Family of Lies: Sebastian (15 page)

Sebastian turned his hood toward the earl, knowing how eerie he looked. “Forgive me, Earl Grenwish, I was attending my sister, Ophelia. I wrongly assumed that men of your stature understood familial obligations.” He spread his hands across the whole group and said cheerfully, “But don’t worry,
lords
.” Sebastian let the full rasp of his voice tinge the last word. “You’ll receive your inheritance and lands regardless of your ability to rule or any proof that you understand the word
responsibility
.”

“Is there a problem?”

Sebastian stared straight ahead and didn’t acknowledge Prince Turren’s presence while the other men bowed.

Earl Grenwish’s cheeks bloomed red with rage. “How dare—” He was cut off by Prince Turren raising his hand.

“Sebastian doesn’t answer to you, and if I find his behavior unacceptable, I will address it myself.” Prince Turren placed a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “He is my hero and we feast in his honor. Isn’t that right, Sir Orwell?”

Prince Turren was everything young royalty should be down to the silver medallion around his neck that Sebastian wanted to choke him with.
I do not need to be saved!
Sebastian let awkward silence take over until the third remark in his head sounded less harmful to his freedom. First he had to get that damn hand off his shoulder. “Prince Turren… your hand.” There, he said it without spitting the words out.

“Ah, how forward of me.” Turren unabashedly dropped it after a brief squeeze. “Would you care for another goblet of wine?” White teeth filled Sebastian’s vision as Turren placed himself between Sebastian and the others.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked.

“I want to ensure that no fights break out during the ball. Your words can be inflammatory, and not in such a good way to others,” Prince Turren explained.

“I would never lay a finger on your rescuer, Prince Turren. Please consider him safe no matter how heated our words.” Earl Grenwish bowed again.

The earl’s words caught Sebastian off guard, and he laughed from the depths of his belly. Many guests stopped dancing to watch, but that only made Sebastian laugh harder.

“Um, Sebastian?” Prince Turren asked, his face a comical blend of concern and wonder. “Are you all right?”

Sebastian inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said while exhaling. “I’m safe whether our encounter is words… or otherwise.” He chuckled again. “It’ll be a cold day in Ohtil before a pampered group of play soldiers lay a finger on me without bleeding first.” For a moment Earl Grenwish looked as if he dearly wished he could take his oath back. Under his hood, Sebastian smiled wickedly. He patted Prince Turren on the back harder than required and watched as the men squawked their outrage. Prince Turren’s brighter smile almost made him regret his action. He jerked his hand away, but Turren caught it.

“Turren, Sebastian.” Everyone, including Sebastian, bowed for King Harris. “I’m happy I found you two together. There aren’t enough dancers, and I was hoping Turren and his guest of honor could remedy that.”

“I’m not a very good dancer, and I think my mother is calling for me,” Sebastian lied.

“I just spoke with her. She thought if you didn’t feel comfortable, then Turren could teach you. He owes you his life. Surely a dance lesson is within his power to give,” King Harris suggested.

“Yes, I could teach him all night if I must!” Prince Turren exclaimed. Earl Grenwish raised his brow but wisely stayed silent.

“Prince Turren is too important to spend all his time with me.”

“But you’re so delighted with his company that you can’t keep your hands off him.” King Harris’s grin became predatory, and Sebastian knew he was trapped. “I was young once too. Now off with you lads.” King Harris allowed no room for escape as he placed Turren’s hand on Sebastian’s wrist and pushed them toward the crowd of dancers.

“T
HIS
IS
your fault for antagonizing Grenwish,” Prince Turren said as he kept Sebastian at a respectable distance.

“I was calm until you decided to put your nose where it didn’t belong. And stop twirling me!” Sebastian said as Turren spun him for the third time.

“I can’t help myself. You rarely give me an opportunity to hold you.”

“The reason why no longer eludes me.” The music slowed, and Sebastian gave a warning shake of his head when Prince Turren placed a hand on his hip.

Prince Turren shrugged. “You’re a fine dancer, Bastian. Your cloak is the only thing that makes you stand out. Would you consider removing it if you were under my protection?”

“It’s complicated,” Sebastian bit out. Turren’s hand slid out of his fingers and pulled on his arm to prevent attempts at escape. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I can be simple, but I’m not a fool. If it were easy, I would know more than the color of your eyes. I’m asking, could you remove it if you were under the future king’s protection?” Turren lowered his lips close to Sebastian’s ear. It tingled under the cowl from his breath. “As Prince Consort Sebastian.”

Sebastian didn’t want to answer because he hadn’t decided if Turren’s courtship was the genuine interest of a man or misguided admiration that had failed to dispel after childhood. Either way, it was hard to think with a hand cradling the middle of his back and Turren’s chest flush with his own.
Wait a….
“When did you get this close?” Sebastian tried to squirm out of Turren’s grasp, but their close proximity made it hard to accomplish. “Damn you, let me go!” he hissed.

“Shush. The others are enjoying our dance, and you should do the same,” Turren advised while pressing Sebastian tighter against him, but having the decency to keep the smallest fraction of air between their lower extremities.

Sebastian frowned and surveyed the rest of the room that had fallen still and given the prince the illusion of privacy on the floor. Sebastian was accustomed to dislike, disgust, pity, but not the emotion that schooled the well-bred lords’ and ladies’ faces into tight smiles: envy. Sebastian sighed and lowered his head onto Turren’s shoulder. “You’re going to get me killed,” he said when his eyes fell upon the only true smile in the hall, which, while beautiful, was the most terrifying omen of them all: his mother’s.

S
EBASTIAN
DIDN
’
T
knock away the knee that rested against his own while he and Turren sorted through magical tomes and artifacts. “They let you stroll out of Anerith with this much treasure?”

“Arguments over their ownership started to flare. They couldn’t afford another civil war.” Turren placed his hand gently on Sebastian’s knee and paused when Sebastian faced him. “There is a strange mood about you today. You’re not annoyed with me, but you’re also not closer. Why?”

Sebastian tapped his fingers on his book, but he didn’t lower his eyes from the sapphire gaze. “I think I’m being cruel to you.”

Turren closed the book on his lap. “Mean, brusque, but not cruel.”

“I’m not talking about my behavior in general, though I will admit being more confrontational than necessary. No, I’m being cruel because I’m giving you false hope.”

“They may not be as strong as mine, but I know you have feelings for me too.”

“That’s not enough.”

“It’s a small thing to you, Bastian, but it means as much to me as Larnlyon does.” Determination shined in his dark blue eyes. “My family will not interfere, and I don’t care that you’re not a lord or first in your line. Tell me the curse which ails you and I will fix it.”

Sebastian pulled away and scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t like you playing knight when we were kids, and I don’t like it now.”

Turren stood up with more grace than Sebastian and crossed his arms. “Whatever you say, I will not withdraw my courtship.”

“Friendship or nothing,” Sebastian demanded and twisted away when Turren grabbed his shoulder. “I will ride home today, assassins or no assassins if your answer is anything other than friendship.” Sebastian watched Turren drop his hand to his side. “I want your answer soon, Prince Turren. Don’t you care about my well-being?”

Turren bowed and reached for Sebastian’s hand. “I swear upon my future crown that I shall obey your request until you deem me worthy of being more than an ally and strong enough to be your husband.” He straightened. “Are you satisfied?”

Sebastian sighed. “Adequate, but using your father’s or Captain Pembrost’s authority to find out ‘my curse’ is cheating.”

Turren tilted his head. “Agreed, as long as you don’t deny me the right to find out what ails my friend.”

“Agreed.” Turren didn’t release Sebastian’s hand after they shook on their promise. “You can let go of me.” Sebastian removed his hand forcefully. He rubbed it down his cloak so he could forget Turren’s touch and walked toward the door. “I need a break, and I’ll return in an hour.” He escaped into the hallway, where he nearly collided with a servant carrying their meals. “Sorry. I’ll take my plate and goblet from your hands. I’m going to eat in my room.” Sebastian took his share from the man, and a hint of sweet Mena ivy tickled his nose. The scent grew stronger as he lifted the cup.

Sebastian looked at the servant and dropped to the floor just as a blade sank into the door where his head used to be. He yanked on his assailant’s pants as hard as he could and scuttled on all fours backward while the other man tried to pull his pants up. Sebastian opened his mouth to yell, but the assassin lunged at him with a second knife. Sebastian dodged it just as the door jerked open. Turren stood in the doorway with his sword at the ready. He stalked to their attacker, but the man shouted a spell that threw the prince onto his back. Boots could be heard down the hall, and the man turned to flee.

Not a chance in hell, bastard.
Sebastian whispered to a wooden table in the man’s path, and a vine snatched the assassin off his feet as he passed by. The assassin lay prone on the floor, and blood pooled across the marble.

“That was Anerithian magic he shouted at me,” Turren said as he got to his feet and castle guards descended on the hallway.

“There was another attack near the main library,” Captain Pembrost said as he joined them. He moved Prince Turren and Sebastian to a wall for privacy. “They tried to take one of the books, but I was nearby and stopped the theft. What happened here?”

Turren tightened his fingers on his sword. “I saw the knife go through the door and ran to Sebastian’s aid. I tried to open the door, but the knife warded it shut.”

“Then he came bumbling out into the middle of it and almost got himself killed,” Sebastian said.

“I was ready. I made my own ward before I finally got the door opened or that spell would have done more than knock me down,” Turren said.

“I just don’t see how he tripped and fell on his knife,” Captain Pembrost said after glancing at the body.

“It was a fortunate turn of events, Captain. You should take it as a blessing that Prince Turren was uninjured,” Sebastian said, hoping Captain Pembrost would stop contemplating the assassin’s strange death.

“A blessing….” Captain Pembrost squinted at the assassin’s leg. “And perhaps intervention,” he muttered.

Sebastian followed the captain’s gaze and spied a piece of twig twisted around an ankle.

Turren turned to the body and frowned. “What do the two of you see?”

“Nothing. Captain Pembrost is being annoyingly efficient.” Sebastian gave the body a final look, knowing he had no choice in his action, and dismissed any guilt from his mind. “This excitement is tiresome, so—”

“Let me through! If my son is harmed!” Lord Orwell’s voice carried over to Sebastian.

“Both of our sons are unharmed. There is no need to make a spectacle of yourself,” King Harris berated Lord Orwell.

The three of them raised their heads to find Lord Orwell and King Harris standing next to each other.

“I should have moved faster.” Sebastian groaned.

“Sebastian!” Lord Orwell glared at King Harris when the guards blocked their path.

“Captain Pembrost,” King Harris said.

“This area is cleared of spells. It should be safe to enter, Your Majesty.”

The guards dispersed to the side and let them pass.

“Aah!” Sebastian was captured in Lord Orwell’s arms and hunched his shoulders when his head pressed into Lord Orwell’s chest. He had been trained by one of the most powerful wizards in Larnlyon. He could recite the whole book of Selene’s Secrets, mend a wound with twine and needle, drop to the ground and roll to douse his body if covered in flames, but Sebastian was stumped by the fact that his father was hugging him. He awkwardly circled his arms around Lord Orwell and allowed the embrace to tighten.

“There, there, my son. It’s all right, you’re safe now.” Lord Orwell grasped Sebastian’s shoulders and took a step back so he could glare at Turren. “No thanks to him! That’s twice he owes you his life and you were nearly killed.”

King Harris frowned at the accusation. “My son is not responsible, but I will find out who is. Fred—”

“I’m right here, Harris.” The court wizard bent over the body, examining tattoos under the assassin’s tunic. “Both of you are lucky to be alive,” he said while dropping the cloth and standing. “A Deathsmith, and trained in Jesaro by the looks of it.”

Lord Orwell sucked in his breath. “Gather your siblings. We’re leaving.”

Sebastian blinked. “I doubt—”

“Silence, and do as I say!” Lord Orwell shouted.

Sebastian usually stood his ground, but his father was sweating, and he could almost smell the fear wafting off him. “Yes, Father.”

“T
HE
ASSASSIN
did not succeed, and King Harris has called all of his wizards to the castle. I see no reason to leave,” Lady Orwell said while grasping for the bag in her husband’s hand.

Lord Orwell tossed it into the carriage with the rest of their belongings, and Lady Orwell stared glumly at the castle whose rich comforts they were abandoning.