And So It Begins (7 page)

“I believe a bath is in order, my prince,” Derek said with quiet amusement. “You still carry the smells of your night in the city.”

Kherin rolled his eyes but only lifted the mug again in response. He knew what he smelled like.

The trail of servants appeared twice more before signaling the tub was full, and before Derek was apparently satisfied the mug was empty. When the servants had left, Derek tugged Kherin to his feet and stayed close as he urged the prince toward the waiting bath. Kherin didn’t utter more than a resigned sigh and was grateful he didn’t stumble as he crossed the room a second time.

The steam from the tub cast a thin fog in the cool air of the washroom, though it held too much moisture to be truly called soothing. The dampness made the fabric of his clothes cling irritatingly to his skin, and he had already begun the task of peeling them off when he heard the door close. The room dimmed to only the light of the candle lamps posted on the walls, their glow fading as it fell from the brackets by the door to the dark shape of the tub. He hadn’t been aware of the servants lighting the lamps, but with the rancid taste of almonds still in his mouth, he wasn’t surprised at the lack of notice. He stopped short as Derek stepped around him, and a flicker of feeling returned when skilled fingers began to undo the remaining ties and clasps.

“I can undress myself,” Kherin muttered, though the words were robbed of any heat by the scratchiness of their sound. A tearing cough shook him as his lungs constricted with the effort of speaking.

“Perhaps you should allow me.” Derek chuckled softly when the coughing subsided, and he easily batted away the impeding hands to continue with unfettered efficiency.

Kherin was scowling by the time he stood naked in the room, gooseflesh rising on his skin despite the heated water warming the air. A cool hand laid on the small of his back gave him a gentle nudge, and he moved obediently, if grudgingly, to step into the tub.

The heat of the water was soothing around his calves, evaporating the reluctance he had shown only a moment before, and he had to admit it was almost a luxury to sink into the encompassing warmth. His muscles relaxed by increments, and he couldn’t resist lowering his head and scrubbing his scalp to loosen the oil and dirt he carried with him from the night before.

He emerged to the sound of Derek tossing his soiled clothing into the bedchamber, and he closed his eyes as he leaned against the tub’s edge, soaking in the measure of comfort the warm water provided. The combination of the almond brew and the bath had already begun to ease him into recovery.

Peacefulness didn’t settle for long, however, as Derek remained an ominous presence in the room, though he hadn’t spoken for several moments. At last Kherin took a breath for courage and then broke the lingering silence.

“Aren’t you going to start in about last night? I would appreciate it if you skipped the part about how stupid it was, since I’m already aware of that part.”

“At least we agree on that point,” Derek answered simply. He retrieved a towel from the folded stack beside the washbasin and rolled it into a makeshift pillow. A touch to Kherin’s shoulder was enough to make him raise his head, and the towel was slipped behind his neck. As Kherin rested against it, Derek finally said the words Kherin had been dreading.

“I’m waiting for you to tell me what you were doing there last night.”

Kherin swallowed, not at all sure of the explanation he would give. The truth was unquestionably best, but it somehow didn’t seem adequate given his condition when Derek had pulled him from the Mouse. But the truth never seemed adequate enough in the retelling, even when his crimes hadn’t been so severe, and even when it was Adrien he was speaking to. But Adrien had never deserved anything less, and neither did Derek. Still, Kherin threw a glance at him to try to gauge how angry he was before speaking—and instead caught the breath he was about to exhale.

Dark hair fell loosely over broad shoulders as the tie was pulled free of its usual tail, and then Derek moved immediately to pull his shirt over his head, revealing skin already growing damp in the steam-filled air. The lack of idleness inherent in Derek’s trade had certainly kept him fit, and the soft light only emphasized the lean muscles of his chest and arms while hiding the thin white scar that slit the skin beneath his collarbone.

A misunderstanding in a marketplace in Eldon had been Derek’s explanation when Kherin had first seen it years ago. Kherin had been seventeen at the time, and already fully aware of his preference for men and experienced in the pleasures that could be found in the shadows of the castle and in the equally dark recesses of the mind.

He had, in fact, been aware of Derek as long as he had been aware of sex, and far more than once, he had sought out his pleasure with none but his fantasies and his own skilled fingers. Something so irrelevant as that scar couldn’t lessen the effect, then or now, and Kherin felt a new rise of heat as his body took notice. Though he had never found the courage to approach the trader in reality—and in truth, he wasn’t wholly sure of the trader’s preferences—that hadn’t stilled his hands in the privacy of his bedchamber, and he was glad his weakened state helped still them now. It wasn’t the time or the place to test those particular waters. Derek bent to loosen his boots, and he forced his eyes away as the trader balanced carefully to kick them free.

“I’m still waiting for an answer,” Derek said calmly.

The words had the effect of a splash of cold water. Derek moved, but didn’t face the prince until he turned to lean with his back to the washstand, his arms crossing his chest in preparation to wait.

Kherin stifled a groan of a different kind and reached for the soap smelling of lavender and vanilla set on the tiny shelf over the tub. He immediately put it to use, raising one foot clear of the water’s surface to study it critically.

“How angry is Father?” Calluses hardened the skin over the balls of his feet, and his heel had started to peel and chafe, a sure sign he needed to replace his boots. He retrieved the rough-textured cloth that had cradled the soap and began the work of smoothing the flaking skin with deliberate strokes. It had taken very little effort on Kherin’s part to guess where the trader had been until now.

“About your failure to return to the castle? No more than usual, I suppose. About your visit to the Mouse and your state upon leaving it?” Derek shrugged. “I didn’t tell him.”

The cloth froze as Kherin twisted sharply.

Derek didn’t move. “I told him only that the hour was no doubt late, and you likely deemed it prudent to remain in the city.” A moment’s pause. “Now tell me why you were at the Mouse.”

Kherin stared. He hadn’t expected or even dared hope for Derek to soften, let alone omit, the events of the previous night when he’d spoken to his father. His first duty was to the king, just like everyone else’s. And he had all but
lied
…?

And then the rest of Derek’s words sank in, and Kherin suddenly knew why. The corners of his mouth tightened as he turned back to the work at hand. As much as he hated relegating Derek’s actions to those he employed as a trader, it was obvious he expected truth in return for his discretion. It was the strategy, if not the nature, of his business.

He exhaled sharply. Fair was fair, and as the skin flaked away from his heel, he began to tell of the previous weeks inside Delfore’s castle.

N
OT
everything Derek heard was surprising. He had already known of the activity at the border, and he had learned of Adrien’s injury from the innkeeper at the Crossroads. The funeral ceremonies that would be taking place in the coming days were talked of loudly in both the town and castle, as were the rumors that ranged from errant northerners to full-scale invasion.

What Derek hadn’t known of was Kherin’s request—and the subsequent denial from the king—for permission to go to Gravlorn, and for reasons that had little to do with the prince’s safety, if what Kherin said was true. Had Derek not spent years in the presence of the princes and the king, he would have discredited Kherin’s words as the sullen sulking of a prince who had not gotten his way. But he had years of experiencing firsthand the tension inside the castle, and he knew very little was simple when dealing with the royal family. Not even the dismissal of Tristan was irrelevant to the whole.

Kherin stopped abruptly when he finished his retelling, though he moved to work his other heel almost without pause.

When Derek spoke at last, his voice was very calm. “You know what could have happened last night,
and
,” he added emphatically, “we both know, given the right mood, you would do it again.” He took a deep breath but otherwise didn’t move. “That’s why I made a request to your father to allow you to come with me when I leave Delfore.”

“You
what
?” Water splashed over the edge of the tub as Kherin jerked to face him.

“I asked your father to allow you to come with me,” Derek repeated evenly. “You could use some time out of the castle, and out of the city itself, for that matter.”

Derek knew the decision he had made while Kherin slept fitfully in his bed was the right one even before he had known the entirety of the reasons leading up to it. That decision was the reason he had chosen to walk to his meeting with the king, using the time in travel to be sure of the words he would say. He spent the time walking back weighing the answer he had received. Now he waited for the reality of the request to sink in for the stunned prince.

K
HERIN
stared, disbelief growing with every breath. Was Derek serious? Just pack up and leave Delfore, as if it would be that easy? His father would never allow it. There was no question about that. If he was to be denied traveling to Gravlorn for the reason of duty, why in the world would he be granted permission to leave with Derek, a trader who would never fill the post of a Defender?

Without warning, resentment struck like quicksilver, banishing the disbelief in a moment’s breath. No, his father
wouldn’t
allow it, and he could almost hear the words of yet another denial from his father’s mouth. Water splashed as his hand slipped into the tub, and he returned to the task of scrubbing his heel with vicious strokes. It had never taken much for resentment to turn to anger.

“He granted his permission,” Derek said quietly.

D
EREK
had measured his words to ensure the king
would
grant permission, addressing the benefits to the king and kingdom in allowing Kherin full rein, and with the rumored army in Dennor, he had pressed the advantage of being able to cast it in the light of duty. And though the grand promise of ensuring Kherin’s safety was one he had no sure way of keeping, it was a promise he had made nonetheless.

But neither was the core that had won his argument.

“Kherin’s behavior will only grow worse the longer he remains in Delfore, and the shame his actions causes will be borne by everyone bearing the Rhylle name.”

A few simple words, and Derek had struck the heart of the matter. He was well aware a prince of the kingdom would prove a valuable hostage in the right hands, and it would be foolish to assume none in Llarien harbored this thought. But a self-destructive prince could cause as much harm as brigands, and the damage would be felt for generations to come as they struggled to minimize the scandal of their ancestors. That the effects of that damage would be felt much more personally—by Derek and Adrien, if not the king himself—was left unsaid. In the end, castle gossip had promised to be more effective than concern over Kherin’s well-being in this particular campaign.

And the saddest part was that it had worked.

“We’ll be leaving for Dennor once the funeral ceremonies are over,” Derek continued softly. Then, much like the report he had given to the king, Derek told him of the northerners and the army, the rumors in the city, and the benefit of the presence of the royal house. And he knew Kherin wasn’t listening.

O
NE
shocked glance at the trader, and Kherin had returned to scrubbing the smoothened skin of his heel, the furious motion of his hands giving away the furious turmoil of his emotions. As quick as that, his resentment had turned from the denial he had been so sure of receiving to the unfairness of the method in which it was obtained. His father would no doubt be relieved to get him out of his precious castle, and he himself should have felt elated at finally being granted the opportunity to leave, and in the company of Derek, no less. But it had taken
Derek’s
making the request for it to be granted, and even then, his father had found a way to spurn him.

A touch on his shoulder startled him back to reality.

“Come. Let’s get you back to bed so you can rest.”

Kherin hadn’t even realized the trader had moved.

Derek’s expression was held neutral, but Kherin knew he would have to be very poor at his business to miss the signs of the storm Kherin felt brewing inside him. Thankfully the trader didn’t press, and only lent a firm grip to help Kherin gain his feet.

Kherin couldn’t look at him. The trader had been as much of a brother as Adrien for most of his life, but it was only now that Kherin saw how much further that had pushed his own worth down in his father’s opinion. He took the towel Derek offered without a word.

Derek swung the door open, and Kherin stepped into a sleeping room that was considerably warmer than it had been earlier. The bed had been neatly made, fresh linen showing where it had been turned down. The soiled clothes were gone, as was the empty mug on the bedside table. A tray of bread and cheese sat in its place, along with a pitcher and two empty cups. The heat came from the renewed brazier, and Kherin’s skin prickled again in the sudden warmth.

He waited silently while Derek rummaged through his packs and fished out a pair of loose linen pants, which he tossed lightly to the prince.