by R. G. Green
Kherin swallowed and forced a small smile. “I take it you’ve heard all about the northerners at the river?” Picking a neutral topic over the more pressing one was deliberate, though he wasn’t surprised when Derek’s jaw tensed even more.
“Oh yes,” Derek muttered, letting out a breath of exasperation as he did so. “Along with the mages they brought, the sea monsters they summoned, and the dragons that filled the skies.”
Kherin’s smile tightened. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Yes, but not nearly as much as you would think.” He looked again at the prince, his frown deepening even as his eyes seemed to soften. “Are you all right, Kherin?”
Kherin let out a breath and nodded again, more realistically now than before. “I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean. Whatever happened on the other side of the river wasn’t lasting, though I still have no idea what it was.” He glanced at the sickroom door, the gesture adding what he didn’t put into words. “Gods, it was good to see him awake and looking stronger.”
Derek finally offered a genuine smile. “He woke before the shouting started and showed surprising strength when he tried to get out of bed once it did, apparently determined to find the cause.”
“And you were here,” Kherin said evenly, turning back.
Derek watched him for a heartbeat before answering. “Yes, Kherin. I was.”
The thread of guilt that circled him tightened painfully at that plain and simple statement, and Kherin desperately wanted to take back the bitterness and strain his own attitude had caused to erupt between them that day. Derek alone had made the effort to smooth things between them, and while Kherin should have expected nothing less of him, he should have expected considerably more from himself. He swallowed again through the sudden tightness of his throat.
“Adrien told me you had already talked to him about the northerners. And convinced him that capturing one is necessary.”
Derek nodded and touched the prince at last, a gentle caress of his arm that sent flakes of dried mud scattering to the floor.
“It took very little convincing, my prince,” he said softly, sincerely. “Adrien isn’t blind or foolish, or content to sit and wait, any more than you are.” A sad smile flitted across his face. “I wish there was a better answer, but I don’t know of one.”
“Derek,” Kherin began, but he trailed away into nothing. He owed Derek for far more than today and more than he would ever be able to put into words, and trying to voice his thanks would fall far short of the gratitude and regret he felt. Instead, with only the briefest thought, he stepped forward and pressed a kiss to the trader’s lips.
Derek stiffened with a small sound of surprise, but the kiss wasn’t demanding, instead only a gesture of giving, and Kherin was rewarded for it after only a moment of uncertainty, when he felt the trader relax, and he felt Derek’s mouth soften and open. When he returned the kiss with the gentleness it was given, Kherin took what was offered willingly, and deepened the kiss only slightly before pulling back.
He stopped Derek’s words with ones of his own. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Derek said nothing, but Kherin saw the warmth in the smile he gave and the conflict in the dark eyes that met his own. Every word of the trader’s reasoning from the Harper’s Den was displayed there, warring with the worry of the danger Kherin courted and the relief that Kherin was safe. And yet under it all was the affection that never seemed to fade, though tempered now with the heat of desire the kiss had awakened. It was real, Derek had told him, and Kherin saw the truth of it suddenly bare in the dark, torn gaze.
The emotions inside him flared, and the strength of them grew as he realized how truly in love with Derek he was, and how badly he wanted past this last obstacle, how badly he wanted to give himself and let Derek take him. How badly he wanted Derek to want to take him and finish what they had started in the way-stop. Finish it, and begin something new, something deeper between them.
And Derek wanted it too, Kherin knew that now, and that was why he took the chance he was given, stepping into the trader and covering his mouth again with a kiss that was more demanding than what he had offered before. This time, their bodies touched, and this time, Derek didn’t fight him. Instead he cupped the prince’s cheek, and this time it was the trader who took the kiss and deepened it. This time, Derek drew Kherin into answering in kind.
The clothes Kherin carried fell to their feet as his heart and spirits rose, and he slipped his arms around the trader’s waist as Derek framed his face while their kiss still lingered. His fingers tangled in the damp fabric of Derek’s cloak as the trader pulled him closer, and then with the boldness he so often possessed, Kherin slipped his tongue past the trader’s teeth.
A groan escaped the trader’s lips the moment Kherin’s tongue touched his, and Kherin’s lust spiked as Derek suddenly surged forward. The wall became a solid presence at his back as he struggled for breath and contact, and he writhed against the heat of Derek’s mouth and body… and then Derek’s hands falling to his hips brought his own up to the trader’s shoulders. He dug his fingers into the muscle as Derek pressed his thigh into the space between his legs. Kherin opened his legs around it as Derek stroked hard against his cock and balls, and his breath hitched into the trader’s mouth as he pressed himself into the deepness of the caress.
Then Derek broke the kiss forcefully, gasping for breath as he pulled back, and Kherin nearly cursed aloud.
“Kherin….”
“This isn’t a mistake,” Kherin ground out harshly, lust roughening his voice. “I know we’ve had this conversation before, and I know you think you’re doing what’s best, but you’re not even making the decision. You’re letting my father make it for you.”
He tightened his hands in the fabric and muscle beneath them because Gods, he didn’t want to stop this, but the look on Derek’s face threatened a repeat of the latter part of their conversation at the inn. Kherin bit back the frustration of meeting this obstacle again.
“Kherin, your father is the king,” Derek said quietly, though his voice was strained with arousal, and his hands were crueler than necessary as he forced Kherin to release him.
“Which gives him power to make decisions on politics and defense and the wages for his servants. It should never give him the personal power you allow.”
“Kherin…,” Derek began again, stepping back, putting space between them. Letting Kherin go and severing the last of the physical contact. It didn’t matter that Derek had grown as hard as the prince in their few moments of passion. Kherin knew that he had, had felt the trader against his hip. The expression on Derek’s face said what the trader didn’t: Derek wouldn’t risk repeating the mistake he had made in the way-stop.
Even if it hadn’t been a mistake at all.
Kherin growled, a sound deepened by his frustrated desire as well as the reasons behind it. “You’re worried about losing your status of royal favor, but you said yourself my father isn’t foolish. Do you really think he would cut off the supply of information you gather just because he’s angry at us?”
Derek visibly bit back the words he would have said, and Kherin straightened as he continued. “He can punish me because I’m his son, his second son at that,” Kherin went on relentlessly, determined to make Derek hear him. “But he won’t do that to you. He can’t—not if he wants to keep his trusted set of eyes on his kingdom.” Kherin paused to let the words settle. “You said the power you had over him lay in his listening when you speak. But you forgot about the power the information you bring gives you. He won’t forbid you access to the castle because you have something he needs.”
“And you?” Derek demanded suddenly. “If he forbids me to see you? Do I disobey him and visit you regardless? I won’t, Kherin, not if he orders me not to. Because it won’t be me who reaps the brunt of his anger. It will be you.”
Kherin made a harsh snort of disgust. “I’ve been reaping the brunt of his anger my entire life.”
> Derek shook his head helplessly, his expression pained. “Kherin….”
And Kherin knew it then, knew it the moment he heard it, that soft tone of regret that said he had lost again. His mouth closed slowly but firmly, and the bitterness began to take root and grow deep inside him. He moved suddenly, bent to retrieve his clothes and tossed them carelessly over his arm.
“I need a bath,” he said tiredly. “Willum is tending to Adrien. I’ll be back soon.”
He left without turning back to the trader, firmly closing the door behind him. The hot sting in his eyes contradicted the cold night air, and his steps on the empty street echoed the hollowness he felt in his stomach. Derek was determined to keep Kherin at a safe distance, not willing to take their relationship beyond the companionable hugs and chaste kisses Kherin had grown used to and cherished. Not willing to, yet wanting to, and just as much as Kherin wanted to. He had seen it in the trader’s eyes. It was real, Derek had said, and Kherin had seen it was true. Yet for Derek, wanting it just wasn’t enough.
The guilt generated by his own actions assailed him as he neared the entrance to the Harper’s Den, slowing his steps and bringing him to a stop inside the shadows of buildings looming side by side in either direction. Gods, he didn’t want to fight with Derek, not when he should be grateful for the closeness they did have. And he was, and yet he had deepened the breach between them—again. He swallowed as the pain of that struck home. He should have never left things between them like they were, and the sudden fear that he had at last damaged things beyond repair made him turn back. It was when he faced the hospice again that saw Derek crossing the street toward him.
The pounding of his heart grew faster as he waited for Derek to catch up to him, and he didn’t argue or fight when Derek reached for him instead of speaking, pulling him into his arms and holding him tightly in the shadows of the city. Kherin wrapped his arms around him without thought, clinging to him as he breathed in the heat and familiar scents, closing his eyes as the trader’s heart beat soundly against his own. At last Derek pulled back, and he brushed the hair from Kherin’s face as his eyes sought the prince’s in the darkness.
“I wish things could be different, Kherin, but we have to accept the world as it’s given.”
Kherin was forced to look away as his unspoken words of denial renewed the sting in his eyes, but Derek brought his eyes back with a gentle touch to his chin.
“I love you, Kherin, and nothing will ever lessen what we have, but I will not risk losing you by taking more than what I have a right to. It’s a decision that is not ours to make.”
The silence that followed was crushing, but Kherin couldn’t find words, and at last the trader leaned forward and kissed Kherin’s forehead as he had done so many times before. “You’ve had a long day. Bathe, eat, and sleep, and we’ll talk later. I’ll be here, my prince.”
The trader slipped away, vanishing into the shadows of the city, leaving Kherin alone on the damp and dirty street. Kherin heaved a long, heavy sigh as he leaned against the wall at his back, and he raised his eyes to stare at the starless sky through the watery glow of the streetlamps.
Then he swore under his breath as he pushed himself upright, and he marched without stopping to the entrance of the Harper’s Den and through it to the baths that lay behind it.
“THEY just caught six of those damned northerners over by Handon,” one man said, a merchant by the looks of him, not overbearing, but with a definite air of confidence. “But not before they burned some farms and killed some people. Bastards ought to be burned themselves for that.”
The other man’s appearance was much the same as the first, though perhaps a little stouter and a bit rougher around the edges. A bodyguard, perhaps? Neither was particularly old, though the first did have a spray of gray in his dark hair.
“And more of them have been spotted out west, if what the talk about it is true,” the second added. “How the hell are they getting inland?”
“They’re getting through the border Defenders, is what they are doing,” said the first with disgust. “Though I don’t know how. The Gods know the kingdom sends enough people there.”
The tone of his voice rankled Tristan’s nerves. What would these men know about guarding the border? Had they ever done it? He flushed a heartbeat later, having to admit that of course they had. No one in the kingdom was exempt from the duty of a Defender. Except for the women, the feeble, and the traders. But at least they didn’t condemn the Defenders. This was the kind of talk Kherin had told him about, the kind that took place in darkened taverns when the drink flowed too easily.
Tristan then smiled a small but sincere smile, directed at the empty table in front of him. By the talk of the town, he was not the only one willing to throw in their lot with Sethan Alderson, though what Sethan didn’t know was that he had already increased his ranks with Tristan himself, even if they had yet to meet face to face.
But that would change soon enough. Because like so many others in the disgruntled streets of Dennor, he would be there when Sethan gave his next speech.
And this time he would make his presence known.
Chapter 11
GRESHAM hadn’t bothered to knock. He was older than either of the princes, and larger, though well enough away from royal blood in his veins that the expression he wore was one caught between duty and deference, despite the fact that he outranked both princes in this environment. Kherin merely looked at him from his seat on his brother’s bed as he paused just inside the sickroom door, and met the man’s eyes without offering a greeting, let alone a salute. Gresham had apparently been elected spokesperson when it came to taking issue with the youngest prince.
Adrien, however, remained oblivious to his presence. Although it was nearing the end of his second day without a debilitating seizure, Willum refused to discount the dangers of exhaustion, and so his treatments continued accordingly. Adrien’s sleep may be as much drugged at it was natural, but Kherin wouldn’t argue it wasn’t necessary. Not this time.
It was the only matter he hadn’t argued against, however.
“The Defenders are creating quite a commotion in the camp,” Gresham said, following the prince’s lead of foregoing greetings of any kind. “I understand their training and abilities are lacking, in your opinion, but as they are the Defenders assigned to this city, I would appreciate you treating them with a little more respect.”
Kherin looked away without answering. He had spent the last six hours patrolling the riverbank with one of the said Defenders, a young man named Geril, a native of Elgren, a city far to the west of Delfore, and the son of a horse breeder who would follow his father’s footsteps into the stables. Geril may or may not have been among those waving torches on the banks of the river the night before, but he hadn’t been among those dragging the Delfore Defenders back from the northern bank either. Jarak had told him that. As to whether or not he had actually been in the city during the attack….
Gods, it almost didn’t matter. The northerners were attacking these people where they lived, right here at their own doorstep, while more Defenders than not spent their time too engrossed in their activities in the city to even know it was occurring. Even those of the kingdom who had been at the river last night would have been of little use had the battle moved to Llarien soil, at least if their actions before battle had been any indication of their actions during it.
It had been so very easy during the battle to discern the Defenders trained in Delfore from those brought in from other parts of the Llarien kingdom. Skill and discipline—and plain fucking common sense—were apparently demanded only when the king was no more than a loud shout away, while the cities outside of his father’s hearing seemed to demand little more of their Defenders than the strength to bear a sword.
Nobody had died last night, despite the sheer stupidity he had seen in and out of the camp, but he knew of at least six who may have lost their lives to it already: the men he had seen buried in Delfore days be
fore his own arrival in Gravlorn.
Derek had listened patiently when he brought these things up during the time the trader had joined him during his second patrol as a Defender, though his words hadn’t been as controlled when he took the Defenders to task in the aftermath of last night’s battle.
They had, however, perhaps been louder than was appropriate for a subordinate in a Defender camp, and Gresham’s very presence now apparently meant the Leader—if not the Defenders themselves—thought them also more cutting than was deemed necessary. Kherin wouldn’t wager on whether Gresham had been put up to smoothing the waters between the prince and the Defenders, though he knew it was only his status as prince that stopped the request for respect from being a direct order. He didn’t need Derek to tell him that.
“I know many of them lack the skills obtained in the royal training yards, but they are the best Defenders we’ve got, and the only ones we’re going to get,” the Defender Leader went on, his face tightening as his words gained confidence. “You don’t outrank them, and you have no choice but to do your duty beside them. They deserve respect as much as you, and failing to give it is not an option.”
Kherin let out his breath slowly, but nodded enough to show his acceptance of the reprimand without needing to force the words out his mouth. At least Gresham hadn’t demanded he make an apology, though Kherin could almost hear Derek telling him the Leader was being generous in that aspect, and he knew he would probably hear the words later, given the trader’s skills at learning what went on around him. At least Kherin could claim he hadn’t argued with the reprimand.
Gresham nodded in return. Then, after a quick glance at Adrien, he continued. “Good. But that isn’t the only reason I came here. A messenger arrived from Lorn.”