Part 4

At the next outlying village there were rumors that the lands to the south were plague ridden. At Prince Quatre’s command Trowa was to go amongst the people gathering information about the rumors. Duo went to a fortuneteller in order to scry the truth. Trowa quickly released that the man had a morbid fear of plague. He talked incessantly of nothing else. When Trowa returned with news Duo had waited for him before the prince’s accommodations.

“What befalls?” Duo demanded as he approached the prince’s exotic guardsman, Heero.

“Nothing befalls, that I can tell,” Trowa answered.

“Nothing?” Duo asked anxiously.

“He is to report to the prince, stand aside,” said Heero holding out one hand to block Duo’s way.

Since last night the guardsman had taken to watching them. Trowa noted the sudden interest wondering why he would be concern with activities of the prince’s lover. He also realized that there was a lot of tension between the two. Did his prince share his bed with others besides his favorite? Trowa found that thought quite disturbing.

Trowa walked passed unchallenged. The quarters they were given were simple. It was a small village. His prince was reading. He was dressed much more sedate while they traveled so his usually deep cut shirts were closed to the neck and his adornments were few. Trowa was not fooled by his subdued appearance.

“You come with news?” Quatre asked putting the book aside.

“I find no evidence of epidemic, my prince.”

“You see, Duo, it is only gossip,” Quatre said negligently.

Trowa started to withdraw but Duo caught his arm. “No, the truth!” he demanded. “What do you know? Do not conceal it!”

“Do you hide something, sir?” Quatre asked sharply.

Trowa prevented himself from looking at him directly. Out of his presence it was possible to feel disgust, but the very sight of him overpowered his better reason. He was a vision. His modest clothing only made it the worse. There was more to him he knew it but that was not enough. He feared that everything could not be enough.

“There is no plague,” he repeated. “It is but gossip.”

“You are sure? There’s talk of planets aligned for it,” Prince Quatre queried softly.

This news turned Duo white, “My Prince!”

“There is little enough of that,” Trowa said trying to placate the panicked man. “I vow the planets predict plague once a month. The astrologers make their living on such.”

“Not so,” Duo said turning to Quatre. “My prince has said the same.”

“Yes, you must be careful love,” the prince said. “I am sensitive to such disturbances so you must be very careful. There is an ill chance for you.”

“They say it has appeared in the south,” Duo exclaimed.

“Not this far north,” Prince Quatre mumbled. “At least not yet.”

“Mayhap it is all talk,” Trowa added.

“Not true in the deep south they say it raged there,” Quatre told them.

“Then traders will bring it from the north,” Duo piped in hurling himself on the bed. “My prince let us flee.”

“Flee where?”

“Away!” his voice had a frantic undertone. “Towards the border.”

“And suppose it follows us?” Quatre asked smiling at him. “Maybe you wilt be fortunate to meet the heavenly father while you are still young.”

Duo made a faint sound, his face turned white. As he buried his face in his lap Trowa had begun to feel a certain compassion for Duo. The indifferent way his prince mocked the man’s mortal fears might have seemed casual but Trowa had caught the small cruel narrowing of his eyes as he looked down at his lover. At that instant it was as if he hated him.

Suddenly Quatre’s face softened. He stroked his long braid. “You are free to leave me,” he said. “Return to your home across the border.”

“We are heading to the border?”

“Not I. But I will send you to safety. Heero can accompanied you there.”

“No,” Duo said his finger gripped in the folds of his dressing gown.

“Go home. I could not bear to see your sweet skin swell and blacken,” he murmured. “I could not bear to hear your moans.”

“I cannot leave you, my prince.”

“The stars bring ill tidings. Will you compel me to follow your bier?”

He gave a dry sob. “You know I cannot leave you. I beg you.”

Prince Quatre sat back glancing a question at Trowa.

“As soon as your highness likes to venture forth,” he said bluntly. “But the weather is untoward. Right now the roads are dry yet up north already hard winter has set in.”

“How soon till softer climate?” He asked Trowa.

“Three months.”

“Three months!” Duo cried. He reached for the prince’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be dead in three months, I feel it!”

Quatre looked at him for a long moment. “I am in no hurry to leave.”

“You taunt me!” Suddenly Duo seized Quatre by the shoulders. He pretty face turned into mask of rage. He leaned over him and kissed him hard.

Trowa saw that the prince had been pinned by his lover. He grabbed Duo by the shoulder and hauled him off. With a shove he sent the other sprawling backward into the guardsman. Heero caught the courtier and restrained him.

“Master yourself, or you will find a grave sooner,” Trowa hissed.

A soft snicker was heard from behind him. “Ah, my fighter, it seems my companion is in want of manners. Perhaps you might give him a lesson at your leisure.”

Duo’s face became deathly pale. “My prince, do you love me so little?” He panted every word.

Trowa’s heart pounded at the implied innuendo. He watched a new fear come upon the courier. The man looked about to faint.

“I will leave such decisions to you my prince,” Trowa said casting Quatre a hard glance. He turned to leave.

Quatre lifted a hand to bid him stay. “We will leave. Heero begin preparations to depart for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Duo breathed in relief. “By secluded ways! If it pleases my prince.”

Quatre made an impatient flick of his hand. “As you will.”

Trowa gazed at him. He was so beautiful and so wicked, laughing at them with that innocent face. Trowa bowed and backed out of the room, his heart pounding at the thought of illicit desires.

* * *

“One…Heave…Hold…Two…Heave…Heave!” Trowa yelled, driving the pack horses forward. The animals threw their heads blowing great puffs of mists into the frigid air.

Easy enough for the prince to avoid lodging on the way north, he and his courier lay in the litter protected and screened by the thick leather covering. Trowa let go of the horses and backed away. The litter had pitched mightily yet still it went nowhere. They had been struggling for hours now. His men had cut down logs in order to pry the litter’s wagon wheels for the muddy creek they had tried to cross.

The prince’s private guard Heero swung off his horse into the icy mud. Trowa winced in discomfort. The man was stoic it was admirable. Now knowing the ranks and raves that went on between the prince and his companion he could appreciate his quiet and thoughtful demeanor.

He glanced at Trowa from where he was squatting down by the wedged wagon wheel. He shook his head indicating this was not going to work. They needed to empty the litter.

“My prince if you were to descend a moment I’m sure we will be on our way,” Trowa told him through the leather enclosure.

“Are you certain,” Quatre asked pulling the leather aside.

Both he and his courier were wrapped in thick white furs. Quatre looked at the other and made a motion for him to descend. Duo made a face then froze as Heero approached with one of their spare horses.

He quickly mounted pulling the reins of the horse away from Heero. For the moment the two tugged at the reins for control. “Heero please,” Quatre said exasperated.

Heero released the reins. He bowed an apology and moved aside and Trowa brought another horse for the prince. Trowa went to assist Quatre but Quatre shooed him off. For a graceful move Quatre swung into the saddle. Everything would have went well if the horse did not shy at the last minute.

Trowa jumped down and caught the prince as he slipped. He hardly realized he was standing to his ankles in freezing mud. Almost as soon as he touched him he left his hold slipping back onto the horse.

Even though the layers of fur his body had felt so hot that it had stung his flesh. Fiend, to burn so, he thought. Just then Quatre leaned back and caught his hands.

“Thy hands are so cold!”

He jerked away. He had remembered what he escorted, that the prince was hot with an unholy flame and he himself all too quick to set alight. “My prince let us not tarry too long.”

Quatre nodded and wrapped himself tighter in his furs. He seemed unaware of what his nearness was doing to him. They had come so far out of the way. First going west for a few days then going east that Trowa started to suspect that the prince was actually lost.

They were able to move the litter and journeyed on without mishap. The prince decided to ride and abandoned his comfort to the dappled mare him rode. He rode in the center of the road surrounded by his men but for all the world seemed alone in his finery.

“What should we expect ahead,” Quatre asked suddenly riding up beside Trowa.

“More marsh, bandits maybe even wolves,” Trowa answered trying not to look at him. “We should head for a main road.”

“Duo will be tedious,” Quatre said.

“Tedious? I don’t believe my prince is has much experience with outlaws, bogs and wolves,” Trowa said solemnly.

“And you have not much experience with Duo,” Quatre said with a wry laugh. “He can be tedious still I would be please to see you in a warm bed, comforted. Blue with cold, you are.”

Trowa glanced at him suddenly. His tone of voice seemed innocent of innuendo yet the meaning of the bed seemed a promise of unknown possibilities. Trowa felt a deep timbre of desire in his flesh, fire breathed beneath his skin. As they road together he thought wild thoughts that the prince prolonged the journey only to seduce him.

As light dimmed Trowa pointed out an area to camp for the night. He went to the prince of help him down. As the prince took his offered hand Trowa gazed at the fine elegance of his fingers and looked at his own hand holding him. The contrast of his sun and work darkened skin sent a surge of carnal agitation through his body.

In a low voice, he murmured. “So fair ye be my prince my will burns me.” Trowa wished to take it back the second it past his lips.

Quatre snatched away his hand in an instant. “Sir I like not your gauche love-talking. Save your wiles for a wife.”

He words were coolly spoken. Trowa felt mortify to be lectured by such as him. He stiffened at the reprimand and bowed formally before stepping away.

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