Sore Spots

Had Temmin known exactly what he'd be doing on his night in the Temple, he would never have chosen to ride there and back. Issak had been very careful not to hurt him. Nevertheless, he was sore, and even keeping the stable horse at a gentle walk reminded him just how sore. At the same time, though, there was something satisfying about the reminder.

He made it to the stable yards, back to the Keep, up the stairs and into to his study, acknowledging the shyly cheerful bows and curtsies of staff along the way, before he finally let himself realize just how tired he still was. He gave Jenks a sleepy greeting, slumped down on the green velvet sofa and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there when he felt the sofa cushions bounce.

"Oh, do wake up," said his second sister's voice.

"Don't want to," said Temmin stubbornly. "I'm tired. Go away, Elly."

"Certainly not," she said, bouncing the cushions again. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" No response. "I brought biscuits," she wheedled.

"Ugh!" he said, opening one bloodshot eye. "Biscuits? Well, all right, but please stop bouncing."

Ellika produced a little paper-wrapped packet of biscuits from a pocket somewhere in the depths of her skirts and popped them in his lap. "What is the matter with you? Surely you're not hung over, Temmy! That's not going to reflect well on you at the Temple."

"No, no, I'm not hung over," he said irritably. He woke up enough to open the packet of biscuits and paw through them. "Ooh, ginger. Thanks, Elly." He munched on one and tried to clear the fog from his brain. "I'm just tired," he said, swallowing. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Ellika pulled a biscuit out of the packet. "You astonish me!" she said, raising her eyebrows. She delicately nibbled at the biscuit, blinking her brown eyes in mock surprise.

If I didn't know better, he thought absently, I'd swear she was flirting.

Flirting. Ellika was flirting with him.

He woke up the rest of the way, put the packet of biscuits on the table, and got up from the sofa abruptly. "What d'you want, Ellika?" he said, irritable again.

She started back and stared at him. "That's hardly the way to talk to your favorite sister."

"I don't play favorites, I love you both the same," he said, pacing.

Ellika studied him carefully for a moment. "What happened there?" she finally said. "You're not yourself."

Temmin pushed his fingers through his blond locks. "I really don't want to talk about it, especially not with you."

She nodded slowly. "First full day. They took you through the observation galleries, didn't they."

Temmin stopped his pacing and turned on her fiercely. "I said, I don't want to talk about it with you!"

She swept to her feet in a rustle of lilac silk. "If there's anyone in this family you can talk to about it, it's me, stupid boy," she snapped, "but not when you're in a mood like this. If your demeanor improves, you know where to find me." She snatched up the packet on the table. "No biscuits for you!" she said over her shoulder as she marched from the room.

Temmin started to call after her in apology, but it was too late; she'd slammed the door, twitching her skirts out of the way just in time. He raised his arms in exasperation and let them fall. He looked out the window; it was a beautiful spring day, not too warm. Perfect for riding--but for his seat. He scratched at his itchy chin, where the new hairs were prickling, and ginger biscuit crumbs rained down on the carpet from his mustache. "Jenks!" he yelled. "I'm starving!"

Jenks poked his head in from the bedchamber. "As it happens, your highness, your father has asked that I send you to him for tea. No wonder you're hungry, you've slept all day and have just enough time to change your clothes. Can't go to tea with the king in yesterday's slept-in clothes, I don't care if you are his son." Jenks harried him into the bedchamber and had him half undressed before he could say anything.

"I suppose you want to bother me too," said Temmin from the depths of the clean shirt he was pulling over his head. "Well, it was wonderful!" he said crankily.

"Don't care, not listening, your highness!" said Jenks, rummaging in the wardrobe for the right stock.

Once he was changed, Temmin slouched over to his father's apartments in the wing opposite and knocked on the door, in no better a mood. To his surprise, Affton the butler answered and escorted him through the sitting room into his father's private study, where the king was bent over his desk writing determinedly in a broad scrawl. "Ah!" he said upon sighting Temmin. "Good timing, son, good timing! Just finishing up." He sanded his letter, folded it, dripped Tremontine red sealing wax onto the fold and sealed it with his signet ring. "Now! Let's have a little something. What shall you have?"

"Ah," Temmin said. "Shall I pour, sir?" He crossed to the tea set out on the table by the empty hearth.

"Tea? No, no, good heavens, no. Sparkling wine, I have it iced right here." There was a discreet pop, and Temmin turned to discover Affton wrapping a napkin round a sturdy bottle. The butler poured out two flutes, returned the bottle to its ice bucket, and served the king and the prince before bowing slightly and leaving the room. "Tea. Temmin, you just spent the night at the Lovers' Temple, tea is hardly what's called for. Cheers." He clinked his flute against Temmin's and took a long sip. "Now!" said Harsin, sitting down in his favorite chair, "tell me the happenings. How was she? As good as I remember? I should hope so, it wasn't that long ago."

"I'm sorry, sir?" said Temmin blankly, perching on the edge of the tufted leather sofa. He picked up a slice of cheese and one of ham, rolled them together and took a bite.

"Allis Obby! Gods, there's a girl for you. Small but solid, that's how I like them. You too, apparently." Temmin put the roll of ham and cheese down, chewing slowly and swallowing. "Well?" said his father.

"Well what?" said Temmin. "I don't intend to discuss what happened in the Temple with you, sir, if that's what you're asking."

"Whyever not?" snorted his father. "I should think you'd be wanting to tell everyone what happened. I'd certainly brag about a conquest like that." Harsin took another long pull on his drink. "In point of fact, I have bragged about conquests like that."

"It's not much of a conquest when you're the king, is it!" said Temmin hotly, to his own surprise. "I mean--you're the king! Who's going to say no!"

"And you're the Heir," chuckled his father. "Wonderful positions for men to be in, don't you think? Now. Did she do that thing with her tongue? All the Beloveds know how, but she's especially good at it."

Temmin stood up. "I very much dislike this line of questioning, Father. I find it very distasteful," he said stiffly. "Almost as distasteful as discovering you were observing me in the Temple the last time I was there."

"Oh, Teacher told you, eh?" grinned Harsin. "Sit down, boy, how were you harmed?" Temmin reluctantly sat back down. "I couldn't resist the opportunity to revisit happy memories. Too bad the brother was there. And no, I didn't watch you yesterday. I had diplomatic talks all the day long, and last night I had my own entertainment to see to. So? Your first time? How was it?"

"Happy memories, Papa? What do you mean?"

"Oh, I've had some splendid times at the Temple over the years. When the Obbys became the Embodiments I sought an audience with Miss Obby at once. Haven't had time since. Wanted to see those lovely tits again, so I looked in on you the day you were presented at the Temple. Imagine my disappointment, the only one naked was you!" laughed Harsin.

"You've seen Allis naked?" said Temmin, his appetite vanishing.

"Seen her naked? Temmin, have you been listening? She granted me an audience her first week as Embodiment. I spent an afternoon between those thighs, and Nerr, that's a memory that will never leave me." Temmin felt his blood begin to boil. "So, the thing with the tongue? Yes?" said his father with a wink.

"Yes," said Temmin briskly. "The thing with the tongue. I believe I do know what you mean." He stood up. "Only I spent the night with Issak, not with Allis. He does the thing with the tongue quite well." Harsin looked up, nonplussed. "Please excuse me, Father, I'm not feeling well." He bowed politely and stalked from his father's apartments. When he got back to his rooms, he met the astonished Jenks with his stock in his hand. "Bring me something to eat," he said shortly. "I will have tea and dinner by myself. Will Fen be ready to spar with me tomorrow, d'you think?"

"Yes," said Jenks, taking the discarded stock and Temmin's coat as well. "One-handed, perhaps, it's only been two days since that injury. But I'm sure you'd get in a good workout if you're careful of his shoulder."

"See to it," he said. "I feel a great need to beat the shit out of someone."

Jenks looked troubled, but all he said was, "Yes, your highness."

Temmin did not join the family for dinner that night, nor breakfast the next day. Ellika didn't come and try to tease him out of his sulk as she usually would, and he was glad of it. He felt sulky and intended to stay that way. When Jenks told him all was ready in the training salon and that Fen awaited him, Temmin practically ran out the door, Jenks following behind at a more leisurely pace.

The training salon wasn't actually a salon per se; it was its own building, low-slung and spartan, where the guards trained. Outside the sparring room, he stripped down to his pants, removed his boots and socks, pulled on a pair of training trousers and stepped onto the padded floor.

Inside, Fen was throwing right-handed punches and kicks at a sparring bag hanging from the ceiling. His left shoulder was one big ugly bruise, but the purple was already fading to an even uglier brownish yellow around the edges. "Good morning, your highness!" he said cheerfully. "May I please thank you again--"

"No, you may not," said Temmin curtly.

"Take your stance," said Jenks to them both. Fen's pale eyes opened wide, but he composed his face, bowed, and took his stance on the mat, right foot leading. Temmin took his stance and almost immediately opened with a strong right front kick. Fen saw it coming, hopped to the side, flicked a foot up and took Temmin behind the knee. Temmin stumbled and caught his balance; the blow hurt, but the pain cleared his head. The two of them began to spar in earnest, Fen still favoring his left. They danced around each other, dodging kicks and punches and landing a few. Temmin made as if to jab with his right. Fen instinctively moved to protect his injured left side, and Temmin caught him with a sweep kick and knocked him off his feet. Fen dropped to the mat with an "oof," rolling to land on his right. Temmin moved in to land a few good kicks, but Fen rolled onto his back, lashing out with his feet to keep Temmin at a distance. Even so, a couple of kicks landed and Fen grunted in pain.

"All right, young sir, move it back," called Jenks. Temmin danced back.

Fen got up, shaking his head. "I can't, Mister Jenks. I'm sorry, your highness, my shoulder just hurts too much. I need to stop."

Temmin walked to the sparring bag and landed a few vicious blows. "Jenks, is there anyone else who can spar with me? I really--" punch-- "need--" punch-- "to hit somebody!" he roared.

"Then hit somebody, your highness," said Jenks calmly. Temmin turned and found his valet stripped to the waist, shoes and socks off, hands in his pockets. Temmin took in the older man; he was ancient, Temmin thought, but apart from the many tracings of scars, his body didn't show it. His arms were corded, his shoulders were broad, and his chest reminded Temmin of Jebby's. "Come on, then," Jenks said more loudly, taking his hands out of his pockets, "hit somebody!"

"I can't hit you!" said Temmin.

"And why not?"

"You're old enough to be my father!"

Jenks smiled grimly. "And there's your trouble, for I have no problem hitting you, young sir. But please, royalty first."

Best to get this over with, thought Temmin.

They took their stances. He feinted with his left, then threw a strong punch with his right. Jenks stepped to one side, moving so fast Temmin could hardly track him. He easily deflected the blow with his left, hooked a leg around Temmin's, and pushed him over with the flat of his right hand. Temmin hit the mat with a thud. "Again," said Jenks.

Temmin got up and came at him again with a flurry of kicks and punches that Jenks either sidestepped or blocked. Temmin thought he saw an opening in Jenks's guard and grappled with him. Jenks chuckled, picked him up and threw him bodily to the mat. "Again."

Temmin threw everything he had at Jenks, but every time he ended up flat on his back. The last time, Jenks had his foot on Temmin's throat, one arm twisted up behind his back in the valet's strong grip. "Tsk, young sir," he said, pressing down until Temmin wheezed, "you're grossly out of form, if you ever were in form. What did those fighting masters teach you?" He lifted his foot and helped Temmin up. Jenks had barely broken a sweat, while Temmin's hair was dripping. He handed his young charge a towel. "D'you feel better, your highness?"

"Yes," he huffed, "I think I do. Thank you."

That night, Temmin went down to dinner, subdued, but civil.