He would be a good king.
He was the true king.
Laen knew it. He knew it in his heart. So why was he so damned angry?
He thought back to what his father had said, that Corin had always had this in mind, that he had plotted it from the beginning. Despite his anger, he smiled as he remembered the little boy of six who had come to his rescue all those years ago. No. It wasn't possible. Unless Queen Audrianne ... but no, that was ridiculous. He wouldn't believe it. Not that.
He lay back on his bed, remembering feeling much like he did now, in this moment. He had felt abandoned, angry and frightened, adrift in a world that didn’t give a damn for him. He had run away from home, fuelled by the strength of his emotions and with no idea of how to survive. He had left in such fury that he hadn't thought to take any food or so much as a blanket. Two days later, he was starving and desperate, but too proud to go home.
His mother had been dead for little more than three months and his father had just announced that he would marry the human woman. Laen couldn't stand it. It was like his beautiful mother had simply never existed. No one talked of her or spoke her name. Her pictures were removed from the palace. Laen felt as though he had disappeared, too, as his father could no longer bear to look at him. He had his mother's eyes, and with hindsight, Laen didn’t doubt the man saw her accusing gaze staring back at him whenever they met. So the king no longer saw him.
The new queen-in-waiting had demanded an entire change of staff, so that no one who had been loyal to the old queen would work against her. So Laen's beloved nanny and the only other person who gave a damn about him had vanished from his life, too. His father took pains to keep him and his little sister apart, too, perhaps afraid she would take his part as she grew up, so he saw little of her after that despite his best efforts. In fact, Aleish had taken his side in time, following him with a devotion he doubted he ever deserved, but back then, she’d been just a baby. The new nanny had adored his sister, at least, and he was glad for her, but the woman had no time for a snot-nosed, dirty boy. Certainly not one who glowered at her with such intensity. So he’d left.
He remembered, as if it were yesterday, the tantalising smell of fresh baked bread which had been too much to bear as he had trudged past the farmhouse. He had barely swallowed a mouthful when a large hand descended out of nowhere and picked him up by his shirt tails.
"You thieving little bastard! I'll teach you to take what doesn't belong to yer!"
Laen thrashed and hit out, but the burly farmer was more than a match for a small boy. He was far too stubborn to apologise or try to explain, and so with a sick feeling of inevitability, he accepted the fact he was going to be beaten. It was hardly a new experience
"Put him down this instant!" A small but indignant voice rang out from across the courtyard. Laen looked around in as much surprise as the farmer as a young boy, perched atop a horse far too big for his tiny frame, clattered over the cobbled yard. "I said, put him down." The boy repeated this with the air of one well-used to being obeyed, as the farmer looked at him in astonishment.
"Now, then. You tell me why I should do such a thing, Your Highness?" The farmer demanded, while Laen swung from his meaty hand.
"Because …” the boy began, floundering for a moment before putting his chin up. “Because he's my cousin and there will be the most almighty row if his father finds out you've thrashed him." This was said with such conviction that the farmer frowned a little, though he didn’t look convinced. "He's spoilt rotten," the boy added. "Apple of his father's eye, and all that ..." He gave an airy wave of his hand, looking a little bored now. "I expect he'll have Mother chop your head off,” he added, his strange golden eyes sparkling with relish now.
Laen had looked at his saviour with a combination of admiration for his ability to lie through his teeth and utter bewilderment as he wondered why on earth he would bother.
"Is that so?" The farmer replied, who Laen was afraid was not so daft as the boy may have hoped. "And you, you little devil, are the spitting image of the lad who stole the wolf pups I captured last week."
The boy reddened a little but stared back at the farmer, his expression stony. "Couldn't have been. I was at the palace last week, just got back. Mother, too." He gave the farmer the benefit of his most charming smile, dimples and all. "Why don't we all go back home and you can discuss it ... with her."
The farmer paled a little and looked at his thief with distaste. Laen could well understand his misgiving. Queen Audrianne was not to be trifled with, from what he’d heard, certainly not where her son was concerned. He sighed, knowing when he was beaten, and let Laen tumble to the ground, where he fell in a heap.
Laen had stared at the boy on the horse, not quite knowing what to do now. The boy seemed to be trying to give him some kind of silent message. Those strange gold-coloured eyes staring at him with an intense expression, while his head jerked sideways.
"Oh!" Laen scrambled to the horse, where he was offered a hand to clamber up into the saddle.
"Here, what's his name, then, this cousin of yours?" the farmer demanded suddenly, after watching this silent exchange with apparent amusement.
"Er…” the boy mumbled. “The er… Duke of... Ummm Umberlie," he stammered before turning his horse and galloping away as fast as he could.
He had ridden away like a maniac with Laen clinging on for dear life behind him. By the time they were out of danger, they had slid to the ground, quite breathless, and sat panting under the shade of a tree.
"What's your name, then?" his rescuer had demanded, once he had enough breath to speak.
Laen had scowled at him, not sure whether he liked being in debt to this strange boy. There was an odd feeling about him, a prickle of magic that he’d never come across before. "The Duke of Umberlie,” he muttered.
The golden eyes had narrowed. "Haha, funny.” He snorted, sounding a little indignant. He put up his chin, holding out his hand. “I'm Prince Corin Albrecht,” he said, his voice grave. "Of Alfheim," he added with dignity.
Laen had noticed that the farmer had addressed him as ‘Your Highness’, but was still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that another prince existed in the world. After all, no one had told him.
"You're never a prince," Laen scoffed, looking the boy over with contempt. He was certain he could take him in a fight. He was far bigger, after all, stronger, too, by the looks of things.
Those gold eyes flashed with fury. "Am too!"
Laen got to his feet, temper rising. "You can't be, because I am."
"No, you're not!"
"Am so!"
A fight had erupted, which ended with a nose bleed on one side and a split lip on the other, as Laen discovered the boy was rather tougher than he first appeared. At this point, both boys agreed they really were both prince,s and settled down quite amicably to discuss this extraordinary coincidence.
Corin, for his part, admitted his mother was not really at home, but still at the palace, and he had indeed stolen the wolf pups. The farmer had killed the mother for stealing his sheep and was going to deal the pups the same fate. Laen looked at him with growing admiration.
Little by little, drawn ever further into telling his life story to his rescuer, Laen in turn admitted the whole sorry affair. He was astonished to see Corin's eyes well with tears on his behalf.
"Your mother is ... is really ... dead?" he asked, a large tear tracking down his filthy face.
Laen swallowed hard. He wasn't allowed to cry. Only girls cried. His father said so. He nodded, becoming extremely interested at the path of an ant that was making its way across his shoe and not looking at Corin.
"Oof!" He looked up in alarm, wondering if Corin had decided to carry on the fight to discover he was being hugged, hard. "What are you doing?" he demanded, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle free.
Corin looked up at him, perplexed. "You're sad. I'm giving you a hug to make you feel better."
Laen pushed him away,
red-faced. "Men don't hug!"
Corin’s bewilderment was evident on his face. "’Course they do!" he replied, frowning at Laen. "My Father hugs lots of people, and my cousin Reece, he hugs lots of men." His frown deepened a little, his expression uncertain now. "Though to be honest, I'm not sure that's quite the same. Anyway, you're not a man, you're a boy, and boys should get a hug when they're sad, Mother said so and she's always right."
Corin got to his feet as Laen digested this new information. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" Laen asked as he stood up, wondering what on earth this peculiar boy would do or say next.
"To find you some food and somewhere to stay." Corin turned, and looked at him, suddenly anxious. "You ... You are going to stay, aren't you? We can be friends." He kicked a scuffed toe in the dirt and Laen thought the confidence he’d seen in him had suddenly disappeared. He looked nervous now, staring up at Laen with those strange eyes. "I mean, if you want to be friends with me?"
Laen looked at this peculiar boy, who acted in a way he knew without a doubt his father would strongly disapprove of, and made up his mind. "Yes," he said, his tone fierce. "I'll stay, and we will be friends."
***
Ameena looked in horror at the great beast that was snorting and giving her an equally disgusted expression in return. “I am not getting on that,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Fine,” Bram replied, adjusting the girth on his own mount. “Stay here.”
Jean-Pierre was looking at the horse he had been allocated with equal trepidation, and Bram sighed, looking deeply irritated. “Gods! Don’t tell me you can’t ride either! What is wrong with you people?”
Ameena discovered there was only so far her infatuation with Bram would allow her temper to mellow. He was being an arse and she wasn’t standing for it. She stepped up to him and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. She watched as he looked down at it and her chipped, black nail polish with distaste. “Can you drive a car?” she demanded. “Or ride a motorbike?” Bram glowered at her and they both knew he didn’t need to answer. “I can,” she replied with a smug smile. “So stop being such an arse! We don’t ride. Deal with it.”
“Fine.” Bram muttered through gritted teeth, returning his attention to the horse.
“You can ride a motorbike?” Jean-Pierre asked, looking at her with admiration. “Merde. That is so hot.”
Ameena grinned, flushing a little, but pleased as Bram shot Jean-Pierre a dark look. “Dodgy boyfriend,” she admitted with a shrug, not mentioning he’d been one in a long line of dodgy boyfriends. “Only decent thing he ever did for me was teach me how.” Bram gave her a measuring look which she couldn’t read, but she doubted he was as impressed as Jean-Pierre, likely the opposite. The more she had seen of the Fae and the more Inés told her, the more she realised that women were second-class citizens in this world. She wondered what kind of women existed here in the Fae Lands that they still stood for it; were they all spineless? Were they all as beautiful as Bram was handsome, the entire race perfect and lovely? She’d only seen some serving girls so far, but they were certainly pretty … and feminine. Maybe she shouldn’t have come after all. Perfect and lovely were not words that could ever be used to describe her. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
***
Bram stomped about the stable, feeling more irritated than ever. The quicker he got shot of the damned girl, the better. He must have still been feverish to have agreed to bring her. Either that, or quite out of his mind.
Inés appeared and handed him a bottle of tonic. He was in no doubt whatsoever that this was the only thing keeping him going. His bones ached and his head hurt and all he wanted was to go back to bed and stay there. He would not let Corin down, though, and he needed to see Claudette and find out what the hell this snow was about. It was still falling, though just a flurry. He looked up to see the flakes settle in Ameena's hair, the delicate white like tiny pearls against the shock of her blue fringe. It made her look fragile somehow, those large grey eyes glowing silver against the bright white around her. He shook his head, more annoyed than ever at his own comparison.
"Inés, you'll have to ride with Jean-Pierre,” he said, his tone angry for no reason he could fathom. He turned to Ameena, wondering why the idea disturbed him so much. “I suppose you'll have to come with me." He scowled at her, his temper not soothed any when she stuck her tongue out at him. Gods, but she was childish.
"Come on, get a move on, I'll help you up," he snapped as irritation made his temper simmer under his skin. "You two are slowing us down enough as it is."
He heard Ameena cursing him under her breath as she approached the horse, but then he saw the look in her eyes. She’d never admit it, but she looked really frightened.
Bram sighed and shook his head. "He won't hurt you, come on. Put your foot in the stirrup and hold the pommel and then pull up." He watched in amusement as she got half way and wavered, before slipping back. He reached out and grabbed her around the waist, and then, with the other hand on her behind, pushed her into the saddle. She turned to glare at him, blushing with indignation.
"Don't touch what you can't afford!" she snapped, looking really quite flustered.
He smothered a grin at her annoyance and turned away. Well, it was one thing he would admit, remembering the soft curve of her bottom against his palm, that was without a doubt her finest asset.
***
Claudette stared down at Corin, worry like a cold lead weight, pulling her heart down. He was still in bed, eyes closed, though she knew he wasn't asleep. It was well past lunchtime, and she wondered if she should try to speak to him. In the end, she sat on the bed and stroked his hair.
"I know you're awake,” she said, her voice soft as she admired the dark sweep of his eyelashes. Good grief, women would kill for lashes like that.
"I know you know," he replied, his voice too weary to reassure her, and kept his eyes closed.
She sighed, wishing she knew what to say, what to do to help him. "Are you going to get up?" she asked, wondering if it was good for him to stay like this. She knew he was dwelling on everything that had happened. Perhaps it would be better for him to keep busy, or perhaps he ought to rest. She just didn’t know.
"Not unless I have to,” he replied, sounding disinterested in the idea. “Dannon knows what to do."
She sighed, feeling saddened and relieved all at once at how he had come to rely on Dannon after so many years of animosity. He would never replace Laen, she knew that, but she was glad he had someone he could trust, even if the shock of it being the damned duke had not yet worn off.
"I'll get some food brought up to you. You’ve not eaten all day." She began to get up, and he reached out and grabbed her hand.
"Please don't." He tugged at her hand, bringing her closer and she sat back down again, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
"You must eat something. You need to keep your strength up."
He shook his head, a barely-there movement that was only noticeable as he was so still. "Not hungry."
"I don't care," she replied, her voice stern. “You’ve lost too much weight already and I’m not going to let you waste away. I’m getting some food and I will stand over you until you eat it all. Every bite,” she added, meaning it.
There was a soft huff, faintly amused by her bullying. "You are very cruel to me, ma belle."
She smiled, remembering a time when he had accused her of that once before.
"Oui, je sais," she said, smiling. She moved to the other side of the bed and slipped to the floor so that their faces were level, leaning in to press a kiss against his mouth. His eyes flickered open and he gave her a brief smile before closing them again. Her heart lurched as she looked at him. He was so dreadfully pale, the shadows under his eyes like dark bruises against his skin. "Is it very bad?" she asked, afraid to hear the answer.
He was silent for a while before giving a slight shrug. "Not so bad," he murmured.
She bit her lip,
knowing he was lying to her. She reached down and took his hand, entwining their fingers. "What are you thinking about?" she asked, wondering what it was that made him look so sad, not that he didn’t have reason enough.
"Just ... reminiscing."
"Laen?" she guessed, wishing there was something she could do to fix things for him. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and she felt her heart catch as always, caught up and tangled fast in that astonishing gold. She climbed onto the bed and put her arms around him. He sighed, pulling her closer.
"Tell me," she whispered, stroking his face. "Tell me how you met."
Claudette had heard a little of the story before, but not all of it, and he seemed pleased to have been asked. So she listened as Corin began, as ever telling it in the most amusing fashion and making himself the clown of the whole affair as he often did. She didn’t know if this was a good thing to do, to make him turn over their history for her, but at least he was talking, at least he was sharing his thoughts and feelings, and surely that was better than brooding, mourning the loss of his friend all alone.
***
Corin smiled as Claudette laughed at his tale. Despite everything, he found he was pleased to share it with her.
When he was a child, his mother did not approve of most of his contemporaries, well aware that the parents were unscrupulous enough to use their children to try and influence the prince and therefore her. He was forbidden from playing with the servant's children, too, as they were below him, and so his existence was a very lonely one. To find Laen and to discover he was a prince, just like him … it had seemed something close to a miracle.
"So you hid him in the stable block?" Claudette asked, and he looked up, smiling at her as he remembered.
"Yes, in the hay loft. The first night he was there, I crept out in the early hours of the morning. I remembered thinking how frightening it must be in the stables, in a place so far from home, all alone. Of course, the more I worried about him, the colder it got, and I began to be afraid he would be freezing."
The Darkest Night Page 24