The Exile Prince

by Isabelle Adler

  A NineStar Press Publication

  www.ninestarpress.com

  The Exile Prince

  ISBN: 978-1-951057-07-7

  Copyright © 2019 by Isabelle Adler

  Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright © 2019

  Edited by Elizabetta McKay

  Published in July, 2019 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at Contact@ninestarpress.com .

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers, and homophobic slurs.

  The Exile Prince

  The Castaway Prince, Book Two

  Isabelle Adler

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  THE WARM MORNING breeze carried the smell of sea salt, exotic spices, and the promise of a distant sandstorm.

  Stephan breathed deeply, closing his eyes against the gentle currents, and leaned on the windowsill, offering his face up to the sun. It was not yet noon, but the heat was already building up. Soon the busy streets of the port city of Varta would empty, the denizens taking a brief respite during the midday hours to hide in the relative cool of their homes, away from the glare of the ruthless sun. At dusk, all activity would renew with rekindled vigor as the streets around the harbor filled with the cries of peddlers hawking their wares, the music of wandering performers, and the general hubbub of a large city going about its business. But for now, Stephan simply enjoyed the bright sunshine, which had been so rare in his native Seveihar, before he’d be forced to retreat to the shade of his rooms.

  No, their rooms. He’d been living with Warren, his former footman and current lover, for the past six months, sharing the two cozy rooms in one of the quieter districts of Varta. The modest appointments were a far cry from the richness of his father’s royal palace in Sever, but luxury was low on Stephan’s priority list. These short months were the happiest he’d been in his entire life. Granted, at twenty years old, he was still at the beginning of his journey, but with his father gone and the rest of the family actively persecuting him, he’d had his fair share of misery.

  Stephan sighed and closed the wooden shutters. Even so, the room was still softly illuminated, filled with translucent, soporific light. The hem of his white silk robe trailed after him as he made his way to the large writing desk, cluttered with sheaves of paper and different-colored inkwells. Warren, being the son of a merchant, was the one with the experience and a practical grasp for business, and he had been the one to suggest they invest the money left from selling Stephan’s extensive collection of jewelry in local commerce. For centuries, Varta, the second largest city of Segor, had been a crucial junction for the passage of goods between the deep south and the northern countries and provinces—including Seveihar and rival Esnia. With trade burgeoning in recent years, investing in independent shipping ventures seemed like a sound plan, although they were only now beginning to see any returns. None of it was enough to make a fortune, but for now, at least, they were able to live comfortably.

  Stephan settled in a chair and pulled out a stack of letters he wanted to sift through one more time. While Warren was responsible for the finances, Stephan handled the records and correspondence. As a member of the royal family, he was well-versed in several languages, including Segati—a dialect spoken in Segor and along the long stretch of the southern coast. But reading and writing with a teacher weren’t the same as practicing the language among native speakers, and Stephan wanted to brush up on his communication skills as much as possible to be able to navigate the often-equivocal patterns of business negotiations with Segorian merchants and ship owners.

  He was writing down some notes on a piece of paper when the door opened, and Warren stepped in, letting out a long-suffering sigh as he closed the door and took off his sweat-soaked scarf.

  Stephan smiled as he rose to meet him. He threw his arms around Warren, planting a quick kiss on his lips. Warren’s skin, flushed and hot, still carried traces of salt and fish smell.

  “I missed you,” Stephan said playfully.

  Warren grinned in response, taking Stephan’s hand and kissing his fingers. “I’ve only been gone a few hours. And I still stink from the docks.”

  “I don’t mind.” Stephan nodded at the leather-bound ledger sticking out of Warren’s coat pocket. “Any news?”

  “The ship should arrive any day now. With the price of silk going up, we should make a nice profit off this consignment.”

  “You might be the one to blame for the increase in prices,” Stephan teased. “You didn’t have to buy me quite so many dresses.”

  “Of course I did. They make you happy. And I love seeing you in them.”

  Warren let go of Stephan and threw the ledger on the desk. He was still smiling, but Stephan could sense tension in the rigid set of his shoulders and the way his smile quickly turned from genuine to strained.

  “What’s wrong?” Stephan asked. “Are you worried about the ship being delayed?”

  Warren shook his head and sat on the long bench beside a low dining table. He picked an orange from a fruit bowl and began peeling it.

  “I’ve heard some bad news from Seveihar,” he said, avoiding meeting Stephan’s eyes.

  Stephan sat back at the desk, tucking his long hair behind his ear in a nervous gesture. He knew he wasn’t going to like it.

  “The war has started, hasn’t it?” he asked quietly.

  Warren nodded. “Rumors spread fast in this city. It seems the first thing your brother did after ascending to the throne was declare war on Esnia.”

  Stephan swore softly. His older brother, Robert, had been warmongering to garner political support, but until now, Stephan had clung to the naïve hope he wouldn’t go as far as actually starting a full-blown territorial war with their neighbor. Or at least that his advisers would stop him from making such a foolish move, if he wasn’t prudent enough to restrain himself. Even after fleeing his homeland and abandoning his title, Stephan couldn’t help but feel somehow responsible for the wellbeing of its people. Waging a war when most of them were already struggling with the increase in waterway taxes his uncle Rowan had decreed last fall would only add insult to injury.

  “That wasn’t what got me worried, though. There’s more.” Warren dropped the peelings on the table and frowned at the naked fruit, as if surprised it turned out to be an orange after all. “There’s talk about Seveiharians in Varta. Apparently, an envoy arrived at the Governor’s palace two days ago. They were trying to keep it secret, but again, Varta is anything but surreptitious.”

  Stephan shrugged. “So? They must be here to amend trade agreements. War changes demand, and the usual shipping routes would need to be altered if the Zenna River proves too dangerous now for regular transport.”

  “No doubt.” Warren handed him a few orange slices, and Stephan popped them in his mouth. He flicked his tongue across his lips to lick away the juice, noting the way Warren’s gaze took on a familiar intensity as he foll
owed the tiny movement.

  Warren’s unmistakable interest sent a jolt of heat down his belly, triggering his own arousal. He licked his lips again, this time in an involuntary response to the thought of what he and Warren could be doing to while away the sultry midday hours. But apparently Warren wasn’t done yet.

  “However, the timing of their arrival is too much of a coincidence. I should remind you we haven’t exactly been discreet since our arrival at Segor. Granted, no one is privy to your identity, but as foreigners, we do stand out. And for better or worse, we haven’t been inconspicuous in any regard.”

  Stephan supposed it was true. The long journey to the south kingdom of Segor following their brief stint in Esnia had been uneventful, which led him to believe that despite the profound antagonism, his brother and uncle had abandoned the notion of actively pursuing him once it became clear Stephan had no intention of coming back. And with Segor so different from Seveihar, so devoid of prejudice regarding sexuality and personal freedoms, he’d let his guard down, indulging in the possibility of expressing his preferences for the first time in his life. He knew Warren was enjoying it too—simply being able to walk the streets together hand in hand, whether Stephan was dressed as a man or as a woman, to live together openly as a couple without fear of ridicule or hostility. Admittedly, covertness had been far from their minds ever since their arrival at Varta six months ago, and Stephan was loath to revert to the paranoid mindset.

  “Do you really think they’re here to spy on me?” he asked. “You’re reading too much into the envoy’s arrival. I hardly think anyone would be looking for us here. I doubt anyone in Seveihar even remembers me by now, let alone would seek me out this far away from home.”

  Warren’s expression told him he was unconvinced.

  “I’m sure your brother remembers all too well,” he said. “Need I remind you he’s already tried to kill you? You’re the youngest of your siblings, but you’re still of royal blood. When Nessa marries into another house and with your uncle Rowan stepping down from his duty as regent, you’ll be the only one who might potentially threaten Robert’s claim to the crown—especially if his sway with the High Council and the older nobility is not as strong as he’d like. Robert is not as widely loved as your father was.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Stephan said. “Robert must know I pose no threat to his rule. He tried to kill me because he hates me and my…proclivities. Succession doesn’t factor into this at all—certainly not with me out of the way as I am now.”

  “Perhaps.” Warren finished the last of the orange slices and wiped his mouth. “But knowing your brother, it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t believe in the permanence of your self-imposed exile. If he thinks you’re gathering support abroad to supplant him, he won’t hesitate to seek you out and destroy you.”

  Stephan huffed. “You overestimate his preoccupation with me. I’m sure he was only too glad to see me gone so he could promptly put me out of his mind forever. Wasting resources to find me when there is an actual war on his hands…” He shook his head. “Even Robert is not that petty.”

  “Still, it would be best to exercise caution,” Warren persisted. “This envoy may be here on an entirely unrelated matter, but think of what might happen if one of the delegates or their entourage were to spot you. Perhaps it would be best for us to remove altogether.”

  “Running away is taking it a bit far, though, isn’t it?”

  Stephan didn’t say that, out of the two of them, Warren was the one most likely to draw attention, as he was out and about almost every day, refusing to adopt the local fashion. Segorians tended to favor a certain style of clothing, consisting mainly of a long flowing tunic over wide cuffed pants—an ensemble worn by people of all genders, designed to cover as much skin as possible to protect it from the blazing sun. The cut was usually the same, but women tended to embellish their clothes with elaborate embroidery and colorful sashes, while men preferred a plainer, more austere look. Unsurprisingly, Stephan took to the more feminine attire. With a silk scarf wrapped around his head and neck, as was the custom of many Segorian women, he could easily pass for a girl—even more so than when he’d been wearing formal court gowns—and the knowledge gave him that familiar, incomparable thrill.

  “I’m not suggesting abandoning our life here and fleeing—only to be more circumspect,” Warren said with a touch of exasperation. “Taking a short vacation elsewhere until the envoy leaves would only be sensible.”

  It seemed they were readily falling into their old patterns, with Warren being the voice of reason and Stephan the impetuous and spoiled royal, too self-absorbed to heed his partner’s warnings. Stephan didn’t like the thought, but, conversely, it only made him dig in his heels deeper.

  “What was the point in making such a long journey to come here only to cower and go into hiding at the mere mention of Seveihar? You have no indication anything of this has to do with me. And besides, with this new shipping scheduled to arrive, it’s a bad time to be away. Both of us should be here to keep an eye on things.”

  That argument seemed to give Warren pause, although going by his scowl Stephan suspected he was only searching for a way to counter it. Warren was too much of a “hands-on” type of man to let something so important happen without his direct supervision.

  Warren had just opened his mouth to say something when there was a knock on the door. They both jumped and exchanged a startled glance.

  “Who is it?” Warren called in heavily accented Segati as he rose from the bench, taking a step forward and effectively placing himself between Stephan and the door.

  “I brought your lunch,” came a muffled response in a female voice.

  Warren relaxed marginally and hurried to open the door. Mala, their landlady’s daughter, came in carrying a large wooden tray covered with a cloth napkin, and placed it on the table. She and her mother, Nalia, lived alone on the ground floor of the house, while Stephan and Warren occupied the rooms above, and provided them with home-cooked meals for an additional fee on their rent. Mala, who was about seventeen, often helped Stephan with his linguistic endeavors (and with updating his wardrobe), and in exchange, he’d taught her some of the northern dialects and entertained her with stories of his life in a royal castle. Without her help, he wouldn’t be speaking Segati half so well.

  The aroma of roasted fish and vegetables wafted off the table, making Stephan’s mouth water. He definitely appreciated the cooking, though it was a lot spicier than what he was used to. The mundane sight of their regular meal made him feel silly about their earlier alarm. Were they really expecting his brother’s spies to come knocking on their door in broad daylight?

  “Thank you, Mala,” Warren said politely, his expression no less chagrined. “Blessings.”

  “Blessings on both of you,” she said, her sharp dark eyes darting to Stephan and lingering on him for a moment. Her eyebrows arched in question as Warren turned to set the table.

  Stephan shook his head minutely. She was too perceptive not to have picked up on the palpable tension, but he really didn’t want any external help in diffusing it.

  As the door closed softly after her, he sighed and joined Warren by the dining table. He wrapped his arms around Warren as he pressed against his back, feeling Warren’s muscles bunch up and then relax.

  “Please, War, could we not argue about this? I know you only wish to keep us safe, but I don’t want to run anymore, not if I can help it. What we have here is too good to give up because we’re spooked by shadows of the past. I want to stay where I can love you with all the world to see.”

  Warren turned to face him and ran a gentle hand over Stephan’s long chestnut hair, his expression softening.

  “And so do I. Just…promise me you’ll be careful and keep your eyes open.”

  Stephan rested his head against Warren’s chest, closing his eyes and listening to the other man’s heartbeats. Perhaps in the past he’d been indecisive, some might even say fickle, but now t
here was no doubt in his heart as to what—whom—he wanted.

  “I will,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  Chapter Two

  “AS YOU CAN see, the Gazelle is as fine a ship as they come,” the shipmaster was saying.

  Stephan nodded politely. In truth, his knowledge of ships was rather limited. He’d never set foot on one until their flight down the Zenna River into Esnia—which had been an all-around unpleasant experience. But he had to admit the vessel they were currently inspecting appeared sufficiently impressive. The bulky carrack was nothing like its light-footed namesake, but its three masts and a spacious hold made it perfect for transporting large cargo on the high seas.

  He had insisted on coming when Warren told him the merchant they were currently thinking about doing business with had invited them on a tour of his new ship. Coincidentally, Alaim Yotein was also the shipmaster, which meant he was going to oversee the future sail to the South Isles himself. All he needed were additional funds to make this venture happen after his former partner had unexpectedly changed his mind and withdrawn his share, so he’d promised Warren an unusually high return on their initial investment.

  Warren hadn’t been happy about Stephan tagging along, but in the end, Stephan won that particular argument. Though Warren could follow simple conversation in Segati, he still needed help with more subtle language. Stephan’s gift for picking up the vernacular had proved invaluable. And with him dressed in an embroidered linen tunic, with a scarf covering his head and neck, he doubted anyone would recognize him for who he was. In any case, the notion of anyone spying on him was all but ludicrous, whatever Warren might think.

  To Alaim’s credit, he hadn’t batted an eye at Stephan’s feminine garments and the kohl he’d used to accentuate his eyes. At fifty years old, after seafaring his entire life, Alaim seemed to let very few things faze him—and a young man dressed as a woman was not one of them. He’d apologized for mistaking Stephan for Warren’s wife, and moved on to talk about his plans to import spices and teas to the mainland.

  “Aren’t you worried that with the new war between Seveihar and Esnia there would be less demand for such goods?” Stephan inquired. “Those countries comprise a large portion of the market.”