Guarded by Kim Fielding Page A

in the middle of a war, and I’m no deserter. After the war I became a guard because what else was there for me to do? And I came after you because—” He stopped so suddenly he nearly bit his tongue.
    “Because?”
    “I told you. I didn’t want you to die.”
    “Why not? I’ve always treated you like shit. I’d think you’d be thrilled to be rid of me.”
    “No,” said Volos thickly. “I wouldn’t be.”
    Berhanu said nothing else, and Volos thought he must have fallen asleep. But then Berhanu shifted position, making sure he lay touching Volos. He sighed loudly. “Good night, Volos.”
    ****
    Over an early breakfast, Volos made inquiries about how to find a carriage to Felekna. The landlady assured them that carriages were frequent, but they’d have to pass through most of the city to catch one. So Volos pulled his cloak tightly around himself in hope that his sword would be less obvious, and he and Berhanu set out. The prince looked drawn and pale, and the planes of his face were set with pain. But he struggled along and didn’t lean on Volos at all.
    It was past midday when they reached the street where the coaches were. But the man in charge informed Volos that the last one for Felekna had already gone. “I can get you on the first one in the morning, though. Thirty fals each and you’ll be there by lunchtime.”
    If Berhanu hadn’t been completely exhausted, he probably would have thrown a tantrum after Volos translated. Volos paid the man sixty fals and received two tokens in exchange. Berhanu glared bloody murder at everyone until Volos dragged him to an inn, this one larger and more crowded than the previous night’s.
    “It’s just as well, don’t you think?” said Volos as they sat with their tankards of ale. “This way you’ll be fresher when you speak with the queen.”
    “Fresher!” Berhanu took a large swallow and slammed his tankard onto the table. “I’m not a fucking flower, Volos. I’m a man and a prince and—”
    “And you’ll be there tomorrow.”
    “Do you realize what’s at stake?”
    Volos was tired of being angry at this man. “I may not be royalty, but I’m not an idiot. Of course I realize. I just don’t think one more day will make a difference.” He lowered his voice, although he doubted anyone here understood Wedey. “If she knew where you were, she probably has had news that those men are dead.”
    Berhanu rubbed his face. “Gods. I should have been there weeks ago. I should have… The interpreter I hired— they killed her. She’s dead because of me.”
    The statement was true, so Volos didn’t argue with it. He’d seen many innocent people die. Infants. Old people. His own family.
    “She was a terrible interpreter anyway,” Berhanu said. “She didn’t speak Kozari nearly as well as you do. And she kept flirting with me even though she was old enough to be my mother, and she complained constantly about the journey, and…” His voice broke, and for a shocking moment, Volos thought he might cry. But Berhanu just cleared his throat and shook his head. “If I’d fought better when they attacked us, she’d be alive and I wouldn’t…”
    “There were eight of them.”
    “ You managed it.”
    “Only because Mato and his mother drugged their ale.”
    Berhanu’s face twisted. “Mato. You kissed him.”
    “He kissed me.” Volos frowned. “You did know I prefer men, didn’t you?”
    “I knew. I’ve heard about you. You prefer those insipid twits who frequent the Thieving Goose.”
    Volos blinked at him. Since when had the prince been keeping track of who he fucked? “They’re willing and convenient. I wouldn’t say that I prefer them.”
    Berhanu opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head before downing a good bit of his ale. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “It’s none of my fucking business, is it? Tell me something, Volos. Be honest. Forget for now that I’m a damned prince. Do you hate me?”
    “I… No.