The Stable Boy

by Megan Derr

  *~*~*

  He was eating a breakfast of bread with honey and a couple of pickled eggs he'd charmed out of one of the cooks when Poris appeared and scoured the kitchen, clearly in search of Elci. He left a couple of minutes later, but Diggory did not go after him.

  Instead, he finished his breakfast and headed back to the stable, idly planning when he would be able to slip away to learn more about Poris and Ignance. They would be with Benoit in parts of the castle that a stable boy had no business being in, which would make the matter more difficult. He had been lucky with Elci and with him missing—since Diggory doubted they would find his body—they would be more on edge.

  Voices caught his attention and he slowed his steps when he saw a group of men lingering near Adalwin's private stable. To judge by the comments, they were having a fine gossip about the hunting party that had left just an hour or so ago. Adalwin had been with them, his face pale and angry, but he had smiled when Diggory suggested he just get lost for a few hours and blame his new stable hand for saddling the wrong horse.

  He listened with half an ear as he went about his chores, but paid more attention when they began to talk about a masked ball happening that night—the formal betrothal ball. He had requested it be a masked ball because they were his favorite. So much easier to enjoy oneself with a mask.

  Diggory's grip tightened on the pitchfork he was holding until his knuckles whitened. It was supposed to be him at Adalwin's side, holding his hand and making promises, exchanging their very first kiss. He would kill Benoit as painfully as he knew how and not even because of what he was doing to Diggory—though that was more than enough. No, he would make Benoit pay for what he was doing to Adalwin, for what Diggory was doing to Adalwin.

  Putting the pitchfork aside, he went to fetch his coin purse. The hunt would not return for several hours, and if he was quick, nobody would miss him. He was going to that ball.

  A couple of hours in the village and he had obtained all he required. He returned to the stable and tucked the items away in his room, then set to his work to catch up on the chores he'd neglected running errands.

  His determination to attend the ball was only further fueled when the hunting party finally returned and Adalwin looked ragged and worn around the edges, his hands trembling as he more fell off his horse than properly dismounted. Diggory held him close for a moment, let him steady himself, then reluctantly stepped away and busied himself with the horses. But the memory of Adalwin in his arms would not leave him and the day moved at a crawl after that.

  By the time dark fell and he could hear strains of music coming from the palace, Diggory was champing at the bit to be off. He made certain the horses were all settled comfortably for the night, then fetched the good soap he'd bought in town and cleaned himself thoroughly, even if he was left shivering and practically blue at the end of it.

  His clothes were faded and did not quite fit, but they were still just barely in fashion. Clearly whoever had owned them before had sold them off not long after acquiring them. All to the good for Diggory, though it amused him that his own fine clothes were probably only a week or so away, travelling on a much slower cart with most of his other belongings. Pulling on the clothes, he combed his hair, then put on the jewelry he'd managed to acquire: gold earrings, cravat pin, and his pocket watch.

  Nothing close to the satin and velvet, the diamonds and sapphires he normally wore, but he did not care what he had to wear so long as he was able to get to Adalwin at the ball. He held a hand to his wound, which seemed to be healing well enough, but a general air of wrongness clung and he knew the curse was just waiting for him to slip up and grant it a chance to wake and kill him

  It would be so easy to walk up to Adalwin and tell him that he remembered every word of Adalwin's letters, to prove it by reciting them, to recite parts of his own. So easy to kill himself in a matter of words. Frustration left him feeling raw and helpless, and he angrily secured his mask. He left the stable at a rapid pace, as though he could outrun all the problems biting at his heels.

  The dancing was in full tilt when he slipped in by way of the garden entrance. He took a glass of sparkling rose wine from a passing tray and drained it in one long, neat swallow. Taking another glass, he looked around for Adalwin. It took only a moment to spot him, even with the mask. Diggory suspected that he would someday be able to mark Adalwin no matter what the circumstances.

  He sipped at the second glass of wine, then set it aside and pushed his way through the crowd, moving along the edge of the dance floor until he ran into Adalwin as he was leaving it. "Good evening, my lord," he greeted, careful to let a bit of his native accent slip—an accent his tutors had worked hard to rid him of, but which would be useful for giving the impression he was a noble from the border territories, a stranger.

  Adalwin smiled politely. "Good evening, my lord."

  "I do not suppose you would honor me with a dance? One so handsome hardly has need of my attention, but I would be honored by your indulgence."

  Laughing, Adalwin accepted the hand Diggory held out and let himself be led back to the dance floor. The dance was, thankfully, a simple one that even Diggory knew well enough not to embarrass himself. Normally he avoided dancing, but he could not think where else he would be able to get Adalwin to himself for a few minutes—well, the stable, but Diggory wanted to be himself for the night, not a stable boy.

  "Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?"

  "Of course," Adalwin replied. "What's not to find enjoyable?"

  Diggory's mouth quirked. "Ordinarily, I would ask what is to find enjoyable. I have no love of parties. I much prefer my solitude, or the company of one or two."

  Adalwin frowned and Diggory dared to hope the words sounded familiar to him. "I … I have heard another say much the same thing," he said slowly. "I admit I prefer solitude myself from time to time, but there is something to be said for an atmosphere such as this."

  "I am beginning to see that it has its benefits," Diggory said softly, and they lapsed into silence as they continued to dance.

  Unfortunately, the dancing came to its inevitable end and Diggory was prevented claiming another by the ringing of the bell. The king climbed the dais and rambled on about marriage and bonds and so forth. At Diggory's side, Adalwin tensed, all but radiating his unhappiness.

  Diggory waited until the king was moments away from summoning Adalwin and Benoit to the dais, then turned to Adalwin and cupped his chin, tilted his head down. "All will be well, prince. I promise." Adalwin drew a sharp breath as Diggory leaned up to brush a whisper-soft kiss across his mouth.

  Then he slipped away, weaving through the crowd until he reached the back of the room. His stomach churned as he watched Benoit and Adalwin mount the stage, cast their masks aside, and join hands. He wanted to scream in fury when they recited the betrothal vows and he had to close his eyes when they kissed. When he could open his eyes again, he made himself focus on Benoit, watched as he led Adalwin to the dance floor.

  He was obviously biased in thinking they did not dance together nearly as well as he and Adalwin had, but Diggory was more than all right with that. When they finally finished and the others began to trickle back onto the floor for the next dance, he kept his eyes on Benoit—and there, yes. Poris and Ignance, obvious masks or not. How had they deceived Diggory and his family for so long? What other wrongs had they committed that had gone unremarked? It made him sick to think on it.

  Poris and Ignance were speaking quietly, heads bent together to be heard over the noise of the crowded ballroom. He moved across the room toward them, careful to stay out of their direct line of sight—not that they seemed to be paying mind to anything, but Diggory would not underestimate them a second time.

  A few minutes later, they glanced at Benoit, received a surreptitious nod, and slipped from the ball. Diggory made certain Benoit was no longer paying attention and then went after them. He followed them upstairs, grateful for the milling crowds throughout the
palace and the fact nearly every person was drunk or having too much fun to want to notice anything that might dampen it.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, they turned right and wove through the halls until they reached a door that most likely lead to Benoit's chambers. Diggory itched to go after them, but he made himself wait instead, slipping into a shadowed alcove.

  Just as he was beginning to lose all patience, they reemerged dressed in dark, plain clothes and wearing weapons. Those wouldn't save them. He followed them back downstairs, lifting a coat from a man so drunk he had only draped it over himself before passing out on a hallway bench. Shrugging into it, he hastened his step until he caught sight of Poris and Ignance again. When they were well away from the palace and travelled in darkness broken only by the lantern Poris carried, he discarded his mask in the high grass.

  Once more he found himself shadowing them all the way to town, but rather than the church, they stopped in a pub. It did not take him long to determine they were trying to find Elci. Likely they assumed he'd succumbed to second thoughts and had tried to run.

  He waited outside, smoking a cigarette cadged from a passerby. When they finally came out, grumbling about Elci and deciding which pub to try next, he fell into step behind them and made certain they were aware of him. It was only because he watched that he noticed the moment they marked him and tensed. But they kept their pace, acted as though they had not—until they came to a quiet, empty street. Then they drew their swords and turned, freezing when the light from Poris' lantern fell across Diggory's face. "You!" they snarled.

  Diggory didn't reply as they charged him, simply drew the knife hidden at the small of his back and threw it. Poris managed to knock it away, but the distraction was all Diggory needed to gain the advantage, dodging out of the way of Ignance, grabbing the lantern, and smashing it into Poris' face. Poris screamed in agony; Diggory stole the dagger at his waist and buried it in his throat. Taking the sword as Pori let it go, Diggory turned—and screamed himself when Ignance managed to land a blow right where his wound was still healing.

  He pressed one hand to his bloody side; the sword remained steady in his other. "Backstabbing bastard."

  "Stupid prince," Ignance retorted.

  Diggory ignored the taunt and merely waited for Ignance to attack. He swore when it came because it forced him to move in a way that did his wound no favors. The fight was a brutal one, but every time he wavered, started to succumb to the darkness that wanted to take him, he thought of Adalwin and pressed on.

  The sound of shouting, of feet pounding toward them, forced them to pause. Damn, someone had heard the ruckus and raised the alarm. Diggory braced himself to finish the fight and then flee, but to his surprise, Ignance simply turned and ran.

  Damn it. He should have tried to kill them more quietly, but he'd thought he'd had them. Well, that was what he got for being arrogant. Throwing Poris' sword aside in disgust, Diggory fled as quickly as he could manage, stripping off his jacket to press it against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. The cold wind made him shudder and homesickness struck him like an unexpected blow to the face.

  He wanted his life back, he wanted those he cared about to be safe. Damn it, he just wanted to be him again. His clothes, his bed, his books and sword and horses. His chance to win Adalwin's affections and build a new life with his husband.

  Ignance had gotten away, however, and he would go straight to Benoit. Well, they did not know he was right beneath their noses. Diggory would have to ensure he maintained that advantage. He stumbled his way through town until he found an inn that looked as though it would not ask too many question. Setting a gold coin on the counter, he said, "I need a bed, hot water, needle and thread, and some clean rags."

  "I can see what you need," she replied tartly, but handed over a worn key. "Get on with you, then. Top of the stairs, all the way at the end of the hall on the right."

  She brought the supplies a few minutes later and briskly set about sewing and cleaning the wound for him. "Men cannot go a week without finding an excuse to cut each other open. You're lucky you're not dead."

  "I know," he said quietly. "Believe me, I know. Thank you for your assistance." He gave her another coin which she tucked away before awkwardly combing through his hair.

  "There's food on the table there. Get some rest and try to be less of a fool tomorrow." She gathered up the used supplies and left, leaving him alone.

  Diggory moved stiffly to the table and ate, then settled down to get a couple of hours of rest before he had to head back to the palace before he was missed. He hoped Adalwin had not gone to the stable looking for him. He hoped more that Benoit and Ignance were not going to immediately return to town and hunt for him.

  There was nothing he could do about any of that for the present, however, so he closed his eyes and simply relived dancing with Adalwin, how good it had felt to hold him, that soft brush of lips. When it was all over, would Adalwin forgive him all of the wrongs? Diggory could not bear to think of the answer to that question being no, so he simply focused on the memory of the dancing.

  He woke when he turned in his sleep and set his side to hurting again. He panicked for a moment, afraid he had accidentally slept the whole night through—but no, the sky was still dark and the moon still high. He left the key to the room on the front counter and stepped outside, breathing in the cold air to help wake himself up, and then set off slowly back toward the palace.

  The whole time he feared running afoul of Benoit and Ignance, but the journey was quiet the entire way and he finally climbed into his own bed in the stable without further incident. When he woke again, it was to Adalwin calling his name. Diggory hastily stripped and pulled on fresh clothes, then hurried from the room. "Highness! My deepest apologies, I'm afraid something I drank last night did not agree with me."

  Adalwin laughed. "I think everyone in the palace is complaining of the same ailment." He winked. "I hope your night was a good one. Let's saddle up the roan today; he's not had a chance to run for a bit. If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I'll be back this afternoon."

  "Yes, highness," Diggory replied and swept a bow before he hurried to ready the requested horse. He winced as the pain in his side flared, but ignored it and led the horse over to Adalwin. His pain was nearly forgotten at the smile Adalwin gave him—but the smile fell away in the next moment as Adalwin's eyes widened in alarm. "You're hurt!" he burst out and rushed to Diggory, nudging the horse aside and reaching out to touch the wet, red stain on Diggory's shirt. "What happened?" he demanded. "Who or what did this? I will—"

  Diggory took Adalwin's hands in his own, squeezing them. "Highness, I am touched by your concern, but I promise you it looks far worse than it is. A minor accident, and all my own fault."

  "Let me see it," Adalwin ordered, suddenly all commanding prince. Diggory stared at him, startled, and with an impatient noise Adalwin yanked his hands free and pulled up Diggory's shirt himself, expression darkening at what he found. "This is a sword wound! You're not permitted to have a sword. What in the hell were you doing last night, Diggory? I won't tolerate this sort of behavior, not when it could endanger other people and the horses. What were you thinking? Tell me what happened!"

  "It was an accident, an altercation that got out of hand," Diggory replied. He cupped Adalwin's face, and Adalwin froze, expression going confused—lost. "Please, highness. Let the matter rest. I will bandage it properly and get a clean shirt and all will be well by the time you return from your ride."

  Adalwin's mouth tightened and he pulled Diggory's hands away, letting them go as though not certain he should touch them. Diggory tried not to let it hurt, but it did anyway. "You will tell me what happened."

  "Please, highness. It was exactly what I've told you—an altercation that went wrong. I beg of you, go for a ride and let it go."

  Adalwin stared at him, green eyes dark with worry and anger. He breathed in through his nostrils and breathed out heavily the same wa
y. "Fine," he said. "But that explanation does not appease me, and you have until my return to decide to tell me the truth. I like you, Diggory, but I will not condone this sort of behavior, especially not in someone I need to be able to trust. Someone I thought I could trust."

  "You can trust me," Diggory said softly, not quite able to hide his sadness.

  "We shall see," Adalwin said and led his horse from the stable.

  Diggory waited until he was gone, then slammed his fist against the nearest wall before storming into his room to get cleaned up and changed. When he was done, he set to work on his daily chores, a thousand worries gnawing at his mind, making it impossible to concentrate on any one of them.

  What was he going to tell Adalwin that would allay suspicion long enough for him to get to Benoit and break the curse? He was half tempted to find the bastard and end the matter once and for all … but behaving rashly was what had gotten him in this mess in the first place. He needed to keep his head.

  So he made himself focus on the chores and the horses and try to come up with as honest an explanation as possible. He did not want to lie more than was strictly necessary. Huffing out an irritated breath, he finished mucking out stalls and then went to fetch fresh straw.

  He'd just started to lay it out when the door opened. Surprised that Adalwin had returned so soon, he started to smile in greeting, butthen froze when he realized it was Ignance standing in the doorway. Damn it.

  Ignance did not waste time on words, simply drew his sword and ran at him. Diggory threw a bundle of hay at him, then bolted for the pitchfork nearby. He whirled around just in time to block Ignance's swing, force him back, but Diggory could not quite get past his guard, not with the confines of the stable and the fact he was using a pitchfork while Ignance had a sword with which he was frustratingly talented.

  Then the bay horse, directly behind Ignance, suddenly whinnied. The sound startled Ignance, who half-turned and flinched away and Diggory took his chance, thrusting the pitchfork forward, burying it in Ignance's side and back. He yanked it out and Ignance fell to the stable floor, blood pooling around him.

  He heard the sound of footsteps too late. "What have you done?" Adalwin demanded.

  Diggory whipped around. He dropped the pitchfork and held up his hands. "Highness, it's not what you think."

  "You're a murderer," Adalwin said flatly. "I just watched you kill him. Philip told me this morning that his men have gone missing and he suspected foul play from a former bodyguard—that's you. You're not related to Freddie at all, are you? Did you trick him into helping you? Force him?"

  "No," Diggory said quietly, feeling all his hope slip away, as dead as the man on the floor. "No, your highness. Freddie helped me willingly and for good reason."

  "What good reason would that be?" Adalwin demanded. "Give me just one good reason I should not summon the guards right now."

  Diggory swallowed, looking for any chance of fixing things in Adalwin's eyes, but they were so cold he might have been a stranger to Adalwin. "Magic, highness. A curse. I cannot tell any person the truth of the matter or the curse will kill me."

  He had not thought it possible for Adalwin to get angrier, but he was sorely mistaken. "A curse. You expect me to believe that oh so convenient excuse? Do I look like a fool to you?"

  "No," Diggory replied.

  Adalwin stared at him for another long, terrible minute, and then his anger seemed to vanish beneath an even greater sadness. "I am going to go to the barracks to inform the guards I've found a dead body in my stable. Whether you are here or not when they arrive, I leave for you to decide."

  "Would you at least fulfill my debt to Freddie, highness?"

  "Freddie?" Adalwin echoed, staring blankly. "What?"

  "He saved my life—he is the reason I was able to come here at all. I promised him I would repay that debt," Diggory said and explained to Adalwin about Freddie's wife and the necklace he had promised to retrieve. "You have no reason to grant the request, highness, I understand that, but Freddie should not suffer because of my deeds. I'll go without fuss, just please help him."

  Adalwin said nothing, merely left, but there was a terrible note of finality in the slamming of the stable door. Diggory closed his eyes, wishing the world would just go away for a little while. His side was bleeding again and he felt more than a little dizzy, but he had to run if he was going to have any chance …

  The bay horse nickered and snorted at him. Diggory opened his eyes and dredged up a smile. "Thank you for saving my life. Without you, I would be as dead as Benoit wants me to be. Not that I am much better off now, forced to run away if I ever want to stand a chance of killing Benoit and revealing to the world that he tried to murder me, cursed me, and stole my life. He's going to marry my fiancé and murder my family, and now I am rendered helpless to stop it. Some prince I am proving myself to be." He sighed and reached out to pet the bay, then turned away to fetch his remaining coin so he had something to live on until he figured out his next plan.

  He stopped short. "Highness? What are you doing back here?"

  Adalwin's face had gone white. "Did—you're—what—" He broke off, shook his head angrily, then tried again. "Did you mean all that? What you just said to the horse?"

  Diggory said nothing, furious the curse still bound him.

  Making a soft, pained noise Adalwin strode up to him. "You felt familiar," he said, the words ragged. "Right from the start, when I met you by the river. Something about you … I felt like I already knew you. It kept calling to me, bothering me. I'm not usually so quick to hire servants, or so free with them, but you …" He looked down at Diggory, lightly touched fingertips to his cheek and only then did Diggory realize it had gotten scratched and bloody in the fight. "It was you last night at the ball, wasn't it?"

  Diggory's anger returned full measure. "That—it was meant to be—" he broke off, frustrated.

  To his surprise, Adalwin gave a shaky laugh. He cupped the back of Diggory's head and drew him up into a kiss that was much more than the teasing brush of lips from the ball. Diggory lost sense of everything, even his burning, aching side, in the heat and flavor of Adalwin's mouth, the sureness—the rightness—of his kiss. It felt like something that he had waited for entirely too long, a promise finally fulfilled.

  When they finally drew apart, breathing heavily, Adalwin smiled and said, "Diggory—Philip Degaré. I should have made that connection. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear fiancé."

  Diggory jerked as he felt the curse's hold break, holding fast to the front of Adalwin's shirt, slumping against him as exhaustion washed over him in the wake of the broken magic.

  "Are you all right?" Adalwin asked, then made a derisive noise. "Of course you're not well—you're hurt and have been suffering for days, maybe even wee—" Diggory cut him off with another kiss, but Adalwin broke it after only a moment. "Come on, idiot. I am taking you to get patched up and then we are going to discuss this matter with my father. I want to know the whole tale."

  "So—" Diggory swallowed. "So you forgive me—the lies, the murders—"

  Adalwin winced. "I am sorry for that."

  "You had every reason to believe the worst of me. You owe me no apologies."

  "It didn't feel right, even as angry and afraid as I was," Adalwin said quietly, reaching out to push back the strands of hair falling into Diggory's eyes, as though he could not help but find reasons to touch. Diggory was not going to protest. "That's why I came back, to speak to you one last time … and I heard you talking … but all this can wait. Of course I forgive you—there's nothing to forgive. Now, let's get that wound taken care of and then we will deal with the imposter."

  Diggory nodded and let Adalwin guide him along, holding tightly to his hand.