Ceridor (Danubian #4)

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Johann

That night we sat at dinner in the main hall, though eating was the last thing on my mind with the heavy rock in my stomach. The High King and his men indeed weren't here. I'd held out hope for a last-minute change of heart, but Father truly had refused them and stuck with his decision. It seemed he was willing to let them camp in his front courtyard like a bunch of ruffians. No ruler would stand for this. Because of Father's foolishness, we were going to be attacked.

Then a traveling bard was announced, and I glanced up to see a tall yet beautiful man step in front of my father. Without any hesitation he raised a hand to the petty king and sang in a beautiful baritone, his tone so lilting and vibrant I forgot all about the meal and simply stared.

Then my heart leapt into my throat when I realized I recognized him.

Christian.

It was Christian, Prince Regent Christian Licht of East Helvetica.

He'd been introduced as Ceridor—surely his bardic name—but that absolutely was Christian. The same height and slender build, the same short-cropped facial hair that would scratch my skin when we wrestled and he snuggled Magnus and me, though it was thicker now. Despite some gray streaks in his hair, it was still that warm medium brown that in the summer was kissed by the sun. It was him.

"Say, doesn't that bard look familiar?" whispered Effie next to me, but all I could do was nod, transfixed by his gorgeous voice that I had never forgotten because I knew it so well.

A flood of emotions surged to the surface. I'd adored Christian as a child, but when I'd become a teenager I'd started to realize the full extent of my feelings.

Thankfully, though our mother had been terminally ill by then, she'd still been alive long enough to help me understand what I was dealing with. Mother had explained that sometimes men loved other men rather than women—and sometimes both—as well as women loving women. Mother promised that she loved me even if I was a gay man, but she feared my father would not be so understanding. She explained that Danubian men in the larger cities could be together if they lived quietly, but that they had to be more careful out here in the countryside because people tended to not understand and could potentially even get belligerent about it.

Mother was of mixed Danubian-Helvetican heritage, given away in a political marriage. She'd told me that in the Helvetican Republic, gay men could live more openly and were treated just like everyone else, though that still varied from place to place. Mother had quietly urged me to move to Helvetica with Effie before Father could marry my sister off. My sister and I suspected it was only through Mother's influence that Effie wasn't sold off to the highest bidder as soon as she got her menses.

Ever since those conversations during Mother's final months with us, I'd been torn between my kingship and keeping my sister safe. I wanted my crown. I wanted to take care of this land and its people, but Father, despite being an angry drunk who tossed me around on the regular, seemed more than capable of lasting into old age and he wasn't willing to relinquish his status to his "weakling son."

Still, I'd dreamt of Christian—now Ceridor—in the years since then. Hoping he was happy, I'd imagined we'd meet again under different circumstances, and we could be just two men together, loving each other. And if nothing else, I'd hoped that one day I would be the regional petty king of West Danube and could hire him as my court bard, just like I'd promised as a child.

Now here he was, singing to my father with the Danubian High King camped in the courtyard outside.

Ceridor

I stood in front of King Ott of West Danube, taking in the tense mood and adapting my choice of song accordingly. There was an empty chair next to him, and I greatly missed the presence of his late wife. Having Helvetican heritage as well as a sharp intelligence, it was Queen Ott who had truly facilitated East Helvetica's stable and reliable partnership with West Danube.

My voice flowed into the vast room, filling each ear with a tale that should be as familiar here as it was back home, since stories as well as mulberries passed through our borders on a daily basis. The song I had selected was, admittedly, something of a children's tale about an eagle befriending a bear, but I did not wish to stir further animosity from the king by choosing something with battles and bloodshed. Putting such ideas into this room was best avoided.

Additionally, the tale cloaked what I truly wished to say, so that I had plausible deniability in the face of an angry petty king should I need it. The House of Ott used a hawk as their symbol rather than an eagle, and Ulbrecht the Great was represented by something with arguably more strength and ferocity than even a bear—the Danubian Dragon. Friendship here would be as difficult as in the story, but in no way less rewarding for either party. These parties needed friendship and loyalty, not division and strife, lest these blood-soaked plains be driven once again into the brutal poverty and instability I had witnessed as a traveling bard before the rise of this great warlord king.

Said High King Ulbrecht had recently been wedded to the sacred Danube river, in an ancient pagan tradition not practiced in these parts since the Celtic and later the Germanic tribes that bookended the Roman era. In my long travels since leaving my homeland, I had learned many hidden and precious things, and a king wedding the local nature spirit for protection of the human and earthly realms was an act that had both intrigued me and garnered my respect.

King Ott would be wise to form an alliance with Ulbrecht, but the fully manned camp in front of the castle proved they had not been invited to dinner. I could not blatantly state my advice—I had too much survival instinct for that—but I had to hope someone around the king would have enough sense to convince him to let Ulbrecht stay the night in the castle and feast with him for several days.

As I sang, two young adults watched me with such riveted gazes that it caught my attention. I recognized them: Princess Alodia and Prince Johannes, though they'd gone by Effie and Johann back when the queen was still alive and they had played with my younger brother Magnus.

I was twelve years older, and likely they did not recognize me now, but regaling Johann with stories from the legends and his captive audience was no small part of what had inspired me to become a bard. And ever since becoming a traveling bard, I had used a disguise as an old man and visited this court several times a year to check on the twins, to reassure myself that they were safe and growing up strong, and to bring news of Effie's wellbeing to my little brother Magnus.

I would do what I could to save this neighboring region from bloodshed and turmoil, and hopefully spare the Ott twins a tragic fate.