Worlds Away - Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Your steeds are small."

Adam's hand twitched as he once again resisted the urge to provide a formal introduction of his fist to the face of the young man -- correction, young boy -- walking beside him. He had never been prone to violence or fits of temper, but somehow His Highness, Prince Calend'et brought out the very primal and the very base.

This had been the way of it his entire afternoon. Their steeds were small. The corridors of the Lion Palace were cold and dull. The wine was bitter. The plumfruit was overly sweet. The milk was thin and weak and lacking in cream. On and on, over and again, complaint after complaint as though the boy had some driving need to demonstrate all the valid reasons to dislike Stiborn and Stibornan culture, and to show how very much he disliked it.

The purpose of this excursion was to encourage harmony and peaceable relations between the two kingdoms. In the absence of the Prince-Regent, Amideira's father, and with her mother and grandmother attending to all tradition and associating as little as possible with the men of Stiborn, this royal duty fell onto the shoulders Prince Calend'et. Of course, Adam was hard pressed to see how it could possibly encourage harmony, when all he wanted to do was punch Calend'et, or barring that, see that he was taken across someone's knee.

Royal etiquette demanded that in the interest of both kingdoms, he curb such violent, useless impulses. That didn't mean however, he wasn't allowed to give back as good as he was given.

"Yes, Your Highness, our steeds are small. We here in Stiborn do not feel the overwhelming need to use size as a demonstration of importance or potency," Adam remarked blandly.

It was petty, yes. It belittled him and the importance of his position as heir to the Lion Throne, but Adam thought that it was well worth it, royal etiquette be damned, when he saw the uncertain, then outraged expression on the young prince's face. Gotcha, he thought triumphantly, even as the younger boy struggled to reassert his regal mask and bearing. Watching him, Adam flinched and took an involuntary step backwards. For a few moments, while the mask was gone, he had seen and felt something raw, acrid and bitter. The emotions had names - arrogance, rage, hatred, and they matched the fire that flashed, albeit briefly in those dark eyes of Calend'et's.

And this little imp was Ami's brother. He thanked fate that his counterpart's one sibling hid nothing beyond sweetness and brightness behind her eyes and smile. He wasn't sure he could take a monster of his own like this one. Of course, Ami had it doubly bad, she had to suffer through both this spoiled brat of a prince-ling and the overbearing shrew of a mother...soon to be Adam's own overbearing shrew of a mother in law. He would really have to ask her how she managed to put up with so much for so long.

"Besides," Adam continued as though his other words had implied no insult, as if he had not been taking pleasure in the prince's ire, "Smaller steeds are faster and more maneuverable. We believe that speed and defensibility are of great import, particularly on the battlefield. Of course, handling our breeds requires great skill in horsemanship, we can't simply wait for them to stomp through whatever is in the way.

"However, if the beasts are too small for you and you have no interest in riding --" Adam trailed off, making an absent motion towards the stables, his eyes meeting those of Hagen just beyond the prince's shoulder. His cousin was, of course, smirking and not doing anything at all to hide it. With a roll of his eyes, he looked away from Hagen, lest he burst into laughter as well.

"You might be surprised to find out how adept my people are as horsemen." Calend'et paused a moment, his lips curling into a smile that gave Adam a chill as he added, "And horsewomen, of course."

"Am I to presume that your sister has a fondness then for riding?"

"It's a skill she has . . .," again came the pause in speech, the curling of the lip that made Adam's blood curdle, the next word delivered coolly, "perfected."

Adam had taken fully one step forward towards the prince before he caught himself and forced himself to hold his ground. He reminded himself that Calend'et didn't know Ami; that his only half-veiled insult had not truly been directed at Ami, but rather at the woman he believed to be his sister. Not that that provided justification, and still Adam felt that he should defend the woman's honor on general principle, but he knew how foolish that would be. He had no reason to rise to Calend'et's bait, beyond his affection for Ami and he couldn't very well began fiercely defending a woman that he was not supposed to know.

Adam smiled, doing his best to reign in his contempt. "I wasn't aware that they focused so intensely on horseman skill at the Temple of Damiaren. I was given to believe that your sister spent a great deal of her life there. In the cloister, I thought it was."

Again, the subtle flinch, the tightening of the jaw that told Adam that the prince heard both the words that Adam spoke, and the ones he left unspoken. "Yes, but you should be warned that my sister is not . . . the tame sort, Your Highness." The title was spoken airily, with an edge that told Adam precisely how much Calend'et did not enjoy calling Adam by that title. "She is stubborn and unruly, all hidden behind a smile and a veil of innocence."

"Yes, well, there are some who prefer confidence and back-bone in their mates." Adam nodded to the groom in acknowledgement of the readiness of his horse and affectionately patted the stallion on the neck. "I would go as far as to say that those traits would be most coveted in a woman that will someday be Damiar Reina."

Calend'et's eyes narrowed to slits. He rudely took the reins of the horse selected for him, dismissing the groom as though the man were no more than a bug beneath his shoe. "Do not speak so quickly. That title is not my sister's yet. There are conventions that you can not begin to understand, but suffice to say that this treaty does not pave your way to the Sun Throne."

"Nor," Adam swung himself into the saddle, "does it pave yours."

The scowl turned into a glare and Adam was grateful that looks could not kill. Prince Calend'et was young, but he was neither stupid nor naïve. He knew very well what this treaty, and all its trappings meant. Adam knew, from the undisguised hatred and disgust that he felt emanating from the other, that for all his youth, Calend'et knew that there was only one thing that stood in the way of his progeny assuming the Sun Throne, and that he was face-to-face with that threat.

There were but two requirements for ascendancy to the Sun Throne. One, was that the crown heir be female, and the second, was that the crown heir be accepted by the Temple of Damiaren as a potential damia or damiar someday. By fault of birth, Amideira had achieved both without trying, however, she would not be named as the true crown heir until such day as she provided a daughter approved by the Temple. On the day that happened, the two kingdoms of Stiborn and Albarasque would truly be linked, would truly be sister kingdoms united through blood and magic with the blessings of both the Temple of Damiaren and the Temple of Zolnar behind them.

Adam was the personification of all that could destroy Calend'et's aspirations. Although the young prince would never reign over Albarasque on his own merits, he could reign as regent if he produced an heir until that heir was of age to ascend to the throne. The very inevitability of the marriage between the High Prince Adam Aldaric and the Damiar Princess Amideira was a hurdle that stood in Calend'et's way, because, in his mind, and every other mind as well, theirs was a union that should and very possibly would, produce that daughter-heiress for the Sun Throne.

Climbing into the saddle, Calend'et's glare faded as quickly as it had appeared, his face a mask of youthful innocence again. How quickly the boy changed tempers and moods sent a chill along Adam's spine that had noting to do with the cool breezes blowing. "You misunderstand me. I have no aspirations towards the Sun Throne. I only wished to remind you that this treaty is only that - a treaty. You can no more rule my lands than my mother could yours.

"Although you could probably do that more easily that rule my beloved sister."

Beloved? Adam truly doubted that words. If he had gleaned nothing else from his forced association with the young prince, it was that the young man bore no love for his sister. He would just as soon see her married off in a foreign land, out of sight, and no doubt he hoped, out of mind. But, it would seem that for one who wanted the competition removed, trying to convince her future husband that she was less than a lady was hardly the means of assuring she was out of the way.

Unless, of course, his dislike ran so deeply that he could not see the lack of logic in his actions and behaviors.

"I have no desire to *rule* your sister, Your Highness. She will be my equal, not my servant."

"Then you northerners are more foolish than I thought," Calend'et guided his horse forward with a snort, "If my mother could not press Amideira under her thumb, surely you will break yours trying. But, it is grandmother's desperation that brings about all of this. It's sad that for you we could do no better."

The insult was not implied or even thinly veiled. Adam felt his ire rise at the nerve of the boy. Insulting his sister was a matter that annoyed Adam; the fact that he stated forthright that he felt the people of Stiborn were beneath him, and deserved no less than an unruly, badly trained princess as the bride of their High Prince . . .

Only Hagen's horse sweeping into the path of his own, prevented Adam from riding forward and yanking Calend'et out of his saddle, treaty be damned.

"We're wasting valuable daylight, gentlemen," Hagen announced from the back of his horse. Calend'et paused and eyed the other man with open distaste, as though he were daring him to take up a challenge. "If we are going to ride, we should do it while there is still good light."

Hagen's eyes met Adam's in a silent entreaty for the man to bite his tongue and not rise to Calend'et's carefully planted bait.

"Give me a reason," Adam hissed, loud enough for Hagen to hear, but not quite loudly enough for the words to fall on the young prince's ears.

"Because, this treaty is too important and we both know it. Let him have his moment," Hagen slowly moved his horse away, still speaking softly. "As much as I would like to see him flat upon his back, the fleeting pleasure is not worth a war."

"It wouldn't come to that."

"Are you so sure? You're not married to the Damiar Princess yet."

***

There were times when Hagen did not understand his cousin. And then, there were times when solely for the sake of argument and good humor, Hagen pretended that he did not understand his cousin. This time was the former and not the latter.

After the distasteful day spent in the companionship of His Highness Prince Calend'et, Hagen had been more than happy to part ways with arrogant and annoying prince. Watching Calend'et's retreating form had provided more pleasure than Hagen would have ever believed it was possible to achieve from visual stimulus alone. The only thing that would have been more enjoyable would have been to watch his cousin knock the upstart from his saddle and teach him proper manners. But, there was a treaty to consider, so he had intervened, although he knew that he would probably regret it for days to come. And Hagen had the distinct impression that Adam was feeling the same.

So, a trip into town and to one of the kinder, gentler taverns had been in order for both of them. Or so, Hagen had declared. Adam, as usual of late, had not been entirely keen on Hagen's choice of distractions, but a few prods and good natured teasing convinced the prince to join him, if only for the sake of shutting Hagen up. Any victory was a victory, and Hagen could live with that reasoning.

Unfortunately, an hour into this excursion, and Hagen and Stewart were the only ones taking advantage of the distraction. Adam sat quietly in the corner seat, the same plate of stew in front of him, now cold, and the same mug of ale within fingers' reach but still virtually untouched. Occasionally, his cousin would raise his head and listen with interest to the bard's music, but then, as if some new thought possessed him, he ceased listening and dropped his attention to scowl at the tabletop.

Enough was enough. His cousin was so preoccupied with a young prince-ling, who would be nothing of his concern after the wedding, that he failed to notice the dark-haired and buxom tavern wench who made repeated stops at their table. Her attention was solely focused on her prince, although Hagen took great pleasure in the deep curtsies she delivered each time she stopped, but with the current state of mind that Adam was in, he probably wouldn't have noticed if Emerila dropped right into his lap.

"Your Highness, you don't like the stew?" As though his thoughts summoned her, she appeared, tray under one arm, dropping into a curtsy that gave Hagen a bird's eye view of peach colored and freckled flesh.

Adam smiled, one of those half-distracted smiles that never touched his eyes, but it made Emerila flush prettily nonetheless. "No, it's fine - I'm just not very hungry. You can take it away." He pushed the bowl towards her, much to Hagen's disappointment. He had been hoping that Emerila would have to lean across the table.

She scooped up the bowl, "Can I get you something else?"

The prince shook his head, already returning his attention to scowl at the nicked wooden tabletop.

Unable to resist, Hagen caught her hand, "What will a smile get me?"

"It will save you from getting hit over the head," Emerila smiled, gently tugging her hand free. "I know you, Lord Hagen, and your handsome smile and pretty words won't turn my head that easily."

"Ah, but there is a chance for me, then?"

"Perhaps. The night is early yet." Emerila merely laughed, and with a playful wink, headed away from their table. "We shall see milord."

"Adam," Hagen forced his eyes away from watching the movement of Emerila's hips, "I don't think you fully appreciate the lengths I am going through for you."

Stewart snorted into his mug, "I don't think anyone can appreciate it as much as you Hagen."

"I appreciate good ale and beautiful women, and there is no shame in that, Stewart." Hagen raised his mug for emphasis, then drank the last of his ale. He leaned towards his cousin, "But you, cousin, are a sad disappointment. I can not believe that you are still allowing the words of that little upstart to crawl beneath your skin."

"He's bitter," Adam looked up suddenly, as though his words were a revelation. "Calend'et is bitter and cold."

"I thought I trained you to be more observant than that," Stewart remarked, "How is it that you've just noticed what I saw immediately? That one has no friends and no love outside of his own."

Adam rolled his eyes and slumped back on his stool. He used the corner as a support, rapping his fingertips on the table. Hagen knew that crease in the brow, knew that the tightness of the lips and the way his cousin gripped at his lion medallion heralded deep thoughts and insights. Deep thoughts and insights that his cousin would share whether Hagen and Stewart wanted to hear them or not.

"No, I don't mean towards us. I meant in general. He's . . .jealous and dangerous."

"Not to you, he is not," Stewart's mug slammed soundly against the table, there being no way to mistake the growl in his voice. "Treaty or no treaty -"

"I didn't mean me." Adam silenced the older man with a look. He released his death grip on the medallion and leaned forward resting his lower arms on the table. "I meant to Ami-deira."

The pause, when he said the name of the Damiar Princess was not lengthy, was not even enough to warrant attention, aside from the fact that it was not the first time that Adam had done such. Hagen caught Stewart's eyes, briefly, and knew that the older man had noticed it as well. For not the first time, Hagen wondered if perhaps his cousin hadn't managed to somehow breach etiquette and tradition and made contact with his bride before the wedding. After all, Hagen knew of the gift Adam had sent to the girl while she was at the Temple, and he knew that at least once since her arrival in Stiborn, his cousin had received a sealed letter that he had shared with no one, and by action alone had dared Hagen to inquire about its contents.

It didn't seem possible that Adam had managed to bend a few rules and slip between a few cracks, but Hagen knew his cousin. If it was possible, and he wanted it badly enough, it was not beyond the prince's abilities to do as he pleased. Still, Adam would require close watching, just in case he was doing something that might offend the delicate sensibilities of the Damia Reina.

"She stands in his way," Stewart broke off a piece of bread, "and represents everything that he is not. Yes, he's jealous of her. Just because you and Tara know nothing of sibling rivalry doesn't mean that all families of the world have that luxury. Look at Hagen."

Hagen shook his head at the reference, stopping Emerila with an outstretched arm as she skirted past their table. "Not true, I have no rivalry with my sisters. I simply dislike them intensely. My mug is empty, sweet Emerila, will you do the honors?"

"I will, but only because you ask so sweetly, milord," Emerila's grin seemed rooted in place and she included Stewart and Adam in her sweeping gaze. "Something else for you, my lord Stewart? I see that His Highness has not so much as touched his drink."

"Cold feet," Hagen supplied, grinning broadly when Adam glared at him. "Happens to the best of men, I suppose. But you can bring me his as well."

Stewart tucked a coin inside the front pocket of Emerila's dress, "Bring him a blanket as well. I certainly will not walk him home when his feet can not move in a straight line."

"If I know my Lord Hagen, I do not think finding a place to sleep will give him any difficulty," Emerila swept the empty mugs up in one hand, and turned on her heel, laughing over her shoulder when Hagen planted an all too familiar and playful swat upon her departing rear.

"I don't trust him," Adam picked up the thread of the conversation.

"Why? Because he made some callous remarks about the virtue of his sister?" Hagen shrugged. "I've said far worse for far less."

"I don't know. It's just this feeling I have."

Hagen groaned. Adam and his damned feelings. They were nothing new, these twinges of gut instinct that his cousin had from time to time in his life. What annoyed Hagen about them was that they couldn't be ignored, because nine times out of ten, Adam's feelings about something proved to be absolutely correct. Still, he couldn't resist his sarcasm, "Why am I not surprised?"

"I hardly think that Prince Calend'et would harm his sister," Stewart stroked his chin, "certainly not when there are so many eyes upon her. Not that I discount your fears, Adam, but perhaps there is the small matter of your nerves as well?"

"My nerves?" Adam asked the question as though he couldn't believe Stewart would even suggest such a thing.

"You are not immune to the stress of the situation. You know the importance of this treaty, and the importance of your duty. And as much as you might pretend otherwise, I know you and I know that you are not as calm as you pretend to be."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Stewart, I'm not imagining things."

"I never said that you were."

"What does it matter?" Hagen spoke up quickly, before his two companions were involved in an argument. "After the wedding, Calend'et will be gone, back in Albarasque. Worries over, problem solved. Well, aside from the fact that if half of what he implied about your bride's virtue was true -"

"It wasn't." The abruptness and curtness of Adam's answer took him by surprise. Normally, Hagen might have pressed the issue, reminding Adam that he didn't know that, that he didn't know anything about the Damiar Princess other than what he had been told, but the hardness in cousin's eyes stopped him from going that route.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking for a way to change the subject and get away from Adam's accusatory eyes, all the while feeling more and more the certainty that one way or another his cousin had ignored a few traditions and side-stepped a few rules of etiquette.

"Well, you'll find out on your wedding night one way or another," Stewart pointed out. "For the sake of peace, I hope that your objection came from another one of your instincts."

The prince's reaction to Stewart's words was unexpected. His head jerked up, dark eyes studying the older man as though he was both seeing him and hearing the words for the first time. He blinked, once, then again, his jaw dropping slightly as the color faded slightly from his features.

With a groan, Adam slumped back against the wall, banging his head against it for emphasis. "Gods, my wedding night."

Hagen responded to his cousin's behavior the only way that he could. He laughed, and quite loudly, slapping the table with his palm. "Oh come on, cousin. I know that you are not so inexperienced and naïve that the thought unsettles you that much. I imagine that a princess is not so different from any other woman."

"And I imagine, Hagen," Adam peered at him from beneath slitted eyelids, "that you are a pig."

"Hnn," Stewart grunted, "I know it for a fact."

*** End of Chapter Twenty-Seven