by Megan Derr
Such persons would also not hesitate in the slightest to remove a stubborn secretary, if they thought him in the way. Kinnaird needed to get home; he would not be satisfied until Reyes was in his arms.
Ignoring the worried looks of the other two, he began to draw his power together. "Dilane, help me launch."
"Of course," Dilane replied.
Gritting his teeth, biting back cries of pain, Kinnaird shifted. It left him reeling and nauseated, and he half wondered if something had been added to the arrow—but he could do nothing about that until he was home. So home he would go.
When he had at last shifted, Dilane knelt and Kinnaird hopped onto his arm. When Dilane stood and threw his arm up, Kinnaird launched himself into the air. He cried out in thanks and farewell, then put all his energy into getting home as quickly as possible.
The journey seemed to take three times longer than normal. Rather than the terrace, he flew straight to Reyes' office, alighting on the small balcony and letting out a piercing cry. A heartbeat later, the balcony door slammed open and Reyes—exhausted, strained, but unmistakably happy to see him—appeared.
Kinnaird pushed off the railing and shifted, landing inside on the floor. He stood up, said Reyes' name—then promptly passed out.
He woke with a mild headache, recognizing it as a side-effect of being struck with a great deal of magic. Healing, likely, especially if he had been poisoned as he suspected. That on top of flying so soon after being grievously wounded… he really was lucky to be alive.
Sitting up, he realized he was in his bedroom. Well, where else would they put him? Honestly. Shaking his head, immediately regretting it as the headache flared up, he glanced around and realized he wasn't alone. His heartbeat kicked up several notches as he took in the sight of Reyes, beautifully lit by the firelight, as he sat at a table in front of it, diligently bent over paperwork.
"Good morning," Kinnaird said, guessing as to the time of day, unable to tell from his bed.
Reyes jerked, pen slashing ink across the paper on which he had been writing. He looked up and glared at Kinnaird, then looked back at his papers.
"Nothing to say?" Kinnaird asked, a bit stung that Reyes seemed to have absolutely nothing to say, or even seem inclined to come at least look at him. But, it was silly to be hurt, and he knew that.
"I'm not speaking to you," Reyes said flatly, not looking up.
"Ah," Kinnaird replied. "Why ever not?"
"Because I hate you," Reyes snapped, ruining another sheet of paper, swearing colorfully as he cast it aside and drew a fresh sheet toward him.
It was completely the wrong time to smile, but Kinnaird did so anyway. "Reyes, come here."
"No." "Come here or I will walk over there."
"You will stay in that damned bed or I will finish the job of killing you!" Reyes snarled, voice breaking slightly on the last two words.
"Then come here," Kinnaird said quietly. "Please."
Reyes slammed his quill and papers down, then shoved his chair back and stomped across the room. He hovered near the bed, not quite close enough for Kinnaird to touch. Not unless...
He lunged, grabbing Reyes about the waist, twisting at the last moment so that they wound up sprawled and tangled on the bed.
"This is not making me hate you any less," Reyes hissed, the angriest Kinnaird had ever seen him.
"No," Kinnaird agreed. "Probably not. But it makes it a good sight easier to start making you not hate me again." Reyes only continued to glare. "You are welcome to try, but I do not anticipate you having much success." More than willing to accept the invitation and the challenge, Kinnaird kissed him. He only got his lip bitten, but he considered it a price worth paying when Reyes began feverishly to kiss him back. He did not relent until Reyes was clinging to him and shaking in his arms.
"I'm sorry," he murmured when he finally drew back. "I did not mean to worry you. I thought I was sufficiently healed to make it here without doing something so dramatic as collapse."
Reyes' eyes slid shut. "Your wound reopened. There was blood everywhere. You were also poisoned nearly to death. It was all I could do to keep you alive long enough for the healers to reach you."
Kinnaird winced. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I truly did not know it was so bad." He kissed Reyes' mouth again, his cheeks, his nose, peppering his face and throat with a mix of soft and hard kisses until some of Reyes' tension finally bled away. "I'm sorry," he finally said a third time. "I got your letter, and came straight home. I was shot down barely after I had taken flight—"
"What!" Reyes said, holding so tightly that his nails bit painfully into Kinnaird's arms. "You're a stupid, reckless fool. That letter was just to inform—and it's your own fault for provoking—I really do hate you."
Kinnaird kissed him again, pulling Reyes hands free and pinning them to the bed, straddling him so that Reyes could go nowhere anytime soon.
"Let me go," Reyes said, but his attempt at anger came out more like petulance.
"No," Kinnaird replied, kissing him again, then trailing kisses along his jaw, down the line of his throat, until cloth kept him from going further. "I came home because you sounded afraid, and I was scared you would be poisoned next. But I did not mean to get shot, I did not think they would risk something so reckless. I never meant to frighten you."
He kissed Reyes properly, slow and long, until he had no choice but to pull away for breath. He nibbled at Reyes' jaw, the soft skin he would never cease to admire, and said, "I swear to sun and moon, Reyes, if you want to me stay home I will—so long as you swear to hate me forever."
Reyes jerked in surprise and stared at him for a long moment. "Idiot. I can't seem to stop, no matter how hard I try."
Kinnaird laughed shakily, relieved and overjoyed, and freed one of Reyes' hands so he could put his own to work stripping away Reyes' clothing.
"You should be resting," Reyes protested, though it turned into a soft, pleased noise as Kinnaird's hand skimmed along his smooth chest.
"Mmm, you can rest with me after I am done," Kinnaird murmured, nearly as thrilled by the idea of having Reyes sleeping alongside him as he was about finally having Reyes naked in his bed and at his mercy. He cast shirt and jacket aside, then put his mouth to one nipple, lapping at it, then biting down. Reyes shivered and moaned, and Kinnaird repeated the touches on the other nipple, eager for more sounds. "You are far sweeter a reality, my dear. Fantasy does not compare, even my very thorough ones."
"Shut up," Reyes muttered, and grabbed his hair, dragging Kinnaird down for a hard, dizzying kiss.
Kinnaird groaned and gave as good as he got, mouth as eager to devour as his hands were to explore. He broke away and finally got rid of the last of Reyes' clothes, then took Reyes' cock firmly in hand, touching, exploring, before finally beginning to firmly stroke. He bit down on Reyes' throat, and said, "I do wish I had the energy to take you; this will have to do for now."
"It would serve you right—" Reyes bit out, "to die trying—" But he wrapped his own hand around Kinnaird's cock, stroking in time with Kinnaird's motions, until the world narrowed to panting and pleading, slick, sweaty skin and Kinnaird at last seeing how Reyes looked finding his pleasure.
They collapsed together in a sweaty, sticky heap, and Kinnaird tried to think of something witty to say, but he was fast asleep before he could form the words.
When he woke again, he was smiling—but it slipped away as he realized he was alone. Had Reyes changed his mind? Was he having second thoughts? Were they going to have to pretend—
Then he saw the single tiger lily where it had slipped off Reyes' pillow to lie in the folds of the bed clothes.
Smile restored, Kinnaird picked the flower up and then climbed out of bed. He was reaching for the bell pull when he saw that Reyes had already had a bath brought. His smile turned into a full grin then, and he hurried to get cleaned and dressed, so that he could hunt down Reyes.
An hour later, he strode to the place Reyes could most likely be foun
d—his office.
Unfortunately, Reyes was not the only one in his office—Rhoten and the twins were at the table, just beginning to settle down to lunch. Their presence might have curbed some of his behavior, but it did not stop him from crossing the room to the bookcases where Reyes was putting things away, and drawing Reyes in for a sound kiss.
Reyes shoved him back after a startled moment, red-faced and furious. "Behave! This—this is neither the time nor the place. The impropriety!"
Grinning, Kinnaird returned the tiger lily he had brought with him, then strode to his seat at the table and helped himself to the wine.
"You are remarkably recovered for a man who nearly died in this very room only a day and a half ago," Erices said dryly.
Kinnaird only smiled demurely and said, "Thank you. I obviously received the best possible treatment." His smile only widened at the way Reyes rolled his eyes, still shoving books back into place.
"Somehow, I doubt all of that healing was healer-sanctioned," Breit said, laughing into his wine glass.
"It is a good thing, then, that we did not ask," Kinnaird said.
"Oh, for love of sun and moon!" Reyes snapped, slamming a book down. "I do believe we are here to discuss business and it is certainly serious enough a matter that such crass levity is more than a little misplaced, don't you think?"
Kinnaird frowned. That was excessively harsh. Reyes must still be upset, never mind how frayed he had been to begin with. He was all but coming apart at the seams, but even with all that, this seemed an overreaction. "What is wrong? Did something else happen while I was asleep?"
"It has filtered back here to Basden that his Majesty gave Dilane the royal ring. People are getting extremely heated debating the matter," Breit explained.
"They are being buffoons about it," Reyes said tersely, shoving in the last few books, then striding to his desk to begin subjecting paperwork to his foul mood—though he was nothing but gentle as he first carefully restored the tiger lily to the bouquet.
Hiding a smile, Kinnaird said, "Well, they can debate until they are blue in the face, but let us face it—whatever people want, whatever they say, it is his Majesty alone who can say 'yes, you are my son'. The marriage contracts between Dilane and her Highness have been signed for just shy of a year. The wedding takes place the beginning of next year. Dilane is only a few months and a ceremony away from legally being Crown Prince. If he chooses to take up the role of acting Crown Prince, he is within his rights, so long as the King grants permission—which he has. Let them blather on, I say."
Erices grunted in agreement. "At least your dramatic arrival distracted them for a time. How is Dilane?"
"Too alone for my liking," Kinnaird replied. "Whoever is behind this, put up a quarter million sovereigns to have me killed. They nearly succeeded. I was going to suggest that you go and look after him, as I trust no one else more."
"We'll both go," Breit said before Erices could speak.
Rhoten nodded, deciding the matter. "Please, do. Now that Kinnaird is here, he can help us address the matter of Gandy. I grow tired of this matter, and would like to see it ended. Protect my heir in the meantime—Kinnaird came far too close to death for my taste. I do not want to hear of further tragedies or near tragedies."
"Majesty," the twins said in chorus, then stood and bowed in unison, abandoning their lunches to see his orders immediately carried out.
When they were gone, Reyes finally sat down at the table and fidgeted with a glass of wine. "So what do we do now?"
"You tell me what you know, and I will tell you what I learned in Cassala, and together we will see what pieces of this puzzle we are still missing."
Nodding, Reyes went to fetch his portfolio, looking happier with something definitive to do.
And later, Kinnaird thought with a brief burst of happiness, he could drag Reyes away to their bed and make him forget it all for a little while. When Reyes turned, Kinnaird caught his eyes and smiled—and felt happier still when Reyes briefly returned it.
Nine
Reyes was losing his mind. He had the sinking feeling he had already lost it. He just wanted everything to return to normal—Rhoten happy and not hiding in his room more often than not, Gandy nowhere about, Dilane the definitive heir, and Kinnaird still at a comfortable and safe distance.
Argh, why had he given in to that weakness? It was the last damned thing he should have done.
Sun and moon, he had thought it was bad enough when Kinnaird had shown up with his leg so badly broken. He had not known what to do when Kinnaird had collapsed in his office two days ago, bleeding to death and seizing up with the effects of poison. It was a miracle he was alive.
Reyes buried his face in one hand, giving up any pretense of doing paperwork. How was he supposed to focus on appointments and meetings, when he could not even figure out how to get Rhoten out of his room anymore? He had never seen Rhoten so depressed, and it was only making people like Gandy more—and the whole awful cycle just made him want to lose his temper with every last one of the bastards who would so mistreat their King this way when he had done nothing to deserve it.
He scowled at his portfolio, then shoved it away and strode to yank the bell pull to summon a servant. Maggie arrived a couple of minutes later, and he dredged up a smile for her as he asked for wine. Though she looked concerned, Maggie only curtsied and left to get the wine.
Alone again, Reyes pushed away from his desk and paced restlessly, finally pausing at the bookcase, looking at the books without really seeing them. It was all a great big mess, and they had so far found no real way of cleaning it up.
What did they know so far, he wondered morosely.
Precious little. The attacks and Gandy were clearly connected; the Earl alone seemed to prove that, given his connections to Cassala and Feyestone, as well as his remarkably quick friendship with Gandy. There was also the little matter of his death by poison.
Since Cassala, the attacks had stopped—but then, nothing more was really needed, was it? News of all the attacks were filtering back to Basden, flooding the palace with speculation of poor protection, unpreparedness on the part of the royal army, and look at the final cost, they exclaimed—poor Cassala, and how had the King let all this happen?
Meanwhile, Gandy continued to shine and shine, winning friends as people added the scandal of a bastard to all the attacks and tragedy. Reyes hid in his office more than ever simply because if he saw the bastard, he would do something regrettable.
The only lead they had was that two people—a man and a woman—seemed to be orchestrating everything. Why? Did it tie back to Galand or some other country? Who in the name of sun and moon were the two orchestrating it all? Would they ever figure it out?
It made him sick to think about—all the places attacked, the way they were attacked. Someone with power and authority was selling out Elamas; someone who had access to the royal palace, and likely was laughing at them even now from just a few rooms away.
Reyes curled his hands into fists and struggled to remind himself that nothing would be gained by losing his temper.
Maggie came with the wine, then, and he forced himself to turn and smile and chat with her for a little while. If she conveyed he was in good spirits, that was a little less fuel on the fire.
When she was gone, he poured himself a glass of the dark red wine and took a sip, determined to calm down and stop falling apart at the seams. It was amazing to him Kinnaird, the notorious Falcon of the King, still saw something appealing in someone so fragile as he was clearly proving to be.
Kinnaird…
Fear and irritation still clouded his thinking where Kinnaird was concerned but there was no denying he mostly felt warm and happy. He was stupid to give in, stupid to take the risk—but he had liked falling asleep next to Kinnaird and waking up beside him.
There were certainly no complaints about the sex, either, even if he was a bit sore today. Flushing, Reyes gulped his wine and tried to find thoughts that were
neither brooding nor wildly inappropriate. Wine in hand, he strode back to his desk and sat down—right as someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Reyes called, and was surprised to see Vallen, the Princess' guardian, step inside. "Can I help you?"
Vallen sketched a polite bow, then said, "Master O'Bannon. Her Highness would like to speak with her father, but all attempts were rebuffed. The guards said that all requests must go through you, regardless of the identity of the requestor." His tone dripped with disapproval that the Princess must schedule a time through the secretary, in order to see her own father.
Reyes ignored the tone and its unspoken words, and nodded, pulling his ledger out and flipping it open to appointments. "His Majesty is not feeling well, and will receive only a small number of visitors per day." To minimize the chances someone might try to hurt him, since there was no telling who else their unseen enemy wanted dead by the end of the mess. "All those wishing to see him will not gain admittance without written approval from me." He dipped his quill in ink and asked, "Why does her Highness wish to speak with her father?"
"I beg your pardon, Master O'Bannon," Vallen said stiffly, "but if the Princess desires to speak with her father then I feel that is all which need concern you."
"My orders were explicit," Reyes replied, unmoved. "The last time her Highness had words with his Majesty, she did nothing but upset him further. He is not well; I will not see that state exacerbated, per the instructions of the healers and the fact that I am loyal to him before I am loyal to her." He hated the Princess, and that was really all the reason he needed, but it was not a terribly professional reason. Eventually he would have to give in, because she was the Princess—but he could irritate them first. "I am afraid that if she wishes to speak with him, I will need good reason to authorize it."
"Reconciliation," Vallen replied, biting the words out. "We all know how strained their relationship is, but even her Highness is greatly scared that with all the upheaval of late, something terrible will happen to her father. It has scared her into wanting a true reconciliation; to assure him that she is on his side, in the end."
