Page 71 of The King's Menagerie

He carefully did not think about the other things he enjoyed from such men. Gawking at the twins had been bad enough.

Shock jolted through him. He was thinking about such things.He was thinking about such things.Since his brother's death, nothing and no one had interested him. For so long, he'd existed in a haze of grief, until it had given away to a cloud of numbness. It was only recently that too had faded. Seven months and eight days now since he'd held his dead brother inhis arms. Was he allowed to feel anything again? He did not think ten years, or a hundred, was enough time to forgive his terrible sin. His brother had needed him, and he had not been there, and he had trusted the wrong people—

Turning away from those thoughts, he focused on the prince he was saving. He looked again at the large harem man. His nose looked as though it had been broken a couple of times, but it did not detract at all from his handsome features. None of the four were as striking, as compelling, as the king himself, but they were all damned close.

Was there a fifth one missing? Did the king only have four? What did it matter? Annoyed with himself, not quite certain why, Ramsay shifted his gaze back to the king—and startled to find he was being observed in his turn. He looked straight into dark, dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, then wrenched his gaze away.

Doing so was much more difficult than it should have been, and he could not figure out why his heart was suddenly beating so damned fast. What was wrong with him? He was here to tell the king that his son was safe and could be brought home soon, not to act like a great fool.

A bell rang, signaling the resumption of the audiences.

"One thirteen!" a clerk cried out.

Ramsay frowned and glanced at his token. That was his, but when they had paused for a break, they had only been in the eighties. The clerk called his number again, and he slid down from his perch, presenting the token to the clerk, who checked him off and motioned that he may approach the throne.

He had spent his life guarding a prince, milling with nobles and royals, the most powerful men in the world. He had punched and otherwise harmed a few of them when they dared to try and bring harm to the man he had been blood swornto protect. There was nothing about the high and mighty that unsettled him.

Yet his heart was still beating rapidly as he knelt reflexively before King Shafiq.

"You are a long way from home, child of Tritacia," Shafiq said.

Ramsay looked up in surprise. "I did not give my country of origin, Majesty. How did you know it?"

Shafiq seemed amused by something, but said only, "My clerk is a scholar of languages, and he has quite the ear for accents. That aside, your hair is a rather unique coppery orange. I seldom have seen that shade when it did not belong to a child of the Three Goddesses."

"Your Majesty," Ramsay conceded with a nod. His greatest asset as a Holy Protector had been that he looked quite harmless. His coppery hair seemed too bright for an earnest soldier, his freckles more suited to a child, and his small, compact stature had made him look weak and vulnerable. Too late, people realized he was no kitten.

"So you have come to introduce yourself?" the king asked. "You are a long way from home. Why do you choose to settle here?"

Ramsay almost replied honestly and inwardly recoiled. What was wrong with him? He was a Holy Protector; he had a job to do. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "I have a different reason for being here, actually, Your Majesty. Two days ago, I met a young man while journeying to my house, well outside your magnificent city. He told me some fascinating stories, about Cobra and Owl and Fox—and Ghost, which was his favorite, though he tells me that his father says Ghosts do not exist."

The king looked puzzled for a second—then his eyes snapped open, and too late Ramsay realized his attempt at conveying all was well had not worked.

Everything happened fast. It always did. Even as he heard guards banishing everyone else from the room, others were upon him, drawing swords for what they no doubt thought would be an easy capture.

He caught the first one in the face with his fist, then whirled around and took down two more with well-placed kicks, dropping to sweep another one off his feet, then bounced up neatly—

To find himself going head-to-head with the broad-shouldered harem man, and for a split-second Ramsay had the thought that he would be enjoying himself if the situation were not so dire. Goddesses, the man could fight, and it was obvious he was not fooled for a second by Ramsay's deceptive build and features.

Fighting a sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh, Ramsay tried to keep the man back without doing him real harm. "I'm not—" He dodged, kicked. "A threat. Please—" That time, he dodged too late and stumbled back with a grunt.

But he recovered in the next moment, until at last they were pinned, locked together in an awkward draw.

"Where is Prince Kajan?" the man demanded.

The king moved forward, even as the rest of the harem tried to hold him back. "My son, where is—"

Everyone froze as the door abruptly opened to admit—

"Jankin?" Ramsay asked, not certain what shocked him more—that of all people, Jankin had just walked in, or that Jankin was obviously the fifth member of the king's harem. "What in the name of the Three are you doing here?"

"Me?" Jankin demanded. "What areyoudoing here? You are an incredibly long way from home. Oh, Berkant, honestly.Let him go. What in the name of the Great Dragon is going on here?"

"He has Kajan," Berkant replied.

"I saved him!" Ramsay finally managed to get out.

Silence fell for a moment, then Shafiq said quietly but firmly, "Berkant, let him go."

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