A prince was dead.

Royal blood pooled on the floor, slipping into the cracks and flowing in sluggish rivers down towards the grass. It slipped deep into the ancient stone and would never be removed. Not completely. Generations of people would walk over this very spot, treading upon the blood of a prince and never know it.

Calloused hands were the only thing left now to remind people that this prince fancied himself a warrior. Dark brown hair that reflected red highlights in the setting sun was shorn short. The great voice that had at one time echoed down the halls was silenced.

The prince would only live on in memory now. And memory, being a fickle thing, would slowly change. Instead of remembering that the prince had only ever raised his sword to kill the hapless creatures that roamed the royal forest those left behind would swear they had seen him battle off invaders single handedly. They would proclaim that the prince shorn off his locks in disgust so that he could live a pious soldier’s life rather then recall that he did so only because it would twist into tight ringlet curls better suited to the maidens of his family then to the men.

And eventually memory would warp so that the prince was remembered as having the voice of a saint and the words of poet rather then recall the truth that the deep voice was usually laced with anger and cruelty, his chosen words as coarse and unrefined as gutter whore’s.

Death would definitely improve Prince Feryn’s reputation. He died a man people privately feared and hated but he would be buried as a favored warrior prince and tears would be shed at his passing.

The silent watcher who guarded the fallen prince sighed to himself. This was not the first dead prince he had ever seen. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. Princes died for a variety of reasons. Most were political but in this case he suspected it had more to do with hate then anything else. Prince Feryn was, to put it simply, an ass. He used his position to put others down and he used his wit for cruelty.
Honestly he couldn’t dredge up any sadness at this Prince’s passing. There had been other princes whose death had torn at his very soul. Ones who had plunged him into deep depression, ones who had made him want to tear his very heart from his body. This one made him shrug and try not to keep the relief from his face.

Feryn would have been a lousy king and it was almost a relief that someone had taken his life.

The sun had finished its journey and the night wind kicked up, bringing him voices raised in disbelief and panic.

Who would rule now?

Was there time yet for their aging king to take another wife and sire a new heir?

Who could have done this?

The first two questions did not disturb him. There was another heir, stored safely away. The exiled prince who had been sent to the All-God’s temple as a gift. A gift that the King would have to reclaim. He doubted the temple-priests would have taught the boy how to rule but that could be changed.

No, it was the last question that stirred him. It was his duty to protect this kingdom and part of that was to protect its rulers, no matter how much he secretly rejoiced in their death.

Footsteps drew the guardian out of his thoughts and he stood a bit taller, rolling his shoulders back and clasping his hands together.

A King came towards him, violet eyes narrowed in anger as he studied the scene before him.

A Prince had died and a Guard was to be punished.

**

Summer scorched over the land.

It slunk from the deserts while the south-lands were still covered in snow. By the second eclipse of the moon it had roared southwards and set the plains afire. By the third eclipse of the moon it had laid siege to the great kingdom of Ils’baythe. A scant few days later it laughed at the great wall that surrounded the isolated land of Dainthal. It scaled the mountains and breathed its fetid breathe through the Freeman’s Pass, stiffing those who sought to trade between the north-lands and the mid-lands. On the 14th day of the Third Eclipse it visited the All-God’s temple that overlooked the pass and paused there to pay its respect. For three days it lurked in the temple’s hall and then it roared down the mountain, fiery wings spread as it besieged the life giving farms. It swallowed the great library of Aezarus where the sparkling waters of the Angelus River caught its fancy and it chased the cool waters south, burning the Hyden valley and dancing over one of the world’s oldest palaces and paying homage to the oldest surviving monarchy.

With renewed relish it flung itself against the great mountain, chewing its way up the ancient mountain. But the Celadyn mountain range was old, forged by the All-God’s hands and it was firmly in Winter’s grasp. High upon the mountain winter and summer raged, dancing and teasing one another until, high above the Temple of Cel on the eve of the Fourth Eclipse, Winter gave in and retreated to it’s home in the South. Summer took up it’s post and stared back northwards, pleased with the burning lands that lay in it’s wake and uncaring of those humans who sweltered beneath its blanket of heat.


**

Violet eyes darted this way and that, assuring the prince of a moment of privacy before long fingers darted to the stiff collar and tore frantically at the button. It glittered gaily in the scorching sunlight, seeming to tease the poor man as he tore at it. Finally it slipped through the hole and the blue top fell open. Panting the young man pulled it off, baring pale flesh to the unforgiving light. Sweat glimmered on the broad shoulders, promising a few more changes yet to be made before the prince could truly call himself a man.
 
A feathered fan was snatched from the bed stand and the prince fanned himself, breathing a bit easier as he flopped down in a well worn chair.

Weary violet eyes stared back at him from a dark mirror as the prince studied himself. His curly chestnut hair was a mass of tangles and clung to his neck and back. A face still round but also promising a final change before adulthood grimaced and the man rose, tossing the fan aside.

Cursing summer under his breath, Jared si’Hyden jerked open his closet, digging through the blue temple uniforms to find something more suited to the awful stillness. He longed to bathe but it was the season of Octhys and during the holy season bathing was forbidden until after sundown.
So, with a sigh, he found what he desired and dressed quickly, frowning as he tugged on the scarves that fell from the chain about his waist, mimicking great wings. He peered at himself in the mirror, turning and scowling at how much of his legs were bared. Not for the first time he prayed for the All-God to be merciful and let him transition out of childhood faster.

Bells rang out the time and Jared straightened, moving towards the window. Outside was a breathtaking view. The temple was considered the highest point in the world and from his window it seemed like he could see forever. Great trees surrounded the temple, pointing heavenwards as though reminding those that made the temple their home to whom they should be thankful. Beyond them he could just make out the shimmer of green that was his birth-land. The great valley below was obscured by the humid air, seeming to be nothing more then a dream made up of airy vapors.

But it wasn’t this view that took his breath away. That honor was the sole possession of something much closer.
Out in the riding course a golden man used strong thighs to put an irritated horse through its paces. The gray beast stomped and tossed its head angrily, fighting the riding for the right to get out of the hot sun and back into the relative coolness of the shade. The rider rode out the beast’s demands, fighting for every inch as he tried to coax it to his biding.

Hair the color of burnished gold caught the sun and shimmered as the man threw back his head, a large hand brushing the strands back from a face that Jared knew was painfully handsome. The man’s chest and back were bare, and Jared found his mouth dry as he watched the horse lunge, making the man’s back arch.

Jared shuddered, his hand stroking down over his body as he watched. He was still untried in the pleasures of the body but he imagined that the coming together of two men was much the same. His eyes half shut and he shuddered again, imagining the man above him, forcing a much different creature to his hand.

Groaning he sank back in a chair to his left, bracing a leg against the wall as he watched the rider. His hand slipped down between his legs and he murmured to himself in pleasure as his fingers brushed the stirring flesh there. His head slid back a bit more but he kept the rider in sight as he stroked the backs of his knuckles over his flesh. He did it slowly but firmly, remembering how the rider stroked whatever beast had caught his fancy. Many times he had stood off to the side, watching the strong hands stroke over the proud curve of a horse’s neck, claming it and getting it used to his touch.

Absently he reached up, stroking a hand down the side of his neck, shivering as his fingertips glided down over his chest, making his skin tingle as his hand passed. His eyes half closed and he shivered again as the golden haired rider leaned over his mount’s back, probably whispering something to the angry beast.

Jared conjured up the sound of the man’s voice, gasping softly as he imagined nonsense words being whispered into his ear. He stroked his hand over his neck again, groaning as he imagined the feel of another pressing against his back. He cupped his hand against his neck, his head falling forward as he panted softly, the flesh between his legs demanding and receiving a firmer touch.

“There now, that’s it. You see? Nothing to fear. Nothing to fight.”

He shivered. How many times had he heard the rider tell that to his chosen mounts? How many times had he watched, wide eyed as the other stroked his mounts to complacency?

He leaned forward, violet eyes seeking out the one below. He imagined arms about him, stroking his trembling sides, pushing his legs apart into the proper stance.

“Good, good. Just like that.”

His hand tightened about his swelling cock, tugging it firmly, pulling himself by it until he was on the edge of the chair, his hips cocked back. He whined softly and imagined hands running over the back of his neck and his sides, that beloved voice whispering nothings to him until he calmed.
More. He wanted more now. He trembled, imagining tossing his head and peering back at his companion. He imagined the soft laugh and the feeling of weight settling on his back, making him groan in pleasure. His hand slipped under the flimsy cloth of his shirt, brushing over his nipples, making them tighten. Biting his lip he plucked at them, pulling them roughly.

He gasped and bucked, pushing his cock into his hand with more force then before. He imagined his companion tightening about him, keeping his place and reminding him who was in control. His hand tightening about his cock and he threw back his head, panting as he thrust against the constricting hold. Still he held himself firm, making his hips still until he trembled with the effort.

Though he himself had never experienced it he had seen enough of his fellow students together in dark halls to know what came next. He imagined his more worldly companion parting his legs further, pushing him open. His cock lurched as he imagined being pushed into, feeling himself fill with his lover’s desire.

“Good boy. That’s such a good boy.” He didn’t need to imagine those words. He had heard the golden haired rider use them nearly every day. It was what he always said when he had successfully mounted. He had heard the words so often his ears practically rung with the realness of it as he dredged up the mere memory of those words.

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he loosened the hold he had on himself. His companion never let his mount just burst out of the stable like some of the others and Jared recreated that, forcing himself to thrust slowly into his hand. His muscles strained and he began to sweat with the effort to go slow. He longed to rush headlong into the pleasure of the run, to buck and writhe and find his own pace but he forced himself to go slow, to build the momentum. That was what Kalo demanded from the mounts he rode and Jared imagined he would no more be allowed to set his own pace then the grey beast that was slowly giving up its battle with the golden haired rider.

He licked his lips, thrusting more firmly into his hand, imagining the coaxing words of his lover as he rode him, forcing him closer and closer to the peak. He pulled and twisted viciously at his nipples, palming his weeping cock as he needed to slid easier through his grip.

Too soon he felt the building pressure in his stomach. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the window sill and pressing his eyes closed, falling completely into his imagination. He felt Kalo’s hands gripping his sides firmly, forcing him to move as he desired. He felt the hot breath on the back of his neck as Kalo lowed himself, bring them together as he thrust as fast as he could.

“Faster. Faster now. Do as I say.”

He threw back his head and gasped as he felt the sting of a crop against his thigh, punishing him for not listening, encouraging him to push himself beyond his limits. He imagined another strike and another. He tried to twist away from the stinging but Kalo held him firm. He imagined he felt the crop slid beneath his hips, pushing up against his flushed cock and pressing it tightly against his heaving stomach.

He bit back a scream and thrust wildly, his cock pressed against his stomach by his hand exploding against his abdomen.
Gasping for breath he collapsed against the window sill, peeling open his eyes to watch as Kalo turned the grey horse back towards the stables.

**

The sound of the door opening sent him scampering around the side of the bed, peering around the post to see who had dared his sanctuary. For a moment he felt panic flood through him for he had forgotten to check himself in the mirror when he had cleaned up. Was his pale flesh still flushed? Would it give him away?

A painfully handsome face peered around the heavy wooden door, warm brown eyes searching the room for its occupant. When Kalo gave no sign of knowing what had occurred in his absence Jared sighed in relief and stepped away from his hiding place, ignoring the deep chuckle that followed in his wake.

“Shut up.” He grumbled, sliding the equally revealing top on and tugging on the three scarves that draped down from the center jewel until they lay properly.

“Why, my prince, you wound me. It does my heart good to see you honor our people.”

The prince in question shrugged. “It’s too damn hot to wear the temple robes today. I thought I would pass out in worship this morning.”

White teeth flashed as his companion grinned, and Jared relished in the tightening he felt in his core. He had long ago stopped trying to deny his attraction to Kalo. Kalo, who was perfect in any way, simply couldn’t be ignored. He knew he wasn’t the only one to feel this way. The golden haired Hydian had quite the following at the temple. Though they were only two years apart, Kalo had matured quickly, shedding his baby fat for a rougish quality that Jared could only envy. He hoped he would one day follow in his distant cousin’s steps, had even sacrilegiously prayed for it, but he knew he never would. He would take after his uncle, a man he only vaguely remembered but one who was delicate of features.

“What troubles you, my prince?”

Jared shook himself, forcing a smile at his companion. “Nothing, Kalo. And stop calling me that, you know I don’t like it.”

Kalo’s laugh was a joyous thing and it sent shivers down Jared’s spine. The taller man strode towards him, dropping an arm about his shoulders. “Ah come now, you should be grateful for what you have been born to.”

Jared snorted and pulled away, tugging irritably at his hair. “Born to what, Kalo? To be a spare heir, to be a temple gift so that the All-God’s priests would stop harassing my father? Forgive me for not being so grateful.” He sighed in disgust and strode to the open window, the warm stone cutting into his forearms as he leaned against it, staring irritably at the world stretched out before him.

He heard water trickle into a bowl a moment before hands lifted the heavy fall of hair from his shoulders. He gasped softly as a cool wet rag was placed on the back of his neck. Shudders wracked through him and he groaned, burying his face in his arms. He felt his hair being brushed up and secured into a high tail, getting it off of his skin.

For a long while he stood like that, feeling the sun bake down upon his shoulders. He heard Kalo moving about but was too weary to even wonder at his companion’s doings. When the rag had dried and the sun was beginning to burn he picked up his head, turning his back upon the world. He blinked in surprise to find that Kalo too had changed.

And immediately decided that it should be illegal for his companion to go out in public in their people’s clothes.
A thick golden band curved low over Kalo’s waist, with a piece of linen covered in delicate golden chain mesh layer affixed to it. As befitting a noble, the material was split into threes, giving layers that covered but fluttered freely behind as the man moved about the room. Kalo’s back was bare but for the clothe that swept up from under his arms -to affix to the golden band about his neck.

Jared must have made some noise for his companion turned towards him, and Jared found his eyes drawn to the trio of small rubies in the center of the golden coin from which the clothe fanned out. From here the logical path for the eyes to follow was the gauzy clothe under which Jared was able to admire Kalo’s broad chest and strong stomach.

“How was your ride?” He asked, hoping his voice wasn’t as breathy as it seemed.

Kalo shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Not much sport, I’m afraid. It’s too hot for anyone to want to do anything.”

Realizing he was staring, Jared tore his eyes away from his companion’s body and stalked to the inner study. He laughed at Kalo’s groan as he drug up an ancient book. “Now, now Kalo, we have a duty to our people to learn all we can.”

Kalo leaned against the door, turning his nose up at the very thought. “I know all I need.” He declared impetuously. “Let us talk of more important things.”

“What could be more important then the creation of the world, the creation of our very selves?” Jared inquired.

“Your father has summoned you home.”

Silence dropped over the room as Jared stared dumbly at his companion. It was such an unexpected announcement that he couldn’t even process it at first. When his companion’s words finally registered he was sure he had heard wrong. But Kalo’s face was uncharacteristically serious and he knew Kalo did not jest.

“How do you know this?” He demanded.

Kalo folded his hands behind his back, looking somewhat sheepish. “I overheard Father Florin mention it to Professor Becail.”

Jared glanced at his companion in disbelief. “That’s quite a coincidence . . .”

A soft laugh met his stern gaze and Kalo reached up, carding a hair through his golden mane. “You’re right. My father wrote to me and told me. Apparently something has happened back home. Something he probably shouldn’t know about it. He warned me you were going to be sent for and told me to keep my mouth shut about it but . . .” Kalo’s eyes softened and Jared couldn’t help a soft smile as Kalo reached out and placed a hand on his head, “I didn’t want them to spring it on you.”

“Thank you.” He murmured as Kalo pulled away.

“Don’t tell your father I told you. Like I said, I don’t think my father was supposed to know anything.” Kalo warned.
Jared nodded in agreement before rising and pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. How long had it been since he’d been home? So long that his memories of being among his people were no more strong then a faded dream. One that was revisited often but with each revisiting became more and more surreal.

“Talk to me, Jared. Why do you pace as though I have told you that you are being sent to you death?”

Jared glanced up, forcing a smile for his companion. “It is not so dark in my thoughts, Kalo. It’s just . . . unexpected. I don’t understand it.”

Kalo shrugged and came to him, putting his hands upon his shoulders. “Isn’t this what you want, Jared? To go home and see your family?”

Jared grimaced. “You do not know my family.”

Bells rang and Kalo’s head cocked. “Time for my lessons.”

Jared tugged on the orange scarves. “You can’t go in that.”

White teeth flashed as Kalo grinned. “Shall we wager on that?”

**

There were wings in the night sky.

The old man, the closest thing the great mountains had a ruler, stood at the top of the world, and waited. The blue robes danced about his ankles, the moonlight shining off of carefully stitched signals marking him as one of the All-God’s own. Beneath his feet the world slept, the ancient stone temple protecting commoner and royals alike as they tossed in their beds.

There was no guard to protect the temple for, indeed, no human could protect the temple from the only things that would dare to attack it.

In a few minutes the midnight prayer would begin and he could hear the movement of his brothers and sisters who specialized in it. If any of his wards would attend the mass to whisper their sins in the dark night he didn’t know, but he doubted it. They were young, many from wealthy families. They did not believe their sins so great that they could not wait until morning to whisper them to the All-God.

The night stirred and this time he was sure it was no natural wind that came to him. It smelled of feathers and other things, things not of the human’s world. His eyes focused skywards, searching the starry night for the disturbance. High above the moon sailed over the constellations, bathing the world in soft light.

He felt the creature come, felt it pause and study him. A faint smile ghosted over his face as he felt its annoyance.

“You are welcome here.” He murmured, knowing the creature would hear his words. “We have been looking for you.”

He heard a derisive snort and the thunder of the great wings as they passed overhead. “Look harder.” Came the sneering reply.

“Your people want you to come home.” He pressed, folding his arms into the wide sleeves of the robe. “There is a place where you belong. A duty to perform.”

Laughter rained down on him and in his moon shadow he saw great wings unfold, dwarfing his own shadow and blocking him from the light as the creature perched upon the bell tower behind him.

“I belong where I choose. I go where I choose. I do what I choose. It was what I was made for. It is my purpose, my . . . duty.”

“Go home, Tabris. Go back to your people. There is no place for you here. This is our world. So it was decreed. You dare to question the All-God.” He didn’t make the last a question.

“I do not question, I simply . . . ignore. Is that so shocking, Savir?”

Before he could answer the creature suddenly straightened. Great wings spread and then the High Priest flinched as he buffeted by wind. They drove him towards the edge, towards a drop that would undoubtedly kill him but he felt no fear. This was not the first time he had dealt with Tabris, it would not be the last. It was not by Tabris’s hand he would leave this world and greet the All-God before rejoining the All. He glanced up just in time to see white wings wink in the faint light and then the creature was gone.

For a long time it was quiet again but Savir was not fooled. Tabris came for a reason and his desires were not to simply to engage in meaningless taunting with a human at the end of his life.

Minutes passed and then the sound of wings returned. This time, though, there was no unearthly scent and he turned to watch the approach of this new visitor. Wings that were not the unearthly white of his previous visitor still shone against the dark sky as the creature darted down, feet striking the worn stone as the large form shifted its balance, going from creature of the sky to creature of the earth.

Savir watched the man approach, a hand absently brushing through gray hair that had been tangled in the wind. He raised an eyebrow at the strangely designed clothing the man wore but held his tongue, knowing that the denizens of the valley were fiercely proud of their style. Despite its strange flourishes it was obviously a uniform and he bowed his head in respect.

The man stood before him, white wings folding behind his back. The serious face tilted up, sniffing. Savir stood silently, waiting. Eyes, so pale of blue that he thought he could feel the winter within them narrowed a moment, studying him. The moment passed and then he received a slight bow, which he suspected was more out of habit and then any real respect for his possession.

“I have come to check on the boy.”

Savir laughed. “He is well. I hear his father is asking for his return.”

Feathers shifted as the man nodded. “So I have heard too.”

Savir paused, considering his next words. “There are whispers from the valley that something has happened.”

The man shrugged. “Something has happened. For good or ill has yet to be seen.”

His interest perked Savir motioned. “Come inside, we have much to speak about.”

***

If you enjoyed this chapter, great! I'm pleased to announce that SL Publishing has picked this novel up for their online archive. You can read the rewrite at www.slpublishinggroup.com