. That would have been an unnecessary burden to haul along and keep clean. Everyone at each blanket reached in to take only as much as they would eat in that moment. They passed around a jug of non-alcoholic ginger wine.
Efren settled comfortably close. Close enough for their knees to touch as they sat cross-legged on the ground. Heat from the body that had kept him warmer than a heated brick in bed the previous night transferred through that trifling contact and swelled throughout him. Marcelo had a sneaking suspicion Efren had deliberately engineered that touch, and possibly that knowledge was the source of some of the warmth infusing him.
Nobody dawdled. They didn’t rush, but neither did they dally. There was little conversation because everyone was busy chewing—apparently socializing would be saved for their evening meal. Their break was over soon enough, and before Marcelo had even had time to think about the afternoon ahead, Efren was helping him to remount his horse.
Chapter 2: …and Men
Efren
As Efren expected, based on what he’d been told of Marcelo’s typical daily activities, the younger man held up well during their first morning’s travels. Still, as they crossed a bridge over a sizable creek and approached another roadside campground where they would pull in for the night, Marcelo’s face looked tight from the strain of being in the saddle all day long. He appeared weary enough that his not-so-stealthy glances from that morning had ceased.
Which was more disappointing than Efren would have expected it to be. Those glances had warmed his heart.
Much as Efren had hoped for a genial relationship with his new husband, he hadn’t expected the adoration he’d seen in the man’s eyes. Lovers he’d had in the past had certainly looked at him with lust-filled gazes, and perhaps it was because they’d known they could never be more than fleeting partners to him that they’d kept potential feelings in check.
Yes, some of what he saw in Marcelo’s eyes was physical hunger—thankfully—but there were elements of respect and admiration there, too. Unexpected, but not at all unwelcomed.
In the list of qualities that he’d once hoped for in his life partner, Efren had never considered how his spouse felt about him to be one of them. Perhaps because he’d figured the odds were he would marry Marcelo’s twin, Marcela, and he well knew that she would’ve had her own agenda and would’ve been unlikely to let an attachment get in the way of it.
What was most unexpected was the effect all of that had on Efren’s return feelings. He didn’t hold Marcelo’s ignorance of the political landscape against him. In fact, considering the differences between the two kingdoms, that could be seen as a bonus.
He admired Marcelo’s determination to improve not only his knowledge, but also other ways in which he was deficient as compared to his Zioneven peers. After their midday meal, Marcelo had paid pointed attention as the men had mounted their horses, studying technique. Efren had nothing but admiration for someone determined to better their skills.
The two of them couldn’t have been much more different, both physically and life-experience-wise. But maybe the Zioneven elders’ sage musings such as “opposites attract” had more truth to them than Efren had considered. Regardless, Marcelo’s open admiration stroked his ego and made him want to live up to that honor. He didn’t need Queen Giselle’s entreaty—or veiled threat, as it were—to persuade him in that direction.
Now, Efren led them into the campground, and he could feel, if not hear, the collective sigh of his traveling party. He dismounted quickly and strode to Marcelo’s side. This time, although he again placed his hands at Marcelo’s waist, he kept his grip looser, more to spot than to assist.
After Marcelo alit, he rewarded Efren with a shy smile that once again pinged his heartstrings. As his people dismounted and got busy setting up camp, Efren turned to Marcelo. “My darling, would you like to help Erich
and Dru set up our tent?”
Marcelo’s eyes brightened. “I would enjoy learning how to do that.”
“I thought you might.” Efren gestured toward where their personal servants were helping to unload the supply wagon. “I’ll come find you again shortly. I must speak with Denis first.”
Marcelo nodded and walked away while Efren handed off their horses to one of the women. Denis stood to one side of where the tents were being laid out, speaking to the scouts and guards, and he looked up at Efren’s approach.
“Sir.” Denis nodded then waited for Efren’s questions.
“Anything out of the ordinary?” Efren asked.
“No, sir. But it might be a bit early in our journey for them to strike.”
“True. King Deverick will have only recently received the news of their mission’s failure and the resulting turn of events.”
“Right.” Denis curtly nodded again. “But he probably hasn’t heard that we’ve figured out what actually happened, and that Queen Giselle knows of his culpability. The more time that goes by, the more likely it is he’ll learn that, and the safer we’ll be. But if they decide quick action is best, they might play their hand at any time.”
“Agreed. What are your security plans for tonight?”
“Three rotations through the night. I think that’ll strike the right balance between giving each set of guards enough rest before tomorrow’s travels and keeping enough people on each watch to cover our increased risk.”
Efren bobbed his head as he scanned the camp’s perimeter. Abundant trees and foliage surrounded them, but a wide expanse of meadow lay between the campsite and the woodland’s edge.
That plan should be enough. It wasn’t as if King Deverick would send an entire regiment after them. What, if anything, King Deverick did would be small and covert like the move they’d made on Princess Marcela’s horse.
The Best-Laid Plans Page 2