Page 9 of A Royal Kiss & Tell
The next thing he knew, he was caught in an alley with two men he’d never seen before. A sick punch of dread hit his belly, threatening to purge all the ale he’d so recklessly drunk.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded in Alucian.
“Please be calm, Your Highness,” one of them said as they dragged him toward the dead end of the alley, then attempted to prop him up against the wall.
“Calm?”He flailed, waving them away. “Who are you? I have a right to know who or what is about to befall me.” A flurry of watery thoughts and emotions suddenly swirled in him—fear, regret, impatience—and all led to the same conclusion rather quickly: the inevitability of this very thing.
“I’ll keep watch,” one of the men said to the other in Alucian. He turned and took a few steps toward the alley entrance.
The other man took a tentative step toward Leo.
“See here now, I know death is inevitable,” Leo said.
“We do not—”
“And if this is the way I am to die, I will meet it with courage and grace,” Leo continued, spreading his arms wide. For a moment—he couldn’t hold his balance. “But make no mistake, sir. I will meet my end with a fight. Although I seem to be outnumbered, and I see nothing in this alley that will do for a weapon.” He squinted at what appeared to be a cat atop some stacked crates, entirely unperturbed by his imminent demise. “Is that a cat?”
The man turned to look.
“I would kick my own arse for being so blasted drunk if I could,” Leo said, remembering his predicament and glancing around for something to swing at the man’s head. “And if I survive this hijacking, I shall never taste a spirit again.” He paused. “Well. After tonight, I won’t. I will be required to drink a toast to my brother, of course.”
“Your Highness,” the man said in Alucian, and stepped closer to Leo, his arm outstretched, his palm facing Leo. That’s when Leo noticed the green armband. It was a Weslorian custom—a band or patch of dark green fitted around the sleeve or pinned to a breast, a lapel, a cuff, to indicate the person was Weslorian.
“You’re Weslorian,” he said. “I should have known. You mean to murder me, just as you murdered poor Matous. You ought to be ashamed, choosing the occasion of my brother’s wedding to murder me. You might have at least waited until the happy occasion had come to a close. Although, I grant you, it seems as if the happy occasion will never end—”
“Your Highness, please! We mean no harm,” the man said, lifting his hands in a placating manner.
“Ho,”Leo blustered incredulously. “I may be pissed, but I’m no fool!”
“I beg of you, Your Highness, we haven’t much time,” the man said, and stepped even closer. He really was quite small, Leo realized. If he hadn’t looked him in the face, he would have thought him a lad. His diminutive size merely added insult to this egregious injury—he would be killed or kidnapped by a man half his size.
“We’ve a message from Lysander.”
It was one long ale-soaked moment before Leo was able to grasp what the man had said.Lysander.Leo blinked. He rummaged around his thoughts trying to piece things together. Lysander was a man who spent his life righting terrible wrongs. He was a Samaritan, a man who had dedicated his existence to the helping of others. Leo knew a little about him after he famously rallied the people of Helenamar to close the workhouses. Leo had been abroad at the time, but apparently Lysander had caused quite a stir.
“What message?” Leo asked blearily.
“He asks for your help,” the elfin man said.
“What? Mine?” Leo asked, pointing to himself. “Why me? For what?”
“He would explain that himself in person. He asks, respectfully, if you would be so kind as to meet him tomorrow afternoon.” He smiled.
Why was hesmiling? It was annoying, given the circumstances. Leo couldn’t think properly, but there was no reason the famed Lysander would want anything to do with him. “If he wants my help, why does he not come to me? Why not join us and the cat here in the alley?”
“It was impossible, Your Highness. You and your family have been surrounded by an army during the wedding celebrations. And he is a wanted man.”
“Wanted! For what?” Leo asked dumbly. He tried to recall as much as he could about the workhouse riots. Had they not resolved it? Had Lysander not been hailed a hero for bringing the plight to the awareness of the king and Parliament?
“He asks, respectfully, if you might meet him in the palace gardens tomorrow afternoon at three.”
Leo snorted. “He won’t come here but will meet me in the palace gardens?”
“The walls of public houses have too many ears.”
“And the palace gardens don’t? If he can’t enter a public street, how will he enter the palace grounds? How am I to know that this is not some sort of trap?”
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but I can’t answer your questions. Lysander has his ways, and I will not pretend to understand how he does what he does. He has determined the palace grounds might be the safest place for him. No one would think to look there for him, would they? He asks that you receive him there, free of advisers and observers.”
