by J. M. Snyder
Kicking his way into the regent’s chambers, Tovin frowned at the body on the floor. Face down once again, the stranger was now dressed in Amery’s coverlet and tights, his own clothes long since burned in the fireplace. Though Tovin himself had dressed the man, his appearance still jarred him with a nasty shock. Amery is fine, he assured himself. This is not him. Still, he could not keep his hands from fisting at his sides, nor curb the rapid-fire stutter of his heart.
Berik pushed past Tovin to kneel by the body. “Gods,” he sighed. “Your Highness…”
Tovin shut his eyes. He knew what Berik would see when he turned the body over—blood marred features Tovin himself had burned with the poker from the fireplace. The fire had singed off the bangs that Amery never had, had melted those muddy eyes so they would not give him away, and the barbarian’s skull mask had been ground to fine dust beneath the heel of Tovin’s boot. For all purposes, the body that lay in its pool of congealed blood was the regent. There was no way anyone would know otherwise.
Forcing a strangled sob, Tovin choked out, “Is he…?”
He knew he was. Of course he was. The knight had felt the cold muscles stiffen as he dressed the body in the regent’s own clothing after Amery left.
But Berik did not know that. With a slow nod, he sighed. “He’s dead.”
Now Berik thinks he’s gone, he thought, watching his friend struggle against tears. And Lohden, and Giles…we were friends once, all of us.
But he was mine first. And now he’s mine, forever. He’s free. I just have to get to him.
* * * *
Tovin anticipated a scramble for the crown when the regent’s death was announced. The castle advisors did not disappoint him. Before the body was even interred, Bellona had already organized a petition that called for a democratic vote among the landed gentry, weighted in her favor. Another adviser suddenly recalled a distant cousin of Amery’s who might be next in line to the throne, and even a few of the guards polished off their credentials to parade before Mordrent. As the oldest adviser, Mordrent found himself in the unenviable position of viceroy until a king was crowned.
For two days, the castle was draped in black banners. The guards and knights wore black armbands as a sign of respect. The corridors were filled with the soft sound of servants weeping or speaking in hushed tones. Chambermaids gathered in small groups to gossip in whispers; whenever Tovin strode past them, they broke off and gave him such mournful sighs that he took to avoiding the women altogether. More than once he heard his name mentioned in passing, but when he turned to confront whoever had said it, no one met his stern gaze.
As castellan, Tovin stood at attention throughout the regent’s funeral. The regent was how he thought of the body in the wooden casket; it helped ease the ache that had settled in his arms at Amery’s absence. The service was short, and afterward the troops buried the regent with the soldiers who had fallen in battle. Throughout the day, Tovin stood watch over his men, the sun in his eyes, as they buried hundreds of nameless bodies, fellow warriors, friends.
By the time the last spadeful of dirt was tossed into the final grave, night had fallen. Tovin roused himself from his stone-like stance, surprised to find that torches had been lit to throw back the darkness. Despite the late hour, Tovin left the field and entered the castle, heading for the viceroy’s chambers. He had to knock twice to rouse the slumbering Mordrent, who opened the door a crack and peered out at Tovin, not quite able to recognize the knight. “Yes?” he muttered. “You are…?”
“The castellan,” Tovin replied. Then he ripped the black band from his arm, shucked off his mail, and dropped both to the floor. His sword followed suit when he unbuckled its scabbard from his waist. “I could not protect the regent—I am unfit to guard your castle.”
The door widened, and Mordrent leaned out to glance down the corridor. His white hair was frazzled with sleep, like a dandelion gone to seed. “But…”
“I am sorry, sir.” Untying the plates of armor that protected his legs, Tovin told the viceroy, “Goodbye.”
Without further word, he turned, leaving the viceroy staring after him in disbelief.
Chapter 12
Early the next morning, Tovin sat astride his horse, the same steed he’d ridden into this courtyard not a week prior amid trumpeted fanfare. Now the sky was dank and gray, as if the clouds themselves wept at the regent’s “death.” Around him, his three friends had gathered—three strong men made weak with the loss of Amery. Part of Tovin wanted to tell them his lover lived, if only to relieve the ache he saw in those closed, hard faces, but there would be too much explaining to do, and word might leak out, putting himself and his lover in danger. Better that things should end this way, he believed. At least then there was some sense of closure.
Blinking back tears, Lohden patted the horse’s neck and suggested, “You could stay.”
“I cannot.” Tovin held the reins tightly, causing the steed to prance in the courtyard. By the harsh light of day, the castle looked scarred and battered, but at least it still stood beneath the regent’s flag. Tovin squinted into the sun and thought about the ride to his sister’s inn. Two days, if he rode fast. He hoped Amery had made it.
Glancing around at his friends, he told them, “You don’t understand.”
Giles gave him a wry grin. “Ah Tove, we do. Probably more than you think.”
“He was always special to you,” Berik mumbled. His voice seemed to rumble deep within the bushy beard that obscured his face. “We always suspected there was something more to it than what you wanted us to see.”
With a frown, Lohden turned to Berik. “Like what?”
The others laughed; the sound was thin and sparse in the early light, but it brought a ghost of a grin to Tovin’s face nonetheless. Leave it to Berik to guess at the brunt of their relationship. The man only thought with the head between his legs.
When their laughter tapered off, Giles told him, “Please don’t leave thinking it was your fault. You did all you could—”
“It wasn’t enough.” Tovin laughed, a hollow sound in the quiet aftermath of the battle. “I was stationed here to guard him, remember? That was my sole charge. And I thought he wanted me to protect the damn castle.”
He waved a hand around them, indicating the stones that still stood tall. “What use is it now, with him gone? It’s hollow, a shell left behind on the beach, to be picked up and tossed aside. I should have protected him. The castle stood on its own, with little help from me. I failed.”
Lohden started, “You didn’t—”
But Tovin shook his head and interrupted his friend. “I thought I was the best, you know? I could beat any man with a sword—how many times did I out-fence each of you? But I couldn’t even save him.”
Berik blinked back tears and sighed. “You are the best,” he told Tovin. “You’re still alive. The viceroy needs someone like you, a commander in charge of his forces, and you’re the only man for the job, you know it.”
“I cannot do it,” Tovin said again. With a spur of his heel, he turned his steed toward the open gate that led from the courtyard to the southland below. To Amery. He gave his friends one last glance over his shoulder, and forced a smile for their sake. “I am sorry.”
Lohden raised a hand halfheartedly in farewell. Giles hugged himself tight as he watched Tovin ride away, and Berik pressed his hands to his eyes as if to keep tears from falling. Tovin knew he would not see them again, and the thought made his own eyes sting. Silently he prayed to whatever gods had looked after Amery to keep watch over his friends, as well.
Then he set the castle to his back and headed home.
* * * *
Stacia’s was a small inn on the outskirts of Konstas, a port city in the south of Pharr. Tovin’s family came from the area, but he himself had grown up in the castle, training among the knights who served the king. Riding up to his sister’s inn, he dismounted at the door and tossed the reins of his lathered horse to the stable boy who sat on the
ground. He’d made the trip in record time, and his steed’s heavy pants proved it. Digging out a gold denier from his saddlebag, he removed the bags from the pommel of his saddle and threw the coin at the boy’s feet. The kid scrambled to attention. “Brush her down, boy.”
Inside, a few men sat around weathered tables, and the barmaids who hurried around the floor glanced at Tovin as he stepped up to the counter. His sister tended the bar, her back to the room as she wiped down an empty mug. Without turning toward him, she called out, “What can I do you for, sir?”
“Stacia,” Tovin said.
Recognizing his voice, she glanced over her shoulder, a smile already in place. Twin spots of blush colored her cheeks, lighting up her heart-shaped face. She had the same sandy blonde hair he did, the same stormy eyes, but her features were rounder, softened by years and the children she’d borne. “There you are,” she cooed. “We were beginning to wonder…”
“I was delayed,” Tovin explained. “Burying the dead, then being stripped of rank tends to do that to a man. Is he—”
“Upstairs,” she replied. Concern flickered across her features. “In your room. He’s terrified, Tovin. What happened?”
With the back of his hand, Tovin motioned around the main room and told her, “I’m sure you’ve heard. Gossip travels twice as fast as any steed.” Pushing away from the counter, he headed for the wooden stairwell at the back of the room. “Is he all right?”
“He’ll survive,” she told him.
Tovin winked at her. “Thanks.”
The inn’s tavern and kitchens comprised the first floor; rented guest rooms filled out the second. The third floor was naught but a finished attic that had been divided into sleeping quarters for Stacia, her husband and children, and her staff. Tovin’s room was a small space partitioned off the others, a place he stayed when not in the Konstas garrison or stationed at the castle. The door to the room was shut, and Tovin stopped before it, listening. The only sound he heard was raucous laughter from downstairs, but he sensed a presence on the other side of the closed door. It felt occupied, lived in, full. Like his heart. Cautiously, he eased the door open and stepped inside.
Amery lay curled on his bed, asleep. Tovin closed the door behind him and crept across the room. Since he had last seen his lover, Amery’s long hair had been sheared, leaving a dark red fuzz over the top of his head. Stacia’s doing, no doubt. Tovin reached out to run a hand along the buzzed cut—the short hair stood up beneath his palm and felt impossibly soft, like bristles on a baby’s hairbrush. To keep him from being recognized. Stacia, I love you.
Beneath his touch, Amery let out a pitiful sigh.
Gently, Tovin lay down beside him on the bed. Taking his lover into his arms, he kissed Amery’s lips tenderly, his fingers caressing smooth cheeks. Roused by his lover, Amery yawned, sleepy. “Tovin?” he murmured.
“Right here,” Tovin replied. He kissed Amery again, his tongue parting those sweet lips to delve into his lover’s mouth. Hunger rumbled through him at the kiss, and he found himself leaning Amery back to the bed, eager for more than this mere press of flesh. He wanted, needed, to feel this man around him once again.
Trailing kisses down Amery’s neck, Tovin murmured into his skin, “It’s over, love. Everything’s over. It’s just you and me, the way we always wanted it to be.”
Amery smiled, and Tovin knew that they could live without the sword or the crown as long as they had each other.
THE END
ABOUT J.M. SNYDER
A multi-published author of gay erotic/romantic fiction, J.M. Snyder began writing boyband slash before turning to self-publishing. She has worked with several different e-publishers, including Amber Allure Press, Aspen Mountain Press, eXcessica Publishing, and Torquere Press, and has short stories published in anthologies by Alyson Books, Aspen Mountain Press, Cleis Press, eXcessica Publishing, Lethe Press, and Ravenous Romance. For more information, including excerpts, free stories, and monthly contests, please visit jmsnyder.net.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction. Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and compiled into single-author print anthologies, while any story over 30k in length is available in both print and e-book formats. Visit us at jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
