Chapter Fifteen

T he loud cracking jolted Kerric as the shards of his prison fell away. The pieces turned to dust, to be blown away by the wind. Relief. Sweet relief to move.

Now wasn't the time to stop and figure out where the stone came from or where it went. He'd rather it didn't come back.

No patrols lurked, leaving him free to examine the other statues. Timoz, Malcolm, Georgi, Vez… His men. Still here. Sadly, Alon, Shere, and Patre were missing. Kerric's heart ached for his lost men. Damn soldiers!

Some gargoyles were dirty, and one had a chip, but all seemed to be in relatively good repair and fearsome to behold, as the men had been in life. "Soon, my friends, soon you will be free." May Ibrus hear his pleas.

And strike the birds currently sitting on Georgi's head.

Instead of taking the steps down to the dungeon, Kerric crept through the corridor to Miisov's quarters. The old bastard had some explaining to do.

At least three sets of footsteps pattered away from Miisov's rooms. Kerric ducked into an unused room until they passed and waited until the footsteps faded from his rather acute hearing before making his way to Miisov's door.

A lock on the door wouldn't stop Kerric. Thanks to all the gods, he'd rematerialized as himself in the clothes he'd worn on that fateful day with the sword Miisov had returned to him, along with a dagger he'd pilfered from a guard. The favor wouldn't make him forgive Miisov, but he could appreciate the gesture.

Three twists of his dagger popped the lock. He slipped into the silent workroom. Light peeked from under the door to Miisov's private chambers.

Miisov stepped out in a dressing robe. "Ah, my dear Captain Kerric. It seems all the time you spent thinking on the roof has not taught you to knock. Just as well. I was on my way to unlock the door when I heard your scratching. I might as well let you practice your, how should I put this? Less than savory skills."

Regardless of the reason Miisov cast the curse, Kerric might never forgive him. However, he'd put his own grievances aside for now with a prince to save.

"Would you care for tea?" Miisov lowered himself into a chair at a small table set for two. A steaming teapot sat in the middle, along with a plate of fruits, meats, and cheeses. Crusty bread sat nearby—a feast for a man who'd had scant food recently.

Despite his hunger, Kerric crossed his arms over his chest. "This isn't a social visit. I have to check on our guest. If I could get him out of the cell tonight, I would."

"No need. Come have tea with me." Miisov patted the table in invitation. "Sit. I've much to tell you."

Kerric's grumbling belly decided matters. The tea smelled divine. How long since he'd last savored a cup from Miisov's private stock of imported tea leaves? He sat, took the offered cup, and attempted not to fall on the food like a starving wolf. Miisov only ate a dainty bite or two, which at one time might've warned Kerric of the possibility of poison.

However, Miisov hadn't kept Kerric alive this long to kill him now. Not until he'd served his purpose. Then, all bets were likely off. "What do you want with me?"

"Much," Miisov replied between sips of tea. "Rumors have long persisted about an heir to King Lothan coming to replace Bain."

"And how, pray tell, did these rumors start?" Kerric lifted a brow.

A smirk peeked out of Miisov's full facial hair. "I might have been a bit indiscreet around the kitchen staff." He placed his thumb and forefinger a scant breadth apart. "Just a little."

Kerric laughed. "They told anyone who'd listen."

"Right, you are, though I'll deny rumor-mongering until my last breath. Lately, though, Bain has become more concerned with the possibility of the rumors being true."

Kerric gave a rather plump berry a moment's reprieve to say, "Let me guess. You had a hand in that, too."

Miisov's smug smile provided the answer. "There isn't much going on at the castle that I don't have a hand in. Bain has invited the king of Anilitk for a visit, insisting he bring his queen and heirs. Actually, it's more of a five-day party."

Since when did Selin go anywhere with his family instead of a mistress? "And?"

"Oh, forgive me. Even though you have been at the castle, you haven't been privy to the goings-on. The Anilitk king wed Princess Lessa after his original queen suffered an… accident."

An image came to mind of a leering old man Kerric once had to defend maids from. "Wait, wasn't he a horrifying old lecher?"

"Yes, and believe me, I'd have spared our dear princess such a fate had it been possible. I'm told she is well, loves her sons dearly, and threatened to unman her husband if he ever attempts to touch her again."

Kerric couldn't resist a smile. "She's always been feisty." He recalled the shock of many soldiers when she told one of them off for underestimating her, usually after besting them on the archery range. The smile fell when he considered what Lessa might have endured as Selin's wife.

"Yes, her mother hailed from Aaox." Miisov stared off at nothing for a moment, possibly reliving some special memory.

"Aaox." Kerric recalled tales from his youth of warrior queens of old from Aaox. "No wonder the princess has a backbone of steel. Her mother insisted she learn to fight, as I recall. She used to spar with your daughter, did she not?"

A shadow crossed Miisov's face. He didn't meet Kerric's eyes, though he otherwise hid what appeared to be sorrow.

Had some tragedy befallen Elzabai? She'd been fierce herself and very attached to Princess Lessa and Prince Dafron.

"Quite true," Miisov finally answered, "However, Bain has made a deal with our light-fingered guest."

"Oh?" This should prove interesting. Kerric would have to ask about Elzabai later.

"In exchange for his life, Prince Eron, or rather, the villain he portrays, is to kill Lessa and her sons. Bain doesn't know that one of King Lothan's sons survived and believes that the prophesied threat comes from Lessa."

Prince Eron lived. That sweet little boy who always wanted to look out over the kingdom lived. That knowledge alone made Kerric's curse easier to bear. "But doesn't Bain know his own kin?" If so, Kerric needed to get the man far from here. "Eron won't—"

Miisov held up a staying hand. "The enchanted stone Prince Eron carries guarantees that any who mean him harm won't see him as he truly is. This includes even Bain. Prince Eron's exact words to the king regarding Lessa and her offspring were, ‘I can't wait to meet them.' Which Bain, in his arrogance, took for agreement."

Kerric squirmed in his seat. Every fiber of his being demanded he stop dawdling and act. He'd been inactive for too long while Bain enjoyed ill-gotten gains. "How is Prince Eron supposed to fulfill the duty stuck in a cell?"

"He's posing as another honored guest, an Estian noble. At this very moment, he's in his room enjoying a bath, after which he'll be swathed in the latest Estian fashions. I must admit, his Estian is flawless. A spell or two will help him."

Kerric shot to his feet. "What? How do you know he won't simply leave?" Kerric would at the first opportunity.

"Calm yourself, Captain Kerric. While Prince Eron might not have all his memories, his integrity is intact, I assure you. Besides, I have a tracking spell on him, and Bain isn't about to let him take a single footstep from his rooms without guards."

Of course, a suspicious ass like Miisov used a tracking spell. "Even though most think him but a lovely thief, is there a danger for him here?"

Miisov shrugged. "The only people who know anything about a resident highwayman are myself, King Bain, Duke Crau, you, and the king's personal guards, who are too loyal to the old fool to speak out. The duke is the one I'd be leery of. While Bain's mind is easy to manipulate, Crau's is far keener. Sometimes he slips free of my…suggestions. That's why Prince Eron has you and your men."

"But I'm only human at night." If Kerric could just break free of the curse altogether, he'd be of more help. Right now, helplessness weighed him down. He'd always been a man of action. Waiting? Not so much.

"That's when unscrupulous predators like Crau slink out of the shadows. Under cover of darkness. While I made the original curse, I'm having a bit of difficulty changing it as needed."

"What was the original curse?"

"That you'd awaken when one of Lothan's heirs returned to power, though I can't recall my exact wording. Cast curses in a hurry, worry at your leisure. I'm normally more controlled."

"Hasn't Lessa come occasionally?" Just because Kerric hadn't seen her didn't mean she hadn't visited.

"She has not."

"But Eron is here, and only I awakened."

"As I said before, I made the curse in haste, and I might have thought of Eron becoming king at the wrong moment, which would provide a different timeline." Determination gleamed in Miisov's eyes. "But I will succeed in waking them. Anyway, tomorrow, Eron will be introduced as Viscount Edry. "

"Won't Princess Lessa recognize him?"

"Even with his talisman, she'd feel the bond of their kinship. As she means him no harm, she'll see his true likeness. Queen Lessa is not without her own devices. If Eron was an actual assassin bent on murdering her and her sons, I doubt he'd be successful. Bain's previous attempts to have her removed have all failed." Miisov gave a knowing smile. "Even without her guards, she can defend herself. She and my daughter were friends, after all, and sparred together. Queen Lessa excelled with a knife and a sword."

"Why couldn't you use her in your schemes to depose Bain?"

"Because Prince Eron will be king. It's his destiny." Miisov nibbled a slice of apple. "You know that Hisar, of all of Ala's kingdoms, won't accept a queen."

"Yet other countries have had them in the past. Queen Lessa's namesake, for one. Several queendoms exist in Ala to this day. Quite successfully, if I remember correctly. Unfortunately, due to a meddling mage who shall go unnamed"—Kerric glared at Miisov—"all my information is about twelve summers out of date." Miisov's apple appeared too tempting. Kerric helped himself to one, bit in, and moaned as the sweet juice hit his tongue. "Good apple, but I'm still not forgiving you."

Miisov ignored Kerric's comment as well as his nearly orgasmic enjoyment of the fruit. "Backward men like usurper Bain wouldn't stand for a queen ruling now, especially as it would mean he was dead. More than one assassin would come after her. You must protect Prince Eron during the night while you can and, therefore, protect his sister and nephews in the process. No one expects you here, so as long as you're discreet, you should have free access to the castle. Because of your many patrols, you also have a vast knowledge of the hidden routes and passageways."

"What of my men? Can't you free them?" Kerric could assign Malcolm to watch over Queen Lessa and some of his other men to protect her sons.

He'd guard Prince Eron himself.

"Alas, to do so would likely take more energy than I have, though I am trying. I shall keep watch during the day and set what wards I can. Besides, as a visiting noble, I doubt Eron will be left alone very often, except to carry out his task."

A knife twisted in Kerric's gut. Jealousy? No, certainly not. Fear for Eron only. Eron. Alive. Kerric's heart swelled, though the precocious child he'd once helped onto the ramparts had grown into a stunning man. If Kerric hadn't failed in his duty, King Lothan and Prince Dafron would still be here as well, and Princess Lessa wouldn't have been forced to marry a horrid man who'd likely killed his previous queen. "You know I can find Prince Eron tonight, but spare me some time and tell me where he is."

Miisov met Kerric's gaze. "He's been assigned to his old rooms. Do you remember their location?"

"Yes." How could Kerric have forgotten, as many times as he'd escorted the young scamp back to where he'd belonged when he strayed? Which had been often.

Miisov stared for a few more minutes. "Your pale blue eyes were quite beautiful, but they're even more striking as silver."

I'll strike you, you old fool.

The evening hadn't grown late enough for Kerric to simply stroll down the corridor of what used to be the heirs' wing. Then, there was the matter of the guards assigned to Eron. Instead, Kerric took a lantern into the darkened servants' stairs on the fourth landing. He held it aloft but saw nothing out of place. His knife caught in a crevice as he ran the blade over the stone. Ah-ha! He pushed the blade in until a click sounded. The panel swung open, emitting a cloud of dust. Chances were, no one had come this way since the battle that had ended King Lothan's life.

Kerric shuffled over the dusty floor, returned the panel to its place, and resumed his trek. If memory served, the door he sought would be somewhere around here. He darkened his lantern and placed his eye to a barely perceptible peephole to ensure an empty room before entering.

His mouth went dry. A man with dark curly hair lay in a tub, head resting along the back, hairy arms on the tub's edges. He stayed still for several moments. Had he fallen asleep?

He suddenly plunged underwater, coming up with wet hair, scrubbing at his stubbled face with his hand. Prince Eron. Kerric should look away. He really should.

But he couldn't. The prince's arms and chest were solidly built, and the mat of dark hair on his chest made Kerric want to comb his fingers through those soft curls. So long without a man.…

No, Kerric couldn't think that way. This was his prince, who'd take no notice of a lowly guard.

How had such a vision of a man gone from prince to highwayman?

Kerric stared, transfixed, as Prince Eron washed his hair. He didn't act like many nobles Kerric had known who insisted on being attended by servants while bathing, or maybe Bain hadn't offered any. No, Eron would have sent them away. The independence struck a chord with Kerric, who'd been self-sufficient since age ten.

Eron rose from the bath after several more moments of soaking, water sluicing from his exquisite form. Whipcord lean, with taut muscles and well-defined chest, arms, legs, and… gods! That firm, round ass nearly made Kerric cry. He bit his knuckle to prevent a whimper from escaping. Dark hair formed an amazing trail down Eron's abdomen to where Kerric wanted to be.

What a beautiful man. And that wasn't simply seasons of forced abstinence speaking. Eron stepped from the tub and reached for a bathing sheet lying on a nearby chair. Dark hair also covered his legs. Would it be coarse or soft when Kerric skimmed his hands over Eron's skin? What delicious scent would Kerric find when he buried his nose in the mat of black hair surrounding Eron's cock?

The door slammed open. Two armed men stormed in with swords drawn, both wearing royal guard's uniforms. The first slashed at Eron.

Eron rolled, coming up behind them. A swift kick put one headfirst into the tub. Water splashed onto the floor.

Two against an unarmed, naked man? Never! Kerric shot out of the hidden panel, sword in one hand, while throwing his dagger with the other. The blade sunk into the second guard's chest. He fell to his knees, then toppled over backward.

Eron held the first guard's head underwater, muscles corded and teeth clenched together in a grimace.

The guard flailed, sending up bubbles and nearly throwing Eron off. Eron climbed onto the man's back, redoubling his efforts.

The guard's flailing calmed to an occasional thrash and, finally, stilled. Eron stood, fully naked, chest heaving. "Are you here to kill me, too?" he asked without turning in Kerric's direction.

Kerric remained rooted to the spot, enthralled by the generous muscles of Eron's back, buttocks, and legs. How expertly he'd dispatched the assassin. "No."

Eron turned. "You're dressed as they are, though your uniform appears older. If you're not here to kill me, I give you my thanks and wonder how you gained access to my rooms."

"Later." Kerric dropped to one knee over the guard he'd skewered and removed his dagger. He wiped the blade on the guard's clothes as Eron pulled the other guard from the bath. The corpse slapped wetly to the floor.

Kerric turned to find a naked Eron kneeling by the body. "This isn't a guard," Eron said.

Kerric joined him, trying not to fixate on the lovely man's nakedness. "Why do you say that?"

"He was too clumsy. Too slow. They both were. They also hesitated. Hesitation in battle is death." They'd hesitated? Someone had trained Eron well.

"No, they were hired to pose as guards to gain entry to your rooms and kill you, most likely. How many people know you're here?" Miisov mentioned four, not counting guards.

"The crazy mage, a pompous duke, a man who calls himself king, guards, and a few servants." Eron showed not the least sign of modesty as he stood, flaccid cock dangling from a nest of ebony curls. "And you."

With a bit of effort, Kerric managed to keep his eyes from straying and his mind on the situation.

Having had many lovers and regularly bathing and dressing with other guards should've made Kerric less susceptible to a naked man's charms. This man, however, captured Kerric's attention. He couldn't look away.

"What do we do with the bodies?" Eron asked, pulling Kerric's attention to matters at hand.

A voice sounded from the open doorway. "The crazy mage will take care of the refuse." Miisov stepped into the room, staff in hand. Amazing Kerric hadn't heard his shuffling gait before now. Then again, if Miisov didn't want to be heard, he wouldn't be. "I see the two of you have met."

Interesting how fast Eron wrapped his body in a linen cloth once Miisov appeared. "We have. Though I still don't know who he is." Eron waved a hand in Kerric's direction. "He's wearing the king's colors, but his uniform differs from what the assassins wore. Less ostentatious."

Miisov glanced from Eron to Kerric and back. "Our dear Captain Kerric prefers a simpler style. He's what you might call a relic from a bygone era."

Kerric's glare ought to have incinerated Miisov on the spot.

Eron turned his full attention to Kerric. "Captain Kerric! You said you're called Cap."

"I am."

Eron peered at Kerric more closely, eyes squinted. "You look familiar. Sound familiar, too, as does your name."

"Oh, you know. You've seen one guard, you've seen them all," Miisov interjected dismissively. "And all Hisarans sound the same."

Now wasn't the time to mention Kerric's being from Splosia and not sounding a bit like a Hisaran.

"I don't find that to be true, but I must be mistaken," Eron said. "I'd remember silver hair and eyes."

Kerric let out a relieved breath not to be recognized.

Miisov nodded to the bodies. "Captain, please show Edry around the castle and familiarize him with its many passageways." A stern look conveyed hidden passageways.

"Starting with how you got into my rooms." Eron grinned. A man who'd just foiled a murder attempt shouldn't be so cheerful.

"I think you'd be more comfortable if you dressed and wore boots." The suggestion came hard as Kerric would love nothing more than to ogle Eron's amazing body now that they were apparently safe. Maybe he could slip away to the tavern for a brief spell and find some man willing to calm his long-denied libido.

The tavern still existed, didn't it? Wait. Miisov mentioned restrictions. Leave the castle and turn to stone permanently. Parts of Kerric felt like stone now. Oh, for a bed, ten minutes, and a willing bedmate. At another glance toward Eron, Kerric amended that to at least thirty minutes.

Eron strode into what Kerric remembered to be his bedchamber. The rooms had changed since he'd last been here. Toys and remnants of Eron's childhood were gone. No doubt Miisov provided adequate clothing, too.

The tapestries weren't to Kerric's liking, but he didn't have to live here.

Miisov ambled closer. "I do not recognize these men, though they reek of Crau's influence. I will interrogate them. It seems Crau might not be fully invested in my plans. I'll have to exert a bit more influence."

"How can you interrogate dead men?" Did Kerric really want to know? And could he truly trust Miisov's questionable magic to keep Eron safe?

Miisov fixed Kerric with a meaningful stare. "Yours is not to question the ways of mages. Now, take your charge. Remember that at dawn, you will return to your post. Lord Edry also needs time to sleep. Now go, but don't stay out too late."