Leander nodded his understanding and agreement. “I had no other intentions. I won’t let them take you.”
Jarryn laughed and stalked off. True to his word, Leander hastened to keep up. “My men will not let them take me, my little lion. You will be little more than a hindrance. A distraction. A weakness.”
The pair reached a section of soldiers who were preparing weapons. Ordinarily they would pause and stand at attention out of respect when Jarryn approached. Tonight, they had other priorities, ones that were far moreimportant than social presuppositions that were expected in peacetime.
“My sword,” Jarryn requested, and a longsword was immediately handed over. The prince unsheathed it halfway and examined it before returning it to its scabbard and securing the scabbard to his belt.
Jarryn raised a hand and started pushing around the remaining blades, apparently in search of something. Eventually he stepped away from the back of the wagon and turned to Leander. “Take this.”
Leander looked down as he took the small weapon from Jarryn. Like the prince had done moments before, he unsheathed the dagger and turned it over in his hand.
“You have no training and anything bigger might do more harm than good. This dagger might be enough. Anyone gets close enough, you are to stab them.”
Leander blanched and shook his head, stepping back and trying to return the dagger. “I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will, Leander,” Jarryn’s voice was gravelly, harsh, and brooked no argument. “You wanted to stay with me and I will do all I can to protect you. But if I can’t, you will defend yourself. Now go to that forest right now and hide.” He’d changed his mind, Leander’s stomach dropped.
Leander didn’t even hesitate this time. His hands tightened around the dagger. “I want to stay with you.”
Jarryn was having none of it, and be spoke with no more authority than usual, but when he ordered Leander away, there was no choice left in him to disobey.
“Take him and go,” Jarryn ordered.
Though he didn’t process the words, Leander realisedwhat Jarryn’s command meant when, once again, someone grabbed his arm and dragged him backwards.
“No!” He pulled himself free and got a hold of Jarryn’s shirt. “I’m not leaving you!”
Jarryn, halfway through barking orders to his captain, turned back to his slave. “It’s okay, Leo, I’m going to be right behind you.” Jarryn took Leander’s face in his hands and leaned in for a quick but fierce kiss. Breaking it, he stared into Leander’s eyes. “But I need you to leave. Now. Go.Hide.”
When his arm was tugged again, Leander didn’t resist. He released his hold on Jarryn and went seemingly willingly with a soldier whose name he didn’t know.
The battle was raging around them now. Jarryn’s personal guard were the elite: loyal to the end and highly trained. They might have been few in numbers, but they made up for it in sheer skill and devotion.
“Faster, Leander!”
And his legs did more with reckless speed away from the battle. Boots pounded the earth beside him as Cade, he finally remembered the name, followed, there—Leo assumed—to protect him. They reached the dense forest, and Leander’s legs finally stopped moving.
Leander still gripped his dagger tightly and within moments, he was hidden by bushes and trees. The pair didn’t stop there, as Cade kept pushing him further in, stumbling in the dark, night blind after so long surrounded by bright flames.
Finally happy with their position, Cade grabbed him and pulled him low amongst the bushes, keeping him quiet and still.
From their vantage point, at a slight height, they could see the skirmish, and Leander’s agitation rose within him. He should be with Jarryn, but now he was here, his body would not obey him. He had lost the ability to even call out to his lover, begging him join him.
The mercenaries they were fighting were nothing more than paid swords. Though also skilled, they were fighting for money, not because they truly believed in their cause.
In many ways, it made them weaker, less skilled, purely due to their motivations.
For every one of Jarryn’s men who fell, three of theirs would be killed. It was good odds, but there were more of the mercenaries. Significantly more. And the fire was spreading, unchecked, uncontrolled.
Jarryn’s soldiers carried the brunt of the skirmish, most positioned some ten or twenty feet in front of Jarryn. A few of the mercenaries managed to break the line and went straight for Jarryn. Most were hindered again, but one or two reached the prince.
From the ground, Leander watched through the underbrush. The clearing echoed with the clash of steel as the fighters on both sides engaged in a chaotic dance of strikes and parries. Sparks flew with each collision, and the fires engulfing the tents raged on, creating a dazzling display of light against the darkness. The fighters manoeuvred through the clearing around bushes, each seeking the advantage against their opponents.
The strikes rang out like thunderclaps, and Leander gasped as Jarryn lunged forward with a powerful thrust. In tandem, the captain of his guard gracefully sidestepped, countering with a swift spin of his blade that forced hisopponent to parry in haste. Meanwhile, Jarryn moved like shadows, closing in on his (now multiple) opponents. They moved with a mesmerising synchronicity.
Jarryn danced between his opponents, his blade a blur as he seamlessly switched between offence and defence. A mercenary jumped into the fray, now three against one. Undeterred, Jarryn demonstrated his incredible skills, blocking and riposting with precise movements. The captain moved in, having defeated his own quarry and now the pair of them moved in harmony, their blades keeping their adversaries on the defensive.
“We need to move, Jarryn,” the prince’s captain spoke more calmly than Leander thought possible in such a situation, even if his words were a little breathless. The battle had caused them to move closer to the cluster of trees, away from the flames engulfing their camp. But Leander still had to strain to hear their voices.
