Chapter Sixteen

K erric's heart pounded out a harsh beat normally reserved for battle. He and Eron, alone, with no bars keeping them apart. He held the lantern aloft as they entered the hidden passageway. "What do you remember about the castle?" he asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Although he couldn't see Eron in the dark, Kerric imagined a shrug. "Not much. I remember playing in the great hall. Miisov ensured I am kept in my old rooms, though who can say whether that's meant to provide memories or for secret access? There was a servants' stairway leading to a cellar I used to explore, but I don't recall any connecting to my rooms. I wish I had. Why did no one tell me?"

The question brought to mind the mischievous Eron of old. He didn't mention knowing Kerric. Did he truly not remember, or did he not want to remember?

"I would have loved playing in these passageways as a child. What a pity I didn't know of them." Eron ran a hand over a stone wall. "Like I said, I knew of some servants' stairs, but not these."

"You wouldn't, as a small child. They're intended to be unobtrusive access for servants or paramours and escape routes, unused for a long time." Kerric had frequented some of the more common servants' stairways in his youth. Had even kissed a footman or two in the dark confines.

"How do you know of them?"

How much should Kerric say? "I've been a castle guard for a long time. My mother worked here before that and sometimes brought me with her. We even lived within these walls for a time."

"How? You can't be much older than me."

Counting time spent as a gargoyle, Kerric had seen nearly forty summers. He'd not aged past twenty-seven, the age he'd been when Miisov cursed him. "Sometimes looks are deceiving. Best to remember that, particularly where magic is involved." Kerric led the way to the main servants' staircase, then climbed upward on a whim, Eron following obediently behind.

"Where are we going?" Eron came abreast of Kerric in the wider stairwell, running his fingers along the walls. Kerric had never wanted to be a wall so much in his life.

"You are to see the castle. We'll start at the top and work our way down." Kerric finally stepped out onto the ramparts, ensuring no guards were posted. Eron joined him a moment later, standing in the bright moonlight. Kerric set down the lantern, turning his gaze into the glorious night. "This is my favorite spot in the entire castle." Or it had been before Kerric found himself obligated to stand here night and day. "From this vantage point, you can see much of the kingdom in the daylight." However, why Kerric still enjoyed the spot baffled him, considering his forced confinement.

Perhaps because he could watch the antics of highwaymen.

Eron stepped up beside Kerric, resting his hands on the waist-high stone wall. "Can you see the forest road from here? Because I could clearly see the castle from the trees."

"You can, though the foliage hides much. The leaves have already begun to fall. When the trees are bare in winter, I can watch deer meander down paths to the stream or a wolf on the hunt. So much spectacular life beneath those trees." Those moments of peace had been the only things keeping Kerric from complete despair at times.

Eron ran his hand over the rough stone of the wall. Tactile little thing, wasn't he? "You sound like you spend a lot of time here."

More than you'll ever know. "When I can." I've nothing else to do.

"If you can see for miles from this vantage point, why wasn't my father warned of the encroaching army?"

Kerric's guilt stung. "The sentries saw but didn't report until too late. I believe someone ordered them to silence or paid them. The commander didn't send the king's most trusted guards to your family to get them to safety in time." He balled his hands into fists until his nails bit into his palms and barely kept his anger in check. "A betrayer led them right into the hands of the traitorous Bain." And ensured Kerric kept busy until it was too late to call the alarm.

"A betrayer," Eron muttered low. "I've heard King Bain referred to as a usurper, but if he's of King Lothan's line, doesn't he have a legitimate claim to the throne?"

"As your grandfather's bastard brother, he does not."

"Ah. That explains much."

"Bain felt the line should have passed on to him, regardless of the circumstances of his birth. You see, Bain grew up in the royal household, though he never received a title. Your grandfather considered him a friend. He'd be heartbroken to see what Bain has become, how Bain killed your grandfather's only legitimate heir."

Eron remained quiet for a few moments before saying, "Some would do anything for power and wealth."

Kerric regarded Eron with new interest. "You have no desire for power and wealth?"

"A truly powerful man doesn't need others to grant him power. It comes from within. And what some consider wealth is actually an anchor holding them down until they drown, never realizing all they have to do is let go."

"Are you quoting someone?"

Eron nodded, sending his dark waves cascading over his shoulders. "Paraphrasing mostly, something my mentor always said."

"Tell me of your mentor."

"Why, so you can arrest her?"

Her? "No, so I can better understand the man you've become."

The stiff set of Eron's shoulders relaxed. "I believe she's had disappointment in her life, and I only recently learned she'd lost her one great love at a very young age. She arranged tutors for me, taught me to fight, and even read to me when I was younger." A fond smile transformed Eron's suspicious scowl into something of beauty.

"It sounds as though she cared for you a great deal." At least someone had shown the prince love.

"She does."

"And you care for her?" Why his sudden pang of jealousy? Maybe Kerric's protective nature made him cautious of anyone with influence over Prince Eron.

"Yes, I do. As I barely remember my mother, Kene filled the role."

Kerric whirled, staring open-mouthed at Eron. "What did you say?"

"I said that I don't remember much about my mother. Kene plays the role. She even calls me son, occasionally."

"Kene?"

"Yes."

"As in Lady Kennestone, Miisov's daughter?"

Eron clapped a hand over his mouth. "Have I said too much?"

Kerric shook his head. "No, you haven't." Kene—a name Kerric hadn't heard in ages when a combination of a rift with Miisov and a questionable relationship with Prince Dafron sent Elzabai into exile. Although he'd been much younger, Eron had followed along behind Dafron and Elzabai when they snuck out of the castle for adventures.

Amazing he didn't mention remembering her from that time. Then again, between trauma and magic, he'd likely been fortunate to recall his own name.

"How do you know her?" Eron glared at Kerric like a feral dog braced for attack.

"My mother was Queen Salcha's… I mean, your mother's maid and confidante. When my father died, the queen brought me and Mother to live at the castle. Elzabai, whom you call Kene, lived here then. I…I looked up to her." Not hard to imagine someone else doing the same. Elzabai had been beautiful and daring, with an eagerness for life.

But wait! Eron's mentor? Lord Night was a woman? Not just any woman, but Elzabai, one of the most cunning individuals Kerric ever met. He'd wondered what became of her after she'd left the castle, but it wasn't for a guard to know the business of nobles or mages.

If only she hadn't directed her affection to an out-of-reach prince. "She must've been devastated when Prince Dafron died."

"Actually, she never told me about knowing my brother until a few days ago. She'd come here hoping to rescue Dafron and got me instead."

Really? Then again, staging a daring rescue sounded like her. "While I mourn the loss of your brother, I'm eternally grateful for Elzabai saving you." Kerric picked up the lantern and began walking, memories filling his mind and heart. How young they'd all been, how happy, unknowing what fate awaited. He wouldn't ask for more details now, how Eron escaped the castle, what he'd seen. Those were memories best left alone.

Eron didn't follow.

Kerric turned. "Is something wrong?"

"When I was out in the forest, I swore I saw a gargoyle right in this spot. I don't see one now."

Eron had noticed Kerric perched on the ledge? "Perhaps you are mistaken. The gargoyles are this way. Come, I'll show you." Anything to keep Eron from asking too many questions.

But he had more. "Those men who tried to kill me. If the king wants me alive for now, who'd want me dead?"

"Crau. Although he pretends loyalty to the king, he's loyal to no one but himself. Why exactly he wants you dead, I don't know, except to thwart the king's plans or win over Queen Lessa by showing he saved her from attack. The fact that he plans you ill means he cannot see your true form. Then again, you can never know how the man's mind works, but he can't be trusted."

"How do you know?"

Kerric balled his free hand into a fist. "Because he was my commander and I, his most loyal captain. He betrayed me, your family, and his sworn oath as a king's guard, costing the lives of our king and prince, and many men under his command." He raised his gaze to meet Eron's. "When the time comes, it's my sword that will end his miserable life."

Kerric ushered Eron back into his room just prior to first light, truly taking in the place. Reluctant to leave? Maybe. "Well, that was… interesting." Eron yawned and stretched his arms high over his head. "Who knew a castle could have so many hidden stairways and rooms?"

Great Ibrus! Good thing those tapestries depicting gruesome battle scenes hadn't adorned these walls during Prince Eron's childhood. Leather everywhere, as though someone made the chambers as over-the-top masculine as possible. A mounted boar's head over the fireplace! Even a hardened man of the sword like Kerric would've demanded changes.

Eron chuckled. "It's all very grotesque, isn't it?"

"I've seen more welcoming barracks." Kerric turned in a slow circle. "Though I suppose it's the perfect setting for a murder."

Eron nodded thoughtfully, a wry twist to his lips. "I suppose you're right. While I don't have complete memories restored, I seem to remember a rocking horse and idyllic farm scenes when I lived here before. There was a particular farmer I paid really close attention to." He waggled his brows. "Though I was too young at the time to realize why he intrigued me. In hindsight? Those bulging muscles."

A playful Eron might be Kerric's favorite version yet and, perhaps, the most dangerous. Time to say goodbye and return to the stairs before the morning transformation. What would happen if Eron actually saw Kerric go from man to stone beast? "Get some rest," Kerric said. "I'll come to you again tonight."

Every bit of tiredness faded from Eron's expression, and his words implied so much more than they said outright. "Can't you stay a while longer?"

How could anyone resist those soulful eyes? But no. Anything more was out of the question. Why would this gorgeous man want Kerric, anyway? A diversion? Trying to win an ally? He didn't have to try. Kerric was already his. Sadly, he must be the voice of reason. "Go. Ready yourself for bed. I'll see you settled before I leave." Or so Kerric hoped. But the moment Eron entered the next room, agony seared through Kerric's veins. He doubled over, clutching his gut, and stifled a scream. How could anything hurt so badly and not kill him?

Eron returned, half-dressed. "Kerric, are you all ri—"

Eron, the room, everything, faded to nothingness. Kerric stood on the ramparts once more, staring off into the pinkish haze of dawn.

A hideous gargoyle once more.