Chapter Seventeen

E ron lay on his bed, staring out the window as dawn broke. All night he'd stared at masculine perfection. Surely Captain Kerric knew the invitation meant sharing a bed.

Not so much as a kiss. Eron's exhausted mind conjured images of a smiling Kerric slipping out of his clothing and into Eron. Eron's shaft hardened until a drop of fluid leaked from the tip. He ran his hands over his length, giving a few conciliatory strokes.

Why hadn't Kerric stayed? Also, how had he vanished? Was he a mage?

The possibility he didn't want Eron was enough to make the hardest cock flaccid. Eron had never worried overly much about one potential conquest, though. And now wasn't the time to start with more critical matters to see to.

If sleep and release were both going to be denied him, he should turn his mind to the pressing problem. He sat up in bed, blinking hard to adjust his eyes to the low light. Who were those men who'd tried to kill him last night?

Not that they even came close to skilled assassins. This was hardly the first time someone tried to kill Eron, for reasons ranging from money to his choice of bed partner. None came close to succeeding, though Kene had scolded him about blood on the floor more than once, her harsh words belying the concern in her eyes.

The assassins would simply have to try harder next time. Well, not them , because they were dead. If they'd been sent, particularly by Crau, more would come. Had the attempt on Eron's life simply been a test to ensure he'd be up to the task?

Maybe. Eron would stay on his guard.

Would he see Lessa today? Would his time now be divided between defending himself and defending her and her sons?

He didn't even know their names. Nephews. He had two nephews. What were they like? Had Lessa managed to keep them from being replicas of their father? Who should he pray to? Well, Lessa and her sons were noble, so…

"Gertia, protect my sister and nephews from harm." Assassins. Bah!

But wait, Kerric showed up last night when Eron needed him. He hadn't been involved with the plot, had he? No, Kerric had taken out one of the murderers. What had Miisov done with the bodies? Dissolved them with magic?

So many questions and answers wouldn't be found in this room. Though tired, Eron needed to find those answers, and soon. But he'd been exhausted. Befuddled enough to think he saw Kerric evaporate before his eyes. No one, not even a mage, could possibly have such power.

He rose and freshened up with chilled water in a basin, then started to don his usual clothing. Oh, right. Changed circumstances. The trunk at the end of the bed yielded breeches, tunics, and undergarments richly embroidered in the style of Estia.

The light blue tunic with darker breeches worked for day wear, and the boots were of a finer quality than even Kene normally afforded. They were going with Eron when he left this place, which should be soon. At least whoever bought his clothing knew the styles of Estia—and Eron's sizes.

He checked his appearance in the mirror, not that he expected many people to see him as he truly was.

Kerric would. Eron's insides clenched. Kerric. He'd dressed to please Kerric this day, but why, when Captain Kerric didn't stay last night?

No matter. Eron loved a challenge. Today, however, he'd go exploring. He added a few hidden knives on his person—knives he'd discreetly removed from the dead guards. His light fingers once more proved handy. It was never good to prowl enemy territory unarmed.

He left his bedchamber for the sitting room, snatching a knife into his hand in the blink of an eye.

"If you throw that at me, it won't reach its mark," Miisov stated calmly, as though men threw knives at him regularly.

From what little Eron knew of the man, he couldn't blame anyone for hurling sharp blades. He'd thought of it himself a few times. "What are you doing in my rooms?"

Miisov currently sat at a small table, helping himself to what must have been Eron's breakfast. "Isn't that obvious? I'm waiting for you." He took a bite of bread.

Eron rubbed at his eyes, making them feel even grittier. "Is there tea?"

"There is." Miisov waved a hand at a pot on the table but didn't offer to pour, thus confirming Eron's original assessment of Miisov being an ass who didn't give thought to the needs of others. Then again, at least he wasn't fawning over Eron. If Eron became king, he'd have to deal with a lot of fawning. Not his favorite thing. Not his least favorite, either, but definitely not topping the list.

Eron sat and poured himself some tea. If he acted fast, he just might get a few mouthfuls of breakfast before Miisov ate everything. "Did you find out anything from the men who tried to kill me?"

"Alas, nothing of worth but that they were hired by one of Crau's men—a man who is now also dead."

Kene hadn't lied about courtly intrigue. "So, why are you waiting for me?

"We have a full day. I need to introduce you around so that no one thinks amiss should you be seen." Miisov had the audacity to smile while spearing the last sausage with his fork.

Eron glared. "You ate my breakfast."

"You'll get another if you still have the appetite." Miisov finished off the cheese.

A matter for petty revenge—later. "Kerric was standing in my rooms last night and simply—vanished. How? Where did he go?"

Miisov smirked, which dislodged bread crumbs from his beard. "Sometimes, you don't need to know everything. Now, come. We're meeting with Duke Crau."

Between the beard crumbs and the mention of Crau, every bit of Eron's appetite fled. "I'm sure new guards are at my door. Do they know I wasn't in my rooms last night?"

Merriment sparkled in Miisov's bright eyes. "How could they when you were here? You even bid them good night."

If Miisov couldn't retaliate by possibly turning Eron into a toad or something, Eron might have lobbed an apple at him for eating what might've been a perfectly fine meal. And why couldn't they meet with anyone other than Crau the Treacherous? That explained the if you still have the appetite comment. "It's too early in the morning to deal with that worthless cur."

"I agree. But I'm afraid a meeting is necessary. We must strategize a murder that will never take place and give him the false notion that we don't suspect him of last night's attack. And while you have him occupied, I'll ensure he's more open to my… suggestions ."

The two guards who waited outside the door fell silently into step behind Eron and Miisov, unobtrusive but still annoyingly there.

Eron murmured, "If I ignore them, will they go away?"

Miisov replied, "Please do. But if you're successful, you're a better mage than I."

Eron sat at a table with Miisov and Duke Crau in a room more pretentious than anything he could've envisioned. If sold, the tapestries could have supported an entire village through the harshest of winters. Even the place settings were finer than anything Kene would use at the estate. Of course, she had sold their grandest hunting trophies to raise money for villagers in need, to keep her home from becoming a target for other thieves, and to hold herself above suspicion.

Eron itched to swipe a few pieces of silver cutlery.

"At least you have suitable table manners to portray a noble." Crau sniffed, nose lifted so arrogantly he'd drown in the rain. Eron could break it for him. "Though I doubt you'll be in the queen's presence long enough to give yourself away."

Miisov remained quiet, neither eating nor drinking. Should Eron be wary of poison? Then again, Miisov shouldn't be hungry after eating Eron's stolen meal.

Crau rested his head on his hand, elbow on the table. Kene would've growled at Eron if he'd displayed such ill manners. How funny for Crau to worry about Eron's behavior when even the servants in Kene's household comported themselves better than this duke.

Crau said, "King Selin and Queen Lessa will arrive tomorrow, along with their sons."

"Why not let me attack them on the road?" Hunting seemed the easiest solution and would allow Eron plenty of opportunity to spirit Lessa and her sons away.

"I doubt you'd withstand the queen's guards. Besides, how could I trust you not to run at the first opportunity?"

Excellent point. Eron supposed a man with no scruples might expect all men to be the same.

Crau popped a grape into his mouth and spoke as he chewed. His duchess must be mortified every time they were seen together. "King Bain will host a dinner in their honor. Nothing must happen tomorrow night. We'll wait until all the king's guests arrive. We want plenty to bear witness."

"Won't there be others from Estia?" Though Eron knew few from Estia who were high-ranking enough to attend, it could happen.

Miisov spoke at last. "No one from Estia was invited."

Crau and Bain must stand to make a profit from conflicts with Estia. The entirety of Ala would be much better off if a knife were shoved into the arrogant Crau.

"King Selin and the king of Estia are mortal enemies," Crau said. "Your presence here will be seen as an overture of peace. At least until you kill the queen and princes." He sounded almost gleeful.

Further proof that Crau was the southern view of a northbound mule. "What happens to me after I fulfill my end of the bargain?"

Crau waved a dismissive hand. "You'll be allowed to go free."

No, Eron wouldn't. He'd be arrested and tortured if he managed to escape Lessa's guards, and Crau would tell King Selin that Eron was an assassin sent by the Estian King. So, yes, someone stood to gain from the two neighboring countries going to war with each other.

Eron ventured, "What if I'm caught?"

"Then you'll suffer the consequences. Take this under advisement: Don't get caught." Crau's narrowed eyes did his already rat-like appearance no favors.

As if Eron would let his guard down. He'd protect Lessa and her boys. Lessa. Memories flooded Eron's mind of a beautiful dimple-cheeked girl with the occasional sunny disposition who flared hot when riled. Would her sons look like her? Would they thrive under her influence or be cold, hard, and vain like many royals Eron could name?

No. Lessa wouldn't allow anyone to damage her sons in such a way. This Eron fully believed. He longed to see her again. But what would she do if she recognized him? Hopefully, she'd be too shrewd to show their hand.

"Then let's get started. Miisov, will you show me to the queen's rooms?" Eron couldn't escape this disgusting excuse for a duke fast enough.

Miisov raised a bushy eyebrow in Crau's direction. "If given leave."

"You may go," Crau replied loftily as though granting some great privilege. After further consideration, maybe he was a donkey's ass. He wasn't tall enough to be a mule's.

Crau went back to eating with both elbows on the table before Miisov and Eron had even closed the door behind them on their way out.

Eron waited until they were safely out of hearing range of the guards. "Do you want Crau dead as badly as I do?" He hadn't decided whether he trusted Miisov, but he'd still deliver a dead Crau if given the go-ahead.

Or even an inkling of a go-ahead.

"More than you could ever know," Miisov replied. "But not yet. He has a part to play, and my subtle influence will see to it he does."

"Why did he try to kill me?"

"Because my focus strayed. Trust me, it takes a lot of effort to keep both Crau and Bain under my sway."

"Couldn't you just convince them not to kill Lessa?" That would save everyone a lot of effort.

"No. I cannot alter their deepest desires. I can only manipulate how they choose to achieve those goals." A bittersweet smile crossed Miisov's face. "Believe me. If I could, I would."

The queen's rooms turned out to be the same ones she'd lived in as Princess Lessa, done in shades of soft green and far more feminine than Eron's, with lace table coverings and flowery tapestries.

But Lessa likely knew of any secret passageways if she'd stayed here before. Eron had questions for Kerric the next time he appeared.

Miisov handed Eron a dagger. "This belongs to the king of Estia, with his family crest worked into the hilt. If I were truly instructing you to kill, I'd insist you leave this sticking from Queen Lessa's chest."

Bile rose in Eron's throat at the mere thought of the girl he'd seen in flashes of memory, dead at his hand. "What am I actually supposed to do?" He flipped the dagger into the air, neatly catching the handle and testing the weight. The gaudy workmanship seemed more suited to decoration than function. In an actual murder, Eron would use a weapon he'd taken from his assailants—crude but effective.

"I have another gift for you." Miisov handed over a rather ordinary river stone attached to a leather cord.

"Why, thank you! I always wanted my very own river stone." Really? A powerful mage gave Eron a rock?

Miisov rolled his eyes and gave a put-upon sigh. "It's spelled. If you're to be traipsing around the castle at night, you might need light."

How thoughtful. Eron examined the stone. Nope, nothing unusual there. If anyone found this on him, they wouldn't suspect anything more than a mere rock on a cord—unless they found it at night or in a dark passageway.

Miisov placed his hands on Eron's shoulders, staring into his eyes. Eron barely managed not to flinch. Then a memory came: Miisov showing a young Eron his workspace, where he made ointments and potions and ordering, "Don't touch anything!"

Eron remembered! Remembered a bowl of sweets Miisov kept just for him. Miisov had appeared as Eron and Hentri fled, taking some of Eron's memories. Memories he could better cope with now than at age ten.

Miisov had cared about Eron and his family. Father had trusted Miisov. Of course, Father was dead. But hadn't Miisov mentioned paying a great price to exact revenge? Eron settled under Miisov's hands, attentive like he'd been so long ago for lessons on herb lore.

A hint of memory appeared of a young woman in the background, handing Miisov herbs.

Kene! And Eron hadn't known her.

Miisov brought Eron's attention back to the present. "Both of King Lothan's children will once more be in the castle that their forebears ruled for centuries. You're at your strongest together. The two of you must face Bain in one accord. When you're named king, your sister must publicly accept you as the king and the head of the family."

"Will she have to go back to her husband?" Not a single person said one good thing about King Selin.

One side of Miisov's mouth quirked upward, barely visible within his impressively shaggy beard. "As king and head of the Eritrescue family, you can dissolve her marriage on charges Selin conspired to have her murdered."

Really. "But won't that leave her sons with her husband or his family??"

The cunning smirk on Miisov's face would've frightened Eron if they weren't on the same side. "As king and Lessa's brother, with no heirs of your own, you'd be within your rights to lay claim to your nephews."

So much hinged on Eron becoming king. He didn't want to rule, to be responsible for so many lives. He'd rather hide in the forest, waiting for a rich nobleman to rob and be on his way. "Is there any other way?"

"I'm afraid not. You need to become king if you hope to help anyone."

Eron had been afraid of that. "Can I ask you about Captain Kerric?"

Miisov's shoulders tightened. "What would you like to know?"

"Why do I never see him in the daytime?"

"He has other duties. Besides, he must rest sometime." Miisov's smile appeared forced.

Eron had suspicions, though certain memories vanished like smoke when he tried to grasp them. "Do you trust him?"

"Why ask me? You don't trust me."

"No, I don't. You're Kene's father, but she doesn't seem to trust you either."

"For reasons." Interesting that Miisov didn't deny the implication.

Eron left Miisov and busied himself with studying the layout of the rooms. There was an antechamber with comfortable seating, good for entertaining, and a massive bedchamber with a canopy bed—also in shades of green—a writing desk, and tall leaded windows leading to a private balcony.

Miisov nearly shouted as Eron climbed over the railing. "What are you…"

Eron considered his options while hanging by his hands. Someone nimble might reach Lessa via an adjacent balcony. He pulled himself up, raising an inquiring brow in Miisov's direction. "Is there anything you can do to secure this balcony?"

"I'll cast a ward."

"What will that do?"

"Let anyone in the vicinity know there's an intruder."

"Can it let me know?"

Miisov gave a slow blink. "Done."

Done? Really? That simply? What powers did Miisov command, and did Eron really want to know? Eron took another stroll through the rooms, checking every nook and cranny. "I'm finished here." At least until he asked Kerric about any hidden entryways.

He and Miisov walked side-by-side down the corridor, followed by two guards who seemed incapable of smiling. Maids smiled when spotting Eron but scowled and fled at the sight of the guards.

"Miisov, will there be a way for me to talk to Lessa privately?" Thank all the deities for Miisov's silencing spells.

"I'll see what can be arranged, but understand King Bain and Crau will watch you. You'll have to evade them."

Eron grinned. "I'm the notorious Lordling Night who's evaded capture for many seasons. More importantly, I'm also the heir apparent to a wealthy baroness who's had much practice dodging scheming mothers. How hard can it be to avoid those two?" Particularly as neither struck him as particularly bright. The scheming mothers? Very clever indeed. And highly motivated.

"Just remember who held the title of Lordling Night before you." Miisov stalked off, laughing.

Eron paced across the floor in his rooms, having slept earlier to have the evening for Kerric—if the dratted man appeared. He wished to be back home with Kene. But was Kene's estate home anymore?

Damn the waiting. Eron grabbed a dark blue woolen cloak and snuck out through the secret passage when he couldn't stand the Zetuna-damned tapestries—or the wait—a moment longer, leaving his guards watching an empty room. He climbed to the ramparts. The missing gargoyle he'd seen from the forest had somehow reappeared. Eron hid in the shadows to watch. Why had Kerric lied to him about the gargoyle?

And what of Kene's tales that the gargoyles were once men?

The last of the sun's rays sank behind the horizon. Crack! Eron jumped, grabbing his dagger. The stone gargoyle splintered, shards falling, disappearing where they fell. Where the gargoyle once stood—was a man.

A familiar man with silvery hair.