The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  “Are you Malcolm?” Selon asked, and Felix wanted to laugh at the deep inflection her voice had taken on. But he made sure to keep his face properly composed, pulling it into a shallow frown before he glanced back up at Malcolm. When the councilman met his eyes, Felix batted his lashes, bit his lip, and then returned his gaze to his lap, where his hands were demurely clasped.

  “Councilman Malcolm Carwyn,” he snapped haughtily. “Do I know you?” He was lingering by the table, but made no move to sit.

  “We have a mutual acquaintance,” Selon answered gruffly. A moment later, a barmaid was scooting up to take their order. “Ale,” Selon commanded, annoyed by the interruption. “Councilman?”

  It was a pivotal few seconds, as Malcolm weighed the decision to join them or walk away, but after another shy glance from Felix, he nodded curtly and took a seat. “Tea,” he ordered. “Peppermint.” He had chosen the chair opposite Felix, and when he pulled it in, their knees touched beneath the table.

  The barmaid looked at Felix. “What about you?”

  “He’s not thirsty,” Selon barked, glaring at her. The barmaid hurried off.

  “I assume there’s an excellent reason our mutual acquaintance isn’t here and you are,” Malcolm remarked, taking in the roughness of Selon’s appearance. He did not doubt she was one of Gethrin’s bandits. There was no mistaking the leather cape, the hard face, and the cool sharpness of her eyes.

  “He didn’t want to be seen with the new goods until he was sure you were truly agreeable,” Selon answered, matching Malcolm’s snide glare and adding her own unique brand of nastiness. The hand she’d been using to hold onto Felix’s collar stroked up his throat, and she pulled a fistful of curls through her fingers, effectively forcing Felix’s head to the side and exposing the long, slim line of his neck. “Are you agreeable, Councilman?”

  Torsten’s father was looking at Felix with interest. “Perhaps. We shall see.”

  The song ended then, the room filling with clamorous calls for an encore and men standing to beat their fists on tables while chanting “Sun Guardian! Sun Guardian!”. When the song began again and the appeased crowd settled in for another listen, the barmaid returned, setting the tea before Malcolm and the ale before Selon. She smiled hastily at Felix and left.

  Malcolm brought the teacup to his lips, his eyes fixed on Felix as he sipped. “He is young,” he said, in a way that left Felix confused as to whether Malcolm considered his age to be a good thing or bad. Then he felt the hand grasp his knee beneath the table and decided it was the former. Definitely the former.

  “He’s old enough,” Selon informed him with harsh laugh. “But we will supply whatever the demand is for. Younger, older, those with less unruly hair.” She released Felix’s curls with a harsh twist.

  Felix whimpered and raised a hand to stoke his tender head, aware his every move was being closely watched. Malcolm’s hand on his knee squeezed and then moved slightly higher, and Felix parted his legs invitingly. He refused to be afraid. Malcolm’s hand could reach no further from his seat across the table than it already had, and opening his thighs would only make the councilman more desirous. And careless.

  “But how do I know recipients will be pleased with the product we’re providing?” he asked. “Looks are important, yes, but they only go so far. I’ll need to test this one. Ensure he’s compliant.”

  Felix’s heart sped up, but Selon remained unshaken. “I don’t think so.” She pulled at Felix’s collar, effectively dragging him from the reach of Malcolm’s groping hand. “If you want a sample, you’ll need to leave a deposit.” She leaned across the table and whispered loudly, “Gethrin ordered specifically that we’re not to use this one unless payment is received, not even by you. That’s how special he is. And that’s how you can prove your loyalty to the new arrangement.”

  She’d done it. She’d said Gethrin’s name and removed the veil of secrecy from the table. Malcolm didn’t deny knowing Gethrin, and all he had to do now was hand over the coin and he’d be irrevocably caught, the letter legitimized. This farce would be over.

  But he sat back, saying nothing, though his eyes still roamed Felix’s body, focusing on his mouth and smooth chest. There was no question Malcolm wanted him, but would he pay? Felix felt a sinking feeling in his stomach that no, he would not, and he was about to speak up, to say or do something to convince him, when he felt a large hand clamp down on his shoulder.

  At first, he thought it must be Torsten, that he’d grown tired of watching his father lust over him, but when he tipped his head back, he saw the face of one of the queen’s guards. It wasn’t a face he’d seen more than once, but he remembered it well, and he remembered the name that belonged to it.

  Niall. The man who had given him the coins and kissed his cheek and run his fingers through Felix’s hair while Torsten raided the back of the royal wagon. He was standing, tall and rail-thin, at Felix’s back, his hand clasped confidently over his shoulder, like he already owned that piece of Felix’s body.

  “Sorry to intrude, Councilman Carwyn,” Niall said, with a smile that conveyed he was anything but. “But I saw who you were speaking with and couldn’t help myself. This is an old friend of mine.” He bent his head down to Felix’s level. “I hoped we would meet again,” he purred. “Did you come here looking for me, beautiful?” He placed a kiss on his shoulder, Felix unable to deter him.

  Selon moved quickly. She wrenched Felix back from Niall, pulling his collar so hard he was ripped from his chair. He landed hard on his knees beside her, coughing from the pressure at his throat. The commotion stole the attention of the tavern patrons, curious eyes drifting to the scantily clad young man on his knees, but then someone yelled for free rounds—was it Torsten?—and their attention was instantly diverted.

  Felix cowered on his knees beside Selon, while Niall and Malcolm looked on in surprise and thinly veiled annoyance.

  “You want to touch, you can pay,” Selon rumbled, and Niall’s expression softened in understanding.

  “I see,” he said, clearly relieved. “Well, if that’s the only problem, I was going to pay regardless. How much?” He reached for the purse tied to his sword belt, but before he could put his fingers on a single coin, Malcolm slammed an entire pouch of his own on the table in front of Selon. He grabbed Felix’s arm, pulling him off his knees, and took hold of the back of his collar.

  “My apologies,” he told Niall, who was looking determinedly crushed by the turn of events. “It’s nothing personal. Just business.” The hand on Felix’s ass didn’t feel like business, however, as Malcolm’s free hand grabbed hold of it. “Tell our acquaintance I’m agreeable and will write with more details of our arrangement,” he barked at Selon, and with that, he began steering Felix from the table.

  It was happening, and it was happening fast. Coin had changed hands, the arrangement with Gethrin had been acknowledged, and Torsten’s proof had been verified. Felix allowed himself to smile as he was led across the tavern floor, completely unafraid, though he could see neither Torsten nor any of the others through the crowd. But they were there, watching, waiting to pounce once Malcolm reached the street. And they were but a few yards shy of the entrance when Niall stepped in front of them, his sword drawn.

  Felix gasped, thinking that a fight was on the verge of breaking out—and over him! How exciting! How flattering! What great material for the ballads he would write! Then he heard those nearest him grow silent amidst the sound of more swords sliding from their sheaths, and he understood.

  “Malcolm Carwyn, you are under arrest for colluding with bandits and participating in the buying and selling of humans,” Niall charged, his manner not nearly as creepy as it had been a moment ago.

  “What are you talking about?” Malcolm demanded, drawing his own sword as he shoved Felix away. “That is an entirely false accusation!” Felix went stumbling to the side, where a strong set of arms saved him from falling.

  Torsten smiled down at him. “You were perfect,
” he said, removing his silk-lined jacket and slipping it around Felix’s shoulders.

  Meanwhile, Audrey appeared at Niall’s side with daggers drawn. “We witnessed the entire exchange,” she announced as the musicians stopped playing, and the entire room grew silent, listening. “And we have an incriminating letter, as well. I believe there’s a cell somewhere we can fit this vermin into.”

  Malcolm’s eyes grew round as soldiers surrounded him, taking his sword and grabbing firmly onto his arms. “I don’t know which of you is responsible for this madness, but all your heads will roll once word of it reaches the queen! You there! Angelus, isn’t it?” he yelled to a young, blond guardsman who’d just entered the tavern. “Go now! Alert the queen her first councilman has been taken!”

  “There is no need for that, Malcolm,” came a refined, decidedly feminine, and very recognizable voice from the crowd. “I’m right here.” All heads turned toward the bar, where Queen Bellamy was stepping forward, pushing the black hood from her head, and allowing the attached cloak to drop to the floor. She was clad from head to foot in tight black leather, and save for the jewels that adorned her ears and neck, she might have been mistaken for an assassin. Felix’s eyes had skimmed right over her when he’d first entered the tavern. It was evident she’d learned a thing or two about stealth—and fashion—from Audrey.

  “My queen!” Malcolm crowed, struggling against the hold of the guards. “Tell these fools to release me!”

  She looked regretful, but more than that, she looked furious. “Your son came to me with a story of your crimes,” she said, tipping her chin regally as she addressed him. “I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it, and now I have. You’ve been stealing from me and conspiring with others to harm the good people of Viridor, and you will pay for these crimes dearly.” She nodded at Audrey. “See that he’s taken somewhere secure. Preferably somewhere dark, befitting of his true character.”

  Audrey motioned for the guards to follow her, the councilman in tow, and as they passed Felix and Torsten, Malcolm’s eyes grew wide in recognition of his son’s face. Felix could feel Torsten tensing beside him, but he said nothing, just stared back at his father. If Malcolm had wished to say something, he had no chance, because, within moments, he was hustled out into the street.

  When he was gone, Torsten’s shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh and he turned to wrap Felix in his arms. Felix hugged him back, smiling against his chest. It was over.

  “I owe you an apology, Torsten,” Bellamy said, striding through the onlookers to reach him.

  The crowd, who’d already begun discussing what they’d just witnessed, grew silent again at the sound of Torsten’s name, and every eye turned in astonishment to the man Queen Bellamy had addressed. There were a few gasps as people recognized him, but he stood proudly at Felix’s side, ignoring the whispers.

  She bowed her head. “Torsten,” she announced, loudly enough for her voice to carry throughout the tavern, “you have done your queen and all the people of Viridor a great service today. I hereby rescind your banishment and welcome you back to the Royal Quarter with open arms.”

  Felix nudged him, and Torsten returned the queen’s bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  The tavern broke into cheers, and Bellamy leaned in to speak more privately. “I will come to the school later to speak further. There is a question I would like to put to you.”

  Torsten nodded and the queen turned to leave, summoning her escort with the wave of her hand. Niall was first among them, coming to stand at her right hand before looking at Felix and winking. Felix responded with a shy smile, then hid his face in his hands and turned back into Torsten’s arms.

  “Look who had the queen bowing to him,” Selon said, walking up to them with a satisfied grin. “Well done, King. Let’s get back to the others so I can tell them how many times I got to throw the princeling around.”

  She led the way from the tavern and Torsten and Felix followed, ignoring the multitude of greetings and questions being thrown their way. There would be time to answer them later, but for now, Felix wanted to get back to the others and celebrate. Torsten had just earned back his good name and his home, the villain who’d stolen it from him had been captured, and the slave trade had been stopped before it could get started. And as he jingled his way out to the waiting carriage, Felix knew he had helped.

  20 - Gut Feeling

  They boarded the carriage with a lightness to their steps that had certainly been lacking earlier in the morning. But now, with what they’d set out to do successfully accomplished—with Malcom headed to the dungeons and Torsten’s reputation at court publicly restored—they had every reason to feel less burdened, and to freely express their joy in a job well done. Selon, whose role-playing at the tavern had been so authentic that it stopped just short of cruelty, was now all laughter and smiles, exuberantly retelling every moment of the last hour, in-between hanging out the window to point at all the shops she wished to visit and foodstuffs she wished to eat. Felix and Torsten, who sat across from her, and so close together that Felix was all but in Torsten’s lap, smiled and laughed along with her, with Felix occasionally adding particulars Audrey was unaware of: how the song that had been played—twice—was his original composition, and how he’d first believed Niall had meant to do battle over him. He chose not to tell of Malcolm’s hand on his knee, nor that he’d interpreted the look on Malcolm’s face when he recognized Torsten to be one of hatred rather than regret. Torsten surely had enough to occupy his thoughts just now, hence his overall silence, but Felix knew he would be privy to his most important thoughts later.

  The gossip generated by the morning’s happenings—a juicy tale of sex and scandal and a councilman brought low—passed from mouth to ear with such inordinate swiftness that by the time their carriage arrived at the city gate, the guards stationed there were both emboldened and curious enough to stop them, so they might have a look at Torsten, and nod their acknowledgement of him with friendly eyes. It seemed to Felix that whatever affection the guards may have harbored for their displaced councilman, they were willing to quash it in favor of his son. Hopefully, others in the court, and throughout the realm, would feel the same way.

  When they arrived at the school, the anxious bandits rushed out, descending upon the carriage, opening both doors and shoving their heads in the windows.

  “Thank the Gods you’re back! What happened? Tell us everything.”

  “Did you pull it off? Is the scoundrel done for?”

  “Did they declare you the prettiest nobleman and offer you the crown?”

  Selon exited first, pushing past the men and taking Dot’s elbow to begin a second, highly animated retelling of their adventure. Torsten followed, helping Felix down, and laughing at the onslaught of excited questions.

  “Better tell them before they tip it over,” Felix warned, watching as the bandits clambered in, on, and atop the carriage in what appeared to be an effort to examine every inch of one of the queen’s finer conveyances.

  Torsten held up his hand, and the group instantly hushed. “Malcolm Carwyn has been arrested,” he declared. “All went as planned, and I’m no longer banished from the Royal Quarter.”

  Much yelling and stomping ensued—along with much joyful rocking of the carriage—until, having joined with Selon and Dot, Torsten turned to go inside. The bandits abandoned the vehicle and followed at a run, catching up to them with back-clapping and boisterous felicitations. Felix looked to the driver, raising his hand for a jingly wave goodbye while offering up his most apologetic smile. The man frowned in reply and took off speedily, the horses kicking up dust as Felix ran inside.

  In the ornate main room, near the foot of the stairs, a large oaken barrel sat incongruously. Laughing, Marilyn ran and plopped on top of it, her short legs kicking merrily. Seeing movement, Felix looked up to find a half dozen faces peering out from around the corner of the second floor hall, and surmised they belonged to the new elemental students. He di
dn’t blame them for hiding. With all the racket the bandits were making, they likely feared the school was under attack.

  Torsten groaned, shaking his head. “I leave you alone for the morning and you filch a barrel of ale?”

  “We didn’t steal it, King,” Marilyn assured, coming carefully to her feet atop the wooden barrel. “It was delivered. Along with other fancies. There’s even turkey.”

  “It’s only fair I get another turn at a leg,” Peter put in quickly. “Selon ate most of mine.”

  “Taught you to stop yapping when you’re supposed to be eating, didn’t it?” she countered haughtily.

  “Winchester said to take it to the dining room,” Dot explained over them. “Said Lady Audrey wanted us to be able to drink our fill today, whether for celebrating or drowning sorrows, depending on how things turned out.”

  “That was thoughtful of her,” Felix said.

  “It was,” Torsten agreed. “I’m starting to like her more and more. Well, then,” he continued, taking Marilyn’s hands as she hopped down, “let’s get this ale in its proper place and prepare for a celebration.”

  “But it can’t be noon yet!” Felix laughed a short time later. The men had hoisted the keg onto a sturdy sideboard at Winchester’s direction, and as one of the servants hammered in the tap, others appeared with trays of mugs and platters of freshly baked biscuits and soft, salty pretzels. Politely edging Winchester aside, Dot began filling the mugs, passing the first to Torsten. Cup after cup was filled and passed until each of them held a frothy drink in their hands, and then Torsten raised his high.

  “For all the friends we’ve lost,” he said.

  “And to the friends we’ve gained,” Selon added, tipping her head to Felix.

  “And to the King of Bandits,” Felix declared.

  “To the King of Bandits!” they shouted. “Long live the king!” Torsten colored with embarrassment, shaking his head as he brought the mug to his lips.