a bit more of wager

[maderr]

I am tired, so this will probably need a lot of work later, but damn it all - I said I would reach this point tonight, and I did it.

Put up everything, cause I couldn't remember where it cut off in the last post.



The Wager

Lazare longed for his childhood, when he might get away with pitching his teacup across the room and enjoy the sound of fragile porcelain against fine wood, the angry but defeated sigh of his nurse as she threw up her hands and stomped from the room.

Alas, adulthood required good behavior.

He just wished the others in the room might recall it.

Forcing himself to use the manners no one else would, wondering what was wrong with this uncouth country he was to be stuck in for only the gods knew how long – until his mother saw fit to bring him home, and given she had not even bid him farewell, so great was her anger, he suspected he would not be going home for a long time.

Stifling a sigh, he smiled politely at the chortling men around the table, wondering what impertinent question they would put to him next. He dared a surreptitious glance at the clock mounted on the wall at the opposite end of the room.

Alas, at least an hour to go, and he doubted they would let him slip away before another half hour had passed beyond that.

"We hear there was nearly an altercation this morning, Highness," a man said slyly. "Giving his Majesty a run for his money, eh?"

A run for his money? Lazare frowned over that one, and made a note to ask Maitland about it later. He swore they did such things on purpose, and it was truly beginning to irritate him. He took a delicate sip of the fragrant tea. "I never discuss business over afternoon tea, gentlemen, but I assure you there was nothing so dramatic as an altercation."

The men laughed and exchanged disbelieving looks and snorts, but obligingly moved on to other matters, discussing plays and duels and other things which they thought might he might like to see.

Finally one man sat back and settled his hands on his massive belly. "So, Highness, how are you liking our Cat, hmm?"

Lazare frowned. What joke was he missing this time? If they did not stop with such nonsense, he would show them how cutting his own private jokes could be, truly. "Your cat? I beg pardon, but I do not take your meaning."

The men smiled, chuckled. "Why, Lord Maitland, of course."

"Ah," Lazare said.

A pleasant, if frustrating, thought, that one.

Kyler Maitland, the Marquis Lovett. He had been appointed Lazare's guide while he was here fulfilling his role as ambassador. He wished Maitland were here now, for he had already noticed that everyone tended to tread carefully and mark their every word when Maitland was around. Alas, he'd had some unavoidable private matter to attend, and Lazare had been forced to attend this tea alone.

He frowned. "Why do you call him cat?"

More chuckles. "For all the obvious reasons, Highness, and some less obvious. I take it you have not met his pet?" The speaker, another fat oaf, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then again, I doubt your Highness has had neither reason nor opportunity to visit the Lovett estate."

Lazare's frown eased slightly. 'The obvious reasons' certainly made sense. It was far too easy to describe Maitland as cat-like. Tall and long and lean, rich gold hair and eyes, and he moved with a sinuous grace that had, indeed, reminded Lazare of the mountain lions of his homeland right from the start. "His pet?"

"Oh, yes," said another man, spindly and pale. "You will have to contrive to see his pet." He winked. It was not a pleasant gesture coming from him.

"I see," Lazare said, making his disapproval plain. He did not want to gossip about his guide, and it was a poor showing indeed that these men saw fit to do so. Taking another sip of tea to calm his thoughts, he then set it down and opened his mouth to begin a new topic of conversation.

Alas, another started speaking first. "Speaking of Cat, are you going to join in the wager, Highness?"

"Wager?" Lazare asked. He was so very tired of being confused.

"Aye," said a man with a peculiar accent. Lazare was hopeless with accents in this confounded country. "Have you not heard of it yet, Highness? I'm astonished. The clubs have talked of little else since Cat was dragged out of his den to assist you."

Lazare bit his tongue. It was difficult. He would not stoop to their level by abandoning his manners. "Lord Maitland has been my savior," he said quietly, but firmly. "He is patient and kind, and I would be quite lost without him."

The table erupted in laughter. "Well!" said the fat man. "I certainly have never heard him so described! Perhaps you will win the wager, Highness."

"I—"

"Yes, indeed," said a man bland of face and voice. "The world would erupt to finally know the answer to that damned puzzle. Patient and kind? Never have I heard those words applied to Lord Cat!"

Lazare sighed and drank his tea. He wished Maitland were here.

"Has he mentioned the affair to you, Highness?"

"I do not inquire into the private affairs of another man," Lazare said sharply. "I was not aware such rudeness was considered acceptable in this country."

The men laughed again. "We mean no harm, Highness. Lord Cat is one of our own. If you are to work closely with him, you will hear of the wager at some point. Indeed, I believe many of the betting books are placing new wagers on whether you will be the one to win the wager which has been on the books for the past five years."

He was on the betting books? Lazare scowled into his tea. To the devil with manners.

Once more, however, the men spoke up before him. "It was a duel, Highness. Lord Cat was embroiled in a dawn appointment five years ago. No one can prove it, of course, but everyone knows he was there and that he fired the fatal shot."

Lazare's hold on his teacup faltered. Fatal shot? What nonsense was this? "I do not favor gossip," he said icily. "Especially such ridiculous statements as that. I would appreciate it, gentlemen, if you would find another topic about which we might converse."

"Oh, and you know Cat so well?" A man asked sneeringly. "It was his lover, you know. He challenged his lover to a duel, and shot him dead."

"I have heard quite enough," Lazare said coldly, slamming his teacup down and standing, then stalking to the door of the grand tearoom. A steward appeared almost immediately with his coat, hat, and walking stick.

Ignoring the voices that chased after him, Lazare stalked out of the building and into the street. His carriage…no, he did not feel like being trapped in the infernal thing. Waving off the stewards who started to call for his carriage, he turned and strode briskly down the street.

The sound of his voice, spoken in a gruff baritone, drew him up short. "Highness?"

"Lord Maitland," he said, blinking. "Did you conclude your business?"

"Yes," Maitland replied slowly, confusion in his gold eyes.

Such pretty eyes, for all they constantly seemed to hold something back. The very same shade of gold as his hair, which had been tousled by the brisk wind on the street, softening the strict lines of his handsome face. "If I may ask, Highness, why are you walking about? You were not due to leave the tearoom for an hour or two yet, and I saw you into the carriage myself."

"I am tired of the tearoom," Lazare said levelly. "Nor did I feel like being trapped in that wheeled box. I thought a walk might do me some good."

"As you wish, Highness. May I escort you back?"

Lazare smiled faintly, unable to stay angry with Maitland before him. He had only known Maitland three weeks, but there was something steadying about him. Ever since being sent of as Ambassador, he had felt lost at sea. Maitland, from the very first, had seemed an island. "By all means, please. Your business was well concluded?"

"Yes. I apologize again for abandoning you. Was the tea so unpleasant, then?"

"I do not care for malicious gossip," Lazare said with a shrug as they fell into step together. Even in the ripe smells clogging the streets, he did not miss the cinnamon and honey scent of Maitland. "Walking out was poor form, I know, but I will not be subjected to such unpleasantness."

Maitland's mouth tightened. "I apologize again for not being present."

"Do not worry upon it," Lazare said with a smile. "We have a free hour, shall we do something frivolous with it?"

"Frivolous?" The tightness eased faintly. "Now, Highness, I do not believe that was on your schedule for the day."

Lazare waved his hand airily. "Well, I shall have my man of affairs pencil it in."

Maitland laughed softly, and the sound warmed Lazare through with happiness and satisfaction, a faint thrum of victory. He liked getting Maitland to laugh; it seemed something Maitland did not do enough.

"Consider it penciled in, Highness. Where would you like to go?"

Lazare hesitated, then shrugged. "I do not care, really. I did have a question for you, however, if I am permitted to ask."

Maitland stiffened, but if he had not been watching Maitland closely then he would have missed it. "Of course, Highness. Ask any question you like."

"Some of the men wanted to know if I'd seen your 'pet'," Lazare said. "What did they mean?"

"My pet?" Maitland asked, steps faltering. "That's what you want to know about?"

Lazare ducked his head. "I apologize if I was completely out of line. It was such an odd thing to ask, it stuck in my head."

"No, I do not mind." Maitland smiled faintly. "I am only surprised they mentioned it. None of them have actually seen it; I suppose they were hoping you were not one ahead of them in bragging rights."

"I should have known," Lazare said, amused – and relieved, for he realized he had been stupidly hurt Maitland had not mentioned it. "So what is this marvelous pet?"

Maitlan's mouth curved, something decidedly…mischievous and almost boyish about it.

Lazare found it hard to look away – indeed, he was so busy starting at Maitland's far too appealing mouth to notice where he was going, and walked straight into a vendor bellowing out the quality of his apple tarts.

The bellowing quickly turned to a litany of what he thought were curses, but were spoken too quickly in a dialect he stood no chance of comprehending, the entire situation making him feel every inch a foreigner – and an especially stupid one at that.

Before he could gather himself and begin to offer apologies, Maitland was bellowing right back, his accent better but the words still odd, and spoken too rapidly anyway.

A moment later they were away, Maitland's hand wrapped firmly around his arm.

His cheeks flushed hot, and he tried to form an apology, but his tongue seemed stuck fast.

It wasn't until they were back on much calmer, less crowded streets, that he finally felt he'd regained enough of his wits. "My apologies," he said slowly, wincing that his accent was more pronounced that usual, surely given away his unsteadiness. And over such a simple, clumsy moment. Stupid.

Maitland merely gave one of those small, barely-there smiles. "No apologies necessary, Highness. Rather, I should extend my own. We both were too lost in conversation to pay proper attention – and the vendor hardly did our country proud."

Lazare smiled weakly. "I did almost knock him over."

"Well, I gave him coin enough he can take the whole day off and go spend it on gin," Maitland said, rolling his eyes. "He will survive the encounter. Now," he continued briskly, the boyishness returning. "I believe you wanted to see my pet. I'm afraid he's some hours away, at my family estate. We would be gone a few days at the very least."

"I see," Lazare said, disappointed. He doubted anyone would let him slip away for a few days. Why was it the more titles and affluence one had, the less often one was able to abuse them to get away with doing as he pleased?

Perhaps he just needed to forget such bothersome things as duty and responsibility and obligations.

My, wouldn't that be nice? Lazare sighed. "It sounds a lovely lark, but I think my fellows and your King would all have kittens were I to caper off to the countryside for a few days."

Maitland smiled – and winked at him. "Now, Highness, I would be a poor man of affairs indeed if I could not arrange your Highness schedule to both please my King and suit your Highness. I am competent enough to manage that."

"You are always perfectly competent in everything you do," Lazare murmured, hoping that did not sound as flirtatious as he wished it could sound.

He got one brief, sharp, inquisitive – dare he think hopeful – look; it lasted only the span of a heartbeat, but Lazare liked to believe he saw it. Tucking the moment away to overanalyze later, he focused on the conversation. "So I can see this notorious pet of yours?"

"Would your Highness prefer to leave at once, or in the morning?"

"At once," Lazare said promptly, thinking of the dinner he was supposed to be attending in a few hours. Long and tedious, and his toes were still recovering from the last party.

Maitland gave an elegant half-bow as they reached the townhouse where Lazare made his home while in the city. "Then we shall depart before the sixteen hour, Highness."

Lazare returned the bow with one of his own, wondering if stood a chance of ever persuading Maitland to call him by his given name. Perhaps he was only suffering a silly infatuation, but he would like to know how his name sounded on Maitland's lips.

Thinking of Maitland's lips was a bad idea. Forcing himself to think of dinner parties and speeches and the poetry everyone seemed determined to inflict upon him.



As promised, less than three hours later they were on their way.

Lazare laughed in sheer delight. "However did you manage it?" he asked, not even the roughness of the carriage ride enough to dislodge his good mood. D

Maitland shrugged casually, but his voice held a note of satisfaction. "The trick, Highness, is to inform only the necessary parties, and to inform them without giving a chance for argument. His Majesty will be most put out with me, but will not press for your return."

"Oh?" Lazare asked, curious now, sensing there was something more to it.

"I might have implied that comments made by the gentlemen this afternoon upset you terribly, and put you in a state not fit for attending the public. The fact you stormed out of there lends credence to that implication – he will leave you in peace for a few days."

"You are truly a man of affairs," Lazare said, resting his hand briefly on Maitland's arm, giving it the gentlest of squeezes. "If you are not careful, I might try to pack you with my belongings whenever I return home."

Maitland laughed. "Make certain you put me in the trunk, Highness, and not one of the satchels. They are not terribly comfortable when it comes to the longer journeys."

Lazare threw his head back and laughed, the image of Maitland mashed up into a satchel leaving him gasping for breath, resting against what he realized was Maitland's shoulder as he finally returned to his senses.

Hastily sitting up, he finally managed a reply. "I will take care to see you properly packed, never fear."

"I thank you, Highness."

"My pleasure." Lazare settled back in the carriage seat, stretching his legs out as best he was able, trying and failing to suppress a yawn. "How far is it?"

"Several hours, Highness," Maitland said, voice a fine, low rumble.

Lazare nodded, but could not muster the energy to speak. Laugher faded, the warmth of the carriage and now smooth ride were all conspiring to make him sleepy.

Maitland continued speaking. "We could stop at an inn, if you like, but I would prefer to push on and arrive late in the night. I've already sent someone ahead to warn of our coming…"

"Push on, then," Lazare said, as his eyes slipped closed. Travelling always did put him right to sleep, if the roads weren't bad enough to make every bump a near-death experience.

"Yes, Highness."

Lazare slid a bit to the right, head hitting something both hard and soft, but it was relatively comfortable and so he did not bother to move. He settled more firmly against it, speaking sleepily, not really hearing his own words. "You can call me Laz…"



"Highness."

Lazare grunted, and reached out to grope for his blankets and pull them up over his head.

Instead he encountered something that was not a blanket.

Jerking awake, he yanked his hand from Maitland's thigh, realizing abruptly where he was and why.

"M-my apologies," he stammered, shaking his head to clear away the last of the sleep fog.

Maitland coughed. "We've arrived, Highness."

Even as he spoke, the carriage pulled to a halt, and Lazare heard voices calling orders and greeting and still more orders, and then the carriage door was yanked open and the steps put down.

He refused the hand held out to assist him, clambering out clumsily by himself, stretching and groaning before finally taking in the house before them.

Sadly, it was too dark to see much of anything, but it was most certainly impressive. He started to ask about it, but was ushered in by a hand on the small of his back, Lazare's voice rumbling gentle orders to the servants.

The inside was beautiful; simple but elegant, a mix of dark and light woods, fresh flowers on stands and tables, crystal sparkling from the ceiling, hanging in tiny hollows in the walls. The scent of citrus and sandalwood filled the air, mixed with the sweet scent of the flowers.

"You have a beautiful home," he said, and it only really and truly struck him then just how gracious and indulgent Maitland had been with all of this. He turned and caught Maitland by the arm, holding gently but firmly. "I thank you for this. I have been rude and selfish, and it was far more than kind of you to go to such trouble."

Maitland smiled, and covered Lazare's hand with his own. "It is no trouble, Highness. I enjoy showing my home to friends."

Lazare hesitated, then pressed forward. "If we are friends, then surely you need not be so formal?"

"I—"

His words were cut off by the sound of something hitting the floor with a hard thudding sound, and Lazare whipped around to see—but surely he was not seeing what he thought he was seeing. He drew a sharp breath, taking a step back, colliding with Maitland.

He was so transfixed by the sight before him, he almost did not notice the steadying hand which rested briefly on his hip.

"What in the world…" he breathed. "This is your pet?"

Maitland laughed softly, the sounds warm puffs of air against Lazare's cheek and hair. "Yes, Highness," Maitland replied, then moved away to kneel before the gigantic cat, a beast with orange fur and black stripes, then nuzzled and rubbed and pushed eagerly at Maitland, making all manner of sounds that seemed equal parts mews, growl, purr, and plaintive whine.

After a few minutes, Maitland stood and held out a hand. Lazare hesitated a moment, then took it and allowed Maitland to draw him close to the beast.

"Highness, may I present to you Ruffian, the true lord and master of Lovett. Ruffian, his Royal Highness Prince Lazare. I expect you to comport yourself properly for once, troublemaker." Maitland turned to Lazare. "You may pet him, Highness. He's quite friendly."

Lazare did so, allowing Maitland to take his hand and guide it, showing him the proper way to stroke the beautiful cat, though he still could not quite grasp that he was petting a beast and that beast was apparently a pet.

He looked at Maitland. "You will have to explain this one, good sir."

"In the library, if you like. We can have a late supper." Maitland turned, and with the tiger on one side, Lazare on the other, led the way to the library.