His control of Castle Ostfort was also a delicate one. As the royal heir and the warden, he was charged with protecting it from enemy armies, but the everyday affairs were Enduria’s reign. For some reason, he didn’t think he would be overruling her decisions, wardenship or not.
Besides, it was best if the management of the castle remained in her able hands. The less he had to do, the better. Court affairs were tedious, and not something he’d ever desired.
Remember, Dick, his mind whispered, if you fail, your sister will get it all. She loves court affairs.
That, plus his simmering hatred of Old Fart, was the motivation he needed.
“Prince Dietrich?”
Dick pretended not to have heard, let the other person fret, then slowly turned.
The young man facing him was roughly his age and build, with the same solid belly that spoke of great appreciation of food. He wasn’t moving, but there was a cocky angle to his stance, and his smile way too insolent for someone addressing the warden. Expensive clothing, ruby earrings, pale hair. And there was a sword buckled on his left hip.
Dick looked past the visitor at the guard near the edge of the wall section. The soldier did not look too interested, so he probably knew this fellow. Dick wanted to lash out, but he decided to withhold his displeasure until after he learned who the newcomer was. He needed allies in Ostfort, and he had to be careful these first few days. “You are…?”
“Kiefer Drechfiesling, My Prince. At your service.” The bow was deep, genuine.
A bastard, Dick thought. One sired by a Drechtoter. He shook his head gently.
“I am your cousin, thrice removed, My Prince. Lord Radulf is my father.”
Dick frowned, trying to remember all the undesirable members of his family. “Lady Pauline Alfstorm is your aunt, then?”
“My niece, actually. Tania Drechfiesling is my half-sister, but I haven’t seen her in seven years.”
Dick nodded, as if he cared for all this unnecessary introduction. “Well met, cousin.” For a moment, he remembered Ruddy, and a tiny pang of pain and regret lanced down his gullet and into his chest.
Kiefer bowed again. “You too, My Prince. I heard you have arrived at the castle, and I wanted to personally greet you.”
He wants something from me. Dick smiled wryly. “I am sure we will have a plenty of time to get to know each other.” Hopefully rarely.
“We most certainly will, My Prince. I’ve come to summon you.”
Oh. That couldn’t be good. “Summon?”
There was a flash of confusion on Kiefer’s face. “For sword practice, My Prince.”
Not that, please! But he had to. There were spies everywhere, waiting to send condemning letters to his father. Dick needed to make sure he understood the power struggle in Ostfort before he could exploit the players. Fucking sword play. Best if he were done with it for the day, and then had more time for himself. He almost wasn’t sure what he hated more, reading dry reports or weapons drills. Worst yet, Crispin had still not located any decent brothels in the town or the nearby villages. “Lead the way, Kiefer.”
“You may call me Kief if you wish, My Prince.”
Dick glanced at this stranger. The man was amiable, even though his face deserved a nice, meaty fist. Then, he recalled the talks he’d had with Eva. Showing courtesy toward the help and his subordinates did not hurt. “You may call me Dick.”
“Thank you, My Prince.”
Dick arched a brow.
“Dick.”
They moved into the cold, dim halls, walking past narrow windows designed to fire arrows rather than let sunlight stream in. There were soldiers everywhere.
“We should get your training gear,” Kief suggested, pointing toward a corridor leading deeper into the tower.
“I don’t have any.” It would have taken precious space in his baggage, forcing him carry a smaller number of shirts and shoes. Unacceptable.
The bastard looked surprised, but he wordlessly led into the castle, toward the training ground. It was a yard locked deep inside the walls, so the troops could carry on their practice even in the middle of a fierce war.
“Where is your father now?” Dick asked, trying to sound caring.
“At Nichthaven.”
They do have some splendid whores there, Dick reminisced. “And you are in Ostfort?”
Kief stepped aside to let an official of some sort pass. Dick had to remind himself; the cousin had no title, despite family ties. “Yes. My father sent me to train with Master Udo. If I succeed, I may get a commission with the Second Garrison.”
Ambitious, and possibly desperate. The bastard could be useful. “Tell me, Kief—” Dick lowered his voice. “—do you know of any respectable brothels around here?”
His cousin hesitated for a moment before smirking. He rubbed one of his earlobes. “I might.”
Dick suppressed his hope. “Where?”
“The village of Challe. Less than three hours of gentle riding from here. It might not look like much, but all the girls are foreign, and they even have a pair of Tufamid twins. Well-liked by all the soldiers in the castle. Even the Salabians found them irresistible, so they kept the place safe, and didn’t torch the village in last year’s siege.”
“Lucky Challe.”
Dick could smell the training ground before he could see it. The unmistakable stench of oil and sweat. It was everything he hated, beaten ground, mud, sand, wooden props, practice targets, weapon stands, and hard benches. A knot of men had gathered near a small tribune, talking in low voices. They all seemed to be soldiers, with close-cropped hair and peasant-like faces.
Someone detached from the lot.
Dick almost crapped his breeches.
Oh shit.
The man was Voytech reincarnate. He looked nothing like the scarfaced Right Man, but it was his unmistakable bearing that promised deep pain and agony. Dick had spent enough time suffering Voytech’s abuse to be able to sense it from a thousandstep away.
No running away, he knew.
“You are the prince?” the torturer who must be Master Udo shouted.
Dick composed himself. He was the Warden of the East. This man was in his service. Except…he worked for Enduria and reported to Voytech in Eisenstar. “Prince-Elector Dietrich II.”
“Prince-Late-to-the-Training. Quick, take your place. Where is your training gear?”
Dick smiled innocently. “I was told I would be provided the necessary—”
“Then you train naked to your waist, Prince.” Master Udo turned away. “Line up, poxy rats.”
“Don’t worry. He does that all the time. Just ignore him.” Kief’s bastardly face bore a trace of amusement.
“I am not undressing. It is too cold!” Dick protested.
Master Udo spun around, fast like a snake. Without a word, he came over, his motions fluid, menacing. Almost casually, Dick folded his arms, to protect his gut. “A word with you, Prince?”
Dick made a serious face. “You may.”
“Prince Dietrich, I am fully aware of your titles and importance. However, within the perimeter of this yard, I am the king, the Saint, and your mother. You will do as I say, and you will do it perfectly, the first time. If you don’t, you will feel pain the kind Queen Sieghilde did not experience when she brought you into the world. Do you understand?”
Things were happening too fast. Dick only managed to say: “This is an outrage.”
Master Udo stepped even closer. “Outrage is what you will feel when I bury my foot in your lard.”
Dick bristled. “You will not dare.”
The horrible man just grinned. He had the same kind of grin as Voytech, except for the missing ruined upper lip. Evil, condescending, disrespectful smile. Dick had never had to hate someone so quickly. “King Ulaf has charged me with making you into a real man. I intend to do that.”
“Striking a royal is an offense punishable by death.” Dick desperately clung to protocol.
“Not if th
e king orders it.”
I hate you, Father. Dick swallowed. “I apologize for my—”
“Strip to the waist and line up with the rest of these mongrels. If you ever come late to training, you will wish you had been born a woman.”
Imaging himself firing a dozen pistols into the man’s face, Dick carefully unbuttoned his coat and the fine burgundy silk. Cold slapped him harder than Anelie had at Volkard’s. He could hear sniggers from other men. Looking around, he noticed he had an audience. Quite a showing.
They must have heard the rumor the royal prince would be training today, so they had come to observe. Castle staff not currently working, bored guards and soldiers from the local garrison, his bastard cousin who did not seem to be participating in the torture right now, his wife…
Amadea! What was she doing here?
There she was, small and fat and dark-haired, surrounded by her maids, standing on the balcony above the yard’s south side. Her face was lit with wonder, and her eyes were roaming over the yard’s exhibits, men and props alike.
Dick sidled close to the other trainees. He was cold. And he did not appreciate being stared at by peasants. Unless they were peasant girls. Saint, he needed to get laid. It wasn’t healthy being so long without a woman.
“For those of you new to this training,” Voytech’s spiritual brother began, “I am Master Udo, and after today, you will wish you’d never been born…”
The training was a blur. One big, unending, painful blur. When Master Udo finally let the group disperse, Dick had fired a thousand imaginary bullets from his pistols, ripping through every member of the master’s family in the last three generations. Just to be on the safe side.
Crispin was waiting outside the training square, holding a fur cloak. “Master, here!”
“Oh, Crispin. This is unbearable.”
“I have hot tea for you. And preserved apricots.”
Dick wanted to wave his manservant away, but he did not have any strength in his arms. “I want wine, Crispin. Strong wine, so I can pass out and not hurt anymore.”
“I will fetch some, Master.”
Steaming like a hot spring, he sat down on a bench, huddling in the warmth of the cloak. Even the rigor of the exercise hadn’t really banished the chill from his bones. He needed a fire, and a bed covered in satin, and a dozen girls to nurse his tired muscles.
His bastard cousin was in the yard now, having changed his expensive clothes for a padded tunic and trousers. He had removed his earrings and tied his blond curls back with a red scarf.
The new unit of victims began their training. Watching from the bench, Dick wasn’t really impressed by their routine, but having just been beaten bloody with wood and leather, he could sympathize with some of the caution and hesitation the men showed.
Kief wasn’t very good, but he was flamboyant and loud, cheering himself each time his practice blade made contact with his foe. To Dick’s chagrin, the audience responded with cheers of their own. They liked him, they like his ferocity, they liked his single-mindedness, the kind only bastards could have. They clapped and laughed and hailed his moves, and were all too forgiving when he fell or tripped or got hit by someone else’s sword.
Even his wife was in a bright mood, joining the rest. She was watching the combat with childish delight in her innocent eyes. Her maids were carefully imitating her, and the balcony rang with tittering and chirping.
Dick couldn’t stand it any longer. Gathering his dignity, he retreated. Master Udo would probably be angry, but it made no difference. People like him and Voytech didn’t need reasons to hate or spite others, and there was nothing one could do to win them over.
“Your Royal Highness.” One of Enduria’s clerks ambushed him in the quiet corridor opposite the practice yard.
Dick rolled his eyes. Where was Crispin? “What now?”
“The castellan begs your presence. She requires your intervention on the matter of—”
“Lead the way.” Dick was way too exhausted to listen, let alone argue. He knew he looked like a mess, with his hair plastered with sweat, and only the fur coat, now getting way too hot, covering his nude torso. But he did not care. Maybe if Lady Enduria saw him all filthy and stinking, she might actually forgo all formalities, and leave him alone. He didn’t ask for much. All he wanted was to be the king, be surrounded with whores, and have others handle the boring stuff. But they just wouldn’t let him be. It wasn’t fair.
I’m going to be miserable here, he thought, limping after the clerk.
CHAPTER 8
Dire News
“Surrender or perseverance? The coin is the same, the choice yours.”
—LAZAR THE CONFESSOR, DEATHRUNG CYCLES, MONRICH FOLKLORE, TIME UNKNOWN
23rd Day of the Month of Budding
“Master.”
The way Crispin said it made Dick open his eyes. Throughout the scented steam of the bath chamber, he saw his servant standing at the edge of the pool, his shoulders hunched defensively.
Dick lowered his wrinkled toes back into the hot water and propped himself up against the edge of the pool. Whoever had designed Castle Ostfort had been a purebred military man—with one small weakness: a penchant for exquisite baths.
There was a large room at the base of the tower with copper pipes channeling water into a square, tiled pit. Water that was almost icy when raised from the underground currents somewhere deep below the foundations and scalding hot when it reached the pool. The pipes passed through a fire in the nearby chamber, and they glowed red and vibrated when the water boiled inside them.
To keep his royal skin safe, there was another pipe, dewy with frost, and it mixed cold water into the pool, making the heat bearable.
“What is it?” Dick looked at the two maids sitting on a small bench, waiting for his instructions, should he need more lavender, thyme or soap. One was freckled and thin, the other stern-faced. At the moment, though, they were the prettiest things in the world, and Dick was carefully planning how to get one—or both of them—into the pool. Just before Crispin had suddenly showed up.
“A letter from the king, Master. A flizzard just flew in.”
Dick wiped foam from his face. Shit. “Is this going to ruin my day?”
“I don’t know, Master. I don’t know what the letter reads. But most likely yes. It is addressed to you personally.”
Dick reached for a damp towel resting on the expensive Hyevan clay. He hastily dried his hands. “Hand it over.” With soft, unresponsive fingers, he cracked the seal and opened the letter.
By now, you should have settled in Ostfort. I presume you have already bedded your wife. F.
Dear Saint. This wardenship was becoming a nightmare. He dropped the letter in the water, and watched the ink dissolve among the bubbles of foam. “Crispin, we have a problem.”
“I feared as much, Master. The day has been ruined?”
“Yes, it has.” I need to solve this. I need to get Eva. I need to…
A lesser man would have collapsed under all the stress and injustice. For Dick, the encumbrance led to creativity. His brain gave all it had. Suddenly, he had an idea!
A plan!
“Master, you are grinning in a strange way. Are you unwell?”
Dick tried to suppress his excitement. The urgency and brilliance of his thoughts was making him giddy. “Listen to me carefully. Bend down, I don’t want anyone to overhear…” Dick whispered.
Crispin hesitated before he nodded. “I will get to it right away, Master.”
Dick tried to calm himself. He must not be hasty.
He watched his manservant leave, heading into the adjacent room where the keep help tended to the fire, pulled levers and hauled water from the ground. A clever design, Dick had to admit. Even though he did not have that much interest in the way things worked, he was fascinated by how the Ostfort engineers had devised the water system. A besieging enemy had no control over the water supply, and no one could really see all those pipes burrowing into
the hillside. Professor Magnus and Rector Alesteir would have been impressed.
His mind focused on the steamy reality. His bloody father would never stop meddling. Dick had hoped for several months of respite, but it turned out he would have to consider bedding Amadea much sooner than he’d like.
Which meant he had to get Eva out of Eisenstar and bring her to Ostfort as quickly as possible.
Finally, he believed he knew how.
Dietrich looked at the two maids. They were busy chatting, not paying too much attention to him. He had felt quite eager only moments ago, but now his passion was largely gone. His member floated forlornly in the hot water, dreaming of better times. If I don’t bed someone soon, I might go blind, he thought, recalling some of Volkard’s stories. Or is it deaf?
The duties of the Warden were grueling, demanding. He was too busy listening to petitions, discussing law he knew nothing about, and training with a sword. He disliked all of that, but he absolutely hated Master Udo. Every muscle and bone in his body hurt, and the only way he could dispel the agony was to immerse himself in hot water and let the pain dissolve in the throat-gripping heat.
So far, his evenings had been quiet. Ostfort was a dead, dreary place. No taverns, no brothels. His only hope was the village of Challe, and Kief had promised to take him there, but the bastard wouldn’t do that before prayer day. He was too keen on his training, and he couldn’t afford to show up late or drunk, forcing Dick to count the days and wait in misery.
The freckled girl sensed his gaze and looked at him. She smiled, showing him the gap in her teeth.
Dick looked down into the soapy water. His member was fast asleep. It didn’t stir. Hopeless. He sighed.
“Girls, fetch me a robe. I’m done here.”
He met Crispin at the stables, sitting on the stool he normally used for helping Dick climb. He was dressed in casual but sturdy traveling clothes, and had two large, bulging saddle bags resting by his feet. The servant looked preoccupied, but when he raised his eyes, they were sharp, alert.
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