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“Can’t we please take a break?” Flower groans, picking up his head from where Sid’s latest blast of wind had thrown him. “I’m already bruised.”
“No.” Sid takes a breath, recenters himself. “No, we can’t. Not after last week.”
“Last week, you were one against dozens, and the prince is fine.”
“Barely. By luck.” Sid closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to remember, but it’s so hard not to—the flash of swords, the gold of Camelot and the red of blood, and the bandit leader’s ensorcelled maddened grin as he charged at Geno, his spellblade pointed at his heart. If Flower hadn’t yelled—if Sidney had been a fraction of a foot farther—everything would have been over. “Again.”
“Sid,” Flower whines. He flops back onto the grass. It’s very green, this far into summer; even in his armor, he looks comfortable there. “Let me get my breath back, at least. I’m no use to your practicing worn out.”
Sid makes a face, but he has a point. He lets his hands fall to his side, then, at a pointed look from Flower, settles onto the grass next to him. From here, they can look out at most of Camelot—the town. The castle. And beyond that, Sid can feel it—the lakes, where Excalibur lies; the mountains, and the dragon waiting there, and farther. All of Albion.
“Come back to me,” Flower says gently, and elbows him. Sid blinks, and draws himself back in. “Where’d you go?”
Sid shrugs. He has no words for it.
Flower, because he’s Flower, lets him leave it at that. They sit in silence, watching the clouds above. Sid thinks about shifting them, making shapes like he’d used to as a child, but that’s too dangerous here. He’s seen people burned on less suspicion.
“You know, the prince has been asking about these sessions,” Flower says, like he’s followed Sidney’s thoughts. “He wants to know where we go.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That he didn’t get to tell you what to do all the time.”
Sid snorts. “He must have loved that.”
“I don’t think he was pleased, no,” Flower agrees, not put out at all. They all know how to handle their prince. “But he won’t give up. He’s been asking Vero, too.”
“And what did she say?”
“The same.” Flower turns to look at Sid. He has the same gentle, laughing eyes as he did when he first came to Camelot, the first to share Sid’s secret. “Though she wonders too. And…” He nods. “I won’t lie to her, when we’re married.”
“I wouldn’t ask you too.” Sid trusts Vero, he does. She was one of his first friends in Camelot as well. But the more people who know, the more likely it is the secret will get out. And Sid can’t have Geno knowing it.
“He’ll ask the other knights, too. And they won’t give up. Tanger will follow us.”
“I can put him off.” With magic, if not by words.
“You wouldn’t have to, if—”
“No.”
“Okay.” Flower raises his hands, palms out. “But Geno will only keep asking.”
Sid shrugs. “Like you said. He doesn’t get all my time.”
Flower’s lips twitch. “He wishes he did.”
“He’s not good at sharing,” Sid agrees. He looks back out towards the castle. Geno’s at a council meeting in there, and maybe Sid should be too, but he needed this training. He won’t risk Geno again. Not when he can be better.
“He’s not good at sharing you,” Flower corrects, and laughs when Sid throws grass at him. “I’m just telling the truth!”
Be that as it may, it’s a truth Sid can’t let himself hear. Not with destiny hanging between them.
“Let’s go again,” he decides, and gets to his feet. Flower groans, but he gets up too, and takes up his sword.
“On guard!” he cries, with a flourish of his sword, and Sid draws in his magic, and feels his eyes go gold.
////
They find him in the prince’s chambers, idly sorting Geno’s correspondence as a broom dusts the hearth. The broom drops to the floor as the door swings open, but not so fast that he doesn’t get a chiding look from Flower.
“No,” he says, before any of the knights can say anything.
“Yes!” Tanger grins. “You’re coming. Prince’s orders.”
“No,” Sid repeats. “I have work to do, and Geno knows it because he’s the one who ordered me to do all of it. I need to finish here and make sure there are rooms made up for Lady Melina for when she gets here next week and I have to see to Geno’s armor and—Stop!” Sid yelps, when Tanger gets a hand on his arm and pulls him up. “Tanger!”
“You’re coming, prince’s orders!” Tanger announces, and tugs. Sid scowls at him. Tanger never follows the prince’s orders unless it’s good for him. He hadn’t even wanted to be a prince in the first place; it was Sid who had gotten him to come back to Camelot with him and Geno.
“I don’t like hunting,” Sid whines, and tries to resist Tanger’s yank. Then Duper’s on his other side, with his own hand on Sid’s other arm.
“Well, the prince says you’re necessary,” Duper informs him, but his eyes are glinting too. Sid seriously considers cursing them all, just so that they’ll all leave him alone. He’d burn on a puyre for the look on their face, maybe. From the way Flower is smirking at him, the face he’s making makes that pretty clear.
“I’m bad at hunting,” Sid points out. He’s not, of course, though he likes to make Geno think he is. He just—it’s too easy, for him. If he needed food, the forest would provide with barely a thought. Albion’s woods love Geno too, of course, but its’ not the same. Geno likes the sport. It’s not a sport to Sid. “Geno complains about it.”
“Be that as it may.” Flower’s shrug somehow encompasses all of that and also the tantrum they all know Geno would throw if Sid isn’t there. “The Prince wishes your company, sir manservant. Will you say no?” He adds the last bit with a challenge, his eyes fixed on Sid’s. Sid knows what that means. Flower’s always trying to get him to say it.
“After all, its’ just a hunting trip,” Duper adds. “What could go wrong in a few hours?”
Oh, Sid can only imagine what would go wrong on one of Geno’s hunting trips if left to his own devices. Even when Sid’s there to protect him, Geno gets into too much trouble. “Fine,” he mutters, and lets the knights frog march him away.
///
“I didn’t want to be here,” he announces, not looking at Geno. He doesn’t need to be; he knows the fact Geno makes when he got his way perfectly well. Stubborn git.
“No? Aren’t I your prince? Don’t you want to serve me?”
“No,” Sid mutters, and crosses his arms. It makes the horse fuss beneath him and he wobbles—he’ll never get used to riding horseback, which is maybe ironic given that there is nothing better in the world than riding dragonback. Geno’s hand goes to the mane’s flank, catching her reins and calming her. Sid scowls at its mane, trying to ignore Geno’s laughter. “No, I don’t like you.”
“So sulky, Sidney.” Geno draws out both syllables of Sid’s name like he always does, taunting and just on the edge of fond. “Aren’t you excited to get out of the castle? Get some fresh air?”
Sid lifts his head to give Geno his most baleful look. “I left the castle to get herbs yesterday,” he says, and watches as Geno snorts, laughter dancing in his eyes.
“Doesn’t count, it wasn’t with me,” he says, and waves a dismissive hand. Sometimes Sid isn’t sure that Geno doesn’t know the whole world doesn’t stop and start with his wants and needs. “Come on, Sid. Why don’t you want to go?”
Sid holds up his hand, ticks off his points. “The unicorn. The bandits in the pass. The seer. The—”
Geno laughs again, and despite himself, it makes Sid smile a little. “Come on, Sidney. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
“I don’t think they hand that out to peasants,” Sid retorts, which gets some offended noises from Tanger and Flower. Screw them, though. This is all their fault.
Geno tilts his head at Sid, and he’s smiling, that amused, fond little note that he usually only gets late at night when they’re working in his rooms and no one else is around. “And you’re just a peasant?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before he swings up onto his own horse. He sits a horse like it’s a second skin, like it’s a part of him. Sid tries not to think about how it looks. “Let’s away!”
Sid sighs, and follows him out of the castle.
He spends most of the hunt sulking—he really doesn’t see the point of hunting, even though Geno and the knights get really into it. There doesn’t seem to be much sport in it. Sid gets the thrill of a challenge, and no one knows how to push themselves to more better than Sid, but—well. Maybe it’s just that hunting isn’t a challenge. He’s not sure. He loves the knights, loves—well, sometimes he’s fond of—Geno, but he’s not one of them. He can’t be. His difference is deep in his bones, in the life he can feel in the air that no one else can.
So he sulks and snarks as they throw their swords at things, and maybe laughs a little at Tanger’s and Flower’s antics. Geno gets progressively sulkier too as the hunt goes on, even though he gets a deer and insists on putting it on Sid’s horse, which would make Sid gag if he wasn’t unfortunately too used to the smell of battlefields. He remains sulky while they head back, even as Sid is getting cheered up because they weren’t attacked and because Flower has started to wonder what Vero is making for dinner tonight, and Sid is getting hungry.
They get to the gates of the town and head towards the castle when, “My lord!” someone calls, and Geno stops his horse immediately.
It’s a woman—barely older than them, but gaunt with starvation and clutching an infant to her breast.
“My lord,” she says again, looking up at Geno in the way all the subjects of Camelot do—half worship, half pride. “We need help.”
“Yes?” Geno says, and he’s swinging off his horse so he can stand closer to her. Sid glances at the knights, jerks his head; they all shuffle to the side of the road, so they aren’t blocking traffic.
He watches, though, as Geno listens. Really listens, in a way Sid’s never seen anyone else do—definitely not the king. No matter what mood he’s in, how bitchy he’s being, Geno listens to his subjects, even this least of one, with no sign of impatience or boredom.
“Okay, yes,” Geno says at last, and turns to the knights. “Do any of you know Timothy? The silversmith?”
The knights shake their head, of course—not even Tanger, who goes into the lower city the most, goes into that part of town. But Sid raises his hand. “I do.”
Geno’s gaze scrapes over him, unreadable. “What do you think of him?”
Sid glances at the woman. What he thinks of Timothy isn’t fit for this company, and he doesn’t know what Geno wants here. What he’ll take. “I think he’s one of the king’s favorite smiths,” Sid says, slowly. Geno’s eyebrows draw together.
“I didn’t ask what my father thought of him,” Geno snaps. “Sidney.”
Sidney meets his glare. “I don’t want to be thrown into the dungeon again.”
Geno’s face does something too fast for Sid to read, but then he rolls his eyes. “I won’t let him. Only I get to throw you into the cells.”
“That’s not very comforting,” Sid mutters, except that—it is. Except that it will never not make Sid feel something, the fierceness of Geno’s loyalty, how simply he claims Sid as his. It’s the reason he keeps his secrets, no matter what Flower says. He doesn’t want to—he can’t lose that. Maybe it’s weak. But he can’t.
“Sidney,” Geno prompts.
“I think he’s an ass,” Sidney says frankly. “And he’s been taking advantage of the lower town, lending them money at rates that are too high for them to ever pay. But he’s the only one with enough to lend for some of the bigger problems.”
Geno’s brows are drawing together as Sid speaks. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he demands.
Sid and the woman share a look. Nobles.
Geno must catch the look, because he scowls. “Gonch,” he orders, and Gonch is at his side in an instant, like he always is. “Have a talk with the watch commander?”
Gonch nods. They’ve been together since the beginning; he doesn’t need more instruction. “Yes, my lord,” he agrees, and rides off. Geno turns to the other knights.
“She’s hungry,” he says, and waves his hand at Sid’s horse. “Bring this to her house.”
Tanger and Flower are the ones who exchange a look, then one with Sid. Sid shrugs. He’s not sure why Geno’s in such a mood either.
“Come over later?” Flower asks, with a hand on Sid’s arm as he dismounts. “Vero said she’d save us something special from the feast.”
“If he ever lets me leave,” Sid agrees, which they both know is a yes because if there’s one thing Sid can do, it’s sneak away from Geno. Flower nods, and helps Tanger take the deer from Sid’s horse.
“Come on, Sidney,” Geno continues, when they’ve transferred it and are chatting with the woman, who looks a little overwhelmed in the face of Tanger’s concerted charm. “Let’s go.”
Sidney rolls his eyes at his back, then tries to get his horse to go faster because apparently Geno’s in a mood and so not waiting for him.
Geno barely waits for him to get off his horse before they’re leaving the stables, their horses left to the stablehands for once instead of Geno making Sidney do it because he doesn’t trust anyone else. Then they’re up the stairs, through the winding castle halls and into Geno’s rooms.
Sid closes the doors behind them, then raises his eyebrows as sternly as he can. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing. Come help me get this off, I have to eat with father.” Geno holds out his arms.
Sid rolls his eyes again, but he goes over to start unlacing the tunic. Geno’s skin is warm beneath his fingers, as much as he tries not to think about it. “You were fine this morning, and you got a deer and no one else did, so it’s not that.”
“It’s nothing, I said.”
Neither of them are known for their patience, and after so many years, Sid knows Geno. He lets his hands pause on Geno’s back, stares at the hard muscles of his shoulder, just visible under his shirt, as he says, “Are you mad I didn’t tell you about Timothy?”
“Yes!” Geno yanks himself away from Sid’s hands and turns. His face is screwed up in anger—his real anger, not the petty tantrums he sometimes gets. Sid straightens. He hadn’t known this was going to be a real fight. “You didn’t tell me. You never tell me.” He takes a step towards Sid, forcing him to look up—forcing him to remember that Geno is the best warrior in Albion. Sid could defend himself, of course. But it still catches in his throat. “I get it, but—I thought you’d tell me at least this!”
Sid thinks of all the many things he’s not telling Geno, from the smallest to the largest. All the petty annoyances of his day. The way he can feel the castle in his bones, how it sings to him. How many times he’s saved Geno’s life, and the danger he’s always in. The way sometimes Sid breathes and he worries that he’ll breath out not air but magic itself, that the power inside him is too big for one body to hold. The dragon he can feel on the horizon, waiting for the Golden Age to dawn. The bindings between them, that Sid couldn’t escape if he wanted to. How much he doesn’t want to.
“Sid,” Geno says, and this time he’s softer. They’re still close. If Geno wanted to, he could put his hand on Sid’s cheek. As it is, he sways a little, somehow closer. “Did you think I wouldn’t care?”
Sidney swallows. “I thought you had bigger things to care about,” he answers honestly. “The king is sick, and Alex is still out there doing gods know what, and—I was dealing with it,” he finishes. “Vero and I were going to take Flower and go have a talk with him.”
Geno blinks at him. The rooms are very still between them, only the fire crackling in the hearth to break it up. Sid’s magic is rising in him, like it always does when Geno gets too close, when Sid gets too—when he starts to think. He pushes it back down, ruthless. Geno might be loyal to him, but magic is still forbidden, and Sid doesn’t want to know what Geno would choose. Or rather, he knows, and he never wants to hear Geno say the words.
“Nothing about Camelot is too small for me to hear,” Geno says at last, and his eyes are dark and half-lidded as he looks at Sid. “It’s not your duty to deal with that. It’s mine.”
He will be such a king one day. Sid can see it. He knows it, deep in his bones like the magic is. He will be such a king some day, and Sid just has to get him there.
“It’s my duty to serve you,” Sid replies. He meets Geno’s gaze. Tries to make him understand what that means. If he knows—if he knows enough, when someday Sid stretches out his hand and shows his prince what he can do, maybe he won’t turn away. “Always.”
“Not to get hurt, though. Going alone would have been dangerous.” Something of the regalness is gone, but Geno isn’t being combative, either. This is a Geno Sid thinks very few people see—him, definitely. Gonch. Maybe Alex, once. The knights. “Reckless, Sidney. What if something had happened?”
“We would have had Flower,” Sid points out.
Geno’s face flickers again, and he steps back. “Flower’s just one knight,” he snarls.
“Yeah, but he’s the best,” Sid retorts, and Geno makes another face. Sid doesn’t revise it. Nothing gets Geno more riled up then someone pointing out that technically, no one’s determined who’s better with a sword, him or Flower.
“You, shut up,” Geno stabs a finger at him, and everything’s back to normal. “And go find out where my gold jacket is.”
“I hid your jacket, because its revolting.”
“You wear the same thing everyday, you can’t say anything.”
“I don’t have to. Everyone agrees.”
“Go!” Geno shouts, but he’s laughing, and Sid goes before Geno gets his hand on the pillow he knew was coming next.
///
The bandits come on them all at once, too fast and organized to be real bandits. Mercenaries, Sid suspects, as Tanger grabs his arm and shoves him behind him. Mercenaries, or—there’s something, in the back of Sidney’s mind. A feeling.
“To me!” Geno yells, and then it’s the clang of swords. “For Camelot!”
“For Camelot!” the knights echo, and the bandits roar back.
Sidney scoops up the first sword that comes to hand—from a bandit felled by Tanger’s sword—and holds it in front of him. It’s not hard to track the action, after this long. To track, and to know that the knights of Camelot should be overpowering these mercenaries easily. These are the best warriors in Albion.
But—but Gonch is falling back towards the horses, step by step. But Flower stumbles, rolls to his feet. But a mercenary’s sword comes crashing down onto Geno’s and he falters like the blow was too strong for him.
Sid takes a deep breath, and tries to push away the sound of the battle. To center, like the dragon had taught him. And—there it is, the itch on his skin. The spell, and the sorcerer keeping it active.
He steps back. There’s a tree there, that he can put at his back as he does his spell, but it’s not a complicated one. This sorcerer is as mediocre as their mercenaries. He reaches out, murmurs a spell, and—there.
The itch is gone. When Sid looks up, the impact is immediate. These are the knights of Camelot, and the bandits are quickly dispatched. Gonch is just slamming the hilt of his sword into one of their helmets, knocking them out so they can be taken back to Camelot, when Geno turns to Sid.
“Okay?” he asks. His gaze flicks over Sid, like he’s checking for wounds. Sid’s not even pretending he’s not doing the same thing. At least it doesn’t look like anyone noticed what he’d done.
“Okay,” Sid agrees, a hand on Geno’s arm, and opens his mouth again when—“Watch out!” he yells, but it’s a beat too late, of course it is, as the sorcerer bursts onto the scene with a blast of pure force that sends the knights scattering. Sid barely has a chance to ground himself; Geno, with his arm on Sid, is solid as well. But the rest of them hit the ground hard, go down, and Sid hisses out a breath. No.
Geno takes one look, then raises his sword, stepping between Sid and the sorcerer. “Sidney…” he mutters, and Sidney shakes his head.
“No.”
“You should—”
“This is for my children!” The sorcerer cries, his hands outstretched, something sparking at the edges of them. “A message for your father!”
He thrusts out his hands, and Geno grabs Sid’s sleeve and dives, trying to tug them both out of the way—but Sid was braced and ready with a shield, and Geno can’t move that. The edge of the spell clips Geno, sends him spinning, down.
Sid watches him hit the ground. “No.”
The sorcerer barely spares him a glance. “Oh, that’ll serve the king in Camelot well! A child for a child. Magic for magic.”
“No,” Sid says again, and straightens. Geno isn’t dead—he’d feel that, he’d know. Geno isn’t dead, isn’t even hurt that badly. But no one hurts these men. No one hurts the prince. “No.”
“What, boy?” the sorcerer mutters. He’s still crowing over Geno. He pulls back his leg as if to kick—and that’s too much.
Sid raises a hand, and says a word. Lightning strikes. The sorcerer falls.
It’s quiet, in the little clear where only hours before, they’d been eating their evening meal. The thunder’s already struck.
Slowly, Sid walks over to the sorcerer. He’s still alive—Sid hadn’t struck to kill. And he stares up at him with big, bloodshot eyes. “I won’t go to Camelot!” The sorcerer cries, his voice weak. “I won’t let the king burn me too!”
“No,” Sid agrees. He kneels down. “Don’t worry. He won’t.”
“Who are you?” The sorcerer tries to scoot away, but he can’t.
Sid doesn’t know the words for what he is. The druids do, and the dragons, but he doesn’t. “I’m Sidney,” he says, and feels for his pulse. It’s still strong, if fast. “You’ll live. Consider this a warning. Touch the prince again, and you won’t be so lucky.”
“You’re letting me go?” The sorcerer’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
Sid sighs, and sets a hand on the sorcerer’s chest. “I will not see more sorcerers burn in Camelot,” he says. He pushes energy into him, not enough to attack, but enough to move. He’s no healer, but it’ll do the trick. “Take my mercy, or stay for the knights to awaken.”
The sorcerer scrambles to his feet. Slowly, warily, he bows. “My lord,” He says, and Sid’s breath catches.
“I’m not—” But the sorcerer is going.
Sid watches him go for a long moment. He’s not sure he made the right choice. He’s not sure there was another choice to make.
Then he turns—and sees Geno’s eyes, wide open.
For a second, neither of them moves. Then Geno’s eyes shut.
///
Sid gets the knights up, sees to their wounds. They all seem to buy the story that the sorcerer hadn’t meant to kill them, just to scare them—sometimes, the ‘mysterious ways of sorcerers’ helps Sid’s excuses. Flower knows better, of course, but Sid’s very careful not to be alone with him.
He’s very careful not to be alone at all. Geno’s acting like normal, loud and genial and teasing everyone for getting knocked out, bossing them all into getting the prisoners organized and sending Duper, who’s the least injured, back to Camelot for reinforcements to bring the prisoners in. But Sid can’t help but watch him. How much had he seen? Was he waiting for more knights to arrest Sid? It’s not like Geno to be subtle, but he doesn’t know what to expect. If Geno were any less honorable, he’d be waiting for a knife in the back.
It builds, throughout the rest of the night. They set watches, and Sid tries to sleep during Gonch’s first watch. But he needs to maintain the wards in case he made the wrong call with the sorcerer, and—and what will Geno do?
In the end, Sid can’t stand it. The watch turns to Geno’s, and Sid gives Gonch enough time to get to sleep before he gets up, goes to where Geno’s sitting by the fire. The firelight is casting his face in shades of shadows and gold.
“Sid?” Geno asks, when Sid comes to stand next to him. He doesn’t go for his sword. But he wouldn’t have to. He’s surrounded by his knights.
Sidney swallows. “My lord,” he says. Geno’s brow furrows.
“What?” he demands again, sharper. “Why are you still standing, sit down. You’re making my neck hurt.”
Sid debates the merits of being able to run and getting Geno more annoyed. In the end, he doesn’t want to be standing. He sinks down onto the log next to Geno.
“Okay, what?” Geno asks again. “Why aren’t you asleep, like every sensible person?”
Sid braces himself. Let it never be said he’s a coward. “What are you going to do to me?”
Geno’s mouth opens, closes. “What?” he asks again, in a very different tone. Strangled, almost.
“What—you saw,” Sid says. “Are you waiting to take me back to Camelot? Are you—”
“I didn’t see anything,” Geno cuts him off.
It’s instinct even now, to argue with Geno. “You did. I saw you, your eyes were open. You saw me do—”
Geno’s hand claps down over Sid’s mouth, fast enough that it doesn’t occur to Sid to struggle. He can’t anyway—his whole world is Geno’s face, close and intent. “Don’t,” Geno says, his voice barely a whisper.
Sid tries to make the question clear with his face, then. This is Geno admitting what he saw, or as good as.
“Don’t say it,” Geno repeats. He looks around, like anyone else will be awake, and lets go of Sidney’s mouth.
“But—”
“Sidney.” Geno’s big hand settles on Sid’s, and Sid is stilled again. It’s like a live wire closing, shaking through him, and he doesn’t know if it’s magic or something else, something even older. “Don’t tell me.”
“I—”
“Not yet.” His voice is barely audible over the crackle of the fire. His voice is echoing in Sidney’s head. In his heart. “Not now.” He folds his hand over Sidney’s. “I can’t hear it now. I can’t know it now. As long as I only suspect—that’s all I can do.” Sidney’s the one who’s caught now, in the spell of Geno’s eyes, his lips. “It’s the only way I can keep you safe.”
Sidney finds his voice, somehow. “Not yet?” He echoes, stressing the final word.
“The king is sick,” Geno says, his face twisting like it does when his father’s frailty comes up. “He won’t be king forever. And the world is changing.” He swallows, and brings Sid’s hand up, so his lips can brush over Sid’s knuckles, gentle as he would with a court lady. “The time will come when everyone is safe in Camelot.”
Sid feels it in his bones, in his soul. Feels his magic sing. “We’ll see that day,” he promises, just as soft. “It’s destiny.”
“Destiny?” Geno repeats. Then he shakes his head. “You’ll wait, then? For that day.” He leans forward, so their foreheads are a hair apart. So the only thing between their mouths is their clasped hands. “Even if it’s only a dream?”
What a king this man will make, Sid thinks. The Once and Future king. The other side of Sidney’s coin.
“I’ll wait,” he swears, and doesn’t say the truth he knows in his heart—that he’ll wait forever for his king.