Baron of Blood (Dawning Era Saga)

by C. N. Faust

  Ezbon made an odd noise at the base of his throat and bucked against the weight of the boy, pumping into his hands, held prisoner on both sides and loving every moment of it. They struggled in barely contained passion, with Charon slipping in and out of him, slowly at first and then fast and never leaving him completely.

  Charon came with a hushed cry, and Ezbon came silently, with a harsh gasp. Charon fell beside the baron and stretched out. Ezbon slid an arm around Charon’s waist, drawing him close, and together they curled up under the blankets.

  Charon wriggled as close to the baron as he conceivably could, rubbing Ezbon’s legs with his ankle. “You don’t have to go anywhere for a while, do you?”

  “Not until Nicholas tells me to,” came Ezbon’s harsh, breathy whisper. He brushed aside the boy’s golden curls and kissed the exposed white neck. Charon closed his eyes and shivered pleasantly.

  “I didn’t think you liked Nicholas,” Charon purred.

  “I don’t,” Ezbon continued to kiss. “I hate him.”

  “Then why do you do what he says?” Charon asked, twisting his neck around and kissing Ezbon to soften the blow of his words.

  “Because,” Ezbon said, rolling on top of Charon, his palms pressing down into the bed on either side of the boy, trapping him. “He has Ivan’s ear. I don’t.”

  Charon licked his lips nervously at the mention of Ivan’s name. “Ivan?” he asked, winding his fingers into Ezbon’s gray hair.

  “Baron Clieous,” Ezbon said, preoccupied with kissing Charon’s neck. They were quiet for several minutes, as Ezbon devoured every free inch of the boy’s white neck, paying special attention to the hollow of his throat. Ezbon pulled the skin into his mouth, sucking until it was red, and biting. Charon whimpered, and Ezbon abandoned the spot, kissing him on the lips.

  “Why?” Charon whispered.

  “Because,” Ezbon slid his hands down Charon’s sides, his lips following the trail of his fingers. “Nicholas has money and I,” he kissed the triangle of fine blonde hair that railed down past Charon’s hips, “don’t.”

  “Oh,” Charon breathed, and writhed as Ezbon spread his legs as far apart as they would go, until his thighs burned.

  “You may thank my brother for that,” Ezbon slid his mouth over the entirety of Charon’s organ, clamping his lips down and sucking. Charon’s back arched, and his fingers dug into the linen sheets of the down-filled bed. His lips parted, but only a slightly strangled gasp came out. Ezbon sucked harder, deeper. Charon ran his hands through Ezbon’s hair, thrusting his hips. Ezbon grabbed his wrists and pinned them down to the bed. Charon squirmed, and Ezbon bit in reproach. Charon cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his pleasure heightening with each passing second. Finally, there came the release, and Ezbon slid away from him, kissing him on the lips once more.

  “Gods, gods-“ Charon buried his face in Ezbon’s chest and took several deep, shuddering breaths. “My lord-“

  Ezbon chuckled, and drew Charon close, kissing every available inch of skin. “You are too beautiful.” He muttered. “It’s going to be my downfall, I can see.”

  “Beautiful, I?” Charon laughed. “No, my lord, I fear you are all too handsome, too marvelous…” he ran his hands admiringly down the baron’s chest. “Too wonderful-“

  Ezbon placed his fingers against Charon’s lips. “Sh,” he said. “No more.”

  “What?” Charon looked up at him with large, chagrined eyes.

  “No more of me,” Ezbon said, quite firmly. “There is nothing to remark upon. Leave it alone.”

  Charon’s eyes scanned every inch of the baron’s chiseled body. The man had to be blind not to see his own beauty, but he let it alone.

  He trailed his fingertips up the baron’s chest, brushing them across his cheek. Ezbon kissed his wrist, and Charon felt himself being flipped over onto his stomach, and he felt his desire being aroused- again.

  Ezbon grabbed Charon’s wrists and twisted them behind his back, pinning them together in place with one hand. Surprised with this new development, Charon twisted in the baron’s grip, but it did not break. Charon found he was quite pleased that he could not get away; he was even more pleased when Ezbon mounted his hips, shoving into him with a new brutality that he found quite refreshing.

  They lasted through the night. Neither found rest until morning.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I don’t see how you can stand him,” Remphan muttered, taking a deep gulp of his mulled wine.

  “You were rooting for him a few weeks ago,” Ezbon pointed out, spearing a spiced apple with the tip of his knife and placing it in his mouth.

  “Yes, well, that was before he hit me for no good reason.” The extremely vain Remphan touched the side of his nose gingerly and sighed. “It’s never going to be the same again, I can tell right now.”

  “As long as it’s still there, you’ll be fine,” Ezbon picked up a sliver of salted pork and placed it on his tongue, chewing thoughtfully as he read from his book of poems. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words that flowed beautifully across the page, he was thinking of Charon, and the night they had shared. It was a rare moment these days when the boy did not cross his mind. In a time of war, such things were distracting, and they annoyed him.

  “Did you hear a word I just said?” Remphan asked, annoyed. He bit into an apple with an audible crunch.

  “In all honesty, no,” Ezbon replied, not looking up from his book.

  “I asked you if you have any idea of what Nicholas will do, since this Madrigal scheme failed so miserably.” Remphan bit again into his apple, a thin stream of juice dribbling down his chin.

  “I have no idea, and I don’t want to think about it.” Ezbon snapped. “When Nicholas deigns to inform me of anything, then I’ll spring into action. Before then, I-“

  Remphan grabbed his book and pulled it across the table, snapping it shut. Ezbon glared at him. “Give it back,” he said.

  “Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away,” Remphan said, annoyed.

  “No, but what else can I do? Invade the kingdom myself and take what is ours?” Ezbon grabbed for his book, Remphan moved it further away. “Give it back!”

  “No,” Remphan pitched it under the table. Ezbon sighed and glared at him.

  “You are destroying a work of poetic art,”

  “I don’t give a shit,”

  “I can’t do anything!”

  “That’s what you keep telling yourself, because you don’t want to get involved in this war.” Remphan snapped. “You shouldn’t have signed your name on that paper, if you didn’t want anything to do with it. But you did, and you cared enough about what happened in Madrigal.”

  “I don’t like the needless slaughter of lives,” Ezbon replied snippily.

  “Someone had to make the first move, it just happened to be us,”

  “Well, it was a stupid move,” Ezbon stood up.

  “Yes, but now that the war has begun, we’ll have a chance to make up for it.” Remphan’s eyes followed him.

  “In theory,” Ezbon rubbed his chin, scratching his finger across the stubble on his cheek. “I don’t see us winning, Remphan, I think I made a mistake.”

  “Mistake or not,” Remphan said, almost gently. “You have to stand by it.”

  “Unfortunately. Since when did you become my voice of common sense?” Ezbon forced a small smile.

  Remphan laughed. “Since yours died and shriveled up.”

  “I suppose that was when I signed my life over to Nicholas,”

  “I’d say so,” Remphan stood as well, a placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Whether we win or lose…” his words were interrupted when there was a fierce pounding on the dining room doors.

  “Come in,” Ezbon said, without breaking Remphan’s gaze.

  The doors flew open, and a servant stumbled in, dirty and haggard. The servant fell to one knee and then collapsed to the other, burying his face in his hands and not lo
oking up.

  Ezbon glanced down. “What is it?”

  The servant looked up, and his eyes were wide, worried.

  “My lord,” he croaked. “I’ve just received word- King Sitharus is going to invade Drakkian Province.”

  Ezbon’s heart froze in his chest. Remphan’s hand slid away from his friend’s shoulder and dropped back down to his side.

  “What?” Ezbon demanded suddenly. His cheeks were flushed with anger; his eyes were slowly coming back into focus as if he had been aroused from a bad dream.

  “King Sitharus will attack Drakkian Province, we are not yet sure of where,” the servant squirmed on his knees. “We believe it’s retribution for Madrigal, sir.”

  “Retribution my ass, he just wanted an excuse!” Remphan swore.

  Ezbon looked at his friend. “He’ll attack, he’ll hit hard, and you know where he’ll hit, too.”

  “Ercole,” Remphan breathed. “He’s right on the border.”

  “Yes,” Ezbon looked straight at the servant. “Do the other barons know about this? Any of them?”

  “No, my lord!” the servant quailed. “You’re the first to know!”

  “Then for the love of Azrael, tell them!” Ezbon rubbed his face. “Get me two sheets of parchment, a quill, some ink. Hurry!” he clapped his hands sharply and the servant clamored to his feet, scurrying off to do as commanded.

  “Ezbon, what are you going to tell them?” Remphan asked, clasping his hands behind his back and worrying with the hem of his sleeve.

  “I’m going to tell Ivan and Nicholas to prepare for the worst. Nicholas should double the troops on his side of the border, if they attack; they’re going to have to find a harder way to cross over, because the bridge is down.” Ezbon paced as he talked, as if the very motion helped him think. “That will give us some time. Ivan shouldn’t have a problem getting there quickly, and you and I can be there shortly after, but that means if worse comes to worse Nicholas shall have to be prepared to hold his own for a few days.”

  “Are you certain they will attack Ercole?” Remphan pressed.

  “Fairly certain,” Ezbon said. “It only makes sense. It’s a move Sitharus would make.”

  “…Ezbon?”

  “What?”

  “What if we’re wrong?”

  Ezbon sucked in a breath through his teeth. “It’s a gamble we have to make. We can’t risk spreading our troops thin over a variety of locations. If we’re wrong, we’re wrong, and we’ll have to move them as quickly as possible. I’ll station some here just in case, and I’ll tell the others to do the same.”

  “Do you think they’ll listen to you?”

  “Not a chance in the hells, but they’re fools if they don’t,” Ezbon scratched at his beard irritably. “Where IS that damned servant? I’ll have him flayed alive!”

  As if on cue, the servant came scrambling back through the doors, dropping scrolls of parchment and quill pens. Ezbon snatched up a handful of both and sat down at the table, shoving aside his breakfast plate and setting his goblet down on one corner of the parchment so it wouldn’t roll up on him. He dipped his pen into the inkpot, and quickly penned two urgent letters to Ivan and Nicholas, enclosing his instructions, which he tried his best to phrase as suggestions. Once he had written the letters, he stamped them with his seal ring, rolled them up, and handed them to the servant. The servant bowed and scurried off with both the letters and his instructions.

  “An army,” Ezbon sighed. “Where are we going to get an army fit to face Sitharus?”

  “That’s where I come in,” Remphan said, not without a note of pride. “I am top notch at raising an army. How long do you think we have?”

  “It depends on how old the news is.” Ezbon said thoughtfully. “The only other way from Madrigal to hear is through the Candelmark Pass, and that will take several weeks to get through if the weather is kind and the paths remain clear. Sitharus has been planning, no doubt, for weeks, but he will take at least another two to prepare and leave. Once the pass is crossed, then it’s another few days until he reaches Ercole’s territory, and he’ll most likely stop there.”

  Remphan shook his head. “So in short, I have time?”

  “Not much, but a little.”

  “I can do this,” Remphan bowed. “Leave it to me, captain, you won’t regret it!”

  Ezbon gave him a tired smile. “I’m lost without you, Remphan.”

  “Yes,” the Lord of State agreed. “And don’t you forget it, either!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Another attack?” Charon’s throat constricted with unshed tears. He stared up at Ezbon, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Here? In Drakkian Province? Do you have to go?”

  “I have to,” Ezbon replied, surprised he would even ask. “What choice do I have?”

  “Stay here,” Charon begged, sliding to the edge of the bed and uncrossing his legs, spreading them invitingly. “Don’t go, I’ll – I’ll –“ he sought his mind for an excuse. “I’ll have the nightmares again, I don’t want them, and I can’t wake up when you’re not here!”

  Ezbon stepped forward, not accepting the invitation, but cupping the back of Charon’s head and kissing him tenderly. “I’m sorry, I have to.”

  “Take me with you,” Charon said, grasping his shirt.

  “No,”

  “Please?” Charon dragged him down and stole another kiss. “I don’t want to be alone!”

  “You’ll be useless in a battle, too, unless you intend to fight?” Ezbon lifted one eyebrow.

  Charon fell silent. Ezbon broke away from him and crossed to the other side of the room, his fingers pressed into his temples, fighting back an enormous headache.

  “Please don’t leave me,” Charon said quietly. “I know I’m nothing-“

  “Charon,” Ezbon groaned. “Don’t-“

  “-But I don’t want you to go. I hate waiting here all alone, never knowing if I am going to see you alive again or not.” Charon slid off the edge of the bed and walked up behind the baron, circling his arms around Ezbon’s waist and burying his face in the baron’s shoulder. “Please, let me come? You won’t even know I’m there, I want only to be near you.”

  “Charon,” Ezbon said firmly, trying to pry Charon’s arms apart.

  “I love you,” Charon said, quickly, breathlessly, as if afraid of the reaction his words would receive. Silence dropped onto the conversation like a weighted stone, squashing it flat.

  “I’m sorry,” Ezbon said. “I didn’t mean for it to be that way.”

  “Why not?” Charon asked, challengingly. “You expected to bed me and not have me fall head-over-heels in love with you?”

  Ezbon looked at him.

  “Regardless of whether or not you love me, it doesn’t change a thing!” Charon felt the tears threatening again. “I love you, and I don’t want you to leave. I will go with you whether you want me to or not. I hope you’re prepared to kill me, or lock me away in a dungeon somewhere, because those are the only two possible ways to keep me from following you anyway!”

  Ezbon was dumbfounded. “Charon,” he heard the pleading in his own voice. “I can’t do this-“

  “Why not?” Charon demanded. “Why not?”

  “You – I can’t be responsible-“

  “I can take care of myself,” Charon’s voice hardened. “Do you think I counted on people like you all of my life, to get me through? I had to live on the streets, you know. All on my own.”

  “I know that,” Ezbon’s voice hardened. “I didn’t say you couldn’t take care of yourself-“

  “You were implying,”

  “But you could get seriously hurt!” Ezbon insisted.

  “So could you,” Charon pointed out.

  “What will my men say?” Ezbon made one last grab for reason.

  “They won’t care,” Charon shrugged.

  Ezbon sighed, throwing his hands into the air; he resigned himself to his fate.

  “Fine, fine, fine,” he sighed. “Y
ou may come.”

  Charon grinned, and kissed him, a gentle, loving kiss.

  “But nothing will happen,” Ezbon said, pressing a palm against his chest to keep him at bay. “Nothing, while we are out there. All right?”

  “As you wish, lord,” Charon purred. “It will be as you command.”

  “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Ezbon stroked his chin, lost in thought. “Remphan will kill me. We’re going to have to get you a horse, and armor, just in case…” he was silenced by another kiss. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around Charon’s waist and drew him close. Charon pressed against him, pinning him to the wall with his hips.

  “I love you, my lord baron,” he whispered against Ezbon’s lips. “You’ll never know how much.”

  And as Ezbon kissed him, Charon felt his mind being dragged back to the two warlocks who had visited him that night in his chambers. He could still see those cinnamon colored eyes boring into him, and that strange, lilting voice saying, “You have Cavalla’s heart. The Baron Clieous must die.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Remphan, I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Ezbon said, tugging on his thick leather gloves, flexing his fingers to break them in more comfortably.

  “Frankly, neither can I,” Remphan admitted, sticking his pipe into his mouth and chewing on the end, blowing ashy rings of smoke into the frosty air. “And furthermore, I can’t believe you’re bringing that boy along.”

  “He asked, I couldn’t say no,” Ezbon said, brushing the neck of his charger. His knee was entirely healed at this point, but he still dreaded getting back up on a horse. Somehow, it had become synonymous with falling – which had become the same thing as excruciating pain.

  “Yes, you could have,” Remphan snorted. “You’ve done it before.” He took the pipe from his mouth and breathed a column of smoke into the air. “You just didn’t want to.”

  Ezbon grunted, but didn’t reply.

  “Nicholas will have a field day, you know that,” Remphan placed his pipe back into his mouth and gave the baron a look, folding his arms over his chest.