Chapter Nineteen

E ron sat by his window, wondering about how many times he'd done so in the past that he simply didn't recall. An image came to mind of a soldier knocking a woman to the ground, but it vanished before he could bring the memory into sharper focus.

Now wasn't the time for reliving the past. Instead, he dwelled on the sweet memories of Kerric and a perfect night together, except for Kerric disappearing at the first rays of dawn. The touch of him, the taste of him. Eron couldn't get enough. Well, actually, the night could've been more perfect—if he'd spent at least part of the night in his bed and woken up with Kerric in his arms.

But… he'd never wanted that before, with anyone. The rare times he'd woken with a lover usually proved awkward. Yet, he wanted that with Kerric. The most surprising part? The thought didn't scare him as it normally would, Eron somehow equating waking up together as the first step in permanence.

Permanence wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Or maybe Eron had gotten to a point in life where he'd crossed the line from fiercely independent to having a void in his life another person could fill.

That Kerric could fill. Or maybe the realization that they couldn't be permanent made him want their moments together to last.

But why couldn't they be permanent? What stood in their way? Well, a curse, for starters, and the difference in social status. After all, Eron was a thief, Kerric a guard sworn to uphold law and order. Though Eron's thievery benefitted those in need, not himself. Kene's ancestors had left her with ample wealth to pass to her heir. Wealth used to keep those within the walls of her estate safe and healthy.

Then there was Bain, Crau, Selin, and any number of others who'd just as soon see Eron dead. And the whole "king" thing that caused Eron to shudder.

Would it be odd to sneak up to the ramparts just to be in Kerric's presence for a little while? But no. While the straw that Eron had balanced over the door proved his guards hadn't entered while he'd been out, someone might notice if he went missing during the day.

Far safer to stay here, watching the winding road leading to the castle. All morning, carriages had passed the spot where he and Kene used to plan ambushes. He imagined holding up each one and what valuables he might find: bags of gold coins, diamond necklaces, ruby earrings, a sapphire pin….

Would he discover another lovely young man to kiss? No, kissing brought to mind Kerric, and anyone else faded into the distance.

Two carriages he'd been tracking rolled to a stop in front of the castle, surrounded by armed men on horseback. He'd already seen three more carriages of servants and luggage directed to the back, all bearing the same crest upon their door. Not a moment too soon, as snow accumulated on the road.

The two coaches out front appeared new, even though a layer of road dirt marred their dark exteriors. The hunter in Eron longed to lie in wait for those two elegant conveyances. Oh, the riches surely hiding within.

His heart sped at both the prospect of waylaying the coaches and the possibility that one of them might be the one he'd waited for. Most of his morning had been filled with disappointment as carriage after carriage unloaded men, women, and children, but none of them resembled what little of Lessa he recalled.

A man stepped from the first carriage, resplendent in a green tunic and brown breeches tucked into shiny boots peeking through his cloak. He held a cane but didn't use it to stand. He had to be nearly as old as Bain appeared to be, with flyaway gray hair. While his stature and physique were likely pleasing to some, his pinched expression implied he'd smelled something unpleasant.

A servant opened the second carriage. Two boys jumped out, nearly the same age as Eron when he'd lost his family, with hair a riot of black curls. The elder of the two turned around and offered his arm. How gallant. A gloved hand emerged to grip his elbow, and then a woman stepped out, dark hair piled onto her head. She lifted the hood of her cloak, shadowing her face.

The sense of familiarity hit Eron in the chest. Memories of a younger version of this woman returned, hair worn long down her back, drawing back a bow and letting fly. There, Eron. That's how it's done. Come here. I'll show you how to hold the bow. The memory of lavender filled his senses. Lavender. She'd worn lavender tucked into her bodice.

Lessa had been a better rider than Dafron. She understood and explained to Eron when their father told them things beyond his comprehension. She was also strong-willed, quick- witted, and educated with her brothers at Father's insistence. When nobles whispered about Lessa's lack of ladylike behavior, she confronted them quietly but always left them with a new respect for her. She'd wielded words as cleverly as a rapier.

Lessa would make a wonderful queen if her husband listened to her counsel. Did he? If she taught her sons like she'd taught Eron, they'd both grow into men of integrity.

Lessa glanced up, gaze locking with Eron's. Her eyes widened, but something her younger son said pulled her attention away. Had she recognized him from such a distance? He was sitting in the window of her brother's room. Perhaps she'd not expected to see anyone in this window. Whatever the case, Miisov swore she'd not say anything without first investigating.

Oh, but to see her. Talk to her. Tell her all the things Eron had likely never said to her as a child. He wasn't alone anymore. She'd survived through the battle that claimed her family and the living nightmare of her spouse.

Eron's heart ached. If only Kerric was there to hold and reassure him, all would be well.

He felt hands on his shoulders, and the merest touch of warm lips brushed Eron's neck. He turned, smiling, but no one was there. Had want made him imagine Kerric's presence? He shook his head at his foolish imaginings.

What did Kerric do during the daytime? Was he awake and conscious or sleeping? He'd mentioned watching the comings and goings of others and observing Eron as Lordling Night. When Lessa and her sons entered the castle, something in the ancient pile of stones seemed to groan in relief. Had the same happened when Eron returned? He'd been unconscious, so he couldn't know.

He heard shuffling footsteps behind him and turned, daring to hope. His hope plummeted. Not Kerric, who only appeared at night. Miisov stood in saffron-colored formal robes in front of the hidden passageway, staff in hand. His sleeves and front were embroidered with colorful, intricate patterns. He'd even combed his hair and trimmed his beard. Lessa should feel honored. "I see you've noticed your sister's arrival."

"She looks well. So do her boys."

"Relatively speaking, they are. However, the life she lives is not the one she'd have chosen for herself or her offspring. Despite having a loathsome sire, I'm told the boys are charming, thanks to their mother's influence."

From what Eron recalled of their youth, Lessa had been anything but charming. A bit of a brat, actually. The thought warmed him from within. His memories were returning, the good and the bad. He'd also changed with time. It only stood to reason that Lessa had, too.

He tried to keep eagerness from his voice. "When can I see her?"

Miisov shuffled over to join Eron by the window. "I'll do my best to hurry the meeting."

Unfamiliar emotion gripped Eron—what might've been uncertainty. "How can I prevent her death? Won't Bain merely find another assassin if I fail?"

Miisov placed a surprisingly warm hand on Eron's shoulder, bringing to mind the phantom touch of moments ago when Eron thought Kerric had joined him.

"Prince Eron, now that the key pieces are on the game board, I expect events to move quickly. I wouldn't be a bit surprised to discover Bain deposed and you in your rightful place by a ten-day."

A ten-day? "You have more faith than I." Eron went back to staring out of the window, though at this point, even the carriages and armed guards had departed, leaving nothing that he hadn't seen daily.

"I don't need faith because I have experience. I've seen many things transpire, enough to measure the ebb and flow. Besides, my lord Hyteus has assured me of our course of action."

Hyteus, The God of Magic and Change. "Avril has remained quiet. As has Zetuna. At least, to my ears." Eron envied those who believed they knew the will of their god or goddess. He'd never held much stock in anything but gods being aloof beings, watching from on high, who never took part in the day-to-day lives of their worshippers.

Or placed bets on who would fail and who would succeed.

But while Eron didn't worship faithfully, a man had to believe in something lest he be lost. He prayed more and more lately, too. It couldn't hurt, right?

"You pray to Avril?" Miisov's eyebrows rose over his prodigious nose. "Why? Gertia is the goddess of the nobility."

"I haven't been noble in quite some time. Well, not a prince. Kene prays to Avril." Avril, both god and goddess over everyone who didn't already have a higher power to worship. Eron preferred Zetuna, the Goddess of Commoners.

Miisov remained quiet for a few moments. "Then Elza… Kene truly has turned away from the old ways. At one time, I had hoped.…" He shook his head. "It is of little concern. Perhaps it is time for mages to become a thing of the past, only discussed in legend. Far too often, our meddling does more harm than good, and our most sacred vow is not to cause harm. Magic is too fickle a mistress to predict."

Eron shifted his head to the side, regarding Miisov with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "I could always take you on as an apprentice hunter. Though I'm not sure you'd be agile enough to climb trees and drop onto the tops of carriages."

Miisov patted Eron's hand where it rested on the windowsill. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I like my bones unbroken, thank you. I never excelled at healing spells and made a miserable Lord Night. Imagine a thief more interested in the lavender and sage ladies tucked into their belongings than gold." He gave a sheepish smile. "They're good potion ingredients."

Oh, the horrors! "Tell me of Kerric."

The room temperature dropped a few degrees, judging by the sudden chill emanating from Miisov. "What do you want to know?"

"Is he a good man? Am I right to trust him?" If Eron asked the same question enough, perhaps he'd get a reassuring answer.

"I wouldn't have put him in your path if you couldn't. While my actions might appear altruistic, I can assure you I have my own best interests at heart, and keeping you safe benefits me. Therefore, I do my best toward that end."

Eron didn't believe the old mage for a moment. While self-preservation might be part of the motive, Miisov's driving force was to correct a wrong as much as possible. No one could undo the past, not even Avril or Hyteus.

The silence grew suffocating. Eron changed the topic. "Tonight is the formal dinner. Has King Bain provided me with acceptable clothing? Will I have the use of a valet to help me prepare?" How he missed his valet back at Kene's estate, useless though the man might be at his job. However, he had a keen eye for fashion.

A twinkle appeared in Miisov's eyes. "During the banquet, none will doubt you are who you say you are. You'll be a shining jewel."

"Won't people recognize me?"

Miisov blew out a breathy laugh. "My dear, in the court, everyone holds some kind of ill will toward others. They'll see only your beauty."

"Won't they remark on my resemblance to Lessa?"

"Just for tonight, I've expended additional energy to keep you anonymous to all but those who need to see you for who you are."

Eron flinched away. "That's not ominous in the least."

"It wasn't intended to be. One of the first lessons a mage learns is how to be vague and noncommittal, the better to avoid accountability later." Miisov winked. "Now, rest before dinner. I have a feeling a long night stretches before us both."

A long night in which Eron might or might not encounter Kerric.

A yawn overtook him, though he'd not been in the least bit tired mere moments ago. "Perhaps I should heed the wise old mage's advice—before he changes his mind."

Miisov chuckled as he left the room.

A long night. A coup to plan. From what Miisov exposed of his inner workings, he wasn't one to leave matters to chance, not something as important as restoring a kingdom. No doubt he'd planned everything down to the last detail but didn't feel the need to share. Which only made Eron wonder how bad the night could get.

Eron awakened in his bed to the sound of soft humming, with an occasional line or two of song thrown in for good measure, sung in a resonant tenor and another language. He snuggled among the rumpled covers, enjoying the offering, though unable to make out the words.

He knew the voice. For a moment, Eron latched on to a fantasy of Kerric entering the room naked, sliding into the bed, and sliding into Eron. Those hard muscles would feel so good under Eron's fingertips, that tight ass flexing as he… Eron gave his erection a lazy stroke, then sighed and thought of picking corn, rearranging the library shelves—anything to get his cock to behave. Kerric was here to help, not be another one of Eron's conquests.

Yes, he planned to have Kerric in this bed, but now might not be the time. He rearranged the covers to hide any hint of his lascivious thoughts. "Kerric, you can come in."

Kerric strode through the bedchamber door from the sitting room. "Good evening, Your Highness."

Eron glowered. "You need to stop calling me that lest you slip in public." Not to mention, it added to the divide between their two lives and still seemed so foreign. He'd been Lord Edry most of his life, as well as Lordling Night, but could just as easily be found in the cornfields helping a farmer as he could in Kene's study, learning to run the estate.

"We won't be in public together, Your Highness. Not in the foreseeable future, at any rate."

No? What a pity. "It's good to see you. What were you singing?"

A flush rose to Kerric's cheeks. "An old lullaby my mother used to sing."

"What language was that?" Eron had at least a passing knowledge of all of Ala's major dialects, but the song lyrics eluded him.

"An old language only used in the temples of Zetuna now." Kerric's eyes went wide as Eron sat up, causing the bed covers to pool around his middle. Eron had to smile for having such an effect on the man. Maybe Kerric could be coaxed into bed after all.

Eron surreptitiously shifted to reveal more of his body while keeping his groin hidden.

Kerric's mouth opened and closed a few times until he averted his gaze. "My grandmother was studying to become a priestess when she met my grandfather." He dropped the chatter for a more serious tone. "Miisov had a bath brought into the other room and also ordered bread, wine, and cheese. I prepared a plate for you. These formal affairs can be tedious, I'm told. You might starve before they finally sit down to eat."

"How thoughtful." This wasn't right. Eron and Kerric were lovers, not noble and servant. There should be more familiarity unless it was the contrast of thief and guard that interfered.

"Kerric?"

"Yes?" Kerric paused in the doorway, hands clasped before him.

"How long do we have before I must leave?"

Puzzlement furrowed Kerric's brow. "Enough that we don't have to hurry."

Eron grinned. "Then come here."

Kerric stood still for so long that Eron thought he'd refuse before he said. "I have a better idea. Get dressed and come with me."