Page 8 of The Prince

“Do you know where?”

Ama shook his head. “I’m sorry. Not yet. The reason I wanted to meet here is so I can go deeper into the mountains to try to find it and get you more information.”

“Anything you can get on the location, on any weaknesses, or anything we can use to dismantle that fortress before Namin attacks with more than spies and evil stories, and I’ll double your earnings.” Braxton let out a heavy sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and pretended he didn’t see the gleam in Ama’s eyes at the mention of money. Ama’s decision to work for Toval might be a mystery, but why he continued to provide such excellent information wasn’t. He needed money badly, but given the value of everything Ama had just provided, Braxton had zero issue with providing as much as Ama wanted. Of course, that could be yet another ruse to keep Braxton complacent by believing he had figured out Ama’s motivation. Since Ama had yet to provide bad intelligence, Braxton didn’t honestly care. All he cared about was stopping Namin before they amassed their army and started killing Tovalians and to get back home as quickly as possible so he could halt the churning in his gut when he learned whether Clament was still alive.

“I’ll be in touch as soon as I learn more.” Ama stood and quickly upended a water skin over the fire, dousing the flames and sending smoke up in a plume.

“Stay safe,” Braxton responded, coughing and waving the smoke out of his face. When the smoke cleared, Ama was gone. Braxton ought to be used to Ama by now, but he still got a tightness in between his shoulder blades—as if a target were painted there—every time Ama did one of his disappearing acts.

Braxton took a second to ensure the fire was actually out before waving to Shir and Davon.

“Back to the castle as fast as we can go,” he explained, already leading the way out of the clearing to where they hadleft the horses about a half mile away. The entire journey to the horses, and then the entire two-day trip back to Etoval, Braxton worried: Worry about Namin and that damned fortress they were building somewhere in the densely wooded, extremely dangerous Spikehorn Mountains. Worry about whether Clament was still alive, and if he was, whether he had been hurt again. And worry for himself, because as long as these crazy, churning feelings that erupted every time he thought about Clament continued, Braxton knew his life as a happily single bachelor was probably over.

Chapter Five

GENTLE FLURRIES OFsnow blew outside Clament’s window, the first signs of the coming winter as the chill of late autumn truly settled across the land. The fat white flakes drifted downward, where they immediately melted on the flagstones far, far below. The season was far too young for any snow to accumulate just yet. The royal wing of the palace comprised the top two floors and tower on the western section of the castle, and Clament had been given one of the smaller, one-story rooms. He let the curtain fall and turned around to survey his space for the thousandth time, still in disbelief that Fenwick had allowed him access to so much luxury.

The chair Clament was sitting in was part of a small breakfast nook tucked under the window, out of which he had just been looking. Gleaming, golden wood floors spanned the space covered with thick area rugs of geometric shapes in dark gray and green. Two cream-colored couches with green scatter cushions surrounded an oval coffee table stained dark brown. By the door, a matching entry table with places for correspondence, keys, and other miscellany, and a matching sideboard, with crystal cut decanters full of brandy and gin, spanned the back wall. To the left was the door to the office, which had another green and gray rug and a desk in that same dark wood thatdominated the room. Clament had no use for an office, so it was empty aside from a bookcase near the door, where he kept some of the books the castle library had loaned him.

The bedroom was equally well-appointed, a massive four-poster bed with green curtains and a dark gray blanket over a mattress so sinfully soft most mornings Clament had to convince himself to get out of bed. Dark-stained nightstands framed either side of the bed, and a dressing table with a mirror filled the wall opposite the windows. Another door led to a closet the same size as the office, the shelves almost completely empty aside from his handful of borrowed outfits. Through the closet was an actual bathing room with running water. A tub and shower, a flush toilet, and a sink in beautiful, gray-threaded marble. Clament had heard of the new magic and technology that allowed for running water, but had never seen it used for such luxury. The castle where he grew up in Namin certainly couldn’t boast such extravagance.

A gentle knock sounded on the door. Clament looked away from the snow toward the sound and called out, “Enter.”

The door opened and the usual servant who tended Clament’s room stepped inside. “Prince Braxton asked if he might come by to speak with you, Your Highness.”

Finally. Clament controlled his face so he didn’t show his worry, but the churning in his stomach and his heart rate increased.

“Whenever he’s available, please tell him he’s welcome,” Clament responded, glad his voice didn’t crack or sound strangled.

The servant bowed and left, closing the door behind him. Clament wanted to get up and pace; his legs ached to move to relieve some of the tension, but his legs also still ached becauseof the abuse he had inflicted on them six days ago, running from his attackers. Also, Alina would subject him to more of her nasty concoctions if she found out he was moving around too much. Clament compromised by only moving over to one of the couches where his patchwork quilt was neatly folded.

Another minute passed and Clament started to worry Braxton wouldn’t have time to come by until later, but then another knock sounded, this one firmer and louder than the previous.

“Come in!”

Braxton walked inside, closed the door behind him, and then awkwardly stood in the entryway staring at Clament. Clament wanted to believe he saw genuine relief in Braxton’s lovely hazel eyes as he looked at Clament for a long moment.

Clament wanted to be able to tell Braxton everything, exactly like he had said to Fenwick. But while his statement to Fenwick was about who had tried to kill him and why, right now the small, secret part of Clament really wanted to explore the way his insides were melting and squirming under Braxton’s regard. Beautiful eyes, set in a face that Clament had only allowed himself to dream about when he was alone, looked at him as if he mattered—Clament, the useless, throwaway prince of a country that didn’t want him. That seemed too far-fetched, though, and distracting himself by looking at those beautiful eyes and dreaming about such nonsense wasn’t helpful. Clament needed to focus on reality, not speculation. He firmly shoved away his errant thoughts, turning his attention back to the fact that Braxton had safely returned from his trip.

Thankfully, aside from looking tired, Braxton didn’t appear to have suffered on his journey. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, the strands curling over his forehead and around his ears in a way Clament struggled not to call cute. Add a fewdroplets of water sliding down Braxton’s suntanned skin, and Braxton would easily slide from cute to sexy. With a flash of panic that finally quelled the overexcited beating of his heart, Clament clamped down on that thought too. He shouldn’t be thinking like this about an enemy prince. It was past time for Clament to get himself under control. Thankfully, Braxton spoke again, giving Clament a needed distraction.

“Alina said you were unharmed, and I’m glad to see she told the truth,” Braxton said.

Clament belatedly waved to the opposite couch, realizing Braxton was waiting for an invitation to come closer. He ignored the stab of—he wouldn’t call it jealousy —but some sort of dark, unpleasant jolt went through him, hearing Braxton had gone to speak with Alina first.

“I heard you had been attacked and had a moment of panic when I reached your room in the healers’ ward and you weren’t there. Alina told me Fen had you moved somewhere safer. I…um… When you were well enough to leave the ward, I was planning on moving you here anyway, so don’t think you’re taking someone’s room or something. This was already prepared for you beforehand.”

Clament hadn’t considered that he might have displaced someone from their home, but it was nice to know all the same, particularly with the addition of the blooming warmth that filled him at the thought of Braxton thinking of him and planning ahead for his comfort. His earlier feelings… Well, he still refused to call what he felt then jealousy, but at some point he was going to have to sit down and figure out what to do about his growing, swirling emotions when it came to Braxton. He had to get rid of them…or embrace them. The latter was impossible, so he had to do the former even though he was clearly failing miserably.

Either way, that warmth comforted him more than he wanted to admit.

“The room is wonderful,” Clament replied and then shut his mouth hard when that came out a touch too wishful. He had resolved to tell Braxton about Namin’s scheme; Braxton didn’t need to know about how difficult life had been for Clament in Namin though. Letting Braxton know this was the nicest room he had ever lived in would only distract them from the real reason Braxton was here.

They lapsed into awkward silence for a few long moments before Braxton let out a heavy sigh.

“Right. Namin is building a fortress in the Spikehorn Mountains, somewhere south along the border with Toval,” Braxton said, his tone stern, but his eyes soft and worried. “Their intent is to have better access to the border, troops stationed closer, supply lines closer, everything an invading army needs. And what Namin needs is food.”

Clament let out his own sigh, dug deep to firm his resolve, clenched his fists, and jumped off the cliff’s edge Braxton had dragged him to. “Not just food,” Clament replied. “The military has been promised a grand victory over Toval for generations. Instead, the generals are plump and spoiled off the king’s bribes, and the regular enlisted are starving, the same as the peasants. More sergeants and lieutenants have had mysterious accidents than the generals can conceal, and soon the coup will come from those trained to fight. There are still some lords who haven’t fallen into the kleptocracy, and they’ll side with the military. Plus, the peasants will rise up and provide the numbers the coup needs to succeed. However, for all of that to occur, the military has to slip their chains first. The king knows all of that. Rather than allowing the military to plot in the capital, he sent them to the mountains where they would be distracted by buildinga ridiculous fortress Namin can’t afford to build, all so they can have their promised victory over Toval rather than a coup against the Namin throne.”

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