Chapter 25

HE'S ALIVE.

THEforce of those two words alone invigorated Nero's soul, pumped determination through him like a deluge. He half-dragged Laurel's weak, clammy form out of the house with more than a small amount of difficulty. Perrin lowered himself to the ground obligingly as they approached. As helpfully as he could manage, he used his front leg to help the prince prop the blonde up onto his neck.

"Sorry about this," Nero apologized for what felt like the thousandth time as he settled onto Perrin's back behind Laurel. "If I don't hold onto you, you might fall."

"Just do it." Quivering, he swallowed the fresh nausea that rose in him at the feeling of Nero pressed into his back. "Don't worry about me." He hugged March's bow to his chest with one arm, gripping into the reptilian flesh as best he could with the other.

He wasn't far from the castle, Nero thought, remembering Laurel's initial words.

"Go west. I'll tell you when to shift directions."

There is no need, young Laurel von Isildor. If you can keep your thoughts at least partially focused on the directions to March, I will follow them.

The disembodied voice in his head was strange, but comforting. He'd always liked Perrin. With a light groan, Laurel found himself leaning forward to rest his damp forehead on the dragon's cool scales, similar to how Nero had done earlier. "Does that mean you can see what I'm thinking about now?"

I'm sorry for what you have gone through. The cruelty of humans often astounds me.

Again, they rose high into the air. As he'd said, Perrin seemed to know which way to go. His wings flapped with great strength, sending his sleek shape hurtling through the air at breakneck speed.

"It'll be over soon," Nero tried his best to soothe the blonde with words. He was more accustomed to showing affection through physical actions, even platonically, but it was obvious that Laurel hated being touched now. Guilt and fear slipped around in his guts like oil and water. The blonde male didn't answer, only giving a guttural whimper in response.

It felt like hours for both of them, but it was only minutes before Perrin's deep, resonant voice echoed in both their heads. This is the forest he's being held in, is it not, young sorcerer?

"This is it." In the rural, uninhabited area was a small, thick wedge of forest that looked like a verdant crescent moon from their overhead position. The trees were too densely spaced for Perrin's gargantuan body to penetrate.

They lunged toward the ground, the dragon's powerful clawed feet digging into the soft earth as he collided with it.

Muscles wobbly and shaky, Laurel limply dismounted, collapsing to the ground. He vomited weakly between his knees before rolling onto his side, curling into a ball. "Sorry I can't help much more."

"You've done enough," Nero answered fiercely, kneeling for a moment so he could move the sweat-soaked tendrils of blonde hair off the sorcerer's forehead. "Should I just go straight ahead?"

"Yeah. Be careful, Nero."

BLINKING, MARCH'S CONSCIOUSNESSreturned to him like a slow drip of fractured vision and pounding headache. He moaned in pain even before remembering he'd been attacked, his right temple giving a nasty throb. Sprawled in the dirt, he lifted himself to a sitting position, trying to focus on breathing.

"You're awake. That isn't particularly convenient for me."

Confused, March lifted his head. His brain was fuzzy, and his eyes could barely focus. But his mind registered Duke Terin, despite only really meeting him once.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, wrapping his arms around his stomach, letting his head hang down again.

"Don't take it so personally. I couldn't care less about a pretentious little commoner. You are, however, the most obvious means to an end."

"You want Neroki to come for me," March determined, shivering. Would the prince even be able to find him? He didn't have a clue where they were.

"Clever little pissant, aren't you?"

Trees towered over them in a thick canopy, an isolated pit of shadows on a sunny day. Summer would be giving way to autumn soon, but the air still held a balmy warmth. Despite the comfortable temperature, March's skin felt like it was coated in ice.

"What are you going to do if he doesn't come?" The young noble asked.

"He'll come."

As if the duke's words held the power to control the universe, March heard a whooshing sound from above them. Birds squawked, scattering from their perches. Neck craned toward the sky, March watched Perrin's shadow pass over them as he glided to the ground near the edge of the forest.

Unfettered joy rose within him, in such intensity that he nearly forgot where he was. Galvanized by the feeling, he rose to his feet, adrenaline injecting an otherworldly grace into his movements. Knowing he didn't have time for a backward glance, he bounded off.

His strides ate up the ground in steady chunks, but he could hear the duke tearing after him. He was a runner by habit, and though his muscles easily fell into the familiar motions, the dizziness in March's head threatened to tangle him up, make him stumble. Even without the wobbly fog over his brain, he was small, with shorter legs by far than the sizable man who pursued him.

When the duke slammed into his back, he screamed, crying out in pain and shock as his body hit the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Their bodies rolled over the dirt and leaves, with March kicking, hands flailing for his freedom. Settling his superior weight over the young noble's legs, Terin swung his hand back, striking his palm against the side of March's face with enough force to clack his teeth together. His temple and cheek, already bruised and throbbing from where he'd been hit before, exploded with pain.

"Sleazy little commoner." Practically spitting with fury, the duke brought his face close to March's as he spoke. "I didn't plan on killing you, you know. But your kind is never satisfied with what they have." Then, his voice took on a strange sort of calmness, though the rage still simmered underneath. "No matter. Alive or not, you still serve as a suitable bait for your swaggering, egotistical prince."

His hands were large, with long fingers. When they circled March's throat, giving a light squeeze at first, then with increasing pressure, the raven-haired male gasped out a ragged breath, struggling. His fingers dug into Terin's wrists and hands, tugging and clawing, but his strength was leaving him as his windpipe was clutched. As his vision dimmed, he knew the fight was over, if there'd ever really been a fight in the first place. He was going to die in the middle of nowhere, at the hands of a man who despised him. He prayed that Neroki would be safe, and wouldn't suffer the same fate.

When the thick branch slammed into the side of the duke's head, sending his body flying up and off March's, he landed in a harsh heap on the dirt beside them. Panting, Nero let the branch drop to the ground before scrambling to his lover's side.

Dragging himself up onto his hands and knees, March's breaths were rapid and shallow. As he choked, lungs willing air into them at a greater pace than his battered throat could allow, he felt Nero's arms wrap around him from behind.

"I've got you," Nero murmured, mollified somewhat when the worst of the hacking coughs were over, and March turned into him, hugging him tightly. When he drew back a bit, eyes racing over the mass of darkening bruises on March's otherwise perfect face, his stomach dropped into a void. "Oh, sweetheart…"

"It's okay. You came for me."

Nero was certain he'd never seen anything that fit the description of okay less in his life, but he could only nod. "I'm so sorry, March. This is all my fault."

"Your fault?"

"I put you in danger because I acted like an idiot. My father and everyone else is right, I would make a terrible king."

"No," March breathed out, though he couldn't quite bring himself to lift his head off the prince's shoulder to look at him. "You won't. You have time to learn."

"I promise I'm going to be more responsible. If I make enemies, then they'll know they can hurt me by hurting you, so… I can't make enemies. I can't just do what I want all the time without hurting the people I love. Like Laurel before, and now you."

"Laurel?"

"It's a long story, I'll explain everything to you later. If you can help me to be a king like my father, I promise I'll do everything I can to keep you and everyone in Ikronia safe."

"Of course I'll help you. We can learn together," March promised, snuggling more tightly into his chest and shoulder. They held each other for another few minutes, heartbeats eventually syncing together into one pulse. "How did you find me, anyway?" March finally wondered.

Tucking his tongue into his cheek, Nero cast his eyes to the mass of greenery above them. "Again, that's a long story."

EMERGING FROM THEtree line, March squinted at the harsh rays of sun that washed over him. Even that small shift of his facial muscles had pain racking through him. At his side, Nero had a grip on each of the duke's feet, dragging his limp body over the ground behind them.

I'm very pleased to see you safe and sound, young March. Your wellbeing is of great importance to me.

"Thank you, Perrin." Making his way across the small meadow, March felt a surprisingly powerful rush of fondness and affection for the dragon. Unable to resist, he pressed his lips to the long, firm snout lowered to him.

That is because you are truly Nero's mate now. The bond between he and I now flows between you and I as well.

"That's nice," March decided, smiling. "I'm sorry I haven't made as much time as I should have to spend with you. I'll do better."

Do not fret. There will be many opportunities to nurture your bond with me.

"Enough flirting, Perrin," Nero ordered, dropping the man's legs to the ground with an unceremonious thud. Despite the horror of the day, the sight of his fiancé stroking lines over his dragon's face had a lightness forming in his chest. "He's taken."

While I can appreciate your avarice toward young March, I feel honor bound to remind you that the dragon-human smut contained in the stories you people tend to imagine is not only anatomically impossible, but wholly unappealing to my sensibilities as well.

Letting out a choked laugh, March felt his face turn red. "For the record, I've never read that kind of book." As Nero came up beside him, slapping a hand on the dragon's firm shoulder, March heard a light, unmistakably human groan from somewhere on Perrin's other side.

"You can't carry all of us back to the castle. Not safely, anyway," Nero amended. March heard the two of them discussing plans for returning as he moved curiously around the dragon's bulk.

The sight of Laurel, looking blanched and sickly, had him gasping and rushing over. The blonde's features, which March had always thought to be eerily feline, in a sharply attractive sort of way, were strained. With little regard for the wellbeing of his shirt, March tore the sleeve off. Moving over to the crystal clear stream that flowed like a fairy-tale image a few yards away from them, he dipped it in, soaking it with the cool water.

Folding it efficiently, he placed the cold cloth on Laurel's forehead before plucking a plant with a large, broad leaf from the ground beside them. March fanned it over the other male's face, relieved when it seemed to allay him, and his light brown eyes fluttered open.

They eyed each other tentatively for a few moments before Laurel finally spoke. "You're taking care of me now, after how I've treated you?"

"I'm sure you had your reasons," March responded, remembering the strained conversation he'd had with Nero about Laurel's mysterious issues. "I don't want us to hate each other, Laurel. You're Neroki's friend. I'd like you to be mine, too."

"God, I can't stand people like you." He held out the bow he'd been clutching to his chest, wiggling it impatiently after a few moments of March's blank stare.

"How… I don't…" March took it in his hands gratefully, running his thumbs over the familiar texture. Once he was able to tear his eyes away from how gorgeously the silver in-lay shimmered in the bright sun, March looked back up to Laurel. And seeing the shame, the apology, and the bitterness in his sharp-featured face, March thought maybe he understood. At least a little. "Thank you, Laurel. It means a lot."

"Don't thank me. I ruined all your stuff. I also tricked Ramor into breaking into your room to embarrass you. And it was me who scared you in the forest. That part wasn't intentional, though. I had no idea you'd be able to sense me."

The seconds of silence stretched into a minute as March considered his feelings. In his mind's eye, he could see himself, Neroki, Laurel, Cedar, Ramor, and Ingrid, all sitting around a table, laughing. He'd never had friends, and the idea that he could be a part of their tight-knit group gave him an odd sort of thrill in his chest. And maybe Laurel did hate him, but if he couldn't convince one cynical noble to warm to him, he could hardly earn the trust and admiration of an entire kingdom, as the spouse of a crown prince.

"But you're sorry, aren't you?"

"Yeah." The answer was petulant, bordering on haughty, but sincere.

"Then we'll work it out."

Nero, having been watching them for awhile, leaned a shoulder onto Perrin's flank, and felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. They made a lovely picture of male beauty, spread out on the lush grass, with their contrasting colors and features, though he doubted either of them would care to hear the compliment.

"It's going to be impossible for us all to head back at once," he said. "Especially with this asshole back here still knocked out. And I don't want to leave anyone here on their own, just in case. If I can get him back to the castle to my father, we can come back on Perrin and Sezlyth. Does that work for everybody?" Nero asked.

March and Laurel glanced back to each other, Laurel giving the raven-haired noble a look he could only think to describe as a cautious truce. "We'll be fine," the blonde said, confirming March's thoughts.

Nero gave a grateful nod, opening his mouth to wonder how his father would react to the unconscious body of the duke from the neighboring kingdom. Then everything seemed to happen all at once.

Nero! Perrin's voice exploded as the dragon's large frame jerked, his massive head swinging around to defend his bonded human, but moments too late. The prince felt himself be grasped from behind, one hand jerking his chin up, the other pressing a sharp blade to his throat.

Pulling Nero's body back and away from the rest of the group, Terin kept his eyes locked in their direction, wild fury blazing in them.

"Stay back, or I'll slit his throat."

"Hurt him, and you're dead," March warned, heart doing flips inside his chest. "You won't get out of here alive."

Young March speaks the truth. Your suffering would surpass that of any you could conceive of.

"Do you think I believe to escape from this unscathed?" He barked out a caustic laugh. Bitter that his plan had gone so awry, and that his skull was throbbing as if it had been fractured in two, Terin shook his head. "But arrears must be paid." He'd been humiliated by the impetuous little brat, twice now, and that was a sin that required payment.

March could hear Perrin's voice again, threatening, could feel Laurel nudging his leg. But the words, the touch, didn't fully register. For him, there was only Neroki. When the prince's eyes locked with his, then darted down next to him, meaningfully, he found himself glancing down.

In Laurel's hand, hidden behind March's own knelt body, was a slim, silver arrow. The tip was lethally sharp. It glowed with an ethereal light, as if it had been conjured from the heavens. Laurel's face was tense, his teeth dug into his lower lip, as if he was trying not to cry out, and March understood. It was killing him, but he'd somehow managed to summon it, because they had no other viable option. Despite its almost mocking beauty, bile rose in March's throat at the thought of using it.

He knew if he moved too quickly, too suspiciously, the duke would react. And the knife the man held was pressed so tightly to Nero's throat. It wouldn't take even a flick of the wrist, and it would all be over.

Perrin must have known too, since he could hear all of their thoughts, March realized, as the dragon kept a steady flow of words beaming into their collective consciousnesses. He was trying to keep Terin's eyes on him, and not on March and Laurel.

Like he had with Ramor, he analyzed his options, evaluating which parts of the duke's body he could shoot, and what the likely results would be for each choice. With Terin's body mostly shielded by Neroki's, only his head and hands were exposed. If he could shoot one of the man's hands, then it could give Neroki a chance to escape. But his hands were on the prince's throat. If he missed… No, it simply wasn't an option. And Laurel couldn't make another arrow, he was positive. The blonde was deathly pale now, breathing harshly.

Grasping his beloved bow with one hand, March let his other move with calculated precision to cover Laurel's. As his fingers slipped around the arrow, he felt the blonde male give him an encouraging squeeze. Letting the intention behind the gesture fuel his confidence, March squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, sharpening them to acute precision when they opened again. Though his mind raced with frantic prayers, prayers for his aim, prayers that he'd be forgiven for ending a human life, his hands were rock steady.

As if guided by a force beyond even his own skills for archery, his bow arm shot out before him, an anchor for the magical, glistening arrow to be launched from. It pierced the air like a siren's call, so finely crafted that it didn't seem to fly in the air, so much as through it, as if the matter itself superseded all earthly objects and elements.

Duke Terin didn't have a chance to react, or even to understand. The tip of the arrow perforated his eye cleanly, driving into his brain with a mercy that he didn't deserve. His body dropped to the ground, already void of life, hand still tightly clutched on the knife.

Breath heaving from his battered throat, March sprang up, launching himself into Nero's waiting arms. "Oh, Neroki." Dissolving into helpless sobs, March gripped his prince's neck so tightly, neither of them could tell where one form ended and the next began.

When he pulled back for a moment, his eyes locked onto the duke's slack-jawed face, stomach rising to his throat like a popped rubber band. A shiver crashed over him, and even when he closed his eyes the image remained in his mind, a hauntingly perfect replication.

"Don't look, don't look," Nero shuddered, fingers clutching at March's arms, shoulders, anywhere he could reach. "Just focus on me. You saved me, sweetheart. You and Laurel."

"You saved me first," he countered tearfully. "I was so afraid I would mess something up, and I'd lose you."

"It's over now," Nero promised him, murmuring into his cap of dark hair. "You don't need to cry."

Perrin lumbered over to them, nudging them with his snout in a gesture that didn't require words, though when he did speak, it sent March's heart soaring. You are a very brave young man, March. I'm proud to have you as a bonded human.

"Thank you, Perrin. I'm proud to have you as well."

And Laurel von Isildor, you are a brilliant sorcerer. I'm glad my humans have you as an ally.

"Oh!" March realized belatedly. Wriggling out of the prince's grip enough to turn his head, he shifted his gaze to Laurel. Through his tears, he could see the blonde male laying flat on his back now, the back of his arm thrown across his eyes. "Laurel, are you okay?"

His voice was rough now, both with acerbic pain and poorly concealed emotion. "Just finish your maudlin, syrupy little reunion and get me the fuck out of this field." Able now to sever the channel between himself and the unpredictable reserves of his power, he could begin to relax. And heal.

"By your command, brave and powerful sorcerer," Nero said, grinning a little when Laurel's hand shot up, his middle finger protruding above the others in the universal sign for fuck you. Despite himself, March laughed, swiping his remaining sleeve across his eyes.

Nero reached down, taking March's face in his hands, as gently and carefully as he ever had. Their lips met, clung to one another. And in that kiss was all the hope, all the promise, and all the love that either of them could ever need.