And So It Begins (8 page)

“Better to sleep covered than risk hurrying outside naked in the event of a fire,” Derek told him with a faint hint of amusement.

Kherin gave a mild snort, forced to acknowledge the wisdom in that particular reasoning. The unbleached fabric was soft and cool against his skin, and he was glad they were loose enough not to be constricting, even with the string tied to keep them secure. Another gentle nudge directed him to the bed, and then Derek moved toward the washroom.

“It seems it’s my turn now,” he said simply, and Kherin watched him as he stepped inside to undress.

Being left alone in the outer room was all the prompting Kherin needed. The thought of crawling back under the sheets and escaping into sleep was an appealing one, even if he was still uncertain of his feelings toward his unexpected promise of freedom. He was being unfair; that much he knew. But that couldn’t settle the wayward emotions that still churned in his gut. Exhaustion came suddenly as he crawled under the linens, and sleep lulled him within moments. He just hoped that when he awoke again, he could garner the courage to be grateful for Derek’s actions.

“I have some errands to run,” Derek called from the washroom. “It isn’t likely your father will miss you from the castle for some time, so feel free to sleep as long as you like.”

The sound of Derek’s voice drew Kherin back from the brink of sleep, and he was suddenly caught by a second unhindered view of the trader’s flesh, completely bared now, and he felt the thrill in his body at confirming the tightness he had seen in Derek’s chest and arms extended well below the waist. Kherin let his eyes trail over the expanse of skin as Derek lowered himself into the tub, and he wasn’t surprised that his drowsiness was tinged with fantasy when sleep threatened again.

He also wasn’t surprised to learn that Derek’s bathing was considerably more perfunctory than his own, and when the trader dressed, it was in clothes suitable for venturing outside the inn, though not as pressed as the clothing he had worn to the castle. If Derek noticed the wandering of Kherin’s eyes as the clothes were donned, however, he said nothing about it.

“Leave the things on the floor,” Derek instructed quietly, drawing Kherin out of his wandering thoughts as a dark shirt fell into place. “Servants will retrieve them. And hot food will be brought up later, in the slight chance you might be hungry.”

He moved as he spoke, vanishing fully dressed into the washroom and returning with boots in hand. He sat on the edge of the bed as he slipped them on, then reached back to retie his hair at the nape of his neck with the leather thong he had wrapped loosely around his wrist. Only then did he venture a look at the prince. A faint smile crossed his features.

“We’ll talk more about your leaving the city later,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock from Kherin’s forehead. If he was going to say more, he decided otherwise, and instead stood and retrieved his cloak as he stepped to the door.

“Derek,” Kherin called suddenly, stopping the trader before he stepped outside. “Thank you.” He would have regretted it if he hadn’t said it, even if his heart wasn’t in it at the moment.

Derek smiled slightly, though his only reply was a wink. The door closed quietly behind him.

Left alone, Kherin burrowed into the clean linens, breathing the subtle scent of heather deep into his lungs. He was used to being the least favored son in comparison to Adrien. He’d just never thought he would feel like that in comparison to Derek. It wasn’t Derek’s fault, and Derek was right, it would do him good to get out of the city. Derek
was
trying to help, but Kherin just wished he didn’t
have
to.

He shifted deeper into the bed and sighed heavily. The brew Derek had given him had eased his stomach enough to enjoy the feel of the soft cotton on his back, and he relaxed, muscle by muscle, finally allowing himself to admit how good it would be to escape the city for a short time, and how good it would be to travel with Derek to see the life the trader led, to have him close for more than a few hours or days.

And then the stroke of cool fabric over his skin as he shifted again made the other thoughts that flittered through his mind flicker brightly as they gained substance. His thoughts wandered away from the teasing amusement and warm affection the trader had always offered him to the sight of Derek’s body in the washroom—and the unquestionable fact that he was lying more naked than not in Derek’s own bed. And with the memories of his smooth skin and taut muscles still fresh in his mind.

Arousal tingled across his nerves, and he breathed deeply, feeling the fabric brush against his cock as his mind sharpened the angles of the view he remembered, drawing out the muscles that gathered and flexed and tracing unerringly over the expanse of skin that glistened with the moisture of the bath. His cock was hard when the fabric slid again.

He closed his eyes, and almost without thought, his hands slipped beneath the sheets. Doing this now, doing this
here
,
on the same bed where Derek slept and on the same linens that would touch the trader’s skin, sent an intense and erotic heat through him that had him arching under the blankets, and he sighed as the gentle scrape of fabric teased his flesh. He found the string holding the pants in place and loosened the tie within moments. The heat of his palms sliding down his hips contrasted sharply with the cooler air that kissed his hardened shaft. Then he was surrounded in heat as his fingers circled and closed.

He rarely preferred to be gentle in this, and his first full stroke tore a harsh gasp from his throat. He lifted his hand to lick, and the smell of his own scent filled his senses before he took his cock in his fist again. He had no right to take this kind of liberty here, but simply being in Derek’s room, lying in Derek’s bed, knowing Derek could return at any moment… it added an erotic edge to the memory of the moisture gathered on the trader’s skin and clarified the heavy drops that licked sensuously down his body, kissing his nipples and trailing lower.

Kherin’s hand and body reacted, and heavy breaths deepened to moans as he began to writhe in the grip of pleasure.

“W
HAT
the hell were you thinking, Josen?”
Derek hissed, his knuckles white where they clenched the edge of the bar. He would much rather clench the tavern keeper’s throat. “Even if your
patrons
are too drunk to remember their own names after a sip of your poison,
you
recognized the prince! Do not lie and claim otherwise.”

Josen scowled at the trader, but the flush coloring his cheeks was a clear betrayal of his fear. The hour was yet early enough the common room remained empty, save for a few weary whores who lounged on the stairs to watch the show. Josen snatched a soiled rag from beneath the bar and began to wipe its top with nervous strokes, glaring at his work to avoid the trader’s face.

Derek hadn’t lied about his errands in the city, though all but this one had been common and completed quickly: securing supplies to be picked up before his departure, visiting shopkeepers and the market square to listen rumors and gossip, and arranging horses for both himself and Kherin, though foregoing the royal stables in favor of less recognizable town-bred mounts. Actual news came from different sources. Derek had long ago learned that drunken tongues were less guarded ones, and even the most inexperienced of whores knew far more than simply how to give pleasure.

“Try that with the prince again, and you’ll never make it to the royal dungeon,” Derek warned evenly, and his glare remained fixed until he was satisfied the threat was understood. Slowly, his fists unclenched. “Now, where is Cass?”

E
VEN
in the early hours before dawn, Delfore was far from silent, the sounds of unseen strays—both human and animal—easily heard over the rhythmic clicking of shoed hooves on the well-worn cobbles. Eyes peered from darkened windows and alleys to watch the riders pass, and so confirm the rumors in the absence of a formal farewell ceremony: Prince Kherin of Llarien was leaving the city.

Kherin shivered, watching his breath form and vanish, misting above the sturdy gelding he rode, and fading a moment later. The gelding was one of the stable’s best. Derek had assured him of that. And from the city stables, rather than the royal ones. Kherin hadn’t missed that fact. Royal mounts would have required royal grooms, grooms who had known and liked the dark-haired Tristan, and who knew beyond a doubt the reason for his dismissal. Though Kherin was sure none would resort to outright hostility, the awkwardness of his presence in their midst would have been unavoidable.

And he would have learned nothing more of Tristan’s whereabouts, of that he was certain. The stableboy had vanished without a word, and the vagueness in what the remaining grooms said of it publicly was proof of their sense of betrayal. What they said amongst themselves was undoubtedly worse. Considering the circumstances, Derek’s claim of convenience in regard to the city stables had been a relief. So, four days after his venture into the Mouse—and only one since six Defenders had been laid to rest—Kherin was finally escaping the wary life in Delfore.

The trader was a silent presence at his side as his mount maintained a leisurely pace through the city streets, seemingly content with his own thoughts and leaving Kherin to his. Kherin tried hard to keep from brooding.

“The mistakes before and after Tristan’s dismissal were yours and yours alone,”
the trader had emphasized clearly the morning of the funerals, when Kherin’s presence beside that of his father was unavoidable.
“Understand that, accept it, and do not try to justify it. And do not give your father a reason to withdraw his leniency.”

Kherin had heeded his advice, enduring the ceremonies in quiet observance and conducting his farewell to his father in private, as the king decreed, and then sleeping at the Crossroads rather than in his own chambers the night before their departure. The trader had roused him early and surprised him with a hot meal of eggs and sausage, compliments of an innkeeper well used to the trader’s habits. Readied horses awaited them at the city’s north stable, saddled and packed, with only what Kherin and Derek carried with them adding to their burden. Their departure was incredibly efficient, Kherin had to admit; well practiced and with minimal fuss. He was impressed.

He judged they would reach the first crossroads before the sun fully crested the horizon—the actual crossroads, rather than the inn—that were indicative of Llarien’s spiderweb roadways. Ever-broadening circles spiraled across Llarien, winding outward from Delfore, each circle crosscut at irregular intervals, linking one layer to the next. Llarien’s cities were never built where the crossroads met, however, as they would only slow those who were just passing through. Those “passing through” now included him and Derek. Although they traveled faster than a Defender company or royal contingent—or even a trading caravan, for that matter—it would still be days of sleeping in the open before reaching the comforts of a city inn. And that inn would be in Dennor.

“So exactly how long are we going to be traveling like… well, traders?” Kherin asked suddenly, managing a grin with the last word, though Derek probably wouldn’t notice it in the early half-light. He was surprised at how loud he sounded.

“Well,” Derek mused softly, turning to survey the land and sky around them, “so long as we don’t linger or encounter any difficulties, we should be inside the city in no more than two and half, perhaps three days, give or take an hour or two.”

Two and a half days? Kherin frowned, running over the geography of the land in his mind. He hadn’t been to Dennor recently, but from what he remembered of the port city, even two travelers would take longer than that. He opened his mouth to question, but stopped as Derek turned his head. He was sure the trader was smiling.

“I thought perhaps a diversion through Gravlorn wouldn’t be out of order.”

Kherin stilled in his seat, though the horse continued its unhurried gait without noticing.

Derek’s laughter was real as he turned back to the road. “I’m sure Adrien will welcome the company.”

Kherin stared, and then the corners of his mouth tugged upward, and his laughter was the first genuine sound of its kind he had made in far too long.

D
EREK
felt the heaviness of his heart ease as the sound washed over him. It would be another risk added to the poor security that came with the lack of guards, but he knew this diversion was the right one.

Because for the first time in days, the young prince’s spirits truly began to lift.

E
VEN
three days proved wishful thinking, however, and Kherin cringed as wicked streaks of brilliant white again cut a sky turned black by a powerful early-winter storm. Had it been a little later in the season, the deluge of rain would have been sheets of ice, and traveling would have been deadly, if not impossible. Derek had warned him the day before that the storm was coming, and they had watched it blow in and erase what time their lifted spirits and lack of company had gained them. The fellow travelers they had passed on the road—caravans, workers, and families—would share in their misery, but that did little to ease their own discomfort as gusty winds drove the rain alternately into their faces and backs. They were tired, their horses were weary, and Gravlorn seemed half the world away, when in truth it was less than a day. Or would be if the storm passed quickly enough.