And everyone knew it.
Which was why Stefan’s comment about him being dangerous was true. When an enemy sized up the Guard of Six, they often overlooked the man of shorter stature.
And that was a deadly mistake.
“I love you madly, Jareth,” Stefan said as Jareth brushed the dirt off his breeches. “You know that you are the air in my lungs, the very blood that flows in me.”
Jareth looked at him, his lips pressed in a doubtful line. “You can take that statement and toss it into the river with the rest of the rubbish,” he said, watching Stefan laugh. “Train with Dirk for the rest of the day. If you try to twist his ear, he’ll cut your fingers off.”
The other Guard of Six members were chuckling at the pair, who were, in reality, the best of friends. Stefan had officially joined the Guard of Six earlier in the year when Kent de Poyer, one of the original Six, married and temporarily resigned his post to spend time on the Welsh marches with his new wife’s family. Torran de Serreaux, the unofficial leader of the group, was also the Earl of Ashford, so he spent about half of his time at his seat of Kennington Castle in Kent.
That meant the Guard of Six, which had originally started with six men, needed reinforcements.
Those reinforcements had come in the form of Stefan, who was a de Lohr and therefore from one of the most powerful families in England, and another knight who was from the north of England and came with an astonishingly deep pedigree.
Orion Payton-Forrester.
Annoying was where he started. Where he ended, one could only guess. He was big and blond, with a dark blond mustacheand a manner that was infinitely charming, bright, and resourceful, but the man was so perfect that he was, predictably, annoying. Even now, as he tried to engage Stefan into practicing some techniques with him, Jareth turned to watch the man. He was the great persuader because he was so persistent that one gave in simply to shut him up. Jareth took a drink of boiled water from a pitcher they had sitting on the stoop, swishing it around his mouth and spitting out the dirt that was still lodged in his teeth. But his gaze never left Orion as he finally convinced Stefan to work with him.
“He knows how to make grown men cry.”
Jareth turned to see Aidric St. John walk up beside him. Tall and fair, the man looked like a Dane. He had a big, square jaw and strong features, far more of a follower than a leader, but he was the Six’s secret weapon. He was the most vicious member of the group, someone that Stefan and Orion wouldn’t spar with, not yet. They didn’t know him well enough, but they were learning. Aidric had been watching them like a hawk since they had joined the group, and when Henry traveled and the Guard of Six stayed close to him, as their primary function was as royal bodyguards, Aidric took point because he looked positively terrifying. Stefan and Orion had simply fallen in behind him.
But that was their lot in life these days.
If they wanted to truly be considered part of the Six, they had to earn it.
“Orion, you mean?” Jareth said. Then he snorted. “He’s getting better about it. Remember when Britt slapped him early on?”
That had Aidric grinning. “Britt has no patience,” he said, referring to Britt de Garr, the least tolerant of the group. “That slap at least forced Orion to think twice about his behavior. He does not vex as he used to.”
“True,” Jareth said. “And before I forget yet again to tell you, Henry is planning on traveling to Windsor next month to do some hunting, so we will be traveling with him. With Torran and Kent away, I will take command.”
That was usual, so Aidric simply nodded. “Any instructions?”
“None yet,” Jareth said. “Henry may want us in the hunting party, so be prepared.”
“With pleasure.”
Hunting was always great sport. As they pondered what fun the journey to Windsor would entail, Stefan and Orion began engaging in swordplay. They were practicing a particular technique, joined by the final members of the Guard of Six in Britt and Dirk d’Vant, another Cornwall native. Aidric ended up with them as well, working beneath the noon sun, and Jareth was thinking of joining them when he caught movement off to his right.
Thor de Reyne was heading in his direction. An enormously powerful knight with black hair and piercing blue eyes, Thor held the title of Lord Protector, the king’s personal bodyguard. He worked autonomously from the Guard of Six because he literally stayed by the king’s side in all things, while the Guard of Six formed more of a perimeter. Fortunately, they all worked very well together and Jareth liked the suave and debonair Thor a good deal. He considered the man a good friend.
“Did you come to see us beat de Lohr and Payton-Forrester into the ground?” he called to him. “You are not too late if you wish to help.”
Thor started to laugh, watching the five members of the Six as they went through their paces. “Is Payton-Forrester being a nuisance again?” he asked.
“A little.”
“A little beating now and again might solve that.”
“We’ve tried. He likes it.”
That caused Thor to laugh harder. “Then I cannot help you,” he said. “But I have come with a missive. It came for you a little while ago.”
Jareth looked at him curiously. “Are you a messenger now?”
Thor shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But I was at the gatehouse when it arrived, so I brought it over.”
