Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
L eander’s vision was black around the edges by the time he was forced out of some tavern down by the harbour, and it had nothing to do with the lateness of the hour.
He hadn’t even consumed as much as he had a few nights previously, and there wasn’t a single opiate in sight, so he hazily wondered why he felt so unwell.
He also vaguely wondered at the notion of repercussions from his family if he were to stagger home in his current state. What could they possibly do to him, anyway? There was nothing they could do that he had not already done to himself.
The words spoken by Jarryn in the Wandering Dragon earlier that night had been festering in his mind since first they had been spoken. He had put on a good show while with Lucien and Thiete to act like he had not been affected by the argumentative and opinionated prince’s harsh words. But he was .
He had taken his leave of his other drinking companions a few hours before the midnight chime, seeking out a better distraction, a way to forget.
Jarryn was right, his life was meaningless and he would be forgotten as soon as those last few who knew him also passed into Serai’s underworld kingdom.
His biggest fear was being forgotten.
He knew Jarryn had been projecting, now that his own life had gone up in smoke. Without his powerful name and beloved kingdom, his worth was also insignificant. Prince Jarryn had genuinely believed every word he had said earlier this evening. For them both.
He found himself set adrift yet again. Nothing was as he had pictured it.
He had no idea of where he belonged anymore.
Perhaps there was nowhere he truly belonged.
He didn’t appear to be wanted in either Cariun or Estalian, a child of both worlds but a true citizen of neither of them.
He was lost and alone. But he’d be damned before he let them know they had succeeded in affecting him so deeply.
He had his pride.
It might be all he had.
He was prepared to show them all his indifference.
If only that was truly what he felt. It wasn’t.
He was at heart a lost child looking for a home and someone to love, and for someone to love him in return.
His experience in life thus far told him it would never be.
Everyone he’d put his trust in had failed him, even his mother.
That right to live among his family had been stripped from him, and this new family on earth… well they didn’t seem to want him either.
Leander was becoming increasingly aware that this was unlikely to be a temporary arrangement, at least not as temporary as he had originally thought. He was still stuck in this godsforsaken city where he had been cast out to remain for the rest of his natural life.
He knew what he needed to do. He needed to play the part of an air-headed lordling so well that he could fool everyone in Cariun and Estalian alike.
The problem was… he was just having too much fun.
He had turned harder towards alcohol and gambling and women or men.
Whatever took his fancy of an evening. Anything that involved risk.
Anything that made him feel alive.
Leander was there at the front of the vanguard of life, offering himself up, just to feel something, anything. And he was out of coin yet again. Tonight he had been thrown out of the tavern not for being too drunk, but because he couldn’t pay his tab.
Ridiculous.
He should have stayed with the prince and his friend.
He had promised the barkeeper that he would be back the following day to pay off the lucrative tab he had accrued, as he always did. But it wasn’t enough for the barkeep, who thought he knew Leander’s sort only too well.
Leander stood still for a moment, gripping the outer wall of the inn as he closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning around him.
It took a good two minutes, but he finally felt like he was attached to the ground enough to release his grip on the wall and move one foot, and then the other, and he trudged down the darkened cobbled street to find the next pub, where he would try to get more free alcohol.
But he didn’t get far before he felt a hand roughly slam down on his shoulder and twist him around.
The world lurched and Leander almost lost his footing. Next thing he knew, he was slammed against the wall of the building, head hitting the jagged stone and the air being forced from his lungs at the force of his back hitting the wall.
He cried out, more in shock and alarm rather than in any pain.
“Your money. Now, boy,” came a gruff voice.
Leander blinked once, then twice. “I have none,” he slurred truthfully, raising his hands as if that would prove it.
He didn’t have a single coin on him, the last he had owned had been gambled away just a few minutes ago.
“But by all means, frisk me. Give me a bit of pleasure tonight, because I don’t even have the coin to pay for a whore. .. so you’ll do.”
His assailant stared at Leander, taking a moment to process what he had said. Even in his inebriated state, Leander was quick to understand that this man was not the sharpest arrow in the armoury.
It was always the same with these types: act first and think later… if they thought at all. Leander waited patiently for his words to find their way from the man’s ears and through into his brain. He watched the proverbial penny drop and the man’s eyes darkened.
Despite himself, the demigod snickered. “Don’t hurt yourself, big man.”
The man slammed his fist into the wall, frighteningly close next to Leander’s head. He couldn’t help it, he flinched away.
Leander turned to look at the fist, then back to the man, surprise etched onto his face.
“I want?—”
But the attacker was cut off by a new arrival.
“Back away slowly, or I’ll castrate you,” someone spoke in a low, threatening tone of voice. “You like your balls attached, trust me. Back away.”
Leander watched as an arm snaked around the assailant’s neck—a significantly more palpable threat than the words that had just been spoken. Castration? Sounded rather painful. Not a way Leander would want to go.
Leander looked into his attacker’s eyes and noted the crazed look, almost feral, like he was certain he wouldn’t get away from this unharmed.
A lazy smile returned to Leander’s lips when he realised he was being rescued, and his attacker released him to face this new arrival.
Leander’s knees gave way, simply due to just how sloshed he was.
His attacker had been holding him up while the alcohol continued to coarse through his blood, affecting his faculties and the control he had over his own body.
“Go get ‘em…” Leander muttered just before he vomited over the back of his attacker’s shins and feet.
Distantly, Leander was aware of a brief scuffling fight happening nearby, but he did not pay attention as his body clearly wasn’t done with purging his stomach of whatever he had consumed that day.
Nothing was safe, even his hands fell victim to his vomit.
Leander glared at his hands, as if it was their fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Finally, stomach empty, the world slowed to a more sedate pace.
“Wha’?” Leander uttered, realising someone had spoken directly to him.
The demigod was still glaring at his hands and tried to wipe them along the building to clean them of vomit, before deciding it was pointless and wiping them on the finely embroidered jacket he was wearing. Then he paused in his motions. What the fuck was he doing?
Grumbling to himself, he removed the jacket and threw it into his pile of vomit. He could collect it tomorrow, if indeed he remembered the events of this night.
Finally, he looked into the stormy eyes of his rescuer. He blanched. Once again, Desanne’s exiled prince had found him in a compromising position.
Spectacular.
“I’m fine.” Leander said unnecessarily as he straightened up and took stock of his situation. It could be worse, he supposed.
Leander staggered—that was the best way to describe his gait—down the street. He didn’t get far before he toppled over.
The ground didn’t race up to meet him, however, because the fall was controlled by Jarryn, whose strong arms kept Leander mostly upright.
“Where are you going?”
“This way,” Leander replied thickly, pointing vaguely forward, as if that should be obvious. He glanced up at Jarryn. The alcohol blurring his vision didn’t make the man any less beautiful.
“I think we should return you home, Lord Leander,” Jarryn said slowly, concern etched across his features.
“No.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Did that man box you around the ears?” Leander’s speech was slightly less slurred, and it gave him courage to continue speaking. “I said no.”
Blue eyes flashed. “Do not walk away from me, Leander. Are you injured at all?” The authoritative tone was back, quiet, but Jarryn probably knew that he never had to raise his voice to get what he wanted.
Too addled to fight, Leander allowed Jarryn to take his arm and guide him through the streets of Saeren. “No, I’m not hurt.” He was just a little shaken up, and his head hurt. But that was probably nothing he didn’t inflict on himself.
He realised they were not going to the Talius residence, but towards the royal palace.
Leander said nothing to argue against this destination, however, choosing instead to expend all remaining energy on putting one foot in front of the other.
It was effortful, each step. His feet felt uncommonly heavy and his free arm, the one not being held by Jarryn, was swinging wildly at his side, causing him to lose his balance every few steps.
“I will send word to your father so he doesn’t worry.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I will.”
Leander scowled. The only thing Flavian would worry about was the rumour mill. He wouldn’t care about his youngest son’s wellbeing.
“Have no fear, I will be delicate in my missive.”
Once inside the palace, Jarryn guided Leander down darkened corridors to his own apartments.
“I am concerned about a head injury and that won’t be plain until you are sober, so you will be here for at least a few hours.”
“I don’t think?—”
“Your remaining here is not up for debate, Leander.” Jarryn interrupted, somewhat harshly. “You will either stay here overnight, or I will have some orderlies strap you to a gurney and take you across to the infirmary, where you will remain until the physicians are satisfied.”
Biting his lower lip, Leander slumped down onto one of the plush chairs in the room. He knew he wouldn’t win.
“Accepting help isn’t easy, I know. But I would prefer your pride to be wounded, rather than risk more permanent damage.”
Glancing up, Leander said, “Why? What does it matter to you if I, the disgraced demigod, am injured? What was it you said? Legends fade... something, something…”
Jarryn had approached a table to pour water into two small glasses. He handed one to Leander. “It is not in my nature to, even through inaction, cause the suffering of another. Regardless of who they are.”
“Even a drunkard little slut-seeker like me?”
“Slut-seeker? I hadn’t realised an individual’s worth was rated according to one’s carnal relations.
Is it something we now discuss openly? I must have missed the memo,” the prince replied dryly.
“Either way, who am I to judge how you spend your free time when you know I am a customer of the very same brothel you frequent.”
“Would that that was it,” Leander said sullenly. His head was starting to hurt and he rubbed at his temple, trying to alleviate the pressure building in it.
Jarryn was in front of him in moments, looking into his eyes to ascertain... something.
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not.”
“I will manage well enough on my own, thank you.” Once again, he could feel humiliation and annoyance rising within him.
“Sure.” Jarryn pushed himself back up and returned to his glass of water. “You aren’t, because even the damned God of Lies cannot lie about his core wellbeing and mental outlook.”
“That’s me, living up to my name as a disgraced demigod. How could you expect anything less?”
“Oh, my expectations were low already, and I still find myself disappointed.”
That hurt.
“Get some rest, Leander. I will check in on you later.”