A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion Read online

  Still grinning, Ryanac walked out of the room, taking the door opposite to the exit Kilan had taken. Antal stood there for a moment, shaking his head. Take some time off. Easier said than done. What was the point? Take a week off, and the week you returned to your duties you just had twice as much work awaiting you and twice the stress. Besides, what use could such an old custom be to him? The ritual was ridiculous, and even if Ryanac hadn’t been suggesting he actually perform it, even reading up on the old ways was so utterly, utterly… Antal ran out of ways to complain. Ryanac just couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t be.

  One thing Antal could be certain of: having made his fears known to Ryanac, the man wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d give him time, but eventually the day would arrive when Ryanac would approach him to inquire how he was doing. He couldn’t afford the distraction, not even in a time of peace. His men often made a subdivision of Ryanac’s troop, those who guarded Markis. There would be times when Markis needed to go out into the world on diplomatic duties, and he’d take Uly with him. Antal and his men had to be ready for anything. It didn’t matter if they faced danger or general duties; the men under his command equally deserved someone interested in their lives and their fate. Lately Antal hadn’t felt interested in anything. Not only did he feel disconnected from his body, he felt disconnected from the men and his life. He hadn’t told Ryanac that, but he had enough sense to know he didn’t need to. He cast his thoughts back over their conversation, taking in Ryanac’s expressions and gestures.

  “Damn,” Antal whispered softly. If Ryanac told him to read up on the ritual, then he had a reason, and there was no avoiding it. Eventually, one way or another, Ryanac would make certain he read it. He might as well locate a copy and be done with it.

  * * *

  Having left the room, Kilan had climbed onto the ornate column to one side of the door. Leave? He wouldn’t have left even if he weren’t a prince. Telling him what to do almost guaranteed he’d do the opposite; he’d been like that since he was a boy. He did what he liked; it was why he hadn’t got along well with his father.

  Even as he had those thoughts, he accepted they weren’t entirely true. He mostly did what he liked, but if Markis told him to do something, he trusted his brother’s judgment in a way he had never trusted his father’s -- and with good cause, as it turned out.

  His reasons for being defiant in this instance were ambiguous. Even though he was unsure of his motives, he was always willing to go where his curiosity led. Lately he’d felt very curious about Antal’s moody disposition. Antal never behaved in a moody fashion. He was usually so seemingly carefree, always smiling, often laughing. People were drawn to Antal. Kilan had been subject to Antal’s allure often enough to know that the prince missed it. Lately Antal’s smile looked strained, appeared almost as an afterthought as if the guard remembered he should be smiling. He missed the happy, laughing young man so much that he had to know what ailed him so. He wanted to know what could wipe the smile off Antal’s face so readily, and he wouldn’t at all mind finding out what might put it back in its place. There were ways to make someone smile, or laugh, giggle, even sigh; the hard part was figuring out which of those things applied and which of them, if any, would get through Antal’s defenses and best matched Kilan’s overimaginative fantasies.

  He lay precariously balanced across the top of the doorframe. If he relaxed his muscles by a breath, he could well fall from his perch. Even now, his limbs started to shake; a deep trembling took up residence in his arms and legs, a tremor that threatened to undo him. Kilan held his breath as Antal passed beneath. When the young man paused, Kilan believed Antal sensed his presence. If Ryanac had left by this doorway, Kilan was certain the large man would have paused, just as Antal did now, and then suddenly turned that grin up to look at him. He’d be well and truly caught. However, Antal wasn’t Ryanac. He was good at his job, but no one had Ryanac’s instincts. Even so, there was every chance that in a moment Antal would detect him. To Kilan’s dismay, the idea excited him. He grew hard on the instant, which only added to his discomfort. He didn’t know what thrilled him more: the thought of wrongdoing or someone -- particularly Antal -- catching him at it. Unsure why, he could only imagine too many resulting scenarios to have a hope of deciding on one. As excited as he felt, given the choice he’d rather put such a revelation off until another day, preferring Antal catch him doing something else in some other way.

  Why Kilan wanted Antal to catch him in any wrongdoing at all was a question for thought. Usually so self-possessed, the idea of Antal losing his composure and turning all that skilled and tightly controlled wrath in his direction… Well, it did strange things to Kilan’s anatomy and emotions. He was too uncomfortable to dissect his feelings now, not that he overly worried about self-analysis. He had reasons for doing things, or he wouldn’t do them. Why analyze that?

  Just as Kilan began to think he couldn’t stand the burning sensation in his limbs a moment longer, Antal glanced back the way he had come. Then, facing forward once again, he walked away. Kilan watched the play of light glinting off Antal’s long auburn hair as his braid swayed with the movement, and then as soon as he was out of sight, Kilan swung down from his perch. Letting out a breath, he whispered, “Lucky for me.” Antal was most definitely distracted; given his training, he should have sensed someone so close by. Kilan rubbed at his cock, satisfied when it deflated. He didn’t want to walk around with that inconvenience, not when he couldn’t make use of it.

  A sudden crawling sensation at the back of his neck made Kilan turn toward the doorway. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw that Ryanac’s bulk filled the entrance.

  “Ah…crap,” Kilan murmured. He could only hope Ryanac hadn’t realized he’d been groping himself. He flinched as one of Ryanac’s large hands reached out to grab him by the nape. The big man’s grip hurt.

  “Do you understand the concept of privacy?” Ryanac asked as he propelled Kilan into the room.

  Strange thing to ask a prince. People were always denying him privacy. People like Antal were always ordering him around or reminding him of duty. Maybe that’s why the thought of getting up in Antal’s face was so attractive. How could Kilan forget his duty when others referred to it twenty times a day? Oh not his brother and not Ryanac: they only need remind him of his princely position with a look. Markis was a difficult icon to match.

  Kilan bemoaned his lot in life. Princely position! What about some princely pleasure? He was too young for this. He wanted some fun. He wanted something -- something he couldn’t put a name to, but he longed for it nonetheless. As they walked, the fingers digging into Kilan’s neck tightened, and the young prince couldn’t help writhing. At least the pain distracted him from such irritating thoughts.

  “Fine. Fine. I’m sorry!” Despite his apology, Ryanac didn’t let up. “Ow! Let go.” Kilan could stand it no longer. The only thing he could imagine more painful would be Ryanac pressing down on his collarbone. He reached back with one hand and wrapped his fingers around Ryanac’s wrist, but he might as well have saved himself the effort. The man’s grip was relentless, immovable. “You ca --” Kilan snapped his mouth shut, almost biting his tongue, unwilling to finish that sentence in spite of the pain.

  Ryanac stopped walking. He turned Kilan with the very hand that gripped his neck. He shook Kilan by the nape. Ryanac leaned forward, bringing their heads together. Kilan glared at Ryanac as best he could from an awkward angle.

  “Were you about to tell me I can’t? Can’t what? Chastise an impudent child?”

  Just as Antal had done, Kilan protested. “I’m not a child.”

  “You’re a whelp!” Ryanac’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t care what age you are. I don’t care if you’re a prince. I don’t care that you’re Markis’s brother. In fact, that makes it worse in my eyes. And I don’t care about that stupid power or that Markis is teaching you control of it.”

  Kilan almost let loose with a curse. A swear word hovered on his lips,
and he had to choke it back. It usually took many years to gain control of the comet, but something strange had happened in recent months. Markis had gained full control, and the abyss -- the strange place where the power seemed to take their consciousness at times -- had changed. Markis believed he could teach Kilan by a much simpler method than anyone had ever previously tried, by joining him in the abyss and showing Kilan the true depth of the power. That demonstration meant Kilan facing the source almost as if he turned his gaze on a physical being or object. Alas, Markis had decided that Kilan wasn’t quite ready, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Markis would have discussed the prospect with Ryanac. The least they could do was include him in such discussions. Kilan was an adult. Markis should let him grow up. Of all people, his brother should understand. He wanted to make his own mistakes. Kilan let all the frustration and anger of having to wait rise up in him. The moment his anger reached its peak, the rage dissipated. Mistakes made by someone in his position affected others. He understood that too well. He slumped in Ryanac’s grasp.

  A small frown creased the big man’s brow, and then Ryanac let go. Kilan practically fell onto a seat as with one hand he tried to massage some feeling back into his neck. Ryanac sat down beside him. Kilan, feeling churlish, wanted to shift along the bench away from him. He managed to sit still.

  “Why so angry?” Ryanac asked. When Kilan blinked at him in surprise, the big man laughed gently. “I saw it in your face. I also saw it pass. I’ve caught your transgressions before, but you’ve never responded in anger.”

  With Ryanac, there was no use lying. “I felt annoyed with you treating me as though I’m still a child. I know you must have something to do with Markis’s decision to slow down my training.”

  Silence made the atmosphere in the room feel oppressive. Finally, Ryanac spoke. “You’re no child. You’re a young man, old enough to wed, to have children, to rule if need be. Just be grateful you don’t have to do that. Be grateful Markis is king. Be thankful that Markis has decided not to rush things. I know only too well what Markis went through in training.”

  Kilan hesitated and then nodded. He knew some of it. What he didn’t know, he could deduce from the sorrow in Ryanac’s voice.

  “You’ll learn soon enough and through better methods than anyone in our history. Don’t be so eager. Do you truly want to control such a power so quickly?”

  Kilan grimaced. “When you say it like that, no.” He swallowed. “I’m no fool. I realize that having all that power thrust on me in one go, well, it could…” He stumbled over his words. It could quite conceivably destroy him, and it might not even be in a noticeable way. It didn’t have to happen like an eruption. It could happen slowly.

  “Power is disruptive. It’s contaminating.”

  “I understand that.” He looked at Ryanac, flinching when the man reached out with one of those large hands. Unexpectedly, this time the man’s grasp felt gentle, those large fingers rubbing the circulation back into Kilan’s neck. Feeling a need to explain, Kilan said, “I’ll do the best I can. I just get…frustrated. I want to be ready in case Markis needs me.”

  “And the temptation to play with the power has never crossed your mind, of course.”

  Kilan looked away as he grinned. Play with the power? No, of course not. He’d never do that. Never!

  “I think…” Ryanac stood, paused, and then looked down at Kilan. “I think you’ll be ready to handle the power when you can resist spying into other people’s private business.”

  What some called spying, Kilan called reconnaissance.

  “I thought you liked me,” Kilan muttered, unable to keep quiet even when he knew it was good for him. The childish complaint almost made him wince. What possessed him to say such a thing? Here he was protesting he was a grown-up while sounding so juvenile. He could tell Ryanac thought the same thing.

  “If I didn’t like you, where do you think you’d be now?”

  Kilan blinked once, twice. “Hauled in front of Markis…or worse.” He couldn’t think of what might be worse, but Ryanac could undoubtedly dream up something.

  “Leave. Antal. Alone.”

  The way Ryanac spoke left Kilan with no doubts over his fate should he ignore the warning. He watched Ryanac cross the room to the far door. Before he disappeared, Kilan called after him. “Of course, you’ve never done anything like that! You’ve never poked your nose in where it wasn’t wanted!”

  Ryanac didn’t bother to turn around, but the big man’s chuckle rolled around the room.

  Chapter Two

  Staring furtively out from beneath his brow, Antal cast his gaze in a wide sweep around the room. He’d deliberately chosen the most unpopular time of day, so the library was far from busy. Despite that, he’d picked a seat in a quiet corner and checked that there were no close acquaintances in the area before he sat down.

  Shifting through his selection of books, he moved a couple of particularly heavy and thick volumes to one side, effectively hiding the book he was about to open. He would have preferred taking the book home, but to do so he’d have to check it out, and he didn’t want anyone to know his choice of reading material.

  Choice! That was a joke. He couldn’t believe he was taking Ryanac at his word. Still, what harm could it do? He understood the psychological theory behind ritual and the reason why cultures each had their own. In that, the Swithin were no different. As a race, they celebrated birthdays, weddings, gave thanks for what they had. One belief persisted: ritual could strengthen bonds, was a public statement of affection or support. It was a shift, a passage from one state of being to the next.

  Antal knew very little concerning the rite of liminality, but he learned in the very first sentences of the book that the ritual intended to help a participant achieve peace, to accept that one changed as one grew. A person might go through many different forms, usually emotionally but sometimes physically. The last was especially true for women, most likely why it had once developed into something for females to do. Then, as the Swithin became a more enlightened race, the ceremony died out altogether.

  “A sensory threshold,” Antal read, whispered, as if saying the words aloud would enlighten him. Confusion tightened his brow. He stared at the table for a while, sensing he was on the edge of understanding, and then shook his head. Glancing around and seeing the library remained relatively empty, he turned the page.

  According to the book, liminal beings stood at the threshold of a physiological or psychological response. “Response to what?” Antal frowned at the page as though it would miraculously offer up the answer. There were many states of being liminal, from suffering injury to not having decided on one’s sexuality. The first Antal identified with. He knew what it felt like to draw on the limits of your patience waiting for your body to heal. Moving from that state of injury to one of health wasn’t something wishing alone could hurry. As for his sexuality, the Swithin took lovers of either sex readily. The selection of a long-term partner usually depended on whom one fell in love with. Most marriages were monogamous; enough instances of three or more people marrying made such relationships normal in their culture, although marriages of more than three were exceedingly rare. He was young enough to have fun right now and not have to worry about falling in love, let alone marrying. He certainly preferred women, but he never worried about making a decision. Was love ever a choice? He believed you fell in love or you didn’t. You couldn’t force such emotions.

  As he continued to read, he could see how, gradually, the ritual had pertained to women more than men. Females were liminal during their first bleed, changing from girls into women. They were liminal during pregnancy. As to the ritual itself…

  “What are you reading?”

  It took all Antal’s resolve not to snatch the book to his chest and cradle it. He only hoped Kilan wouldn’t look at the title. Swallowing all signs of his irritation, he tried to appear as though the book were unimportant even as he replied, “Nothing that would interest you
.”

  “Truly?” Kilan’s voice rose a little on the end, giving his word a lilt.

  “No pictures,” Antal said. Kilan’s eyes widened in mockery at the implied insult. The expression illuminated his face, making him appear more mischievous. Despite his exasperation, the shared moment of hilarity tugged Antal’s lips to one side. He did his utmost to fight the smile; it was always best not to encourage Kilan. He grasped desperately at what remained of his irritation when Kilan’s lips stretched, suggesting he might grin. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  “Better than annoying you? Hardly.” Kilan picked up one of the thick books, reading the title on the side silently but moving his lips to form the words.

  “I knew it,” Antal remarked. “I always knew you couldn’t read without moving your lips.” Kilan looked at him.

  “There are much better things I can do with my lips,” Kilan said, causing Antal to blink. Was Kilan flirting with him? He couldn’t be; despite the appreciative looks Kilan often cast his way, as far as he knew, the young prince much preferred women. He received evidence of this a moment later when Kilan turned his head. Antal followed the other man’s gaze across the room to a couple of young females. A moment later, Kilan’s admiring expression cleared. He picked up another book, once again reading the title, but this time without forming the words.

  “This is all stuffy.”

  The books were rather boring, but of the type a young guard might read in training and nothing that would raise an eyebrow. “I thought that some of the men could do with some acquired reading. I was just researching --”