The Royal Rogue (Tales of Lilleforth #3)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

T homas stifled a yawn and subtly arched his back, trying to stretch out the stiffness that came from standing in one spot for hours. He hadn’t expected today’s trade talks to take so long, but the light filtering through the window of the chancellor’s office had softened from the brightness of midday to late afternoon hues, and still here he stood watching over the king and the prince as the day dragged on.

The trade talks were supposed to be a formality.

Thomas had been under the impression that this was just a renewal of the standing agreements with the neighbouring kingdoms, who traded a percentage of their raw materials for port access. The whole affair was generally cut and dried—a several weeks’ long diplomatic exercise consisting of balls and dinners and plenty of good wine followed by some token negotiations, after which everyone would go home happy.

And most of the negotiations had gone exactly as planned—a signature, a handshake, and a glass of wine to celebrate.

Others, though?

As the days had gone by, the meetings had become filled with a brittle tension as time after time, Prince Felix had directed a cold smile at certain visiting dignitaries before suggesting that perhaps the figures they were presenting were in error and offering new terms in Lilleforth’s favour. Each time he’d been met with incredulous refusal, and each time he’d continued to smile and then, after presenting information that showed his estimates on their production were correct—information that he absolutely should not have had—he’d politely insisted.

Every last one of the ambassadors who had been challenged had caved.

The king’s spy, whoever he was, was very, very good.

Thomas rolled his shoulders. This was the last meeting of the day, and he hoped it would be a short one. The Earl of Aramanthe was seated across from the king and the prince consort wearing a condescending smile, but his expression changed to one of confusion when Prince Felix said, “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding and one of your secretaries made a silly mistake with the figures you sent us, but it turns out that your grain yield was almost double the amount we were told. Of course, that means in the interests of fairness a new agreement is necessary. I took the liberty of making some adjustments.” He slid a sheet of paper across the table.

The earl took the paper and examined it silently for a moment. A vein throbbed in his temple as he squinted at the figures, his expression darkening. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Felix slid another sheet of paper over to him. “I think you’ll find these figures are more accurate.”

The earl’s brow creased and he snatched up the paperwork. As he examined what was written there, all the colour drained from his face. Gripping the paper tightly enough to crinkle the edges, he swallowed, his throat clicking. “Of course,” he said. “A clerical error, as you say.”

“Mistakes happen,” King Leopold said, leaning forward. “But as you need port access and we need your grain, we’re willing to overlook it.” He held out a quill.

The earl glanced from the king to the papers in front of him and back to the king, and whatever he saw made his shoulders sag.

Thomas didn’t miss the look of triumph that passed between the king and his husband. To see Prince Felix now, poised and regal, nobody would have guessed that he’d started out working in the stables before capturing King Leopold’s eye, and then his heart. After their marriage, the king had appointed Prince Felix his chancellor, and he’d taken to the role like he was born for it.

The earl grabbed the quill and signed his name, his mouth a tight line.

“Excellent. Won’t you have a glass of wine to celebrate?” Felix said with a sharp smile.

“No, thank you, Your Highness,” the earl sniffed. Then he pushed his chair back and stood, giving a stiff bow before sweeping from the room.

“Ooh, he doesn’t look happy. Why do you suppose that is?”

Thomas jolted. He glanced sideways to find Evan, Duke of Ravenport, leaning against the wall next to him with a glass of wine in his hand. Thomas could have sworn he hadn’t been there a moment ago. The duke’s shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, and Thomas glimpsed a smattering of dark hair on his chest. Judging by the state of him, he’d only just rolled out of bed.

Thomas was tempted to ignore him, but while Evan was mostly harmless, he was also royalty, and Thomas wasn’t going to risk offending him. So he said, “I don’t believe the trade agreement went as he’d planned, Your Grace.”

Evan pushed himself off the wall and moved closer, pausing to gulp down some of his wine when it came dangerously close to slopping out of the glass. “There seems to be a lot of that about this week.” He leaned in close, voice low. “Do you know, people are saying the king has a spy ?”

Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I think it’s safe to assume that all kings have spies, Your Grace.”

Evan’s brow creased like it hadn’t occurred to him before. “I suppose they must.” He took another mouthful of wine. “You’re not a spy, are you?”

Thomas fought to hide a smile. “Not me, Your Grace.”

The duke looked Thomas up and down, his gaze lingering in a way that suggested he liked what he saw, and Thomas found himself straightening his spine and puffing out his chest for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. “Hmmm,” the duke said, “I suppose not. A strapping, handsome fellow like you? Far too memorable. You’d never blend in.” He stepped up close and thrust his glass in Thomas’s face. “Drink?”

After the long day he’d had, Thomas was sorely tempted. But since he still had to attend the formal dinner that evening, he declined. “No, thank you, Your Grace. I’m still on duty.”

Evan let out a noisy sigh. “I can’t find anyone to drink with me, Thaddeus.”

Thomas suppressed a sigh of his own. “It’s Thomas, sir.”

“Is it? Are you sure?”

“Completely sure, sir.”

Evan gave a hapless shrug. “I’m terrible with names. Memory like that thing with holes, me. Can’t remember the name of it, though.” He let out a soft laugh. “That’s funny. I can’t even remember the name of the thing that’s like a bad memory.” He took another sip and peered at the bottom of the now empty glass. “Maybe I’ll find the Earl of Orange. He might need a drink after all that.”

“Earl of… Orange, sir?” Was there an Earl of Orange? If there was, Thomas hadn’t met him.

Evan rolled his eyes. “You know, the one who just left looking like someone pissed in his porridge. Remy. The Earl of thingy.”

“Aramanthe.”

“Bless you!” Evan said brightly. “Anyway, I’m going to find Remy and see if I can’t cheer him up over a few drinks.” He tottered rather unsteadily over to the chancellor’s desk, and Thomas wondered whether the duke had started drinking early this morning or if he just hadn’t stopped since last night. Evan paused, scooped up a bottle of wine and another glass, and sashayed out the door, ignoring the incredulous looks King Leopold and Prince Felix were giving him.

Thomas blinked. Encounters with the duke often left him feeling like he’d missed something, and this time was no different.

It was Prince Felix who spoke first. “I was bloody well looking forward to that wine.”

King Leopold laughed. “Let him have it. Given the agreement we signed with Falsmark for our wine supplies today, I don’t think we’re going to run short.”

Felix grinned. “That was a good deal, wasn’t it? Perhaps you should reward me for my excellent negotiating skills. We could?—”

Thomas shifted slightly from foot to foot and let out a low cough, a subtle reminder that he was in the room—the royal couple had a tendency to forget that they weren’t alone. Felix’s mouth snapped shut and his cheeks flushed pink.

Leopold, fighting back a smile, said, “You’re dismissed, Captain. We’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Thomas slipped out of the room and headed toward the kitchens, smiling as the sound of the king’s laughter followed him down the corridor. Those two were hopelessly in love, and they deserved every bit of their happiness.

He just hoped that one day he’d find someone who looked at him the way Leopold looked at Felix.

T homas ate his supper quickly. He had a long evening ahead of him, and he still had to stop by the barracks to make sure that the guards on duty at the dinner tonight were properly turned out. Thomas had been beyond flattered when the king had recommended him as the replacement for Janus Hobson as Captain of the Guard. Not that it had come as a complete surprise—he and King Leopold had forged something of a bond during his time working at the palace—but that closeness just made Thomas more determined to prove that he was worthy of his appointment.

He slipped into the barracks soundlessly and leaned against the doorframe. There were maybe half a dozen men, most of them sitting or lying on their beds. Nobody noticed him, all too distracted by young Sam, who was holding forth on a well-worn subject.

“I don’t see how nobody’s caught him yet, though.”

“Ah, lad,” said Philip, one of the older guards. “The Rogue is a slippery character. I’ve heard nobody knows who he is except the king himself, and he’s never been seen.”

“I’ve heard he’s the most handsome man alive,” interrupted Darcy, who was almost as new to the barracks as Sam. “His hair is as black as a raven, and his eyes shine like precious jewels, and he prowls around the place like a tomcat. He’s very popular with the ladies and has half a dozen bastards in Ravenport alone. That’s why they call him the Rogue.”

“I thought they called him the Rogue because he left that lord tied up in his smallclothes in the town square in Falsmark with a sign on his chest saying, ‘Cheats at cards and on his wife’ that time?” Arthur said.

“Well, I heard he stole a whole kingdom’s treasure and lives in a hidden castle in the mountains, and he’s only loyal to the king because they were secret lovers,” Sam said.

Thomas let out a snort and stepped forward, taking petty satisfaction in the way all the men in the room jumped at his unexpected presence. “Lucky I’m not the Rogue,” he said. “I could have slit your throats while you were spouting nonsense.”

Sam ducked his head. “Sorry, Captain. Only, we were just saying that whoever the king’s spy is, they’re bloody good. The visitors are all properly pissed that someone told all their secrets, but nobody knows who did it.”

“A spy ? Are you saying that King Leopold, who is good and honest, employs someone to discover the secrets of the other kingdoms through less than legal means?” Thomas asked, arching a brow and folding his arms across his broad chest.

Sam swallowed. “Um.” The colour drained from his face.

Thomas was tempted to tease him for a little longer, but he took pity on the boy’s stricken expression. “Because if you were saying that, you’d be right. All kingdoms have spies. But as to who the Rogue is, nobody’s figured it out yet.”

“It’s a woman,” Philip said confidently. “Stands to reason.”

“Oh?” Thomas said.

Philip nodded. “Some pretty little thing who seduces the men with her wiles and then teases their secrets from them.”

“That’s…” Thomas paused and thought about it. “That would actually make sense.”

“But we know it’s a man,” Sam insisted. “Darcy just said. Handsomest man alive, he said.”

Thomas shook his head. As soon as there was a mention of espionage, the topic of the Rogue came up, and the speculation as to their identity grew wilder every time. “So what you’re saying is that nobody knows who the Rogue is, and nobody has ever seen them, but we do know that they’re the handsomest man alive, had a secret affair with our king, and is a womaniser—as well as being a woman?”

Sam blinked at him. “Wait. That doesn’t make sense.”

“I knew you were a smart lad,” Thomas said, grinning. “The Rogue is a mystery, and he can stay that way as far as I’m concerned. The king trusts him, and that’s good enough for me.”

“But if you had to guess, knife to your throat, who do you think he might be, Captain?” Sam asked.

“I personally haven’t given the Rogue much thought,” Thomas said, which was a blatant lie. He’d thought about the Rogue plenty—just not the way Sam meant. But he was hardly going to admit to his guards that he’d spent more than one lonely evening contemplating the subject of the Rogue and wondering what it might be like if someone like that—a handsome, dashing man of mystery who was as lithe as a cat—were to share his bed. If Thomas had a set of specific, filthy fantasies about the Rogue, that was nobody’s business but his own.

Besides, it wasn’t like they’d ever come to pass. Thomas had no doubt that if anyone ever did find out who the king’s spy was, they’d be dead in the blink of an eye. The Rogue’s reputation for charm was only surpassed by his reputation for ruthlessness.

Thomas should not have found that as attractive as he did.

He dragged himself out of his thoughts. He was here to inspect his men. He clasped his hands behind his back and barked out, “Guards, present!”

They scrambled to line up, and he took his time looking them over. They all passed muster more or less, and Thomas gave a satisfied nod. “You’ll do. Now go and get some supper. You’re expected at the great hall before sunset to stand guard at the king’s dinner. Don’t be late.”

“No, Captain,” they chorused and trooped toward the door.

Thomas followed at a distance, but while they veered off toward the kitchen, he took himself to the great hall where he found the serving staff flitting about, making last-minute preparations for the dinner to celebrate the end of the trade talks. Thomas was just glad that all he had to do was stand near the doors, look imposing, and make sure Evan didn’t throw up on someone or insult them badly enough to start a war.

It didn’t take long before his guards trooped into the hall and positioned themselves around the walls, and soon after that the guests started to stroll in. They were elegantly dressed as befitted the occasion, but they also wore matching stiff expressions, doubtless at the thought of having to go home to their own kingdoms and explain why they were bringing back substantially altered trade agreements. Still, even though the tension in the air was palpable, everyone pasted on suitably fake smiles, and they were impeccably polite to the king and prince consort. Even the duke, seated to the left of the king, was on his best behaviour.

And maybe it was the excellent food and free-flowing wine, but the atmosphere gradually became more jovial. The evening passed with no sign of trouble, and when the great hall was empty apart from the king and his husband and the duke, Thomas finally allowed himself to relax.

The guests would be leaving over the next few days, and then Thomas would be able to take a day off. Perhaps he’d go and find himself a young man. Thomas’s height and muscular build meant he never had a problem finding someone to grace his bed, and a good time was generally had by all. Sometimes such a good time was had that the next morning whoever Thomas had taken to bed would suggest something more permanent, but Thomas had no qualms about saying no and then looking pointedly at the door until they got the hint and left. It probably made him look like a bit of a bastard. But then, you didn’t get to be Captain of the Royal Guard without being a bit of a bastard. Thomas had definitely done things for his king and country that might have raised eyebrows in any other profession.

And besides, while it seemed callous, none of his lovers had ever been quite the right fit, no matter how talented they were between the sheets, and Thomas had no interest in starting an affair when he knew it wasn’t going anywhere. Thomas wanted someone handsome in his bed, certainly, but he also wanted someone clever, someone who stimulated his intellect as well as his dick. Thomas had found that with his promotion came a certain amount of deference from the castle staff, and he missed people arguing with him. Back when he’d just been a guard, there had been a certain amount of back and forth with the other guards that was absent now, and the need to be challenged was like a weird itch in the back of his skull.

He wanted a lover who wouldn’t hesitate to tell him he was wrong sometimes, someone clever enough and bold enough to challenge him. At the same time, he wanted someone who would let him pin them down and fuck them through the mattress. Was that too much to ask?

He didn’t think so.

The king and his husband left the great hall arm in arm, and the duke stood and stretched and stumbled his way over to Thomas, wine glass in hand. “Lord, I hate these formal things,” he said with a sigh. “Can I stop behaving now?”

And perhaps it was the long, tiring week he’d had, but Thomas couldn’t help himself. “Did you ever start, Your Grace?”

The duke’s mouth dropped open for a second, and then he clutched at the front of his shirt. “Such disrespect! I should have you flogged!”

Thomas froze, but then he caught the mischievous gleam in the other man’s eye, and the temptation to play along was too great. So instead of apologising like a sensible person might have done, he raised an eyebrow and said, “And who will you be ordering to flog me, Your Grace? The Captain of the Guard, perhaps?”

The duke threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, I knew you had a fun side in there somewhere!”

An unexpected warmth ran through Thomas as the duke’s laughter echoed off the high ceiling, and he allowed himself to smile. “Perhaps, sir,” he admitted. “But as I am the Captain of the Guard and not the entertainment, it’s probably best I keep it hidden.”

“Quite right,” the duke said. “How are you meant to intimidate anyone if you’re perceived as fun ? But don’t worry, you hide it well.” He clapped Thomas on the shoulder and meandered out the doors.

By the time Thomas had made his way back to his own cottage, he still wasn’t sure whether the duke had meant what he’d said as an insult or a compliment. In the end, he told himself that it didn’t matter because Evan Devere was an idiot.

But still, he hoped it was a compliment.