| The problem with prophecies, Chris reflected, is that they come true.
Oh, people think that they want them to come true but, really, when the
moment arrives, most everyone runs around madly trying to avoid the damn
thing. Even the good ones. Witness the current situation. Generations ago
the King of Tropria had rescued a mutant chicken from the palace cook. That
long ago royal had been more concerned for his weak stomach than for the
bird's life but the bird didn't know that, and had gifted him with a combination
promise/prophecy. Sort of a two for one deal. Legend had it that as the chicken pronounced the prophecy (in a singsong voice) the words wrote themselves in gold above the throne in the receiving hall. Chris suspected the inscription was due more to the skills of a good stonemason than to magic, but it read the same either way: As long as love lives In the heart of a royal, All things the land gives Shall be free of toil. Father, mother, brother, son. Daughter, sister - any one. It wasn't particularly poetic, but it rhymed, and that was the important thing. In spite of the legend and the inscription and the rhyming, Chris had always had a hard time believing in the prophecy. Sure, there hadn't been war or hunger or flooding or drought in Tropria since the chicken had made the declaration, but Chris had always attributed that to a favorable climate and a series of good kings. (Actually, it was due to a series of good kings - they all followed the prophecy to the letter.) He just couldn't seem to accept that a rather abnormal talking bird (which would have been served up on a platter if not for a king's weak stomach) had guaranteed the prosperity of the realm. So when his father died, and his mother followed a month later, Chris grieved but didn't really worry about the prophecy. His advisors fretted and kept an eye on the crops. That year harvest went well. Chris was smug. His advisors pointed out that when the year had opened, his father's love for his mother had been alive and well. "You have mere months until the winter solstice," they nagged. "Throw a ball. Or a feast. Or tour the countryside. Perhaps a festival? Either you or your brother need to meet someone, liege. There isn't much time." Christ reflected sourly that his advisors had turned into the worst set of matchmakers imaginable. He didn't throw a ball, or a feast, or a festival. He didn't tour the countryside, either. But he did marry. A marriage of convenience, to seal a trade deal. The royal advisors were horrified. Chris wished he had more siblings for them to pester. The winter solstice came and went without disaster. Chris got even smugger. The advisors turned from matchmakers to a flock of doomsayers and waited anxiously for the harvest. It was the worst crop in ten years. Chris might have been concerned if his wife hadn't been expecting their first child. As it was, he had more of a mind for her morning sickness, sore back and odd cravings than he did for a bad crop. The previous year had produced a surplus. It wasn't a crisis. "Yet," his advisors said darkly. Chris dismissed a couple of them and the rest shut up. He did get a little worried when the fields flooded the next year. The year after that some sort of parasite decimated the livestock. When drought threatened, then struck, he started sending his brother, Lance, to the formal balls the lords and ladies threw in the spring. As things grew more desperate Chris grew more ashamed. Now he believed. He'd ignored the prophecy that had protected Tropria for generations, and his people were suffering for it. Prince Lance was their only hope. Unfortunately, he remained stubbornly unromanced. Lords, ladies, serving girls, groomsmen, foreign princesses, foreign princes, tradesmen, craftsmen, merchants, thieves, sailors, soldiers, engineers, whores and diplomats. Lance has his pick of them, regardless of age, station or nationality. So long as he was well and truly in love, all was forgiven. Hundreds of men and women alike came courting, and though Lance did his best to be polite (it was hard, even for him, to deal with a constant flow of suitors respectfully) and spend a little time with each of them he never repeated a dance or a dinner or a moonlight talk. Now the land was five years without love and the people were on the brink of starvation. Chris was desperate. The people where angry and scared, and Lance was regretfully unresponsive. Something had to be done. "JC, you're my heir. You need to wed." JC sighed deeply. Forty-four. That was the forty-fourth time his father had made that exact statement. If he counted the variations, JC wasn't sure numbers went that high. "Father. I'm twenty-four and you are nowhere near dead. What's the rush?" King Chasez silently despaired of his son. Would he never learn to understand how his people thought? How his life impacted upon the well being of the kingdom? The King thought not, but explained anyway. "It's not heirs I'm worried about, JC. It's the emotional climate of the populace." JC rolled his eyes. "They want to see you happy. They want you to wed and settle down. They want to copy the fashions of your wife and to name their children after yours. They want to gossip about you. When a kingdom is prosperous and peaceful these things become very important, and it's the royals' duty to provide them." "What about what I want?" JC pouted, more out of habit than real annoyance. "Don't give me that," the King snapped. "I'm allowing you to choose your wife, aren't I? If these were more turbulent times you'd have been long wed, and without any say in the matter at all." "I can't help it if none of the ladies at court interest me," JC said defensively. "I don't want to be trapped in a marriage with a woman whose charm dies with the courtship." "Then travel abroad for a year to two!" The King countered. "I have!" "Surely you didn't meet every eligible girl on that one trip," this dryly. "JC, I'm warning you now." JC's attention sharpened. This was new. "If you haven't chosen a wife before the year is out, I will choose one for you." JC could only stare, appalled. The King left without waiting for a response. None was necessary, really. As the crown prince, certain things were out of JC's hands, and his wedding was one of them. However, he could seek a sympathetic ear and a few words of advice. So when he recovered his wits, JC went in search of Justin, his brother. He found the younger man, somewhat predictably, in the kitchen flirting outrageously with a flour-smudged wench. "Justin!" he hissed from the doorway. "Hmmm?" Justin responded, distracted. "Justin, cut it out. I need to talk. Now." JC must actually have sounded upset because his brother immediately made apologies to the girl and allowed JC to drag him to JC's suite of rooms. "What is it, Jace?" he asked, concerned. "You sounded kind of panicked there." "Father just informed me that if I don't choose a wife by the end of the year he will choose one for me." "Oh, God, Jace..." Justin trailed off and the two of them sat down on the bed heavily. Justin was the only one who knew why JC hadn't settled down, why he didn't want to and why his father's ultimatum was so devastating. In other words, he was the only person JC really trusted. "I don't know what to do, J," JC choked out. "I mean, I knew things wouldn't last this way forever, but I didn't think it would be so soon... I guess I was hoping for something to change." He looked down at his clasped hands, defeated. "You could tell him..." Justin began hesitantly. JC laughed almost hysterically. "Father? Tell him what? That I'd rather pick from the lords than the ladies?" "Perhaps not quite in those words, but..." JC shook his head and sighed. "You know how these things work better than I do, J. I might, might, be able to get away with that if I were a fourth of fifth son, but I'm not. I'm the eldest of two, and the heir to the throne." He smiled, somewhat bitterly. "The endless lectures on duty and what I owe the people are all I need to hear to know Father would not take news of my...inclinations lightly." "What can you do, then, but pretend?" Justin shrugged. "I know. I've just...I've had to hide, but I've never really had to outright lie. I've even managed an affair or two, here and there. I could never be serious about anyone, but at least we could enjoy each other..." "That...wouldn't have to stop, just because you're married," Justin suggested. "It would," JC shook his head at himself. "I couldn't cheat on my wife, lie to her, hurt her like that. Just because I'm not attracted to women doesn't mean I hate them." "It'll work out, Jace. Somehow it'll work out." "I've been telling myself that for year, J. I don't think it's true anymore." Chris gestured for Joey, his most trusted advisor, to sit by him on the couch in his office. "You mentioned a possible solution to the food shortage. Please, enlighten me." Joey hesitated. "You aren't going to like it." "I don't like that my people are starving, Joey," Chris said bluntly. "Spit it out." "Kidnap Prince Chasez of Iiawah and ransom him for enough supplies to get us through the winter." Christ just stared for a long moment. Joey was suggesting this? "Abduction? This is your solution?" "For the past four years there has been no surplus, and thus virtually no trade. In the last year we have actually gone into debt buying grain. Farmers are slaughtering plow animals to feed their families, Majesty. If abduction will buy us another fourth months, the hardest months, then so be it." It made sense. Incredibly, it made sense. Abduction was common practice in the lower court. But between kings, over princes...that was unusual. Desperate times call for desperate measure, Chris supposed. "Why Prince Chasez?" he asked, knowing he would agree to the plan. "His palace is less than a week away. He has only one brother. He is unwed and childless, which means he has not yet provided heirs. We know his father cares deeply for him, and is anxious to see him settled. He is the best candidate." "We will only hold him," Chris instructed. "He will be treated well while he is here. As a guest." "Of course." "When can you do it?" Joey grimaced, grimly satisfied. Part of his had hoped Chris would reject the plan, but they both knew it had to be done. Winter was fast approaching. If conditions were bad now, they'd be far worse when the wet and cold arrived. "I have a group of men-at-arms already selected. We can be on the road within the day. Prince Chasez will be here, secure, within two weeks." Chris paused, allowing himself a moment for second thoughts. Abruptly, he nodded. "Very well. Go, now, before I change my mind. The sooner this is over and done, the better." Joey stood and headed for the barracks immediately. The men had already been briefed, the necessary gear packed. He knew his liege well. All they had needed was Chris' approval. They were out of the palace before sunset. JC floated on his back in the wide, clear lake and tried not to think. It was difficult. A hundred thoughts were fighting for his attention. He didn't want to deal with any of them, and dwelled for a while on the depressing realization that he couldn't summon a single thought he actually wanted to entertain. If it hadn't been for the stubbornly persistent conviction that something would change, something would happed to rescue him from this situation, JC might have considered another kind of escape. Just relax, roll over and breathe... But the idea did persist, despite its unlikelyness, and so JC stared up at the blue sky and made a somewhat feeble attempt to meditate. At least, he mused, somewhat aimlessly, he was finally putting the court philosopher's lessons to use. They seemed useless at the time, but then so had the etiquette, and the dancing, and the espionage...no, no that had always been useful. JC sensed his thoughts turning in a dangerous direction and occupied himself with the swim to shore. He was just buttoning up his trousers, the sun warm on his shoulders, his mind actually clear, when pain exploded into life at the back of his head. The pommel of a saddle was digging into his ribs. JC blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, before realizing that he was draped upside down over a horse. Nausea welled up in JC's gut and he swallowed. He tried to speak and found his mouth dry. After working his tongue around for a while he managed a weak croak. His captors must have heard him because a moment later his mount came to a halt. Someone poked him roughly. "You awake?" The voice was unfamiliar. "Yeah," JC managed. "Can I sit up now?" There was a moment of silence. JC wondered idly what had startled them. Perhaps they were new at the abduction business. Perhaps he wasn't the typical captive. Whatever the reason, his guard untied him from the saddle (JC had never quite realized how uncomfortable the basic saddle was to be thrown across, and he found himself pitying the typical damsel in distress) and allowed him to mount properly. His abductors, for some reason, had neglected to blindfold him (JC was leaning towards inexperience, at this point) and he surprised himself by recognizing one of them. "Advisor Fatone?" he blurted, shocked. Joey winced. "What are you doing?" "Kidnapping you," Joey answered, his voice clipped. "Oh." It was a stupid question, now that JC thought about it. "Why?" "Stop asking questions." Joey shifted in his own saddle, most likely regretting the absence of a blindfold. "Or you'll do what?" Joey muttered something unintelligible and refused to repeat it. JC shrugged mentally and took stock of his situation. He'd been kidnapped, presumably for ransom, by the senior advisor of the neighboring kingdom. In addition to Advisor Fatone, there were...he glanced about...four guards. Men-at-arms, by all appearances, which meant this stunt had King Kirkpatrick's approval. They were all mounted. JC's feet had been tied to the girth of the saddle. His hands were bound behind his back, tightly enough that they were beginning to go numb. His hands had, in turn, been tied to his ankles. Perhaps Advisor Fatone was inexperienced at abduction, but he (or his men) certainly knew how to immobilize a man. For the moment, no avenue of escape presented itself. JC would wait, and wonder. What had driven King Kirkpatrick to kidnap and ransom? Why him? What price would they demand for his freedom, and would his father pay it? What would they do if it was not paid? Be careful what you ask for, JC told himself, you just might get it. Lance loitered in the north-northwest courtyard of the palace. Normally the Prince wouldn't be caught dead loitering, but any other duties he might have had had as the King's brother had been set aside in favor of his search for Love. (Lance had added the capital "L" himself because, although he understood the urgency of the situation, it did all seem a little...ridiculous that the fate of the kingdom should depend on his social life.) Chris didn't seem to realized that having absolutely nothing to do but conduct that search put enormous pressure on Lance. He felt responsible enough already; he didn't need every moment of every day to dwell on it. Unfortunately, the choice was out of Lance's hands. Most of the time he tried to do well by The Quest (Lance's capitals again), meeting each of the suitors and spending an hour or three with them, depending on how much potential he though they had. But every now and then he escaped to the north-northwest courtyard. It was mostly empty most of the time because hardly anybody knew it was there. There wasn't a northwest courtyard, so why should there be a north-northwest one? Lance rather suspected the architect just liked the sound of it. The north-northwest tower (every courtyard had to have at least one tower) was the palace's prison tower. As far as Lance knew it had never been occupied, but ever palace has to have a prison tower. Or so Lance had been told, when he was child. When Chris had cut his duties and his studies short Lance had missed the long hours in the library, reading whatever his tutors had assigned and chatting with the librarian about many things, but mostly history. He could have gone back on his own time, but both Chris and the suitors knew to look for him in library, and he soon stopped trying to take refuge there. The library eventually took pity on him and allowed him to take the manuscripts the novice scribes created off to a hiding place of his own choosing. The books were blotched with ink and much sanded, but Lance was grateful to have them. He was sitting on the steps across from the north-northwest tower, attempting to decipher a particularly ink smeared page when hoof beats echoed across the cobbles. Lance's head jerked up and he quickly scrambled back into the shadows, certain that one or another of the suitors had found him. Instead he watched as Joey and five other men rode right up to the prison tower. Four of the other men were men-at-arms - Lance recognized them. The fifth was...was he bound? Lance frowned and looked harder, wishing his eyes were just a little sharper. He was. One of the guards went to untie the captive from the saddle. Not only was he bound, but he seemed to be wearing little more than a pair of trousers. Lance watched closely, his curiosity piqued, as the men-at-arms literally hauled the man into the tower under Joey's watchful eye. Minutes later three of the guards returned. They would have had to leave one to watch the prisoner, Lance reasoned. Another would - and did - remain at the foot of the tower's winding steps. Lance tagged along, book under one arm, while Joey and the two remaining guards went to report to the King. The guards ignored him, but Joey gave him a sharp glance before dismissing him from his mind. Everyone knew Lance had the run of the palace. Any meeting that interested him was open to him; there was nowhere he wasn't permitted to go. You never knew where Love could be lurking. Chris seemed surprised to see him when he strolled into the office, but didn't order him out. "How did it go?" Chris asked, not bothering to elaborate for Lance's benefit. "Seamlessly," Joey answered. "We found him at a small lake some distance from the palace. He was alone and had just finished swimming. One blow and he was ours. Sir Gerald," he nodded to one of the men-at-arms, "will ride out tomorrow morning with the ransom demand." Lance's mouth dropped open. Ransom demand? Joey had kidnapped someone? And Chris has approved it? Incredulous, Lance turned to his brother and waited for some sort of explanation. None came. "Shouldn't the demand be delivered immediately? It will take Sir Gerald days to ride to the palace," was all the King said. Lance found himself leaning forward and listening hard, trying to decipher who had been taken. Joey shook his head. "The King needs a couple of days to figure out that he's not off on a pleasure ride. If he's already worried he'll be more likely to pay the ransom immediately." "He'll take same time to think no matter how long we leave it," Chris said, frowning. "That's a lot of grain. He'll need time to think. His advisors won't let him pay it until they've at least calculated the impact on their own people, even for his son." Lance gasped softly. The captive was the Prince of Iiawah? He abruptly found himself the subject of his brother's penetrating gaze. "If you can't handle this, Lance, leave now. We are doing what has to be done to get this kingdom through another winter." Lance flinched at the implied slight. "I can't control who I love," he said softly. "And I can handle this." "That may be, but you should know now that I am forbidding you from setting foot inside that tower. I will instruct the guards to that effect. I won't risk you around him." "I understand," Lance said submissively. "I guess there's no reason for me to stay, then." Bowing quickly, he backed out of the room. In the hallway he broke into a run back to the north-northwest tower. Chris had said he would instruct the guards, not that he had. Lance figured he had five minutes before Chris grew suspicious of his sudden departure and came after him. Reaching the courtyard, Lance slowed to a stroll and calmed his breathing. He nodded to the first guard, who looked uncertain but didn't stop him, and walked right up the spiral staircase. The second guard didn't even look suspicious, just asked him if he wanted to go in. Lance declined - he wasn't quite that curious. Peering in the through the tiny barred window, Lance wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't what he saw. He had to choke back a soft gasp. The man in the cell - the Prince - was gorgeous. Beautiful. He was built leanly. Scrawny, you might have said, if he weren't so well defined. His hair was a dark, rich brown, his eyes steel blue. He sat against the wall facing the door and through Lance knew he was being watched he still couldn't tear his gaze from the Prince's chiseled features. The Prince - and Lance realized at that moment that he didn't know if this was the elder son, Joshua, or the younger, Justin - opened his mouth, as if to speak. "Lance!" At Chris' angered cry Lance spun from the small window and any reaction the Prince might have had was lost. "Lance, I specifically told you -" "I'm permitted to go anywhere I please, and when you forbid one spot I'm not supposed to be curious?" Lance asked incredulously, and laughed. "I'm your King," Chris' expression was thunderous, "and when I command you -" "Command me?" Lance snorted, not caring that he'd interrupted the King twice in a row. "I'm your brother, not your slave. When have you ever given me a command?" He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he went on. "I have no responsibilities, no purpose. Only my duty to the prophecy, and that is out of my control." His words weren't meant to placate Chris, nor did they. "If you're so eager for responsibility, perhaps you'd like to satisfy your curiosity about the prisoner. I'm giving you full responsibility for him. You'll bring him his meals, clean his room and empty his chamber pot. He'll be here for weeks, and by the time he's gone, you will have had your fill of responsibility." Chris' expression challenged Lance to object. It was obvious that this was meant to be punishment for his insolence, but Lance didn't see it that way. He would see the Prince every day, perhaps even have a chance to speak with him. It was no indignity in his eyes to take care of the Prince's needs. He'd spent many hours with the maids and groomsmen in his search for Love. They had an unashamed pride in the service they provided, and had snickered with him once or twice over the lords and ladies who proved incapable of caring for themselves. However, Lance did try to look chided as he accepted the duty. Chris couldn't seem to let go without one last jab. "One more thing, Lance. If you don't take care of the Prince, no one will." Lance didn't have to try to look stricken. He wanted to comment that that didn't seem like a very good way to care for what was, essentially, an investment, but he held his tongue. He didn't want to risk worsening the situation or losing his newly acquired job. So all he did was nod. JC listened as his comfort was placed in the hands of the King's brother in a fit of pique. By all reports the man was a lazy, spoiled brat who took nothing seriously. After the conversation he'd just overheard, JC was beginning to wonder what idiot had made the evaluation. He only hoped that the Prince wouldn't consider emptying his chamber pot beneath his dignity. On the occasions JC had upset his personal maid she'd retaliated by 'forgetting' the duty. He'd had to do it himself and it was...not pleasant. Footsteps sounded, retreating down the stairs. JC shifted uncomfortably and wondered if Lance would think to unite him or if he'd consider that too much freedom. A knock sounded and JC jumped a little. As the key rattled in the lock he had to wonder who would knock on a cell door. It answer came when Lance stepped into the cell, smiling sheepishly. "I was going to get you dinner and a shirt," he explained, slipping the key into a pocket on the inside of his pants, "because Joey said you hadn't eaten today, when I remembered you were still tied." JC said nothing. He was too busy staring. The brief, limited glimpse he'd had of Lance through the barred window had not done the man justice. He was a wonder, a beautiful creature that made the cell seem less confining, less stark. His eyes were a clear, pure green, his skin pale, paler than JC had ever seen on a man. He loved it immediately. Just as JC became aware that the silence had drawn out uncomfortably long, Lance spoke again. "I was warned you tried to escape twice on the way here. You won't try to knock me out and run if I untie you, will you?" 'Of course not', JC wanted to say, 'I won't hurt you. I couldn't.' He settled for, "No." Incredibly, Lance took him at his word and knelt to untie his feet first. His captors had left them bare, partly to keep him from running away and partly because no one had thought to grab the clothing he'd left by the side of the lake. Now, as Lance worked the knots free, JC found himself grateful for the loss of his boots. Every brush of Lance's fingers against the bare flesh of his feet went straight to his gut. JC savored the slow burn of growing desire. For a while he forgot that he was a prisoner, forgot that Lance was here as punishment. He concentrated only on the gentle touch on his feet. "Lean forward so I can do your hands," Lance whispered. JC didn't even wonder why Lance felt he needed to be quiet. It was right, it fit, and that was all that mattered. He leaned forward so that Lance could get at his bonds and sighed softly when he realized that his hands were numb, insensitive to the brush of Lance's fingers. When the last loop of rope was pulled free JC sat back and began massaging his hands, bracing himself for the return of blood. Lance crouched in front of him, a strangely uncertain look on his face. When JC bit his lip against the burn in his fingers Lance winced sympathetically. "I'll, uh, just got for your dinner now," Lance said after a moment, and stood. JC wanted to call out his name, but wasn't sure how Lance would react to the revelation that he'd eavesdropped on the conversation outside his cell. One the other hand, he didn't want to yell 'hey you' either. As a result, his request came out sounding horribly tentative. "Could you, uh, do you think you could also bring some sheets?" he nodded to the bare sleeping ledge that hung from the wall. Lance flushed, as if embarrassed at his lapse. "Of course." Then he was gone from the cell. JC couldn't suppress a smile. Somehow, in Lance's care, JC didn't think he'd mind being kidnapped quite so much. Lance leaned against the cell door and shut his eyes for a long time. 'What were you doing?' he berated himself. 'Staring like that...though he was staring, too, so maybe that part wasn't so bad. But lingering over the Prince's bonds, that was bad.' He'd almost reached out to massage his hands for a moment. 'What's wrong with me?' Lance wondered. 'The Prince is a prisoner, not a suitor! Have I lost the ability to react to people in any other way?' He shook his head at himself and headed for the laundry to pick up spare sheets and a shit. The laundry maid who filled his request gave him an odd look and it occurred to Lance that he didn't know how quiet Chris wanted to keep the Prince's presence. Better safe than sorry, Lance figured, and smiled mysteriously instead of offering an explanation. She was likely to attribute it to one of the suitors. It was only as he lingered outside the kitchen that it occurred to Lance that he'd need help to carry the sheets, shirt, the Prince's dinner and his own, since he'd missed the general meal call while hiding from the suitors. Sighing, he caught the eye of a young woman he knew he could trust. "How can I help you, highness?" she asked, wiping the flour off her hands with the edge of her skirt. "I need two dinner trays, help to carry them and your promise that you won't say a word to anyone about where we take them," he responded, his tone quiet and serious. Her eyes widened, but she just nodded and went to get the trays. To her credit, the cook didn't say a word when they passed the sitting rooms, or when they passed the bedrooms, or when they ventured outside and across the north-northwest courtyard. She looked horribly curious when they passed the first guard and climbed the stairs, but still bit back her questions. Lance had her set down the trays on the last landing. "Thank you, Mary," he said, and kissed her on the cheek. "I hope I'll be able to explain this to you someday. Remember your promise." "Of course, highness," Mary curtsied and disappeared down the stairs. Lance awkwardly tucked the laundry under one arm, picked up the dinner tray and tapped briefly on the cell door before unlocking it and stepping inside. Inside the Prince seemed to be sitting in the exact same position as before, save that he'd draped his hands over his thighs. Perhaps he hadn't moved. Lance set the laundry at one end of the sleeping ledge and the tray at the other. Turning, he ducked out the door. "Wait!" Lance turned back at the cry, surprised. The Prince was standing, as if to follow. He looked sheepish and shrugged before going on. "Stay for awhile? I'm going to be here for weeks. If I only have myself for company all that time I'll go insane." It was the slight smile that did him in. Lance couldn't help smiling back. "All right. Just give me a moment." He left the cell, locking it behind himself, and picked up his dinner tray. Returning, he unlocked the door, stepped inside, locked it behind himself and handed the key to the guard through the barred window. The Prince gave the second tray a surprised glance. "I was hiding when the dinner bell went," Lance explained. "I see," the Prince said, though he didn't, really. "We haven't been properly introduced," he went on, with a self- mocking smile. Who made introductions in a situation like this? "I'm Prince Joshua Chasez of Iiawah. Everyone calls me JC." So this was the elder son, Lance though, and felt obscurely relieved. Rumor had it the younger was something of a womanizer. "Prince Lance Bass," he responded. "Don't ask about my brother and my different names. It's a long story." JC shrugged as he picked up a fork. "I have time if you do," he said, and gestured with the utensil for Lance to go on before starting in on his dinner. Lance smiled and started in on the tale in between bites of dinner. (two weeks later) Lance took the tower stairs two at a time and paused for a moment outside the cell door to catch his breath. He slipped inside and tucked the key into the inside pocket of his trousers. "I know I'm later than usual," he told JC apologetically. "I just couldn't seem to get away from the suitors today." "Okay," JC said earnestly, sitting up from where he'd been lying on the sleeping ledge, "my curiosity is killing me. Who are these suitors? You talk about them all the time." "Do I?" "Like they're a swarm of bees who are constantly harassing you," JC said dryly. Lance winced. "That's not good." He sighed. "I'm supposed to fall in Love with one of them." He sat heavily on the sleeping ledge next to JC. "Supposed to?" JC leaned forward with open curiosity. Lance sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before explaining. "You know about the prophecy?" JC, not surprisingly, nodded. It was a pretty basic fact to know about the kingdom next door. "Well, Chris didn't put much stock in it when we were growing up. Despite father's matchmaking attempts during his last years Chris never fell in Love. When father died, then mother, the Royal Advisors were desperate to find someone for Chris. He ignored them, married for convenience. The state of things in the realm was been going downhill ever since. "About two, three years ago Chris finally admitted he'd been wrong. But it was too late. He's married and has small children. The prophecy is very specific about whose love will fulfill it - "Father, mother, brother, son/Daughter, sister, any one." Father and mother are gone, Chris' children are still toddlers and we have no other siblings, which basically means I'm the last hope for the Kingdom." He was quiet for long moment, not looking at JC. "It's bad enough when you're 16 and have convinced yourself you'll never find the love you long for. Having an entire kingdom breathing down your neck, watching, waiting..." he shrugged and leaned into the comforting arm JC put around his shoulders. "The suitors are the men and women who've come to the palace to court me." "Men?" JC exclaimed, startled. Men came courting the Prince of Tropria? "Yeah," Lance confirmed, pulling away when he saw JC's shocked expression. "Is something wrong?" "Men don't court men in Iiawah," JC answered thoughtlessly. "Well," Lance's tone was stiff, "I hope I haven't offended you." He stood and all but ran to the cell door. "Lance!" JC called, and stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "Wait, give me a moment." Lance turned, posture stiff, and waited. "It's not that men don't court men in Iiawah. They do. But it's not accepted. They aren't treated very well." Lance took a backwards step and JC, seeing that he was only digging himself in deeper, spilled his explanation in a series of half-thoughts and broken sentences he could only hope Lance understood. "It hasn't been easy for me. I've never...well, except for Justin. He knows. And I could never...my affairs weren't...they could never mean anything. All these women, and I never wanted who I was supposed to, but I had to pretend, and my father would kill me is he knew." JC ran out of breath then and could only plead silently for Lance to understand. "Oh, Jace," Lance murmured, and the next thing he knew Lance was in his arms, holding him. JC could only wrap his arms about Lance and hold him back. JC leaned against Lance and reveled in the simple pleasure of contact. It was strange to touch, like this, free of the nervousness, the guilt that usually plagued him. Even in the few affairs he'd had they were both painfully aware of what they were doing. Now he gave himself up to Lance and forgot everything but the man in his arms. After a moment he let his forehead rest on Lance's shoulder and just breathed. JC didn't want to let go. He just wanted to stay there, enjoying Lance's warmth and his scent. He wanted to turn his head and kiss the pale column of throat, to taste Lance's skin. At that thought, JC reluctantly stepped back from Lance. "Thank you," he said quietly. "My pleasure," Lance responded. Then, realizing the context, flushed but did not take back the words. "How is it," JC began tentatively, "that...things are different in Tropria than in Iiawah?" Lance shrugged but answered. "The prophecy doesn't specify the gender of the royal's beloved. The people were a little surprised when the prophecy held true even though the King's beloved was a man, but it proved beyond a doubt that that kind of love was just as valid as that between a man and a woman. Now...I guess we take it for granted." JC sighed and sat on the sleeping ledge. "I envy you. My father has become convinced that I need to find a wife and settle down. He," JC hesitated, "he warned me that if I didn't choose one for myself by the end of the year, he would choose one for me." "Can he do that?" Lance asked in quiet horror. "Yes. His offer to let me choose is actually relatively unusual." "What are you going to do?" JC laughed bitterly. "I don't know. Go along with it, I suppose. What else can I do? I keep finding myself hoping he refuses to pay the ransom." 'I don't want to leave you', he added silently. (1 week later) The page caught up to Lance on his way to the north- northwest tower. "His majesty wants to speak with you," the page informed him. "Now." Lance sighed and hoped JC would understand his absence this afternoon. Turning away from the tower he made his way back through the halls of the palace to Chris' office. The King was waiting for him. Lance seated himself and waited. "I have received complaints," Chris began, "from the suitors that you aren't spending enough time with them." He cut off Lance's protest with a raised hand. "I set a page to keep an eye on you. He reports that you are spending less than half your usual time with them." Lance remained silent. There was nothing he could say - it was true. "When I gave you responsibility for Prince Chasez," he went on, "I did not intend for it to have such a pronounced impact on your duty to the prophecy. Fortunately, there is a simple solution to this problem. As of tomorrow morning, you are relieved of your duties to the prisoner." "But -" was all Lance could get out before Chris cut him off with a sharp glance. "My mind is made up. Now go." Lance slowly rose and retreated to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed for a long time. Without his responsibility to JC he had no excuse for his visits. The guards would doubtlessly be instructed that he was not to drop by anymore. They probably already had been. Lance couldn't seem to get past that thought, not even to wonder why he was so devastated. He passed the rest of the day in a daze. It was as he was sharing a dinner with one of the suitors that new thoughts began to penetrate the fog he was wandering around in. He sat there, stirring his soup and ignoring his companion's stream of chatter, and started making a list of the things he would miss about JC. 'His eyes. His voice. The way he listens to me as much as he talks to me. The way he started out nervous to touch me, then throws himself into it. His silly fictions about the suitors. His...oh God. I'm in love with him.' Lance dropped the spoon into the soup. 'I'm in love with him and as of tomorrow morning I'll have no reason to see him.' Suddenly he needed to see JC right that second, to be with him. "I'm sorry," he said to his dinner companion. "I have to go. I've just realized I forgot to do something very important." He was gone, half running through the halls, before she could utter a word. The guard at the bottom of the stairs tried to stop him. "He's my responsibility until morning," Lance said, firmly, and pushed onward. The second guard gave way to the same statement. It took Lance a little longer to convince him to guard from one landing down, but eventually he went. Only after he was gone did Lance tap and enter the cell. "Lance?" JC sat up. "What's wrong?" When Lance failed to answer, suddenly tongue-tied, JC stood and took hold of him by the elbows. "Lance. Talk to me," he said intensely, holding Lance's gaze. Lance took a deep breath. "I'm in love with you." He held the breath he'd taken, abruptly unsure of JC's reaction. JC kissed him. Pulled him close and pressed against him and held him and kissed him. Lance slipped his arms around JC's waist and kissed him back. JC's lips were soft, his caresses definite despite the hesitancy he often displayed. After a long moment, they pulled just far enough apart to speak. "I love you, too," JC whispered against his lips. "I need to be with you tonight." "I need you every night," JC responded. That was all that really needed to be said. Chris dragged himself up the steps of the north-northwest tower after the guard. The guard on shift at the top of the steps had woken him with little explanation. All he'd said was that Lance has gone to see the prisoner around dinnertime, that he'd dismissed the guard to the landing below and had not emerged hours later. The guard grew worried, went to check on them and knew he immediately had to bring the King to see for himself. Though irritated by the lateness of the hour, Chris was both worried and curious. Lance was his brother, and what could prompt the guard to summon him, rather than more guards? He got his answer when he peered into the cell. It was dimly lit by moonlight and the guard's lantern, but the scene was still clear. Lance and JC lay on the floor, twined together beneath the flimsy protection of JC's bed sheets. Clothes were scattered about the room. Lance's head was tucked tenderly under JC's chin. They smiled as they slept. As Chris stood there, shocked at this sudden turn of events, not sure whether to be pleased or worried, JC's eyes slowly drifted open. Just when Chris might have left, lest he be noticed, something on the floor of the cell caught the lantern light. Peering in, Chris saw it was Lance's key to the cell, discarded carelessly and forgotten in his haste. Chris froze, numbed by the past possibilities. JC could have taken it any time during the night. There were only two guards - a careful escape would have succeeded. Chris lifted his gaze and found JC watching him. The Prince then very deliberately dropped his eyes to the key. Turning his gaze to Lance, he studied his lover for a long moment. Wit a final glance at the King, JC settled Lance more securely in his arms and slipped once more into slumber. Chris stepped back from the cell door and leaned against the wall. JC could not have been clearer if he'd spoken. After a thoughtful moment Chris smiled broadly and left the lovers to their sleep. Lance woke slowly. The sunlight coming in through the cell window was warm on his face and he was rather stiff from sleeping on the stone floor, but these were not the first things he noticed. For long moments Lance was aware only of JC's warm embrace and the lingering scent of musk. Slowly, reluctantly, he came to full awareness. As he did, he had to wonder - how had they managed to sleep the night through without being disturbed? He'd not considered it at the time, but it was very unusual that the guard hadn't checked on them after the first couple of hours. Puzzled, but unwilling to question their good fortune, Lance wakened JC. "Jace," he murmured, "Jace I have to go. I shouldn't have stayed the night. God knows why no one's looked in on us yet." "'Sokay," JC murmured, reaching for Lance though he was still half asleep. "Stay." "I'll be back," Lance promised as he finished dressing, though he didn't know how he'd keep his word. After a final check to ensure his clothes were in order Lance stepped out of the cell as matter-of-factly as possible. "Good morning, highness," the guard, still on the second landing, said with an odd look that was suspiciously like a suppressed grin. Lance frowned. "His majesty wants to speak with you." "Thank you," Lance nodded and got out of there before the guard's strange attitude got to him. Thankfully, he met no one on the way to Chris' office. Lance took one look at his brother's expression and sat down. Somehow he knew he'd need to. "Where were you last night?" Chris asked, not looking up from the spread of papers on his desk. Lance didn't know what to say. "You ran out on Clarice in the middle of dinner and were not seen for the remainder of the night." Still Lance was quiet, struggling for an explanation but not knowing how much Chris knew. At last Chris looked up...and promptly broke down laughing. "The expression on your face, Lance," he gasped. He took a moment to seize control of his mirth and came around to sit on the edge of the desk. Lance watched, confused. "Relax," Chris said at last, still chuckling. "I know exactly where you were. I was just playing a little. Don't look so worried. Didn't I tell you once to accept love wherever you found it?" "You're not upset?" Lance asked tentatively. "Upset? I'm ecstatic! My little brother is in love. What's more, the prophecy will once again protect us. Assuming," Chris gave Lance a sharp glance, "he loves you back." "He does," Lance answered the half question, blushing. "Well, then everything is well, right?" "Except that he's a prisoner we're holding for ransom," Lance reminded, not wanting to but unable to escape the reality of the situation. "There is that," Chris allowed, sobering. "He can't be free to go. I hope you understand that. Things will be better next year, but this winter we need the grain." "He doesn't want to go back," Lance said quietly. "No?" "We wouldn't be allowed to be together there." "Ah," Chris said, understanding. "Well, so long as he understand the situation, there's no reason he has to stay locked up there. Come, we'll tell the guards together. You can bring Prince Chasez down and dismiss the suitors together." "Dismiss the... Of course." Comprehension dawned and Lance grinned broadly and stood. "Come then," he hurried, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!" Chris could only laugh at Lance's eagerness. (1 week later) When Lance and JC returned from a brief ride about the countryside (JC having sworn up and down to Chris that he had no desire to take off and leave Lance) there was a grave faced Chris waiting for them in the stables. "Is something wrong?" Lance asked, concerned. The mood of the palace in the past week had been almost celebratory. The dismissed suitors were, in large part, relieved (Lance couldn't bring himself to be offended - he was relieved, too). JC had become a minor celebrity as the man who finally won the Prince's heart. His and Lance's story was being embellished upon as it spread through the country the way gossip always does, and the people were settling down with the certainty that next year would be prosperous. Why, then, the King's seriousness? "Something is both wrong and right," he answered Lance heavily. "Three-quarters of the demanded ransom has been paid, and I have accepted it. It is enough. However, with the payment of the ransom, King Chasez expects the return of his son." JC slumped in his saddle, then slowly dismounted. Lance followed suit. "Can't we just tell him I don't want to leave?" JC asked weakly. Chris shook his head, as JC knew he would. "Kind Chasez would never accept that as the truth, not from a messenger. Not even from you, I expect. He has paid and we...we must return you." Lance looked helplessly from his lover to his brother. "I'll go with you." "No," Chris shook his head sadly. "You know you can't. The prophecy is tied to a person, not to the kingdom. You can't leave Tropria, you know that." "If I stay," Lance responded, dejected, "and Jace goes, I will be brokenhearted. Is that so much better?" "The prophecy requires your love, not your happiness." Chris' tone was apologetic but firm. "When," JC paused, then forced himself to go on, "when must I leave?" "Now. The caravan bearing the ransom was unloaded while you were on your ride. The messenger is most eager to collect you and leave." Lance turned, agonized, to JC. "Now? Not even a proper goodbye..." He wrapped his arms about JC as if to physically restrain him from going. "And when I next see you," he murmured, unable to leave the painful thought unvoiced, "you will have a wife by your side." JC, hearing the tears thick in Lance's voice, could only kiss him softly. "I'll be back," he whispered as their lips parted. "I don't know how, I don't know when, but I'll come back to you." "I love you," Lance said, one last time. "I love you back," JC echoed and smiled for just a moment before he turned and walked away, and was gone. The caravan leader was eager to be away from the palace. He whipped the draft horses into motion the moment JC had settled himself on the wagon seat. Now the two men and their empty caravan rolled towards Iiawah. "Glad to be going home, highness?" the driver asked. JC made no response. What could he say? The driver went on regardless of his silence. "Aye, I would be, too. This is a strange place. All anyone talks about is some sort of prophecy." JC marveled silently that the man had not connected him to the gossip, but he made no attempt to enlighten him. The conversation throughout the journey home was constant but one-sided. By the time the caravan arrived at JC's own palace he'd managed to work up the energy to present at least a front of relief and happiness. His father and the blatantly insincere courtiers bought the act. Justin, on the other hand, drew him aside after interminable welcomes and the requisite celebratory banquet. "Jace," Justin began, concerned. JC winced because the last person to call him that had been Lance. Justin's frown deepened. "Jace, was it that bad? Father may be satisfied that you're well, but I'm not." "It wasn't bad at all," JC hurried to assure him. "I was...well taken care of." He had to swallow past the lump in his throat. Lance had taken care of him... "You're not acting all right," Justin persisted stubbornly. "Tell me what's wrong. What happened? Please?" But JC held firm. The less he thought of Lance, he reasoned, the less it would hurt. Despite his resolve, everything reminded him of his lover. JC found himself unable to flirt with the women at court, even to maintain his cover, as he had done before. It felt unfaithful to Lance, despite his certainty that the other man would understand the necessity. He sat for hours in church staring at one of the stained glass windows because he abruptly realized it was the exact same shade as Lance's eyes. When he had to excuse himself in the middle of a banquet simply because they were serving Lance's favorite dish Justin came after him and, cornering him in his suite, refused to back down without an explanation. JC sighed and lay on his back on his bed. Justin sat cross- legged beside him. "When I was first taken," JC began, "they locked me in the top room of a tower they'd never made use of. The left me in the cell, bound hand and foot, half naked, with no bedding and no food. Perhaps a maid would have been assigned to provide for me, but that's not the way it turned out. "I learned later that the King's younger brother, Lance, had seen me brought in and was curious. He asked his brother if he could see me. The King refused. So Lance got out of there before the guards could be warned to keep him out of the tower. He ran up to see who I was." JC smiled, remembering the argument that followed and how Lance had been, he later learned, thrilled with his 'punishment'. "The King got angry at his disobedience and thought to punish him by assigning him to take care of me." JC paused for a moment, finding his next words. "Justin, you should see him. Lance, that is. He's gorgeous. Beautiful. I forgot I 'd been kidnapped when I saw him. And so gentle, even with a prisoner... I asked him to stay, to talk awhile. Maybe the thought crossed my mind once or twice to use his trust to escape, but by the time the opportunity came I didn't want to leave. There was a moment when I had to choose - freedom or Lance. I didn't hesitate." JC sat up then, needing to see his brother's reaction. "I fell in love with him, Justin. And he fell for me. There are no taboos against such things there. It was...incredible. My last week of 'captivity' was not captivity at all. I slept with Lance in his bed and we made love every night." He smiled, remembering. "Some mornings, too. The people at court accepted me as one of their own and teased us affectionately. At least one bard is composing a song about Lance and I," JC chuckled at that thought. "So why did you come home?" Justin asked quietly, hoping not to fracture the good mood JC had developed. To no avail. JC's face fell, his heartache showing clearly. "What could I have told Father that he would have accepted? He'd never believe I wanted to stay. He paid the ransom - to refuse to return me could have been an act of war, and Tropria can't afford to risk that. I couldn't stay. A prophecy prevented Lance from leaving with me." JC was silent for a long time. "I promised him I'd come back," he whispered finally. "I don't know how to keep that promise." Justin could say nothing in consolation. They could only sit, and think. JC surrendered himself to memories of Lance and wondered if the memories of a week could carry him through a lifetime. He doubted it. "Winter solstice is in a week." "I know, J. Father will have a wife for me by then." Justin spoke his next words reluctantly but with determination. He whispered, because what he said was probably treason. "You're not father's only son, Jace. If you were to just leave, he'd not be without an heir. The ransom agreement is fulfilled and past. You'd be going on your own initiative. No responsibility would fall on Tropria. Just go." "Just go," JC murmured wonderingly. "Just go," Justin confirmed, "and go fast. You'd be followed, but father couldn't make you leave against your will if you were under the protection of the Troprian royal family." There was a long silence. "Justin," JC said at last, "when I go, they'll come to you to find out where I've run to. Tell them. I don't want you in trouble." "Okay, Jace. Okay." The next morning he was gone. King Chasez noticed his absence almost immediately, as JC was supposed to attend a formal breakfast with one of the women being considered as his wife. Suspecting JC of oversleeping, the King sent a runner to his son's quarters. They were found virtually ransacked. Closer examination revealed that all the necessities of travel had been taken. A horse was missing from the stable, though none of the stable boys reported readying one. As JC had predicted, King Chasez went almost at once to Justin for answers. "Where has he gone?" The King demanded angrily. "He can't just up and go riding without considering his duties-" "JC hasn't gone pleasure riding," Justin interrupted, covering his pleasure at his father's astonishment. "What?" "He hasn't gone out riding for a day or a week. JC is gone. He's left. He has no intention of returning." "Why?" the King asked, honestly bewildered. Justin sighed. "Haven't you noticed how desperately unhappy JC has been lately, father? There are things about him that you don't understand, that he's never been able to tell you. Trust me when I tell you he's happier where he's going." "Justin," the King's expression was dark, "tell me where he's gone. He will explain himself to my satisfaction or he will return." "Tropria, father. He's gone back to Tropria." JC knew he was being followed. He didn't know how he knew, but he could feel his father on his heels. The feeling rushed JC, made him reluctant to stop for anything. He ate in the saddle. He didn't sleep, but rode through the night. Despite this, he was certain his pursuers were gaining on him. He'd not thought to bring a second mount, and his first was growing weary at the unrelenting pace. JC reached the border certain that he would be caught that day. Tired, his hope and excitement running dry, JC stopped at an inn just over the border. "Will you be needing room for the night?" the innkeeper asked, it being the middle of the day. JC hesitated. "How many days hard travel is it from here to the palace?" he couldn't resist asking. The innkeeper gave him an odd look, but answered. "Two, sir." So close. JC could almost feel Lance calling him, though there was no way Lance could know he was coming. "I don't suppose you have a horse for sale?" he asked futilely, knowing his own would never survive a ride as hard as he'd have to take it. Another odd look. "Might I ask your name, sir?" Confused, JC gave it. "Prince JC Chasez, of Iiawah." The innkeeper broke into a broad grin. "There's a horse for you, highness. I've heard the story. Prince Lance is pining away for you. Whoever is chasing you, they'll not catch you before you reach him. Any inn along the road will aid you." To JC's amazement, it was true. When the fresh horse began to founder the next inn provided a new mount. When at last the palace appeared on the horizon his mount was moving almost without JC's direction. He was too exhausted to really guide the horse. He must have been identified long before he approached, for the palace gates swung open for him. The horse stopped of its own accord. At that moment Lance burst into the courtyard. JC practically fell from the saddle into Lance's arms. "I promised," he murmured, smiling, and fell asleep right there. When JC woke it was as if the past few weeks had never happened. He lay in Lance's bed, Lance stretched out beside him. If his muscles didn't ache so sharply he'd have thought it all a bad dream. He shifted a little and Lance rolled over and threw an arm across him. JC smiled a little. "It's all right, love," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere." Lance muttered something sleepily and curled closer to JC. The page that entered the room hours later found them both asleep. Reluctantly, he woke the peacefully resting princes with a few words. Lance sat up first. The page waited until JC had roused himself before delivering his message. "My apologies for waking you, highness," he bowed to each of them, "but Prince Chasez's father has arrived. He seeks his son and is rather...irate." Lance cast an inquiring glance at his lover. "I didn't exactly have his blessing when I left," JC said dryly. "I up and disappeared in the middle of the night." "We had better go talk to him," Lance sighed, and motioned for the page to leave. When they were alone he added, "I'm not letting you go a second time, Jace." "I'm not leaving a second time," JC responded. When the two of them entered the courtyard they found JC's father, Chris, Justin and a score of men-at-arms. They were arrayed facing each other, as if along battle lines. JC and Lance moved to stand next to King Kirkpatrick. King Chasez reddened at the silent declaration. "I don't know what you've done to my son," he barked at Chris, "but you will return him to me or-" "King Kirkpatrick has done nothing," JC interrupted. "I chose to leave Iiawah. I chose to come here. I choose to stay." "I'm your King as well as your father," King Chasez changed tack, "and if I command you to return, you will either return willingly or you will be charged with treason." "I've granted JC sanctuary," Chris said, though JC had not actually requested it. "Why are you so set on staying?" JC's father demanded at last. "I want to be with my lover," JC said simply, though his heart was racing, and took Lance's hand in his own to make the meaning of the statement unmistakable. King Chasez's jaw dropped. No one said anything for a long moment. JC's people were shocked. Lance's simply didn't see what more needed to be said. Finally, King Chasez found his voice. "You...tolerate this?" he asked Chris incredulously. "What's there to 'tolerate'?" Chris asked, shrugging. "My brother is in love. The prophecy is satisfied. The people are happy, he is happy, I'm happy. I fail to see the problem." King Chasez could only stare. Eventually he turned his gaze once more on his son. "If you refused to give up this...farce and return home," he said slowly, obviously playing his trump card, "I will be forced to disown you as heir. The crown will go to Justin after me." JC squeezed Lance's hand in reassurance. Then he twisted off the heir ring he'd worn all his life, took two steps forward and placed it in Justin's outstretched palm. "Rule well, brother," JC said, smiling and without regret. Defeated, King Chasez could do nothing but leave. JC and Lance, of course, lived happily ever after. |