Prologue
King Symon Parador, the first of his name, King of Bekkon, premier mage, and protector of the nation, sighed quietly as he swayed back and forth, his daughter, Teszia—or Bee as her family still called her—slumped against his shoulder as she sweated out the last of her fever. As a child with usually limitless energy, seeing her fitful and tired and covered in rashes over the past week had left all her guardians on edge.
Jon, Sy’s father, was the one who took it best, which surprised the hell out of his son given how protective the man was of his grandchild. “Every toddler gets red fever at some point,” he’d said when the ordeal began. “It always passes without problem.”
“Almostalways,” Sy had pointed out worriedly. “But there’s no guarantee.”
“She’s got the best care possible here at the castle,” he’d replied. “And three parents to help see her through it. She’ll be fine.”
And she was fine. Sy knew she was; even though Bee had been fretful and exhausted by turns for five days, she’d never stopped eating or gone hot enough to seize. Tonight the fever had finallybroken during Sy’s watch, and he was glad to be there to rock her into what promised to be her first peaceful sleep in a while.
He was equally glad for the chance to join his husbands in bed together for the first time in far too long.
The door creaked open, and a ray of light preceded the entrance of Mistress Deane, the castle’s chatelaine and the mother of Sy’s oldest friend. “How’s our little princess?” she whispered as she moved into the room, a silver pitcher of fresh water in one hand and a clean cloth folded over her shoulder. They’d been making cold compresses to help keep Bee’s temperature down and soothe her rashes, and Mistress Deane had kept them well stocked.
“Asleep,” Sy said with a smile as he glanced down at Bee’s face.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Mistress Deane said with relief. She came closer with her candle to take a peek. “She does look better, doesn’t she? I bet she’ll feel so much more like her usual self in the morning. Shall I help you put her down?”
Sy was going to say no, but then he realized just how cramped his arms were from holding twenty-five pounds of three-year-old child. “Please.” He handed Bee over into Mistress Deane’s steady arms and tried not to hover as she laid the little girl in bed and covered her up.
“Stop looming, she’s fine,” his chatelaine chided him. “It’s early enough that your menfolk are likely still up. Go tell them how she’s doing, then get some rest yourself.”
“I’m the king here, you know,” Sy said mildly, just to rile her.
It worked. She put her hands on her hips and mock-glared at him. “And I’ve been looking after you and yours since you were younger than Bee, andIsay go to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good lad.”
Sy left, and although part of him was sad to go, more of him was looking forward to seeing Petur and Deyvid for the firsttime in a dozen hours. While mornings up through the first meal together were sacrosanct, their work usually took them in different directions throughout the day: Sy had to deal with the court, petitioners, and overseeing the completion of the magic academy that was being built on royal property just to the south while Petur handled correspondence with other royals and expanded on his spy network, and Deyvid trained with the cavalry. They might go the entire rest of the day apart, and since Bee had gotten ill, at least one of them had been gone overnight. Sy missed curling up in the middle of his lovers … and certain other activities as well.
As soon as he eagerly threw open the door to their suite, though, he was greeted by silence. No one else was back yet. He tried not to be too disappointed by that and instead checked his desk for messages from them, magical or otherwise. There was one from Petur:Late drop from Mrsg; back by midnight.
Drops were related to spy work, and “Mrsg” was short for Mersaighe, the country that Petur’s nephew Arven was now co-ruling with his wife. It figured; Petur would only bother with a late drop for Arven. Riyale, his former home, didn’t merit that kind of consideration.
Sy checked again, but there was nothing from Deyvid, which likely meant he’d be back soon. Sy touched the chime on the wall that would signal to the kitchen to bring the evening meal for two, then twisted the handle over the marble tub in the bathroom to let water from the cisterns down to fill it. After a moment’s consideration, he activated the spell on the side of the pipe that would heat the water as it flowed in. The effort left his head spinning, and he sat down on the edge of the tub as it filled and shut his eyes, trying to catch his breath.
Too much work and not enough sleep.
The door opened, and Sy waited for the servant to set the trays of food down and leave. He startled when a hand found hisshoulder instead, then relaxed once more as soft lips kissed his forehead. “You’re out on your feet, darling,” Deyvid said.
“I’m not on my feet,” Sy pointed out with a smile as he looked up at his lover. Deyvid was in the usual set of leathers he wore for riding, along with the forest-green tabard, edged in black, that marked him as a member of Bekkon’s newest branch of the army. Griffin riders had tabards trimmed in blue, infantry in brown, medics in white, and mages in red. Before he’d become king, Sy hadn’t even known hehadthat many branches to his army, and here his lover was adding a new one.
Hopefully they wouldn’t have to use it any time soon.
“It’s a good thing, too, or you’d have fallen over by now.” Deyvid leaned in and kissed him, and Sy eagerly reached up and clutched Deyvid’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He wove his fingers into Deyvid’s graying ponytail and held his head in place as he deepened the kiss. Deyvid knelt down and let Sy have his way with him before finally breaking the embrace.
“I smell like horse,” Deyvid said.
“I don’t mind.”
“I do. It’s not a delightful smell even when youhaven’tbeen teaching your riders how to check their horses’ hooves, and I don’t want to muck you up.”
“Join me in the bath, then,” Sy suggested. He’d been reluctant to move into the suite that had been his father and stepmother’s until he learned that Queen Melisse had commissioned a positively enormous tub for it. Not to mention, his father couldn’t sleep here any longer; he hadn’t been able to ever since Melisse died. “Someone might as well get some use out of it all,” he’d said, and with his husband’s and lover’s approval, they’d made the suite their own.
Deyvid smiled. “That I can do,” he said, then got to his feet and began to undress. He managed to get the task done in half the time it took Sy, and soon the only things he wore were a ring onthe third finger of his left hand—one of a matched set he shared with Sy and Petur—and a necklace with multicolored gemstones dangling from slender gold chains, each gem imbued with a different spell that would trigger as soon as it was pulled loose. It was all the magical protection Sy had been able to convince Deyvid to carry so far, practically negligible compared with the treasury’s-worth of jewelshewore, but it was a decent start.
