by Megan Derr
"I will take care of it. The problem never should have been allowed to fester so long, I'm sorry."
Shoulders slumping as the tension left them, Emil said gruffly, "Thank you. That is all I wanted. I will cease to bother you now. I'm certain there is much else you should be doing."
"I'm not so busy and mighty I cannot spend some time with my own brother," Grigori said. "Would you like to stay for dinner? Perhaps meet Vasili?"
"Meet the king who fired me for being mean to you?" Emil asked dryly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Grisha."
Grigori smiled briefly. "It will be fine—though at that, I'm surprised you've never met him before, given you were one of his generals."
"I was always on the front. I met the Steward, I do not recall his name, but never His Majesty."
"Stay, then. Please."
Emil hesitated, then nodded slowly. "If you wish, then, though I did not bring clothes suitable for dining with the king."
"We'll work something out. It was just going to be the two of us tonight, anyway." He rose and motioned for Emil to follow him, but paused as they reached the door. "It hasn't been publicly announced yet, but you should know that Vasili has asked me to marry him."
Emil's eyes widened. "I see. You have managed to do quite well for yourself, Grisha." His mouth quirked. "I was determined to be Commander of the whole army, and now I am back to being a farmer, and my little brother who never wanted any glory at all will be Prince Consort."
Grigori laughed, still awkward and shy about the whole matter. "I'm not used to it yet, not really. I doubt I ever will be. But come, I'll show you around and introduce you to people, and we'll get all prepared for dinner." He smiled hesitantly. "It's good to see, brother."
"And you," Emil said quietly as they headed off through the palace.
*~*~*
Much later, when the day was done and they were finally alone for a few hours, Grigori sighed. "What did you think?" He started removing his clothes and jewelry, setting the clothes neatly aside for the servants—he'd learned quickly to leave that to them, or earn their wrath for putting thing away the wrong way or in the wrong place—and tucked the jewels away in his case.
"I think farming suits your brother far better than general," Vasili said, taking his hands and drawing him into a kiss. "I think being my captain, and my future consort, suits you. Funny how that worked out."
"Emil said something similar," Grigori replied.
Vasili chuckled. "Things get mixed up sometimes, but fate always sorts everything out to its liking." He lifted Grigori's right hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. "I hope you are happy with the sorting." He lifted his free hand to rest it against the side of Grigori's face.
Grigori leaned into the touch, eyes falling shut. "If I wasn't happy with where I was, I never would have agreed to make my life a thousand times more complicated."
"Given the way you didn't give me an answer for ages—"
Laughing, Grigori opened his eyes. "It was ten minutes at best, and only because I couldn't believe what I'd just been asked. I still can't believe it." He turned to kiss Vasili's palm "I should run away from the army more often."
"Once was enough I think," Vasili replied with a laugh of his own, as he set to work on Grigori's remaining clothes, casting them aside with a good deal less care. "Now come to bed, before someone comes to me about the west wing being on fire or something.
"If you insist."
Vasili smiled in that delightfully wicked way of his, a smile that no one but Grigori ever saw, much like no one else had ever really seen the man lost in the woods, the man who'd taken a harsh reprimand from a runaway soldier and rather than get angry, had only been miserable about letting him down.
Dragging him into bed, Vasili doused the lights and pulled the bed curtains, trapping them in a gauzy world all their own. Clever, knowing hands soon had Grigori moaning and pleading, and it took entirely too long for Vasili to slide into him and fuck him until he screamed.
Several minutes later, when they'd gotten their breath back, Vasili kissed the back of his neck, always a prelude to some serious question or discussion. "What do you think of giving your brother a title? Put him in charge of the whole area, instead of just informally taking care of his village?"
Grigori turned. "You'd do that?"
"He's going to be my brother-in-law," Vasili said, and Grigori could feel the smile pressed against his skin. "I do not want him powerless and unprotected, and he's shown he can learn and grow. There's an earldom in that area that's gone unused for decades; I think it might be time to dust it off."
Grigori turned so he could kiss Vasili properly. "You're still the kindest man I've ever known."
"Ridiculous," Vasili said. "You did not know me before I got myself lost in the forest and had to be saved by a man with a truly kind heart. You improve everyone around you, my Grisha. We all would do anything simply for one of your smiles."
"Now who's being ridiculous?" Grigori muttered, pushing Vasili down into the bedding to give Vasili much, much more than a smile.
A Forgotten Face
OF LAST RESORT
Raffé threw a last few bodies on the pile, nodded to the priests and paladins who would be handling the burning, and went to find a bit of wall to prop up. He needed blood and rest, but right then all he really wanted was to hold still for a few minutes. Thankfully, the paladins had matters well in hand and could manage without their commander for a bit.
He really wanted to strangle the damned fool who'd allowed so many dead-walkers to pour into the city, but he'd been one of the first killed. That was usually the case with such fools: they caused needless death and destruction, and escaped facing justice, either by suicide or killed by their own rampant stupidity.
Closing his eyes, he listened acutely to the noise around him, alert to any troublesome sound or shift in the air. Thankfully, he heard only the usual noise that came with the aftermath of battle, as a city came slowly back to life to care for their dead and fallen. He counted thirteen bells, from priests ringing them at the places where people could bring their dead, to be hauled off to temple for proper rites.
A nearby man had twenty-seven silvers in his purse, and thirteen gold tucked into a secret pocket of his jacket.
Seventeen dogs milled about, and one hundred and seven horses were still in the vicinity.
He could smell four hundred and eighty-seven dead; five hundred and thirteen wounded. Seven of those would probably not survive the night.
Seventy-four—
"Raffé?"
Raffé's eyes snapped open at the sound of an unknown voice speaking to him with such familiarity. He stared at the man standing a few paces away, but nothing about him stirred Raffé's thoughts. He was handsome, in a generic sort of way, with chalky white skin, brown hair and trim beard, the healthy build of a man who could afford to put good food on his table and worked hard to do it. He had gray eyes, like the slush that filled the streets when snow started to melt. "Who are you, to speak to me with such familiarity?"
The man's face flushed, and something like shame, humiliation, filled his features briefly. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I should not have presumed familiarity, or assumed you would remember me. It has been a few years. But we've heard much about you here, all of it praise, and I was startled to see you in person again and realize that every word was true."
Raffé pushed to his feet, resting one hand lightly on the hilt of his sword, which marked him Commander-in-Waiting, though really he was more Acting Commander with Telmé's guidance and support. "I am sorry that you know me, but I do not recall you. When and where did we meet?"
The man gave a soft, sad huff of laughter. "We were betrothed, once."
Raffé stared, memories flooding of a life he'd all but forgotten. After a moment, he managed to dredge up a name. "Almor?"
Almor smiled crookedly. "Just so, Your Highness. I should say thank you, for saving us today. I don't know how the dead-walkers ma
naged to breach the city defenses, but I'm grateful the Legion was near to hand."
"We're always honored to serve our people," Raffé replied, still stunned that this was Almor. That he'd so completely forgotten about the man he'd nearly married. The man who'd hurt him, left him alone with his fear and loneliness, on what Raffé had been certain were the final hours of his life. "Are you and yours all right?"
"Yes, Highness, thanks to you and the rest of the Legion. They came close to breaching our home, but didn't quite make it." Almor hesitated, then took a step closer, still stiff and deferential in his demeanor. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, Your Highness, for the way I treated you back then. I know it little matters now, but I owe you an apology all the same and I give it."
Raffé tilted his head to the side, staring pensively. "Why did you turn me down that night? Simply to satisfy my curiosity."
"Because you'd made it rather apparent that you had more mettle than any of us had bothered to notice," Almor replied. "I thought I was marrying a timid clerk who would do as told and stay out of my way. But you were far, far more than that, or could be, and I suddenly was forced to admit I could not measure up. So like a coward I fled."
"I see." Raffé drew a breath and let it out slowly on a sigh. "Well, it was years ago, as you said, and in the end no lasting harm was done. Indeed, if you hadn't rejected me that night, I might never have gotten to know the man who is now my husband." He lifted his hand to display the wedding mark on the back of it. "We're also going soon to the Reach of the South to consider one of the Grand Duchess's daughters as a marriage candidate." Raffé was both nervous and excited about it, that the new addition meant Alrin would father children. But after all he and Alrin had been through together, it would be strange to see how their dynamic shifted with a third added.
"The legless woman?" Almor asked, eyes widening.
Raffé bristled. "She has a name."
Almor winced and lifted his hands in apology. "Yes, that was crass of me. I am sorry. I was surprised, but that's not an excuse for being ill-mannered. You might be marrying Lady Zoja?"
"Time will tell," Raffé replied. "How are your wives?"
Sadness filled Almor's face briefly. "Tomislava passed away from illness two years ago."
"Goddesses grant her peace."
"Thank you. I married another woman last year, and she's just borne twin sons this month."
Raffé smiled, truly happy. "Congratulations, and Goddesses bless them with long and fulfilling lives."
Almor beamed, but then turned faintly sheepish. "Bojana is quite devoted to Guldbrandsen and the Legion, as we all should be, and was quite insistent on the names of our new sons. In two more months, at the naming ceremony, they will be blessed as Waldemar and Raffé."
"They—truly?" Raffé stared as Almor laughed. People were naming children after him? "Well I apologize to your child that he is already cursed with that legacy."
"I think he'll learn quickly it's an honor," Almor said quietly, that crooked smile returning. "You would have been a fine addition to our house and home, Your Highness, though I was too foolish to see it at the time. However, you also would have been quite wasted on us, not that you need me to tell you that. I'm glad to see you doing well, and right where you truly belong."
Raffé smiled faintly. "Thank you. And you've leave to use my name, Lord Almor."
Almor's face lit up. "I'm honored. If you've time, you should stop by my house to meet my family. Bojana would be beside herself to have the namesake of one of her children in our home. It would be a blessing from the Goddesses."
"Well, it's not every day a demon is declared a blessing," Raffé said with a laugh. "I must return to my duties, but leave me your address and I will try to stop by before I depart."
Almor did so, and ran off smiling, clearly in a rush to tell his wives they might have interesting company that evening.
"Commander!"
Turning toward the paladin calling out to him, Raffé returned to his duties.
Island Respite
BLOOD IN THE WATER
Seree tilted his head to better enjoy the wind in his face, the fresh, salty sea air that harkened of his homeland. But though he occasionally missed the Deep, his heart was with his new home. He opened his eyes, and took in the ship they were on, sailors milling around, occasionally casting him curious looks.
Because no one quite knew what to make of Prince Aimé's beau, a mysterious man with strange knives who'd appeared out of nowhere, whisked his sister away back to nowhere, and taken up with Aimé in her place.
For a man who detested all the nonsensical drama his sisters got into, he'd done a fine job of stirring up his own.
A gentle hand rested on his back, a warm body brushing against his side. Seree turned and pulled Aimé into his arms, then tilted his head up and took a kiss. "Hello, beautiful."
That delightful flush he loved overtook Aimé's already wind-reddened cheeks. He reached up to trace the lines of Seree's scars, face full of fondness and admiration. His honest, open ways were one of the things Seree loved best about him. "No fair, that's what I wanted to say."
Seree captured his hand and kissed the palm. "Well, that would be absurd. I haven't been beautiful since I was a child, and even then I did not compare to my siblings."
"You're too hard on yourself. The first time I saw you, I could scarcely remember what I wanted to say, I was so distracted by you."
Smirking, Seree said, "It's fairly typical for people to be struck mute by the sight of a warrior of the Deep, as our presence usually means someone is in trouble."
"Oh, stop it! Take a compliment, you beautiful, aggravating man!" Aimé said with a laugh.
"Land ho!" A booming voice called out.
A short time later, they were in one of the boats taking them to the beach of a sprawling, sparkling jewel of an island, a private little escape used exclusively by the royal family when even their main island simply got to be too much. Seree would make fun of them, but his father had more castles than anyone could actually recall, except perhaps the people responsible for their maintenance.
"I'm sorry my family—" Aimé scowled as Seree placed a finger over his lips.
"Don't keep apologizing, especially about family. I have fourteen siblings and who even knows how many cousins; I know all about family. Yours just wants to make certain you're all right. I'm not sure seeing you've taken up with some scarred wild man is convincing them you are, but at least they're leaving us alone for now."
Aimé snorted softly. "I think we came all the way out here for a 'relaxing time away' to see if you'd turn into a raging, cannibalistic killer and murder us all."
"That would be a serious waste of food if I was," Seree said.
That got him a look that set him to laughing.
Aimé poked him in the stomach. "Behave!"
Seree captured his wrist and dragged him so Aimé toppled into his lap, sending all sorts of delightfully offended whispers through the boat. He kissed Aimé's nose, a warmth blossoming in his chest that he still struggled to believe was real. He struggled to believe any of this was real. Him, whose life had been fixing problems and protecting everyone else, was here with a man he loved living a life he'd never been able to admit to himself he wanted. "Where would the fun be in that? As I recall, it was misbehavior that brought me here in the first place."
That got him the sweet smile again, as Aimé twined arms around his neck and dragged him in close for a kiss. "I'm so very glad it did."
His mouth was warm and sweet, still tasting faintly of the sugared buns he'd been snacking on throughout the day. He was pliant and eager in Seree's arms, and he couldn't wait to find a bit of privacy to do all the things he wanted. "How long do you think it will take us to slip away?"
Aimé smirked, his eyes full of the same heat and eagerness consuming Seree. "As soon as we hit the beach."
"Good, because I am tired of waiting." Seree kissed him again. "I want to spread you out on a beach, or
drag you into the water and wrap—" He broke off, horrified at his own words.
"Wrap…?"
"Nothing," Seree said, looking away at the faintly hurt expression on Aimé's face.
"Seree…"
Thankfully, they hit the beach then, and Aimé was distracted by the process of getting out of the boat and splashing their way to shore. "Come on." He took Seree's hand and led him further up the beach and into the jungle beyond. Shouts and protests came behind them, but Aimé ignored them, leaving Seree more than happy to do the same.
They traveled in silence for what felt like ages, trekking through the muggy jungle, focused on their path, avoiding the occasional vibrantly-colored snake or curious cluster of monkeys.
Eventually, finally, Aimé came to a stop by what proved to be an absolutely beautiful lagoon that was fed by a trio of small waterfalls, each only slightly taller than Seree. The water was so clear he could see the bottom clear as anything, like looking through glass. All around them were trees bearing mangos, bananas, and more. "It's beautiful."
"It's my favorite spot on the island. I'd come here more often if it didn't cause the sailors such an inconvenience. They have better things to do than ferry around a single spoiled prince."
"Can't you sail?" Seree asked.
"Of course, but not alone. It would take…" His eyes widened with realization. "At least one more person to help me! A person I have now!" He threw himself into Seree's arms and kissed him soundly, fingers twining in his hair, holding Seree close, which suited him just fine.
But when they eventually pulled apart, Aimé softly asked, "What were you going to say, back on the boat?"