by Aldrea Alien
“There shouldnae have been a contest,” Hamish muttered, glaring into his empty mug as if it had done him personal injury.
“Well, Mum thought different.”
“She always does.”
Darshan hunched his shoulders, suddenly conscious of just how much smaller he was in comparison to the two brothers. If either one decided to be physically violent with the other, sitting between them was a less than ideal position. “I am mildly surprised Queen Fiona has not attempted to see you remarried, Gordon,” he said in an effort to divert their attention without being too obvious.
“Mum willnae do that,” Hamish answered. “He’s cursed.”
Darshan arched a brow Gordon’s way. “Cursed?” That wasn’t at all the answer he had been expecting. Did Tirglasians still believe in such?
“Aye. After losing me wife and eldest daughter, Muireall’s clan declared that any woman who married me would be cursed to a similar fate.” He shrugged. “I dinnae mind. Could’ve been worse, Sorcha could’ve been labelled as the cause instead of meself. I can handle the slight easily enough, but it would’ve been a mite bit harder for her to.”
“I am familiar with that sort of blight on one’s character.” His twin sister, thanks to the sheer happenstance of being born second, was considered to be devoid of a soul. For most, it meant death. Anjali only lived because their father refused to be rid of any link to their mother, even the one that had inadvertently killed her.
But the stigma still followed her, extending to everything she did. She was considered unfit for marriage. Her very actions held no actual weight unless Darshan validated them, the servants and palace slaves choosing to believe items just up and vanished when they knew those very items belonged to her. Even if his twin had children, they would be considered to have been born without a mother.
He hated it, never mind that Anjali seemed not to care and used it all to her advantage. But there was little he could do on his own to overturn a belief that had been held for centuries.
Visibly shaking himself, Gordon swiped the final piece of pork crackling from Darshan’s plate. “But for a more serious question.” He took a bite of his stolen morsel before waving the end in Darshan’s direction. “Are you saving that for later?”
“The food you have so blatantly stolen? Evidently not now you have slobbered all over it.” He slid his plate to one side to get it beyond the man’s reach. “And I would thank you to stop your pilfering.”
Giving a low chuckle, Gordon popped the remaining bite of crackling into his mouth.
Hamish tilted to one side, bringing his mouth level with Darshan’s ear. “He means the crumbs in your little beard.”
A faint warmth touched his cheeks in reply. With one hand, he carefully brushed off the crumbs. How ever long had they been there?
Gordon snickered. “I can tell you’ve not grown anything longer than a bit of face-fuzz before. You looked a lot more like a Tirglasian when you let your whole jawline grow out.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.” Having left his shaving kit back in the castle during their fortnight of travelling, he had spent little time getting a decent look at his reflection. The cloister had only afforded him the briefest chance to groom himself to a respectable standard and once they’d returned to Mullhind Castle…
Being greeted by a shaggy-faced being in the mirror had paled under the rigours of travel and the drain on his magic. Trimming it into a semblance of what he had originally arrived with had been somewhat therapeutic.
“It looks like you’ve tried to kiss a billy goat and made off with his beard,” Gordon teased, nudging him with an elbow.
Darshan stroked his goatee. It was a strange sensation to have it longer than his face. Not entirely unpleasant. “I dp not intend to keep it at this length once I return home.” Whilst he preferred his men to have a certain ruggedness about them, he had, like most of the male nobility, leant towards a more clean-shaven appearance.
“That’s a shame,” Hamish murmured. “I quite like it. It’s a good look on you.”
He smiled up at his lover, trying to ignore the fluttering warmth the man’s words had infused in him. “I am sure that certain sacrifices could be made.” If things went to plan, he wouldn’t be some port in a storm for whoever sought to curry favour with the Mhanek. Growing out a beard because Hamish favoured the look was a trivial inconvenience in light of all he had witnessed the man suffer through these past few weeks.
“I see they’re already lining up for a dance,” Gordon said. The man had rocked back in his chair to give a disdainful look over his shoulder at the women clearly waiting for Hamish.
Hamish also looked over his brother’s shoulder and groaned. “That’s all I need, another night of being groped.”
Frowning, Darshan peered at the clump of women. To a one, they seemed hesitant, almost scared, to come any closer. Would any of them dare if Hamish chose to stay put?
Gordon gave his brother a sympathetic pat on the back. “It’ll be over soon.”
“I thought you enjoyed yourself last night,” Darshan said, deftly skewering a scant mouthful of roast beef onto the tines of his fork before it slipped into the range of Gordon’s questing fingers. “You seemed to be having fun.”
“As long as I stuck to dancing with the married women, aye it was a pleasant evening. But to be fair…” Hamish leant closer. “Nothing could compare to dancing with you the other night.”
Darshan smiled, the bubbly heat in his gut slowly pooling in his face. That night had been enjoyable and not because of where it had wound up.
“This is me now leaving the conversation,” Gordon mumbled into his mug before pushing himself away from the table and onto his feet.
Hamish scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh come on, now. I was just about to regale you with how they’ve their own version of the four-step. Although, I dinnae remember most of the moves.”
Gordon gave a hearty, rumbling laugh. “I’m surprised you remember anything after the amount of drink you sloshed down.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “But I best be off.” He clamped his hand down onto his brother’s shoulder. “Dinnae get into any trouble in the meantime.”
“You ken me,” Hamish quipped, grinning.
“Why do you think I said it?” Gordon shot back, holding his brother in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles across Hamish’s head. He released Hamish almost as swiftly and, giving a nod to Darshan, slipped into the crowd accumulating in the middle of the hall.
The man’s absence left the pair of them alone and, had this been anywhere in Udynea, Darshan would’ve made use of the fact in a more intimate manner than was considered most unseeming even back home.
Instead, he pushed back his empty plate and contented himself with nursing his drink; a red wine he had procured from the inner city market. “I wonder if you have the time to speak about your nephew. The middle one… Ethan?”
Hamish shot him a suspicious look whilst half-engaged in tending to the mess Gordon had made of his hair. “What about him?”
Attempting to still the racing in his mind, Darshan considered the direction to take the topic. Outright revealing another’s preferences wasn’t typically a done thing, but the idea of the boy suffering like Hamish wouldn’t stop invading his thoughts. What harm was there in a more directly probing question? The boy’s uncle would be the last person to lead Ethan into a dangerous situation. “Are you aware he is like us?”
His lover’s brows shot up. His hands dropped, leaving the fiery orange-red coils sticking out in all directions. “He told you that?” he whispered.
“Not directly.” A faint pressure eased itself from around his chest. Not that he had expected an explosive reaction. Whilst Hamish was certainly surprised, the shock didn’t seem to come from a place of ignorance. “I take it you have known for a while?”
Hamish nodded. “As does his mum and brothers. In fact, I think only me parents dinnae ken. We’ve all managed to keep it hush from them and anyone outside the
family.” He bowed his head and murmured, “It’s one of the reasons I havenae left.”
One? How many threads bound Hamish to this awful life? “I thought you said you chose to stay?”
“I did. I chose to stand in the way, to protect him.”
“But you could not have left anyhow.” Not if what Hamish and his siblings had told him about their mother’s insistence on her children remaining within the clan lands was true. “Being forced to do the opposite of what makes you happy is not a choice.”
Hamish grunted, his expression souring as he shook his head.
“You know,” Darshan said, hoping to bring a touch of levity to the conversation. “The boy offered his own hand in lieu of yours… should I fail tomorrow’s trial.”
His lover gave another grunt, this one slightly more amused. “For you? He can bloody get in line. I’ll damn well fight him if he tries muscling in on a man thrice his age. Lad’s got a lot of growing up before he can start to think of such things.”
Darshan hid the smile tugging at his lips behind the guise of taking a sip of wine. He’d had plenty of matrimonial offers, from men and women, but none had declared their intentions of fighting another for the right. “There is no need, I assure you. I made it quite plain that my interests lie with older men.”
“Damn straight,” Hamish grumbled before taking a final swig of his drink. “What had him get that idea into his head, I wonder.”
“Something about wanting someone like me.”
Hamish stared silently into his empty mug for some time before fixing those stunning blue eyes on Darshan. “Do you think any of them might show signs of…” He dipped his head and whispered, “…magic?”
A considering hum stuck in his throat. Darshan attempted to wash it down with a mouthful of wine. “A month ago,” he said, deliberately choosing his native tongue to keep their conversation for their ears alone. “I would’ve told you that if their magic hadn’t made itself known, then it would amount to nothing. But after what you’ve told me…” He shrugged. “Anything could be possible.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Sighing, Hamish got to his feet. “I suppose I best get to dancing if I dinnae want Mum objecting to me preference to stay here and talk.” Straightening his overcoat and visibly smoothing the strain of distaste from his features, Hamish bowed a formal farewell to Darshan before greeting the gaggle of waiting women.
Darshan gripped the edge of the table in an attempt to keep himself calm whilst watching Hamish dance. The vast majority of the women were alike in their single-mindedness. Their hands just a touch too accepting of where they landed and their fingers clearly digging in that little bit deeper than was proper.
Their attempts certainly weren’t going unnoticed by Hamish, either. How they managed to remain oblivious to their dance partner’s discomfort was beyond Darshan’s understanding.
The pungent scent of scorched wood hit Darshan’s nose. He hastened to stand and brush his soot-covered hands clean on a nearby napkin. Satisfied no one had witnessed the minor loss of control, he stalked across the hall for the exit. He would wind up doing something regretful if he lingered for much longer.
How he wished he could step out there, take Hamish’s hand and dance as if such a tame thing wouldn’t be viewed upon as some great scandal.
But if he did, if he showed one flicker of emotion towards the man that couldn’t also be construed as mere politeness, then everything they had been through these past few days would be for naught.
“vris Mhanek,” a woman called.
Curiosity turned Darshan’s head and halted his feet. “Now there is a title I have not heard for some time.”
The woman in question stood from her curtsey, her flowing wheat-gold hair artfully framing her round and flushed face. The ruddiness of her complexion failed to hide the smudge of blue dye streaking right across her nose and eyes. “Have you nae had a chance to dance with anyone tonight?”
“Not as yet, although I feel that stance is soon to change.” He held out his hand before she could speak further. “Would you care to?”
Her face froze save for the hasty flutter of her lashes. She dipped another curtsy, grasping his hand. When she stood straight again, her face was no longer so stiff. “I would be honoured, vris Mhanek.”
They twirled around the room, their feet barely keeping up with the quick beat. Whilst the woman wasn’t as graceful as some of his previous dance partners, she was fleet enough to avoid being trodden on and seemed to know the moves well enough to not have to look down at every turn. Unlike himself.
On the edge of his vision, he spied Hamish still dancing with those he plucked from the seemingly endless line of women. Most of them would undoubtedly be those who, like his own dance partner, had failed the last trial.
“I hear you’ve negotiated new trade deals with our queen,” the woman said.
He smiled to himself. It had been just over a month since he had set foot in this wretched land for that purpose. It seemed like such a simpler time. “Our negotiations are still in the process.” Not that he fancied his chances of continuing down that path once the final trial was over. “Sadly, they stalled once this contest was announced.”
“Really? They say you’ve been here for weeks. Surely some things have been finalised.”
Chuckling, Darshan ignored the blatant attempt to garner information. “I see the gossip wheel runs just as smoothly here as in Minamist. What else does it say of me?”
“That you are…” She wrinkled her nose. “Or should I say were having an affair with his highness.”
“Oh really?” He managed to hide much of his shock in a laugh. “Which one?” He had a fair idea, but no point in handing over any morsel that gossip could use to his disadvantage.
“Prince Hamish.”
“Him?” His throat almost closed on the word. Had he been so uncaring towards the idea of hiding their romantic entanglement that he’d inadvertently announced the depths of it? “He is to be wed after this, is he not? It would be foolish on everyone’s part for him to behave in such a manner.”
“So you two are nae having it off? They say you kissed him in the first day of your arrival.”
“The second day,” he murmured, coming to a halt. “But that was an error on my part. I mistook his friendliness as something else entirely. Believe me, I am not having some clandestine affair with his highness.” He could hardly call it secret when almost the entirety of his lover’s family seemed to be aware of the situation. “Such things could lead to feuds and it would do none of our lands any good to embroil them in a war.”
She seemed to consider his words, those dark eyes narrowing to mere slits.
Darshan drew all of his focus to this one woman. With his magic buzzing through his body in search of an outlet, a gentle tap to her temple with a finger would be enough to knock her out. He would need to time it in order for the act to look as though she had fainted. Perhaps if he—
“I must’ve heard wrong,” the woman said, shrugging. She stepped back and gave him another curtsy. “My apologies, vris Mhanek. I meant no offence.”
“And none was taken.” He watched her passage as she left his side to flutter from one group of gossipers to the next. He would have to watch that nothing untoward reached the queen’s ears before tomorrow’s trial.
After that, they could gossip amongst themselves however they pleased.
Hamish sat perched on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. It was the middle of the night. He should’ve been sleeping, preparing himself for the world to fall apart tomorrow. But even the Goddess would have no luck in seeing him succumb to something as simple as a light slumber.
The hollering of angry voices assaulted his ears. His family had been arguing outside his door for some time, but the shrill sounds were worse now that Nora had left the door open. He didn’t recall her exiting his room. Where would she go? To face those in the corridor outside? He couldn’t hear her amongst the
others.
One voice rose above the rest. Not one of his family members, but no less difficult to deal with. The Goddess knew he had already tried to reason with her. “I demand you make me his bride.” The woman’s screeching sounded like an alley cat on heat. “You ken how they found us.”
Hamish knew the exact circumstances his brother had barged in on. He had been bailed up in a corner in just his smalls whilst a pale-haired woman with a smudge of blue dye across her face tried to throw herself at him.
Others had arrived not long after, but none had been there for the worst of it. Of waking to find a strange woman sharing his bed, her hands inches from the hem of his smalls.
He shuddered. Nothing in the world would be able to scrub the image from his mind. He hadn’t known that his mother had opted to leave his door unguarded since the first competitor had arrived. None of them had known.
It was just dumb luck no one had tried entering his room before now.
He should’ve done more than just stand there. He should’ve pushed her away or bolted for the door. In his panic, his only concern had been in having the woman not touch him.
“It’s the law,” the woman continued.
Hamish hugged himself, softly rocking as dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and silently prayed that no sound of agreement passed his mother’s lips. He knew she was out there, as was his father. They all ignored him for now. Only Nora had come to check on him and she was gone, he hadn’t even heard her arguing with the woman since leaving.
“Maybe that’s true in your clan lands,” Gordon growled. “But nae here. And certainly nae when it’s a contest of skill and arms. One you’ve already failed.” That had to be the fifth time his brother had made such a point. It should’ve been the end to the conversation. If Hamish had been a willing participant in the union contest, at least. If he had any interest in women, it still wouldn’t have mattered if she opted to sneak her way into his bed after being disqualified.
Except their main barrier was less the woman and more—
“The young lady has a point,” his mother replied.