“Boring as fuck.”

With a sigh, Sean plunked himself down on the front step of the run-down stable. He was an oddly pretty young man, beneath the semi-permanent layer of ash and grime smeared across his skin and ground into his hair, with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. There weren’t many people in their tiny village that knew that. Not many looked past the thin, grimy body to see the spark of intelligence in his dark eyes. After five years of this, not many looked at him at all. He had gotten used to it.

Pushing back hair stiff with dirt and sweat, he swatted absently at a bug that was creeping up his arm and muttered to his audience, a rather bored horse, “Cook. Clean. Sew. Look at the pretty scenery and know I’m stuck in the house. That’s all I’ve done since Dad died. Hell, I’ll be dead at thirty at this rate.”

The horse gave a less than sympathetic snort, then batted the side of his head against Sean’s, looking for treats. Sean glared at him. “Yeah, you just keep laughing. See if anybody shovels your shit when I’m gone.”

“Sean!” The familiar shriek, delivered in a voice that could shatter glass at thirty paces, made him wince. “Come here!”

Stephanie. With another bone deep sigh, he stood, wincing as pain jolted up his sore back, and went inside.

The house smelled like it always did, of sweat and dying flowers. There was a new undercurrent of charred food that made Sean grimace. Stephanie had been trying to cook again. Wondering idly what poor idiot she was trying to snare into marriage now, Sean closed the door behind him and froze at the sight before him.

Stephanie was standing in her underwear in the middle of the kitchen, a display he could have done without. As soon as she saw him, she was on him, waving a sheet of paper that had been in her hand. The Royal seal was plastered in one corner.

“You’re going to make me a new dress!” she announced, loudly enough that he could have easily heard her outside, and shoved the paper at him. Her eyes unfocused, almost crossing as she said melodramatically, “The prince is going to have a royal ball to choose his new queen!”

Taking the scroll, Sean tilted his head to read it. His eyes widened as he noticed the name at the bottom. “Prince Micheal? God, he flames so hard that he can’t even walk straight, what the hell is he doing looking for a woman?”

The smack upside the back of his head announced his other stepsister’s presence before Trish could even speak. “Have a little respect!” she commanded, yanking Sean’s hair for emphasis. Noticing the ash left on her fingers, she grimaced and wiped her hand on Stephanie’s dress before continuing haughtily, “Prince Micheal is your future king. He is definitely not a… a fag.” She faltered over the word, spitting it out like it burnt her tongue. With a cruel sneer, she added, “Not like you. Why, Seanie, was that wishful thinking? Disappointed that he’s a real man?”

A smarter woman would have noticed the dangerous anger darkening Sean’s expression. Trish wasn’t a particularly smart woman.

With a nasty little laugh, Stephanie pulled herself up on to the table and sat there, skinny legs swinging as she taunted, “Aw, does Sean want to wear a dress too? Bet you want the prince to tear your garters off and-“

“Hello, Linda,” Sean interrupted, the sweetness of his voice belying his smirk.

Stephanie and Trish’s heads snapped around so fast that it threatened whiplash. Scrambling down from the table, Stephanie chorused with Trish, “Hello, Mother.”

Linda gave a small, private smile and nodded. Setting her bag down, she asked Trish, “What is this ball I heard about?”

Disturbingly enough, Trish almost seemed to bounce with adolescent delight as she explained, “The prince is going to have a ball to choose a wife. And we were invited!”

Sean deigned not to mention that all of the kingdom had been invited, instead going for a glass of water as his stepsisters began to chirp about why they naturally would be the one chosen. Linda’s sudden question took him by surprise, nearly making him drop the glass as she asked, “And you, Sean?”

“And me what?” he demanded defensively, turning to look at her through narrowed eyes.

Her face was unreadable, as usual, as she repeated, “Are you going?”

“Why should I? It’s not like I’m gonna be the guy’s wife.” Setting the glass down before he could break it, he looked away from her steady stare and to the floor. He was squirming under the intensity for a reason he couldn’t quite pin down. “I’ve got no reason to go, even if I wanted to.”

“Besides,” Stephanie put in snidely, “I don’t even think he was invited. God only knows why he would want him when even his own mother didn’t-“

“Stephanie.” Linda’s voice was solid ice, cold enough to stop Stephanie mid-sentence a moment too late. The damage had been done.

Faltering back a step, Sean leveled a hard glare at her. There had to be some kind of response to that, some quick, cutting reply that would ease the pain, but the words seemed frozen in his throat. After several long moments, he gave up with a bitter smile. “You know what, Steph? You’re right. He wouldn’t want me. But God knows he’d have to be blind, stupid and desperate to ever want a cold little bitch like you.”

As she gaped at him, eyes huge in her face, he gave a twisted, smug smile and turned away. “You’re not going to get an apology,” he informed her without turning, one hand resting on the doorway. “I don’t care what Linda does to try to make me give one. I don’t even care what you do. I’m not sorry.” Looking over his shoulder, he gave her a bitter, hard smirk and added, “And you can do your own damned dress.”

The door to his room made a satisfying noise when he slammed it behind him. Slumping into his chair, he stared morosely at the cracked and clouded mirror on his wall. It made him look even dirtier. He could barely see his stepmother as she opened the door and moved into the room to stand behind him. He didn’t have to see her. The soft, familiar sound of the leather belt tapping against her hand was warning enough.

Linda sighed as she moved to stand behind him, watching his shoulders draw together as he tensed for a blow. Instead, she laid her hand on his head, gently running her fingers through his hair, oblivious to its matted and ash-thick state. “Sean,” she murmured quietly, “we keep coming back to this. You know what your father told me on his death bed?”

Sean replied listlessly, “He told you to take care of me. To make sure I grew up right.”

“And does a man who has grown up right call his own sister a bitch?”

“She isn’t my sister.” Twisting his hands until they ached, Sean said angrily, “We’ve been over this.”

“Does a man who has grown up right lie to his mother?”

“You aren’t my mother.”

The belt cracked down in the middle of his back, almost doubling over. He didn’t make a sound, barely flinched. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl of defiance. “I won’t say that I’m sorry.”

Another blow, with a sharper sting this time as the steel buckle snapped against his ribs. Linda was pacing now. “You always say that in the beginning, my little one. You’ll apologize to your sister. You upset her.”

“I’m not sorry.”

With a harsh whistle of air, the belt hit again. He knew without looking that bloody welts were rising on his skin with each hit. “You went out into town again last night. You know what I told you about town. You remember the way they look at you.”

“I’m twenty, Linda.” To his surprise, his voice remained steady. “I have the right to go out.”

The belt cracked down again, harder this time, across the flat of his back. Sean hissed out a breath as she repeated the blow, again and again, until he was driven forward to lean against the table, gasping in a sad attempt not to cry out. When she finally lowered the belt, she was panting, wild-eyed. Her grip was cruel as she jerked his head up, ignoring the pain in his eyes as she hissed, “I am your mother. You’ll call me that.”

In a low, deadly voice, Sean replied flatly, “I’d sooner let you kill me.”

The slap took him off guard, knocking him off the chair with its force. He hit the ground, holding his stinging cheek. When he pulled his hand back, his fingers were bloody. Raising his head, he saw the bloody stone on his father’s wedding ring, the stone that had cut a long slice across his cheek.

Suddenly calm again, Linda smoothed out her hair and skirts, then looked at him with a slight smile. “You don’t have to apologize to your sister,” she said casually, as if the beating hadn’t occurred. “But you will sew her dress as punishment. It’ll be done by the ball this evening.” Moving to the door, she added thoughtfully, “And if you leave this room at all tonight, I’ll beat you until you can’t stand. Am I understood?”

After a long moment of hesitation, Sean ducked his head in submission, hating himself for the surrender. “Yes,” he gritted between clenched teeth. As soon as the door shut behind his now-smug stepmother, he added, “I understand that you’re a bitch.”

It was a pitiful scrap of defiance, but it was all he had left tonight. Climbing awkwardly to his feet as he tried not to jar his back, he dropped onto his bed. Before he could think about it to stop himself, he had the needle and thread in his hands. There was no gentle rhythm to his motions as he started, only angry jerks of the needle through the fabric. A sudden, sharp pain in his hand pulled him out of his thoughts, making him drop the fabric and pull his hand up to his face. Blood welled up from a pinprick in his finger, turning an unnatural color as it mingled with the dirt. It was the last straw.

With a harsh noise, he threw the sewing away and stood. Before he could begin to pace, he caught sight of his own image in the mirror and stopped cold.

He looked like a small, dirty, ugly street child. Too thin, too filthy, too broken to be bothered with. For the first time in her life, Stephanie had been right. Whoever could want him would have to be insane.

The wrenching pain brought on by that thought took him off guard. The tears welling up, blurring his vision, broke him.

Of all the stupid, adolescent reasons to start crying… Swiping fiercely at his eyes with a snarl, he turned away from the mirror and jerked the sheets back from his bed. Crawling in, he pulled the sheets up over his head and curled into a tight ball, blocking out the world as the tears shook him hard.
******
The Royal bedroom smelled satisfyingly of sweat and sex, making Hunter smile drowsily and burrow his cheek against his lover’s chest. He sighed as Micheal’s hand stroked across his hair, petting him as he murmured sweet, forbidden words over and over again, like a prayer. Finally working up the energy to turn his head and kiss Micheal’s chest, he replied softly, “Love you, too.”

All was right in the world for a long, sweet moment. Finally, with a sigh that betrayed how much it cost him to leave the moment behind, Micheal looked at the clock. Hunter winced as he felt him tense, and told him quietly, “Baby, that stupid ball isn’t for another few hours. Relax.”

With a wry smile, Micheal looked up at him through a fall of tawny hair, and Hunter had to fight back the urge to fuck him all over again. “Have I mentioned yet how much I’m going to hate this?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Micheal went on anyway. “I mean, hundreds of giggling, insipid, brainless little village girls climbing all over me, trying to woo me with their ‘feminine wiles’…” Flopping dramatically back on to the pillows, he muttered, “I’d rather you draw and quarter me.”

“Somehow, I don’t think your father would appreciate that.”

“Since when has he appreciated anything?” Looking disgusted, Micheal rolled over on to his stomach to look out the window. Whatever he had planned to say next was lost in a moan as Hunter took advantage of the position to massage his lower back. It wasn’t particularly convincing when he warned, “Don’t think that’s going to distract me.”

“No?” Hunter moved to straddle the back of his thighs and leaned forward until they were pressed together full-length. Pushing hair off the back of Micheal’s neck, he kissed a path down his spine and smirked when Micheal squirmed. “Are we distracted yet?” he breathed into Micheal’s ear, eyes closing in smug satisfaction as Micheal’s hips shifted restlessly beneath his.

Micheal’s chuckle was breathy. “Since when has it been your job to make me feel better?”

“Since the first time you kissed me.”

With a soft snort, Micheal tilted his head to the side to expose his throat for more kisses. “You’re going to spoil me more than I am already. What if I want to feel bad and snap at people?”

“Then I have to keep those people from killing you.” Stroking Micheal’s hair with his fingertips until the other man purred, he asked, “Why does this bother you so much, baby? It’s not like you have to choose a wife, now or ever.”

Micheal nudged Hunter back, rolling over to look up at him. Cupping Hunter’s cheek with a deceptively strong hand, he said firmly, “Because I want them to understand. Because, Captain of my Guard, love of my life, I don’t want a wife. I want you.”

Hunter’s expression softened, a smile taking him off guard. Tilting his head into Micheal’s hand, he asked, “How much time did you say we had?”

Micheal drew him down gently and kissed him. When they parted, he smirked warmly and replied, “Not much. I really should go get ready. So should you. Come take a bath with me.”

Shivering at the familiar heat in Micheal’s half-lidded eyes, Hunter teased, “Purely in the interest of time, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Micheal trailed his fingertips down the curve of Hunter’s ass, his gentle touch belying the soft growl in his voice. “And look, we’re even naked already.”

“Efficient, that.” With a lopsided smirk, Hunter bent and kissed an aimless path down his throat. “But if I get into the bath with you, it might be a long while before we get out again.”

“Ah.” Reaching down to grasp Hunter’s hands, Micheal smiled at him. “I’ve come to an executive decision. We’re going to be fashionably late. Now come on.”

Hunter was happy to comply.
******
Sean half-woke to a low, unfamiliar voice murmuring his name.

“Sean. Kid, you’ll want to wake up now. They’re gone and I need to talk to you.”

There was a pause, in which Sean almost managed to dismiss the voice as just his imagination. As he was burrowing his head into the bundle of dirty clothes that served as his pillow, the voice was back again, closer this time. “Wake up, chico.”

A hand touched his shoulder, and Sean was jolted the rest of the way out of sleep. His head jerked up, jarring his back. He immediately forgot about the pain as soon as focused on the man sitting on his bed.

At first glance, the man seemed almost normal, just an older man with long, dark hair and what looked to be the permanent shadow of a beard. His eyes were warm, friendly. He smelled comforting, like tobacco smoke and something spicier. At first sight, Sean almost relaxed.

Then he caught sight of the other man’s uniform of black leather, with the insignia of the Assassin’s Guild embroidered into the shoulder with dark gray thread that didn’t quite blend in with the black, and the belt knife clipped to his hip. With good reason, Sean started to scramble off the bed.

Alarmed, the assassin clapped one hand over Sean’s mouth, expecting to have to muffle a scream for help. The knee to his stomach took him by surprise, doubling him over on the bed.  Only reflex gave him the strength to grab Sean’s wrists, pinning him to the bed.

“Relax!” he hissed. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Yeah, right,” Sean shot back, “you’re an assassin come to tuck me in. Give me a fucking break.”

“Such language!” The laughter faded abruptly from the assassin’s eyes as he told Sean, “I’m not going to hurt you, because that bitch has hurt you enough tonight. I’m here to help you.” A crooked smirk touched the assassin’s lips. “Y’know. The whole fairy godfather thing, except without the wings and the tutu.”

Tugging at his wrists, though he could feel Scott’s grip like iron, Sean demanded, “Why should I trust you?”

“I could have killed you a thousand times while you were sleeping. I might have…” The assassin tilted his head, studying Sean for a long moment before he added almost fondly, “If you didn’t look so damned much like your father.”

Sean stilled, so abruptly that the assassin almost fell forward on him. “You knew my father?”

“Very well.” With a sigh, Scott explained wistfully, “We were in training together. He made me your godfather. I was there at your birth. I was there at his funeral. And he was at mine.”

If it had been possible, he would have said that Sean’s eyes went even wider. “Excuse me?”

The assassin nodded serenely, as if it was a perfectly normal explanation. “I’ve been dead for seven years. I’d been a bad boy, so I got stuck with babysitting duty, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

There was a certain point where shock just couldn’t get any worse. Watching him with dull surprise, Sean said slowly, “So I get a dead guy for my fairy godfather.”

“A dead assassin, yeah.” Playfully punching Sean’s shoulder, his touch like ice, the assassin said, “Don’t knock it, kid, I take good care of you.”

“Yeah, right, the belt marks on my back say that real well.”

The assassin had the good grace to look contrite. “I can’t do anything about that, chico. I hate watching her hit you, but you’re the only one I can talk to or touch. You’re the only one who can see me. Besides, she’ll get hers, very soon.”

“Sure. Okay. Good excuse.” A moment later, Sean blinked and muttered, “I can’t believe I’m arguing with a hallucination.”

“Hallucination?” Looking down at himself, the assassin said, “Funny, I don’t feel like one. I’m Scott, by the way.”

“Oh. Yay. Nice to meet you.” Grabbing the pillow, Sean pulled it over his head. His next words were muffled. “Now go away before I start doubting my sanity.”

“Too late.” Scott’s hand was heavy and shockingly cold where he laid it on Sean’s stomach. “Would you take that pillow off your head? I’m trying to give you a chance, here.”

For a long moment, there was no response. Then Sean pulled the pillow up and peeked out from beneath, his expression wary. “What kind of chance?”

“Aha.” Sitting back, Scott smirked. “So now you’re interested.”

“Are you gonna tell me or not? Because I can just go back to sleep if not.”

Scott sighed. “You’ve got no sense of drama, chico. I’m here to give you your way out. The one you’ve been looking for since your dad died.”

That got Sean’s attention. Pushing the pillow aside, he sat up, oblivious to the pain, and demanded, “How?”

“The ball.”

“The ball of what?”

Rolling his eyes, Scott explained patiently, “The ball that your so charming stepsisters were babbling about. The one at the castle?”

Sean sat back, bewildered. “How is that supposed to help me?”

“Go to the ball. You’ll find your way out there.”

Disappointed, Sean asked skeptically, “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You know, as fairy godfathers go, you kinda suck.”

“Yeah, and as tact does, so do you.” Scott’s expression softened slightly as Sean looked away. “Look, Sean, I know it sounds strange, and I can’t promise that it’ll be easy, but your dad is the one who told me to do this. He wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I wish you’d stop mentioning him.” Sean’s voice was sulky with an old pain. With a sigh, he looked up at Scott through his eyelashes and studied him for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “How am I supposed to get there and back without Linda noticing? It’s miles from here.”

Tilting his head, Scott asked, “Are you going?”

Sean shrugged, a little too nonchalantly. “Might as well. Nothing else to do tonight.”

Scott chuckled and rumpled his hair, wincing as his hand came away dirty. Tactfully wiping his hand on the leg of his pants, he told Sean firmly, “You’re not going like that.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you have a suggestion?”

Scott’s grin was startling, infectious. “Dead man mojo. Let’s go outside to check out your ride first, okay?”

Sean had the distinct feeling that he didn’t have a choice. Climbing to his feet, he followed Scott out into the yard. He stumbled over the steps, his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness, and turned to look at his godfather. His cynical smirk was audible in his voice as he asked, “Where’s this ride?”

“Just to your left.”

“I don’t see…” Sean turned his head, and was met with twin amber eyes seeming to peer out of the night. He couldn’t help it; he jumped.

A lantern flared to life on the steps, illuminating Scott standing with it in his hand. He was smirking. “Say hello to your transportation.”

Trying to force his breathing back down to a reasonable level, Sean stepped back to look at the owner of the eyes. It was a horse, sleek and as black as the darkness around them. It was slender, well-bred, with a glint in its eyes that probably meant trouble. Eyeing Sean back, it unexpectedly leaned over and gave him a gentle, friendly head butt. Hesitant, Sean laid a reverent hand on its side, then looked at Scott with wide eyes. “You… how?”

“I told you already.” Scott eyed his handiwork and the obvious amazement on Sean’s face with satisfaction. “Fast and beautiful. He’ll get you there. Now, as for you…”

Suddenly nervous again at the look on Scott’s face, Sean backed up. “As for me what?”

“Hey, I warned you that you weren’t going like that.” Striding off the steps, Scott commanded, “Let me look at you.”

With a weary smirk, Sean complied, holding his arms out and waiting for the disgusted look that always came when someone got a good look at him. His eyes widened when Scott didn’t falter, even lingering strategically in his scrutiny. He laughed despite himself. “Are you supposed to be checking me out like that?"”

Scott smirked at him. “I’m your fairy godfather. I didn’t earn the fairy part because I’m ever so delicate and feminine.” So abruptly that Sean started, he straightened and nodded decisively. “Okay. Got it. Close your eyes.”

Sean tensed. “Why?”

“Because I need you to.” Noticing Sean’s expression, Scott sighed. “Chico, this isn’t going to work unless you close your eyes. Just trust me for a minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

It was a command and a near plea rolled up into one. Hesitating for a long moment, Sean warned finally, “If you hurt me, I’ll fucking gut you.”

Scott snorted. “Been there. Done that. Close them.”

With a last, long look, Sean closed his eyes. It was only a moment later before they almost bolted open again as… something… crawled up his skin. It was a maddening feeling, an odd combination of heat and cold that made his skin tingle in the aftermath. His voice was shaky as he asked, “Scott?”

“Shh, chico, it’s all right. Keep your eyes closed.”

Reaching out with a shaking hand, Sean knotted his fingers in the horse’s mane. The tingle was doing odd things, touching places that he thought had frozen over years ago. When it finally stopped, he opened his eyes without waiting to ask Scott. He couldn’t have waited for the reassurance of the lantern’s light. When he spoke, his voice was small in the sudden stillness. “What did you do?”

Without a word, Scott took his wrist and guided it to his own face. Sean’s breath caught in his throat when, instead of the familiar grit of caked dirt under his fingertips, he felt smooth, soft skin. His own. “Oh… shit…” he breathed, his eyes widening. “Holy shit.”

His fingers skimmed over his face like a blind man’s, relearning the territory. He raised his eyes to Scott’s, and before he could ask, the assassin handed him a mirror. Sean began to bring it up, but stopped as his cynicism finally caught up with him.

If he looked, the illusion would be broken. Even if it was real, it couldn’t last. A moment of hope wouldn’t be worth the pain when it all came crashing down. For God’s sake, what was he doing, trusting the word of a psychotic stranger?

With a sigh, he pushed the mirror down and shook his head. “I can’t.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue, then caught sight of Sean’s expression and stopped himself. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he took the mirror back. Sean wasn’t sure where it went, but it was suddenly gone when Scott reached up to touch his cheek and smile fondly. “You clean up nicely, chico. And God, you look so much like your dad…”

Sean looked away, searching for a distraction. Finally settling on the horse, he began, “Look, man, this was really nice of you, but-“

“But you’re still looking for a way out of going.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Sean argued, “I just… can’t, don’t you get it? You’re a couple years too late. I gave up on getting out years ago.”

Scott snorted. “Bullshit. You’re the son of the two founders of the Assassin’s Guild, chico. You were not meant to spend your life sewing dresses and shoveling shit. You have to get out before they break you.” Gently punching his shoulder, he added, “Besides, I didn’t conjure up that outfit for you to sit around on your ass.”

Startled, Sean looked down at himself. His eyes went wide as he took in the butter-soft, lace-up black leather pants that clung to his legs like a second skin, and the deep black, button-down satin shirt that almost hung from him. He shifted, expecting coarse fabric, and shivered at the touch of soft cloth. Reality sank in, making him falter. Risking a look at Scott, he asked softly, “I’m not imagining this, am I?”

“That’s kinda what I’ve been telling you…” Scott replied patiently.

“How? Why?”

“Does it matter?” Stepping forward, Scott gripped his arms. “You’d better get going, chico. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the one who’s waiting for you.” Before Sean could ask, Scott leaned forward and kissed his forehead. For a moment, his lips were almost warm. “For the record, you look damned good. Maybe when you get back you’ll see that for yourself. For now…” The swat to his ass made Sean jump. Scott grinned. “Get going. Just be back by midnight.”

Sean stared at him, fighting himself one last time, then sighed, threw caution to the wind and grabbed the reins. Hauling himself up, he swung his lean body into the saddle and guided the horse in the direction of the castle. Casting a crooked, grateful grin at Scott over his shoulder, he turned his attention to the road ahead of him. A moment later, he was gone.

As soon as the sound of hoofbeats faded, Scott looked up at the sky and murmured, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
******
From a mile away, he could hear the sounds of celebration coming from the castle. It made both him and the horse uneasy. When he reached the outside, making sure to keep to the shadows, he eased the horse to a stop. It tossed its head restlessly, shifting on its hooves. Sean had the nervous urge to do the same as he watched the people, dressed in finery and draped in jewels, go to the door.

God, he didn’t belong here with these people. A few hours ago he had been scrubbing floors and cleaning stables. A few hours ago they had been luxuriating in a hot bath, without work to worry about. They were cultured and well-bred; he was coarse, the bastard son of killers. If he was caught…

Sean bit back the fear, his grip on the reins tightening until his knuckles went white. No. He wouldn’t run. He hadn’t come all this way to run home like a scared stable boy on his first trip to the whorehouse. After Scott had done… whatever he had done… to arrange this, he owed it to the man to at least go in.

Sliding off the saddle, Sean reached up and tied the reins to the railing of the front steps. When the horse turned his head to nuzzle him, his eyes wide with anxiety, Sean made a soothing noise and stroked his flank. “Easy. You’ll be okay. I’ll just be in there for a little while, I promise.”

The horse seemed to understand, settling down reluctantly. With a last bite to Sean’s hair, he meandered back and began to graze on the grass in the garden. Sean smirked and turned away, leaving one hand on the wall to steady himself as he looked up the stairs to the castle. It seemed like it was an eternity away, cold, unreachable.

Taking a deep breath, he began to climb. With every step, it got easier. Until he reached the top step.
He almost stumbled as he saw the past the open doors what waited inside. With the halting step of a man in shock, he wandered closer, risking a look at the whole room.

The great hall had been designed to be shockingly huge. The walls were paneled with mahogany wood and polished mirrors, reflecting back the dancers hundreds of times. An equally polished chandelier, lit with more candles than Sean wanted to count, let alone light, hung above their heads, casting a circle of light that made the rich seem richer and left the corners shadowed. Members of the Royal Guard paced the shadows, watching every motion. Even as Sean stood frozen, a lean man with amber hair turned an unnervingly steady look on him, apparently memorizing him for future reference in case he needed target practice.

Sean swallowed and shied away, wincing as the doorframe pressed into his side. The urge to run pounded through his veins, making his head feel light, making him feel trapped despite the size of the room. Before he could think about it, he was backing away from the light, into the safety of the night away from this place.

The smell of food made him pause. His stomach responded despite his near panic, wrenching and growling ominously. It had been so long since he last ate, and the food smelled so good… Licking his lips anxiously, Sean looked for the source. The food table was hidden in the shadows, and the trays still steaming. The need for hot food outweighed his fear. Sean moved along the wall until he reached the table, ignoring the steady weight of the guard’s eyes.
******
The ball hadn’t been as bad as he thought. It had been worse.

With a charming, practiced smile, Micheal gave his wildly blushing, probably drunk dance partner a half-bow and excused himself as he backed away. While she was still stammering a reply, he ducked away into the darkness around the hall with a grateful sigh. Tugging a hand through his hair, he grinned at the kitchen aide who handed him a cup of wine, then began to look for his lover. He needed something to steady him before he was shoved out into the fray again.

As well-trained as his Hunter had been in hiding, the glint of his sword hilt betrayed him. Micheal smirked, meandering his way closer. Hunter didn’t acknowledge him, even as Micheal leaned close against him. To a casual observer, it would have seemed like simply a prince giving his head guard instructions. A casual observer wouldn’t have heard Micheal murmur into his throat, “Mmm, can’t resist a man in uniform.”

“Micheal,” Hunter replied almost conversationally, “get your hand off my ass.”

Micheal smirked, risking a nuzzle to his shoulder. “Well, it would attract attention if I had my hand in your pocket.”

The tension in Hunter’s voice made Micheal raise his head. “I am trying to protect you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I’m standing right next to you. If something happened to me, it’d be hard to miss.” Looping an arm around Hunter’s shoulders, earning himself a raised eyebrow from a passing couple, Micheal murmured, “You don’t have to be this protective, baby. I don’t carry this many concealed weapons for the hell of it.”

“Concealed weapons won’t help if an assassin guts you.” Hunter sighed in exasperation as Micheal kissed his shoulder, hidden by his hair. Nudging Micheal away, he nodded towards the food table. “Go eat something. Soak up the wine you’ve been drinking.”

“Yeah, yeah.” With a smirk, Micheal rubbed his fingertips down the curve of Hunter’s ass, kneading gently. “I will if you relax before you strain something.” Noticing a brunette in an atrociously ugly dress wiggling her fingers at him, Micheal winced and stepped away from Hunter, who was barely suppressing a smirk. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be politely running away now.”

Hunter hadn’t been the only one who had learned how to use the hall’s shadows to his own advantage. After a lifetime of having to run from the ire cooks, nursemaids and teachers, Micheal knew exactly how they would ebb and flow around him. Overconfidence and haste made Micheal move without looking. He might have escaped without a hitch, if someone else hadn’t been hiding in his shadows.

They collided. Micheal managed to keep to his feet, but the other person hit the ground gracelessly and hard. The fall jerked a soft gasp out of them, startling Micheal out of his shock. “Oh, shit,” he muttered fervently, forgetting for a moment the diplomacy that his father had drilled into him since he was six. Dropping to his knees, Micheal offered his victim a hand. “I’m so sorry.”

The person raised their head, dark hair sliding out of their face, and for the first time Micheal realized that it wasn’t a ‘Miss’. The face, the dark eyes looking up at him were anything but feminine. The young man backed away from him, eyes wide with near-panic. “I-it’s okay,” he managed. “Don’t worry about it. I should’ve been looking. I’m sorry.”

With every other word, the young man was casting uneasy looks towards the guards. Micheal sat back on his heels, offering a reassuring smile, and told him in a voice usually reserved for steadying nervous colts, “Relax. I’m not gonna sic the guards on you. It was my fault. Now c’mon, let me help you up.”

Hesitating for a moment, the other man warily accepted his hand. It was alarmingly easy to pull him up to his feet. As soon as he could, just a moment sooner than courtesy would allow, the other man pulled his hand away and backed up. Micheal had the distinct feeling that if he wasn’t standing in the way, the young man would have gone for the door. Skittish kid… Crossing his arms as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them otherwise, he said softly, “Look, I’m sorry. I was just leaving-“

“Why?” Micheal asked, not stepping out of the way. “Don’t you have to wait for your sister or someone?”

To his surprise, the young man’s expression hardened, the first sign of fire sparking to life in his eyes. It was encouraging. “I’m not related to any of these people.”

“No?” Leaning against the wall, Micheal asked curiously, “So why are you here?”

With a weary laugh, the young man looked away. “I have absolutely no idea.”

Micheal chuckled, startling the young man into looking at him. “Oh, so that makes two of us.” Noticing the young man’s expression, he asked, “What? You think I like this?”

“But… you’re royalty. You belong here. This is your home-“

Micheal snorted. “Yeah, sure. In uncomfortable clothes, around the fawning hundreds that have no idea what I’m like and could honestly care less as long as I make them my queen. I’d rather stab myself and twist the knife a few times.”

The young man studied him through narrowed eyes, tilting his head like a curious wolf. Finally, he said, “I don’t understand you.”

“Well, give it a few hours and you might.” Curiosity tugged at him, and as usual he didn’t fight too hard. Holding out his hand, Micheal offered, “If you’d like, maybe if you stay we could be out of place together?”
******
If it had been possible, Michael could have sworn that the kid’s eyes went even wider. The expression didn’t linger long enough for him to be sure, because they narrowed as some realization seem to strike him. His voice was weary as he said, “You’re kidding.”

Startled, Michael replied, “Of course not. Why would I be?”

The weight of cynicism added years to the young man’s face as he echoed doubtfully, “You want to be around me.”

Tilting his head, Michael offered him a gentle smile. “Can you give me a good reason why I shouldn’t?”

The kid stared at him, obviously wondering if the prince was insane. In a low voice, he explained patiently, “You’re a prince. I’m a commoner. I’m nothing to you-“

Michael laughed, making him start. “Look, that doesn’t matter to me. I’m just the prince because I was lucky enough to be born to my father rather than a farmer. It’s not like I earned this. I was born wet and naked and hungry, just like you. I’m not anything special.”

The stranger’s breath rushed out, and he shook his head, a strange expression on his face. “Oh, no. Believe me, you’re special.”

To Michael’s surprise, the soft, sincere words warmed him. After twenty-four years of court ladies singing his praises with almost every breath, a stranger’s stray comment touched him where their words couldn’t. Offering him a warm smile, he murmured, “Thank you.”

The stranger gave him a hesitant smile back, still looking like he expected a punch for his trouble. “You’re welcome, your Majesty.”

And they were back to the drawing board. With a mental sigh, Michael shook his head. “Okay. Let’s try this again. How about we go from the beginning, and this time you pretend I’m not the prince?” When the stranger gave him a doubtful look through indecently long eyelashes, Michael held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Michael. What’s your name?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the stranger sighed and took his hand. His hand was warm, dry, strong with years of work. Despite his strength, his grip was gentle around Michael’s hand. “Sean,” he said shortly. “I’m Sean.”

“Sean.” Without stopping to think about it, he drew his hand up and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Sean’s hand. He could feel Sean start slightly at the touch, and looked up with an encouraging smile. “It’s a beautiful name. I like it.”

Sean swallowed, his eyes wide. Glancing down as if the floor was suddenly of great interest, he managed, “I like yours. Michael.” Risking a look through his eyelashes, he added, “Like the angel.”

Michael had the sudden, unexpected urge to duck his head and blush. Clearing his throat, he used his grip on Sean’s hand to urge him towards the edge of the dance floor. “So, Sean. Would you like to help me make my father’s eyes bug out of his head?”

Startled, Sean looked up and met his eyes, searching his face. After a moment, he tilted his head and asked suspiciously, “Can’t you order me to help you?”

“Ah, ah. I’m not the prince, remember? If you don’t want to, I won’t make you.” Watching with fascination as the expressions flickered over Sean’s face, he slid his hand up to grip Sean’s narrow shoulder. “Would you like to help me?” he asked again, more gently this time. “Please?”

Sean wavered, then gave another sigh that seemed to go through his lean body. “Sure. Why not?”

Michael couldn’t hold back his bright smile. Inclining his head, he intoned, “Thank you. Now come with me.”

With that, he drew him out of the shadows and into the light.
******
The castle ballroom had been designed to be beautiful at any cost. The floors were paneled with the finest dark wood, the ceilings painted with silver and indigo. Every wall was lined with mirrors that reflected back the faces of the dancers and the richness of their finery. The mirrors were edged with crystal that splintered the light into fractured colors that flashed and shifted with every change of the light. It was the most magnificent thing Sean had ever seen.

It didn’t matter. As soon the exposing light hit him, Sean’s first reaction was to bolt.

Or try to. Michael’s grip on his shoulders held him back, trapping him. He struggled for a moment against the grip, until Michael said, alarmed, “Sean, settle down… it’s all right!”

Choking back a years-old fear, Sean forced himself to relax. As he did, Michael slowly, cautiously eased his grip. Closing his eyes against the familiar look of contempt that he knew had to be on the prince’s face, Sean shrugged away from his hand and took a step away. After a few deep breaths, he pulled himself together enough to look up. “Sorry, your Majesty.”

Michael’s laugh took him by surprise, making him look up at the other man without thinking. Instead of contemptuous, the prince looked curious now. “Are we back to this again? It’s just Michael.” Tilting his head, he asked in concern, “Are you all right? You look pale.”

“I am. I… don’t get out a lot, actually.”

“Really? Well, we should fix that. Maybe you’d like to go with me sometime. Get some sun?”

The empty promises were starting already, and they’d only known each other for all of ten minutes. Sean smirked darkly, looking away. No matter what Michael wanted to pretend, he was definitely royalty through and through. Pushing hair out of his eyes, still somewhat caught off guard by the fact that it felt clean between his fingers, he asked pointedly, “What was it you said about making your father’s jaw drop?”

“Ah, yes.” Looking over his shoulder at the distant man on the throne, Michael smiled crookedly, suddenly looking like nothing but a young rogue in fine clothing. “All I need you to do is play along with me for a while. Okay?”

Doubtfully, Sean echoed, “Okay.” He started as Michael’s arm slid around his back, urging him a step closer. “What-?”

“Easy.” As his hand settled on the curve on Sean’s back, Michael gently took his other hand and urged it up. “Just trust me.”

The easy way he said it made it painfully obvious that he had no idea what he was asking. Unreassured, Sean stared at him through half-lidded eyes, trying to ease his hand away. When Michael patiently pulled it back and began to lead him backwards, he demanded, “What are you doing?”

“Leading,” Michael replied calmly, guiding them both through a half-turn with an ease born of years of practice. When Sean gave him a blank look, he explained, “It’s one of those things you do in dancing.”

Alarmed, Sean tried to pull his hand away. “Dancing?” he hissed.

Michael laughed, utterly undaunted. “Yes, dancing. Never done this before, I take it?”

A rush of bittersweet memory hit Sean in a rush, making him look away. Memories of the last summer he’d been allowed to attend. It had been the last one before his father’s death, and held on a beautiful night. Just cool enough to be comfortable, just balmy enough to be lulling. That had been the same summer that he discovered that he didn’t want to dance with just the women, scaring the hell out of himself in the process. Dad hadn’t much cared. Too bad Linda had.

Shaking the thought away, Sean offered him a wan smile. “Yeah. Years ago. With girls.”

Eyes widening, Michael asked, “You’re not interested in men?”

“No. No, I am,” Sean reassured him quickly, smiling as Michael gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I’m just used to leading. It’s probably better than you do it, though. I’m rustier than hell.”

“I think you’re doing just fine. I’m not really used to leading either, so it works out.” Michael hesitated, then moved a little closer and shifted his hand down to the small of Sean’s back. Sean bit back a sigh of relief as it moved away from the belt-lashes on his back. “Is this okay?”

The warmth of his hand settled into place even through a layer of clothes, almost making Sean’s breath catch. It had been too long since someone touched him without hurting. “Fine,” he managed weakly. “It’s fine.”

“Good.” His fingers gently pressed against the base of Sean’s spine, kneading. “Except you’re still all tense. Relax. This is supposed to be a fun thing, remember?” Michael studied him for a long moment, his eyes searching Sean’s a little too intensely. With a sigh, he said, “Look. If you’re worried about getting in trouble with my father over this, don’t. I’ll make sure you get home okay.” His eyes focused on something over Sean’s shoulder, and he smiled. “In fact…”

With one smooth half-turn, Michael urged him around. He tilted his head towards someone in the shadows. “That’s the captain of my guard, Hunter. I’ll send him home with you if you want. He’ll keep you safe.”

Sean bit back a groan as he recognized the guard’s halo of amber hair, a dead giveaway even if half-light. It was the guard from before, all right. And if anything, those hazel eyes were narrowed in an even more piercing glare. “Something tells me that he isn’t very fond of me.”

“Hunt? You don’t have to be afraid of him, he’s a kitten.” Peering back through the shadows, Michael smirked. “Ah. He’s glaring. Don’t worry, he’s glaring at me. You just happen to be in the way.”

That thought wasn’t entirely reassuring. Especially considering the fond note in Michael’s voice as he spoke of the guard, and the possessiveness in Hunter’s dark glare. Something in Sean’s stomach wrenched at the realization that Michael was taken, that he was just a temporary replacement because Michael wasn’t allowed to be near the one he really wanted. He angrily shoved the pain down. It wasn’t like Michael had ever hinted that it was anything more than pity. What did he expect, the prince to fawn at his feet?

He started as Michael’s voice breathed unexpectedly in his ear, “There you go with that tension thing again.”

Guilty without really knowing why, Sean ducked his head. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Tilting his head, Michael asked, “Penny for them?”

“Nah. I don’t think so.”

Michael accepted that with a shrug. Then, with another quicksilver change of moods, he reached for Sean’s free hand and moved it to rest on his own hip. “There,” he said cheerfully. “That’s how it goes. I thought something was a little off.”

Sean swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away from where his hand rested. Michael’s skin felt hot against his hand. His pants were a rich brown buckskin, so obscenely tight that he could read the line of his hipbone through them. “I… uh… okay…” he managed finally. “Do they make those any tighter?”

One elegant finger trailed down his hip, almost petting him, before Michael smiled and put his hand on Sean’s back, a little lower than before. “Yours are just as tight.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Silently cursing Scott for making the damned pants so tight, and blessing him for making the shirt long enough to hide the front from view, Sean offered him a weak smile.

Michael’s laugh flowed like warm honey down his spine. “You’re blushing.”

Glancing up, Sean met his eyes. He could feel his cheeks burning. “Well, you started it.”

Startled, Michael laughed again and reached up to caress his cheek. The touch lingered like a burn as he added easily, “It’s cute.”

Sean swallowed, glancing away to collect his thoughts before he could embarrass himself further. Damn, what was wrong with him tonight?

Whatever interest his body had taken in Michael’s touches faded like dust in the wind as he caught sight of the dagger-glares the rest of the guests were shooting at him. His heart skipped a beat under the collective weight of the rich guests’ malice. They looked like they wanted to rip him apart right here for daring to go where he shouldn’t be.

For a moment, he almost believed them, almost faltered as Linda’s words echoed in his head. He should run. He was the son of killers, raised in poverty and taught to kill. This wasn’t his place. This was weakness. He shouldn’t want this.

To his surprise, the lean arm wrapped around him pulled him closer, up against Michael’s body. Warm lips brushed against the curve of his ear as Michael murmured, “Ignore them. They can’t do anything to hurt you. I told you, I won’t let them.”

The poor, naïve fool. He didn’t know. He trusted his guard to be able to protect him against these people. He expected the rich lords and ladies to have enough honor not to claw and plot and attack. He didn’t know that they regularly killed each other in rigged duels, murdered each others’ children in their beds and called it bed death, beat their children and their servants, thought themselves better than gods. Tilting his head up, Sean started to warn him and caught sight of Michael’s eyes.

He was glaring at the other guests. And the guests were backing down.

With a soft noise of disgust, Michael looked back at Sean. “Like sheep. They don’t have the nerve to attack you if they know that you’re under my protection.” Noticing Sean’s expression, he asked, “What?”

Swallowing, Sean looked back and forth from the cowed guests to Michael. “They’re your lords and ladies. You’re risking angering them, to protect me?”

Michael sighed, looking suddenly weary. “Take my word on this one, Sean. No matter what they say, no matter who owns the lands, you are much better than they are.” A playful grin lit up his face, banishing the shadows. “For one, you dress better. I mean, damn. Just look at her, for example.”

Curious, Sean followed Michael’s gaze, and almost choked as he recognized who Michael had been talking about.

Standing beside Hunter, rubbing his arm and obviously having decided that if she couldn’t have the prince she’d go for someone in uniform, was Stephanie. Or what looked like Stephanie, if she wrapped herself up in a ragged set of curtains that someone had thrown away. A ragged, painfully bright purple set of curtains. The fabric was tight in all the wrong places, loose in the rest, long enough that she kept tripping over it and short enough that her cleavage threatened to spill out of the top. All in all, it was a perfect example why one should never wear a dress created by a vindictive dead ex-assassin.

Sean couldn’t hold back the urge to laugh.

The sound, a low, easy laugh that Sean could barely recognize as his own, seemed to take Michael by surprise. His startled look only made it worse. Without thinking, Sean buried his face against the curve of Michael’s throat, trying to muffle his laughter. Charmed, Michael pulled him a bit closer, his breath catching as Sean’ s stomach pressed against his. As the laughter died down, Sean was left leaning against him for a little longer than necessary, for the first time relaxed in his arms. It could be addictive.

Sean realized absently that he shouldn’t feel this safe, curled up against a man he barely knew, vulnerable except for the protection of Michael’s arms wrapped around him. The shelter of the crook of his neck smelled good, of the same spices that scented the thick hair that spilled over it. Sean was suddenly, dangerously tempted to run his tongue over the curve to see if he tasted like the spices, too. Wincing as his common sense caught up with him, he reluctantly raised his head to meet Michael’s eyes.

The prince smiled at him warmly. “So you do laugh. I was wondering.”

“Sorry.” Casting a sidelong glance at Stephanie, who would be wrapped around Hunter if he didn’t keep prying her hands off as politely as possible despite his growing desperation, Sean smirked. “I know her.”

“And you don’t like her, I take it?” Noticing the looks on the faces of the people around them, Michael sighed and began dancing again for the sake of appearance. When Sean smirked and shook his head, Michael noticed for the first time the fresh, jagged cut on his cheekbone. Without thinking, he trailed his thumb over the cut and asked, “What happened here? That’s going to scar.”

Sean’s eyes widened. Damn, he had forgotten about that cut. Searching for an excuse, distracted by the touch of Michael’s hand, he managed weakly, “An animal attacked me this morning. I was hunting.”

Concerned, Michael demanded, “You hunt alone?”

“Yeah. It was the way my father taught me.” He didn’t add what, or more properly who, his father had been teaching him to hunt. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous to do that, Sean, you could have been hurt.” Holding him still, Michael said intensely, “I know I already owe you a favor, but I’m going to ask you for another. The next time you go hunting, go with me. Otherwise I’ll worry.”

Sean swallowed thickly, feeling his pulse quicken. He was lying. He had to be lying. No one worried about him, least of all someone who couldn’t get anything back by it. “Sure. Yeah, okay.”

Regarding him with a doubtful look, Michael offered, “Tomorrow, then?”

Reality fell back into place with a sickening jolt. There would be no tomorrow. He’d have to go back tonight, back to the shack in the middle of nowhere village, back to cleaning the stalls, back to Linda’s beatings. The charade was over.

“I’m sorry,” he managed faintly. “I-I can’t.”

“Sean?” That sweet concern was back in Michael’s voice, reflected from every angle in his eyes. Over his shoulder, the great clock over the throne began to toll the hour.

Backing away, his entire body feeling cold and bereft from the sudden loss of warmth, Sean stumbled towards the door. The guests were glaring at him again, glowering, killing him with the weight of their eyes, and this time he couldn’t be protected. He was on his own. As always.

“Sean!”

He turned his back on Michael and ran. As he passed through the shadows, someone grabbed his arm. He caught the sight of thick blond hair and hazel eyes that were almost warm with surprise, then jerked his arm out of the guard’s grip and kept going.

It was raining outside, a steady and fierce downpour that tried to beat him down into the steps. The sound of raindrops drilling against marble steps almost managed to drown out Michael’s voice calling after him, calling him back. With a curse that was lost to the wind, he rounded the corner to where his horse had been tied.

The horse was frantic by now, reacting to the storm and the look on its master’s face, jerking violently at the reins that bound it to the castle. Tugging them loose, Sean barely managed to climb onto its back before the horse was off, headed for the woods and home. Sean could hear shouting from the castle behind them now. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the outline of Michael standing on the steps, staring after them. Within a moment, the shadow of the guard moved close beside him, taking his arm and leading him inside. Out of the rain. Out of sight. Gone.

Sean swore violently and turned his attention back to the horse, yanking on his reins to urge him to a faster speed. That turned out to be a mistake. The path through the woods was lined with leaves now wet and slippery with rain. As the horse rounded the next corner, its leg twisted out from under it and both he and Sean fell heavily to the ground.

Midnight had come.

What felt like hours passed, lost to the pain and the storm, but it was only minutes before Sean raised his head from the dirt. The fine clothes were gone, replaced by the thin rags that did nothing to keep out the rain. With a disgusted sigh, he propped himself up and felt for an injury. Dirt and God only knew what else were ground into the wounds on his back, almost insuring an infection to come. His ribs ached horribly, but there was no tell-tale fire of a broken bone. He could walk. Even if he had lost one shoe somewhere along the way.

Something nuzzled his ear, and he turned to look at the horse. Instead of a black stallion, Linda’s ancient gray plow horse blinked back at him. He reached out and petted its muzzle, more for his own comfort than anything else, then carefully stood. The horse followed suit and took a stumbling step forward. Its leg wasn’t broken, but it was limping. There would be no more riding tonight.

With another heaving sigh, he wrapped the tattered reins around his hand and began the long walk home.

The lights were on when he reached the house after putting the horse in its stable, toweling it off and rewarding it with a carrot. He could hear Linda’s voice as he wearily climbed the stairs and stood in front of the door. It swung open before he could knock, and his stepmother peered out. Her gray eyes were cold with fury as she commanded tersely, “Sean. Come in here.”

There was nowhere else to go. He couldn’t escape. He obeyed, greeted by the soft tap of the leather strap against Linda’s hand.

As soon as he shut the door behind him, the beating began.
******
The ball meant to find Michael a bride ended rather abruptly that night, when the prince himself refused to return to the ballroom. Hunter had lost track of him within minutes, occupied by gently and politely herding the guests out the door. Judging by the massive complaining that he’d been forced to listen to, the king would have his diplomatic skills put to the test tomorrow morning. But that wasn’t his concern tonight. His only concern was his lover.

He found Michael standing in the rain again, his back to the door as he stared into the darkness. His annoyance faded as he noticed the prince’s miserable state, the slump to his shoulders and the way his clothes were plastered to his body. Stepping through the doorway, he moved to stand beside him. “Michael,” he murmured in a low voice, trying not to startle him, “you’re going to make yourself sick if you keep standing out here.”

Michael shrugged one shoulder, but didn’t move. If he stared hard enough, Hunter could see him shiver. “I’m trying to pretend that if I stand here long enough, he’ll come back.”

The sudden, unexpected stab of jealousy hit Hunter like a punch, catching him off guard. “That boy from before?”

“That boy from before.” Raising haunted, bewildered eyes to Hunter’s, Michael said, “He ran, Hunt. He ran like he was afraid of me. And I’m not even the fucking king yet!”

So that what the problem was, then. He could almost feel guilty about the rush of relief that washed over him. Resting one hand on Michael’s shoulder, he soothed, “It wasn’t you. I was watching him since he came through that door. He was afraid before he even saw you. Probably just some beaten farmer’s son, spooked by rich people. I don’t blame him.”

“And I dragged him out into the middle of it.” With a curse, Michael moved away from him, down a few steps. “Damn!”

“Michael…”

“Don’t.” Raking a hand through his wet hair, he took another few steps down. “I don’t think it was just that he was scared, Hunter. Something was wrong. He’s in trouble. And he looked so goddamn familiar…”

“Baby, you’ve never seen him before in your life-“

“You recognized him too.” Michael turned to face him, a tired and humorless smile on his face. “He looks like someone I knew. I just can’t figure out who.”

Hunter bit his lip, then looked away and lied, “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way either of us could recognize him. It’s impossible.” Noticing that Michael wasn’t paying attention to him, instead focused on something in the grass, he asked, “What?”

“A shoe.” Before Hunter could ask, Michael was bolting down the stairs. He knelt in the grass, heedless of his clothes, and held it up to the weak light from the doorway. A slow smile spread across his face as he looked back over his shoulder at Hunter. “Hunt, do you know what this means?”

“He had a small foot? What?”

“We can find him with this!” Rising to his feet, Michael almost bolted up the stairs and threw his arms around Hunter. “We’ll search the land-“

“Whoa. Whoa. What the hell are you talking about?” Hunter paused, then held Michael out at arms length and demanded, “And what do you mean, we?”

“He’s in trouble, Hunt. We’re going to find him. You and me.” When Hunter started to protest, Michael touched his lips with a fingertip. “Please, baby? Give me at least a week? That’s all I’m asking.”

“And if we don’t find him?”

“I’ll give up.” Pressing his cheek to Hunter’s shoulder, Michael fixed him with a pitiful look. “C’mon, baby, please? What could one week hurt?”

Hunter started to argue, then sighed and let his head drop. “If I don’t agree, will you just find another guard who will?”

“Probably. But I’d rather it was you. I want you with me.”

The soft words breathed against his throat soothed his anxiety, melting the ice that had been growing in his stomach since he saw Michael dancing with the strange young man in the center of the floor. Taking a deep breath, he drew Michael closer and asked shakily and without looking up, “Do you mean that, or are you just saying it so I’ll go with you?”

“Of course I mean it!” Gripping his chin, Michael pulled his head up and stared at him. “Baby, I love you, remember? Remember that I said it was for forever? I meant that. What did I do to make you doubt it?”

“Nothing.” Hunter gave a shaky laugh and hugged him hard, burying his cheek against the wet hair. “Nothing, baby, really. I was just being a fool.”

Michael’s arms slid around him, tightening when Hunter didn’t pull away. “Do you love me, too?” he asked, his words muffled against Hunter’s shoulder.

“Of course I do.” Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, Hunter murmured, “Always.” When Michael sighed, he chuckled. “And yes, brat. You can have your week.”

Michael lifted his head, caught Hunter’s smile and beamed. “Thank you,” he murmured, then leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

“You know that you’re welcome.” Nudging him back, Hunter held him at arms length and said sternly, “Now. Inside, before we both drown.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Michael declared, “Thank God,” and slipped out of his arms. In less than a minute, he was inside and gone, headed for the bedroom. Hunter was left with the urge to laugh at him, but bit it back. Appearance was appearance, after all.

As he was headed inside, he couldn’t help a glance over his shoulder at the woods, tracing the direction where the stranger had gone. When he realized what he was doing, he shook himself hard and turned away, shutting the heavy front doors behind him, locking them against a stranger’s familiar face.
******
He could taste blood and ashes mingling in his mouth as he slowly woke to pain. Someone was touching him, shaking him gently and calling his name. He ignored it. Even if he could have pried open his eyes, swollen almost shut by bruises, he didn’t care enough to look anymore.

“Sean. Chico, open your eyes.”

Scott. A bitter smile twisted his lips. He could taste blood as his lip split open again. “I’ve noticed,” he managed hoarsely, his voice a barely audible rasp, “that you always show up right after I need you. Convenient for you, isn’t it?”

The hand on his back twitched. Its cold felt good against his back, cooling the feverish pain where Linda had beaten him again. Damned if he would admit it, though. “God… kid, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would happen.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tilting his face into the grit of the ashes, recognizing finally that Linda had thrown him out into the yard when he’d passed out under the belt, he almost smiled. “I think you did me a favor, actually. This put me back in my place better than anything else could’ve.” Scott made a small noise of pain. Agony streaked up his back as he gave a short, weary laugh. “What? You thought I was fucking stupid enough to cling to one night that I can never have again?”

“This isn’t the way it’s going to end, Sean-“

“Of course.” With a sigh, Sean wrapped his arms tighter around himself for comfort that was shallow at best. “I don’t need the lies anymore, all right? The fairy tale’s over. You can go.”

Scott’s hand hesitated on his back. His fingers gently nudged apart the shreds of his shirt, exposing the wounds on his back. Sean could hear his breath hiss out as he realized how much worse they had become. “These are covered with dirt. You need to clean them out before-“

“She won’t let me.”

“Kill her, then.” Scott said it like it was the automatic response, the true sign of an assassin.

Sean’s harsh laugh echoed off the stones of the courtyard. “I can’t get up, Scott. I can’t see. I can’t overpower her like this. Even if I did, there’s no Assassin’s Guild left for me to go to for help. It was dissolved after my father died. I’d be running like a dog until the guards caught and killed me. There’s nothing I can do! She’s won, don’t you understand that? She’s finally won.”

Hands tightened on the scraps of his shirt. “It’ll get better-“

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Kid-“

“Leave.” Sean’s voice was low, but cold and hard as iron. “Say hello to my father for me. Thank him for showing me what my life is really supposed to be.”

For a moment, the touch of cold on his back lingered, as if Scott was trying to figure out what to say to make it better. Then he sighed, and the touch was gone, leaving Sean alone.

Closing his eyes, he drew in a shuddering breath and tried to escape to sleep again. The memory of Michael’s touch haunted him even in the darkness.
******
It was raining again on the sixth night of their search, a steady rain that drummed patiently against the cover of their wagon and dripped on them through the gaps. Michael was oblivious, staring morosely into the night with the shoe in one hand as his touchstone. Hunter wasn’t particularly surprised.

Six days had found them nothing. They had searched throughout the lands together, resorting to going door to door and asking each family to speak with any males in the house. The shoe never fit. Each time, Michael became less and less polite as he turned away the flirtations of the women. Each night, he spoke a little less, until they were reduced to this silence.

Hunter’s initial indulgence had turned into a worry that gnawed at his gut and his mind. He had known Michael since they were both children, raised and taught together after Hunter’s father had been killed protecting his king. Never had he seen his lover this… obsessed. Michael barely slept now, and snapped at those who got in his way. Hunter didn’t want to know what would happen if he had to go home without finding anything.

With a sigh, Michael turned his attention to the shoe, turning it over and over in his hand, tracing the stitching with a fingertip. He didn’t look up as he asked wearily, “Hunt?”

Hunter almost flinched, expecting another surge of temper, but went to his lover’s side anyway. For the first time in three days, Michael leaned against him, resting his cheek against his shoulder. Hesitantly touching Michael’s hair, he began to stroke it back from his temples when Michael didn’t protest. “Tired, baby?”

“Tired. Yes.” A bitter laugh seemed to jerk its way out of Michael. “Tired of searching. Tired of being wrong. There’s only one day left.” Leaning his head back, he looked at Hunter through weary eyes and asked, “Will you be angry with me if I said that I’m not sure I can stand to go back empty-handed?”

Sudden generosity made him shake his head, more in an attempt to soothe Michael than because he’d given it honest thought. “Of course not. We can keep searching-“

“No.” Michael’s head sagged slightly, and he stared down at the shoe without seeing it. “That won’t be necessary. I just wish…” He sighed, and shook his head.

“You wish you could have found him.” Urging Michael’s head down to rest in the crook of his throat, Hunter laid slowly back against the tangle of blankets that had served as their bed. For the first time in days, Michael didn’t fight him, curling into him like an exhausted child. “It’s not over yet, love. We still have one more day.”

“One more day.” With another sigh, Michael set the shoe aside. Hunter didn’t like the hopeless glint in his eyes. “I don’t think it’ll matter. We might as well just head home-”

“Hey.” Shaking him gently, Hunter waited until Michael looked at him, then offered a smile. “I think it’s at least worth a try. You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if we headed back now and it turned out that this boy is in the next town. We’ve gone all this way. We might as well go just a little more.”

For a long moment, Michael regarded him through narrowed eyes. Then he turned in his arms, shifting to lay on his chest, and asked, a reassuring spark of life back in his eyes, “Since when have you been such an optimist?”

“Me? Hell, I’m just too stubborn to give up on it.” Lightly scratching between his shoulderblades until Michael gave a sleepy purr, Hunter shrugged. “Besides, you really think I want to drive back in that kind of rain?”

Michael chuckled. “Brat.” Settling in, resting his head in the crook of Hunter’s throat, he asked, “What the hell would I do without you?”

“Oh, you’d be a total lost cause, no doubt.” Hunter laughed as Michael nipped him in retaliation, mock-glaring at him through his eyelashes. “I wouldn’t be any better, you know.”

“Damned straight I know, especially after this week. I love you dearly, but you have the directional abilities of a blind man. You’d be off the road in a second. Couldn’t find your own ass with both hands and a road map.” With a smirk, Michael let his hands trail up the outside of Hunter’s thighs, cupping his hips. “You should be damned glad you have me to help.”

Leaning down, Hunter kissed the top of his head gently. “I am.” When his lover rewarded him with a sleepy smile, he reached down to tug a blanket over both of them. “We’ll be up and searching early tomorrow, and with any luck tomorrow night our passenger’s going to need the bed.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but he was smiling at the less than subtle hint. “I don’t remember those vows you took to protect me including making sure that I get enough sleep.”

“Of course not. This is just me hovering.” Tucking the blanket tighter around Michael’s shoulders, he began to rub his back in slow, soothing strokes. “I’ll keep watch.”

It took less than a minute for Michael’s breathing to steady out after he closed his eyes with a last few token grumbles. Hunter was left alone to stare out past the rain, and wait for the sun to rise and the search to begin again.
******
Scott had been right. As soon as he crawled out of the old horse blanket that he had used as a bed since the first night of beatings, Sean could feel from the dull, hot throb of the wounds on his back that they had become infected. It struck him as almost funny, even if it hurt to stumble to the kitchen in response to the shriek that had woken him up. At least Scott hadn’t been lying about that much.

The inside of the house felt nice, cool against his fevered skin as he stepped out of the hot sun and into the shade. He was tempted to lean against the doorframe and savor it, but remembered just in time that to do so would be considered dallying. He’d been beaten for that, too. Maybe if Linda beat him enough, he’d eventually remember not to do all the things she said he shouldn’t. He doubted it.

Trish barely glanced up as he entered, but the cruel smile on her lips warned him that she had seen him come in. His stepsister was enjoying his fall from grace. Reaching down, she gestured at a bucket of soapy, murky water on the floor. “Mother said to scrub the steps. Not a speck of dirt, or…” she mimed a whipping belt with a wicked smirk.

Afraid to risk a nod, he moved forward and knelt, painfully slow, to pick up the bucket. Even slowly, the motion made his vision dim dangerously. Fever made his head swim, and he grabbed at a table leg to steady himself.

Oblivious, Trish went on, “We’re going to have very important guests later on. Prince Michael has been searching the land for someone to bring back to the castle with him.” With a toss of her head, she added haughtily, “That someone is going to be me.”

Sean stared into the soapy water, seeing his own face reflected back at him. He looked like a dying man. There was some reason why it was very important that Michael was visiting this town, this home, but he couldn’t remember…

A harsh slap to the back of his head almost doubled him over. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” Trish demanded angrily.

Raising his head, he looked up at her and tried to make his voice work. His breath caught in his throat, and he began coughing, shudders painfully wracking his body. For several long moments, he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, for God’s sake...” Disgusted, Trish shoved his head away and pointed towards the door. “Just go.”

He let himself slide the rest of the way down, resting his forehead against the floor as he gasped. The room rippled around him like the surface of a lake in a storm, and for a moment he almost thought he could hear his father’s voice. When he raised his head instinctively, searching, it was gone.

Hallucinations. With a sigh, he grabbed the bucket and began to crawl awkwardly for the door. He flinched as the sun hit him, ducking his head more against the memory of a mirrored ballroom and a warm hand on his shoulder than against the light. Piano music, classical butchered by a bad player, wound out of the open second story window and completed the surreal descent into hell. He could hear the sound of a horse and carriage coming down the road, and probably hallucinated the soft voice of the prince, but it was easier to grab the brush and begin than to look up. It was easier not to hope.

He began to scrub the steps.
---
It was the last house. It was his last chance.

Taking a deep breath, Michael steadied his hand and knocked three times, as politely as he could. He could feel his blood pulsing fast through his veins, making him light-headed, nearly giddy.

One last chance. After this house, it was over, one way or another. It was almost a relief. Almost as much of one as the sudden halt of the piano playing that had been coming from upstairs.

The click of metal boot heels on marble warned him a moment before Hunter’s hand settled on his shoulder in a silent show of support. Turning his head, he offered him a wan smile, then tilted his head to study the strange expression on his lover’s face. “What’s the matter?” he murmured in an undertone, shifting a little closer.

“Have a feeling,” Hunter replied shortly, never taking his eyes off the door.

“Good or bad?”

“Not sure. Just be careful.” His hand moved, cupping the back of Michael’s neck for a moment before it slid away. “Show’s on.”

The door swung open. Michael had time to wonder, not for the first time, how the hell Hunter always heard people coming before he could. Then he put on his best charming smile and began to study the woman at the door.

At first glance, she looked friendly enough. She was dressed in the black, tasteful finery of a lady still in mourning. A gold band with an indecently large diamond glittered on her finger. Her face was lined with age, but her hands were still smooth; she had never had to work the land. Her smile was sardonic, lopsided, almost managing to look good humored and wise.

Her eyes were dead.

As if she realized that he’d seen, she blinked and the cold glint of her blue eyes were gone, replaced with welcoming warmth. It was too late. The slight squeeze of Hunter’s hand around his forearm warned him that he had seen it, too.

She inclined her head respectfully, and when she raised it the mask was still intact. Her voice was bland as she said, “Greetings, your Majesty. Welcome to my estate. How may I help you?”

His smile felt frozen on. Trying to force sincerity into it, he shook away the memory of her eyes and gave her a slight bow in return.  Instinct alone gave him the words to reply. “Greetings. Actually, yes, I think you can help me, Lady…”

“Waltman,” she injected smoothly, still smiling. Her eyes stayed on his face, never acknowledging Hunter as she said, “You look tired and thirsty, your Majesty. Would you like to come in out of the sun and have something to drink?”

Still somewhat off guard, he nodded. “Inside. Sure. Thank you.”

Before he knew it, both he and Hunter were inside and the door closed behind them. Hunter leveled a glare at him, and he shrugged helplessly, spreading his hands. With a sigh, Hunter looked away and gave him a slight push to urge him after the woman of the house, who was already halfway down the hallway.

Following her helplessly, Michael found himself in the middle of an over-decorated sitting room. Everything screamed of old, hard-earned money being used by those who had never worked a day in their lives. The two girls who almost burst through the door didn’t do anything to take away from that impression.

Feeling Hunter tense up behind him, Michael surreptitiously reached back and squeezed his hand. Then, releasing him, he sat easily on the couch and offered the two girls a practiced smile. It was meant to look distant, nothing beyond polite. It didn’t work.

One, the blond with a disturbing smile and sleepy eyes, seated herself beside Michael, nearly on his lap. Hunter’s hand twitched on the back of the couch, his eyes narrowing, but the blond was oblivious. Offering him the back of her hand for a kiss, she purred, “Hello, your Majesty. I’m Trish.”

He hesitated, then smiled blandly and shook her hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.” Looking over her shoulder, he inclined his head to the smirking, flushed brunette in the doorway. She looked like she had run from the upstairs, after plastering on a few layers of makeup. “And you.”

“So, Prince Michael,” Lady Waltman spoke up, suddenly appearing in the doorway with a cup of tea in her hand. Michael had an abrupt sense of claustrophobia. Hunter’s hand twitched again. “What is it you needed?”

The blond leaned in a little closer, her chest brushing against his arm. Scooting slightly over and trying his best to ignore her, Michael looked up at his hostess. “Actually, I was looking for a young man.”

To his surprise, Lady Waltman’s fingers tightened around the teacup until it seemed on the verge of cracking under the pressure. With another heartbeat, her tension was gone, her expression bland again as she set it down. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Are there any in your household?” Out of the corner of his eye, Michael noticed the brunette giving her mother a panicked look.

Lady Waltman ignored it, fussing with the teacup as if it were of great consequence. “Not since my dear husband’s death,” she said finally. “No, your Majesty, I’m afraid that it’s just us three ladies now.”

Something in his chest twisted painfully. Sinking back into the cushions, he searched her face for any sign of a lie. “No sons?” he asked, an edge of desperation slipping into his voice.

She hesitated, then glanced towards the back porch. A slow, dark smirk twisted her lips. “No,” she replied at last. “I have no son.”

It was over.

The realization lapped at the edges of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. There was no relief in it. He pushed it aside, swallowing against a sudden ache in his throat. “I see,” he managed faintly, because he had no energy to grab the coffee table and throw it into the wall. “I’m sorry to bother you, then.”

“Oh, are you going?” With a light touch to his arm, Trish blinked innocently at him. He felt like hitting her. “Surely you’re not going already. Stay at least until you finish your tea…”

“Tea?” he echoed blankly. “Oh, yes. That. Why not?” With a shrug, he smirked bitterly. “It can’t hurt anymore, I suppose.”

“My prince…” The edge of anxiety in Hunter’s voice as he resorted to a title he hadn’t used in years almost broke through his shock. Almost.

“What, Hunter?” Sliding his finger through the handle, Michael raised the cup in a sardonic toast to no one. “We don’t have any reason not to stay. Go outside if you wish, and wait for me there.”

It was command hidden behind courtesy. Hunter hesitated, struggling to read his lover’s expression. He might as well have tried to read a blank wall. With a sigh, Hunter touched his shoulder lightly. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Michael didn’t respond to the promise, or even look up at him, his expression closed and distant as he sipped the still-steaming tea. There was triumph shining in Lady Waltman’s eyes as Hunter stepped out of the room. He didn’t bother suppressing the urge to glower at her.

As the door of the sitting room shut behind him, Hunter could hear Michael ask wearily for wine. With a wince, he fought the temptation to throw Michael over his shoulder and run as far away from this house as he could. Michael was already on edge; if he did that, he would never forgive him. Smothering the impressive string of curses that threatened at that thought, Hunter turned his attention to making his way through the kitchen and stepping outside for a moment. He needed some air. The estate was smothering him.

The heat of the day hit him like a slap, taking his breath away. It was a muggy, miserable heat, crushing anything stupid enough to step out of the shade. Making a face, he began to roll up the sleeves of his black uniform shirt. Protocol was protocol, but this was ridiculous.

As he was struggling to pull his hair out of his face and into a ponytail, a motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned, for the first time catching sight of a dark form on the steps that he had dismissed as a shadow. Now he could see that it was a human huddled on the steps, a tangle of matted and dirty hair hiding their face from view. They were clutching a brush in one hand, scrubbing the steps with alarming weakness. As he watched, they shuddered abruptly, the rhythmic motion faltering as a coughing fit wracked them hard. Drawing in a ragged breath, they haltingly dragged themselves up again and began to scrub.

Concerned, Hunter walked down a few steps to get a better look. Tilting his head to study them, he tried, “Hey. Are you all right?”

The person froze, thin body tensing as if they were weighing the benefits of bolting. Finally, with a low growl that made it very clear that they were male, the person managed weakly, “Go away.”

“Do you belong to this estate?” When there was no response, Hunter moved down another step. The stranger tensed up, hesitating with a glance through the curtain of matted hair, then warily shifted away. “Are you a servant here?”

A bitter laugh that turned into a cough halfway through came from behind the hair. “Now I am.”

Intrigued, Hunter knelt down to look at the boy more closely. “What’s your name?”

To his amazement, the boy shied away. Hunter caught a glimpse of panicked dark eyes behind the hair. Reaching out, the boy grabbed the bucket’s handle with a shaking hand and began to inch back. “I can’t tell you that. What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything.” Watching with concern as the boy shrank back, his hands trembling violently now, he soothed, “I mean you no harm-“

“She will, if you don’t leave!” Abruptly realizing what he’d just said, the boy shrank back further. “Oh, God…”

“She?” Suspicion didn’t tug at Hunter’s mind as much as it yanked. “Lady Waltman means you harm?”

“I-I can’t tell you.” The boy struggled to get to his feet. Halfway up, his knees buckled, sending him down again. Without thinking, Hunter caught him, only to nearly catch a wild punch aimed at his head. His captive snarled at him, struggling. “Let me go!”

“I’m trying to help you!”

The boy’s head snapped up, and behind his terrified eyes, defiance made him spit, “I don’t need your help! I’ve gotten along fine before!”

Hunter had the urge to argue, but he couldn’t force words past the knot in his stomach. The boy in his arms looked like he had been dragged half a mile behind a cart, his face bloody, bruised and dirty in a way that not even street urchins’ were. His body was dangerously light from starvation. Yet something about him was familiar…

“Hold still,” he commanded absently, dipping his fingers in the bucket. The boy flinched hard to dodge a blow, eyes wide, as Hunter raised his hand to touch his cheek. Making little soothing noises without thinking, he wiped the layers of dirt away from one cheek, revealing a pale scar across one finely formed cheekbone. It was the same kind of scar that Michael had been looking for.

Disbelieving, he searched the dirty face and stopped suddenly as he caught the boy’s eyes. He remembered now, catching Michael’s fugitive as he was bolting out the door, the young, sweet face that had snapped around to look at him, the wide dark eyes turned darker by desperation. The same eyes that peered warily up at him now, the irises reduced to a thin rim around blackness by fever and fear.

Hunter swallowed, letting his hand drop. “My God,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re…” Shaking his head, he turned to call over his shoulder. “Michael!” When there was no response, he tried again in a tone firm enough that the boy flinched. “Michael, come out here!”

It felt like a small eternity, lost in the heat and in struggling to keep the boy from bolting, before the door finally opened and Michael poked his head out. His expression was hard with annoyance as he demanded, “What do you-“

His words died off as he noticed the boy in Hunter’s arms doing his damnedest to squirm free, his eyes going huge. Glancing at Hunter to be sure he wasn’t just imagining things, he asked in a small voice, “Where did you find him?”

“He was scrubbing the steps. He says that he’s a servant at the estates.” Hunter glanced down at his captive, for the first time noticing the too-fast rate of the boy’s heart against his hand. The fear in his eyes had scaled up to panic. “Calm down,” he urged awkwardly, loosening his grip slightly. “No harm’s going to come to you, I promise. Take it easy…”

Unreassured, the boy pushed desperately against his chest. The plaintive note in his voice was heart-breaking as he said shakily, “Whatever I did, I’ll never do it again. Please just let me go. She’ll be angry again-“

“Who?” Michael had come out of the doorway, drawn closer by the sound of the boy’s voice. There was an edge to his voice, the first signs of a protective anger that Hunter knew well. “Who’ll be angry with you? Who hurt you?”

The boy’s head snapped around as he searched for the source of the new voice. When Michael stepped into view, he stiffened and ducked his head, hiding his face behind his hair. “Your Majesty! I’m sorry, I didn’t know-“

“It’s all right.” Touching Hunter’s shoulder, he murmured, “Let him go. He can’t run like this.”

Hunter nodded reluctantly, carefully letting go of the boy’s arms and stepping back. As soon as he let go, the boy crumpled to the stairs, automatically covering his head to block a slap. Michael closed his eyes, pained, then knelt on the steps in front of him. Tilting his head to catch his eyes, he asked gently, “What’s your name?”

Hesitantly lowering his arms, the boy looked at the steps and replied tonelessly, “Sean.”

“Sean. I like that. I knew someone named Sean a while ago.” Michael smiled warmly, trying not to betray the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest when Sean risked a look at him through his hair. “Was that you?”

Sean hesitated, wavering, then wrapped his arms tightly around himself and closed his eyes. “Maybe it was,
Your Majesty. I can’t say.”

For a long moment, Michael was still, studying Sean in silence. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and touched his finger beneath Sean’s chin, urging his head up until sunlight touched his face. Brushing a fingertip along the scar, Michael murmured, “I think you can, Sean. And I think I told you to call me Michael.”

The soft words broke him. Sean shuddered, ducking his head. “I-I can’t. I know you told me to, but I can’t…”

Michael straightened, a slow smile of delight touching his eyes. “You’re him,” he whispered, half believing. “I finally found you.”

Unhearing, Sean went on, more than half to himself. “You weren’t supposed to come here… weren’t supposed to see me like this…”

The soft, disjointed words caught Michael’s attention. Tilting his head, he felt Sean’s forehead with the back of his hand. The heat he felt there tore a soft concerned noise from his throat. Stroking Sean’s hot forehead, he murmured, “You’re burning up.”

 Sean shuddered, closing his eyes against the tender gesture that took his breath away and made something fracture deep inside. “Please,” he rasped, not sure what he was asking for before the words spilled free. “Please stop, I can’t…”

Michael stilled for a long moment, and Sean tensed, expecting the disgust that would finally break him. Michael’s low, ruthlessly gentle question made him flinch. “Who did this to you?”

He shook his head without thinking, and the world swam. Startled, he grabbed at the steps, blinking against his vertigo to grasp at his thoughts. “Go away,” he managed to gasp finally, his words tripping over each other in his panic. “Get away from here before she hurts you too. Please…”

“Shh.” There was a rustle of cloth, then hands slid something warm and soft around his shoulders. Sean opened his eyes, hating his own sharp gasp as the sky tilted in the crystal sharp reality of the world even as his eyes searched for Michael’s. With a gentle touch that he didn’t deserve, Michael urged him back to lay against the steps. Pain stabbed dully up his back at the contact, but he bit back his moan. He wasn’t sure if it worked or not, because the world was beginning to slide away from him. His vision was fading. Michael touched him gently, like he was something precious, stroking back the tangle of dark and matted hair. “Rest now. She won’t hurt you anymore.”

“Michael,” he managed weakly, trying to reach for him, “don’t. ’M not who you think I am-“

“Don’t, Sean.” Catching his hand, Michael held it tightly between his own. It occurred vaguely to Sean that other voices, loud and harsh, were coming from nearby, but for the moment Michael held his attention as tightly as his hand. “Not now. I’ve searched the land for you, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let go when I’ve found you and you’re hurting. Close your eyes, and when you wake up I promise you that everything will be better. I promise you’ll be safe if you sleep. She won’t hurt you again. You can trust me.”

Grasping desperately at Michael’s hand, Sean mumbled vaguely, “Don’t understand…”

Whatever else he had to say was lost, as the fever and a week of beatings finally took their toll. With a low whimper, he passed out.

Michael waited, holding still until Sean’s grip on his hand began to ease. Nerveless fingers began to slide out of his own, and he reluctantly let go, lowering Sean’s hand to rest on his chest. Gently tugging at the shirt that Hunter had wrapped around Sean’s narrow shoulders, he resisted the urge to lean down and kiss his forehead. In an undertone, he murmured, “You’re coming home.”

Sean stirred restlessly beneath his hand, pain shadowing his face even in sleep. With a last soothing noise, Michael patted him and reluctantly stood to face the doorway. He didn’t have to look to know that Lady Waltman was there. Something in her eyes made Hunter draw protectively closer to Michael, and made Michael glad for the support.

With the serene smile of a genuine maniac, Lady Waltman said, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Your Majesty. He’s not going anywhere. He’s already home.”

Biting back the temptation to step closer to Hunter, Michael crossed his arms over his chest and said darkly, “Lady Waltman, you said that there were no men on this estate. You lied to me.”

“Oh, no, sir. I would never.” Still smiling, she stepped into the light. Michael tensed, seeing the kitchen knife glint in her hand. He could feel Hunter waver, instinct urging him to attack, but for the moment Michael wasn’t her target. Her eyes were fixed on Sean’s face, her smile venomously sweet. “That’s not a real man. There’s a devil in that boy, a devil that lies and lusts after men. It’s evil, and it has to be destroyed. One way or another.”

Michael drew in a sharp breath, fighting back his fear. Oddly enough, the fear only made his fury stronger. Behind him, Hunter stepped between Sean and the woman, blocking him from view. “No, Lady. You’re wrong. He’s just a young man, whoever he lusts after. He’s just a kid, and you’ve nearly beaten him to death.”

She seemed to consider that for a long moment, tapping the flat of the blade against the outside of her thigh. With every soft tap, Hunter’s fist clenched a little tighter. Catching the desperate look Hunter shot him, Michael surreptitiously shook his head. Not yet.

Finally, with a shrug, she smiled again. “He’s a sinner, then. A child of murderers. Stubborn, unrepentant, destined to burn anyway. I never realized it before now, but I have tolerated it far too long. He taints my family. He taints me. He’s my servant, my stepson, and it’s my right-“

“Your stepson?”

The utter chill in Michael’s voice cut Lady Waltman off mid-rant. Tilting her head, she repeated mindlessly, “It’s my right-“

Michael spoke in a cold, iron voice that slapped her words away. “It is against my father’s law, and by extension against mine. Beating and attempting to murder your own stepson, Lady Waltman?” His voice turned the words into a taunt, a weapon. “Women like you have been executed for much, much less.”

The first flicker of fear shone in Lady Waltman’s eyes as his words sank in. “He’s only a servant now-“

“Only a servant?” Tilting his head, Michael gave a humorless smile. “Good. Then perhaps you won’t mind if we take him.”

Alarmed, she stared up at him through wide eyes. “You can’t-“

“Oh, I assure you, I can.” His smirk felt more like a snarl as he took the step down to stand by where Sean lay, shifting close to Hunter until their shoulders touched. “If you want to live, you’ll drop the knife and let us pass unharmed. If you want to die, go ahead and try to attack.” As her hand flexed on the blade, he added mockingly, “Think you can get past my guard, Lady? Do you think you could kill him before he could kill you? Go on. Try.”

Hunter’s smile was dark, feral, every inch his namesake. She took one step towards them, then faltered. A moment later, the blade fell from her hands and clattered to the steps.

“Smart woman,” Michael drawled, moving forward to pick it up. Sliding it into his boot, he glanced back at Hunter. “We’re going.”

To his lover’s credit, he caught the unspoken command quickly. His eyes widening, he tilted his head inquisitively. When Michael nodded, he hesitated, then sighed and knelt beside Sean’s still form. Gingerly sliding his arms under Sean’s shoulders and knees, he lifted him to lay against his chest, his chin resting against Hunter’s shoulder. Sean flinched in his sleep, a low moan slipping between his parted lips as the motion jarred his back. Hunter stilled, looking anxious. With a reassuring smile, Michael nudged him towards the house. “Go,” he murmured. “If any of them try to stop you, you have my permission to subdue them any way you see fit. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Hunter smirked crookedly, nodded, and disappeared into the house. Slinking like a whipped dog, Lady Waltman began to follow.  His low command stopped her mid-step.

“Lady. A word with you.”

She slowly turned, bracing herself for a blow. His dark smile took her by surprise. Reassured, she moved closer- and yelped as his hand twisted in her collar and yanked her close.

In a low, deadly voice, he growled, “From here on in, you are an exile. I want you and your daughters out of my land within three days. If I come back and find you here, I swear that I’ll see you whipped, beaten and hung from the nearest tree. Am I understood?”

She shrank away from him, her eyes huge in her face, and whispered, “You said that you’d let me live.”

“And you said that there were no males in your estate.” Releasing her collar, he shoved her away. “Now we’re even.”

He left her standing in the courtyard, still gaping at his back, in shock.
******
After six days of traveling, it only took them a day to get back to the castle. The harsh sound of Sean’s breathing, so ragged and slow that each promised to be his last, made Hunter push the horses harder than he would have dared alone. When they finally reached the castle, they tore up the steps to find the healer. Panic was a powerful driving force.

With a sigh, Michael sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the healer’s skilled hands move over Sean’s back. Handing her the bowl of water she had sent him to fetch, he asked in a low, reverent voice, “How is he?”

She glanced at him through her eyelashes, her indigo eyes darkly amused. “The same as he was when you last asked me, about a minute ago.”

He looked down, toying with the edge of the quilt. “Sorry. I’m just-“

“Shh. I know. You’re worried.” With an encouraging smile, she patted his hand. “I’ve known you long enough to recognize it by now.”

“Do-…” His voice gave out. He swallowed against the fear tightening his throat, then tried again, his voice sounding small and weak in the dim Royal bedroom. “Do you think he’ll be all right, Jo?”

Joanie shrugged elegantly, her eyes betraying her concern. “He’s young. He’s strong. He has a chance. Now hush, and let me work.”

That was the best answer he was likely to get. With a nod, he sat back to watch her work.

To tell the truth, he was no more sure than Joanie if Sean would survive the night. He hadn’t stirred once. If it wasn’t for the motion of his chest as he breathed, Michael would have mistaken him for dead. In the flickering light of a single candle, his back was a mess of red streaks, swollen with infection and deeply bruised. The herbs and teas that Joanie had been forcing into him for hours hadn’t affected the swelling even slightly. His skin was still dangerously hot to the touch. If the fever didn’t go down…

A low whimper caught his attention. Startled, he looked at Sean’s face. His fingers were clenched deep in the quilt, his grip tighter than a dying man’s should be. From the tight expression on his face, the nightmares had begun.

Making a soothing noise, Michael reached for the cloth and gently wiped the sweat and dirt off the side of Sean’s face that was tilted towards him, cooling the fevered skin as best he could. Sean jerked slightly, moaning low in his throat as Joanie laid a compress on the worst of the infected lashes. “Don’t… Linda, please…”

“Shh…” Joanie reached out to smooth back Sean’s hair, lightly rubbing the hollow of his temple until he quieted. Michael smiled fondly at her for the effort, remembering dozens of times when she’d done the same for him. Somehow, she always knew exactly where to touch to ease a mind made uneasy with fever. Without looking up, she asked, “Who’s Linda?”

“His stepmother. The one who did this.”

“Did you kill her?”

The set to Joanie’s jaw told him quite plainly that she hoped so. Before he could explain, a voice made rough and weary from sickness disturbed the stillness, making him start. “Michael…?”

His head whipped around so fast that it made his neck ache, but the bleary eyes focused on him made it worth the pain. Relieved, Michael sank back against the headboard. “Sean. You should be asleep. You’re sick.”

Sean blinked at him, struggling to follow his words beyond the pain. Finally, he asked hoarsely, “Where?”

“My home.” Unable to resist the urge, Michael let his touch linger as he smoothed the hair out of Sean’s face. “No one can hurt you here. You’re safe.”

Eyes narrowing, Sean studied him with an intensity that was startling for a feverish man. Suddenly, he tilted his head to look at something just over Michael’s shoulder. Michael glanced back to follow his gaze, and stilled when he saw Hunter in the doorway.

As always, Hunter knew enough not to comment. He stayed in the doorway, taking in the situation before he took a few steps forward. Sean’s stare didn’t waver, searching Hunter’s face for something, waiting for some cue, as Hunter walked forward to stand by the bed. They eyed each other like wolves in a battle for dominance, neither glancing away as the weight of it wavered between them like a solid thing. Finally, Hunter nodded and set down the glass of wine he’d brought in on the bedstand with a thump that made Sean start. In a low voice, he said simply, “You’re safe. He’s safe. You’ve got my word.”

As if that was all he had needed to hear, Sean nodded and sank back to the bed. Without the wire tension of the moment before, he just looked young and exhausted. Glancing between Michael and Hunter one last time, he closed his eyes and within a moment was asleep again.

Michael blinked, his hand hovering over Sean’s back as he watched the expressions flicker over Hunter’s face. He didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t read any of them. “Hunt…”

“I don’t even know him. I’m not…” Backing away from the bed, Hunter shook his head. “I’m going to go stand watch outside.”

“Hunter-“

The door clicked closed, a gesture of courtesy that made Michael’s stomach twist. It would’ve been more comforting if Hunter had slammed it. Michael looked helplessly up at Joanie, who shrugged. “He’s not my lover, Michael. I couldn’t even figure that moment out if he was.”

With a sigh, he looked down at Sean, idly stroking the back of his neck more for his own comfort than for Sean’s. “I worry about him.”

“He’ll be all right.” Reaching for another compress, the scent of the herbs strong enough that Michael’s nose wrinkled, she laid it gently over another wound. “Tell me, is this boy staying for a while?”

“At least until he heals.” Michael let his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of Sean’s skull, kneading carefully. “After that, as long as he wants to stay.”

Joanie chuckled, a low, rich sound that made the room seem a little warmer. “Then my suggestion, Your Majesty, is that you get used to those confrontations very quickly. Hunter tends to be rather protective, and something tells me that this one,” she stroked Sean’s side lightly for emphasis, “isn’t likely to back down once he gets his bearings.”

“What?” Bewildered, Michael looked up at her, his eyes wide. “Hunter has no need to be jealous of Sean-“

“Doesn’t he?”

The question cut him off more effectively than any blow. He stopped, frowning as he thought over the last few days. It was several long moments before he spoke. “I…”

“Drink your wine,” Joanie commanded with a tolerant smile. “Just give it some thought. And once you’re done, go get me another bowl of water. This one’s warmed over.”

Lost in thought, Michael absently nodded and obeyed. The room was silent for a very long time.
******
Within moments after he half-awoke, Sean realized with a jolt that this wasn’t his bed.

Startled, he raised his head faster than he should have, the satin sheets that had given it away sliding off his bare shoulders with a whisper. He winced at the pain it reawoke in his skull, and promptly forgot about it as he realized that this wasn’t his room, either.

He propped himself up on his elbows, more slowly this time, and craned his head back to peer around the room. His awe and alarm lapped over each other until they were indistinguishable as he looked around, taken aback by the high ceilings and finery draped around almost casually. This room was easily bigger than half of the Waltman estate. He still felt trapped.

Granted, it was a nice room, big and warm. It was a nice bed, too, four poster with an intricate iron wrought headboard and satin sheets that clung and slid smoothly over his skin like nothing he’d ever felt. But it wasn’t his, and that combined with the fact that he had no idea how he got here made him less than comfortable.

Sitting up slowly, he leaned against the headboard and searched his memories of the past few days. The best he could come up with was an overwhelming sense of heat and smothering darkness, the touch of cool and gentle hands, the strong scent of herbs…

He must’ve been sick. That would explain why he still felt raw all over, his mind still unbalanced as if the world was on the verge of tilting on to its side. Unfortunately, it didn’t explain why he was in an unfamiliar room the size of the Royal Bedroom. With a sigh, he began to look around for more clues, and froze when he saw the man in the doorway.

The part of his brain that was still working told him that it was Michael’s head guard, the one that had tried to stop him as he ran. The rest of him froze up, taking in both the knives clipped to his belt and the fact that he was rumpled and half-naked, obviously just out of bed. For a precious moment, the guard seemed just as startled, hesitating as he noticed that Sean was upright. By the time Sean managed to force his mind to notice something other than that the guard was armed or that his hair curled nicely over sharp collarbones, he had lost the advantage.

“So you’re finally awake,” the guard said gruffly, crossing his arms almost defensively over his chest. “Welcome back.”

“Where am I?” The question was out before he thought about it, but apparently it was the right one, because the guard seemed to relax.

“Prince Michael’s bed, actually.”

Michael. The words hit Sean like a punch to the stomach, and he sank back against the headboard, eyes wide. He could almost remember now, the heat of the sun and the fever, the soothing warmth of Michael’s voice like a cat’s contented purr. He pulled a hand through his hair, barely noticing when it snagged. “My God. I thought I was dreaming.”

“No dream.” The note in the guard’s voice could almost be mistaken for gentle, something he didn’t seem to realize even when Sean looked up at him in surprise. “You’ve been sick. You nearly died.”

A memory tugged at the corner of Sean’s mind like a persistent child, demanding his attention. The guard’s came back to him as suddenly and automatically as breathing. “Hunter. That’s you, isn’t it?” When the guard nodded, he tilted his head to study him. “You helped me.”

Even if Sean did his best to hide his suspicion, the comment still made Hunter tense up. Glancing away, Hunter began to move restlessly around the room. Sean had the distinct feeling that he wanted desperately to pace. Without looking at him as he straightened the curtains, Hunter asked roughly, “Is there anything you need? Food, water?”

Sean drew in a deep breath, bracing himself, then said firmly, “I want to talk to Michael.”

If Hunter had been tense before, he was rigid now. For several long moments, he didn’t respond, simply staring down at his hands where they rested on the windowsill. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Michael… Michael’s preparing a bath.” Another few seconds passed, as if Hunter now needed time to brace himself for his own words. “You could join him.”

For some reason, those words sounded like more than they were, as if Hunter were handing him the key to something fragile and infinitely precious. Wary by instinct, Sean hedged, “I don’t need…”

Hunter snorted, turning to look at him over his shoulder, and the weight of the emotion that had been resting on him a moment before was suddenly gone. “Believe me, you do. Take one now or someone will make you take one later.”

“I’m not a child.”

The defiance in his voice made Hunter blink, then smile slowly and lean against the wall. Sean had the feeling that he’d just won something, but couldn’t be sure what. “No, you’re not a child. But you’re covered in sweat and blood, and you wanted to talk to Michael. You can take care of both of those at once if you go to him now. Are you going or not?”

It was a trick question, filled with meanings that he didn’t know about and couldn’t guess at. He should’ve been annoyed, but the look in Hunter’s eyes warned him that he wasn’t the only one off balance. It was an oddly comforting thought.

With a nod, he started to push the sheets back. It occurred to him a moment too late that he wasn’t wearing anything under them. Some complicated emotion slid through Hunter’s eyes before he looked respectfully away. Blushing despite himself, Sean gathered up the sheets and his dignity, wrapping the tangle of satin around himself as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. For a moment his legs threatened to go out from under him. He grabbed a post and forced himself to straighten. Tilting his head back to look the taller man in the eye, he said almost calmly, “Show me which way to go.”

Another slow, crooked smile was his reward as Hunter moved away from the wall to stand beside him, ready to catch him if he fell again. At least he knew enough not to try to carry him… “It’s not far. Follow me.”

He didn’t have much of a choice, other than to nod and follow.

One thing was made very clear after only a minute of walking: he didn’t have a chance of finding his way out of this castle alone. The hallways were a maze of cold stone and the occasional torch to light their way, the monotony only broken by the occasional tapestry. The tapestries might have helped if they didn’t look almost exactly the same. With a sigh, Sean surrendered himself to following Hunter’s lead, trying to ignore his father’s voice berating him for trusting a complete stranger. The muted sound of splashing caught his attention, shoving those thoughts aside as they reached an open doorway. Hunter glanced back at him, hesitating for a moment longer, then shook his head and leaned through the doorway.

“Michael?”

“Hey, Hunt.” The sound of that voice went through him like a touch, curling up low in his stomach. Fatigue lent a near purr to Michael’s voice that didn’t help Sean feel much steadier. “How is he?”

A bitter smirk touched Hunter’s lips for a moment, but was gone before Sean could be sure that he’d seen it. Leaning against the door frame, he laid one hand on Sean’s back. The unexpected warm touch made Sean start, even as Hunter used it to steer him through the doorway. When he pulled his hand away, the warmth lingered for a long moment like a brand. “He’s right here.”

After the torch-lit hallway, the candle-lit room was dim, making Sean blink a few times until his eyes adjusted. When they did, the sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat.

He had known that Michael was there, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of seeing him again. Hunter had been telling the truth when he said that Michael was headed for the bath; there was only a loose robe between him and nudity. It gaped open, baring tawny skin made warm by the candlelight. His delighted, welcoming smile made Sean’s knees feel weak.

Damn. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, like seeing that smile was coming home. Sean mentally shook himself, trying to break free, and almost managed to drown out the warmth in his chest until Michael rose in a smooth, graceful motion and moved towards him. Then it was a lost cause.

“Hi. How’re you feeling?” The small, meaningless words were delivered with that same smile, making them suddenly all important. Michael’s hand wavered in mid-air as if he wanted to touch him, then went back down to his side.

Sean shrugged, self-consciously tugging the sheet up. Next to Michael, he suddenly felt thin and small and graceless. “I’m okay,” he managed awkwardly, wishing that he’d demanded to have his clothes. The fact that only one thin layer of sheet stood between him and the warm, steady scrutiny of Michael’s eyes…

He shivered and glanced away, his hand clenching in the sheet as he berated himself. That thought shouldn’t make him want to let the sheet slide through his fingers. For God’s sake, Michael’s lover was still standing right in the doorway, watching them both. If the sheet slipped, he’d see…

To his horror, the thought made him shiver harder. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing it away, and started when fingertips brushed across his cheek. When he opened his eyes, Michael was peering down at him, head tilted. “No,” he said finally, “you’re not.”

Alarmed, Sean echoed, “I’m not?”

Looking faintly exasperated, Michael explained, “You’re not okay. You’re pale, and you look like a strong wind would take you down.” Tilting his head, he asked with a frown, “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”

“I…” Sean smiled wanly and gave up on explaining, yanking a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Kinda cold.”

“Ah.” Michael reached out and twined his fingers in the sheet, the backs of his fingers resting against the curve of Sean’s throat as he firmly urged him forward. “A bath might help with that. If you’d like.”

 A bath. A bath would involve nudity, which would involve letting go of the sheet that was his only security. It was also hot, sweet-smelling temptation just within reach. As he watched the steam curl up over the edge of the bath, he felt the lingering traces of sickness press down on him, chilling him, making everything ache. He was nodding slowly before he knew it, the battle with temptation over before it had begun.

Another gently amused smile was his reward, making it almost worth whatever the cost might be. Michael gave the sheet another little tug and said, “Then I suggest you take this off.”
******
The six simple words had several effects that Michael hadn’t meant them to. A slow blush crept up Sean’s face again, making him look even younger than he did already wrapped up in the oversized sheet. As if they were in some sort of balance, Hunter’s expression turned colder, his jaw setting and his stare dropping to the floor. His expression was shadowed, but he looked almost… hurt?

Before Michael could ask, Sean nodded, still blushing. “Uh…” The sound of his own voice seemed to startle him, and he clutched the sheet tighter. “Could you turn around?”

“He’s already seen you naked,” Hunter informed him without looking up, his expression like stone and his eyes hidden. “The healer had to cut your clothes off your back. He didn’t leave your side.”

Sean blinked, looking at Michael for confirmation. Michael had the sudden urge to kick his lover, hard. With a sheepish shrug, he explained, “I was worried.”

“Oh.” Toying with the sheet, he said awkwardly, “Well, still, could you?”

“Of course.” Michael patted his shoulder, struggling not to trace the lines of his collarbone, then courteously turned his back and went to join Hunter. The soft sounds of cloth falling distracted him more than they should have. His traitorous imagination whispered to him, giving him the memory of that lean, well-formed body. Even dirty, thin and sick, the boy really was beautiful…

Shaking himself, he looked up at Hunter and demanded, “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.” The flatly spoken word made something in Michael’s chest tighten in warning, but before he could ask, Hunter straightened and looked down at him. His eyes were guarded, betraying nothing as he said, “I’m going to wait out in the hall. Call if you need anything.”

Michael blinked. Hunter used that tone, the impersonal words of a servant, on his father all the time, but not on him. Never on him. Joanie’s words came back to him, making him reach out and lay his hand on Hunter’s back. The muscles there were rigid with tension. “Hunt, I want to talk to you later about something. Please?”

With a shrug, Hunter moved away. “If you get time. You’d better watch him, he’s still weak.”

“Hunter…”

Hunter didn’t look at him, only shut the door courteously behind him as he left. Michael winced, resting his fingertips on the cold door. Damn. He had a lot to repair tonight. If only Hunter could understand…

A splash, followed by a soft curse, caught his attention, dragging it back to the young man sitting on the edge of the bath. He couldn’t help smirking at Sean’s obvious frustration as he stared at the bath, trying to figure out how to get in without killing himself. Crossing the room, trying to make his footsteps audible so he didn’t startle him even more, he offered, “Let me help.”

Sean started at the sound of his voice, his head snapping around. His hand automatically went to cover himself, and it was a struggle for Michael not to glance down to see what he could through the dubious cover of Sean’s fingers. Biting the inside of his lip, he choked down temptation, even managing an innocent blink. Sean finally relaxed slightly with a tentative smile, and looked down at the water. “How do you get into this thing?”

“Very carefully,” Michael deadpanned, then reached for Sean’s hand. When Sean warily gave it, Michael gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled. “You can settle down now. I’m not out to hurt you.”

“I know.” Tilting his head, Sean gave him a warm smile that seemed to make the world falter to a stop for a moment. When he blinked to clear his head, it was gone and Sean was easing his hand away. “Now how do I do this?”

“Swing your legs over the side…” Michael faltered, eyes widening as Sean swung his legs over one at a time, giving a tantalizing, flickering glimpse of what lay between. That should have satisfied his curiosity, but instead it fueled it, leaving him in shock.

“And then what?”

The innocent question jolted him out of his thoughts. Sean blinked down at him, curious, guileless. Distracted, Michael replied vaguely, “And just slide in. I’ll catch you if you start to fall.”

To his surprise, Sean granted him a brilliant, almost shy grin and repeated firmly, “I know.”

As he was still recovering, Sean slipped off the edge and into the water with barely a splash. He started, eyes going huge, as the water slid over his shoulders. Concerned, Michael asked, “You all right?”

“Fine. It’s…” Looking faintly startled, Sean sank against the wall. “It’s wonderful.”

Michael chuckled, skimming his fingers across the surface of the water. “You look surprised.”

Sean ducked his head with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’m just used to there being a catch.”

“Well, this time? There’s not.” Realizing suddenly that he’d lingered too long, Michael sat up and needlessly straightened his robe. “I should go-“

“No.”

The soft, firm word made them both start. Sean flushed, ducking his head again, then pulled a hand through his hair. “I… um, I can’t figure these bottles out. There’s, like, twenty, and I’ll probably use the wrong ones, and…”

“You want me to stay?” Michael cut in gently, leaning against the rim of the tub.

With a sigh, Sean nodded and looked down again. It was becoming a familiar pose. “Yeah. If it’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” Unable to resist the urge, Michael reached out and smoothed the hair away from Sean’s eyes. “I’ll stay.”

Sean looked up at him, startled, then offered him a tentative smile that made Michael’s face flush. Easing his hand away, he studied the floor, trying to shake off the light-headedness that had nothing to do with the steam. More to give himself something to do than anything else, he knelt and began rummaging through the shelf of bottles. After a moment, he managed to come up with something. “Ah. Here we go.”

Eyeing the murky brown liquid in the flask that Michael held, Sean asked warily, “What is it?”

Michael’s low chuckle as he poured some out into a cloth was oddly reassuring. “Something the healer threw together for me. It won’t hurt you, I promise.” Swiping the cloth over his own arm, he offered it out to Sean. “See?”

When the smear of soap didn’t leave a burn on Michael’s skin, Sean took the cloth between his fingertips gingerly, holding it for a moment before he finally shrugged and began to go to work. After a moment of watching him, too fascinated to look away, Michael rested his arms over the edge of the tub and informed him gently, “You’re not being timed, you know. You don’t have to rush.”

Startled, Sean turned his head to blink at him. “Hunter told me that you’d been headed for a bath-“

“I can wait.” Shaking himself away from studying the curve of Sean’s throat, Michael asked, “How long has it been since you had a bath?”

“Like this?” Sean chuckled, a too-brief flash of life. “Never.”

“See? You never get to recreate the first time for anything-“

“First time?”

Pretending not to notice the note of suspicion in Sean’s voice, Michael went on serenely, “So you should enjoy it now.” Hesitant, he reached out and laid his hand on Sean’s thin shoulder. The muscle twitched under his hand as Sean fought not to bolt. Biting back a wince, Michael gently kneaded at the knot of tension in his shoulder as he urged, “Relax. Let me take care of it?”

Sean shivered, biting his lip. God, Michael could tempt like an demon, that bare whisper breaking down his resolve. “I don’t know,” he managed weakly, wincing at how small his voice sounded. “I…”

“I won’t hurt you, Sean.”

The slightly wounded note in Michael’s voice made him open his eyes and crane his head back to look at the other man. A little more fiercely than he would have liked, he replied, “Of course you wouldn’t. It’s just…”

When his voice died away, Michael waited for a moment, then prompted, “Just?”

“Just old ghosts. My father…” Closing his eyes, Sean finally smirked bitterly and shook his head. “Never mind. I trust you.”

The grip of Michael’s hands on his shoulders eased, until they were just a warm weight resting on him. “You don’t have to do this, Sean. If you can’t trust me yet, I understand-“

“No.” Haltingly, Sean managed a small, genuine smile. “I want you to.”

The slow, bright smile that dawned on Michael’s face was worth anything his words might cost him. Tapping the side of Sean’s jaw, he nodded towards the other end of the tub. “And I want to. First, though, I want you to look over there. I need to get at the muscles in your shoulders.”

Curious, Sean craned his head back to look at him. “Why?”

Michael chuckled. “Because, brat, you’re tense. You can’t be comfortable.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Trust me, you will when I fix it.” With a nudge to the back of Sean’s head, Michael urged him to look forward. “Now hold still. This might be a little uncomfortable for a second, but it’ll get better.”

Sean jumped under his hands the first time Michael pressed his thumbs into a knot, and started to say something, only to slowly settle into the touch a moment later with a soft, surprised, “Oh.”

“Feel good?” Rubbing gently at another knot, Michael smiled fondly at Sean’s sigh of relief. “So yes, then.”

“I didn’t- mmm…” Sean’s voice faded out for a moment, his head falling limply back in an unspoken request not to move. Michael was happy to comply, and it was another few moments before Sean rediscovered his train of thought. “Didn’t even know I was sore. I got used to it.”

“Well, now you know. And anytime you want me to take care of it…”

Sean managed a half-lidded smile, sinking back against his hands. “Careful. Might take you up on that.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to.” Letting his hands drift up to rub at the tension pent up along Sean’s spine, Michael let the conversation slide into silence. Sean was nearly boneless, moaning softly and low in his throat as he lost himself in Michael’s touch. Michael felt oddly honored; he had the feeling that Sean didn’t give that kind of trust easily. As the first traces of color began to touch Sean’s pale skin, Michael asked on sudden impulse, “Do I get to wash your hair, too?”

He regretted it a moment later, as Sean tensed under his hands. Reluctantly moving his hands away, he began, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

Before he could finish, his hands were suddenly caught in an unexpectedly firm grip. Sean looked at him over his shoulder, his expression impossible to read. Just as Michael began to get uneasy, Sean let go of his hand, the confidence sliding out of his eyes as he remembered where he was and whose wrist he had just grabbed. “Whatever you want. I mean, if you want to…”

“Do you want me to?”

Sean blinked, bewildered. “Huh?”

With a sigh, Michael leaned against the edge of the bath. Pointing at Sean, he asked, “Do you want me,” he pointed at himself, “to wash your hair for you?” When Sean wavered, he tilted his head. “Is the question really that hard?”

Ducking his head, Sean muttered, “Sorry. I’m just… not used to it. Nobody’s asked me something like that since my father died.”

“Well. You can get used to it now.” Unable to resist the urge to comb his fingers through Sean’s hair, remembering how it had looked in the candlelight, Michael asked, “Want me to?”

A slow, shy smile touched Sean’s face, taking away the weight of years, as he nodded. “Yeah. I think I would.”

Either the heat of the bath was really getting to him, or he was blushing again. With a grin that probably looked goofier than hell, Michael gave the matted and dirty tangle of hair one last pat, then murmured, “Okay, then. Be back in a second.”

He could hear Sean’s shuddering sigh as he stood, then headed for the rack of soaps. It didn’t occur to him until he was rummaging through them that he had never done this while standing outside the bath. Damn. Well, hell, he was royalty, raised for ingenuity. He could figure something out.

With a firm nod, he pushed the robe’s sleeves decisively up past his elbows, grabbed a bottle of shampoo without glancing to see which, and headed back for the bath. Setting the bottle down, he started to say something, then paused as Sean tilted his head back to look at him. “What?”

“I-It might be easier, if…” Sean bit his lower lip briefly, then closed up his eyes and fought for the nerve to end that suggestion. “If you were in here with me?”

Michael nearly stopped breathing. Reaching out almost against his will, he touched Sean’s hair with his fingertips, petting him absently. “I shouldn’t,” he said finally. “Not yet.”

The words seemed to hit Sean like a punch. Ducking his head, he managed a soft, defeated, “Oh. Okay. I understand. I mean, if you don’t want to…”

To his surprise, Michael went on as if he hadn’t heard. “I mean, you should probably duck your head first, get your hair wet before I take up the rest of the room in there.”

Sean’s head jerked up. His eyes were huge with disbelief as he looked back at Michael and echoed, “Before you take up the rest of the room…?”

Michael chuckled, letting the warm feeling the invitation had sparked seep into his voice as he said gently, “Get your hair wet, then scoot forward.”

Taken off guard by the fact that Michael had actually agreed, Sean complied, letting his head sag back to hit the water. Once the water touched him, it was harder than he had expected to pull away. The warmth of the bath and the strong undertone of herbs seemed to lap at his headache and the tension in his neck, washing it away.

It occurred to him a few seconds too late that he was probably getting the water dirty. Damn, no wonder Michael had tried to back out of it… Raising his head, he began, “Michael-“

As if Michael had sensed the path of his thoughts, he replied easily, “Don’t worry about it. The water cycles.”

Pretending that explanation made some sort of sense to him, he said quietly, “Oh,” and let it go.

The whisper of cloth sliding over skin to hit stone made him close his eyes, trying to ignore the image of what Michael’s lean body would look like, naked in the half light. Then there was a soft splashing noises behind him, and it took all of his self-control not to look. He shivered helplessly as warm hands slid over his shoulder, Michael’s presence like a pressure on his skin.

“Cold?” Michael murmured, his voice suddenly close. Sean shook his head, not trusting his voice. Then Michael’s fingers slid into his hair, and he was lost.

Combing his fingers gently through the tangled black waves, Michael tried very hard not to lean forward and bury his face in them. This was supposed to be distracting, keep him from looking through the water to catch a distorted blur of Sean’s pale skin. It might be a little hard to explain what would be nudging against Sean’s back if he did.

He cleared his throat suddenly, fighting his rebellious libido, and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. Pouring some out, he slid his hands through Sean’s hair again and began to knead gently, smiling at the familiar, warm smell. Sean made a breathy noise that went straight to his groin. Biting his lip, Michael couldn’t resist kneading just a little harder, earning himself a moan. Then, sliding his hands down to Sean’s shoulders, he began to rub there again. Sean moaned softly, melting slowly under the touch.

“Sean?”

“Mmm?”

The incoherent reply made Michael smirk. “Talk to me.”

“’Bout what?”

“Yourself. Your life.” Noticing the new tension under his hands, he added quickly, “I don’t know much about you, other than that you look damned good in leather pants. Tell me about…” Sudden curiosity tugged at him, and against his better instincts, he asked, “Tell me about your father?”

Sean tensed under his hands, then just as suddenly relaxed. In a practiced calm voice, he asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Anything you want to tell me.”

Sean bit his lip, and for a long moment didn’t answer. Then, so abruptly that Michael started, he said, “He raised me mostly by himself. He taught me how to read when I was four, chess when I was eight, hunting when I was ten.” There was a hint of a smile in Sean’s voice as he added, “He wanted me to be cultured. He didn’t learn to read until he was twenty-four, and then only because the king’s army won’t take people who can’t. Used to read to me by the fireplace until his voice gave out. Sometimes I think he just forgot that I was there, and was supposed to be in bed hours ago. He got caught up easily. That’s probably why he married her.”

From the tone in Sean’s voice, Michael didn’t have to ask who ‘her’ was. Instead, he started to massage little circles on the soap-slick back of Sean’s neck. “He was in the army?”

“Yeah. Damned good at it, too, until he met my mother and decided to leave. Became a… a hunter. He liked to hunt.” Looking down, Sean traced the path of a bubble with his fingertip. “Died in one.”

The soft pain in his words made Michael wince. Without thinking, he embraced him from behind, nuzzling the curve of his throat. “You miss him.”

Sean’s chest hitched once, gently. He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Damn. His father had been dead for years now, he should be over this already. The sickness and the heat had to be going to his head, making him weak. He felt uncomfortably fragile, ready to break if Michael offered one word of comfort. The warm protection of his arms around him, his body against him, was making it hard enough.

Feeling the tension in Sean’s body, Michael eased away, unable to resist a last stroke of his fingertips down Sean’s ribs. “Lean your head back and close your eyes,” he commanded gently.

Sean was only too happy for the excuse, trying to ignore the tears threatening to blur his vision. Water flowed gently down from somewhere, washing away the soap and the dirt. He lost himself in the soft splashing noises for the moment, willing the ache in his chest away.

Michael stayed still for the moment, watching the dirt flow away. Then, shifting until he could lay against the edge of the tub, he reached for Sean and drew him back to lean against him, his back against Michael’s chest. Sean didn’t protest, even shifting back a little between Michael’s spread legs, spooning himself closer. Michael bit his lip against a sudden surge of heat, then promptly didn’t have to as he noticed the shivers wracking Sean’s body. They weren’t from the cold.

With a soft sympathetic noise, he touched the side of Sean’s head, urging him to lay his cheek down to rest against his chest. Sean complied without opening his eyes. They fit together a little too well, sliding into place like two pieces of a puzzle. Any closer and he’d be inside him.

If Sean felt something pressing into his back at that thought, he didn’t give any indication.

Reaching up, he began to stroke the wet hair away from Sean’s temple, trying to soothe him. Sean let out a shuddering sigh, then relaxed slightly. Reassured, Michael slipped an arm around his chest. Somehow, one hand ended up over Sean’s heart, his thumb brushing over one flat nipple. It tightened under his touch. Curious, he repeated the fleeting stroke.

Sean drew in a sharp breath, eyes bolting open. “Michael…” he managed, the words a half gasp.

His common sense was screaming for him to stop. Yet here Sean was, warm and willing and pressed against him, moaning softly as he rolled the tight nub of his nipple between his fingertips.

/Hunter will understand,/ he thought feverishly, looking down at Sean’s half-lidded eyes. /Hunter always understands./

It was a weak excuse, and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from leaning close, rubbing his cheek against Sean’s. “Let me touch you,” he murmured against Sean’s ear. Unable to resist the urge, he licked one earlobe gently, reveling in Sean’s startled whimper. “Let me show you.”

Sean wavered, shivering against him. Then, with a low moan, he let his head fall back to rest against Michael’s shoulder, baring his throat. “Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. “God, please…”
Michael complied, unable to do anything but, sliding his free hand up Sean’s chest to tease the other nipple to hardness. Sean whimpered, biting his lower lip against more sounds as the touches became a little more sure, the pleasure wavering close to pain.

“Sensitive,” Michael murmured against his throat, shifting behind him. For a fleeting second, something pressed against the base of his spine, letting him know that this attraction wasn’t one sided. He couldn’t help squirming, rubbing against Michael’s body as best he could. The sudden catch in Michael’s breathing rewarded him. With another dark chuckle, Michael nipped him gently. “Another time.”

Before he could protest, Michael’s hand was sliding down his chest, under the water. His fingertips traced a path down Sean’s stomach, taking in his flat stomach and too-sharp hipbones. Muscles twitched under his fingertips as he followed down the line of dark hair leading from Sean’s navel to lower, more sensitive places.

Michael hesitated for a moment as the back of his knuckles brushed against Sean’s hip, debating on whether to tease. Judging from the desperate look in Sean’s eyes, the lingering bruises below them marring his still too-pale skin, he’d better not. Promising himself that it could wait until later, he curled his fingers gently around the base of Sean’s length.

Sean moaned, arching back against him, Michael’s name a ragged whisper on his lips as the hand began to stroke him lightly. The cynical part of him taunted him, telling him that it wouldn’t be long now before he woke up to a horse blanket and Stephanie’s shrill whine, alone and sticky and in pain. It couldn’t be real. It felt too good.

Stroking Sean’s side with his free hand, long and easy strokes meant to soothe, Michael murmured reassuring nonsense in his ear as he touched him. He kept the pace slow for the moment, letting Sean get used to it… and, admittedly, teasing him. The low, purring moans, the way Sean shifted restlessly in his grip with each stroke, made it impossible not to.

“That feel good?” he purred, bending to kiss Sean’s throat. “God, you’re so hard… so hot.”

Sean shivered, closing his eyes against the honestly in Michael’s voice, drowning in the heat and his touch and the spicy scent of his skin.  Pressing back against him, trying to get as close as he could, to burrow in his warmth and be safe, he whimpered, “Harder…”

Michael complied, pressing just a little harder in all the right places, moving just a little faster. Even if he’d known it was coming, the touch jerked a shuddering moan out of Sean. Felt so good, too good… Hips shifting against the touch, he reached back to grasp at Michael, feeling his body tighten. “Michael,” he whimpered, shivering as he felt the pleasure scale even higher. “Ah, God, please… need you…”

The soft, disjointed words made Michael shudder, even as he pressed himself closer and nuzzled the curve of Sean’s throat. “That’s it, Sean. There you go. I’ve got you.” Feeling the thin body shudder suddenly in his arms, he nearly moaned. “Mmm… so hot. C’mon, baby, want you to come for me…”

As if that had been all he needed, Sean arched against him with a mewling sound as he came hard. Moaning at the sudden flood of heat over his hand, Michael held him closer, milking him until Sean finally relaxed against him with a whimper. Neither of them were breathing steadily, the sound loud in the small room.

Pressing his cheek to the top of Sean’s head, Michael cradled him close, one hand cupping the back of Sean’s head as he waited for the younger man’s heartbeat to slow. Something warm and protective was settling into him, a feeling that used to be reserved for when he bandaged Hunter’s wounds and held him as he came.

Hunter. He closed his eyes, remembering. He should be worried about this, about how Hunter would react when he found out, but…

Sean stirred against him, eyes finally flickering open to blink up at him. He forgot to worry, forgot to do anything but reach down and kiss the younger man’s forehead. “You know,” he murmured into the stillness, unable to look away from Sean’s still flushed face, “I dreamed about you. About doing this. You were always fantastic, so beautiful as you came.”

Looking faintly anxious, Sean shifted in his arms. “I was… I mean, I wasn’t-…”

Michael smoothly cut him off with another nuzzle, nosing against the slowly drying mop of dark curls. “You know something?”

“What?”

“Dreams don’t always come true. In reality…” Feeling Sean stiffen, Michael smiled warmly down at him. “In reality, baby, you were even more beautiful than I’d thought.”

To his amusement, Sean blushed, then nuzzled against him. He couldn’t quite smother a yawn.

With a chuckle, Michael sat up, smirking at Sean’s muttered protest. “C’mon. You’re about to fall asleep and drown yourself.”

Eyes opening, Sean looked down through the water at Michael’s still-hard length. “Don’t you want me to touch you?” he asked, startled.

“Of course I do.” Sliding up, Michael sat on the edge of the tub. The hungry look Sean fixed on his shaft made him smirk, then linger a moment longer before rising to his feet and gathering up his robe. “But I have to go take care of some things first.”

Sean’s smile slipped. “Hunter?”

“Partially.” Grasping Sean’s arm and urging him out of the bath, Michael held him close to steady him. The soft grumble of Sean’s stomach against his made him smile. “But you need to eat.” Draping the robe over Sean’s shoulders, he kissed him on the cheek. “Now, let’s go, huh?”
******
He knew that boy.

Studying the stones of the hallway as he paced restlessly back and forth in front of the door, Hunter struggled with his memories. Just like every time before, they stayed out of his reach, a nagging thought that he couldn’t quite touch. A old nightmare?

He struggled with that thought for a moment, then slumped against the door with a sigh and closed his eyes. He’d almost had it. If he could just reach a little further back… It was better than listening to the low voices and splashing noises from the other side of the door, anyway. Better than picturing Michael playing with his new obsession, smiling down at him, touching him gently…

Something twisted sharply inside him at that thought, the pain tightening. He rubbed absently at the ache, letting his head drop back against the door. Somehow, even through the ride home as he watched Michael fuss over Sean with a worry that went beyond what he usually showed to the strays and unfortunates he decided to save, Hunter had managed to convince himself that it was only temporary and his own place wasn’t being challenged. And it wasn’t, because it wasn’t his place anymore. It was Sean’s.

The ache turned into a burn, threatening to blur his vision. He cursed, letting his hand drop. “You knew this was going to happen,” he murmured fiercely to himself. “You knew damned well that he’s fickle as a cat, distracted by whatever comes along. You knew this was temporary. Don’t start crying now. When it’s over, but not now.”

“He was in the army?” Michael’s low purr intruded on his misery, dragging his attention back to him. As always. Without thinking, he tilted his head against the door, instinctively on guard. Something was happening.

“Yeah. Damned good at it, too, until he met my mother and decided to leave.” The voice, dark and rough as sin, was Sean’s. His words and his wistful tone told Hunter that he was talking about his father, years dead. Michael apparently had a thing for bastard sons. “Became a…” A second’s betraying hesitation, “a hunter. He liked to hunt.”

Memory jerked hard at Hunter now, distracting him. A hunter with Sean’s eyes…

“Died in one.”

And he remembered suddenly, clearly, the dark haired shadow he had seen slipping through the crowd towards the king that hellish afternoon twelve years ago. The man had brushed against him on the way to the platform, laid one gloved hand on the top of his head in apology as he passed. Twelve years later, Hunter still woke shaking and pale from the memory of that touch and how close death had come. Death had a wicked smirk and dancing Gypsy’s eyes that day, even as he drew the crossbow from beneath his cloak. He was still smiling when Hunter’s father had grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around. When he saw his father’s uniform, recognized his face, the smile faded on the edges to one of near apology. It was still on those full lips, the ones Sean had inherited, when he fired the crossbow bolt straight into his father’s heart. Or tried to.

The healers said that the assassin had only missed by a half inch and hit his lung instead, that it was a killing blow but it had taken a few moments longer to end his father’s life. Death hadn’t seen that. He had turned around to face the king, reloading the crossbow in all the distraction as the guards rushed through the crowd. Turning his back on a dying man had been his mistake. That, and the short dagger Hunter’s father drove between his shoulderblades, killed him.

Death had whipped around, eyes huge in denial as he stared down at his father. His father had smiled back, looking like a rumpled angel even with blood spilling over his lower lip to stain his uniform. It had still been there when they buried him in it. They fell together in a tangle of limbs, shadow and light, blood mingling between them. Death had landed with his still bright eyes fixed on Hunter’s face like a promise that this didn’t matter. He’d come back, one of these days, reminding him in his nightmares that it would be his turn soon enough. His father’s sacrifice was for nothing. He’d be back for him.

And he kept that promise.

A low moan cut through the door like it wasn’t even there. It was an unfamiliar sound. Michael’s voice urging him higher, using the terms of endearment that used to be his, wasn’t.

The pain was incredible, mingling with the fear until it burned in him and his hands were trembling. Tears stung at his eyes, and he closed them tightly, refusing to let them fall. Part of him wanted to force the door open and stalk in, but it wouldn’t help now. Not much would.

Taking in a shuddering breath, he swiped angrily at his eyes with the sleeve of his uniform and turned away. Michael needed a new guard, someone impartial, and he needed out. That, at least, was one thing he could fix.

His world was broken, but he could still run.
******
Sean barely made it back to the bed before his legs gave out from under him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Michael frowned thoughtfully down at the younger man wrapped up in his robe and nudging at the remains of food on his plate. Judging from the slightly resentful look on Sean’s face, he knew what the sudden spell of weakness meant. He’d thought he had recovered. His body had other ideas.

With a crooked smile, Michael settled back on the bed, close enough that his hip pressed against Sean’s. To his surprise, Sean didn’t tense at the contact anymore, nuzzling closer until his head rested on Michael’s shoulder. That same feeling spread through his chest, warming him, making his touch more tender that he had intended when he eased the robe apart to rest a hand on Sean’s flat stomach. “Better?” he murmured into dark hair.

Sean shivered and nodded, reaching down to rest his hand over Michael’s. “Better than bread and water, anyway.”

Anger sparked to life in Michael’s eyes. “Is that what she fed you? God, Sean, no wonder.”

Caught off guard, Sean looked up at him. “No wonder what?”

Michael propped himself on an elbow, letting his hand trail over Sean’s body, tracing his hipbone and over his ribs. “I can count your ribs, and almost see your hipbone through your skin.” Letting his hand drift up to cup Sean’s cheek, tracing over the scar, he shook his head. “I should’ve killed that bitch when I had a chance.”

“Exile’s as bad as death for her.” With a sigh, Sean laid his head back down. “God forbid the neighbors should talk.”

The reply startled a chuckle out of Michael. Wrapping his arms around Sean, he hugged him tightly for a moment, nuzzling his hair. Surprised, Sean tentatively hugged him back, huddling closer when the chill of the room caught up with him. Feeling something nudge against his stomach, he glanced down the length of Michael’s still-naked body and smirked faintly. “Is it later yet?”

Michael laughed, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “Brat. If I didn’t think you’d fall asleep halfway through…”

Tilting his head, Sean curiously brushed his fingertips over Michael’s nipple, teasing it to hardness. Michael drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, eyes half-closing. His crooked smirk belying his still tentative touches, Sean asked, “Do I look asleep to you?”

With a shaky smile, Michael murmured, “You certainly got nervy fast, baby.”

“I learn quickly.” Sean laid his head back without thinking to ease the ache in his neck, idly circling his thumb over Michael’s nipple. As soon as his head hit Michael’s shoulder, a yawn took him by surprise. With a groan, he clapped a hand over his eyes. “Oh, shit.”

“I agree.” Reluctantly reaching down to grip Sean’s wrist, easing it away from him, he said firmly, “But I want you to be awake when we do this again.”

Sean didn’t move his other hand. “Have I mentioned that I really hate being sick?”

“So I gathered.” Michael gently pried his hand away, kissing the fingers lightly. “You’ll get better. And when you do, I promise that I’ll make it worth your wait. Okay?”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I know.” Leaning close, Michael gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning away to grab clothes from beside the bed. “You should sleep-“

“No.”

Michael turned back to blink at Sean. “No?”

Sean dropped his eyes to the quilt, suddenly back to where he’d started. The change made Michael wince. “Sorry. Never mind.”

“You want something, baby.” Sitting beside him again, Michael idly ran his fingers through Sean’s hair. “What is it?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Sean glanced up at him through indecently long eyelashes, gauging his mood before he sighed and looked back at his hands. “Can I get a real kiss before you go?”

The request was so unexpected that Michael blinked at him for a long moment. Taking that as a no, Sean shifted away. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Yes, you did. And you were wrong.” Taking Sean’s chin in his hand, he urged the younger man’s face up until Sean looked at him. “A first kiss is never stupid. And yes. You can.”

That said, he leaned close and pressed his lips against Sean’s, kissing him gently and thoroughly, basking in the sudden shiver it earned him. When he finally moved back, both of them were gasping.

Looking faintly stunned, Sean managed, “If I said I wasn’t tired now…”

“I wouldn’t believe you. Much as I want to.” Michael stroked a thumb down the back of Sean’s neck before reluctantly rising. “Consider that my promise, baby. As soon as you’re better…”

“I’m yours,” Sean replied simply, holding his eyes firmly, if anxiously.

Closing his eyes, Michael drew in a deep breath, then knelt to retrieve his pants. “Get under the covers before I jump you, Sean.”

With a smirk that Michael didn’t see, Sean pulled up the quilt and squirmed under it, laying his head back with a content sigh. By the time Michael raised his head, his breathing had already steadied into sleep.

Michael smiled fondly down at him, rumpling now silk-soft black hair. “Brat,” he murmured indulgently, then turned to go look for Hunter.
******
Rain pounded against the windows of the castle’s outer corridors, droplets of it shining in the lamplight as they slid out of sight. The storm outside seems to make the night even dimmer, the darkness untouchable by the firelight. Every shadow was drawn out. For a few moments, Michael mistook the cloaked figure stalking down the hallway as one of their number. Then he saw the flash of golden hair in the firelight and smiled, trying to ignore the ominous feeling that was taking seed in his stomach.

“Hunter!”

The call made Hunter stop walking mid-step, tensing at the sound of his voice. Michael moved to catch up with him, touching his shoulder when Hunter didn’t turn around. “Hey. I need to talk to you. Where’ve you been?” Catching sight of the bag slung over Hunter’s shoulder, he stilled. Sudden suspicion made his voice hard as he asked, “Going somewhere?”

Hunter didn’t look at him as he replied tonelessly, “Your father has reassigned me to a new position. A small holding on the outside of his lands, towards the South.”

Michael’s eyes widened. Hunter had been his personal guard for ten years, and the Captain of his guard for five; to be reassigned so abruptly to a holding was beyond insulting. It was punishment.  This couldn’t be happening, not now, not when everything was so close to perfect… “What happened? Why did my father do this?”

‘Because they’ve been requesting a guard for almost nine years.” Drawing in a deep breath, Hunter added quietly, “And because I requested to be reassigned.”

“What?” Stunned, Michael let his arm drop, staring at Hunter as a growing fist of ice seemed to clench around his stomach. His voice sounded too plaintive as he asked, “Why?”

Hunter chuckled, a hard and humorless sound, and finally looked at him. The fury in his eyes didn’t quite hide the pain. “Because I’m not needed here anymore. Because you’ve found a new ‘cause’. Because, quite frankly, I’m not quite stupid enough to want to stay here on charity anymore.”

“Hunter!” Without thinking, Michael clutched at Hunter’s shoulder. “You’re not here on charity. You never have been. I need you here. I love-“

“Don’t give me that!” Knocking his hand away with a snarl, Hunter stepped back. “You found a new battered, scarred little orphan to share your bed. You can’t keep this one anymore. You’ve made your choice, Michael. You can’t have both of us.”

Michael stared at him, stung. “Hunter… that was a mistake. I should’ve told you first. I was wrong. Okay? This is totally unnecessary. You don’t understand-”

“And that’s supposed to fix everything?” Hunter shook his head, looking down at the floor, and for the first time Michael could see that he’d been crying. Over this, over him. Hunter never cried. “It won’t. So I’m cutting you loose now, Michael. From ten minutes ago on, I belong to the Lord and Lady of another holding. Not to you.”

“I won’t let you leave.” For a moment, Michael couldn’t recognize his own voice, small and broken in the thick silence.

“What are you going to do, lock me up? Just another pet in a cage for you to come play with when your new stray doesn’t interest you anymore? You can’t make me stay here and watch you with… with him.” Hunter lifted his head, his eyes dark and wild. “Do you know who that boy in your bed is? Do you even have the slightest clue?!”

“His name is Sean.” Hunter’s words made his protective instincts flare, and anger lent an edge to his voice as Michael warned, “Don’t take your anger out on him. This is not his fault, it’s mine-“

“His name is Sean Waltman, Michael! Son of Malcolm Waltman.” Taking a step towards him, Hunter stared at him so fiercely that Michael moved back. “Son of the leader of the Assassin’s Guild. Son of the man who murdered my father and who tried to murder yours. And he’s the one you’re calling ‘baby’.”

All the anger seeped out of Michael as he abruptly understood what this was about. Reaching for him, he began gently, “Hunter…”

Hunter pulled away, the cold look returning to his face as he recognized Michael’s tone. “Don’t. I advise you, my prince,” the formal title in his bitter voice made Michael wince, “to make very good friends with your new personal guard. You never know what your baby might be hiding behind his back.”

“So you think I’m in danger, and you choose now to run?” Michael shook his head, wanting badly to rub at the ache building in his throat. “If you’re so worried about me, why won’t you stay?”

With a haunted smile, Hunter shouldered his bag higher and replied in tight voice, “Because I’m a coward.”

Michael could only stare at him, helplessly watching his back as he turned away. He couldn’t heal this. He could never heal this. “Please?” he managed weakly, his voice cracking. When Hunter hesitated, he dropped to his knees, feeling the stones cold under his hands. His vision was starting to blur up. His voice was a bare whisper as he pleaded, “Hunter, please. I love you.”

His lover glanced over his shoulder, seeming to flinch when he saw him on his knees. Ducking his head until hair slid forward to hide his too-bright eyes, he said softly, “I beg your leave, your Majesty.”

Flipping his hood up, hiding beneath it, he slipped out into the night. By the time Michael got to his feet and ran, stumbling, to the door, he was gone, blending in with the dark.

Michael pressed his forehead against the doorframe, feeling the rain drill into him and drip wetly down his face like tears.