Betrayal
Table of Contents
Cover
Table of Contents
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Title Page
Copyright Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
About the Author
Coming Soon
Also by J. C. Owens
J. C. Owens Writing as J. C. McGuire
More M/M Romance from Etopia Press
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Look for these titles from J. C. Owens
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Wings 2: Dominion of the Eth
Wishes
Out of the Darkness
The Ice Prince
Also as J. C. McGuire (M/F)
The Ascension (Book One)
The Gloaming (Book Two)
The Conquered (Book Three)
The Triumph (Book Four)
In Print
Taken
Wings 2: Dominion of the Eth
Wishes
Out of the Darkness
Coming Soon
Tarsus
Betrayal
J. C. Owens
Etopia Press
Copyright Warning
EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Etopia Press
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Betrayal
Copyright © 2015 by J. C. Owens
ISBN: 978-1-941692-63-9
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: March 2015
CHAPTER ONE
Darcel never thought they wouldn’t believe in him.
Of all the scenarios that had floated about his thoughts during the long and lonely years he had been imprisoned, it had never once occurred to him that they would believe the very lies he had told the enemy.
He had done it for them…
Surely they knew, surely they trusted him enough to know that he would never work to harm them.
Of all the pain he had endured, this was what, in the end, would destroy him.
He remembered looking up into those hate filled eyes, his cheek throbbing with the blow he had given him, and knew himself damned.
“They never loved you.”
Darcel had long since stopped responding to the taunts. At first they had seemed part of his own bleak thoughts, but over time they had coalesced into the form that sat across the room from him, watching him with crimson eyes.
“Even after all you did for them, they never loved you.”
He felt the memories playing out, pulling him back into the mire of the past. Over and over. The madness pressing closer, personified by the dark creature, the demon who shared his prison. With time and experience, it seemed more and more likely that the demon’s words were true…
Darcel had fled the fighting that had overcome his city of Sandeal, slipping from shadow to shadow like the thief he was. The Uldan had overcome the city defenses and now swarmed through the streets. So far, he had evaded their notice as they targeted the defending soldiers. He was only one in a mass panic of citizens, lost in the chaotic flow of humanity.
He darted down an alley, emerging into a remote market square, only to skid to a halt. He edged back toward the alley’s protection, then paused, caught in the drama of what he was witnessing—three Uldan warriors against one of Sandeal’s soldiers, surrounding him, pressing upon his failing sword arm.
It woke something within Darcel, something inherently foolish. He darted out, caught their attention, throwing stones and giving the man precious moments to gain his breath, to face his opponents with better odds.
To watch the man fight was an honor, his movements swift and deadly. He defeated his three attackers and turned to look at Darcel, panting, bright green eyes behind the shadow of his helm.
He seemed about to say something, but Darcel only grinned at him, feeling a little spark of warmth in his chest that the soldier lived, that he had actually done something brave for once in his benighted life. Then he slipped into the shadows where the soldier could not follow and fled…back into the darkness of his thoughts, into the torment the demon created for him…
No doubt the demon was a product of his own madness.
His jailors had beaten him when he screamed the first time he encountered the demon, but they never seemed to see the apparition that haunted him. He had not spoken of it since, not wanting to risk another excuse for the guards to vent their hatred upon him. He bore enough scars of their abuse; he did not need to invite more.
It was better when they forgot about him, even though his belly pinched with hunger and his tongue became swollen with thirst. Darcel often wished they would just forget about him completely and he could waste away in peace. But as long as they remembered to bring food and water, his foolish will to survive continually overcame his despair. His mind might want death, but his body fought the notion with all its waning strength.
Darcel closed his eyes, hoping to find a moment’s rest, but the demon had no such intentions.
Darcel stumbled in the grip of two guards, cursing their mothers with virulent intensity as they dragged him before the magistrate. He couldn’t believe he’d been caught. A cuff to the back of his skull reminded him to keep his eyes lowered and his posture humble. Being anonymous was golden in his line of work. If he could simply blend in, they would not watch him carefully and he could plan his escape.
One of his guards yanked his arm with cruel force as he made Darcel kneel before the magistrate. “Caught stealing from the market, my lord.”
Darcel wished him a host of painful futures, but kept his gaze on the pale marble floor before him.
A powerful voice brought the room to a sudden silence. Darcel hardly understood what was happening until a pair of finely tooled boots came into his vision.
A hand reached down to cup his chin.
He tensed, testing the bindings on his wrists, but he was unable to move. His head was tilted upward until he looked into brilliant green eyes.
Darcel blinked, startled, then frowned, looking closer into the handsome face above him.
It was the soldier he had helped in the market.
/> “If it isn’t my little savior!” Those beautiful eyes held curiosity and humor both.
Darcel shrugged as best he could in his bonds, tilting his head to better view the man. Rich clothing, an air of command, this was no ordinary soldier, it seemed.
He bowed his head in regal acknowledgement, an exact imitation of the nobles he so often pick pocketed.
His mimicry was rewarded with a bark of laughter, the hand leaving his chin to clap him on the shoulder.
“Cheeky, aren’t you. Why on earth were you stealing from the market place?”
Darcel wasn’t sure how to answer. The most likely result of his misfortune was that he would be sent to one of the work camps, where he had no doubt his small stature would put him at a disadvantage among so many prisoners. “I was hungry, my lord.”
“Have you no trade? No position?”
“No, my lord.” He let his head hang in mock shame.
“A street rat,” the man said over his shoulder to his guards. “And yet, when I was outnumbered three to one, he showed more bravery than half our soldiers.” The guards behind the man looked scandalized, but nodded just the same.
Darcel could not help but grin.
“Release him.”
The order was carried out with swift obedience, and Darcel elbowed the thug who had abused him as he rose to his feet with easy grace.
The man chuckled, then held out his hand. “I am Alasar.”
Darcel rubbed his reddened wrists. “Darcel Arnitage, my lord.” He sketched a flamboyant bow. As if there were pride in his family name. His bitch of a mother had probably bedded a thief, possibly where Darcel had gotten his skills. His last name was most probably made up. Certainly he had never heard anyone else with it. But at this moment, he was free of that. This man knew nothing of his past, could not judge him by it.
It was a strangely heady sensation.
Alasar stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Darcel’s shoulders and drawing him into an exuberant hug. Darcel stiffened in shock at the intimate contact, then took a deep breath. The man smelled amazing.
He stepped back and faced Darcel. That perfect brow creased for a moment in thought, then cleared abruptly. “You will protect me. Do me the honor of being one of my guards.”
Darcel blinked, dazzled by the force of personality that seemed to light the entire room. “As you wish, my lord. I could guard you, I think.” The shocked look of the people around them made his amusement rise. From street thief to a guard of the magistrate. Not a bad day’s work. He could act the part, no doubt.
“Come, my friend,” Alasar swept him along. “I will take care of you. You will take care of me. A new life awaits you.”
As they left the hall and entered the anteroom, one of the guards announced them. “His Royal Highness, Alasar, Crown Prince of Rais.”
Darcel nearly stumbled. He turned to look at his new…employer? Friend? The Crown Prince of Rais was an almost mythical figure to someone of Darcel’s position. No wonder his behavior had scandalized the prince’s entourage. “My lord, I apologize. I had no idea…” Alasar grinned at him. “You can apologize after lunch. And a bath.” Bright and beautiful, privilege dripping from his very pores, he was every inch the prince they named him.
“After all this time, this pain, you still worship him. While he has left you as nothing but entertainment for his guards?”
He provided little entertainment to his jailors these days. The spectacle of his grief and pain, so prevalent in the early days, had long since faded into motionless acceptance, not worthy of viewing.
It was possible most days to believe that he was utterly alone, not a soul within range.
Perhaps he was.
He could not see downward from his window. Darcel knew nothing of what occurred within the fortress that held him. For all he knew there might be only one or two men within the entire complex.
They must rotate the guards, for the men who brought food or came in to sate their lusts upon him or beat him, whatever their pleasure, never seemed to stay the same for very long.
Even their tortures had lessened in the last year as his body wasted away and he no longer fought their depredations. Or perhaps it was the open sores that had started appearing on his skin. He did not blame them. He would not have wanted to touch the creature he had become, either.
The demon remained mercifully silent, but the ever-present torment pulled at him again, dragging him back to the hell of remembering what he could never have….
Darcel wandered the garden, looking up at the walls with a wistful sigh. He ran a hand over his tunic, loving the feel of the silk, never able to completely believe that his life had come to this even after months of experience.
He should be content, well fed, dressed in the finest of clothes, housed within the palace itself.
And yet…
Alasar’s tame thief. The never-ending whispers had no power to harm him. He was used to far worse.
He wandered closer to the roses that grew up the nearest stone wall, cradling one in his fingers before leaning forward for a whiff of its fragrance.
And yet, it was lonely.
He had never really taken the role of guard. Instead, he had fallen into something much greater with Alasar, something perilously close to friendship.
Friendship, that on Darcel’s part, was growing into something more.
A mocking smile came and went on his lips. Mockery at himself. To love a golden prince could bring nothing but pain. A street rat loving a lion.
He leaned against a small piece of statuary, wondering at his own foolishness. He had everything, more than he had ever dreamed of, yet he wanted that one thing out of reach.
“It is too lovely a day for such a long face.” The velvet tone made him startle, a curse escaping as he reached out to catch himself and caught only air. He landed in the rose bushes, cursing again as thorns snagged his new tunic. The roses gripped him, apparently never wanting him to leave.
He looked up into warm brown eyes. The woman before him made him tongue-tied in a way so foreign to his nature.
She was as golden as Alasar, with the same sleek blonde hair, though hers was piled intricately upon her head, framing her fragile features. There was a hint of Alasar in the angle of her eyes, the shape of her cheekbones. In her white dress, she looked like a divine being come to earth rather than a human of substance.
“Here, let me help you.”
Dazed, he reached out and took the hand she offered, scrambling up and plucking the thorny branches off his tunic with the other. He dusted himself off with an inward grimace at his sudden awkwardness.
She smiled, scrambling his senses. “You must be Darcel. Alasar speaks of you so fondly in his letters, and now, at last, I get to meet you. I am Caslendra. Alasar’s cousin.”
He bowed, low and proper. “Your Grace.”
Caslendra giggled. “Oh, I’m not royalty. We’re only distant cousins. Very distant. We were close as children, but it’s been years since I’ve been to court. My father has brought me to find a husband.” Her tone did not indicate particular enthusiasm in the prospect.
“Come, introduce me back into Alasar’s world.” She held out a pale hand to grasp his browner one, and plucked a thorny twig off his shoulder. “But let’s get these leaves off you first, otherwise tongues will wag with tales of how you ravished me in the rose garden.” Her hand plucked at his tunic, but the sensation evaporated into mist and he felt the darkness wash over him.
He smelled roses, their cloying sweetness, or perhaps it was the sweetish odor of rot from his open sores. He stared out the grimy window, past the aged bars that seeped rusty trails upon the glass, and into the weak sunlight that had pushed past the ever-present clouds. The damp chill made him shiver; his desert-raised body had never truly accepted the climate of this northern mountainside. Perhaps that was why Alasar had chosen this prison, so far from Darcel’s home, so unlike his beloved desert. Perhaps this was punishment all on its own. Hi
s prince’s hatred washed over him again, and he gave a shuddering sigh. At least he did not weep. His emaciated body and numb mind had long ago given up such a useless gesture as tears.
At Caslendra’s sigh, Darcel looked up from the book he was struggling to read under her tutelage. She stood at the window watching the rain pelt the glass, her hand splayed out upon the glaze as if wishing to touch them from inside. She’d been like this since the announcement of Alasar’s betrothal.
She saw his glance and gave an unladylike shrug. “I miss him. I cannot believe his father would choose such a woman for him to wed. Her bloodline is exemplary, true, but her mind is non-existent.” There was a bite to the words.
Darcel could only agree.
Alasar’s intended, recently arrived, showed only a vapid personality, so very different from the prince’s sharp wit. For two years they’d had freedom, the three of them. Had sneaked out, played the fools, been closer than siblings. But now…
Darcel shook his head, frowning. It felt so empty without Alasar in the room. “I miss him too. But it’s not forever. Once he gets an heir, everything will go back to normal.”
She sighed again. “No, it won’t. Father has sent word. He is sending a suitor, impatient with my lack of progress in finding a suitable husband.” Her tone held despair.
Darcel shot to his feet, shocked, and crossed the room in long strides to put comforting arms around her. “Surely he won’t make you marry against your will.”
She shook her head, and his stomach clenched as he saw tears upon her cheeks, mimicking the raindrops outside. “He says my presence here has become an embarrassment, that my behavior has tarnished my reputation to the point that he fears he will find no one willing to have me.”
Darcel growled, pulled her closer. “He is a fool. If he knew you at all…”