Royal Quarry by Charlotte Rahn-Lee

me for disobeying mine,” said Albert. He had continued to do his best to protect Manning from his father. He hadn’t dared send for him in case the king might hear of it. He’d repeated the tale of his killing of the stag so often, and to anyone who would listen, that Albert himself almost believed he’d shot it by now. But he knew his father accepted no excuses, no matter how legitimate, for failure of duty. Edward’s insistent “I will be told the truth” still haunted him.
    “What did my father do to you?” asked Albert gently. It was a moment before Manning, his eyes still downcast, answered.
    “Nothing, Your Highness.”
    “Come,” said Albert, and he was even so bold as to reach forward and take one of Manning’s hands. He would speak to the man as to an equal. “I know my father. I did my best to make it seem you did all you could to follow his orders, without, of course, seeming to know too much. But I know what he is like when he is disappointed.”
    Manning stayed silent, neither withdrawing his hand nor acknowledging the gesture.
    “Let’s have no more lies between us,” said Albert. “I am very grateful you brought me home against my orders, but let’s start again, as equals. You won’t lie to me, we won’t keep secrets from each other, and I won’t issue you another order. You can see that I am sorely in need of a peer.”
    Manning’s breath quickened. Albert could tell he was struggling to keep a strong emotion hidden, but what emotion?
    “Look at me,” said Albert, and then he hastily added, “please,” to uphold his end of the bargain. Manning tipped his face up and looked into Albert’s eyes.
    “I am also in need of a friend,” said Albert. “I thought I had one. I hope I still do.” What else he was in need of he didn’t have a word for. But then he recalled that he knew nothing of Manning’s personal life. His previous musings about Manning’s potential wives and mistresses returned to him. Albert wished Manning would give some indication of what he was thinking.
    “But perhaps you don’t need any. Perhaps you have too many friends already,” he offered despondently.
    “Your Highness,” said Manning finally, his words coming out in a rush, “I have no one. I am very much alone.”
    “Please,” said Albert, “call me Albert.”
    After that, Manning took off his shirt to show Albert the marks on his back from where the king had had him lashed. The lacerations were raised and red, making them stand out from the older bruises, which were now dull purples and greens. Albert leaned forward and kissed them as gently as he could. Manning sharply drew in breath.
    “I have a salve my mother gave me,” he said. “I will attempt to heal the wounds my father has made.”
    He retrieved the jar from a drawer and returned, scooping some of the cool ointment out with his fingers and applying it gingerly to Manning’s shoulders. But before he could continue, Manning reached back and took Albert’s hands, drawing them forward around his bare chest and pulling Albert against him.
    “I’m not hurting you?” asked Albert anxiously as he felt the warmth from Manning’s skin through his silk shirt.
    “No,” said Manning, “I like to feel you there.”
    Albert smiled into Manning’s back and kissed it, grasping his hands in front of his bodyguard, enjoying the sensation of encircling Manning’s broad, strong frame.
    Manning twisted himself around inside Albert’s embrace, turning to face the prince. When Albert saw that he was wincing slightly, he dropped his arms, afraid of hurting this man who had suffered for him. But as Manning leaned down to kiss him he whispered, “please, don’t let go,” and Albert brought his arms back up to pull the man close.
    Manning’s mouth was a wonder to Albert. It pushed and pulled on his own, enveloping his lips and hunting out his tongue. It matched all the passion Albert put into the kiss with more to spare, and from deep inside at