by Megan Derr
Rhoten looked sad. "I never… it is a shameful thing to admit, but it was always hard to think of her as my daughter. I tried; so many times I tried. No doubt it is unfair of me, perhaps I see too much of her mother in her… She betrayed me, however, and her country. Do what you must, Falcon, and I will do my part."
Kinnaird moved away from them, though Reyes thought that he felt fingers brush softly across his back. He hoped he was not imagining it. Then Kinnaird stood in the center of the room, immediately commanding attention. "Then here is what we are going to do, so that this tragedy does not wreak havoc on our Kingdom or further trouble our King.
"So far as history will be concerned, her royal Highness came to see her father, accompanied by her guardian and the bastard prince. The King revealed he knew for a fact, and had proof, that Gandy's claims were false. Gandy refused to believe it, and they got into an argument that spiraled out of control. In the end, Gandy tried to kill the King and Princess. Vallen died in the ensuing fight, before the King finally killed Gandy. With the princess to corroborate, no one will question—they will love the scandal."
"You seem to be forgetting that you do not have a princess," Sharla said.
Kinnaird smirked, and Reyes smiled faintly, knowing what Kinnaird was thinking, loving seeing him in his element. "No, I have not forgotten. As of today, your Highness, all our debts are settled."
Sharla stared at him, confused—then her jaw dropped. "But—Kinnaird—I'm—for love of sun and moon, have you gone mad? I'm no Princess."
"I think you will make for a better Princess, honestly."
"No one will ever believe," Sharla replied. "That is far too great a deception."
"They'll believe it," Reyes said. "People see what they expect to see. So they will see a daughter, reclusive her entire life, shaken badly by nearly being killed, by nearly seeing her father killed, by seeing her long-time guardian die. They will see her changed by the tragedy. If the King says you are the Princess, and Dilane says you are the Princess, who is to say otherwise? We can help you with the details, especially I, for I knew her schedule and habits better than practically anyone else.
Sharla shook her head. "I need to sit down." She strode to the chair vacated by the King, and did precisely that—but Reyes could see that she was already turning everything over in her mind, calculating, adjusting.
"Then I will tend to the bodies," Erices said, and strode across the room. "They will have to be completely burned. I am sorry, Majesty."
Rhoten's face tightened as he stood up, and slowly made his way across the room, waving Erices back. Kneeling before his daughter, he touched her face and said something that did not carry to the rest of the room. Then he rose, and motioned for Erices to proceed.
Sharla stood as well. "I am going to need her clothing, her jewelry, everything. Her hair is darker than mine, too, hmm."
Reyes laughed faintly, too overwhelmed and disbelieving not to laugh. "A bit of my hair dye, watered down, should give you the right gold tone for short term, and we can work out long term later."
Nodding, Sharla helped Erices with the bodies, and soon they were gone, sneaking away into the night out the King's balcony doors.
Rhoten sat down. "My new daughter seems interesting, but I think it probably for the best I do not know the finer points of what seems to be her very colorful upbringing. Dilane, are you all right with this? It is she who will rule alongside you as Queen, she who will be your bride, may sun and moon forgive us for what we do this night."
"I do not mind," Dilane said quietly. "She will make a fine Queen."
Rhoten nodded, then slid his eyes back to Reyes. The weary expression eased into one of happiness, still tinged with disbelief. "So, what are we to do with you, then?"
"Nothing," Reyes replied. "I have no designs on the throne, or on being a prince, or any such thing. All I wanted was to see you. It was the greatest moment of my life to meet you. Now I spend the greater part of every day with you. I am happy being your secretary."
"Then my secretary you shall remain," Rhoten replied, "but you are not allowed to call me Rhoten any longer when we are alone."
Reyes frowned, confused.
"You must call me Father."
Looking down to hide the sudden sting in his eyes, Reyes smiled softly and said, "Yes, Father."
Rhoten grunted. "Good. Now, let us see if we can salvage this tragic mess, and put my kingdom back in order. I am certain I do not need to emphasize that what happened tonight never leaves this room, and goes with us to our graves."
"Yes, Majesty," everyone chorused, as they all set to work weaving a deception.
Ten
Kinnaird yawned as he walked through the halls, shifting his burden to one arm to scrub tiredly at his eyes. He should have come straight home, but it was the week's beginning and if he had gone straight to bed he would not have woken up in time to beat Reyes to the office.
Reyes…
They had been so busy the past several days, he had scarcely had time to properly think about his lover. It had been days since he had even seen Reyes.
First, there had been the bodies—in the end, Erices and Sharla had struck upon the idea of switching the two women completely. Now all of those in Cassala who had known Sharla thought her dead, and Sharla would now forever be Princess Alana.
The court loved the drama and scandal of the tale—an evil, scheming, false son of the King, orchestrating to take the throne and unite Galand and Elamas, who had tried to kill their beloved King and Princess. And how different the Princess was now, and they knew she'd had it in her all along—at least some good had come from the disaster.
If Kinnaird and the others had done their job, no one need ever know that it was the Princess who had sold her country out to Galand—for what reason, they would probably never know. Much about the Princess had died with her. Kinnaird could make up reasons, and most of them would probably be accurate, but the Princess had been much smarter about destroying evidence than Gandy.
Who was indeed an agent of Galand, and appeared to have worked as a merchant for most of his life—that explained his thorough knowledge of Salhara and its artificial magic, as well as Kria. Letters from the Earl detailed all Gandy had known about the woman he claimed was his 'mother'—a woman that the Earl had apparently been amorous with as well.
For the Princess and her guardian, it would have been all too easy to travel around the country, collecting information and passing it along, arranging all that needed to be done to ravage a kingdom and undermine a King, then deliver all into the hands of the enemy.
At least their attempts at covering up the mess the Princess had left behind seemed to be working. The court lapped up the explanations with no real protest. People, Kinnaird often thought, were as hopeless as they were charming.
Charm turned his thoughts back to Gandy, which reminded him of the madness of the past several days, and he had never been so happy to be home. The only thing he wanted now was to climb into bed and wrap himself around his lover.
Would Reyes be in their bed? Or would he have retreated to his own room, without Kinnaird there? Did he still want Kinnaird? It was foolish to think not, there was nothing about Reyes' being a prince that would cause him to end things—Kinnaird didn't think so anyway—and Reyes had said he had accepted he would have had to tell one person his secret, and that had to be Kinnaird.
But Reyes had barely looked at him the entire time they were in the King's chambers, that night, and minus the briefest of glimpses of each other before Kinnaird had gone off to do his part in collecting more information and setting lies in place. Surely that allowed for wild, paranoid thoughts.
Yawning again, forcing his feet to move because he refused to slip on this most important matter, he finally reached Reyes' office. Shifting the flowers in his arms again, he opened the door and slipped inside, then headed for Reyes' desk—and stopped short in surprise as he saw Reyes at his desk.
Fast asleep, head pillowed on hi
s arms, hair loose rather than severely braided back… and as he got closer, Kinnaird saw how casually Reyes was dressed. His jacket had been carefully draped across the back of his chair, and the buttons of his shirt loose, the sleeves rolled up, glasses discarded on top of a stack of papers. Kinnaird smiled faintly at the obvious picture—unable to sleep, Reyes had gotten up, dressed, and decided to get some work done. That was Reyes; when in doubt, there was always work to do.
Wanting to touch, but reluctant to wake him up, Kinnaird instead carefully set down the paper-wrapped bundle in his arms. Picking up the week-old bouquet of flowers, he set it outside for the servants to take away, then returned to the desk. He carefully cut away the protective paper wrapped around the new bouquet. Orchids, in a bright rainbow of cheerful—he hoped cheerful—colors, in a crystal vase cut to catch the light and reflect a rainbow all its own.
Setting the vase in the corner where Reyes had always kept his flowers, no matter how the rest of the desk changed, he fussed with them until they seemed as close to perfect as he could manage.
"You idiot," said a soft, groggy voice, and Kinnaird jerked in surprise—then smiled ruefully at himself, but he could not think of anything to say, too caught up in staring at his sorely missed lover.
"You are going to beggar yourself buying me flowers," Reyes continued, sitting up, raking his hair back and rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
Kinnaird smiled. "Then I shall have to obtain gainful employment at the flower house, and work for your flowers instead."
"Idiot," Reyes repeated, but even at his sharpest, there was no mistaking that word for anything but an endearment.
"You should be abed," Kinnaird said, and moved around the desk, gently taking Reyes' arms and hauling him to his feet. He had only meant to pull Reyes up, then point him toward the door, but once he had Reyes that close, it was as natural as breathing to keep pulling, until Reyes was against his chest, in his arms, and Kinnaird felt the hard knot in his chest finally begin to ease.
"You're not mad," Reyes said, the words muffled against Kinnaird's chest.
"Hmm?" Kinnaird asked, frowning, confused. "Why ever would I be mad? About what?"
"That I lied. That I did not tell you. That I… I'm not who you thought."
"Ah," Kinnaird said, and he supposed it should have occurred to him, that Reyes might think him angry. "Why would I be angry? Perhaps a trifle put out that if you had told me sooner, we might have been together longer—but I have you now. That is all that matters, there. Otherwise, my life is secrets, my dear. I have many of my own, kept for King and country. We have spent the past several days working out how best to lie to an entire Kingdom. Besides, it is obviously something that you were instructed your entire life to keep secret, and you did it with the best of intentions. A secret meant to hurt, that would have been one thing. All that aside…" He tucked one finger beneath Reyes' chin and tilted his head up. "You said you had accepted that one person would have to know. I believe you meant me. That you were finally willing to share it, and trust me with it, is all that matters to me."
Reyes relaxed against him, resting his head against Kinnaird's chest, hands tight where they clung to Kinnaird's jacket at his back. "I cannot believe you wake this early to get my flowers. You really are quite hopeless."
"So long as you love me despite that," Kinnaird said with a teasing smile.
"For it," Reyes muttered.
"What?"
"I said, for it," Reyes said more clearly, looking up at him. "Not in spite of. For it."
Kinnaird smiled, too happy to contain it, and bent to take Reyes' mouth in a slow, soft kiss. The last of the knot in his chest eased and faded away, and he shifted to loop his arms around Reyes' shoulders, holding him as close as he could possibly manage.
He was far too exhausted to take Reyes to bed and do all that he would like, after so many days apart, but for the time being the kisses would definitely suffice.
It was Reyes who broke the kiss, drawing back to smile, mussed, flushed, and wet-lipped. "I am glad you're home."
"Me too," Kinnaird said, stroking Reyes' cheek, his hair. He hesitated, lingering on the dark strands, then asked, "Could I see?"
Reyes looked confused for a moment, then gave one of his soft sighs. "Fine, but you will have to help me fix it. Dying my hair is a damned nuisance, even if I have been doing it all my life."
"Of course," Kinnaird replied, then lifted his hands to sift them through Reyes' hair, summoning up a water-based spell to banish the dye. "I truly cannot believe I missed it. I cannot count the number of disguises I have seen through over the years, and not once did I even notice you were wearing one. When I realized in his Majesty's room…" He shook his head at the memory, still too stunned to form words.
Reyes had bolted, the most afraid Kinnaird had ever seen him, so driven by panic Kinnaird had barely caught up to him. He'd followed Reyes inside, only seconds behind him, arriving just in time to see Reyes stand and attack the others—and there had been no mistaking that terrible, destructive force that was the unique magic of the crown. Only then, had he seen what was right in front of his face. By that point, the dripping dye used to hide Reyes' distinctive gold hair had been completely superfluous. When he'd struck out to save Rhoten, he had looked exactly like his father in his younger days.
"People see what they expect to see," Reyes replied, mouth quirking. "My only fears were that you would hate my keeping such a secret from you, and that you would no longer find me appealing."
"I am used to the dark hair," Kinnaird mused, "but there is something winsome about you with a royal gold head."
"Winsome?" Reyes demanded, tone scathing.
Kinnaird soothed his temper with a kiss, nibbling and sucking at his bottom lip, before finally drawing far enough away to say, "Gold can be your bedroom hair. I rather like the idea that no one but me will ever see the real you. Well, I suppose I should permit your father to see my secret prince from time to time—" He broke off laughing as Reyes hit him. "Do not abuse me, I am too tired to properly retaliate. Shall we to bed? I've wanted nothing more than to curl up with you and sleep for days."
Reyes made a low, moaning, whimpering sound and burrowed into him. "I have scarcely slept, these past few days, between helping Sharla, pouring over paperwork, helping Father, and missing you—" He yawned suddenly. "Bed sounds wonderful, but I am due to be here in the office in two hours—less now—so there scarcely seems to be any point."
Kinnaird kissed him again. "Can you not rearrange things?"
"No, we are to meet with delegates from Galand, to 'discuss matters'."
"Meaning, certain parties in Galand were not amused to receive Gandy's head and all the incriminating papers in his room that he was foolish not to destroy."
"Precisely," Reyes replied. "They are insisting the trouble was caused by 'independent parties' and 'the Galand throne had nothing whatsoever to do with these heinous acts'."
"Of course," Kinnaird murmured. "Am I allowed to attend this meeting?"
"Of course," Reyes said, smiling as he echoed Kinnaird. "I did not know you would return so soon, or I would have added your name to the list of attendees."
Kinnaird chuckled at the mild reprove in his tone, and kissed his cheek. "Nor I, until the last moment, and then I thought I would surprise you—except the full effect of it was thwarted because someone did not have the decency to go to bed and instead fell asleep at his desk."
Reyes smiled and reached up to grasp Kinnaird's face between his hands, then dragged him down for a kiss that really made Kinnaird wish he was not so damned tired.
"My dear, you really must stop tempting me, or I shall give in and then embarrass myself for life by passing out at a most importune moment."
"Idiot," Reyes said, laughing, shaking with it as he leaned into Kinnaird again.
Kinnaird kissed the top of his head. "Are you quite certain there is no time to catch a bit of rest?"
"Not for me," Reyes said, not bothering to mo
ve from his position cuddled against Kinnaird, eyes closed. "But you do not need to attend the meeting with the delegates. You are home two days early—go sleep."
"I will not sleep well without you beside me."
"You're an idiot. We have not been sharing a bed but a few days."
"Which is why you have been sleeping so well?" Kinnaird challenged, not quite able to keep all the smugness from his voice. "Ow!" He started to rub the spot Reyes had pinched, then realized that would require letting go of Reyes.
He did draw back enough to steal one last, long, lingering kiss. "Well, if we are not to be permitted to sleep, order us up some strong coffee and a good breakfast, and we will stay awake by discussing all the things we will do when we take a two week holiday at Keyes Manor."
Reyes pulled away and went to ring for the servant. He was frowning as he returned. "My hair."
"I can do it with magic for now," Kinnaird said, "and you can teach me to dye it properly later." So saying, he reached up and carded his hands through Reyes' hair again, carefully casting the spell until Reyes' more usual color was restored.
Hair fixed, Reyes braided it quickly, tying it off with a pale green ribbon. Then he picked up his jacket from the back of his chair, smoothing the pale green velvet into place, adjusting every last silver button, twitching cream lace until it settled just so. Lastly, he picked up his gold-rimmed spectacles and settled them on his nose, and no trace of sleepy prince remained, only the secretary Kinnaird had first seen and loved.
He picked up his portfolio and quill, and flipped to an appointment page still largely free of obligations. "Two weeks holiday, your Grace? I think one can be arranged for three weeks hence. Does that fit with your schedule?"
"Perfectly," Kinnaird said with a smile.
"Then I shall mark it in, and inform his Majesty. Please make proper note, and inform me at once if any changes must be made."
"Of course," Kinnaird said, nodding politely. "Thank you, Master O'Bannon."
