Page 116 of Dragon Slayer

“I’m sorry, your grace,” Val rushed to say. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The despot froze. “Val?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Oh.” He let out a deep breath. “Christ.” A sleep-roughened chuckle. “I’m sorry, you startled me.”

“I’msorry,” Val said. “I wouldn’t have bothered you now, while you’re sleeping. It’s only – I have unfortunate news.”

A beat. “Hold on a moment.” He had human eyes; Val watched him fumble across the night table for a candle. Wished he could reach out with corporeal fingers and take it from the man, help him flip back his covers and slide down out of bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, miserable.

“No, no, don’t be.” Constantine crossed slowly to the hearth and knelt to light his candle on the smoldering coals there. When he stood, flame cupped behind one hand, the light glinted off his eyes, alert now, troubled. He walked up to Val, sat down on the large chest at the end of his bed, so they were on eye level. “What’s the matter, son?”

Val took a breath to steady himself. It was immense, what he’d come to tell. Impossible and unimaginable. “Mehmet,” he said, and the name brought a foul taste to the back of his tongue. “He – he’s been dreaming. Talking.” Deep exhalation. “Your grace, he’s set his sights on Byzantium. He means to march on Constantinople and take it for his own.”

Constantine’s brows jumped, but his face remained otherwise calm, light from the candleflame dancing over it. “He’s ambitious.”

“He’sinsane,” Val blurted out before he could help it. He’d been stuffing all his emotions down deep, willing himself not to feel any particular way about his current situation. If he allowed himself to actively hate it…he knew there was no coming back from that. He’d go mad. But here now, alone in the company of a true friend…it all came spilling out. “He’s terrible, and violent, and he thinks he can make himself a Roman emperor, just because he wants it. He talks publicly about glory for the Ottomans, but he just wants to style himself as Alexander and conquer the whole damn world!”

He was panting by the end, arms flung wide. Constantine’s gaze moved down, flicking toward the join of shoulder and neck that had been exposed by the slow slide of his night shirt. Too late, Val remembered the sultan’s fangs there, the sharp sting of a bite as passion overtook him. He reached to tug the shirt back over the mark, but the damage was done.

When Constantine met Val’s gaze again, his own was almost wounded. “Val.” His voice sounded like a sore throat; like an ache. “What has happened?”

Val felt a tremor start, bone-deep. Tiny little quakes that would spread out and out until his hands shook if he didn’t gain control of them. “Only what I told you. That Mehmet means to sack–”

“Val. I don’t care about that. What has the sultan doneto you?”

Pride warred with shame. And with yearning – he wanted badly to tell someone, a childish need for comfort. Vlad had always told him not to act like a baby, but…but…

He took a shattered breath, and then another.Nothingdied on his tongue. A dozen other protests formed, but he couldn’t voice them. He felt the burn of tears, and wondered why he was forever crying in front of this man, who had much greater worries than the emotions of a Wallachian child who couldn’t manage to keep himself out of a sultan’s bed.

“Son–”

“It’s my fault.” Val closed his eyes, fighting the tears back, unable to face the sympathy on the man’s face. “I could have…could have refused…or…”

Constantine sighed. “It isnotyour fault,” he said patiently, and when Val cracked his eyes open, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t sympathy, but anger on the despot’s face. Hardening his jaw, throwing the tendons on his throat into stark relief. “There’s nothing you could have done to stop it.” His hand tightened around the candlestick in his hand until the flame wavered. “It is the job of men to stop that sort of thing from happening. And apparently there is a shortage of those among the Ottomans.”

A shudder moved through him, and he bared his teeth. But then he took another breath and calmed visibly. Another sigh. He shook his head. “Emperors, and kings, and sultans will do as they want, though.” And here came the sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Val. I wish I could…” He trailed off. There was nothing he could do, and they both knew it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you,” Val said. “I only came to warn you of Mehmet’s plans to take your brother’s city.”

“He can’t take the city. No one can breach its walls.” Dismissive, certain. “But you…” His eyes widened. “Val, does he know you can do this? That you can visit someone outside of the palace this way?”

“No.”

“You mustn’t tell him. You would be punished.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but cut off, visibly biting back the words. “Val,” he said, helplessly, “I’m sorry.”

“I know, you’ve said.” Val scraped up a smile. “Thank you, but I’ll be alright.”

They stared at one another a long moment, the despot clearly at a loss.

“I should return,” Val said at last. “May – may I still visit you? When I’m able?”

“Ofcourse.”

“Thank you.” Val shut his eyes and slipped away. When he opened them again, it was to the darkness of Mehmet’s bedchamber.

The sultan still snored behind him.

Val lie awake for a long time, silent tears soaking his pillow.

---