Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

men who needed treatment. But he wanted—no, needed—to know that Seth was okay.
    He was a knight. He had his duty to his lord and to God. But at the moment, that didn't matter. Nothing did, except Seth's life.
    "Are you going to stay out there all day?" Lyle stepped through the tent flap, peering at him with sharp eyes. "Come in then."
    Heart soaring with sickening hope, Kent stepped through. The interior wasn't lit, and it took him a moment to make out Seth's form lying on a makeshift pallet near the back. No other person occupied the tent—Seth had suffered the most serious wound.
    Kent hurried to his side, kneeling down in the darkness. His friend smelled of blood and of alcohol. "Seth? Seth, can you hear me?"
    "I've drugged him," Lyle said as he came inside. "He'll be out for a while."
    Kent nodded, his throat tight. He leaned closer, running his hands through the other man's hair. "But he'll be all right?"
    "He will. Many stitches and a scar, but he'll live."
    Relief flooded through Kent like a nauseous wave, and he almost swayed. His prayers had been answered.
    "You love him, don't you?" Lyle's voice went through Kent like a sword strike. It wasn't a question.
    Kent swallowed hard, taking hands that suddenly trembled away from his friend. His heart began to pound. He had to say something, anything, to keep Lyle from knowing.
    But the words wouldn't come. Denying it… It pained him to think of it. It was a truth that was intertwined with who he was, with his idea of knighthood.
    "He is my friend," he managed to say, cursing his wavering voice.
    "That's not what I said," Lyle stood over Seth, looming over the kneeling Kent. "I can see it in the way you look at him— this morning and now. It's more than the love a knight shares with a comrade. You burn for him, don't you?" The priest's voice hissed.
    Kent's face heated, the memories of his dreams and sleepless nights, body shaking with lust, flashing through his mind. He opened his mouth to speak then shut it again.
    "Does he share your lust?" Lyle pressed, kneeling down so that he faced Kent over Seth's sleeping form. "Does he share your bed?" Kent looked away to the far wall of the tent.
    "He doesn't, does he? He doesn't know of it." Anger washed through Kent.
    "You have no proof," Kent snapped, turning his gaze back to the priest. "What is the point of this?"
    "I heard your prayers to God as your friend here lay on the ground," Lyle said, and the blood drained from Kent's face. "He is saved. So you must forget your lusts, forget your feelings for him, as you promised our Lord."
    Kent nodded, his gaze traveling to the cross that dangled from Lyle's neck. "It is for the good of your soul as well as his," Lyle continued. "He need not fight impure desires. You would not want that for him, right?"
    Kent nodded again, his stomach twisting. It felt wrong to agree.
    "Go. Make new friends. Leave this one alone. He is better off without you, and you will find the strength to overcome your impurities without him. Do not damn him and yourself. The commander and our Lords—both of them—will not abide it. Death will find you swiftly if you do not suppress your sinful desires."
    Kent wanted to say goodbye to Seth, to touch him one last time. But he couldn't look away from Lyle's judging eyes, the threat hanging over him like a cloud.
    He felt them on his back even as he left the tent.
    ****
    A week later, Kent winced as the sun beat down on his shoulders. They walked through the village, the knights around him dirty but victorious. Men and women shouted their gratitude, some of the women brazenly approaching the enlisted men and other, more demure ones, throwing kerchiefs at the armored knights. A few of the knights made great shows of catching them, much to Commander Rake's annoyance.
    A week of meaningless, robotic combat, without Seth by his side. Without even seeing Seth, the man still recuperating, forbidden to fight. Kent had never once visited, secluding himself in his tent. He couldn't fall prey to the temptation.
    It had been easy to fight, and not think. But now, with the combat over, everything was beginning to return.
    A woman with fire-red hair winked at Kent shyly, throwing him a lace ribbon that danced in midair. His horse flicked its ears as it tangled in his mane, and Kent picked it out carefully, suppressing a sigh.
    He could suppress his thoughts. He could do his best to ignore his dreams. But he couldn't summon up excitement for anyone but Seth,