More Tales of the Southern Kingdoms (One Volume Edition)

by Barbara G. Tarn

  Kirit quickly dried his blade, then tried to push away Kabir's corpse. Damn, the son of a bitch was still inside the young king. It took some effort to separate the two bodies, but Kirit managed without asking for help. He felt the king wouldn't want to be seen in that humiliating situation. Desecrated royal blood shouldn't be displayed for all to see. He covered the young man's bloodied ass and checked to ensure he was just passed out.

  By then Falgun must have noticed his absence from the battlefield and was rushing to him with a few others from both factions.

  "Kirit, what happened?" Falgun stared shocked at Kabir's corpse while Kirit picked up the passed-out young king and turned to the captain of the royal guard.

  "You want to take him back to camp and call his physician," Kirit said, offering the limp body to Captain Akshay. "The battle is over. The revolt is sedated. Long live the king."

  He sounded unenthusiastic, but didn't care. He was of the opposite faction, after all, surely they weren't expecting him to cheer for the death of his commander.

  The captain nodded and soon the two halves of the armies were reunited and ready to go home.

  "What really happened, Kirit?" Falgun chided. "Did you just kill our beloved general?"

  Kirit didn't look at his attendant. "I didn't like what he was doing."

  "Kirit..."

  "Don't ask, Falgun! I will not discuss it! Let's go."

  But he couldn't forget. He could still see Kabir abusing the young king – nothing new on the general's part, but this time he just couldn't stand by and watch. He couldn't forget the way the king screamed, catching his attention, and the useless struggle against much stronger Kabir. The young man had been taken completely by surprise and crumbled almost without struggle – easy prey to Kabir's lust.

  Kirit was usually immune to such sights, but the king had something special about him, and it wasn't just his royal blood.

  ***

  Roshan awoke in his tent, sore and ashamed. It took his physician some prodding before he managed to tell him what happened and where he hurt the most. The middle-aged doctor gave him a calming tisane and promised liquid food until Roshan thought he could sit again. The official statement would be that the king was bedridden after being wounded in battle.

  "Where's General Kabir?" Roshan asked anxiously.

  "I will let you speak with Captain Akshay briefly, but then you must sleep, your majesty. Then we will take you back to the palace, where I'm sure the queen will help you recover fast."

  Roshan nodded, worried. He doubted it. He felt dirty inside and could still hear the general's words. You're tight, Roshan, but I'll make you my bitch. I'll do this again and again until you surrender.

  "Your majesty." Captain Akshay's voice brought him back to reality.

  "Akshay, where's General Kabir?" Roshan asked weakly, feeling panic rise in his chest again.

  "He's dead, your majesty," the captain answered, standing at attention and staring straight ahead.

  Roshan exhaled in relief. "You saved me."

  "No, your majesty. It was actually one of his men."

  "What?" Roshan raised his upper body on his elbows, startled, then slumped back down with a moan of pain. "What do you mean one of his men?"

  "It was one of his men, your majesty. He saved you and said the war and the revolt were over. His friends on the scene looked as surprised as myself."

  "Oh." Roshan pondered. "And where is that man?"

  "He went back to the general's keep with the others."

  "You mean he was one of the general's special troops?"

  "Yes, your majesty." Captain Akshay sounded both adamant and puzzled.

  Roshan couldn't comment on that and shooed the captain out of his tent. One of the general's most trusted men had turned against him?

  The gods love me. Kabir is dead. I'm going home. He felt much better in spite of his sore ass. A tentative smile flashed on his lips as he listened to the men taking down the camp and preparing the stretcher to carry him back to Argantael. He dozed off.

  ***

  Kirit couldn't get the king out of his head. Back in his spartan room at General Kabir's closed warrior community, he kept thinking about the last few months.

  King Rakesh had died in a hunting accident while still in his prime, and his son had succeeded him much earlier than expected. Kirit remembered Roshan's coronation – a young handsome king with a beautiful wife – and then the first council sessions where the twenty-something stood his ground with much older men, with a wisdom inherited from his father that had ruffled the general's feathers.

  Kabir respected King Rakesh, but not his son. He thought Roshan was just a spoiled prince who didn't deserve the throne. And he lusted for the gorgeous young man, wishing he could take him to his bed.

  Kirit could understand Kabir's attraction – being drawn to Roshan's beauty himself – but not his decision to rape the young king to turn him into a puppet king. No, his bed slave, humiliating the royal blood of Rajendra.

  Kirit thought maybe he didn't know Kabir after all. He knew his sexual urges very well, but obviously not his true ambitions. Maybe Kabir did to Roshan what he'd wished to do to King Rakesh all along – but had never dared.

  Kirit couldn't watch the rape of the beautiful king, though. It was already happening when he'd realized the duel between Roshan and Kabir was no longer that.

  Kirit wished he'd noticed earlier and stopped Kabir before he did the unthinkable. He hoped handsome Roshan would recover soon. Although he better stay away from the palace until he forgot the gray-green eyes of the young king.

  ***

  Roshan was glad to be back in his room. In the tent he'd felt vulnerable, but at the royal palace he felt safe – especially in his private sanctuary.

  The queen visited him every day, and he looked forward to going back to her bed at night. He loved Priya and thought she was the most beautiful princess alive when he'd met her at his sister's wedding. He'd been overjoyed when his father had betrothed him to her. Her honey-colored hair made her stand out among the southern princesses – much like her brother Prem, who was considered the most handsome southern prince.

  Now, three years later, they were married, he was king, and before the revolt they were trying to have an heir to the throne. Priya's first baby was a girl, so they needed to try again for a boy.

  When he felt fit again, he went to her eagerly, only to find out that General Kabir was somehow still inside him – in his ears, in his head, in his body. He was aroused and ready, and then suddenly felt the weight of the general on his back, as if he were on the battlefield again.

  He tried to focus on Priya's face, but her worried voice was slurred and covered by the loud whisper of the general, mocking, threatening and abusing him again. He couldn't concentrate on his wife's body and went back to his room ashamed of himself.

  He had nightmares almost every night – Kabir mounted and insulted him – and was almost afraid to sleep. His physician gave him more calming tisanes, but it wasn't enough, and certainly didn't help with the sudden impotence.

  Roshan was panicky every morning and often during the day – mostly because he couldn't talk about what was happening to him. Only the doctor knew the real nature of his wound and Priya's undying love couldn't help him.

  "I understand you don't want to share what happened with anyone, but you should," the royal doctor said at last. "I've seen your birth, Roshan, talk to me."

  Roshan saw him like a father figure, since he was his father's age, but still couldn't bring himself to talk about his nightmares.

  "How about the man who saved you?" the physician suggested.

  "What about him?"

  "Would you talk to him? He's a stranger but knows what happened to you more than I ever will. Maybe he can help."

  "Oh, Abhimanyu, I feel like I'll never be the same again!" Roshan wanted to cry, but thought he'd been crying way too much lately. Not even at his father's funeral had he shed so many tears. "Besides, I
don't know who he is..."

  "Tell Captain Akshay to find him for you. You should reward him for killing Kabir anyway, don't you think?"

  Roshan sniffed and nodded, thoughtful. "Thank you, Abhimanyu. I'll do that."

  ***

  Falgun knocked on Kirit's door and put in his head. "Captain Akshay looking for you," he announced.

  Kirit sighed and put down the quill. He wrote poetry in his spare time, but today wasn't a good day to compose verses anyway. He rose and followed Falgun to the lower floor where the great hall was.

  General Kabir had turned his family home into a walled residence – now simply known as the Keep – for men only, with an ample courtyard for weaponry exercises and big common rooms on the ground floor: the canteen, the armory, the infirmary, the dormitory for newcomers and rookies, and the great hall.

  On the first floor were the rooms of his elite warriors who led a monastic life and swore never to get married in order to be accepted into the community. Outsiders thought they also took a chastity vow, but in fact they didn't. They weren't monks, they didn't even have a temple inside the walls, and prayers were the last of their thoughts. They were warriors to the bone – warriors who had decided to live without women, following the lead of the late general.

  Kirit was one of the ten elder officers of Kabir's community while Falgun was younger. He'd been his attendant for two years now, and was the young king's age. Kirit didn't want to take the general's place, but the others were still discussing who should be the new leader of the Keep.

  "You know, you should take the reins," Falgun said as they went down the stairs, since visitors weren't allowed onto the upper floor. "Especially since you killed the general..."

  "The others already think I killed him because I wanted his place," Kirit replied. "I don't feel very safe here at this time."

  "So if the captain offers you a job in the royal guard you will just go?" Falgun protested.

  Kirit smiled. "No, Falgun, I will not work in close contact with the king," he assured. Not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. Being near the gorgeous young man would be too much of a temptation.

  Not that he wanted to rape the king like Kabir had done, but even expressing his desire might be dangerous. His lust could turn to love, and who knew what would happen then. Whether he seduced the king or not, he'd destroy the peace of the court. Not exactly what he had in mind in the first place.

  Falgun exhaled in relief, and then they reached the hall where Captain Akshay was waiting.

  "I hope the king is feeling better," Kirit said.

  "He requests your presence at the palace." Akshay answered with a nod.

  "What for?"

  "To reward you for saving his life."

  "Tell him I only did my duty."

  "You were General Kabir's man."

  "General Kabir was King Rakesh's general. He should have sworn fealty to the son like he had done with the father. My way of apologizing for my commander's misbehavior was to stop him before he made things even worse."

  "Who will be his successor?" The captain looked interested now. "Should the king close this community and disband its members?"

  "It's his right." Kirit shrugged. "We haven't decided who the new leader is yet."

  "You're well-trained, elite warriors, you should join the royal guard."

  "If that's the king's will. I'm sure you'll know how to suggest that to him. But not all of us will join," Kirit warned, amused. He certainly wouldn't. Maybe it was time to start traveling and offer his sword as mercenary. It might help rid him of his new obsession.

  Akshay nodded, thoughtful. "You're a strange man, Kirit. Anyone would have jumped at the opportunity of being bestowed lands and honor."

  "I don't need lands." Kirit grinned. "I'm a very simple man. You won't see me in the royal guard, but once you know who signs up, come back to me and I'll give you some tips on how to handle those men."

  "And then what will you do?"

  "When everybody is settled, I shall leave. I look forward to trying the mercenary life. Some of these men might follow me, and I swear I will never ever raise my sword against Rajendra – no matter how much they pay me."

  "Then join our army and stay here," Akshay smiled. "The king does have mercenaries already. At least you were born here."

  "Sounds like a deal – as long as I'm away from the palace and the king himself..."

  ***

  Roshan was disappointed by Kirit's refusal to come to the palace. He liked the idea that the well-trained men of the late General Kabir would join either his royal guard or the rest of the army, but he couldn't understand why Kirit refused to be rewarded for his deeds.

  "What is he like?" he asked Captain Akshay. "I haven't seen him, I was passed out."

  "Well, he's about my age, well built. Obviously a professional soldier from the way he moves and talks. He is one of the senior officers and a veteran – and it shows."

  "Why do you think he doesn't want to be near me?" Roshan insisted, frowning with worry. But Captain Akshay had no idea – although Abhimanyu did.

  "He doesn't want to embarrass you with his presence. He has witnessed your humiliation and probably thinks you don't want to be reminded of that," the doctor said.

  "I don't. But you said I should talk about it with someone," Roshan grumbled.

  "I still think you should. And that he's the person you need to talk to. There's obviously more about Kabir's men than strict rules and war training, and the only one who knows about it is Kirit."

  "But he doesn't want to come or join the royal guard," Roshan complained, frustrated.

  "Your majesty, he's your subject. Summon him, and if he still refuses, have him arrested. What happens in the prisons will be only between you and him."

  "But I don't want to throw him in prison!"

  "Maybe it won't be necessary." Abhimanyu smiled. "Maybe he will obey a direct summon..."

  ***

  "Either you come of your own free will, or I'll have to take you by force." Captain Akshay didn't look happy and Kirit sighed.

  "All right, I'll come," he muttered. "Sounds like a spoiled child's tantrum, but since the child is king, I must obey..."

  "I think the king is still sick, although he pretends not to be," Akshay said. "I don't know what really ails him, but his physician seems convinced you can help."

  Kirit stared at Akshay, surprised. So the king hadn't recovered fully. He hadn't been to the palace, but maybe the second request was a signal that Roshan needed him after all.

  "Can you give me a moment?"

  He turned his back on Akshay and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

  I will not touch Roshan. I will not hurt Roshan. I will keep my lust in check. I will not betray his trust.

  He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. He kept repeating those sentences like a mantra as he turned back to face the captain. "I'm ready."

  But his heart sank at the sight of the haunted look on the king's face. Akshay took him to Roshan's private rooms, where the young man waited, seated on his heels on the thick carpet in the anteroom.

  Kirit took in the carved settle, the window leading to a balcony and the curtained opening leading to the bath chamber. The inner sanctum of the king – definitely an informal meeting.

  Like most kings' sanctums, the apartment had three rooms, one inside the other. The anteroom led to a bath chamber with a pool, a smaller bathtub for hot baths, a bowl and pitcher for shaving and morning ablutions, and a sitting chamber pot. Then there was the bedroom with a big canopied bed and a smaller chamber pot.

  The only wooden door was on the corridor, the bath chamber and the bedroom had only a curtain. A balcony ran all along the three rooms, with access from all of them.

  Kirit sat on the carpet while Akshay closed the door on the king's privacy, observing Roshan who looked almost as if he were in prayer – or maybe lost in thoughts. Not pleasant thoughts from his pained expression.

  Roshan slowly lo
oked up and his gray-green eyes stared at him with a mute request for help. Kirit gulped – the king was beautiful even in his obvious distress. Kirit wanted to take him in his arms and cuddle him until his smile came back.

  "Thank you for coming." Roshan's voice was strangled. "And thank you for saving me."

  "I should have stopped him earlier, but I wasn't aware of your predicament," he replied, averting his eyes from the troubled but clean-shaven face.

  "I... he gagged me, and then it was too late," Roshan whispered, hanging his head.

  Kirit scoffed. "I know. He liked forcing himself on younger men."

  "Did he do it to you?" Again, barely a whisper – and a quick glance.

  Kirit sighed, then nodded. "A long time ago."

  "So why did you stay with him?" Roshan sounded anguished now.

  Kirit hesitated. "It's complicated. I wasn't as unwilling as you were. I mean, it wasn't rape in my case, although it hurt the first time. Kabir didn't know what gentle means."

  Roshan's eyes widened, then looked away again. "How can you stand...?"

  "It's not always like that. There are very pleasurable ways of sleeping with a man. As long as both want it."

  "I didn't want it."

  "I know, and you feel dirty and ashamed. But it will pass. I'm sure your beautiful wife is helping..."

  "No!" Roshan snapped. He pursed his lower lip. "No, she can't help me," he added in a low voice again. "In fact I can't even please her anymore."

  Kirit cursed under his breath. No wonder the king looked so dejected.

  "Give yourself time, your majesty," he said gently. "Fighting the memory can only make things worse."

  "But I have nightmares!" Roshan looked desperate, his eyes glazed by tears. "I don't know what to do!"

  Without thinking, Kirit reached out and pulled him into his arms. Roshan burst into sobs, drenching his tunic, while he gently stroked the king's hair with one hand and his back with the other.

  Son of a bitch, you ruined him! His anger at Kabir increased tenfold. If he hadn't already killed the general, he'd kill him again.

  Slowly Roshan calmed down and nestled against him, sniffling.

  "Feel better?" Kirit asked, still stroking the king's hair.