Prince of Wrath by Tony Roberts Page B

liquid. “Ah! That’s better! The ale’s better here, too, don’t you think? Better than the equine urine they dish up elsewhere.”
    Vosgaris grinned, then became thoughtful. “What do you think will come of this atmosphere between the Empress and the Princess? I don’t know how to sort it out.”
    “It’s not your place to do so. Keep your nose out of it. You’re in charge of security. What worries me more is poor Argan’s bleeding. Every time it happens he seems less well, haven’t you noticed? It gets his mother all of a fluster too, and reminds her of who she sees as being responsible. Ah, what a mess!”
    The palace guard captain had to agree. “He’s just about the best of the lot of them, young Argan. Istan’s a poisonous piece of work. Whoever ends up in charge of his martial training is going to have a tough task, isn’t he?”
    “Hmmm. As long as it isn’t me. Someone told me it’s your birthday coming up, Vosgaris old fellow. The next sevenday, isn’t it? How many is that now? Twenty-four?”
    “Twenty-five. My family has invited me back to the estate to celebrate.” Vosgaris looked a little gloomy. “I have a feeling mother is going to try to push that awful girl from the next estate on me. She mentions her every time she writes.”
    “Isn’t she worth marrying?”
    Vosgaris pulled a face. “Ugh! It’s not that she’s ugly or anything – she’s actually a reasonably good looking woman – but she has a really irritating laugh and is as wet as a Pelponian autumn.”
    “Oh,” Lalaas looked in sympathy at his friend. “So you’re not enthusiastic, then. Well, old boy, as long as you’re single and unattached you’re going to get that sort of thing, and you’re at the age when you nobles tend to get hitched. Continue the family name and all that.”
    Vosgaris looked as if he was going to be sick. “Not to Fulime Kashan, that’s for sure!”
    “Fulime? That’s her name? Ah, old boy, you’ll need to avoid your home then in that case. I can only see you being pressured into marrying the fair Fulime. What you need is to have a birthday celebration to enjoy, not to endure. I’ll arrange something, don’t you worry.”
    “Oh, no, I don’t want a wild party or anything of that sort!” Vosgaris waved his hands in near panic. “Besides, I doubt the Koros would be pleased at the thought of a wild drunken spree in their palace, do you?”
    Lalaas laughed. “No. The Empress would certainly throw a fit; not the sort of woman whose wrath you’d like to be the target of. Now, Amne, she would be a different story.”
    Vosgaris looked at Lalaas with wide eyes, his cheeks staining red. “Damn it, Lalaas, she’s off-limits!”
    “Amne wouldn’t care about that. Imagine her at your party, giving you the birthday boy attention? Especially after she’s loaded up with ale?”
    “Ohhh, shut up, Lalaas! That’s unfair!” Vosgaris looked distraught.
    “Got it bad, haven’t you, old boy?”
    Vosgaris nodded, then looked at Lalaas. “So how in Kastan do you do it? I mean, you show absolutely no – uhhh, what’s the word?”
    “Affection?”
    “Yes! Affection, to her? You go into her room. You must have seen….. more of her!”
    Lalaas felt sympathy for his friend. Vosgaris was trembling. He had it really bad. The man was sweating, sitting in his chair.
    “Oh, we’ve got an understanding,” Lalaas said. “What we went through together has formed a sort of friendship that goes way beyond anything physical. Not many would understand, least of all the Empress. She thinks Amne and I are – intimate.”
    “So do most of the guys here,” Vosgaris said softly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
    “Yeah, and they think you’re angling to bed the Empress.”
    Vosgaris groaned and put his hands in his head. “How common is this knowledge?”
    “Oh, nobody says it out loud, but it’s been muttered behind closed doors. You’re not discreet you know, you’re like a love-struck