by Aldrea Alien
He slowly lowered his hands, shaking them to cool off once he could be certain they were out of the woman’s immediate sight. Control it. Lighting a candle was one thing, letting go of his magic any further would only end in disaster.
Confident he wasn’t about to burst into flame, Darshan stood. He loomed over Nora, fixing her with a stern glare. “I am vris Mhanek, you would do well to look that up, refresh your memory on what it means. When your Queen insulted me, she insulted Udynea and it cannot be allowed to stand without recompense.”
Nora matched his glare, but she squirmed in her seat. “Me mum is a stubborn woman.”
“Then you may need to remind her that my ancestors have brought hellfire and ruin to lands for less. These negotiations are at the behest of my father. Best you remember that, princess, and not take his desire for peace as a weakness.” He pushed his chair back, leaving the table and stalking past shelves of books and scrolls.
“Is that a threat, your imperial highness?” Nora called after him.
Darshan halted in the doorway. A threat? Him? He chuckled. “Of course not. I have never threatened anyone in my life.” Those who displeased him rarely lived long enough for mere words.
~~~
Hamish waited a good hour before descending the tower. Whilst he knew he hadn’t been followed, he couldn’t say the same for Darshan. It’d be just his luck to have this clandestine, but ultimately innocent, meeting be what had him confined to his quarters again.
You are a grown man. Darshan’s words rang through his mind.
He was right, of course. His mother had never sought to manage his siblings as viciously. He was the stubborn one that wouldn’t step into line, the one who had the bad grace to be attracted to men and not bend on that position. Every time he fought against her wishes, she’d play the same tune of how she only wanted the best for him, to see him happy and married with children of his own.
Years had gone by before he had realised that all she really wanted was the assurance that there’d be another generation to rule should another attack on the royal line come. Once, such a fear would’ve had merit. Now? When his siblings had four living children between them?
Hamish sighed as he closed the trapdoor and descended the tower steps to aimlessly wander through the castle. What real hope did he have in going against his own mother, a woman who would often remark how lucky he was to not have been cursed with magic as his younger sister?
Sometimes, he wished he had been like Caitlyn. Spending a lifetime in a cloister learning how to heal people had to be better than this.
The conversation at breakfast tumbled over in his head. All he had done was casually enquire towards Darshan’s absence at the table. He had thought it a simple question, neutral and fitting given the ambassador’s spat with Hamish’s mother.
“He’s most likely in the guest room,” his mother replied, skewering a sausage with unnecessary force. “Stubborn brat refuses to share the same room with me until I’m ready to continue negotiations, so he dines in his quarters like the uncultured swine he is.”
Hamish winced. It wasn’t the first time she’d spoken ill of Udyneans. Why did she choose to accept the extended offer of peace between them in the first place? He mulled that thought as it ghosted through. Their trades with the Obuzans and the Cezhorians had been satisfactory for years.
“Mum,” Gordon piped up. He set down his utensils and steepled his fingers. “Are you nae being a little childish?”
“He assaulted your brother,” she snapped, slamming her fork down into a thick slice of roast mutton. “I honestly thought you’d be more upset over that.”
Ethan gasped. “He did? But he seemed so nice.”
Nora wrapped a consoling arm around her boy, shushing him.
“It was a kiss, Mum,” Gordon growled. “And the only one harping on about it is you.”
“I should have him shipped back to his heathen people, just like that dwarf.”
Hamish’s heart thudded an extra beat. Exiling a dwarven ambassador was one thing. To do the same to a Udynean prince? Did his mother have any idea as to the ramifications of such an act?
“We need this treaty,” Nora said, still keeping her son in a tight hold. “They’re extending a hand in peace. We knock that aside and the next gesture we see will be our forests burning.”
“We cannae afford a war with them,” Gordon added.
Hamish had left after that, unable to stomach the thought of a war with people capable of pulling the same feats he had witnessed from Darshan. The man could conjure a flame like it was nothing, and brush aside full-grown men as if they were no more than leaves in the breeze. Battling an army of spellsters would be impossible without releasing every single one of those in the cloisters. He knew from his younger sister that Tirglasian spellsters were only trained in healing, none of them would be prepared to use their abilities for violence.
He stepped out into the courtyard.
Something heavy careened into him. He staggered along with them. Familiar hands grasped his shoulders, aiding in keeping them upright. When they’d both stopped, he found himself staring straight at his brother’s grinning mug.
Movement over the man’s shoulder drew his eye. His nephews. All three sullenly carried their bows and not a single one seemed any more pleased to see him. Less, in fact. Mac had a particularly sour look on his face.
“Did something bad happen?” He could well imagine the two older boys being a little too quick to show off without factoring in their brother’s current limitations.
“You could say that,” Gordon replied. “You missed the lads’ hunting practice.”
“I… did?” He’d never missed a chance to hone his niece and nephews’ hunting skills. He could’ve sworn it was tomorrow, though.
“Aye,” Bruce chipped in, his already squared jaw jutting out further.
“You promised to be the prey,” Mac added.
Hamish dropped to a knee before the trio. “I’m sorry, lads. How about I make it up to you tomorrow?” He cast a conspiratorial glance at his brother. “You’ve— What lessons do you all have in the morning?”
“History,” Bruce groaned.
“Mum’s going over the Great Slaughter,” Mac added, stabbing the air with an arrow as if he brandished a sword.
“The one where this castle’s attacked? I could tell you that one.” Hamish knew the tale well enough. His mother was obsessed with the time and insisted they went over it in their history lessons enough to damn near quote the whole scripture in their sleep.
It had been centuries ago, when the clans were still feisty enough to fight with each other at the very hint of missing sheep. The king back then had been a loud-mouthed sod. He had pissed off one or two of the clans—or maybe it was more, his mother had never been specific on which clans had been involved—who retaliated by murdering every royal child they could get their hands on. It had all ended with those very clans laying siege to the castle. In the end, all that was left of the royal bloodline was a small boy from the king’s youngest son—their umpteenth-great-grandfather.
“I hate the story,” Ethan announced. “She only trots that out when she cannae think of anything else for us to study.”
“Your mum’s probably got her hands full with the trade negotiations.” Hamish stood, dusting off his hands on his trousers. “And I’m sure missing a day in favour of hunting willnae hurt. Nae as if history’s going anywhere. For now, how about we try the forest run?” He glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “You up for it?”
Gordon nodded.
The boys raced ahead of them, making their way behind the archery range where a secret entrance that led to the foot of the cliff lay. To look at, the door tucked between the outer wall and the temple merely opened to the back of the building. Only in entering did it reveal its actual nature.
“Be careful!” his brother yelled at their dwindling backs, the boys pulling ahead even as they ambled along after them. “That was sneaky
, ‘Mish, having them take the same path spoken of in the tale.”
“I thought so.” He didn’t know if it was true that their ancestor only survived by fleeing through the secret tunnels out into the forest below, but it wouldn’t hurt the boys to know of alternative exits should the unthinkable happen as his mother so often foretold.
Far ahead of them, the door clanged as the boys vanished through the top entrance and into the tunnel.
“I hope they remembered to take a lantern,” Gordon muttered, casting a glance at the ceiling. This section was relatively bare of cobwebs with a scant few in one corner.
“Like we didnae do the first time?” It had been night, both of them still far too young to venture out of the castle grounds unescorted. They’d made it halfway down the tunnel before it occurred to either of them that travelling down would’ve been so much easier with a light source. That’d also been one of his brother’s more memorable experiences with a spider. “Thank you for what you said at breakfast, by the way.”
His brother shook his head. “You shouldnae have to thank me. I shouldnae have to stand up for you anymore. Mum should ken by now you’re nae going to change.”
Hamish kept his mouth shut. They both knew that was never bound to happen.
Gordon sighed and idly scratched his cheek. “Trouble is, if she pushes too hard, she could start a war this time. They may be willing to trade, but they’ve the clout to take if they so choose.”
They entered the tunnel. A pair of oil lanterns sat on a shelf just inside the entrance. The soft glow further down the tunnel spoke of the boys having already made off with a third. Hamish lit one with his flint, squinting at the sudden brightness.
They descended the stairs after their nephews. The tunnel ceiling could’ve easily allowed his father—a man that stood at seven foot—to walk without stooping and had a breadth wide enough to let the pair of them walk side by side. Unlike most of the caves and little hidey holes dotted across the cliff face, the grey stone beneath their feet was relatively dry.
“So…” his brother drawled after a dozen-or-so steps. “Does your lack of presence this morning mean you’ve gotten him out of your system?”
“Him who?” he replied, trying to act nonchalant. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, just low enough to occasionally brush Hamish’s hair. Although sure that whatever spiders made these webs would’ve scuttled off at the first hint of smoke from the lads’ lantern, he ducked his head to avoid them anyway. The last thing he wanted to fish out from the coils of his hair was a spider. Fortunately, the tunnel looked to contain only the tiny web-spinning sort rather than the bigger, and far more deadly, arrowback variety.
“You ken precisely who I—” Gordon jerked back, sputtering and flailing at his beard as he brushed a mouthful of sticky webbing free. “Bloody creepy little…” he muttered under his breath, hunching his shoulders and glowering at the ceiling. “I meant our magical, princely ambassador.”
Hamish smiled. If Gordon ever decided to side with their mother, he would be screwed as far as keeping things secret went. “Nae as yet.”
“Aye?” Even though Hamish saw no evidence of remaining spider web in his brother’s beard, Gordon continued to distractedly pluck at the hairs. “Well, be careful, ‘Mish. Udyneans are cold bastards, I nae want you getting hurt over this.”
His thoughts went back to last night as they walked in silence, settling on Darshan’s gentleness and compassion. Maybe that coldness was only a front. Being a prince of an entire empire couldn’t be easy. Where did the spellster sit in the order of succession? Second? Only men inherited the Udynean throne. He had learnt that morsel of information from Gordon. And they undoubtedly wouldn’t send their heir to a foreign land.
The glow of the boys’ lantern ahead of them steadily grew. They rounded the final bend in the tunnel to find the trio already waiting at the entrance.
“Are we doing this or what?” Bruce yelled.
“We’ll be there in one flick of a deer’s tail, lads.” He turned back to Gordon. “I dinnae suppose I can get a wee bit of assistance with the guards tonight?”
His brother raised a brow at him, one green eye squinting. “Tonight?”
Hamish nodded. His face steadily grew hotter the longer Gordon mutely stared at him. An act he was well aware his brother did to elicit such a reaction. But knowing that didn’t exactly help him control his blushing.
After what certainly felt like an eternity, his brother chuckled. “That man of yours doesnae drag his feet, does he?”
Hamish bit the inside of his cheek. Darshan wasn’t his by any stretch of the imagination.
Gordon clapped a hand on Hamish’s shoulder and squeezed. “Try nae to have this one go sour, you hear?”
“Come on!” Ethan called, rattling on the bars that made up the gate blocking their path. “It’s locked!”
“Aye, we’re on the way!” Hamish shot back before frowning at his brother. “You still got a key on you?”
“Hang on,” Gordon muttered. He patted himself down, his search growing more frantic until he produced a heavy key. “Thought I’d lost it for a second there.”
Hamish eyed the key enviously. He used to own one—everyone in the royal family was gifted a key once of age—until his mother had confiscated it under the guise of protecting his interests, whilst also claiming he would use the tunnel to set up affairs in the city. An act he had never even thought to attempt.
Gordon trotted down the final few steps to the locked gate. Through the bars, they were greeted by only the cold stone face of an alcove. Out in the forest, this entrance was hidden from the casual observer. No tracks, no sign of manmade structures.
The old lock groaned, then offered up a heavy clonk. The boys filed through as soon as the gate had swung wide enough for them to pass with his brother on their heels, leaving Hamish to put out the lanterns before he followed.
Beyond the alcove, old targets hung just along the forest edge. How many months had he spent with his siblings shooting those same painted slices of tree? He had lost count. “All right, lads,” Hamish said. “Show us what you’ve got.”
Hamish stood before the closed door of the guest chambers. His stomach churned. Nerves or hunger, it was all the same. Dinner had been a short time ago, but the fluttering in his gut had him far too distracted to consider food.
The mere thought of being with Darshan again, especially so soon, had his heart thundering. All of his past encounters had been the single night kind. Any attempt on his part for a repeat performance—if he could find the men, given that most mysteriously vanished—was always harshly dismissed.
What if he screwed up? Maybe his reaction last night repeated itself and he went off early? Darshan might’ve understood about it then, but the man would have limits. Especially when heaped atop everything else.
Absently wiping his palms on his tunic, he all but crushed the door handle in his fingers. Turn, he commanded his hand. There’s nae point standing out here all night.
The hushed patter of feet reached his ears, echoing from down the halls.
Hamish glanced over his shoulder. No one was there, but his heart still skipped several beats, he was sure of it. “You’ve nae been followed,” he murmured, trying to stop himself from shaking. If anyone was near, it would be a servant and they had long learnt to keep their heads down about matters like this.
Gordon would see to it that the guards wouldn’t think to look for him until much later and, by then, he was to meet up with his brother to concoct a viable excuse. The very fact he needed to do so at all set a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, but if skirting the rules was what it took to live as he wanted, then so be it.
He gently opened the door, not entirely sure what to expect.
Warm light bathed him, the source a half dozen candles. His eye was immediately drawn to Darshan. The man sat on the end of the bed, leaning back on his arms with one ankle propped on a knee.
“H-hello,” Hamish mumbled, his fa
ce growing hotter with each thunderous pulse of his heart. Darshan might not have been naked—nor was he wearing the embroidered sherwani, leaving only the plainer clothes beneath—but that didn’t help. If anything, knowing he would have to remove those flimsy barriers to the man’s bare skin only served to have his heart pound harder.
Darshan silently beckoned him closer with one crooked finger.
He took a few halting steps forward. His heart leapt into his throat as he crossed the threshold. He hadn’t fully entered this room since that disastrous night with the dwarven ambassador, hadn’t even ventured near here in all the years between then and first escorting Darshan to the door.
The room didn’t appear to have changed with the years. The walls were the same bare stone, the natural grey turned ruddy in the candlelight. The bed was no different, even the worn bearskin rug looked to be the one he’d been kneeling on when the guards found him all those years back. There was a little more heat in the room, courtesy of the furnace the spellster had just about made of the fireplace.
“Are you going to shut the door?” Darshan enquired. “You are letting all the heat escape.”
Hamish complied. The faint scrape of a key drew his attention. He glanced down as the lock clicked. It should’ve reassured him, but he had witnessed this very door fall. At least the guards’ initial thud against the iron-banded planks would give him enough time to attempt hiding. Maybe Darshan’s magic was capable of turning a man invisible.
“Turn around.” The instruction came just as softly as the man’s previous question, but somehow managed to roar through Hamish’s head.
Following the command had him turning to find Darshan standing right before him, his brow furrowed with concern. Those hazel eyes seemed intent on burrowing into Hamish’s skull, seeking what, Hamish couldn’t be certain, but definitely in search of something.
He recalled the man’s words yesterday, of the explicit request for consent. Was Darshan still worried about Hamish’s willingness?
“You seem tense,” Darshan finally said. His weight shifted. Whether the subtle movement was a conscious act or not, it was definitely a readiness to step back should he need to.
