----------------------------------------
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 ben 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.

END PART TWO