In two parts

[maderr]

This still doesn't have a title >_< But otherwise I think it's finally finished. If someone finds another error, I'm freakin' giving up.

Also, the part of my brain that hates me says that it would be very easy to turn this into a full-length novel (which I've always wanted to do with a fairytale), interweaving the full-on backstory with the 'present' but thankfully the part of my brain that doesn't hate me says that would probably be rather boring and anyway you've got too much to do as is.

Why can I not manage titles anymore? If I can't think of one right off, I seldom am able to. le sigh.




“Isaiah Octavius Mortimer Frederick Priscus Albright! Get off that horse right this minute.”

“And they wonder why I hate my name,” Isaiah muttered irritably as he dismounted. More loudly, he said, “I knew I should have left last night.” He let out a long, loud sigh as his father bore down on him, tunic and cape and hair being whipped around by the wind.

His father came a halt, gold and jewels and adornments clanking and jangling. “Where exactly do you think you’re going?”

“Ghost slaying,” Isaiah said.

And there went the eyebrows arching so high Isaiah wondered they didn’t fly right off his father’s face. He bit back a sigh of abject relief as a tall man with wide shoulders and chest walked briskly toward them. Where had he been? He’d promised to distract his father.

“Sire,” the man said, “Is there a problem?”

“Only my son. Beat some sense into him, please, Captain.”

“But he’s only patrolling the western quarter. Didn’t your Majesty say you wanted Prince Ike to get in more soldier work?”

“He just said he was going ghost slaying,” the King argued.

“Prince!” The Captain gave him a stern look. “Do not make such jests.”

“Yes, Jeremiah,” Ike said meekly, proud that he kept from laughing. He managed to remain stoic the whole time Jeremiah led his father away, and even as he mounted his horse and rode out of the courtyard.

But away from the castle, Ike laughed loud and long, delighted to be free of the castle again and off finally to do what he’d been aching to do since a ghost had almost killed him.

He was going to kill her this time. Jeremiah had taught him to fight, and Ashley had helped him learn about ghosts and the more obscure bits of his family history. He’d been preparing for years; ever since the ghost had nearly killed him. Ike was ready.

Singing every raunchy ballad his father didn’t think he knew, Ike traveled away from the castle and toward the forest he had not seen since he was sixteen. Not even the dark clouds coming in fast could dampen his enthusiasm.



Ike just barely beat the rain and was grateful he did, seeing the way it came down – so heavy it looked like a solid sheet of water.

The inn was dark, but pleasantly so. One of the nicer ones, but not so well-to-do that his face would be recognized. It smelled of people, but also of a warm fire and good food.

“What’s the cost for a night?”

“Four silver,” the woman at the counter said briskly. “And we don’t argue the price.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ike dropped six silver coins on the counter. “My own room, please.”

“Room three,” she replied, sweeping up the coins. “Up the stairs, along the right side. You get dinner and breakfast.”

“My thanks.” Ike shouldered his bag and passed through the archway from the entrance to the dining room. It was packed – farmers, laborers, fat merchants and other vagabonds. He looked around for an empty chair, relishing the way no one cared a whit that he’d just walked into the room. No one was scrambling to stand, saying his name, catching his attention. Ike grinned from the depths of his hood.

There, in the far corner, at the edge of the firelight. A small table, two chairs, and one of them empty. It didn’t look as though the man there had a momentarily absent companion. Ike fought his way through the room and shoved back his hood as he reached the table. “Evening,” he said pleasantly, wishing his accent wasn’t so hopelessly city. “Mind if I share your table?”

“Not at all, good sir.” The stranger smiled and motioned for him to sit.

Ike caught the eye of a tavern maid, motioning to his dining companion’s drink. She nodded, and he turned his attention back to the table. “Name’s Ike. Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Marshall,” the man said, his accent a soft country one, very little trace of it at all – like a traveler who was losing his accent. “From the city, yeah? Heading for the coast?”

“No ocean for me,” Ike said. Falling into it once had been plenty enough for him. “I’m headed west. How about yourself?” He sat back, relaxing.

Maybe eying the stranger just a little bit. He was…pretty wasn’t quite the word. But he wasn’t really handsome either. More like a fine in between. Hair that looked like it was probably brown, or at least dark, and eyes to match. On the slender side, but Ike bet he could hold his own in a fight. He’d always preferred slender and strong, so different from the weak, skinny forms of lazy, spoiled nobles.

“I’m just wandering,” Marshall said, and Ike was struck by the sadness in his voice and soft smile. He wanted badly to ask the reason for it, but Ashley, the Master Librarian, had knocked him upside the head more than once for asking questions he shouldn’t, and he had promised Ashley and Jeremiah he’d behave. Or at least try very hard.

“Sounds like fun,” Ike said, meaning it. This journey would be his last; crown princes really weren’t supposed to go on adventures. Or even leave the palace, if his father had any say in the matter – which he thought he did. Ike bit back a snicker.

Marshall shrugged and swiped his overlong bangs from his face. “It’s not so bad. Gets a bit lonely.”

“Headed anywhere in particular next?”

“Not really. What’s West?”

Ike shrugged. “A forest.”

Marshall drummed his fingers along the side of his tankard, frowning at the table as he thought. “You mean the Dark Forest. It’s a stupid man that goes that way, I hear. Never been myself.”

“I’ve been called worse than stupid,” Ike said with a grin. “Usually by my father.”

Marshall laughed until the maid had come and gone with Ike’s drink and their food. “Then I guess the forest won’t prove too troublesome for you. Looking for something in particular there?”

“Something,” Ike said peaceably, hoping Marshall would take the hint. Which he seemed to, and they settled into casual discussion of different towns and cities, areas to which they’d both traveled.

Ike was in heaven. Life could only be better if he could lean across the table and give the man a kiss, if for no other reason than to express how happy he was to be nothing but another commoner, a wanderer off to places unknown.

And maybe a little bit out of desire, but that was probably just him getting carried away with his temporary freedom. Definitely what Jeremiah would say.

The sounds of crashing dishes and raised voices brought his head around, and Ike stared at the fight breaking out on the far side of the room. “Hmm…”

“Looks like it’s time to go,” Marshall said. He grimaced at the men fighting. “I think a couple of those are my roommates for the night.”

Ike gave in to the impulse before sense could stomp on it. “You can stay in my room – all to myself to avoid ruffians like that.” He pointed a thumb at the men as he spoke. “Just don’t go stealing my stuff.” A wink. “Though you don’t seem the type.”

Marshall laughed. “I’d appreciate it, if you really don’t mind. I hate boarding with idiots, but don’t have the silver to spare for my own room often, you know?”

“I hear you. Luck is with me for now; may as well share it. Shall we go before that brawling moves our way?”

“Sounds good to me,” Marshall said and stood, and Ike realized he was quite a bit taller than he’d appeared sitting down. Suddenly he felt every bit of his average height. It was like looking up at a gangly Jeremiah.

Only cute and not always glaring. Ike turned and led the way out of the dining room and up the stairs to his – their – room, dropping his bag with relief and shucking out of his travel gear. He fell back on the bed and wished he could just go to sleep.

How nice it was to even have the option. No court women clamoring to keep him at this party or that dinner, no one trying to break his toes on the dance floor, no thick political sludge to wade through…nothing. None of it. Just him, his horse, his sword, and a cute stranger for the evening.

But, there were things he had to do first. Forcing himself up off the bed, Ike fetched his packs and began to go through everything, checking and double checking for the millionth time that he had everything he could possibly need for the Dark Forest.

The Laughing Forest. Though, when he’d entered it years ago, laughter was not what he’d heard at all. Whispers were what he’d heard, a voice as pretty as any songbird. Then he’d heard laughing, and it hadn’t been the nice kind at all.

Shuddering, Ike forced the memory away and pulled out his sword, checking that all was well, that it pulled easily from its scabbard.

“That’s a beautiful sword,” Marshall said from behind him.

Ike had almost forgotten he was in the room. The forest must be getting to him more than he thought, if it had driven all thoughts of Marshall from his mind. Tsk tsk. He looked at his sword, long and fine, well-cared for but also well-used. The hilt was inlaid with gold shaped shaped like vines, complete with thorns, wrapping toward the rose-shaped pommel. “It was a gift from my father,” Ike said.

Marshall nodded, but left unasked the question of what a simple traveler was doing with a sword that cost a small fortune. “It looks like you’re preparing for a battle.”

“More like settling a score,” Ike said.

“Sounds…interesting.” Marshall’s eyes, which were the color of dark honey, flicked over Ike’s gear, still spread out across the floor. “So how do you plan to avoid getting lost?”

Ike frowned at his piles. “Umm…” Last time, according to Jeremiah and Ashley, the ghosts had just dropped them off outside the forest. He’d been planning on something similar for leaving the forest this time, and he’d find his way to the castle ruins whether he wanted to or not. “I’ll manage.”

Marshall laughed. “Don’t go trekking around in forest often, do you?”

“Not really,” Ike said, refusing to count the royal hunts his father dragged him to as trekking around a forest. “Aren’t a whole lot around the city.” That was to say, there were none. When his ancestors had fled the forest in fear, they’d made sure their new home was completely in the open. He eyed Marshall, who sat down beside him. “You sound like you’re familiar.”

“I’ve been traveling about five years now, and I grew up near a dense forest. My…best friend and I used to play there all the time as children.” That sad look flickered across his face again, and Ike was surprised at how hard it was to not lean forward and attempt to kiss the sorrow away. Then Marshall smiled and winked. “And I might have a trick or two to avoid getting lost.”

“Oh?”

Marshall smiled again, like a little boy with a treasured toy. He stood up and crossed the room to his own pack and pulled out a small, black leather pouch. Tugging it open, he pulled something out and tossed it at Ike.

Ike caught it easily and stared, puzzled, at what lay in his palm. A stone. Small, smooth and brilliantly white. He looked at Marshall. “What?”

“Just a moment,” Marshall said with that same grin and blew out the single lantern in the room, sending them into complete darkness.

In his palm, the stone glowed. It shone silver-white, like a piece of moonlight. He felt and heard Marshall crouch down beside him, just able to see the outline of his face in the weak light filtering through a dusty window. “Where did you get these?” Ike asked, tipping the stone to Marshall as he felt a hand brush against his.

“They were a gift from my mother,” Marshall said. “She claims they were gifted to her by faeries. I drop them when I travel through confusing places, and pick them up again on my way back.” He rolled the glowing stone in his hand.

Ike whistled. “Wow. What did your mom do for the faeries?”

“She never said,” Marshall said. Ike could hear the smile in his voice. “I think because it always makes my father jealous.”

“I see,” Ike said with a laugh. “Sounds like interesting journeys run in your blood.” And it should have been weird, to sit in the dark laughing with a man he’d met only an hour or so ago. But it seemed wholly normal, and it was getting harder and harder to resist finding out what those pale, pink lips felt like against his, and if Marshall’s mouth was as sweet as his laugh.

Clearly his freedom was going to his head.

“So it would seem,” Marshall said, and Ike felt him stand and move away. A second later the smell of sulfur filled the air, then lamp light flooded the room. “Thankfully, I’ve encountered nothing quite as bad as what started my journeying.”

“I’m going to hazard that’s a very good thing,” Ike said. “I hope it wasn’t ghosts.”

“A witch, actually.” Marshall looked at him. “You’ve encountered ghosts?”

Ike wondered when his brain had lost control of his mouth. “Yeah, but I don’t remember it very well. Only that she was sucking my life away to resurrect her own power.”

Marshall sat down again, staring at him and toying with a strap of Ike’s knapsack. “That’s far more interesting than faerie stones.”

“Depends on what she did to get them,” Ike said with a grin. He set his sword aside and stretched, grateful that the long day on horseback had not been as bad as he’d feared. This was turning out to be the best day of his life. So long as he kept his hands to himself, things would continue splendidly

Now if only things continued so splendidly. “So where you are going?” Ike asked into the lull.

“Nowhere, really. I just wander.” Another of those brief, sad smiles. “I guess you could say I’m looking for something, but I’m not quite sure where to look.”

Ike lifted a brow, intrigued. “What are you looking for?”

Marshall shook his head. “Nothing exciting, except perhaps to me.”

“A treasure is a treasure,” Ike replied. “I bet some poor fool is wandering the world looking for glowing faerie stones. Just wait until you meet him; that’ll be a battle.”

Surprised laughter filled the room, and Ike could only stare. Even in the dim lamplight, insufficient now that full dark had fallen, Marshall laughing and happy was a sight to behold. Noblewomen in ballroom, prince-hunting finery could not compare. Nor could their husbands and lovers in their best peacock finery.

Ike wondered if he was merely held captive by infatuation, or if he was doing something rather more stupid. Surely infatuation. Nothing else was even remotely possible. Ashley would smack him for being such a twit. “So where were you last, then?”

“Hmm?” Marshall looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. “Oh! I was in the Black Mountains. There are legends of an ogre, but all I found was a lot of flowers and some really nasty brambles. I don’t recommend it if you plan to slay ghost there someday.”

It was Ike’s turn to laugh, and he continued grinning long after the laughter had faded. “I hope not. One ghost is more than enough for me.” The grin turned into a frown as doubts assailed his mind again. More than once Jeremiah and Ashley had offered – insisted at points – to go with him. But Ike had decided the moment he’d woken up after his adventure gone sour that the ghost was his responsibility. A royal duty long neglected.

Too bad he didn’t have a handsome thief to help him. Ah, well. He was going to be sharing a bed with a cute wanderer. Hopefully he wouldn’t do something stupid.

Though on that note… “I promise not to steal all the blankets,” he sai, “If you promise not to kick me in your sleep.”

Marshall chuckled softly. “I’ll try to behave.”

Pity that. Ike rolled his eyes at himself. Honestly. He was getting out of hand. “Can’t ask more than that.” Now that he’d decided to go to bed, Ike realized suddenly just how tired he really was. Yawning, he began to tug off his boots, stripping out of his cloak, coat, and jacket. In just breeches, shirt and socks, Ike stowed his belongings under the bed where any possible sneak thieves would be hard pressed to get them and climbed into bed. A moment later the room went dark and Marshall slid into bed beside him. Ike murmured a quiet good night, and was asleep even as Marshall whispered a reply.

*~*~*~*

Marshall woke up to warmth and the rich scent of vanilla. Like the bakery back home when Ms. Finis made cakes and pastries. Or the bakery stalls at the markets he’d visited, always rich with the scent of sugar and vanilla. He opened his eyes slowly – and realized he was curled up against something that was neither a blanket nor a pillow.

It was breathing and simultaneously hard and soft. Good lawn over a form clearly not lacking for muscle.

Marshall pulled away as he realized he’d gotten rather more familiar with Ike than he should. No doubt he’d just gotten cold in the night and had scooted close for warmth.

Well he was plenty warm now if his burning cheeks were anything to judge by. Marshall all but threw himself out of bed and began to dress. He was just tugging on his boots when the figure in the bed stirred, and Marshall caught himself starring as Ike rubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand.

He was obviously a noble of some sort, but out on something more than a lark if his story was to be believed. Marshall could see no reason to doubt it; no one made up stories about ghosts unless he wanted to be the object of mockery.

Marshall wondered what it was about Ike that his being in the room seemed to make thoughts of Caroline fade. He hadn’t thought anything would make the horrors of the witch and her room full of human bodies fade completely, but they didn’t seem as terrible this morning.

Ike was certainly pretty, though he’d never be mistaken for a girl. His hair was black, a tumble of loose curls, softening the lines of his clearly aristocratic face. And those eyes, such an amazing blue. Marshall found it hard to breathe every time Ike looked at him. “Sleep well?” he asked, hoping that Ike had not been awake to realize Marshall had been clinging to him.

“Yes, very.” Ike smiled at him and slid out of bed. “Far more peacefully than I ever did at home. You?”

“It was nice to sleep without being roused by a drunkard or having to worry about my belongings.”

Ike laughed and moved to the door, speaking for a moment with whomever he found outside. “Breakfast should be up in a bit,” he said. Then went to an old washstand and began to wash and shave.

Marshall looked away and occupied himself with packing and repacking his things. He lingered on the pouch holding his faerie stones, thoughts straying to the Dark Forest. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Ike needed a hand but obviously the man required no assistance. The way he held his sword, the ease with which he spoke of ghosts and listened to comments on witches and faeries. The last thing Ike probably needed was a tagalong commoner whose only goal was to avoid the woman he’d lost…the woman he’d never had.

Even after all these years, it stung. But he’d realized some time ago it was not Caroline he missed but the kind of companionship she’d found.

If he’d not found love with his oldest friend, he didn’t know why he thought he’d find it wandering aimlessly around the world. Marshall was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of boots scuffing on the floor, and he looked up to see the Ike’s face mere inches from his own – and then lips brushed his own, whisper-soft and warm. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Ike said, looking sheepish, but not particularly sorry, “You looked so sad.”

Marshall returned the sheepish smile. “I think too much.”

“My mentor would say you’re brooding,” Ike said, as though instructing a child. “He’d also say that if you didn’t quit, he’d beat you until you were too sore and tired to think.”

Marshall blinked. “Sounds like quite the instructor.”

“He’s interesting. His lover keeps him in line, though.” Ike grinned. “They’re really quite amusing.”

Before Marshall could formulate a reply to that, someone rapped sharply on the door and entered with their breakfast. Marshall couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been able to order food brought to his room, and Ike had done it when barely awake.

Unquestionably a noble of some sort, which meant he’d better erase that butterfly kiss from his mind. Because it was definitely trying to take root. Stupid.

“Hungry?” Ike asked, looking at him oddly.

Marshall nodded, forcefully shoving the errant thoughts away, and took a seat at the rickety table shoved into one corner of the room. Though not the best he’d ever had, the fresh bread was certainly nothing to sneer at. Neither were the sausages nor the tea they washed it all down with. “So how far away is this forest?”

“About four or five days if I take my time about getting there – which I’ll probably do. No sense in wearing myself out.”

“The forest certainly isn’t going anywhere. The Dark Forest is older than anyone remembers.” Marshall nibbled on a piece bread as he dredged up what little he knew of the forest. “I think someone once told me people used to live there. Not just a few, but hundreds.”

Across the table, Ike swallowed a bite of sausage and grinned. “Thousands, actually. That’s where the royal palace used to be; it’s only ruins now. A witch cast a spell and forced the people to flee.”

“How do you know that?” Marshall asked. “No one knows anything about it.” How disappointing, if Ike turned out to be a noble given to tales and lies.

“Books. Lots and lots of books written by people who couldn’t write neatly if their lives depended upon it.” Ike shook his head. “The irony being that for some of them, that was probably the case. Would you like to hear the entire story?” His blue eyes flared with the excitement of one who loved stories.

Marshall nodded. “Please.”

Ike wiped his mouth and finished off his tea in a single gulp, then launched into the tale. “Hundreds of years ago, the royal family was beset by a curse. It said that when the Princess Priscilla turned eighteen, she would prick her finger on a spindle and sleep forever.”

“Sounds like quite the curse,” Marshall said dryly. “What, precisely, was it meant to accomplish?”

“Simply to torture the King,” Ike replied. “He had turned down the affections of a particular lady, not knowing that he was offending a witch. In revenge, she placed the curse on his daughter and compounded the curse – absurd but still devastating – by declaring that only a kiss of true love would wake her.”

Marshall shook his head. “Witches.” He repressed a shudder and wished his own encounter with a witch had been so simple. “What happened next?”

Ike continued, and Marshall found himself entranced by the story. It did indeed sound like a story to tell children at night, but the look on Ike’s face said it was very real indeed. And he found, suddenly, that he did not want to hear the end.

“When Queen Priscilla realized what was happening, not knowing what else to do, she sent messengers out to find the one person she knew could help – her brother, Prince Briar. And he did indeed come, his brigand lover right beside him. How they did it, I don’t know, but Briar and Reynard used their own lives to seal the witch and her power away. No one can live in the forest now, but neither can she get out.”

“And you encountered this witch when you were younger?”

“Yes.”

Marshall nodded and watched Ike pensively for several long seconds. When his thoughts finally settled, he felt something in his stomach twist. It felt horribly familiar, and he swiftly killed the memory trying to rise up of when he’d last felt this way. “Ike…is that short for Isaiah? As in Prince?”

Ike winced. “I knew I was running my mouth too much.” He frowned unhappily at his teacup. “How’d you guess?”

“A witch like that wouldn’t have any interest in a mere noble. I don’t know much, but I do know witches.” He resolutely did not think of that and continued. “Magic of the sort she must want would require a blood connection. Therefore, you must be descended from Priscilla and Fay, of the House of Albright.” He looked away, unable to bear looking at the Crown Prince. Gods above, he couldn’t handle this.

Ike stood up. “Ashley’s always telling me to watch my mouth,” he said. “Maybe one day I’ll listen.” He attempted a smile, and Marshall hated it because that pathetic try was nothing like the dazzling smiles that scattered his thoughts like a stone thrown into a school of fish. “I guess I’d better get going.”

“What?” Marshall’s head jerked up. “Why?” Why did he want so badly to ask Ike…the prince…to stay?

“Do me a favor and don’t tell any guards that might come looking that you’ve seen me?” Ike smiled, but somehow still looked miserable. “It was nice to meet you, Marshall. I…would have liked to spend more time with you.” He paused a moment, then his smile split into a full grin. “I guess if the damage is already done…”

Marshall jumped when Ike swooped down and took his mouth in a kiss that was far, far more than a simple brush of lips. He’d kissed his share of strangers while traveling, and more besides, when the loneliness got too overwhelming, but none of them had been like this. Like they were…right.

Before he could react, Ike was gone. By the time Marshall had recovered his scattered wits, he realized Ike was really gone.

Not Ike. The Prince. No. Ike. Marshall groaned, letting his head drop to the table in frustration. The thump seemed to restore some order to his mind, and a moment later he’d gathered his things and all but flew from the inn.

He looked around frantically outside, cursing himself for every kind of idiot.

Where had Ike gone? How did a man move so fast? Marshall forced his brain to actually start working. A prince, no matter how hard he tried to be common, was still a prince. Ike obviously wasn’t stupid. He’d said it would take him four or five days if he took his time, and three if he hurried. Marshall thought, forcing up every memory of his travels that he could think up.

Ike obviously had a horse. If the dark forest was that close to the city by foot, he’d have heard more about it. If he was going to catch up to Ike, he’d have to move fast and hope that something slowed Ike down.

Well, if nothing else, he’d probably find him in the forest. He didn’t have much in the way of skills, but forests – especially the kind with witches – were his specialty. Marshall settled his pack more comfortably and all but ran from town, heading due west.

His legs were used to the abuse and did not begin to really ache until after dark. He really should stop; far more than his legs were exhausted. Well, the ground was always there if he wanted it. He’d slept in worse conditions than an open field. But Marshall pressed on, even though he knew he had no chance of catching up to a man on horseback.

But that smile, and the misery when Ike realized he’d let his secret slip…and the kiss. Marshall knew he was stupid. Princes and commoners didn’t mix; Ike had probably meant nothing much by it. But if he’d been stupid about such things once, he could – and would, it seemed – be stupid about them again.

Once a fool, always a fool.

Something up ahead caught his eye, and Marshall had to stare for a moment before he was willing to believe what he was seeing. A campfire. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind some company, and he could rest in relative safety for a few hours – because if he stood any chance of finding Ike, he couldn’t stay still too long.

Mustering a few last dregs of energy, Marshall picked up his pace and made for the campfire, the flickering flames renewing his hope. “Hail, stranger,” he said wearily, wanting only to drop and sleep. “Mind sharing your fire? I can pay in food and whiskey—“

“Marshall!” Ike exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Ike?” Marshall stared. “What…I thought…” He shook his head. “I thought you’d be further than this.”

“I…didn’t really feel like hurrying.” Ike shrugged. “But come on, sit down. You look ready to fall over.” He grabbed Marshall and all but manhandled him to Ike’s bedroll. “Have you been walking this whole time?”

Marshall grinned tiredly. “My family runs the stables; that doesn’t mean we can afford the horses. I’ve been walking everywhere for years; I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

“I’ll say,” Ike said with a matching smile. “I think the stable master would die of apoplexy to know you walked as far as I rode in one day. Though that was mostly because I kept going back and forth.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t make up my mind what to do.”

“Why did you leave?” Marshall asked. When Ike did not immediately reply, he shrugged off the bag he realized he still wore and drew out his flask. He packed his bag the same way every time, precisely so he could find things in the dark. Taking a deep pull, Marshall savored the smooth, warm burn of good whiskey – it was the reason he was currently poor – and the handed it to Ike, though he felt suddenly shy at offering it to someone who had no doubt had better.

Ike stared at it a moment, then took a healthy swig. “Thanks,” he said after a moment. “I needed that. Surprised I didn’t bring any myself.” He handed the flask back, fingers brushing against Marshall’s for a moment.

Marshall wondered if he was the only one stupid enough to notice such a casual touch. Probably. A crown prince had far more—Marshall stopped himself before he could get started. “Why did you leave?”

“Because,” Ike said slowly, watching the fire, “I didn’t want to be ‘prince’ or ‘highness.’ I’m just Ike.”

Marshall took another pull on his whiskey and ignored the voice that said he should put it away. He took a smaller sip and handed it back to Ike. “I can’t pretend I’m not unnerved to be drinking with the crown prince like an equal but I…” Marshall swallowed and looked away. “I liked Ike. I didn’t want him to go.”

And suddenly Ike was crowding into his space, sending him flat on his back on the bedroll. Then Ike was kissing him, tasting like jerky and good whiskey, and ever so faintly of berries. Though just as surprised as he had been the first time, this time Marshall didn’t simply lie there.

It was the dumbest thing he could possibly do, he knew it, but still he reached up to grab Ike’s shoulders, tug him down, hold him close as he kissed Ike back, giving as much as he possibly could, though it was obvious his experience was meager and the prince’s most definitely was not.

Ike broke the kiss with a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re deadly for my good intentions, Marshall. Deadly, period.” Moaning softly at whatever he saw in Marshall’s face, Ike leaned down for another kiss, which blended into another, and another, until there was nothing but the heat of the flames, the burn of whiskey, and something far hotter than either.

*~*~*~*

When he woke, Ike immediately realized two things: He was hungry, and last night he’d done something very stupid. Ignoring the urge for breakfast, Ike focused on the stupid.

Truth be told, he wasn’t feeling very sorry. The rest of his life was looking pretty damn gloomy, pending fight with a witch notwithstanding, when compared with the man in his arms. How was it possible to be this attached in little more than two days? Ike sighed softly and pressed a soft kiss to Marshall’s temple, smiling as he murmured softly in his sleep and pressed closer.

Reluctantly he disentangled himself and stood, gathering his clothes and moving to the nearby stream. He washed quickly in the freezing water and dressed, then set about preparing breakfast.

Though common sense dictated he should leave now, and quickly, sparing them both a lot of trouble later, Ike found he couldn’t. It just wasn’t in him. Jeremiah would call him an idiot, but he also knew that secretly Jeremiah would approve.

Ashley would openly approve. Thinking of his mentors and oldest friends – the only two who understood Ike’s obsession with the Laughing Forest – improved his mood enough that Ike did not feel bad stealing a kiss. He thought briefly of the story of his ancestor, Prince Briar, who had fallen to the witch’s curse and been woken by a kiss.

Marshall stirred, blinking blearily several times before finally staying open. Honey dark, those eyes, except when passion made them light. His mouth was just as sweet. Ike did not think he’d ever forget the taste of Marshall for as long as he lived. Whoever had caused the sadness that lingered even now in his eyes, Ike thought him to be the most foolish person to ever live.

Of course, he was also immensely grateful, else he would not have a sleepy, utterly edible Marshall curling against him, seeking warmth. “Time to rise, lover mine.” Ike grinned and kissed the tip of Marshall’s nose. “I thought commoners were the ‘wake before dawn’ types.”

“Only when I have to,” Marshall said sleepily, but he sat up and looked around. Ike almost laughed, watching as he finally woke up enough that comprehension dawned, and Marshall's cheeks flooded with color He couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to one heated cheek, then to a warm shoulder, before turning to take their breakfast off the fire he’d forced back to life. “Hungry?”

“Very,” Marshall managed, then he was scrambling, nearly falling over himself to get clean and dressed. When he finally sat down, it was a few more minutes before he was able to look at Ike. “Good morning.”

“Very good,” Ike said and leaned forward to steal a quick kiss before he handed over a bowl of porridge.

Marshall stared at it. “No offense,” he said, “but when did princes get so good at this sort of thing?”

“My mentors are less than orthodox. Believe me, if my father could have his way, he’d probably lock me in a tower or something.” Ike grimaced. “I wish I could say that was a joke.”

“Protective?”

Ike shrugged. “He never quite recovered from losing my mother, and I nearly died traipsing into the Laughing Forest looking for dragons to slay. If I were him, I’d probably want to lock me in a tower too.”

Marshall nodded, but a smile beat out the suddenly somber moment. “It’s just as well he didn’t; I suspect you’d have just found a way to get out and cause more trouble than ever.”

“Probably,” Ike said, sounding not at all ashamed.

“Speaking of trouble,” Marshall said, setting aside his empty bowl, “tell me more about this witch.”

“Not a witch, really. More like…what’s left of her.” Ike finished his own porridge and frowned in thought. “She was a noblewoman with a home in the far hills; the ones taken over by gypsies every year.”

“Western magic,” Marshall muttered, lost in thought. “Strong if she could affect an entire forest like that. Though the effort probably weakened her, which was no doubt why Briar and Reynard were able to bind her.” He looked up at Ike. “It’s unfortunate you don’t have Briar’s immunity to her curses.”

Ike’s brows went up. “You sound like you know quite a bit, and you’ve mentioned before that you do.”

“Witches…” Marshall shook his head, as if trying to shake something loose. “A friend of mine…Caroline was – is – my best friend. A few years ago she was engaged to a man none of us really knew anything about. I was suspicious and went to investigate his house while he was in the city with Caroline.”

In those few sentences, Ike heard several more left unsaid. It wasn’t hard to piece the unspoken information together, and he thought he knew why Marshall had looked so sad. He set the thoughts aside to ponder later and focused on what Marshall was saying.

When he finished, Ike thought he might never eat again. “You—humans—tell me you’re making that up. She ate people. That’s—even I’ve never read of such a thing, and I think I’ve read more books than the Head Librarian.” He looked at the dregs of his porridge and gagged.

Suddenly it didn’t seem quite as amusing to think of Marshall as edible.

“It was awful,” Marshall said, skin pale from the memories. “I left home that day and have not been back.”

Ike reached out and tugged Marshall close, holding him in a tight embrace, pressing soft kisses to his temple, combing fingers through his hair. “And here I’m whining about stupid ghosts.”

Marshall’s arms wrapped around him, and he settled against Ike with a soft sigh. “It’s no different, really. Simply a different method by which to take your life for her own.”

“I suppose…” Ike said doubtfully.

“We should get going,” Marshall said and sat up.

Ike pouted, immediately missing how Marshall felt against him, but obeyed. It would not be seemly for him to be lazy about his own quest. In minutes they were ready to go, and Ike presented his horse with a flourish. “Marshall, meet Cinnamon. Cinnamon, Marshall. Behave.”

“Me or the horse?” Marshall asked. He reached out a hand, laughing as Cinnamon investigated, and spoke quietly as he stroked her nose, slowly getting them acquainted.

“The horse. You can misbehave all you want,” Ike said with a wink. “Especially if it’s with me.”

Cheeks burning, Marshall nevertheless smiled back. “Let’s get going.”

“Are you certain you want to come with me?” Ike asked, finally acknowledging his trepidation. Bad enough he might not survive, he didn’t want anything to happen to Marshall.

“I am certain.” Marshall hesitated, then leaned down and stole a quick kiss. “Besides, you need my faerie stones or you’ll get lost.”

Ike snagged him about the waist and stole a proper kiss, not letting go until breathing became an absolute necessity. “Faerie stones. Yes. Exactly.” Laughing, he mounted Cinnamon, Marshall settling in easily behind him.

“Ready?” Ike asked and could feel Marshall nod. “Then I hope that witch is ready for us.”

*~*~*~*

“That looks dark,” Marshall said. “Even the forest back home isn’t this dark. No wonder everyone calls it that.”

“Just wait,” Ike said gloomily. “It’s not just all that black that gets it the name Dark Forest.”

“So why do you call it the Laughing Forest?” Marshall asked. “Because I really don’t feel like laughing.” He frowned as Ike began to remove Cinnamon’s gear, their bags. “You’re leaving her?”

“Horses in this forest are a bad idea. Jeremiah says they barely made it in with theirs when he and Ashley came after me.” Ike shouldered his bag and looked at the forest, looking much like a child who feared he was about to suffer some grave punishment for something he hadn’t done. “We do it your way from here on.”

Marshall laughed and pulled a handful of small, white stones from the pouch that was now fastened at his waist. “Then let’s go.”

Ike nodded, closed his eyes, then opened them and stepped into the forest.

It was as dark as early evening in the forest, though he knew that if he turned, he would be able to see the late morning sun in a cloudless sky. The forest was also far too quiet, the only sounds the faint thump as Marshall methodically dropped stones to mark their path, rustling where they landed on fallen leaves.

Though he did not say it, hating to appear ungrateful for Marshall’s efforts, Ike wasn’t too certain those stones would be there later. Hopefully he was just being pessimistic.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Marshall asked at last, voice whisper soft, as if he feared what would happen should he speak any louder.

Ike’s reply was just as soft. “Sort of,” he said. “It’s like part of me knows where to go, and the rest of me has no choice but to tag along.”

Marshall nodded and dropped another stone.

“How many of those do you have?” Ike asked, speaking more easily now that the silence had been broken.

“Hmm?” Marshall asked, then realized Ike was referring to his stones. “I don’t know. They never run out.” He dropped another one.

Ike nodded, but he’d already forgotten the question, consumed by a sudden sense of dread. Oh gods above, he’d thought he wouldn’t have to go through this part again. Reflexively he reached out and grasped Marshall’s hand, not noticing the look of concern Marshall shot him.

Nor did he feel the firm grip on his shoulder. All he knew was that feeling of dread, and the world went spinning. Then he heard the laugh; it made his skin crawl, and he fought not to lose the contents of his stomach, clapping his freed hand over his mouth.

“Ike,” a voice whispered softly in his ear. “Ike.”

The world spun again, then settled. Ike realized his eyes were closed and opened them. Stared into eyes the color of honey. “Marshall?” he asked, and then realized how hoarse his voice was. “What?” There was an arm around his shoulders, another around his waist, steadying him.

Marshall didn’t look happy. “You…this witch is pretty strong, isn’t she?”

Oh gods there were the voices again. Ike made a sound, somewhere between a curse and a whimper, and thought he was going to be violently ill. It had been worse than this the first time, but not by much. He was supposed to be stronger now!

Warmth. Blessed warmth. Ike opened to it, pressed closer to it, and realized a heartbeat later that Marshall was kissing him. “Don’t let her get you, Ike.”

“Why,” Ike bit out. “Why am I so weak?”

“You’re not weak,” Marshall said patiently. “You’re related to her. That’s a hard bond to fight. But if I recall your story correctly, there are other ghosts. Ones that will help.”

“They didn’t help me until Ashley and Jeremiah showed up.” Ike shuddered, feeling the sickness hit him again, the faintest bits of laughter. He surged forward and kissed Marshall again, desperately. Forced his thoughts to rally. He could do this! Nothing was going to stop him, including the old witch herself.

Marshall nodded, still so calm and patient. “Come on, we should find a place to make camp.”

“If we make it that far,” Ike said gloomily. “I didn’t think she’d be able to get to me so easily again. All that training…”

“Will pay off,” Marshall said.

Ike shook his head. “I’d probably already be dead if I hadn’t chanced upon you. Some hero.”

Marshall frowned. “It’s not like you to be so glum…granted I’ve only known you a few days, but…” He dropped another stone, and Ike found his eyes drawn to it, entranced by the stark white glowing against so much miserable dark. “I think she’s really getting to you.” Turning, Marshall all but dragged him through the woods. Where they were going, Ike didn’t know, but it felt right, and he wondered suddenly how Marshall knew where to go. He wondered if Marshall noticed what he was doing.

A voice began whispering in his head, and Ike felt his stomach lurch again. But instead of succumbing to it, he focused on the hand holding his own. They were just as tan, both of them, because Ike detested staying in doors and would have gone outside anyway just to avoid having fashionably pale skin. Marshall’s hands were rougher than his, but not in a bad way. Thoughts of those hands summoned thoughts of the previous night, and Ike found those worked quite nicely to drown out the whispers that made him ill.

He really did wonder what he would have done without Marshall.

Somehow he wasn’t surprised when they came across the broken, overgrown remains of an old road. They followed it to the ruins of what must have once been an extraordinary castle. Even broken, half-consumed by the forest, it was beautiful. Something twinged in his chest, an ache like seeing something he’d thought long lost. Standing before the castle, hand in hand with Marshall, for a moment it felt almost like…coming home.

“I don’t know why I’m fighting it,” Ike said as they began to make camp in a clearing just inside what was left of the castle’s outer wall. “I can’t kill her if I don’t draw her out.” He dropped down beside his pack and began to pull out what they’d need for dinner. He grimaced at the food. “And the way my stomach is acting, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat until she’s dead.”

Marshall laughed. “Then by all means let us kill the witch so my prince can enjoy his supper.”

Ike jerked his head up at the words ‘my prince,’ mind latching onto that ‘my.’ He locked eyes with Marshall and silence fell between them. He held out his arms and felt something like relief when Marshall fell into them. he had been afraid Marshall wouldn't - what? He held the other man tight, breathing in the mingled scents of sweat and forest, a lingering hint of soap in his hair, and under all of it something that was only Marshall, as addictive as the rest of him.

He’d never met the mysterious Caroline, but decided she was a twit. But if he ever did meet her, he’d lavish her with gold or jewels or whatever she wanted for being stupid enough to let Marshall go.

For years all he’d thought about was venturing into this forest to defeat the witch that had nearly killed him. Strange that now all he cared about was the man in his arms. He held tight, and Marshall’s grip was just as determined, just as desperate.

Reluctantly Ike pulled away, sensing he must say something, but confounded as to what. Before he could speak however, a breeze sprang up, startling them both with its warmth. In the chilly forest, it felt too good to be true. Ike breathed in, enjoying the warm air, and realized that it smelled like roses.

In his head, the distant whisper became a nasty scream. Ike cried out and let go of Marshall to hold his head, desperate to ease the ache. “Bitch,” he whispered. “Show yourself.”

The sound of laughter made them both jump, not least of all because it wasn’t the chilling laughter that made his stomach churn. No, this new laughter was…playful. It dulled the screaming in his head.

“There,” Marshall breathed, looking over his shoulder, eyes wide.

Ike turned. Stared.

Ashley and Jeremiah had told him the story over and over again; he’d read the book Ashley wrote until he new the words by heart. But the part about the ghosts had always been vague, because both men had admitted they remembered it little better than a dream.

They were vague, like faded images in an old book, but there was a glow to them, ever so faint, that made them just visible in the unnatural dark of the forest. There was no mistaking the man on the left. The dark hair and blue eyes could have been his own, though he didn’t think he was as pretty as the ghostly Prince Briar.

Which meant the tall, broad-shouldered ghost with auburn hair and green eyes that seemed to glow had to Reynard. Around them seemed to be more figures, little more than shadow. “But how…Ashley said they were nearly asleep…”

Reynard laughed and moved forward, going right through the fire as though it were not there. He crouched before them, eyes flicking meaningfully to the way they clung to each other. “The last time you were here, Prince, you were alone and quite weak. Even if you don’t feel it, you’re stronger now.”

“More accurately,” Briar said from behind him, “the two of you are similar in many ways to Reynard and myself. That makes drawing upon your…energy…to manifest much easier.”

“Similar?” Marshall asked, still looking dazed by the fact that he was talking to ghosts. “How?”

Briar stood behind Reynard, arms crossed, and frowned at them. “A foolish prince, for one. I do not know why a penchant for playing in forests runs in the blood.” His eyes, brilliant blue, flicked to Marshall. “And a man with the faintest bit of faerie blood.”

“Faerie blood?” Marshall echoed. “Me?”

Reynard chuckled. “Yes. Like me. Not much; probably you had a great grandparent who dallied with one of the fae.” He motioned toward the black pouch on Marshall’s bedroll, and several of the white stones within fell out. “Did you not know that only beings of faerie blood can use those?”

“No.” Marshall looked more dazed than ever.

Moving without thinking, Ike leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“And that’s the other reason,” Reynard said with a grin. “A brave prince, a devoted faerie—“

“Devoted to what?” Briar interrupted dryly. “Causing trouble?”

“Devoted to you, my love." Reynard stood to give Briar a kiss.

Ike wondered if he’d just gone unconscious like he had the last time. He was starting to see why Ashley got so grouchy every time this part of the story was brought up. Why Jeremiah got grouchy period.

Before he could say anything, Briar shoved Reynard away and looked at Ike, something like understanding flickering across his face. “Go to sleep,” he said, voice surprisingly gentle. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to finally be rid of that bitch. We’ll make sure that you’re safe for tonight. Our powers are limited, but we can manage that much.”

They vanished before Ike could figure out what to say in reply.

Abruptly he felt tired; as though he’d gone through three days worth of Jeremiah’s training in one hour. He had the energy only to drag Marshall down with him before he succumbed to sleep.