And So It Begins (18 page)

“You’ve already told me that,” Kherin snapped irritably, jerking back but not breaking the trader’s hold. “But I’m more worried about my brother than any opinions they come up with about me. Unless we can find out what’s happening, we’re not going to be able to stop what they did….” He broke off suddenly, meeting the trader’s eyes but unable to hold them for more than a moment. He turned away with a small sound of frustration, and then took a deep breath to regain a measure of calmness. He spoke with quiet frankness when he looked back. “Capturing a northerner may not be the answer, but, Derek, I don’t know what else to do. Whatever the northerners did to Adrien, it’s going to kill him if we can’t stop it. It already is.” He paused for a breath, raising one hand to tug absently on the trader’s shirt in an unconscious plea for understanding. “I can’t just stand by and watch this happen.”

Derek caught his eyes, aware the prince was grasping at straws, and he answered Kherin’s plea with a gentle touch to Kherin’s cheek. “I know, my prince.”

Then he pulled Kherin close and held him steady, and Kherin gave into it willingly as he searched for any other option to bring Adrien out of danger, something that held more promise than finding a northerner willing to help them. He just couldn’t see one, not with what little they knew.

But Derek’s embrace was enough for the moment, and little by little, Kherin began to relax, calming himself as he breathed against the trader’s neck. He was thankful—and deeply relieved—that Derek had stayed in Gravlorn instead of continuing on to Dennor, and that he had stayed close when the nightmare of his brother’s illness had unfolded. The solidness of Derek’s presence grounded him in a way little else could. The strength of his arms was both encouraging and comforting, and made him feel safer than even the walls of his father’s castle.

He drew in the lingering odors of the hospice and the residual smells of winter, and just for a moment and with no conscious effort, he let his fears of the northerners and the seizures slip away, and instead focused on the hand that stroked soothingly down his back and the brush of hair against his fingers as he found the ends of the tail bound loosely in its leather thong.

Inevitably, unbidden, the memories of the way-stop returned. The warmth of the trader’s body reminded him how it had felt that night during the storm… Derek’s weight pressing into him, the heat of his skin as he moved, Kherin’s surrender to the hunger in Derek’s touch and the powerful rock of his hips. Kherin’s lust was nothing new, and his actions could easily be blamed on his sickness, but Derek had responded with a ravenous touch that had nothing to do with illness and fever. Kherin hadn’t stopped hoping he remembered that night clearly, hadn’t stopped wanting what he felt to be real.

He loosened his arms and pulled back, studying the trader’s face, although they remained close. He hadn’t asked then, or any time since, because he wasn’t sure he would get the answer he wanted, but suddenly it was the answer itself that he wanted.

“What are you thinking, my prince?” Derek asked him quietly, curiosity in his eyes, a hint of amusement in his voice, idly trailing his fingers along the prince’s neck, brushing the ends of the dark chestnut locks.

Kherin swallowed, deciding on the words he would use, though in the end he chose to use the simplest. “I was thinking about the way-stop.”

Curiosity flashed to surprise in the trader’s eyes before they darkened to a wariness that Kherin had hoped he wouldn’t see. The comfortable peace of being with Derek vanished in the instant it had taken for Kherin to see it, and with a barely perceptible sigh, he broke away from the trader, stepping back to put space between them. He spoke before the trader had a chance to reply.

“I was wondering if I remembered that night correctly,” he said calmly, trying to sound matter-of-fact. He turned to the chair he had tossed his cloak over, reaching to retrieve it as his words continued. “I know it wasn’t expected, and it would be easy to blame it on the fever, or the storm, or a hundred other things. But I’m not going to do that.”

“Kherin,” Derek began, stepping toward him.

Kherin whirled to face him, freezing the trader where he stood. “Do you regret it?”

Derek stilled at the sharpness in his voice, looking at Kherin fully as the question settled between them. The prince stood waiting, the cloak in his arms forgotten, the glittering hazel eyes calm and steady.

Derek breathed deeply. “Kherin, what happened in the way-stop was something that shouldn’t have happened at all,” he began slowly. “You were ill, the storm was disconcerting, and maybe just being in the way-stop itself contributed to the lack of judgment—”

“Do you regret it?”

Derek stilled again, but he didn’t break the prince’s gaze. “Even so, no, I don’t regret it.”

Kherin hadn’t moved, had shown no reaction at all as the trader all but repeated his own words, had braced himself for the truth he didn’t want to hear… until he heard the words that he
did
. His heart skipped at the sound of them, then began to pound in his chest with the realization of what they meant…and relief began slowly unfurling inside him and spreading to become something almost tangible.

He had loved Derek since he was a child, had lusted after him as an adult, had fantasized about him for years, and knowing at last…. He allowed himself a small smile and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Derek spoke first.

“But it was a mistake, Kherin. It should never have happened.”

Kherin froze, ice snapping the heat of relief as the words he had only begun to believe he wouldn’t hear echoed unmistakably around him. Derek watched him carefully, and Kherin felt the ice vanish in the flash of anger that suddenly shot through him.

“Why?”

“You know the answer to that,” Derek told him grimly. “You are a prince of the kingdom, second in line to the throne. Your blood is royal, Kherin. You can’t take that lightly.”

“It was a mistake because I’m a prince and you’re not?” Kherin’s eyes flashed with a challenge to deny it.

Derek’s answer was razor sharp. “It has nothing to do with the difference in
our
status, my prince. It has to do with
your
status.”

Kherin drew his breath to argue, but Derek cut him off, stopping his words with a single step toward him.

“Your father is king—”

“What does my
father
have to with this?” Kherin shot back, stiffening to his full height.

Derek stopped but didn’t back down. “Everything, Kherin,” he said evenly. “Your father is king, and his word is law. And regardless of what you think of him, you cannot counter him or his actions. And I won’t risk his favor if it means—”

“You mean you won’t risk losing your profitable business of spying for him.” Kherin snorted in disgust as disbelief dissolved into sudden, bitter clarity. “Staying in his good graces keeps your access to the castle open. I get it. I should have known.” He threw his cloak over his shoulders as he turned his back to the trader. He was spun again as Derek grasped his arm.

“Kherin! Listen to me.” Derek’s face was hard, but he remained calm under the prince’s cold stare. The regret in his eyes said as clearly as words that he didn’t want the argument that was brewing.

“Listen,” he repeated, softer now. “You are a prince of Llarien. As much as you want to be free of your father’s restraints and the rules that apply to royal blood, you can’t be. It’s who you are, breath and bone, and you can’t change that. And because of that, everything you do reaches far wider than you alone. You say it doesn’t matter if you make your father angry, but it’s not just you his anger will affect.”

He didn’t have to mention Tristan’s name for Kherin to know what he was talking about now. Kherin’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing, and Derek went on.

“But while it’s true, if I make your father angry, I may lose the royal favor that allows me access to him, that’s not the reason
I
avoid his anger.” He sighed as he let his arm drop. “Keeping your father’s favor allows a certain measure of leniency and influence, and before you think it is solely about power, let me tell you right now, it’s not.” He paused to let the words sink in. “Power has very little to do with it, Kherin, at least not the political power you are thinking of. The power his good grace grants me is that he will listen if I ask a favor of him, and give me the chance to prove its worth rather than dismiss it out of hand.” Derek stopped again as he studied the prince’s face. “Kherin, without the favor and leniency I have with your father, he would have never allowed you to leave Delfore with me.”

Kherin hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, but the chill in his eyes diminished with the last, if only a little.

Derek’s expression softened at the small measure of reprieve, though a sad but gentle smile found his lips as he reached up to brush a wayward strand of hair from the prince’s face. “You asked me if I regretted what happened in the way-stop. The answer is no, I don’t.” Only honesty was in his eyes when he looked into Kherin’s. “Regardless of the circumstances, what you remember was real, all of it.”

Everything Kherin wasn’t saying stung in his eyes, but the brush of Derek’s fingers against his cheek kept him from looking away.

“Kherin, what happened in the way-stop was as much my own feelings as they were yours,” Derek went on softly. “It was nothing I didn’t want, and nothing I wouldn’t do again if the circumstances were different, but by angering your father, I take the chance of him not only revoking my access to the castle, but with it, my access to you. I won’t risk that, no matter how much we wish for something more.”

Kherin finally drew a breath, the first audible sound he had made since the trader had begun. He should have been angry at his father, who even now enforced his rules on him, or angry at Derek, for allowing his father to guide his actions, but the truth of Derek’s words was undeniable. The anger drained slowly out of him, but he had nothing left to take its place. His father had control and he always would. Kherin could accept it or be resigned to it. Those were his choices, nothing else. Derek had made that abundantly clear. Letting out his breath, he turned to secure the clasp on his cloak.

“I need to check on Adrien,” he said expressionlessly, moving toward the door as his fingers worked his collar.

“Kherin.”

Kherin turned as Derek stepped up to him, but the trader seemed to lose whatever words he had intended to say. Instead he studied the prince’s eyes, and then touched his chin with his fingers, stroking it lightly as he leaned forward to place a kiss on Kherin’s temple. It was soft, more tender than any he had given before, lingering on his skin far longer than he had ever done in the past. Kherin understood the apology in the act, for the things neither of them could change, but he couldn’t find the emotion to respond.

“Sleep well, my prince,” the trader said softly as he pulled back, choosing words that wouldn’t heal the hurt he saw in Kherin’s eyes, but wouldn’t deepen the pain either. “Adrien may need your strength more than the Defenders, and you still have some to regain.”

Kherin nodded again and then left without another word. He was due at the camp before midday tomorrow, but as his steps echoed on the wooden stairs leading to the main floor, he came to a separate decision entirely on his own, without advice or warnings from anyone, and from Derek in particular. Once his responsibility in the camp was fulfilled, and if Adrien remained calm under the healer’s potion, tomorrow night would be a good opportunity to experience Gravlorn’s taverns for himself.

T
HE
Red Dog Inn was every bit as crowded as the Dancing Mouse in Delfore, with the same type of patrons found here as could be found there. The only difference was that
these
Defenders were supposed to be on duty defending the border, not behaving as they did in their resident lives. Kherin scowled around the room as he raised his mug again, and scowled deeper as the thick ale coated his mouth and throat. The Dog didn’t serve the drugged concoctions of the Mouse, but it was nonetheless horrible, with an aftertaste that only grew worse as time passed. But then again, judging from the number of obvious whores in the tavern, he was fairly certain it wasn’t the ale that drew the crowd here.

The one positive aspect of the Dog was that dark looks and blunt refusals seemed to be enough to ensure the whores who looked his way didn’t bother him for long. There were far too many other patrons—other
Defenders
—willing to part with their coin to waste time prying it out of unwilling fingers. If any northerners had been present in this room tonight, they most likely would have laughed at how little threat these men posed. Even the trader would have to agree with that.

The trader. Derek. Kherin grimaced as he swallowed more ale. He had been so centered on whether or not Derek had acted willingly in the way-stop, he hadn’t considered any other possibility for his reluctance to address it. Or his unwillingness to pursue it. And knowing the trader had acted willingly was a hollow victory when he had made it very clear he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. But as valid as his reasons were, it didn’t make the reality any less bitter. So here he was again, alone in a tavern drowning his misery in cheap ale. Derek would no doubt be unsurprised.