Sebastian fell silent at that. After a moment, he reached for Boarstaff's hand, their fingers intertwining. They lay together in the moonlight without speaking.
"Stay," Boarstaff said, the word barely audible in the stillness.
Sebastian nodded against his chest. "Until dawn," he agreed, understanding what remained unspoken... that they could have the moment, but the world beyond his room remained unchanged. That daylight would bring responsibilities neither could ignore, complexities this night's simplicity couldn't erase.
As Sebastian's breathing deepened toward sleep, Boarstaff remained awake for a time, watching moonlight play across his skin. His hand traced idle patterns along Sebastian's spine, feeling the unique textures and contours of his body.
For that night, it was enough. Their connection sought and found despite everything that should have kept them apart. The vulnerability shared in darkness when daylight permitted only strength.
They had a moment of peace stolen from endless war.
***
Boarstaff woke to sunlight and birdsong. His body felt pleasantly heavy, muscles carrying a satisfying ache. He reached across the sleeping mat instinctively, but his hand found only empty space.
Sebastian was gone.
The indentation where Sebastian had lain still held lingering warmth. Not long gone, then. He'd stayed most of the night as promised, leaving only as dawn approached.
An unexpected pang of disappointment crept through Boarstaff, though he understood the necessity. Sebastian had returned to the eastern cave, maintaining the distance that kept both him and the village safe.
Rising to dress, Boarstaff caught the scent of Sebastian still on his skin. He would need to bathe thoroughly before the council meeting to avoid raising suspicion. The water in his washing bowl felt cool as he cleansed away the evidence of thenight, his mind still lingering on the memory of Sebastian's touch.
The morning horn sounded, summoning warriors to training. The day's responsibilities awaited... council meetings, border patrols, decisions about Sebastian's combat demonstration. The weight of leadership settled back onto his shoulders.
They each had their duties, their separate paths to walk in daylight.
Chapter Eleven
With the weight of the council's scrutiny still pressing on his shoulders, Boarstaff headed for the training field. The village's future depended on what happened next, and he needed to focus completely on the task at hand, though his mind kept drifting to memories of the previous night. The scent of Sebastian lingered on his skin despite his thorough washing, a phantom presence that both comforted and distracted him.
Around him, warriors practiced their usual drills, weapons cutting through the air in familiar patterns. None of them truly understood what they might soon face. None of them had witnessed nobility like Zarek in combat, had seen the calculated cruelty, the mechanical precision, the utter absence of honor that defined vampire warfare.
None except Boarstaff himself.
"Form up," he called, and the training field went silent as warriors assembled in practiced rows. Familiar faces looked to him with trust and expectation. How many would survive if Cornelius sent his sons in full force? How many could stand against opponents who moved with Sebastian's terrible grace but lacked his restraint?
"Today's training will be different." Boarstaff surveyed their faces. "You've all seen Sebastian's demonstration yesterday, what he's capable of, how he moves, what vampire nobles can do."
Tension rippled through the assembly. Several warriors exchanged uneasy glances.
"But you haven't seen how they fight when they mean to kill," Boarstaff continued. "I have. I faced Zarek during the rescue mission, and before that. I've seen nobility in battle."
He moved to the center of the training circle, gesturing for Thornmaker to join him. The spearmaster approached with cautious dignity, his pride still visibly wounded from the previous day's defeat. A new ceremonial spear had been crafted overnight to replace the one Sebastian had broken, though it lacked the elaborate carvings of its predecessor.
"Spearmaster," Boarstaff acknowledged with respect. "Will you assist me in showing our warriors what they truly face?"
Thornmaker hesitated only briefly before nodding. "The village must be prepared."
"Nobility doesn't fight like scouts," Boarstaff began, turning to address the gathered warriors. "They don't fight for territory or resources or even victory. They fight to inflict maximum pain while taking minimum damage." He positioned himself across from Thornmaker. "Show me a standard defensive stance."
Thornmaker assumed the traditional orc combat position; balanced weight, spear angled to keep opponents at distance, body presenting minimal target. A stance that had served their people for generations against conventional threats.
"This works against most enemies," Boarstaff said. "But nobility targets weakness, not strength." Without warning, he moved with a fluid grace that mimicked Sebastian's demonstration, though lacking the supernatural speed. He slipped past the spear's point, fingers stopping just short of Thornmaker's throat. "They don't engage weapons. They bypass them."
Murmurs spread through the watching warriors.
"Again." Boarstaff stepped back. "This time, use the spear actively."
