A Prince of the Nobillo
Chapter 8: Attitude
"When is the earliest you can return?"
Rivuk frowned as he heard the words from Carak over his wristband. He wouldn't be asking for no reason. He pressed the band and spoke, "What's happened?"
"Boz broke into the room this morning and attacked the princess."
His mind spun to blackness. Again. Boz had done it again. He'd practically gifted her to him. He'd stolen Lindsay from her loving husband and wife only to be raped by his brother. He steeled himself for the next words.
"She has a few scratches, but is largely unhurt. I cannot say the same for your brother."
"He didn't..." he couldn't finish the words.
"No, your grace. She fought him off."
The official report, then. Lindsay was tough, he knew that much, but he doubted she could fight Boz off alone. Still, for a Child of the Immortal to bare his teeth to a prince, let alone harm him, was a capital offense. There was no such law for a princess. Whether because the lawmakers didn't believe a princess could do such harm or the issue had once been common enough to make it expedient to simply grant the princesses immunity if they were able to fend off their attackers, he didn't know, though he suspected the latter.
He studied the disaster report on the flimsy table that served as his desk in the main tent of the relief camp. The floods had carved a canyon where the southern part of the town of Gelm had been. Hundreds were displaced and he hadn't even seen the damage yet. Even if he were to go to Gelm now, it would still take all day to evaluate the site.
Sickness lodged in the pit of his stomach. Lindsay was his wife; he'd hated to leave her to begin with. Mornings without her felt empty despite all the work he had to do. Now, she'd been attacked and all he wanted was to go to her, to hold her if she'd let him. To feel the warm smoothness of her brow against his.
And he couldn't, as much as he felt himself dying inside without her.
Because there were hundreds of his people who needed him just as much if not more. Many of them were separated from their loved ones as well, some to never again be reunited. How could he ask them to put their needs on hold so he could be with his wife? His beautiful wife who'd kissed him so passionately before he'd left... By the Immortal, he'd never felt this way! And she would want him to take her home - after that attack there was no hope he could convince her to stay - she'd already wanted to go before. He should have just taken her when she asked.
He felt a tingling in his pouch as he remembered the feel of her lips on his. How he'd been powerless to stop kissing her, how she'd been unable to stop kissing him. He'd never felt that loss of self in a moment of passion. If he had to take her home, he was going to find himself charged with treason because there was no world in which he'd be able to stay away from the Bonat camp if she was there, so long as she wanted him.
He looked down at the map. Well, there was one world. He couldn't just abandon his people for his lusts no matter how much his mind and body might beg him to. He was a prince. As a consequence of his birth, his feelings would always come second to his duty.
He sighed. "I'll return in three bils, unless I can get away sooner. Can you hold out until then?"
"Of course, your grace."
"Thank you, Carak, and..." The words: and tell her I love her, sprang to his tongue but died before reaching his lips. She should hear those words from him, not through his hest. "Please watch over her as you would me."
"Yes, your grace. She is very much like you," Carak's voice crackled through the band.
He wondered what that could mean. There was that skell after Boz attacked him and broke his arm where he wouldn't leave Carak's side when he was in his second lanc.
He let out a small laugh. He'd wanted Carak to sleep in the bed with him. Somehow, he didn't think Lindsay would go that far.
Carak was kind and patient, but he was still a Child of the Nobillo, and Rivuk knew she harbored a great deal of fear for them. Hopefully, that fear was starting to lessen as she spent more time with his hest. If she could begin to see them as something more than monsters... perhaps... perhaps she would recognize it was more than just the Bonat who needed saving from this endless war.
A soldier came into his tent. "Your grace, there's are reports of landslides into the floodwaters in Gelm!"
Rivuk looked at the map. "The land is unstable. Evacuate the citizens into the northern section. I'll need a team to inspect the south." Lindsay would just have to wait a little bit longer.
________________________________________
Of course, Carak didn't wait until Lindsay was awake to clean up Boz's mess. Nor did he waste any time sending a message to Rivuk about the attack. By the time she was up, Rivuk had already assured Carak he'd be home in three days, if not earlier. The reports from the Western Plateau made three days sound like a miracle, but, Carak assured her, Rivuk's word was good.
She missed Rivuk. She missed having him around, turning to him to ask questions, exploring the realm with him. And she missed kissing him. It'd felt even better than in their shared dream. She reread her letter from Sirix until she'd memorized it. Make sure, when you return, to have left nothing unfinished that might leave you with regret.
She knew Sirix well enough to know that, while he might have been talking specifically about helping Rivuk with his propaganda campaign, he was also talking about her relationship with the third prince. Sirix knew about their meeting of the minds, knew that it was she who'd initiated the sex. He wasn't under any illusions that she might not want to try it in real life.
And, while she wasn't sure when it would happen, she was sure, if she stayed, it would. And probably soon, the way her body reacted every time she remembered those kisses. She wanted him. Bad.
The next few days, she and Carak were inseparable. Any fear she still harbored of him was quickly dispelled by their close quarters. She found it a great comfort to have him nearby, to help as he cooked breakfast (despite his repeated objections), to sit beside him during their reading lessons, to curl up under his muscular arm as he read to her, or to pass the evening playing mancala with him. It was a game Lindsay had learned in elementary school and taught him that was easy enough to quickly make on any piece of paper they had lying around, though by now they had their favorite "board" as it were.
"Carak?" she asked at the end of the third night, as she pulled out the piece of paper that served as their board. It had their names and stars after them serving as tallies to show how often they'd won. Carak's bordered the entire thing and now a row of tiny stars was squeezed between her wins and his.
"Yes, your highness?"
"When did you first meet Rivuk?"
Carak smiled. "Oh, it was maybe seven lanc ago. When Rivuk was still in his first lanc."
"He's only eight lanc old?"
"Yes, why?"
"I just figured... most of the Bonat I know are at least twice that age and don't look any older than him."
"Yes, the Bonat age far slower than the Nobillo and the Korsuch. I believe we're closer to you humans in our developmental stages."
"So how old are you?" she asked.
"Thirteen lanc."
"A lanc's about three and a half earth years so that would make Rivuk twenty-eight and you..." she tried to do the math in her head, "forty-two or something."
He began portioning out the seeds with his large, taloned fingers, three to an oval. She was always amazed by how dexterous those fingers were despite their size. "If that's how you see it," he said.
"So Rivuk was only a toddler when you met him?"
"I suppose. Do you have any further questions, or do you want me to continue?"
