A Royal Rebellion (2 page)

“Done, my prince,” Reynard spoke, standing from his kneeling position. He went to their bags piled along the wall and fetched a new pair of black pants for Edward to wear. Percy scrambled up from the couch, trying to lend his prince a hand but Reynard gently nudged him back. Reynard leaned over and pulled Edward upright with a single arm, and held the prince until he was steady. Reynard handed Percy the pants, and he hurriedly assisted Edward into them while Reynard kept him upright.

“We need to go,” Edward warned. “We’ve been here too long.”

“Agreed,” Reynard said, stepping back as Percy helped Edward into his boots. He was no longer wearing Mason’s clothing—they managed to help Edward change them out for an outfit that couldn’t be matched to what he was wearing when he escaped the hospital.

The bullet had punched through his right upper thigh, nicking the femoral artery, and ripping a decent sized hole out the back of his leg as it exited. Edward could walk, but the wound was still too fresh, that any movement placed him in danger of reopening the artery. Finding a cabin locked up for the winter season just off the highway they’d taken from Cassia City was a stroke of luck. Reynard’s first aid skills were vital in helping Edward, and Percy was incredibly thankful the captain was on their side.

Percy hovered, hands on his lower belly, fingers linked over the swell where his babe slept. Percy had been relieved when they found the cabin, but Reynard’s caution and Edward’s impatience made it clear that Percy wouldn’t be getting the rest he so desperately needed. They had to keep moving, surely the guards couldn’t be that far behind.

Reynard moved around Percy, heading for the back of the cabin, but he paused long enough to lift a hand to Percy’s cheek and wipe away a tear he didn’t know he was shedding. “Perseus, everything will be fine.”

Percy nodded, and Reynard moved on down the hall. Edward’s hand on his shoulder made him turn and Percy snuggled immediately into his embrace, savoring the warmth in the hard muscles and strong arms that held him so tight.

He risked a glance up, and Edward wasn’t looking at him, but down the hall, where it sounded like Reynard was raiding the supplies in the linen closet. They had plenty from Mason’s place, the blood prince’s generosity more than enough to see them through the next few days, but Percy was quickly coming to understand that Reynard was never too prepared for anything.

“Edward?” Percy flushed, still not used to calling his master and lover by his given name when there were others nearby to hear. It was a recent development, and while Reynard had known all along that Edward allowed Percy liberties in how they spoke to each other, that still couldn’t erase his nervous tension that someone would one day overhear and object. He was working on his bravery, but a part of him feared he’d never be as brave as Edward or their baby needed.

Edward blinked, his intense stare dissipating, and he looked down at Percy, smiling. The kiss he gave him was soft and sweet, and Percy melted into him, seeking more.

***

Edward

Percy tasted sweet and welcoming, and Edward sipped from his lips, taking his time. His little mate’s eager submission to his touch made his blood heat, despite the pain and weakness he was suffering due to his injury. If they weren’t being hunted and if Reynard wasn’t a few feet away, Edward would love to sit back down on the old couch and ravish every single delectable inch of Percy’s body.

Edward eased away, and he smiled at the dazed and aroused expression in his mate’s ice-blue eyes. Such beautiful and arresting eyes, eyes that held innocence and strength, compassion and determination. Eyes that made his breath catch, his body sing with captivated lust and interest the first time he saw them at Heritage.

The fear Percy’s eyes usually showed the world was fading away, day by day, and every time Edward told Percy how much he loved him. His brother Mason once observed that Percy was different, that love was curing his fears. Edward hope it was true, since the days and weeks ahead were going to hold plenty to fear.

Edward couldn’t resist, and he palmed the gentle bump in Percy’s abdomen where their babe rested. Percy shivered, and curled into him, one of his small hands laying over Edward’s. They both held still, as if listening, but Edward thought it was still too early for their child to be active. One day soon though, and they would be able to feel the movements of the life growing inside.

“My prince, we must go,” Reynard said, his voice breaking them from their silent communion. Percy leaned on him, and Edward took his weight. Percy was doing so well, but Edward worried for his mate. Percy had little stamina, his life up until the previous month naught but time in a windowless cell, and then weeks of morning sickness left Percy lacking when it came to endurance. Though he was nearly insatiable when aroused, leaving Edward completely depleted and exhausted.

“I know,” Edward murmured, Reynard walking past them with a linen laundry bag over his broad shoulder, full of purloined supplies form the cabin. Edward put an arm around Percy, and refused to show how even Percy’s slight weight put strain on his leg. The day he was unable to tend to Percy was the day he died.

Reynard went to the front door, opening it a hair, peeking out into the darkness. It was late at night, and the distant lights of cars on the Royal Highway could be seen through the trees. Cold air swept in and Percy shivered, and Edward blocked him from the worst of the wind as the captain disappeared into the darkness of the front garden. Edward listened, keeping himself from tensing so as not to scare Percy.

When he heard the engine turn over and headlights flooded the front, Edward relaxed. He moved forward, towing Percy behind him, just as Reynard returned. “In the back, please,” Reynard instructed, slipping past them and picking up half of their bags.

Edward guided Percy out the door and down the front steps towards the driveway, his brother’s car dark and sleek in the shadows, the doors and rear hatch open. Edward gently pushed Percy ahead of him and in the spacious backseat, sliding in behind his mate and shutting the doors. Reynard put their bags in the rear and returned to the cottage, grabbing the last of their gear and shutting out the lights, making sure to lock the door behind him.

Moments later they were pulling away from the cabin, the car gliding through the trees along the stone drive, heading back for the highway.

They came to the exit ramps a few minutes later, and they sat at the intersection. The road headed off in into the darkness of the mountains, the other direction back to the capital. Along the road out into the far country lay the distant border of Elysian, one of the most powerful and technologically advanced countries on the planet. It was from that country that Edward’s late mother, the deceased Queen of Cassia came from, and nestled in idyllic forests along the River Styx was one of the many estates she left to Edward when she passed. Elysian came in close second to Cassia in terms of wealth and power, but the most important part about Elysian at that moment for Edward was that the neighboring country outlawed and eradicated all slavery practices and customs two decades prior.

Percy would be considered a person, sentient, real, with rights and value as a man the second he stepped over that border. Once protected by Elysian law, no one, not even Edward, would be able to deny Percy his basic rights as a person, nor deny him rights to his unborn child.

Edward’s rights to him would only be recognized if they were there with diplomatic status, under the auspices of Edward’s birthrights as a Blood Prince of Cassia. With the three of them marked as fugitives and potentially traitors for defying the King, the claims of ownership Edward held over Percy would be meaningless. Not even the rank of consort would mean anything without the endorsement of the Cassian throne if Edward was declared a traitor.

Edward met Reynard’s eyes in the rearview mirror. There was no doubt the captain knew all of this as well. It was common knowledge that Elysian stopped engaging in the slave trade, and that no sales or trading of genetically modified humans with Cassia was allowed. It was taught in primary school as part of world history classes.

Reynard’s eyes darted to Percy, where the young breeder was cuddled along Edward’s side, almost asleep, eyes heavy and breathing slow and relaxed. Reynard looked back to him, and Edward nodded.

“Head east, Abe. Elysian and freedom.” Edward said, and the car took the ramp, aimed for the eastern horizon.

Chapter Two

Mason

Pain was an ever-present reminder that just because he was royal, that didn’t mean he was impervious to harm. And yet, as each blow fell, each twist to resisting joints and every searing touch of hot metal to tender flesh, Mason was reminded of not all the times his father beat him as a child, but of the missions gone awry in the army, in years long past.

Missions where he ended up held prisoner by the enemies of the Crown, tortured, beaten, assaulted, and eventually rescued, but not after days and weeks held in cells and dungeons infested with rats and roaches, mud and swampy water. Yet it was those days of misery that he yearned for, because it was in those distant times he had hope…hope of rescue, reprieve.

There was no rescue for this prince of Cassia, not from this enemy. Not when the pain came from the hands of his own father.

King Henry the Third, Monarch and Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom of Cassia had a mean left hook. He wielded that red-hot poker like he stoked fires all day long, and the silk ties he utilized to twist Mason into unbearable positions would have done a non-consensual practicing sadist proud.

Mason was jolted from his memories of one particularly bad mission in the jungle of a southern shithole of a country when he hit the floor with a meaty slap. Stars clouded his eyes when his head hit the stone floor, but he still found relief as the silk ties around his wrists and ankles loosened and fell away. Blood returned to his extremities in a painful rush, but he lacked the strength to massage his arms and legs to ease the sensation.

“Shall I send for the physician, my king?” a bland, even voice asked somewhere out of view of Mason’s bleary vision.

“I doubt I injured anything vital. Leave him there, he can drag himself to bed once he comes around,” his father replied, and Mason could see his booted feet pass in front of his line of sight, heading for the door. “If he wishes to cooperate after this lesson, do let me know.”

“Yes, Sire,” the servant replied, following King Henry from the room, leaving Mason alone on the cold stone floor in the cell passing for his new room in the palace. The door shut and the lock turned over with a final snick, and silence descended in the small room.

He was in the petitioner’s quarters inside the Old Palace, the structure once called home by the great King Airric at the birth of the Cassian Dynasty two thousand years ago. The modern palace seen by the world surrounded and protected the ancient castle at its core, keeping the original seat of their power safe from the erosions of time and prying eyes.

Mason and his brothers used to play in the vaulted halls and stone walled rooms as children, imagining they were stalwart knights battling scores of savages and monsters, saving their kingdom over and over again, returning conquering heroes. It was a weird twist to Fate that Mason now found himself locked away in a room he used to retreat to as a young man, seeking asylum from the increasing demands of his duties as a blood prince and the second born son of the king.

Here, in the Old Palace, no one would hear him scream when the pain got too much too bear.

Mason cautiously pushed himself upright, the room spinning before his brain settled, and he spit out grit and blood to the floor. He leaned back against the wall, eyeing the distant pitcher of water on the nightstand, wondering if today would be the day he lacked the strength to get up and drink some of the cool fluid.

Maybe he should just give up. There was no point in continuing to bait his father with his refusal to speak. Not that he knew anything for certain to tell his father about where Edward and his shy mate were hiding or where they were heading. Though there was one person Mason knew better than anyone other than his brothers in this world, and that person was Abelard Toussaint Reynard, minor baron and once honored captain in the Royal Guard. Mason knew the way Reynard thought, the way he would prepare and act, and if Mason were to make an educated guess, Reynard and Edward would be taking Percy over the nearest border with Elysian.

Percy was a slave, a breeder, and once he asked for asylum in Elysian, he would be safe.

The King and his men were focusing the search on Hartgrove, Edward’s massive country estate, and the routes through the mountains between Cassia City and the estate. Edward’s fondness for his country home was well-known, and if Mason hadn’t known Eddie and Reynard so well, he would think the trio would retreat to that place of safety and power as well. It was defensible and Edward knew the area better than the locals.

Mason understood one thing that the King didn’t.

Edward, and Reynard, both loved the young breeder. Maybe not in the same way or for the same reasons, but that love was real. And that love meant they would do anything to keep Percy safe. Even if safety meant sacrificing any claims they had over the beautiful and exceptional breeder.

It was that thought that made Mason push aside any inclinations of giving up. He would survive his father’s fury, escape, and do what he should have done years ago. Expose the king for the monster he was, rip apart the secrets of the Cassian Dynasty, and maybe find some measure of peace in his otherwise joyless existence. It was love that kept him going all these years as his father, with casual cruelty and vindictive precision, stripped Mason of all he held dear and forced him into a stilted half-life, a façade of perfection that grew into a torture and prison with each passing day. Love kept him alive, and kept him from falling apart as he pretended to be the rapscallion second son and loyal prince.