Page 7 of King's Warrior

Another knock sounded at the door. A tall, imposing woman with a pinched face entered the room unbidden. The moment Draylon closed the door, she curtseyed. “Your Highness.” She turned to Rufe and curtseyed again. “Your Rufeness.” Many considered Talitha a witch, as much for her healing abilities as for her seeming not to have aged past thirty summers when she must be fifty. She beamed and bent to hug Rufe. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Talitha. You shouldn’t be here. And you shouldn’t touch me. I’m filthy.” Another kind soul Rufe wouldn’t taint with his presence.

Talitha waved a dismissive hand. “People are too afraid of me to talk behind my back, and water washes off most dirt.” She stooped. “Now, I’m here to see to your wounds.”

“I need to bathe first.” Rufe wrinkled his nose.

Talitha eyed Draylon, then Rufe. “I’ll wait downstairs. Don’t take long. My hand gets unsteadier the more I drink.”

She opened the door to reveal two men standing outside in well-used clothing and smelling of the stables. Both carried buckets of steaming water. They didn’t regard Rufe or Draylon; they merely performed their duty and left, returning several times with both hot and cold water. On the last trip, they’d discarded their buckets for two tankards and two bowls of stew.

“I’m unsure if I want to bathe or eat first.” Both were answers to Rufe’s prayers.

Draylon swished a hand through the water. “Why not eat while bathing? You could use a good soak.”

Rufe pulled off the grubby uniform he’d worn for weeks and left the disgusting rags on the floor. They needed burning, but he had nothing else to wear unless Draylon went to the barracks to retrieve his things.

He stood naked in front of Draylon, keeping his eyes downcast so as not to witness his friend’s disgust. Between dirt, lost weight, half-healed wounds, and the tattoo, Rufe definitely was nothing to look at.

Draylon lifted Rufe’s chin with two fingers. “Never be afraid to look at me or for me to look at you.” Dray ran his gaze over Rufe’sbody. “I did the best I could on the road. Talitha is a much better healer.”

Rufe sank into the heavenly water, hissing when his injuries stung. The discomfort faded. He rested his head on the tub's edge, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to be in the moment—no future, no past, only the here and now.

The scent of onions and other savory things reached his nose. He opened his eyes to find Draylon holding a spoonful of stew to his lips. “Eat.”

Rufe dutifully ate, cleaned himself, and climbed from embarrassingly dirty water.

Draylon helped towel him off with not a single lascivious look. They’d occasionally ended their nights in bed together, but there was no appreciation in Dray’s eyes now. Nor would there likely ever be again.

“Lie on the bed,” Draylon instructed. “I’ll get Talitha.”

Rufe must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Talitha hummed softly as she applied an herbal-smelling poultice to his leg wound that had never quite healed. “Any deeper, and you might have lost the leg. But no matter the situation, I’ll always place my bets on you.” She winked one blue eye. “Now, I’ve left Prince Draylon with tinctures and salves.” She fixed her gaze on Draylon. “Send for me if he worsens.”

“Thank you, Talitha,” Draylon said, slipping her several coins.

Rufe mumbled something he hoped sounded like thanks.

“You’re both welcome.” Talitha adopted her sour face again and left the room. Many thought her a witch because she believed inherbal remedies. She treated any who came to her door regardless of their ability to pay, which made local doctors tell any lies and accusations they could to prevent her from taking over their businesses. She was, in her own way, as outcast as Rufe, though many “upstanding citizens” sought her out under cover of darkness.

Draylon nodded and plopped down in the chair while Talitha whisked from the room,

“You don’t have to hover,” Rufe said, though he really didn’t want to be alone. Draylon had done enough already.

“I know.” Draylon slumped, folded his hands over his belly, closed his eyes, and soon snored. With him standing guard, Rufe managed a fitful sleep.

Draylon shared the bed on the second night, spooning against Rufe’s back.

On the third night, Rufe tossed and turned, unable to find sleep.

Draylon murmured, “Want me to make you feel better?”

They locked gazes. They’d relieved each other’s sexual tension many times in the past, Draylon proving his affection for Rufe hadn’t changed, though they’d never be more than friends and occasional lovers. But his caring proved Prince Draylon Aravaid valued Rufe if no one else did.

“Just stay with me.” After all the fear and uncertainty, Rufe wasn’t ready for them to indulge the physical side of their relationship. He fell asleep in Draylon’s muscular arms.

Sometimes Rufe cried in the days that followed, sometimes he raged, sometimes he took his frustrations out in all-encompassingsex with Draylon, but when they finally emerged, Draylon strode by his side.

They administered the occasional beat down together until the other soldiers got the message that the tattoo was to be ignored. One thing Rufe now knew for sure: Draylon didn’t see Rufe any different for his captivity.

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