Written in an old style flair read a romance drama of forbidden love and intrigue. Our main character Trowa is a young fighter desperate to how that which he believes is beyond his station is life. This story is rated R and full of yaoi.

Desperate Hearts

Prologue

The travelers looked at the sky and the woods and each other. They looked anywhere but at the young man standing stubbornly in the road. Worrying silent since the king ruled not these roads; and his delay might draw unwelcome attention. His fellow travelers leaned against trees and squatted in the shade, some sharing a skin of tepid water.

Remote thunder murmured as heat clouds piled up over the endless grim forests. It was high summer of the second year after the death of Lord and Lady Barton. A waiting figure detached itself from the shadows beneath the trees. The young servant held out her hands to her young lord. A cool wind whipped passed blowing reddish brown bangs from the young lord’s face. It was going to rain soon.

“You take no heed of me,” he said stubbornly.

“I can not, my Lord Trowa,” The servant said.

“Do as I say, I am your lord,” the young lord cried.

“Your lordship must be brought to the king. You need counsel in the ways to such folk as lords do.”

He lifted his face and looked at the servant. The wind again blew his hair away showing his dark green eyes. He was thirteen years old and orphaned. His parents had been killed in a carriage accident two years ago. When he spoke his voice was always whispery soft, now in his pain she had to strain to hear him. “Why?”

It broke young Catherine’s heart to hear his lordship so vulnerable. Since the accident she had become his big sister and surrogate mother. Yet she was a servant. She could not continue to instruct the young lord, hence their journey to the king. “I love you so steadfast, I think of you as my very brother.”

“Then leave me not.” Tears streamed down his face unbidden. He probably was unaware of them. After his parent’s death word was sent to their royal majesties, apprising them of the situation. A reply was received assuring them that the king would see to the young lord’s welfare and holding in due course. The young lord waited and soon days turned to weeks then months to years and still no word from the king. A second missive was sent and this too received a similar reply telling them the king would see to it yet again no further instructions were sent.

“Silly goose you are our lord. We shall always be there for you. Heaveré Arms is your home.”

“Swear.”

“I swear,” she said.

The King’s summer court was daunting. Here the largest jousts are held many to determined the outcome of a conflict. In the shadow front stone gate crowds were already gathering for the festivities of the day. Catherine with Trowa in tow easily traversed through the milling crowd and headed for the palace. They entered the palace through a massive archway with columns on either side.

The foyer area beyond was open. Inside were many fine folk. Some were hoping for an audience with the king. Some were looking for royal favor. Some just hung about bored looking for gossip.

Trowa noticed that many of the people in here were well dressed and spoke with high lisping voices. He had been sulking as they made their way to the castle grounds now piqued at all the finery Trowa gaped in fascination. They placed a request to see the king with one of the pages but were told to wait in the foyer till the king calls for them.

At eleven Trowa had become more socially aware of those around him. Many young lords at his age were courting soon to be married. He had only recently become interested in such things. Staring at the fancy women around the room Trowa became restless.

For hours they waited and after a while it became apparent that the king does not see everyone in a days sitting. In fact, as they listened to the conversation around them they soon realized that there were courtiers that had not been called for weeks. After the second day of waiting in the foyer to be called, young Trowa had long since lost his fascination with the fancy lords and ladies in the room.

Desperate to leave Trowa decided to sneak pass the guards at the door. Some of the pages who came and went into the palace delivering messages to the lords and ladies were no older than he. He had noted earlier that many of them ate their lunch and dinner by the side entrance.

Trowa watched the young pages and by mid-afternoon he got his break. A page had taken off his jacket when he went to relieve himself. Trowa had made sure to wear trousers of similar color and since most of the pages wore black boots he had no trouble getting the appropriate footwear.

With a whispered excuse to Cathy Trowa slipped outside and stole the jacket. He slipped it on and calmly walked back in. Catherine was not excepting him back so soon. She didn’t notice him walk passed her. The guards barely glanced at him. He went left since this was where most of the pages came from. Hoping he was headed in the right direction.

So intent on finding the king, Trowa didn’t pay attention to where he was going and soon he was hopelessly lost. He wandered around aimless looking at the paintings and art works in the various halls. Finally he came to a room where is saw a mass of people gathered in a circle. They were dressed more elaborate then the courtiers waiting in the foyer.

Trowa stepped in his eyes going up to the impressive glass dome ceiling. He was in an atrium. A silence brought his attention back to the group. They had noticed his entrance and had watched him gawking at the ceiling. One of the men gave Trowa a brief scornful lift of his brow then turned to the person next to him to whisper. He paltry act had caused a space had opened from around the center of the group.

There in the very center of the group a lady paused. She glanced at him as she might glance at mongrels scrapping. Truly a high born lady—mayhap a princess from the richness of her dress and jewels. Even surrounded by her attendants, male and female, she remained secluded.

Cold…and as her look skimmed past him, his whole body caught fire. He bowed his head respectfully. When he lifted it, the open space had closed. Still he could see her within the radius of her courtiers. They were young most around his own age yet they all seemed far older. As he watched the group he caught glimpses of her. Since none in her group would look his way again he allowed himself to stare.

She carried her with grace and charm indifferent to all those around her. Her throat and face gleamed pale against the aqua robes. She wore a design he had never seen in his life. The front of her robes formed a V and ended in what seemed to be a split skirt women wore for riding. Embroidered throughout the pure white inner robes were aqua stones each as big as his pinky nail. As she moved glimpses of pale skin was revealed.

Trowa watched her hands, because he could not bear to look long at her face and did not dare scan her body for its violent effect on him. He had only recently become aware of his maturing body so he was unprepared for the effect just looking at her caused.

As she moved she flashed with blue-green fire. She turned lifting a finger to gesture—a feminine gesture, a delicate move that commanded and condemned him to an agony of desire. Memorized he followed the group.

He followed behind carefully keeping his distance. As he watched the group turn down the hall up ahead he was seized from behind. A dagger was pressed against his neck. It was the lady. She only came up to his chin but her fierce glaze dispelled any notion of meekness.

“Who are you?”

She voice was soft yet it had a masculine sound to it. Trowa frowned. This time he boldly looked down the body in front of him. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. He couldn’t at that moment have described her features, any more than he could have looked straight at the sun to describe it. He did however realize that this was no woman.

“Are you male?” He breathed his voice more an accusation than a question. “I thought you a woman.”

“Hope you to rape some female?”

The beautiful man flicked a hand though his hair. It was a delicate motion and commended attention. Now that Trowa had looked at him. Truly saw him he could not tear his glaze away from the beautiful man that hovered so near him.

“Is that want you want?”

Trowa saw a slight smile curve his lips. A smile so cold it leeched into his eyes making their blue green color sparkle like sunlight on ice. He was bright cold. Trowa burned. It mattered not that he was male.

“No, I wanted this,” Trowa answered reaching out a hand to touch him. Unbidden, his fingers slipped in to the V of the other’s robes. He felt soft skin. They both paused staring at each other time seemed to stop. Suddenly the other jerked away from Trowa he gave him a cold dispassionate look of distaste before stalking off. Trowa stood there weak kneed long after he had left.

“Trowa,” Catherine’s voice startled him. She was there berating him for sneaking off. The ensuing search for his person had brought their plight to a distant family member. Since the wait for an audience could take weeks he had generously offered his aid. They had an assignment to meet with him on the morrow.

The next day after breaking their fast the two went to the west wing of the palace. There peers of the realm who could afford such luxuries were granted accommodations. The royal accommodations were superb. The sat in a narrow hall with cream colored walls. The doors had crest made with gold gilt. Like the king, Lord Dekim Barton keep them waiting. Trowa waited with a deep uneasiness inside him. He truly did not want this. He did not want have a guardian.

Lord Dekim had known of his circumstances before so why now was interested in offering him aid. Trowa had voiced his suspicions to Catherine. She had to told him not to be ungrateful. Lord Dekim did not have to bother with him. He wished there was another way he could learn to be a lord. He dreaded the appointment.

After an hour wait three clerks came for them. They took them there to heavy wooden doors and past many rooms. They led them to the very atrium Trowa had found before. The room was empty except for a long table and the lord. No food was set on the table only a pot of tea and a single place setting. Lord Dekim sipped his tea elegantly before addressing them.

“Sire Trowa Barton,” a rich deep timbered voice spoke. The old wizen face gave Trowa the impression of greatness. “Is it your will to pledge your services to me? To live under my care henceforth?”

Trowa stared into pale blue eyes. Pledge? Catherine had never said anything about taking a pledge. And was he to leave? Never see home again?

Trowa looked to his servant confused. “Can I do that? Can I pledge myself to another?” he asked her.

“Your servant is excused. Wait for your lord outside,” Lord Dekim said.

Catherine curtsied and left without answering Trowa’s question. He watched her leave nervously suddenly feeling vulnerable. The three clerks for the lord were at the door. He felt surround by strangers

“You can always pledge yourself to your betters,” the lord informed him. His annoyance at being questioned was evident in his voice. “Your servant said that ye were bereft that her master and mistress had passed. That the king has yet to appointed you a guardian.”

For a moment Trowa imaged lying denying Catherine’s advice. He could head back home and live alone amongst a sea of servants. He was old enough. He didn’t need a guardian.

“Yes my lord,” Trowa spoke. His face down cast, no he could not deny his responsibilities. He needed not only a guardian but someone who could manage the finances. He could not longer pay his servants. The monies his parents left him were gone.

“I am willing to take you into my household,” Lord Dekim told him. “You are willing to leave you holding and become my ward?”

Trowa stared helplessly at the lord. “Your ward?”

“Of course, we are practically family,” the old lord answered. “You want family don’t you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Trowa knew well to answer that in a firm voice.

“In obedience to me,” the lord said. “Will you live dutifully within my household?”

“Certainly,” he mumbled, starting at the floor. “My lord.”

“Good, then I shall take your pledge and have the papers drawn,” the lord nodded in approval. “I have a young granddaughter she will enjoy the companionship.”

The lord paused for a moment thoughtful. He seemed to look him over a frown on his face as if he was remembering something. “Sire Trowa are you chaste?”

“Chaste?”

“You do know what that means.”

“Yes, my lord,” Trowa said taken aback at the bold question.

“So are you.”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, I think not,” said a soft masculine voice. “He is not chaste. Indeed he is a depraved.”

Trowa stiffened at this astonishing accusation. “Nay, I am not—” His fierce denial died on his tongue as he turned to find the richly dressed young man from before. He was standing barely a handsbreadth from him. His entourage was respectfully behind watching the proceeding with malicious interest. The clerks at the door were bowed respectfully.

He strolled towards them, sliding a glance at him over his shoulder. Lord Dekim stood and bowed respectfully.

His eyes were bright aqua blue matching the color of his shirt. He dressed as flamboyant and as shameless as before. The soft V shape blouse gaped showing his soft chest and stomach. The silky pants hugged his slim hips and flared widely at the bottom like a skirt.

Trowa felt his face aflame. “I am not depraved!” he whispered hoarsely.

“I apologize that I have interrupted your appointment.” The young beautiful lord said ignoring Trowa. “My Lord Dekim, I wished only to spare you the mistake of taking a pledge from this young man. Yesterday he dressed himself as a page and accosted me in these very halls. He thought I was female.”

The last comment brought a smattering of soft snickers from behind him. The courtiers were enjoying the play unfolding around them. Trowa was mortified. But he could not deny it. He had followed him. He had desired him with such an inordinate passion that he didn’t care he was male—his eyes met the young lord as he step slightly away—he read absolute knowledge there; he could lay him bare, exposed his lecherous touch to all.

“I am grieved to hear this,” Lord Dekim said sounding particularly disturbed. “Your usually style of fashion can cause one confusion however your concern is well-taken. Sire Trowa is this true? Did you commit this misdeed?”

He could not bring himself to answer, not here in front of everyone. Not in front of him. The silence lengthened condemning him. Trowa closed his eyes. He nodded his head slightly.

Heated whispers filled the room from the courtiers behind him. The lord in front of him breathed heavily. “I cannot take you into my household, however once you become my ward I will see to your instruction. You will have to stay at another of my holdings.

“That won’t be necessary my Lord Dekim for you see this young man will not be permitted to stay at court. I’m quite sure you would not want to earn my father’s disapproval by aiding someone banished from court.”

Lord Dekim looked a taken aback. He frowned at the pale blond and gave him another bow, “no of course not.” He looked at Trowa frowning then seemed to make a decision. “By your leave my lord,” he said to beautiful man. Then without another word he left.

Trowa stood there stiff in humiliation as he heard the other leave the room. He couldn’t move such was his mortification. A soft cough at his shoulder caused him to open his eyes. He turned towards the sound.

There stood his tormentor. The young man held out a little pouch. Trowa didn’t take it so the other tossed it to him. Instinctively Trowa caught it.

“I am a generous soul, now hie yourself from this place. Hire yourself a councilor, a steward, a cleric especially a cleric.” His comment was met with another round of snickers. “They can give you proper instruction.”

Trowa clutched the pouch, he was tempted to tossed it back at the other with no good grace. He trembled with pride. It was futile pride he knew it. He bowed submissively to the young man. Truly he had wrong him.

“I am forever your servant.” He swore.

“Yes, you truly are,” the beautiful man, said ominously.

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