Defiance Ch. 10

"Really?" Christian asked, his grip slightly more firm. "How so?"

"I-" Tate faltered, feeling he was wandering into dangerous territory. "I suppose it was just inevitable in the end."

"Tate, Tate, Tate," Christian chanted mockingly. "You're lying to me." His hand latched onto the half-blood's arm and applied gentle pressure. "Do not try to fool me!" He hissed quietly, but very dangerously. "What aren't you telling me?"

Tate thought quickly. With everything else that had happened he had almost forgotten the encounter with Lord Ralan. He had noticed the great fop watching him now and again but he had not tried to approach the half-blood since Tate had entered the palace. A part of him reasoned there was no danger admitting what had happened. Despite himself he was worried about the consequences. Christian wasn't just mad, he was also dangerously cunning. He seemed capable of using the most mundane things against a person.

"Tate?" Christian said warningly. "I won't ask again."

"There was a man," Tate said quietly. "A tracker. He was common born though he tried to talk like a nobleman. He found me in the Casiam woods some time ago. He was the one that-" He paused for a moment, looking at the cast that still encased his arm. "He was the one that broke my arm."

Christian's hold lessened slightly. "How then did you come to be with Tanis?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"There was a fight." Tate shrugged causally though his insides were boiling. He hoped the prince didn't question his brother before Tate had a chance to talk to him. "Tanis won."

"And this tracker?" Christian asked.

"Dead I suppose." Tate lied, shuddering slightly as he thought of the wolfish man.

"Did he touch you?" Christian demanded with sudden urgency.

"No," He said truthfully, wishing he could get away from Christian's closeness.

Christian nodded his head thoughtfully. "You were afraid of him?"

Tate couldn't help the sharp look he gave Christian. "Not particularly."

He nodded his head again in thoughtful consideration. "Good."

********

Christian's room was filled with servants and guards as he and Tate stepped inside. They were preparing the prince for travel. He would be leaving on the morrow to fetch his betrothed. By some stroke of luck Tate was forbidden to travel with him. He tried not to let his eagerness for Christian's departure show.

He wriggled out of the princes lose grip on his elbow and moved swiftly to an abandoned corner of the room. He saw that a few of the guards were looking at him and he couldn't help but notice the scorn he saw in their heated eyes. He glared back at them, unprepared to be cowed by the mindless brutes. One of them whispered something and the whole group began to laugh. It was their laughter that caught Christian's attention. He looked over at them, taking in the developing scene with evident interest. A cruel smile twisted his full lips as he walked among his men. Tate watched them warily, slowly edging as far away from them as he could.

He felt like a fox that was about to be ran down by a pack of hounds as they suddenly swarmed. He was boxed in within a tight circle of bodies, suddenly and painfully aware of how vulnerable he was. He tried to force his way past them but they just pushed him back, laughing as he stumbled and letting out a booming cheer when he finally fell.

One of them, a young man clearly quite new to his sword, laughed and nudged Tate's leg with his boot. When the half-blood failed to move quickly enough he lashed out and kicked Tate's shin with frightening force. Despite himself he cried out, falling forwards as his leg collapsed beneath him. He heard laughter above him and then a gurgled scream. Tate looked up just as the boy's body crashed down beside him, his blood spurting over Tate's bowed frame. Christian stood above them, his sword out and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "No one touches him." He snarled. "Not unless I say so, you hear me?"

The soldier's dead gaze was fixed on Tate, his eyes dead and accusing as they stared back at him. He swallowed down a groan and shuffled away from the body and the slowly expanding pool of blood that was trickling towards him. No one tried to impede him this time.

"Out!" Christian suddenly boomed. "Get out all of you! And take this abomination with you!"

Tate pressed his back against a wall and slowly stood up. He watched the fleeing servants and soldiers enviously, unsure if he was supposed to leave the prince as well. He took a few halting steps towards the door. "Tate!" Christian yelled. "By the gods man you had better not take another step if you want to retain the use of your legs!"

Tate froze. "Apologies my lord, I thought you wanted me gone." He swallowed quietly. "Would you like me to fetch someone to clean the floor?"

"The floor?" Christian looked at the spreading blood with some surprise. "Oh yes, the floor. Go on then, but don't be gone long."

"Yes your highness." He said quickly before bolting from the room into the hallway. He noticed the guards carrying the dead solider between them and caught a glimpse of their retreating back as they disappeared around a corner. His gaze suddenly aligned on the dark path of blood that followed them and suddenly he began to retch. It was absurd. He had been brought up among a military family that had seen more than their fair share of bloodshed. Yet he felt such an overwhelming sense of disgust that his body could not contain it. Tears streamed down his face as he collapsed forward, unable to support himself as he tried not to be ill all over the bloodied floor.

He didn't hear anyone approach and in truth he was beyond caring when a strong grasp caught the back of his shirt and dragged him upright. Tate could barely see him among his tears but he recognised the grizzled old voice.

"What are you doing out here?" Kener asked, his tone less harsh than Tate remembered from the time they travelled together.

"I have to find someone to clean the floor." He sputtered out. He could feel the beginnings of shame flicker at the edge of his consciousness but he pushed it firmly away. "He killed a soldier, in his chambers because he-"

The old man marched him swiftly up the hallway and thrust him through another set of doors. Tate was hauled into a bathroom and abruptly swung around and forced to the floor. A moment later a ceramic bowl was forced under his nose. "Go on then." The old one said simply.

Tate was violently ill as he finally released the terrible bile in his belly. He leaned forward, his chest heaving as his heart thumped painfully quick in his chest. When he was finally finished he felt completely spent. He looked up reluctantly and unsurprisingly found the old man looking down at him. He met his grey eyes defiantly as he steadied himself for the old ones distain.

"You finished?" He asked casually.

"I think so," He pushed himself warily to his feet. "I had better go; he'll get angry if I'm gone too long."

"He'll be even less pleased should you be violently ill upon his floor boy. Take a moment, it seems you need it."

Tate glared at the old man and wondered into the next room. It was a lot like Christian's outer chambers, though on a lesser scale. "Is this Tanis's room?" He asked curiously as he stepped slowly around the room. He noticed the portrait above the grand fireplace and walked beneath it to better study the painted young woman smiling serenely back at him.

"Yes, this is his highness's room." Kener said, pointedly emphasising Tanis's title. He stepped beside the half-blood, keeping a comfortable distance between them. "And that is a portrait of his highness's mother, queen Violet."

"He looks like her." Tate commented. He took a deep breath. "I really should go. I need to find someone to clean Christian's floor." He turned to the old man and felt a wave of irritation. "I'll not thank you."He said quietly.

"Thank me for what?" The old one asked. He walked Tate to the door. "I'll see that the floor is taken care of. You had better get back to him."

"Yes," Tate said tiredly. "I suppose I'd better."

******

He woke with a stifled scream. Christian stirred restlessly beside him, groaning and mumbling quietly in his sleep. Tate's heart lodged in his throat as he waited to see if the prince would wake. He let out a tortured groan, unaware that he had been holding his breath as Christian started snoring again, softly but steadily. It seemed that the previous night festivities had taken a heavy toll on the prince. He would not wake any time soon.

The half-blood sat up and wiped away the sheen of sweat off his brow. He tried to calm his tortured nerves as the lingering images of his dream pushed away all other thoughts. How vividly he remembered the view of the clouds as he soured majestically above them. How small the world seemed from so high up, where the skies shone bluer than sapphire and the sun burned with an easy abandon.

The dreams were his only release from the world he knew, and he welcomed them gladly. Each night real life seemed to grow even less substantial. A part of him knew that he was giving up by throwing himself into a world of make believe but that part was very small. It had beaten down by Christian and the constant barrage of humiliation and pain he endured every day. And what of the pain you've caused, a tiny voice demanded in the recesses of his mind. An image of Lukas cut through the vision of the dream, shredding his moment of blissful peace. Pain laced through him, a different yet equally devastating agony.

Quickly he thought of the invisible one, watching him, guiding him, demanding that Tate make himself known. Tate had almost convinced himself that the invisible one existed, that he waited eagerly for Tate somewhere in his world above the clouds. The half-blood snorted quietly and without humour. He really was going quite mad, though it was a madness that he openly welcomed.

If not for the chains that constantly sought to pull him back to the world of mortals he might not have ever woken. What was it about him that made the skies reject his presence? Why was he allowed into such an amazing world and then so carelessly ripped out of it. It was so unfair, so unjust.

His eyes sought Christian's long form in the dark and the familiar feeling of venomous hatred flared through him. He would be gone on the morrow, for the gods only knew how long. For the first time in what suddenly felt like an eternity Tate would sleep alone and untouched. Richard would be close by of course, watching him with his lecherous eyes. He would not touch him though, Tate was fairly sure of that. Even Richard was not that stupid. Tate debated lying to Christian when he returned. What would the prince do to the captain if he was made to believe that he had touched Tate? What would Christian do to him if he found out he was lying? Tate shuddered.

He was very young, Tate mused, which was something he often forgot when he was looking at the prince. Christian was no more than a boy really, a child. Tate thought back to the previous two nights when the prince had literally been carried into his chambers by Richard and a handful of other guards. He had been dead drunk and was covered in a disturbing amount of blood. Tate had listened to the guards laughing about the prince's temper and the fate of the poor boy that had weathered that anger in the whore house. Tate didn't need to ask if the boy was dead. The look on the soldiers mocking faces was answer enough. How much longer until they were laughing about him?

He had considered running of course but the idea was as stupid as it was pointless. The palace was far better guarded than his father's holdings. Besides, they would be watching him like a hawk whilst the prince was gone. No one would want to be responsible for Tate's disappearance.

Perhaps the gods would smile upon him and Christian would take to his new wife. True he had done nothing but fight his father's command since the words had been spoken but perhaps, somehow he might come to love her. Tate wondered if the king was hoping the same thing. Was that why he was keeping them separated, to give his son and his new wife a chance? One could hope he supposed.

Though somehow he doubted that life could ever be that kind to him.

**********

Lukas watched the prince's procession pass by from a narrow and dirty alleyway. His hungry eyes followed the line with burning desperation. Where was he?

The prince passed him, his face drawn and haggard as he stared imperiously ahead. The surrounding crowd cheered Christian's name as adoring women and small children threw petals in the prince's path. The bastard didn't even bother to acknowledge them. More surprisingly his stupid followers didn't seem to care. Such an odd people, he thought as his gaze locked on each passing horseman, that they should be treated so poorly by their own leader and yet love him for it.

"He isn't here." He mumbled, his voice less than a whisper. A part of him was almost thankful, seeing him again would only rip open the already gaping hole in his heart. Yet he feared for Tate. The rumours had not failed to reach him. All knew of the prince's new squire. They were said to never be a part. Was it possible that he had hurt Tate so badly that he was unable to accompany him? Could he be dead?

"Who isn't here?" A small voice squeaked behind him. Lukas turned around and suppressed a groan as two bright green eyes stared happily up at him. "What?" The little urchin demanded defensively.

"I told you to stop following me." Lukas hissed. He purposefully turned his back on the boy. "Go back to the inn."

"I don't feel like it." He said, not the least bit concerned by Lukas's obvious annoyance. "Who are you looking for that'd be in the princes company." He paused for a moment. "Can we throw a rock at him?"

"No," Lukas said, though he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea. Throwing a rock at the heir apparent would certainly lighten his mood. "I'm being serious Falliath, go back to the inn."

"No." He said, mimicking Lukas's tone.

They had almost all passed now and he was certain that Tate had not been among them. His odd colouring would have made him almost impossible to miss. He sighed softly and turned around. "Come on." He said resignedly. "Let's find something to eat."

The boys eyes widened in pleasure as he trailed happily after Lukas. The tinker wondered what it was about him that made the boy want to stay so close. Most of the other remaining gypsies had departed a short time before, hoping to make it the border and into the southern lands. So many of them had lost their children that there had been numerous offers to adopt Falliath. He rejected them all and insisted on staying in the city. He claimed he was waiting for his mother. Many had tried to gently explain to him that he would most likely never see his mother again. The little urchin had shook off their words and remained stubbornly insistent. No one would take him against his will, it was not their way. So he remained with Lukas and the few remaining gypsies that stayed in the city, hoping to save the people they had lost.

A foolish existence, but what more did they have to sustain them? Lukas especially could not leave. Robert, Rose and Tate. They all remained within the city walls, or at least he thought they did. How could he abandon them if there was even a change they might still live.

*****

Warm hand ran over his chest and nipples, playing with the sensitive nubs before moving sinuously down to his waist. Hot wet suction took his breath away. A torrent of pleasure flowed through him, shutting of all other senses until nothing existed beyond the pure ecstasy of his touch.

His back arched as more waves of dazzling pleasure assailed him. "I've missed you." Tate whispered, running his hands over the tiny braids and charm in Lukas's hair. "Where have you been?"

"Where have you been Shantran?" He husked. His hands ran down Tate's flanks with delicious slowness. "I've searched the world for you."

"Sorry," Tate's voice cracked. "So sorry – for everything."

Lukas's soft lips silenced him. "Hush. We're together now."

He pushed himself into Tate, moving slowly back and forth as the smaller man writhed in delicious longing. How long had it been since he had felt such wonder and contentment? He had sorely missed Lukas's delectable touch. The gypsy's warm and gentle hands brought him to a shuddering climax that was quickly followed by the tinker's own joyous release.

He woke almost instantly. The cool spring breeze from the open window filtered across his face, cooling his heated skin and waking him completely. He looked slowly around the small room that lay adjacent to the prince's chambers and got slowly to his feet.

Another dream, different from the others, less real though it hadn't felt like it at the time. He was surprised at himself that he could still feel passion considering the disgust he felt every time Christian laid his hands on him.

He wished he hadn't dreamed of Lukas though because remembering his touch made his absence all the more devastating. "I was a fool to leave him." He whispered into the darkness.