The door opened, and Jeffrey saw a flushed face with red eyes, framed by a mess of scattered objects; an overthrown table, books and papers strewn about, broken porcelain pieces. “He is always exempt, never keep him away.”
The face disappeared again, the door remained open. Jeffrey stood gaping until Ignacio closed his mouth with a finger under his chin.
“You did well, Jeffrey. Thank you.”
Lord Ignacio entered the room, picking his way across the battlefield on the floor, heading straight for the Prince. The door remained open and Jeffrey reached to close it. He halted with his hand on the doorknob, his gaze caught by the scene on the other side.
Ignacio opened his arms and the Prince fell into them without hesitancy. They wrapped their arms tightly around each other, the embrace intimate, as if between lovers. The Prince’s head hidden in the crook of Ignacio’s neck. Pale and dark skin contrasting starkly. Jeffrey shook himself out of his trance and closed the door quietly before returning to his post. Was there more between the Prince and his advisor? They were astoundingly close, their behaviour so unlike anything Jeffrey knew of nobles.
***
Some hours later both the Prince and his advisor re-emerged, their gait unhurried and the tension, present in the Prince before, gone. They were headed for a meeting, which Jeffrey would not be attending. While the Kingsguard would be stationed inside, Jeffrey would remain outside, beside the door, next to a Palaceguard. It struck him as odd, yet it was of little consequence, so he simply did as told.
Throughout the meeting, Jeffrey could hear shouting and banging coming from inside the hall. It did not appear to be a very civilised session.
The doors opened from the inside, the King and Prince walking out together. Jeffrey fell into step beside the King’s Captain, walking behind the two royals.
For the first time, Jeffrey got to see the King, albeit it only really being his back. He stood only a little taller than his son, his hair had gone grey even white in places but still thick and full. He wore a large circlet, inlet with gemstones of all kinds. A colourful gaudy mix to send a message. His gait relaxed and unhurried, the tails of his dark blue velvet coat flowing with each step, boot-heels clicking on the floor. He didn’t wear a sword, unlike the Prince who always carried one. But then, with five Kingsguards to watch his back, the King wasn’t likely to need a sword of his own.
“You seemed rather unsettled in there, Akoni. Was this morning’s entertainment too much for you?” The King spoke, his voice deep and gruff, the note of concern ringing hollow.
“This morning was both diverting and relaxing. You seemed to particularly enjoy the way the boy screamed in the beginning.” A note of pleasure lingered in the Prince’s smooth and silky voice.
“Yes, we did quite enjoy that. Or the way he hung limply at the end. Such a delightful sight. We miss the days of old for that. They are such rare events now.”
The Prince hummed in agreement.
“Tell me what has you so distracted, son.”
“I apologise, father. If I am distracted it’s due to the continuous and increasing reports of skirmishes.”
“You should not let them trouble you, Akoni. We’ve sent men to deal with it. It’s only a matter of time now. Taking Lord Trevino’s seat on the council has been good for you, it has given you beneficial opportunities, but you needn’t take on too much.” The King put a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“I only wish for the Empire to continue on the path set by your strong leadership.” The Prince inclined his head to the King.
“You’re young yet, continue to watch and learn and in time you will make a good king.”
“Thank you, father.”
Jeffrey heard the conversation between the King and Prince but most of it did not sink in. Not after they spoke of the flogging as entertainment, as a way to pass the time. He was consciously aware of the King’s Captain on his left, another four guards walking behind them. A part of him was grateful for their presence, it helped him stay in control, to ignore his impulse to draw his sword. How could they be so callous and cold?
***
Jeffrey woke as he got pulled out of bed, dragged by his wrists. He tried to fight but his limbs did not obey him, his mind still addled by sleep. Hauled across the yard he was pressed against a pole, his arms tied above him. He struggled but could not fight free.
The sound of a whip cut through the air, searing pain blinded Jeffrey, pushing all else from his mind. Again, the air was cut, and so was his flesh, over and over again.
His father’s voice, calling him a disappointment, a disgrace and worse. His mother, screaming. Begging his father to stop, her pleas falling on deaf ears. Voices blurred, commanders he’d had, lords he’d served. He was no longer the only one tied to a pole. Before him a whole field with rows and rows of poles, limp and bloody bodies hanging from them, the air cut by the whoosh of numerous whips, voiceless screams as they connected. A servant boy stood out, his palace uniform torn to shreds by the whip, his screams dying away, his legs no longer holding him.
Sitting up with a start, Jeffrey breathed hard. His heart racing, his skin soaked with sweat. Looking around he recognised the bare room he occupied in the trainee barracks, shared only with Matthew who rose at different times. His sword hung off the side of his bed. His tunic laid over a chair, beside it on the floor lay his greaves and sandals as well as an unused shield, required only if the Prince were to head into the city. His bracers were on top of a chest of drawers along with a dagger. There were some plain clothes in a drawer, otherwise, the room held no personal items. He’d not had need for personal items in a great many years.
Getting out of bed, Jeffrey headed for the communal showers to wash away the sweat and remnants of his dreams. He got dressed in his uniform, had a quick breakfast, and headed for the Prince’s quarters.
His dream lingered in his mind, mixing with new and old memories. Even though he had not attended the previous day’s flogging, his mind filled in the blanks more vividly than reality could have. Anger and frustration brewing below the surface again and Jeffrey was not sure how well he would be able to control it today. The lack of sleep and constant tension in him taking their toll.
Arriving at the Prince’s apartments, Jeffrey found Kieron posed outside the Prince’s private study, instead of his bedroom. As Jeffrey approached, Kieron looked up, his face lighting up when his gaze found Jeffrey. “Tiras,” he whispered with relief.
“Kieron, are you alright?” Jeffrey noticed a cut on Kieron’s cheek, blood caked around it. He reached out with one hand, gentle fingers touching bruised skin.
“I’m okay now.” Kieron’s eyes closed momentarily.
“What happened?” Jeffrey pulled Kieron against him, the redhead pliant and eager. Slightly shorter than Jeffrey, Kieron’s head rested against Jeffrey’s armoured chest, their arms wrapped around each other.
“It was my mistake. I should have known better.”
“Kieron—”
“Just hold me, Tiras.”
Jeffrey sighed but did as asked. He held Kieron tightly and kissed the top of his head. “You’ll be alright, Trian.”
They stood in each other’s arms in silence for a long time. At long last, Kieron pulled away and Jeffrey let him go. “Thank you, Tiras. I needed that.”
“Anytime, Kieron. Will you tell me what happened?”
“A messenger arrived late, and I suspect the news was not good. He’s been awake much of the night. Be careful with him today.”
“More than usual?” Jeffrey chuckled, gladdened when Kieron smiled.
“Good luck, Tiras.”
“Trian, you know you can come to me if you need anything?”
“Thank you.” Kieron nodded and smiled.
***
The Prince’s servant Hendrick came with breakfast as he did each morning. And as he had done before, he passed on the Prince’s request for Jeffrey to enter. Jeffrey found the Prince fully dressed and seated at his d
esk, but his hair lay in unkempt and messy strands, his robe hung open revealing the crumpled shirt underneath. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, telling of a long night.
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
“Good morning, alfio. There’s coffee if you want. Help yourself.” The Prince gestured to a sideboard where a tray stood with cups and a coffee pot.
Jeffrey stood still, his fists clenching at the use of that derogatory term again.
“Everything alright?” The Prince asked with a raised eyebrow.
“You don’t drink coffee,” Jeffrey replied, his thoughts so scrambled it was all he could manage.
“But you do. Did you not want any?”
Jeffrey shook his head, attempting to clear it.
“Well, you needn’t take it.” The Prince turned back to his papers.
Jeffrey stood gaping a moment longer before he turned around, reaching for the door. His mind filled with visions of the servant’s whipping, and Kieron’s bruised face. The panther inside him strained against its chains.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The Prince’s voice was not cold, but exhaustion rang heavy in it.
“Your Highness? If you don’t need me, I should return—”
“I need you to stay here. Inside the room.”
Jeffrey’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “Your Highness, there is no reason—”
“The reason is that I asked you. Just once, Jeffrey, obey just once.”
“And will you have me flogged too if I don’t?” The words left Jeffrey’s mouth before he realised it. He suppressed a cringe. Kieron’s warning should have been enough. Why could he not hold his tongue and do as told?
The Prince’s gaze fixed on Jeffrey now, eyes hard and narrow, lips pursed. “If you want to be flogged again, I’m certain we can find an excuse.”
Jeffrey laughed humourlessly. “I have no doubt, it doesn’t seem to be much of a problem for you.”
“What is this?” The Prince demanded.
Jeffrey’s hands were fists, his nails digging into his palms so hard he would not be surprised to draw blood. He tried to take a deep breath, to calm himself but his heart beat so fast, his mind a hazy mass of memories. A flash of a boy being hit and falling backwards, a soldier dragging him away to await his flogging. The panther tore his leash and pounced. “You’re cruel and vicious, letting your anger out on others who cannot defend themselves against you. You’re mendacious and pernicious, careless who in your path may suffer from your actions. You were born a prince, given privileges beyond reason and all you do is squander and abuse it.”
“That’s quite enough.” The Prince sat back in his chair, his gaze leaving Jeffrey to stare at his palm. He moved his hand as if testing its movement for the first time.
Jeffrey wheezed hard, his outburst not easing his tension in the least, instead fanning it, like wind did a flame. How could the Prince be so calm after what he had just heard? “Do you not even care a small bit about the people around you? About the pain you inflict?”
The Prince rose, closing the distance between them. Jeffrey stood unflinching. He could smell the Prince now, a dark and musky scent. An unwelcome spark shuddered down Jeffrey’s back. There were only inches between their faces when the Prince spoke. “Pernicious and mendacious. Those are some big words for a solider. Do you even know what they mean?”
Jeffrey’s gaze was momentarily drawn to a pair of pink lips, full and curved. He glowered but remained quiet. They were so close, he could see the Prince’s eyelashes, long and curved, framing deep blue eyes, as closed off as the rest of the Prince. Yet, Jeffrey could see depth in them, a depth he knew from another. The desire sparking inside him was utterly unwelcome and made his anger flare all the more.
“You’ve been wanting to say all that to me since you first met me. Didn’t you?” The Prince’s gaze bore into Jeffrey’s own, almost as if searching for something. It dropped lower. A pink tongue came out to wet dry lips. His gaze lifted when he continued, “Is there more? I bet there is.”
“You callous—” The Prince cut Jeffrey off by wrapping his hand around Jeffrey’s throat. He did not press hard, yet. Jeffrey felt his skin prickle where the Prince’s hand lay.
“Enough.” The Prince spoke quietly, his gaze drawn to his hand where it touched Jeffrey. He cocked his head to the side and frowned. Their eyes locked again, he asked, “What are you?” His voice became gentle, curious.
Jeffrey scoffed. “To you? Another toy to play with it seems.”
“Another toy? I never had one...” The Prince bit his lip and Jeffrey found his gaze drawn to the sight. “Play with you? I would enjoy that, but not the way you think.”
“Do you take anything seriously?” Jeffrey kept himself still. It would be easy to shake the Prince’s hold but to do so would constitute an attack on royalty. Even in his current state, he knew better, he could not cross that line. He must not.
The Prince smiled wryly. “I take a great deal of things seriously. You think I don’t care, that I sit around in my castle playing games. You’re a soldier, you couldn’t possibly understand the battles I fight every day. They may not be with swords, but they are no less lethal.”
“Battles,” Jeffrey laughed. “You’ve no idea what a battle even is. You’re not even able to fight with a real sword.”
The Prince’s frown deepened. “What makes you think that?”
“You practise with the marshal and every time you leave him you’re in pain. You can hardly walk. I bet you’re covered in bruises.”
“You’re observant. This week was the first in many years that I’ve not been able to defend against him. Thanks to you.”
“Me? I wasn’t even there!” Jeffrey sneered.
“But you are. I feel you all the time...” The Prince trailed off, his gaze once more returning to his hand wrapped around Jeffrey’s throat. He let his thumb move over Jeffrey’s skin.
Jeffrey became overly conscious of the thumping of his pulse. His anger made his heart beat faster, his blood speeding through his veins, knocking against the Prince’s thumb on his throat.
“The closer you are,” the Prince whispered, “the stronger I feel it. The angrier you get, the more I calm down. Isn’t that the strangest thing?”
“What in Tempesta’s name is wrong with you?” Jeffrey demanded, knocking the Prince’s arm away, his palms pressed against the Prince’s chest he pushed hard. The Prince stumbled backwards but did not fall. A part of Jeffrey felt relieved at that, the part that was still somewhat rational and told him he could not be fighting against the Prince like this. It was a small part, shrinking with every moment that passed, easily ignored now within the tempest raging inside him. “Have you gone mad? Or is the lack of one night’s sleep affecting you so badly you cannot even be rational?”
“Rational?” The Prince laughed. “This coming from the man currently arguing with royalty? I’ve enough grounds to have you executed by now.”
“Go right ahead. Another one to add to your list. Wouldn’t even make a dent.”
“You must have a death wish.” The Prince’s voice was calm, curious. “Why is that?”
“Maybe you’re the one with a death wish. I’m surprised no one has done you in yet. With inept guards around you, you would be easy pickings. The world would be better off—”
“Quiet!” the Prince snapped, his voice turning cold. “You’re going too far now.”
“I haven’t gone far enough yet. Things are hardly good now, but I could not possibly see things improving with you as King. I hope you—”
“Shut up!” The Prince drew his sword. Jeffrey felt a momentary flicker, an instinct to draw his own sword. It took everything he had to suppress it. Stepping close, the Prince pressed the blade edge against Jeffrey’s throat, his free hand pressed against Jeffrey’s chest, pinning him against the wall. “You have a real talent for making me angry. Every time I try to talk to you, to be friendly, to just chat, you say something irrational. I do not
want to be fighting with you,” the Prince insisted, his blue eyes locked on Jeffrey’s, a pleading look in them.
Jeffrey’s vision blurred, the only thing he saw sharply were pleading blue eyes. The panther reigned free, but he had to get him back into its chains. His fists clenched at his sides. He had to regain control, for the only man that had been able to make Jeffrey want to be different, to be better.
It had been a long time ago now. He’d not thought of him in ages. He did now; his voice, strong and confident it could make Jeffrey want to stand to attention and obey, his hands had been so gentle and yet so demanding, his blue eyes, deep as the oceans, filled with kindness and desire.
Memories washed through Jeffrey, like rushing waves crashing against rocks. The first time he saw Aidan, both of them low ranked soldiers, the attraction instantaneous. Fighting side by side, the elation of victory, the celebrations afterwards in bed together. The day of Aidan’s promotion—more celebrations.
The day he’d ignored Aidan’s command, the punishment handed out to both of them. The welts on Aidan’s back—Jeffrey’s fault. He’d sworn never to let it happen again.
He had to get control. For Aidan.
His breathing was too shallow and his heart still beating too fast, every beat a hammer pounding an anvil in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, trying to calm his heart. “I’m sorry, Sir. I will do as told.” He said quietly, his head bowed.
A knock on the door shattered the silence in the room.
“Can a man not be left alone,” the Prince thundered.
“I apologise for the interruption, Your Highness. The King wishes to see you in the Rose Room.”
Through his haze, Jeffrey saw the words impact on the Prince; he took a step back, the arm holding the sword lost all strength, hanging limply now, fingers barely holding onto the grip, his face, kept carefully cold and controlled before collapsed, turning white, his eyes wide but unseeing. He started swaying. Jeffrey reacted on instinct, stepping forward his hands grabbing the Prince’s upper arms to steady him.
Ties of Destiny (Curse of the Crown Book 1) Page 8
