by Megan Derr
There was nothing he could do about any of that for the present, however, so he closed his eyes and simply relived dancing with Adalwin, how good it had felt to hold him, that soft brush of lips. When it was all over, would Adalwin forgive him all of the wrongs? Diggory could not bear to think of the answer to that question being no, so he simply focused on the memory dancing.
He woke when he turned in his sleep and set his side to hurting again. He panicked for a moment, afraid he had accidentally slept the whole night through—but no, the sky was still dark and the moon still high. He left the key to the room on the front counter and stepped outside, breathing in the cold air to help wake himself up, and then set off slowly back toward the palace.
The whole time he feared running afoul of Benoit and Ignance, but the journey was quiet the entire way and he finally climbed into his own bed in the stable without further incident. When he woke again, it was to Adalwin calling his name. Diggory hastily stripped and pulled on fresh clothes, then hurried from the room. "Highness! My deepest apologies, I'm afraid something I drank last night did not agree with me."
Adalwin laughed. "I think everyone in the palace is complaining of the same ailment." He winked. "I hope your night was a good one. Let's saddle up the roan today; he's not had a chance to run for a bit. If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I'll be back this afternoon."
"Yes, Your Highness," Diggory replied and swept a bow before he hurried to ready the requested horse. He winced as the pain in his side flared, but ignored it and led the horse over to Adalwin. His pain was nearly forgotten at the smile Adalwin gave him—but the smile fell away in the next moment as Adalwin's eyes widened in alarm. "You're hurt!" he burst out and rushed to Diggory, nudging the horse aside and reaching out to touch the wet, red stain on Diggory's shirt. "What happened?" he demanded. "Who or what did this? I will—"
Diggory took Adalwin's hands in his own, squeezing them. "Highness, I am touched by your concern, but I promise you it looks far worse than it is. A minor accident, and all my own fault."
"Let me see it," Adalwin ordered, suddenly all commanding prince. Diggory stared at him, startled, and with an impatient noise Adalwin yanked his hands free and pulled up Diggory's shirt himself, expression darkening at what he found. "This is a sword wound! You're not permitted to have a sword. What in the hell were you doing last night, Diggory? I won't tolerate this sort of behavior, not when it could endanger other people and the horses. What were you thinking? Tell me what happened!"
"It was an accident, an altercation that got out of hand," Diggory replied. He cupped Adalwin's face, and Adalwin froze, expression going confused—lost. "Please, Highness. Let the matter rest. I will bandage it properly and get a clean shirt and all will be well by the time you return from your ride."
Adalwin's mouth tightened and he pulled Diggory's hands away, letting them go as though not certain he should touch them. Diggory tried not to let it hurt, but it did anyway. "You will tell me what happened."
"It was exactly what I've told you—an altercation that went wrong. I beg of you, go for a ride and let it go."
Adalwin stared at him, green eyes dark with worry and anger. He breathed in through his nostrils and breathed out heavily the same way. "Fine," he said, "but that explanation does not appease me, and you have until my return to decide to tell me the truth. I like you, Diggory, but I will not condone this sort of behavior, especially not in someone I need to be able to trust. Someone I thought I could trust."
"You can trust me," Diggory said softly, not quite able to hide his sadness.
"We shall see," Adalwin said and led his horse from the stable.
Diggory waited until he was gone, then slammed his fist against the nearest wall before storming into his room to get cleaned up and changed. When he was done, he set to work on his daily chores, a thousand worries gnawing at his mind, making it impossible to concentrate on any one of them.
What was he going to tell Adalwin that would allay suspicion long enough for him to get to Benoit and break the curse? He was half tempted to find the bastard and end the matter once and for all … but behaving rashly was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He needed to keep his head.
So he made himself focus on the chores and the horses and try to come up with as honest an explanation as possible. He did not want to lie more than was strictly necessary. Huffing out an irritated breath, he finished mucking out stalls and then went to fetch fresh straw.
He'd just started to lay it out when the door opened. Surprised that Adalwin had returned so soon, he started to smile in greeting, but froze when he saw Ignance standing in the doorway. Damn it.
Ignance did not waste time on words, simply drew his sword and ran at him. Diggory threw a bundle of hay at him, then bolted for the pitchfork nearby. He whirled around just in time to block Ignance's swing, force him back, but Diggory could not quite get past his guard, not with the confines of the stable and the fact he was using a pitchfork while Ignance had a sword with which he was frustratingly skilled.
Then the bay horse, directly behind Ignance, suddenly whinnied. The sound startled Ignance, who half-turned and flinched away and Diggory took his chance, thrusting the pitchfork forward, burying it in Ignance's side and back. He yanked it out and Ignance fell to the stable floor, blood pooling around him.
He heard the sound of footsteps too late. "What have you done?" Adalwin demanded.
Diggory whipped around. He dropped the pitchfork and held up his hands. "Highness, it's not what you think."
"You're a murderer," Adalwin said flatly. "I just watched you kill him. Philip told me this morning that his men have gone missing and he suspected foul play from a former bodyguard—that's you. You're not related to Freddie, are you? Did you trick him into helping you? Force him?"
"No," Diggory said quietly, feeling all his hope slip away, as dead as the man on the floor. "No, Your Highness. Freddie helped me willingly and for good reason."
"What good reason would that be?" Adalwin demanded. "Give me just one good reason I should not summon the guards right now."
Diggory swallowed, looking for any chance of fixing things in Adalwin's eyes, but they were so cold he might have been a stranger to Adalwin. "Magic, Highness. A curse. I cannot tell any person the truth of the matter or the curse will kill me."
He had not thought it possible for Adalwin to get angrier, but he was sorely mistaken. "A curse. You expect me to believe that oh so convenient excuse? Do I look like a fool to you?"
"No," Diggory replied.
Adalwin stared at him for another long, terrible minute, and then his anger seemed to vanish beneath an even greater sadness. "I am going to go to the barracks to inform the guards I've found a dead body in my stable. Whether you are here or not when they arrive, I leave for you to decide."
"Would you at least fulfill my debt to Freddie, Highness?"
"Freddie?" Adalwin echoed, staring blankly. "What?"
"He saved my life—he is the reason I was able to come here at all. I promised him I would repay that debt," Diggory said and explained to Adalwin about Freddie's wife and the necklace he had promised to retrieve. "You have no reason to grant the request, Your Highness, I understand that, but Freddie should not suffer because of my deeds. I'll go without fuss, just please help him."
Adalwin said nothing, merely left, but there was a terrible note of finality in the slamming of the stable door. Diggory closed his eyes, wishing the world would just go away for a little while. His side was bleeding again and he felt more than a little dizzy, but he had to run if he was going to have any chance…
The bay horse nickered and snorted at him. Diggory opened his eyes and dredged up a smile. "Thank you for saving my life. Without you, I would be as dead as Benoit wants me to be. Not that I am much better off now, forced to run away if I ever want to stand a chance of killing Benoit and revealing to the world that he tried to murder me, cursed me, and stole my life. He's going to marry my fiancé and m
urder my family, and now I am rendered helpless to stop it. Some prince I am proving myself to be." He sighed and reached out to pet the bay, then turned away to fetch his remaining coin so he had something to live on until he figured out his next plan.
He stopped short at the sight of the man staring at him. "H-highness? What are you doing back here?"
Adalwin's face had gone white. "Did—you're—what—" He broke off, shook his head angrily, then tried again. "Did you mean all that? What you just said to the horse?"
Diggory said nothing, furious the curse still bound him.
Making a soft, pained noise Adalwin strode up to him. "You felt familiar," he said, the words ragged. "Right from the start, when I met you by the river. Something about you… I felt like I already knew you. It kept calling to me, bothering me. I'm not usually so quick to hire servants, or so free with them, but you…" He looked down at Diggory, lightly touched fingertips to his cheek and only then did Diggory realize it had gotten scratched and bloody in the fight. "It was you last night at the ball, wasn't it?"
Diggory's anger returned full measure. "That—it was meant to be—" he broke off, frustrated.
To his surprise, Adalwin gave a shaky laugh. He cupped the back of Diggory's head and drew him into a kiss that was much more than the teasing brush of lips from the ball. Diggory lost sense of everything, even his burning, aching side, in the heat and flavor of Adalwin's mouth, the sureness—the rightness—of his kiss. It felt like something he had waited for entirely too long, a promise finally fulfilled.
When they finally drew apart, breathing heavily, Adalwin smiled and said, "Diggory—Philip Degaré. I should have made that connection. It's a pleasure to finally, truly meet you, my dear fiancé."
Diggory jerked as he felt the curse's hold break, holding fast to the front of Adalwin's shirt, slumping against him as exhaustion washed over him in the wake of the broken magic.
"Are you all right?" Adalwin asked, then made a derisive noise. "Of course you're not well—you're hurt and have been suffering for days, maybe even wee—" Diggory cut him off with another kiss, but Adalwin broke it after only a moment. "Come on, I am taking you to get patched up and then we are going to discuss this matter with my father. I want to know the whole tale."
"So—" Diggory swallowed. "So you forgive me—the lies, the murders—"
Adalwin winced. "I am sorry for that."
"You had every reason to believe the worst of me. You owe me no apologies."
"It didn't feel right, even as angry and afraid as I was," Adalwin said quietly, reaching out to push back the strands of hair falling into Diggory's eyes, as though he could not help but find reasons to touch. Diggory was not going to protest. "That's why I came back, to speak to you one last time… and I heard you talking… but all this can wait. Of course I forgive you—there's nothing to forgive. Now, let's get that wound taken care of and then we will deal with the imposter."
Diggory nodded and let Adalwin guide him along, holding tightly to his hand.
*~*~*
The healer had barely left when Diggory found his arms full of prince, Adalwin's hands settling lightly on his bare shoulders. "How do you feel?"
Diggory's mouth quirked, one hand curling around Adalwin's hip. "I'm fine. Thank you, for everything."
Adalwin laughed and lifted one hand to playfully drag his fingertips along Diggory's cheek. "I am grateful that bastard is not my fiancé. You've no idea how miserable he was making me." He rolled his eyes. "He was making you a thousand times more miserable. Honestly, I'm a brat for complaining."
"No, you're not. I have no doubt he would eventually have killed you as well," Diggory said. "If he was going to carry off his scheme, he was going to need to kill many more people."
Across the room, the king cleared his throat, sounding faintly amused as he said, "I think Prince Degaré will heal better if you are not being overly forward, Adalwin."
Diggory begged to differ, but did not protest beyond a brief pout when Adalwin laughed and stepped away again. Turning to his father, Adalwin asked, "So, what are we to do with Benoit?"
"Leave him to me," the king replied. "Highness, lie down on the bed. Adalwin, cover him with that sheet and then sit beside the cot looking troubled." He motioned to the two men in leather armor standing by the door. "Guards, be prepared for sudden violence against my son and my future son-in-law."
"Yes, Highness," the guards chorused and loosed their swords in their sheaths.
A couple of minutes later there came a knock at the door and at the king's bidding, it opened and Diggory heard Benoit's familiar smooth, deep voice. "You called for me, Highness?"
"Yes," the king said, sounding grim. "That matter you spoke of this morning, of the malcontent bodyguard who has been attacking—murdering—your men…"
"What about him?" Benoit asked, and Diggory would bet anything Benoit was staring at him, wondering if it was indeed Diggory beneath the sheet.
"He was apprehended in the stables, though not before he murdered the last of your men," the king said. "I am sorry we did not catch him sooner and that your men are all dead. You have my deepest condolences and most abject apologies. I completely understand if your time here has been so wretched that you wish to end the engagement and return home."
"No," Benoit said. "Of course not. It is not your fault—it is mine. I should never have let it come to this; that he was able to kill my men was my own fault. Let us kill him now so there will be no more suffering and move on. My men will rest in peace knowing the marriage continued."
"He was severely wounded," the king said. "There is no saying when he will awake and I am loath to kill a man while he lay defenseless—even one who deserves it. We were discussing what to do with him and what manner of execution best suits his crimes. Normally we hang them, but I feel, under the circumstances, that he deserves a harsher sentence. He lied about who he was to get into the palace and Adalwin's confidence and then murdered three men. Adalwin disagrees and thinks hanging will suffice, but I feel a beheading might be more apropos."
Benoit gave a mean laugh. "I think he should be grateful they no longer tar and feather murderers. Behead him I say, if an even harsher sentence cannot be exacted. Deceiving, murdering, and who knows what else he had in mind—definitely behead him."
Diggory heard the king stand up. "Indeed. Since you have yourself pronounced such a sentence just, then I feel it is how you must die. Prince Degaré, if you please."
He sat up and threw off the sheet and stared coldly at Benoit, who had gone pale, lips pressed together. Diggory smiled coldly. "Hello, Benoit. You should have done a better job of killing me rather than trusting the river to do your job for you."
"Guards!" the king bellowed as Benoit went for his sword, but they were moving even before he had given the order, and after only a brief struggle, knocked Benoit out and secured him. "Take him to the dungeon. Tell the dungeon master I want his execution scheduled as soon as possible. Prince Degaré, have you any requests so far as the matter is concerned?"
Diggory shook his head. "I just want Adalwin and my family safe. The rest I trust to you, Majesty."
The king nodded, clearly pleased by his answer, and gestured for the guards to take him away, following them out of the room. Diggory turned when a warm hand cupped his cheek, tilting his face up to meet the soft kiss brushed across his lips. "Thank you for giving me one last chance," he said quietly.
Adalwin smiled faintly. "Thank you for being stubborn. I am happier than I can express that you are my betrothed and not that bastard. In you I see the man who wrote those letters. Now come, my stubborn fiancé. Whatever you think, you need proper rest. Tomorrow we'll declare our betrothal vows properly."
"That reminds me—I hope Benoit did not throw out my belongings. I have a betrothal gift for you."
"Oh?" Adalwin asked, hand slipping around to curl against the back of Diggory's neck, urging his head up and ever closer. "What did you get me?"
Diggory laughe
d. "You'll find out when I give it to you."
"Spoilsport," Adalwin replied right before he took another kiss. The fingers of his free hand moved lightly over Diggory's bandaged wound. "Come on, to bed with you. I'm not going to have you still injured on our wedding night."
Snorting at that because it would hardly take that long for the wound to sufficiently heal, Diggory nevertheless let Adalwin usher him from the room and up the stairs, their hands intertwined the entire way. "We should go for a ride later."
Adalwin made a face. "Not until you're healed—and since I am now lacking a stable boy, you had better help me find a new one."
Diggory laughed and stopped walking, tugged him close, and leaned up to kiss him hard and quick. "Yes, Highness."
three GOATS
Cornelius looked up from the book he was reading, frowning at the silver bell above his door as its soft ringing filled his little three-room cabin. Someone had stepped onto his land. They'd be at the bridge in minutes. It was snowing miserably out, with strong winds and growing dark to match. Who would venture out on a bad day to see him when he rarely got visitors on good days?
Leaving the book open on the table, he tugged on his heavy, fur-lined boots then pulled down his white and blue cloak from where it hung near the fireplace.
Outside, he lingered just in front of the door, savoring the circle of warmth and clear grass, the low, steady pulse of magic that kept his small space free of winter. It wasn't much, just his cabin, his apple trees, and the little greenroom where he grew a few other things year round. His ability to provide fresh fruit and vegetables all year long was one of the few reasons the villagers were polite. Mostly polite. When they knew he could hear them.
He rubbed restlessly at his horn nubs, then made a face and left the safety of his circle to venture out into the cold, toward the bridge. Normally he could see smoke from the village chimneys, hear activity in the scrubby bits of forest that separated his corner of the world from the rest of them. The sad excuse for a forest petered out only a few paces before the land ended in a sharp, deadly drop to the swift-moving river below. The only way across was a bridge some distance south.
