“That wasn’t a dream.” Doctor Brookse’s smile offset with a sympathetic, crooked tilt. “I know it must be terribly distressing to find your reality suddenly turned upside down. Rest assured we will all do our best to ease your discomfort as you re-assimilate into our society.
It was the answer Marcelo had expected, but having it confirmed, he swayed as the blood drained from his face. Re-assimilate. He shivered. He was in Zioneven, the land of Sheburat’s former enemy. Alone, apparently, except for his personal servant, Erich.
Any intelligence or instructions his family might have given him prior to bidding him goodbye were forgotten. Which, come to think of it, was a good motive for the rulers of Zioneven to drug him. They wouldn’t have drugged their own crown prince, though, but Prince Efren could be faking.
Doctor Brookse returned his focus to Marcelo’s shoulder, but continued his explanations. “You and Prince Efren were both dosed with a drug called Forget-Me-Not, which wipes about two moon cycles worth of memories from its victims. I’ll leave it to others to fill in the blanks for you, but you can probably trust that everything you remember from when you first awakened is true.”
“Is my shoulder okay?” The doctor seemed to be spending more time examining it than he had with the rest of his assessment.
The doctor nodded. “Basically, yes. You dislocated it some weeks ago, but it’s healed nicely.”
Marcelo shivered as his blood ran cold. Tales of Zioneven’s brutality hadn’t been exaggerated. He’d never experienced any kind of serious injury living in Sheburat.
“Well…” The doctor stepped back and pulled the bell rope. “You’re physically healthy. Can you tell me what is the last that you remember prior to waking up here today?”
“It was just a regular day in Sheburat. Like every other day.” Marcelo sighed. His life had been safe, but boring. “I guess to give you a timeline, we were a little less than a moon cycle away from the expected wedding between my sister Marcela and Prince Efren.”
His sister. What had happened to her? Why wasn’t she the one here in Prince Efren’s bed? What political machinations had occurred to bring this about? His eyes widened. Was she still alive?
As if reading Marcelo’s thought process after mentioning the wedding, Doctor Brookse frowned. “Ah. Yes. I regret to inform you that your sister passed away after an unfortunate riding accident shortly before that wedding.”
“I see.” Marcelo’s chin quivered. With the way things worked in Sheburat’s matriarchal society, he and his twin hadn’t been close in years, but still, Marcela had been his sister and his childhood companion.
The peace treaty’s contingency plan had allowed for Prince Efren to select his own choice from among Marcela’s younger sisters. Except the wording must have been vague enough for him to select Marcelo instead of waiting a year and marrying Kemble, Marcelo’s next younger sister.
Perhaps the notion wasn’t as absurd as Marcelo had assumed? Even Marcelo could see that choosing him over any of his sisters would be the politically advantageous move.
The soft plonks of footsteps entering the outer room filtered in. Doctor Brookse nodded toward the bedroom door as it opened. “I’ll leave you in Erich’s capable hands now. There’s no reason why you can’t have a soothing bath, then join the family. Having them fill in some of the facts of what’s happened during your lost time will surely help.”
Except Marcelo had no reason to trust them. He could trust Erich, though. Erich would technically be in Zioneven’s employ, now, but he would never outright lie to Marcelo.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Best wishes, sir.” The doctor nodded and left.
Behind Erich, who came bearing a tray with fresh tea and toast for one, Dru, whose name Marcelo remembered from the not-dream, directed others who efficiently placed a tub in front of the fireplace and filled it with buckets of hot water.
There was no sign of Prince Efren.
Good. Marcelo wasn’t ready to face him again yet.
Once the other servants left the room, the routine of breaking his fast with a light meal while Erich added powders to, then agitated the water in the tub to create familiar citrusy-scented bubbles worked to settle Marcelo’s frayed nerves, despite the foreign surroundings.
Marcelo closed his eyes after downing the last of his tea. He placed his hands in his lap, then positioned them against his belly while he drew in and expelled several deep breaths. He could do this. Though he couldn’t remember it, he’d done it once, and he could do it again.
When he reopened his eyes, Erich was standing in front of him with tooth-cleaning implements in hand, an approving gleam in his eyes, and an encouraging tilt to his lips.
Erich seemed to know Marcelo needed to get through this mechanical part of their morning routine as if it were just another day, and so they did.
Once he was relaxing in the spacious tub, Marcelo swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “I hope you weren’t pressured into coming to Zioneven with me, and I hope you are satisfied with your life here.”
Erich, ever imperturbable, didn’t miss a beat as his fingers massaged suds into Marcelo’s hair. “I was not pressured, sir. When you were asked whether or not you were bringing me with you, you turned the question back to me and were quite clear that the decision was fully mine and that there would be no hard feelings if I preferred to remain in Sheburat.”
“Any regrets?” Marcelo held his breath, but Erich’s answer again came immediately.
“None, sir. I’ve never been happier with my life than since making that decision.”
Marcelo blinked and turned to face Erich. “You are treated well?”
“Always, sir.” Erich picked up the first of several pitchers of clear water—Marcelo’s cue to tip back his head and close his eyes. “And if I may be so bold, sir…” Erich trailed off as he poured warm water to rinse Marcelo’s hair.
“Please.”
Erich patted Marcelo’s face with a soft towel before continuing. “I like to think I’m a fair judge of people and their moods.”
“You are.” It was a quality that made Erich top notch as a personal servant. He always knew what Marcelo needed even when Marcelo hadn’t consciously recognized that need himself.
“Thank you, sir. I’ve observed that you have never been happier in your life either.” Erich paused a moment before tacking on a clarification. “Well, other than during that incident on the journey here.”
Marcelo blinked and turned again to face Erich. “Incident?”
Erich paused before replying. “Yes, sir. I think it best that I leave relaying the details of that event to the royal family’s discretion. Perhaps they’ll refer you to those with firsthand accounts. Prince Efren will no longer remember the particulars, but Denis Byrd, the security captain, and Stevyn Wythers, one of his guards, are the men who will have the most direct reports.”
Marcelo sighed and turned away. Erich was being censored.
As if once again reading Marcelo’s mind, Erich said, “I trust the royal family to have your best interests at heart, sir, and I am confident you can trust what you are told. I haven’t been directed not to share information with you, and if you want to question me once you’ve learned the basics, I will be happy to fill in the blanks as best I know. But in these early hours, I don’t want to overstep my bounds, or do more harm than good.”
Marcelo nodded. Erich truly did seem to be taken in by the Zioneven royal family and society in general, and he was an excellent judge of character. Perhaps what Marcelo thought he knew of Zioneven’s people wasn’t entirely accurate?
Still, he would keep up his guard.
Marcelo’s brows came together as he drew the cleaning cloth along his legs. While still lean, they were more muscled than they’d been just two moon cycles ago. For that matter, so were his arms. Despite the inauspicious start to the day, he felt stronger. Physically stronger.
“What is my typical daily routine here?”
&n
bsp; “This morning bath veers from your customary schedule. I ordered it today because it’s part of the routine you remember. Here in Zioneven, you spend your mornings in the fields for physical training. Then you bathe before luncheon and spend the afternoon in the library with tutors.”
“Am I expected to fight with Zioneven forces if they go to battle?”
“No, sir. The training was your own decision. You want to feel more equal to other men, and you want to improve your self-defense skills.”
Marcelo shivered. This seemed so contradictory to Erich’s other statements about their mutual happiness in Zioneven. “Why did I feel concerned about self-defense?”
“I believe that desire stemmed from the…incident on the journey here.”
“Sounds like something I’m better off not remembering.” Finished with washing, Marcelo stood.
“I’m of two minds about that, sir.” Erich poured another pitcher of warm water over Marcelo’s body to rinse off the suds and soiled water. “Your experience is certainly one that must have tormented your thoughts when it surfaced, and yet, the event did much to shape the more self-assured man you are today. Or rather, were yesterday.”
“So, whatever this ‘incident’ is, I handled my part well?”
“Brilliantly, sir. I am immensely proud of you. You may not remember what happened, but the capacity to survive and excel is still within you. Everyone was impressed by your courage and ingenuity.”
Marcelo straightened his back as he stepped out of the tub and stood spread-eagle while Erich dried him. It was difficult to reconcile the idea of anyone being impressed by him now when all he knew was the man he’d been back in Sheburat, but his skin warmed, and his chest puffed imagining what it must be like to be respected for his abilities rather than merely existing as a surplus royal.
He wanted to be that man again.
He would be that man again.
Marcelo swallowed. “And Prince Efren? He and I get along adequately?”
Once again, no pause before Erich’s reply. “You are each enamored with the other.”
Marcelo’s face heated as he recalled waking in the not-dream, naked in the man’s arms. And how much the corner of his mind that hadn’t been overwhelmed with fright and confusion had enjoyed that feeling. Surely the fact they’d awoken entwined in each other’s arms supported Erich’s assertion. “Indeed?”
“Indeed.”
Clearly two men in a relationship was acceptable, maybe even fairly common, in Zioneven. So why not allow himself to savor the feeling? Embrace Zioneven standards rather than remain mired in Sheburat’s?
At the very least, he could approach the possibilities inherent in his new life with an open mind, rather than colored by Sheburat’s prejudices. Evidently they’d already been enjoying a friendly rapport, so why not pursue that again? His lips twitched as he thought of Prince Efren’s consideration and attempts to put him at ease.
Learn.
Assess.
Use his own judgment.
After helping Marcelo into a set of clothing suitable for training in the field—perhaps he was to maintain his usual routine for the rest of the day—Erich pulled the bell rope before carefully combing out Marcelo’s hair.
Erich styled Marcelo’s hair simply in a queue at the back of his neck. Like his clothes, it was suitable for training in the field. How odd that his body seemed to itch for the physical release when he’d never before felt the desire for exercise beyond riding his horse. His body remembered things his mind didn’t.
As Erich secured the end of the queue with a leather thong, a light knock on the door preceded it opening. More of a warning than a request for permission to enter.
Marcelo stood to greet his husband. He couldn’t have left an agreeable impression on the man at their last meeting.
Marcelo suppressed a shudder at the memory of his cowardly display and set his jaw with determination to improve Efren’s opinion of him. They were tied together for life, after all, so surely it would be best if they could look at each other with a modicum of respect.
Chapter 3: Honey’d Dreams
Efren, the previous day
Efren mentally crossed his fingers and breathed in the aromatic scent of freshly baked breads as he approached Honey’d Dreams, a bakery and sweets shop in Zioneven’s capital city’s high street.
The street bustled with activity as people strode down the walkway, pausing now and then at vendors hawking their wares along the street. Bells jingled as shop doors opened and closed.
He could have sent a servant on this errand, but he enjoyed getting out amongst the people he served as their crown prince. The better to keep a finger on the pulse of the realm. What worked, what should possibly change.
When Efren had asked Marcelo what he would miss from his life in Sheburat, he had first mentioned his family, of course. It was the proper thing to say. But when pressed, he’d spoken of a particular confection made at Sweets and Such, a candymaker’s shop in Sheburat’s capital city. The shopkeeper guarded his recipe as if he were the realm’s alchemist protecting the secret formula to a proprietary toxin.
Point being, Marcelo’d thought he’d had his last taste of Mr. Tolly’s Nutter Buzzers. Or at best, that it would be a very rare treat when one of the royal families visited the other.
But he’d underestimated Efren’s desire to please his young husband. Distance be damned, Efren would pay the premium price for the occasional special order to bring an extra gleam of joy to Marcelo’s beautiful blue eyes.
Would that special order be in today?
If not, Efren’s efforts to give Marcelo this surprise treat might be wasted, because tomorrow they would be embarking on a tour of the realm, introducing Marcelo to both more of the people and the varied lands of Zioneven. Perhaps the confections could be kept chilled until their return if they’d not yet arrived.
“Good morning, Mr. Othes.” Efren added a bright smile to his greeting, but his hopes dropped at the sight of Mr. Othes’ uncharacteristically glum face.
Mr. Othes mopped his brow before replying. “Your Royal Highness. Good morning. I’m—” he cleared his throat “—pleased to report your order arrived early this morning.”
“Thank you.” Still, Efren’s smile dimmed. “Are you well, Mr. Othes? Are your wife and daughter still away? May I summon the apothecary for you?”
Mr. Othes gulped. “My apologies, sir. Yes, they are not yet returned from visiting my wife’s family in Sheburat.” His cheek twitched, and he paused before murmuring, “I miss them. That is all it is. No need to summon Mr. Rawlin on my behalf, though I thank you for the kind thought.”
“Ah.” Efren nodded. Despite being fully an adult for several years now, he’d missed the support of his family on his long journey to Sheburat less than two moon cycles ago when he’d thought he was traveling toward a loveless marriage. Now, it was his husband he would long for if they were apart. “I can understand feeling down when away from family. When should they arrive home?”
“Yesterday, sir.” Mr. Othes’ chin rose a notch, and he drew in a deep breath in a seemingly conscious effort to compose himself as he reached below the counter and brought out Efren’s package. “They were delayed. I hope to see…I expect them home in a few days’ time.”
“I wish them a safe journey.” Efren refreshed his smile when Mr. Othes opened the box with a flourish and displayed the contents of twenty perfectly round balls coated in crushed nuts. “Mmm, they appear as delicious as Prince Marcelo described. Thank you for coordinating this purchase for me.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Just loosely wrapped, please.” Efren would have liked to have the confections properly gift wrapped, but they were a food product, and he would have to give one to the royal food taster before presenting the balance to Marcelo.
Mr. Othes briskly concluded their business, and Efren soon found himself riding home to Zioneven castle.
Chapter 4: The Royal Family
&nbs
p; Marcelo, present day
Despite Erich’s assurances that Marcelo had comported himself with a level of courage during his journey to Zioneven and had been steadily improving himself since, Prince Efren would remember none of that.
His solitary memory of Marcelo would be of him cowering in abject fear. And from what? A man who’d been going out of his way to put him at ease.
Of course, that was only after shocking him with the clear implication that Marcelo was in his bed for the purpose of taking intimate pleasures with one another. Efren had jumped straight to that conclusion upon waking and finding Marcelo beside him, as if that weren’t a completely unheard of circumstance.
Erich nodded. “Sir.”
Efren returned the polite nod, then Erich pivoted to face Marcelo. “Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Presumably, Efren was here to escort him to…wherever.
Upon Erich’s exit, Efren’s gaze landed on Marcelo. Marcelo lifted his chin and held the stare. He was no longer freshly awoken to a completely foreign situation before he’d even opened his eyes, and he needed to prove to his husband that he was not the sniveling coward his earlier behavior indicated.
After a few moments, a corner of Efren’s mouth twitched before curling into a sincere smile. He approached and took Marcelo’s hands into his own. “Prince Marcelo. Please accept my sincere apology for my appalling behavior earlier this morning. I hope that we may start anew.”
“You are each enamored with the other.” Erich’s words echoed in Marcelo’s mind, and he gulped, then lifted his chin another notch.
“Your Royal Highness. Apology accepted, and I owe you one as well. I am earnestly sorry for and heartily ashamed of my spineless reaction to your attempts to put me at ease.”
“Your reaction was not at all out of line under the circumstances. You had a sheltered upbringing prior to your life here. I’m sure you were shocked to the very fiber of your being. And remember, I had the advantage of at least recognizing my surroundings, whereas you’d woken to find yourself in an unfamiliar room, nude, in bed, wrapped around a strange also-nude man who was making scandalous overtures toward you—” Efren gave a wink so quick, Marcelo wasn’t entirely sure it had happened “—in a foreign land, and with absolutely no knowledge that a drug existed that might have brought about that state of affairs without the scene being otherwise amiss. Frightening indeed.”
Change of Plans Page 2