Page 10 of The Lionheart’s Bond (Bonds of Dusk and Dawn #1)

ISIDORE

S olitude made Isidore’s time darker. It had been days since Prince Judel had visited. It was the maids now, who brought his dinners, and one of the servants who helped him out of bed. He had gotten stronger, slowly, able to walk longer distances without running out of breath. The cut on his arm barely hurt anymore, thanks to the unguent Prince Hina and Physician Delon provided for him.

‘You need to eat more,’ Hina had said. ‘It’s a miracle you healed at all, considering how weak you were.’

The feeling of never being hungry anymore had been hard to become accustomed to at first, but time made even that better. Food and shelter being taken care of, his attention tended to wander to other matters, including an increased awareness of the rising and setting of the sun. Tracking its movements across the sky, hoping desperately for the prince to visit was less anguish-inducing than facing his uncertain future. The day when there would be no reason for him to remain in the castle any longer loomed closer ahead, like a monster at the bottom of a cave. Forced to leave, he’d have no choice but to try and find his home and risk a life of vagrancy if he couldn’t find it, which seemed the most likely outcome.

Would his parents still be alive?

Then again, Lord Torell might find him before any of that became a problem.

It hadn’t even occurred to him the duke would go to such lengths to get him back. Once he was out of sight, he was convinced Lord Torell would forget him entirely. That he would send men to look for him seemed excessive. He was the lowliest of his servants, barely more than a slave, what difference did his presence make in the Quarry?

It had been a close call, that day in the forest. If the lion hadn’t intervened, he would have been dragged back to Stonehollow or killed. Who knew what Lord Torell’s orders would be? His interest in finding him might only be to exact revenge for his rebellion rather than any wish to have him back under his roof. Lord Torell was cruel and petty enough for that. Enough to even blame him for the death of Bellarose. He’d wave his so-called love for his animals to justify his actions, like the time he lost a bet against Lord Megnac and concluded the guard who had dragged the cages into the ring had been the cause of his bad luck. That guard had met his end between Toro’s teeth.

A shiver ran through his body at the thought. Whatever happened, he couldn’t go back there. If he couldn’t go back home, he’d have to find a place of his own. Whatever the place, it must be far from Kalye. If Lord Torell’s men had found him here, how much easier would it be for them to find him in their own kingdom?

Because that man had undoubtedly come from Stonehollow. He bore no colours, but his face was familiar, and his helmet was of the same type the Duke’s men wore. Not the official Stonehollow guard, but those other men he liked to keep around.

Isidore was so confused. A cold sweat covered his skin, and his throat closed when those thoughts overwhelmed him.

Would this fear disappear if he was stronger? Someone like Judel must have very little to be scared of. When he walked into the room, his presence overpowered everything else. Everyone else. Even his older brother, heir to the throne or not. They all looked small next to Judel, but maybe that was just Isidore’s imagination playing tricks on him. The way the prince stood, the intensity in his gaze, lent Judel’s power that extinguished every other presence. Isidore wished some of that charisma for himself too. If he was like Judel, he would be able to stand up for himself. He would be free.

The window framed the sky, clouds turning pink and purple. Surveying the edge of the forest had become an afternoon habit. The lion would soon come back, slipping out from under tree cover, his elegant step only guessed as Isidore followed his smooth progress through the fields and up to the castle walls. Sometimes he saw others, while he waited, but he didn’t know who was who. A bear. A stag. A wolf. He wondered if there were smaller animals, or where all the princes large? Did any of them transform into a garden snake or a squirrel? He smiled at the idea.

Just as the sun kissed the horizon, the bear emerged out from the trees. He liked to believe it might be Prince Neisha, if only because the Ilish coat of arms was a crowned bear. He could be wrong, since he didn’t know all of Judel’s brothers, but of the ones he had met, Neisha was the one the bear suited the most. Ponar and Arte didn’t feel like stags to him. Hina was the only other of Judel’s brothers he had met. He came often, silently checking on his wounds, only speaking to ask in how much pain he was or if he had any other symptoms that might indicate another infection. Hina had a large, strong presence to him, but quiet. Like a ghost, felt but not seen. He didn’t come across as a wolf.

The appearance of Judel pulled him out of his reverie. Some daylight still stained the sky in deep reds and purples. He followed the beast’s advance, until it was too dark to see. A gentle excitement at the possibility of the prince’s visit lingered for a few minutes, as the sunset ebbed away, but he sat back in the chair, aware only a night of over-thinking and loneliness awaited him.

Yet that knowledge did little to convince his heart. Ninth bell came and went, and he found it impossible to move away from the window, his mind wandering, his heart tight. Only when someone knocked at the door did he turn away from the dark sky outside. His back stiffened, his heart beating against his ribs.

‘Come in,’ he said.

Arte and Ponar pushed the door open, smiling faces and trays in their hands. Isidore couldn’t pretend he wasn’t disappointed, but those feelings soon were forgotten. He was happy to have any company at all.

‘I hope we’re not bothering you,’ Ponar said.

Isidore smiled, shaking his head.

‘Did you get kicked out of the big conversations again?’

Arte nodded emphatically while Ponar sighed in frustration.

‘It’s not like we can’t help,’ he complained, putting the tray down.

‘I’m sure you can.’

‘Are you hungry?’

Isidore nodded. They all sat at the table to eat, a welcome change from his lonely meals. He hadn’t seen the boys since that first night.

Ponar set the bowls of stew around the table. The food was even better than the dishes he remembered from his childhood. As for Stonehollow, its cooks were not bad, but he rarely got to taste their dishes. No one in Lord Torell’s service had ever cared much about his sustenance. If he was hungry, he was entirely responsible for providing his own food, usually scraps or bits of bread the cooks were willing to give him. If any of them was willing to give him anything else, it had always come at a price, and Isidore didn’t have much to pay with. They knew he would never tell Lord Torell anyway. What did the man care about one more servant? The only reason he had taken Isidore in was to get his coin back.

‘So you know about our curse,’ Ponar blurted out as Isidore was halfway bringing a spoonful of soup to his lips.

‘Yeah.’

‘Judel has been so pissed since you found out. Don’t know why.’

‘He was the one to tell me!’ Isidore protested.

‘Well, that’s what we said, right, Arte?’

Arte nodded enthusiastically, broth dripping from his lips.

‘What did he say?’ Isidore put the spoon down, too curious to eat.

‘That’s when they kicked us out the other day,’ Ponar shrugged. ‘They’re still concerned about those people who disappeared.’

Arte’s spoon clanged as it fell into his bowl, hot liquid spilling over, as he punched his brother’s arm.

‘What?’ Ponar and Arte exchanged a look, before Ponar rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, please! This is ridiculous. I know they think he might be a spy but come on! Look at him!’

A spy? Why… He had never done anything that could lead them to believe such thing. But the queen hadn’t seemed so satisfied with his explanations, that first day.

That was probably it.

But why did they let him stay, then?

And what could he be spying on anyway? He had no information whatsoever, of Kalye or of Ilystra. There was nothing he could have returned to Lord Torell with even if he had wished to do such a thing.

His feelings became muddled. He could feel insulted, but given the circumstances, it was only normal for Ilystra to be this cautious.

Sadness nibbled at him, a dark shadow engulfing the rest of his emotions. They had treated him so well. Gratitude seemed at odds with the rest of his sentiments, but it was impossible not to feel it. They had helped him even though they suspected him. Who does that?

Not the Ilish devils they complained about in Kalye, clearly.

The twist in his stomach made it impossible for him to swallow another bite. His chest became tight with guilt at the wild stories Lord Torell and other nobles told about Ilystra. Especially of their queen, he was sure of it now. It even hurt to think how many Kaletians accepted those accounts of the past as reality. How frustrating to be unable to change any of that. If only he could help in any way.

Something clicked. A sound. A memory of a few words spoken as if in a dream. Somebody had gone missing. Nobles had gone missing. He thought he had dreamt it, but now Ponar said something so similar, it couldn’t be coincidence.

‘Who did you say went missing?’ Isidore asked, forgetting about their earlier conversation.

‘I’m not sure. It’s not like they’d tell us. But we think it’s the same people Nahel sent out about a month ago. We only catch bits and pieces,’ Ponar shrugged, pouting.

A month ago. That’s when Lord Torell got them all on the road to the winter lodge. They were transporting prisoners there before going back to The Quarry later in the spring. But they weren’t at war, so who were those people they had been moving?

The nebulous memory of a hand stretching out to him, a man in dirty robes asking for help began to take shape. Had that really happened?

His heart raced in his chest, panic taking hold of his limbs and freezing him to his chair. How had he forgotten that?

‘Where is Prince Judel?’ he asked, his voice weak.

Something passed between Ponar and Arte as they exchanged a look.

‘That’s right, they must be done by now, so he’ll probably be in the training ring. That’s what he usually does after he has enough of our brothers.’

‘Enough of your brothers? They don’t get on well?’

Ponar and Arte looked at each other again, their silent communication now starting to become familiar.

‘It’s not like that. It’s just… Sometimes Judel can be all muscle and no brains, you know?’

Isidore stiffened. What?

He had had brains enough to get him out of Valecrest and save his life.

His brow furrowed, the tension in his face forcing him to grit his teeth.

‘He…’ Ponar mumbled. ‘It’s really not that bad; we all love Judel, but sometimes comments are made during these evenings. Tensions run high; you see… And he has a bit of a short temper when they tease him.’

‘They tease him?’ he asked, and a wave of cold anger washed over him.

Isidore stood up, pushing the chair back, and glared at Ponar.

‘Take me to that training ring, please.’

The two brothers, uncertainty written in their faces, didn’t move.

Fine, if they didn’t take him, he’d find it himself, even if he had to check each room individually.

Without a word, he stomped out. The princes soon caught up with him, seeing as he would go without them anyway.

‘Don’t be reckless,’ Ponar said, as he pointed to the stairs on the other side of the corridor. ‘He has been in a foul mood, so just, you know, don’t annoy him.’

‘Right.’ That was not his intention, but he feared he would. He just hoped the information he could provide would redeem his little lie. It wasn’t that big of a lie, after all. He had been taken from his home. He just denied his home was in Kalye, but being from Kalye alone shouldn’t condemn him, after all. There were good people in his country. Like his mother. His mother was a good person.

He tried to work out what he would say on his way down. Ponar’s incessant, well-intentioned chatter rang in the background as he tuned it out, too focused on what lay ahead.

But the closer they got, the stiffer he became. As his outrage subsided, his determination was harder to hold onto.

How would Judel react to this information? He couldn’t know to what extent it—or rather his lie, —might anger the prince. Judel was the definition of physical power. It would only be too easy for him to end Isidore’s life with one clean swing of his fist. What an inconvenient time for his mind to picture the worst possible outcome.

‘Ready?’ Ponar’s voice pulled him back into reality as they came to a closed door.

He nodded, a gesture that in no way reflected his real feelings. The young prince grabbed the ring, pulling the door open. The sound of metal clanging and loud huffing echoed in his ears. The thundering of weapons hitting each other mixed with the warm, earthy sounds of grunting and puffing with effort filled the stone room, the air hot and humid.

His hands suddenly shaky, he stepped inside, staring in amazement at the spectacle. Judel fought, or sparred, rather, with another man, his shirt discarded somewhere. The prince’s clothing often failed to disguise Judel’s physicality, but it could not even compare with seeing his body exposed and straining.

In action, every one of his muscles rippled and swelled, the shadows dark in the valleys they painted on his body. Sweat sat on his skin like dew and occasionally ran in rivulets down the hollows of his back. It made his golden skin shimmer under the torches. Isidore’s mouth filled with saliva.

And the energy with which he swung that sword. The strength to lift it and manipulate it, when the weapon was almost as tall as him.

‘You have visitors, brother,’ the other man said.

Isidore had been so taken with Judel that the other man had gone unnoticed, as if he had been a shadow warrior summoned from the Pit to help the prince train. By his complexion and the sharp line of that jaw, Isidore had no doubt this was another one of Judel’s brothers.

‘That’s Nel,’ Ponar whispered in his ear.

‘You must be Isidore,’ he said, drying his face with the hem of his shirt. ‘Brother,’ he came closer, looking at Judel over his shoulder. Judel’s gaze darkened, a muscle on his jaw twitching, ‘you should have told me he was this pretty, I’d have gone to visit him sooner. It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Nel said, smirking.

‘Your Highness,’ Isidore bowed, blushing.

‘What do you want?’ Judel snapped, glaring at him and his brothers in turns.

As his body froze, fear seizing his limbs, he told himself this was Judel’s normal tone. This was the way he usually snapped, ordered. This was the way he communicated. ‘Eat.’ ‘Arm.’ ‘Drink more.’

It was also the same frown.

This was just the way Judel spoke, and yet, it wasn’t.

Isidore had lost the ability to articulate words, the reason why he had come here forgotten. Something to do with Kalye, wasn’t it? He looked over his shoulder. If he saw Ponar and Arte, he might recover his determination and remember what he meant to say. Their retreating backs as they disappeared out of the door was all he could see.

‘The boys brought me here,’ he managed, turning back to the two princes.

‘Those weasels,’ Judel grunted.

‘Are they both weasels?’ Isidore wondered, tilting his head, knowing how stupid his question was. He blushed violently when he realized he had said that out loud.

Prince Nel’s laughter startled him, in such harsh contrast with the overall mood.

‘Ponar is a hedgehog. Arte is an owl. He’s too young to be an owl, if you ask me, and Ponar is nowhere prickly, so go figure how that happened.’ He turned to Judel. ‘You would have been a good hedgehog though, brother.’ Nel grinned.

Judel glared at Nel, and Isidore wondered if they would notice if he just slipped out.

‘And you—’ Nel turned his attention back to Isidore, who blushed even harder under his intense gaze. ‘You’d be a beautiful white rabbit. Or maybe a butterfly.’ Nel came closer and looked up at him. The man was surprisingly short in comparison to his brothers.

He was so close Isidore could smell the sweat off his skin.

‘Ironically,’ Judel intervened, pushing Nel away from him, ‘you would have made a good weasel.’

Nel laughed, before looking into his brother’s eyes. A split second later, he was laughing again, walking away. They both watched him go with what Isidore could only imagine were very different thoughts. Judel was clearly happy to see him leave; Isidore was willing the door not to open so he wouldn’t leave Isidore alone with his older brother.

Cringing at what sort of expression he might find; he turned back to look up at Judel’s face.

Yes, it was as he had feared. Isidore winced. The gentle curve of the eye Judel had only recently looked at him with was nowhere to be found. This was not the prince who had become comfortable in his presence. His expression was tense, and his jaw muscles moved under his cheeks, as unforgiving as the first day.

A shiver ran down his spine.

‘What can I do for you?’ Judel turned on his heels and put his sword back on the rack.

Isidore fidgeted, eyes trained on the wide shoulders, willing him to turn. But Judel stubbornly kept his back to him. Isidore blushed, the shadow of sadness growing unexpectedly large as his eyes dropped to the floor, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have come in the first place. Any thoughts of revealing information or going through a confession of any kind vanished. When he approached the prince, it was with a desperate need for reassurance.

‘I was wondering,’ he started, unsure of what he really wanted to say. Questions crowded his head, fighting to come out without order or logic. ‘You haven’t come to see me for some time and I… Did I do something wrong?’

Judel tensed. Still his back turned to him, he pushed his hands through his hair, sweat running down his neck and dripping on his back.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The silence became oppressive. Isidore’s outrage on Judel’s behalf seemed insignificant now. Misplaced.

‘Is this where you became so strong?’ he decided to change tactics. It was unlike him to insist. Isidore’s was the first one surprised, but words were coming out of his mouth whether he willed them or not. Some other part of himself had taken control.

Time ticked, and Isidore began to fidget once more. He took a step, moving away from the prince. If he couldn’t answer one simple question, there was no point bringing up what had happened between them a few days ago.

But Judel wouldn’t let him have that either. As if he lived to be contrary, he picked this moment to face Isidore. The prince took two quick steps and glared down at him.

The boy swallowed hard. Up close, Judel wasn’t so much taller than him, he thought, looking up into the prince’s fierce brown eyes.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, his voice rough.

Isidore blinked, regretting his decision to ignore Ponar and Arte’s warning.

‘I-I came to talk to you. I missed you.’ He blushed, looking away. Those were not the words he intended to say.

‘You missed me?’ He smirked, the contempt shining in his eyes. It made Isidore feel small. ‘What is it you missed?’

‘Why are you—’ he tried to say, but Judel grabbed his face, his fingers hard against Isidore’s jaw.

‘Is it this you missed?’ Judel grunted. His dark eyes lowered to his mouth, Judel’s tongue peaking to wet his lips, like an animal of prey ready to pounce on their target.

The young man gasped, half scared, half aroused, his trousers getting tighter as Judel’s hot breath curled against his skin.

‘Is this what you came looking for?’ he asked, grabbing his hand and pushing it against his own crotch.

Isidore’s face was going to melt. Judel was huge and swelling under his touch. He had seen men going at it, back at the castle. Even in the camp. But nobody seemed to have such a thing between their legs.

It was hard to swallow.

It was hard to breathe.

It was hard.

Judel’s hand left his jaw to drag around his neck, fingers digging through his hair.

Isidore pulled his hand free and clawed at the fingers now yanking his head back, trying to loosen the man’s grip, but it was like trying to pry a rock open.

‘Judel, I…’ He tried to find words to explain what he was feeling. What he wanted. But he couldn’t come up with anything. He forgot his words, and he forgot that he had already forgotten what he really came for. He forgot what would be best for him, for the prince. He got lost instead.

Lost in the hunger and rage in the man’s eyes.

Lost in the scent of his skin, sweaty and woody at the same time.

Lost in the way Judel’s wet lips reflected the light from the torches.

What was stopping him? Isidore was nobody’s slave right now. There were no hurt animals anywhere, nor was the lord of the castle going to punish him to sleep in the animals’ cages. He could do whatever he wanted. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even in an hour, but right that moment, he was his own lord, and he was going to take what was being offered to him.

Pushing himself on his toes only enough to make up the difference, he captured Judel’s lips between his. They kissed with a greed he didn’t know was in him. Whatever animosity Judel still harboured melted away and his hands wrapped tighter around his neck, his free hand closing on his arm.

The prince grunted and bit his lower lip, and Isidore whimpered, half with pain, half with pleasure, curving his body against the prince’s, seeking desperately for more fiction.

Maybe the sounds he made broke the spell, or Judel snapped out of it by himself. Either way, the prince took a step back, leaving him swollen and wanting again. The boy stretched a hand to him, unsure if he intended to pull him further into the embrace, or if he was just trying to reassure him, but the prince evaded his hand all together. Without a word, he grabbed his shirt, turning his eyes to the door. In four easy strides, he left Isidore behind.