A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  Swallowing, Kilan almost stepped back. An ache began in his nose, spreading out to his eyes, speaking of anguish even if he was far from crying. He could accept his limitations, even if Markis told him most of them were self-imposed, but watching Antal and realizing how he had progressed in physical skill, seeing him as a true guard worthy of serving as both Sonndre and Semari, made Kilan feel insignificant. The emotion felt entirely new to him, and for a split second he hated Antal for making him feel that way. He hated him for his beauty, with that auburn hair and amber eyes. What Swithin had amber eyes? He asked himself the question as if it was Antal’s fault that he had such unusual and devastating eyes. What he had just done made Kilan feel shame. Although he regarded all matters pertaining to sex without shame, spying on someone and…doing what he had just done without their knowledge was degrading. Kilan didn’t think he could face the ignominy.

  Then he shook the emotion off. He’d indulged in some harmless fun. He refused to give it more credit than that. He stared down, once more focusing on Antal, who at last gave in, letting go of the sword, falling to his knees, heaving, gasping for breath. Sitting back on his heels, Antal lifted his face toward the ceiling and closed his eyes. His chest lifted and fell with the harsh rhythm of his breathing. His skin glistened with sweat. His tongue flicked out, and he licked his top lip, no doubt tasting the salt of his own sweat. Kilan copied the movement. Since coming of age, he’d had sex with other young men, but the same way he’d had sex with women. In a light moment, laughing, sharing pleasure as entertainment. Never before had he wanted to linger over another person as he did in that moment. He wanted to go down, lay Antal back against the sandy ground, and lick every inch of him. He’d lick Antal clean of his sweat, of the sand that undoubtedly stuck to his skin, of whatever ailed him.

  Stepping back fully into the shadows before Antal opened his eyes and possibly spied him, Kilan stared at the floor of the balcony but saw nothing. His gaze was internal. He almost laughed. So, he had a hard-on for Antal suddenly. So what? It was hardly unusual for someone of his age to feel horny. Why make a fuss over nothing? Whatever was getting up Antal’s arse right now made the possibility of some fun more than unlikely.

  Shrugging, Kilan even accepted the possibility that right now he found Antal undeniably attractive because at any other time the young guard might have entertained the idea of sharing pleasure. Maybe Kilan wanted Antal right now because right now was the one moment when Antal felt out of sorts and Kilan couldn’t have him. He would have grimaced if he were not so busy laughing at his penchant for irony, particularly when self-inflicted.

  Kilan remained in hiding until he heard Antal leave.

  Chapter Four

  Throwing the book down on the desk in front of Ryanac, Antal said, “This is beautiful and horrible.” The big man had his head down, plowing through a stack of parchments. His gaze flicked toward the book and then down to the forms. All the while, he occupied himself with making marks in appropriate places and eventually signing them at the bottom, ignoring the anxious and irritated vibe Antal just knew he emitted. Only his training as a guard enabled him to refrain from pacing. Finally Ryanac looked up.

  “Yes. It is.”

  Antal stared into those dark eyes, frowning. Then he turned, running his fingers through his hair, searching for the right words, a way to express just how the book made him feel. Lewi, a man born from an arranged marriage -- which was little better than force in Antal’s eyes -- taken and raised by the queen’s brother. Antal shook his head. Even Swithin royalty married out of duty; you only had to look at Markis and his wife, Tressa, to see the truth of that, but at least in their case the two of them admired one another. The story in that book was of a bygone age. Lewi, prince of a neighboring nation, possessed a delicate form. Lewi wanted to love rather than fight. After the death of his father, Lewi’s own mother turned against him and convinced the then Swithin king that her son was a threat. Ailing from the ill effects of the comet and therefore reacting in an exaggerated fashion to every possible threat owing to an overdose of paranoia, the Swithin king had frozen Lewi. His form reportedly lay in the clearing where the ritual of liminality took place -- or so the story said.

  Flinging himself into a chair, Antal stared across at Ryanac. He shouldn’t have sat in the presence of someone of superior rank without permission, but this wasn’t a question of duty. He hadn’t come here as a guard to a superior, but with something rather more personal to discuss. Antal no more believed the figure in the glade a frozen man than anyone else did. The figure was a statue, nothing more…and yet all accounts spoke of a presence, of sensing something there in the clearing. Something had happened there, certainly. The question was what and when. How did one separate truth from lies? Antal asked Ryanac that very question now.

  “So the story has caught your interest?”

  Rather than waste time arguing, Antal confessed. “Why wouldn’t it? I knew the story, of course, but only vaguely. This is the first time I’ve read the full history. It’s…fascinating.”

  It was certainly that. The idea of a Swithin king turning against the monarch of another nation simply to kill him at the request of the man’s own mother… Antal couldn’t see anyone fooling Markis like that, but the legend spoke of a time so long ago that there were no witnesses to question its veracity. After a time, history dissolved into legend. If not for the existence of the statue, one might have taken the tale as some kind of fable only.

  “The Swithin weren’t always as they are now,” Ryanac murmured, staring down at the book on the desk. Antal couldn’t tell if Ryanac had spoken to him or to himself. Then Ryanac looked up. An expression of…not pain, but something like it, tightened the skin around his eyes. “The Swithin were once rather barbaric if you delve too deeply into our past.” Ryanac waved the concern away. “No reason you should know these things. We all have our interests, our specialties.”

  What could Antal say to that? History hadn’t been one of his preferred subjects, and Ryanac knew that.

  “For Semari, though, history is a good thing to know. I’ll suggest a few books that will serve you well and advise you against those who will waste your time.”

  Before Antal could question why, Ryanac explained. “You’ve trained well. You know strategy as taught by the academy. You’ve a quick mind and learn well from experience and from seeking the advice of more experienced men. I know. I’ve watched you.”

  He had? He quickly realized he shouldn’t feel surprised. He doubted Markis would have asked him to be Sonndre to Uly without discussing it with Ryanac first. Neither man would have supported his necessary rise to Semari if they doubted his capability. You couldn’t serve as Sonndre if you didn’t also hold the rank of Semari.

  “Now I suggest you complete your training by learning from those who lived through the dirtiest battles in Swithin history.”

  Antal nodded, seeing Ryanac’s point.

  “The truth is the Swithin were like any other nation,” Ryanac continued. “Full of superstition and aggression when scared.”

  Antal couldn’t imagine scared applying to the Swithin. Of course, people had fears and sad times -- when facing the death of a loved one, for instance -- but as a nation they were brave and some might have even said heroic, certainly tenacious. Yet if Ryanac said a time existed when they reacted without reason, Antal believed him.

  “So the Swithin king of the time tried to kill Lewi, believing him a threat?”

  Ryanac nodded.

  “Our king’s health was failing; his son was still young.” He could see how a king in that position, believing his power the only protection his people had… Yes, he could see how such a man might have reacted. From what Antal could remember of his history lessons, at that particular time the Swithin hardly formed a nation. They had no royal guard, only foresworn farmers poorly equipped or trained for battle. Antal had dismissed much of these lessons from his mind, simply because he struggled to equate the details of then with th
e facts of now. He couldn’t imagine the wide-reaching and productive nation that he would die to protect starting out as one man who walked from the place where a comet fell. That man had married, then had sons who bore the power. They in turn had children. Although sick and often weak from the ill effects of the power, they wielded it to perform miracles. People for miles around came to see the man blessed with mystical powers who some said could make your crops grow or fail, even if doing so made him take to his bed for several days afterward.

  As time passed, the generations grew stronger and they overcame the debilitating effects of the power. Not even Markis knew the truth of those legends, but Antal was one of the few individuals who knew that the comet possessed the power to heal, so perhaps it was possible for one man to dictate if people had a good harvest or starved that winter. If so, the original Swithin nation possibly founded their rise on fear. He said so aloud, unable to keep the horrid thought to himself. Ryanac stared at him.

  “You find the idea abhorrent?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Ryanac made a little flicking gesture with his fingers, silencing Antal’s protest. “What’s past is past. What’s done is done. Did you really think all our leaders throughout history have been as good and kind as Markis is? Look at his father. The man made errors. He used poor judgment. Even worse, he allowed his emotions to rule his decisions, and a man with a volatile temper and self-serving temperament has no business being a ruler.”

  Antal smirked. “If the old king was alive, one could say that remark amounts to treason.”

  “One could, if one were not Swithin.” Ryanac stood and came out from behind the desk. In truth, Ryanac looked odd sitting behind a desk, and from the way he glanced at the piece of furniture, he appeared to know it. Ryanac belonged outdoors, hiking in the woods, overseeing training, fighting, or lying on a bed, frolicking in a haystack, anywhere but behind a desk administering formalities. He sat on the desk, tapping the book Antal had brought with him. “The Swithin way is freedom. Freedom to live as one wishes so long as it doesn’t hurt others. Freedom to love as one wishes so long as it doesn’t hurt others. Freedom to think and to say what one wishes, and sometimes that does hurt another person’s feelings. Sometimes it’s unavoidable. Not everyone agreed with Markis’s father. They didn’t support all his decisions. But for too long even the Swithin have been guilty of believing they have no right to question a man who controls such a power. It’s as if they believed he must know better than they do. Markis isn’t his father, I’m pleased to say.”

  Antal nodded. Neither was Kilan, though why he would suddenly think of the prince, Antal couldn’t say. His gaze flicked to where Ryanac’s hand lingered on the cover of the book. “So some despicable Swithin king once tried to kill an innocent man, and the comet…stopped him?”

  “Sort of. Or so they say.” Ryanac grinned.

  According to legend, the comet had chosen a compromise. It had “frozen” Lewi for all time, and Lewi’s form lay in the grove. The idea struck Antal as ghastly. “You’d go mad,” he blurted out before he could think of something more eloquent to say. How did one express one’s disgust eloquently, short of a physical display such as vomiting?

  “Yes, if you take the story literally. However --”

  “I know,” Antal interrupted. “According to the legend, Lewi is in the clearing, but he’s also everywhere else. He’s love. He’s lust. He’s passion. He feels what we feel, as part of the comet, as part of the universe. He’s in every kiss, every embrace. Yet in the midst of all this passion, he’s lonely.”

  “Only coming into himself when someone is brave enough to lay hands on his likeness.” Ryanac’s grin broadened.

  Well, Antal certainly wasn’t going to do that, but…his frown tightened. “You’ve never…”

  Ryanac shook his head, laughing a little. “No. I never took advantage of that particular inanimate object, but I’ve been there. I’ve touched it. The…stone, marble -- whatever it’s made of -- is exquisite. You’ve never touched anything so solid that feels so silken. It’s smoother than skin.”

  A small thrill crawled through Antal upon hearing the description. He could barely keep from shivering.

  “I found it…intriguing,” Ryanac remarked in a soft voice filled with wonderment that was rather unlike him.

  Intriguing. Now there was a word that sparked human curiosity. Antal cleared his throat. “This power in the clearing. I mean…” He gazed up into Ryanac’s eyes. “Has Markis ever been there? What does he say about the truth of the legend?”

  Ryanac looked surprised at the question, then thoughtful. “He’s not been since he was a boy, and then only in passing.”

  Of course, Markis was a man like any other and had once been a boy. Antal had heard the story of Ryanac saving Markis from drowning when younger. He found it difficult to envision, but knowing them as he did now, he could imagine Ryanac jumping in to save the young prince all too easily. A boy wouldn’t have cared for the story of some statue that lay in some clearing. Boys had better things to do, such as climb trees, play games…and fall down wells. There was no reason Markis should have been any more interested in the clearing than Antal was.

  “Markis did say something about there being some residual power. He was too young to use the comet then, but he did say he was able to sense it in others. He said he sensed more there than most people seem to. I’ve never thought of questioning him since then.” Ryanac looked down at the book. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

  “Not at all. I’ve finished with it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Ryanac sounded as though he disagreed, but Antal wasn’t about to argue. “I’m sure…only I didn’t exactly log it out of the library.”

  Ryanac raised an eyebrow. “Then I’ll make sure I return it to you quickly so you can replace it. That is if it should prove worthless. If, as I’m remembering, it proves useful, then Markis can thank you in person.”

  “I don’t understand,” Antal said.

  “No matter. I’ll explain another day. So are you thinking of visiting the glade?”

  “What?” Antal jerked in his seat. Trust Ryanac to slip that in so calmly. “No. Of course not! I did find it interesting, and it would be intriguing to see, but as for the ritual… Well, I can see how it came into being. Liminality, changing from one state of being to another, that’s precisely what happened to Lewi, if one were to believe the story.”

  “True. And it is a sorrowful tale.”

  Antal wanted to drag his gaze away but couldn’t. Ryanac continued.

  “Either Lewi died in that clearing or his form truly changed. Once I might not have believed it, but after seeing what Markis did not so long ago to a certain enemy, I’m prepared to believe anything.”

  Yes, Markis had certainly given them a display of how powerful he was, some said the most powerful ruler of the comet in history. It wasn’t Markis’s fault. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, which was precisely the reason that made Markis the right man to control the comet. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but he would do what he had to do, and someone had forced his hand. Someone had threatened those whom Markis loved as well as the peace of the Swithin nation. Antal for one felt very pleased and proud to call Markis Shavar Sardian: the comet and king of the Swithin race.

  “If Lewi’s form was changed, then maybe it’s true, and he only feels connected to flesh when someone touches the statue,” Ryanac remarked offhandedly.

  Antal laughed. “Good try. I’m not that gullible.”

  “You don’t have to be gullible to have fun.” Ryanac grinned at him, the light in his eyes almost sparking in something like a challenge. “You should go feel it for yourself.”

  Antal wasn’t going to let on that he was tempted. “For what purpose?”

  “I told you; whatever they created the statue from, it’s incredible to the touch. Trust me, Antal.” Ryanac winked. “You don’t want to go through life never having tou
ched that thing.”

  Antal laughed, pleased when he managed to make it sound natural. Truth was, although amused, he also felt a little embarrassed. “Only touch?” he asked. The ritual suggested one could do more than touch.

  “Actually the more I think about it, the more I’m sorry I never took the opportunity. A younger man looks for more lively bedfellows, but a seasoned one looks for experiences.”

  “So why don’t you go now?” Antal couldn’t resist teasing right back, although his motive wasn’t entirely jovial. He was beginning to feel a little pissed off. Ryanac wasn’t joking. He was suggesting that Antal perform the ritual. That he go to the clearing and…have sex with a sodding statue! How dare he? How dare Ryanac even hint that Antal would gain something from…fucking an inanimate object? Let Ryanac go and fuck the stupid thing!

  “I would,” Ryanac said, surprising him, “but now that I’m in a committed relationship, I won’t do so.”

  “It’s not real,” Antal said on a laugh. “It’s not as if you’d be doing something unfaithful.”

  Ryanac drew his lips back, curving them into a smile that for once looked soft, shy of a grin. “Ah…but we don’t know that for certain, do we? Besides, we all have our own ideas as to what constitutes being faithful. For me, having some fun alone is one thing. Packing up a holdall, hiking for a day, all so I can play with something that beautiful…” He stopped speaking. Oddly, he looked puzzled.