The Bastard Prince

by Megan Derr

  Barely keeping back a sneer, because he believed that not in the slightest, Reyes nevertheless conceded defeat and began to pen the letter of permission—but he added a note for the guards that they were to see she left after fifteen minutes. "Very well," he said tersely, as he finished penning the letter. He signed his name, stamped his seal beside it, then sealed the letter and pressed his personal stamp into the wax. Then he slid it across the desk and said, "Present this to the guards at the half dusk bells. No sooner, no later. If the note is in any way tampered with, she will be refused admittance and must come to me for a new appointment. Is that clear?"

  "Quite clear," Vallen replied, and with a stiff bow, took his leave.

  Reyes wrinkled his nose when he was alone, irritated by Vallen, the Princess, and the noxious mix of cologne and perfume left behind to remind Reye of them both. Some people should not be allowed to pick out their own scents, he did vow. Cherries, he thought, and something excessively musky in the cologne.

  He was distracted from his thoughts by the opening of his door and felt his body immediately respond as Kinnaird slipped inside and quietly closed the door again. "Good afternoon," Kinnaird greeted.

  Sun and moon, he looked good. He always did, of course, but with memories of last night still fresh in mind, Reyes only found him that much more attractive. "Kinnaird. What brings you here? Surely there are things you should be doing." He stood up and moved around his desk, briefly reaching out to touch the vivid purple lisianthus that had been on the corner of his desk that morning, arranged in a red crystal vase.

  Kinnaird snorted softly in amusement, and strode across the room—and then Reyes abruptly found himself pinned to his desk, a thigh shoved between his legs and he barely caught Kinnaird's murmured, "I needed to kiss you," before his mouth was taken in a very thorough, extremely inappropriate kiss.

  "Stop doing such things in my office," Reyes said when Kinnaird finally let him breathe. "What if someone were to walk in?"

  "They would either leave again, or stay and enjoy the view."

  Reyes glared at him, and with a laugh and a quick, biting kiss, Kinnaird let him go. "I came to see how you were doing, and if anyone was making your life particularly difficult."

  "Only you," Reyes retorted, but even as he spoke, he obligingly tilted his head to give Kinnaird's mouth better access to his throat.

  Kinnaird chuckled, breath warm against Reyes' skin. "Do you like the flowers?"

  "Yes," Reyes said on a soft moan, hazily remembering he had told Kinnaird to stop doing this sort of thing in his office. "You do not have to keep giving me flowers, you know. They seem to be a bit pointless now, surely."

  Kinnaird paused, making Reyes frown. He looked up with a fond, amused smile. "You mean now I have you? One has nothing to do with the other, my dear. I buy the flowers to make you happy; to see you smile. They still serve that purpose, hmm?"

  "Idiot," Reyes replied, failing entirely to put any sting into the word.

  A sudden burst of raucous laughter from the hall made them both freeze in surprise. Mood effectively ruined, Kinnaird stole a last kiss and then stepped far enough away to avoid any temptation. "How is Rhoten?"

  "The Kingdom is questioning his fitness to wear the crown, he no longer knows what to believe himself, a fake son is stealing all the support, and his only daughter is going to be bothering him in a quarter bell. How do you think he is doing?"

  Kinnaird made a face. "We will work it out, Reyes. I promise. We are close, I know it."

  "I hope so," Reyes said tiredly, worried sick about Rhoten, hating, loathing, despising all those who had put him in his terrible state. "He doesn't deserve this, not with all he has come through, all he has endured. Why can they not simply leave him alone?"

  Stepping close again, Kinnaird tugged him into a loose embrace. “Because they are fools. Once we find definitive proof Gandy is a shameless liar, you will see them turn on him, and claim they never believed it for a single moment. It is the way with people."

  Reyes nodded, reassured despite himself, and wondered how long he could stay right where he was, before someone finally forced him away to do some bit of paperwork. As Kinnaird did not seem inclined to let him go, he did not bother to ask.

  A familiar series of knocks made him start, and he stared in surprise as the door opened to admit Breit, followed by Dilane, then Erices.

  Dilane, he noticed with alarm, looked exhausted and entirely too pale, and he favored his right arm.

  "What happened?" Kinnaird asked, letting go of Reyes and striding to Dilane's side, helping him to sit down in a chair.

  "Two attempts were made on his life in Cassala," Erices replied. "After the second, we left. We were attacked twice more on our way home." He sat down in the first available chair he reached, and ran his hands through his hair. Reyes realized belatedly that he had been injured himself at some point, though the wounds had been healed. "It was risky, leaving Cassala, but we felt it more dangerous to stay. Here, we stand a better chance of protecting him."

  Kinnaird swore and abruptly left. Reyes moved to his desk, quickly writing notes and yanking the appropriate bell pulls, dispatching them as runners appeared. The guard would be raised across the palace, and he knew Kinnaird had gone off to speak personally with the guards stationed at the King's rooms.

  Dilane stirred from where he was all but asleep in his seat. "Can I have some of that wine?" he asked, then frowned as he looked around the room. "Where is Sharla?"

  Reyes immediately poured the wine, and took it to him. "Who is Sharla?"

  "She is a good friend of Kinnaird's," Dilane replied, nodding in thanks for the wine, mouth quirking at some private amusement. "I have only recently made her acquaintance myself."

  Reyes frowned, wondering what was so funny.

  "She should be along shortly," Erices replied. "I do believe she was actually nervous about encountering the King. I did not know a woman like that could be nervous."

  Before Reyes could demand better explanations, a series of soft knocks came at the door. Before he could reach it, however, the door opened and Kinnaird stepped through, speaking with someone—then he turned and bowed in the unseen speaker.

  Obviously a woman, from her movements, and as she pushed back the deep hood of her cloak, Reyes saw she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Sun and moon, after Kinnaird, she was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

  This was a friend of Kinnaird's? A good friend?

  It was, he reminded himself furiously, completely the wrong time and place for jealousy—not that he would give in to something as petty and weak and ridiculous as jealousy.

  "Sharla," Kinnaird said, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles briefly. "It is good to see you again, and so soon after our last parting. I believe you know everyone here, save—"

  "You must be Reyes," Sharla said, cutting Kinnaird off, stepping forward to clasp Reyes' hands in her own. Something like understanding flashed across her face, and she continued, "I knew you the moment I saw you, from one thousand descriptions." She winked at him. "It was quite distressing, to hear him talk and talk about you, and pay no mind whatsoever to my meticulously arranged décolletage."

  Reyes laughed despite himself. "He can be abysmally rude, I know. I apologize on his behalf."

  "Accepted," Sharla replied graciously. "I do not suppose I might have a bit of that wine?"

  "Of course," Reyes replied, and poured it for her.

  Kinnaird looked between them, brows furrowed in confusion and mild annoyance. "Why do I have the distinct impression that I was about to be in a great deal of trouble, and now I am not?"

  "I have no idea," Reyes replied, tone moderately sharp. "Is the King all right?"

  "Yes," Kinnaird replied. "I do not suppose the lot of you have brought us any further information?" "Some, actually," Sharla said, sitting down next to Dilane, crossing her legs. She was wearing breeches and a sword, Reyes noted belatedly. She looked quite comfortable wi
th both. "I must say, I have never dealt with such intrigue, not even in my unique social circles."

  That begged the question--what were her circles--but a slight shake of the head from Kinnaird said he would get answers later.

  "Anyway, I obtained—at great cost—a description of the man who ordered the assassinations of Kinnaird and Dilane. Tall, very broad and muscular, dark hair, has a military bearing."

  "We also received reports of strange behavior from some of the merchants, about certain Galand traders not renewing contracts, sort of... withdrawing. This time of year, with the fiscal quarter wrapping up, that's more than a little strange."

  Reyes frowned, then turned and went to his desk, shuffling papers until he found what he sought. "I have received word of the same thing; I was going to bring it to his Majesty's attention this evening. It seemed strange, but merchants acting strange is seldom news."

  "Unless they had good reason to stall, or thought they did," Kinnaird said. "If they thought the winds of fortune would soon be drastically changing."

  "As if we did not know those land-locked rats had something to do with all of this," Erices said with a sneer, then winced as he shifted in his seat. Reyes wondered what manner of wound he had taken, that Erices' own healing abilities were insufficient to completely mend it.

  Breit reached out and lightly touched Erices' leg, then let his hand rest there as Erices unconsciously leaned into him.

  "I am a lot more interested in learning more about the rats right in our midst," Kinnaird said. "None of this could have happened without inside help. And the only clue we have is a woman who favors a sickly-sweet perfume."

  Sharla laughed, sharp and bright. "That really does not help at all, does it? Just passing through the halls, I was assaulted with the noxious perfumes of girls with more scent than sense. I was freshening up in the powder room and a woman who informed me in ringing tones that she was the Princess, not 'my lady', was wearing something more suited to a child—cherry, vanilla, and honey. So, I am afraid that scent alone—"

  She was drowned out by the crash and tinkle of breaking glass. Everyone turned sharply to look at Reyes, but he ignored them, mind racing. "Sun and moon—the Earl's room, and my office before, honey! That was the scent I could not catch. Cherry and vanilla and honey. The Princess. And she has gone to see him!"

  He stopped wasting time talking and bolted, throwing open his office door and tearing through the halls, running as fast as his lungs could endure. He ignored stares, cries, demands—he ignored everything but getting to Rhoten as quickly as possible.

  Surely the Princess would not kill her father, he must be panicking—but Reyes would rather be a fool than let something happen for fear of being a fool. And, he realized, it all fit far too well. He reached the stairs to the King's private wing and took them three at a time. He tripped halfway up, falling down hard, but picked himself up and started running again, ignoring any and all pain.

  She had been to each of those locations in the past year, staying at each for a month or so, before declaring it detrimental to her health, or boring, or whatever. No one would take notice or care if she suddenly popped in again—if they even recognized her. The Princess had always kept herself secluded.

  The description of the man, he also realized, matched her guardian. That made sense. Who better to have as an accomplice, than each other?

  He reached the King's rooms and snarled for the guards to let him inside. They immediately obeyed, but Reyes scarcely noticed their wide-eyed looks as he raced past them.

  "Get away from him," he snarled, seeing the Princess skulking near her father, Gandy and Vallen leaning over him, the King's mouth bleeding from where he had obviously been struck—and they were keeping him pinned to his chair. "Get away!" he repeated, charging toward them.

  The Princess scowled, and threw up her hand, focusing her destructive energy at him, releasing it even as the King bellowed for her not to do it.

  Reyes reacted a split second too late, throwing up his shields only enough to block the worst of it, the remaining force sending him crashing back into a wash stand. It rocked hard into the wall, sending the bowl and pitcher on top tumbling off. Reyes threw up his arm to keep it all from smashing on his head, managing instead to only get doused in soapy water.

  He paid it no mind, instead scrambling to his feet and this time blocking completely as the bitch readied for another attack. Glaring, she lifted her hand—then snapped around and faced Rhoten.

  Reyes lost it. "Leave. Him. Alone!" he bellowed, and threw his own power at her, letting it go, holding nothing back. Too late he recalled himself, and remembered just how destructive that much power would be—and why he had kept it completely dormant for more than ten years.

  When he could finally see clearly again, rather than in a haze of rage, he saw that the Princess, Gandy, and Vallen were all dead—likely they had very few bones left which were not broken, if any.

  Rhoten stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. "Reyes—"

  As the full impact of his mistake struck him, Reyes dropped to his knees and buried his hands in his hair.

  "Sun and moon," Erices swore, and his voice was immediately followed by the slamming and locking of the doors, and Reyes felt ill to realize they were no longer alone. "Did the King kill them, then?"

  "No," came Kinnaird's voice, and Reyes flinched as he realized that Kinnaird had seen everything—something about that soft tone told him that his secret was no longer a secret. "Not the King."

  Reyes heard him coming, but could not make himself move. He was frozen with fear and dread, the weight of his terrible mistake—three people dead, and his secret uncovered, and why in the name of sun and moon had he let himself lose control? He'd promised and he'd never wanted anyone to know.

  He was shaking hard as Kinnaird pulled his hands free, keeping firm hold of them as he gently tugged Reyes to his feet. Reyes stared miserably at the costly hair dye staining his hands, recalling the water that had poured over him. He felt a soft spell wash over him, as Kinnaird removed the dye entirely. He could not bear to look up, to see their faces—Rhoten's, Kinnaird's. What would he see in their faces?

  "The King did not kill them," Kinnaird repeated, and grasped Reyes' chin, forcing his head up. He gently removed Reyes' glasses and tossed them aside, then softly said, "The prince did."

  Reyes closed his eyes, unable to bear the looks of shock as they all finally realized his secret.

  "Sun and moon," Dilane muttered. "Right in front of our damned noses this entire time—for years, even!"

  "Myra," Rhoten said.

  Reyes' eyes snapped open, dismayed to hear the King crying, and he started to apologize, but drew up short when he realized Rhoten was smiling, if a trifle shakily.

  "You are Myra's son. Myra and I had a son—I—" He started crying too hard to speak, and instead settled for pulling Reyes into a tight embrace.

  Shaking, Reyes held just as tightly, feeling too many things of a sudden to even begin to sort them all out. He had no idea what to do, now he was free of all pretense. After a few minutes, the King finally drew back, and touched Reyes lightly in wonder—the golden hair, the pale brown eyes, and he knew they had the same cheekbones, but that his nose and chin and mouth all came from his mother.

  "I cannot believe…" Rhoten whispered. "This whole time… and no one ever realized. Not even the sharp eyes of a very obsessed falcon. Why the secrecy, Reyes? Oh, sun and moon, you are my son—really and truly my son." He hugged Reyes tightly again, laughing and crying.

  When Reyes was finally let go, all the words he could never say came tumbling out in a rush. "Mother made me promise never to tell—and, I did not want to cause trouble, or upset anyone. It was never about being a prince to me. Mother loved you. She did not want to burden you, or ruin other lives. She—I always wanted to see you, just once. I became a secretary because it seemed the surest way for the son of a bookshop clerk to reach the palace, and be well-placed to see you. I-I neve
r thought I would wind up your personal secretary. W-when I did, it was enough for me that I got to be so close to you. I-I-I never planned to tell anyone, e-even if of l-late I have come to accept that one person would have to know."

  He wanted badly to look at Kinnaird, but was too terrified of what he would see. "I'm sorry," he said at last, shoulders sagging. "I should not have lost control, but when I realized that dumb bitch was the traitor, all I could think was that they were going to hurt m-m-my f-father."

  The words ended on a sob, and he had not realized until that moment just how very badly he had always wanted to address Rhoten so—how much he had wanted to say that one simple word.

  Rhoten embraced him again, still laughing and crying. "A son, a son, Myra and I have a son."

  "Had," Reyes said, brief happiness dying. "Mother died several years ago, shortly before I left to come to Basden. I'm sorry."

  "I think I knew, or convinced myself she was," Rhoten said sadly. "I do wish… a lot of things, but they will never come to pass now. But, we have a son, and I am very happy for that." He cupped Reyes' face in one hand, and shook his head. "It seems so plain, now. I cannot believe I never saw her in you."

  "Mother disguised my appearance from the time I was a babe," Reyes explained. "She made certain I kept it up, even when I protested, until I was at last old enough to be told the truth. Then I understood, and maintained it myself." He smiled. "She told me stories about you, all that she could find, all she knew. They were my favorite. When she finally told me the truth… that is why I wanted so badly to meet you."

  "Incredible," Erices muttered.

  "As much as I am loath to break up this reunion," Sharla said, "we have serious problems on our hands—namely, a dead princess and two other corpses."

  "No, we do not," Kinnaird said suddenly, making Reye jump. "We have three corpses. Majesty, I am sorry, but I fear that to salvage this situation, we must hide that your daughter is dead."