15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

It was not very surprising that when he was shown to his chambers for the night, Rory felt unsettled. It had been an eventful day, and even though eventually King Gideon had technically welcomed both him and Gray, Rory knew the King's refusal to believe who Gray truly was had been upsetting for both of them.

Why had he so fiercely insisted it had to be a lie? Rory wasn't sure, but with every second of the King's rejection, his heart had broken for Gray.

Up until those fateful minutes in the throne room, Rory had believed he'd understood Gray's reluctance to return to Ardglass. But the King's reaction had been even more complicated and difficult than Rory could ever have foretold.

He walked over to the window of the tower room he'd been shown to and sighed deeply, wishing they hadn't been forced to come here. Maybe Gray would eventually have wanted to come of his own accord, to settle things with his father. But then, considering how poorly King Gideon looked, Rory thought that time was certainly not on Gray's side.

Rory, lost in his own thoughts, gave a sudden, terrified yelp as a shadowy figure emerged on the other side of the darkened window. Was it another magical creature, come to claim his soul? Rory pulled out his dagger, and though he did not know if he could defeat this monster as he had defeated Sabrina's chimera in the cave, he had to try.

But then the window swung open, and it was only Gray, dangling in front of the window, his hands and feet tangled in a thick rope.

"Gray?" Rory exclaimed. "Why are you here? And like that? Couldn't you have come in through the door?"

Gray simply shrugged, easily climbing over the stone threshold of the wall, and lightly landing on his feet. He pushed the window closed, and after he turned to look at Rory, he finally got a good look at Gray's face.

It was . . . ravaged, nearly.

Rory reached out for him before he even registered what he was doing, taking his arm and leading him to the bed, where he sat him at the edge.

"My father just came to see me," Gray said.

Rory had carefully noted all the names that Gray had used to refer to King Gideon, and most conspicuously, father had been entirely missing from the list. But now, now, he was using it, though it hardly felt like a conscious choice either. Instead it felt to Rory as if Gray had momentarily forgotten why he'd been refusing to call King Gideon his father.

If Gideon had come to see him, alone and apart from everyone else, it must have been serious, and nothing was as convincing an argument as the currently stunned look on Gray's face.

"What did he have to say?" Rory asked.

"Sabrina . . . her magic weakened him, and yet is the only thing keeping him alive." Gray looked up at Rory, who had knelt in front of his lover. "If I kill her, he will also die."

Rory did not know what to say in response to this. One of the things they agreed upon the most—and that was saying something, as they were usually in complete agreement—was that Sabrina could not be allowed to live. But now, how could Rory continue to hold to that line if doing so meant the death of Gray's father?

Pushing suddenly to his feet, Gray began to pace back and forth in the room. "Do you know," he asked, his voice surprisingly conversational, "that this used to be my room? That these are the Crown Prince's chambers?"

"I . . ." Rory was having difficulty keeping up, yet he knew he was considered one of the brightest minds of their age. "I didn't know that."

"I escaped from this room," Gray said, his voice hardening. He turned around in a circle. "The bed was there. I woke up a moment before Rhys warned me, because the noise in the castle was suddenly too loud. I knew something was wrong."

Rory walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart. Felt it beating true and strong. "You are the bravest man I know."

"For escaping when I was a child?" Gray laughed, the sound ringing with bitterness. "I was not brave at all. I was petrified. If not for Rhys and then Evrard, I would have died that day or someday very soon after."

"Not just for that day," Rory corrected softly. "For that day and for all the days after. For this day."

Abruptly, Gray went back to the bed. "I wish he hadn't told me," he finally said, in a devastated murmur.

Rory wished he hadn't told him either. "Was he attempting to sway your opinion?"

"No." Gray was silent for a very long time. "No, he still wants me to kill her."

Frankly, Rory could have wrung Gideon's neck himself, at this point. How dare he place that sort of responsibility on his son's shoulders? After leaving him to the wolves—or one very ruthless chimera?

"It is the right thing to do," Gray added, with grave finality. "I know it is. I know. And yet . . ."

Rory, who had never been lucky enough to know his own father, felt horribly torn. On one hand, he agreed that Gray was right—Sabrina deserved to die and should die, not only for the crimes she had committed, but also to prevent her from committing any in the future. Anyone with her magical power and particular ruthlessness could never be trusted, and prison or exile would mean they were never truly safe from her machinations. But then this was also Gray's father, who had betrayed him, yes, but there was still love between them. Without love, guilt couldn't exist, and Gideon's conscience had seemed very guilty indeed. Added to that fact was the additional wrinkle of Gray's anger—the furthest thing possible from apathy. He would not be so angry if he did not care.

"There is time to consider the choice, and to weigh our options," Rory said.

Gray stared at him starkly. "I usually find very little to argue with when it comes to your logic," he said, "but I'm afraid you are wrong this time. In fact, I believe we have very little time and very little choice."

Wrapping his arms around Gray, Rory held him tightly. He was afraid Gray was all too right.

"She's your aunt," Gray murmured roughly, and Rory squeezed his eyes shut. He had been trying, very hard in fact, not to consider Sabrina in those terms. And he realized, Gray had been doing the exact same thing with his father. Trying to separate himself, trying to pretend he wasn't the only family he had left.

"And he's your father," Rory responded softly. "We will find a way out of this, I promise. And . . ." He hesitated. "If the worst comes to pass, and we have no choice, I will stand beside you, no matter what. You'll not be alone."

The dampness on his shoulder told Rory that at last, he had said the right thing.

After a long, dreamless sleep and a subdued breakfast, Rory and Gray went to meet with Evrard in the stables.

Gideon's stewards had been at a loss as to where to house the noble unicorn, but finally, Evrard had put them out of their uncertainty. "Anywhere that is clean with good, clean hay and water will be perfectly sufficient," he'd snapped at them, annoyed at their own indecision.

"I trust you both slept well, at least better than I," Evrard said after they greeted him. "The horses in this stable are most restless."

Gray said nothing, and Rory hadn't wanted to be the one to speak of King Gideon's confession, so he'd merely nodded. "I was thinking," Evrard continued, "it might be nice to get some fresh air. A ride, perhaps?" He leaned down, nose brushing against Rory's shoulder. "Perhaps someplace with less open ears."

"I know just the place," Gray said shortly, and in no time they were both back on Evrard's back, galloping out of the keep itself to the town beyond, and then further than that.

The place Gray brought them to was awe-inducing. Rory had known the keep of Tullamore was built at the peak of a tall hill but had not realized the keep overlooked a large canyon, with a river below, and at the head of the gorge, a spectacular waterfall. Gray had navigated them around the keep, to a spot further down the canyon, and the thundering water would likely drown out their voices to anyone who had attempted to follow.

"Now," Evrard said, when they both dismounted. "Your father said the messengers would leave early this morning for the clans, to ask them to gather. Do you know if they left?"

Gray nodded. "I asked three separate stewards. They indeed rode out first thing this morning."

"Good, they will be back on the morrow," Evrard said with a satisfied nod. "Prince Emory, you will need to work on composing your plea, as none of the army of Ardglass are required by anything other than honor to come to your aid. Even Prince Graham cannot force them. They must come willingly."

"If they don't?" Rory asked, suddenly apprehensive. He was not a great orator and had never before given a speech designed to lead troops. He'd read plenty of them, but that had hardly prepared him to give one himself.

"They must," Evrard said, and the pressure settled on Rory's shoulders like a heavy cloak.

"If they don't, that is not our only problem," Gray said. Rory found himself holding his breath. Surely after Gray confessed about his conversation with his father, Evrard would come up with a creative, inventive solution. Surely, he must. Gray could not be asked to kill his own father, as he killed Rory's aunt. Every man had his limit, and Rory was terrified that asking Gray to do this would be straining his.

"You spoke to your father, then," Evrard said gravely, and Rory's heart squeezed. Did Evrard know? How had he never said? Gray should have been warned.

"You suspected then," Gray said with a heavy sigh.

"You yourself remember the conversation we had after our first fight against her," Evrard said quietly, all smugness leaking from his voice. As if he knew how hard this would be for Gray, and wished he could be spared it, but knew he couldn't. "She leaves creatures in much worse shape after she departs their forms. Most die, but your father is—was—strong, and he resisted her for so long that a spark of his own power remained behind to keep him functioning after she left Tullamore. Unfortunately, it will not be enough to keep him alive after she dies."

"Then he was right." Gray stared at the waterfall, expressionless.

"I wish very much that he had not been, but I'm afraid his intuition is correct here."

Gray turned back to stare at Rory and Evrard, his eyes like two unbearably hot fires. "She cannot be left alive."

Evrard nodded again. "I do not believe there is a safe way to hold her that she would not eventually subvert to her own purpose. She is dangerous, but then you know that already. You've experienced it firsthand."

"There is one problem then," Gray continued, his voice relentless. "One you partially foresaw. Without my father alive, there is no ruler in Ardglass. I will have to return and take up the throne."

"Will you?" Evrard questioned softly.

Gray's eyes burned. "There is hardly any other choice. I cannot simply shirk my duties." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with emotion. "At least not because I wish to be somewhere else. With someone else."

That was when Rory, breathlessly, realized the inherent problem. Gray wanted to stay with him, actually wanted to accept the mantle that had been offered to him with Lion's Breath. He was saying he wished to stay with Rory and be his consort and help Rory rule Fontaine. But he could not, at least not when Ardglass was in desperate need of a ruler, and the only one who could take the throne was Gray himself.

"What if there was an alternative?" Evrard asked.

"There isn't one," Gray scoffed. "We already talked about this. The options available to us aren't good."

"What about combining the kingdoms?" Rory offered.

He didn't think it was a horrible thought; it was one he'd considered before, at least peripherally. But Gray made a face.

"I don't think it's fair to ask two kingdoms with very little in common, despite a geographical border, to merge together simply because we want to be together," Gray said. Rory frowned, because he was precisely, completely right. It wouldn't be fair. "And," Gray added, "how would we possibly convince the clans? There'd be a rebellion."

"And maybe there should be a rebellion," Evrard said with great satisfaction.

"Excuse me?" Gray said.

"Maybe there should be a rebellion. Why does Ardglass need to be ruled by a king anyhow? Ardglass began as a loose collection of clans, who fought together occasionally, and held summits once a year," Evrard pointed out. "Your father has grown weak. The clans are already ruling themselves. Let them."

"I . . ." Gray hesitated. "Would that even be a good idea?"

"Thirteen generations ago your ancestor conquered the clans and styled himself King. Back then, there were more inter-clan wars. But the acrimony has faded over time, and I no longer believe that a central figurehead is needed to mediate. Maintain your relationships with the clan chiefs and let them rule themselves."

Gray was silent for a long while, digesting Evrard's point of view.

Rory was afraid to offer his own opinion and accidentally sway the other man unfairly. But he did, desperately, want Gray with him, now and in the future. He wanted to grow old with him, to watch him bear Lion's Breath until they were as gray and withered as King Gideon.

"I suppose we could discuss this with the clan representatives after . . ." Gray hesitated. "After our victory." Because until that was achieved, there was no point in discussing this plan with anyone. Gray could die, Rory could die, they could both die and then there would be no need to change anything about the governance of Ardglass. Though if they were defeated, Rory was sure it would only be a matter of time before Sabrina overcame Ardglass' defenses and took that kingdom for her own, along with Fontaine.

Maybe, in the end, the two kingdoms would end up merging regardless of anything Gray or Rory or Evrard did.

"After the victory," Evrard agreed. "Now, about your speech, Rory."

Rory grimaced. "I suppose there is no point in arguing that a speech won't be necessary."

"It will very much be necessary." This unexpectedly came from Gray, not Evrard.

Rory's expression must have reflected surprise because Gray gave a short, humorless laugh. "I was raised to be the Crown Prince of Ardglass, and the future leader of its armies, until I was eleven years old. Rhys taught me well." Gray's voice took on an ironic tone, because essentially he was praising Evrard at that moment, and not really Rhys at all. "I know the clans. They respond to strength and honor. You may not possess much physically of the first, but you have an abundance of the second. And the throne is yours, not hers, which will sway them further."

"It will not be easy, but there are several key facts on our side that will win at least a few clans to our defense, which is all we need," Evrard added. "Still, we will hear your speech."

Rory had certainly not expected to make the speech now and was unprepared. His first version was halting, and painfully awkward.

The second was a slight improvement.

The third time he went through it, he'd grown more comfortable with the most effective phrases, and delivered it, he thought at least, with more than a little aplomb.

Evrard's and Gray's eyes met. "It will do," Gray said. "I'll stand next to him, Lion's Breath prominently displayed. They'll know what it means. Rory might not have the physical strength, but I can project it for both of us."

"It will have to do," Evrard said. "For we have no other choice."

The sun was high in the sky over Tullamore as representatives of the thirteen clans gathered in the main courtyard. Gray and the stewards had overseen the quick erection of a wooden platform, since Rory was on the shorter side. "And," Gray had added, wiping the sweat from his brow as he'd pounded in nails with the rest of the workers, "it has an added bonus of giving you a slightly more physically imposing appearance, since you'll be up higher."

Rory had glanced at him questioningly. "I'm not sure there's much that can truly improve that," he'd admitted.

"Just trust me," Gray had responded. "I can make this work. All you have to do is give the best speech, the most persuasive, speech you're capable of."

Rory had practiced for several more hours with Evrard the evening before and the morning of, as clan members started to pour through the main gate. The only advantage of practicing with Evrard was he refused to lie and claim Rory was doing better than he truly was. The opposite was true actually. Even when Rory felt like he was improving, his dictation and the soaring rise of his voice capturing all the fervor and excitement of helping him reclaim his throne, Evrard would gaze at him with a bored expression and ask, "But are you really trying, Your Highness?"

He was trying, very hard in fact, and so Evrard's words were galling. But they also helped to push Rory to improve much quicker than he would have otherwise.

"Again," Evrard said, and then, "again."

Finally, just when Rory was about to reach over and see if a unicorn could be strangled, Evrard gave him a thoughtful—and extremely rewarding—nod of approval. "You are not as hopeless as I thought you might be," he said.

Not entirely a compliment, but then Evrard was hardly the complimenting type.

As Rory climbed the platform, Gray behind him, sweat dotted his forehead. Nerves, or the heat of the day, Rory wasn't quite sure. But something he did know was that he'd never felt so determined in his life. Not even when they'd left Beaulieu an age ago, or when he'd escaped from the mercenaries come to kill him in Gray's valley, or when he'd faced down the chimera in the cave behind the Veil. It felt as if all those moments were building to this last, great one. He was going to give his speech, and the clans of Ardglass would listen.

He situated himself on the platform, and felt Gray stop next to him, and out of the corner of his eye, watched as he pushed his cloak back, revealing the distinctive pommel of Lion's Breath. A murmur went through the assembled men, as they recognized the sword.

"Clans of Ardglass," Rory exclaimed after a long, drawn-out moment of silent anticipation, "you have been called here today by your king, because your assistance is needed to right a wrong."

Initially Rory had been determined to lead with the fact that their prince had returned to Tullamore, but both Gray and Evrard had immediately dismissed that idea. "This is about you, not Gray," Evrard had cautioned.

"It's a little about Gray," Rory had argued, fiercely. And had then lost, because Gray had spoken up and refused to be mentioned in the speech. From the glint in his eye, Rory knew he wouldn't be easily forgiven if he broke his promise not to do so.

"You know the woman who has taken my throne in Fontaine," Rory continued, voice growing in strength. He tossed his cloak behind him, the bright blue reflected in the sky high above, and strode confidently over the floor of the platform, even though it squeaked and groaned dubiously. Would it stay intact for long enough for Rory to finish his speech? Rory really wasn't certain, but he couldn't let the doubt show either on his face or in his voice. He needed to look the part, like a true leader, and he couldn't do that while worrying the entire structure would collapse under his weight.

"She is dangerous and conniving. In fact, she manipulated and seduced your own king with foul, dark magic. Without her spells, King Gideon would be healthy and strong and your kingdom would mirror his own well-being. Instead, your kingdom is growing weaker, and is prey to others, including a Fontaine led by my aunt. If we do not defeat her now, the chances of doing so later are slim."

Rumblings grew in the crowd. Rory took that as an encouraging sign and continued speaking, his tone growing increasingly impassioned. "That is why you have been called here today. There is an evil lurking in our lands, and it is our responsibility to root it out, destroy it and salt the earth underneath it so no more can ever grow here again. Tomorrow I march on Beaulieu, with my guard and my sworn shield beside me, determined that she will no longer control us with her malevolence. Who is with me?"

His voice died slowly across the echoing courtyard, and he panted a little. Giving speeches was far more difficult and far more exhausting than he'd ever imagined, but he'd done it, at least as well as he ever had, the moment grabbing him and propelling him along.

The only problem was that dead silence had met his fervent plea for assistance.

Not exactly the conclusion he or Evrard had had in mind.

Rory met the stubborn gazes of the clan representatives and quailed. They did not seem at all interested in participating in a war over the throne of Fontaine. Their clans were weakened by what Sabrina had wrought in Ardglass, and in their own king, and that was obviously less pressing than Rory's immediate problem. And that, as Evrard had worried, was exactly the problem with trying to rally soldiers of another country. They were always more interested in fixing their own problems, than meddling in anybody else's problems.

He knew he needed to do something, but what he knew he needed to do was dangerous—as in Gray might not ever forgive him for it. But without saying it, Rory did not know if they would have any men to march with them to Beaulieu. Without an army, they would have no chance of making it anywhere near Sabrina. Definitely not close enough to kill her.

In the end, Rory's decision was surprisingly easy. He was stuck between one stubborn near-consort, and the rest of the even more stubborn men of Ardglass.

I'm so sorry, he thought fervently in Gray's direction. I know this is not how you wanted to do it, and I did not want it this way either.

"I stand here today, not only as a prince of Fontaine, a neighboring country to your own, but also as a man who has found what has been missing from Ardglass for all these many years." Rory heard Gray's intake of breath behind him, sharp and tight, and Rory figured that since he didn't grab him or physically stop his mouth, then that was as good of permission as he was ever going to get it. "I present to you," he continued, "the lost prince returned, Prince Graham of Ardglass, here bearing my sword, the Lion's Breath, and sworn to protect me til death."

That got their attention immediately. Murmurs swelled in the audience to shocked gasps and confused exchanges among the different clans.

One of the clansmen stood. "How can we be sure?" he demanded. "Aye, he looks much like Graham did, but His Highness was small when he was killed."

Come help me answer these men, Rory thought, glancing backwards, where Gray was staring at him with a mixture of anger and resignation. Nobody else is going to convince them who you are except for you.

Rory held out his hand and urged him with his eyes. Come, please. And finally, he did, albeit very reluctantly. Gray stepped forward, and even though he'd clearly accepted the position that Rory had placed him in, he did not look thrilled about it.

"I am indeed Prince Graham, and yes, I was quite small when I was lost. Because that is what I was. Lost, not dead."

A louder rumble echoed through the gathered crowd.

"Prince Emory found me and restored me to you," Gray said, his voice rising perfectly with the rising excitement of the crowd. He didn't even practice, Rory thought glumly. "And with me at your side, it is our duty, our responsibility, to make sure that the woman who forced me to abandon my home does no other harm. To Prince Emory or to any of the clans of Ardglass."

A great yell reverberated through the men—first one and then another and then a hundred resounding confirmations, followed by foot stamps and clapping.

He had won them over when Rory had failed. At least they had been successful, Rory thought, because if this gamble had failed and he'd been left with no army and no Gray, he'd have had no chance of ever retaking his kingdom. He'd probably, Rory contemplated moodily, have died unhappy and alone, with Sabrina's unearthly eyes the last thing he saw. It was not a pleasant vision.

The exclamations coming from the crowd were excessive enough, but then one by one, the men fell to one knee, arms crossed over their breasts, to honor the man who stood on the dais. Not Rory, but Gray.

Rory could see he wasn't outwardly frowning, but the edges of his lips had drawn together so tightly they'd turned white. Gray was clearly displeased, and it was not a stretch to believe that it was Rory he was the most displeased with.

Finally, the painful exercise ended, but the moment he and Gray descended from the platform, they were overtaken by maniacally happy, rejoicing soldiers, who believed that their savior had finally come, all in the guise of a lost prince returned to them. Rory, watching Gray borne away on a tide of goodwill, eventually turned away from the crowd in the courtyard and made his way back into the keep, listlessly meandering through the hallways. He hadn't seen where Evrard had gone to, because he'd tucked himself away, not wanting to overwhelm and distract the clans with his magnificence.

That, Rory thought despondently, was a real irony. Because in the end, all he'd done was to overwhelm and distract with his reveal of Gray's true self.

After a few minutes, he found himself at the huge carved double doors leading to the throne room. He'd overheard one of the stewards mention the King rarely used it, and since all the guests were outside, falling to their knees in front of Gray, surely it would be empty now. At least, this would be a great place for Rory to hide, since he wasn't quite mentally ready to come face to face with Gray just yet.

He pulled open one of the doors and slipped inside.

The candles were not lit, but the skylights still brought impressive light to the enormous space. The throne on the dais was empty, and Rory skirted it, instead choosing to walk near the silk banners lining each side of the hall. Heavily embroidered with gold thread, the overall number must mean they depicted the sigils of each of the Ardglassian clans.

"Hiding? How unprincely of you."

A voice started Rory and he turned to see the King lurking in one of the shadowed alcoves between two of the fluttering emerald green banners. He stepped out, and slowly hobbled over to where Rory stood.

"I'm sorry," Rory stammered, slightly ashamed at being caught in another country's throne room, clearly hiding from the chaos he'd just created outside. Then he realized that the King had been in here too, by himself. Hiding as well? Rory wondered.

"How unkingly of you," Rory added, giving him a sheepish smile. "But it's alright. I won't tell anyone."

"Even my son?" Gideon asked with a heavy sigh.

Rory thought this over for a moment. "I'm not sure he's truly interested in anything I have to say, now," Rory said slowly.

"He is very proud," Gideon pointed out. "But then it's likely you already knew that."

Rory nodded.

"He must have been very surprised that you chose that moment to reveal who he was," Gideon said.

Surprised? Rory wasn't sure that was exactly the right term. He couldn't have been all that surprised. Perhaps disappointed, instead. "He asked me not to and I did it anyway," Rory confessed. "I suppose I'm not a very convincing orator." Of all the shame he felt, this was the strongest. If he'd given a better speech, perhaps it never would have come to revealing Gray.

A glimmer of a smile emerged on King Gideon's face. "You're not as bad as you think. The Ardglassians are bitter, indignant, and excessively stubborn. Graham knows that, even if he's tried to forget it. He'll forgive you."

Rory was not quite so sure. After all, Gray had explicitly asked him not to, he'd agreed, and then he'd done it despite his promise.

"I do know," Gideon continued, "how much my son cares about you, because I do not think he ever would have returned here otherwise." It was impossible to guess how difficult an admission that was for both a king and a father, and the pain in Gideon's voice echoed that fact. "He'll come around."

"Perhaps," Rory said, not feeling particularly optimistic despite the King's words.

That was when Gideon's prediction was put to the test, as that was the moment the doors swung open, and then Gray came stalking through them, a dark glower on his handsome face.

"There you are," he said, only to Rory, ignoring his father completely. "I've been looking for you everywhere. You're missing the summit to plan our attack on Beaulieu."

"I didn't know we were having one," Rory said hesitantly.

Gray frowned. "Of course we are. And you have important information we need." He turned to go, assuming, Rory supposed, that he would simply follow when summoned. For someone who didn't think he was a born leader, he certainly seemed to take naturally to it. Behind Gray's back, Rory glanced over at the King, who was staring sadly at the floor. Rory gave him a shrug and went to follow Gray's long strides out of the throne room.