An End to Summer

by Diana Rose Wilson

  With an effort, he shoved the concerns away. He hardly knew the man, how could he be so concerned over him? The prince seemed as though he’d just as happily see the back of him. His behavior was likely due to his shame for the punishment he received after the hunt. Despite the vague memory of what the prince had said on the cliff, it didn’t mean he still felt any sort of obligation to the oath he’d taken. It was possibly a ploy to convince Alexander not to give chase at the time. That explained the young lordling’s behavior.

  When he stepped from behind the screen the audience had reduced to Shylo and Kulah. Shylo had removed his jacket and the undershirt was unlaced down his chest, displaying the ivory skin stretched over the ridges of his sternum and ribs. In contrast to the cold look the prince fixed on him, a flicker of desire tightened Alexander’s groin in an inexplicable rush unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

  As though he felt it, too, Shylo jerked his gaze away and glared at his uncle.

  King Kulah regarded Alexander’s face thoughtfully before shrugging. He waved a hand towards Shylo as though the weight of the prince’s stare were an annoying bug. “That means nothing. Stop. Sit, Zan’Dar, drink milk with us and tell us all about you. And you, nephew, will eat.”

  Alexander hesitated and then walked on bare feet to the pillows and sat across from the prince.

  “Yes.” Shylo said very softly, looking at his jeweled fingers. “I think I will.”

  “You have not been eating?” Alexander asked as bowls were brought forward and he was shown how to wash his fingers in the rose water. “Are you sick?”

  “He is suffering from heart sickness.”

  Shylo didn’t say anything. He kept his face down turned as he meticulously cleaned his fingers and the many rings glinting on each elegant knuckle. The prince’s stricken expression only deepened when he spoke at last. “I did not expect what happened when we met. I think our bond formed during our struggle.” Slowly Shylo lifted his chin and looked across the table at him. There was a depth of fear in his eyes that Alexander didn’t understand.

  The king let out a long breath though otherwise remained quiet as mugs were placed before each of them with a tray of various sliced fruits unfamiliar to Alexander. There were small triangles of flat bread and some sort of purple colored dipping sauce.

  When the servant left them, Kulah spoke, his tone kind, “Have you heard of the bond? My nephew claims you and he have a special link. Magically formed the moment he touched you and you stopped his plot to murder pregnant mounts for sport. There’s no proof, of course, because our medica and counselors have banned him from strengthening the bond before we learn more of you.” The big man sipped from his mug and watched Alexander. “So, tell us, Zan’Dar, what sort of man are you? What and who are you loyal to?”

  The intensity of the stare reminded Alexander forcefully of his father when he thought Alexander had not given his full attention to the task he’d been assigned. With an effort he strove not to squirm.

  Was he a man now?

  True, he had reached his majority back home and after the migration he’d earned his name; however, the question left a metallic taste in his mouth. He had been the type of person who paid his family to protect him. No, he’d paid them not to hurt him and then ran like a coward when they attacked him. On the other hand, he also stood against the hunters and he saved many young mounts on the journey.

  “I am still learning what sort of man I am. The man I want to be doesn’t let his friend suffer. I’m sorry you are hurting.” He turned to regard Shylo who gazed at him with color high in his cheeks. “I am loyal to the mounts.”

  “And is that why you ran the migration? To see what sort of man you are?” the king asked.

  “It really wasn’t what I expected, to be honest,” he admitted, ducking his head to avoid the piercing dark eyes. Heat filled his cheeks.

  “You have duties back home? A betrothed to return to?” the king asked almost too lightly, clearly picking at some important bit of information.

  “Not really. Family. Brothers, sisters, my parents,” he answered.

  “And how did you earn those scars? The stories are unbelievable. My mount claims your kin tried to kill you and they banished you from their kingdom. I was not sure why the mounts would let you run with them if you were involved with such treachery. I had to know the truth before I lift the ban on this link. You can see he suffers by refusing it. So, you will tell us everything that happened so we can judge. Do not be afraid, young man. Drink the mare’s milk and talk with us.”

  The man’s dark eyes were compelling and Shylo’s golden gaze cutting.

  So he told the story to the best of his ability. Throwing out his pride, he admitted his cowardice and all the choices that led him to be attacked and beaten by his cousins. He was prey.

  He looked down at his mug, uncertain if he was worthy to drink the mare milk within. He wished that he was a different person with a better history. The handsome young prince did not deserve to suffer for someone as meek as Alexander.

  “You are not prey,” Shylo said. His voice shook with the anger as he struggled to hold back. “Uncle…”

  “I hear, nephew. Zan’Dar, you have been done a great wrong by your blood kin. I do not understand how they believed you were undeserving. You are spirit-kin. You allowed yourself to be manipulated by ruthless people and yet this is no crime deserving of being culled from the bloodline. Your people are a savage tribe. You desire to return to those who would treat you this way? Even to the side of a brother who abandoned his mount?” He slowly brought his hands together under his chin and bowed his head forward.

  Alexander eyes burned. He had no reply for that question. He hung his head, yet he saw from the corner of his eye that Shylo was at last taking a small sip of his mug. With a sigh he reached for the tray and took a slice of fruit, eating it hungrily though he was clearly striving not to appear too eager.

  “I don’t know that I’ve heard of anyone in history running the migration,” King Kulah said after a long silence. “The mounts are quite protective of you. It speaks of you being a man of great worth.” His broad shoulders seemed to relax a fraction as he noticed his nephew was eating. A small, grateful smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “You know nothing of us, Zan’Dar, so you must let me offer Shirvil’s hospitality. I see no reason for you not to learn all about us. What are your plans for Festival?”

  Plans for Festival? He paused in the act of drawing the mug closer. The milk was frothy and scented with hints of vanilla. “Festival?”

  The question made a small smile twitch one corner of Shylo’s lips and he caught his gaze across the low table. It wasn’t one of pleasure though and vanished so fast naming the emotion that caused it was impossible.

  “You know that the herds come here with their yearlings and it draws all the nations to the crescent shore until the end of summer. There’s no fighting allowed in Talgraem for these months. During the extended peace, it’s a time for young men and woman to show off their skills to find their mount. All weapons are required to be peace bound at all times. There are no duels of honor, only wooden weapons are used during contests under the supervision of judges with strict rules of contact.” The king regarded Alexander and rolled his shoulders. “You don’t seem like the hot headed type, but on the chance that someone may gift you a blade, I would hate for you to get in trouble.” He glanced meaningfully at Shylo and then smiled with affection as he caught the young man between hasty bites.

  “I see,” Alexander said quietly, sneaking a look at Shylo and then quickly away the moment their gazes met. The sensations that filled his chest were too intense to be pleasant. “I would be honored to accept your hospitality. I’m afraid I have no means to pay you for—”

  The king snorted quietly and waved a hand. “There’s no price attached to this, young man. I’m sure that by the time Festival is over, your pockets will be lined with scepters and crowns.

  “It doesn’t solve what
happens after Festival. We cannot tell the future. Zan’Dar, do you know your path after summer ends? Surely you don’t intend to return to those who would slay you.”

  Alexander nodded. “That was my plan. Return home to my family. The mounts said someone here might be able to help me find the path home.”

  “Even after all that they did.” It wasn’t a question and the king let out a quiet sigh. “You are a better man than I. Well, we will cross that sea when summer is done. Eat. Drink. Rest yourself and know you are under our banner, young Zan’Dar. Your tent will be waiting for you when you finish and you may freshen up before the evening celebrations.”

  When he lifted the mug, Shylo’s gaze held his and as though in toast, they drank together.

  He expected to feel more pleasure in a bond; however, he didn’t feel anything except anxiety. There was no affection or desire in the look the prince gave him. It seemed more like hunger and reminded him of his cousins. Too late he realized he’d admitted too much about himself. He knew nothing about either of them while they knew his whole life history.

  The rich, spiced taste of the milk soothed away the edge of his concern.

  The king watched them and let out a soft chuckle as he reached for a bite of fruit. “It takes two years for the migration to go full circle. I suggest you set two years that you both learn about each other without growing your bond. Shylo, you will defend the border in the north while Zan’Dar fulfills his quest to return home.”

  Shylo’s expression darkened as he gawked at his uncle.

  “Sometimes it’s better to wait and see who has the right stamina. Anything else is sheer disappointment.” Alexander quoted the mare even though the prince did not return his smile.

  Chapter 8

  The tent the king appointed him was more extravagant than his parents’ room back home. He even had a servant who stood guard at the tent flap when Alexander slipped inside. A hot basin of water waited for him and several items of clothing were laid out over the spread of pillows.

  There was such a selection of oils, lotions, and sweet scented soaps that the fragrances nearly overwhelmed him. Stripping, he quickly eased into the water and began to scrub months of collected dirt, grime and sweat from his body. Although washing in the ocean was fine in the short term, he had nearly forgotten how lovely it felt to be really clean.

  He considered the cold, spoiled prince and the claim of a bond. His parents were heart bound, and he’d always heard that it was beautiful and unmistakable when a true match was made. Not only didn’t he sense anything as he’d been taught, what he had experienced wasn’t very enjoyable.

  Except clearly the prince was ill because of it. Wasn’t he?

  With his head full of questions, he stepped out of the tub, wrapping in the towel. Swiftly he dried, catching his reflection in the mirror as he smoothed the towel over his body. The fine black hairs covering his chest defined his thick muscles with a velvety shadow. The short hairs traveled down his navel to his groin and the nest of pubic hair there.

  A man now. Wasn’t he?

  He turned away from his reflection and hastily slipped into the set of clothing that looked most suitable for dinner.

  Hopefully it wouldn’t be awkward.

  Awkward would have been an improvement over the disaster of dinner, Alexander reflected late that night when he crawled into the furs.

  Princess Winnifred, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, sat beside him and flirted outrageously at him through the whole meal. The long mane of crimson feathers that crowned her head was elaborately adorned with strings of pearls and small shells to go with the fine ivory dress that showed off far too much cleavage.

  He might have found her so beautiful because she looked so much like her brother. They had the same soft, full mouth and their eyes were the same. He couldn’t look at her without thinking about his little sister Kelly.

  Which was unsettling and strange. The two didn’t look anything alike and yet with every laugh and tease, he thought how much Kelly would enjoy being there. The overt sexualized flirting made him painfully aware of how out of place it was.

  Her questions were all about his sexuality and his experience. Had he been with women? Men? How many? Did he know the proper way to please a lover? It went on and on. Her ladies-in-waiting tittered and giggled and the men of the court joined in on the taunts.

  Alexander was the centerpiece of their derision.

  He’d tried to make small talk with Shylo, but the prince was cold, and never glanced his way once as he suffered through the dinner. The gaunt young man appeared to be nauseated by every dish that passed by him. In solidarity and because his own stomach was more than a little unsettled, Alexander ate very little himself.

  The worst part of the night was Lord Yuli, who took it as an obvious insult that Princess Winnifred was not giving him any of her attention. Alexander wished that she would turn her focus on the man rather than attempt to grope her way up his thigh all night. By the time he escaped the torment, the princess seemed furious and Yuli enraged. He was thankful there was a ban on dueling. Yuli might have called Alexander out right there between the sixth and seventh course.

  His groin hurt from being squeezed by the woman. When she’d finally managed to grab him, she’d discovered him soft after her hours of teasing. In retribution for the slight, she delivered a brutal tweak.

  Now he lay on the reed mat in his tent, aching, embarrassed, and wishing desperately that he’d not accepted hospitality here.

  He woke to the sound of voices whispered outside the fur and canvas door. The little lamp still flickered at the side of the reed mattress. The wick was nearly gone; it was closer to dawn than midnight. The flap fluttered opened and soundlessly a figure padded into the shadows.

  Prince Shylo.

  Dressed in a simple white tunic and shorts, he wore a hunted, bruised expression. Soundlessly he knelt and without a word, he pushed the furs back and curled into them, tucking his whipcord lean body up against Alexander’s and buried his hot face into his neck.

  Alexander tensed.

  It felt wrong. So wrong. As lovely as the man was, they did not fit together as he’d expected. He imagined they should be like two puzzle pieces. Instead it was like thorns of broken glass grinding against him. The young man was all edges, cutting and uncomfortable.

  He wanted to push him away and demand that he leave, except that Shylo trembled all over. His body was tense as he gripped Alexander too tightly. He was so thin every bone poked at Alexander where they pressed together. There was desperation in his actions that made the contact feel far from intimate.

  The prince must have sensed the wrongness too. He cried silently, soaking Alexander’s throat and shirt with tears before finally drifting to sleep. Alexander was left awake and on guard. His mind created reasons for the prince to be there in the middle of the night, tearful and shaken. He could ask tomorrow and get to the bottom of things.

  When the lamp finally burned out, he stayed awake a little longer until finally, with Shylo’s deep breaths steaming his neck, he slipped to sleep as well.

  He woke alone.

  There was no note. The tears were dry leaving no sign the prince was ever there. He wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing. The memory of the night had a surreal quality. In fact, everything about the previous day did.

  The servant brought in a fresh basin of water. He murmured quietly that breakfast would be served soon. Alexander should ready himself in clothing appropriate for a day of Festival. He had the honorable invitation to join the royal household directly after the meal. In the seaside pavilion he could take part in whichever contests best pleased him. The servant seemed on edge, eyes wide and skin pale. He darted out before Alexander was able to question him.

  Breakfast was better than dinner. Winnifred’s temperament had progressed from playful and flirty to haughty and cold. That obviously pleased cousin Yuli who spent the whole meal boasting about himself and his greatness. The guar
ds were not as enamored by his blustering though and there was a sense of unease in their ranks.

  Alexander kept his head down and focused on nibbling what bites of fruit were not too exotic for his untrained pallet. He tried to get the prince’s attention, however each time he glanced that way, the man was paying attention to one of the other guards. It was as though he was flirting with them, carefree and playful. During the breakfast, there was no chance to talk with him about the night before.

  After the meal, the group walked out to the pavilion by the shore. The beaches were crowded with mounts and people. Closer to the water, the vendors were selling goods. There were spots along the shore that were clearly set aside for events. Sandy stretches were groomed and raked and spaces with what looked like better accommodations for mounts to watch the contests. There were small tents packed with people, all eagerly registering.

  The royal house pavilion was the largest of all, set on a rise that overlooked multiple open arenas. Inside was more luxurious and splendid than the personal tent of king Kulah, and more spacious. People and mounts mingled at the edges and there were low couches to sprawl in comfort.

  Yuli gave Princess Winnifred’s arm a lingering caress as he led her to one of the more lavish divans and fussed over fluffing pillows and arranging her into the place. Then he knelt on the floor beside her. The princess stroked a hand through his feathers with an air of indifference and turned her attention to the event at hand.

  It was enjoyable for several hours. Most of the people were about his age, however, unlike him their attention was focused not on the current contests but those to come. Their conversations revolved around the events they planned to enter.

  “So, the great horse-lord won’t get his hands dirty in the contests? He has no need to show off for the mounts?” Yuli asked, smoothing the front of his fine jacket. He smiled at Alexander, though there was no mirth in the expression.