12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Anya led them into the castle proper, through the passageways, and even though he had only been gone from Beaulieu for a week, it felt alien to be wandering these halls as Rhys.

"Where did you go?" she asked as Rhys realized they were heading towards the Great Hall. Were Rory and Gray holding a public audience this afternoon?

If they were, this would have to wait.

But when Anya pushed open the doors, the dais at the end, with its two thrones, was empty. Instead, Rory and Gray were sitting around a large circular table positioned in the center of the room, and they were joined by the general, Marthe, and by Rowen, Acadia, and Diana.

Rory's eyes lit up when he saw Rhys and Merleen.

"You're back!" he exclaimed. "And none too soon."

"What has happened?" Marcos demanded, and Evander nearly laughed, because everyone at the table looked surprised to hear him make such a forceful request. Merleen had kept to himself, had mostly kept quiet; but Merleen had never really been Marcos.

He'd been afraid to step into the light, to reveal who he truly was, because it was undeniable that Evander would have recognized him instantly. Just the ringing authority in his tone would have been enough.

"There've been some odd things happening in the villages around Beaulieu," Gray explained. "Dead animals here and there, more than there should be, always drained of blood. A goat born with a sheep's head. A young man who was a shepherd disappearing and not being heard from again. Scorched ground with no explanation. Nothing particularly dangerous or suspicious on its own, but together . . . we are actually in council, trying to decide what to do about it, if we should do anything about it."

"You should," Evander said. "But first, before we discuss that, there is something you should know about me. And about Merleen."

Gray nodded. He looked apprehensive, and Evander supposed he couldn't blame him for that. If anyone could've guessed that there was more to Evrard's—and Rhys'—story, it would be Gray, who had met them both.

At the time, he hadn't realized they were the same person, but he did now. And the apprehension in his expression made it clear that he knew the other shoe was about to drop.

"We would be honored to hear whatever you have to tell us," Rory said, a gracious ruler from first to last.

Gray had come a long way, but he was not nearly as polished.

As a pair, the differences helped them work better together than any possible similarities.

In them, Evander could see the echoes of him and Marcos.

But he pushed that thought aside.

"My name is not Rhys," he said.

Gray snorted. "No, of course it isn't. It's Evrard."

"It's not that either," Evander admitted.

Everyone at the table looked fascinated. "My name is Evander," he said, and as he said the words, he let the transformation wash over him, until who was standing in front of them was not Rhys, but Evander. His real self.

"And this," he continued, gesturing towards Merleen, "is not Merleen, not the nephew of Shaheen, but Marcos, who is a Guardian, like me."

With Evander's gesture, Merleen's disguise melted away, revealing Marcos, and his inevitably amused expression.

"Show-off," he said under his breath.

Evander shrugged.

"What do you mean Guardian like me?" Gray wanted to know. He'd crossed his arms over his chest and he looked perturbed still.

Evander supposed that made sense; Evrard had been something of a father figure to him, a young boy who had been ripped from everything he knew—and now he was discovering that Evrard hadn't even been real.

That Rhys, who'd protected him in Tullamore, hadn't been real, either.

"There are thirteen Guardians," Marcos spoke up. "We each are responsible for caring for a part of the human population, for something vital to them. I am the Guardian of War. Evander is . . ."

"Evander was the Guardian of Secrets," Evander finished for him.

"Was? What does that mean?" Rory wanted to know.

"I want to know more about what a Guardian of War was doing hiding out in my kingdom," Gray muttered, but Rory nudged him.

"I was banished hundreds of years ago for daring to cross our leader, Deimos," Evander said. "I wanted his permission to go to the surface, to live among you, and banish the sorcerers from your midst. He would not permit it. I attempted to circumvent his judgement, and so I was banished here, and stripped of all my powers. I decided to devote my time to the task, anyway. I thought with Sabrina's death, my task was accomplished."

"Why do I feel there is a but coming at the end of that statement?" Gray complained.

"There is another secret group with power, and I would not be surprised if they are growing, in force, waiting for the right time to strike," Marcos said.

"Strike?" Marthe's voice grew sharp. "You think they will attack?"

"I think it is very possible, yes, because Deimos has decided that we, together, pose a threat to him." Marcos sounded grave. "This is not your fight, and we did not mean to bring it to your doorstep."

"But you did." Anya threw both of them an inexorable glare. She would always be protective of Gray—the prince who'd been lost, and who had finally been found.

"Evander has devoted hundreds of years to bringing peace and prosperity to Fontaine," Marcos said staunchly when Evander had considered intervening. "A side effect of this support and work is that now, Deimos sees this as a place he can use to hurt you. We will do what we can to steer the fight away from you, but I can make no promises that he will not forcibly drag you into it regardless of what we do."

"No," Rory said, holding up a hand. "That will be unnecessary. I know what Evander has done for me and for this country. Everyone will get a choice, but please count the two of us in. Nobody gets to banish you and then attack you, not on my watch. Or to fill my country with power-hungry sorcerers who would wreak havoc on my people."

"You said that you are the Guardian of War and . . ." Diana hesitated. "Evander is the Guardian of Secrets. What is Deimos the Guardian of?"

"Death," Evander said flatly. "Deimos is the Guardian of Death."

The words echoed through the sudden silence in the Great Hall.

Gray was the one who spoke up. He looked . . . marginally less furious. "And he is the one leading these new sorcerers?"

"We believe so," Marcos said, inclining his head.

"If you are the Guardian of Secrets," Rowen spoke up softly, "can you tell if we are lying?"

"No," Evander said firmly, then realized that yes, he could, again. "Actually, if I do concentrate, I can generally ferret out the truth," he admitted. "I did not have my powers for many years because of Deimos' banishment but . . . that was why we left."

Marcos glanced over at him. "That is not why we left."

"We were called to the Well, a magical portal, by another Guardian," Evander confessed. "He threatened Rory and Gray, everyone at Beaulieu, if I did not go, so I went. Marcos revealed himself and journeyed there with me. We met the other Guardian, realized his treachery, but the silver lining was that with the Well's assistance, I have recovered my magic."

"What are your powers?" Gray wanted to know. "You know how to steal our secrets, how to determine when we're lying and . . ."

"Something you might recognize," Evander said, and he couldn't help the grin as he raised his hand, flame leaping out of it.

"You did that," Rory exclaimed, his eyes torn between his husband and the flame dancing on Evander's palm. "At our wedding!"

"I created Lion's Breath a few generations ago, knowing you would need a weapon worthy of you. It took . . . much of my magic," Evander admitted. They did not need to know that it had stripped him for years. He'd barely been able to maintain different forms, but eventually his magic had slowly but surely built up again. "I had never merged my magic with a blade before. Unfortunately I did not have Marcos' expertise to rely on, back then, but I was unaware that wielding it would transfer some of its power to the bearer. But it seems that it did."

"And thank the Gods for that," Marthe said seriously. "We would've all died, if not for King Graham killing the count with his bare hands." She paused, and Evander could feel her gaze taking him in, all of him, including the flames emerging from his palm. "If you need us to fight, we are with you." Her face was grave. "You have sacrificed much to help us and to protect this realm. I would gladly give my life to assist you in this."

"I would, too," Anya said, inclining her head towards Marthe. "I understand from conversations with King Graham that you saved his life when he was just a boy, helping him to escape Tullamore and Ardglass."

Evander inclined his head. "I did my duty," he said simply.

"And we will do ours," Rowen said, adding her voice to the others.

"It will be dangerous," Marcos warned.

"Are you not the Guardian of War?" Gray's eyes lit up. "I am sure you have much to teach us."

"You should not encourage them," Evander complained as they finally, after a long council session debating the best course of action, and Evander and Marcos answering many additional questions, headed to their quarters. Or rather, Evander realized, they were heading towards his quarters.

Merleen's quarters in Beaulieu were the other direction.

But Marcos had followed him out of the Hall, and had yet to leave his side.

It filled Evander with a warmth he'd never felt before, and wasn't sure he could properly identify.

"I should not encourage them how?" Marcos asked, his tone teasing.

"Especially Gray," Evander said, as if Marcos hadn't responded. "He is easily swayed, easily impressed."

"I would think he is actually the opposite, because you raised him to guard himself and to question everything," Marcos said. He was still smiling.

Evander wanted to push him against the nearest wall and wipe that smug, annoyingly sly smile off with his fist.

Or with his mouth.

But Rory had already given him several knowing looks, and he had a feeling that neither of them had been particularly circumspect about how close they'd grown.

It would only confirm the king's suspicion if they were caught kissing in the hallway.

Your chambers are just down this corridor, you can wait, Evander cautioned himself. But he'd waited for days now, and his skin felt hot and itchy.

He yearned to touch Marcos, and have him touch him in return.

"If that is a compliment on how I raised Gray from boy to a man, to a king, then I will take it," Evander said formally. Trying to distance himself. Trying not to lose control completely.

Marcos made him want to throw his poise away with both hands—and Evander both loved it and hated it.

"It is," Marcos said. "And he is curious, wants to know more, then why should I not tell him more, share my knowledge of battle and war with the man? He is responsible for the security of this kingdom."

"That's the general," Evander reminded him.

"I was not disparaging the general, I am sure she is eminently capable. But Gray is a strong man, with a stronger will that I believe you helped take root, and he is also the one who bears a flaming sword that you forged. He should know what I know, or as much of it as I can teach him."

Evander rolled his eyes and finally, finally, they stopped in front of the doorway to his chambers. His fingertips twitched, and he nearly reached for Marcos.

Nearly.

It was a close thing.

"Evander," Marcos said quietly, turning towards him, before he could reach for the door. "I know you consider him yours, and I would never do a thing to harm him."

Evander nearly laughed. Was that what Marcos thought he was concerned about? He knew Marcos would only give Gray the information that would strengthen his defense, and he'd never place him in danger by giving him too much.

He'd only been . . . trying to distract both of them from the palpable tension and the carnal desire that had been plaguing him since the last time they'd touched.

He could still feel Marcos' mouth on his, still feel his hand, with its rough callouses and its perfect, utterly pleasurable pressure, wrapped around his cock.

And he wanted more. He knew there was more. He'd hardly been an innocent with Vanya, and they'd had hundreds of years, thousands of years, to explore sex.

He wanted all of that, and so much more, with Marcos.

"Of course you wouldn't," Evander said dryly.

"Then what . . ." Marcos hesitated, and then he smiled, slow and oh, it was so dirty, so utterly perfect, that Evander could barely contain himself anymore.

He pushed open the door and had Marcos pressed up against it in a flash, hand skating down his torso and mouth nearly in line with his.

"You wanted this," Marcos said softly. Knowingly.

He'd already talked too much. Knew too much. Saw too much.

Evander stopped his words with a kiss. He'd been so ravenous for Marcos that he could barely restrain himself, and he poured all of his confusion and his desire into the kiss, tongue sliding against Marcos', savoring the taste of him, the feel of him.

It was intoxicating, immediately, and he felt dizzy and unmoored by it.

By him.

Kissing Vanya had been sweet and nice, but there was an urgency, a desperation with Marcos that had Evander already pawing at his clothes.

The scrape of Marcos' scruff, dense from so many days on the road, against the sensitive skin of his neck was a sublime counterpoint to the pleasure rushing through him.

Fingers still scrabbling over Marcos' leather armor, he finally found the ties which held it in place and he pulled them loose.

Marcos chuckled against his lips. "Eager?" he questioned, teasing again.

Evander had never imagined that the Guardian of War would have such a keen sense of humor, or that he would enjoy it so much.

Nothing is how you thought it was.

But instead of drowning in the upheaval of his existence, Evander discovered that he had a firm grip on one person. One person who made it all make sense.

Marcos.

Panting, Evander sank to his knees and rocked back, just looking his fill.

Marcos' body had been designed as a weapon, and he'd honed it to the sharpest edge. But it was more than that, too. He was exquisite like this, lips red and swollen from Evander's own, his gaze soft and hot.

He lifted off his armor, and set it on the floor, his tunic underneath slipping to reveal one powerful shoulder.

Evander wet his lips and groaned as Marcos pulled off the tunic, leaving his chest and torso bare. He reached up, pressing a palm to his stomach, and felt the muscles twitch under his touch.

"As you can see," Marcos said, his voice rough, "you are not the only one desperate."

Evander could see it, the hard line of his erection in his breeches. It was easy to let his fingers slip lower and tug the last bit of his covering down.

He'd touched him twice, brought him to two orgasms, but Evander hadn't had a chance to really look at Marcos' cock.

And now he could sit here, and not only look his fill, but touch and . . .

Well, it seemed very obvious that he wanted even more than that.

Above him, Marcos groaned loud and unrestrained as Evander leaned in and gave his cock an experimental lick.

Marcos' palms pressed hard against the door. Like he was afraid to reach out and touch him.

His control is impeccable, and you're going to break it, anyway.

"I should . . ." Marcos took a deep breath as Evander licked again. "I should wash. We have been on the road . . ."

But he didn't smell bad, only like Marcos. Like leather and steel and something wild and dangerous, the crackle of lightning hitting the ground. As Evander leaned closer, the scent of him only grew stronger and more intoxicating, until Evander felt dizzy with it.

"You . . ." Marcos tried to speak again, to warn him? Evander wasn't sure, because he answered the unasked question by dipping his head and sliding his cock into his mouth, sucking lightly on the head, enjoying both the way it twitched against his tongue and the groan that Marcos let out.

It had been a very long time since he'd done this but Marcos didn't seem to mind, even though he was cautious. Marcos was larger than Vanya had been, a full mouthful that Evander discovered he really enjoyed.

Enjoyed so much that as he gave Marcos pleasure, fingertips dug into the rippling muscles of the most beautiful pair of thighs he'd ever seen—and he'd seen so many pairs over his many, many years—he found his own blood beating hot and strong, and he reached down, pressing a palm against his own erection, straining at his breeches.

Marcos' groan was rough and desperate. "Yes," he begged, "touch yourself. I want to see you."

He sounded like he'd die if he didn't see, and since Evander felt the same flavor of urgency, he pushed his breeches down, freeing his own cock, stroking it firmly as he took Marcos' length deep, tracing patterns along it with his tongue.

Precome blurted onto his tongue and he savored it, knowing that Marcos was close. And he was too, but he needed more. He slipped a finger alongside Marcos' cock in his mouth and wet it, sliding it down his body, enjoying Marcos' shocked gasp.

Raising up on his haunches, Evander trembled as he pressed his fingers lower, and then lower still, circling his hole, gasping around Marcos' cock as he pressed in.

He could imagine Marcos doing this to him, fucking him with his fingers and then his cock, big and inescapable, driving him wild with the pleasure of it.

Marcos' whine was high and needy as he sucked harder and pushed his finger in further, a second joining the first. He wanted to feel full, as full as Marcos would make him.

Then, finally, Marcos' hands left the door, and Evander felt them settle on his head, on his cheek, stroking his hair, soft and sweet.

And then they gripped him hard and Evander froze, for a split second, bracing for Marcos' orgasm, then as it washed over him, started to swallow.

Marcos' bellow was probably heard throughout Beaulieu, but in that moment Evander didn't care. He was frantic, sucking hard on Marcos' cock, licking up the last bit of his come, teetering on the edge of his own orgasm.

He was so close, he just needed a little bit more . . .

Marcos' softening cock slipped out of his mouth and he was panting, so aroused he felt both like he could live on this edge forever, and desperate to fall off it.

Then he was being lifted, effortlessly, like he weighed nothing, and Marcos kissed him deep, big hands cupping his backside, and then Evander felt it.

Another finger, bigger and rougher, joining his own. He pressed his cock, slippery and straining, against Marcos' stomach, rubbing it against the ridges of his muscled abdomen, and that was all it took. His orgasm was like a storm, buffeting him and shaking him, and Evander thought he might have yelled.

He came down with a shaky laugh, and as he opened his eyes, his gaze still even with Marcos', he knew he must have been very loud indeed, because Marcos' grin was undeniably smug.

"Don't tell me," Marcos said, his voice a deep rumble as he carried them over to the bed, "that you were thinking about that during our council with Their Highnesses."

"I won't," Evander said, chuckling under his breath. "I'll deny it until my final breath."

Marcos picked up his tunic and wiped his chest clean of Evander's come. "We should call for a bath," he said.

If they did, and they were both here, in Evander's quarters, everyone would know.

Rhys had never taken a lover.

Evander had only had one lover before—and Vanya had betrayed him.

But he already knew, deep down, in a place where truth and lies became inescapably apparent, that Marcos would never deceive or abandon him.

He had not said it, but Evander believed that he loved him.

"You do not mind if everyone knows?" Evander asked, shedding the rest of his clothes. He could use a bath.

He did not know if he minded yet, so perhaps it was best to ask Marcos first.

"Why would I?" Marcos questioned with a shrug. "Would it bother you?"

"Rhys was not . . . he did not . . ." Evander hesitated.

"But everyone knew Merleen was trying," Marcos teased.

"They do not know you are Merleen, or that I am Rhys."

Marcos shrugged again. "It is our business. If the court wishes to gossip, they will gossip. You have been at many courts, you should know this."

"I do, but it has never been me they were gossiping about," Evander admitted.

Marcos reached over and pressed a reassuring hand against Evander's shoulder. "If you wish to keep it between us . . ."

But even before he'd restored his powers, Evander never could have missed the hurt that flashed in Marcos' gaze. He did not want Evander to be afraid or, even worse, ashamed.

And he wasn't. Not necessarily.

He was just so very new to this. Embarrassingly.

"I have not done this," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Never before."

"You did it with Vanya. The whole Castle knew about you and Vanya." Marcos' tone was dry as kindling, and he looked away, like he was afraid of what Evander would see in his eyes.

"After that," Evander corrected, "I did not do this."

Marcos looked surprised.

"You were watching me, you should have known," Evander said. But clearly he hadn't.

"I believed you must have been discreet," Marcos said slowly. "Never, not once since you were banished?"

"I did not trust anyone," Evander admitted.

"And you trust me?"

It was a natural assumption to make, but it still made Evander squirm inside. He did trust the Guardian, but it was harder to admit it.

Especially when Marcos' gaze kept flaying him bare.

"Yes," he finally admitted. "Yes, I do."

"Then that is enough," Marcos said and rose to his feet. "I will return to my own quarters, then."

That had not been what Evander wished at all, and he found himself scrambling to fix it. "No," he said hurriedly, "no, I did not mean for you to go, for us to . . . well, for us to do that, and then have you leave." He hesitated. He'd never dreamt that he'd say the next words, but he couldn't deny the authenticity of them. "I want you here. With me."

The smile that graced Marcos' features was one of his brightest, his eyes impossibly softened even further.

He loves you, Evander thought, again, because he could not help it. And you . . . well, you are hardly averse to him. Not now.

But he didn't know if it was love. He'd never loved that way before.

Could he love Marcos?

Regardless, he could not, would not, mention it until he was sure. Marcos deserved that much.

"Then, perhaps I will make myself scarce while you call for the bath," Marcos said gently. "Since you do not wish to be the subject of gossip."

It felt so petty, worrying about that. Evander shook off his concern. "No," he said, "I want you here, and if people decide to discuss that particular turn of events, it's their business, not ours."

Marcos tugged up his breeches. "I will find a servant, then, and ask them to bring a hot bath, and some food," he said. But before he turned to go, he looked back. "Kadir once told me that we were everlasting, that we could never change, but I would challenge that now. You have changed, Evander, Guardian of Secrets."