Love Is Always Write Volume 4

reached one of two doors on the east wall. One led to the private chambers of the consort—empty now for the past six years. The other led to the nursery.
    The nurse looked up as he entered, and then bowed her head. He smiled absently, and went to the beds to look at his sons. Nyle was four, Bellen three, birthed by women who had been happy to do their duty and go on their way wealthy women.
    Bellen had his face half-buried in a large cloth dragon filled with feathers. He never went anywhere without the silly thing, and Sarrica already dreaded the day that he would have to take it away to begin Bellen's training.
    He was not his brash brother, already so much trouble at four. Sarrica worried what that temper would do when Nyle grew into it. Hopefully soldierly discipline would temper it.
    Stifling a sigh, he smoothed Bellen's hair and untangled Nyle's blankets, and smiled at the nurse before departing. In his chambers, his manservant was already thoroughly engaged in packing his bags. "Make certain sufficient court clothes are packed, but suitable for the climate."
    "Of course your Majesty."
    The affronted tone made Sarrica smile fleetingly. He went to the enormous windows his guards hated and stared at the dark, snowy mountains in the distance. He would raze every last peak if that was what it took to find Allen and bring Cartha to heel once and for all.
    His door opened, and Sarrica turned, hand going to his sword—and relaxed when he saw it was only Lesto. "Have they finalized plans already? That would be unusually swift."
    "Circumstances necessitate it," Lesto replied. "Prince Allen's life depends on swift, sure action ... as does Rene's," he added quietly.
    "We'll get him back," Sarrica said. "Whatever it takes. You've been my family, both of you, since we met all those years ago."
    Lesto smiled faintly. "You scarce noticed us. You were entirely too busy admiring Nyle."
    "I noticed eventually," Sarrica replied, thoughts of Nyle stirring an old ache. But thoughts of his dead lover only led him right back to the consort he had so cruelly rejected. "How did I not know Prince Allen was a silver tongue?"
    After a moment of hesitation, Lesto said, "Honestly, Sarrica, I would be astonished if you recall the color of his hair. You have made it very clear the past year that you have no interest in taking a consort. We have rattled off candidate after candidate, only for you to reject them unseen. We managed to get Prince Allen here only by going behind your back. Five minutes into the meeting, you made a mockery of him and threw him out."
    Sarrica winced. "I do not deny I was a bastard, and deserve whatever I get. I... " he hadn't wanted to finally surrender Nyle. Bad enough he'd sired children, but to give up entirely and take a consort...
    "My brother would be the first to tell you to stop sulking and move on. Prince Allen is a fine candidate."
    "He looked as though holding a sword would overbalance him," Sarrica said. "I don't want my children raised by a simpering bird of court."
    Lesto made a frustrated noise. "If you looked at him and saw simpering, then you are a fool, Sarrica. When next you cross paths with your fiancé, I suggest you really look at him and give him a fair chance. But for the record, his hair is brown, his eyes are blue, and according to the paperwork he speaks twelve languages. We are leaving within the hour unless you've objections."
    "No objections," Sarrica replied, and began to strip out of his ornate court clothes as his manservant brought travel clothes and his lightweight armor. "Did the healers get a chance to compose a list of possible poisons?"
    Nodding, Lesto pulled out a small sheet of paper and rattled off several names. "Common enough poisons for such uses, though I worry Cartha has its own strains. Various antidotes are being packed, and dispersed amongst the men. We're taking only a small group, thirty men all told, all mine. The regular armies will remain here to counter the attack. I could kiss your fiancé myself, for providing such priceless information."
    Sarrica grunted in amusement. "You could, but you won't."
    "I don't think you're yet allowed to dictate who gets his favors."
    "I am at least smart enough to know I should work to change that," Sarrica replied. He stood still as his manservant strapped and buckled his leather armor into place. Taking the sword belt he held out, Sarrica buckled it into place himself, then settled his sword, dagger, and pouches into place.