---------------------------------------- Chapter Thirteen ----------------------------------------

The sun wasn't yet up in the sky when Judas started his day. He'd always had an affinity for the sun, perhaps due to his disability. He could always tell exactly what direction the sun was and how high in the sky it was, even from inside with no access to a window.

After nearly a month, they had established a routine. He woke each morning as Nemir started to stir. They rose together and dressed in silence before heading to the practice yard where Nemir performed his exercises and sparred for a while. Usually he sparred with Jorak, the guard from the first day, but occasionally with others. Jorak disturbed him somewhat. He made no secret of his attraction to Nemir and flirted with him openly. It made Judas uncomfortable.

However, Jorak did not make him nearly as uncomfortable as Nemir's lovely cousin Layla. Only a few days after the banquet, they'd arrived at the practice yard to find her waiting. She'd watched with Judas as Nemir went through his routine, then chatted pleasantly for a while before leaving to tend to whatever she did during the day while Nemir and Judas returned to the suite to eat the first meal of the day.

After that, Konda arrived to continue their lessons. The politics of the Court had been joined by lessons in economics and the laws of Ajantha, as well as the diplomatic relationships between the city and its neighbor states and the God-King who sat in judgment over them all. It was enough to make Judas's head spin, but he applied himself to the lessons diligently.

After lunch, the lessons took a more practical bent. Nemir sat and observed as his father dealt with ambassadors from as far away as the fertile lands of the lake country, making trade agreements. He also watched the law courts when they met every third day to hear cases and render judgments, then discussed those verdicts with the wise men who sat as judges. On a few occasions they had even consulted him, asking his opinion on what he had heard. Whether this opinion affected the outcome of the cases, they did not say.

Evenings were often taken with Court functions where Nemir -- and Judas -- observed the nobility and learned about the internal politics of the city. As with diplomacy and law, it was a chance to put their lessons into practice.

Then after all that, they returned to the suite that had become home in Judas's eyes and fell into their respective beds, exhausted. It seemed to Judas that the Prince worried unnecessarily. Nemir had neither the time not the energy to bed any of the no doubt willing ladies of the Palace.

Judas could hear Nemir, already dressed and moving around the sitting room. He dressed quickly and went to join him. He could have remained in bed until Nemir returned, but his pride would not allow such indulgence. He would not let Nemir think him weak or lazy. As well, as comfortable as the suite was, he did not want to let pass the chance to see more of the Palace.

They fell into step easily leaving the rooms and heading for the practice yard. The route was now permanently engraved in his mind, since they took it every morning. On the way back, though, Nemir took a variety of paths through the Palace, showing Judas a different section nearly every day. They had returned to the healers in the first few days to make sure that his hand was healing. Since then, he had seen the kitchens and the workshops where the potters and weavers and carvers worked, as well as all the other artisans that the Palace sponsored.

As well, the library had been a revelation. He had not thought that there were so many volumes in the world, and he took advantage of it. He read voraciously on every subject, his abilities growing with the written word in leaps and bounds. Nemir was even teaching him to read other languages, allowing him to expand the number of books he could plunder.

Unfortunately, in that time, Konda's questioning had not led him to the person behind the attempt on Nemir's life, which was a source of continued worry to Judas.

As expected, Layla was waiting for them in the shaded corridor overlooking the practice yard. "A beautiful morning, Nemir, Judas," she said brightly as they arrived. They both returned the pleasantries, then Nemir hopped over the low wall onto the sand and walked over to the racks of practice weapons.

Jorak was not there that day, so after his warm-ups Nemir tapped a different guard to spar with. The young man was obviously new to the Palace Guard and reluctant to risk hurting the Heir, but after he relaxed a bit, he proved to have a fluid style that obviously delighted Nemir.

Layla sighed happily. "It is such a delight, watching young men perform, don't you think?" she said to Judas in a conversational tone. "When I was young, I used to pretend that it was me they were fighting."

"As you say," Judas replied softly, although he did not see the appeal of that. He replied when spoken to, but never volunteered anything in return.

For the first while, when she joined them in the mornings she had ignored Judas, focusing all of her attention on Nemir. She had even asked him why he did not simply leave Judas in the suite to amuse himself, since he obviously had no real reason to accompany him. The fact that Judas was within hearing meant nothing to her.

Nemir's response had been short and firm. Judas was not an object to be put away and forgotten or a servant to be ordered around, he had said. If he chose to come with Nemir, he was always welcome. Layla had wisely chosen not to press the issue.

Not long after, she had begun her attempts to befriend Judas. He had not rebuffed her attempts, nor had he responded more than politeness required. He knew that Nemir found the tension between them frustrating, but said nothing, choosing to leave them to resolve their difference on their own.

As usual, Judas ignored Layla, instead keeping his attention on Nemir. He had not forgotten that the bolt that had nearly ended Nemir's life was guard-issue and worried that he might be vulnerable. As well, he found more and more that the sight of his charge, sweat-soaked and dressed only in a pair of old breeches, fascinating.

As of yet, Nemir had not sought to claim his right to use Judas's body, and as time went by and he got to know the other man, Judas found himself wishing...

More and more, he found Nemir occupying his thoughts and even more disturbingly, his dreams. The dreams hinted at things he knew about but had never experienced. Things he never thought he *would* experience. Things that made him wish that Nemir were not so determined to remain celibate rather than do as his father expected.

Nemir was coming their way, the sun gleaming on his bronzed skin. He seemed to almost radiate vitality and Judas, who could not move freely in the light the same way, found himself staying close, as if he could absorb the warmth of the sun that Nemir glowed with through him.

Layla reached out to touch Nemir's arm, and to Nemir's eyes her hand lingered a little longer than would be called proper. "Nemir, are you coming to Lord Ber's hunt tomorrow? Do say that you are," she said in a pleading tone.

Nemir's eyes met Judas's. "I had not decided yet," he said evasively.

Layla pouted prettily. "You should. You never socialize with others your own age. It is not healthy."

"Layla--"

"You should not remain so aloof," she pressed. "It makes them wonder why you avoid them."

Nemir chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Judas would not be able to come," he said.

Layla's eyebrows went up. "Why ever not?" she asked, obviously surprised after Nemir's insistence that Judas could accompany him anywhere.

Nemir opened his mouth, no doubt intending to explain, so Judas quickly spoke first. "I am not... able to leave the Palace," he said, ducking his head. He left her to interpret that as she wished. He certainly did not want her to know of his disability.

Nemir frowned, but did not contradict him. It was, after all, the truth, though vaguely phrased. "So you see," he said instead. "It would not--"

"I think you should go," Judas broke in. Nemir's expression was one of shock, so he explained. "She is right. You need to meet with your... peers. Outside of official Court functions, that is."

Layla looked as surprised as Nemir, but quickly overcame it. "There, you have official permission," she said, and though the tone was light her mouth twisted slightly on the last word. "Please, do come."

Nemir still hesitated. When he looked over again, Judas nodded, encouraging him. He sighed. "Very well. What time does the hunt form?" he asked.

"Just after dawn," Layla said eagerly. "Before the heat of day builds."

Nemir looked unsure, but nodded. "I will tell my teachers that I will be unavailable tomorrow, then," he told her.

Layla made a delighted noise that was nearly a squeal and stoop on tip-toes to kiss Nemir on the cheek. "I promise, you *will* enjoy yourself," she said, then moved back again. She glanced over at the practice yard and saw the length of the shadows. "Oh, I'm late. I'll see you tomorrow!" she cried, then hurried off, her slippers silent on the marble floors.

"Are you sure?" Nemir asked Judas once she was gone.

Judas already felt uneasy about his decision, but was careful to hide his feelings. "I assume, considering the status of the hunt members, that there will be guards. As well, you will be armed, so well able to defend yourself."

"But what will you do while I am away?"

Judas was warmed by the worry. "If you are concerned about that, we can stop at the library. I will spend my day reading quietly and consider it well-spent."

Nemir still looked a little dubious, but he nodded and said wryly, "And you will probably enjoy your day more."

Judas forced a smile. "Considering what we have seen of Lord Ber and his friend, you may be right. But you *do* need to learn more about them than their Court faces."

"Know thy enemy," Nemir said a little grimly.

Judas nodded, but a chill ran through him. He prayed that those words were not prophetic. For the first time since Nemir's return to the Palace, the Heir was going to be out of his sight and his ability, however poor, to protect him.

Everything would be fine.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Fourteen ----------------------------------------

Nemir woke at his usual hour the next morning, but from there he diverged from his normal routine. Already he was beginning to regret giving in to Judas and Layla's urgings.

Instead of his practice clothes, he donned his riding leathers for the first time since his return to Ajantha. It had been an entire month since he'd last been in the saddle, he realized with a start. He'd had his practice sessions, but thanks to the lessons that filled his days, he'd not even left the Palace. His stallion would barely recognize him, although he was sure that the beast had been well-cared for in his absence.

He shook his head and promised himself that he would not wait so long again. He had not even been to the stables to check that his mount was being properly cared for. His former commander would be horrified.

He broke his fast with Judas, silently as usual. Just simple bread and cheese and fruit, since he was going to be in the saddle for at least an hour or two. He wrapped some of the leftovers and tucked them into his saddlebag for later, then checked his weapons carefully.

Since this was a hunt, the bow was the weapon of choice. He strung it and checked it carefully, then loosened the string for travel to prevent damage. The arrows in his quiver were checked to ensure that they were straight and true. The fletching was all firmly attached and the shafts were free of any cracks or warping that could spoil their flight. He tested the points with a finger tip, then sucked away the tiny bead of blood that resulted. His extra strings were also checked before being placed in the pouch hanging from his belt.

But there had been an attempt on his life, so he did not stop there. He had sharpened his daggers the night before and he slipped the obvious ones into the top of his boot and a sheath strapped to his forearm. Then he fastened a third at the small of his back where he could quickly reach it, but it was concealed by his vest. Finally, a short sword was hung at his waist, completing his armament.

"You look like you're preparing for war," Judas observed from his cushion at the side of the room. A book rested beside him with a glass of water. The tone was light, but the expression in his eyes said that he was worried, despite his insistence that Nemir join the hunt.

Nemir grunted softly as he checked to make sure that the sword sheath did not impede quick movement. "The desert is dangerous, as you well know," he said. "I prefer to rely on myself rather than the guards for protection.

Satisfied, he straightened up and turned to Judas. It still felt wrong to be leaving him here, like some sort of pet. "Are you sure--" he started to say, but Judas cut him off.

"Go," he said with a smile. "I plan to return to bed after you have left, then spend the day reading. I will see you tomorrow" He sounded confident, but after a month together, Nemir had learned to read the other man's expressions well enough to see the nervousness that Judas was hiding.

Nemir still thought it unfair that his father had ordered that Judas not leave the apartment without him. He'd asked him to relax that rule, but the Prince had been adamant. It was for Judas's protection, he had said. As Nemir's companion, he could become a target. It was a thought that had not occurred to Nemir and which sent a chill through him.

Still, he hesitated at the door until Judas deliberately picked up a tome he had removed from the library the day before and opened it to the first page to start reading.

Nemir laughed and took the obvious hint.

Watching the confusion as the hunt came together, Nemir regretted even more having agreed to come. The courtyard in front of the stables was a study in chaos, with grooms bringing out mounts to be looked over and either accepted or rejected by spoiled young nobles who were more concerned with how impressive a beast looked than its abilities. Nemir could not restrain a snort of disgust as he saddled his own mount himself.

As well, servants were busy, loading packhorses with an endless stream of packages containing tents and travel food for the overnight expedition. Nemir had seen *armies* travel with less baggage than this one hunt.

The sun had climbed halfway into the sky and Nemir was fighting frustration by the time everything was organized and the hunt was underway. At several moments he had had to resist the urge to simply take command, start barking out orders. Proving his leadership abilities was not the point this day, even if they were desperately needed at that point. Instead, his reason for joining the hunt was to interact with nobles of his own age in a more social environment than the Court.

Still, the party with all its guards and servants and grooms was finally moving out into the city and along one of the winding streets that led to the nearest city gate.

The complicated twists and turnings of the boulevard were deliberate, not the product of a city growing over time. As a soldier, Nemir approved of the design. Any invading force would have to fight for every inch of ground as they tried to reach the Palace, unable to see what was waiting for them around each corner.

History had proven the design as well. Invaders had attacked the city before, although not in recent generations, and not a single force had made it even half the distance to the Palace before being destroyed.

Layla brought her mount up next to his, all smiles and bright cheer. "I'm so glad you came, Nemmie," she said, reaching over to pat his arm. Nemir was well aware of the eyes on them, both within the party and the citizens watching the party ride by. He found a smile in response to hers, which was not too difficult now that they were moving.

"It is a pleasant change from the all the lessons," he said honestly to her and all the other less welcome listeners.

And it *was*. For the first time in a month, he was about to ride through the city gates out into the desert were life might be dangerous, but was also refreshingly simple. He longed for the clean air and a horizon unbroken by anything built by human hands.

"I know that lessons are important," Layla said, not noticing the way his eyes were focused on the distant gates, "but you should not spend *all* of your time at them. You are still young. There will be plenty of time in the years to come for serious pursuits. Enjoy life!"

The words rang in his ears and resonated in his mind. She was right. His entire life had been given over to work and duty, it seemed. Why should he not enjoy himself?

A tension he hadn't realized was there drained away. Feeling free, he smiled down at his cousin, more openly this time. Her expression went from concerned to pleased. Then she closed the veils she was wearing to protect her skin from sun and wind, leaving only her dark, flashing eyes visible. Acting on impulse, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

Then he realized what he had done and tensed again. It had been an innocent gesture, but to an observer it might appear less so. If his father heard...

He found himself wishing that Judas was there. If felt strange, not having his shadow beside him. He wondered what Judas was doing, even though he had a good idea. Then he wondered if Judas could ride.

Nemir snorted. Of course Judas could ride; any child born to the desert would learn to ride before they walked. But limited to the night, how *well* did Judas ride?

As the question occurred to him, so did a way of learning the answer. Surely his presence was not required at Court *every* night. While it was unlikely that they would be allowed to leave the city at night, there was no reason that he and Judas could not go for a starlit ride.

Already making plans, Nemir turned his attention back to Layla as they passed under the arch that formed one of the three gates that pierced the thick city walls. She was watching him with a little crease between her eyes, her expression hidden by the blue veil that matched her riding clothing and even the tooling on her saddle.

Then the crease was gone. They passed back into the bright sunlight and her eyes were sparking. "Remember our riding lessons when we were young?" she asked impishly.

He nodded, his suspicions aroused by the playful tone.

"Good."

Then a piercing whistle came from behind her veil and she snapped her reins, sending her gelding into a gallop.

Laughing, Nemir tapped his stallion's flanks with his heels and sent him following. Behind him, he heard a whoop and the thunder of more hooves as he passed her.

Then he abandoned himself to the feel of the wind in his face and the thrill of the race.

The city's primary source of water was the Merenth, a wide river that meandered through the desert until it reached the Lake districts. Fields hugged both sides of its banks, producing the grain that fed the city.

The hunting party followed a road that ran parallel to the river. More than an hour after leaving the city they finally were out of site of the cultivated lands. There they stopped and ate their mid-day meal while the servants set up camp.

Considering that they would only be there for one night, the camp was unnecessarily ornate to Nemir's eyes. The tents were made of brightly-colored silks. Thick carpets covered the sands inside, and the cots were far more comfortable than any he'd slept on during his years in the Guard.

Of course, the tents for the servants and guards were less luxurious. The plain white canvas and basic cots were standard Guard issue. It made Nemir feel nostalgic for his past.

During the afternoon, the nobles lazed around the camp while guards were sent out to find a likely hunting location. Game trails leading to the river were the best places to find prey, Nemir knew. In these borderlands between the desert and river, there would a wide variety of prey to chose from, as the tracks would tell.

But none of the highborn seemed interested in participating in the tracking. Their idea of a hunt, it seemed, was to have servants flush out the prey so that it be killed with a minimum of effort. So they rested during the heat of the day while others worked.

However, Nemir could not bring himself to do the same. Instead, he joined the guards in their tracking, to their obvious approval. Jorak, especially, did not bother to hide his disdain of the privileged lords and ladies who had stayed behind at the camp.

After a while, his example seemed to make a difference. Two of the nobles, Dansen and Markus, left the camp and came to join them. Bother were trained fighters, as all men of their rank were, but Nemir was surprised at how little they knew about tracking. He found himself taking on the role of teacher, showing them how to move silently through the greenery. He quietly explained what to look for and where to look, identifying the tracks that they found.

Nemir was surprised to find that he liked being instructor. As well, he found that the two men, obvious friends, had the sort of sense of humor he could appreciate. Neither seemed inclined to take themselves too seriously.

Perhaps this excursion would be more enjoyable that he'd expected.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Fifteen ----------------------------------------

Once the door had closed behind Nemir, the desire to keep reading quickly disappeared. Judas had been staring at the page for several minutes, but could not name one thing that had been said in the print. He set the book down carefully, in deference to its obvious age, and looked around.

The room was silent. Nemir was not given to idle chatter, unlike his cousin, but he was rarely silent. As well as the normal sounds of rustling clothing as he moved and breathing, Nemir would mutter to himself as he read or wrote. From time to time he would comment aloud to Judas, looking for another opinion.

And even when he did not move, he was *there*. His presence filled any room he was in. Now that presence was gone, however temporarily.

Judas found himself fighting the urge to run after the man to try to convince him not to go. However, it would look foolish, since it was he who had convinced Nemir to go. As well, despite the unease that filled him, Judas knew that this was necessary. Despite his stubborn independence, Nemir needed to form connections, alliances, with the noble born he would have to deal with for years to come.

Unfortunately, the cold knot in his stomach did not respond well to the logic of the argument. He could not escape the feeling that something bad was going to happen, and he was not there to stop it.

Unable to remain still, Judas stood and started to pace. He chewed absently on the end of his braid as he did his best not to speculate on all the things that could possibly happen to Nemir. The sound of his bare feet slapping against the floor echoed in the room, mocking him and his fears.

Finally, he decided to do one of the things he'd told Nemir he planned to by going back to his pallet to try to sleep. He hoped that the oblivion of slumber could fill the empty hours until his master returned.

Sleep proved elusive, and when it did come it was far from restful. Judas tossed and turned, troubled by dreams he could not remember, until the sound of movement from the outer room woke him. He finally conceded defeat and rose from his bed.

The servant had already left, but a sparse midday meal had been left on the table for Judas. In the month he'd been there -- although it felt more like years -- the servants had gone from believing that Judas was demon-spawn to considering him unworthy of their notice. While Judas was thankful that they no longer made gestures to ward off evil in his direction, he wished that they did not avoid him so determinedly, now more than ever. He would have liked to have someone to talk with.

He ate slowly, lacking anything better to do with his time. When he was finished, he returned to his cushion and the book he'd set down earlier. Hopefully this time he would be better able to concentrate. He doubted that he would see anyone before an evening meal was brought for him.

As a result, he was surprised to hear a polite knock at the door to the suite. Before he could reply, the door opened and Lord Konda entered.

Judas blinked in surprise as he quickly stood. "My lord," he said. Then he frowned. "Were you not told that Nemir was with Lord Ber's hunting party?" Then another thought occurred. "Has there been an accident?" His heart started racing as barely remembered images from his nightmares ran through his mind.

Konda smiled reassuringly. "No, there has not been an accident. Yes, I did know that Nemir was not here. However, you are."

"My Lord?"

Konda sat down at the table and waited until Judas did the same. His tone turned chiding. "Nemir's absence does not save *you* from having lessons." Then he laughed, no doubt at Judas's shocked expression. "These lessons are not simply for Nemir's sake. You need them as much as, if not more than, him."

"I don't understand. I thought I was just supposed to be..." He stopped and ducked his head, embarrassed. Concubine was the kindest word he could think of. He'd certainly heard far more blunt from the servants when they thought he could not hear. However, he could not bring himself to repeat any of them.

Konda reached across the table and covered Judas's hand with his own. "No, that is not what you are supposed to be. You are supposed to be his advisor, his protector, his supporter, his confidante. But most importantly, you are supposed to be his *friend*."

"And warm his bed," Judas added bluntly.

Konda shrugged. "As I did his father's," he reminded Judas. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Are you yet?"

Judas felt like his face was on fire. He closed his eyes, wondering if it were possible to die of embarrassment. "No," he whispered.

"Do you want to?" Konda sounded only mildly curious, but his gaze was intent.

Judas could feel his stomach clench. This was the first time he'd allowed himself had to face that question. "Yes," he mouthed, unable to say the word aloud.

Konda nodded. "I am glad to hear it. Now, I know how stubborn Nemir can be, but I watched him grow up and know him well. He *is* weakening." He grinned and winked. "I'm sure you've noticed."

Judas thought about it, looking in his memories for any evidence to support the man's statement. Several events came to mind, looks that he still was not sure how to interpret, times when he'd thought that Nemir was about to kiss him. However, he did not know how much those memories were colored by his own carefully concealed desires.

"I... am not sure," he finally said when he realized that Konda was waiting for a response.

"I am. Unfortunately, as I said, Nemir can be very stubborn. He will not wear down on his own any time soon. Something must be done to force him to change his mind."

"Like what?"

Konda tapped a finger against the tabletop, considering the question. "There are several possibilities," he said at last. "Seduction, after all, has a long history. However, the method used must be tailored to the persons involved and the circumstances. For Nemir, the direct approach is often the best. Simply tell him that you *want* him to bed you."

Judas's eyes when wide and his stomach did its best to wrap itself around his spine. "I..." He choked on the words.

Konda's expression turned wry. "No, I suppose that would not work for you. Nor would the solution I used on his father, I think. However, there *are* ways of telling him without words."

Relieved, Judas picked up his glass and took a deep swallow of the thin, bitter ale that had come with his meal. "How do I do that?" he asked, honestly curious. He'd seen the courting games that his age-mates in the tribe had played. However, since he was unlikely to have the chance to play them himself, there had seemed little point in learning. Now he wished that he had paid closer attention.

"Try standing closer to him," Konda said, pursing his lips. "Close enough so that you are almost touching him. It will make him more aware of you. When he bathes, go with him. Wash his back or his hair without waiting to be asked. That way he will become comfortable with your touch. Think of it as taming a wild animal."

Judas considered the advice and came to the conclusion the yes, he could do this. It was a small effort, one that could easily be denied. And if it worked...

His blood ran hot and cold at the same time. Vague, undefined ideas of what it would be like ran through his mind. Images inspired by couplings overheard when he was younger played in his imagination. They scared him a little, but the fear blended with excitement in an intoxicating mix.

His mouth gone dry again, Judas drained the glass he still held in his hand, one dribble running down his chin in his clumsy haste.

"Now that *that* has been determined," Konda suddenly said, slapping the palm of his hand against the surface of the table, making both Judas and the dishes jump, "there are still lessons. The day before last, you and Nemir observed court. Tell me about the cases and what you thought of the rulings."

Forcing his thoughts away from dreams and fantasies was not easy, but Judas managed. "The first was a dispute over grazing rights," he said, closing his eyes and concentrating. "One family complained that the other had allowed their goats to over-graze an area held in common trust..."

Judas stumbled to a halt, frowning as the words refused to come. Normally, his memory was very good, but now he could barely remember the vaguest details of the fourth case. Of the arguments made by the parties involved, he remembered nothing. His stomach seemed to be churning with the effort.

"Judas?"

He opened his eyes to see Konda staring at him with a concerned expression. "Yes?" he asked, trying to remember what he was supposed to be saying.

"Do you feel alright? You look... unusually pale."

He always looked pale, he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth, nothing emerged. Instead, he simply stared at Konda, trying to tell if it was the man who was swaying or if it was the room that was spinning.

Then Judas blinked in surprise. Konda, who had been seated across the table from him was now standing at his elbow, looking down at him. "Judas, you are worrying me. Can you stand? I think you should go to the healers."

"I'm not... supposed to..." His words were slow and slurred. His tongue felt like it was two sizes too large.

"No arguments," Konda said firmly, urging him to his feet.

"'M fine," he mumbled.

The sudden movement of standing proved to be a mistake. The room was now definitely spinning madly around him and the floor was tilting at a disturbing angle under his feet.

'Earthquake' was his last thought as the room went black and the floor rushed up to meet him.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Sixteen ----------------------------------------

The afternoon's hunting had been quite successful by Nemir's reckoning, although not according to the disappointed Lord Ber. Two desert deer had been taken as they came to the river to drink, along with a brace of waterfowl. All of these were now roasting on spits over two cooking fires.

However, Ber -- as he was telling everyone within hearing distance -- had his heart set on killing a lion. He wanted a skin to hang on the wall of his receiving room, proclaiming his prowess as a hunter.

But, naturally, he did not want to risk himself in the process.

As they sat around the fire on the silk cushions, Ber regaled them all with details of hunts past and a vivid description of what would happen the next morning. His friends were all listening with wide-eyed awe, hanging on his every word and obviously believing it all. Nemir, on the other hand, was finding it difficult to hide his contempt.

During one particularly grandiose tale of hunting one of the beautiful but deadly striped felines of the Lake Country, Nemir was barely able to suppress a laugh. He certainly doubted that Ber had ever taken the two month journey to get there. Behind him, he heard a muffled snort from Jorak, who was standing guard at the edge of the camp. Across the fire, Markus and Dansen were both discretely rolling their eyes.

While Nemir found Ber arrogant and obnoxious, Markus and Dansen were anything but. In the two men, who were long friends, Nemir had found a pair of kindred spirits.

Dansen was the son of a minor noble, however his gentle humor made him much sought after for parties. He was a man who made friends easily and enemies not at all.

Markus, on the other hand, was not native to the Great Kingdom. He'd traveled from the lands far to the north to learn the metal-forging techniques of the Kingdom. He was watched closely, believed by many to be a spy, but his exotic red hair and blue eyes made him as sought after as his friend, especially by the women of the court.

"What of you, my lord Heir? Any exciting hunts during your time in the guard?"

Nemir was a little surprised to be addressed directly by Ber. The young man seemed to rarely allow other to speak, preferring to dominate the conversation himself.

"None as exciting as the ones you have described," he told the man diplomatically. He hear a small chocked sound from across the fire, but Ber just preened at the perceived compliment.

"Surely you are just being modest," he prodded. Ber's expression was open and curious, but his eyes had a glint in them.

Nemir's eyes narrowed. Everyone was watching him closely, waiting for his reply. It was obvious that Ber's questions were designed to embarrass him, to make him appear less than the other man.

However, unlike the other man, Nemir had no interest in embellishing the truth in order to impress others. He had no need to make himself seem more important that he really was. "Hunting in the Guard was for food. Lions, while they are impressive and dangerous creatures, make a poor stew." Chuckles answered his quip. "This," he said, gesturing towards the cooking fires where their meal was nearly finished roasting, "would be considered a successful hunt."

"But what about the thrill? What of the challenge of pitting yourself against a canny prey?"

Nemir found the man's arch tone annoying. "Enemy soldiers are the 'canny prey' for the Guard," he said, a little coldly. "A lion is simply a danger to the camp to be removed as quickly as possible."

"So you *have* hunted lions before!" Ber sounded almost gleeful.

"As part of a large party, and the beast was killed by the archers."

That brought out a pout. "There is little sport in that."

The disappointed look on the petulant noble's face angered Nemir, although he was careful not to show it. "The life of a trained Guard is too valuable to risk unnecessarily. Enough will die in battle."

Ber looked as if he wanted to disagree with Nemir's statement, but obviously he thought better of it. After all, Nemir had been one of those guards until just recently. Antagonizing one's future Prince was not a wise idea. However, Nemir was pleased to note several heads nodding in agreement with him.

But the conversation was abruptly ended by the announcement that the roasting fowl were ready, and talk was abandoned in favor of filling their stomachs. The birds were quickly reduced to bare bones. The deer followed, except for the portion that was set aside for the guards and servants.

By the time everything edible had been consumed, the hour was late and people started to drift towards their tents, alone or in discreet pairs. Nemir delayed retiring to his own overly-luxurious tent. It was the first time since his return home that he would sleep alone. Already, he found himself missing the comfortable sleep sounds of Judas on his pallet in the corner.

As his excuse for delaying, he set about banking one of the fires for the night. As he worked, he heard a throat being cleared behind him. He turned and was relieved to find Jorak standing there rather than one of Ber's friends. The guard moved closer to help him finish his task.

"Lord Ber may not have liked your words, by we Guards appreciated them," Jorak said softly as they worked side by side.

"It was the simple truth," Nemir replied.

"That makes them all the more appreciated."

The fire ready for the night, Jorak straightened up, then glanced at Nemir from the corner of his eyes. "I need to check the perimeter before seeking my bed. Would you care to join me?"

As with the first time he'd met the man, Nemir easily read the other offer implied in the man's words. The first time, he'd been sorely tempted by the handsome guard. Only the knowledge that his father would punish the innocent Judas for Nemir's indiscretions had restrained him.

And now, strangely enough, he was not tempted at all. Jorak was still a tempting man and becoming a good friend, but he felt no desire for his body. "Thank you, Jorak, but no."

Jorak turned to face him straight on, then smiled broadly. "Oh, you have it bad, don't you?"

Nemir's eyes narrowed. "I do not understand your meaning," he said.

"The pretty boy with the unusual hair that is usually attached to your side. The one who looks at you as if you were the Ruler of the Great Kingdom himself. He is more to you than just a concubine, is he?"

"He is *not* my concubine."

Jorak's eyes went wide. "You haven't bedded him yet?" Nemir's expression must have given him away, for the other man laughed. "Then you are a fool. You want him and it is obvious that he wants you. Why do you deny yourselves the pleasure?"

Then his smile disappeared. "Or is a slave not worthy of your attentions?"

Nemir bristled at the accusation. "That has nothing to do with my reluctance," he said defensively. "But I prefer willing bedmates, and a slave has little choice."

"And you have not seen how willing he is? It is hard not to see the jealous glare on his face when we spar, or the suspicious looks he gives the lady Layla when she shows her own interest in you too plainly." The last confused Nemir, and Jorak laughed once more. "You had not seen that either? You are a perceptive man, my lord, but very blind."

"But we are cousins. We grew up together. How could..." he stopped.

"She is a woman, and you are a handsome, powerful man. It would be unnatural for her *not* to want you." He chuckled.

Nemir was reeling under the shock of the revelations. From any other, he might have doubted the statement, but he trusted Jorak's judgment. However, he was not sure how to react to the revelations.

Jorak obviously saw his confusion, and his voice softened. "Go sleep," he said. "Morning is soon enough to decide what *you* want."

He turned to go, but not before making one last comment. "Given a choice. I would take the boy. His feelings look to be more honest than the woman's." Then he disappeared into the darkness.

Nemir moved to his tent in a daze. He slowly undressed, then settled onto his cot. He was not so confused that he forgot to place his weapons within easy reach, though. Then he lay there, staring up at the fabric of his tent, letting Jorak's words run through his mind.

His father had bought Judas for the express purpose of sharing Nemir's bed, but Nemir had refused to bed him, despite the attraction he felt for the boy. His sense of honor had not allowed him to force himself on Judas, or anyone else for that matter. He had never considered that his attention might *not* be unwanted.

But according to Jorak, whose word he trusted despite the short time they'd been acquainted, Judas *did* want him. Nemir considered all the other possible reasons why he should not take Judas as his lover and found that they all came down to pride and a stubborn refusal to submit to his father's machinations.

He laughed softly at himself. Jorak was right; he *was* a fool. Still, if he had made a mistake, it was one that could be easily corrected. As soon as he returned to Ajantha.

Nemir woke to the cool, dark grey of the pre-dawn. He could hear the servants and guards moving around the camp, talking in hushed tones. The nobles, he assumed were all still in their beds. A pity. If Ber truly wanted a lion skin, this was the time when he should be hunting.

Nemir dressed quickly and left the tent. A sparring session was not likely that morning, but he would not let that keep him from his exercises.

Several of the guards nodded to him as he passed in search of a suitable spot. He stopped and asked one for suggestions. He was directed to an open space, not directly visible from the camp. Scuff marks showed that it had already been used for that purpose that morning.

The sky had brightened to a soft grey and the horizon was turning pale shades of pink and orange by the time he finished. The sweat was dripping from his body and he was pleasantly warmed by his exertions. He turned to return to camp and found that he had a very familiar audience.

Layla's hair was uncombed and her eyes still blurry. She was dressed simply and had a sleepy smile on her face. The effect was very attractive, he noted. Almost as if by design. "You do that so well," she said, then yawned prettily. "But need you do it so early?"

"I might not have the chance later," Nemir said, picking up his over-tunic, feeling a little uncomfortable. After his conversation with Jorak the night before, he was seeing things in her smile that he had not noticed before.

Layla stepped closer as he checked his blade, then wiped the sweat from his chest and face with a rag he had brought for that purpose since he would have no chance to bathe. "And you do it so much better than the clumsy child I remember receiving his first lessons with a blade. Of course, you have grown... greatly since then."

With those words, she reached out boldly to touch him. Her fingers skimmed lightly across his chest, slowing as they approached a nipple made pebble-hard by the gentle morning breeze.

Nemir froze for a moment, then quickly restrained her hand. At the touch, she swayed even closer to him. Her eyes were large and dark, looking up at him. Nemir let her go and took a step back.

Immediately, her posture shifted and her expression was once more the playful one of his childhood friend. Nemir found himself wondering if perhaps he'd imagined the temptress of a moment earlier.

She turned so that they were walking back to the camp side by side. "I came to tell you that the morning meal is nearly ready. The guards say that they have seen lion tracks, so Lord Ber wants to move quickly." She tucked her arm under his. While there was nothing inappropriate in the gesture, Nemir had to fight the urge to pull away.

"I am surprised," he said instead. "Ber did not seem the time to rise at this hour."

Layla laughed. "If you want something badly enough, there is no limit of what you might do to get it," she said. "Even waking well before dawn." The stroking of her fingertips against his forearm suggested that she was speaking of more than just Ber's desire to kill a lion.

Nemir was trying to think of a way to discourage her without insulting his oldest friend when he noticed that all the normal morning birdsong had disappeared. He stopped and set his hand on his sword hilt.

"Nemir, what...?"

He waved her silent, his eyes searching the surrounding greenery.

There was a soft coughing sound. Then a figure emerged from the shadows, swaying as it moved forward on four paws.

"Nemir..."

Nemir slowly moved so that he stood between Layla and the approaching lioness. "When I tell you, run for the camp," he whispered. She nodded.

The lioness had nearly reached them when he pulled his sword from its sheath and cried, "Run!" Layla ran.

And at the same moment, the lioness sprang.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Seventeen ----------------------------------------

Judas rolled over and started to heave again as his stomach protested the movement. Thankfully, this time he was able to suppress the urge to void his stomach yet again. However, he was unsure whether that was because he was improving or because there was little left in his stomach to come back up.

At least he no longer felt like he was about to die. For much of the night before, he had *wanted* to, the pain was so great. He had never experienced anything like the cramping and fever that had nearly killed him according to a healer who had not realized that he was listening.

Konda had carried him to the Healers after he had collapsed. Luckily, Healer Kale had been there to stop him from stepping into the center of the room beneath the open skylights, saving Judas from being badly burnt in addition to what already ailed him. The man had also stayed during the painful treatment that had followed.

Gentle hands lifted his head and held a cup to his lips. He sipped the cool water gratefully. The herbs mixed into it also helped to settle his stomach. He sighed as he settled back onto the mattress. Everything was so confused. He could not tell how much time had passed, or where he was. All he knew was that the room was cool, dim and quiet, and that the bed beneath him was soft and clean.

Whoever had helped him pressed a hand to his forehead in a comforting gesture, then left. Judas went back to sleep, not having opened his eyes.

"Judas?"

The voice was soft and coaxing, as was the hand shaking his shoulder. Judas opened his eyes to see who it was.

A lantern had been lit and was sitting on the small table in the corner, filling the room with a soft and soothing yellow glow. He looked up and found Nemir looking down at him with a concerned expression.

"You're back," he said unnecessarily. Then he noticed the bandages binding the other man's left arm to his side. "What happened?" he said, struggling to sit up. Nemir pushed him back down with his good arm.

"It's nothing," he said dismissively. "Certainly, I was in less danger than you, it seems."

Nemir looked angry, and Judas cringed slightly. "I'm sorry--" he started to say, turning his head.

"No! Don't be," Nemir said vehemently, grabbing Judas's hand and squeezing it. "There is nothing for you to feel sorry for," he continued in a softer voice. "Rest for a while more, now. We'll be going home soon."

"Okay," Judas said, then closed his eyes. But after sleeping for most of a day, he found sleep elusive. Still, he tried, if only to please Nemir.

"What happened?" Nemir asked, his voice shaking with emotion. Judas nearly opened his mouth to answer when he realized that they were not alone in the room.

"There was poison in the ale that came with his lunch yesterday," Konda said. Judas was surprised that he hadn't noticed the man earlier. "If I had not been there when he collapsed, he would not have survived."

Judas shifted his position in shock, and the two men fell silent for a moment. He remembered thinking that the ale tasted unusually bitter, but the idea that it might have been poisoned never occurred to him.

"Who did this?" Nemir was furious; he recognized the emotion in the man's voice easily for once.

"We do not know yet, but I have people I trust investigating. We have not found the servant who brought the lunch tray for Judas. Judas has not been coherent enough to question yet. However, there is no guarantee that we will find the culprit."

"Unacceptable," Nemir shot back. "The attempt to kill me was one thing; it is almost expected for someone of my rank. But an attempt on Judas?" He paused for a moment, and Judas wished he could see the man's face, but he did not want to open his eyes. He did not have the energy, and he also did not want the two men to stop talking. He needed to hear this.

Nemir sighed. He sounded tired to Judas. "My father tried to warn me when he refused to lift the restrictions on Judas's movements. He said that it was for his own protection, that Judas could be a target because of me. I did not believe him." Nemir's hand, which Judas was surprised to find still holding his own, tightened almost painfully.

There was a deep sigh from Konda. "In my first year as your father's companion, there were three separate attempts on my life by those who either considered me an impediment to their access to your father or who wanted to punish him for some slight, real or imagined. However, as a trained Guard I was well able to protect myself, although none of those attempts involved poison."

"Judas does not have that training," Nemir protested.

"Which can be easily corrected, but only by you. Come now, Nemir. You trained others to fight during your time in the Guard. Can it be any more difficult to teach someone as naturally graceful as Judas?"

There was silence for a moment. "Father suggested that,"

"And so you refused," Konda said with a laugh.

"I did not want him around. I wanted to ignore him as much as possible."

Judas stifled the sound that tried to escape his throat. Konda had been wrong and now his hopes had been dashed.

"And now?"

"I... had trouble sleeping last night," Nemir said reluctantly. "It was too quiet in the tent."

"You missed him." Konda sounded amused.

"Yes, I missed him." Nemir laughed suddenly. "I am a fool. Jorak had to point out to me how inept I am at reading people, or at least their feelings about me. Or my feelings for them."

"So now what will you do?" Judas held his breath, his hopes rising again.

"I take him home. When we are both physically able, I teach him how to fight."

"And?" Konda prompted.

Nemir snorted. "Such prurient interest does not become you, Konda. What happens in the bedchamber is between myself and Judas, and us alone." However, Nemir's thumb stroking the back of his hand told Judas volumes.

There was a knock at the door, and Judas was disappointed when Nemir let go and stepped away from the bed. A moment later, the door opened.

"How is he, Healer Kale?" Nemir asked.

"Weak, and he will be so for a while," Kale replied. "The herbs we used to purge the poison from his system will take another day or two to pass completely. Until then, he should drink plenty of water or fruit juice and stay in his bed. After that, it will take several days more for him to regain his strength. I have a mixture of herbs for him that will help the process, as well as a salve for your arm."

"Thank you, healer," Nemir said respectfully. "May I take him home now?"

"It would be better for him to stay here, at least for another day until we are certain that the poison has been purged."

"No. I would... feel better if he was where I could keep an eye on him myself."

"In that case," Judas could hear amusement in the elderly man's voice, "as the sun has just set, I see no reason to detain him."

Nemir returned to Judas's bedside and tapped his shoulder. "Judas, it's time to go," he said softly, assuming that he was waking the man.

Not wanting to reveal that he had been listening to the conversation, Judas opened his eyes and made a show of rubbing them. At the door, Kale and Konda were watching them. From the amusement he saw there, neither was fooled by his act. Thankfully, they did not seem inclined to enlighten Nemir either.

"I don't have to stay?" he asked, more than a little relieved. It wasn't that the room was uncomfortable, and the people were more than helpful, but he wanted the familiar setting of Nemir's apartment around him.

"Not unless you want to."

"No, I want to go home."

Nemir smiled, and it seemed to hold an even greater warmth than before. "Then home it is. Can you walk?"

Judas carefully pushed himself into a seated position. Then with Nemir's help, he stood up. He swayed for a moment, but managed to keep to his feet. "I... think I will need help," he said, holding onto Nemir's good arm tightly.

"And you will have it," he was promised.

Konda moved to his other side, and carefully supported by the two men, Judas made his way through the hallways back to the apartment that had become home in more than just name. Once there, he fully expected to settle onto his pallet to sleep once more, exhausted by the walk, but instead he found himself maneuvered to the large bed that Nemir slept on. He stared at it in surprise as he was urged to lie down.

"I cannot--"

"The pallet is not suitable for someone who is ill," Nemir said firmly, cutting off his protest. "You will sleep here."

Nemir's tone allowed no refusals. Feeling more than a little dizzy, Judas gave in and went where Nemir directed.

Nemir's bed was a place he had never really expected to be, and so had not let himself imagine what it would be like. The mattress was firm, but also softer than his pallet. The sheets were cool against his skin. Nemir pulled the top sheet up over him, and he turned on his side and breathed in deeply. The pillow he rested on smelled strongly of Nemir's personal scent. It was... soothing, and he quickly fell asleep.

Some time later, he woke to the feeling of the bed moving underneath him. He shifted in alarm, momentarily forgetting where he was, but a familiar voice quickly calmed him.

"It's just me," Nemir said softly, slipping under top sheet next to him. All the lamps had been extinguished, leaving the room in complete darkness. Judas had no idea what the hour was, but it felt late.

He lay there in the dark, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from the man laying next to him. He had not shared a bed with another since the day his brother had decided that he preferred to share a tent with his friends instead of his brother and grandfather. He certainly had never shared one with a... lover. He was not sure what he should do.

Nemir sighed suddenly, then stared to snore. The quiet sound was comforting in its familiarity, and Judas began to relax. When Nemir rolled over, he was daring and did not move away.

With Nemir pressed warmly against his side, his head on Judas's shoulder, he went back to sleep once more.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Eighteen ----------------------------------------

Nemir woke, passing from sleep to awareness at a lazy pace. He knew at once that the hour was later than his usual rising, but since he was in no shape for his usual spar, the lateness of the hour was not a problem.

He rarely slept this late in the day. However, he was pressed up against the reason he'd slept so deeply and restfully. Instead of a pillow, his cheek was resting on a warm and gently moving chest. His injured arm was cushioned on his bedmate's waist, and he had one leg slung over a leg not his own. He opened his eyes and smiled. The bedmate he was so tightly wrapped around was Judas.

Thinking that perhaps Judas would be disturbed by how tightly he was holding him, he tried to shift away slightly. But Judas muttered a sleepy protest and rolled over to follow him. His heart -- as well as other potions - - swelled at the trust in the movement.

Then Judas froze in his arms, obviously waking as well. Nemir did not try to move away again, choosing instead to wait for the reaction.

Judas opened his eyes and met Nemir's gaze. His pale eyes were wary. Then he relaxed and smiled shyly.

This was not the first time that Nemir had wanted to kiss Judas, but for the first time he did not resist the urge. He moved slowly, as if approaching a timid creature, and gently pressed his lips to Judas's.

As kisses went, it was not very passionate. However, it was intensely satisfying in its honesty. He knew from what Judas had told him that he'd never been kissed before, so he had no way of knowing how to respond. The innocence of it inflamed Nemir, but he refused to press too hard. They would have years together, and he did not want to risk scaring him.

After a long moment, he pulled back and was delighted by the surprised look on Judas's face. He brushed a lock of hair away from the boy's face. The hair was silky-soft against his fingers, and he indulged himself by stroking it a little more.

Judas was blushing when he finally forced himself to release the long pale strands. "Good morning," Nemir said cheerfully.

The blush intensified. "Good... good morning," Judas replied softly.

To Nemir, it sounded like an invitation, and he was moving to accept it when he shifted his injured arm to much. He gasped as he felt one of the gashes pull open.

Judas immediately sat up with a concerned expression. "Are you all right?" he asked, reaching for Nemir. "Your arm..."

Nemir used his good arm to push himself up into a seated position as well. "It will be fine," he said, disregarding the fact that he could feel the blood soaking into the wrappings. "I've been hurt worse in the past."

Judas did not listen to him. Instead, he started to unwrap Nemir's arm carefully. He made a horrified sound as he saw the fresh blood coloring the inner layer of the bandage.

"Oh, sweet Nimu," Judas gasped when the four parallel claw marks on Nemir's upper arm were exposed. Two were oozing blood, and they all throbbed painfully. "You need to go to the healers."

Nemir pulled away and winced. "No," he said through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. "No," he repeated when he was sure he was in control of himself. "All that they would be able to do is wash the wound, salve it, then wrap it in fresh bandages. Those are all things that I can do for myself."

"With only one hand?" Judas said, clearly doubting him.

Nemir felt a brief flash of anger, but unfortunately Judas was correct. While he could certainly do it himself, it would be difficult and the bandage would not be as neat and as tight as it should be. "Then you will help me," he said confidently. He raised a single eyebrow. "You will, will you not?"

Judas looked reluctant, but he finally nodded. "Good," Nemir said. "Now, between your fevers and my hunting expedition, a bath would do us both well. It would also be an ideal time to clean and rebind my wound. Will you join me?" He stood and held out his hand to Judas.

After a moment's hesitation, Judas took it and allowed himself to be tugged up out of the bed. As the sheet fell away, Nemir was suddenly reminded that that neither of them was wearing anything. Since, for the first time he was not trying to hide his desire, Nemir allowed his gaze to linger on Judas's form in open admiration.

Unlike most men of Nemir's experience, Judas did not have the bulky muscles that were considered masculine. Instead, he was tall and slender. However, there was nothing about him that could be called feminine. Neither could he be called weak. Instead, he was like the reed that bent in the wind instead of breaking. His muscles were long and flat, hugging his frame and betraying nothing of the strength he had shown from time to time.

Unlike Nemir's thick and dark body hair, Judas had very little, limited to his chest, arms and legs, so pale in color that it was nearly invisible against his creamy skin. Even the hair surrounding his maleness was pale, although a few shades darker than the rest. And that maleness was as well-formed as the rest of him. Nemir often thought of him as 'boy,' but no boy sported such a rod. He would have to find some other word to describe him. No, despite his inexperience Judas was no boy.

All in all, Judas was kind to the eyes, with an exotic beauty unlike anything in Nemir's experience. Since the first day, it had fascinated him, as had his behavior. Judas had alternated between the innocence and shyness of a sheltered youth and the quick mind and quicker tongue when provoked of a chieftain's son.

But innocence was foremost at this time. Judas was staring back at him with equal fascination, blushing all the while. "The bath?" Nemir suggested when there was no sign of movement.

Judas blushed even hotter, but led the way. Nemir followed, appreciating the way that Judas's small, round buttocks flexed as he walked. The thought of those buttocks clenching his own rod tightly made Nemir's blood burn. He could not longer remember the reasons he had resisted this for so long.

The bath was clean and dry, but took little time to fill using the ingenious system of pipes that carried water from the palace cistern to all parts of the sprawling structure. The last of his bandages removed, Nemir slipped into the cool water with a sigh of pleasure. He ducked under the surface of the water to wet his hair, then settled back until the water came up to his neck.

A soft splash announced Judas's entry into the large bath. Nemir started to sit up a little straighter, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Instead, Judas sat down behind him and urged him to lean back against the bent legs that made a perfect backrest.

Judas took up a handful of the soft, almost liquid soap that sat in a bowl next to the bath, then started to work it into Nemir's hair with firm fingers. Nemir groaned, leaning back into the scalp massage. It was not the first time that Judas had done this for him, but somehow it felt different. "Don't stop," he said hoarsely when Judas paused. When the massage resumed, he moaned softly and relaxed completely against Judas.

"Close your eyes," Judas said unnecessarily; his eyes were already shut with pleasure. There was a splashing sound, then handfuls of water poured over his head, carefully rinsing away the soap. Then Judas ran his fingers through Nemir's hair, ensuring that there were no tangles.

"Stand up," Judas ordered softly when he was done. Nemir did as he was told, eyes still shut.

When the new touch came, he opened his eyes and looked down at a sight that anyone would burn to see. Judas was kneeling at his feet, the water up to his chest, making his hair fan out around him, floating. Wet, it was almost pink in color, like the rose quartz quarried up-river. His eyes were fixed on Nemir's leg, which he was carefully cleaning with a square of soft cloth and more of the soap. He washed both of Nemir's legs thoroughly, then paused. Nemir watched, wondering what he would do now.

Judas blushed fiercely, but carefully washed Nemir's groin, refusing to look up as he did so. Nemir hardened as Judas touched him. He doubted that Judas meant to tease, but it took all his willpower not to thrust his hips forward. He could not remember the last time he'd been so eager. However, he had not been touched so intimately in several months, and he could already feel the tightening that preceded letting his seed loose. He bit his lip and tried to keep from trembling.

Finally, Judas released him and stood. He moved on to washing Nemir's arms, then his front, making Nemir gasp as his tightened nipples were brushed by the cloth. Then his back received the same treatment, including the valley between his buttocks. Nemir groaned as that most private of places was cleaned as carefully as the rest of him.

Judas stepped back when he finished, eyes downcast, but smiling. Nemir's entire body was trembling like a bowstring. He did not think he had ever been so thoroughly seduced before.

Unable to resist any longer, he plucked the square of cloth from Judas's hand and pulled him in close. He kissed Judas deeply, using every trick he'd learned from past lovers until Judas melted against him. He took Judas's hand in his own and guided it down to his groin and wrapped it around his straining flesh. Groaning into the kiss, he showed Judas the touch he preferred.

It did not take much. After a moment, he broke the kiss with a gasp and clutched Judas tightly as his seed spilled over their still joined hands, voiding his balls of months of self-imposed celibacy.

Breathing heavily, he buried his face in the crook of Judas's neck, trying not to force him to support his weight. He released Judas's hand and reached to give him the same release, but found Judas trembling but only half- hard. Nemir stroked him, and while he firmed slightly, he softened again almost at once.

"I'm sorry," Judas whispered, sounding mortified. Nemir cursed himself for a fool.

"Don't be," he reassured Judas, still stroking him, but no longer seeking to arouse. "You nearly died just a day ago," he said, his stomach clenching at the thought. "You still need time to recover."

"You did not."

Nemir snorted. "A minor clawing is nothing like being poisoned," he said. "You need time to rest and regain your strength. Now, stand still."

With that, he took up the cloth the same cloth Judas had used and proceeded to clean Judas just as carefully and as thoroughly as he had been. He noticed that while Judas was not able to harden at his touch, his responses showed that he was not indifferent.

But by the time he finished, Judas was trembling from more than just desire. Nemir helped him from the tub and dried him off tenderly. "Back to bed, I think," he said.

"Your arm..."

"Go," Nemir ordered firmly. "I will fetch the salve and bandages. You can bind it before sleeping," he added to make him happy.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Judas asked, reaching out but not quite touching the marks.

Nemir shrugged. "There is not much to tell. I surprised a lioness on her way home from the river at dawn. She clawed me as she sprang past, then was gone." He frowned at the shocked expression on Judas's face. "Are you all right?"

Judas blinked, then shook his head slightly. "Was your cousin hurt?" he asked.

The question surprised Nemir. "No. I told her to run for the camp while I distracted the lioness. It ignored her."

"Oh. Good." Judas turned as headed for the bedroom, the coarse drying sheet clutched to his chest.

Nemir was collecting the promised supplies for his arm when a thought occurred to him.

How had Judas known that Layla had been with him?

---------------------------------------- Chapter Nineteen ----------------------------------------

On closer examination, the wound was not nearly as bad as Judas had feared. There was no sign of heat or redness that would indicate infection, so obviously it had been well cleaned at the time it had been treated. The edges were held together with a few delicate stitches using silk thread. There would only be the faintest of scars once it had healed, and even they would likely fade with time.

Judas smoothed a thick layer of salve over the wound, then reached for the linen bandages.

The entire time, though, his mind was occupied by what Nemir had told him. The explanation had been short, and he knew that Nemir had left out a great deal of detail. He knew this the same way that he had known that Layla had been with Nemir at the time. However, he was not certain *how* he knew.

In his mind, he could still see the scene. The shadows were dark, but the sky in the east was bright with shades of pale peach and orange, covering over the night stars. Nemir was walking along a narrow path with Layla clinging to his arm, pressed tightly against his side. The image made his stomach clench, but he also felt a strange anger, one foreign to him. As Layla touched Nemir in ways that she had no right to, the anger had grown, then exploded.

There was a flurry of movement, images chaotic and disjointed. Then a flash of Nemir lying on the ground, his blade out but clean, and blood running down his arm.

Judas blinked the image away, a light sweat springing up on his face. Trying not to think about the incident, he checked the bandage to make sure that it was not too tight. Nemir flexed his arm, then nodded.

"Very nicely done," he said, putting the seal back on the jar and the jar on the low table next to the bed. "It will need to be left unbound tonight to allow the wound to breath, but this will hold through the day. Now, lie down. You look as though you are about to faint."

Dazed, Judas did as he was told, but the images refused to go away. He searched his memories, trying to find their origin, but all he could find was overwhelming anger and stomach-churning pain.

When he woke, his mind was clear and the last of the malaise was gone. He had thought that he felt fine earlier, but now he realized that that feeling of well-being had been an illusion.

He was alone in the large bed, but the space next to him still bore the imprint of Nemir's body. When he pressed his hand to the spot, it still held some of Nemir's warmth. Two volumes of military history left sitting on the bed told him that Nemir had not slept, but the fact that he had remained with Judas warmed him.

Judas stood up and was pleased to note that the room no longer moved around him as he did so. He found a pair of light breeches and a loose shirt laid out for him. He dressed quickly and went in search of Nemir, his...

He paused, considering possible terms he could use to end that sentence. Master was the expected word, but somehow it did not seem to fit anymore. Lover might be true in the days to come, but not yet, despite what had happened in the bath.

Judas mouth went dry at the memory, hazy as it was. He could still feel the heavy weight of Nemir's most private flesh in his hand, so hot that it seemed to brand him, inside and out. Lifting that hand to his face, he though that he could still smell the distinctive scent of Nemir's seed there.

He drew his fingers into a loose fist and pressed it against his chest. He could feel his heart racing and a stirring in his own loins. He reached down and touched himself through the thin fabric of his breeches. The response there was greater than it had been before, but it was still short-lived, much to his disappointment. Nemir had not seemed upset over the lack of reaction, but Judas very much wanted to give him the gift of his own pleasure, the proof of his own feelings. He worried that Nemir might think him unwilling or uninterested.

Putting aside such doubts for the moment, he left the bed chamber for the reception room. There he found Nemir uncovering a tray holding plates of roasted meats and sharp cheeses, as well as two drinking vessels, one plain and one decorated, and a basket of fresh bread that filled the room with a warm yeasty smell.

Nemir looked up and smiled warmly. "Excellent timing," he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He waved Judas to the other seat. "I was about to wake you. You must be starving."

Judas sat down and took a slice of the bread, still warm from the oven. He drizzled it with honey and took a bite. Almost immediately, he realized that Nemir was right, and he quickly finished the slice before reaching for his cup.

He had lifted it halfway to his mouth when he froze, taking in the smell. He stared at the dark liquid, the same cheap ale that was always included with his meals, and could not bring himself to drink it. The memory of the burning stomach pains hovered on the edge of his consciousness. Finally, he set the cup down without having taken so much as a sip.

Nemir was frowning when he finally looked up. Judas opened his mouth to explain, but Nemir just shook his head. Silently, he picked up the cup and sniffed the contents, then made a face. He disappeared into the bath chamber, taking it with him.

When Nemir returned, the cup was empty and dry. He picked up his own and poured half the contents into Judas's cup, then handed it over. Judas took a cautious sip. His eyes went wide at the rich taste as it rolled over his tongue. He immediately took a second, more eager sip.

"From now on, I will tell them to bring a pitcher," Nemir said, chewing on a piece of venison, eyes fixed on Judas's face. "I hadn't realized... That was no better than *swill*. No wonder you did not notice the poison. Well, if we drink from the same source, the poisoner will think twice before trying again."

Judas cut a slice from the wedge of cheese and savored the sharp taste as he popped it into his mouth. "They will not like that," he said softly, still feeling a small pang of bitterness.

"Who won't?"

"The servants, of course."

Nemir frowned. "Why would they not like it?"

"It would not be considered appropriate for a slave to drink from the same vessel as a lord."

"What is it to them?" Nemir asked, obviously not understanding. "In fact, they should be grateful that I do not take them to task for what they serve you. River water would taste better."

Judas shrugged, amazed at how naïve Nemir could be. "It is what a slave is expected to drink."

"But you aren't..." Nemir's voice trailed off.

"I *am* a slave," Judas said heatedly. "One allowed to put on airs. One who needs to be put in his place."

"Who says this?" Nemir demanded. His face was flushed and his hands were clenched into fists.

Judas shook his head, his jaw held stiffly. "Too many to be named, and they are right."

Then he softened, seeing Nemir's upset. "It is quite simple," he said, resigned to the way he was seen. "They do not understand what my position is. If I were a concubine, they would know how to treat me. A scribe, a body servant, a groom, a guard. All of these, they would understand.

"But I am a slave who is not treated as a slave. A slave does not attend court functions unless they are serving. A slave does not receive lessons from a captain of the Guard. A slave does not read!"

Judas took a deep breath and let it go, releasing his rising tension with it. "They do not know how to treat me, so they treat me as they would the lowest of the Palace slaves."

Nemir's eyes were sad, but Judas met them squarely. In the months since his brother had sold him to the slaver, he had come to terms in his heart with his change in status. He doubted he could ever be what the servants would consider a 'proper' slave, but here, with Nemir, he thought that he could try, at least until the day of Nemir's wedding. After that... he was not sure what he would be. Still, he knew he had been lucky.

"Perhaps I could--" Judas cut him off.

"Nothing you say will change how they feel. They would simply come to resent me even more for having been taken to task." He shrugged. "Give it time. The way that they treat me know is better than when I first arrived and they were making wards against the evil eye in my direction. Things will ease in time."

"Very well reasoned," Konda said from the doorway. Both Judas and Nemir jumped, not having heard the man enter the room. Konda did not bother to hide his amusement. "Your understanding of Palace politics improves, much faster than Nemir's" he said, nodding to Judas.

Judas flushed. "It is not so different from the tribes. During Nemir's time in the guards, he probably saw treatment determined by merit." He glanced at Nemir, who nodded. "In the tribes, your perceived status determines how you are treated. Over time, your actions can change that status, but trying to force that change will only cause a backlash."

"Did you have to go through this as well?" Nemir demanded of Konda.

Konda shook his head, a wry grin twisting his mouth. "As Judas said, a visible role helps. I was a free man and a member of the Palace Guard before I became your father's companion and eventual lover. I was acting as his personal bodyguard, and was treated as such. Judas, on the other hand, is a foreigner and outside of their experience. And a young man with a talent for making enemies, it seems," he added.

"Enemies?" Judas asked, confused.

"There is a certain barber who speaks quite freely of a slave who attacked him and was not punished for it. The court tailor has assistants who are vocal in their resentment being ordered to make clothing for a slave. Servants complain of a slave who is not required to work for his food or bed. All the petty resentments and jealousies that fill people's lives."

"And did one of them act on those resentments?" Nemir asked, glancing at Judas.

"That, I cannot say. I found the cook who prepared the tray and the servant who delivered it, but both claim ignorance. Their shock at hearing of the attempt was too honest to be an act. However, the tray was left to sit unattended in the kitchen, and Judas cannot be sure if it was the sound of the servant who woke him or someone else."

"And so we may never learn who tried to murder Judas? Unacceptable!" Nemir slapped the top of the table for emphasis. "Murder has been attempted twice since my return home without consequences; once against me and now against Judas. We were able to cover up the first, but not this time."

Nemir's eyes were fixed on Konda now. "There are spies in the Palace from other cities, I am sure you will agree, and their masters will be quick to look to take advantage of a perceived weakness. This would-be assassin must be found and punished quickly."

"Agreed," Konda said. "However, we cannot force the proof to appear. And we certainly cannot execute someone without proof simply for the sake of appearances."

"Of course not," Nemir said, much to Judas's relief. Blaming an innocent was not an idea that had occurred to him, and made him feel ill.

"Then there is little we can do except continue to search. In the meantime, I recommend that the two of you make an appearance at Court tonight before the rumors can take hold. Prove to everyone that Judas is alive and that our assassin failed."

Nemir looked to Judas, and he easily read the question in those dark eyes. He nodded, and Nemir turned back to Konda.

"We will be there."

---------------------------------------- Chapter Twenty ----------------------------------------

Nemir had much to think about as he dressed for dinner. His wounds ached fiercely when he lifted his arms to let the tunic slide over his head and settle into place on his form, but he ignored that. He had been hurt worse in battles with bandits and desert tribesmen during his time in the Guard. The wounds would heal.

More difficult to ignore was the slight tremble he could see in Judas's hands as the young man brushed the sleep tangles from his hair. The poison that had been put in Judas's food would have killed him painfully if Konda had not been there when the first effects had made themselves known.

According to Healer Kale, Judas would be weak and easily fatigued for days -- perhaps weeks -- to come, his body strained by both the poison and the purging that had saved his life. Even now, Nemir could see other signs of fatigue in the slump of Judas's shoulders and the tight lines on his face.

But worse was the knowledge that it was his fault that the attempt on Judas's life had even been made.

And yet, despite all that Judas was preparing to accompany Nemir to Court to counter the already spreading rumors of his death. And Nemir found that he had no doubt that the moment that they left the safety of their apartment, Judas would not show any sign of weakness, no matter what the physical cost: His pride would not allow it.

Judas stood, carefully pushing his hair to hang in a loose wave down his back. Nemir moved to stand in front of him and adjusted the seams of his tunic so that it hung straight.

Presentable -- and to Nemir's eyes, beautiful -- Judas returned the favor, checking Nemir's appearance. Some of the strain left his face as he smiled in obvious approval.

On impulse, Nemir reached up and pulled Judas's face down to where he could kiss him and proceeded to do so with great relish. Judas had the sweetest mouth that he could remember ever tasting, and he found himself craving it more and more, even though it had only been a day since he'd tasted it for the first time.

When he reluctantly ended the kiss, Nemir was happy with the results. Judas's lips were puffy, his face was flushed and his eyes sparkled in the light of the lamps that illuminated the room. It gave him a healthy glow which while it had not been his reason for kissing Judas was a welcome side-effect.

"Ready?" he asked. Judas nodded firmly, and they left the rooms, Judas falling into step behind him.

As they passed through the Palace corridors, Nemir was not surprised to see more servants and slaves than would normally be expected along their route. Most were engaged in obvious tasks, either cleaning or transporting packages, but they all stopped and watched as Nemir and Judas passed. Their tasks had obviously been timed in order to see them. Excited whispers spread behind them.

Despite his concern, Nemir did not look back to check on Judas, conscious of the eyes on them as they walked the familiar route at a deliberate pace. He wanted to, but knew that it would add fuel to the rumors. Instead, he trusted Judas to known his own limitations and to speak if he were in difficulty.

Finally, they reached the archway that led into the large, high-ceilinged roomed that held all court functions. Conversation stopped as they entered the room, passing between the Palace guards flanking the entrance.

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the large room, bouncing off the painted ceiling and tiled floors. Ignoring the intense interest in the eyes focused on them, Nemir made his way through the crowd until he reached the dais where his father sat, Konda standing at attention behind him.

"My Prince," Nemir said formally, bowing his head in respect.

"My son," his father replied, just as solemn, then waved Nemir to the seat next to his. Nemir sat down on the low couch, then carefully reclined on it, noting that it had been oriented so that he would not have to lean on his injured arm. He was grateful for the consideration.

A cushion had also been set out for Judas, and he sank onto it gracefully at Nemir's gesture. His face was impassive, but Nemir could see a faint sheen of perspiration, betraying how exhausting the long walk had been for him.

Unlike his usual position, the cushion Judas was sitting on had been placed in front of Nemir's couch, putting him on display. Nemir knew how much Judas disliked being the focus of so many eyes, but he also understood the necessity of letting everyone gathered in the room see that they were both alive and well, although 'well' might be an exaggeration.

Conversation had restarted, but avid eyes were still fixed on the dais. Nemir's skin prickled in the face of that hunger, and he could see the tension in Judas as he fought to keep from fidgeting.

Thinking of Judas's other problem, Nemir came to a quick decision. Even though he knew that some would see it at a sign of weakness, Nemir reached over to touch Judas's shoulder. Almost immediately, the younger man relaxed, leaning into the touch. Nemir moved his hand slightly to run his fingers through the silky fine hair, then withdrew again. Although the act had been deliberately done for the audience, Nemir found himself strangely comforted by the touch as well.

When he looked up again, he found his father watching him with a faint but very satisfied smile. Konda's expression was a proper mask, but Nemir could see an amused twinkle in his eyes. While Nemir would not change what had happened between himself and Judas, it still galled him that he had ended up doing exactly what his father had wanted. It made him feel as if he had no control of his life, not even in private.

Still, his father was Prince, and as such, expected to be right, so it should not surprise him that he had been right about Judas.

Thankfully, the evening meal was being served, so he did not have to admit the obvious to his father. Instead, he took up one of the small meat-filled pastries and covered his irritation in the act of chewing.

Perhaps it was because of their conversation earlier, but Nemir was very sensitive to the looks that the servants gave Judas as they set out the platters and bowls. Nemir could not help being angry at himself for not noticing before, but at least he knew now and could do something about it.

He considered the dishes set on the low table between his couch and his father's and selected a bite-sized piece of pale green melon. Instead of handing it to Judas as he normally would, he held it to the boy's lips. With his eyes, he asked Judas to understand what he was trying to do.

Judas's eyes went wide for a moment, but he opened his mouth trustingly and allowed Nemir to place the morsel inside. He closed his mouth to chew and briefly caught Nemir's fingers between his lips.

Nemir's breath caught and his breeches suddenly became tighter. He allowed his thumb to linger on Judas's lower lip for a moment, then lifted his hand to lick the last of the melon juice from his fingers. His actions would be unmistakable to everyone watching. Judas dropped his head, his hair hanging down to shield his face, but Nemir could see both the blush and the small, embarrassed smile.

When Nemir looked around again, he could see speculation on the faces turned towards them, along with a few knowing smirks. He found it irritating but necessary. If Judas was being treated with hostility because no one knew what his place was, then they would have to establish one. Concubine was a role that would be most easily understood, and one which was treated with some respect. However, he was unsure how it was seen among the tribes. He hoped that Judas would not be offended.

Having made the impression he wanted to, Nemir relaxed slightly. His father looked curious, but said nothing. Konda, he noted, looked as if he approved.

As they ate, he answered his father's questions about the hunt. He knew that Konda's questions the next day would have a much different focus, but he found he was enjoying describing the events, even the strange encounter with the lioness. The hunt *had* been a pleasant diversion. Lord Ber might have been insulting to the point of being offensive, but he was glad to have had the chance to meet Markus and Dansen. Several other members of the hunt had also been pleasant company.

Judas was right, he had to reluctantly agree. He did need to socialize with others of his age-group.

He looked down the length of the hall, easily picking out his companions of the outing. Several of them were clustered around Ber. The man was holding court as if *he* were Prince. Nemir dismissed the group from thought. Markus and Dansen were seated at the far end of the hall, but even from that distance, he could see the people sitting around them laughing at some quip. He wished that he could join them.

And seated a little closer than she'd been at the first banquet after his return, he could see Layla, staring up at the dais with a wistful expression. He smiled at her, feeling a little awkward. While he still saw his childhood friend when he looked at her, he now also saw the seductive woman who had flirted with him on the path near the river. Much as he wished he could say that it had been his imagination, he knew it was not. He was beginning to realize that she had changed over the years while he was in the Guard, and he was no longer sure that he knew her.

Looking away, he covered his disquiet, he distracted himself by feeding Judas another morsel. This time, the younger man deliberately licked Nemir's fingers as he took the piece of meat from them. Meeting Judas's eyes, he saw understanding and acceptance of Nemir's plans, as well as a twinkle that said that on some level he was even enjoying the performance.

Then he shifted his weight on the cushion until he was able to lean over and rest his cheek on the couch next to Nemir's hand. Those still watching them might interpret it as a seductive move, but Nemir knew better. He could see the carefully hidden fatigue in Judas's expression. He wondered how soon they could safely leave, but knew that they would have to remain until well into the night.

His arm throbbing once more, Nemir sighed and tried to find a slightly more comfortable position. It was going to be a long evening.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Twenty-One ----------------------------------------

By the time that the dinner dishes were being cleared away, Judas was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. He could not remember his energy levels ever being at such a low ebb. He closed his eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths, and felt a slight surge of vitality accompanied by a gentle touch to his cheek. His eyes flew open, but Nemir was involved in a conversation with his father, his hands moving in emphasis. No one else was close enough to have touched him. Judas shook his head slightly, and decided that the feeling had been his imagination, brought on by the fatigue.

He looked up at Nemir and was immediately concerned by the tight lines of strain around his eyes and mouth. Under his tan, his skin had a faintly grey tinge. The bandages on his arm were hidden beneath his tunic, but Judas could see him wince as he reached for the water bowl held out by a servant so that he could wash his hands.

Judas glanced at the Prince briefly and saw carefully concealed worry on the man's face. That also concerned Judas. He could not shake the feeling that it was not the wound that worried Nemir's father, but could think of nothing else that could possible worry a man as powerful at the Prince.

A damp cloth offered to him interrupted his musings. He accepted it, grateful that Nemir was allowing him to clean himself rather than doing it for him. He'd quickly understood Nemir's purpose, but he still felt uncomfortable being fed like a child in front of others. He could, however, see the possibilities of doing the same in the privacy of their rooms. The way Nemir's eyes had darkened from brown to nearly black when he'd nibbled on the fingers holding out bits of food to him promised many things that made his blood run hot.

The tables and couches were being removed, which meant that Nemir was expected to move among the nobles of the Court. Judas would have to be at his back. He took a deep breath, then stood as slowly and gracefully as he could, trying to cover the flash of dizziness that accompanied the movement after sitting for so long.

A gentle touch to his elbow studied him, and he smiled gratefully at Nemir. Then he fell in behind the man as he stepped off the dais.

It was something he'd done many times in the month since he'd been presented to Nemir, but he could not remember having been the focus of so much attention since the first night, if even then. Since then, he'd been dismissed, nearly invisible, but after Nemir's blatant behavior, the speculative looks had returned.

Judas ignored the looks. More difficult to ignore were the two nobles who tried to touch him, one with obviously lascivious intent. He did his best to step out of their reach without being obvious so that they would not be able to take offense.

Shortly after starting his progress down the long hall, Nemir was stopped by a man only a few years older than himself who asked about his wounds. Nemir rotated his arm freely, claiming no difficulty even though Judas had a good idea how much the movement cost him. From their conversation, he quickly realized that this was the Lord Ber on whose hunt Nemir had been attacked. As well, he could tell that Nemir disliked the man greatly.

Then Lord Ber's eyes turned towards him, and Judas decided that he disliked the man just as much. He felt as though he'd just been smeared with oil, greasy and foul.

"So this is the bed-slave I've heard so much about. He is as attractive as they say," Lord Ber said, ignoring the fact that unless he'd been avoiding Court for the last month, he would have seen Judas already. His tone was pleasant, but it did not match the expression in his eyes. Judas shivered and wondered what he had done to earn such dislike.

"This is my concubine, Judas," Nemir corrected him, surprising both Lord Ber *and* Judas.

"Indeed," was the reply, accompanied by narrowed eyes. Judas could hear whispers spreading as if Nemir had just dropped a stone in the center of a calm pool of water.

Judas did not flinch. Instead, his back was straight and his head was held high. While he knew that it was different in the city states of the Kingdom, among the tribes a concubine was a position of high respect. A concubine was a warrior, male or female, taken in battle and seduced into willing submission. Anything else was merely a captive, a slave, and treated with contempt for not choosing death in an attempt to escape.

By treat him as a beloved concubine, Nemir gave him reason to hold his head high. While others might say differently, he knew that he had worth. Great worth.

Thankfully, the ever so polite conversation was quickly concluded, Lord Ber having made the point that the Heir had been his guest on one of his outings, and they were able to move on.

After that, there were several more inquiries about Nemir's arm of varying degrees of sincerity. Judas was also surprised at how many of those who had ignored him to that point actually acknowledged his presence. Nemir's pronouncement obviously bestowed some status within the court on him. Judas almost preferred being invisible.

Watching Nemir, Judas could easily tell which nobles he favored, although he was unfailingly polite to all. Judas was a little puzzled when Nemir was as brief as possible with Layla. He seemed uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, while she looked confused and faintly hurt as he moved on.

Then he brightened as he approached two young men close to his own age at the end of the hall. One was obviously native to the Kingdom, a pleasant looking young man, but unremarkable. The other was anything but. He obviously did not come to Court very often, since Judas would surely have remembered seeing him before. He was larger and much heavier than Judas. His hair, both on his head and what could be seen of his body, gleamed in the lamplight like flames. His eyes were the dark blue of the evening sky just before the stars come out. He was easily the most exotic person in the room after Judas.

Nemir clasped forearms with each of them. "Judas," Nemir said, making Judas jump in surprise. He'd never been addressed directly during Court functions before and was not sure how to react. "I would have you know Markus and Dansen."

Judas nodded politely, but stayed silent. There were too many listeners who might object.

Both of the man smiled widely. "A pleasure," Markus said in a voice so deep that it sounded like distant thunder. He was surprised to realize that the muscular man was actually taller than himself, as well as much wider. Very few people were taller than him, but Markus made him feel as tiny as a child.

"My Lords," he finally said in a low voice, then glanced to Nemir, wondering if he were expected to say anything further. Instead, Nemir joked with the two men for a few moments, perhaps a little longer than Court etiquette would consider appropriate, then moved on to greet the last few low ranked nobles remaining.

Finally, they reached the entrance to the hall. Despite his best efforts, Judas was beginning to sway on his feet. Force of will alone kept him still.

Nemir glanced down the hall to his father for permission to leave. A small nod gave it, and Nemir bowed to the hall before indicating for the guards to open the doors.

As they left, Judas glanced back into the room one last time. Nearly every eye was on them, but there were two exceptions.

Layla and Lord Ber were standing together at the side of the room, dark heads pressed close together. Layla looked towards the door, and Judas flinched at the brief flash of pure hate that marred her beautiful face.

Then the expression vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving a polite mask in its place. The last thing Judas saw as the doors shut behind them was her leaving Ber's side and gliding across the room. While the angle made it difficult to tell, it seemed to him that she was walking towards Lord Morlan, the nobleman Nemir had warned him about on their first day together.

Lord Morlan had avoided them since that day, but Judas had noted him observing them from time to time during their duties. The man worried him, and not just because of what Nemir had told him.

But now it seemed that there were three to worry about. And while there was no reason to believe that they had any connection to the assassination attempts, Judas suddenly had the feeling that there was a relationship. However, he hesitated to voice these concerns to Nemir or Lord Konda, since he had nothing but a hunch.

Court life was so complicated. His lessons over the last month had taught him that. Some days, he missed the simplicity of life in the desert. Tribal life was often brutal, but at least it was honest. In Court, no one was what they seemed and there were plots within plots.

Only one thing made this new life bearable, and that was the young man he was following down the now-familiar hallways. Even in the first days when Nemir had resented his presence, he had still treated him with respect. As their friendship grew with time, it had countered the hurt of the treatment he received from the Palace staff when they thought Nemir could not see. And now...

The door at the entrance to their suite closed behind them and Judas slumped back against the fragrant carved wood, his limbs trembling with fatigue. For a moment he thought he was suffering a relapse. The room spun and he felt as though he was falling.

Then the sensation stopped and he found himself in Nemir's arms being carried into the bedroom. Nemir set him down on the bed and tenderly helped him to undress. His formal Court robes were carefully hung on their storage frame. Then Nemir also undressed.

Before returning to the bed, Nemir paused at the pallet Judas had been sleeping on up until that point. Moving quickly and efficiently, Nemir stripped the pallet and folded the thin mattress. The blankets were also folded and placed on top, along with the single pillow. Then he picked up Judas's small chest and set it on the floor next to Judas's side of the bed.

"The servants can remove that bedding tomorrow," he said, climbing into the bed next to Judas. "You will not be needing it any longer."

While the words might be considered arrogant assumption, Judas smiled and moved closer. Nemir's arms wrapped around him possessively, comforting in their strength.

Despite his fatigue, Judas stayed awake as Nemir's breathing evened out into sleep. A soft snore began, a sound that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Content, he allowed those two sounds to combine, lulling him to sleep as well.