Prisoner (51 page)

Esta laughed. "Yes, they are always going to do that. You are quite the source of curiosity, Breaker."

Grimacing, Beraht again fell silent as they stepped and turned. When they came together again, Esta noticed his focus had wandered. The next step reversed their position, and she was not at all surprised to see Dieter speaking with Matti and Kalan, and that Dieter was watching them. His gaze shifted before she was once more turned away. She politely ignored the way Beraht's gaze again wandered.

The dance ended a moment later, and Esta was gratified that Beraht did not immediately take off. "Would you dance once more with me?" she asked. "I promise to release you after."

Beraht shrugged and took up the starting position as the strains of the next dance began to play. "I don't mind." He flashed a brief smile, the hesitance in it cute. "Breaking toes is better than being trapped in that corner again."

Esta laughed as she was spun and was still laughing when the dance brought her close to Beraht again. "I am flattered you find dancing with me more interesting than being lavished with attention. I think you will do quite well as a duke, Beraht."

"I am not a lord," Beraht said stubbornly, looking slightly ill—but Matthias was adamant. He had titles to give away, and so he would. Technically, they were the king's to give away, but every day Matthias took up more and more the role of king.

"Not yet," Esta said, smiling at Beraht's disgruntled look. "You are a fine dancer, you know, despite what you think. Even if you were breaking my toes, it's better than listening to Matti gloat all night."

Beraht glanced back toward the dais where Matti sat, conversing still with Kalan and Dieter, something amusing him vastly enough Esta could hear him laughing over the noise and music. "If you are that unhappy about it—"

Esta rolled her eyes. "I'm not. If I didn't want to marry him, I wouldn't. He's just being very much a braggart about it. I'll make him pay."

"Of that I have no doubt," Beraht said with a grin and spun her around in the turn that completed the set, smoothly moving into the steps of the second set. He really was a fine dancer.

His eyes again wandered, and Esta knew where they lingered, why those shadows were there. Honestly. If it weren't for the fact she genuinely liked Beraht, she would have left them both to rot in their obtuseness. "Could I ask you a question, Beraht? It's been piquing my curiosity for some time, but I've never troubled to figure it out."

"Of course," Beraht said, brow wrinkling with confusion. "I doubt I've an answer to give, whatever it is."

Esta smiled and fell silent until she was led through the turn and into the third set. "Your name is Krian, yes?"

"Yes," Beraht said tightly, eyes going immediately past her shoulder.

"It's not a name with which I am familiar, and I am rusty at best in the Krian language. Whatever does your name mean? If it's all right to ask, I mean. I do not know the Salharan etiquette for such things."

Beraht shrugged. "My name means 'bright'." He frowned briefly, eyes once more wandering as if of their own volition. Esta doubted he realized he was doing it.

"That's peculiar," she said. "Does the word 'bright' have special meaning to the Krians? Is it a popular name for things?"

"What?" Beraht asked, his frown deepening as his confusion grew. "There is nothing special about it, nor do I think it popular. To my knowledge, it's quite ordinary. Why?"

"Well, it's just I'm relatively certain I heard the Lord General say one day to the soldiers that his sword was named Bright, though if you ask me, it's strange they name—" She kept her expression blank as they stumbled to a halt in the middle of the dance floor.

Beraht stared at her. "What?"

"I said Dieter named his sword Bright—"

Oblivious to the fact they stood still in the middle of the dance floor, Beraht looked toward the dais with a strange expression on his face. It turned into a glower. "Where did he go?"

Esta turned and saw that Dieter had, indeed, vanished. She turned back and saw Dieter once more on the balcony, headed for the door that led to the halls beyond. She pointed. "There. I believe he's retreating."

Beraht jerked around. "Bastard," he swore softly then abruptly started heading that way, pausing mid step to turn back. "Pardon me, Princess," he said hastily, then bolted through the crowded ballroom, oblivious to the people who scrambled to get out of his way and taking the stairs two at a time and vanishing a second later from the ballroom.

Esta shook out the skirts of her ball gown, then gathered them close and walked sedately off the dance floor toward the dais. She accepted the hand Matti held out to her and gracefully took her place in the seat beside his.

"What are you up to, Essie?" Matthias asked.

"I merely wanted to dance," Esta said primly. "Are you going to give me your mother's wedding ring or not?"

Matthias grinned and pulled a delicate gold ring from his pocket. "She told me when I was sixteen that I was going to give this to you one day."

Esta sniffed. "Matti, she told me when I twelve that you would give me this ring someday." Kalan threw his head back and laughed at the expression on Matthias' face.

Feeling the evening one well managed, Esta rose with Matthias as the dance came to an end, sliding the ring on her finger and placing her hand in his. He lifted their joined hands as the music died away and the crowd turned to face them. "To your future queen!" he called, and kissed the back of Esta's hand as the room bowed, curtsied, and burst into cheering.

*~*~*

Beraht bolted through the hallways, wishing his ability to breathe would return or that his heart would stop pounding in his chest. Esta had to have lost her mind. There was no way— It wasn't true, and even if it was—what game was von Adolwulf playing?

Beraht stormed around a corner and faltered to a stop.

For once, Beraht didn't know what to do about him. That wasn't true. He hadn't known since von Adolwulf had rescued him. He had, in fact, tried very hard not to think about the tangle in which von Adolwulf had left him. "You stars refused bastard!" he bellowed, fisting his hands to still their sudden trembling.

Von Adolwulf stopped then turned slowly around. He made, Beraht had noted sourly earlier in the evening, an impressive figure. Esta had somehow gotten him to wear a color other than black. Granted, the green was deep enough to pass for black in weaker light, but in the ballroom the dark green trimmed in silver had… well, looked good. Up close, Beraht had no doubt it would bring out his strange gray-green eyes. Bastard.

"What did I do this time?" von Adolwulf asked, and Beraht was brought up short by the utter weariness in his tone.

Beraht stalked closer, titling his head up to meet the cool gaze of those eyes. "You drive me mad."

"The feeling is entirely mutual," von Adolwulf snapped, annoyance beginning to enter his tone, "though I would like to know what I have done this time."

"You breathe!" Beraht replied, feeling the last of his temper slip free of its restraints. "You exist! I have never in my life met anyone half so infuriating and confounding as you!" He could feel his nails digging into his palms, and a sticky warmth told him he'd broken the skin. "Bastard," he whispered, still glaring. He spoke again before von Adolwulf could interrupt. "What is your sword's name?"

The dismay that flickered across von Adolwulf's face was startling to the point it took Beraht's breath away. Such a vulnerable expression seldom found a place on the face of the Wolf. "Go away, Beraht."

"I asked you a question, you stupid Wolf!" Beraht snarled. "What is your sword's name?"

Von Adolwulf's mouth twisted. "Bright," he said curtly.

"Why?" Beraht managed to ask, unable to believe it.

"Tits of the Winter Princess, do you think I know?" von Adolwulf bellowed, expression as uncertain as it was angry.

Beraht shook his head, unable to comprehend any of it. "Is that what you meant—in the tent—?"

"Yes," von Adolwulf said.

He couldn't believe it. There was no way this made sense. It was impossible. They hated each other. "Bastard," he hissed. "Are you trying to be amusing?"

"Amusing?" von Adolwulf said in a soft, dangerous tone that Beraht knew to mean he was about to find himself on the floor badly bruised, if not unconscious. He fought the urge to back away as von Adolwulf stalked toward him, a shiver running up his spine, and he suddenly felt exactly as he had in the tent a little more than a month ago—

—Except this time von Adolwulf
was
kissing him.

The thought left Beraht reeling—or it would have if the kiss itself wasn't already doing that. This was
nothing
like the kiss von Adolwulf had given him in the Coliseum. That had been necessary. Brutal and hard and flavored of arcen and blood.
This
kiss tasted only of von Adolwulf, who seldom drank anything but tea, and while his lips were most definitely bruising, they weren't in an unpleasant way.

No, far from it. As much as Beraht hated to admit it, as hard as it was to believe this was happening— von Adolwulf could kiss. Stars, the man could kiss. He remembered thinking that in the Coliseum now, despite the brutality of that kiss; how had he forgotten? Beraht wondered briefly if it had to do with his having been trained to be the perfect gift to a Kaiser.

His thoughts skittered away as von Adolwulf's kiss went from fierce to consuming, and Beraht moaned wholly against his will. He gasped for air when von Adolwulf finally broke the kiss and wondered when precisely he'd wound up pressed against the wall and why in the stars his hands were in von Adolwulf's hair. This was
not
happening. Slowly he looked up.

He'd been right. Against the deep green fabric and silver trim, those gray-green eyes shone. Beraht drew a shaky breath. "Dieter…"

A smile he'd never seen before flickered ever so briefly across Dieter's face, lighting those eyes up even more. "That's the first time you've said my name, Beraht."

Beraht shuddered, hands tightening where they refused to let go of Dieter's thick hair. He'd always hated the way Dieter said his name because of the mockery in it. There had been no mockery this time, and that made it devastating. Stars refuse him for a fool, he should not like it so much that Dieter said his name that way. Possessively. Knowingly. As if it meant something.

Never had anyone uttered his name while they kissed him, bedded him. They said nothing at all, or whispered the name of another. He'd never had a name of his own for someone to say. Nor had he known what it was like to say the name of another. Always he'd been nameless and silent.

He spoke again, just because he could, because this entire situation was unreal, and he realized with sudden, painful clarity that he wanted it to be real. "Dieter." He moaned low again as Dieter once more took his mouth, kissing back furiously, pouring every last thing he felt into it. If he was going to endure this, by the stars he wouldn't do so alone.

Shivers laced down his spine as Dieter became bolder, as true to form, the Wolf wasted no time in claiming his victory. Beraht suspected he'd still wake up with bruises, but found he didn't care.

Dieter abruptly pulled away, dragging him along, and the sudden absence of that hard, warm body pressed against his left him feeling cold. His hand burned where Dieter held it, and Beraht realized after a moment where they were going. "We're going to your room?"

Dieter smirked. "Why not? You've been sleeping in my bed since we met."

Beraht rolled his eyes but did not argue, simple allowed Dieter to drag him into Dieter's room. Inside, servants had already laid a fire, and the flames cast a warm glow across the room that did not quite reach the bed.

Dieter stripped off his ornate jacket and threw it over one of the chairs closer to the fire. He prowled toward Beraht, eyes hot in a way Beraht had never expected to see—and definitely never expected to see focused on
him.
He had realized, until that moment, how much he wanted to see Dieter look at him that way.

When Dieter reached him, he grabbed Beraht and hauled him close, and Beraht was once more taken up by those hungry, bruising, consuming kisses. Hands that had struck and grabbed and bruised him any number of times began to make short work of his clothes.

They had seen each other naked before—there was little room for modesty in their world, after all. He had never looked before, though, not the way he looked then. He had never been looked at either; no one was interested in looking into the face of the nameless they were using as little more than a place to stick their dick.

Dieter looked at him. Beraht had never seen such intense eyes. It was as disconcerting as hearing Dieter say his name without mockery. Beraht shivered as the last of his clothes were cast aside, partly from the chill not entirely banished by the fire, partly from the fingers that wrapped tightly around his wrist and dragged him to the bed.

He scowled as Dieter lingered after throwing Beraht on the bed. "Are you going to stand there all night?" Beraht snapped. "I had assumed you knew how to fuck, but—" He grunted as Dieter shoved him hard, climbed on top of him and pinned him in place. Stars, if he had thought Dieter hot before… Skin on skin, his body heat was nearly feverish.