Chapter Four

Remus hurried up the stairs.

"Right," Sébastien said in a dull tone once they reached the top of the first flight, and Remus turned. As soon as they were a safe distance down the hall, and nobody would see, he snapped. "Set me down, and don't ever put your hands on me again. You're lucky I saved your ass."

Remus hastily put the Prince on his feet and backed up in case another swift slap was coming his way. Honestly, he deserved it.

Sébastien damn near withered him with a glare before continuing down the hall. Remus followed as guilt grew in his stomach. Even worse, he remembered the feel of the Prince's lips against his neck. A few kisses or nips there would have him as hard as a rock. Past lovers had found that delightful little spot and used it to their advantage. Or his. It depended on how one looked at it.

His cock twitched at the thought as he wondered what it would be like to have the Prince willingly against him with that sharp tongue in his mouth. Preferably with Remus's cock buried deep in his ass because fanged fairies tended to bite, especially when they came or were close. It was practically like an instinct for some to bite their lover's neck, and it was partly a way to mark them for a bit too.

He'd discovered that he had a kink for that when he'd fucked a cat fairy who had bitten his neck. Don't imagine that, and don't imagine the Prince bent over and getting his ass spanked, another fun activity Remus greatly enjoyed.

It was difficult to hold the idea of Sébastien hot and soft against him when the Prince was ahead with his stiff back. Remus had seen the flash of fear when he realized someone stronger had him in a way where he wouldn't be able to easily get away. Since he hadn't even reacted with his magic, panic had partially frozen him.

Fuck. Remus had snapped and grabbed him, utterly infuriated at being hit. He'd reacted just as badly despite figuring certain things out. He wasn't that type of man and should know better. Damn it, he did know better because he'd never grabbed anyone like that before.

The office, which must have once been Jean's, was rather bare, although the desk likely held some basic writing supplies. Any personal touch of the Prince's Father was long gone. Sébastien went around to sit at the desk and open a drawer while he acted like Remus wasn't there. Apparently, he did want to write, probably to the Regent about their incident and how Alger was a disgrace.

Remus needed to be away from him even if it was just for a few minutes. He didn't have many options, and the loggia beyond the two double doors across the room looked good enough to him.

He didn't ask for permission, and the Prince ignored him as he went out. He pulled a chair over to the railing and sat as he looked out over the grounds without really seeing any of it. How many times had Sébastien run around the office and loggia with his brothers as a kid while waiting for his Father to finish work?

Now, he was back with a slave who'd shoved him against a wall and yelled at him. Especially after what his Father had done to Sébastien's.

The Prince was a dick, and he shouldn't take out his rage on others so easily, but Remus hadn't been any better at the moment. He hadn't liked the offering to be nice either, so Remus should just leave him alone and do what they needed to do. Sébastien would probably infuriate him again, and he better suck it up.

The act to fool the lord meant one thing: Sébastien felt that he truly needed Remus for Midland. Maybe he was even deeply afraid he couldn't survive it without him since traitors or potential ones were on all sides. That's why Remus wasn't going to be whipped or punished for assaulting him in the entrance hall. Keeping him around afterward with everyone knowing what he'd done would cause problems with the men. They'd wonder why the Prince was being so lenient with a slave after an assault while dismissing Alger, and it would set a bad example.

After several minutes, Sébastien came out on the loggia to where Remus could see him out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you going to shove me into a wall again like a savage?" he asked coolly.

Remus shook his head as he stared ahead. "No. Do whatever you want. I'm not doing that again. I promise, and I'm sorry."

Sébastien was silent for several seconds. "Why? Are you one of those men who gets beat up by lovers and never says anything?"

"What? No. If someone had tried slapping me around, I'd have pushed them out the door and told them to not bother returning."

"I can do whatever I want?"

"You're not my lover," snapped Remus. "Also, I can't push you out the door and tell you to piss off, now can I? The guards would let you right back in."

"Hmm. That doesn't answer my why."

What was Remus supposed to say to that? He couldn't ask if the Prince had truly been abused, especially not where it happened. He hadn't spoken to anyone about it, so that part was locked off to ache in silence forever. Sébastien couldn't get revenge against a dead lord either. He was stuck in limbo with no one to punish except everyone around him.

"You own me." The three words grated on Remus. No matter how much he was still a Crown Prince and refused to feel helpless, he couldn't deny the truth that another decided the majority of his life. For now. "Someone should be on your side to some degree no matter how angry you are. Betrayal by family hurts, and I know what that feels like. I'm sorry I was a piece of shit and so rough with you."

And for being what the Prince ultimately feared: another abuser and traitor. Except he couldn't say that out loud.

The only touch the Prince deserved was a gentle one, not that he'd ever likely allow it. He did deserve to have someone who wouldn't betray him or fuel his anger and fear.

Sébastien remained silent, and Remus's discomfort grew. The Prince surely hated him even more now and didn't care about his apology.

"Do you want me to wait outside so you can stay up here for a minute?" asked Remus. "I never got to saddle your horse or do the inventory."

"No. This place isn't what it was. It's like when you find someone close to you isn't who you thought no matter how much you try to convince yourself."

Like Remus's twin and Sébastien's Uncle. Remus wasn't sure what to say to those words that described the Prince's past years.

"We have to go. You can skip inventory this morning so we can hurry up."

***

The group had swelled to about two hundred, and they made the trip in reverse for a couple of days before altering the route since they had no reason to return to the Palace. The city of Meche was their goal.

Without Alger, things were smoother. Tom was appointed as the Commander of the Prince's men which satisfied the rest. Tom was older, more mature, and not the sort to let power make his head fat. Everyone seemed more at ease since Tom didn't bitch about stupid shit either. Nate was quiet, and Morris even more so since everyone likely viewed him as a complete whore now.

Sébastien acted like the event in the entrance hall never happened.

They would make camp near the edge of the Forêt de Paniers. They could have gone around the forest, but it was relatively safe and shorter to cut through as long as they were careful with the wagons and carts. They stopped at a small village where they made baskets. While the horses were watered and their water barrels were refilled, Remus heard a villager telling Tom that they'd seen a unicorn in the area, and it was wild and dangerous so they'd best avoid it.

Unicorns were usually pleasant or even sweet. Occasionally, one might grow vicious if fairies had been cruel to it because it expected further harm. Rather like Sébastien. A single unicorn wouldn't mess with a big group, so Remus wasn't concerned.

Their first night of making camp was practically a disaster.

A well-trained group should have been able to get camp ready in about an hour no matter the size. A bigger group means more stuff, but it also means more men to deal with the tasks. Tom organized the Prince's men the best he could, which didn't help as much as it should have. Either Commander Martin had skimped on training the Palace guards in setting up a camp, or they'd already forgotten how to do it.

Men couldn't figure out the pieces for the larger tents. Rods to keep them up were snapped. One tent collapsed seconds after someone stepped inside, and the guy's buddies had to drag him out. A few of the smaller ones were leaning one way and had to be fixed. Everyone seemed to have forgotten what straight lines meant, so the rows weren't neat.

A lid popped off a water barrel when someone manhandled it down. The ground by that cart was turned into a mud pit, and one guy's trousers and boots were soaked. The cart had to be brought forward so it wouldn't sink into the mud overnight and be stuck in the morning. A horse grew spooked and had to be chased down. The Prince's men might have been decent fighters, but they needed to learn how to do other things and work together as a unit since being a guard or soldier involves more than killing or standing in one spot to keep watch.

To Remus's surprise, Sébastien helped with setting up his tent. He knew exactly what to do and only needed Tom's help with getting the rods into the sewn slots and supporting certain sections since it was big and almost impossible for one person to manage alone.

Remus did the inventory long before everything was settled. Lord Dubois's men set up their section and watched with amusement as the Prince's men shamed themselves. Lord Rochefort's finally took pity and helped out.

Once everything was done and dinner was being cooked, Remus figured he'd sit in Sébastien's tent, rest, and wait. He was kicked out since the Prince wanted to write at his table. Either it was secret, or he simply didn't want Remus's presence.

Once the food was ready, someone brought Sébastien a bowl. Remus sat around a fire with some of the men who had started mixing with Lord Rochefort's. Remus had noticed those under Lord Dubois weren't too keen to mingle with the Prince's. Or at least not yet. That wasn't the best sign.

Lord Rochefort joined Remus's cluster to eat, and as the sun fell, he decided to tell a story.

"Can any of you say you've made a first kill at thirteen?" he asked.

Everyone shook their heads and said no. One said he knew how that happened, and another said to not spoil it for those who didn't.

Lord Rochefort shifted on his log and stretched out his legs. "I became the Earl at eighteen after my Mother passed, Elira rest her soul. At the time, we had a swordmaster working in the area, and he trained most of my men too. He was quite good, and King Jean heard about him. They had their own for the Princes, of course, but sometimes, it's good to learn techniques from someone else. All three came to my home one summer for a couple of months, and Prince Sébastien was only thirteen at the time."

That had been less than a year before Enzo and Margot died in that horrible incident at the docks. How on Ymir's dirt had Sébastien killed someone while so young?

"All three of the Princes were quite skilled. Even Prince Sébastien was ahead for his age, and he was still diligent about training. He was small and swift for his age. The other boys in the area who paid to train couldn't beat him. Now, I'm sure you've heard about the Christian gang?"

Murmurs of yes sounded. Remus had heard a little of that gang. They'd enjoyed crucifying people, which was a barbaric practice of humans on Earth in ages past.

"We didn't know they were in the area until a woodcutter's camp was found with all of the workers dead on crosses," continued Lord Rochefort.

"That's fucked," a guy muttered.

"They were searched for, but bandits tend to be good at hiding sometimes. A hunter nearby reported that he'd found a camp that looked like outlaws, and a winged one had the sleeve of his shirt pinned up. Everyone knew one of them had lost an arm. I decided to take some of my men and go look for them. Prince Enzo wanted to go as well and said it would be a good experience, and when you're young, you tend to feel invincible. I allowed him to come along with his brothers. King Jean would have throttled me if he'd been there."

A few chuckled.

"When we reached the spot, the camp had already been abandoned. The remains of the fire were still warm, so we figured they had to be nearby. Tracks went all over, and we split up with the intent to whistle if we found something that looked definite so we could converge and keep following the trail. Enzo, Sébastien, and I went one way, and Remere went with another group. After a bit, we thought to head back and start over because we couldn't find anything. We didn't know the bastards had realized they were being hunted, and they'd gone up into the trees to watch and wait. All seven came down and surrounded us. The winged one with no arm came after me, and the leader, also a flier, attacked me."

Some of the men leaned forward as the Earl described how they'd been herded into a tight circle. The fliers had made it especially difficult, and the one-armed fairy hadn't been an opponent to scoff at. The Earl realized he'd made a terrible mistake because if one of the Princes died or suffered an injury, Jean would've personally dealt with Lord Rochefort in a permanent manner.

"Prince Sébastien ran one through right in the throat after damn near burning off his face." The lord touched his own. "The fliers separated us, leaving Prince Sébastien to fight against two. Seconds after Prince Enzo and I killed the remaining ones, Prince Sébastien took down the flier and nearly sliced clean through the neck of the other."

A few appreciative murmurs ran through the group. Remus could see why Sébastien thought he might have had a chance against a few if those men had made it into his room that night in the Palace.

"He'd taken a few good shocks, his armor had protected him enough, and he'd managed to kill three on his own. I'd say that's pretty good for thirteen."

Several agreed. A few said it was luck for a boy that age.

"Bandits aren't always the best fighters either," said one. "I say it's luck too."

"Luck comes into play with any fight," said Lord Rochefort. "Being just a bit faster or stronger than your opponent can keep you alive, but luck is always a factor. Even great fighters can lose or find themselves in a clinch with the enemy having the upper hand. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try to be the best you can be because you can't entirely rely on luck. Prince Sébastien certainly hadn't been slacking on training."

Remere had lost against a Knight in the war, and the Knight had been taken out barely a minute after defeating the Soleilian Prince. Sometimes, winning against a great opponent didn't mean living.

"He didn't even look scared," added Lord Rochefort. "I, of course, had utterly soiled myself."

Laughter broke out, and a couple guffawed as they slapped their thighs. Lord Rochefort was the slightly regal sort without the snotty air and appeared to be the kind of man who'd remain calm under real pressure instead of crapping his drawers. Remus remembered how before his first real fight, he'd thought that he'd vomit or shit himself. Or both. That had faded once the action started. Instinct and moves trained into muscle took over, and fortunately, he'd avoided dirtying his drawers or puking.

"The Christian gang was dealt with, no one was harmed, Prince Remere was pissed because he'd missed the action, and I had money for new drawers. Let's just say the King wasn't happy when he heard. I received a letter from King Jean that nearly bit off my head with words, and he threatened to take away my hold for bringing his children into such danger."

A few said they were glad to not be on the wrong end of Sébastien's sword. Surprisingly, Remus had never heard of who the Christian gang had been finished off by, only that they had. Bits of info could be lost when news traveled.

The Prince certainly wasn't one to be messed with in a swordfight.

Remus wanted to get ready for sleep, and he figured by then, the Prince would let him into the tent. Unless he planned for Remus to sleep outside like a dog and hadn't said so. He scowled and went over to call out at the entrance.

No one answered. Maybe he'd gone to speak to someone, but Remus hadn't caught his bright hair anywhere earlier.

Inside, a small bed for traveling had been set up for Sébastien. His trunk sat at the foot of it. A camping Prince will usually have more comfortable sleeping arrangements compared to a common soldier. A small section of the tent had been curtained off, and the pallet was for Remus. His pack sat by it.

The bed was untouched, the small table for eating or writing was bare, and the two chairs had been pushed in. Sébastien had already laid out his clothes for the next day, and the washbasin had new water in it. Two small crystal lanterns hung from loops in the ceiling, and one rested on the floor by the bed.

He did a couple of the ties on the tent flap so Sébastien couldn't simply walk in, and Remus could say to wait a minute. He washed up, changed into sleep clothes, dumped the water, and sat outside of the tent for a bit to let the breeze dry his damp hair. It was getting shaggy and needed a trim. He'd have to ask if anyone in their party could do that because if he attempted it himself, he'd end up looking like a fool.

Several had gone to bed. A few remained around the dwindling fires as they smoked and chatted. A couple were playing cards. Remus waited, enjoying the peace and lack of anything pressing to do, although it wouldn't last long. A lot lay ahead, not that he could do anything about it at the moment.

More had gone to bed before he started to wonder where Sébastien was. Lord Rochefort headed into a private tent that went dark after a few minutes. Sébastien and Lord Dubois weren't chatty, and he couldn't imagine them two being together somewhere. A friend of the Regent was no friend to the Prince. He hadn't done anything yet, but it was early.

Sébastien himself hadn't been much different in general. In regards to Remus, he'd been…not exactly pleasant. Neutral and cold better described him.

Remus still felt like shit for being so rough with him. Sébastien must have decided it wasn't right to try to slap Remus around as though he were some little bitch since he hadn't tried that again.

Tom went to bed, and the camp grew quieter and darker with fires put out. Remus started to get that bad, gut feeling. The one Lupo said to never ignore. Had he gotten that on the night of his death and ignored it, imagining everyone safe in their home?

Remus got up to walk in front of their tent as he eyed the men still up. Not far from the Prince's, he noticed a few broken twigs on a couple of delicate, low wanberry trees that were bare.

Nobody would've needed to go that way, and they'd come from the opposite direction. The stark white insides of the twigs stood out against the darkness that was barely illuminated by the remaining fires.

Sébastien wouldn't go out by himself. Would he? Forêt de Paniers was mostly safe and free of bandits. People still typically traveled in groups which offered protection. Lynxes wandered the woods and rarely bothered people. Wolves also lurked, but they didn't mess with groups, and fire also kept them away in most cases.

A lone man wouldn't be as safe.

Besides wolves, Remus was more worried about the occasional panther he'd heard of in Soleil. The black, sleek cats with purple eyes were occasionally called forest lions although they weren't the same as the big, brown cats that mostly roamed certain areas of northern Moria. Panthers were good at climbing trees to stalk lone prey from above. A fairy would likely never notice one until it was too late, and panthers preferred lone prey.

With his sword belt buckled around him and a lantern in his hand, Remus followed the trail. Someone had definitely gone that way. More wanberry trees had broken twigs since someone had gone through and made no effort to hide their trail. Trampled plants spoke of someone with boots. Remus kept walking as he listened.

Would the Prince, with his sneaky ways, be planning to meet someone for whatever reason? It'd be odd, but why else go out? That was the only reason he'd said nothing because the Prince might be furious if a bunch of people came looking for him.

Remus decided that if he found nothing in a few minutes, he'd return and check the tent just in case Sébastien had returned. He'd ask around and decide what to do from there.

What if Sébastien had decided to say fuck it to everything and fled to save his life? Remus hadn't thought to open his trunk and see if it looked full enough. If that was the case, Remus wasn't sticking around either because the two lords would ship him back to the Palace under guard, and he might not be able to escape.

He was about to turn when he noticed a light ahead. He crept closer and made an effort to be silent. Ahead, in a small clearing, he caught sight of Sébastien's white hair. He'd set his lantern down. The breeze brushed back his loose hair, and his face softened as he gazed ahead.

He made a kissy noise and held out his hands. "Come here. I won't hurt you."

A silver unicorn stood several feet away and tilted his head as if considering the command. His horn gleamed in the light of the lantern, and the shiny fur rippled along his powerful yet delicate body as he shifted. Even the hooves appeared to be made of pure silver, and the eyes were almost as bright as Sébastien's.

The Prince made a kissy noise again and took a step forward with his hand out. A lock of the mane fell over the unicorn's forehead as he dipped his head and came forward enough for the fairy's fingers to brush his nose.

That was the last thing Remus had expected. If they'd gotten that far, it might stay with him. Or not. He cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Er, Sébastien?"

The Prince jumped slightly before realizing it was Remus who had spoken. His expression darkened as he spoke in a low voice. "Piss off."

The unicorn suddenly tossed his head, backed away, and whinnied as he reared. The hooves flashed as they swiped at the air, and Sébastien, the idiot, didn't even try to move away as he turned his gaze back to the animal.