The Royal Rogue (Tales of Lilleforth #3)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“ A drink for you, Captain.” The barman set a pint of ale on the table in front of Thomas. “From the young man at the bar.”

Thomas looked over, and a man who looked to be barely in his twenties raised a hand in greeting. Thomas had seen him in here once or twice before. He was lithe and lean with sandy hair, and he was good-looking and close enough to Thomas’s type if he didn’t look too closely. He gave a nod of acknowledgement.

The young man’s answering smile lit up his entire face. He hopped off his bar stool and headed towards Thomas’s table. He sat and put his own ale down. “I’m Ned.”

He extended a hand and Thomas shook it. “Thomas.”

Ned spun his pint glass around between his palms and looked Thomas up and down before saying, “I’ve seen you in here before. Would I be right in thinking you’re looking for company?”

Well, that was unexpected. Not the offer itself, because this particular tavern was where you went when you were either conducting business that you wanted kept secret, or you wanted the type of company that Ned was offering. But there was usually a ritual—a back and forth of getting to know each other, and some playful mutual flattery. Ned was skipping those steps, and his approach had all the subtlety of a cudgel to the face.

Thomas took a moment to sip his ale. Ned was shorter than him by a full head, and he did have a nice smile, but Thomas would have preferred to exchange a few sentences before he decided if he was taking the other man to bed. And there should be flirting. Thomas liked the flirting part. He was good at it too, whatever the duke had implied about him hiding his fun side.

And why was he even thinking about the duke right now when there was a pleasant young man offering him a night’s company?

Ned was still looking at him expectantly and when Thomas didn’t answer right away, he leaned forward on his elbows.

Oh. This was where the flirting happened.

But instead of telling Thomas how he’d like to sit in his lap and see what came up or any of a dozen other well-worn lines that would lead into a merry banter that ended up with them in bed together, Ned said in a low voice, “You’re the Captain of the Guard, right?”

Thomas nodded, unsure why it mattered.

Ned perked up, his eyes alight with excitement. “Do you think we could go back to the castle? You could give me a tour of all the hidden passages. Ooh, maybe I could suck you off in the throne room!”

Thomas stiffened. “Absolutely bloody not!” The idea of abusing his position—and the king’s trust—like that made a shudder of distaste run through him.

Ned’s face fell. “Well, can we at least go back to your rooms? Only, I live with my mum, and I can’t be sure she won’t disturb us.”

Any spark of interest that had been there fizzled out faster than if someone had pissed on it. At thirty years old, Thomas was well past settling for a quick fumble with someone’s mother in the next room, and Ned wasn’t tempting enough for Thomas to want to take him back to the castle. Not many people got to see the inside of Thomas’s cottage. He had standards.

And suddenly, the thought of spending the night with Ned was exhausting. He sighed and pushed his chair back from the table. “I’m sorry, Ned. I don’t think I am looking for company after all.”

Ned’s smile transformed into a scowl. “What do you mean, you’re not looking for company? You’re here, aren’t you? And you were happy to take my drink and lead me on. But now it’s time to pay the piper, you’ve changed your mind?”

Pay the piper?

Did Ned really think a pint of ale entitled him to Thomas’s company?

“You’re the one who sent me a drink,” Thomas said, “but if you’re so upset, I’ll pay you back the cost.”

“It’s not the drink,” Ned said, his mouth twisting. “It’s that you haven’t given me a chance. I’ll bet I could make tonight a good night for you if you’d let me.” In seconds he was out of his chair, and his weight settled in Thomas’s lap as he straddled him uninvited. He licked his lips. “Are you sure you don’t want to take me home?” he asked with a leer.

Thomas didn’t try to hide his shudder, but Ned was either oblivious or ignorant because he leaned in, possibly for a kiss, and at the same time he reached down and cupped Thomas’s balls. Thomas froze for a second before giving a single mighty shove, hard enough to send Ned flying onto the tavern floor.

He hit the ground with a thump and stared up at Thomas, mouth hanging open in shock.

A few of the other patrons laughed and one of them called out, “I see you still can’t take no for an answer, Ned!”

Ned glared at the man who’d spoken and for a moment it looked like he was going to argue, but then the barman pulled out a small wooden club and rested it on the bar, and Ned’s mouth snapped shut.

Thomas stood abruptly. He’d come out in search of a nice friendly fuck, but now he wanted nothing more than to put the evening behind him.

He stalked out the door, alone and unsatisfied, as Ned shot him a narrow-eyed look from where he was still sprawled on the floor. If looks could kill, Thomas would have been a lifeless heap.

Maybe the duke was right. Maybe nobody could tell he had a fun side. Why else would Ned feel he could proposition Thomas without observing the usual niceties?

He trudged back to his cottage and took himself to bed and then lay there wondering what was wrong with him that he was turning down willing young men. But as much as he mourned the lack of a companion for the night, he couldn’t regret his decision. In the end, Ned hadn’t been interesting enough to catch his attention, and then he’d turned out to be disturbingly pushy as well.

Thomas didn’t want that. He wanted someone flirty. Someone fun.

He punched his pillow and huffed in frustration, and it took a long time to fall asleep.

“ P ut some effort into it, Sam! My mum can swing a staff harder than that!” Thomas barked.

“Yes, Captain!” Sam panted and swung his staff wildly in the direction of Darcy, his sparring partner. Darcy responded by ducking low, rushing forward, and knocking Sam off his feet. A flurry of dust flew up and Sam let out a pained yelp as his arse connected with the hard-packed dirt of the training yard, his weapon clattering to the ground next to him.

They’d been training for an hour, and this was the third time in a row that Darcy had sent Sam tumbling into the dirt. Around them, the other guards continued working in pairs as Darcy grinned and twirled his staff in victory. Sam let out an exasperated huff, and Thomas sympathised. He remembered being upended during his own training, and it never got any less humiliating to find yourself sitting in a cloud of dust while your arse ached. Still, that didn’t mean Sam got to stop trying.

“Good work, Darcy. Up you get, Sam, and go again,” Thomas said.

Sam stayed sitting in the dirt, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?” Thomas said.

Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Nothing, Captain.”

Thomas fixed him with a look.

Sam swallowed and said, “Only, it’s not fair that I have to train with someone who’s always going to win. Darcy’s half a head taller than me, and we all know he’s good with a staff.”

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, you’re not going to bloody well learn anything fighting someone who’s no good, are you? The whole point of this is for you to be able to beat your opponent, no matter if he’s bigger than you. Besides, if someone’s threatening His Majesty, it’s not like you can say, ‘Excuse me, but can you please send an assassin who’s more my size?’ is it? You need to be prepared for anything.”

Sam’s face, already pink from exertion, flushed darker red. “Oh.” He ducked his head and stared fixedly at his boots, but the tips of his ears were still visible and they fairly glowed.

Seeing the slump of Sam’s shoulders, Thomas sighed and lowered himself to the ground so he was sitting cross-legged next to Sam. He reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, it took a lot longer for him to bring you down this time, right?”

“I s’pose,” Sam muttered, drawing patterns in the dirt with a fingertip.

“There you go. That proves you’re getting better. It won’t be long before you’re the one putting someone on their arse.”

Sam raised his head. “You really think I could beat someone? Even if they’re bigger than me?” There was naked hope in his voice.

“Course you can, if you set your mind to the task and pay attention.” Thomas stood and extended a hand. Sam took it and pulled himself up. Bending over, Thomas picked up Sam’s staff and handed it to him. “Start trusting your instincts. Watch Darcy’s feet, see if you can tell when he’s planning to attack. And remember, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

Sam nodded, taking his staff and squaring his shoulders. Thomas stood back, leaning against the wooden railings as the two young guards started circling each other. In all likelihood Sam would get his arse handed to him again, but he was still trying and that was the important thing.

“My money’s on the little one,” a voice said close to his ear.

Thomas whirled to find the duke standing beside him with his elbows propped on the railings. He sucked in a sharp breath. Thomas was stealthy, but it seemed he had nothing on the duke. “Where did you come from? Your Grace,” he added hastily.

The duke gave a lazy shrug. “I was bored, so I thought I’d come and watch.” He nodded at some of the men who had stripped out of their shirts and were now bare chested, their muscles glistening with sweat in the afternoon sunlight. “It’s quite the view.”

Thomas generally tried not to pay any mind to how his men looked shirtless, and he certainly wasn’t going to comment on it. As their captain, it wasn’t proper. “What makes you think Sam will win, Your Grace?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Look at the set of his shoulders,” the duke said. “He’s decided he’s got something to prove.”

“Darcy’s bigger and more experienced, though,” Thomas said.

“Doesn’t matter. That one is prepared to do whatever it takes.”

The clatter of timber drew Thomas’s attention back to Sam and Darcy, and damned if the duke wasn’t right. There was a determined glint in Sam’s eye and a confidence to his movements that hadn’t been there before. He was intent and focussed as he successfully dodged out of the way whenever Darcy swung his staff, and as Thomas watched he darted forward and, with a well-placed blow, knocked Darcy’s staff from his hands. While Darcy was still staring in dismay at his empty palms, Sam tackled him to the ground and straddled him, pinning him in place.

Sam sat there with his chest heaving, grinning from ear to ear. “I won, sir!”

“I told you, Thomas,” the duke said. “Never underestimate a desperate man.”

A tendril of warmth curled in Thomas’s belly at the duke finally remembering his name. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Can you call me Evan?” the duke said. “Trying to keep all these titles straight makes my head hurt.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Thomas said. “It’s not proper.”

“But I’ve asked so nicely,” Evan said, his expression turning wicked. “Besides, when has anything about me been proper?”

Thomas laughed despite himself. “I’ll try, Your Gra—Evan.” He rolled the name around on his tongue. It felt strange but not bad—more like he was tasting a forbidden treat, one that he might get addicted to if he wasn’t careful.

Evan beamed at him and the sunlight caught the green of his eyes, making them sparkle like the water in the harbour on a summer’s day. Then his smile shifted and became teasing as his gaze lingered on Thomas’s mouth, and just like on a summer’s day, Thomas felt his skin heat under Evan’s stare.

“Excuse me, Captain?” Sam said from where he was still straddling Darcy. Darcy didn’t seem to mind, and Thomas wondered idly if they were more than friends. “I was wondering if you wanted us to go again,” Sam said. He ran a hand over his sweaty brow and through his hair, making it stick up in damp tufts. He’d fought hard, and Thomas decided that he deserved a reward.

“No, I don’t think so. Off you go, Sam.” He raised his voice a little to be heard over the bitten-off grunts and the sounds of wood on wood. “You’re all dismissed for the day.”

Sam was quick to jump to his feet, pulling Darcy up with him. They both headed towards the barracks while the older guards took the time to place their weapons back into the timber racks where they belonged before leaving.

Evan bent and picked up Sam’s staff, holding it in front of himself with both hands. “You know, that looked rather fun.” He swung the staff around in a wide arc and Thomas had to dodge swiftly to one side to avoid getting smacked upside the head.

“Oops!” Evan said. He flashed Thomas a wide smile and spun the staff again. “Can I have a turn? I think I’d be quite good at it.”

Thomas took a moment to weigh up whether he was more likely to earn a reprimand for refusing the duke’s request or for whacking him with a big stick. In the end he reasoned that his chances were fairly even either way, but that he’d get in slightly less trouble for an accidental blow than an outright refusal, so he might as well play along. “Certainly,” he said, grabbing Darcy’s staff out of the dirt. “Have you ever fought before?”

Evan laughed. “Heavens, no. I’m more decorative than dangerous. But how hard can it be, really?” He held his staff out in front of himself and waved it. His movements were so stiff and awkward that Thomas wanted to grab the weapon from him before he could hurt himself, but Evan had a firm grip on the staff and a gleam in his eye that told Thomas he’d be wasting his time. “So I just hit you, do I?”

“You try to hit me,” Thomas said.

“I mean, you’re a substantial target,” Evan said, looking Thomas up and down. He took a half step forward and swung his staff in a jerky motion that only managed to frighten off the ravens that were perched on the fence railings. “I meant to do that,” Evan said. “Terrible things, blackbirds.”

“Try and relax,” Thomas said.

Evan took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, and some of the tension left his frame. He was still holding his staff all wrong though, and Thomas couldn’t help himself. “Begging your pardon, but.” He dropped his own weapon and stepped forward, then grasped the duke by the shoulder and spun him so his back was against Thomas’s chest. He placed his hands over Evan’s and gently adjusted his grip, then pulled the staff closer to their bodies so that Evan’s elbows were bent at the correct angle. “Like that,” he said, “and plant your feet. Otherwise you’ll end up arse over teakettle.” He slid a foot between the duke’s and nudged them out into a wider stance.

Perhaps Thomas was imagining it, but he could have sworn Evan leaned against him. His body was a warm, solid weight, and Thomas exhaled slowly and willed his cock to behave.

After a moment Evan let out a long breath of his own, stepped forward, and turned to face him. When he advanced this time, it was with more confidence, and before Thomas could blink, Evan had managed to aim his blow in the right direction. In what was surely a stroke of luck, his staff connected solidly with Thomas’s. His face lit up with a grin, and he swung again.

This time Thomas was prepared, and he blocked the thrust easily, holding his own weapon at each end, raising it sideways, and using his bulk to shove Evan backward.

For a moment it seemed like Evan might hold his ground, but then he stumbled back a step and promptly fell over, landing on his arse in the dirt. He sat there, arms resting on his raised knees, and let out a chuckle. “Well done, Captain. You must be a skilled fighter to take me down so easily.”

Thomas wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he wisely stayed silent and extended a hand. Evan reached up and grasped his forearm in a surprisingly firm grip, pulling himself to his feet. He reached around and dusted off the seat of his pants with a sigh.

“Did you want to try again, Your Grace?” Thomas prayed the answer was no. Apart from that one lucky blow, Evan seemed to be as hopeless at this as he was at everything else, and Thomas had no intention of being the one who sent him to the physician.

Evan brushed at the dust on the front of his tunic. “Call me Evan. And I don’t think so. Physical activity isn’t for me after all.” He paused, and the corners of his mouth tugged up in a wicked smirk. “Well, not this physical activity.”

Thomas swallowed as the image of Evan’s bare arse flashed through his mind. He pushed it away and busied himself picking up their weapons and putting them in their racks. When he turned around it was to find Evan’s gaze fixed on him, assessing him in a way that sent a shiver up his spine for no discernible reason.

“Was there something else?”

Evan blinked. “You know, I think there was, but I can’t quite—no, wait. Yes! Leo wants to see you.”

Thomas paused in his movements. “Did His Majesty say why he wanted to see me?”

“Oh, I think it was something about a threat to the crown.”

Thomas’s gut clenched. “Someone threatened the king?”

Evan’s eyes widened. “Did they? Then you should go and tell Leo about it at once!”

Thomas opened his mouth to tell Evan he was an idiot, then thought better of it. Instead, he hurried up the path to the castle.

“ W e don’t know much,” King Leopold said, running a hand through his messy hair. From his tousled appearance, Thomas suspected it wasn’t the first or even the tenth time he’d done so today. “Just that there have been some whispers around the place that someone is targeting a member of the royal family. Nothing concrete, but I want you to be extra vigilant until all the guests have left. Double the patrols.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Thomas said, his mind already ticking over.

“It might be nothing,” Prince Felix said, leaning over from where he was sitting next to the king and smoothing down his husband’s errant locks, “but given that it’s not the first time someone’s tried to knock Leo off his perch, we prefer to exercise caution.”

“I’m not a parrot,” Leopold snapped, shooting Felix a glare. That in itself was evidence that the king was more worried than he was letting on. “Besides, they might not be coming for me. They might be after you.”

Felix snorted. “They know better than to take me on.” He patted the short sword he kept strapped to his thigh. He wore it at all times and had done so ever since someone had kidnapped him back when he’d still been the king’s bodyguard and secret lover.

Thomas shifted where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “And I assume the source of information is reliable?”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Incredibly reliable.”

Prince Felix rolled his eyes. “You can just say it’s the Rogue, Leo.” He turned his attention to Thomas. “He’s never been wrong yet.”

A thrill ran through Thomas at being trusted with the knowledge that the notorious spy existed—and was a man. He wondered for a moment if he’d met the Rogue without knowing it before he pushed the thought aside. He had more important matters to deal with. “I’ll let the men know to be on the alert for suspicious behaviour, sire,” he said. “Will the crown prince need a special guard?”

Felix shook his head. “We’ve already sent Davin to Evergreen to visit Matty and Sophia until we get to the bottom of this.”

Thomas nodded. It was a smart move, and it was common enough for the crown prince to visit Evergreen that it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. “I’ll assign extra guards for Your Majesties immediately and increase the patrols.”

King Leopold let out a long sigh. “Thank you.”

Thomas gave a short bow and took his leave, but he hadn’t gone more than ten paces before there was the rapid clatter of boots on the stone floor and Prince Felix fell into step beside him, expression grim. “Listen, Thomas,” he said, voice low and urgent, “I know the protocol is to capture whoever it is and try and get information out of them, but if someone is coming for Leo, you do whatever you need to keep my husband safe. And if that involves a knife to the throat, so be it, you hear me?”

Thomas gave a sharp nod. If it came to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to protect the crown.

“I couldn’t take it if something happened to him. He’s—” Felix broke off and let out a shaky breath. Then he blinked rapidly before squaring his shoulders. “Leo is the king, and he must be protected at all costs. God knows I can’t run this bloody kingdom on my own. There’s far too much paperwork.” He offered Thomas a wobbly smile.

“I understand, Your Highness,” Thomas said quietly. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Felix nodded, then turned on his heel and walked briskly back to the office he shared with his husband.

Thomas straightened his spine and took a deep breath as he prepared to go and sort out the extra shifts. Luckily there were enough members of the Royal Guard that providing extra protection wouldn’t be overwhelming, and he began to mentally pair them up as he walked down the hallway. He’d almost made it to the staircase when once again there was the sound of footsteps. He spun around to see King Leopold hurrying toward him, one hand raised as a sign to stop.

Thomas waited until the king had reached him before asking, “Yes, Your Majesty?”

The king took a deep breath, his hands on his hips. “I don’t know what Felix told you, but I can guess. Take no prisoners, am I right?”

Thomas stood quietly, unsure what he was expected to say.

King Leopold took his silence as confirmation. “Thought so.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Well, the same goes both ways. If he’s in any danger, don’t hesitate.”

Thomas gave a grim smile.

“Understood, sire. Knives out at the first sign of trouble.”

“Good. Hopefully it won’t come to that, but I won’t risk Felix’s life for anything. I almost lost him once, and I don’t care to repeat the experience.”

And with that he walked back to his office, his spine stiff.

Watching him go, Thomas felt a pang of sympathy, but it was tinged with envy. Leo and Felix’s affection for each other was obvious, and Thomas had to wonder.

What must it be like to be so in love with someone that you’d do anything to keep them safe?

W hen Thomas doubled the guard with an order to watch for anything suspicious, his men were smart enough not to ask any questions, and their increased vigilance as they moved about the palace filled Thomas with professional pride. But more than that, it reassured him that the king and his husband would be kept secure.

Thomas liked King Leopold and Prince Felix. But then, most people did. They were often found hanging about in the kitchens or the stables, and they rarely stood on ceremony. And it was more than a little endearing, the way they were stupidly devoted to each other.

From a more selfish—or pragmatic—viewpoint, though, Thomas wanted them safe simply because if anything happened to either of them, the result would be out and out war, and nobody wanted that.

But as the visiting dignitaries began to leave in dribs and drabs over the following week, he began to think that just this once, the Rogue might have been mistaken. Either that or the increased number of guards around the castle was acting as a deterrent.

He kept the instructions he’d received to take no prisoners to himself. It wasn’t fair to burden his men with that kind of responsibility. Instead, he’d instructed them that if they did see anything out of the ordinary, day or night, they were to report to him immediately. So far he’d been alerted to two midnight trysts and an early morning attempted custard theft, but nothing that threatened the security of the king.

So when there was a hammering on the door of his cottage late one evening, he was prepared for more of the same. But instead he was greeted by a frantic, red-faced Darcy. “Captain, come quick! There’s a stranger in the castle!” he panted. “They’re all dressed in black, and they were hiding in the shadows!”

“Are you sure? Did you get a good look at them?”

Darcy shook his head. “Didn’t see their face. The cloak had a hood. But they were tall and skinny, and they were sneaking into the guest wing. I left Philip following them and came straight here.”

Thomas’s gut tightened, and the hair prickled on the back of his neck. He took the time to check the knife in the hidden sheath in his boot before setting off for the castle at a run. Darcy ran alongside him, and they only slowed when they reached the side door that led into the laundry. Lowering his voice, Thomas said, “Did you see where they went exactly?”

Darcy nodded. “Philip and I followed them past the first three sets of rooms and then they turned off to the left, so I came to get you.”

Thomas bit back a curse. That particular passage led to the rooms where the Viscount of Calthrope was staying. He was a squat, unpleasant little man who was an insufferable bore, but he was also rumoured to be a favourite of the Calthropite king. If anything happened to him, there would be hell to pay.

“Well done. Go back to your post. I’ll take it from here.” He patted Darcy on the shoulder. When the guard left, Thomas didn’t take the stairs to the guest wing. Instead, he made use of a myriad of hidden passages that would take him there without alerting anyone to his presence.

He emerged minutes later in the guest quarters through a concealed doorway. He exchanged a nod with Philip, who was hovering near the end of the hallway, and jerked his head toward the stairs, indicating the other man should go back to his post. Whatever was happening, Thomas was confident he could handle it himself, and he saw no need to put one of his men at risk.

Once Philip had left, Thomas slipped quietly along the passage leading toward the viscount’s quarters. The door was ajar and as Thomas crept silently closer, he heard the low rumble of voices. He eased the door open. By the light of the flames flickering in the fireplace, he could just make out the viscount’s stout outline and a second taller figure that was little more than a dark shape. They appeared to be embracing.

His shoulders sagged with relief. They were lovers.

Then the viscount made a desperate, wheezing noise and Thomas froze.

Wait.

Thomas had taken his share of men to bed, and none of them had ever made a noise like that. He squinted against the darkness just as the logs in the fireplace shifted, causing a shower of sparks. The flare of bright light lasted only moments, but it was enough to make it clear what was happening.

The shrouded figure wasn’t embracing the viscount. He was choking him.

Thomas was momentarily frozen, but it only took a split second before his years of training kicked in and instinct took over. He drew the knife out of his boot and slipped silently into the room, creeping up behind the hooded figure. He clamped one hand over the stranger’s mouth and with his other hand pressed the tip of his blade to their throat.

The figure tensed and then grasped the viscount’s skull, displaying a surprising amount of strength as they twisted it viciously to the side. There was a sickening crack, loud in the silence, and a moment later the viscount’s body tumbled to the floor with a thud.

Thomas stared down in dismay. The viscount was utterly and undeniably dead, his head tilted at an unnatural angle that would have been incredibly painful if he hadn’t already been dead. And Thomas hadn’t been able to stop his murder.

A wave of helpless fury swept over him, and using all his considerable strength, he spun the hooded figure around and slammed his back against the door. The man let out a low grunt and went to fight back, but Thomas pressed his blade more firmly against his throat. “ Don’t move ,” he growled, and reached out and snatched back the stranger’s hood.

A pair of familiar green eyes stared back at him.

Thomas froze, his brain screeching to a halt. He closed his eyes for a moment in case he was seeing things, but when he opened them again, he still had the Duke of Ravenport pinned to the door with a knife at his throat. “You… you just killed the viscount,” he said, swallowing thickly.

“To be fair,” Evan said with a nonchalance that was almost disconcerting, “he deserved it. Now, are you going to help me get rid of the body or not?”