Page 6 of The King’s Bodyguard (Catkin Trilogy #1)

Landis

W hile everyone commiserated over the end of the summer at Lady Hartford’s annual Autumnal Ball, I mourned the loss of feeling in my toes after five dances.

Glancing around the great hall, which was lit by a thousand candles perched upon silver gilt chandeliers, I was glad to see that another dance had started without me.

Thank the gods. After the way my last partner—a rather aggressive young lord—had dragged me around the dance floor, I felt crippled.

Hobbling over to a chair, I sat down and imagined someone massaging my abused feet.

For some reason, that got me thinking about Corrin. Which was ridiculous.

“Your Majesty.” Hugh said. After depositing a young, bright-cheeked miss with her mother, my favored knight stood at my side and watched the court mill about.

“Landis.”

“King Landis.”

I sighed. Of course, because it was a formal event, Hugh was being ridiculous.

Gareth sauntered over, followed by a less common face—High Mage Alan Carwick.

Ordinarily, Gareth would find a seat with the older catkin by the hearth, and Alan nowhere to be seen.

Today, Gareth was sweeping the hall with alarming regularity and had picked up my High Mage in the process.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

“All is well,” Gareth said. “I’m about due for a rest by the hearth and a good pipe, I shouldn’t wonder. I hoped to wish you a good evening, Your Majesty.”

I pouted a little at the formality. This really did make me feel awkward. I turned to the bespectacled, white-haired young tom at Gareth’s side.

“Alan, right?”

“Indeed,” the mage bowed. “Your High Mage, Alan Carwick, at your service. I know I have been absent a good bit lately—“

“As he always is. A practical hermit. We should send him back to the White Tower and tell them our mage is broken,” joked Hugh.

The smile on Alan’s face stiffened, but I caught a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

“We will do no such thing… right, Gareth?” I asked.

“I have been told that Alan is the best the White Tower can offer,” Gareth replied unhelpfully. “The best of the best. At least for now.”

Gods, these toms. I shot Alan a reassuring smile.

Certainly, the young mage was a bit of a hermit and preferred to spend his time in his rooms, but every time I had a headache, he was always the first to be there with Medic Aileen.

Aileen said it was because he was experimenting on me.

Whatever that meant. I didn’t really want to ask.

Whatever Alan gave me, though, worked wonders.

I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“So… you have been busy, Alan?” I wondered what Alan did when he was not making potions for me.

“Indeed.” Alan glared at Hugh who subsided a little. “I have been making some progress on an elixir of fertility—“

Hugh choked on his mouthful of wine.

“Something for Hugh?” I asked brightly.

Hugh’s tail rose and fluffed, but there was only mock rage on his face.

“I-I am flabbergasted, Your Majesty! To taunt me so! It must be Corrin’s bad influence.”

I blushed and ignored his teasing.

“Oh, no, no,” sighed Alan. “Hugh does not have issues with fertility. The exact opposite, I would say. If I hear rumors correctly, many a mama has kept the apothecaries quite busy with, er, anti-fertility serums. To close the womb and so forth.”

Hugh looked chagrined but also a bit proud. I snickered.

“There are ladies,” Alan continued, “who have come to me with the vexing problem of fertility issues. Who they are, I cannot say—“

“Lady Felham? The Duchess of Orthon?” Hugh guessed. Probably accurately.

“But they—“ Alan struggled to ignore Hugh. “They have come to me for aid. The matter of stirring the womb is one thing, the matter of creating a whole new one is entirely another thing.”

“Fascinating,” Gareth mused. “It could change many a molly’s life.”

“Indeed. Or a tom’s.”

Hugh choked on his wine again.

“Dammit, Alan! Are you trying to kill me?”

“No?” Alan said innocently.

“Toms cannot bear children!” Hugh hissed.

“Correction. They could not. With my Elixir of Divine Fertility, I may perhaps be able to create a womb even within a male!”

Alan looked quite happy with himself. I nodded slowly.

The idea of having children was as far from my mind as possible, but I could agree with him.

There were matters of succession. When a tom loved another, but must keep the estate within the family, Alan’s elixir could solve major issues of inheritance.

Not to mention the mollies who would finally be blessed with safe births after struggling to have a little one of their own.

“I wish you luck in your endeavors, Alan,” I said gravely.

Hugh shook his head. “Don’t encourage him, Landis.”

“It is fascinating, though,” Gareth said thoughtfully.

“I will be administering the elixir to a client of mine. Highly experimental but the documents were signed. And, perhaps, one day, I shall find a willing tom.”

“Good luck with that!” Hugh said.

After that, the conversation meandered a little before dwindling to a close. Gareth wished Alan good fortune, bade me another good evening, and strolled off. Hugh disappeared into the crowd of dancers, looking for a partner. Alan mumbled a good evening and fled to another quiet corner of the room.

So I am on my own. Yet again , I sighed.

I struggled to keep my dismay hidden. It wasn’t a good idea to look lost or bored at an important event such as this.

For one thing, Lord Morne and his wife were never far off.

They would be the first to make a snide comment if they thought I wasn’t enjoying myself or making an effort.

Besides them, there were the fussy old ladies and mamas who were quite devoted to my happiness and were ever hopeful that I would choose one of their darling progenies as my wife.

Of course, all of that is more or less a non-issue now , I thought gloomily. I am a prisoner of my fate. Lord Elthorne’s public announcement last week has made the wedding official. As the future husband of Princess Erellia, I am now freed from the murky waters of courtship in the usual sense.

Upon becoming king, I had found myself swamped with invitations to balls, galas, extravaganzas, and all manner of diversions. My advisors became my de facto stewards. Besides deciding which events I would attend, they would arrange the dance cards as well.

Usually, I would be as limp as a rag after these events. This time, however, I had been allowed some rest periods. After dancing two waltzes, two folk dances, and one line dance, I was finally able to rest my heels and discreetly massage my toes.

Alright. I must admit the last was out of the question, but a tom could hope. After all, I had manfully tackled each of my dances with aplomb, no matter how often my toes had been crushed. I felt that I was owed a bit of a rest after those heroic acts.

Hmmm... I sighed. If I had to dance, I would prefer more interesting partners. My thoughts instantly strayed to Corrin. Dancing wouldn’t be so terrible if Corrin was holding me in his arms. Does he dance, though?

There was no time to daydream about Corrin, however.

If I didn’t find a conversation partner soon, I was sure to be swallowed up by any gaggle of young catkin lordlings and ladies who floated around the room in large packs.

There were some young lords and ladies who could hold a conversation with their king, but quite a few would simply devolve into open mouths, awkward stares, and even more stilted discussions on the weather, the roads, and the pastries.

No. It was best that I kept moving. With that in mind, I slowly ambled over to a pastry table, accepted compliments on my deep blue suit, shuffled a few pastries onto a dainty porcelain plate, and hunted down a glass of wine.

Bearing my hard-won reward off, I managed to find a nook where I could sit and rest my toes and take my ease in relative peace.

Lady Hartford had outdone herself arranging the décor. However, there was too much light and sound and glamor. I needed some quiet. I knew that behind some of the deep velvet curtains, spacious window seats and hidden doors waited. Some doors led to private balconies and parts of the patio.

Close by, just around the corner, I found a door and slipped out. Once seated outside, I set my plate down, drew in a breath of cold air, and heaved a sigh of relief. The heavy scents of perfume faded. Tension melted from my shoulders. I could finally breathe.

I reached for my wine glass and raised it to my lips only to suddenly find a hand resting on my wrist. It paused the arc of my movement. A quiet voice rumbled in my ear.

“Pardon, Your Highness.”

Instantly my tail rose. It fluffed out as fear chased down my spine, followed by desire at the familiar voice that growled low in my ear. My tail betrayed me, seeking his warmth and brushing at his thighs. I could not control its trembling as Corrin’s voice washed over me.

My breath caught in my throat. I stiffened a little as he gently pulled the wine glass out of my hand.

I half turned then. Corrin was twirling the glass around, gazing at the wine carefully.

He raised the cup to his lips and took a tiny sip.

As his chin tilted back a little, I caught the barest edge of his throat.

I was so flustered; it was struggle to look anywhere else but at him.

“Tastes alright,” he said. “It’s safe.”

“Wh-why wouldn’t it be?” I finally managed to get out, accepting the glass.

“Apologies for the fright,” Corrin said. “I saw Lord Morne by the table. The way he has been acting... I was simply taking precautions.”

“Oh, well, I knew that my cousin has been... unreliable, but I never thought he would attempt to, um, murder me,” I said, feeling suddenly a little naive and quite vulnerable. My ears fell a little and then rose at the realization. “Wait, how did you know about my cousin?”