Chapter Three

Erik had never been more glad to leave the borders of the Hellfire nation behind him, along with their smirking guards who had escorted their company thus far. If Erik so pleased, he could have made a slight squeezing motion and shrunk all of their armour, but then King Oliver would have had some choice words to say to him about that. "You need to be an example for your men," he would have chided. As much as Erik was loathe to admit it, being at the mercy of the King's disappointment was not something he particularly enjoyed.

It was almost as bad as facing Charles' disappointment.

Now that home was only a week's ride away, Erik allowed himself to brood again over their last argument, and whether Charles was still licking his wounds. Through the ten long years of their friendship, they admittedly had always had their differences, so squabbles were common enough. But this instance had been different. Erik was still haunted by the stricken, hurt expression on Charles' face that night over the chessboard, when Erik had accused him of naivety.

It had been one of the worst arguments of their friendship. That night, Erik had called Charles a great many things, twisted the knife the way only he knew how. "Are you really so naive as to think Shaw will keep to his word?" Erik had shouted at a stricken Charles, the metal in the study humming ominously. "Or is it arrogance?"

If Charles had gotten angry, had fought back, Erik might have left not feeling like his chest was cleaved into two. But Charles had only stared back at him with stunned, wounded bewilderment. "Is that what you think of me?" he had asked. "That I'm arrogant enough to place the entire kingdom in jeopardy?"

The anger had left Erik as quickly as it had invaded him. He had known Charles almost all his life, and he had never imagined he would ever raise his voice at Charles, the boy who had taken in a starving Erik without question. The metal in the room had stopped vibrating, and Erik had turned around and left Charles' solar without a word.

At least they had managed to somewhat make amends before Erik had left. Charles had come to see off the royal delegation, his eyes red and mouth grim as he bade his father and Raven farewell. Just as Erik decided he might be ignored, there had been a whisper of Safe travels in his head, and Erik had taken it as Charles's attempt at a reconciliation. He had nodded back at Charles, relieved. It would have destroyed him, knowing that there was the possibility they would all have been killed by that turncoat Shaw, and he would have died not knowing Charles' forgiveness.

It was something Erik wasn't willing to examine too closely.

With the small size of their delegation, it should not be long before their return home. Normally the royal carriage, which bore the king and princess, would have slowed down their progress, but this was where Erik's powers were useful. He bore the brunt of its weight so the horses could ride faster, and this earned him a gruff nod of approval from Logan, who was undoubtedly eager to return to Nara as well. It had been a stifling fortnight spent in the clutches of the Black King, who had offered his hospitality with a mask of barely concealed hostility.

But it was the White Queen who had left Erik even more unnerved. There were rumours that she possessed the same powers as Charles, except that she was far less ethical about how she wielded them. She had been quiet and demure enough by Shaw's side, but Erik had a very strong instinct that it had all been an act. Telepaths were people Erik had learnt never to underestimate. By all appearances, Charles seemed to be a young, earnest prince untested by war. No one would have guessed he possessed the might to bring an entire kingdom to its knees, if he so chose.

Well that was the problem, wasn't it? Charles would never choose that. Erik had to both admire and deplore him for it.

When they were finally within a day's ride of the castle, Erik eagerly rested his gaze on its high white towers, the wind whipping about the blue flags that bore the royal crest. Even with the rolling, ominous snowclouds that hovered above the castle like a white crown, there had never been a more welcome sight for Erik. It didn't escape him that ten years ago, he too had arrived in Nara on the heels of a snowstorm, hoping to find only food and a roof for a night. Instead, he had been dragged to a surprised King in the middle of the night by a stubborn young princeling, who had demanded that Erik stay with them and be trained as a squire.

There was no doubt Erik owed Charles his life. When he had finally been sworn in as a knight on his twenty-first birthday, Erik had recited his oath and knelt before King Oliver. But in his heart of hearts, it wasn't the King that Erik had sworn fealty to.

The shrill, distant cry of a trumpet pierced the air, which meant their banners had been sighted. "At last," Erik heard Logan say, his horse coming to a canter beside Erik's own. A curl of smoke rose from the cigar between his teeth. "It's good to be home after spending a week in that vipers' nest."

Erik wasn't exactly surprised that Logan shared his suspicions. "Vipers are easy enough to predict and thus, kill," he said. "The Black King and his Queen? Not so much."

Logan snorted in solidarity. "I know. I could smell the deceit coming off them in waves."

When the delegation finally reached the castle walls, there was another trumpet call. Guards emerged from the gatehouse, led by the porter, to open the heavy iron gates with Erik's help. Once they were within the castle walls, there was a rush to attend to the king and the princess, who were both travel-worn and bedraggled. Logan had already flicked his cigar away and was by the king's side, clearing a path for him. Somewhere behind him in the courtyard, Erik could hear Armando's clear, decisive voice giving orders to his staff.

Erik?

Sensing Charles' bracelet by the main entrance of the keep, Erik turned quickly and weaved through the tired, chattering men. He'd both anticipated and dreaded this moment, unsure if there were any lingering traces of Charles' hurt and anger. But, above anything else, his eagerness to see Charles again trampled all over his doubts and fears.

Then he finally spotted him.

Charles was standing by an alcove, hands clasped over his waist. He had a few days worth of reddish-gold scruff, and the deep bags under his eyes spoke of too much work and not enough sleep. But at least his gaze was bright and alert, his smile widening with genuine pleasure as he took in Erik, beckoning him forward impatiently. Erik only hesitated for the briefest of moments before he stepped into the warm, welcome circle of his arms. Closing his eyes, he turned his head so he could breathe in Charles' scent, a soothing mixture of soap, parchment and that mint oil he used for the headaches he got whenever he'd overextended his telepathy.

"As pleasant as this is, I'm afraid you reek, my friend," Charles murmured in his ear, and Erik barked out a short, sharp laugh before reluctantly pulling away from the embrace. Perhaps it was a better idea to wash off all the grime and grit of their long journey before he caught up with Charles proper.

"It's nice to see you again, Erik. I missed you so much I couldn't bear it," Erik mimicked in a posh exaggeration of Charles' accent, grinning and fully expecting a dirty look from his friend. But to his surprise, Charles only stared ahead, his expression soft and his mouth pursed in a manner that meant Erik had hit a raw nerve. Startled to have gotten an entirely different reaction than he expected, Erik fell silent as he followed Charles into the keep, mired in his own thoughts.