Prisoner 27 & Epilogue
Mar. 22nd, 2007 06:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThankee for reading ^___^ I do not know yet know for certain what I shall finish next, but I'll def have something next Thursday.
Chapter Twenty Seven
“Spring is most certainly a season of change,” Matthias said.
Esta rolled her eyes. “Do stop grinning so, Matthias, people will think you are gloating.”
“I am gloating,” Matthias replied, settling back in his seat and looking quite pleased with himself.
Kalan laughed from where he stood at Matthias’s right. “As well he should.” He motioned to the crowd filling the ballroom. “We have accomplished a great deal in the past month, and all of it without magic. Even the King has given up protesting.”
Esta made a face. “Given up protesting, yes…” She sighed, and shoved the thoughts away. There was nothing to be done about the King. Even she had not been able to coax him out of his room, not even for this grand occasion.
Not that she could entirely blame him; she’d much rather be in her room. She skimmed the ballroom for anything which needed attending, smiling faintly to see her brother and Sol conversing with a handful of soldiers – both Illussor and Krian – on the far side.
Though she supposed that wasn’t entirely fair. They’d all forsaken Kria to follow the Scarlet Wolf here. They were, even though many were still struggling with the language, Illussor now. If she were to order them to return to Kria, which in a few short hours would be within her power, they would be put to death.
She thoroughly disliked seeing swords everywhere, but they could hardly do without such things now. The underlying power structure of Salhara was crippled, the Seven Star having lost three stars forever. Kria was not fairing much better, with three Generals and the Kaiser dead, and the next Kaiser still to be born. Both countries would become troublesome again, someday, for she doubted either would feel like peace talks now…but it wouldn’t be for many years yet.
Looking across the ballroom, she sought out the two men who were responsible for that – and shook her head when she saw them on opposite sides, still ignoring each other.
Ever since Beraht had been rescued they’d barely spoken to each other – barely even tolerated being in the same room. At present, Beraht was trapped in a corner surrounded by those who were brave enough to quench their curiosity. Those less brave stood close enough to overhear, and more than a few in the surrounding area were giving the corner many an inquisitive glance.
And perhaps a few predatory, Esta noted. Beraht cut a fine figure when dressed in full regalia. His pale hair was only darker than that of a full-blooded Illussor, skin fair though she suspected that with the warming weather it would tan. Beraht did not seem the type to ever stay idly indoors. To accent his features, draw out the blazing yellow of his eyes, she’d bid the tailors put him in blue with accents of silver. If he wanted company tonight, Beraht would find himself with more offers than he could handle.
However, she suspected he would not be seeking any company.
She shifted her gaze to seek out the Wolf, unsurprised to find him high above on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. Many soldiers and older lords were gathered there, and Dieter stood in quiet conversation with Reinhard and the Illussor man who held the same position as Reinhard, balancing the power between the still blending halves of the new Illussor army.
Dieter was clearly involved in the conversation, but his eyes were fastened to the ballroom floor. Esta didn’t have to look to see where particularly his gaze was directed.
Honestly.
If men weren’t obnoxious and presumptuous, as were Matti and Kalan, they were obtuse and stubborn.
“Won’t you sit, Essie?” Matti asked.
Esta sniffed, pointedly turning away from the seat Matti was offering her. “Not yet. I want to dance first.”
“Shall I trod upon your toes?” Kalan asked.
“No, you shall not,” Esta replied, gathering the skirts of her pale green gown, light catching on the gold and silver beads decorating it in a delicate pattern of small flowers. “You may stay here and continue to be smug and aggravating with Matti.”
Laughing, the men let her go.
The crowd parted for her as she crossed the ballroom, and she returned the bows and curtseys with nods and murmured greetings. Stars, she was going to kill Matti. Yes, it was a good idea…and she’d always known Matti would get his way eventually…longer than he had, the idiot…but this new level of deference was disconcerting.
She smiled in greeting as she reached Beraht, holding out her hand, repressing a fond laugh at the way he awkwardly took it. “I don’t suppose you would indulge me with a dance, dear Beraht? I’m afraid my fiancé and his favorite cohort are being quite insufferable.”
“If you don’t mind having your toes broken,” Beraht said with a grimace, but obediently led her through the crowd and to the dance floor. “Do I know this one?”
“You do,” Esta said, and got them into position, seeing comprehension flood Beraht’s face. “Are you enjoying the ball at all?”
Beraht shrugged, and did not reply as the music started up, more focused on the dance steps. Esta left him in peace, following his lead, smiling and nodding at the people who waved or called as they whirled by on the turns. After the first set, Beraht finally spoke again. “It’s not what I’m used to, and people keep pestering me with questions.” He frowned.
Esta laughed. “Yes, they are always going to do that. You are quite the source of curiosity, Breaker.”
Grimacing, Beraht again fell silent as they stepped and turned. When they came together again, Esta noticed his focus had wandered. The next step reversed their position, and she was not at all surprised to see Dieter speaking with Matti and Kalan, and that Dieter was watching them. His gaze shifted before she was once more turned away.
She politely ignored the way Beraht’s gaze again wandered.
The dance ended a moment later, and Esta was gratified that Beraht did not immediately take off. “Would you dance once more with me?” she asked. “I promise to release you after.”
Beraht shrugged and took up the starting position as the strains of the next dance began to play. “I don’t mind.” He flashed a brief smile, the hesitance in it cute. “Breaking toes is better than being trapped in that corner again.”
Esta laughed as she was spun, and was still laughing when the dance brought her close to Beraht again. “I am flattered you find dancing with me more interesting than being lavished with attention. I think you will do quite well as a Duke, Beraht.”
“I am not a lord,” Beraht said stubbornly, looking slightly ill – but Matthias was adamant. He had titles to give away, and so he would. Technically they were the King’s to give away, but every day Matthias took up more and more the roll of King.
“Not yet,” Esta said, smiling at Beraht’s disgruntled look. “You are a fine dancer, you know, despite what you think. Even if you were breaking my toes, it’s better than listening to Matti gloat all night.”
Beraht glanced back toward the dais where Matti sat, conversing still with Kalan and Dieter, something amusing him vastly enough Esta could hear him laughing over the noise and music. “If you are that unhappy about it…”
Esta rolled her eyes. “I’m not. If I didn’t want to marry him, I wouldn’t. He’s just being very much a braggart about it. I’ll make him pay.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Beraht said with a grin, and spun her around in the turn that completed the set, smoothly moving into the steps of the second set. He really was a fine dancer.
His eyes again wandered, and Esta knew where they lingered, why those shadows were there. Honestly. If it weren’t for the fact she genuinely liked Beraht, she would leave them both to rot in their thickheaded behavior. “Could I ask you a question, Beraht? It’s been piquing my curiosity for some time, but I’ve never troubled to figure it out.”
“Of course,” Beraht said, brow wrinkling with confusion. “I doubt I’ve an interesting answer to give, whatever it is.”
Esta smiled, and fell silent until she was led through the turn and into the third set. “Your name is Krian, yes?”
“Yes,” Beraht said tightly, eyes going immediately past her shoulder.
“It’s not a name with which I am familiar, and I am rusty at best in the Krian language. Whatever does your name mean? If it’s all right to ask, I mean. I do not know the Salharan etiquette for such things at all.”
Beraht shrugged. “I am not Salharan any longer, so it hardly matters whether you know the etiquette or not. My name means ‘bright’.” He frowned briefly, eyes once more wandering as if of their own volition.
Esta doubted he realized he was doing it.
“That’s peculiar,” she said with a frown. “Does the word ‘bright’ have special meaning to the Krians? Is it a popular word?”
“What?” Beraht asked, his own frown deepening, confusion growing. “There is nothing special about it, nor do I think it popular…it’s just an ordinary word. Why?”
“Well, it’s just I’m relatively certain I heard the Lord General say one day to the soldiers that his sword was named Bright, though if you ask me it’s strange they name…” She kept her expression blank as they stumbled to a halt in the middle of the dance floor.
Beraht stared at her. “What?”
“I said Dieter named his sword Bright…”
Oblivious to the fact they stood still in the middle of the dance floor, Beraht looked toward the dais with a strange expression on his face – almost immediately it turned into a familiar glower. “Where did that stars refused bastard go?” he asked aloud.
Esta turned and saw that Dieter had, indeed, vanished. She turned back and saw Dieter once more on the balcony – headed for the door that led to the halls beyond. She pointed. “There. I believe he’s retreating.”
Beraht jerked around. “Bastard,” he swore softly, then abruptly started heading that way, pausing mid step to turn back. “Pardon me, Princess,” he said hastily, then took off at a near run through the crowded ballroom, not noticing a bit the people who barely scrambled out of his way in time, taking the stairs two at a time and vanishing a second later from the ballroom.
Esta shook out the skirts of her ball gown, then gathered them close and walked sedately off the dance floor toward the dais. She accepted the hand Matti held out to her, and gracefully took her place in the seat beside his.
“What are you up to, Essie?” Matthias asked.
“I merely wanted to dance,” Esta said primly. “Are you going to give me your mother’s wedding ring or not?”
Matthias grinned and pulled a delicate gold ring from his pocket. “She told me when I was sixteen that I was going to give this to you one day.”
Esta sniffed. “Matti, she told me when I twelve that you would give me this ring someday.”
Kalan threw his head back and laughed at the expression on Matthias’s face.
Feeling the evening one well managed, Esta rose with Matthias as the dance came to an end, sliding the ring on her finger and placing her hand in his. He lifted their joined hands as the music died away and the crowd turned to face them. “To your future Queen!” he called, and kissed the back of Esta’s hand as the room bowed, curtsied, and burst into cheering.
Beraht bolted through the hallways, wishing his ability to breathe would return, or that his heart would stop pounding in his chest.
Esta had to have lost her mind. There was no way…
It wasn’t true, and even if it was…
Stars refuse that bastard! What game was he playing?
Beraht stormed around a corner – and faltered to a stop.
The bastard himself, and for once Beraht didn’t know what to do about him. He hadn’t known since Dieter had rescued him. Had tried very hard not to think about the tangle in which Dieter had left his emotions.
“You stars refused bastard!” he bellowed, fisting his hands to still their sudden trembling.
Dieter stopped, then turned slowly around.
He made, Beraht had noted sourly earlier in the evening, an impressive figure. Esta had somehow gotten the man to wear a color other than black. Granted, the green was deep enough to pass for black in weaker light, but in the ballroom the dark green trimmed in silver had…well, looked good. Up close he had no doubt it brought out his strange gray-green eyes, made the gray touches almost silver. Bastard.
“What did I do this time?” Dieter asked, and Beraht was brought up short by the utter weariness in his tone.
Beraht stalked closer, titling his head up to meet the cool gaze of those eyes. “You drive me mad.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Dieter snapped, annoyance beginning to enter his tone. “Though I would like to know what I have done this time.”
“You breathe!” Beraht replied, feeling the last of his temper slip free of restraint. “You exist! I have never in my life met anyone half so infuriating and confounding as you!” He could feel his nails digging into his palms, and a sticky warmth told him he’d broken the skin. “Bastard,” he whispered, still glaring into Dieter’s eyes. He spoke again before Dieter could interrupt. “What is your sword’s name?”
The dismay that flickered across Dieter’s face was startling to the point it took Beraht’s breath away. Such a vulnerable expression seldom found a place on the face of the Wolf. “Go away, Beraht.”
“I asked you a question, you stupid Wolf!” Beraht snarled. “What is your sword’s name?”
Dieter’s mouth twisted. “Bright,” he said curtly.
“Why?” Beraht managed to ask, unable to believe it.
“Tits of the Winter Princess, do you think I know?” Dieter bellowed, expression as uncertain as it was angry.
Beraht shook his head, unable to comprehend anything. “Is that what you meant—in the tent—“
“Yes,” Dieter said.
He couldn’t believe it. There was no way this made sense. It was impossible. They hated each other. “Bastard,” he hissed. “Are you trying to be amusing?”
“Amusing?” Dieter said in a soft, dangerous tone that usually meant Beraht was about to find himself on the floor badly bruised, if not unconscious. He fought the urge to back away as Dieter stalked toward him, a shiver running up his spine and he suddenly felt exactly as he had in the tent a little more than a month ago—
—Except this time Dieter was kissing him.
The thought left Beraht reeling, or would have if the kiss itself wasn’t already doing that.
This was nothing like the kiss Dieter had given him in the coliseum. That had been necessary. Brutal and hard. Flavored of arcen and blood. This kiss tasted only of Dieter, who seldom drank anything but tea, and while his lips were most definitely bruising it wasn’t in an unpleasant way.
No, far from it. As much as he hated to admit it, as hard as it was to believe this was happening – Dieter could kiss. Stars, the man could kiss. Beraht wondered briefly it had to do with being trained to be the perfect gift to a Kaiser.
Then his thoughts skittered away, as Dieter’s kiss went from fierce to consuming, and Beraht moaned wholly against his will.
He gasped for air when Dieter finally broke the kiss, and wondered when precisely he’d wound up pressed against the wall and why in the stars his hands were in Dieter’s hair. This was not happening. Against his better judgment he shifted his gaze up.
He’d been right. Against the deep green fabric and silver trim, those gray-green eyes shone. Beraht drew a shaky breath. “Dieter…”
A smile he’d never seen before flickered ever so briefly across Dieter’s face, lighting those eyes up even more. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name, Beraht.”
Beraht shuddered, hands tightening where they refused to let go of Dieter’s thick hair. He’d always hated the way Dieter said his name because of the mockery in it. There had been no mockery this time, and that made it devastating. Stars refuse him for a fool, he should not like it so much that Dieter said his name that way. Possessively. Knowingly. As if it meant something.
Never had anyone uttered his name while they kissed him, bedded him. They said nothing at all, or whispered the name of another. He’d never had a name for someone to say. Nor had he known what it was like to say the name of another. Always he’d been nameless and silent.
He spoke again, just because he could, because this entire situation was unreal and he realized with sudden, painful clarity that he wanted it to be real. “Dieter.” He moaned low again as Dieter once more took his mouth, kissing back furiously, pouring every last thing he felt into it. If he was going to endure this, by the stars he wouldn’t do so alone.
Shivers laced down his spine as Dieter became bolder, as true to form the Wolf wasted no time in claiming his victory. Beraht suspected he’d still wake up with bruises, but found he didn’t care.
Abruptly he was pulled away from the wall, cold as Dieter pulled away, but his hand burning where Dieter held it, and Beraht realized after a moment where they were going. “We’re going to your room?”
Dieter smirked. “Why not? You’ve been sleeping in my bed since we met.”
Beraht rolled his eyes. “You’re still a smug, arrogant, infuriating, violently tempered bastard, Dieter.”
“You’re still too mouthy for your own good, Beraht.” Dieter replied.
There seemed nothing more to say, except to whisper Dieter’s name once more as the door closed behind them and he was pulled into his Wolf’s arms.
Epilogue
“Dieter!” Esta halted in the doorway to his office, planting her hands on her hips, hair unusually messy, one long strand spilling from the tidy knot at the back of her head to slip over her shoulder. Her skirts were equally disordered, no doubt from running about the palace on yet another chase. “Have you seen Benji?”
“No, Majesty,” Dieter replied, looking up briefly from his paperwork.
Cursing, Esta called a thank you as she vanished to search elsewhere.
Dieter reached beneath his desk and yanked, eyeing the gleeful smile on Benji’s face. “You are driving your mother mad, prince.”
“But her lessons are boring,” Benji protested. “I want swords, not forks.”
Thinking of his own etiquette lessons, drilled into him at length by his father and a tutor brought in at significant expense, all to prepare him for being utterly perfect for the Kaiser…Dieter could only sympathize. “Did you bring your sword, child of the devious Spring Lord?”
Benji laughed, amused as always by what seemed to him Dieter’s strange phrases. Then he squirmed free of Dieter’s hold and dropped down to crawl back under the desk, emerging a second later with a well-made wooden sword, the perfect weight and size for training a young child.
Dieter recognized natural talent when he saw it, and while he hoped Benji did not spend his life at war, he was not above training the boy when he should be learning his forks. “Your mother will worry until she finds you.”
“Daddy knows,” Benji said. “He’ll stop mommy.”
Shaking his head, almost feeling sorry for Esta that her son was all too much like his father, Dieter motioned for Benji to take up position in the center of the room, then began to drill him through the beginner lessons.
He didn’t think it would be much longer before they moved on to more advanced lessons – and avoiding his mother was already teaching Benji more than any lesson could about stealth and knowing your enemy.
Dieter laughed softly.
A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, but neither budged from their spot. When the door opened a moment later, Benji abandoned his sword and bolted to the new arrival. “Uncle Beraht! Can we go riding later?”
Beraht rolled his eyes. “If your mother doesn’t lock you in your room for running away from your lessons again.” He shot a glare at Dieter. “You don’t help.”
Dieter shrugged. “It is not my fault the woman thinks a seven year old wants to learn about forks rather than swords. She should stop the etiquette lessons until he is old enough to threaten or blackmail.”
“What’s blackmail?” Benji asked.
“Nothing,” Beraht replied, shooting Dieter another look.
Laughing, Dieter returned to where he’d been leaning against his desk. “Benji, go through all the forms again.”
“Yes, General!” Benji said cheerfully, snapping a salute before retrieving his sword and obediently going through all the forms. They were nearly perfect, and Benji immediately made every correction Dieter called out, seldom having to be told more than once what was wrong.
Another rap at the door interrupted them a second time, and this time Benji bolted to cling to Dieter, sword clutched tight. “I’m not done yet!” he protested even before the intruder could enter.
“Benji,” Matthias said with a fond smile, “your mother is on the warpath. I promise I will talk her into regular lessons for you – until then, please come learn your forks before she teaches knives to all of us.”
Dieter and Beraht laughed.
“Go,” Dieter said firmly.
Grumbling, face dejected, Benji went.
Matthias waved and followed his son out, and Dieter could just hear him bribing Benji with a visit to Sol and Iah to go fishing in their pond in a few days.
“You shouldn’t be encouraging his bad behavior,” Beraht said, leaning against the door and folding his arms across his chest.
Dieter shrugged. “Using forks does not require training movements and reactions into the body from a young age. The prince should know how to fight.”
“This isn’t Kria,” Beraht said, but the words were automatic, one of their dozens of arguments.
“No, if this were Kria, he would have started at three,” Dieter said, and levered himself off the desk and stalked across the room, looming over Beraht, who unfolded his arms to brace his hands on Dieter’s shoulders. “You’re back early.”
“The problem resolved itself by the time I got there,” Beraht said. “I had only to authorize a few things and then I was left with nothing to do. I would have been back sooner, but I stopped off to see Sol and Iah. They’re doing well, and are much busier than I. Why did I get the boring title?” He tilted his head up just a bit more in silent demand.
Dieter gave in, lowering his head to claim Beraht’s mouth, the taste of his lover still more intoxicating than any wine could ever be. “You certainly whine as expertly as any noble I’ve ever met,” he said when at last they broke apart.
Beraht kicked him. “Your office is remarkably empty.”
“I was tired of the racket,” Dieter replied, sliding one hand over Beraht’s hip and along his back, tracing the dips and rises of his spine before letting go long enough to lock the door against which Beraht was still braced, then pulled the key out and tucked it away in his jacket before turning his full attention to his lover. “I sent them off to train at the Regenbogen.” He smirked briefly as he thought about the fortress reclaimed by Illussor only a year ago.
Beraht rolled his eyes. “You’re as smug as any general I’ve ever met.”
Chuckling, Dieter once more covered Beraht’s mouth with his own, growling low as knowing fingers landed on the back of his neck and a hand began to open his clothes, his own intent upon removing Beraht’s. He broke the kiss to taste elsewhere, as stunned now as he had been years ago that this bright Salharan was his to kiss and touch and claim.
“How long do we have until his highness interrupts again?” Beraht asked, the question turning in to a long moan.
“Even his highness hasn’t yet figured out how to pick a lock,” Dieter said, greedily attacking Beraht’s throat, displeased that their three days apart had given his marks time to fade. Fingers tightened in his hair, Beraht shivering in his arms. “As I’ve got the only key, you are my prisoner here until I decide you may leave.”
But even as he spoke, he felt fingers wrap around the key in his jacket. He looked up, glaring.
Beraht smirked and tapped his cheek with the key. “Who’s the prisoner?”
Rolling his eyes, Dieter did not deign to respond, merely attacked Beraht with another hungry kiss as the key fell to the floor.
Chapter Twenty Seven
“Spring is most certainly a season of change,” Matthias said.
Esta rolled her eyes. “Do stop grinning so, Matthias, people will think you are gloating.”
“I am gloating,” Matthias replied, settling back in his seat and looking quite pleased with himself.
Kalan laughed from where he stood at Matthias’s right. “As well he should.” He motioned to the crowd filling the ballroom. “We have accomplished a great deal in the past month, and all of it without magic. Even the King has given up protesting.”
Esta made a face. “Given up protesting, yes…” She sighed, and shoved the thoughts away. There was nothing to be done about the King. Even she had not been able to coax him out of his room, not even for this grand occasion.
Not that she could entirely blame him; she’d much rather be in her room. She skimmed the ballroom for anything which needed attending, smiling faintly to see her brother and Sol conversing with a handful of soldiers – both Illussor and Krian – on the far side.
Though she supposed that wasn’t entirely fair. They’d all forsaken Kria to follow the Scarlet Wolf here. They were, even though many were still struggling with the language, Illussor now. If she were to order them to return to Kria, which in a few short hours would be within her power, they would be put to death.
She thoroughly disliked seeing swords everywhere, but they could hardly do without such things now. The underlying power structure of Salhara was crippled, the Seven Star having lost three stars forever. Kria was not fairing much better, with three Generals and the Kaiser dead, and the next Kaiser still to be born. Both countries would become troublesome again, someday, for she doubted either would feel like peace talks now…but it wouldn’t be for many years yet.
Looking across the ballroom, she sought out the two men who were responsible for that – and shook her head when she saw them on opposite sides, still ignoring each other.
Ever since Beraht had been rescued they’d barely spoken to each other – barely even tolerated being in the same room. At present, Beraht was trapped in a corner surrounded by those who were brave enough to quench their curiosity. Those less brave stood close enough to overhear, and more than a few in the surrounding area were giving the corner many an inquisitive glance.
And perhaps a few predatory, Esta noted. Beraht cut a fine figure when dressed in full regalia. His pale hair was only darker than that of a full-blooded Illussor, skin fair though she suspected that with the warming weather it would tan. Beraht did not seem the type to ever stay idly indoors. To accent his features, draw out the blazing yellow of his eyes, she’d bid the tailors put him in blue with accents of silver. If he wanted company tonight, Beraht would find himself with more offers than he could handle.
However, she suspected he would not be seeking any company.
She shifted her gaze to seek out the Wolf, unsurprised to find him high above on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. Many soldiers and older lords were gathered there, and Dieter stood in quiet conversation with Reinhard and the Illussor man who held the same position as Reinhard, balancing the power between the still blending halves of the new Illussor army.
Dieter was clearly involved in the conversation, but his eyes were fastened to the ballroom floor. Esta didn’t have to look to see where particularly his gaze was directed.
Honestly.
If men weren’t obnoxious and presumptuous, as were Matti and Kalan, they were obtuse and stubborn.
“Won’t you sit, Essie?” Matti asked.
Esta sniffed, pointedly turning away from the seat Matti was offering her. “Not yet. I want to dance first.”
“Shall I trod upon your toes?” Kalan asked.
“No, you shall not,” Esta replied, gathering the skirts of her pale green gown, light catching on the gold and silver beads decorating it in a delicate pattern of small flowers. “You may stay here and continue to be smug and aggravating with Matti.”
Laughing, the men let her go.
The crowd parted for her as she crossed the ballroom, and she returned the bows and curtseys with nods and murmured greetings. Stars, she was going to kill Matti. Yes, it was a good idea…and she’d always known Matti would get his way eventually…longer than he had, the idiot…but this new level of deference was disconcerting.
She smiled in greeting as she reached Beraht, holding out her hand, repressing a fond laugh at the way he awkwardly took it. “I don’t suppose you would indulge me with a dance, dear Beraht? I’m afraid my fiancé and his favorite cohort are being quite insufferable.”
“If you don’t mind having your toes broken,” Beraht said with a grimace, but obediently led her through the crowd and to the dance floor. “Do I know this one?”
“You do,” Esta said, and got them into position, seeing comprehension flood Beraht’s face. “Are you enjoying the ball at all?”
Beraht shrugged, and did not reply as the music started up, more focused on the dance steps. Esta left him in peace, following his lead, smiling and nodding at the people who waved or called as they whirled by on the turns. After the first set, Beraht finally spoke again. “It’s not what I’m used to, and people keep pestering me with questions.” He frowned.
Esta laughed. “Yes, they are always going to do that. You are quite the source of curiosity, Breaker.”
Grimacing, Beraht again fell silent as they stepped and turned. When they came together again, Esta noticed his focus had wandered. The next step reversed their position, and she was not at all surprised to see Dieter speaking with Matti and Kalan, and that Dieter was watching them. His gaze shifted before she was once more turned away.
She politely ignored the way Beraht’s gaze again wandered.
The dance ended a moment later, and Esta was gratified that Beraht did not immediately take off. “Would you dance once more with me?” she asked. “I promise to release you after.”
Beraht shrugged and took up the starting position as the strains of the next dance began to play. “I don’t mind.” He flashed a brief smile, the hesitance in it cute. “Breaking toes is better than being trapped in that corner again.”
Esta laughed as she was spun, and was still laughing when the dance brought her close to Beraht again. “I am flattered you find dancing with me more interesting than being lavished with attention. I think you will do quite well as a Duke, Beraht.”
“I am not a lord,” Beraht said stubbornly, looking slightly ill – but Matthias was adamant. He had titles to give away, and so he would. Technically they were the King’s to give away, but every day Matthias took up more and more the roll of King.
“Not yet,” Esta said, smiling at Beraht’s disgruntled look. “You are a fine dancer, you know, despite what you think. Even if you were breaking my toes, it’s better than listening to Matti gloat all night.”
Beraht glanced back toward the dais where Matti sat, conversing still with Kalan and Dieter, something amusing him vastly enough Esta could hear him laughing over the noise and music. “If you are that unhappy about it…”
Esta rolled her eyes. “I’m not. If I didn’t want to marry him, I wouldn’t. He’s just being very much a braggart about it. I’ll make him pay.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Beraht said with a grin, and spun her around in the turn that completed the set, smoothly moving into the steps of the second set. He really was a fine dancer.
His eyes again wandered, and Esta knew where they lingered, why those shadows were there. Honestly. If it weren’t for the fact she genuinely liked Beraht, she would leave them both to rot in their thickheaded behavior. “Could I ask you a question, Beraht? It’s been piquing my curiosity for some time, but I’ve never troubled to figure it out.”
“Of course,” Beraht said, brow wrinkling with confusion. “I doubt I’ve an interesting answer to give, whatever it is.”
Esta smiled, and fell silent until she was led through the turn and into the third set. “Your name is Krian, yes?”
“Yes,” Beraht said tightly, eyes going immediately past her shoulder.
“It’s not a name with which I am familiar, and I am rusty at best in the Krian language. Whatever does your name mean? If it’s all right to ask, I mean. I do not know the Salharan etiquette for such things at all.”
Beraht shrugged. “I am not Salharan any longer, so it hardly matters whether you know the etiquette or not. My name means ‘bright’.” He frowned briefly, eyes once more wandering as if of their own volition.
Esta doubted he realized he was doing it.
“That’s peculiar,” she said with a frown. “Does the word ‘bright’ have special meaning to the Krians? Is it a popular word?”
“What?” Beraht asked, his own frown deepening, confusion growing. “There is nothing special about it, nor do I think it popular…it’s just an ordinary word. Why?”
“Well, it’s just I’m relatively certain I heard the Lord General say one day to the soldiers that his sword was named Bright, though if you ask me it’s strange they name…” She kept her expression blank as they stumbled to a halt in the middle of the dance floor.
Beraht stared at her. “What?”
“I said Dieter named his sword Bright…”
Oblivious to the fact they stood still in the middle of the dance floor, Beraht looked toward the dais with a strange expression on his face – almost immediately it turned into a familiar glower. “Where did that stars refused bastard go?” he asked aloud.
Esta turned and saw that Dieter had, indeed, vanished. She turned back and saw Dieter once more on the balcony – headed for the door that led to the halls beyond. She pointed. “There. I believe he’s retreating.”
Beraht jerked around. “Bastard,” he swore softly, then abruptly started heading that way, pausing mid step to turn back. “Pardon me, Princess,” he said hastily, then took off at a near run through the crowded ballroom, not noticing a bit the people who barely scrambled out of his way in time, taking the stairs two at a time and vanishing a second later from the ballroom.
Esta shook out the skirts of her ball gown, then gathered them close and walked sedately off the dance floor toward the dais. She accepted the hand Matti held out to her, and gracefully took her place in the seat beside his.
“What are you up to, Essie?” Matthias asked.
“I merely wanted to dance,” Esta said primly. “Are you going to give me your mother’s wedding ring or not?”
Matthias grinned and pulled a delicate gold ring from his pocket. “She told me when I was sixteen that I was going to give this to you one day.”
Esta sniffed. “Matti, she told me when I twelve that you would give me this ring someday.”
Kalan threw his head back and laughed at the expression on Matthias’s face.
Feeling the evening one well managed, Esta rose with Matthias as the dance came to an end, sliding the ring on her finger and placing her hand in his. He lifted their joined hands as the music died away and the crowd turned to face them. “To your future Queen!” he called, and kissed the back of Esta’s hand as the room bowed, curtsied, and burst into cheering.
Beraht bolted through the hallways, wishing his ability to breathe would return, or that his heart would stop pounding in his chest.
Esta had to have lost her mind. There was no way…
It wasn’t true, and even if it was…
Stars refuse that bastard! What game was he playing?
Beraht stormed around a corner – and faltered to a stop.
The bastard himself, and for once Beraht didn’t know what to do about him. He hadn’t known since Dieter had rescued him. Had tried very hard not to think about the tangle in which Dieter had left his emotions.
“You stars refused bastard!” he bellowed, fisting his hands to still their sudden trembling.
Dieter stopped, then turned slowly around.
He made, Beraht had noted sourly earlier in the evening, an impressive figure. Esta had somehow gotten the man to wear a color other than black. Granted, the green was deep enough to pass for black in weaker light, but in the ballroom the dark green trimmed in silver had…well, looked good. Up close he had no doubt it brought out his strange gray-green eyes, made the gray touches almost silver. Bastard.
“What did I do this time?” Dieter asked, and Beraht was brought up short by the utter weariness in his tone.
Beraht stalked closer, titling his head up to meet the cool gaze of those eyes. “You drive me mad.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Dieter snapped, annoyance beginning to enter his tone. “Though I would like to know what I have done this time.”
“You breathe!” Beraht replied, feeling the last of his temper slip free of restraint. “You exist! I have never in my life met anyone half so infuriating and confounding as you!” He could feel his nails digging into his palms, and a sticky warmth told him he’d broken the skin. “Bastard,” he whispered, still glaring into Dieter’s eyes. He spoke again before Dieter could interrupt. “What is your sword’s name?”
The dismay that flickered across Dieter’s face was startling to the point it took Beraht’s breath away. Such a vulnerable expression seldom found a place on the face of the Wolf. “Go away, Beraht.”
“I asked you a question, you stupid Wolf!” Beraht snarled. “What is your sword’s name?”
Dieter’s mouth twisted. “Bright,” he said curtly.
“Why?” Beraht managed to ask, unable to believe it.
“Tits of the Winter Princess, do you think I know?” Dieter bellowed, expression as uncertain as it was angry.
Beraht shook his head, unable to comprehend anything. “Is that what you meant—in the tent—“
“Yes,” Dieter said.
He couldn’t believe it. There was no way this made sense. It was impossible. They hated each other. “Bastard,” he hissed. “Are you trying to be amusing?”
“Amusing?” Dieter said in a soft, dangerous tone that usually meant Beraht was about to find himself on the floor badly bruised, if not unconscious. He fought the urge to back away as Dieter stalked toward him, a shiver running up his spine and he suddenly felt exactly as he had in the tent a little more than a month ago—
—Except this time Dieter was kissing him.
The thought left Beraht reeling, or would have if the kiss itself wasn’t already doing that.
This was nothing like the kiss Dieter had given him in the coliseum. That had been necessary. Brutal and hard. Flavored of arcen and blood. This kiss tasted only of Dieter, who seldom drank anything but tea, and while his lips were most definitely bruising it wasn’t in an unpleasant way.
No, far from it. As much as he hated to admit it, as hard as it was to believe this was happening – Dieter could kiss. Stars, the man could kiss. Beraht wondered briefly it had to do with being trained to be the perfect gift to a Kaiser.
Then his thoughts skittered away, as Dieter’s kiss went from fierce to consuming, and Beraht moaned wholly against his will.
He gasped for air when Dieter finally broke the kiss, and wondered when precisely he’d wound up pressed against the wall and why in the stars his hands were in Dieter’s hair. This was not happening. Against his better judgment he shifted his gaze up.
He’d been right. Against the deep green fabric and silver trim, those gray-green eyes shone. Beraht drew a shaky breath. “Dieter…”
A smile he’d never seen before flickered ever so briefly across Dieter’s face, lighting those eyes up even more. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name, Beraht.”
Beraht shuddered, hands tightening where they refused to let go of Dieter’s thick hair. He’d always hated the way Dieter said his name because of the mockery in it. There had been no mockery this time, and that made it devastating. Stars refuse him for a fool, he should not like it so much that Dieter said his name that way. Possessively. Knowingly. As if it meant something.
Never had anyone uttered his name while they kissed him, bedded him. They said nothing at all, or whispered the name of another. He’d never had a name for someone to say. Nor had he known what it was like to say the name of another. Always he’d been nameless and silent.
He spoke again, just because he could, because this entire situation was unreal and he realized with sudden, painful clarity that he wanted it to be real. “Dieter.” He moaned low again as Dieter once more took his mouth, kissing back furiously, pouring every last thing he felt into it. If he was going to endure this, by the stars he wouldn’t do so alone.
Shivers laced down his spine as Dieter became bolder, as true to form the Wolf wasted no time in claiming his victory. Beraht suspected he’d still wake up with bruises, but found he didn’t care.
Abruptly he was pulled away from the wall, cold as Dieter pulled away, but his hand burning where Dieter held it, and Beraht realized after a moment where they were going. “We’re going to your room?”
Dieter smirked. “Why not? You’ve been sleeping in my bed since we met.”
Beraht rolled his eyes. “You’re still a smug, arrogant, infuriating, violently tempered bastard, Dieter.”
“You’re still too mouthy for your own good, Beraht.” Dieter replied.
There seemed nothing more to say, except to whisper Dieter’s name once more as the door closed behind them and he was pulled into his Wolf’s arms.
Epilogue
“Dieter!” Esta halted in the doorway to his office, planting her hands on her hips, hair unusually messy, one long strand spilling from the tidy knot at the back of her head to slip over her shoulder. Her skirts were equally disordered, no doubt from running about the palace on yet another chase. “Have you seen Benji?”
“No, Majesty,” Dieter replied, looking up briefly from his paperwork.
Cursing, Esta called a thank you as she vanished to search elsewhere.
Dieter reached beneath his desk and yanked, eyeing the gleeful smile on Benji’s face. “You are driving your mother mad, prince.”
“But her lessons are boring,” Benji protested. “I want swords, not forks.”
Thinking of his own etiquette lessons, drilled into him at length by his father and a tutor brought in at significant expense, all to prepare him for being utterly perfect for the Kaiser…Dieter could only sympathize. “Did you bring your sword, child of the devious Spring Lord?”
Benji laughed, amused as always by what seemed to him Dieter’s strange phrases. Then he squirmed free of Dieter’s hold and dropped down to crawl back under the desk, emerging a second later with a well-made wooden sword, the perfect weight and size for training a young child.
Dieter recognized natural talent when he saw it, and while he hoped Benji did not spend his life at war, he was not above training the boy when he should be learning his forks. “Your mother will worry until she finds you.”
“Daddy knows,” Benji said. “He’ll stop mommy.”
Shaking his head, almost feeling sorry for Esta that her son was all too much like his father, Dieter motioned for Benji to take up position in the center of the room, then began to drill him through the beginner lessons.
He didn’t think it would be much longer before they moved on to more advanced lessons – and avoiding his mother was already teaching Benji more than any lesson could about stealth and knowing your enemy.
Dieter laughed softly.
A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, but neither budged from their spot. When the door opened a moment later, Benji abandoned his sword and bolted to the new arrival. “Uncle Beraht! Can we go riding later?”
Beraht rolled his eyes. “If your mother doesn’t lock you in your room for running away from your lessons again.” He shot a glare at Dieter. “You don’t help.”
Dieter shrugged. “It is not my fault the woman thinks a seven year old wants to learn about forks rather than swords. She should stop the etiquette lessons until he is old enough to threaten or blackmail.”
“What’s blackmail?” Benji asked.
“Nothing,” Beraht replied, shooting Dieter another look.
Laughing, Dieter returned to where he’d been leaning against his desk. “Benji, go through all the forms again.”
“Yes, General!” Benji said cheerfully, snapping a salute before retrieving his sword and obediently going through all the forms. They were nearly perfect, and Benji immediately made every correction Dieter called out, seldom having to be told more than once what was wrong.
Another rap at the door interrupted them a second time, and this time Benji bolted to cling to Dieter, sword clutched tight. “I’m not done yet!” he protested even before the intruder could enter.
“Benji,” Matthias said with a fond smile, “your mother is on the warpath. I promise I will talk her into regular lessons for you – until then, please come learn your forks before she teaches knives to all of us.”
Dieter and Beraht laughed.
“Go,” Dieter said firmly.
Grumbling, face dejected, Benji went.
Matthias waved and followed his son out, and Dieter could just hear him bribing Benji with a visit to Sol and Iah to go fishing in their pond in a few days.
“You shouldn’t be encouraging his bad behavior,” Beraht said, leaning against the door and folding his arms across his chest.
Dieter shrugged. “Using forks does not require training movements and reactions into the body from a young age. The prince should know how to fight.”
“This isn’t Kria,” Beraht said, but the words were automatic, one of their dozens of arguments.
“No, if this were Kria, he would have started at three,” Dieter said, and levered himself off the desk and stalked across the room, looming over Beraht, who unfolded his arms to brace his hands on Dieter’s shoulders. “You’re back early.”
“The problem resolved itself by the time I got there,” Beraht said. “I had only to authorize a few things and then I was left with nothing to do. I would have been back sooner, but I stopped off to see Sol and Iah. They’re doing well, and are much busier than I. Why did I get the boring title?” He tilted his head up just a bit more in silent demand.
Dieter gave in, lowering his head to claim Beraht’s mouth, the taste of his lover still more intoxicating than any wine could ever be. “You certainly whine as expertly as any noble I’ve ever met,” he said when at last they broke apart.
Beraht kicked him. “Your office is remarkably empty.”
“I was tired of the racket,” Dieter replied, sliding one hand over Beraht’s hip and along his back, tracing the dips and rises of his spine before letting go long enough to lock the door against which Beraht was still braced, then pulled the key out and tucked it away in his jacket before turning his full attention to his lover. “I sent them off to train at the Regenbogen.” He smirked briefly as he thought about the fortress reclaimed by Illussor only a year ago.
Beraht rolled his eyes. “You’re as smug as any general I’ve ever met.”
Chuckling, Dieter once more covered Beraht’s mouth with his own, growling low as knowing fingers landed on the back of his neck and a hand began to open his clothes, his own intent upon removing Beraht’s. He broke the kiss to taste elsewhere, as stunned now as he had been years ago that this bright Salharan was his to kiss and touch and claim.
“How long do we have until his highness interrupts again?” Beraht asked, the question turning in to a long moan.
“Even his highness hasn’t yet figured out how to pick a lock,” Dieter said, greedily attacking Beraht’s throat, displeased that their three days apart had given his marks time to fade. Fingers tightened in his hair, Beraht shivering in his arms. “As I’ve got the only key, you are my prisoner here until I decide you may leave.”
But even as he spoke, he felt fingers wrap around the key in his jacket. He looked up, glaring.
Beraht smirked and tapped his cheek with the key. “Who’s the prisoner?”
Rolling his eyes, Dieter did not deign to respond, merely attacked Beraht with another hungry kiss as the key fell to the floor.
