by TJ Nichols
Carefully Calvin opened his eyes.
Torches burned, making shadows dance. The ache in his head flared and twisted through his skull as he tried to bring the people into focus. He wasn’t in a pen yet. Were they hoping he’d attack them so they’d have another charge to lay at his feet?
A man who looked like an older, harder version of Rafe stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Rafe’s father, the head of the city guard, a man Calvin had always taken great trouble to avoid. It was he who’d held the baton and struck the first blow by the temple after setting the trap and baiting it with Rafe.
Calvin closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have ignored the knots in his stomach. It hadn’t been the first time he’d been approached in a marketplace or some other venue to lift something of value. The wrong kind of people knew him, something that both pleased and terrified him. He should’ve trusted Rafe with the truth, but it was a little too late to remake the evening. Time couldn’t be melted down and reworked like silver.
“Anything to say for yourself? Not that it matters. You were caught in the act and then shifted and attacked.” Red claw marks marred his cheek where Calvin had tried to get free.
Someone had stepped on one of his paws in retaliation. It throbbed with every beat of his heart. His whole body felt like a bruise.
In reply Calvin managed a hiss.
Getting mixed up with an elf had been a bad idea. He should’ve run when he’d realized who Rafe was. People like him didn’t end up with princelings. But he held on to the memories of their time together—they were the most precious thing he’d ever stolen.
The waking up in the mornings, the sun streaming through the window, bathing them both in gold. The fun of bounding up and down the stairs and pouncing on Rafe, curling up against him, licking the side of his face and rubbing against him until Rafe smelled like cat.
Working silently in the workshop. Rafe doing something clever and him doing the simple stamping of Rafe’s symbol, or polishing, or one of the many other menial jobs that always needed doing.
He’d belonged. Now he was nothing.
The guards half dragged, half carried him into the waiting pen, and he was too weak to protest, too hurt to shift forms and prove he was in control and didn’t need to be locked up for the night. He doubted it would make a difference. Rafe’s father had gotten what he wanted; the cat was out of the house.
He’d been caught and he’d be sentenced, and he’d never see Rafe again.
The cage door was locked.
The way one spent solstice eve and the following day was meant to be a sign of things to come. He glanced up at the latticework of metal above him. He’d known his luck would run out at some point, but for it to end tonight of all nights was the worst kind of luck anyone could have.
He let out a mournful cry.
But there was no one to hear him. He was the only cat in the pens.
Chapter 3
RAFE MOVED as quickly as he dared through the dark but not quiet streets. The bells chimed, marking the middle of the longest night. He stood quietly in an alley, waiting for a pack of guards to go past. If they saw him, would they escort him home?
When they were gone, he moved on, always heading uphill toward the castle. People spilled out of the taverns, along with music and laughter as they celebrated the night with friends. Tomorrow they’d face family with a hangover—he didn’t envy them.
If he dressed appropriately and smiled and nodded, he was mostly left alone until the topic inevitably turned to marriage. He was so far down the line, most of the time even his family forgot he existed, which was exactly how he liked it. When his mother or aunt, the queen, looked his way, he tried to disappear as quickly as possible before they could mention so and so, the nephew of that important man, or some battle-hungry young general looking to make good ties. He wasn’t some tidbit to be offered up as a reward. He didn’t want a good marriage or any of the things his older siblings aspired to.
Rafe didn’t care about things like titles and propriety. His father’s fault really, for constantly reminding him that he wasn’t needed and had better not have his eye on any of the plum roles that had been picked out for his older siblings. So he’d made his own path, arranged his own apprenticeship, and gotten on with his life, much to the horror of everyone in his family.
They expected him to get tired of living above his shop and to come back to the castle, where he could meander around as some administrative official earning an equally modest sum. He’d rather craft a delicate silver knife and stick it through his eye.
The cold night air slipped beneath his cloak like a thief looking for a coin purse, and his breath clouded. But he kept walking, knowing this road would take him to his family’s door, the prison, and the pens. If Calvin had been arrested, there wasn’t much Rafe could do except argue with his father. Cal had no protection and neither did he.
Every time Cal shifted in the house, they were breaking the law.
Every time Cal went off thieving, it was another strike.
And for all that, Rafe had made his own life. People knew who he was. He was supposed to set an example—he was sure his father had said that at the last solstice dinner. Soon after he’d found Cal in his shop wearing far too many silver rings. Instead of calling the city guard—and having to deal with his father—on the rather pretty crested cat, he’d made a deal.
Cal had stayed long after the deal had finished. That meant something, didn’t it? Or was he a fool for seeing more when there was nothing?
But Cal had been tormented as he’d left. The guards at his front door and Calvin’s claim of doing the job for him…. The ideas that formed were not the kind he should be entertaining. His father wouldn’t stoop so low as to set Calvin up, would he?
It wouldn’t be the first time his father had used his power to make a point.
The road he’d been following widened and merged with others to become the city square in front of the castle. It was empty.
Tomorrow night there’d be singing and drinking, and it would become one large tavern as the king celebrated with his people. Of course, he would be up above on a stage, not actually mixing with the people. But for a few hours, the king would almost be like everyone else.
His uncle wasn’t bad, but he was concerned with the kingdom, not the city. The city was run by his children and nieces and nephews. Nobody really cared about the various royals unless they were caught up in a scandal.
A scandal like having a thieving, uncollared cat as a lover.
He groaned. Someone in the castle had decided enough was enough. Past the square and through the open gates were the pens and the prison. People could walk freely through to give food to their relatives in prison and examine the caged cats. Some cats came here because they needed to shift and didn’t want to break the law, but Rafe knew from Cal plenty more shifted at home illegally. No one wanted to be a spectacle, and there was no fun in prowling a cage. In the rural towns where Cal was from, there was no such thing as pens. Cats simply slunk off to the wilds to run, and as long as no livestock were killed, no one cared.
A couple of murders committed by claw before Rafe had been born had made cages necessary in the city. Rafe wasn’t so sure, but he’d never studied the law or history beyond what he was forced to endure by his tutors.
He stopped and his heart dropped. He let it fall and crack, unable to do anything else. One cat lay on the floor of a pen. Golden fur gleamed in the moonlight, but the darker patches weren’t shadows. He knew without getting closer it was Cal. The markings on his face were familiar no matter what skin Cal wore. What had the guards done to him?
He closed his eyes and drew in a breath. Torn between leaving—Cal had left him to go thieving and his elvish pride still smarted—and staying to help, he hesitated, but his heart would never recover if he did nothing to help the man he loved.
It was love; he was sure of it this time.
He hadn’t deliberately found the most unsuitable
man to annoy his father…. It had just happened. Landed in his lap. And it was ill luck to throw away a gift that the gods had bestowed.
Rafe exhaled and opened his eyes. Then he strode toward the cage as though he knew exactly what he was going to do.
CALVIN OPENED his eyes at the approaching footsteps. Every part of him was bruised, inside and out. Even his bones. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of Rafe drawing closer. His hair was askew, standing up at all angles, and he was wearing his much patched—by Calvin’s hand—dark purple shirt that he usually only wore when working.
Rafe crossed his arms and stared down at him.
Yes, go on. Yell at me. Tell me how I’m an idiot. It was nothing new, but it was the first time he understood. Rafe was right and that hurt more than anything else.
Rafe stepped closer, then leaned over the cage and peered through the top. “What did they do to you?”
That should be obvious.
He didn’t want pity, but a whimper escaped.
He wished he’d told Rafe what had happened in the marketplace and let him deal with it, but that would mean admitting he needed help, and he’d been on his own for so long the idea chafed.
Rafe slithered down to his knees so he could reach through the bars and touch Calvin’s front foot. The silver ring Rafe had given him was pinching his toe, but it wouldn’t come off until he shifted form, unlike his clothing, which would’ve torn off in the shift. If he wasn’t so sore, he’d shift, so he could talk.
Not that there was anything to say.
Rafe ran his fingers over his paw. He touched the ring. “Guess your bad feeling was correct.”
Calvin closed his eyes. If Rafe was going to state the obvious to make him feel more of a fool, he should just leave.
“My father did this, didn’t he?”
Calvin managed a nod that took all of his strength. He was quite happy to lie there and let the cold seep into his bones to steal the pain and make him numb. Tomorrow when the crowds came to stare, he’d sit up proudly. When he was released, he’d slink away, never to come this way again.
“Bastard. I knew he hated you, but I didn’t realize he’d go to such lengths,” Rafe snarled, and his eyes flashed red in anger before he took a slow and deliberate breath, returning them to inky blue. “No doubt he expects me to walk away.”
That would be the smart thing to do. It’s what Calvin deserved. But it wasn’t what he wanted. With a pained groan, he forced himself to move so he could place his head on Rafe’s hand to feel his touch again.
Rafe ran his fingers over Calvin’s tufted ear, then the top of his head, where the crest that ran down his spine started. He scratched, and Calvin purred. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could pretend they were at home. He licked Rafe’s hand, a silent apology.
“I’m not going to abandon you.”
Rafe didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t like either of them could get him out of the pen. The charges wouldn’t vanish. They were done even if they weren’t ready for it to be over.
Rafe sat down and leaned against the bars, his hand still on Calvin’s fur. “You’re much better at planning than me.”
Calvin wanted to remind Rafe of all the tales he’d told about his childhood. The trouble they’d plot and get into as he and his siblings roamed the castle. Rafe could make trouble, but he’d forgotten how.
A couple of city guards walked by on patrol. They saw Rafe and wandered over. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Sitting.”
“Well, you can’t sit there. Move along.” He put his hand on his sword for emphasis.
Rafe stared up at the guards. “You mean, ‘well, you can’t sit there, Princeling Rafe Alvera.’”
The guard’s eyes widened, and he stepped back. He looked like he wanted to run. He managed to bow. They both did. “I didn’t realize it was you, Master.”
It was odd watching Rafe use his title and expect people to bow and apologize. He never did that kind of thing. So while Calvin knew Rafe was a princeling, it had been an abstract fact that never interfered unless Rafe’s father was making demands like kick the cat out, and even then the threat was more because Rafe’s father ran the city guard than because he was the king’s brother.
These men answered to Rafe’s father.
Rafe stood, one smooth motion like he was made of liquid silver. “Tell my father I am here and that I want a word.”
“It’s past the turning, Master.”
“I don’t care.” Rafe tilted his head and stared at them.
“He’ll be in bed,” the other guard muttered.
“I doubt it,” Rafe said.
“He’ll have us cleaning mail for a month, Master.”
“Better than spending the night in the pen, which is where I’ll put you if you don’t get him. Now.” Rafe crossed his arms and scowled.
“We’re not cats. You can’t put us in a pen.” The guard paused. “Master.”
“Try me.” There was a sharpness to Rafe’s words like he expected to be obeyed without question. He’d slipped on the mantle of his birthright and was testing out the power.
Calvin wasn’t sure he liked the change. It was what he feared if he were collared. What if Rafe decided he wanted to live in the castle and throw around commands and Calvin had no choice but to follow because he’d fallen too deeply in love to break the chain and reclaim his freedom?
His parents would be horrified he’d even thought about it. But he’d stood in the empty workshop and looked at the delicate chains on display. They were the same as the ones people hung pendants off. There was nothing magical or special about them. It was just what it meant around a cat’s neck.
He’d belong to Rafe and while there were benefits, it wasn’t the same as marriage and no one married outside of their being. The tradition of collaring a cat came from something very different, when the rich would keep cat bodyguards. Now it was more of a status thing—who but the rich could afford to keep a cat?
Rafe wasn’t rich, but they got by.
The last year had been good to him, but he hadn’t been good to Rafe.
Rafe squatted down and gripped the bars. “When you can talk, we’re going to have a serious conversation about your nighttime activities.”
I’m never going to steal again.
Or he’d at least try not to. Sometimes it was really hard to resist.
He nodded. The pain had receded to a dull throb in his bones, which he tried to ignore as he struggled to sit. He didn’t want to look half-dead when Rafe’s father reached the pen. He could hear him talking, his voice striking the cobbles in angry tones as he promised retribution.
Rafe stood and leaned on the pen as if he didn’t have a care in the world and Calvin did his best to hide behind him. He wasn’t ready to face Rafe’s father again. His fur stood on end and a growl formed in his throat, but all he really wanted to do was run, full speed down the hill, and burrow under the blankets of their bed. He doubted he’d be able to stumble out of the pen.
Rafe’s father’s face was as sharp as a knife in the moonlight. Unlike Rafe, his hair was long like the royalty he was. His eyes were paler, his lips a little thinner. Rafe had gotten more from his mother, which made him entirely too pretty and far too tempting to a man like Calvin. He liked pretty men who’d get him into trouble. That was how he’d gotten into thieving in the first place.
“Father.”
“Rafe.”
The guards loitered behind as though they didn’t want any part of this.
“You have something of mine, Father, and I want him back.”
“He’s uncollared and was caught red-handed with his hand in my pocket. Then he shifted and attacked me.” He pointed to the scratches on his face. “He’s going to hang after solstice celebrations.”
Calvin flinched and almost fell over. Hanged? For stealing and shifting?
Rafe sighed. The sigh of a man who was close to giving up. Calvin used a paw to nudge him, to beg. He didn’t w
ant to hang. He’d take it all back. He’d unravel this whole night if he could.
“You’re going to hang my lover to spite me?”
“Because you’re breaking the law. I know you let him prowl. You’re harboring a thief! I’m doing it for you.”
Rafe tilted his head. “Cal said much the same before he left the house tonight. I think he was blackmailed. Of course he can’t shift to tell me what actually happened, because he’s been too badly beaten. Now, I’m not fluent in the laws regarding the city guard, but I’m fairly sure blackmailing and beating isn’t allowed. I also know he’s allowed to speak to defend himself. I wonder what would happen if it were to all come out.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending him. I’m doing you a favor. You can start the year fresh.”
“I know exactly how I want to start the year. If you don’t let him out, I will break him out.”
Calvin’s heart gave an extra beat out of hope. Rafe still wanted him despite the trouble he made.
Rafe’s father stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’ll lock you up until you see reason.”
Rafe took a step forward. “Do it, Father. Stick me in the pen with him and let’s hear the people talk.”
Calvin snuck a glance from behind Rafe.
“That’s what you fear most, isn’t it? There I am, silversmithing with a cat in my bed and you can’t stand the fact I’m living my life, my way, while you had no choice.”
The slap was so fast, Calvin almost missed it. Rafe turned his head slowly back to face his father. “Is that how you want to start the new year?”
“If you want him, you free him. The next crime he commits is on your head and you will share his punishment. You have been warned.” He spun on his heel and stalked away, his official coat flapping over his nightclothes.
“If he wasn’t going to hang you, I’d let you spend the night and tomorrow in the pen,” Rafe muttered. He glanced down at Calvin and his face softened. “But no one should spend solstice locked up.”
RAFE MADE his way to the castle blacksmith and let himself in through the great door. The room was warm from the fire that was never left to go out, but his cheek was hotter, branded with the mark of his father’s palm.