Your bare feet make little noise as you cross the white limestone floor tiles. Sheer hangings of blue, purple and gold silk billow and dance on the cool breezes that waft through the spacious expanse of rooms. In the distance you hear the bubble of the fountains that feed the large pool you've glimpsed on other visits to the old storyteller.

But today, the kindly man is not ensconced in one of the many overstuffed lounges that litter the airy, open rooms of the main living area. Instead he has chosen to enjoy the mild, mid-autumn sun amidst the small cascading brooks and serene ponds of the gardens to the back of his home. It is there you have been directed by one of the few servants that the storyteller and his lifemate maintain.

You move through the now familiar arch of the garden entrance, struck once again by the difference between outside and in. Beyond the beautifully carved, wooden gate the elegant simplicity and comfortable ease of the large, cushion-strewn rooms with their high ceilings and pale marble columns gives way to an almost austere rock garden. Short scrub lines the mossy, wooded walkway leading you among sand and stone meditation gardens. Stands of tall grasses sway in the breeze, adding their soft sighs to the sounds of crickets and cicadas and distant birds. As you follow the path deeper into the garden you stop at one of the small ponds to say hello to the carp that rise, seeking food as your shadow passes over the water. You toss them some of the crumbs you've carried in your pockets just for them. The storyteller has warned you about spoiling them, but you've seen him do the very same thing time and again when he thought you weren't watching.

You hear the storyteller's flute in the distance and bid your golden friends farewell before moving towards the peaceful sound. The music stops as you make the last turn around a small rock waterfall that empties into yet another pool filled with even larger, gold and white fish. A tell-tale bag of bread crumbs, half empty, sits at the water's edge and you can't help but smile.

Pale blue eyes, only lightly clouded with age, settle on you and a bright smile curves the man's full lips.

"Welcome, child. Come sit with me a while," your friend encourages, gesturing to one of the many comfortable chairs near him.

You move to your favorite, a large wooden chair big enough for two and filled with soft cushions of deep emerald green. He smiles at your choice, his eyes sparkling with some private joy. You've learned long ago not to question such quiet smiles, just to enjoy them and the obvious warmth that accompanies them. Perhaps, someday, he'll share the reasons for that particular smile, but probably not today.

He reaches to the small table at his side, laying down his intricately carved Asian flute and retrieving his glass of juice. With a gesture he offers you a glass.

Extra glasses, a good sign that he is willing to spin another tale for an eager devote. And you are that. You have sat at his feet since you were old enough to come here with your older siblings so very many years ago. They are all now married or far away, unable or unwilling to visit the strange old man that was once such an eagerly sought companion. But you still come, seeking stories or passing on gossip or simply enjoying the older man's company.

And always he welcomes you with a smile.

You gladly accept the offered glass, curious for more clues to his mood. Your smile widens as the golden liquid hits your tongue. Pure apricot nectar with just a hint of passion fruit, always ice cold and never far from him when he is in the mood to tell stories. It's a good sign.

"So, what do you wish today, my friend? A story perhaps?" Laugh lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and his weathered cheek is dimpled with a knowing grin.

You nod eagerly, earning a laugh from the joyful figure.

"What shall it be then?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and studying you intently for a moment. "Adventure? Romance? Perhaps a tale of intrigue and mystery, of love lost and regained against all odds? What tale shall I spin for my second favorite audience on this peaceful afternoon?"

You blush at the compliment he gives you. His favorite audience is and always will be his quiet and rarely seen lifemate. You've never seen the other man, but the storyteller speaks of him with love and affection. You hope that someday, you will find your heart's contentment as they so obviously have.

"Ah," he breathes into the silence. "A love story," he proclaims, unnerving you with his insight into your thoughts. "But which one, eh?"

Now you know he is teasing you. "The Silent Key," you request quietly.

The old man chuckles indulgently. "You could tell me that tale, you've heard it so often," he chides gently. But he doesn't refuse you outright.

You turn pleading eyes on him, silently begging. You have heard the story before, many, many times before, but it is still your favorite of his tales. Each telling is richer than the last, revealing a little more detail of the life of the strange, silent slave. You wonder what new piece of the Key will be given to you with this telling, and wonder more than ever if you will someday learn the full story of the Silent Key.

The storyteller sighs, his fingers tracing idly over his left wrist in a long familiar gesture. You wonder if he even notices the pattern his work-calloused fingers trace as his eyes focus on something deep within. You've seen him do this before, as he's contemplating the story of the Key. You wonder what runs through his thoughts in these quiet moments, but you never interrupt the silence to ask. It seems. . . wrong somehow to disturb him at these moments. So you keep your peace as always, hoping that he'll grace you with further stories of the Key.

Another private smile and he nods as if coming to some decision. His blue eyes focus on you and you grace him with your most hopeful, expectant, wide-eyed gaze.

He chuckles softly, his pale eyes dancing with mirth at your age-old tactics. "I never could resist expressive eyes," he murmurs almost to himself. "Very well," he sighs, making a show of his indulgence, even though you know he delights in the telling of this tale as much as you delight in hearing it. Settling back against the cushions, he looks deep into your eyes.

"The Key was not always silent," he begins, startling you with his words. Never before has he told of the key before his silence. ". . . once he had a voice. Low, melodic, and as beautiful as its owner."

You settle into the cushions and let his rich voice carry you into the life of a well-known stranger....

"Erinyes was the name he had been given at his rebirth, the only name he remembered ever having. But the lack of "Name" and past never disturbed him, for he was well loved with or without one..."

Crown prince Kamaren de'Rej dismissed his retainers with an off-handed wave as he entered his private quarters. He'd had enough of guarding his tongue for one day. He removed his confining, ornate robes, relishing the regained freedom of movement. He preferred the loose, flowing pants and tunic hidden beneath the heavy, bejeweled stiffness of the thrice-bedamned symbol of his "rank" within the court. He stretched his tight shoulders and cursed under his breath at the tension still lingering within him.

Strong fingers latched onto his shoulders and Kamaren gasped as they dug ruthlessly into his flesh. He struggled uselessly against the unforgiving grip, cursing his tormentor with raggedly drawn breaths. But still the torture continued, until his muscles finally gave in to the assault, slowly going slack under the slender hands.

"It grows worse, my Prince," a low voice observed as long arms wrapped around the Prince's finally relaxed form.

Kamaren leaned back trustingly into the welcome embrace. "Yes. I fear it does." He turned in his lover's arms and took the young man's full lips with his own. The slender man melted willingly against Kamaren's chest, full lips opening to draw Kamaren deeper into the kiss. Kamaren tightened his hold on the sleekly muscled body, wanting only to stay here, like this, for always.

Finally, his lover broke the kiss and looked up into Kamaren's troubled brown eyes. "His madness. . ."

Kamaren pulled away from the too-knowing eyes. "Yes," he interrupted sharply, "his madness. He will destroy our kingdom if this continues much longer." The prince ran his fingers through his short, dark hair in frustration. "He insists on maintaining this idiotic feud with the border tribes, not knowing, or perhaps not caring that they are the only thing standing between us and the Janronjz. If the tribes turn their allegiance away from the crown. . ." He sighed, deeply troubled, and not wanting to think of the cost to his people should the bloodthirsty Janronjz Legion find the border unguarded.

While their kingdom wasn't perhaps the largest, the success of its farmers and tradesmen was known far and wide. Such wealth would be invaluable to the neighboring kingdom of Janronjz, and the legions would like nothing more than to present such a jewel to the newly crowned Queen. Kamaren wondered if the young royal knew of the savagery of her "elite guard." He doubted it. She was young and idealistic but she was far from cruel.

He once again cursed the madness that had led his father to turn the young woman away with insults and wild ravings. She might not hold such slights against the King, but her father had. So the impasse they currently lived under had been born. And the impasse was worsening. The Janronjz king was dead, joining his queen in the Great Stillness, leaving the young, uncertain princess on the throne. The princess, now Queen, would be hard pressed to control some of her more ruthless advisors. According to the last report from Kamaren's spies, the advisors often moved without her knowledge, let alone consent, and they were growing bolder in their advances.

Kamaren had spent hours trying to reason with his father, begging him to send an emissary to the Janronjz court to put an end to the long standing feud. But his father had refused. So far, there had been no outright attacks, but Kamaren couldn't help but wonder how much longer that would last.

"Tell me, my beloved shadow, what do you hear as you guard me from afar?" A husky, indulgent laugh made Kamaren smile and he turned to regard his best, most trusted friend.

Large, emerald eyes gazed out from a youthful, almost innocent face. A riot of short, deep-red curls, perpetually mussed, made the slender man seem even younger. Oversized, home-spun clothing made his five-ten frame seem smaller and less threatening, allowing the man to move, overlooked, throughout the palace. But Kamaren knew in this case appearances were very deceiving. The lithe, dancer's figure and creamy white skin hid a clever mind and a dangerous skill. A mind that saw and understood things that Kamaren might not and a skill that he relied on to guard his back in troubled times.

"I hear what you hear," the melodious voice chided, "but are afraid to understand."

The Prince sighed. "Erinyes. I have had enough of riddles today." He turned weary eyes on his friend. "Speak plainly, please."

The full lips pulled into an indulgent smile. "You are neither blind nor a fool, my prince." Erinyes glided silently across the floor and folded gracefully into the soft cushions piled on the prince's bed. "Something must be done and soon if the kingdom is to survive its king. You know this as well as the servants and the advisors. You do not need me to tell you."

Kamaren sighed deeply and settled on the bed beside Erinyes. "I had hoped I was wrong." He leaned eagerly into the offered embrace. "He was a good man, Er'n. He was." He willed Erinyes to understand. The king was mad, but he was still Kamaren's father.

"I know, Kamaren." The slender chest vibrated under Kamaren's ear. "You have told me, as have the others. To inspire such loyalty even after such obvious insanity speaks of a great man."

"He was, Er'n. He was loved and honest and generous, and you would have liked him," Kamaren breathed earnestly against the milk-pale skin of Erinyes' chest. "And he would have liked you." Kamaren felt lips pressing softly against his hair. Once again he fought back his tears of pain and frustration. The slow descent of his father into madness had taken its toll not only on the kingdom, but on the heir apparent as well. Only Erinyes knew how hard the past few months had been on the prince, and the loyal young man had guarded the secret closely, as he did all such secrets.

"I wish you could have known him then."

"As do I, my Kamaren," Erinyes whispered against the silk of his lover's hair, "but it was not to be. He is not the man you knew, beloved, and the time for talking may be fast drawing to a close."

A single salt tear escaped from the prince's tightly closed eyes. "no."

Long fingers cupped the prince's square jaw and lifted the noble face. "Perhaps not now, but soon. You know it as well as I."

"Perhaps there is another way," Kamaren pleaded, "An emissary to Queen Emallain of Janronjz. A marriage of convenience to bring the two kingdoms together."

"A marriage neither your father nor Emallain's 'advisors' would acknowledge or respect," Erinyes countered. "You would only endanger her and risk enraging a disturbed man." He drew the larger form closer, soothing the trembling body as best he could. "To move against the king would only bring further risk to yourself. There are those within the shadows who would gladly use such an act to turn the king against you as well. Then there would be no voice of reason within the court."

"Let me acknowledge you," Kamaren coaxed. "Between my blood-ties and your ties to the Dragon Clan, surely father would listen."

It was an old argument and Erinyes had expected it. He untangled himself from Kamaren's arms and propped himself against the plush cushions. "There is a reason I am to be a shadow, beloved. How could I protect you if everyone knew that was my duty?" He stroked his hand down the prince's ruggedly handsome face. "And many things are said before servants and shadows that would never dare be said before the consort of a future king. "

Kamaren pushed himself from the bed and stalked angrily around the room. "I never wished to be king. My father should have ruled for years to come. He should be healthy and the kingdoms should be at peace as they had been for the generations before. I shouldn't have to hide you away like a criminal," he growled. "You deserve to be known as the cherished gift to me that you are."

Erinyes intercepted the prowling man, stilling his agitated movements. "But that is not what has happened. Whether you wished to be king or not, such is your destiny. That your father should be healthy does not change the fact that he is not." Erinyes kissed the thin, troubled lips. "And as for peace, that is why I guard you with my life, so that peace may once more return for the generations that follow."

Large, sword-calloused hands pulled at Erinyes' tunic and the bodyguard allowed the rough fabric to fall from his arms. He stood unashamed before the admiring gaze of his lover. He sighed as he was pulled against the soft, body-warmed silk of Kamaren's shirt. He loved the feel of the smooth fabric brushing against his skin as he was crushed to his lover's muscled chest.

Knowing fingers traced invisible lines along Erinyes' back and spine, making him shiver. "I never should have told you about that," he gasped.

Kamaren chuckled and continued to caress the smooth skin. "Never told me about what?" he teased, his hands moving slowly to the slender waist and caressing the faint outline of a sinuous tail. "That the mark of your training is. . ." He ran blunt nails over the lines and watched as they darkened under his caress. ". . .sensitive?"

Erinyes arched into the touch, offering himself completely. He knew what would be coming all too soon and would offer his lover what comfort he could.

"You know I love you?" Kamaren's voice was husky with emotion.

"I know," Erinyes answered truthfully, keeping his own answering emotions closely guarded. He steeled himself against what was to come. He moved out of the heated embrace, needing to be clearheaded for the discussion to come. "But I also know my duty, as do you."

"But why must it be you?" Kamaren demanded brokenly.

"Because it is my duty," Erinyes restated, "as serving the interests of your people is yours."

"Surely there is someone else. . . "

Erinyes placed soft fingers to his lover's lips, stilling the half formed protest. The pain in the familiar brown eyes tore at his soul, but in this he could not allow himself to be swayed. He drew Kamaren's hand to his lips, kissing the tensed knuckles gently. "The very mark you caress with such delight tells you that there is no one else. I was reborn by the Dragon's Touch and am bound by its code to fulfill my duty. With pleasure comes pain," he quoted from the Dragon's code, "with title comes responsibility."

"But there has been no call," the prince argued.

Erinyes closed his deep green eyes, fearing what Kamaren would read in them: pain, regret, and a desperate desire that the call would never come. But such desire was foolish and dangerous, not only for Erinyes but for his lover as well. He brushed back the prince's short, chestnut hair with surprisingly steady hands. "There will be. It is overdue, as you well know. Do not let the people suffer for their king's madness."

Kamaren pulled away angrily, turning from Erinyes' touch. "And what of OUR suffering, my beloved Killer?" He rounded on the younger man, brown eyes flashing. "Am I to gain a kingdom I do not wish at the cost of the peace and joy we share? That is not responsibility, that is madness."

Erinyes bowed his head, hating the agony so plainly written in his beloved's eyes. "There will be others," he offered, knowing it would not ease their parting. "Maliss. Stavron. Kenyu. All would willingly comfort and give you council. All would bring you joy if you would but let them."

Kamaren sat dejectedly on the edge of the large bed, refusing to meet Erinyes' eyes. "But they aren't you," he murmured quietly. "They could never be you."

Erinyes ruthlessly quashed his own pain and need, refusing to allow it to endanger the man before him. He silently crossed the cool stone tiles to stand before the man he loved far too well. "They could be," he offered, amazed at his own ability to keep his voice level, "in all things but one."

Well muscled arms crushed Erinyes close, drawing him unresisting down to the softness of the bed. "No," Kamaren denied fervently.

Erinyes straddled his lover's narrow hips, pressing himself against the hard, muscled form. "Yes," he countered, his fingers lovingly tracing the striking features, burning them into his memory. The thin lips opened and he claimed them ruthlessly, stilling any further protest. "Enough, beloved," he murmured, allowing his own need to color his plea. "Enough. Tonight shall be ours and ours alone, tomorrow will come as it will." He kissed away the single trail of sadness that caressed his lover's sun-bronzed cheek. "Tonight, let us be simply Er'n and Kamaren with no thought but this."

He thrust his groin against Kamaren's own, drawing a gasp that he captured greedily in another breath-stealing kiss.

Kamaren clutched at the blood-dark curls, holding Erinyes to him tightly, wishing the closeness would never end. The silken tresses captured his fingers, clinging to them with a desperateness that matched the prince's own. He writhed beneath the talented caresses of his Er'n's hands but it was not enough. He needed so much more. With a primal growl he rolled, pinning his lover to the mattress and claiming the willingly mouth savagely.

Clothing was torn away with desperate abandon and Erinyes gave himself body and soul to his lover. The faint mark of his training grew darker, the black scales of the Eastern dragon gleaming as Kamaren traced it with fingers and tongue, worshiping Erinyes' lean body.

Their first coupling was fast and furious, a frantic release born of fear and need, the second heartbreakingly tender, as each sought to show the other the depths of what they could not or dared not say. As the shattering orgasm took them the dragon wrapped around Erinyes' body seemed to shift and flow against the cream-white flesh. The long serpentine curls and loops of its body shuddered in time with Erinyes' own as if echoing Erinyes' release.

Erinyes lay boneless and sated against his lover's chest, listening to the larger man's breathing deepen as sleep quickly claimed him. "I love you too, my Kamaren," he whispered in the stillness, "and I always will." He closed his own eyes, lulled by the rhythm of his love's heartbeat, and willed himself to sleep as well.

The dragon mark was beginning to fade as sleep claimed the young warrior, but as it faded the dragon's head seemed to bow as if the ancient creature was silently weeping.

"My king," the advisor purred into the old man's ear, "surely you must see the danger he presents."

Dull brown eyes, clouded with confusion, turned to the man. "But he is my son."

"Who is next in line for your throne," the oily voice countered. "He seeks your death, my liege."

The old man's countenance shifted, obviously torn between love for his son and belief in his trusted friend's words. "But Kamaren. . ."

"Has spent the last seven council sessions arguing for you to send him to that pox-marked slut Emallain Quantira of Janronjz." Calculating gray eyes watched the king's reaction. "Is it not enough that she killed her own father to gain the throne?" He struggled to contain his smirk as he saw his words tear at the elderly king's trust. "Would it take much for her to convince our Prince to do the same?" He closed his eyes as if pained. "Perhaps she already has." He moved to the king's side and placed a gentle hand on the illness-wasted arm. "The power they would wield. . ." he trailed off, allowing his eyes to convey his supposed "horror" at the thought. "How would your people survive such a betrayal? Used and abandoned by the very man who should serve *them*."

"No," the old man whispered, still unwilling to believe.

"He seeks to distract you with his support of the borderland tribes," the viper continued, seeing the weakening of the old man's resolve. "He wishes to buy the fools so they will not interfere as the whore's armies come to take all our people have worked so hard to achieve." He crossed the room, making a show of thinking before delivering his final blow. "The nomadic savages understand only force, as has been shown time and again by your heroic ancestors. The tribal 'councils'. . ." His sarcasm and distain dripped from the word. "Are overstepping their place and should be reminded that you are their king and they owe their allegiance to you and you alone. You must show them that you will not tolerate such betrayal."

The king nodded, swayed once more by the man's insidious words. "I will not be played for a fool, even by my own traitorous offspring. He will find that I am not a man to be taken lightly."

The advisor bowed deeply before the incensed man, the move hiding his triumphant smile from the angered old man. Their plans were progressing nicely. Before long the kingdom of Imshan Rej would be theirs.

Erinyes slid silently from the shadows at the entrance to the king's private chamber, the advisor's words echoing in his mind. He must guard the prince even more carefully now, while seeking out as many of the spies as he could. The call would be coming soon and he would need to be prepared.

"You will care for him, Kenyu?" Erinyes of the Dragon Clan asked quietly, not wishing to wake his exhausted lover.

The larger man nodded solemnly, his deep brown eyes not leaving the sleeping form of the new King of Imshan Rej.

"I place him in your care, Brother," the assassin cautioned. "He will not be pleased by the turn of things. You must be there for him."

Combat hardened hands settled on Erinyes' shoulders. "I will see he is well guarded."

Green eyes settled on the haggard but beloved face. He would have given his soul to not have to cause his love such grief, but his soul belonged to the Clan and was no longer his to give. "He will need to be guarded from more than just his enemies."

A sigh of understanding came from the dark warrior. "I shall see he comes to no harm," the deep voice promised, "from any hand." Erinyes turned grateful eyes to his Clan brother. If any could keep Kamaren safe until his good sense won out over his injured heart, it would be Kenyu. In time Kamaren would see that there had been no other Path available, to any of them.

The call had come as he had known it would, the King's madness had to be ended before it destroyed the kingdom. But not just the King had perished that night. The Dragon Shadow had entered the King's bedchamber to find the elderly monarch sprawled on his richly adorned bed, drowning in his own blood. The oily voiced advisor who had just days before attempted to turn the addled King against his own offspring stood beside the bed, one of the Prince's knives clutched in his blood-slick hands.

The feral eyed turncoat had snarled at Erinyes, his thin lips drawing back in malicious glee. "Guards! The King. It's MURDER!"

Erinyes had silenced the foul cry with a quick twist of his wrists, snapping the twig-like neck with ease. He dropped the lifeless sack to the ground, grabbed Kamaren's bloodied dagger, and slid back into the shadows as quietly as he had come. For two days the palace had been in an uproar looking for the King's killer. But there were whispers that could not be stilled. Subtle hints and half-voiced innuendo flourished questioning the new king's rise to power. Most refused to believe that of Kamaren, but there were some.

So another sacrifice was needed for the safety of the kingdom. Erinyes was to offer himself to the void so that Kamaren, and through him Imshan Rej, would be saved from it. In time, Kamaren would understand. Until then, Kenyu would guard the new King from all who would do him harm.

"Thank you, my brother." Erinyes offered a final smile to the newest member of the Dragon Clan before slipping silently into the shadows.

Kenyu watched the silent figure exit the still room carrying a purloined dagger and the fabricated ravings of a fanatic loyalist. He would wait the allotted minutes before sounding the alarm of an attempt on the new king's life. Erinyes had marked Kenyu just enough for the guard's story of a thwarted assassination to be believable. Shortly thereafter, the "crazed assassin" would be captured and, after reaffirming to all within hearing that the former Prince had been as much a target as his father, the insane killer would be silenced.

Kenyu spared a plea to the Lady for his clan brother's soul, cast a sad but sympathetic gaze over the sleeping form of his brother's lifemate, and moved to the door to sound his brother's death knell.