Guarded by Kim Fielding

someone’s head off, yet he managed to bow back. “Thank you,” he said in heavily accented Kozari.
    Clouds shrouded the sun as Volos and Berhanu began their walk, but the road remained dry. Volos’s sword felt comfortable and comforting around his hips, and the bag containing his and Berhanu’s few possessions hung on his back. Berhanu carried nothing— he could barely carry himself— but Volos had given him the knife, more to stop Berhanu from complaining than from any real hope that the prince could use it effectively.
    And in the unforgiving daylight, the sight of Berhanu broke Volos’s heart. Where once the prince had been brawny with muscle, now he was little more than a skin-covered skeleton. Once he’d swaggered; now he stepped slowly, carefully, like an old man on the way to market. And he stopped often, his expression promising murder to anyone who said anything about it. He’d sit for a few minutes on a large stone or fallen tree before slowly levering himself upright and continuing their march.
    Around midday, Berhanu stumbled. He would have fallen if Volos hadn’t caught his arm and grimly led him to the grassy roadside, where they both sat down. “Fucking weak,” Berhanu mumbled.
    Volos opened his bag and took out some of the food they’d packed. He handed Berhanu a bread roll stuffed with minced meat and vegetables. “When I first became a soldier I was still a boy. I was gangly. Scrawny. I could barely hold a sword. My captain told me that the only true weakness is to give up.”
    Berhanu snorted, but perhaps the tense lines of his body eased a bit.
    ****
    Walking at a normal pace, Volos would have reached the nearest city before the evening meal. As it was, however, they didn’t get there until very late. Berhanu had spent the last several miles leaning on Volos, no doubt seething silently over the need for support. Eventually they shuffled into town, and Volos steered them to the first inn he saw. The proprietress— a young woman who wasn’t pleased to be roused at such a late hour— gave them a small private room, along with some cold meat and cheese and a couple pints of watery ale.
    The room had only one bed, which was fine. There was also a washbasin and a pair of towels. While Volos finished eating, Berhanu wearily stripped off his clothing. Volos averted his eyes, which was silly. But he leapt to his feet when Berhanu collapsed onto his knees. “Get in bed!” Volos ordered, attempting to drag Berhanu there.
    But Berhanu fought back weakly. “I’m filthy from travel. I hate sleeping in dirtied linens.” So Volos grabbed the towel and gave Berhanu a wipe-down. He wanted to linger over the task, but Berhanu could barely remain upright, and Volos didn’t quite trust himself to not get carried away with touching him. Besides, after what had happened with the Juganin, surely the last thing Berhanu wanted was another man pawing his body.
    Tucked into bed, Berhanu apparently had no compunction about watching Volos undress and wash himself. Volos’s skin itched under the close scrutiny. He prayed for his cock to stay soft, and he cast about desperately for the most disgusting memories he could dredge up. Still, he was half erect when he doused the lantern and dove beneath the blankets.
    “I didn’t realize you were wounded so badly,” said Berhanu, who seemed to find conversation easier in the dark.
    “I’ve been hurt worse.”
    “Like the injury to your leg. That’s why you limp a bit after you’ve exercised hard.”
    “Yes.” Volos wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Berhanu had noticed his limp. Prior to their Kozari adventure, he didn’t think the prince had spared him more than a few disdainful glances.
    “I don’t understand you. You keep risking your neck for Wedeyta, and for what? To prove you’re a true Wedey patriot?”
    “That’s not… I fought because Kozari slaughtered my family and I wanted revenge. By the time I realized how foolish I was, we were