Ramsay frowned and glanced at his token. That was his, but when they had paused for a break, they had only been in the eighties. The clerk called his number again, and he slid down from his perch, presenting the token to the clerk, who checked him off and motioned that he may approach the throne.
He had spent his life guarding a prince, milling with nobles and royals, the most powerful men in the world. He had punched and otherwise harmed a few of them when they dared to try and bring harm to the man he had been blood swornto protect. There was nothing about the high and mighty that unsettled him.
Yet his heart was still beating rapidly as he knelt reflexively before King Shafiq.
"You are a long way from home, child of Tritacia," Shafiq said.
Ramsay looked up in surprise. "I did not give my country of origin, Majesty. How did you know it?"
Shafiq seemed amused by something, but said only, "My clerk is a scholar of languages, and he has quite the ear for accents. That aside, your hair is a rather unique coppery orange. I seldom have seen that shade when it did not belong to a child of the Three Goddesses."
"Your Majesty," Ramsay conceded with a nod. His greatest asset as a Holy Protector had been that he looked quite harmless. His coppery hair seemed too bright for an earnest soldier, his freckles more suited to a child, and his small, compact stature had made him look weak and vulnerable. Too late, people realized he was no kitten.
"So you have come to introduce yourself?" the king asked. "You are a long way from home. Why do you choose to settle here?"
Ramsay almost replied honestly and inwardly recoiled. What was wrong with him? He was a Holy Protector; he had a job to do. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "I have a different reason for being here, actually, Your Majesty. Two days ago, I met a young man while journeying to my house, well outside your magnificent city. He told me some fascinating stories, about Cobra and Owl and Fox—and Ghost, which was his favorite, though he tells me that his father says Ghosts do not exist."
The king looked puzzled for a second—then his eyes snapped open, and too late Ramsay realized his attempt at conveying all was well had not worked.
Everything happened fast. It always did. Even as he heard guards banishing everyone else from the room, others were upon him, drawing swords for what they no doubt thought would be an easy capture.
He caught the first one in the face with his fist, then whirled around and took down two more with well-placed kicks, dropping to sweep another one off his feet, then bounced up neatly—
To find himself going head-to-head with the broad-shouldered harem man, and for a split-second Ramsay had the thought that he would be enjoying himself if the situation were not so dire. Goddesses, the man could fight, and it was obvious he was not fooled for a second by Ramsay's deceptive build and features.
Fighting a sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh, Ramsay tried to keep the man back without doing him real harm. "I'm not—" He dodged, kicked. "A threat. Please—" That time, he dodged too late and stumbled back with a grunt.
But he recovered in the next moment, until at last they were pinned, locked together in an awkward draw.
"Where is Prince Kajan?" the man demanded.
The king moved forward, even as the rest of the harem tried to hold him back. "My son, where is—"
Everyone froze as the door abruptly opened to admit—
"Jankin?" Ramsay asked, not certain what shocked him more—that of all people, Jankin had just walked in, or that Jankin was obviously the fifth member of the king's harem. "What in the name of the Three are you doing here?"
"Me?" Jankin demanded. "What areyoudoing here? You are an incredibly long way from home. Oh, Berkant, honestly.Let him go. What in the name of the Great Dragon is going on here?"
"He has Kajan," Berkant replied.
"I saved him!" Ramsay finally managed to get out.
Silence fell for a moment, then Shafiq said quietly but firmly, "Berkant, let him go."
"But—" Berkant muttered something indistinct, then obeyed with obvious reluctance.
Shafiq moved closer, pushing away the men clearly protecting him. "Who are you? Where is my son? How do you know Jankin?"
"I was traveling home two days ago," Ramsay said, answering the only important question. "I was taking water at a well when I heard a cry for help. Six armed men were chasing down a boy. I saved him and soon deduced he was the crown prince. He is hidden in my home, while I came here to try and tell you as quietly as possible that I had him and he was safe." He grimaced. "It did not go according to plan, but I promise, Your Majesty, I intend you and your son no harm."
"Why should we believe you?" Berkant demanded, and nearby the twins and the other man nodded in agreement.
Jankin snorted. "I've told you about Ramsay before. He is, or was, I guess, if he's here now, a Holy Protector of Tritacia. It was his sworn duty to protect the Crown Prince of Tritacia. He would never harm someone he thinks requires protecting, and most certainly not a child. We met when I was in Tritacia studying dance there. We were friends, lovers, until our paths diverged once more." He slid Ramsay a fond look, then looked at the others again. "I know I've told these stories before. This his him, this is Ramsay."
Ramsay could not resist smiling ever so briefly in return. Jankin would always be one of his fondest memories. He had been a Holy Protector, and Jankin had been devoted to travelingthe world to learn and master every style of dance he could find for them to settle into anything permanent. But they'd had many a good night together the few months Jankin had been in the royal court of Tritacia. It had been rare, back then, that he got to spend such time with anyone. People were seldom forgiving of the fact that the prince had to come first in his life, at all times. Only his brother and Jankin had ever understood.
"What are you doing in Tavamara, Ramsay?" Jankin asked quietly, setting down the tray of wine he'd been holding the entire time. "Why did you stop protecting? Where is Colum?"
