Royal Rewards - 1. Royal Rewards

Royal Rewards

The racket of armored boots and weaponry jangling and clanking over the cobblestones preceded the victory parade through the streets of the imperial city. Slaves, free men, and citizens flocked to the streets, windows, and rooftops to watch the soldiers march by. Petals and streamers rained through the jubilant din, peppered with squeals of joyful laughter from people crammed into every available nook along the route, while a slow breeze made the standards flutter and the incense swirl lazily above the braziers.

High above on the temple steps with the magistrates and priests behind him, Prince Sikore watched as the first columns made their final turn. Temple and imperial guards kept the crowds back so the troops could gather in formation. His younger brother Prince Philon waited at the bottom of the steps to escort their city’s hero to the king.

Sikore glanced at his father the king, standing majestically beside him, resplendent in his finery. His beard and hair were curled and his skin glistened with oil. Kohl brought out the fire in his eyes and the rouge on his cheeks and lips proclaimed his health. Sikore knew that the gold and jewels on his father’s breastplate, sword, and helm were heavy, but his father stood as motionless as a statue. The breeze, which should be stronger at the top of the steps, curled around his father’s ankles like a tame lion.

Sikore was likewise garbed in his finest but sweat trickled down the sides of his face, his back and chest. When coupled with his churning thoughts, the blazing sun and stifling heat made living up to his father’s example nigh impossible. His blood boiled with the absurdity of this parade. The war was only just beginning. Instead of wasting time and money with this pointless ceremony and its festivities, they should be chasing the damned Franks and burning their cities around them; but the invaders had fled the city in a rout and the king considered the war all but finished. He believed that the Franks had been beaten so soundly they would pose no further threat.

Trumpets heralded the arrival of the ceremonial chariot, pulled by two matching sets of magnificent horses. Bells jingled on their harnesses and the tall feathers adorning their headdresses bobbed with each toss of their heads. The chariot’s wheels and body gleamed as the driver deftly maneuvered the cumbersome vehicle to a halt at the foot of the temple steps. More cheers thundered into the sky as General Dries held his hands aloft in acknowledgement.

The plumed and decorated foreign soldier ascended the steeply graded temple steps. When he stopped suddenly, to turn and wave yet again to the crowd, Sikore frowned. And when a short gust snapped Dries’ cape out behind him, that frown deepened.

His father cleared his throat and Sikore flushed at the rebuke, hastily schooling his features back to the desired expressionless state. As the hero approached, growing taller and broader with every step, however, the frown returned.

The king stepped toward Dries as he came to within a few feet, and boomed, “Greetings, Mighty Dries of Analon! Your skill and valor have saved our city from certain destruction and we are in your debt. Your triumph this day shall never be forgotten!”

Sikore seethed as Dries turned to face the crowd, standing beside Philon a step below the king. He was grateful to Dries’ aid which had ultimately freed the city, but his pride smarted. His own part in what was a joint triumph would receive no glory.

A long and detailed speech described events leading to the siege of the imperial city. The crowd cheered and gasped in dismay or awe when informed of how cowardly neighbors had allowed murderous Franks access for raids on helpless farms and villages; how Prince Sikore and imperial troops had been dispatched to repel the raiders and demand reparations from those neighbors; how the raids were only a ruse masking the attack on their ultimate target: the imperial city itself; how Sikore rode home, too late to avert a siege; how the city walls and defenders thwarted the Franks, though outnumbered; and how only Analon, of all their neighbors, had responded to their requests for aid against a siege which was total and would lead to certain starvation and destruction.

Even with the enmity between Analon and the Franks, Sikore was still stunned they had volunteered, especially given the other negative responses.

“Thanks be to the Gods and to your brother’s wisdom in lending us his finest warrior in this our hour of dire need!” Cheers arose from the soldiers and spectators, momentarily deafening in their ovation. “Before we ride to crush our joint enemy for this cowardly betrayal we shall have a grand feast and celebration in our savior’s honor!” He paused as the crowd erupted once more. Sikore stiffened with dread.

“And, to fully express my gratitude for your timely arrival and masterpiece of strategy, I shall grant you any boon within the means of my kingdom. Speak, and it shall be yours!”

Sikore hid a flinch. Anything… Well he knew that to offer any less would be an insult that could prove disastrous with so many foreign troops in the city, but still he had argued with his father. There had to be something more specific his father could offer instead! He prayed for Dries not to take that opening, or for Dries to have changed his mind, but there was no delay, not that Sikore had really expected one.

Dries bent forward in a token bow. “Your highness is generous indeed, to offer the wealth of his kingdom,” General Dries began in his deep, sonorous voice. “But this humble soldier desires only one thing.”

“Speak and let it be known,” the king replied.

“All the riches and honors of the world cannot compare with such beauty as I have found. This humble soldier asks only for the grace of the hand of your son in marriage.” He dropped to one knee. “This one simple joy shall eclipse the sun and bring peace and prosperity for our people!”

Sikore scowled as his father turned and beckoned him with a finger. Smirking, Philon moved to their father’s other side, boldly confirming his new status as crown prince.

“This then shall be done! Let tonight’s feast also celebrate my son’s wedding and the joining of our two great nations!” Cheers erupted throughout the plaza. Only those standing close could hear him finalize the agreement with a handshake, saying, “Let there be no more war between our nations.”

Dries nodded solemnly. “We shall be as family.”

As much as Sikore wanted to dump Dries unceremoniously down the steps, and shove his brother after him, he stared straight ahead and held his head high when his father placed his hand in that of Dries and proclaimed them wed.

That night, clad in a much nicer toga and sandals, Sikore stood on his private balcony. The wine in his hand went untouched as he stared over the city. Below, the sounds of celebration were hushed, but there were many fires and shadows dancing along the walls. Behind him, the king’s private festivities remained strong. Music wound around the columns like the dancing girls, and slaves hustled to refill goblets and trays.

“I thought that I’d find you here, skulking in the shadows.” The familiar voice stiffened Sikore’s shoulders. He tensed as sandals rasped on stone and Dries drew nearer. “Why are you angry when you want only to be with me?”

Sikore whirled fast enough to slosh wine over the rim of his goblet. “You dare…!”

The speed with which Dries could move shocked Sikore into silence more effectively than the hand clamped suddenly over his mouth. The torch light danced in dark eyes now a hand-span away and the other hand wrapped around his bicep burned like a brand.

“Now, now.” Dries smirked.

The metal goblet hit the ground with a clatter as Sikore shoved violently. “Get your hands off me!” he hissed. “You’re a barbarian, and a brute, and --“

“You knew how this would turn out,” Dries reminded him.

“Only because you’re a selfish bastard!” Sikore hissed. Dries chuckled and Sikore turned his back, hands curled into fists and shoulders hunched as he fought against his temper.

His thoughts transported him back to Dries’ tent on the eve of their last battle. He and his second in command, and Dries and his commanders, raised their goblets to toast their victory and an end to the siege. A comment was made about the spoils of war awaiting their pleasure. Sikore cheerfully reassured them that his father would provide anything they desired when they liberated the city. Laughing, and staring right at Sikore, Dries informed everyone that he already had everything he desired. Sikore had almost choked on his wine. After the others retired, they’d stayed awake arguing.

Sikore was not yet ready to relinquish his injured pride. He glared over his shoulder when Dries sighed, leaning a hip against the railing and quietly surveying the distant celebrations.

“We’ve been through this before. Didn’t you say that peace is worth any price?”

Sikore bit off a hasty retort and set both hands on the cool stone. Yes, he had said that, back when he’d convinced Analon’s king that a shared enemy made them friends. But to have his words thrown back in his face now! “And how long will this peace last?” he demanded, tilting his head toward his companion. He saw one of Dries’ shoulders lift in a shrug.

“That’s up to your brother, I suppose.” The stars reflected in his eyes when he turned his head and Sikore caught his breath.

Sikore couldn’t disagree. Cloth shifted as Dries came close enough for his body heat to chase away the night’s chill. Sikore said nothing.

“Look, I know that you are no woman to be bartered for or won, but I could not resist. Truly, there is no greater beauty than yours.”

Jerking his head away, Sikore spat, “I neither want nor need your praises!”

“Sikore,” Dries said in a low, husky voice that danced upon his skin.

Sikore could not look at him. His hand swept out over the city. “Dries, I’ve trained my whole life for this.”

Dries’ voice rumbled with an undercurrent of mirth. “And you hate it.”

Sikore hunched his shoulders against the truth in those words. Then there was heat and strength surrounding him as Dries pressed against his back and his chin settled on his shoulder. Sikore shivered as Dries’ hands rested beside his along the stone railing. He restrained himself from seeking after the source of the jasmine scent that tantalized his nose and the wine that saturated the breath so close to his ear.

“We are not so different, you and I,” said Dries. “My older brother is a fine king, but he sends me out with the armies because he is afraid to have me so close to home. It is no use my telling him that I do not wish to be king. He sees only the respect I have from the army and thinks that I shall eventually rise up against him. Your brother, though younger, has ambitions greater than his birth status. Everyone sees it. The gods only know why your father favors him so. Deny it.”

Sikore could not. All his life had he longed for a piece of his father’s regard, however small, but while he slaved for each grudging bit of respect, Philon accomplished nothing and yet was praised for his courage and gallantry. Sikore had long since resigned himself to his fate.

“You play your part well, I grant you, but your heart is not in it. It was only a matter of time before your father stripped you of your birthright, and even if you had actually become king, your reign would have been short. Philon would see to that.” A hint of steel entered Dries’ voice. “Hate me if you will, but do not resent me for saving your life.”

Wordless, Sikore shook his head. He quivered as Dries’ fingers stroked over the backs of his hands and up his arms to encircle his shoulders.

“I admire you greatly and I cherish you as no one else ever has,” Dries continued. His chest pressed against Sikore’s back.

Sikore hissed as the hands on his shoulders slid forward over his chest beneath the toga. Heat from that touch chilled instantly as the night’s breeze followed in its wake.

“I didn’t believe you would really help us,” Sikore whispered, fighting to stay on his feet and not lean into the pressure at his back or the light touch at his front.

“Then why did you ask?” Dries paused and Sikore sighed in regret.

Only in the depths of desperation had Sikore gone to his nation’s long-time enemy for help. The original cause of the constant skirmishing had long been forgotten. The choice had not been easy, nor was the explanation. “Because I had to. No one else would help, and you had fought off the Franks before. And then I saw you--” He groaned as Dries’ fingers returned to tracing the muscles under his skin.

“You and I will chase those Franks to their lair and be rid of them forever.” His voice brought to mind visions of standing side by side in battle, Dries’ sword flashing under the sun and Sikore protecting his flank.

“But, my father--“

“Doesn’t want you; I do.” He pressed wet, open mouthed kisses to Sikore’s neck. “For weeks we have traveled and fought together and I never had to explain myself twice. Even without explanations, you got the job done. Anything I asked, you accomplished, and not just in battle. You fill me with pride, so now do you understand why I cannot simply let you go?”

Sikore’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the railing. “No,” he panted, shaking his head vigorously. He fought back a smile.

“Very well. Shall I expound upon the beauty of your skin, perhaps? The timbre of your voice? The strength of your arm? How about how sexy you are when standing amid the bodies of our enemies, blood dripping from your sword?”

Sikore moaned. He grabbed at the railing when Dries abruptly withdrew. Turning swiftly, he stared.

Light from the sconces wreathed Dries’ outline, casting half of his face into shadow. The line of his torso and legs spoke of strength but there was only gentleness in the touch of his palm to Sikore’s cheek.

“Beloved, you cannot look upon me that way and expect me to stand idly by.” His lips curved into a soft smile. “Come, let us retire.”

Sikore met and returned that intense stare. He brushed Dries aside with a sweep of his arm, striding past and into his personal chambers. Dries’ deep chuckle warned him to turn an instant before they were in each other’s arms.