by Sam Argent
CHAPTER 11
WARMTH BRUSHED Sebastian’s face when he entered the royal library. A fireplace lit the room, and the king sat closest to the flames with the captain on his left. To the king’s right was Sebastian’s mother, and behind her, his siblings. Fingers captured Sebastian’s wrist as he walked to an empty chair.
“Please sit beside me. I promise I won’t bore you.” Prince Turren’s features sharpened as Sebastian’s eyes adjusted to the light.
“I’m sorry but—” Sebastian’s denial faltered as his brothers and sisters filled the last seats. The remaining chair was by Turren’s side. Wonderful. Sebastian stepped around Turren’s knees but managed to stomp on a few toes. He wrapped his cloak tight around his body and sat so no part of him touched the prince.
“For the sake of my feet, I think it’s best if I go to the cart and pour you a goblet of wine,” Turren said as he stood. He bowed to Sebastian and walked to the table of various wines and cheeses.
Sebastian admitted to himself that the back looked as good as the front when he watched snug pants cling to Turren’s thigh muscles and ass. He was staring so intently that Turren paused while holding the wine bottle.
TURREN SCANNED the room for the attentive gaze making his nape tingle, but no one was looking at him. He could have sworn he saw Sebastian’s head turn to the wall, but it was too dark to be sure. Turren returned to his task and filled a second glass. The short walk to his chair didn’t reveal any nervous movements that proved Sebastian guilty of eyeing his physique, so he gave a goblet to Sebastian and sat down without comment.
“Thank you.”
At least he’s being civil. “You’re welcome, Sebastian.” Turren sipped his wine but kept his goblet low enough so he could watch Sebastian drink. No skin was bared, but Turren listened to the sound of Sebastian’s throat swallowing.
“You’re being pleasant tonight, Turren. Don’t stare.”
“There isn’t much of you I can stare at. I’m jealous of your family for knowing what is under your hood.” Turren put his glass down on a shin-high table, one of which was placed in front of every group of chairs. “Thank you for saving my life, and I’m sorry it put your life in danger.”
“WHY DID someone try to kill you?” Sebastian asked.
“We don’t know. There hasn’t been trouble in Larnlyon lately, and I’ve been in Anerith for several months.” Turren scooted until he was pressed against the inside of his chair.
“Is there anyone in Anerith who doesn’t want the country to get back on its feet?” Sebastian’s eyes were starting to droop, so he followed Turren’s example.
“Very few people who aren’t already in prison or dead.”
“I suggest you find the culprit before another attempt is made,” Sebastian said.
Turren smiled around a slice of cheese. “Are you worried about me?”
“Succession, civil war, we’ve already covered this topic.”
“I hoped you were growing fond of me.”
Sebastian opened his mouth to voice a rebuke but saw his mother angrily signaling him to encourage the prince. Sebastian turned his head so she was no longer in his peripheral vision. “You were….” Sebastian hastily drew back because Turren moved his head at the same time, and their mouths were now too close for Sebastian’s liking—even under the hood.
“I wonder if I could have stolen a kiss,” Turren murmured.
“I would have broken your nose a second time,” Sebastian growled.
Turren’s smile returned with the obvious implication that a kiss would have been worth the pain.
“Shut up.” Sebastian would have said more, but a grape bounced off his head. He looked in the direction of the missile and rolled his eyes at his mother and Alice giving him horrified looks. He moved on and directed his gaze to Kevin popping grapes in his mouth. A hand slipping off his hood brought Sebastian’s attention back to his persistent suitor.
Turren shrugged. “You were distracted and a man should always try his luck.”
Lady Orwell intervened. “Your Highness, you’ve developed into a fine young gentleman. Any plans to marry now that you will be home?”
“I am still young, Lady Orwell, but if an honest and exceptional man caught my eye, I would do anything to make him my husband.”
“I wish you luck in finding such a man, Your Highness.” Lady Orwell beamed at her youngest son while sneaking a glare at Demetrius, who suddenly appeared interested in their conversation.
“I’m sure an earl practiced in looking after his lands would be the perfect match, Your Highness.” Sebastian took a healthy gulp of his wine and swallowed the last drop.
“It’s not rank that makes a man worthy of ruling by my side, Sebastian. It takes strength, kindness, and the courage to tell me I’m wrong.”
“It’s a good thing I can only be accused of the latter,” Sebastian said under his breath.
“You shoved a wounded man you don’t like onto a horse and brought him to Trellium’s gates, where my condition could have earned you an execution. You have all three traits and more, Sebastian,” Turren whispered, then said loudly to Sebastian’s mother, “I’m sorry for being rude. We disagreed on a few tedious points, and I didn’t want to bore the lady. We’ve become removed from the discussion I wanted to bring up. My father and I agreed that the royal family should throw a ball in honor of my savior.”
Sebastian watched Demetrius’s expression fill with hope at the sound of disagreement and fall at the word savior. His determination to marry royalty is just sad. “That is too much, Your Highness. Any subject would do the same.”
“Nonsense,” said King Harris. “I heartily support it. Our people would think me a miser if I didn’t properly thank you, and I will supply your family with attire fit for royalty. How can you say no, Sir Orwell?”
Sebastian’s appreciation for life helped him bite his tongue and withhold his first response. “You are a considerate ruler, Your Majesty. I am honored.” His voice breathed sincerity, and Prince Turren frowned.
“Are you up to something?” Turren whispered.
Sebastian straightened his back and spoke clearly. “Of course not. I’m looking forward to a ball, and I relish the idea of making my parents proud.”
Lady Orwell’s face was calm beauty for King Harris, but it slowly transformed into a mask that couldn’t hide the threat of future doom if her son sabotaged their night in the king’s favor.
SEBASTIAN HAD just placed two playing cards on Ophelia’s bed when a series of hard knocks on the door broke his concentration.
“It’s Prince Turren, Miss Orwell. May I enter?”
Ophelia snatched the cards up while Sebastian scrambled under the covers. She shoved the cards under her bodice and felt around for her chair where she had discarded her knitting kit. Scooping her skirts beneath her, Ophelia sank onto the cushion and adjusted her posture until she was the embodiment of a bored caretaker. “Please come in, Your Highness,” she said demurely.
Sebastian rolled his eyes but kept his body posed in the guise of a sick man. He coughed pitifully when the door opened. His fake hacking became real when Prince Turren gracefully bowed to the siblings in a sapphire robe that brushed against fitted black leather pants. The buttons of the prince’s white shirt were sapphires set in silver. Sebastian wondered why Turren was infatuated with a cloaked grump whose face he had never seen.
“My lady.” Prince Turren lifted Ophelia’s hand and kissed it gently, eliciting a smile from Sebastian’s traitorous sister. Softly releasing her hand, Prince Turren focused on his immobile guest. “Sir Orwell, I was concerned after James told me of your sudden affliction. I thought it my duty to visit you instead of dancing in your absence. Shall I bring you a meal from the banquet?”
“Nonsense, Prince Turren. Enjoy yourself.” Sebastian pitched his voice lower to add to his list of symptoms.
“Do you need a pot of tea? Because your voice sounds… gruff.” Prince Turren asked just as politely as his ea
rlier words, but tension squared his wide shoulders when he bent down closer to Sebastian.
Sebastian abandoned his affected tone and spoke normally. “No thank you, Your Highness. I would prefer it if I could rest tonight.”
“If you say so, but Ophelia’s covers seem too light for someone as ill as you.” Prince Turren lifted up the blanket and then ran his fingers over the sheets underneath Sebastian. “This simply won’t do.” His fingers tightened on the cloth, and Prince Turren yanked as hard as he could, spilling Sebastian into his arms with a startled yelp. “You’re too weak not to eat, and if your strength is failing you, then I shall carry you to the banquet.” Turren clutched his struggling parcel to his chest and nodded to Ophelia, whose face didn’t twitch during the turn of events.
“You could have warned me!” Sebastian fought against his captor, but Turren was too damn big and tall to get any leverage.
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Prince Turren said calmly while walking out of the room.
“Put me down, dammit!”
“Such renewed vigor! I must be doing the right thing if you’re recovering so quickly.” Prince Turren adjusted his bundle again. “How am I touching you?”
Sebastian was curious about that himself. He glared suspiciously at the prince from under his hood. “How powerful are you compared to the king’s cousin?”
“I have more magic than Frederick. He says I would make a legendary wizard if I didn’t have to spend so much time on our country’s affairs. I could barely touch you before, so why should that matter now?” Prince Turren turned down a hallway and toward a staircase.
“You’re annoyed with me and leaking magic. It’s not a surprise from an untrained ruffian.” Sebastian grunted when Turren skipped down the steps as if he weighed nothing. Servants, lords, and ladies mingled near the bottom of the stairs. Sebastian dug his fingers into Turren’s neck, and the prince stopped his descent.
“Is there a problem, Sir Orwell?” Prince Turren asked innocently while looking at the crowd who hadn’t noticed them yet.
“I’ll go down willingly if you put me on my feet.”
“But you’re weak and it’s my responsibility to look after you.” Turren scrunched his face up, but his arms didn’t falter. “If you promised me a dance, I would consider that evidence of your recovery.”
“You owe me your life, you….” Sebastian trailed off when he spotted his mother and Alice among the crowd.
Turren smirked.
“One dance.”
THEY’RE A tedious bunch, but at least they’re leaving me alone. Their initial shock from seeing him on the prince’s arm had worn off, and foreign dignitaries soon dragged Turren away. Sebastian played wallflower in a wash of white magelight that reflected off the glass in their brass enclosures. Dresses and robes whirled around him in a dizzying spell, so Sebastian kept his eyes on the dark blue wine in his cup.
“Are you going to sit the entire night?”
Sebastian raised his head and looked at his mother. I can’t even insult her because calling her ugly would be a blatant lie. Her gown matched her golden locks, and several people watched her with admiration. Caspian Orwell was a sweaty, balding mess, but Cynthia belonged among the royalty. “You have other sons and daughters, Mother.” Sebastian lowered his eyes back to his drink.
“Your siblings are hopeless. Except for Ophelia.” Cynthia sat next to her rebellious son, and Sebastian’s head shot up. Ophelia danced in the arms of Lord Pasley, matching him step for step. “Your blind sister knows her duty, and you ignore the affections of a prince.” Cynthia smiled brightly, but her voice was a low hiss.
“If Ophelia pursues a courtship, then it’s because she wants to and not out of duty.” Sebastian finished his wine. “Congratulations, Mother, your plan worked.” He stood. “I would rather trot into a dragon’s den than spend another moment with you.”
Diana looked to be busily engaging other apothecaries and healers, and Sebastian wasn’t going to drag Ophelia away from her fun because he was bored. He wandered through dancers and groups of men and women conversing. A group of men his own age fell silent when Sebastian passed by them. He looked up, and all of their eyes were on him. Sebastian kept walking until a dark-haired man cleared his throat.
“Good evening, Sir Orwell. I thank you for saving the prince.” The speaker tipped his head respectfully, and the others mimicked him with less enthusiasm.
Sebastian bit back his first reply and decided to play nice. “It would be devastating if Larnlyon lost Prince Turren. Anyone else in the same position would have risen to the occasion.”
“Anyone else probably would have arrived to a ball thrown in his honor on time,” a man behind the first speaker joined in. “Don’t you agree, Earl Grenwish?”
“Lord Ulani’s words do bear some thought. He was not the only one who believed you might fail to make an appearance tonight, but I was sure that a man from such an esteemed family would grace this hall eventually.” Earl Grenwish’s smile never faltered, and its sincerity was only questioned by his words.
Sebastian turned his hood toward the earl, knowing how eerie he looked. “Forgive me, Earl Grenwish, I was attending my sister, Ophelia. I wrongly assumed that men of your stature understood familial obligations.” He spread his hands across the whole group and said cheerfully, “But don’t worry, lords.” Sebastian let the full rasp of his voice tinge the last word. “You’ll receive your inheritance and lands regardless of your ability to rule or any proof that you understand the word responsibility.”
“Is there a problem?”
Sebastian stared straight ahead and didn’t acknowledge Prince Turren’s presence while the other men bowed.
Earl Grenwish’s cheeks bloomed red with rage. “How dare—” He was cut off by Prince Turren raising his hand.
“Sebastian doesn’t answer to you, and if I find his behavior unacceptable, I will address it myself.” Prince Turren placed a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “He is my hero and we feast in his honor. Isn’t that right, Sir Orwell?”
Prince Turren was everything young royalty should be down to the silver medallion around his neck that Sebastian wanted to choke him with. I do not need to be saved! Sebastian let awkward silence take over until the third remark in his head sounded less harmful to his freedom. First he had to get that damn hand off his shoulder. “Prince Turren… your hand.” There, he said it without spitting the words out.
“Ah, how forward of me.” Turren unabashedly dropped it after a brief squeeze. “Would you care for another goblet of wine?” White teeth filled Sebastian’s vision as Turren placed himself between Sebastian and the others.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked.
“I want to ensure that no fights break out during the ball. Your words can be inflammatory, and not in such a good way to others,” Prince Turren explained.
“I would never lay a finger on your rescuer, Prince Turren. Please consider him safe no matter how heated our words.” Earl Grenwish bowed again.
The earl’s words caught Sebastian off guard, and he laughed from the depths of his belly. Many guests stopped dancing to watch, but that only made Sebastian laugh harder.
“Um, Sebastian?” Prince Turren asked, his face a comical blend of concern and wonder. “Are you all right?”
Sebastian inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said while exhaling. “I’m safe whether our encounter is words… or otherwise.” He chuckled again. “It’ll be a cold day in Ohtil before a pampered group of play soldiers lay a finger on me without bleeding first.” For a moment Earl Grenwish looked as if he dearly wished he could take his oath back. Under his hood, Sebastian smiled wickedly. He patted Prince Turren on the back harder than required and watched as the men squawked their outrage. Prince Turren’s brighter smile almost made him regret his action. He jerked his hand away, but Turren caught it.
“Turren, Sebastian.” Everyone, including Sebastian, bowed for King Harris. “I’m happy I found you two togeth
er. There aren’t enough dancers, and I was hoping Turren and his guest of honor could remedy that.”
“I’m not a very good dancer, and I think my mother is calling for me,” Sebastian lied.
“I just spoke with her. She thought if you didn’t feel comfortable, then Turren could teach you. He owes you his life. Surely a dance lesson is within his power to give,” King Harris suggested.
“Yes, I could teach him all night if I must!” Prince Turren exclaimed. Earl Grenwish raised his brow but wisely stayed silent.
“Prince Turren is too important to spend all his time with me.”
“But you’re so delighted with his company that you can’t keep your hands off him.” King Harris’s grin became predatory, and Sebastian knew he was trapped. “I was young once too. Now off with you lads.” King Harris allowed no room for escape as he placed Turren’s hand on Sebastian’s wrist and pushed them toward the crowd of dancers.
“THIS IS your fault for antagonizing Grenwish,” Prince Turren said as he kept Sebastian at a respectable distance.
“I was calm until you decided to put your nose where it didn’t belong. And stop twirling me!” Sebastian said as Turren spun him for the third time.
“I can’t help myself. You rarely give me an opportunity to hold you.”
“The reason why no longer eludes me.” The music slowed, and Sebastian gave a warning shake of his head when Prince Turren placed a hand on his hip.
Prince Turren shrugged. “You’re a fine dancer, Bastian. Your cloak is the only thing that makes you stand out. Would you consider removing it if you were under my protection?”
“It’s complicated,” Sebastian bit out. Turren’s hand slid out of his fingers and pulled on his arm to prevent attempts at escape. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I can be simple, but I’m not a fool. If it were easy, I would know more than the color of your eyes. I’m asking, could you remove it if you were under the future king’s protection?” Turren lowered his lips close to Sebastian’s ear. It tingled under the cowl from his breath. “As Prince Consort Sebastian.”