The Ice Prince

by J. C. Owens

  Aidan turned, his heart beginning to pound. “You did that? Have they found anything?” Eagerness and deep seated need throbbed through him.

  Torin smiled, chasing away the shadows in his eyes. “At first it was for my own curiosity, but now, I see how much you long for this. Everyone should know their lineage, should know where they came from. If I can, I want to give this to you.”

  Aidan did not care about watchers, or judgment, he threw his arms around Torin and nestled against his chest, tears rising.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, choking up.

  Torin’s hand carded through his long hair, fondness in the touch. “Thank me when we learn something. There has been nothing yet.”

  “It is the intent I value. You actually care.” The wonder in his own voice was evident.

  Torin’s arm wrapped tighter around him, hugging him closer to that tall, powerful body. “I need to let go of the past, but you, I think, need to find it. If I can do this for you, I will. I do care for you, Aidan, never doubt that.”

  Aidan squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that the wonder of the moment could draw on forever.

  * * *

  Aidan woke in Torin’s arms.

  He savored the warmth and comfort of being in a true bed once more, of being held by his lover.

  Lover. The word warmed him, even if he did not trust the truth of it yet.

  They had fallen asleep swiftly, too tired to do more than hold each other close. Such a thing was almost better than sex to Aidan, who had been so touch deprived. To be held was a wonder of its own.

  Torin stirred, groaning, and then growling under his breath, making Aidan grin in response.

  The general blinked sleepily at Aidan, then smiled, drawing him down for a long, gentle kiss.

  A knock upon the door drew them apart, and Torin swore under his breath, making Aidan chuckle.

  “My lord? You asked me to wake you. To give you time to get to the meeting.” The man’s voice held worry.

  “My thanks. Yes, I will be there. Gather the others. After last night I doubt they are up on time either.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Footsteps faded away.

  Torin flopped back down, bleary eyes squinting against the offensive light that streamed through the window as the sun rose over the horizon.

  He stroked Aidan’s cheek, drew him down for a long, savored kiss.

  “Wish we had time…” he husked, regret in the tone.

  Aidan hummed in agreement, then rolled away, off the bed. “It’s a war council, my lord. I think they need you there.” He shivered in the chill morning air and pulled a shirt over his head. He poked at the fireplace, stirring the coals, then added some kindling and a few split logs.

  He knelt there and blew on the coals until the flames burst up, licking hungrily at the new fuel.

  Torin still lay indolently on the bed, eyes hungrily appraising his half-naked form.

  Aidan shook his head, smiling, then retrieved his pants, pulling them up swiftly, his fingers going to the ties.

  Torin groaned with disappointment, then sat up reluctantly, looking tousled and younger, humor in his eyes.

  “You are harsh, to cover that all up. No pity at all.”

  Aidan’s smile widened. “I am merciful. I could have paraded around just out of reach, tempting you out of bed and into the cold.”

  Torin’s eyebrow rose. “If you had tempted me in that manner, we would be on the rug before the fire, and I would be ball’s deep in you right now.”

  Aidan flushed to his toes.

  The general laughed, rising from the bed to wrap his arms around Aidan.

  “So shy, and all mine.” They kissed, long and deep. Eventually, Torin forced himself away and moved to the other side of the bed to dress, as though removing himself from temptation itself.

  It was flattering. Aidan sat down to pull on his boots. Lacing them up, he watched his lover, admiring each move the man made, memorizing every line of that beautiful body.

  That he had been given leave to touch it all, to count the general, the leader of Ceratas as his intimate partner—the wonder of it was not likely to leave anytime soon.

  They made it to the meeting more or less on time, mostly because they had avoided touching each other. As they entered the hall, cleaned up from the night before into something resembling tidiness, Torin’s demeanor began to change.

  He became the general, and Aidan felt the withdrawal keenly. Although he was gestured to sit on Torin’s left side at the head of the long table, he felt as though his lover were miles away, someone else entirely.

  It was uncomfortable to endure the glances of the other men as they filed in to take their own places. No doubt they were wondering why the general’s new boy was being allowed a place in their discussions of planning war.

  They would have their answer.

  During the planning, Torin often turned to him, asking him about a particular battle from the past. Aidan could detail each one, down to every move made by both sides.

  A grudging respect began to dawn on several faces, and he felt his spirits rise. He was useful in a manner he would never have expected. His knowledge exposed several flaws in their original plan, enabling them to make changes long before any of the troops were actually involved.

  Torin smiled at him proudly, and Aidan flushed, an amazed warmth rising in his chest. This was everything he had ever wanted. So be useful to Ceratas, now that it was his adopted country, and to have someone who cared for him.

  The wonder of it all was a little frightening.

  * * *

  Scouts came back the next day, reporting on the enemy’s position. It seemed Heratis was concentrating his forces just outside the capital, no doubt seeing Lazern as the best defense, its citizens useful as protection from Torin’s wrath.

  This also had been dealt with. Word was spread through the countryside, and swiftly on its heels, into the city itself.

  The people were warned. They could arm themselves, if they had the means, or lock themselves in, stay out of the line of fire.

  Long-hidden weapons would be brought to light by the sound of it.

  Torin felt his hopes rise, his doubts fade away.

  It was time. His people were ready, his army was ready. It was now, or never. Whatever would come of the attack in the morning, they would win, or die trying.

  He saw the determination he felt echoed in those around him, and felt pride rise to the fore.

  Tomorrow, Ceratas would see her strength rise once more, take her fate into her own control.

  * * *

  The horses’ breath steamed in the morning chill, leaving small clouds of vapor over their heads. There was the jingle of harness, the sound of so many hooves made the ground shake, along with the rumble of the great cannons being pulled by huge draft horses. Only the men were silent, expression grim and tight, preparing for what was to come.

  There was no haste, the enemy knew they were coming.

  Aidan pulled his thick wool coat closer, shivering as he watched everything and everyone around him. It was surreal, to be part of this, like he had stepped into one of his books, and was now living one of the parts he had read.

  He flexed his fingers in the wool-lined gloves, trying to relax the muscles. He was so tense he had near cut off circulation with his grip on the reins. This would be his first battle, hopefully his last, and he prayed that he might redeem himself with honor, to Torin, if no one else.

  He shifted in the saddle, stretching his back after the long ride, glancing over at the general.

  His lover rode with easy confidence, graceful in this as with all he did, face expressionless, body posture calm and sure.

  To anyone watching, he was the epitome of leadership, someone to inspire confidence in the troops, to reassure them.

  Aidan wondered if he would ever get to the level of experience and poise that Torin held. He was supposedly a man now, but he felt more like a boy, understanding very little of what occurred
around him.

  He desperately wanted to be worthy of Torin’s love. That more than anything occupied his thoughts.

  There was no fear, now when he would have thought it would come. The battle ahead seemed nebulous, unreal. He felt only determination to do well, to be at Torin’s side, and to protect his lover if at all possible. The reality of it all was a little hard to fathom.

  After days of marching, they were finally here.

  They crested the last hill, and began to spread out into formation.

  Aidan’s eyes widened, and he felt a cold, hard lump settle in his stomach.

  The enemy troops were in position, obviously awaiting their arrival, and their numbers seemed vast. Weapons glittered in the sun. There would be guns as well, single shot and of little use without time to reload. The deadly sabers and spears were the larger threat.

  He nervously shifted the small shield upon his arm. They all wore armor upon their torsos, helmets upon their heads, but no more than that.

  There would be bloody injuries this day.

  Aidan took a deep breath and settled more deeply in the saddle. He would protect Torin with his own life, if it came to that.

  And he was not alone. He had no doubt that Paulsten and the companions held the same intent, and that comforted him.

  Torin sat motionless on his great war stallion, keen eyes surveying the enemy, looking for weaknesses that they could exploit. His army moved into position with silent, almost eerie swiftness, a sense of great determination overlaying everything.

  This was their future at stake, their country as the prize, and they would fight with more ferocity, more courage because of it. In that, at least, they held the advantage over the invaders.

  Aidan could only hope it was enough.

  His horse shifted nervously, ears pricked forward listening to the activity below. It shook its head, fighting his hold, eager.

  Foolish beast.

  He patted its neck, speaking calm words to settle it.

  Torin’s war horse was as still as its rider, its mane and tail dancing in the wind it’s only motion.

  Aidan admired such training, then smiled a little. Trust Torin to create only the best.

  The last of the troops moved into position.

  The infantry cannons were behind them, ready to move. They were too far to be effective at the moment, but after the cavalry charge, the weapons would be moved closer. The crews were trained to position the cannons, fire as many times as was practical, and then move again.

  The cannons were their only hope of entering the fortified gates of the city.

  Torin moved at last, gathering the reins up in his fist, glancing over at Aidan, then Paulsten, and nodding to each.

  The general lifted a hand, and time itself stood still, every eye trained upon him, waiting…

  His arm slashed downward. Motion and sound erupted around them, their army lifting their voices in a terrifying, unearthly wail.

  His horse was swift under him, negotiating the terrain with nimble hooves, staying close alongside Torin’s stallion. Aidan drew his gun, steadying his nerves. One shot, then it would be sabers at close quarters.

  The blur of the enemy’s line began to coalesce into individual faces, standing grim, a hint of fear appearing as they realized that the horses were not slowing. Then they were into them, crashing through the line without drawing rein.

  Some of the enemy had ducked aside or even fled, but few. Aidan steadied his mount, using his shot wisely as a figure took aim at the general. The man fell, and Aidan reached for his saber.

  He leaned forward and slashed down, the curved blade flashing in the sunlight. His blade had been developed for this very thing, to fight from horseback, to cut through the enemy without catching or pulling the rider off balance.

  He cried out at a saber that caught his thigh, even as he turned sharply in the saddle and nearly sliced the man’s head from his body.

  It was all a blur of motion and madness. Adrenalin seemed to make him move more swiftly than those around him. It was as if everything was in slow motion except his blade.

  There was blood upon his arms, whether his own or of others he could not say, his attention all on Torin, on keeping to his left and protecting him.

  There was a blast of cannon, and stone flew from beside the right gate. Close. Just needed to change the angle a little…

  The left gate began to move, and he watched with disbelief as a single man struggled to open it, pushing with all his might.

  A civilian—he fell, screaming, shot in the shoulder. Several of the enemy troops turned back to finish him.

  Torin gave a roar of rage and heeled to his mount, charging forward, all his attention on this fragile moment of hope.

  The gate to the city, open so soon and at such cost.

  Aidan’s mount leapt in pursuit and there was a tight group of them; Paulsten, the companions and elite members of the cavalry, all seeing what their general was doing and trying to support him.

  Torin’s stallion flew as if it had wings, and those in his path either fled or were mowed down by the force of the charge.

  The enemy was trying to close the gates against the force of their own men trying to flee back to the safety of the city. The crumpled body of the brave man who had given them this chance lay trampled and still.

  Torin saw the gap narrowing, and leaned forward, urging his mount to greater speed. Aidan and the others could only helplessly follow, holding up their shields, trying to protect themselves against shots from above.

  It seemed the gods themselves were shielding Torin, or he was moving too swiftly. He reached the gate at full gallop and the bulk of the stallion, heading for the small gap, hit the gate with force enough to slam it back, knocking troops left and right.

  There was a roar of sound behind them, and the rebels charged in their leader’s wake, pouring over the splintered remains of the enemy. Scattered now into smaller groups, they were proving no match for the discipline and rage of the Ceratas warriors.

  The horses’ hooves rang upon the cobbled streets and the houses flashed by. Occasionally, Aidan saw a pale face watching from a window and several times, supporting cheers sounded from unknown sources. People began to emerge, weapons in hand, waiting for the enemy to appear behind their general.

  The horses were blowing hard now, slipping occasionally on the icy cobbles. Aidan soothed his mount, whispering encouragement, leaning low over the saddle. Blindly, he followed Torin as they twisted through the streets, until they began to wend their way upward, the horses laboring now, slowing.

  There was a battle at the gates to the fortified palace when they arrived.

  The citizens had risen.

  Many were dead, bodies sprawled in mute testament of the furious fighting that had already taken place.

  Torin roared a battle cry, the sounds of his rage echoing against the stone walls. The people turned, saw his arrival, and flung themselves harder against the desperate troops who guarded the gates.

  Blessedly, here, there was no medieval wall for the enemy troops to stand upon and fire from. The modern wall was thinner, without lookouts. Here they must face their foes hand to hand.

  The citizens drew aside as Torin charged forward with the others, taking little time in finishing off the demoralized enemy.

  Soon, there was nothing between them and the gate.

  They paused then, horses blowing, heads hanging. There was nothing to do but wait for the cannons to arrive.

  Torin dismounted, met the citizens, warriors now, acknowledging their actions, leaning down to touch the dead and dying, grief evident on his blood speckled face.

  He was surrounded by worshipers. Aidan could only sit on his mount, shaking with reaction.

  It had all happened with such rapidity, that to now be still seemed beyond his capabilities. They were here, they had made it this far. He sent a pray of thankfulness to the gods, whispering a fervent prayer for Torin’s continued protection.
r />   They were not victorious yet.

  By the time the lumbering cannons made it up the steep slope to the palace, the war horses had been taken aside to safety. From now on, the fighting would be on foot.

  Aidan sat on a shattered cart, watching and waiting. Torin stood a few steps away, surrounded by people, Paulsten and Lord Cermun at his side. The hostile companion’s presence made Aidan want some distance.

  Torin did not seem to notice his absence.

  Aidan shook off the thought with annoyance. They were in the middle of a battle, for heaven’s sake, and here he was worrying about attention being paid to him.

  How pathetic.

  Here and now, Torin was a general first and foremost. Time later for touch and glances.

  He watched the infantry set up the cannons, then covered his ears as they were fired.

  The massive, ornate gates exploded into splinters.

  Aidan wondered if he was the only one who mourned their lost beauty. It seemed a paltry thing, but his love of all artistic objects was appalled at the destruction, necessary though it was.

  The debris rained down, and then they were charging through the smoke, over the piles of shattered wood and metal, to meet the forces within.

  It was a hard fight, face to face, with more of their troops pouring through the gap. The invaders were more vicious now, less inclined to turn aside. They were trapped within the walls that had formerly protected them, and they knew there was no mercy waiting at the hands of the rebels.

  They fought for every inch of ground, up the great marble steps that led to the entrance.

  They paused then, gathering numbers to break through this last barrier.

  The sound of one of the massive doors opening took them all by surprise, and a spreading silence fell.

  Heratis stepped through, dragging another man beside him, blade to his throat.

  “I think you might want to stop now, Torin. I would hate for you to force me to kill your lover.”

  Aidan blinked, trying to understand.

  Heratis sank his fingers into the hair of the man he held, and yanked his head back.