Guarded (9 page)

“I’ve been hurt worse.”

“Like the injury to your leg. That’s why you limp a bit after you’ve exercised hard.”

“Yes.” Volos wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Berhanu had noticed his limp. Prior to their Kozari adventure, he didn’t think the prince had spared him more than a few disdainful glances.

“I don’t understand you. You keep risking your neck for Wedeyta, and for what? To prove you’re a true Wedey patriot?”

“That’s not… I fought because Kozari slaughtered my family and I wanted revenge. By the time I realized how foolish I was, we were in the middle of a war, and I’m no deserter. After the war I became a guard because what else was there for me to do? And I came after you because—” He stopped so suddenly he nearly bit his tongue.

“Because?”

“I told you. I didn’t want you to die.”

“Why not? I’ve always treated you like shit. I’d think you’d be thrilled to be rid of me.”

“No,” said Volos thickly. “I wouldn’t be.”

Berhanu said nothing else, and Volos thought he must have fallen asleep. But then Berhanu shifted position, making sure he lay touching Volos. He sighed loudly. “Good night, Volos.”

****

Over an early breakfast, Volos made inquiries about how to find a carriage to Felekna. The landlady assured them that carriages were frequent, but they’d have to pass through most of the city to catch one. So Volos pulled his cloak tightly around himself in hope that his sword would be less obvious, and he and Berhanu set out. The prince looked drawn and pale, and the planes of his face were set with pain. But he struggled along and didn’t lean on Volos at all.

It was past midday when they reached the street where the coaches were. But the man in charge informed Volos that the last one for Felekna had already gone. “I can get you on the first one in the morning, though. Thirty fals each and you’ll be there by lunchtime.”

If Berhanu hadn’t been completely exhausted, he probably would have thrown a tantrum after Volos translated. Volos paid the man sixty fals and received two tokens in exchange. Berhanu glared bloody murder at everyone until Volos dragged him to an inn, this one larger and more crowded than the previous night’s.

“It’s just as well, don’t you think?” said Volos as they sat with their tankards of ale. “This way you’ll be fresher when you speak with the queen.”

“Fresher!” Berhanu took a large swallow and slammed his tankard onto the table. “I’m not a fucking flower, Volos. I’m a man and a prince and—”

“And you’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Do you realize what’s at stake?”

Volos was tired of being angry at this man. “I may not be royalty, but I’m not an idiot. Of course I realize. I just don’t think one more day will make a difference.” He lowered his voice, although he doubted anyone here understood Wedey. “If she knew where you were, she probably has had news that those men are dead.”

Berhanu rubbed his face. “Gods. I should have been there weeks ago. I should have… The interpreter I hired— they killed her. She’s dead because of me.”

The statement was true, so Volos didn’t argue with it. He’d seen many innocent people die. Infants. Old people. His own family.

“She was a terrible interpreter anyway,” Berhanu said. “She didn’t speak Kozari nearly as well as you do. And she kept flirting with me even though she was old enough to be my mother, and she complained constantly about the journey, and…” His voice broke, and for a shocking moment, Volos thought he might cry. But Berhanu just cleared his throat and shook his head. “If I’d fought better when they attacked us, she’d be alive and I wouldn’t…”

“There were eight of them.”

“
You
managed it.”

“Only because Mato and his mother drugged their ale.”

Berhanu’s face twisted. “Mato. You kissed him.”

“He kissed me.” Volos frowned. “You did know I prefer men, didn’t you?”

“I knew. I’ve heard about you. You prefer those insipid twits who frequent the Thieving Goose.”

Volos blinked at him. Since when had the prince been keeping track of who he fucked? “They’re willing and convenient. I wouldn’t say that I prefer them.”

Berhanu opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head before downing a good bit of his ale. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “It’s none of my fucking business, is it? Tell me something, Volos. Be honest. Forget for now that I’m a damned prince. Do you hate me?”

“I… No. Gods, no.”

“But I’ve treated you so badly. And you saw me… You saw what those fuckers did to me.”

Volos decided to ignore the first part of Berhanu’s statement. “I didn’t see anything I haven’t seen before.” He looked the prince carefully in the eyes. “I didn’t see anything I haven’t experienced myself.”

Berhanu’s jaw worked. “Have you—”

But before he could finish his question, a large man with a wild beard parked himself next to their table. He had a soldier’s stance. “What are you doing, talking that Wedey shit here?” he demanded in Kozari. “Who the fuck are you?”

Narrowing his eyes, Volos growled at him. “None of your business.”

“This is
my
city,
my
country. That makes it my business.” He took a step closer. “Who are you anyway? Wedey scum?”

Volos stood. He allowed his cloak to fall open and he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am Volos Perun, and I am this man’s guard. Stop being an ass and show some courtesy to a weary traveler.”

“Courtesy!” The man drew a knife from his belt. It had an impressively big blade, but it would be no match for a sword. Besides, his eyes were red and he reeked of alcohol. “I’ll show him the courtesy of a quick death,” he snarled.

Berhanu stood too. But although he clutched his borrowed knife, he wouldn’t last a moment in a fight. He looked as if a strong wind might knock him over. A crowd had formed, the other patrons of the tavern gathering in a rapt circle just out of reach of Volos’s sword.

Instead of drawing his sword, Volos stepped closer to the bearded man. Fear flashed in the man’s eyes, which was good. But it would be unwise to back him into a metaphorical corner when he had an audience.

“Friend,” Volos said calmly. He shot Berhanu a quick warning look before turning his attention back to the bearded man. “I understand your feelings about Wedey. I fought in that war too.” He didn’t mention for which side. “But the war is over, man. Let us show the Wedey that Kozari can practice peace as well.”

The man wavered visibly, and a few members of the crowd shouted words of agreement.

Volos managed a smile. “We were nearly done here anyway. Put your knife away and we’ll leave.”

When the man hesitated, two men and a woman stepped forward to grasp his arms gently. They tugged him backward.

“Let’s go,” Volos said to Berhanu in Wedey. For a terrible minute he thought Berhanu was going to refuse, but then the prince growled and resheathed his knife.

An older woman moved to their table. “I’m sorry for this,” she said, giving Volos and Berhanu a smile. She dropped a few coins on their table— enough to pay for their ale. “We’re not all rude.”

“Thank you,” said Volos. Then, hoping that Berhanu would follow, he walked to the stairs leading to their room.

****

Chapter Eight

Berhanu said nothing as they readied themselves for bed, but he was clearly furious. He threw his boots onto the floor, tossed the holstered knife across the room, and stripped off his clothes so viciously that he nearly ripped them. He leaned against the washstand as he toweled himself off, but the tightness of his wasted muscles was very apparent on his thin body.

Volos waited stupidly in the corner until it became clear that Berhanu did not intend to get into bed anytime soon. Volos sighed and slowly began to undress. He was down to nothing but his baggy Kozari trousers when Berhanu whirled around to look at him.

“You just walked away from that bastard,” Berhanu spat.

“Yes.”

“He threatened us, didn’t he? And I don’t know what he said but I’ve no doubt it was insulting. And you just smiled and walked away.”

“What did you want me to do, Your Highness?” Volos allowed a mocking tone into his voice. “Kill him for insulting us?”

“Yes!” Berhanu’s hands were fisted at his side.

“Just because someone is an ill-mannered oaf doesn’t mean he deserves to die.”

Berhanu stomped across the room until they were nearly chest to chest. Volos was certain Berhanu was going to hit him, and he prepared himself to restrain the prince without injuring him. Which was why he was taken completely by surprise when Berhanu kissed him instead.

It was a fierce kiss. Berhanu’s lips pressed against Volos’s teeth so hard that Volos tasted blood, and then Berhanu’s tongue invaded his mouth as ferociously as an army. At the same time, Berhanu held tightly to handfuls of Volos’s hair and pushed their pelvises together.

Volos didn’t know what to do with his hands, but they seemed to make a decision on their own, settling on Berhanu’s bare shoulders. Volos hung on as if for dear life.

Oh gods. He’d never even dared dream of this, and now Berhanu was so real against him, so
there
. They were grinding their groins together and Volos was distantly aware that he was very close to coming.

But Berhanu pulled himself away, staggering back a half step. His cock was fully rampant, the head slick and red. He looked down to where Volos’s own erection tented his trousers. Then he growled like an angry dog and surged forward so quickly that he pushed Volos backward against the wall.

Volos could only tip his head back and squeeze his eyes shut as Berhanu’s mouth roved everywhere— licking and biting at his chin, his jawline, his neck, his collarbones. Sucking and then nipping his tingling nipples. Somehow Berhanu managed to avoid the healing wounds on Volos’s body, but he was surely leaving marks nearly everywhere else. Some of the bites might have been deep enough to draw blood, but Volos was a thousand leagues from minding.

Berhanu’s hands were busy too, tugging at Volos’s waistband until the trousers fell to his knees and then squirming between Volos and the wall and grabbing on to his ass. His fingers dug into the crack, burning sweetly, while he urged Volos’s hips forward so their cocks could find better friction.

“Gods,” Volos moaned. He was so overcome with pleasure that he felt turned inside out, his nerves singing more loudly with every passing second.

Moving more quickly than Volos would have thought possible, Berhanu spun him around to face the wall. The trousers fell to Volos’s ankles, hobbling him, but he spread his legs as far as he was able, pressed his palms and forehead against the smooth wood, and canted his ass backward.

Rough, spit-slicked fingers entered his body, first two and then three. It hurt. But the keening noise Volos made was due to disappointment that Berhanu wasn’t giving him more. He wanted to be filled so tightly that there was no room left inside him for anything but Berhanu. He wanted hard and fast and merciless.

As if in answer to Volos’s unspoken pleas, Berhanu lined up the tip of his cock against Volos’s twitching hole and then plunged deep inside. They both cried out. Berhanu’s fingers bruised Volos’s hips as he fucked Volos quickly. When his furious pumping became uneven jerks and he sank his teeth into the meat of Volos’s uninjured shoulder, lightning struck the deepest core of Volos’s body. His untouched cock spurted a thick stream of seed against the wall.

For just a moment, Berhanu sagged against Volos’s sweaty back— contact so sweet that Volos very nearly climaxed again.

But then Berhanu withdrew with a ragged cry, making Volos feel empty. Bereft. Berhanu stumbled a bit, snarling when Volos reached out to steady him. Hectic spots of red colored Berhanu’s cheeks, and his eyes were as wide and wild as a terrified animal’s. He made another sound— a sob?— before staggering to the bed and burrowing under the covers like a frightened child.

Volos stood there, panting, feeling warm liquid drip down his inner thighs.

After a while, he pulled his trousers high enough so he could walk to the washstand and give himself a cursory cleaning. He was usually fastidious after he fucked, but he was sorry to remove Berhanu’s spend from his body. He tied his trousers around his waist before dousing the lantern and getting into bed.

Berhanu was still awake; his breathing remained ragged. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t move over to make contact with Volos as had become his custom. They simply lay there on their backs until exhaustion overcame them both.

****

Chapter Nine

Volos expected Berhanu to be surly in the morning, but instead the prince was subdued. His body seemed to take up even less space than usual as they made their morning ablutions and dressed, and he didn’t say a single word over a breakfast of cold meat and hard bread.

When their carriage was ready, Volos handed the tokens to the driver while Berhanu climbed carefully inside. Volos moved a bit carefully too. He was sore. If Berhanu had seemed happier about their coupling, Volos might have welcomed the twinge in his ass, the protests of bruised and bitten skin.

They were the only passengers. They sat opposite one another— Berhanu facing forward and Volos backward— not quite letting their eyes meet. Berhanu picked at the threads of the fraying upholstery. The journey took a thousand years.

Felekna was a much larger city than the Wedey capital. It had not been besieged during the war, and its buildings sprawled well beyond the ancient city walls. As impressive as it was in size, large portions of it were shockingly squalid. The carriage rattled past reeking neighborhoods with houses that leaned drunkenly, scrawny children who stared with hollow eyes, and both trash and humans scattered in the gutters.

But the city became increasingly grand as they neared the palace, which ruled flamboyantly atop a hill. The carriage let them off near the bottom of the slope. After Berhanu got out, he started marching upward right away, not checking to make sure Volos was at his heels. By the time they reached the gilded palace gates, Berhanu was out of breath and looking angry about it.