Page 8 of The Lionheart’s Bond (Bonds of Dusk and Dawn #1)

ISIDORE

S till weak and confined to his bed, Isidore gazed out of the window as the sun disappeared over the far horizon. The sunset brought a smile to his lips. He ran his hands through his hair, preoccupied with his appearance after days of bed rest. This illness had hampered his recovery. Were it not for the physician’s and Prince Hina’s diligent care, he doubted he would be able to sit up, but they had ministered to him, cleaning the wound, treating it with poultices and herb-infused water every day. Insistent in absolute rest, they ignored his protests when he asked to be allowed to sit by the window or anywhere else, really. They didn’t seem to care that he had been in bed for more than two weeks.

The monotony was close to unbearable. He missed his animals, left to dwell on his memories for too long. He built castles made of hope that Bella might have miraculously escaped. Too much time, too, to ponder at the darkness of his future. Where would he go? Considering his options had only made one thing clear: said options were inexistent. Only one path was viable, returning home.

Not for the first time, a sigh escaped his lips.

His only respite from loneliness and the constant noise of his thoughts came in the evenings. Prince Judel would soon arrive, as he did every night. Fatigue darkened the skin under his eyes, and yet he sat by Isidore’s bed while he had his evening meal. The permanent frown on his face made Isidore fear the prince visited against his will, but it soon became obvious that was just his usual expression. Judel didn’t speak much, choosing to listen to Isidore’s stories instead, never complaining about how many of them related to his animals.

‘Kora was a wolf pup,’ he told the prince once. ‘Her mum, Loah, had given birth to a litter of two, but the other pup didn’t make it.’ He had worked so hard trying to warm up the little thing, rubbing the inert chest, hoping for a reaction. It was probably dead long before Isidore gave up, but he had felt Loah’s eyes on him, felt the pressure of her own hope. He had to keep trying. ‘When Loah wasn’t there anymore, Kora decided I must be her mum and followed me everywhere. She was not afraid of anything. Not the other, bigger wolves, not the bear. Not even Bella. At my heels, all day. She grew strong and had this beautiful silver coat. I brushed it every day. She would feed from my hands, and never once did she nip my fingers,’ he smiled.

‘What happened to her?’ Judel had asked, leaning back into the chair, his long leg extended in front of him, heel on the edge of the bed.

The question caught Isidore by surprise. Judel didn’t often contribute to the conversations, as happy to listen as to sit in silence. It was the pressure of that silence that forced Isidore to talk, and there was only one thing he knew. The prince must find his stories boring, though. Isidore never expected Judel to show any interest.

‘Lord Torell sent her to the arena. With the bear,’ he said, shrugging.

Another silence filled the spaces between them, Judel still observing him.

‘You shouldn’t have gotten so involved with them,’ the prince said after a moment. ‘You only ended up suffering.’

‘I suppose you’re right, but I couldn’t bear to think that the rest of their existence had to be miserable when they were already forced into such torture,’ he replied, lifting his face to the prince, a smile on his face.

Judel’s frown had eased then, as it often did.

After the first couple of nights spent like this, Judel had shared more. Only a handful of anecdotes, brief snippets of his life with his siblings, the day’s events. Not enough to get a full picture of him as a person or his life, but enough to confuse Isidore. The more he learnt about Ilystra, the more he questioned the old stories.

The room was now dark, the sun having vanished, and the fire cast long shadows across the room. Accustomed to what that meant, his mouth watered, and the smell of the food announced his arrival better than any guard might have.

Like clockwork, Prince Judel walked through the door, his tray heavy with two plates of meat and vegetables, the smell of herbs and garlic temptingly intense as he approached. His stomach growled in anticipation.

‘I see I come right on time,’ Judel said, a smirk on his lips.

‘As always, Your Highness,’ Isidore smiled.

‘Give up the formalities already,’ Judel grumbled.

Isidore’s smile widened.

‘Of course, my lord,’ he nodded.

Judel frowned at him, his mouth puckering into a slight pout. It was so easy to tease the prince, and his reactions were sort of endearing. Prince Judel was tall and wide, imposing in every way, his expression almost always sour, but his annoyance manifested into the most irresistible scowl and Isidore couldn’t help but wanting to trigger it.

After ten years in a place where no one cared to even glance at him, let alone hold a conversation, loneliness had weighed heavily on his shoulders. His animals had eased his days, of course, but they couldn’t reciprocate his attention.

Now, while Judel might be silent and too surly for most, Isidore found his company captivating.

He leaned forward, trying to dispel Judel’s momentary grumpiness.

‘You look tired. Did you have a lot to do today?’

Judel shot him a mysterious look, before focusing on the food once more. He set his own plate aside.

‘I walked pretty far,’ the prince replied, carefully placing the tray on Isidore’s lap.

Prince Judel’s main occupation was walking, or at least he spoke of it every time they talked. Only in the evenings did he return. Of course, Isidore was confined to this room, so he couldn’t be sure, but the prince certainly never came to visit during the day. Nobody did. The servants brought his breakfast and lunch, but other than their comings and goings, which were not many and in hushed steps, the castle was eerily silent. With ten princes and the queen, it should have been much livelier. Not at all what he was used to. Lord Torell only had two children that he knew of, and even though they were bastards and afforded no privileges for it, they still had the run of the castle, their feet small but noisy. Isidore only saw them in passing and never in Lord Torell’s presence, who didn’t care for them one way or the other. Had their mothers found better employment elsewhere, the children would have never seen their father again, and as far as he was aware, they didn’t even know the duke was their father.

‘You enjoy walking? Was there anything interesting in your way?’ Isidore probed, always trying to get some more conversation out of the prince.

‘There was a bird high on a branch that would not come down,’ he said, seemingly annoyed about it.

Isidore raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

‘I used to catch birds for Nahel when she was little,’ the prince continued. ‘She liked them. The more she liked them, the more I brought her. It got so bad her room was full of cages, and they made such a ruckus she couldn’t sleep. My mother had to put her foot down, no more birds in the castle. We were forced to free them all. I climbed the tower with Nahel, and we let them all go. She cried every time we opened a cage.’ There was a nostalgic air to the smile that followed.

The sudden avalanche of words caught him by surprise. That was the most Prince Judel had spoken until now.

‘Your mother was wise,’ Isidore commented, lifting the fork to his mouth, a small smile on his lips.

Judel shuffled on is chair, still in his usual spot by the bed.

After the infection, weakness had kept him from tending to himself, and Prince Judel had taken responsibility for helping him with food but now his arm had recovered, and he could at least feed himself. A small victory.

Judel’s spoon stopped mid-air, the gesture capturing Isidore’s attention.

‘She really was,’ Judel replied, a smile on his lips that did not touch his eyes this time either.

The questions piled up. The fragments he had managed to piece together implied both the prince’s parents had died at the same time, but he hesitated to ask further. The pain etched on Judel’s face saddened Isidore, more so thinking he might have caused it by bringing up unwanted memories.

‘She scolded me a lot, though.’ He chuckled.

‘Prince Judel,’ he feigned shock, ‘don’t tell me you were a handful!’

The prince laughed, a sound Isidore relished for its rarity.

‘Eleven boys and one terribly mischievous girl. Nahel was worse than us.’

‘I have trouble believing that.’ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Judel lifted his eyes to Isidore and paused, his gaze brightening first, only a momentary event. The prince stopped speaking.

The conversation ended abruptly but they ate in a comfortable silence, no tension perceptible on the prince’s part. Isidore stole glances at him from time to time, often mesmerized by the way he licked the sauce off his lips, or the movement of his jaw muscles as he ate. Their eyes met occasionally, making Isidore blush inexplicably.

‘You look better,’ the prince blurted, leaving his plate on the table.

‘I feel better! Thank you. The pain has eased and doesn’t disturb my sleep as much,’ Isidore replied. ‘I must confess, I’m growing tired of this bed.’

The prince’s usually tight gaze was tinted with something else now. Concern lingered there. Was it more than the aftermath of his wounds and illness that made Isidore’s heart quicken?

‘Is that so?’ The prince smiled.

‘Yes. It’d be nice to take a walk, see beyond this room.’ Isidore’s enthusiasm at Judel’s interest translated into hope. Maybe the prince would allow him to get out. Judel might even help him.

Judel’s smile wavered, and he shuffled in his seat.

‘Rest some more,’ he said, his tone short. ‘We often believe ourselves stronger than we are.’

Isidore’s mood deflated. He had thought of himself as a prisoner of his injuries but now wondered if there wasn’t more to it than that. Or were they only going to allow him outside the room to see him leave, back to wherever he came from?

Wasn’t that what he wanted? To leave? Home was the only place he could go, but he wasn’t even sure where that was.

Not Stonehollow, clearly.

When he tried to recall any details of the journey he had made with Lord Torell, ten years ago, all he remembered was the brown of the distant hills. The name of the locality of his father’s estate had long vanished from his mind. Maybe that’s why the thought forced a lump into his throat.

‘What about a small walk around the bed?’ Judel’s words sounded strained, as if it was a difficult concession to make.

His heart skipped a beat. Judel had started to lean towards the bed, and his proximity caught Isidore off guard. The prince’s shirt gaped open, and the young man’s eyes travelled inexorably the length of the torso, the gap that split his chest, the well-defined abdomen. He swallowed hard. Was it normal to react so to a man’s chest? He certainly had never had any such reaction to anyone before, but nobody had ever come close enough either.

‘Yes,’ Isidore said, flustered, ‘yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you.’

Judel nodded, and Isidore’s excitement erased his recent sorrow. A walk around the bed would be a welcome break from his forced rest. Although he hadn’t been strong enough to get up by himself, he was sure he could manage it with Judel’s help.

The prince offered his hand, pulling the blankets aside. Isidore blushed, too aware of his attire. The undershirt covered him down to midthigh, but the air felt cold on his legs. He swung them over the edge of the bed and found the rug under his toes warm and soft. Only when he tried to push off the bed, his limbs betrayed him, buckling under his weight.

The prince’s grip tightened as he reached around his waist, steadying him.

‘Maybe it’s too soon,’ Judel frowned, almost pouting again.

‘No!’ Isidore cleared his voice, embarrassed at his eagerness. ‘No, just… Maybe if I hold onto you better. Please?’

Judel’s gaze was dark and intense, but he nodded. Isidore slid his arms along Judel’s, fingers gripping his forearms.

Judel’s firm strength held him tight.

‘You’re going to get dizzy if you go on like that’ Judel said.

‘No, I’m fine,’ he smiled.

In their proximity, Isidore thought the prince’s cheeks looked darker than usual.

‘Get on with it.’ The prince sounded like he would rather be doing anything else.

‘Sorry. I’m bothering you with my silly request, am I not?’

Judel paused, looking down at him now, his frown replaced by a tall arch of surprise, only to return again, even tighter than before.

‘What nonsense are you spewing now? You’re going to get too tired if this takes too long. Come on.’

Was the prince worried about him?

Isidore nodded, determination fuelling his shaky legs. One tentative step after the other, the dark blue rug tickled his feet. That wasn’t so bad. With Prince Judel’s support, he made it to the end of the bed but found himself short of breath.

‘Back to bed. Now,’ Judel said.

‘No, not yet please?’ He begged, half pouting. He looked up at the prince, noticing for the first time how much taller he was. Judel blinked, seemingly surprised at something, but continued without comment. It reminded Isidore of the smiles he had spied on the prince when he looked at his siblings. Melancholy stirred in his heart.

The prince helped him around the corner, and towards the other end of the bed, one unstable step at a time. Isidore’s hands had sought the more reliable support of Judel’s upper arms, climbing until they were grasping at his muscles. For every step they took, every effort from Judel to hold them steady, Isidore felt him tense under his fingers.

‘That’s enough,’ Judel said. ‘You look like a beetroot you’re so red. Bed.’

Isidore nodded, not confident enough to reply, and let the prince lead him back. At last, he sat on the bed while Judel helped him fold his legs under the blanket, pulling it high towards his chin.

‘Happy?’

Isidore nodded, unable to stop the grin spreading on his lips.

Judel sat down, heavy. A yawn split his mouth wide.

‘You should go to bed too,’ Isidore said, his smile fading.

The prince focused on him, his head tilting. Isidore fidgeted with the string on his shirt, feeling scrutinized.

‘I will soon,’ he answered. Sitting back, he lifted his legs to rest his heels on the edge of the bed again. ‘Brin and I climbed the bell tower at the temple, once...’

Sleep had eluded Isidore. Or maybe Isidore had eluded sleep, he couldn’t be sure. Somewhere between being caught by the Bell Brother at the temple and Brin reaching the top window and almost falling to his death, Judel’s eyes began to droop. They became smaller and smaller, and his voice drifted, just as the story reached the point where Judel had steadied Brin just on time to avoid disaster. It had been exciting and funny, yet Judel had fallen asleep right through it. Past midnight, Isidore should have closed his own eyes and followed the prince’s lead. Instead, he spent the rest of the night debating whether to wake Judel up or not. He seemed so peaceful, his chin against his chest, his brow relaxed, a glimpse at what he looked like when he wasn’t perpetually haunted by his inner demons. That chair must be terribly uncomfortable; the prince would likely wake up with a sore neck.

Those were the type of thoughts plaguing him all night and keeping sleep at bay. Worst of all, Isidore never decided one way or the other.

Almost morning, now, the prince had yet to stir once, while Isidore felt he hadn’t as much as blinked.

He sighed.

He yawned.

His eyes wouldn’t remain closed, no matter how sleep taunted him. The serene, perfectly handsome profile of the prince had stolen his attention, as if he was allowed a glimpse into a private side of the other man, one Judel kept to himself.

At last, the prince’s body showed signs of awakening, his hand twitching, his foot moving back.

And then, sudden, something startled him, and the prince jumped in his chair, his eyes opening wide. They filled with panic when they met Isidore’s gaze, before turning to the window. Prince Judel rose, the chair falling back with a thud. His face twisted in confusion, as he tried to get his bearings.

‘Is something the matter?’

‘I…’ Judel glanced out of the window once more. ‘No, I just need to go.’

‘Right,’ Isidore said, angry that he couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. It was unreasonably selfish to expect the prince to stay any longer. ‘Could you, maybe, help me get dressed before you go?’ he said, his voice wavering. ‘I’d like to sit out of bed, and I think the servants have had enough of seeing me in my undershirt.’

Judel's eyes shifted from him to the window to the door, undecided.

‘Make it quick,’ he grunted, clearly annoyed, but not in the endearing way Isidore appreciated. He regretted asking. Ultimately, it didn’t matter if he dressed or not. His selfishness had taken over, and he had said something useless.

Judel’s annoyance didn’t show in his gestures, though, and the prince helped him sit up in bed with care and patience. Even with a frown on his face and clearly inconvenienced, he was kind and gentle, and when Isidore gasped in pain, it was only because his wound was not fully healed and not because of the prince.

Once sitting at the edge of the bed, Judel pulled out a pair of soft trousers from a drawer, probably his own.

‘That’ll be fine, thank y—’ Isidore started, reaching out for the clothing, but Judel ignored his hand. To the young man’s surprise, the prince squatted down and waited for him to slip his feet into the holes, pulling them up mid-thigh. When he got up, he took Isidore’s hands and set them on his shoulders.

‘Hold tight,’ he said, his tone still dry.

Judel’s shoulders felt solid under his touch. His legs felt steadier than last night once on his feet, but he held onto Judel tight, his fingers digging into the prince’s flesh.

‘Here we go…’ Judel mumbled, dragging the waistband over his hips.

The prince’s hands worked the laces and belts, before tucking his shirt in. His fingers reached past the fabric here and there, grazing bare skin. The more he felt the ticklish heat of Judel’s hands, the more his temperature rose, tension building around his mid-section.

‘I could have done that,’ Isidore said, unsteady.

‘Right,’ Judel replied, his voice heavy with gravel. ‘Right…’

Mesmerized by the intensity of Judel’s dark gaze, Isidore’s felt himself soften. His eyes followed the short path to the prince’s lips, tempting. A glossy fruit, begging to be tasted. Like a moth to a flame, any willpower or common sense Isidore might have possessed vanished, unsure about what he was doing but refusing to question it.

He needn’t have worried, the prince knew exactly what to do, as he proved with practiced ease by closing the distance between them. A sharp shock spread through Isidore’s body, as their mouths touched.

Judel’s lips were soft and gentle, probing, lingering in places to explore the wet surface. The sensation was pleasant, and it built, tension running through his body. His mouth parted without any conscious thought on Isidore’s part, his own tongue betraying him, licking that round, silky skin. Liking it, the prince opened his mouth in return, tongue reaching into him. Judel tasted salty. Manly, he thought.

Manly.

He never expected to feel like this for a man. Kaletians were not particularly open minded when it came to couples of the same gender and while it happened, it was not well accepted, and entirely forbidden in noble families. Bloodlines needed continued, and for that, they needed both a man and a woman. Royals, lords, and high-ranking knights were all expected to follow this unwritten rule.

That meant nothing to workers, farmers, peasants and low-level soldiers, though, as Isidore had both experienced and witnessed. Early on, he was well aware of the practice. Many things happened when a lot of soldiers went on the road, and Isidore had been dragged across Kalye with Lord Torell many times when he was younger. There was little he hadn’t seen there. Between the camp followers, whether they were cooks, blacksmiths or weapon masters, or simply boys looking to make a living, needs were met.

None of them would dare do it openly in Stonehollow, though. Lord Torell didn’t approve of any of his servants or underlings to partner with others of the same gender while under his roof. His men made sure to report on anyone found in a compromising position with another man. Though it was often the case that those who cast the harsher judgements were also those more likely to be found indulging in the same behaviours around dark corners and behind locked doors. The guards and cooks in Stonehollow certainly availed themselves of every hidden corner and empty dungeon to chase their own release.

But those were servants and those guards and soldiers who were at the bottom of the pecking order. Until now, Isidore had taken it for granted that people of rank did not engage in these relationships. Not to mention, what he had experienced was unpleasant and left him feeling ashamed.

But he had never been kissed, not by man or woman and this felt… This felt like heaven and if shame there was, it wasn’t making itself known. To the contrary, he couldn’t get enough. It felt right.

As if reading his thoughts, Judel wrapped his hands around Isidore’s waist, pulling him tighter against him. His lips became more demanding, more intense, the prince’s tongue searching for unexplored parts of Isidore’s mouth. The prince deepened their embrace, a hand climbing between his shoulder blades. The touch, too close to his wound, triggered a gasp, the pain surprising rather than strong. And enough to break the spell. The prince took a step back, eyes wide, lips parted and swollen, heavily flushed.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, his brow furrowing back into place. His feet thumped fast against the ground as he rushed out of the door.

Dropping down, Isidore held himself at the edge of the bed, his eyes trained on the door, expecting him—willing him to come back. He touched his lips with trembling fingers. They were swollen, but growing cold. Unexpected tears filled his eyes.

What had he done?

The shock in the prince’s eyes tugged at his insides, his heart racing in his chest.

What if he told somebody?

What if they thought he was disgusting and kicked him out even before he fully recovered?

What if Judel hated him?

Isidore shook his head. He had to apologize. He had to find Judel, and explain himself, though what he would say he didn’t know. He’d make something up. He’d say he was delirious, or sleepwalking. Whatever. Anything, as long as Judel never, ever, looked at him that way again.

He mustered his strength and, leaning against the edge of the bedpost, pushed himself forward, three quick steps, almost stumbling, before catching himself on the threshold. Leaving the room in his condition was dangerous, he knew that much, but it was stronger than him.

Slowly, he dragged himself out into the gallery. For his first time outside the room, he would have taken his time, explored, but the situation didn’t allow it. He was slow, and the prince was not.

The stairs made Isidore question his own resolve. Getting this far had been hard enough. Going down those steps on unsteady legs was madness, especially considering he hadn’t seen which way the prince had gone.

As if to answer his unspoken questions, a door slammed somewhere deep into the castle. Every one of Isidore’s instincts told him to follow the sound.

Steadying his resolve, he gritted his teeth, and took the steps one at a time, leaning heavily against the handrails. Every step made his wound hurt, his knees weaker and weaker, but the more steps he managed, the more convinced he became he could do it. One flight. Two flights…

Miraculously, he made it to the ground floor on his own feet rather than rolling down the stone steps, which is how he feared he would end. Breath was hard to come by. He faced the direction the sound had come from. Maybe it had nothing to do with Judel. There were servants, there were courtiers maybe, who might have slammed that door.

None of those thoughts slowed his step nor wore out his determination, though. Unaware of where he was going, he continued deeper into the guts of the castle, and thought he was lost.

‘Judel, wait.’ A faint voice drifted his way. Queen Nahel? He looked around, holding his breath, afraid he might have dreamt it. ‘What’s wrong?’

Over there. Isidore drew closer. The door ajar, it opened out, grey light spreading into the dark corridor. He stuck to the wall, by the hinges, where he could hear them.

‘It’s nothing,’ Judel’s voice came through in response.

‘You stomp around when you’re annoyed.’

‘Don’t you have anything better to do than manage my moods?’

‘It’s easier to manage your moods than to do the things I must do.’ She sighed, sounding tired.

‘Such as…’

‘Such as finding Lord Joceus. No matter how many scouts and search parties we send, they can’t be found. If they had been captured by normal means, at least, we’d have some clues by now.’

Isidore frowned, this information tickling the back of his mind, but secrets were not the reason he was there. A silence followed, and a shuffling of clothes.

‘I’ll find them,’ Judel said, a hint of hope in his voice.

‘Absolutely not,’ Nahel replied, cutting. ‘You could get lost. Look what happened last time.’

‘That’s because I was by myself. Send somebody with me.’

Another silence, more shuffling.

‘Who? Who am I going to send that can handle you during the day?’

What did she mean? Isidore couldn’t make head or tails of the conversation.

‘I have to go,’ the prince said at last.

Another brief silence.

‘Be careful,’ were her parting words.

And then nothing. Isidore had only moments to ponder where the prince was going and whether he could speak to him before he left.

The door opened, making him jump out of his skin and almost hitting him in the face. Hidden behind it, he saw the queen walk away, red hair flying after her, and blissfully ignorant of his presence.

As the sound of her steps died out at the other end of the corridor, he slipped out from his hiding place and walked into the room. But it wasn’t quite a room. More of a stable, if he must call it something. There was a pallet over by the corner and some old furniture, deep gashes in the wood. The clothes the prince had been wearing this morning were folded on a wonky chair, under a feeble ray of sunshine, still weak in the early morning, slipping in through a second door which opened to the outside. Curious, Isidore stepped out.

Under the cold morning light, one single figure walked away across the grass. At first, he thought it was a man, but every blinking made him hesitate in his judgement, until he recognized it quite clearly as a mountain lion. A large one. Very much like the one he had protected only days ago.

The seedling of a truth emerged in his mind and the urge to see it blossom made everything else melt away. The pain, the weakness.

That was the lion. His lion.

A force stronger than his own reason pushed him onwards, beckoned him to continue. Without hesitation, the boy stepped away from the castle and followed the beast across the field and deep, deep into the dark forest.