A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion (2 page)

“That’s irrelevant. Just say it.”

Antal took a steadying breath. He stared at the other man, at big, burly, strong Ryanac, his long dark hair streaked with silver. Everything about the man was sturdy, steadfast, reliable, yet wild. Maybe Ryanac
would
understand. “I’ve always felt at peace with myself, one with my own body. Damn,” Antal snapped. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes more sense than you know. Go on.”

Encouraged, Antal continued. “Lately I feel as if I’m aware of
me
, of my consciousness as something separate from my flesh. I’ve never felt that way before.”

“Children seldom do.”

Antal frowned. “I’m no child.”

“I wasn’t calling you one.”

Ryanac folded his arms over his chest, the muscles straining. Even as someone not interested in a sexual relationship with Ryanac, and even with sex a vague thing in his mind right now, Antal couldn’t help admiring the pose.

“I meant children live in the moment,” Ryanac continued. “The future is a far-off thing. Life goes by quickly, seems fleeting. It speeds up the older one gets. A child has no concept of these things. They live in the moment and within their bodies. As we get older and perhaps start to suffer illnesses, we become aware that our bodies will fail us one day. We become more aware of our mortality, our consciousness.”

“I’m not that old,” Antal said more defensively than he’d intended. “I’m healthy.”

“You nearly died.”

Antal laughed. “That was some time ago, and if you’re suggesting this is my way of falling apart, then I say that if I were going to suffer a breakdown from the trauma, it would have happened a lot sooner.”

“Not necessarily. Bad experiences can return to haunt us at the most inconvenient time. Uly knows that.”

Antal didn’t know everything about Uly’s past, but he knew enough to understand and even appreciate the inference. He nodded. “Still, I don’t think that’s the reason.”

“Maybe it’s not the sole reason, maybe not even the catalyst. I’d say you are overworked and stressed. As I said, you’ve had a lot to deal with in a short time, yet your men have quickly grown to respect you. It’s an achievement. You came young to your position.”

Antal inclined his head, accepting. He’d certainly done that. He wasn’t the youngest Sonndre Semari in history, but he was close.

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“So now you’re saying I feel the weight I carry and can’t cope?”

“Me? I didn’t say a word.”

Antal made a noise, one not quite a growl, but it rumbled through his throat, sounding as disagreeable as he felt. Ryanac grinned at him and then raised a hand when Antal gathered himself and rose to his feet. He wasn’t sure whether he’d been about to stalk out of the room, but he stopped short when Ryanac spoke again.

“Are you denying yourself sex?”

“Not…denying. It hasn’t even…” He’d started to say it hadn’t even
arisen
, but no doubt Ryanac would use that remark to tease.

“What about
all
your desires?”

“What are you referring to? What desires?”

“When did you last enjoy a meal instead of shoveling the food down your throat simply for sustenance?”

“I’ve been busy,” Antal said, aware of his disgruntled tone.

“When did you last look at someone with an appreciative eye, entertain a lustful thought?”

Antal waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Didn’t I just say I’ve been busy? You know the schedule I’ve had to keep. There’s no time.”

“Exactly. You need time to relax, or the amount of work you are trying to cope with will eventually affect you detrimentally. More than it already has, I mean. I’m not surprised if you’re feeling rather disconnected from your body. You need to connect your mind to your flesh. You’re not a beast of burden, and you have men who should share your responsibilities.” Ryanac paused, possibly deliberately, but before Antal could think of a protest, he continued, “I was going to mention the old custom of liminality.”

The laugh barked out of Antal’s throat. “That’s for women!”

“Actually no. Not originally. It was once for both sexes.”

Choosing not to argue, Antal changed tack. “It also died out several generations ago. It’s from a time when the Swithin were little better than ignorant barbarians.”

“Yet we keep the grove tended.”

“Because it’s a beautiful place. And because…” For some reason he hesitated to use the name of the figure that lay in the clearing. “The statue is beautiful,” he finally said, choosing his words carefully. “That’s all it is.”

“You’ve been there? You’ve seen it?”

“Well…no. I’ve seen drawings, and I’ve heard people talk.”

“You’ve never had the time to spare, of course.”

“No. I haven’t.” Antal tried to silence the defensive note in his tone, uncertain he managed it. He’d always found something to keep him busy. Growing up, he’d had time for enjoyment as much as any lad, but for recreation he preferred to spend time with the living, not some unmoving, unfeeling representation of life. Now…there simply wasn’t time for such indulgences.

“It’s worth seeing,” Ryanac said. In a quieter voice, he added, “It’s worth touching.”

Antal blinked. He couldn’t deny the underlying warmth in the big man’s voice. For some reason it spoke to something inside Antal, made his stomach and lower things clench. If Ryanac said it was worth seeing and
touching
, then no doubt that was true. However, he had no time for frivolities.

Ryanac shrugged one of those irritating shrugs of his. “I’m not suggesting you perform such an ancient ritual,” he said in a voice that made Antal wonder if he was suggesting precisely that. “Reading up on the old customs, the state of mind that drove people to believe in it… Now that may enlighten you. It may help you to decipher your feelings, if nothing else. And it will be something aside from work to occupy your thoughts. Take some time off, Antal, even if it’s only for a little research.”

Still grinning, Ryanac walked out of the room, taking the door opposite to the exit Kilan had taken. Antal stood there for a moment, shaking his head. Take some time off. Easier said than done. What was the point? Take a week off, and the week you returned to your duties you just had twice as much work awaiting you and twice the stress. Besides, what use could such an old custom be to him? The ritual was ridiculous, and even if Ryanac hadn’t been suggesting he actually
perform
it, even reading up on the old ways was so utterly,
utterly
… Antal ran out of ways to complain. Ryanac just couldn’t be serious. He
couldn’t
be.

One thing Antal could be certain of: having made his fears known to Ryanac, the man wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d give him time, but eventually the day would arrive when Ryanac would approach him to inquire how he was doing. He couldn’t afford the distraction, not even in a time of peace. His men often made a subdivision of Ryanac’s troop, those who guarded Markis. There would be times when Markis needed to go out into the world on diplomatic duties, and he’d take Uly with him. Antal and his men had to be ready for anything. It didn’t matter if they faced danger or general duties; the men under his command equally deserved someone interested in their lives and their fate. Lately Antal hadn’t felt interested in anything. Not only did he feel disconnected from his body, he felt disconnected from the men and his life. He hadn’t told Ryanac that, but he had enough sense to know he didn’t need to. He cast his thoughts back over their conversation, taking in Ryanac’s expressions and gestures.

“Damn,” Antal whispered softly. If Ryanac told him to read up on the ritual, then he had a reason, and there was no avoiding it. Eventually, one way or another, Ryanac would make certain he read it. He might as well locate a copy and be done with it.

* * *

Having left the room, Kilan had climbed onto the ornate column to one side of the door. Leave? He wouldn’t have left even if he weren’t a prince. Telling him what to do almost guaranteed he’d do the opposite; he’d been like that since he was a boy. He did what he liked; it was why he hadn’t got along well with his father.

Even as he had those thoughts, he accepted they weren’t entirely true. He
mostly
did what he liked, but if Markis told him to do something, he trusted his brother’s judgment in a way he had never trusted his father’s -- and with good cause, as it turned out.

His reasons for being defiant in this instance were ambiguous. Even though he was unsure of his motives, he was always willing to go where his curiosity led. Lately he’d felt very curious about Antal’s moody disposition. Antal never behaved in a moody fashion. He was usually so seemingly carefree, always smiling, often laughing. People were drawn to Antal. Kilan had been subject to Antal’s allure often enough to know that the prince missed it. Lately Antal’s smile looked strained, appeared almost as an afterthought as if the guard remembered he
should
be smiling. He missed the happy, laughing young man so much that he had to know what ailed him so. He wanted to know what could wipe the smile off Antal’s face so readily, and he wouldn’t at all mind finding out what might put it back in its place. There were ways to make someone smile, or laugh, giggle, even sigh; the hard part was figuring out which of those things applied and which of them, if any, would get through Antal’s defenses and best matched Kilan’s overimaginative fantasies.

He lay precariously balanced across the top of the doorframe. If he relaxed his muscles by a breath, he could well fall from his perch. Even now, his limbs started to shake; a deep trembling took up residence in his arms and legs, a tremor that threatened to undo him. Kilan held his breath as Antal passed beneath. When the young man paused, Kilan believed Antal sensed his presence. If Ryanac had left by this doorway, Kilan was certain the large man would have paused, just as Antal did now, and then suddenly turned that grin up to look at him. He’d be well and truly caught. However, Antal wasn’t Ryanac. He was good at his job, but no one had Ryanac’s instincts. Even so, there was every chance that in a moment Antal would detect him. To Kilan’s dismay, the idea excited him. He grew hard on the instant, which only added to his discomfort. He didn’t know what thrilled him more: the thought of wrongdoing or someone -- particularly Antal -- catching him at it. Unsure why, he could only imagine too many resulting scenarios to have a hope of deciding on one. As excited as he felt, given the choice he’d rather put such a revelation off until another day, preferring Antal catch him doing something else in some other way.

Why Kilan wanted Antal to catch him in any wrongdoing at all was a question for thought. Usually so self-possessed, the idea of Antal losing his composure and turning all that skilled and tightly controlled wrath in his direction… Well, it did strange things to Kilan’s anatomy and emotions. He was too uncomfortable to dissect his feelings now, not that he overly worried about self-analysis. He had reasons for doing things, or he wouldn’t do them. Why analyze that?

Just as Kilan began to think he couldn’t stand the burning sensation in his limbs a moment longer, Antal glanced back the way he had come. Then, facing forward once again, he walked away. Kilan watched the play of light glinting off Antal’s long auburn hair as his braid swayed with the movement, and then as soon as he was out of sight, Kilan swung down from his perch. Letting out a breath, he whispered, “Lucky for me.” Antal was most definitely distracted; given his training, he should have sensed someone so close by. Kilan rubbed at his cock, satisfied when it deflated. He didn’t want to walk around with that inconvenience, not when he couldn’t make use of it.

A sudden crawling sensation at the back of his neck made Kilan turn toward the doorway. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw that Ryanac’s bulk filled the entrance.

“Ah…crap,” Kilan murmured. He could only hope Ryanac hadn’t realized he’d been groping himself. He flinched as one of Ryanac’s large hands reached out to grab him by the nape. The big man’s grip hurt.

“Do you understand the concept of privacy?” Ryanac asked as he propelled Kilan into the room.

Strange thing to ask a prince. People were always denying him privacy. People like Antal were always ordering him around or reminding him of duty. Maybe that’s why the thought of getting up in Antal’s face was so attractive. How could Kilan forget his duty when others referred to it twenty times a day? Oh not his brother and not Ryanac: they only need remind him of his
princely
position with a look. Markis was a difficult icon to match.

Kilan bemoaned his lot in life. Princely position! What about some princely pleasure? He was too young for this. He wanted some fun. He wanted something -- something he couldn’t put a name to, but he longed for it nonetheless. As they walked, the fingers digging into Kilan’s neck tightened, and the young prince couldn’t help writhing. At least the pain distracted him from such irritating thoughts.

“Fine. Fine. I’m sorry!” Despite his apology, Ryanac didn’t let up. “Ow! Let go.” Kilan could stand it no longer. The only thing he could imagine more painful would be Ryanac pressing down on his collarbone. He reached back with one hand and wrapped his fingers around Ryanac’s wrist, but he might as well have saved himself the effort. The man’s grip was relentless, immovable. “You ca --” Kilan snapped his mouth shut, almost biting his tongue, unwilling to finish
that
sentence in spite of the pain.

Ryanac stopped walking. He turned Kilan with the very hand that gripped his neck. He shook Kilan by the nape. Ryanac leaned forward, bringing their heads together. Kilan glared at Ryanac as best he could from an awkward angle.

“Were you about to tell me I can’t? Can’t what? Chastise an impudent child?”

Just as Antal had done, Kilan protested. “I’m not a child.”

“You’re a whelp!” Ryanac’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t care what age you are. I don’t care if you’re a prince. I don’t care that you’re Markis’s brother. In fact, that makes it worse in my eyes. And I don’t care about that stupid power or that Markis is teaching you control of it.”