To Target the Heart

by Aldrea Alien

  Where his father could only mumble barely-audible opinions on the matter, his mother seemed hesitant to give any order that would see the woman—his molester, if he was honest with himself and the situation—evicted from the castle or imprisoned in Mullhind’s jail. Even for the duration of the contest.

  “You cannae be thinking of doing this to him,” Gordon snarled. “After all your insisting that ‘Mish abide by the rules of the contest, you cannae possibly be considering giving in to this ridiculous demand.”

  Although Hamish strained to hear any sort of response from his mother, only the heavy thump of his brother’s pacing followed.

  “If you saw nae need for the union contest to end when Muireall was in the running for me own hand,” his brother continued. “And need I remind you she was pregnant at the time, then you shouldnae see a need to end it now.”

  As horrid as the idea seemed, Hamish could see a twisted reasoning behind stopping the contest here. His mother knew he wouldn’t be at all agreeable to the consummation part of marriage. If this woman was willing to go this far, then maybe she would—

  He couldn’t even finish the thought before bile crept up his throat. He swallowed hard, tears burning the corners of his eyes.

  “We were found in bed together,” the woman repeated. Hamish could almost picture her lifting her chin to glare up at the very prince who would one day rule as king. The woman had to know, yet continued to insist she’d a greater standing by way of law.

  Madness. Whatever clan she hailed from sat dangerously close to committing treason if this was what they taught their people.

  “That’s nae true,” Gordon stressed. “And before you utter another falsehood, you were both clothed. And you were only there because you didnae follow the rules. You ken he didnae do a bloody thing to you.”

  The woman’s voice became garbled sound as she seemed to struggle for an answer. “You!” she shrieked. “It’s bloody true! You’re—”

  “What is he doing here?” his mother demanded over top of the woman’s raving.

  Hamish lifted his head. He? Did she mean Darshan? With loathing thick in her voice, surely his mother could mean no one else. But the last he had seen of the man was when they’d both left the dancing up to those with more energy and less sense. Darshan had even been bold enough to sneak a quick goodnight peck before they had parted ways to their respective beds.

  “Never you mind him, Mum,” Nora said, her voice far quieter than their brother’s but no less incensed.

  If she had spoken further or another had replied, Hamish heard little. His focus was rooted entirely on the figure standing in the middle of the doorway.

  Dar…

  Did he want the man here? Seeing him like this?

  His lover’s gaze drifted about the room, his expression neutral as he seemed to take in the assortment of clutter as if he had never seen the space before. Did he wish he was elsewhere?

  Hamish scrunched himself into a tighter ball. How much had the man been told?

  Darshan finally glanced at him, his features stiff with concern, before turning to Nora. “Who found him?”

  “Gor did.”

  Hamish nodded slightly at his sister’s reply. Ever since they were boys, Gordon’s room had never been that far from his. That his brother had been awake enough to be alerted by Hamish’s screams was a fact he would be forever grateful of.

  Darshan arched a brow at her in silent query, but Nora didn’t appear ready to divulge more without the man having to outright ask. She must’ve woken him with some sort of explanation involving Hamish for him to be here. Clearly, she hadn’t given him much in the way of details.

  Shrugging, she indicated Darshan enter and left them alone.

  His lover sat on the bed. He glanced at Hamish, the sleep-ruffled mess of his hair hanging almost morosely in front of his face. His lips parted, only for them to close. He looked for all the world like someone desperately trying to think of the words to say and falling short.

  What could be said?

  Out in the corridor, no less muffled with the shut door, Gordon had barely paused in his arguing. “Nae, you are the one in the wrong here, sneaking into me brother’s room and right into his bed.”

  “I was invited,” the woman snapped back.

  Nora scoffed. “Whilst he slept?”

  “He was nae asleep.”

  “Me brother says otherwise.”

  “So you’re the type to believe a man’s word over a woman’s.” An oily slyness took her voice. The sound trickled coolly down Hamish’s spine.

  There was a hissing intake of breath. Hamish didn’t need to see his sister to envision the white-hot rage tightening her features. “What I believe is me brother. And I doubt he gave you a glance never mind an invite. How do we ken you were nae there to assassinate him?”

  “Clearly not,” his mother answered whilst the woman gabbled incomprehensibly. “Otherwise he would already be dead. I think that we should listen to her without throwing baseless accusations.”

  Like a crippled ship in the tide, Hamish sank his face into his hands. A single, snivelling whine shuddered through him.

  Darshan gently laid a hand on Hamish’s back, cautious as though he expected the flesh beneath his fingers to pull away upon contact.

  Hamish sagged against the man. More sobs shook his body. Not loud bawling, but whimpers that were almost ashamed to reach anyone’s ears.

  Darshan pulled him closer, pressing a cheek to Hamish’s temple. He whispered soothing sounds—no words, just a constant drone of noise that blocked all but the loudest arguing—and slowly rubbed small circles into Hamish’s back.

  The faint sheen of his lover’s magic-made barrier shimmered around them. Did it also lend a hand in the sudden silence?

  All at once, Darshan’s whole body stiffened. His breath seemed to still, but his body vibrated. His grip tightened around Hamish’s shoulders, his lover’s fingers curling possessively into linen and wool.

  “What are you doing?” his mother demanded, the usual sharpness of her voice softened by the shield.

  Hamish lifted his head from Darshan’s shoulder to the vision of his mother filling the doorway.

  Nora slithered into the room to stand before their mother. Her broader frame neatly blocked Hamish’s view. “More for ‘Mish than you’ve ever done.”

  “Go back to bed, Mum,” Gordon insisted. “We’ll handle this, same as always.”

  “I think I should be the one to do that,” Darshan said before anyone else could utter a word. His grip on Hamish’s shoulders tightened. “In all honesty, I am probably the only one here who can relate to this.”

  “Aye,” Nora mumbled, scrubbing her face. “It is probably for the best.”

  Over her shoulder, Hamish spied his brother nodding. Even his father—having been little more than a silent hulk since his arrival—seemed to agree.

  The long intake of his mother’s breath before she spoke sliced through their collective murmurs like a sword. “He—”

  His father laid a firm hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Come on, lass. The last trial is due to be won in the morning. He’s done as you’ve asked. Let him have this.” He turned Hamish’s mother, even as she stammered to object, and guided her out of the room.

  Nora followed, giving a worried glance over her shoulder before shutting the door. They were…

  Alone. No angry voices lurking on the other side of the door. No fear of being caught, of being locked away whilst Darshan was shipped far from here like disease-ridden cargo.

  He was free of all that had plagued him for the first time in a good long while. Until tomorrow. Then he would be expected to play the same ruse he had been forced into for years.

  Hamish flopped forward, his head in his hands. His father was right. Tomorrow was the last trial. Everyone would be waiting for a new addition to the royal clan to be named. He was supposed to be aiming at his truest for not only himself, but Darshan. He’d barely been able t
o manage the latter in the time given to them.

  Could he do it also whilst sleep-deprived?

  “I would ask if you were all right,” Darshan said. “But I feel we both already know the answer to that.”

  “Aye.” Even to his own ears, the word was cracked and shaky. Hamish lifted his head, peering out through coils of unbound hair. “But I feel a wee bit better now you’re here.” He took a deep breath, his whole body feeling as though it doubled in size. “I’ll be fine. Glad I wear me smalls to bed, but fine.”

  Darshan’s brows lowered. His lips twisted, clearly trying to keep his disbelief from displaying on his face. And failing drastically. He returned to rubbing Hamish’s back. “You know I am here for you, right?”

  Hamish nodded. “Have you really woken up with a strange woman in your bed?”

  Grimacing, Darshan rubbed at his chin. “That was an outright lie,” he mumbled. “But you needed quiet. I am afraid the only vaguely comparable scenario was the time my father sent two women to my chambers. They did no more than extend the offer of joining them when I discovered them fornicating on my bed.”

  Try as he might to avoid the cringeworthy image, it burrowed into his brain and ran its needle-like claws down his spine. Hamish hugged himself tighter. If Darshan’s father was that desperate for his son to sire children, then perhaps Nora had the right of it on where the man stood when it came to royal succession. “Are—?”

  His question was silenced by his lover giving him another hearty pat on the back.

  “Speaking of bed, you need to rest. A lot of things hinge on tomorrow’s outcome and keeping your focus sharp will require a clear head.”

  Hamish twisted where he sat, fingering the blankets. His limbs were leaden, but his mind endlessly tumbled over the event. “I cannae sleep.” It wasn’t merely the idea of doing so alone, for Darshan would undoubtedly stay if he asked. “Nae here. I just… cannae…”

  Darshan nodded, his understanding expression remaining the same even as Hamish continued to ramble. “Come share my bed, then.” His fingertips slid across Hamish’s shoulder and down an arm until they were clasping hands. Linking their fingers, Darshan gently led the way to the door.

  His lover’s hand remained firmly joined with Hamish’s as they walked through the corridors. They met not a single soul in their passage, even though Hamish was certain there would be the odd servant still up and about. Or a guard.

  The guest quarters were warm. The embers of a burnt-out fire still cast a faint, red glow in the hearth.

  Darshan strode across the room as if he had always lived here, lighting an array of candles set on the bedside table with the snap of his fingers. He flung open his travel chest with barely a touch and hauled out a small wooden box.

  Hamish trailed after his lover, squinting at the sudden brightness. The light threw weird, wavering shadows upon the walls and glittered across the various glass vials and metal bottles his lover withdrew from the box.

  He idly wandered the room, passing the dressing mirror standing tall in the corner near Darshan’s travel chest. How long had his features seemed so tight and dark? The whole time? He glanced at the reflection of Darshan as the man continued to fuss with a vial of some powdery substance. Nae wonder he’s been thinking the worst.

  “Do sit down, mea lux,” Darshan said as he returned the vial to the box and resumed his rummaging. “I shall not be long.” He set aside a small glass bottle of dark powder to take up the mug and pitcher.

  Hamish obeyed, shucking what little clothes he had managed to pull on once the woman had been distracted by his brother.

  As soon as his backside was planted on the edge of the bed, his thoughts started to pace. Like a rabid boarhound worrying at a flock of sheep, his mind refused to let go of the troubles tomorrow would bring. “What are we going to do about the trial?”

  Darshan set down the bottle he’d been pouring into the mug. “What do you mean? Nothing has changed.” He frowned. “Has it?”

  “Maybe.” All manner of things could change what they had planned for. His mother could finally realise Darshan was participating, the woman who had molested him could announce her findings—even without knowing the truth about Darshan, throwing suspicion would be enough—or something even worse could rear its head. He didn’t know. “Even with sleep, I’ll be in nae fit state to focus and you’re nae going to win without me.”

  His lover gave a grin that Hamish suspected was mostly bravado. “What sort of encouragement is that to give your chosen suitor?”

  “I ken you’re trying your best at a skill you’ve nae much practise with, but many of our people are good at hunting. They have to be. They’ll hit the target, too.” Maybe not dead centre, but that wouldn’t matter when Darshan, for all his enthusiasm, hadn’t been able to even once land a hit on his own. “And even if you did… me mum doesnae like the idea of you being near me.”

  Scoffing, Darshan returned to the mug. “That is quite apparent.”

  “I’m pretty sure that she’s nae going to let you take me anywhere.”

  His lover continued to fuss with his concoction, humming softly. “Your mother is capable of confining her poisonous tongue when it is warranted, I witnessed that tonight. Maybe she will also see the benefits of having a son in the Crystal Court.” Those dark brows lowered as he strode to Hamish’s side with the mug. “But I will win and I will take you from this place.” He offered up the mug. “Drink this.”

  Hamish peered at the contents, tipping the mug until the candlelight illuminated the cloudy water. The grainy remains of the dark powder floated on the surface. “What is it?”

  “You need sleep.”

  “I dinnae think I can.” Even away from his room, the thought of leaving himself in such a vulnerable state was unthinkable.

  “Which is why you need to drink.”

  Hamish eyed the mug’s contents anew. The man had made a sleeping draught? Steeling himself, he took a swig. Not an unpleasant taste. Swishing the remainder around to help mix the powder, he swallowed the rest. “How soon will this put me to sleep, then?”

  “Not at all. Not at that dosage. But it should relax you enough to allow you to drift off on your own.” He laid a hand on Hamish’s shoulder, the pressure gently encouraging him to lie back on the bed. A few more of such actions and Hamish found himself neatly tucked beneath the blankets. “And do not worry about any interruptions to your slumber. I shall be here the whole time.”

  “I didnae think you’d be dancing along the eaves,” Hamish murmured, the words sounding slightly drowsy to his own ears. He snuggled deeper beneath the blankets. His lids lowered and reluctantly opened. The dreamless dark of slumber beckoned him.

  Another blink, even slower than the last. Darshan was right. He could close his eyes for a little while without anything untoward happening. Just a wee while. An hour would see him refreshed.

  His lids slid closed. Hamish no longer attempted to fight their descent. The warm, welcoming darkness of sleep sealed itself around him.

  He drifted, dreamlessly.

  Safe.

  Hamish rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of the guest chambers. How long had he slept? He peeked under his upraised arm at the window. The velvet blue of night still brushed the sky, but there was a flush of pink suggesting dawn wasn’t too far away.

  The faint crinkle of a page being turned caught his ear. Darshan sat on the other half of the bed with his legs stretched out. A globe of light hovered over his shoulder and a book sat open on his lap.

  His lover glanced over as Hamish went to sit up, a faint frown lowering his brow before the creases morphed into ones of happiness. He carefully closed the book and set it on the bedside table. “I take it we are feeling better?”

  Hamish nodded, warmth flooding his face. “Have you been awake this whole time?” Watching over him like a parent with a storm-shook child.

  “I have dozed here and there, but for the most part, yes. Do not worry, I shall b
e fit to compete.” He grinned, although the corners of his mouth wavered slightly. “And, once I win, I plan on taking you straight to Minamist.”

  “Sounds prudent.” He didn’t think his mother would allow them to stay for a second longer than it took for them to gather their things. If she gave them that small measure of grace.

  Darshan chuckled breathlessly. “I actually cannot wait to see the look on my father’s face when he learns that his heir finally married. He has rather resigned himself to the idea that I will not do so and—”

  “So, it’s true,” Hamish murmured. “Your title, vris Mhanek? It means you’re the crown prince.” Small wonder the man’s father despaired of his son chasing after men.

  Mild surprise, mixed with a heavy dose of confusion, slackened his lover’s face. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose so. Directly translated, it means Eldest Son of the Great One.”

  Eldest. He let his arm thump back onto his forehead. Everything his sister had told him was true. Darshan had risked exposing his true nature, and quite possibly starting a civil war, for a future neither of them could have. The heir to the throne couldn’t take a husband.

  “Why did you nae tell me?” Hamish whispered, the lump in his throat barely letting him form the words. “Why wasnae that one of the first things you taught me?” Then he wouldn’t be sitting here with his hopes shattered. He wouldn’t have helped Darshan back himself into an impossibility.

  Darshan’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you speak as if this is new to you? I thought you were aware what vris Mhanek meant, that it was the one Udynean phrase you already knew.”

  He shook his head. “I thought it just meant prince.” He should’ve known better than that. Darshan had never once made mention of any brothers. Only sisters.

  His lover’s lips flattened until his mouth was a thin, narrow slit barely distinguishable beneath his moustache. “My apologies for thinking they taught you anything about my people beyond the negatives. If I had known, I would have divulged it. I was hardly keeping the fact I am vris Mhanek a secret. How did you find out?”