22. Haldric #2
Haldric pictured that boy with the dead eyes who’d watched them pass and shuddered.
“Of that, I have no doubt. There are plenty in this kingdom who’d rejoice at my head on a spike.
But that attack was too well-planned for your run-of-the-mill rebels.
They wielded good steel and armor despite their grubby clothes.
Not to mention the soulflame warrior and mage leading them.
Even more concerning, they had that charm prepared ahead of time to counter my magic.
That kind of blood hex is rare, especially here in Ilthabard, and would have required careful planning to acquire. ”
“All good points,” Benjin conceded. He bit his lip. Still looking uncertain, he ventured, “While I’m sure you’d rather not think about it, this attack’s similar to what happened to your sister, isn’t it?”
Despite the proximity of the fire, a chill pricked Haldric’s skin. “It is. Even the location is almost identical, along the road through Zaros.”
He tensed, Duke Westley’s threats from the Summit suddenly echoing in his ears. Was it mere coincidence that both he and his sister had been ambushed while traveling through the duke’s lands? It had to be. Not even Westley would be that brazen.
Would he?
“With my sister gone, I’m my father’s last remaining heir,” Haldric said slowly. “If I died as well, the entire kingdom would collapse into in-fighting and disorder. Which is precisely what Duke Westley wants.”
A flare of magic jerked Haldric’s attention back to the present as Benjin sent the flames soaring higher, his face contorted with anger. The crackle of burning wood and the acrid scent of smoke engulfed them.
“If you think that Void-eater might’ve had anything to do with the attack, then confront him!” Benjin said. “Put him and the other governors on the spot and see if you can force them to slip up.”
Haldric stared into the roaring flames. “I wish I could. But without proof, all that would do is rally additional support behind his cause.”
Benjin scowled, looking ready to take the fight to Westley by himself. “There has to be more we can do!”
“There isn’t. Truly.” Haldric sighed, sorrow gripping him as he thought again of those protesters in Revesole. “Besides, we have enough problems to deal with. Our attackers might not have been real rebels, but their accusations rang true enough.”
“Hey, come on.” Benjin’s hand twitched toward Haldric as though to reach for him, though that might have just been wishful thinking. “You’re doing the best you can. There’s only so much you can do as prince.”
“Perhaps.” He bowed his head. “But our best clearly isn’t good enough. I can scarcely believe how spectacularly we’ve failed the people. Whether it’s my father’s fault or that of the governors, something needs to change.”
Haldric paused, considering the wisdom in what he was about to confess. But, well, Benjin had saved his life at least once. And besides, the apprentice already knew enough secrets to destroy him if that were his intent.
“You already know my father desires an alliance with Khordan.” Haldric’s stomach twisted. “But he’s not the only one with schemes for Ilthabard’s future.”
He explained in more detail what his father had told him about Ilthabard’s situation, as well as Duke Westley’s thinly veiled threats at the Summit. Then, he confessed his aunt’s urging for preemptive civil war.
“I don’t know what to do,” Haldric concluded, his shoulders slumping. “No matter which way I turn, I seem destined to fail—to prove my inadequacy as a ruler. Ilthabard deserves better than me.”
He heard a rustling of cloth, and glanced up, his eyes widening when he saw Benjin sitting down next to him. Their sides brushed, sending heat flaring across Haldric’s skin.
“I’m not sure I’m qualified to offer advice on such matters,” Benjin said with a wry grin.
“Most of the intricacies go right over my head.” Haldric’s pulse ratcheted up a notch as Benjin rested his hand on Haldric’s.
“But what I can say is that you need to follow your heart. I know you well enough by now to realize you’re not just some spoiled lordling.
You genuinely want to do the right thing…
which is more than most of the nobility can say. ”
The words touched something deep inside of Haldric, soothing his tangled doubts. Or perhaps that was simply Benjin’s nearness. The gentle clasp of his fingers. The warm press of his side through their cloaks. The soft whoosh of his breath and the welcoming light in his pale gray eyes.
Whatever the cause, Haldric felt what remained of his self-imposed walls crumbling. Sparing a quick glance toward the guards, he gripped Benjin’s hand and wrapped him in a one-armed embrace.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice full of too much emotion to unpack.
Benjin melted in his arm. Returning the embrace, he rested his head against Haldric’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to retire for the night,” he murmured.
“O-of course,” Haldric said. Embarrassed heat flushed his neck. Goddess, what had he been thinking, being this forward?
He started to pull away, but Benjin kept his arm tight around Haldric’s back, refusing to let him go.
“Perhaps you’d care to retire with me,” Benjin said.
His words danced across Haldric’s cheek, followed by a quick nip to his ear that sent a raw pulse of need ricocheting straight to his groin. “Together.”
Growling, Haldric hauled a chuckling Benjin to his feet and half-dragged him toward his tent.
He was far past caring what the guards saw.
Let them gossip among themselves—they were loyal to the Crown, their discretion guaranteed.
Though he really hoped they wouldn’t mention this to Fendrel in the morning.
The instant the tent flap fell closed, Haldric was on Benjin, tearing at his clothes. Benjin did the same, each of them desperate to expose the bare skin underneath.
This time, it was Benjin who ended up on top, tracing his hands over the firm ridges of Haldric’s abs. Haldric squirmed beneath Benjin, delighting in how the motions made Benjin’s eyes flare with obvious lust.
“I didn’t think this would happen again,” Benjin said. Though his tone remained light and playful, Haldric caught a heavier undercurrent beneath.
“Neither did I.” Haldric brushed a loose curl off Benjin’s face. “But try as I might, I couldn’t stay away from you.”
Benjin’s hands stilled on Haldric’s chest. “I…I don’t want to be something you regret, Hal. Or for you to do this out of some twisted sense of obligation because of the ambush.”
Hal.
Letting the nickname go for now even as it sent a thrill of pleasure through him, Haldric tightened his grip on the side of Benjin’s face and pulled him down into a kiss.
Their chests brushed together, slick skin rubbing as they shifted.
Haldric reveled in each small collision—each little reminder that Benjin was still here in his arms.
“The only regret I have is not doing this sooner,” he said as their lips parted. “All that attack did was force me to admit the truth.”
“And what’s that?” Benjin smirked, arching an eyebrow. “That I’m a more powerful mage than you’ll ever be?”
Haldric groaned, playfully swatting Benjin’s chest. “No, you fool. That I couldn’t bear the thought of a future without you in it.”
Benjin’s gaze softened, his humor fading until something akin to wonder replaced it. He kissed Haldric again, slower but more passionate than before, as if he sought to imbue every word he couldn’t say into that singular press of lips.
Or perhaps that was simply Haldric projecting.
He’d thought himself already lost to bliss. But as Benjin pulled away with a wicked grin and lowered his head between Haldric’s legs, Haldric learned the true meaning of the word.
“What is that anyway?” Haldric yawned, bobbing his head toward a wrapped parcel that sat propped against Benjin’s satchel. His fingers lightly traced half-formed sigils in the apprentice’s back.
Benjin stilled against his side. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something more. Then, he shrugged. “Just the package I was sent to fetch for the Grand Magus. Nothing important.”
Haldric frowned but didn’t press. If it mattered, he and Benjin could discuss it once they were back in Revesole. Tonight, all he wanted was to focus on the beautiful man in his arms.
He had just about drifted to sleep when Benjin whispered, “What happens once we return to the palace?”
Haldric took a moment to answer, some of his joy dimming as he told the truth. “I don’t know.”
Benjin twisted so that they faced each other. His arm wound around Haldric, tugging him even closer. “We could always run away together. Forget about the palace and our duties—all of it. Start a new life together, just you and me.”
Though he said it lightly, like it was nothing but a joke, Haldric sensed the thread of seriousness lurking underneath. He forced a strained chuckle, hating how it sounded. “Trust me, Benjin, part of me longs for exactly that. But…”
Benjin burrowed his face into the crook of Haldric’s neck, his voice muffled when he spoke. “I know. Ilthabard comes first.”
Haldric squeezed Benjin, desperate to hold onto him as long as he could. “Whatever happens, we’ll find a way to be together. I promise.”
Benjin nodded, though Haldric could sense his lingering tension. He doesn’t believe me. But then again, Haldric could hardly blame him. Not when he didn’t know whether he believed himself.