Serd is known as an honorable and conscientious man. He was, however, not suited to the family trade, and with his father’s blessing, leave his childhood home to join the Legion. Mastering combat skills, he enlisted in the elite Imperial Guard. After a cruel twist of fate, his life changes dramatically.
Prince Calelaine is the bastard son of the heir to the throne. He leads a quiet and studious life, uninterested in either men or women, in his grandfather, the Emperor’s, palace. When a miscarriage of justice is brought to his attention, he intervenes and saves the life of a man he’s still to meet. Shortly after, the Emperor unexpectedly dies, and Calelaine’s life is threatened when three possible successors to the throne engage in a bloodthirsty battle.
Serd rescues Calelaine from a massacre at the palace, and they are forced to flee the city. During a harrowing experience, Calelaine uncovers his inherent wizardry talents. In their attempts to escape their pursuers and reach safety, will Calelaine and Serd learn to combine their skills, wizardry and warfare, to survive? Will Serd’s care for Calelaine awaken feelings he’s never had before and let them act on mutual feelings of attraction and find love?
Serd took one last look around the room from the door. Calelaine had closed all the open doors and drawers, there was nothing to show that he’d made a hasty exit. The two of them went out of the rear door, after Serd took a cautious look into the corridor.
“The back stairs, Cal,” he whispered. Cal nodded and followed him. They walked quietly down the servant’s stairs, trading a bit of speed for stealth. As they reached the landing for the third floor more and more noise came through and Cal stopped, listening. There were screams and pleas for mercy, and he recognized many of the voices -- his younger cousins and their mothers.
“Serd, it’s a slaughterhouse out there!” he said, barely remembering to keep his voice down.
“I know,” Serd said heavily, “but there is nothing we can do.” Cal stared at him in the dim light of the staircase. “Nothing, Cal. Only get ourselves killed after all. Let’s go.” Slowly, Cal nodded, and they went on down. There was fighting on the second floor, as well, and at first Serd couldn't figure out who was fighting whom. The second floor was usually mostly empty unless either a Council or an Imperial Audience was in session. He paused for a moment, listening.
“It’s Dineltha’s men against Salakte’s!” he hissed to Cal. “They’re fighting in the Throne room!”
“Dineltha must want to claim the Throne here by force. I wonder if she stole the crown from the Treasury on her way?”
Serd shrugged, not caring all that much. If the different Princes’ factions were fighting, so much the better for him and Cal. He gestured and they went on downwards.
There was actually less fighting on the first floor than the others now; the action had moved upstairs. This was good, as they were going to have to break cover and come out of the stairwell to get to the back door by the kitchens. He looked over at Calelaine, hoping that he didn’t look too princely. The man was tall and handsome, graceful in his movements, but nothing could be done about that. His clothes were free of insignia, but his long hair was notable, even pulled back by a tie as it was.
“Cal, we should cut your hair. You’re too recognizable with it.”
Cal started, grabbing his tail of hair where it fell across his shoulder. Once again, he paused for a moment, then nodded, apparently following Serd’s line of thought. He turned his back slightly but grimaced as Serd pulled out his knife again.
“It’s clean, I promise you,” Serd whispered, then used the blade to saw off the thick rope. He’d wanted to have it in his hands for a while now, but not under these circumstances!
“Don’t drop it,” Cal whispered. “We’ll have to take it away with us and burn it later.”
Serd nodded, the prince was obviously still thinking, despite the stress he was under. He moved the tie to the centre of the mass and pulled it tighter, then put the hank into his pack. Cal shook his head, obviously feeling the difference. The cut was ragged and in no way stylish, but under the circumstances that was a good thing.
“Right, let's go.” Serd led the way out of the stairway and into the passage that led to the kitchens. They were deserted, a half-prepared meal on the counters and the fire burning the meat in the oven. With any luck the cooks and scullions had fled as soon as the attack had started. Hearing no sounds of pursuit, Serd took one minute to grab some bread, cheese, and beer bottles. He wrapped them in a towel and gave the package to Cal.
“Dinner,” he whispered, and Cal actually smiled at him. They walked out the back door carefully, but it had become late afternoon while the attack went on and the sky was turning darker.
“I don’t know this part of the palace at all,” Cal murmured very quietly.
“No, but I do. Don’t worry.” Serd was confident and led Cal through the kitchen garden to the more formal area long known as the Garden of the Queens, beside the ancient castle.
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