From Lies (7 page)

Strolling toward him in royal finery was the prince. The man with his dark hair fixed as close as it could be in the current fashion, well-fitting clothes that showed off all his lean muscle, and the light tan that was said to come from his mother's side, all made Rafe weak in his spine. And those dark as night eyes didn't help any of Rafe's nerves, not when their focus was solely on him and none of the court or common folk who tried to flock around him.

Rafe's instinct to run was overcome by his instinct to see how this would go. He was planning on leaving, yet he deserved to know what his deceptions meant to the prince. Though why a single man's opinion, no matter the station he held, should matter, Rafe would not admit to himself. He would be leaving soon. He had decided.

All those decisions flew from his mind as soon as the prince took his hand, pulled it up, and bent at the waist to leave a lingering kiss that scorched through Rafe, leaving him burnt out and raw. Everything felt magnified: his breath stretched his skin to an exquisitely torturous degree; his sight was sharper, taking in the curve of the prince's eyelashes as he looked up at him through their length; his breath shallower as he inhaled the air, swearing he could taste the prince's cologne. And he called himself every kind of fool for being so affected. He knew what it was sending his nerves tingling, knew why his sister had dashed away like a young schoolgirl playing matchmaker.

He was falling for the prince, and he was letting himself.

Rafe pulled his hand away and bowed low, shame staining his cheeks at the rumors he already knew were beginning to circulate. "It's an honor to have the prince attend my sister's wedding."

"Please," the prince whispered, a long, calloused finger tucking under Rafe's chin, "call me by my name. And do not bow to me. Rise."

Rafe looked up at the prince—at Trint—and rose, compelled to, if for no other reason than there was a slight pressure from that lone finger. Sadness filtered from that touch and the small downturn of Trint's lips. Rafe didn't want to be the cause of that look, didn't want to bring the man before him, the one who Rafe knew had been in his dream so many months ago and shadowed his waking world, any pain. He reached up, hesitant, and took that finger in his hand. Slowly, so slowly he thought the world might just leave him, he slipped his fingers in between Trint's own, intertwining them before so many people.

That stray thought had Rafe jerking back, but Trint wouldn't let him go, and there was warmth in that gaze when Rafe dragged his own from their hands. An answering warmth filled Rafe, and he felt a small, hopeful smile stretch his face.

"Captain."

Rafe winced at the title. He'd told his men he wouldn't be the captain of any of the ships, merely a passenger. But some of the men wouldn't hear of it, claiming he'd saved them from lives turning toward desperate, to the point that several of them were a step away from committing crimes.

He pulled back then, embarrassed and flustered, as he turned toward one of his captains. "Yes?" They knew where he was, but they were supposed to handle the day without him. It was his sister's wedding.

"The wedding gift." His captain held out a wrapped box.

Rafe could have smacked himself for not remembering it. He gingerly took the box, cradling it close as he smiled at the captain. "Thank you." He laughed. "I'd be skinned alive if this had been forgotten."

The man smiled at him, winking in understanding. "I'll see you tomorrow, Captain, to go over the details of the trip bright and early."

Rafe nodded, tension filling him as he waited for his captain to disappear from the garden then turned back to Trint. "Can't believe I forgot it," he said as he lifted the box, trying to break the silence that had descended.

"What trip?" Trint stepped in close, crowding Rafe against a wall.

"Uh…" He swallowed, looking at all the people who were pretending not to notice them. Even his sisters and Olto were peeking at them from across the garden. "Can we go somewhere more private?" Though he didn't know why they needed somewhere private. It was his business what he did, not Trint's.

Greta appeared suddenly, taking the box from his hands with a wink and sauntering off to deposit the box with the other gifts. With no defense or stalling tactic, Rafe lead Trint out of the room and through the house he'd visited so many times before with Raquel. He took them up a floor to a guest bedroom. It was probably a vain hope that no one would follow them, but at least most of them would think twice before going to the second floor.

Rafe held the door open for Trint and waited for him to pass before following, snakes squirming through his stomach. He didn't know what Trint would do, and that scared him—a lot more than he wanted to admit.

"A trip?" Trint raised an eyebrow as he leaned against one of the bed posts, his stance stiff, arms crossed over his chest.

"Probably more of a voyage than trip, but, yes, I believe they are similar enough." He leaned against the closed door, attempting to mimic Trint, but there was no chance of him affecting the same manner of cold indifference. It stung, but Rafe wouldn't let it get under his skin.

"Why?"

Rafe blinked. "Why what? Why am I going on a voyage?"

Trint uncoiled from his casual stance, stalking across the small space to invade Rafe's area of comfort; it made Rafe want to open the door and run screaming. "Why are you leaving now?"

A snort escaped before he could suppress it. He looked away, ashamed. "Because of what I've done." He wouldn't fill the awkward silence with details, not when everyone had to know the twisting story about him. It didn't matter what Greta, or anyone else for that matter, said in his defense. He wasn't a nice person, and most seemed to realize that.

"And what," Trint growled as his hands bracketed each side of Rafe's head, "have you done?"

His breath stuttered in his chest as Trint's every exhale of air caressed his cheek. Rafe couldn't answer, and then Trint, oh so gently, cradled his jaw and turned his face so they were almost nose-to-nose.

"Why does it matter?" he choked out. Pain and hope filling him so full he thought he'd burst from it, an explosion of emotions splattered across the fancy green rugs that covered the wood floors. What a mess his sister's wedding would be then.

Trint tilted his head, leaning in close. "Because you intrigue me. Ever since you turned my business offer away I've been interested in learning about you, Rafe Cinderston."

Anger roared through him. "Don't call me that." It came out harsher than he'd meant, but that name held nothing but pain for Rafe.

Without missing a beat, Trint asked, "What would you have me call you? Beautiful?"

Rafe snorted, trying to turn away as his eyes misted, but Trint wouldn't let him.

"Precious?"

"That's ridiculous," Rafe mumbled, trying not to be enchanted by those dark eyes that poured themselves into him, pushing warmth into every nook and cranny that had been long neglected.

"Mine?"

Rafe gasped, and Trint's lips met his own. A chaste kiss, but it did such wonderful, unfamiliar things to Rafe, twisting him up inside, and he melted, unable to bear the loneliness that had been his constant companion for so long.

It lasted for a shallow heartbeat and a full day, then ended, as all good moments do.

Rafe looked at Trint, really looked at him, and saw a man with loneliness of his own, calling out to Rafe's, and he wondered if they could have something, built up from loneliness? Would they sustain it?

"I'm still going on my voyage," Rafe said with the last of his strength. He would not bend on this point. As much as what he had found with Trint was nice, he needed to find himself. Maybe then he'd be ready for whatever it was Trint wanted from him.

Silence stretched long and thin between them. "All right."

Relief flooded Rafe, and he sagged forward, his forehead cradled against Trint's collarbone. "Thank you." It was barely an exhale, but Trint seemed to understand, and his arms wrapped around Rafe, keeping him close and warm.

"I'll wait for your return, and we can see what this is." He squeezed Rafe tight, and Rafe let him.

"Okay."

They held the moment between them, a gentle wave that ebbed and flowed as they breathed each other in. A soft knock broke the tranquility, but it also reminded Rafe that he needed to be there for his sister. It was her day.

He pulled back and offered his hand. Trint took it and they left the room, smiling at Lord Shaften's son, who'd come to collect them.

The wedding was a beautiful affair, and Rafe wondered if he wouldn't see something much the same in his own future. He looked to the sky.

But first he had a journey to make.

Ann Anderson enjoys long walks through wooded areas, hunting zombies, and stealing treasure from space pirates. Only the first happens in real life. Besides allowing her imagination to run rampant, Ann loves editing and is glad she’s been able to make a small career of it while following through with her other passion of writing. Her cats can attest to both passions as they enjoy knocking the laptop from her lap and claiming the space as their own whenever Illinois weather drops to a reasonable degree.

Ann enjoys hearing from people and can be contacted at [email protected].