Guarded
Authors: Kim Fielding
Tags: #M/M Romance, Love’s Landscapes, gay romance, royalty, military men, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, prison/captivity
Love’s Landscapes
An M/M Romance series
GUARDED
By Kim Fielding
Introduction
The story you are about to read celebrates love, sex and romance between men. It is a product of the
Love’s Landscapes
promotion sponsored by the
Goodreads M/M Romance Group
and is published as a gift to you.
What Is Love’s Landscapes?
The
Goodreads M/M Romance Group
invited members to choose a photo and pen a letter asking for a short M/M romance story inspired by the image; authors from the group were encouraged to select a letter and write an original tale. The result was an outpouring of creativity that shone a spotlight on the special bond between M/M romance writers and the people who love what these authors do.
A written description of the image that inspired this story is provided along with the original request letter. If you’d like to view the photo, please feel free to join the
Goodreads M/M Romance Group
and visit the discussion section:
Love’s Landscapes
.
No matter if you are a long-time devotee to M/M Romance, just new to the genre or fall somewhere in between, you are in for a delicious treat.
Words of
Caution
This story may contain sexually explicit content and is
intended for adult readers.
It may contain content that is disagreeable or distressing to some readers. The
M/M Romance Group
strongly recommends that each reader review the General Information section before each story for story tags as well as for content warnings.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved worldwide.
This eBook may be distributed freely in its entirety courtesy of the Goodreads M/M Romance Group. This eBook may not be sold, manipulated or reproduced in any format without the express written permission of the author.
Guarded, Copyright © 2014 Kim Fielding
Cover Art by Kim Fielding
This ebook is published by the M/M Romance Group and is not directly endorsed by or affiliated with Goodreads Inc.
M/M Romance Group Publication
GUARDED
By Kim Fielding
Photo Description
Two very muscular, shirtless men stand under a cascade of water. The man on the left kneels and rests his head against the other’s torso. His eyes are closed and his palm is pressed against the other man’s heart. The man on the right leans over his companion slightly and gathers his companion’s long wet hair with one hand. He looks down at his companion with tenderness and concern.
Story Letter
Dear Author
,
We are on the run, me— a bodyguard— and him— a prince. I have admired him for so long, but he hates me.
*Can be set as a fairy tale/fantasy/medieval. No sci-fi, dystopia, contemporary.
*Feys, warlocks, vampires, shapeshifters if you like (not necessarily), no ghouls, ghosts or zombies.
*Lots of erotic tension, other partners/threesome welcome, non-con okay.
*Must have fighting scene(s) (each other or others) with/without weapons. Slow growing of love. HFN or HEA please.
Thank you very much,
Margitta
Story Info
Genre:
fantasy
Tags:
royalty, military men, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, prison/captivity
Content Warnings:
rape
Word Count:
36,756
GUARDED
By Kim Fielding
Chapter One
Volos was not afraid.
He had watched his family slaughtered when he was just a boy, but he had survived to grow strong. As an adult he had faced hordes of angry sword-wielding men without backing down. He had spent nearly a year as a prisoner of war under conditions as terrible as the third hell, but he had endured and escaped and continued his life. He was certainly not frightened to have a conversation with one old man.
Not even if the old man was the king.
Captain Hiwot walked so quickly that Volos, despite his longer legs, had trouble keeping up with her. His sword swung at his hip; he hadn’t had time to adjust it properly when she came to fetch him. Still, he managed to sneak a few looks at his surroundings as he rushed by. He’d never been in this part of the castle before. The hallways here were narrow and the decorations finer but less lavish. It was a more intimate space than he was used to.
The captain came to a halt in front of a door flanked by two guards who saluted her and gave Volos very slight nods. He knew these men, but not well. Captain Hiwot knocked firmly and opened the door even before receiving an answer. Volos followed like an obedient puppy.
He found himself in a room that was smaller than he had expected and considerably more pedestrian. The most striking feature was an oversized fireplace with roaring flames. Several padded chairs were scattered about, three battered tables supported piles of papers and scrolls, and more papers sat on overloaded shelves. Heavy curtains shrouded the single window, and as elsewhere in the castle, the floor was stone.
Two men stood near the fireplace. One of them was King Tafari. He nodded at Captain Hiwot, who bowed and quickly retreated from the room. At the same time, Volos dropped to one knee and bowed his head, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Get up,” the king said. “Formalities aren’t wanted now.”
Volos rose. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He kept his eyes trained carefully on the floor, but he could still feel the weight of the king’s gaze— not to mention that of the other man, Prince Berhanu. The prince always looked at him with contempt and disdain, but this afternoon he looked furious as well. Volos wondered what he had done to enrage him.
“What is your name?” the king asked. He didn’t sound angry, at least.
“Volos Perun, Your Maj—”
“And is it true that you speak Kozari fluently?”
Volos snapped his head up in surprise. “I… My father was…”
“Your father was Kozari, yes. I am aware of that. But do you speak the language?”
It had been Volos’s first tongue, and although he’d had little occasion to use it for some years, he still dreamed in Kozari. “Yes, Your Maj—”
“Good.” The king turned to Prince Berhanu. “He will accompany you.”
“No,” growled the prince. “I told you. I don’t need a nursemaid.” He stood with his hands on his hips, perhaps deliberately displaying his impressive musculature. He was a couple of inches shorter than Volos but as well built.
“He’s not a nursemaid, he’s a guard. It’s not fitting for a prince to travel alone, not even under these circumstances. And it’s not safe. I won’t allow you to go unaccompanied.”
Any man but the prince would have been tried for treason for glaring at the king like that. “Fine,” Berhanu spat. “Give me a guard. But not him.”
“He can speak the language. His presence may ease your interactions with the Kozari.”
“I won’t spend days with that Kozari trash at my side!”
Volos had beaten men senseless for lesser insults. But now he stood with his face carefully blank, pretending Berhanu’s words hadn’t pierced him like poisoned arrows.
The king had gray hair and a grizzled beard and was much slighter than his son, but when he stomped closer to the prince, Berhanu took a step backward. King Tafari poked him in the chest. “This man is a citizen of Wedeyta. He was born here. His mother was from one of our prominent families. And he proved his loyalty during the war. He was a hero. I’m told he saved several dozen Wedey prisoners.”
A flash of sense memory: the reek of urine, shit, and sweat; the sounds of harsh breathing and terrified screams; the taste of blood. Volos hoped neither of the men saw him flinch.
Berhanu shook his head. “I don’t care if he saved half the damn country. I won’t go with him. Surely someone else speaks Kozari. One of our
own
people.”
King Tafari opened his mouth, then closed it. His shoulders slumped slightly as he gave his son a long look. He turned to face Volos. “My apologies. It seems your services will not be needed in this matter. You may leave.”
Ignoring the prince’s triumphant smile, Volos bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.” He hoped that his failure to address the prince wasn’t taken as an unforgivable slight— but then, the prince hadn’t said a single word to him. Ever.
Captain Hiwot waited in the hallway. Perhaps she had overheard the conversation through the closed door, or perhaps she could judge the situation from Volos’s expression. She was a very perceptive woman. In either case, she motioned him back in the direction of the guards’ quarters. Then she entered the room with the king and closed the door behind her.
****
Whack!
The wooden sword slammed into his face, delivering a jolt of pain and a fountain of blood from his nose. Volos staggered a half step backward and glared at his opponent. “You almost broke it,” he said, gingerly touching the bridge of his nose.
Seble cackled and waved the tip of her sword in his direction. “No use being vain now. It’s been broken before.”
“In battle, not in practice.” He grabbed his tunic from the floor where he’d flung it earlier and used it to wipe the blood from his face. The flow was slowing already— it had been a glancing blow— but he’d likely end up with an ugly bruise.
“And if you’d been as fuddle-headed in battle as you are today, you’d never have lived this long.”
He grunted at her, but she was right and they both knew it. If he’d been paying full attention, she never would have been able to strike him so well with her sword. He knew as well as anyone that distraction was fatal in a fight. If he and Seble had been sparring with real swords, she would have killed him with that blow. He growled at himself, gave a last swipe to his face, and tossed the wadded fabric aside. “Again,” he said, bending his knees into fighting stance.
But Seble shook her head. “I’m done with swordplay for today.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Want to wrestle instead?”
“I’m far too heavy for you. You couldn’t possibly win.”
“Who says winning is my goal?” She flashed a grin before striding to the end of the practice room to stack her sword in a cabinet. Most of the other guards had already left to wash up before lunch, although two women were restringing their bows and a man was tossing a hammer at a target. Volos rarely trained with anyone but Seble. She was shorter and lighter than he was, but then, so were most of the men. She was very quick and clever, however, and he liked to fight her because she forced him to think. She also liked to flirt, even though she must have long ago accepted that he wasn’t interested in fucking her. She probably just liked the challenge.
Abandoning his ruined tunic, Volos followed Seble out of the training room. But when she turned left toward the mess hall, he continued forward. He wasn’t hungry. He’d lost his appetite two weeks earlier, a few days after meeting with the king, and while he still forced himself to eat breakfast and dinner, he spent his lunchtimes running a circuit atop the castle walls. The guards mocked him as he sped by, but they were friendly taunts, and he simply gestured rudely in return without slowing down.
He’d have to get rid of his boots before he climbed the stairs to the rampart. The heavy footwear was fine for sparring, but he preferred to run barefoot. After he reached the dormitory and sat on his cot, he found himself frozen in the act of unlacing. The large room echoed with emptiness— eighty narrow beds neatly made, eighty locked trunks containing the worldly possessions of their owners. Volos knew what was in his trunk: several clean tunics and trousers, identical to those worn by the other guards; socks; his razor, comb, soap, and tooth-cleaner; a favorite knife in a worn leather scabbard; a few coins; a single set of plain civilian clothes. Not much to show for a lifetime, especially considering that the bulk of it wasn’t truly his.
He finished unlacing his boots and pulled them off. But instead of standing, he collapsed back onto his thin mattress and stared at the timbered ceiling. He very rarely spent time alone in this room. Usually there were seventy-nine other men and women talking, squabbling, laughing. Playing cards or dice, bragging about deeds on the battlefield or in the bedroom, complaining about the food or the drills or their pay. Even at night the room was filled with snoring and farting. Men and women called out in their sleep. Cots squeaked and bedding rustled as people sought a bit of solo pleasure in the false solitude of the dark.