Sandstorm (53 page)

He should be used to it; this wicked excess. But he thought even five, ten or more years from now he would still feel like a schoolboy about to be caught doing things he shouldn't. But that didn't stop him from burying one hand in Beynum's hair, taking the hungry kiss and returning it full measure. Nor did he pull away from the warm hands that roamed his back, circled around his chest to tug at the small gold rings, though it made him jerk. "Didn't you two get enough exercise sparring this morning?"

"Since when does Aik ever have enough?" Beynum laughed and leaned past Witcher to take Aik's waiting mouth. "Hmm, my decadent monk? Have you had enough?"

Aik looked thoughtful. "I'm pretty sure I've been trained to have a fairly high threshold."

"Some monk," Witcher muttered. "And you're lucky Nanda's already awake and gone."

Bey tsked softly. "Ten minutes with a pale-skin and you're already turning stuffy."

"Don't you mean stiff?" Aik asked blandly.

"Hopefully not because of the pale-skin."

Witcher glared, trying not to laugh. "So what, I'm not a pale skin? Then what am I?"

"Our after-breakfast snack," Bey answered, and didn't give Witcher a chance to argue.

"So negotiations have not gone as you had hoped they would?"

Shahjahan shrugged, and though he maintained a casual air, Witcher thought he looked
disappointed. "Your King is admirably stubborn, I will give him that." A ghost of a smug smile.

"Though he did not get all that he wanted."

Witcher could not help a soft chuckle. "It is disloyal of me to say so, but I am glad you won
some concessions. I'm sorry I did not prove more useful a captive."

"On the contrary," Shahjahan gave him a pensive look. "It is your presence alone that
secured me what I did. Well, your presence and your advice. You are wasted on the
battlefield."

Another laugh, but it was more bitter than amused. "The man who denied being my sire
hoped paying for a commission would see the end of me. When he died a few years after I
left, the king would have recalled me but I proved to be all too good at war." Witcher looked
out the window beyond Shahjahan. "After I tidy up things along the coast, he'll probably drag
me home to finally marry his youngest daughter."

"Oh?" Shahjahan said softly, and for a moment Witcher thought he looked upset. "Through
all this, I gathered you were important but I never caught an inkling that you were royalty.

Clearly I underestimated your king, if he was so sly as to keep that from me." He frowned
briefly, clearly annoyed with himself.

"Merely a bastard child who refused to stay out of the way. The King wants nothing more
than to secure the son that proved far more useful than the father." Witcher tried to smile, but
it failed miserably. He definitely did not feel like smiling. With negotiations concluded, he
would be returning…to where he had to go. Certainly not home.

No, home felt more like it should have bright sun, endless dunes in the distance, splashes of
rich green in unexpected places. Dark brown eyes and a voice that could be unexpectedly
kind.

He really was a fool. His life wasn't hard enough, he had to cause himself more pain?

Witcher wished his headache that first day had proven fatal. Death was infinitely preferable
to having to leave in a matter of days, and he had no one but himself to blame for putting
himself in such an awful situation.

Why couldn't Shahjahan have proven to be some cruel, despicable heathen?

Shahjahan's soft chuckle interrupted his gloomy thoughts. "You do not want to marry a fine
princess and enjoy the favor of your king? I know plenty of men who would gladly risk their
lives for such an honor."

"Yes," Witcher replied. "And most of them are now dead. If they had ever asked, I would
have gladly traded places with them."

He received another pensive look; this one so long that Witcher wondered if perhaps he'd
opened his mouth enough for one night. "All is arranged for you and your men to leave the
day after tomorrow. You will be escorted to the border, with compensation for being held
hostage for so long."

"Two months is hardly 'so long', Majesty." Witcher's lips twisted in an unhappy smile. "To be
honest, it's been the best two months I can remember ever having. If you ever have need of
a hostage, I am more than willing."

Shahjahan was silent, fingers drumming silently on his chair in what Witcher had come to
realize was his nervous habit when he thought especially hard on something. Usually
Shahjahan held still, always careful to look relaxed. "But would you really be willing to stay?"

"Majesty?" Witcher thought he must have heard wrong.

"Not as a guest," Shahjahan said slowly. "Nor as a soldier. Nothing like that." He finally
looked up, face carefully void of expression but his eyes intense. "I would like you to stay as
one of mine." He stood up. "But I know how such things trouble people from your world.

Think about it." And he left quietly.

Leaving Witcher gaping after him. Had he meant? There was no way. Why would he? He
couldn't.

It just wasn't possible.

"Are sex slaves allowed to wander the halls unattended?"

Witcher stopped a few feet away from Samuel, keeping his face expressionless. From the corner of his eye he could see a guard move forward, displeased by Samuel's words. A flick of Witcher's fingers stopped him, and he motioned the guard to remain where he was until otherwise ordered.

Then turned back to Samuel. "I would appreciate it if you were more polite."

"What game are you playing, Witcher? Is this something you've arranged with our king?"

"Shahjahan is my King," Witcher replied. "No other."

"Stop being so formal!" Samuel closed the space between them, but kept his arms at his sides. "We were friends, you and I. What game is this you're playing? You can tell me!"

Witcher backed away. "There is no game. I am a member of my King's harem. And you are breaking protocol by talking to me without his leave."

Samuel's lip curled in disgust. "You really are one of his little whores, aren't you?"

"Watch your words," Witcher warned. "It's a crime to disrespect anything that belongs to the King."

"Even his bed toys?"

"Yes." Witcher again motioned for the furious guard to remain at his post, though he could see his orders would not be obeyed for much longer if Samuel kept pushing it. "What do you want? Be brief."

"I want to know why you've chosen this over us."

Witcher laughed coldly. "You mean over you? Who always pretended and lied?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I suppose not."

Samuel's stony expression cracked for a moment, but recovered almost immediately. "Why this? You could have had everything."

"Everything I want is here. I'm not going to waste my time trying to explain it to you."

"God damn you, Witcher! You could have married Britney. We could have been-everything would have been safe then."

Witcher let his contempt show, relishing the way Samuel recoiled. "I would have loved you in the sunlight, Samuel. No matter what anyone said - if you had been willing to stand with me.

You wouldn't. That was your choice. Now I've made mine. Go back to hiding in the dark and leave me be. Marry Britney yourself." He turned to the guard who waited patiently. "Report this conversation to the King, if you please. I would also prefer that this man not be permitted near me."

"Yes, Lord Witcher."

"Thank you." Witcher walked away.

Witcher laughed as he watched his men as they jostled and joked, relieved to be going home
at last. He wondered how far out of proportion the stories would get, when they related the
ordeal of their capture. It was almost a shame he would not get to hear them.

He waited as his Captain broke away from the group and approached him.

"You're staying here, aren't you, Commander?" Knowing eyes flicked toward the sword and
belt Witcher held in one hand. "Why?"

"I have my reasons," Witcher said, and handed the sword over. "Keep it, if you like. Else give
it to whomever thinks they should have it. Tell the king…" Witcher grinned suddenly, briefly.

"I guess you can tell him I'm sorry."

"Even though you're not? You'll be missed, Commander. I wish I knew what to say to change
your mind…but then again I don't know that I'd have the heart to say it."

"Do me a favor when you get back," Witcher said. "And get out of the army. Find a better
place to be."

"Is that an order, Commander?"

Witcher nodded. "My last."

"Yes, Commander." The Captain saluted smartly, replacing his own belt and sword with
Witcher's, then turned and began ordering the men into line, ignoring or quashing the
questions that sprang up. As they finished assembling, Shahjahan's men appeared to join
them, readying to escort them to the appointed meeting place.

Witcher knew without turning around that Shahjahan had arrived as well. He clasped arms
with his Captain, and said farewell in the language he was slowly ceasing to regard as his
own. Ignored the looks the others sent his way.

Gradually the courtyard emptied, and Witcher finally turned around.

"You could have been much," Shahjahan said quietly.

"I could have been a prince, and so favored I would have been all but a king," Witcher said
with a tired smile. "I've been labeled a hero and given suitable reward more times than I can
count. Princess Britney is said to be one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom."

Witcher shrugged, and started to speak again, but said nothing.

Shahjahan drew closer, moving slowly as he cupped Witcher's face in one hand.

"This is wrong where I come from," Witcher said unsteadily.

"Good," Shahjahan said with a smile. "Because if it wasn't, I suspect you would not be mine
for the taking."

And even though he expected to wake up, or for someone to shout, to be dragged away and
beaten or killed, Witcher opened to the kiss, and returned it, and enjoyed the arms around
him and the sunlight beating down on them.

"The guards have been reporting some interesting conversations to me," Shah said, lips curving in amusement. "I admit to not liking this Samuel much."

Witcher laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway as they traveled to their own rooms after seeing the Queen to her own. "Samuel had his good points once, as I recall. He was worth knowing, and calling friend, back when we first met." Witcher shrugged. "He's become what I probably would have, if I had not opted to come and play in the sands."

Shah lightly squeezed the hand twined with his own. "It always amused me, at the time, that it was the councilors who first pressed upon me the idea of taking prisoners and holding them for ransom." He laughed. "They still are irate that I wound up with another concubine at the end of it." A soft smile. "Though until the last, I did not think you would choose to stay. I could not think of a reason that you would want to."

"Hmm…life married to a shrewish princess, life devoted to a wonderful King…" Witcher stopped them, dropping their clasped hands to wrap his arms around Shah's waist. "Do you still doubt me, Shah? I've been yours almost since we met, and other than being completely overwhelmed those first few months, I've never been anything but happy."

Fingers tangled in his hair as Shah gently held his head, and Witcher surrendered to the kiss, ever willing to give whatever his King wanted. "I don't doubt you, my beautiful witch," Shah said at last. "But you were the only one I ever truly feared would say no."

Witcher shook his head, the movement awkward as Shah still held it. "You should know by now that there isn't much I say no to." He rolled his eyes. "Even Bey had his way."

Shah threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, I suppose he did." He dropped his hands from Witcher's head to explore elsewhere, brushing over the gold gleaming at his chest. "They suit you."

Witcher laughed. "You suit me, my King." A grin. "And-" The rustle of fabric, the sound of boots scuffing stone turned his head, and Witcher frowned to see Samuel and another foreign dignitary. Then he almost smirked, realizing that the two had not wanted anyone to see them together.

Freeing one hand from Shah's waist, Witcher used it to pull Shah's head down and took a kiss, letting Shah control it, more than willing to be led, and didn't break it until the need to breathe was impossible to ignore. When he looked back down the hallway, it was empty.

"Perhaps we should retire?" Shah asked, amused but pleased.

"As my King wishes," Witcher replied, letting him go. They continued on toward their rooms, hands clasped.

Rakiah

"Sir, your mother is requesting you slow down and stop trying to leave your family behind."

"And here I thought I was succeeding, not merely trying." Rakiah said with a smile, sharing a laugh with the tolerant guard. He glanced back toward the blue and gold palanquin in which his mother traveled, his father and brother on horseback on either side of her. She had them, why was his presence required as well?

Didn't they know he was nervous enough without having to converse about the weather and how grandmother was being such a wretched beast again? Honestly, if he wasn't so anxious he'd wish to be at the palace right now.

Unfortunately, even wishing such was the case wouldn't change the fact that he still had one more day to fret over it.

One more day.