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‘I told you I’d take care of it,’ said the Prince.
The Prince’s command tent was an oblong of cream canvas with a fluttering blue triangle on top and an entryway that was roped open, to let men come and go throughout the day, with reports, with news, ushering in messengers or supplies. Before Jord entered, he saw inside.
There were two heads bent together over the map, one dark-haired, the other blond.
The Prince was alone in the tent with the Akielon who served him. The Akielon was murmuring something, his manner easy, in command of the strategy. The Prince nodded, absorbed. His eyes followed the Akielon’s finger as it traced a line over the map.
Jord had never seen him like this, in comfortable, intimate conversation. The Prince did not cultivate companions; had not done so as a boy, did not do so as a young man. Jord felt as if he was intruding on something private; he was startled by their quiet focus, how close they stood together, their shoulders almost touching.
‘Your Highness,’ Jord said, like clearing his throat.
They looked up simultaneously.
The two faces were different, but had identical expressions—curious at a minor interruption—as the Prince said, ‘Captain. Report.’
Equipment and supplies were holding steady. Drills were going well. Jord had disciplined one of the Regent’s mercenaries for some remarks. He detailed the discipline. He didn’t repeat the remarks. The Prince, whose anatomy and preferences the remarks had described at great length, said, ‘That’s a prudent retelling. All right. I count the lack of wholesale slaughter a success.’
‘Your Highness,’ said Jord.
Their presence lingered in the tent long after they had gone.
The Akielon had listened to the reports too—as though he were the one receiving them. There had been a warm look in his dark eyes that spoke of a man who could find simple enjoyment in a complicated position. The Prince seemed to allow it, a form of familiarity that he rejected from others.
Jord looked down at the map.
It was a mess of unfamiliar symbols, a geopolitical shorthand that he didn’t know how to read. Half of them were heraldic sigils he had never seen in his life, others were dots and dash marks that meant nothing to him. He knew his letters, knew his way around a regular map, but this was beyond him.
He was a guard captain. He knew how to run drills. He knew how to administer supplies. He knew how to set up watches, formations and blockades, protect an outpost, or a small train in the mountains.
But this was large-scale tactical warfare. It required a depth of knowledge—generalship, strategy and command that took years to acquire. The Akielon had it. The Prince was learning it, able to absorb complex theoretical concepts and leap in an instant to new ideas.
They were planning here for something that he did not understand, and Jord felt as though he glimpsed, just for a moment, a world that was too big for him.
‘Captain,’ said Aimeric.
Jord looked up. Aimeric lost none of his aristocratic bearing even in simple soldiering clothes. The sun had set, and men had come to light the torches at the tent entrance, just as men had been in and out of the tent all day, bringing this or that to the attention of the Prince. The light framed Aimeric, whose turn it was to enter, where Jord was alone.
‘I could take you through it. If you like.’
Jord flushed. Aimeric wasn’t looking at the war map, but it was clear what he meant.
‘You helped me,’ said Aimeric, ‘when I got here.’
Behind Aimeric, the open entry framed the dark shapes of the evening camp, and the dwindling noise from outside, as most of the men bedded down for the night.
Aimeric came to stand where the Prince had just stood. Jord supposed it was second nature to Aimeric, a part of his upbringing to read the heraldic sigils, the unfamiliar markers and symbols used for ownership of territory.
Jord felt like an impostor. This wasn’t his world, but if war was coming, he wanted to be on the right side of it, and to do what he could. He stepped up to the map.
Aimeric, it turned out, was good at explaining things, and he talked through the basics of the map. Jord was self conscious at first, and so was Aimeric a little, but the inked lines began to make sense, and it was a good feeling, to know that he was coming to understand. Finally quiet fell, and they were done.
‘Thank you,’ Jord said. That wasn’t enough. He told the truth, quietly, awkwardly. ‘This Captaincy means a lot to me.’
The air between them shifted. Aimeric’s gaze dropped to his mouth. The kiss happened with Aimeric’s eyes very dark, Jord’s hand on his neck. He felt the sweet, instant yielding of Aimeric’s mouth. Aimeric’s whole body gave over to the kiss. Jord drew him close, kissed him just the way he’d imagined, long and deep, and when he drew back, Aimeric’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark and wide.
Jord’s mind swirled with foolishness, the sort of things he’d not thought up words to say.
‘Let me,’ said Aimeric, before he could. ‘I’m good at it.’
