The Royal Rogue (Tales of Lilleforth #3)

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

T homas liked to think he was quick on his feet, but right now it felt like he couldn’t move fast enough, not with Evan lying limp and bleeding in his arms, having fainted sometime between Thomas lifting him and reaching the stairway. His breath rasping and his heart thundering in his chest, Thomas forced himself to keep running up the flight of stairs that led to the physician’s rooms, panic and urgency driving him.

The gash in Evan’s flesh was long and ugly, and Thomas had no way of knowing how deep it ran, but he was familiar enough with knife wounds to know that they were unpredictable. The tightness in his chest uncoiled a little when Evan moaned as Thomas reached the landing and stumbled the last few steps along the passageway that led to Maester Owens’s door. He kicked at it with his boot, unwilling to let go of Evan.

Guilt churned in his gut. He should have made his move sooner. True, it was important to know who was behind the threat but not as important as Evan.

Nothing was as important as Evan.

Thomas just wondered why it had taken him this long to see it.

He kicked the door again, harder this time.

“ What ?” the maester snapped, flinging the door open. “Do you know what time—Your Grace!” His eyes widened when he saw Evan, naked and bleeding.

“Please,” Thomas panted out. “He’s been stabbed.”

The maester’s mouth thinned and he pulled the door closed behind himself before hurrying down a seemingly never-ending hallway that led to the infirmary with Thomas hot on his heels. He unlocked the doors and swept inside, indicating a bed in the centre of the room. “Put him there,” he said briskly.

Thomas lowered Evan gently onto the bed. As he did so, Evan’s eyes fluttered open, and Thomas found he could breathe again.

Evan shifted, then froze and let out an agonised moan.

“Stay still,” Maester Owens said, setting a bowl of water and a rag down on a small table next to the bed. “Let me look at you so I can see what I’m dealing with.” Maester Owens ran the cloth down the length of the gash in Evan’s side and Evan gave another low moan that had Thomas’s insides churning. The maester picked up another cloth and pressed it against the wound to stem the bleeding. He continued to hold it in place, the silence thick in the room, and Thomas thought he might burst at the seams with the need to know what was happening. After minutes that lasted hours, the maester lifted the cloth and gave a low hum. “It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s a surface wound, and it’s not deep enough to have affected your vital organs.”

All Thomas’s breath left him in a rush. “So he’ll recover?”

“There’s no reason he won’t be as good as new,” the maester said. “Of course, the duke will need to take some time to rest and not do anything…”

The maester’s mouth snapped shut before he actually used the term ‘foolish’ to describe a member of the royal family, but the word hung unspoken in the air.

“Strenuous?” Thomas offered, taking pity on the man.

“Yes! Strenuous! His Grace must not overextend himself,” Maester Owens said, grasping at the suggestion like a drowning man might grab a rope.

“I can assure you I won’t be leaving my bed.” Evan let out a weak laugh that turned into a whimper.

The maester fetched a small vial from his cabinet and offered it to Evan. “For the pain, Your Grace.”

Evan examined the vial before swallowing the contents in one go. He stuck out his tongue and shuddered, pulling a face. “Ack! That tastes awful.” He continued to open and close his mouth convulsively like he’d swallowed glue.

“You’ll thank me when I’m putting your stitches in,” the maester said.

“When you’re doing what ?”

Maester Owens hesitated for just a moment before saying, “It is quite a sizable wound even though it’s not deep. You need stitches.”

Evan scrunched up his nose. “Stitches?”

“Yes, sir. To hold the edges closed while it heals.”

Evan blinked. “You’re going to sew me up like… a blanket?”

“It’s for the best.”

Evan turned to Thomas, eyes wide. “Did you know they sewed people up, Captain?”

At first Thomas wondered what Evan was playing at, but then he caught up to the fact that Evan was simply acting like the charming simpleton the maester assumed he was. Now that he knew Evan was anything but a fool, watching other people fall for the pretence made Thomas uncomfortable in ways he couldn’t quite define. But Evan was looking at him expectantly, so he took a deep breath and played along.

“Yes. I’ve had it done myself in the past,” Thomas said. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever injured yourself badly enough to warrant it before.”

“I can confidently say nobody has tried to stab me before,” Evan said. “I try to avoid people who are wielding knives.” He glanced down at the gash in his side and grimaced. “I suppose you’d best bring out the needle and thread.”

Technically the maester would be using horsehair, but Thomas chose not to mention that. He reminded himself that Evan probably knew anyway. He seemed to know most things.

Maester Owens took a moment to ease Evan over onto his side so he was facing Thomas, then hurried over to his cabinets and came back with a needle and a long strand of thread. “Ready, Your Grace?”

Evan nodded, his jaw set.

Thomas went to take a step back, but Evan’s hand shot out and grasped his wrist. “Stay?”

Thomas put his hand in Evan’s and perched on the wooden stool that was next to the bed. “Of course.”

Maester Owens glanced between them but didn’t say anything, instead threading the needle expertly before bending over Evan and pushing the needle through the jagged edges of his skin.

“Ow,” Evan said, his grip tightening and all the colour draining from his face. “Ow, ow, ow.”

Thomas winced in sympathy. He’d had more than one mishap with knives when he was younger that had required stitching, and it never got any easier to bear. He reached out with his free hand and brushed Evan’s hair away from his face. Evan pressed his cheek against Thomas’s palm and gave him the ghost of a smile before tensing and letting out a sharp hiss as the maester continued to work.

The tendons in Evan’s throat stood out in stark relief against the skin as he swallowed down the pain, and Thomas wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, both as a comfort and to reassure himself that Evan really was fine. He resisted the urge—just.

“I want you to know I’m being very brave right now,” Evan said through gritted teeth.

“Incredibly brave, Your Grace,” the maester said, not looking up from where he was putting in the second stitch.

Evan took slow, deep breaths and Thomas held his hand as the maester continued to put him back together. Thomas had no doubt there would be an impressive scar.

To his credit Maester Owens worked quickly, and it wasn’t long before he put the needle aside. Evan let out a shuddery breath that spoke of relief, and his death grip on Thomas’s hand loosened.

Thomas glanced over at the wound. Now that there was a series of neat stitches holding it closed and the bleeding had stopped, it was far less ominous, and the tightness in his chest eased.

The maester smeared a thick, sharp-smelling paste over the injury and bandaged it. Then he straightened up, his spine cracking as he leaned back with his hands on his hips. He stifled a yawn and pulled the bed linen up over Evan’s naked body, and that more than anything reassured Thomas that Evan was out of danger.

“You need to rest. I’ll check the dressings daily. Will you be staying in the infirmary while you recover?”

Evan rolled onto his back gingerly before shaking his head. “I think my own bed will be more comfortable.”

“As you wish, although I’m keeping you here at least until nightfall.” The maester looked between Thomas and Evan with undisguised curiosity. “May I enquire as to how you were injured, Your Grace?” he asked. “Should we be concerned about a threat in the castle, or was it… an accident?”

Thomas knew in his bones that if they didn’t explain Evan’s injury, it would be all around the castle before breakfast that he and Evan were combining sex and knife throwing or something equally outrageous. Still, this was the perfect opportunity to explain away the two dead bodies lying in Evan’s chambers. The maester wasn’t a gossip as such. He was, however , an efficient distributor of news. Thomas glanced over at Evan and raised one eyebrow expectantly.

Evan was clearly thinking along the same lines. “Actually, there was a threat.” He threw one arm theatrically across his forehead and flinched. “Ow. Why does moving still hurt so much?”

“That would be the stitches,” Thomas said drily.

“Oh, right. Anyway,” Evan said, directing his attention to the maester, “it was very dramatic. A lovers’ duel. Two men fought to the death over me.”

The maester jolted in surprise. “Goodness!”

Thomas tamped down on the wave of possessiveness that surged through him at the mention of Evan having other lovers and waited to see what ridiculous lie would come out of his mouth next.

But it turned out that Evan kept the lie as close to the truth as possible. “The ambassador for Falsmark broke into my rooms in the small hours of this morning and asked me to partake in certain activities with him. I turned him down, of course, because the man looks like a frog that’s been hit with a shovel. He got very nasty about it.”

“The ambassador? Doesn’t he have a wife and five children?”

“Yes, he does,” Evan said, “which is why it was such a shock when he tried to seduce me. But then, just as he was brandishing a knife, another young man who I’d previously rejected broke into the castle, and he also came to my rooms to proposition me!”

The maester’s eyes went wide and he gave an audible gasp. “ Two men came to your rooms on the same night with similar intentions?”

“Well, I’m enormously fuckable but also incredibly choosy,” Evan said blithely. “There are bound to be some hurt feelings along the way.”

Thomas suppressed a snort.

“And they battled… to the death?” The maester’s brow creased as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Evan gave him a bright smile that was slightly strained around the edges. “Well, they both ended up dead. When young Ned turned up and saw Falsmark threatening me, he went quite insane with rage. He snapped the ambassador’s neck like it was no effort at all. It was enormously flattering, truth be told. Of course, then Ned told me he’d been following my every move for weeks and plotting to break in, which was less flattering and more terrifying. And it turned out he was still holding a grudge over the time I rejected him. When I told him I didn’t remember him, he was even more insulted, and that’s when he held a knife to my throat. I tried to get away and I almost made it, but he gave a lucky jab and managed to slice open my side.”

“And how did you escape?” the maester asked, breathless, and Thomas just knew he was storing away every little detail to tell anyone he met.

“Oh, the captain rescued me by throwing a blade across the room and stabbing Ned in the throat. Killed him instantly. It was very impressive.”

Thomas couldn’t help but admire Evan’s ability to weave a plausible tale together using two parts truth and one part sheer bullshit. He also tucked away the knowledge that Evan had been impressed with his skill to examine later, when he had more time to soak in the praise.

The maester looked between them again. “And you were naked because…”

“Ah. Yes,” Evan said. “That’s because I’d just been quite magnificently bent over and buggered by the captain, and I hadn’t quite recovered yet. I’m going to court him.”

Thomas froze, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

Evan reached out and took one hand in his, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if you wanted more than a fling first and not assumed, but if you’re half as attracted to me as I am to you, we’d be silly to stop what we’re doing. Besides, I might be dead if not for you, and it turns out there’s nothing for clarity of thought like a knife to the throat—unless it’s two knives to the throat. Anyway, it made me realise that the idea of my life without you in it is quite unbearable. And I don’t know if I’m doing this right, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, but I am deeply, deeply enamoured of you. Be my lover, Thomas, and let me court you properly? Please?”

Thomas jolted upright. His heart fluttered in his chest like a flock of doves preparing to take flight as what Evan was saying sank in.

Evan, Duke of Ravenport, also known as the Rogue, had feelings for him. He didn’t want a casual arrangement after all. He wanted a courtship.

He wanted Thomas.

This didn’t have to end after all.

And Evan was right—it had taken the blade of a knife to drive home exactly how Thomas felt about the duke. When he’d had been running up the stairs carrying Evan’s limp body and he’d thought he might lose him, he’d almost buckled under the realisation that he cared far more deeply for Evan than even he’d suspected, and that he might never get to tell him about it.

And now Evan was telling Thomas that those feelings were mutual and asking to court him—and Thomas didn’t have to think twice.

The doves in his chest broke free with the rapid beating of his heart and soared skyward. “I care for you far too deeply for this to be a mere dalliance,” he said, his mouth curving up into a smile.

Evan’s head snapped up and he held Thomas’s gaze, naked hope written across his features. “Are you saying yes?”

“Of course I’m saying yes.”

Evan’s face lit up. He rolled onto his uninjured side and propped himself awkwardly up on one elbow, wincing as he did so. Thomas leaned forward and pressed a single soft kiss to his lips before drawing back.

Evan sighed as their lips parted, and his smile was even wider than before. “Did you hear that, Maester? Thomas has agreed to be courted.”

The maester’s smile was genuine. “Congratulations, Your Grace. The captain certainly sounds like a better choice than either of those other two men.”

“Oh, he definitely is,” Evan said. “He’s only held a knife to my throat once, and that was a misunderstanding.”

Maester Owens paused for a moment, opened his mouth, and closed it again. He wiped his hands clean and walked towards the door. “I’ll leave you to rest and check on your progress later. But please do remember, no strenuous activity.”

Thomas pulled his hand reluctantly from Evan’s grasp and stood. His heart might be soaring, but in Evan’s bedroom bodies were cooling, and he did still have a job to do. “I should leave you to rest as well. I need to take care of the bodies. I don’t want the servants to find them.”

“Oh, you mean the criminals?” Evan asked. “The traitors who threatened the second in line for the throne and met the fate they deserved?”

“Yes,” Thomas said. “Them.”

In truth, he’d forgotten for a moment that Evan was second in line for the throne behind the crown prince and he wondered why Evan was even mentioning it. But then it struck him that Evan’s place in the line of succession would prove extremely helpful when it came to explaining why Thomas had killed Ned on the spot instead of restraining him. Of course, the real reason had nothing to do with Evan being royalty. Thomas had simply seen red at someone daring to put their hands on his duke.

Not that he’d known Evan was his duke at the time, but that hadn’t seemed to matter. The knife had been flying through the air towards Ned’s throat before he’d had time to think about it.

He had no regrets.

Evan reached out and caught his hand again, wide green eyes meeting his. “Stay with me? I’m sure Maester Owens can do… whatever it is they do with dead people. He must deal with them all the time.” He glanced over at the maester, brow furrowed. “What do you do with all your dead people exactly?”

Thomas had to give Evan his due. If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed that Evan had never even seen a corpse, let alone produced plenty of his own.

The maester’s mouth was a thin line. “Most of my patients do recover, Your Grace. But rest assured, I’m able to make the necessary arrangements.”

Evan blinked at him. “For what?”

“For the bodies.” There was a trace of fond exasperation in the maester’s tone.

“Oh! Of course. You did say that, but I forgot.”

“Quite understandable,” the maester said more gently. “The pain draught can leave you addled, and you’ve been injured. Rest, and leave the deceased to me.”

“Thank you. And do make sure you get the blood out of the rug, will you? It was a gift from the king.”

“Of course,” the maester said, and he hurried away.

Once he was gone, Evan lowered himself carefully to the bed and rolled over onto his back again with a groan. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been stabbed. I do not recommend it.”

Thomas reached out and brushed Evan’s hair away from his forehead, wishing he could do more. “You should rest,” he said quietly.

“You’ll stay with me?”

“I’ll always stay with you,” Thomas said, fighting back a smile.

“Good,” Evan said, his eyes already drifting closed.

Before long, his breathing had turned slow and even, and Thomas was content to stay by his bed and watch him sleep, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest as Thomas reflected on the fact that Evan really did want to court him.

And Thomas was happy to do whatever Evan wanted—especially since it just so happened that they wanted the very same thing.