“Thank you, sir.” Marcelo nodded, and his lips twitched. “I appreciate your understanding.”
“And I, yours.” Efren’s lips curved into a grin that curled Marcelo’s toes and set his blood racing through his veins. No small wonder he’d been wrapped around the man when they’d first awoken. “Please, feel free to call me ‘Efren’ when we are alone or with just family. And may I call you ‘Marcelo’?”
“Of course. Thank you.”
Efren’s smile widened, and he offered his elbow. “Please allow me to escort you downstairs. A heartier meal awaits to give us the energy we’ll need to face this beautiful day.”
Marcelo hooked a hand through the crook of Efren’s arm and walked with him out the door. The heat coming from that strong, flexing biceps muscle rippled through Marcelo, and he drew in a sharp breath as the memory of how that muscle had looked this morning—uncovered along with the rest of Efren’s body—flashed through Marcelo’s mind.
“You…” Marcelo cleared his throat. “You held off eating your own meal, waiting for me?”
“We all did, my dear husband. I’m told you are a valued member of the family now, and all are worried and anxious to see how you are faring. Father wants to share news of what’s been discovered so far and fill us in on some of what happened during our missing time.” On seeing Marcelo’s widened eyes, he added, “You weren’t out all that long. The wait has been minimal, and Father made good use of it, quizzing me on what I last recall, informing me of some recent news, and arranging for an investigation.”
“I see.” Marcelo swallowed the lump in his throat. Of course he’d known he would eventually face the entire Zioneven royal family, but it was happening much quicker than he’d anticipated.
He squared his shoulders. It was hardly the first time he’d met with leaders and dignitaries from other realms. He’d always quite liked grandfatherly King Deverick of Gagal, who’d been an ally of Sheburat.
He’d been less enamored with King Ulric of Proye the one time they’d met several years earlier when the king had visited Sheburat, although he wouldn’t go so far as to say he disliked the man. Perhaps his aversion was rooted in the fact they’d allied with Zioneven during the war.
He’d liked King Ulric’s daughter, Udine, well enough. Being close in age, they’d been seated together during the state dinner. She’d chatted amiably—and perhaps a touch dreamily—about the princes Efren and Rolland from Zioneven whom she’d met a few moon cycles earlier. She’d admitted to hopes of attracting Prince Rolland’s attention, since the more coveted crown prince was already spoken for by Marcelo’s sister.
That hadn’t worked out, since he knew Rolland had married someone else. He knew little about the personalities of King Ulric’s identical twin sons, only knowing that the elder was the crown prince, and the younger had, at that time, recently taken charge of Proye’s military. Marcelo had taken ill the next day before they’d arrived, and he’d missed out on meeting the twins. He’d never met King Ulric’s queen consort, who’d died a year after Princess Udine’s birth.
Marcelo didn’t remember Zioneven’s king and queen. He’d been a toddler when they’d last traveled all the way to Sheburat for a visit, and he’d been left behind when his own parents and older sisters had visited Zioneven not quite a decade ago.
They reached the double doors to what he assumed must be the dining hall without further conversation—but with several peeks in Efren’s direction. A footman opened the doors as they approached and sedately announced, “Crown Prince Efren and Prince Marcelo.”
The room’s occupants had been standing together to one side of the hall, talking, but the chatter came to an abrupt halt as soon as the doors opened.
One young woman with a belly that looked to be barely rounding with child—probably three or four years younger than Efren, which was one or two years older than Marcelo—broke away from the others and rushed forward.
“Oh, dear Marcelo!” Her downturned face was the picture of discontent as she pulled him into her arms and embraced him in a full-body, floral-scented, heartfelt hug. “I’m utterly wretched over what’s happened to you. How terribly frightened you must have been waking up next to Efren.”
“I’m hardly an ogre.” Efren’s tone had a slight ring of petulant child to it.
The woman embracing Marcelo sniffed in Efren’s general direction. “Twenty greds says you woke up and treated him like a doxy when you saw him lying there.”
Marcelo held his breath, and Efren reddened, but didn’t reply.
“Aha!” She pointed an all-knowing finger at Efren’s face.
“Well what was I supposed to think?” Efren’s inner sulky child was still fighting for face time.
The woman rolled her expressive eyes and turned back to Marcelo, who was standing stock still with widened eyes and a slack jaw.
Was this what his family had meant when they’d asserted that Zioneven was populated and ruled by boorish people? Because, shocking as it was when one was thrust into such a conversation without warning, Marcelo found that he…liked it.
Rather than always being formal—which impeded building strong feelings—they were real. They opened up to their family and shared their true feelings and unvarnished selves with one another. And it was obvious that this young woman and Efren genuinely cared for one another, despite the ribbing. The woman hugged Marcelo again, then stepped back. “I’m so sorry for rushing you like this, but I couldn’t help myself. We were the best of chums, and my heart is breaking at the thought of losing that.”
A tittering laugh escaped Marcelo as a smile stretched his mouth. “I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends again…er…”
“Oh! Again my apologies. I’m Merewina, Efren’s youngest sibling. It’s Efren, then Rolland, then me. And thank ‘all that is good’ for having that buffer between me and the throne.” She placed the back of her hand against her forehead in a theatrical gesture, and Marcelo stifled another giggle. “Even poor little Hugon is ahead of me for that.”
“Wait—” Efren choked. “Hugon? Did Bridget…?”
“Yes! Gads, I hope this must be my final apology. I keep forgetting you won’t remember recent events either. Bridget and Rolland had their baby a week ago.”
Efren turned to the others and directed, “Congratulations!” toward someone in the group. A man who looked too much like a younger Efren to be anyone except Rolland grinned and nodded in return.
Marcelo’s tongue contorted into a knot. He should offer his congratulations, too, but it caught in his throat. He felt like an intruder in this cozy family group.
Unfazed, Merewina refocused her attention on Marcelo. “I assure you, our first meeting was far more dignified. You didn’t experience the full effect of me for days. But the castle is in an uproar this morning, so here we are.”
“Yes, here we are.” A man with a deep voice who was a generation older than Efren and most of the others in the room spoke with an authoritative tone. “But I think we can at least make an attempt at decorum, despite the undercurrent of chaos. Merewina, give the young man some breathing space and allow them to come properly into the room.”
“Of course, Father.” Merewina directed a saucy wink at Marcelo before walking ahead of them toward the group of people.
Efren reoffered his elbow, and Marcelo gulped, straightened his posture, and again placed his hand in the crook of Efren’s arm. Efren patted his hand, and a comfortable warmth spread quickly through Marcelo’s body as they joined his family group.
“Prince Marcelo.” The older man smiled reassuringly. “I am King Alnod, and I, too, am deeply sorry for the emotional pain this ordeal is causing you. Rest assured that you are among friends.”
“Your Majesty, thank you.” Marcelo nodded while keeping his posture ramrod straight, but his muscles untensed with the king’s kindly words. They rang true.
King Alnod gestured to the older woman standing at his side, and she spoke with a gentle smile. “Prince Marcel
o, my dear boy. I am Queen Consort Ellyn.”
Her assurances were much the same as the king’s, and then Marcelo was introduced to Efren’s brother, Rolland, then to Merewina’s husband, Tristan. Each had open, sincere faces as they expressed their desires to renew their friendships with Marcelo. Rolland’s wife, Bridget, was still upstairs with the new infant.
A warmth of goodwill spread in Marcelo’s body with each introduction. His own family treated him well, of course, but the tone in Sheburat was far more starched. He’d often felt alone even while surrounded by his parents and siblings.
Perhaps some were better suited to thriving in that setting, but after just a few short minutes, Marcelo was assured he, personally, might better enjoy life amongst the Zioneven royal family.
Two other men were in the room, and they were introduced as Denis Byrd and Stevyn Wythers, the security captain and one of his guards. Erich had mentioned those names as persons who might be able to tell him about the mysterious “incident” that had occurred on his journey to Zioneven.
But now was not the time to ask questions about that. No doubt they were investigating the Forget-Me-Not drugging.
Denis and Stevyn both nodded, and Denis spoke. “Your highness, it’s an honor to remake your acquaintance.”
“Thank you,” Marcelo replied, but his brows drew together with a mildly confused tilt. Denis’s statement hadn’t been entirely different from the standard things people meeting him in the past might have said, but his sincerity was palpable. Like he was truly honored rather than simply saying the correct thing. As if he honestly respected Marcelo. And it was from personal experience interacting with him, not merely the fact Marcelo was royalty.
Efren raised a brow as if he, too, was surprised by Denis’s greeting.
Marcelo’s chin rose. “I understand I was training with your men in the mornings?”
“Yes,” Denis replied. “You’re in Stevyn’s group.” He gestured toward the man in question.
Efren’s forehead crinkled as both brows shot up. Was it unlikely a novice would be placed with Stevyn? Since the man was here at this meeting with Denis, the captain, he was probably highly placed amongst the guards. Marcelo masked his inner cringe and hoped the man didn’t resent having to train a beginner just because he was Efren’s husband.
Denis’s lips quirked into a smile that looked like it might be a rare sight. He nodded first to Marcelo, then at Efren. “Stevyn insisted. He was very impressed by Prince Marcelo’s inner strength and ingenuity during the events on our journey back to Zioneven.
“I have got to hear this story.” Efren cocked his head, and his face softened as he ran an appraising gaze over Marcelo.
No surprise that Efren was taken aback by Denis’s assertion. No doubt the Zioneven ruler and all pertinent royalty had been well-versed on the characters, personalities, and skills—or lack thereof—of each of the Sheburat royals. Marcelo knew what his own assessment would have contained, and it definitely didn’t include anything that would indicate a propensity toward “inner strength and ingenuity.” Erich had also used that word, “ingenuity,” as well as “courage,” and a “capacity to survive.”
Marcelo blinked and flushed. He very much wanted to second Efren’s entreaty to hear the full story but held his tongue.
“We’ll get to that later.” King Alnod waved a hand in a manner that somehow managed to second his verbal dismissal of the turn of the conversation without trivializing it. “But first, let’s hear Denis’s report on what he’s done so far about this Forget-Me-Not incident.”
Denis stood straighter and dipped his head. “We’ve contained spread of the specifics of what’s happened to only the royal family, Dru, Erich, myself, Stevyn, the guards who answered Dru’s distress call to the princes’ bedchamber, and a few security team members who are now tracing the princes’ steps yesterday.”
“Good,” King Alnod said. “It’ll have to become known before long. Of course, the servants all know something happened, just not what. But we don’t want the news getting out, especially in town, before your people have had a chance to make discreet inquiries.”
“Agreed,” Denis said. “I’ve put out word that the princes’ tour of the realm—” he nodded to Efren “—the two of you and a security detail were meant to leave this morning—has been temporarily delayed. I didn’t specify why, simply referencing a vague ‘change of plans.’ Regardless, interest has been piqued.”
“They’ll know why soon enough. Still, we must remain vague until we can confirm and/or eliminate a few things.” King Alnod’s tone brooked no dissent. “Much as I hope this attack didn’t have help from among our own people, we must ascertain if anyone has been acting suspiciously, and watch for the same now.”
“Agreed,” Denis said again. “And we separated Jeffery from the other servants as soon as we learned what happened.”
King Alnod nodded, and Efren laid a light hand on Marcelo’s back and said, “Jeffery is the royal food taster.” Then to Denis, he asked, “Was Jeffery affected?”
“We are about to find out.” Denis signaled to a guard at the door, and the man exited the room. “I haven’t had the opportunity to question him yet.”
“If he has been affected,” King Alnod said, “we’ll need to quiz all of the staff to determine who else might have been drugged.”
“Maybe not,” Denis replied. “We have a possible lead on the source food. Erich turned over an open package containing what he called ‘Mr. Tolly’s Nutter Buzzers’ that was in the princes’ suite.”
Marcelo gasped. “Mr. Tolly would never participate in anything like that.”
Or would he? Not willingly, but who knew what blackguards might have done to force his hand.
“Who is this Mr. Tolly?” King Alnod asked.
“A candymaker,” Denis replied. “He owns and operates an establishment called ‘Sweets and Such’ in Sheburat’s capital city.” To Marcelo, he added, “If that confection was indeed the source, Mr. Tolly himself was not likely a knowing participant. Forget-Me-Not loses its potency if it’s injected into the food more than a couple days before it’s consumed. Whoever did this would have wanted to introduce the toxin as close to the time it would be consumed as possible.”
Merewina bobbed her head. “Marcelo told me about those Nutter Buzzers. He said they were his favorite treat.”
“They are,” Marcelo confirmed.
Denis said, “Erich also reported finding a pair of plates that had the apparent remains of fresh berries, an empty wine bottle, and two used wineglasses. Dru admitted that he’d delivered both to the princes’ suite last evening shortly before they retired. He’d picked and washed the berries himself, and he said they never left his sight before he delivered them, but both the berries and the confections were unguarded in the princes’ sitting room for a time before they retired for the night. He also said the wine bottle had been left for the princes to open themselves.”
“Those should be safe, then,” Efren said matter-of-factly. Clearly, he trusted Dru’s word as much as Marcelo would trust Erich’s and thought it unlikely to have been an inside job. “Might Marcelo have arranged an order for the Nutter Buzzers through Mr. Othes?” He glanced at Marcelo and added, “Mr. Othes is the proprietor of Honey’d Dreams here in Zioneven’s capital city. He’s the most likely source for a special order of a confection from another town or realm.”
Efren’s add-on was calmly spoken, but Marcelo shivered. Was he under suspicion? He was an outsider coming from Zioneven’s former enemy.
Chapter 5: Distracted
Efren, the previous day
Efren closed the flap on his saddle bag after carefully tucking away his surprise for Marcelo. His brows drew together as he mounted his horse. Mr. Othes’ demeanor had been worrisome.
Perhaps Efren should stop by Mr. Rawlin, the apothecary’s establishment, despite Mr. Othes’ demurral. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Or perhaps he should mind his own business.
> Despite the short length of his own prearranged marriage, he’d come to care very much for his husband. He stifled a soft snort. No. “Care very much” was putting it too mildly. He was head over heels in love, and everyone knew it.
And teased him mercilessly for it.
If he were in Mr. Othes’ position, with Marcelo overdue to return from a journey, he would be distracted, too. And that’s pretty much how Efren would describe Mr. Othes’ behavior. Distracted.
Very, very distracted.
Mr. Othes was usually the model of an attentive and respectful shopkeeper, and he’d rallied to provide service as needed to his early morning customer. Doubtful there was much the apothecary could do for the man short of sedating him so he could no longer run his shop the rest of the day, so yes, Efren should mind his own business. Besides, keeping busy would help to take Mr. Othes’ mind off the temporary delay of his family’s return.
Efren shook his head and prompted the horse to begin the journey home. Home to his own fledgling relationship, which he could only hope would endure the years as well as Mr. Othes’ marriage had.
He squared his shoulders. He would do more than hope. He would make sure Marcelo always knew where he stood in Efren’s heart. He would treat his darling husband like the precious partner in life Efren had dreamed of, and had lost his meager hope of ever acquiring, before chance had changed their apparent destinies.
Efren turned his face to the morning sun and grinned. And perhaps he should also avoid long separations from Marcelo so he never had to endure the torment Mr. Othes was currently suffering.
Change of Plans Page 3