Seduction of a Princess

Chapter Twenty-Eight

This cha(rac)pter is a bitch. Officially.

Really, I don't know why it took me so long to write it, but... I claim it's because there's a certain someone missing who makes all my writing easier (when he's not busy torturing me, that is).

Other people suck, I want more chapters with him in it!

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          A knock on the door. Few seconds of silence before the answer. The door opened, showing a wary man. “Yes?”

          There was a moment of recognition; as the man saw who was standing in front of him, his hand slipped from the doorknob. He stepped back.

          “Th-Thomas.”

          “It’s Marc now. Marc Gormen.”

          He entered the small house, showing only the slightest smile to comfort his friend.

          “Same here,” he said. “No more Frank Rake, but instead, Francis Gormen…”

          Marc humphed. “You’ll always be the same to me, Rider.”

          “You too, Farm Boy.”

          The old friends embraced, and Rider looked him over. It’s been years since they had last seen each other and, though they’d managed to keep contact via message, they had never spoken once in all that time that had passed since Marc had fled the accusations of theft.

          “You really grew out large, you know that?”

          Marc grinned. “You didn’t really change anything. Same old smile on the same old face. Same hair too. Only your clothes are different…”

          Rider looked down, at his apparel. Of course they were different from his farming days. Back then, he’d worn old things that reeked of horses and manure. Now though… the uniform was brand new as he had acquired it only recently.

          He motioned to a door; Marc followed him in. Six more uniforms hung side by side on a wall. Along with them, enough swords and daggers and bows to arm a dozen men. All of it clearly marked with the brown and red colors of the rebels of the Smaller Province.

          “Good, you’ve got everything you need. Do you also have the men?” he asked.

          Rider nodded. “Of course, though payment still is an issue. They’re in the back room. I’d been explaining the plan to them—we were going to be riding out today. Dead End Inn, in two days, wasn’t it?”

          “Plan’s changed, that’s why I’m here. There have been some… some unforeseen developments. Nothing serious, but... I think that we may need to get creative.”

          “Creative? What do you mean?”

          Marc shook his head. “I’ll explain later. I want to have a look at your men first. See what we’re dealing with.”

          They walked through the small house to the backroom, all the while, he held his eyes open and observed the place. As a soldier of the army, Rider did not live here, but in the barracks at the castle. How he had managed to get to use this place, Marc did not know. Yet all the messages he’d sent, he’d sent here, and Rider had gotten them.

          The house didn’t look abandoned—just a bit dusty in the corners. There was a smell of food and almost none of the doors squeaked as they opened. The furniture, though, was old and worn. It was that, what made Marc suspect this house had once belonged to someone in Rider’s family, that he had inherited it.