by Aldrea Alien
Well aware they still tracked his every move, Darshan tapped his foot. He made a show of cleaning his nails. It was an act that he usually did whilst the nails were already immaculate. Except this time, despite having scrubbed his hands clean with the remainder of their drinking water, dirt lingered in the crevices. Along with remnants of Hamish’s blood. “You have until the count of ten, gentlemen.”
The whispering stopped and the underling eyed him as if expecting a bolt of lightning up the arse at the next breath. The other guard also looked somewhat less sure about his orders. Even their leader had lost his cocky grin.
Darshan could practically read their thoughts. They believed he saw them as bothersome, annoying like fleas and just as easily dispatched.
He gave a little, slightly disappointed sigh. He truly had been hoping a fair warning would be enough. It seemed their fear of the queen’s wrath was greater than their qualms over personal injury.
“Wait!” the leader blurted, his hands held palms out before him. He backed away from the entrance, his lackeys following at almost twice the speed.
Unimpeded, Darshan marched into the room, throwing the door shut behind him.
Hamish stood near the bed, his head popping through the neck of his undershirt. “What the bloody hell—?” He stared at Darshan, panic widening his eyes. “Dar? What are you doing? You cannae be in here,” he hissed. “Me mum wouldnae allow—”
“I simply do not care what she wants right now. You almost died.” Maybe Hamish had. For a brief while. He didn’t wish to linger overlong on the idea, but it was a possibility. “So right now my only concern is for your mental wellbeing.” He crept closer, one hand pressed to the door lest the guards decided to enter. “How are you feeling?”
If Darshan were to judge by the mixture of confusion and distress on his lover’s face, no one had ever asked Hamish such a thing before.
“I’m just grand,” his lover muttered, tugging at his shirt. “And you dinnae have to tail me.”
“What is my alternative? What guarantee do I have that you will not find the means to make another attempt in the time I give you alone?”
“The means?” Hamish spread his arms. “With what? There’s nae a thing here that’ll cause a fatal injury and I cannae fit through the window.”
Darshan stared straight ahead, trying with all his might not to even glance at the massive antlers hanging above Hamish’s bed. If his lover hadn’t considered just how sharp those points were, then he certainly wasn’t going to give the man any options. “I am here for you, you know.”
Grunting, Hamish hung his head. “You should’ve left me to die.”
“Even if I did not want you, I would not have done that.” His heart all but leapt into his mouth as he registered the words pouring out his lips. Had he really just blurted out an admission to having certain affections for Hamish? Perhaps his lover wouldn’t notice.
Hamish paused in donning his overcoat. He settled on the side of his bed with a hefty thump. “What did you say?”
Was this really the place to unravel that particular snarl of emotions? Certainly not. They needed time. Hamish definitely didn’t need Darshan fumbling through whatever he actually felt and he needed to sort out just what those feelings were before he blabbered any further. “I would not have left you to die under any circumstance.”
Hamish shook his head. “Before that. You want me?”
Blast. So much for glossing over the gaffe by ignoring he had uttered a word on the matter. “I would have thought such a statement as old news. Of course I want you.”
“As an ambassador in your court.”
“As a lover.” They might’ve had precious little time alone, but he had enjoyed just being in the man’s presence. Did Hamish not think the same of him? It seemed unlikely, but so had what he’d attempted.
“More like a glorified bedwarmer,” Hamish muttered, the words barely audible. “That’s all I’m good for.”
You mean more to me than that. Unlike most of the men he’d been with, he had spent more time in Hamish’s presence clothed than not. And despite spending a fortnight sharing the man’s bed, they’d done no more than sleep for two and a half weeks. This was his longest romantic relationship.
And that blasted bear had come close to ending it. All because—
Darshan swallowed, his breath coming only as a frantic rasp. He opened his mouth.
His stomach chose that moment to offer up its own opinion, echoing loudly up his throat. He clapped a hand to his mouth. His face all but burned against his fingers.
The ghost of a smile graced Hamish’s lips. He rocked off the bed and onto his feet. “If you’re going to follow me like a bad smell, then we should get you fed. You look ready to keel over, nae wonder you’re spouting gibberish.”
Darshan could only nod. Food and a chance to recuperate would be best before he attempted to dissimulate the feelings that had come to light in the wake of the past few hours. And figure out just what he was going to do with whatever conclusion he came to.
Making use of Hamish’s washbasin, Darshan scrubbed his hands until they hurt. His bloody overcoat was a lost cause, best abandoned to the servants. Only when he was finally clean did they leave.
The guards made no movement beyond a crisp salute as Darshan exited the room close on Hamish’s heels. They watched though, their dark eyes boring into Darshan’s consciousness. Word would reach Queen Fiona.
He ground his teeth. For all his professions of not caring that the woman knew, he would’ve vastly preferred keeping her in the dark. Especially when it came to the truth behind the attack. I must tell Gordon. He had promised the man and Hamish trusted his brother. Perhaps, between the three of them, they could come up with a plan.
He lost track of their passage after the first set of stairs, his mind too focused on trying to determine just how he would explain the predicament to Gordon. He barely lifted his gaze from Hamish’s broad back until the smoky scent of cooked meat tweaked his nose. Just where was his lover leading him to? The kitchens? That posed no risk of bumping into the queen, but—
The yawning double doors of the dining hall entrance greeted his questing gaze. Inside, the customary family table sat in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Much of Hamish’s kin were already gathered, bar the ruling couple.
“I hope you dinnae mind the company,” Hamish said, lifting one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “But I figured since they’d all be eating…”
Darshan barely heard his lover, his attention almost wholeheartedly on the laden table. As it had been during the first night they had dined with the family, great slabs of meat dominated the platters. Food. His legs moved almost of their own accord, stumbling towards the feast.
The rest of Hamish’s family must’ve been informed of the bear attack, for they asked no questions of their kin or Darshan.
He planted himself into the closest chair and began the methodical task of loading his plate with a piece of everything within reach. Some barely graced the plate before heading directly into his mouth. He chewed, humming appreciatively.
“Mum willnae be happy to see you here,” Nora warned as he continued to pile his plate high. She eyed him as if a ravenous stray dog had wandered into the palace kitchens.
Darshan held up a forefinger in acknowledgement whilst he chugged down a mug of beer someone had placed within arm’s reach. Wiping the froth from his moustache, he turned to the woman. “I shall only stay a short while.” Long enough to take the edge of his hunger, then he would retire with his haul to his usual dining accommodations in the guest quarters.
His lover settled in the vacant chair next to Darshan. He eyed the doors they’d entered through as if expecting a pack of wolves to burst through them. “And just what is Mum doing?”
“Our parents,” Gordon grumbled around a mouthful of potato. The man was sitting across from Darshan and specks of food flew dangerously close to his own plate. “Are busy entertaining the guests in the ma
in hall.”
Darshan slowed his chewing whilst he pondered that snippet of information. If the ruling couple were entertaining the few competitors who had arrived, along with their families no doubt, then why weren’t the rest of the royal family also there? Was it traditional, or did Queen Fiona not want to highlight the possible absence of her two sons by having the rest in attendance?
Whatever the answer, Hamish seemed to perk up at the news. “So they willnae be eating with us?”
Gordon shrugged and returned to his food.
“Maybe,” Nora replied. “Maybe not. You ken how Mum prefers nae to eat at public dos.”
Waving his fork in the direction of his sister, Gordon swallowed and added, “But if she doesnae have even a wee bit of something, the clan leaders will get suspicious. Remember that time she was sick with Caitlyn?” Both of the man’s siblings had barely nodded before he turned to Darshan. “I was just a lad of eight years and completed me first successful solo hunt. A few of the larger clans had joined us in celebrating and me mum just couldnae eat more than a weak broth without being sick. And I’m meaning proper sick. Like a dog after scarfing down too much jellied meat.”
Darshan quietly shuffled the contents of a pie to one side, uncertain if he could eat it despite his questioning stomach.
Across the table, Nora wrinkled her nose. “The point Gor is trying to make—and doing a terrible job of it, unless he’s after a re-enactment—is that the leaders from some of the bigger clans insisted that her refusal to eat meant the food was poisoned. She was forced to announce her pregnancy, far earlier than is expected, before they accepted the truth behind her lack of appetite.”
“Aye,” Gordon muttered. He rolled his eyes, the green shade twinkling in the lantern light. “As if the sight of us all tucking into the grub wasn’t proof enough that it was nae deadly.”
“Perhaps they thought you all immune?” It had been years since anyone had tried such a method with himself or his twin, but he remembered it well.
He’d been twelve and engaging in his first alcoholic drink as an adult. A slave, who had once belonged to a rival house, had slipped the poison into Darshan’s goblet under the guise of a grape, although such a detail came after he had recovered. His healing magic might not have been used to mending himself, but it had seen to the damage swiftly enough. He could’ve done without being put through such immense pain, though. And blacking out hadn’t done much for his burgeoning reputation.
Even so, all attempts on his life stopped after that. Now the only poison that touched his lips was the stuff he willingly imbibed.
“That’s a lark and a half,” Gordon managed through a rumble of laughter. “How would someone be immune to a dose of poison that’s designed to be deadly?”
“Not being under the habit of questioning those who practise such techniques, I could not rightly say.” Only the Nulled Ones would likely bother with such methods. Although incapable of being harmed by direct magic, they died as easily as other beings. Perhaps more so, given that magic was also ineffective in healing them. “But imbibing a small amount and gradually increasing the dosage over time seems like a logical start.”
Gordon scoffed around a mouthful of food, gagging on it. He pounded on his chest, coughing and spluttering before regaining his breath in full. “That’d be like saying poking a few wee arrows at your chest will help defend you against one aimed at the heart.”
“Nae really,” Nora replied before Darshan could open his mouth. “More like being bit daily by a male arrowback spider, then being chomped on by the female.” She drew her hands to either side of her face, her fingers twitching in a mimic of a spider’s fangs, and made a noise like that of a stuttering serpent.
Gordon grimaced and shuddered, seeming to shrink to half his size. “Thank you,” he growled, pushing his seat back from the table. “I wasnae planning to sleep tonight anyway.”
The dining hall entrance swung open before Gordon could fully stand, admitting the queen and her prince consort.
Darshan froze, a mouthful of steak halfway to his lips. He should’ve anticipated this, should’ve kept note of how long he had lingered, but he’d been far too consumed with eating.
Across the table, Gordon plonked back into his chair. With his gaze darting all over the room, he quietly shovelled a few forkfuls of food into his mouth.
“Mum,” Nora gasped, jumping to her feet. She shot Darshan a glance that he couldn’t quite decipher but guessed was a warning. “I thought you were staying in the main hall with the competitors tonight?”
“And a mother cannot show interest in her children without inviting suspicion?” Her gaze settled on Darshan as she sat at her usual place at the head of the table. “I see we have consented to mingling this evening. I trust your little trip to one of our humble cloisters has returned you to your senses?”
Utilising every bit of experience he had mustered during his years within the Crystal Court, Darshan managed a neutral smile and small bow of his head. “Yes, things could not be clearer to me now, your majesty.” Just this once, he wished spellsters actually had the ability to—what had Hamish once requested he didn’t do to her?—turn people into slugs.
“Mum?” Gordon leant forward until he seemed to catch Queen Fiona’s eye. He cleared his throat once she acknowledged him. “About the union contest?”
“We’ve a wonderful turnout, despite your brother’s age.” She cast her icy gaze in Hamish’s direction before continuing. “And I dare say there looks to be a few barely permissible competitors amongst the lot. You’d do well to encourage them to try harder than the rest. They’re more likely to bear you plenty of wee bairns.”
“Well, isnae that just grand?” Hamish muttered behind a slice of bread. “I couldnae wind up with just any wife, but one damn near young enough to be me daughter. Just what I’ve always wanted.”
Gripping his fork tighter than was really required, Darshan stabbed his meal.
Again, Gordon cleared his throat. “Is there any chance of you reconsidering?”
Darshan paused with a mouthful of fish resting on his tongue, lest his chewing drowned out any hint of a reply. At his elbow, he sensed Hamish also stilling.
Queen Fiona breathed deep. “The call has been sent, it cannae be rescinded. What else do you expect me to do?”
“Call off the gathering,” Nora suggested.
Could it really be that easy? Chewing quickly, Darshan swallowed his mouthful and said, “You are the queen. Could you not merely tell the other clans that your son is not ready? Would he not serve you better as your ambassador in Udynea?”
Queen Fiona scoffed. “He has had more time than most to ready himself for this duty. And one of them is to sire children. Can he do that in Udynea?” Contempt pulled her thin lips tight. “I dinnae think so, nae whilst he’s warming your bed.”
Darshan slammed down his fork and leapt to his feet. If Hamish had an official position, then he’d have more worth in the Crystal Court than as some plaything. “I am sorry, but this is abhorrent. You know—every single one of you knows—he has no desire to go through with this. How can you just sit there and continue on as if you are not going to destroy his life?”
“Sit down,” Hamish whispered, tugging at Darshan sleeve. “There’s nae a thing you can say to change her mind.”
“Hamish has duties here,” Queen Fiona repeated. “Unlike those of other nations, Tirglasian royals take heed of their customs. My son will do his duty.” She fixed Hamish with a piercing glare. “He will obey tradition.”
“Obey you, you mean.” Darshan couldn’t help the sneer weaving its way across his lips.
“Of course, I am his mother. The only reason he lives is because of me.”
“Your son,” Darshan spat. “Would not even be here for you to hand over like some feast day trophy if it was not for me bringing him back from the brink of a death he wanted.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, he realised how badly he had erred. He hadn’t meant to s
ay anything. Later, yes. But discreetly to Hamish’s siblings so that Queen Fiona wouldn’t be able to use the information to further herd her son.
“Dar!” Hamish gasped. Shock and hurt moulded his face.
“You mean that bear attack was you trying to take your life?” Gordon asked of his brother.
“A bear?” a young voice screamed.
Darshan whipped his head around to the other end of the table, where the children sat with wide eyes. He had rather forgotten their presence. Stupid. What had he been thinking?
“Is it true?” Sorcha snuffled. She clutched at the head of the bearskin draped over her chair. Although she was trying to put on a brave face, her chin trembled. “Is he going to die like Mum?”
Gordon slithered from his chair and scrambled to his daughter’s side to envelop her in his arms. “Nae, me wee lass,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “It’s all done now. Darshan killed it and healed your uncle. Nae one’s going to die.”
“You…” Nora shook her head, her focus only on Hamish. “Again? You promised you were past all this.”
His lover had made an attempt on ending his own life before? Rocking back on his heels, Darshan turned to seek the truth from the only reliable source.
Hamish ignored his sister in favour of Darshan. Those gorgeous blue eyes glistened with betrayal.
Only now he was faced with the outcome did the reality of what he had done flicker to life in his thoughts. I’m sorry. Hamish’s attempt wasn’t something that could be swept aside and forgotten, but he hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that.
“Really now, ‘Mish,” Queen Fiona huffed. “You cannae even do that right? Have you nae shame? Look at how you’ve terrified your poor niece.”
“You dare?” Darshan growled, his attention snapping back to the woman. “Your son has made it quite clear that he would prefer death over the future you have chosen for him. And rather than attempt to understand why and how he came to justify such a choice, you opt to berate him further for not fitting the mould you chose for him?”
