Nano filter: The King's Pride
La! Posting all the madness of what I worked on in Nov because I finally was inspired to do a little typing on this today.
It's disjointed and rambly and a little bit of all over the place, but I can't help it, the universe is fun to think about. ^_^;;
I'll post all the random drabbles I have for this universe next.
Prologue
“I don’t want a litter of men following me around,” George growled, slamming his fist against the expansive outer stone wall of the palace before running a hand through his ordinary brown hair. The garden was in full bloom and manicured to show off each flower and bush in its best light.
“It’s a Pride, and you don’t have a choice. You know this,” Harry returned in his usual calm manner as he helped George out of the layers of armor he’d put on in order to train in the lists. King or not, George was a Knight. First, foremost and forever. It was just that he was now a knight who fled to the gardens and allowed his Seneschal to disrobe him instead of his squire. Kings didn’t have squires, and they couldn’t afford to cavort till all hours of the day and night with brash, impetuous knights who were reckless in their attempts to prove themselves and their worth.
Dammit, he’d never asked for this.
“Well, I don’t want a Pride, then. Can’t I just be a celibate king?” The smell of dogwood blossoms was heavy in the air and George wanted to gag from it. Blood, dirt, sweat. These were the smells of knightly pursuits. He wasn’t meant to be some kind of coddled lord to be pampered with perfumes! And he certainly did not need five sycophantic men trailing after him in abject servitude. He didn’t want this kind of power over anyone, let alone over an entire kingdom. Did no one else see that in this instance, he was the weed amongst the pretty flowers? And weeds belonged out in the elements, fighting for their place and for their right to exist.
Weeds were not meant to be crowned the glory of the garden and placed in a position to lord it over the other flowers.
“Your Majesty, with all due respect,” Harry started, setting the armor down on an ivy covered stone bench.
George shot him a glare. “Harry, what have I told you about calling me that?”
Harry pursed his lips before straightening his shoulders and stiffening his back. A sure indication that Harry thought he was being moronic but was choosing to be more diplomatic than to simply say so out right. “Fine. George. With this position comes respect. It is not just the people of this palace that you must impress. This House chose you to be their champion, and thus their king. Their loyalties lie with you.”
Correction, their loyalties were the ones George was most likely to gain in the coming months. So he was on display, he still had to stand up to all the other flowers to show himself worthy of the admiration. He was some fresh off the field knight who had managed to win the Century’s Tournament without realizing that the prize for such a feat was a lifetime of servitude to his House and country under the guise of kingship. George hadn’t wanted to be king, which made him wonder why he was even willing to try and fight for the position. “Are you sure their loyalties are with me?” He arched an eyebrow. At Harry’s look of irritation though, he relented. “All right, you’re sure. I do trust you above any and everyone here.”
“The Pride provides the king with internal support,” Harry sighed, sitting on the bench next to George’s armor and fiddling idly with a bit of the iron plating. “They’re a stabilizing influence. They provide balance from the animosity of the non-ruling houses. Yes, nobles have prides too, but theirs is a sign of wealth and power. Yours is different. It’s designed differently to reflect the nature of how prides were meant to be when the concept was first created. You have to trust me on that. You need these men, regardless of whether you decide to indulge in licentious behaviors with them.”
On anyone else, George wouldn’t have thought to note it, but Harry’s ears pinked at the words, though no other outward sign of his embarrassment was visible. His clear grey eyes were as serious as always, and his expression was the same staid stoic Harry that George had spent an entire childhood teasing, but the ears gave him away.
And for that reason alone, George allowed Harry’s words to penetrate. The House Lords had been screaming at him for the last fortnight about the issue, and even Vicky had started in on pestering him about it, but he’d brushed them all aside, not wanting to think on the idea overly much.
But brushing aside Harry wasn’t an option.
“I don’t want them. I barely wanted this.” He gestured at the overly manicured gardens surrounding them.
“I know that. But you won’t be allowed to skirt this stricture. They’ve already overlooked you appointing a mere peasant of questionable parentage as your Seneschal. You’ll have to choose a Pride. One man from five of the ten ruling Houses. The five Houses from whom you don’t chose someone will send a member to make up your table of advisors. This is the way it has always been done. This is the way that it has to be done. And yes, everyone is watching to see what you do.” Harry gave him a pained look.
George breathed deeply, choking back on the suffocating, cloying smell of blooming flowers. As a knight, he’d never felt anything other than powerful and empowered. Even when the odds were not in his favor and faced with someone of greater skill and strength, he’d never once felt lacking or out of his depth. There would always be someone who was bigger, stronger, and more skilled. But a knight fought with honor, to the best of his abilities, and if he was defeated there was no shame.
Kingship came with no such codes, strictures or certainties. And George was decidedly less godlike than he should be. In a position where there was absolutely no room for error at all, he couldn’t envision a path in which he did anything but.
“I can’t choose, Harry,” he finally admitted, sinking heavily onto the bench with him. “I’ll pick the wrong ones. I can’t pick the wrong ones.”
“You won’t pick the wrong ones.”
“I will.”
“You won’t, because I’m choosing them for you.”
Chapter One
“This is it,” Sir Harry said quietly, ushering Asher through the open door. Despite the fact that Harry was taller than him and bigger than him, he was still intimidated by Asher. Not that Asher was one to brag about such things, but one didn’t spend an entire lifetime surrounded by people who hated him without knowing how to read body language. “You’re the first one here, however. The rest should be arriving later. Their Houses were further out.”
Aw, that was kind of adorable. The big strong knight was embarrassed. “So I get to choose the best bed.” He grinned up at Sir Harry, having to swallow a laugh as Sir Harry’s ears turned a bright, bright red.
“Ah, yes, I suppose you do. Well, I have to be off to see to the arrival of the other four. Please make yourself comfortable.” Sir Harry practically pushed him all the way into the room and shut the door behind him. At that, Asher had to laugh. He was used to people being uncomfortable around him, he just wasn’t used to them being awkward for a reason that didn’t involve him being the single son of the most powerful Hurds in his House.
Now, if only everyone else who came could be as fun as Sir Harry. Of course, looking around, Asher made a face. Pink. The entire room was pink. There were four beds lined up against the wall, and there were two small settees in the corners. On the opposite wall was a door, and curious, Asher walked over to push it open. Inside was a room with another bed which was twice the size of the other beds. There were two massive dressers on either side with candelabra sitting on them, and there were tapestries hanging above them both done in various shades of pink and red.
Walking into the smaller room thoughtfully, Asher flung himself onto the bed, testing it for feather softness and the firmness of the mattress. Overall, it wasn’t bad, but then again, why would it be since this was obviously where the king was supposed to take his chosen pride member of the night and screw them until daylight. The purpose of the room was not exactly subtle. Even the tapestries were in cahoots as they had embroidered men on them doing things that must have sent the poor ladies making them into fits.
Asher liked them. And since someone had made the mistake of leaving him to his own devices, he crawled off the bed, climbed onto the dresser and took the raunchier of the two tapestries down. This one would look perfect in the common room. Preferably so that it could be viewed immediately by whoever opened the door.
By the time he had it perfectly positioned and was standing back to admire his handiwork, Sir Harry opened the door once more to usher in another young man. Given the way Sir Harry’s ears immediately turned red, Asher deemed the redecorating effort a success. It was an added bonus that the young man beside Sir Harry turned a brilliant shade of scarlet that clashed horribly with the carrot orange hair on his head.
Grinning, Asher walked over to them, making sure to let his eyes slide suggestively over them both. The young man squirmed while Sir Harry resolutely focused his attention on the one bare spot on the wall that wasn’t covered in tapestry or pink. “Lord Asher, this is Thatcher. Thatcher, this is Lord Asher.”
“Just Asher,” he corrected, holding out a hand to the still blushing young Thatcher. Nodding uncertainly, Thatcher took his hand and tentatively shook it, but not before glancing back at Sir Harry uncertainly. “He doesn’t bite,” Asher told him conspiratorially. “Sir Harry just isn’t used to seeing Pride rooms up close and personal. But you and I, we’re unshakeable, aren’t we? Just think of all the great sex we shall have within these walls. We’re lucky men, we are.”
Sir Harry shot him a warning glare that Asher answered with a lewd leer. Hey, it wasn’t his fault that the whole purpose of a Pride was to sate the sexual desires of their master. Far be it for him to flaunt a thousand years worth of traditions.
Thatcher fidgeted beside him, his hands contorting themselves in his distress. Sighing, Asher reluctantly let him go, feeling just a little sad as Thatcher practically jumped away from him.
“Asher,” Sir Harry started, getting Asher’s attention as he stalled, “just try to be nice?”
“I’m always nice,” he retorted indignantly as Sir Harry started walking out. “Ask anyone! I’m downright wonderful to be around.” The door closed. Frowning, he turned his attention back to Thatcher, who was currently throwing a small satchel on the bed closest to the window in the corner. “So, you’re Thatcher. What House are you from?”
Thatcher looked up and fidgeted his fingers again before turning his attention back to his satchel. Well, that just figured. Given the rough homespun nature of his clothing, the wild way his unkempt hair hung down around his thin face and the obvious calluses on his hands; Thatcher was not a noble. He was not, however, overly hard on the eyes. Eh, maybe with time, he could pester the poor boy into talking to him. For now, he’d be kind and give Thatcher his space.
However, by the time Sir Harry had brought in the last three members, he was practically crawling the walls with boredom. He recognized Lord Caleb straight away. The arrogant son of a bitch had to be grinding his teeth over having been demoted from Most Likely to Rule the Fairfield House to the King’s Sex Slave. In fact, the way that he clenched his fists and stormed into the room with the door, slamming it shut with all his might, was a clear indication that Lord Caleb was not happy with the circumstances in which he’d found himself.
Samuel, who’d arrived shortly after Lord Caleb, was of the Kliner House. The scars on his face alone were enough to make Asher realize that when messing with Samuel, he’d have to watch himself. It didn’t actually stop him from reaching out experimentally and tugging on Samuel’s braid, but when Samuel demonstrated the lightening quick reflexes that came with being raised in the Kliner House, Asher backed off.
The little interaction though, seemed to stress out poor little silent Thatcher. Asher still wasn’t quite sure what the man’s problem was. However, he did swallow a chuckle as the distressed hand wringing caught Samuel’s attention. Apparently, Samuel was going to be Thatcher’s new best friend. Whether Thatcher wanted him to be or not. Asher had to admit too, the sight of the two of them sitting together on the settee, Samuel crowding Thatcher who blushed hard enough to clash with his carrot hair, was not actually an adverse sight.
But, with them all sandwiched together and Lord Caleb sulking in the bedroom, Asher was beginning to feel a little put out. Okay, sure, he hadn’t exactly been one hundred percent behind the idea of being a part of the king’s Pride. No self respecting man would be. But he was a ‘make the best of the situation’ kind of man. And having thought of a thousand scenarios in which the whole meeting of the rest of the Pride could have gone, in none had he envisioned everyone ignoring him.
If this was going to be his fate for the rest of his life, Asher had to say, he didn’t want any part of it.
So, when Sir Harry finally opened the door to reveal the last member, Asher was all but jumping on him in enthusiasm. It didn’t hurt either that the newest arrival was shorter than him with his arms wrapped protectively around a book. His clothes were dusty, Asher guessed, from having spent a great deal of time sorting through and playing amongst old, musty forgotten volumes in some library.
“Tobias, this is Asher,” Sir Harry finally said reluctantly after discretely jabbing an elbow in Asher’s side to get him to back up out of his personal space a pace or too.
“N-nice to meet you,” Tobias whispered softly, holding out a hand that visibly shook.
He was too precious for words. All big brown eyes and fluffy blond hair. Asher smiled broadly, ignoring Sir Harry’s attempts to indicate that he needed to leave Tobias alone. A tasty little morsel like this? Really, who was Sir Harry kidding? Asher ignored the hand, reaching out with both arms and pulling a startled Tobias up against him in a bone crushing hug. A person didn’t shake hands with a puppy. Puppies were meant to be held and cuddled.
“I like you,” he told Tobias rather matter-of-factly, delighting in the way Tobias’s fair cheeks turned bright red in response.
“Lord Asher,” Sir Harry started out in exasperation, forgetting for a moment that Archer really was no longer a lord or interested in the title and what came with it. Maybe Lord Caleb would miss the world of politics and backstabbing, but Asher had had his fill. “Play nice.” The command was more of a plea than anything else, and Archer smiled broadly. Pity that Seneschal couldn’t be members of the Pride, too. Harry would have made an excellent playmate.
“I’ll be gentle,” he told Sir Harry in all seriousness, which only garnered him another glare of exasperation as Harry turned to leave.
Tobias scratched his elbow self consciously as he stood in the rather plain rooms of the king. It was obvious from the lack of furniture and the single, simple bed that King George had decorated the room with his knightly background in mind. It was pretty much the antithesis of the overly ornate and perfumed rooms of the Pride.
Sir Harry had said that King George would be coming back here after he trained in the lists. He’d told the entire Pride that, so it wasn’t as if he’d said it to Tobias simply to put him off or make him go away. King George would be coming back to these rooms, and Tobias would be here waiting for him like Asher had suggested.
He scratched at his elbow again. It was a good thing that these rooms were heated or he would have turned blue ages ago.
It had been Asher’s idea that he approach King George.
One of the Pride had to. Sir Harry had brought them all together, telling them that King George had specifically chosen them to be members of his Pride, but Tobias had seen the small concerned frown on his face, the strained reassurances Sir Harry had issued.
Tobias wasn’t stupid. He’d read the historical records. It wasn’t uncommon for a king to dismiss members of his Pride. There was no guarantee that even if King George wanted them now that he’d want them a year from now or ten years from now. The best way to ensure that they stayed was to develop a deeper relationship, a more permanent relationship with their king. Pride members who didn’t, did not remain members for very long.
And Tobias could not go home. Not anymore.
The priesthood would no longer accept him. Not with his purity of soul called into question, not with his innocence gone-even if only in the eyes of the rest of the kingdom instead of in actuality. If he went home now, it would be in disgrace. He wouldn’t be heading off for the monastery or getting assigned to a chapel. He’d be brought home, ushered to a long forgotten room of a long forgotten wing of the House, and then promptly forgotten until he died.
Asher had told him that if anyone were to initiate anything, it would have to be Tobias.
Samuel was too intense. He’d done nothing but sit in a corner, polishing his knives and sharpening his sword, sparing only a moment every now and then to give Tobias a grin that scared the life out of him. Lord Caleb had taken the one room with a door, slamming it behind him and making it perfectly clear that he thought himself above them and the whole idea of a Pride. Thatcher hadn’t said a word. To anyone. Asher, for whatever reason, had decided he wouldn't be appropriate, although for the life of him, Tobias could not see how.
Asher had been the only one to talk to him. Although, the slow grin on his face and the way he’d casually rubbed the side of Tobias’s arm with his knuckles as he’d explained the scenario had left Tobias quaking just a little. Of all the members of the Pride, Asher was by far the most exotic. Obviously a Hurd, he had the short curly black hair, the pale blue eyes and the flawless dark tanned skin. If the thought of sex didn’t have him shaking in his boots, Tobias would have been more than willing to accept whatever Asher wanted to do to him. The man was gorgeous.
And, more importantly, given the attention he’d paid Tobias, he was kind. He’d patiently sat with Tobias, trying to draw him out of his shell, and he hadn’t gotten angry when Tobias had stuttered in the beginning or when he’d blushed and clammed up. Asher had talked to him. He, who wasn’t even worth the breath it took for his parents to tell him he’d been chosen a member of the new king’s Pride, who had been nothing but a burden to his parents and who had been nothing but a disgrace to a House that prided itself on its strong and courageous young men.
Tobias wasn’t anything special. He’d had a weak constitution as a child, and as a result, he’d never gotten as big as the rest of the people his age. His hair was a limp, unimpressive blond. His eyes an ordinary insipid brown. There was a reason people looked through him as if he wasn’t there. There was a reason that no one noticed if he’d missed all three meals because he’d gotten lost in reading something in the House library.
There was a reason people didn’t care.
He was a mouse. And he knew it. He'd accepted it.
So, whatever it was that Asher thought he’d seen in Tobias, he knew he didn’t have it. But maybe that was part of Asher’s charm, getting people to believe in the impossible.
After all, Tobias was standing naked in the king’s chambers because of it. There was a scrape of armor against stone right outside the door, and Tobias’s heart leapt into his throat. He tried in vain not to hunch his shoulders in and cover his nakedness in some kind of pathetic attempt to protect himself. As if he’d stand an actual chance in a fight against the knight who had won the Century’s Tournament to become king.
The door swung open, and Tobias forced himself not to cower. King George strode in, self assured, but obviously irritated at something. He tossed his armor carelessly onto a large chair in the corner and rubbed at the obvious tension in his neck.
Tobias knew Asher was gorgeous, yes. He was sensual and confident and moved as if he didn't have a single joint in his body. But King George?
King George, on the other hand, was all male. All knight. Tall and powerfully built with broad shoulders. His hair was an ordinary brown, yes, but it curled slightly around his face giving him a boyish air, and his eyes were the most intense blue Tobias figured he’d ever see.
In fact, as those blue eyes swung up and forward and King George noticed him for the first time since entering the room, Tobias felt pinned by them, even as King George started in surprise at seeing him.
“What are you doing here?” The words were hard and clipped, and Tobias sucked in a deep breath to attempt to calm himself.
“M-my n-name is Tobias, and I’m one of the members of your Pride,” he said, proud that he managed not to stutter the whole thing.
“I know that. What are you doing here?”
“I-I,” Tobias tried, sliding almost helplessly into silence as King George came up to stand directly in front of him.
“You are not supposed to be here. Didn’t Harry tell you this?” He was angry, Tobias could see it in his frown and in the way he brought his hands to his hips before staring down at him. King George had expected to come back to his chambers in order to escape the pressures and the people, and Tobias had ruined that.
But he couldn’t just back down now. Not when he was standing in front of his king with not a stitch of clothing on. “I am a member of your Pride. And it is your duty to see to your Pride,” he said with a great deal more strength than he possessed. At the black look that crossed King George’s face though, Tobias felt his stomach drop.
“So you thought you’d come and fling yourself at me? Roll over and spread your legs for me simply because you are in my Pride? Do you think so little of yourself? I am a knight. What do I care for Prides?” King George said in a deceptively soft voice, although, Tobias felt the sting of the questions as if he’d shouted them. King George leaned in closer, tilting Tobias’s chin up until Tobias was forced to look him in the eye. “I’m not interested in you, puppy. I have bigger things to worry about.” King George’s expression softened and Tobias could see the pity in it. That was worse than any yelling that he could have done.
“Are you dismissing me?” Tobias heard himself ask calmly. It felt like someone else was speaking for him, though. A small frown settled on King George’s face.
“Yes. Grab your clothes and go back to your rooms.” He motioned Tobias away with a careless wave.
Woodenly, Tobias grabbed his tunic and hose. He didn’t bother taking the time to put them back on as he headed towards the door. What was the point? The lump in his throat grew, and his stomach practically sank to his feet. When the news got around that he’d been dismissed from the king’s Pride, this humiliation would barely register in comparison. Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other in a calm walk instead of running very much like he wanted to, he made his way back to the Pride’s rooms. It was a fool’s errand. He’d known that. He had no one but himself to blame.
Besides, best that he knew now, before he'd gotten his hopes up and expected more.
His entrance caused a little bit of a stir as the other members looked at him in horrified disbelief. And as the ugly runt amongst the king’s prized hunting hounds, he could easily understand their shock. He breezed past them all, barely noticing. He walked past the bed he’d slept in last night, and past the settee that Asher had sat him down on earlier. His skin felt icy hot, as he made his way towards the garderobe and grasped the edges until his knuckles turned white.
“Tobias?” Asher questioned, but Tobias was beyond hearing him. Asher’s sympathy would only make him cry, and he was beyond crying.
His stomach heaved, and he only hoped he could purge himself of this feeling as easily as he was purging his guts.
“Dammit,” he swore tiredly as Tobias shut the door behind him. Well, he certainly hadn’t handled that well. Then again, there wasn’t much yet that he had. In dismissing the previous king’s table of advisors, he’d ruffled a great many feathers, and angered a great many nobles. The lords that had replaced the table after Harry had finished picking his Pride weren’t any warmer towards him.
Luckily for George, that didn’t factor as greatly as it might because while the knights swore fealty to their lords, their first oath was to their king. Not to mention that George knew they liked him a great deal more than many of the lords who skimped on things like horseflesh, food, and armor. He was one of the knights. Or at least, he used to be. They knew him and they’d already told him that their loyalty was to him first. So while the lords might be angry with him, they didn’t have much of an advantage over him physically. They could, however, make politics excruciating for him, evidenced first and foremost by Harry’s insistence that he even have a Pride.
A Pride.
George wanted nothing to do with the tradition. He kicked viciously at the large chair in his room, sending his armor clattering to the stone floors before he turned and slumped onto the bed, his hands threaded through his hair.
It was slavery, short and simple. A master waltzed in, chose a few men who had either caught his eye or displeased him in some way, and made them less than human. Gathering them all up in one place, a master would turn them from men into sexual objects to be treated with less respect than one would show the camp dogs.
He would not become that kind of man. And no matter how much Tobias begged, he would not help the boy become that kind of object.
“George, you in there?” A barely placed knocked was quickly followed by the door being flung open before George could say yea or nay. Not that it would have mattered anyway as Victoria was an unstoppable force. “Harry said that he thought he might have seen you come this way. Looks like he’s right. Have you ever noticed how often he knows where you are?”
“Why do you think I made him Seneschal?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“So you’d actually have a valid reason to stare at him all day long?” Victoria crossed her arms over her chest, giving him the look that indicated she wasn’t at all fooled by anything he had to say on the subject. “Although, there was someone who I passed on my way here that looked infinitely more interesting to stare at.”
Wincing, George stood to collect his armor from the floor and set it back on the chair. “Really? And you didn’t know who it was? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Oh, I knew who it was,” Vicky assured him just before she took her tiny elfish foot and slammed it down on his instep making him yelp in pain and hop away from her. “What did you do to him? He looked crushed.”
“I didn’t do anything to him,” George spat back, sitting back down on the bed to nurse his poor abused foot. “I’m not going to do anything to any of them, and the sooner they and everyone else in this castle comes to terms with that, the better.”
“George.”
“I imagine that as Chatelaine, you’re just as busy as I am. Don’t you have some servants to annoy? Abandoned rooms to decorate?”
“These could use a sprucing up. I imagine the same shade of pink that’s in the Pride Rooms would look lovely in here in the morning with the sunlight streaming in.” Vicky glared at him. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Look, I understand that you’re annoyed with me, but I’m not changing my mind on this. And you can tell Harry I said that. Hell, you can tell the entire damn Pride,” his face twisted in disgust as he said the word, “that I’m not coming near them.”
“You’re being stubborn.” Vicky frowned, her pixie features wrinkling in frustration.
“I didn’t want to be king.”
“But you are. And you can’t change that anymore than you can change who our father was,” she returned forcefully, taking a menacing step towards him.
“You know what,” George said, finally snapping at her in anger, hating the way she flinched at his tone and looked at him in surprise, “maybe I can’t change that I’m king or that he was my father. But I can’t hurt those that I don’t associate with, so no. I have a Pride, yes. Because I’ve been forced to have one. But that does not mean that I have to see them or talk to them or be with them.”
“And you think that by ignoring them, you’re not going to hurt them?” She was twisting her fingers in the blue fabric of her gown. “You think that by rejecting them and keeping them as far away from you as possible is going to make things better?”
“You didn’t want to be around our father,” he said slowly and softly, knowing that she wasn’t talking about the Pride, or at least not completely. He reached out to take her left hand and tracing the two last fingers on it that were bent at funny angles from where they’d healed badly after having been broken.
“Being king, having power,” Victoria told him, pulling her hand back, “doesn’t make you like him. And sometimes, you can cause as much harm by not being there as you can by being present. But, since I’m supposed to be terrorizing servants and decorating rooms, I’ll just let you get back to the all important chore of being a king who talks to no one, okay?”
“Vicky,” he tried by way of apology.
“It’s okay,” she managed an annoyed grin, “I’ll just tell Harry.” And with that, she shut the door behind her.
For one terrible moment, Asher was sure the next time he saw King George, he would be strangling the life out of the man. Tobias’s face was white, and his puppy brown eyes weren’t focusing on anything as Asher brushed soft, white blond hair out of them. But, as Tobias started trembling and slid to sit on the ground, Asher decided that killing the king could wait. This was his fault, and it was up to him to fix it.
“What happened?” He kept his voice even and calm, even as Tobias flinched away from his touch and curled in on himself. “Tobias?”
There was a scrape of boots behind him, and Asher didn’t bother resisting the urge to turn and snarl silently at the intruder. Lord Caleb leaned against the doorway, arching an unimpressed eyebrow undeterred.
He was the one person Asher wanted least to see. Samuel, or even Thatcher who hadn’t said a word, would be more sympathetic. But Lord Caleb could care less about the king, the Pride, or his supposed place in it. The man was too arrogant by half.
“What’s the matter with the runt?”
Tobias gave a sick smile at the words before gently pushing away Asher’s arms. Reaching over to retrieve the clothes he’d brought in with him, Tobias slowly started to pull them on his thin body. Asher wanted to do a number of things, none of which involved Tobias dressing, or looking so sad and broken as he did so. Unfortunately, from the way Tobias backed up every time he attempted an overture, there was little opportunity there for Asher to exploit.
Instead, he turned to favor Caleb with a feral smile. Make no mistake, Asher was livid. But as the object of his anger was out of range, he had no qualms about releasing it on Caleb instead.
Physically intimidating Caleb was out of the question as the man was taller than him. In fact, everyone with the exception of Tobias was taller than him. Besides that, Caleb had to outweigh him by a couple stone at least as the man was built like an ox.
But any ox could be led around by the nose once a person got a ring in it. Asher invaded Caleb’s personal space, smiling openly as the proximity made Caleb fidget uncomfortably.
Royals, he almost snorted out loud, they spent so much effort being prudish that they missed all the fun there was to be had in indulging. Why else would the king reject a tender little morsel like Tobias? Asher had not even known Tobias a fortnight, and even he could see that once gained, Tobias’s trust and loyalty could not be broken. Pretty faces could come and go, but that kind of earnest openness could not be bought, sold, or coerced.
That King George couldn’t see what a prize that was to be had in his position was a very black mark against him indeed, to Asher’s mind.
“And to what do we owe the presence of your glorious self?” he purred, licking his lips. Caleb turned to stare at him, flummoxed, before coughing awkwardly and shifting his legs ever so subtlety.
“I heard the kid come running in and retch, so I figured I’d come and see what had gotten him so worked up.” Caleb frowned, pulling himself up and looking down his nose at Asher in disapproval. The ox had airs, rather pretentious ones learned from a life of running about as a little lordling on high. Well, Caleb wasn’t the only one with noble blood, and it failed to intimidate Asher.
There were three noble families of Hurd descent in his House. And from a young age, Asher had been made aware of the stigma that came with looking like a heathen. Since he’d refused to bow and scrape to the supposedly superior Gelsh, Asher had spent many years dealing with men like Caleb and he’d spent many years learning how to nettle them in much the way that they nettled him.
“Really?” Asher blatantly trailed a hand over Caleb’s shoulders, pretending to brush away lint. Caleb fidgeted uneasily. “I’ve heard curiosity is such a plebian pursuit. I can’t imagine that the likes of you would be interested in the affairs of the likes of us.” He waved away the thought carelessly.
“I’m a member of this Pride too.” Caleb scowled, not liking the tone Asher was taking.
“Not because you want to be, more’s the pity. We could’ve had fun, you and I,” Asher forced himself to sigh regretfully. Not that Caleb wasn’t attractive, because his dark auburn hair just begged to have hands run through it. It was his attitude that made Asher want to do something like hide mice in his bed or push him in a mud puddle. However, such solutions were better left to childhood, and the best way to exact revenge nowadays was simply to not give an inch and not believe what men like Caleb wanted him so badly to believe. “I suppose there still might be a chance. That is, of course, if your lordship could get his hands dirty with a heathen.”
“It’s not my duty to do anything with anyone but the king.” Caleb’s cheeks pinked as he said it, but his face remained stormy. Boldly, Asher reached over to slide a finger over Caleb’s full lower lip, and smiled seductively just to annoy him.
“He didn’t want me,” Tobias blurted out.
“Puppy?” Asher immediately turned his attention back to Tobias whose arms were hugging his middle protectively, a miserable expression on his face. Forget Caleb, Tobias was the important one, and certainly more worthy of Asher’s attentions at the moment.
“He didn’t want me,” Tobias repeated. “He dismissed me.” Tobias’s eyes begged for Asher to understand, and not able to help himself, Asher moved forward wrapping Tobias up in his arms.
“Which only proves how stupidly blind nobles can be,” he whispered into the soft blond hair.
“I have to leave.” Tobias pushed gently away from him, a sense of urgency in his voice.
“What?” Caleb demanded, reminding Asher that he was still in the room. Shooting the big ox a glare, Asher pulled Tobias back against him. Dammit, he was going to comfort him whether Tobias wanted it or not.
“I have to leave. I can’t stay here.”
“You can’t leave,” Caleb said flatly. “None of us can. He’s chosen us as his Pride.”
“Maybe he’ll keep you,” Tobias sounded wistful, and Asher liked it not one bit, “but he’s already gotten rid of me. I’ve been dismissed. I have to leave.” He turned his head to look up at Asher, uncertain. “I don’t know where to go. I can’t go home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Asher insisted.
“The king can’t do that,” Caleb burst out, pushing away from the doorframe and into the room. “He can’t just pick men and then discard them at whim. He has to keep five men from five of the ten houses. That’s spelled out in the royal charter that he signed at his coronation.” Caleb rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his massive chest. “He’s bound by law.”
“But there’s precedence,” Tobias insisted. “Three centuries ago, King Ferdinand dismissed thirty men from his Pride until he finally settled. Two centuries ago, King Daniel the fifth went through over a hundred men before settling on five that he barely spoke to in the entirety of his reign. This century, both King Wesley and King Christopher the second dismissed multiple men from their Prides before finally settling on a select few.”
“I’ve never heard of such things,” Caleb muttered doubtfully.
“Well, since you’ve never heard of them, they obviously must never have happened,” Asher snapped back, rolling his eyes.
“I didn’t say that,” Caleb retorted angrily. “I just said I wasn’t familiar with the precedence he’s discussing. And if I’m unfamiliar with it, than I sincerely doubt our newly made king is aware of it.”
The small sliver of hope that flitted across Tobias’s face before he quashed it was almost painful to see. “We’d best find Sir Harry, then, and see what he has to say on the matter.” Asher reluctantly loosened his grip on Tobias.
“And if King George dismisses me?” Tobias whispered. Asher doubted Caleb heard him as Caleb was already striding out of the room as if he were the king instead of one of the king’s Pride.
“He won’t be, puppy,” Asher assured him with more confidence than he felt.
Chapter Two
Harry hesitated briefly at the plain, unadorned door before pushing his way through it. As expected, George favored him with a disgruntled scowl at the intrusion. Well, so what else was new? Vicky had found him first muttering vague things under her breath about him needing to talk some sense into George. And then, he’d been cornered by a very large Caleb who demanded to know what the hell the king was thinking, dismissing members of his Pride and rejecting Tobias without so much as a backward glance.
George was avoiding the problem. That much was obvious. There were a few books lying askew on the floor, open to various pages. On the bed, George had all sorts of parchment spread about, and a few scrolls of maps extended. Given that George vastly preferred training in the lists or taking a ride on his horse, or generally being anywhere that books weren’t, Harry assumed that whatever it was that had him here surrounded by paper was not a happy circumstance. Vastly preferable to dealing with the Pride, though.
Harry straightened his shoulders and braced himself. George could be stubborn at the best of times. “Your Maj-” he stopped, and then sighed at the glare George gave him, “George. What are you doing?”
“Slowly killing myself with parchment.”
Sighing again, Harry bent down to retrieve two of the books and cleared a small space on the opposite edge of the bed to sit on. “I dare say you don’t have nearly enough parchment for that. A map of our border with Jalecia?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently the newly appointed table of advisors has, oh what did they call them--Informants?--that are bringing back reports that Jalecia is building their army and that they’re bolstering the numbers of guards they have watching their border posts. I’ve been told that they’re planning an invasion, as we’re at our weakest since I just took kingship and have yet to establish my reign,” George spat the word out in distaste.
“Strategically, it makes sense,” Harry agreed, pushing his glasses farther up on his nose. George shot him a look of frustrated disbelief. “I didn’t say I liked it,” he offered as a means of apology. “So, what are you doing here that you didn’t want to do in front of your new table of advisors?” Harry had known George since they’d both been squires, scurrying in between tents out on the fields for their knights. As much of a brash idiot as he could be at times, George preferred to think things through in his own time and space. Most likely, the board had presented him with an overload of information, and unable to take it all at once, George had sat there nodding, acting as if he knew exactly what they were talking about, only to come back to his rooms later and attempt to puzzle out what he’d been told after the fact.
“Apparently, there’s this whole long history we’ve had with Jalecia. They attempt an invasion every time a new king is appointed. They’ve gained ground in the past, and the table is worried that this time they might actually succeed as their ruler is some kind of military genius. There was all kinds of talk about what could be done, but clearly they expected me to come up with a plan and then do something about it.” George growled, running his hands through his hair and shoved off the bed to start pacing.
“George,” Harry called to him softly.
“No, you know. This is why mere knights shouldn’t be made king. I’m out of my depth here, and if I fail, it’s not just my hide that will feel the brunt. There’s a whole kingdom’s worth of people who are expecting me to do the right thing by them.” George smacked the stone wall of his room in frustration. “Where do I start? How do I start? I am not cut out for this.”
Well, that kind of talk was unproductive and useless, Harry decided. Plus, George had just given him the perfect opportunity to bring up the original reason for his visit. “First, you can start by not dismissing members of your Pride. I chose them for you for a reason.”
“My Pride? Pay attention, Harry. I’ve got bigger problems.” George waved away the matter.
“Fine. I’ve tried to be diplomatic about it as that’s what a Seneschal is supposed to be. I’ve tried to be deferential to your wishes, and treat you as one should treat their king, but I’ve had it.” He calmly sat the books down on the bed and stood, facing George with a stern frown. “I have been asking you, restraining myself from yelling at your thick skull and demanding, that you go and see to your Pride. That you meet with them, talk to them, and get to know them. But no, you’re too important to do that. You’re too busy for that.”
“I didn’t want them in the first place,” George reminded him stubbornly. “Real men work, not sit around some frilly room all day waiting to be buggered by some horny royal. I will not be that person, and I will not make them into those kinds of men.”
“Who the hell is asking you to, you ignorant ass?” Harry snarled back. “They no more chose to be members of your Pride than you chose to have them. If you recall, I chose them.” He stood toe to toe with a bewildered looking George, poking his chest. “Now, knowing you as I do for as long as I have, do you honestly think I would pick five of the most useless men in the kingdom for you and then insist that you spend time with them?”
“Ah,” George hemmed.
“Do you really think that as Seneschal, I didn’t have better things to do with my time? Do you think I’m just indulging in some royal fantasy and trying to make you play along with me? Do you think I’m stupid?” Harry asked, realizing as he did so that his voice had gotten rather loud. Clearing his throat, he backed up and folded his arms over his chest, waiting to see what George’s response would be.
“How is spending time with them and talking with them going to help me defend Marrok from an invasion from Jalecia?”
“You could start by apologizing to Tobias and explaining to him that when you dismissed him, you were dismissing him from your rooms, not from your Pride and from the castle itself,” Harry shot back, getting angry just thinking about it. “You don’t even know him, you didn’t even bother getting to know him and you rejected him. What? Do you think I picked these men simply because of their pretty faces?”
George rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, and Harry could see the guilt written across his face. It went a little ways towards appeasing him, but George had been nothing but a foul mouthed bear since he’d been awarded kingship, and Harry had had enough. George wasn’t the only one disappointed by the way events had transpired. He’d loved George for years. And in a decidedly not brother-like way. Maybe Harry had never been the most straightforward person when it came to confessing his feelings, but he knew that eventually he would have.
It was just that now, doing so would be entirely pointless. Misery like that was best kept close to his chest and not shared. And possibly, it was that misery that had made him wince when he’d seen it in Tobias’s despondent face.
“I didn’t mean to be so abrupt with him,” George murmured, which was as good an apology that Harry was going to get from him. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You better,” Harry returned, not giving an inch as George drooped. “He didn’t deserve that. Not from you. I know you don’t want a Pride. And I know you’re avoiding them because you don’t want to deal with what it means to have one.”
“I don’t like the tradition,” George told him flatly. “It’s slavery with sexual favors.”
“It’s an equal sharing,” Harry countered, calmly. “You’re as enslaved to them as they are to you. You owe it to them to try and make it work. As Tobias can tell you, you can dismiss some or all of them if it doesn’t work out. There is precedence. But you’ll have to replace them with others if you do. You’ll never know though, if they are worth keeping around if you refuse to even be in the same room with them.”
“So what you’re really saying is--”
“Suck it up, and stop being such a snot faced whiny brat,” Harry told him out right. “And stop judging them before you’ve even gotten to know them. Give them a chance.”
“Fine,” George held up his hands in mock surrender, “but let’s grab something from the kitchens and eat first. I can’t grovel on an empty stomach.”
Managing a wry smile, Harry let George swing an arm around his shoulders and drag him out of the royal bedchambers in the direction of the kitchens.
It's disjointed and rambly and a little bit of all over the place, but I can't help it, the universe is fun to think about. ^_^;;
I'll post all the random drabbles I have for this universe next.
Prologue
“I don’t want a litter of men following me around,” George growled, slamming his fist against the expansive outer stone wall of the palace before running a hand through his ordinary brown hair. The garden was in full bloom and manicured to show off each flower and bush in its best light.
“It’s a Pride, and you don’t have a choice. You know this,” Harry returned in his usual calm manner as he helped George out of the layers of armor he’d put on in order to train in the lists. King or not, George was a Knight. First, foremost and forever. It was just that he was now a knight who fled to the gardens and allowed his Seneschal to disrobe him instead of his squire. Kings didn’t have squires, and they couldn’t afford to cavort till all hours of the day and night with brash, impetuous knights who were reckless in their attempts to prove themselves and their worth.
Dammit, he’d never asked for this.
“Well, I don’t want a Pride, then. Can’t I just be a celibate king?” The smell of dogwood blossoms was heavy in the air and George wanted to gag from it. Blood, dirt, sweat. These were the smells of knightly pursuits. He wasn’t meant to be some kind of coddled lord to be pampered with perfumes! And he certainly did not need five sycophantic men trailing after him in abject servitude. He didn’t want this kind of power over anyone, let alone over an entire kingdom. Did no one else see that in this instance, he was the weed amongst the pretty flowers? And weeds belonged out in the elements, fighting for their place and for their right to exist.
Weeds were not meant to be crowned the glory of the garden and placed in a position to lord it over the other flowers.
“Your Majesty, with all due respect,” Harry started, setting the armor down on an ivy covered stone bench.
George shot him a glare. “Harry, what have I told you about calling me that?”
Harry pursed his lips before straightening his shoulders and stiffening his back. A sure indication that Harry thought he was being moronic but was choosing to be more diplomatic than to simply say so out right. “Fine. George. With this position comes respect. It is not just the people of this palace that you must impress. This House chose you to be their champion, and thus their king. Their loyalties lie with you.”
Correction, their loyalties were the ones George was most likely to gain in the coming months. So he was on display, he still had to stand up to all the other flowers to show himself worthy of the admiration. He was some fresh off the field knight who had managed to win the Century’s Tournament without realizing that the prize for such a feat was a lifetime of servitude to his House and country under the guise of kingship. George hadn’t wanted to be king, which made him wonder why he was even willing to try and fight for the position. “Are you sure their loyalties are with me?” He arched an eyebrow. At Harry’s look of irritation though, he relented. “All right, you’re sure. I do trust you above any and everyone here.”
“The Pride provides the king with internal support,” Harry sighed, sitting on the bench next to George’s armor and fiddling idly with a bit of the iron plating. “They’re a stabilizing influence. They provide balance from the animosity of the non-ruling houses. Yes, nobles have prides too, but theirs is a sign of wealth and power. Yours is different. It’s designed differently to reflect the nature of how prides were meant to be when the concept was first created. You have to trust me on that. You need these men, regardless of whether you decide to indulge in licentious behaviors with them.”
On anyone else, George wouldn’t have thought to note it, but Harry’s ears pinked at the words, though no other outward sign of his embarrassment was visible. His clear grey eyes were as serious as always, and his expression was the same staid stoic Harry that George had spent an entire childhood teasing, but the ears gave him away.
And for that reason alone, George allowed Harry’s words to penetrate. The House Lords had been screaming at him for the last fortnight about the issue, and even Vicky had started in on pestering him about it, but he’d brushed them all aside, not wanting to think on the idea overly much.
But brushing aside Harry wasn’t an option.
“I don’t want them. I barely wanted this.” He gestured at the overly manicured gardens surrounding them.
“I know that. But you won’t be allowed to skirt this stricture. They’ve already overlooked you appointing a mere peasant of questionable parentage as your Seneschal. You’ll have to choose a Pride. One man from five of the ten ruling Houses. The five Houses from whom you don’t chose someone will send a member to make up your table of advisors. This is the way it has always been done. This is the way that it has to be done. And yes, everyone is watching to see what you do.” Harry gave him a pained look.
George breathed deeply, choking back on the suffocating, cloying smell of blooming flowers. As a knight, he’d never felt anything other than powerful and empowered. Even when the odds were not in his favor and faced with someone of greater skill and strength, he’d never once felt lacking or out of his depth. There would always be someone who was bigger, stronger, and more skilled. But a knight fought with honor, to the best of his abilities, and if he was defeated there was no shame.
Kingship came with no such codes, strictures or certainties. And George was decidedly less godlike than he should be. In a position where there was absolutely no room for error at all, he couldn’t envision a path in which he did anything but.
“I can’t choose, Harry,” he finally admitted, sinking heavily onto the bench with him. “I’ll pick the wrong ones. I can’t pick the wrong ones.”
“You won’t pick the wrong ones.”
“I will.”
“You won’t, because I’m choosing them for you.”
Chapter One
“This is it,” Sir Harry said quietly, ushering Asher through the open door. Despite the fact that Harry was taller than him and bigger than him, he was still intimidated by Asher. Not that Asher was one to brag about such things, but one didn’t spend an entire lifetime surrounded by people who hated him without knowing how to read body language. “You’re the first one here, however. The rest should be arriving later. Their Houses were further out.”
Aw, that was kind of adorable. The big strong knight was embarrassed. “So I get to choose the best bed.” He grinned up at Sir Harry, having to swallow a laugh as Sir Harry’s ears turned a bright, bright red.
“Ah, yes, I suppose you do. Well, I have to be off to see to the arrival of the other four. Please make yourself comfortable.” Sir Harry practically pushed him all the way into the room and shut the door behind him. At that, Asher had to laugh. He was used to people being uncomfortable around him, he just wasn’t used to them being awkward for a reason that didn’t involve him being the single son of the most powerful Hurds in his House.
Now, if only everyone else who came could be as fun as Sir Harry. Of course, looking around, Asher made a face. Pink. The entire room was pink. There were four beds lined up against the wall, and there were two small settees in the corners. On the opposite wall was a door, and curious, Asher walked over to push it open. Inside was a room with another bed which was twice the size of the other beds. There were two massive dressers on either side with candelabra sitting on them, and there were tapestries hanging above them both done in various shades of pink and red.
Walking into the smaller room thoughtfully, Asher flung himself onto the bed, testing it for feather softness and the firmness of the mattress. Overall, it wasn’t bad, but then again, why would it be since this was obviously where the king was supposed to take his chosen pride member of the night and screw them until daylight. The purpose of the room was not exactly subtle. Even the tapestries were in cahoots as they had embroidered men on them doing things that must have sent the poor ladies making them into fits.
Asher liked them. And since someone had made the mistake of leaving him to his own devices, he crawled off the bed, climbed onto the dresser and took the raunchier of the two tapestries down. This one would look perfect in the common room. Preferably so that it could be viewed immediately by whoever opened the door.
By the time he had it perfectly positioned and was standing back to admire his handiwork, Sir Harry opened the door once more to usher in another young man. Given the way Sir Harry’s ears immediately turned red, Asher deemed the redecorating effort a success. It was an added bonus that the young man beside Sir Harry turned a brilliant shade of scarlet that clashed horribly with the carrot orange hair on his head.
Grinning, Asher walked over to them, making sure to let his eyes slide suggestively over them both. The young man squirmed while Sir Harry resolutely focused his attention on the one bare spot on the wall that wasn’t covered in tapestry or pink. “Lord Asher, this is Thatcher. Thatcher, this is Lord Asher.”
“Just Asher,” he corrected, holding out a hand to the still blushing young Thatcher. Nodding uncertainly, Thatcher took his hand and tentatively shook it, but not before glancing back at Sir Harry uncertainly. “He doesn’t bite,” Asher told him conspiratorially. “Sir Harry just isn’t used to seeing Pride rooms up close and personal. But you and I, we’re unshakeable, aren’t we? Just think of all the great sex we shall have within these walls. We’re lucky men, we are.”
Sir Harry shot him a warning glare that Asher answered with a lewd leer. Hey, it wasn’t his fault that the whole purpose of a Pride was to sate the sexual desires of their master. Far be it for him to flaunt a thousand years worth of traditions.
Thatcher fidgeted beside him, his hands contorting themselves in his distress. Sighing, Asher reluctantly let him go, feeling just a little sad as Thatcher practically jumped away from him.
“Asher,” Sir Harry started, getting Asher’s attention as he stalled, “just try to be nice?”
“I’m always nice,” he retorted indignantly as Sir Harry started walking out. “Ask anyone! I’m downright wonderful to be around.” The door closed. Frowning, he turned his attention back to Thatcher, who was currently throwing a small satchel on the bed closest to the window in the corner. “So, you’re Thatcher. What House are you from?”
Thatcher looked up and fidgeted his fingers again before turning his attention back to his satchel. Well, that just figured. Given the rough homespun nature of his clothing, the wild way his unkempt hair hung down around his thin face and the obvious calluses on his hands; Thatcher was not a noble. He was not, however, overly hard on the eyes. Eh, maybe with time, he could pester the poor boy into talking to him. For now, he’d be kind and give Thatcher his space.
However, by the time Sir Harry had brought in the last three members, he was practically crawling the walls with boredom. He recognized Lord Caleb straight away. The arrogant son of a bitch had to be grinding his teeth over having been demoted from Most Likely to Rule the Fairfield House to the King’s Sex Slave. In fact, the way that he clenched his fists and stormed into the room with the door, slamming it shut with all his might, was a clear indication that Lord Caleb was not happy with the circumstances in which he’d found himself.
Samuel, who’d arrived shortly after Lord Caleb, was of the Kliner House. The scars on his face alone were enough to make Asher realize that when messing with Samuel, he’d have to watch himself. It didn’t actually stop him from reaching out experimentally and tugging on Samuel’s braid, but when Samuel demonstrated the lightening quick reflexes that came with being raised in the Kliner House, Asher backed off.
The little interaction though, seemed to stress out poor little silent Thatcher. Asher still wasn’t quite sure what the man’s problem was. However, he did swallow a chuckle as the distressed hand wringing caught Samuel’s attention. Apparently, Samuel was going to be Thatcher’s new best friend. Whether Thatcher wanted him to be or not. Asher had to admit too, the sight of the two of them sitting together on the settee, Samuel crowding Thatcher who blushed hard enough to clash with his carrot hair, was not actually an adverse sight.
But, with them all sandwiched together and Lord Caleb sulking in the bedroom, Asher was beginning to feel a little put out. Okay, sure, he hadn’t exactly been one hundred percent behind the idea of being a part of the king’s Pride. No self respecting man would be. But he was a ‘make the best of the situation’ kind of man. And having thought of a thousand scenarios in which the whole meeting of the rest of the Pride could have gone, in none had he envisioned everyone ignoring him.
If this was going to be his fate for the rest of his life, Asher had to say, he didn’t want any part of it.
So, when Sir Harry finally opened the door to reveal the last member, Asher was all but jumping on him in enthusiasm. It didn’t hurt either that the newest arrival was shorter than him with his arms wrapped protectively around a book. His clothes were dusty, Asher guessed, from having spent a great deal of time sorting through and playing amongst old, musty forgotten volumes in some library.
“Tobias, this is Asher,” Sir Harry finally said reluctantly after discretely jabbing an elbow in Asher’s side to get him to back up out of his personal space a pace or too.
“N-nice to meet you,” Tobias whispered softly, holding out a hand that visibly shook.
He was too precious for words. All big brown eyes and fluffy blond hair. Asher smiled broadly, ignoring Sir Harry’s attempts to indicate that he needed to leave Tobias alone. A tasty little morsel like this? Really, who was Sir Harry kidding? Asher ignored the hand, reaching out with both arms and pulling a startled Tobias up against him in a bone crushing hug. A person didn’t shake hands with a puppy. Puppies were meant to be held and cuddled.
“I like you,” he told Tobias rather matter-of-factly, delighting in the way Tobias’s fair cheeks turned bright red in response.
“Lord Asher,” Sir Harry started out in exasperation, forgetting for a moment that Archer really was no longer a lord or interested in the title and what came with it. Maybe Lord Caleb would miss the world of politics and backstabbing, but Asher had had his fill. “Play nice.” The command was more of a plea than anything else, and Archer smiled broadly. Pity that Seneschal couldn’t be members of the Pride, too. Harry would have made an excellent playmate.
“I’ll be gentle,” he told Sir Harry in all seriousness, which only garnered him another glare of exasperation as Harry turned to leave.
Tobias scratched his elbow self consciously as he stood in the rather plain rooms of the king. It was obvious from the lack of furniture and the single, simple bed that King George had decorated the room with his knightly background in mind. It was pretty much the antithesis of the overly ornate and perfumed rooms of the Pride.
Sir Harry had said that King George would be coming back here after he trained in the lists. He’d told the entire Pride that, so it wasn’t as if he’d said it to Tobias simply to put him off or make him go away. King George would be coming back to these rooms, and Tobias would be here waiting for him like Asher had suggested.
He scratched at his elbow again. It was a good thing that these rooms were heated or he would have turned blue ages ago.
It had been Asher’s idea that he approach King George.
One of the Pride had to. Sir Harry had brought them all together, telling them that King George had specifically chosen them to be members of his Pride, but Tobias had seen the small concerned frown on his face, the strained reassurances Sir Harry had issued.
Tobias wasn’t stupid. He’d read the historical records. It wasn’t uncommon for a king to dismiss members of his Pride. There was no guarantee that even if King George wanted them now that he’d want them a year from now or ten years from now. The best way to ensure that they stayed was to develop a deeper relationship, a more permanent relationship with their king. Pride members who didn’t, did not remain members for very long.
And Tobias could not go home. Not anymore.
The priesthood would no longer accept him. Not with his purity of soul called into question, not with his innocence gone-even if only in the eyes of the rest of the kingdom instead of in actuality. If he went home now, it would be in disgrace. He wouldn’t be heading off for the monastery or getting assigned to a chapel. He’d be brought home, ushered to a long forgotten room of a long forgotten wing of the House, and then promptly forgotten until he died.
Asher had told him that if anyone were to initiate anything, it would have to be Tobias.
Samuel was too intense. He’d done nothing but sit in a corner, polishing his knives and sharpening his sword, sparing only a moment every now and then to give Tobias a grin that scared the life out of him. Lord Caleb had taken the one room with a door, slamming it behind him and making it perfectly clear that he thought himself above them and the whole idea of a Pride. Thatcher hadn’t said a word. To anyone. Asher, for whatever reason, had decided he wouldn't be appropriate, although for the life of him, Tobias could not see how.
Asher had been the only one to talk to him. Although, the slow grin on his face and the way he’d casually rubbed the side of Tobias’s arm with his knuckles as he’d explained the scenario had left Tobias quaking just a little. Of all the members of the Pride, Asher was by far the most exotic. Obviously a Hurd, he had the short curly black hair, the pale blue eyes and the flawless dark tanned skin. If the thought of sex didn’t have him shaking in his boots, Tobias would have been more than willing to accept whatever Asher wanted to do to him. The man was gorgeous.
And, more importantly, given the attention he’d paid Tobias, he was kind. He’d patiently sat with Tobias, trying to draw him out of his shell, and he hadn’t gotten angry when Tobias had stuttered in the beginning or when he’d blushed and clammed up. Asher had talked to him. He, who wasn’t even worth the breath it took for his parents to tell him he’d been chosen a member of the new king’s Pride, who had been nothing but a burden to his parents and who had been nothing but a disgrace to a House that prided itself on its strong and courageous young men.
Tobias wasn’t anything special. He’d had a weak constitution as a child, and as a result, he’d never gotten as big as the rest of the people his age. His hair was a limp, unimpressive blond. His eyes an ordinary insipid brown. There was a reason people looked through him as if he wasn’t there. There was a reason that no one noticed if he’d missed all three meals because he’d gotten lost in reading something in the House library.
There was a reason people didn’t care.
He was a mouse. And he knew it. He'd accepted it.
So, whatever it was that Asher thought he’d seen in Tobias, he knew he didn’t have it. But maybe that was part of Asher’s charm, getting people to believe in the impossible.
After all, Tobias was standing naked in the king’s chambers because of it. There was a scrape of armor against stone right outside the door, and Tobias’s heart leapt into his throat. He tried in vain not to hunch his shoulders in and cover his nakedness in some kind of pathetic attempt to protect himself. As if he’d stand an actual chance in a fight against the knight who had won the Century’s Tournament to become king.
The door swung open, and Tobias forced himself not to cower. King George strode in, self assured, but obviously irritated at something. He tossed his armor carelessly onto a large chair in the corner and rubbed at the obvious tension in his neck.
Tobias knew Asher was gorgeous, yes. He was sensual and confident and moved as if he didn't have a single joint in his body. But King George?
King George, on the other hand, was all male. All knight. Tall and powerfully built with broad shoulders. His hair was an ordinary brown, yes, but it curled slightly around his face giving him a boyish air, and his eyes were the most intense blue Tobias figured he’d ever see.
In fact, as those blue eyes swung up and forward and King George noticed him for the first time since entering the room, Tobias felt pinned by them, even as King George started in surprise at seeing him.
“What are you doing here?” The words were hard and clipped, and Tobias sucked in a deep breath to attempt to calm himself.
“M-my n-name is Tobias, and I’m one of the members of your Pride,” he said, proud that he managed not to stutter the whole thing.
“I know that. What are you doing here?”
“I-I,” Tobias tried, sliding almost helplessly into silence as King George came up to stand directly in front of him.
“You are not supposed to be here. Didn’t Harry tell you this?” He was angry, Tobias could see it in his frown and in the way he brought his hands to his hips before staring down at him. King George had expected to come back to his chambers in order to escape the pressures and the people, and Tobias had ruined that.
But he couldn’t just back down now. Not when he was standing in front of his king with not a stitch of clothing on. “I am a member of your Pride. And it is your duty to see to your Pride,” he said with a great deal more strength than he possessed. At the black look that crossed King George’s face though, Tobias felt his stomach drop.
“So you thought you’d come and fling yourself at me? Roll over and spread your legs for me simply because you are in my Pride? Do you think so little of yourself? I am a knight. What do I care for Prides?” King George said in a deceptively soft voice, although, Tobias felt the sting of the questions as if he’d shouted them. King George leaned in closer, tilting Tobias’s chin up until Tobias was forced to look him in the eye. “I’m not interested in you, puppy. I have bigger things to worry about.” King George’s expression softened and Tobias could see the pity in it. That was worse than any yelling that he could have done.
“Are you dismissing me?” Tobias heard himself ask calmly. It felt like someone else was speaking for him, though. A small frown settled on King George’s face.
“Yes. Grab your clothes and go back to your rooms.” He motioned Tobias away with a careless wave.
Woodenly, Tobias grabbed his tunic and hose. He didn’t bother taking the time to put them back on as he headed towards the door. What was the point? The lump in his throat grew, and his stomach practically sank to his feet. When the news got around that he’d been dismissed from the king’s Pride, this humiliation would barely register in comparison. Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other in a calm walk instead of running very much like he wanted to, he made his way back to the Pride’s rooms. It was a fool’s errand. He’d known that. He had no one but himself to blame.
Besides, best that he knew now, before he'd gotten his hopes up and expected more.
His entrance caused a little bit of a stir as the other members looked at him in horrified disbelief. And as the ugly runt amongst the king’s prized hunting hounds, he could easily understand their shock. He breezed past them all, barely noticing. He walked past the bed he’d slept in last night, and past the settee that Asher had sat him down on earlier. His skin felt icy hot, as he made his way towards the garderobe and grasped the edges until his knuckles turned white.
“Tobias?” Asher questioned, but Tobias was beyond hearing him. Asher’s sympathy would only make him cry, and he was beyond crying.
His stomach heaved, and he only hoped he could purge himself of this feeling as easily as he was purging his guts.
“Dammit,” he swore tiredly as Tobias shut the door behind him. Well, he certainly hadn’t handled that well. Then again, there wasn’t much yet that he had. In dismissing the previous king’s table of advisors, he’d ruffled a great many feathers, and angered a great many nobles. The lords that had replaced the table after Harry had finished picking his Pride weren’t any warmer towards him.
Luckily for George, that didn’t factor as greatly as it might because while the knights swore fealty to their lords, their first oath was to their king. Not to mention that George knew they liked him a great deal more than many of the lords who skimped on things like horseflesh, food, and armor. He was one of the knights. Or at least, he used to be. They knew him and they’d already told him that their loyalty was to him first. So while the lords might be angry with him, they didn’t have much of an advantage over him physically. They could, however, make politics excruciating for him, evidenced first and foremost by Harry’s insistence that he even have a Pride.
A Pride.
George wanted nothing to do with the tradition. He kicked viciously at the large chair in his room, sending his armor clattering to the stone floors before he turned and slumped onto the bed, his hands threaded through his hair.
It was slavery, short and simple. A master waltzed in, chose a few men who had either caught his eye or displeased him in some way, and made them less than human. Gathering them all up in one place, a master would turn them from men into sexual objects to be treated with less respect than one would show the camp dogs.
He would not become that kind of man. And no matter how much Tobias begged, he would not help the boy become that kind of object.
“George, you in there?” A barely placed knocked was quickly followed by the door being flung open before George could say yea or nay. Not that it would have mattered anyway as Victoria was an unstoppable force. “Harry said that he thought he might have seen you come this way. Looks like he’s right. Have you ever noticed how often he knows where you are?”
“Why do you think I made him Seneschal?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“So you’d actually have a valid reason to stare at him all day long?” Victoria crossed her arms over her chest, giving him the look that indicated she wasn’t at all fooled by anything he had to say on the subject. “Although, there was someone who I passed on my way here that looked infinitely more interesting to stare at.”
Wincing, George stood to collect his armor from the floor and set it back on the chair. “Really? And you didn’t know who it was? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Oh, I knew who it was,” Vicky assured him just before she took her tiny elfish foot and slammed it down on his instep making him yelp in pain and hop away from her. “What did you do to him? He looked crushed.”
“I didn’t do anything to him,” George spat back, sitting back down on the bed to nurse his poor abused foot. “I’m not going to do anything to any of them, and the sooner they and everyone else in this castle comes to terms with that, the better.”
“George.”
“I imagine that as Chatelaine, you’re just as busy as I am. Don’t you have some servants to annoy? Abandoned rooms to decorate?”
“These could use a sprucing up. I imagine the same shade of pink that’s in the Pride Rooms would look lovely in here in the morning with the sunlight streaming in.” Vicky glared at him. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Look, I understand that you’re annoyed with me, but I’m not changing my mind on this. And you can tell Harry I said that. Hell, you can tell the entire damn Pride,” his face twisted in disgust as he said the word, “that I’m not coming near them.”
“You’re being stubborn.” Vicky frowned, her pixie features wrinkling in frustration.
“I didn’t want to be king.”
“But you are. And you can’t change that anymore than you can change who our father was,” she returned forcefully, taking a menacing step towards him.
“You know what,” George said, finally snapping at her in anger, hating the way she flinched at his tone and looked at him in surprise, “maybe I can’t change that I’m king or that he was my father. But I can’t hurt those that I don’t associate with, so no. I have a Pride, yes. Because I’ve been forced to have one. But that does not mean that I have to see them or talk to them or be with them.”
“And you think that by ignoring them, you’re not going to hurt them?” She was twisting her fingers in the blue fabric of her gown. “You think that by rejecting them and keeping them as far away from you as possible is going to make things better?”
“You didn’t want to be around our father,” he said slowly and softly, knowing that she wasn’t talking about the Pride, or at least not completely. He reached out to take her left hand and tracing the two last fingers on it that were bent at funny angles from where they’d healed badly after having been broken.
“Being king, having power,” Victoria told him, pulling her hand back, “doesn’t make you like him. And sometimes, you can cause as much harm by not being there as you can by being present. But, since I’m supposed to be terrorizing servants and decorating rooms, I’ll just let you get back to the all important chore of being a king who talks to no one, okay?”
“Vicky,” he tried by way of apology.
“It’s okay,” she managed an annoyed grin, “I’ll just tell Harry.” And with that, she shut the door behind her.
For one terrible moment, Asher was sure the next time he saw King George, he would be strangling the life out of the man. Tobias’s face was white, and his puppy brown eyes weren’t focusing on anything as Asher brushed soft, white blond hair out of them. But, as Tobias started trembling and slid to sit on the ground, Asher decided that killing the king could wait. This was his fault, and it was up to him to fix it.
“What happened?” He kept his voice even and calm, even as Tobias flinched away from his touch and curled in on himself. “Tobias?”
There was a scrape of boots behind him, and Asher didn’t bother resisting the urge to turn and snarl silently at the intruder. Lord Caleb leaned against the doorway, arching an unimpressed eyebrow undeterred.
He was the one person Asher wanted least to see. Samuel, or even Thatcher who hadn’t said a word, would be more sympathetic. But Lord Caleb could care less about the king, the Pride, or his supposed place in it. The man was too arrogant by half.
“What’s the matter with the runt?”
Tobias gave a sick smile at the words before gently pushing away Asher’s arms. Reaching over to retrieve the clothes he’d brought in with him, Tobias slowly started to pull them on his thin body. Asher wanted to do a number of things, none of which involved Tobias dressing, or looking so sad and broken as he did so. Unfortunately, from the way Tobias backed up every time he attempted an overture, there was little opportunity there for Asher to exploit.
Instead, he turned to favor Caleb with a feral smile. Make no mistake, Asher was livid. But as the object of his anger was out of range, he had no qualms about releasing it on Caleb instead.
Physically intimidating Caleb was out of the question as the man was taller than him. In fact, everyone with the exception of Tobias was taller than him. Besides that, Caleb had to outweigh him by a couple stone at least as the man was built like an ox.
But any ox could be led around by the nose once a person got a ring in it. Asher invaded Caleb’s personal space, smiling openly as the proximity made Caleb fidget uncomfortably.
Royals, he almost snorted out loud, they spent so much effort being prudish that they missed all the fun there was to be had in indulging. Why else would the king reject a tender little morsel like Tobias? Asher had not even known Tobias a fortnight, and even he could see that once gained, Tobias’s trust and loyalty could not be broken. Pretty faces could come and go, but that kind of earnest openness could not be bought, sold, or coerced.
That King George couldn’t see what a prize that was to be had in his position was a very black mark against him indeed, to Asher’s mind.
“And to what do we owe the presence of your glorious self?” he purred, licking his lips. Caleb turned to stare at him, flummoxed, before coughing awkwardly and shifting his legs ever so subtlety.
“I heard the kid come running in and retch, so I figured I’d come and see what had gotten him so worked up.” Caleb frowned, pulling himself up and looking down his nose at Asher in disapproval. The ox had airs, rather pretentious ones learned from a life of running about as a little lordling on high. Well, Caleb wasn’t the only one with noble blood, and it failed to intimidate Asher.
There were three noble families of Hurd descent in his House. And from a young age, Asher had been made aware of the stigma that came with looking like a heathen. Since he’d refused to bow and scrape to the supposedly superior Gelsh, Asher had spent many years dealing with men like Caleb and he’d spent many years learning how to nettle them in much the way that they nettled him.
“Really?” Asher blatantly trailed a hand over Caleb’s shoulders, pretending to brush away lint. Caleb fidgeted uneasily. “I’ve heard curiosity is such a plebian pursuit. I can’t imagine that the likes of you would be interested in the affairs of the likes of us.” He waved away the thought carelessly.
“I’m a member of this Pride too.” Caleb scowled, not liking the tone Asher was taking.
“Not because you want to be, more’s the pity. We could’ve had fun, you and I,” Asher forced himself to sigh regretfully. Not that Caleb wasn’t attractive, because his dark auburn hair just begged to have hands run through it. It was his attitude that made Asher want to do something like hide mice in his bed or push him in a mud puddle. However, such solutions were better left to childhood, and the best way to exact revenge nowadays was simply to not give an inch and not believe what men like Caleb wanted him so badly to believe. “I suppose there still might be a chance. That is, of course, if your lordship could get his hands dirty with a heathen.”
“It’s not my duty to do anything with anyone but the king.” Caleb’s cheeks pinked as he said it, but his face remained stormy. Boldly, Asher reached over to slide a finger over Caleb’s full lower lip, and smiled seductively just to annoy him.
“He didn’t want me,” Tobias blurted out.
“Puppy?” Asher immediately turned his attention back to Tobias whose arms were hugging his middle protectively, a miserable expression on his face. Forget Caleb, Tobias was the important one, and certainly more worthy of Asher’s attentions at the moment.
“He didn’t want me,” Tobias repeated. “He dismissed me.” Tobias’s eyes begged for Asher to understand, and not able to help himself, Asher moved forward wrapping Tobias up in his arms.
“Which only proves how stupidly blind nobles can be,” he whispered into the soft blond hair.
“I have to leave.” Tobias pushed gently away from him, a sense of urgency in his voice.
“What?” Caleb demanded, reminding Asher that he was still in the room. Shooting the big ox a glare, Asher pulled Tobias back against him. Dammit, he was going to comfort him whether Tobias wanted it or not.
“I have to leave. I can’t stay here.”
“You can’t leave,” Caleb said flatly. “None of us can. He’s chosen us as his Pride.”
“Maybe he’ll keep you,” Tobias sounded wistful, and Asher liked it not one bit, “but he’s already gotten rid of me. I’ve been dismissed. I have to leave.” He turned his head to look up at Asher, uncertain. “I don’t know where to go. I can’t go home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Asher insisted.
“The king can’t do that,” Caleb burst out, pushing away from the doorframe and into the room. “He can’t just pick men and then discard them at whim. He has to keep five men from five of the ten houses. That’s spelled out in the royal charter that he signed at his coronation.” Caleb rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his massive chest. “He’s bound by law.”
“But there’s precedence,” Tobias insisted. “Three centuries ago, King Ferdinand dismissed thirty men from his Pride until he finally settled. Two centuries ago, King Daniel the fifth went through over a hundred men before settling on five that he barely spoke to in the entirety of his reign. This century, both King Wesley and King Christopher the second dismissed multiple men from their Prides before finally settling on a select few.”
“I’ve never heard of such things,” Caleb muttered doubtfully.
“Well, since you’ve never heard of them, they obviously must never have happened,” Asher snapped back, rolling his eyes.
“I didn’t say that,” Caleb retorted angrily. “I just said I wasn’t familiar with the precedence he’s discussing. And if I’m unfamiliar with it, than I sincerely doubt our newly made king is aware of it.”
The small sliver of hope that flitted across Tobias’s face before he quashed it was almost painful to see. “We’d best find Sir Harry, then, and see what he has to say on the matter.” Asher reluctantly loosened his grip on Tobias.
“And if King George dismisses me?” Tobias whispered. Asher doubted Caleb heard him as Caleb was already striding out of the room as if he were the king instead of one of the king’s Pride.
“He won’t be, puppy,” Asher assured him with more confidence than he felt.
Chapter Two
Harry hesitated briefly at the plain, unadorned door before pushing his way through it. As expected, George favored him with a disgruntled scowl at the intrusion. Well, so what else was new? Vicky had found him first muttering vague things under her breath about him needing to talk some sense into George. And then, he’d been cornered by a very large Caleb who demanded to know what the hell the king was thinking, dismissing members of his Pride and rejecting Tobias without so much as a backward glance.
George was avoiding the problem. That much was obvious. There were a few books lying askew on the floor, open to various pages. On the bed, George had all sorts of parchment spread about, and a few scrolls of maps extended. Given that George vastly preferred training in the lists or taking a ride on his horse, or generally being anywhere that books weren’t, Harry assumed that whatever it was that had him here surrounded by paper was not a happy circumstance. Vastly preferable to dealing with the Pride, though.
Harry straightened his shoulders and braced himself. George could be stubborn at the best of times. “Your Maj-” he stopped, and then sighed at the glare George gave him, “George. What are you doing?”
“Slowly killing myself with parchment.”
Sighing again, Harry bent down to retrieve two of the books and cleared a small space on the opposite edge of the bed to sit on. “I dare say you don’t have nearly enough parchment for that. A map of our border with Jalecia?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently the newly appointed table of advisors has, oh what did they call them--Informants?--that are bringing back reports that Jalecia is building their army and that they’re bolstering the numbers of guards they have watching their border posts. I’ve been told that they’re planning an invasion, as we’re at our weakest since I just took kingship and have yet to establish my reign,” George spat the word out in distaste.
“Strategically, it makes sense,” Harry agreed, pushing his glasses farther up on his nose. George shot him a look of frustrated disbelief. “I didn’t say I liked it,” he offered as a means of apology. “So, what are you doing here that you didn’t want to do in front of your new table of advisors?” Harry had known George since they’d both been squires, scurrying in between tents out on the fields for their knights. As much of a brash idiot as he could be at times, George preferred to think things through in his own time and space. Most likely, the board had presented him with an overload of information, and unable to take it all at once, George had sat there nodding, acting as if he knew exactly what they were talking about, only to come back to his rooms later and attempt to puzzle out what he’d been told after the fact.
“Apparently, there’s this whole long history we’ve had with Jalecia. They attempt an invasion every time a new king is appointed. They’ve gained ground in the past, and the table is worried that this time they might actually succeed as their ruler is some kind of military genius. There was all kinds of talk about what could be done, but clearly they expected me to come up with a plan and then do something about it.” George growled, running his hands through his hair and shoved off the bed to start pacing.
“George,” Harry called to him softly.
“No, you know. This is why mere knights shouldn’t be made king. I’m out of my depth here, and if I fail, it’s not just my hide that will feel the brunt. There’s a whole kingdom’s worth of people who are expecting me to do the right thing by them.” George smacked the stone wall of his room in frustration. “Where do I start? How do I start? I am not cut out for this.”
Well, that kind of talk was unproductive and useless, Harry decided. Plus, George had just given him the perfect opportunity to bring up the original reason for his visit. “First, you can start by not dismissing members of your Pride. I chose them for you for a reason.”
“My Pride? Pay attention, Harry. I’ve got bigger problems.” George waved away the matter.
“Fine. I’ve tried to be diplomatic about it as that’s what a Seneschal is supposed to be. I’ve tried to be deferential to your wishes, and treat you as one should treat their king, but I’ve had it.” He calmly sat the books down on the bed and stood, facing George with a stern frown. “I have been asking you, restraining myself from yelling at your thick skull and demanding, that you go and see to your Pride. That you meet with them, talk to them, and get to know them. But no, you’re too important to do that. You’re too busy for that.”
“I didn’t want them in the first place,” George reminded him stubbornly. “Real men work, not sit around some frilly room all day waiting to be buggered by some horny royal. I will not be that person, and I will not make them into those kinds of men.”
“Who the hell is asking you to, you ignorant ass?” Harry snarled back. “They no more chose to be members of your Pride than you chose to have them. If you recall, I chose them.” He stood toe to toe with a bewildered looking George, poking his chest. “Now, knowing you as I do for as long as I have, do you honestly think I would pick five of the most useless men in the kingdom for you and then insist that you spend time with them?”
“Ah,” George hemmed.
“Do you really think that as Seneschal, I didn’t have better things to do with my time? Do you think I’m just indulging in some royal fantasy and trying to make you play along with me? Do you think I’m stupid?” Harry asked, realizing as he did so that his voice had gotten rather loud. Clearing his throat, he backed up and folded his arms over his chest, waiting to see what George’s response would be.
“How is spending time with them and talking with them going to help me defend Marrok from an invasion from Jalecia?”
“You could start by apologizing to Tobias and explaining to him that when you dismissed him, you were dismissing him from your rooms, not from your Pride and from the castle itself,” Harry shot back, getting angry just thinking about it. “You don’t even know him, you didn’t even bother getting to know him and you rejected him. What? Do you think I picked these men simply because of their pretty faces?”
George rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, and Harry could see the guilt written across his face. It went a little ways towards appeasing him, but George had been nothing but a foul mouthed bear since he’d been awarded kingship, and Harry had had enough. George wasn’t the only one disappointed by the way events had transpired. He’d loved George for years. And in a decidedly not brother-like way. Maybe Harry had never been the most straightforward person when it came to confessing his feelings, but he knew that eventually he would have.
It was just that now, doing so would be entirely pointless. Misery like that was best kept close to his chest and not shared. And possibly, it was that misery that had made him wince when he’d seen it in Tobias’s despondent face.
“I didn’t mean to be so abrupt with him,” George murmured, which was as good an apology that Harry was going to get from him. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You better,” Harry returned, not giving an inch as George drooped. “He didn’t deserve that. Not from you. I know you don’t want a Pride. And I know you’re avoiding them because you don’t want to deal with what it means to have one.”
“I don’t like the tradition,” George told him flatly. “It’s slavery with sexual favors.”
“It’s an equal sharing,” Harry countered, calmly. “You’re as enslaved to them as they are to you. You owe it to them to try and make it work. As Tobias can tell you, you can dismiss some or all of them if it doesn’t work out. There is precedence. But you’ll have to replace them with others if you do. You’ll never know though, if they are worth keeping around if you refuse to even be in the same room with them.”
“So what you’re really saying is--”
“Suck it up, and stop being such a snot faced whiny brat,” Harry told him out right. “And stop judging them before you’ve even gotten to know them. Give them a chance.”
“Fine,” George held up his hands in mock surrender, “but let’s grab something from the kitchens and eat first. I can’t grovel on an empty stomach.”
Managing a wry smile, Harry let George swing an arm around his shoulders and drag him out of the royal bedchambers in the direction of the kitchens.