Dedication

To Becky, my prince, who dreamed them up first.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

Royal Quarry

T WAS

blue-gray and made of wool. It clung tightly to the

back of the man‟s neck and extended austerely down his
shoulders, giving way at the last moment to his sleeves. The
jacket ended below the man‟s waist and was slit at the sides
for ease of movement, revealing slacks made of the same
material in a darker hue. Although he could not now see it,
Albert knew from experience that the front of the man‟s
uniform boasted three red stripes across the right breast
and, on the left, the omnipresent, potent swirls of his father‟s
crest.

Albert watched the rough cloth slide back and forth

across the man‟s formidable frame as he walked, pulling at
the place where it was trapped under the strap of his bag. He
stepped easily over rocks and fallen branches that Albert had
to navigate after him in an ungainly, scrambling
improvisation.

Why couldn’t I have gone with Godfried? thought Albert

bitterly. It was hard to imagine any situation in which he
would have preferred the company of his proud and over-
accomplished cousin, but a hunting trip—a competition,
Albert reminded himself, a trial, a duty, a test of filial worth
and regal virility—was one of them. Godfried would have
laughed at his inability to string his own bow, absolutely
thrilled at Albert‟s piss-poor marksmanship, but he would
have shot something big enough to allow them to go home.
Instead he was alone in the woods with this man for God
knew how long, expected to shoot his own stag.

In the castle Albert found the constant presence of that

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

uniform oppressive. At every corner there were at least two of
them, encasing somber-faced men with eyes and hearts and
arms that were extensions of the king‟s: anonymous agents
of his father‟s will. But in the forest this uniform, taken
singly, wrapped around the powerful figure ahead of him,
scared Albert. It occurred to him that he wouldn‟t be able to
find his way back on his own.

“Your Highness?”
Albert had fallen behind, and now the man was facing

him, watching as he fumbled around trying to haul himself
over a large fallen trunk. The man approached him, and
Albert‟s frustration mounted. The top of the trunk was even
with his chest. His foot was caught in a branch he had
hoped to use to push himself over, but now, his foot too high
to be of use, he‟d lost all leverage. He was stuck with his leg
in a ridiculous position. The uniformed man held out his
hand, but Albert ignored it.

When he was young Albert had discovered that being

the prince had at least one benefit. He could decide, at least
in small matters, what was true and what wasn‟t. As a little
boy, when he was feeling peevish, he used to insist he was
hot in the middle of winter. He would have the fires doused
and the windows opened. When ice began to form in his
washbasin he would declare it a pleasant, comfortable
temperature, and no one could contradict him. His servants
would shiver, but none would admit to being cold. Albert, of
course, suffered too for this game, but that was perhaps part
of the satisfaction he gained from it: his painful fingers, stiff
from cold, were proof of some power in himself that did not
come from his title.

And now, continuing to ignore the hand reaching out to

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him, he was playing the game again. If Albert pretended his
guard were not offering help, the latter was in no position to
insist. Nor could he withdraw his hand without being
inexcusably rude. It gave Albert some satisfaction to see this
man stuck, his arm extended uselessly over the trunk of the
tree, just as Albert was stuck, his leg pointlessly raised.

They stood together in this queer configuration in the

darkening woods. Albert made another attempt to pull his
weight up to the top of the log, but his arms wouldn‟t lift
him. He tugged at his foot, but his energy was spent. Albert
closed his eyes and wished himself anywhere in the world
but where he was.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands take hold of his

trapped foot. Startled, Albert jumped back and lost his
balance, his arms flailing. He hadn‟t heard the man come
back to his side of the tree, his stealth frightening and
unnatural-seeming. Albert‟s reeling arm hit the man in the
chest only halfway by accident, but the recipient of the blow
didn‟t seem to feel it. Albert fought to keep some princely
dignity as he toppled back into his father‟s servant, no longer
able to stand.

Off balance, helpless, and suddenly tired, Albert gave in

to his condition, his back against the man‟s broad chest,
letting him work to free his boot. He could hear the man‟s
steady breath near his ear and feel the shifting muscles of
the man‟s arm against his shoulder. It was strangely calming
and made Albert want to sleep. He smelled the man‟s smell:
sweat, straw, leather, wool. That would be the uniform,
thought Albert. He rode up and down on the gentle swell of
the man‟s breath. It was almost a pity when his foot was
freed and he was required to stand on his own.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

“What was your name again?” Albert asked when they

were both safely over the tree trunk. The man had told him
before, but Albert hadn‟t paid attention.

“John Manning,” said the man. His wide face was calm,

strong, and somber. I have yet to see one of my father’s
guard smile, thought Albert.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking up on royalty?” Albert

asked him.

“I am sorry, Your Highness, I didn‟t mean to startle

you.”

“It is customary to ask permission before approaching

me,” said Albert in the most imperious voice he could
muster. He watched the muscles in Manning‟s jaw tighten.
Was it contrition? Embarrassment? Fear? Anger? The man
had experience being scolded by royalty: he stood quietly,
eyes downcast, waiting for instruction or punishment. Albert
suddenly felt a little silly.

“But we thank you for freeing our person,” he

continued. God, the royal we. He only used that when he was
feeling particularly insecure. To break the strange tension,
Albert set off through the woods, with little idea of where he
was going, letting the man follow him for a change.

HEY

camped shortly thereafter at the top of a slight rise,

where the ground would be drier. At least, that was what
Manning had said. Albert wouldn‟t have noticed the higher
ground if Manning hadn‟t pointed it out, nor would he have
known what to do with it. Albert sat with his back against a
tree. It felt good to be divested of his equipment: his bag, his
bow and quiver, the large, twisted hunting horn he was

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

supposed to blow if he ever did manage to shoot anything.
He watched Manning build a fire. The man‟s movements
were simple and sure, and Albert found them strangely
soothing.

He needed to figure out what he was doing. He shouldn‟t

have wasted so much of the day sulking. He should have
been looking for signs of his quarry, as he‟d been taught. The
problem was that Albert was terrible at it. Three weeks of
preparation had gone into this hunting trip, in addition to all
the instruction he‟d received before, but the forest was just
as mysterious to him now as it had ever been. He marveled
at the ability of his teachers, his father, and his cousin to
find signs in the earth, in the plants, in the air, even, like so
many forest necromancers. To Albert one tree still looked
exactly like any other tree, and try as he might, he never
could manage to take note of the direction of the sun, a
pattern of broken twigs, or imprints in the ground.

The only way I’ll ever catch a deer is if it comes up and

taps me on the shoulder, thought Albert, and even then I
doubt I’d be able to kill it. Unless he wanted to return to the
castle empty handed, a prospect that, given his father‟s
temperament, he didn‟t cherish, he was going to have to ask
for Manning‟s help.

But how far can I trust him? wondered Albert. As he

watched Manning easily swing a heavy log onto his shoulder,
Albert thought that it would be temptingly easy to trust him,
to fall back into him and rest on that strength he had felt
before, when Manning had taken his coldness, his blows,
and finally his weight and still freed him from the fallen tree.
He was steady in a way that invited confidence. Is that why
my father chose him?

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

“Manning?” Albert liked the man‟s name. It rolled

smoothly out of his mouth and hung in the air around him.

His companion turned to face him.
“Have you been on many hunting trips?” Albert asked.
“A fair number, Your Highness,” said Manning.
“Stag hunting?”
“Yes.”
“Did you….” Albert considered the best way to phrase

his plea. He couldn‟t afford to sound as desperate as he felt.
“Did you ever track and shoot anything yourself?”

“Small game, yes.”
“Nothing… big?”
Manning looked at him with a pair of dark, intense eyes

that Albert couldn‟t read. Albert tried to affect more
nonchalance by playing with a leaf.

Finally Manning answered, “It‟s against the law for any

but your father and those he invites to hunt deer in this
forest.”

Albert tried not to look disappointed. As Manning

turned back to the fire and worked on lighting it with a
tinderbox, Albert ripped little pieces off the leaf and scattered
them about himself. He was startled out of his unhappy
reverie by Manning‟s voice.

“Your Highness, have you given any thought to dinner?”
No, damn it, he hadn‟t. He‟d forgotten he was supposed

to hunt to sustain himself as well. They were going to starve
to death in the woods waiting for Albert to shoot straight.

“No, I….” Albert got up and began looking about for his

bow.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

“I don‟t mean to presume,” Manning‟s deep, clear voice

interrupted, “but you‟ve had a tiring journey. If you‟d like, I
could find us a meal.”

There it was, that quiet strength, offering itself to Albert,

tempting him to trust this man despite the coat of arms
worn over his heart. At least in this Albert had no choice.
Awoken by the mention of supper, his hunger now pressed
on him, and if he insisted on doing it himself they would
never eat. With a nod of his head he relented. It felt good to
give in. Be careful, Albert warned himself as the man slung
his bow and quiver over his shoulder and strode quietly off
into the woods.

ANNING

returned some three quarters of an hour later with

a rabbit shot cleanly through the neck. They rigged up a spit
above their now roaring fire and soon enjoyed the crispy
roast meat. It was pitch-black now outside the ring of light
cast by their fire, and the forest made wild nighttime noises
around them.

Albert stretched out the one light blanket he had carried

with him and waited for Manning to do the same. It got later
and later, but the man made no motions towards going to
bed. Albert‟s head began to feel light.

“Aren‟t you going to sleep?” Albert asked.
“Don‟t worry about me, Your Highness,” said Manning.

He was resting against the same tree Albert had sat against
earlier, crouched as if, at any moment, he might spring. He
reminded Albert of a giant cat: relaxed, but ready to pounce.
It made him nervous. Albert never liked to sleep in a place
where others were awake. When he was little, he had always

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

sent his nurses and nannies out of the room when he was
napping, and he would throw terrible fits if they refused to
leave him alone. Albert considered briefly how this strong,
quiet man would react to a princely tantrum, but he decided
that he certainly wouldn‟t come out ahead for putting on
such a display.

“You needn‟t stay up on my account,” Albert offered,

trying a gentler approach.

“It‟s no trouble,” answered his guard.
I can play this game too, thought Albert. If this man

wasn‟t going to sleep, then neither would he. He lay down on
his blanket facing the crouching figure and feigned sleep,
one eye on Manning to see what he would do. He did nothing
immediately, and Albert struggled to hold on to his
consciousness. He began conjugating Latin verbs in his
head, but before he finished sum he was fast asleep.

boy seemed unwilling to sleep in his presence, but

despite his young charge‟s evident stubbornness, exhaustion
eventually won the battle. This wasn‟t surprising. They had
covered a lot of ground today, certainly more than Albert was
used to hiking, probably more than he‟d realized.

Manning hadn‟t disclosed his reasons for staying alert

because he didn‟t want to alarm Albert or be thought
ridiculous: he‟d seen signs of wolves earlier that day. The fire
would almost certainly keep them away, but Manning didn‟t
trust in anything qualified by an “almost.” He worried. It
made him a good bodyguard, but it often prevented him from
sleeping.

Manning watched sleep overtake the prince. Albert

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seemed more peaceful now than he‟d been all day. His
shoulders fell back from their tense position, revealing the
graceful line of his neck. His eyes, so often in motion when
he was awake, were now still under their lids.

Manning had never guarded the prince before, but he‟d

heard stories from the other servants. Albert had a
reputation for being difficult. However, the young man now
in Manning‟s charge was not the spoiled, choleric prince he‟d
been expecting. He seemed scared, lonely, young. He wore
his twenty years tentatively, as if by stopping the advance of
time he could escape whatever fate he feared. Manning
thought back to the time, some fifteen years ago, when he
had been Albert‟s age. Surely he had looked older than the
sleeping figure now beside him. He had certainly felt old; by
twenty Manning had long since acquired the propensity for
worry and care that served him so well now. That is what
three years of war will do to you, he thought.

Albert certainly hadn‟t been in any wars, and maybe

that had kept him looking so young. But for all the lack of
battles, marches, and nights spent on rough ground, there
was still something in the way the prince held himself, in the
way he jumped when Manning had come behind him to free
his caught foot, that suggested his life had not been entirely
sheltered. What have you seen in your twenty years to make
you so nervous? Manning wondered.

Of course, Manning knew well that the prince had

reason to be frightened. He cast an eye over the soft brown
hair that fell across Albert‟s shoulders and over his velvet
jacket, tailored to reveal the vulnerable shape of the long,
svelte figure beneath it. With his quick, shallow breaths and
fine clothes, he reminded Manning of a small bird that
needed to be returned to its nest.

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Manning had done many things for his strange and

cruel monarch. His life in the castle did not have as much
bombast as his life in the army; there was less shouting, less
blood, but not necessarily less violence. In the castle the
violence was an insidious, hidden half-secret, a tool
selectively deployed: kept away from those who should not
see it, displayed to those who should. There were fingers
broken, servants lashed, loved ones punished or sent away
in the stead of the offender. Albert‟s father, Edward, was
ruthless and unpredictable, and Manning had grown adept
at swallowing or ignoring his qualms in the execution of his
duty.

But the task ahead of him, concerning this innocent

young man who thought he was simply on a hunting trip,
promised to be his most difficult yet.

You must get through this, Manning reminded himself.

He peered out into the dark woods, determined to keep the
boy safe, at least from the wolves.

morning dawned clear, with shafts of bright sunlight

piercing through the leaves. Manning cleaned out their
campsite before Albert woke up. He wondered how long to let
the prince sleep. They had a good distance to cover today,
and Manning wanted to get to their destination as quickly as
possible.

It was astonishing to him how oblivious Albert seemed

to the direction and magnitude of their travel. Manning
didn‟t understand how he‟d gotten away with taking Albert
so far from home. They had agreed at the beginning of their
journey to stay in the southwest corner of the forest

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

surrounding the castle, but they were now at least twelve
miles from anything the young man would be familiar with.
Manning didn‟t know what he would do if Albert began to
suspect something was wrong. It would be best to get it all
over with as soon as possible. They could make it today if
they kept up the pace.

There was another reason for Manning‟s urgency, one

he couldn‟t quite explain. Was he afraid he would be unable
to betray Albert? The longer he spent in his company, the
more he felt responsible for him. He had best keep himself
distant. Manning would only regret it later if he let Albert‟s
clear gray eyes win too much of his affection.

Luckily, Albert woke before Manning decided he would

have to rouse him. The young man also seemed to want to
keep to himself as he moved stiffly to fold up his blanket and
gather his things. He must be very sore from yesterday,
Manning thought, impressed by how Albert neither
complained nor showed any signs of giving up.

What does he think he’s doing? wondered Manning as

they set off again to the east. He seems almost eager to be
led. He’s hardly tried to hunt at all. He decided not to curse
his good luck and to make use of the prince‟s willingness
while it lasted.

It was at noon, when they stopped for a short rest and

some food, that Albert broke the silence between them.

“How long have you worked for my father?”
The question took Manning by surprise. Royalty didn‟t

usually ask personal questions of their servants. “Fifteen
years, Your Highness.”

“You must have been young!” Albert‟s surprise broke

through his thus far serious demeanor, widening his eyes

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and bringing warm tones to his voice. Manning could see
that the prince would have a very charming smile, if he ever
showed it.

“I was your age, Your Highness, when I joined the castle

guard.”

“Oh,” said Albert. He pensively picked at his cold leg of

rabbit. “How does one come to such service? Was your father
also a bodyguard?”

Manning almost laughed aloud at the idea. He couldn‟t

imagine his rotund, opinionated father ever following orders
or standing at attention.

“My father was a blacksmith,” he said. “I didn‟t want to

be a blacksmith, so I ran away from home and joined the
army. It was from the army, when the war ended, that I
came to the castle guard.”

“Is that where you learned how to shoot so well?”
“Yes,” said Manning, strangely pleased at the

compliment. He‟d only shot the rabbit, and not even in
Albert‟s company. His charge was clearly very observant of
some things, if not, it seemed, of direction. He‟d have to be
careful.

“What was it like?” Albert asked.
“The army?”
“Yes, when you first joined. How old were you?”
“I was seventeen. It was… exhausting, for a while, and

exciting. Then it became frightening, and then it became
routine.”

“What did you do?”
“We walked a lot. I‟ve crossed from one side of this

country to the other on foot. We carried all our equipment,

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

much like we‟re doing now. We kept watch. We practiced
fighting. And then we did fight.”

“When you were fighting, did you see the enemy up

close?”

The question surprised Manning. It brought images to

his mind he usually tried not to think of: faces twisted in
rage or fear; lifeless bodies he‟d stepped on; worse, the dying,
beyond hope, suffering on the ground. It felt like an
intrusion, this question.

“Sometimes,” he said.
“Did you… kill anyone?”
“Yes.” Manning heard his voice sharpen at his answer.

He felt resentful of this young man with his regally
ornamental hunting attire: velvet with pearls sewn in, sturdy
enough, but not meant to withstand any real weathering.
How dare he ask such things about this war fought for him
when he was a baby? It was done and over with—asking
such questions could do no one any good. Manning‟s body
and perhaps his soul might belong to the crown, but surely
his memories were his own to bury as he saw fit.

Manning‟s indignant thoughts were interrupted by

Albert‟s reply.

“I‟m sure I would have just died.”
“Of course not,” said Manning perfunctorily. Albert‟s

self-pity seemed glib to him: how could the boy know how he
would react in the face of death until he was confronted by
it?

“I can‟t imagine what it would be like to have to kill

somebody in battle, to see their face coming toward you and
then end their life with a sword or arrow? I would lack the
strength. Even if I had the strength of body I would lack the

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

strength of will. Even my father, when he executes people,
always has somebody do that part for him. You must be very
strong.” He looked so small and scared.

“When the other person is trying to kill you, it‟s

different,” said Manning gently, “Something inside you takes
over. You kill to stay alive.”

Albert looked at him. “Always?” he asked.
“It always has for me,” said Manning.
“I …” Albert started off hesitantly, but when he finally

spoke it was quietly and all in a rush: “Two years ago I killed
a man. He was a servant at the castle. Something had gone
wrong, a thing stolen, I don‟t remember. He didn‟t do it, and
neither did the two others taken with him. My father made
me stay in the room as he asked them who had done it, and
none of them knew, and they repeated and repeated that
they didn‟t know until he had a man cut off each of their left
hands. And as the sword was coming for Tallis he panicked
and accused one of the other two. It was clear it was not
true, and my father had the swordsman cut off both his
hands and his feet, and they all left him there on the floor,
and my father told me to have someone clean up the mess,
and the woman who came with a bucket and mop said that
Tallis would die, was dying, slowly and in pain. There was
nothing to be done for him, and no one dared help him for
fear of punishment, but I could do it because I was the
prince, and the prince can do no wrong, she said, and so I
did. With a cloth over his face. It took longer than I thought
it would, longer than it should have with all the blood he‟d
lost all over the floor and all over me, and I know now that
when they come for me, the assassins or the executioners, if
they ever come for me, I won‟t be able to stop them. I will see

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that man writhing under my hands, and I will have lost my
moment, and I will be dead.”

He paused for breath.
“I‟m very sorry to have asked you about killing, if you

don‟t want to talk about it. It‟s only that I envy your
strength.”

Manning didn‟t know how to respond to this confession.

He was angry that a person so young had been made to deal
with so much; none of the men he had killed had been
helpless or tortured before his eyes. He was surprised that
the king was so cruel to his own son. Why are you surprised,
he asked himself, with the orders that you are following now?
Words of indignation or consolation that rose to his throat
were choked back by guilt. If Albert survived the ordeal
ahead of him he would some day stammer out a similar,
terrible secret, and it would be Manning‟s name, alongside
Edward‟s, among those who had wronged him. The prince
envied his strength? If he were strong, he would have refused
to do the job he was now undertaking.

“No,” said Manning softly, “You have strength. I‟ve seen

how you‟ve continued on this trip without complaint despite
how hard it is for you.” He wanted to reach out and touch
him, to reassure him with a hand on his arm, but he
remembered the rebuke from yesterday and refrained.

“I‟m no good at hunting,” said Albert. He looked like he

was about to cry. “I can‟t track anything, I scare everything
away, and I can‟t shoot at all. I can‟t even string my own
bow.”

“I‟ll teach you,” Manning heard himself say. “Somebody

taught me how to shoot, and I can teach you.” What was he
doing? Assuaging his guilt? He just couldn‟t bear to see

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Albert looking so unhappy.

The rest of the day was spent at target practice.

Manning set up a target on a tree a short distance from
where they were. He strung Albert‟s bow for him and
demonstrated the best way to hold the arrow and how to
aim. Albert was a willing student and showed some promise,
but he was hesitant and lacked confidence.

Being sure to first obtain the prince‟s permission,

Manning stood behind him to reposition his arms as he bent
back the bow. He could swear he felt Albert lean back into
him slightly as he came close, reminding him of their contact
yesterday at the fallen tree. He could feel Albert‟s shallow,
nervous breaths against his chest. The boy‟s whole body was
trembling as he pulled the string back.

“Relax,” Manning suggested, his voice quiet, right above

Albert‟s ear.

“I can‟t,” said Albert, “I‟ll drop the bow.”
“You don‟t need every muscle you have to hold the

string taught.”

“… how?” asked Albert.
Manning didn‟t respond in words. Instead he slowed his

own breathing, placed a hand on the top of Albert‟s shoulder,
ran it gently down his side, showing him. With his body
flush against Albert‟s, he could feel the extra tension begin to
leave him. Albert‟s neck and shoulders relaxed. His
breathing slowed to match Manning‟s. They stood together
like this, Albert‟s bow drawn, poised, relaxed. Manning could
smell lilacs and sandalwood in the young man‟s hair, still
detectible under the earthy scent a night in the forest had
given it. As he relaxed, Albert‟s slender body came to lean
against his with a trust that was beguiling.

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Manning could feel his face growing warm and flushed.

His pulse quickened, and the beginning of an erection began
to push at the front of his uniform. He stepped back
suddenly, embarrassed, lest his arousal become apparent.
This was not going well; his reaction was even stronger than
it had been at the fallen tree. He would have to keep some
distance between them. He couldn‟t afford to be attracted to
the king‟s only son.

When Manning stepped back, as if a spell had been

broken, Albert simultaneously tensed up and released the
bow. The arrow flew yards to the left of the target.

Manning cleared his throat in an attempt to cover his

awkward retreat. “Yes,” he said, “that was very good.”

They kept practicing, and the whole day they didn‟t

move a step from where they‟d stopped for lunch. We’ll have
to get there tomorrow, thought Manning, as he built the
evening‟s campfire. No more stalling.

LBERT

‟

arms hurt. His shoulders hurt. Even his hands

hurt. He knew they would only hurt more the next day, but
he felt good, better than he had in a long time. His aim was
still by no means consistent, but he occasionally hit the
target, and sometimes his shots seemed almost good.
Manning had praised him so sincerely when he had sunk his
first arrow into the tree that he was still smiling about it.

Part of Albert was still worried about how much he had

told Manning. He hadn‟t meant to hand the bodyguard such
a powerful weapon against him—it would only take a few
questions from his father: what did my son say to you on
your trip? You were alone with him for all those days and

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nights; come, surely he said something? Albert‟s confidence
had been betrayed by such questions to his servants before.
He knew he could not trust Manning to lie for him, and yet
he hadn‟t been able to stop himself. This was always Albert‟s
problem. If he tried to show a little of himself, he could never
hold back the rest.

Albert shivered a little as he lay back on his blanket. It

was a cold night, and the fire was doing an excellent job
against the dark, but less so against the chill. Manning
crouched again, catlike, not far away. Did the man ever
sleep? By rights, Albert should have been exhausted, but his
mind would not settle. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
He wondered who had taught Manning to shoot and if his
lessons had excited him, too. He remembered the touch of
Manning‟s large hand against his side. He wondered who the
men were that Manning had killed.

Suddenly, he felt those hands on him again, one on

each shoulder. Albert started, his mind racing. Was this it?
Did his father really mean to kill him? Had he chosen this
kind man for the job? Was this why Manning hadn‟t wanted
to talk about killing?

Manning‟s face hovered above his, handsome, with a

slight smile on its lips. Albert realized Manning‟s hands were
resting gently on his shoulders, not restraining him.
Manning pulled back his hands, leaving the large jacket of
his uniform resting like a blanket over Albert‟s chest.

“You looked cold, Your Highness,” said Manning.
“Oh, is that all?” asked Albert, trying to slow his

breathing.

“I‟m sorry I didn‟t ask your permission to approach.”
Albert felt awful until he noticed the smile was still

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playing at the edges of Manning‟s mouth. Relief flooded
through him, and he let out a brief laugh.

“I can‟t take this,” Albert protested, smiling in his turn.
“Please, Your Highness, I won‟t miss it tonight, and you

are cold.”

“It has my father‟s crest on it,” said Albert, indicating

the jacket‟s left breast. “Are you mistaking me for my
father?”

“It will be your crest, too, one day,” said Manning

simply.

“You could be tried for treason, trying to usurp my

father‟s place for me.”

“It‟s a good thing, then, that we are in the woods, far

from the castle and any of your father‟s spies.”

Albert could have hugged Manning right then for saying

such a thing. Maybe he would not betray Albert‟s secrets to
the king. Maybe they were safe together, here in these
woods, far from the castle and any of his father‟s spies.

“Manning?” Albert asked.
“Yes?” He had returned to his position some feet away,

crouching against the tree.

“Will you still be a bodyguard when I am king?”
“Unless I‟ve been killed by assassins.”
“Will you be my bodyguard?”
“It will be my pleasure, Your Highness.”
“Could you really be killed?”
“It‟s a dangerous business.”
“Then I don‟t want you to be my bodyguard.”
“No?”

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“No. When I am king, you can retire and do something

safer and more pleasant than following around royalty who
can‟t look after themselves.”

“What should I do?”
“Mmmm…” Albert pondered this question. He had spent

so long being afraid of this uniform that it had never
occurred to him that the people who wore it had lives of their
own. He‟d never considered that someone like Manning
might die to save his life. It bothered him.

“Farm rabbits,” suggested Albert.
Manning laughed, and the noise was sharp, round and

beautiful. Albert grinned secretly into the sleeve of Manning‟s
jacket.

“What should I do with rabbits?” asked Manning.
“Raise them, feed them, keep them safe.”
“I think I prefer the royalty,” said Manning.
Albert tried to think of some retort, something witty

comparing himself to a rabbit, but he was warm now, and
sleep overtook him.

next day was spent moving through the forest.

Optimistic about his newly honed aim, Albert walked more
slowly, searching the ground for signs of deer. He knew what
he was looking for, the oval-shaped prints left by their
hooves, but he had never been any good at picking them out
of the uneven forest floor. He took his time, trying to be
extra-thorough. Manning had done so much for him so far;
he wanted to do this one thing for himself.

Manning walked ahead of him. He kept turning to wait

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for Albert as he picked over the ground, but he never got too
far away. The smile and the playful words from last night
had left Manning this morning, replaced by some worry
Albert couldn‟t guess at. He seemed almost impatient in the
way he looked back to see how closely Albert was following
him, but he was professional enough, or polite enough, that
Albert would never have noticed if he hadn‟t been
scrutinizing this shift in Manning‟s mood.

Perhaps he has a wife he’s eager to return to, thought

Albert, or a mistress who works in the kitchens. He tried to
imagine what kind of woman would please Manning, but he
didn‟t like any image his mind presented to him. Would she
be someone quiet and gentle? Who performed little
kindnesses for him without being asked? She certainly
wouldn‟t give him any trouble after he‟d been tromping
around after spoiled princes all day. Perhaps she snuck him
treats from the kitchen. Or maybe he preferred a more
Amazonian woman. Manning could have found favor with
one of the gypsy women who sometimes stayed outside the
town, a woman who could shoot as well as he, who knew
how to survive in the woods. Perhaps he was in a bad mood
because he‟d prefer the company of his gypsy mistress.

It was in the middle of this flight of fancy that Albert

saw the almond-shaped imprint in the mud at his feet. He
looked up, about to call out for Manning, but he stopped
when he saw his bodyguard. Manning was standing ahead of
him, atop a small rise in the ground, perfectly still, his
strong frame taught like a spring about to be released. He
had a hand raised to hold Albert back, but he was looking
away, ahead of him, down into a glen below them. Albert‟s
breath caught in his throat. The man looked beautiful.

Without looking away from whatever had his attention,

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Manning cautiously waved Albert forward. Albert crept up
behind him and took hold of Manning‟s outstretched arm (for
support? For reassurance?). His eyes followed Manning‟s
gaze. Down below them, not much further from them than
Albert‟s target tree had been yesterday, was a large doe,
serenely chewing on some undergrowth. Albert‟s heart began
to hammer in his chest, and he tightened his grip on
Manning‟s arm.

In a silence that made Albert feel like a walking

cacophony, Manning took the bow off Albert‟s shoulder and
placed it in his hands. He slipped an arrow out of his quiver
and handed it to Albert. The deer wagged its tail and chewed.
Albert shifted his feet and froze, sure his sound would alert
the animal. When it was clear it had not, Albert carefully
drew the bow.

“Aim for the back of her shoulder,” Manning indicated in

barely a whisper. Albert could feel his breath hot against his
cheek. Manning‟s hand rested lightly on Albert‟s shoulder,
and he tried to relax.

He took aim as best he could, made a silent, wordless

prayer, although whether it was for his good aim or the
deer‟s life he could not say, and let loose his arrow.

It landed with a satisfying thwack in a tree a few feet

above the deer‟s back. The animal raised her head in alarm,
looking in their direction.

Caught up in his frustration, and perhaps a little relief,

Albert buried his face into Manning‟s chest.

“I tried!” he cried out into the wool uniform. “I think I

was breathing too fast; I wasn‟t still enough. I‟m sorry,” he
added, although he wasn‟t sure why he was apologizing.

Manning‟s body remained rigid, and Albert began to feel

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foolish. What had he thought would happen? That Manning
would put his arms around him? He glanced up to see that
Manning wasn‟t even looking at him. His eyes were still
pointed in the direction of Albert‟s failed shot. Surely she’s
run off by now, thought Albert of the doe. But then he heard
Manning speak, his voice curt and urgent.

“Go,” said the bodyguard, “back there,” and his arm

pushed Albert away, down the hill they had recently climbed.

Albert looked up and saw the deer bounding at them

with surprising speed. He stood transfixed. He had never
seen a deer attack anything before. Manning was shouting at
the animal and waving his arms. It did nothing to deter the
beast, but did draw it away from Albert who still had not run
as he had been told.

The deer reared up on her hind legs, making her taller

than Manning, and brought her front hooves down on him in
powerful, repeated strokes. Manning turned his back against
the onslaught, his arms up behind him protecting his head.
Albert was horrified. The attack went on and on. He thought
of the bow and arrows now at his feet, but knew that he
would almost certainly hit Manning instead of the deer.

In the middle of this terrible spectacle, a definitively

animal movement in the corner of Albert‟s field of vision
made him snap his head around. Beside him, not ten yards
away, stood a small, spotted fawn. Like Albert, it was
transfixed, watching the altercation, unsure what to do.

“Stop!” cried Albert uselessly, as much for the fawn‟s

sake as his own.

In front of them, the doe finally returned all feet to the

ground. She looked ready to rear up again, but Manning
took advantage of the pause to turn around and yell. She

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hesitated, froze, and then turned and bounded off into the
woods. The fawn darted after her, giving Manning a wide
berth. Albert cried out in relief.

“Are you alright?” he called as he ran to Manning‟s side.

It was the first time in the few days Albert had known him
that Manning didn‟t seem entirely self-possessed. He was
bent over, leaning with his hands on his knees, his breathing
deep and uneven.

When Albert reached him Manning did not answer his

question. Instead he looked up and said, “Why didn‟t you
go?”

“I …” Albert couldn‟t think of anything to say.
“A piece of advice, Your Highness. When your

bodyguard tells you to run, you should run.”

Manning‟s face was red, and he looked like he was in

pain. Albert felt terrible.

“What happened?” he asked. “I‟ve never seen a deer

behave like that.”

“She had a fawn with her,” said Manning. “They are

fiercely protective mothers.” He began to straighten up and
winced.

“You‟re hurt,” said Albert, wishing he knew what to do

other than state the obvious.

“I don‟t think it‟s anything serious,” said Manning, the

stern look on his face softening, “but I might be bleeding.”

Albert helped him gingerly peel off his jacket.

Underneath, his shirt had several blossoming red spots.
They built a fire and heated some water in a small pot from
Manning‟s bag. When it came time to take off Manning‟s
shirt, Albert felt strangely embarrassed, as if it were he and

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not Manning who was about to be exposed.

Manning was sitting with his back to Albert as they

lifted the garment over his head. Albert examined Manning‟s
naked back. There were some unpleasant-looking bruises
and a few abrasions, which Albert wiped gently with the
warm water. When he touched a cut on Manning‟s shoulder
with the wet cloth, he heard Manning‟s sharp intake of
breath. He put a hand gently on Manning‟s uninjured lower
back, comforting, reassuring. It seemed to work. As
Manning‟s breath became measured again, Albert felt
through his fingertips Manning‟s skin, warm and alive, and
the strong muscles underneath it. He wondered at what had
happened to him in the past two days. Last week he had
wanted nothing more than to entirely miss this hunting trip,
but today there was nowhere else he‟d rather be than here,
wiping blood from this man‟s broad, beautiful back.

The cuts were not deep, and when Albert was done

Manning decided to wait until they‟d stopped bleeding before
he put back on his shirt. The afternoon shadows were
growing long, and Manning‟s bare chest was lit by the warm
light of the fire. Albert couldn‟t keep himself from casting shy
glances at the curves of Manning‟s muscular arms, the
sweep of hair down his chest, the softer-looking skin over his
firm abdomen. His eyes lighted on a scar, several inches
across. It looked like it had once been a deep gash across
Manning‟s right side, just below his ribcage. Albert stared at
it.

“Where did you get that scar?” he asked.
Manning looked surprised at the question. “That‟s a

long story, Your Highness.”

“I like long stories,” said Albert.

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“Including true ones?”
“All kinds,” said Albert. “When I was little all my

servants became very good storytellers. It was the only way
to keep the prince happy.”

“That must have been charming,” said Manning. But

Albert couldn‟t tell if Manning, with his soft voice and intent
stare into the fire, was being sarcastic or genuine. He felt
embarrassed. He hadn‟t meant to bring up the difference in
their rank. The man was already stripped down to his bare
skin. Albert didn‟t want to force him to expose himself even
more. “Don‟t worry, I won‟t command you to tell me,” he
said.

“That‟s very kind of you,” said Manning, and Albert

thought, sadly, that the matter was closed. The fire crackled
and spat. The forest made its evening noises. The shadows
grew longer and disappeared into the growing dark. And
then Manning began to speak.

“It was during the war. There had been a big battle,

diffuse, with lots of skirmishes. Nobody really knew who had
won, but by the end of the day the fighting had ended, and
four of us had gotten separated from the army. We were tired
and hungry; we had no food. We were trying to find our way
back to our friends. It got too dark, and we slept under some
bushes by the side of the road.

“When I woke up in the morning, Peter and Mark were

gone. We saw them a few yards down the road. They were
talking to a pair of the enemy, who were in the same
predicament as us. They were sharing some of their food,
and Mark was bandaging one of their wounds. Michael and I
came out of the bushes, but the other soldiers panicked
when they saw us coming. They thought it was an ambush.

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The wounded one slit Mark‟s throat with his knife, just like
that. The other one had a crossbow and was covering Peter
and Michael with a bolt. He was probably aiming it at me,
too, but I ran to Mark‟s side and received the other one‟s
knife, here.” He touched the scar on his side.

“He went after Peter next, but I threw my own knife at

his back, and he fell. The indecisive one with the crossbow
fled, and that was that: the story of the second man I ever
killed.” His voice was calm and deep. Albert could feel every
word in his body.

“The worst thing,” said Manning slowly, “was that in

killing the man Mark had bandaged, I undid the very last
thing Mark had ever done. He was smart, Mark. He could do
anything he set out to do. We couldn‟t take his body with us.
Peter and Michael had to carry me. We left him there. I
thought I was going to die.”

Albert could feel the cool streaks down his cheeks that

told him he was crying. He wanted to build a giant castle for
Manning where no troubles or sadness would ever reach
him. He wanted to run away with him and start a new
kingdom somewhere else where there would be no war or
danger or death. He wanted to hold him and keep him warm;
he looked so cold without his shirt on in the night air.

“May I …” Albert asked, leaning over to reach his hand

out tentatively towards Manning‟s scar. Manning looked up.

“Your Highness,” he said, surprised, but he leaned back

to let Albert touch him.

Albert‟s fingertips grazed the uneven skin of the scar.

Manning‟s skin trembled a little under his touch, as if only
now remembering its past hurt or present cold. Albert placed
the palm of his hand over the scar, covering it, trying to heal

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the memory of the event that caused it with good thoughts
and care and love.

Manning didn‟t object to any of these strange

demonstrations, and Albert, impulsively, brought his lips
down to that muscular stomach and kissed it. Manning‟s
skin was warm against Albert‟s lips, and he let them linger
there a moment before he made himself remember his
situation: he was alone in the forest with a man he barely
knew, who would not welcome his attention, but might
tolerate it out of deference to his title, and might even betray
him to his father. He could not let his desire show any more.
But as he began to pull away, the tips of his hair brushing
Manning‟s abdomen, he heard a surprising noise. It was a
short, soft, involuntary moan. Manning, with his head tilted
back, his eyes half closed, didn‟t even seem to be aware that
he‟d made it. Albert stared at his bodyguard. Had he
imagined it?

Albert sat back down a small distance from Manning as

the latter began finally to put back on his shirt. What is
going on? Albert wondered. Was it possible that this man felt
pleasure at his touch? How could he be sure? His mind filled
with cautionary stories his sister had told him of young men
at court who feigned interest in her because of her position.
He wished he had Regina‟s guidance now. What am I going to
do?

ATE

that night Manning lay on his stomach to keep his

weight off his bruised back. He never liked sleeping in this
position, and this discomfort was conspiring with the dull
pain in his shoulders to keep him awake, despite the fact

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that he‟d only slept a few hours in the past two nights.

Manning‟s resolution of the night before had proved

futile: they were hardly any closer to their destination than
they had been yesterday. Albert‟s slow progress in the
morning and their encounter with the deer had delayed
them. Manning was worried. He shouldn‟t have allowed the
attempt at the doe. He should have made some noise before
Albert had seen her to scare her away. Why was he jumping
at any opportunity to postpone what he inevitably must do?
Perhaps he had thought that if Albert did manage to bring
down a deer here, while they were still on the king‟s land,
they would have to curtail their trip and return home:
Manning would have an excuse to have not carried out his
orders. It was a vain hope in any case. Edward would see
through such a story, and Albert himself would have grown
suspicious when they had to carry their prize a good
eighteen miles home, rather than the short distance from the
castle he seemed to still think they were.

He was going to have to steel himself. He was going to

have to go through with it. They would get there tomorrow if
nothing more delayed them.

All of a sudden he heard a twig crack near him and felt

something brush lightly against his back. He sat bolt
upright, his heart racing, fully awake now, ready to attack.
But instead of some unknown assailant he saw the prince
kneeling beside him, taken aback by his inordinate
response. Manning tried to calm himself. He had always
been jumpy, especially when he was woken unexpectedly.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. He wondered what

Albert was doing awake so late. The prince looked at him
intently, hesitating somehow. Something seemed wrong.

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“I …” said Albert.
“What is it?” Manning looked around. His ears were

amplifying the slightest noise. He heard the fire, a distant
owl, some small rodent nearby. He could detect nothing that
posed any danger.

“Do you …” Albert started again, but trailed off.

Manning began to grow concerned. The young man seemed
spooked by something.

“Your Highness,” he said, trying to be both comforting

and commanding, “tell me what it is so I can help.”

And then Albert kissed him. He threw his body against

Manning‟s, bringing them both down onto the ground.
Albert‟s arms were around Manning‟s neck, pulling them
close together with unexpected strength and passion. They
rolled over and Manning found himself on top of the prince,
Albert‟s lithe body trembling against his thighs, his chest,
his arms. Albert‟s mouth was pressed against his, kissing,
sucking, scrambling for purchase, and Manning was kissing
him back. His tongue slipped inside Albert‟s mouth, circling,
exploring and pressing against Albert‟s. He felt Albert‟s lips,
hot and smooth, scrape against the stubble on his face. His
left thigh, between Albert‟s legs, could feel the growing
warmth and pressure there, and his own erection was
pressing against Albert.

Albert pulled his head back, grasping the back of

Manning‟s neck with his hands, and looked into Manning‟s
eyes, a question wrinkling his forehead, his beautiful mouth
half open. He was looking for affirmation, and Manning gave
it to him, leaning down to take that mouth in his, putting
one large hand under Albert‟s head to protect it from the
hard ground. Albert arched his body, pressing himself

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against Manning, pulling at Manning‟s back, the bruises
forgotten by both of them.

Manning buried his face in the crux of Albert‟s neck,

kissing his soft skin and smelling Albert‟s courtly scents,
now mixed with the musky smells of his desire and the
forest.

“I‟ve wanted you ever since you got my shoe out of that

tree,” breathed Albert.

“Mmmm,” said Manning, his lips closing around the

lobe of Albert‟s ear.

“Oh!” said Albert, which he followed with a very

satisfying moan. It occurred to Manning that he would never
grow tired of such a sound, and with his tongue exploring
Albert‟s neck, he set about trying to make Albert make it
again.

“I don‟t care what anybody expects of me,” said Albert,

breathily, “I don‟t care what my father expects of me. I want
you.”

Manning stopped, unable to move. Albert‟s mention of

his father had brought him back from this strange midnight
fantasy and drove home to him the reality of his situation:
his position, Albert‟s rank and title, Albert‟s relative youth,
but most of all Manning‟s orders from the king—his
necessary betrayal of Albert. Even if he didn‟t carry it
through, even if he delivered Albert safely home and
somehow ran away, or turned himself in to be killed?
Tortured? Dismissed? Even then Albert would never forgive
him for keeping this plot from him.

“What is it?” asked Albert, concern and alarm in his

voice. Manning felt sick. His bruised back was aching; he
was tired and cold. He sat up and climbed off Albert, settling

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himself a safe distance away. Albert sat up, too, worry
written all over his face.

“What‟s the matter?” asked Albert.
“I‟m sorry, Your Highness,” said Manning, “I forgot my

place.”

“Your place, what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You mean that I am the prince,” said Albert. It was an

accusation. Manning didn‟t contradict him, and Albert
continued.

“It‟s a fine thing to be, isn‟t it? I can‟t go where I like, or

do what I like, except in trivial matters. I can‟t love whom I
like. I don‟t have any friends because no one will behave
honestly with me for fear of my place. I have only my cousin,
who hates me because I am bad at sports and hunting but
good at Latin, and he is the opposite. He also probably
envies me for the throne I will inherit. I also have a sister,
but she is betrothed to my cousin, so it will soon be them
against me. My mother is dead. I have a father who—well,
you know my father, I presume. So you see I am a pretty
poor prince, and if love or friendship could be given as
money can, I would be begging with my bowl outside the
church every Sunday.”

Albert paused in his speech and Manning couldn‟t bring

himself to look at him.

“I am begging you,” Albert said, his voice softer now, “to

forget your place. And help me forget mine. I trust you. I
have never really trusted anybody before. Please.” And the
prince held out his hand to Manning in beautiful, gentle
supplication. It would have been the easiest thing in the
world to take that hand.

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“You trust me?” Manning asked, looking up into that

hopeful face.

“I do,” said Albert.
“You shouldn‟t,” said Manning, and the words felt like

iron in his mouth.

Albert stared back at him. Manning watched confusion,

suspicion and fear pass in succession across his face.
Albert‟s body, so open a moment ago, pulled in on itself,
making his elaborate clothes look too big for him. Manning
wanted to sink into the ground.

“Do you know where we are?” he asked.
“Where are we?” asked Albert, his voice small and cold.
“About eight miles from the Moranian Forest. We have

been traveling due east at a good pace ever since we left the
castle.”

“Are you abducting me?”
“No,” said Manning, although he supposed, from a

certain point of view, he was. He didn‟t understand why
Albert was so calm. He seemed defeated. Manning wished he
would yell at him or scold him as he had done after Manning
had first touched him.

“Did my father tell you to kill me?” asked Albert.
“No!” said Manning, “and I wouldn‟t ever, even if he did

give me such an order. I won‟t let anybody hurt you. I will
stand between you and your father, or anything else that
means you harm.” Manning surprised himself with the
vehemence of his response. It came from somewhere deep
inside him, and he had said it without thinking. It was a silly
thing to say when he had spent the past three days leading
Albert into danger. Albert watched Manning‟s passionate

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display impassively.

“Why are we almost in Morania?” he asked. The

coldness in his voice was worse than the chill in the night
air.

Manning watched the embers of their fire glow, casting a

paltry light. The diminished circle of firelight seemed to be
pulling them closer together as they shrank from the
encroaching darkness.

“My instructions from your father were to bring you,

unwitting, to Morania, to the forest that Edward and Charles
both claim as theirs. It is there that you are meant to bring
down a deer. „The most magnificent stag you can find,‟ were
your father‟s words. If you aren‟t able to kill it then I am to
do it for you. And once it is done, when you blow your
hunting horn hoping to bring your father‟s servants, it will
be Charles‟ men who will find you, the king‟s son, the crown
prince, poaching on his land. At this point I am to leave you
to your own devices, or, if I am captured, to be a docile
prisoner and let what may happen, happen. Either Charles
will imprison you, or worse, in which case your father has an
excuse for the war he craves; or he will be forced to ignore
this transgression, and your father may start using the land
as he pleases. Either way, you see, your father wins, Charles
loses, and you are like chaff in the wind, left to whatever
ending fate may have for you.”

When he was finished speaking, Manning forced his

eyes to look towards Albert, whose continued silence worried
him. The prince sat still, hugging his knees to his chest,
staring blankly ahead. Manning began to reach out a hand
to touch his shoulder, the back of his head, his cheek, but
he stopped.

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“I…,” Manning began. But what could he say?
Suddenly Albert spoke. “My father clearly chose well for

this task,” he said. “Congratulations. A prince is quite a prize
for a three-day hunting trip. You‟ve won. You may do
whatever you like with me.”

“Your Highness,” protested Manning, not quite sure

what Albert meant. Albert lay down, still curled in a tight
ball, with his back to Manning. A charred log fell apart in the
fire, its embers settling. Manning didn‟t know what to do.

“What I would like is to take you safely home,” he tried.

Albert made no response.

“I am very sorry I brought you this far,” he tried again. “I

should have told you sooner.” Again, Albert showed no
indication of having heard him.

“In the morning I will take you home,” he said. God

knew what he was going to say to the king.

When Albert gave no answer to this declaration,

Manning sat with the prince in silence. After a while
Manning assumed that Albert had fallen asleep, but then he
spoke.

“We‟ll go to Morania tomorrow,” he said.
“I won‟t take you there,” said Manning.
“Of course you will,” said Albert, “it‟s your duty.”
“My duty, as I see it, is to protect people, foremost you.”
“That is not what my father thinks, and it is his uniform

you are wearing.”

“Your Highness, you asked me earlier to be your

bodyguard, and I will do it; I will protect you.”

“But that is not until I am king. You are being

treasonous again,” said Albert, and this time there was no

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humor in the accusation. Manning could feel his frustration
building. He couldn‟t stand to see Albert so set on putting
himself in danger and submitting to his father‟s plans.

“Please, Your Highness,” he said, his voice sounding less

calm than he had hoped, “we will figure out a way for you to
return home without going through this ordeal.”

Albert sat up and turned around to face Manning. He no

longer looked scared. He looked determined.

“I have seen what my father does to servants who do not

follow his orders,” he said. “I will not have it done on my
account.”

“I see,” said Manning. He was damned if he‟d put Albert

in danger on his account, either. They stared at each other
for a few moments, and then Albert lay back down.

“We leave first thing tomorrow for Morania,” he

commanded, his voice as princely as Manning had ever
heard it.

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Manning. What could he do?

next day was a miserable one for Albert. Manning woke

him up as the sky was just beginning to lighten; they hadn‟t
slept for more than a few hours. There was no repetition of
their argument from the night before, nor any vestige of the
familiarity that had grown between them. They hardly spoke
as they ate the little food that they had left and set out.

Manning led the way, his face grim. Albert felt like a

fool. How had he let himself believe there was someone he
could trust? It was nothing but a fantasy: big, strong arms to
hold him, a man capable and devoted who could keep him

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safe. He couldn‟t expect anyone to accept the danger there
would be in playing such a role for him. His mind filled with
images of Manning at his father‟s mercy, Manning bleeding
on the floor, Manning suffocating under Albert‟s hands. The
idea sickened him.

Still, Manning‟s lack of solicitude today upset him.

Albert knew he was giving the man no reason to show him
any friendliness or affection. Albert himself had done his
best to reassert his rank, to be formal and professional with
his guard. It was better this way, easier to think of this
betrayal as by his father, not his friend. All the same, he
wished Manning would break down the wall Albert had built
between them. He takes orders much too well, thought
Albert, no wonder my father favors him.

Manning kept the pace swift, sometimes turning around

to offer deferential yet insistent encouragement to Albert
when he started to lag. By the time they stopped for lunch
Albert was completely exhausted. He felt worse than he had
on any of their previous days of hiking, and he fell asleep
briefly while Manning found them some food.

They didn‟t linger long over their meal, and by mid

afternoon, as the sun was starting to get low in the sky,
Albert could barely stay on his feet, much less continue
hiking over the uneven ground. Manning took his small pack
from him, hoisting it onto his shoulder with his own, which
helped Albert keep going a little longer.

“Aren‟t we in Morania by now?” Albert finally asked

when Manning came back to help him over a small brook in
their path.

“Almost,” said Manning, “we want to be sure to be far

enough into the forest to attract their attention.”

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

So they kept going. But when evening truly came and

the red glow faded from the sky, Albert couldn‟t go any more.
He sat down on the ground, drained of all energy and
emotion, unable to think, unable to worry, just thankful not
to be moving.

Manning turned back around, looked down at the

collapsed prince, and said, “This is far enough.”

Manning began to build a fire, but Albert was asleep

before it was lit.

HEN

Albert woke up he was alone. This surprised him.

Had Manning abandoned him? Maybe he was simply off
looking for food or more firewood. Albert looked around him.
The sun was high in the sky. It must have been early
afternoon. Why had Manning let him sleep so late?

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and there

was a cooked fish waiting for him on a spit above them.
Suddenly Albert realized he was starving. He ate the fish.
When he was done, Manning still hadn‟t returned. He began
to get angry. He had let Manning‟s quiet strength seduce
him—that, and his evident pleasure at Albert‟s touch. Why
had Manning kissed him like that if he was going to bring
him to Morania? Why had he taught him so carefully to
shoot an arrow if he was going to betray him? Why had he
promised to be his bodyguard if he was going to abandon
him? He wished he had gone with his cousin instead of this
duplicitous guard. At least then he would have known whom
he was dealing with. He was happy hating Godfried. Why did
he have to hate Manning, too, now, with his large, strong
hands and his scar and his stories of war?

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

While Albert was lost in these thoughts, he heard a

voice not far away.

“Your Highness!” It was Manning. Albert jumped up and

looked around. Manning was jogging through the forest
towards him, excitement peeking through his serious
demeanor.

“What is it?” called Albert.
“Bring your horn, and a knife.”
After they decamped Manning led him some ways

through the forest to a small clearing in which lay a deer, a
large stag with an impressive set of antlers, an arrow
through its heart.

“That should satisfy your father, I should think,” said

Manning, clearly proud of his quarry.

“So this is it,” said Albert. He was still angry although

the man had done everything he‟d told him to. “This is the
crime I‟m to offer myself up for. And I slept through it.” He
would have liked to at least have a shot at the deer. There
were a few flies buzzing around the arrow in the stag‟s side.
Manning had said he didn‟t want to betray him, so why was
he this excited? “You‟re certainly pleased with yourself,” said
Albert.

“I‟m sorry, Your Highness,” said Manning. He didn‟t

seem very sorry. “I thought it best we get it over with as soon
as possible.” Something was going on that Albert didn‟t
understand. What had changed Manning from the serious
travel companion he was yesterday? Surely it wasn‟t just the
thrill of the hunt. He was friendly again. Part of Albert
wanted to fall into him, hold him, bury his face Manning‟s
chest to escape the world. But he was still angry, and he
didn‟t understand what was happening.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

“Blow your horn,” said Manning. “We need to dress the

stag.”

Why bother? thought Albert. The deer was going to be

entirely forgotten in the international crisis that would
follow. But after he blew his horn, the clear, high-pitched
sound ringing in the air, he bent down to help Manning cut
open his quarry.

He had to blow his horn two more times before anybody

came. An hour later, after they‟d removed the viscera from
their kill, they finally heard dogs barking and the sound of a
large party approaching them. Albert‟s palms started
sweating. He had been so sure of this decision to submit to
his father‟s plan for him that he hadn‟t allowed himself to
imagine this moment. He was frightened.

Manning laid his large, gentle hand on Albert‟s back.

Despite himself, Albert leaned back into it.

“Remember,” said Manning, “whatever happens, it‟s

important that you shot this deer.” Did Manning think he
would forget that?

“Isn‟t this the time that you are supposed to slip away

and leave me to my fate?” asked Albert. His heart was going
far too fast. He felt faint.

“I will not abandon you, Your Highness, as long as I

live.”

It was everything Albert needed, that promise, and

although he knew he shouldn‟t believe it, shouldn‟t trust this
man in the moment of his betrayal, Albert reached back a
hand and grabbed onto Manning. He held onto him as the
hounds came bounding into the clearing, excited by the
blood, and let go only as the first people arrived, because it
would never do to be seen clinging to his bodyguard.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

There were a lot of them, some on horseback, some on

foot a little ways behind. Mostly they were wearing blue. He
didn‟t understand why their clothing looked so familiar.
Shouldn‟t Charles‟ servants be in red? And then he heard a
familiar voice.

“

You shot that?” The incredulous question came from a

young man on horseback, his gold-embroidered jacket
making him stand out against the trees. Albert laughed out
loud. It was his cousin. It was his goddamn cousin Godfried.
They were not in Morania at all. Manning had taken him
home.

“Yes!” Albert lied, a grin spreading over his face. “I did!”

LBERT

was feeling less jovial some two hours later,

standing in a stately anteroom, waiting to be admitted to his
father‟s presence. The giddy strangeness of finding himself at
home had worn off, and even Godfried‟s consternation and
ill-concealed jealousy failed to raise his spirits as fatigue
took over. He‟d ridden one of the horses back to the castle,
escorted by some of the hunting party. He was thankful for
the mount as his whole body ached, but he knew very well
that his adventure was not yet over: he would have to go see
his father. The servants had entirely taken over the further
dressing and transporting of his supposed kill, so he‟d had
nothing to distract him from the prospect of this impending
interview as he took the last, small leg of his journey home.

What was the most troubling to him was that he had

completely lost track of Manning. In all the bustle that
accompanied the arrival of the hunting party, the man who
had been his constant companion for the past four days,

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

who had disobeyed his command to bring him home, had
vanished. Albert had been handed off into the care of other
servants; now he was somebody else‟s problem. Washed,
pampered and dressed, waiting for his father to admit him,
he could think of nothing he wanted more than Manning‟s
presence. Instead there were six other of his father‟s guard to
keep him company: two at each door, and an extra pair
against the wall for good measure. Albert found himself
scanning their faces, although he knew that none of them
was the one he sought. Where was Manning? Was he in
trouble? Had he run away? Was he being tortured by the
king now? Was that what his father was so occupied with
that Albert must wait in this damn anteroom?

When Albert was finally ushered into the receiving

room, he was relieved to see no evidence of any such scene.
Edward was standing beside his chair, casting an eye over
some papers in his hand. He barely seemed to notice his
son‟s arrival. Albert knew that this nonchalance was
affected, put on in the morning like his purple robe, some
aspect of majesty meant to set you at ease, or unnerve you,
depending on your character. To Albert, everything about his
father was unnerving.

“I hear I am to congratulate you,” said the king, finally

glancing up from his papers.

“Sir,” replied Albert, as noncommittally as he could

manage. His father‟s conversation was full of traps.

“I haven‟t seen the animal myself, but I am told it is

nearly sixty stone and with a set of antlers that should make
any huntsman proud.”

A long silence followed this pronouncement as Edward

waited for his son to accept the compliment, but Albert said
nothing.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

“Have I been misinformed?” asked the king.
“It was a large deer,” said Albert. His palms were

sweating, and he hoped his father couldn‟t tell how dry his
mouth felt.

“Tell me how you came across it.”
Albert knew that his only chance of protecting Manning

was to make it sound as if the man had done everything he
could to carry out his mission but that Albert had thwarted
him. Of course, the most important thing was to not betray
the fact that he knew his father‟s intentions. He took a deep
breath.

“I‟m sure you have noticed, Father, that I have not

learned well the art of tracking, despite the best efforts of the
many tutors you have supplied for me, and I was
apprehensive at the beginning of the trip that I might wander
the woods for days missing signs of deer at every tree. But I
was lucky that in the first morning I found a sign, a large
hoof-mark in the ground. Your man told me that it was
many days old, and it would be more fruitful to move on to
other parts of the wood, but I knew that I might not find
another track again.” And so Albert spun a tale of how he
insisted on staying put and waiting for the deer to return to
this spot, not far from the castle, while Manning suggested
with increasing insistence that they travel on, and how, after
several days of waiting, Albert‟s patience had paid off, and
the magnificent stag had returned to the place where they
lay in wait for it.

The king listened impassively, his silence encouraging

more and more embellishments to fill the void. When it came
to the part of the story where Albert was supposed to have
shot the deer he drew on his experience with the doe,

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

describing how he shifted his feet as quietly as he could to
get a good stance for his shot, how he aimed, the sensation
of releasing the string. But here in the story he paused, just
for a second, with the arrow loose from the bow but not yet
sunk in its target, to remind himself that in the fiction he
was creating the arrow did hit home. It was during this
pause that his father spoke.

“And such a good shot: straight in the heart with the

first arrow. I had no idea my son was such an accomplished
marksman.” His tone was casual, but his dark eyes were
unrelenting as they took in the movements of every muscle
in Albert‟s face.

“It was a lucky shot,” Albert heard himself say.
“Come, do not be so modest! A shot like that is not

made by serendipity! You are a son to boast of. The best
marksman in my personal guard would be proud to have
made such a shot. We must have a festival or tournament so
I can show off your talent with the bow.”

Albert was sure his face betrayed his fear at this

insinuation, despite his efforts otherwise.

“You mock me, Sir,” he said. “You have not seen the

shot yourself. It served to kill the deer but was nothing
spectacular. Surely some servant has exaggerated its merit
in order to win the favor of a proud father.”

“Is that so?” asked Edward.
“It must be the case,” said Albert.
“Then I will have the page who told it me lashed.”
Albert winced as imperceptibly as he could manage

under Edward‟s penetrating observation.

“I will be told the truth,” his father continued, and

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

Albert was uncertain if this threat pertained to the
unfortunate page or to Albert himself.

The king changed the topic to some trivial matter, with

Albert attempting to seem relaxed, engaged, and not as
though he were hiding truths from his father. The
conversation concluded shortly thereafter, and as Albert left
his father‟s presence, he said a silent prayer for himself, for
Manning, and for leniency on the part of whoever was to beat
the page.

HEN

the dogs and the horses and the hunters came

tumbling into the clearing—when Albert let go of him,
stepped forward, and stood on his own, answering his
cousin, boasting of the deer—the first thing that Manning
felt was relief. He was relieved that his outlandish plan had
worked. It had been no sure thing that he would be able to
bring Albert all the way back home in one day, and Manning
had been lucky to bring down a deer so quickly. But most of
all he was relieved that Albert seemed to be taking well to his
deceit. He had feared that the prince might protest and give
the whole game away.

Manning stood behind Albert as he chatted with his

cousin and took compliments about the kill. The young
man‟s body, which for the past few days had followed him,
trusted him, come to him, did not now seem to know he was
there. Even when Albert was angry with him there had been
a connection between them: they had been alone together. In
company Manning felt awkward, cast off. He was angry with
himself for feeling this way. He had no right to expect any
attention from the prince. But he wanted some. I might never

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

be alone with him again, thought Manning, and the thought
made him sad.

One of the grooms took charge of Albert, helping him

onto a horse, ordering some of the riders to accompany him
back to the castle. Manning had no horse, and no one was
going to dismount for him, so he watched Albert ride off
before beginning to follow on foot. As he was leaving the
clearing the groom in charge stopped him.

“The king will want to speak to you,” he said.
Manning simply nodded.
By the time he got back to the castle Albert had long

since arrived, so there was no way to see him. If only I could
speak to him, thought Manning. He didn‟t know what he
would say or what he hoped to hear, but he knew he didn‟t
want their last interaction to be that confused time in the
clearing. He imagined Albert sending for him. He imagined
himself on guard somewhere in the castle, Albert happening
to walk by.

In the middle of these fantasies Manning returned to his

room. It was small and simple, with one window and a mat
on the floor to serve as a bed. He had been at the castle long
enough to have earned his own room, which suited him well.
There were few servants with whom Manning had more than
a nodding acquaintance, and he generally preferred to spend
time alone. He sat down on the mat and almost immediately
lay down. He hadn‟t realized how exhausted he was. As he
lay in his bed, with his body truly still for the first time in
days, Manning‟s thoughts slid into clarity. Why should I wait
for a chance encounter? he thought. I’m sure I can contrive a
way to come to Albert in his room. Manning laughed at the
idea. After his betrayal, deceit and abduction, he could

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

hardly worry about Albert finding him impudent.

There was one thing he should think about before he

considered imposing himself on Albert. Sometime soon,
someone was going to come and tell him to go see the king.
He should be more concerned about what he knew would be
an interrogation, whether or not overt violence would be
used. But at the moment he couldn‟t bring himself to worry
about his own fate. He had done what he‟d needed to do to
protect Albert, and that was the most important thing. Thus,
when the brusque knock came at his door, Manning was
thinking not of lies to tell the king, but of what he might say
to Albert and how the prince might answer him.

T WAS

two days after his interview with his father that

Albert saw Manning again. The prince was sitting listlessly at
his window in the evening, a volume of Ovid open, unheeded,
in front of him. There was a discreet knock at the door.
Albert, thinking it was one of the servants come to tend to
his fire, called for the visitor to come in. But it was Manning
who opened the door and stood somewhat sheepishly on the
threshold. Albert‟s heart quickened. He‟d realized over the
past two days just how much his life was lacking in quiet,
broad-chested men with large, gentle hands.

“Come in!” he said, his overzealous welcome trying to

compensate for the embarrassment he suddenly felt at the
ostentation of his room. He had never paid much heed to the
lush velvet curtains, the plush rug with its intricate
patterns, and the gold designs inlaid into his bedposts, but
now he felt that they were far too much. He wished he and
Manning were back in the forest. Manning took a step

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

forward and closed the door.

“Your Highness,” he started, “I‟ve come to apologize.”

His gaze was directed downwards, his voice crisp and formal.

“You‟ve been punished by my father for disobeying his

commands, and now you‟re here to be punished by me for
disobeying mine,” said Albert. He had continued to do his
best to protect Manning from his father. He hadn‟t dared
send for him in case the king might hear of it. He‟d repeated
the tale of his killing of the stag so often, and to anyone who
would listen, that Albert himself almost believed he‟d shot it
by now. But he knew his father accepted no excuses, no
matter how legitimate, for failure of duty. Edward‟s insistent
“I will be told the truth” still haunted him.

“What did my father do to you?” asked Albert gently. It

was a moment before Manning, his eyes still downcast,
answered.

“Nothing, Your Highness.”
“Come,” said Albert, and he was even so bold as to

reach forward and take one of Manning‟s hands. He would
speak to the man as to an equal. “I know my father. I did my
best to make it seem you did all you could to follow his
orders, without, of course, seeming to know too much. But I
know what he is like when he is disappointed.”

Manning stayed silent, neither withdrawing his hand

nor acknowledging the gesture.

“Let‟s have no more lies between us,” said Albert. “I am

very grateful you brought me home against my orders, but
let‟s start again, as equals. You won‟t lie to me, we won‟t
keep secrets from each other, and I won‟t issue you another
order. You can see that I am sorely in need of a peer.”

Manning‟s breath quickened. Albert could tell he was

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

struggling to keep a strong emotion hidden, but what
emotion?

“Look at me,” said Albert, and then he hastily added,

“please,” to uphold his end of the bargain. Manning tipped
his face up and looked into Albert‟s eyes.

“I am also in need of a friend,” said Albert. “I thought I

had one. I hope I still do.” What else he was in need of he
didn‟t have a word for. But then he recalled that he knew
nothing of Manning‟s personal life. His previous musings
about Manning‟s potential wives and mistresses returned to
him. Albert wished Manning would give some indication of
what he was thinking.

“But perhaps you don‟t need any. Perhaps you have too

many friends already,” he offered despondently.

“Your Highness,” said Manning finally, his words

coming out in a rush, “I have no one. I am very much alone.”

“Please,” said Albert, “call me Albert.”
After that, Manning took off his shirt to show Albert the

marks on his back from where the king had had him lashed.
The lacerations were raised and red, making them stand out
from the older bruises, which were now dull purples and
greens. Albert leaned forward and kissed them as gently as
he could. Manning sharply drew in breath.

“I have a salve my mother gave me,” he said. “I will

attempt to heal the wounds my father has made.”

He retrieved the jar from a drawer and returned,

scooping some of the cool ointment out with his fingers and
applying it gingerly to Manning‟s shoulders. But before he
could continue, Manning reached back and took Albert‟s
hands, drawing them forward around his bare chest and
pulling Albert against him.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

“I‟m not hurting you?” asked Albert anxiously as he felt

the warmth from Manning‟s skin through his silk shirt.

“No,” said Manning, “I like to feel you there.”
Albert smiled into Manning‟s back and kissed it,

grasping his hands in front of his bodyguard, enjoying the
sensation of encircling Manning‟s broad, strong frame.

Manning twisted himself around inside Albert‟s

embrace, turning to face the prince. When Albert saw that he
was wincing slightly, he dropped his arms, afraid of hurting
this man who had suffered for him. But as Manning leaned
down to kiss him he whispered, “please, don‟t let go,” and
Albert brought his arms back up to pull the man close.

Manning‟s mouth was a wonder to Albert. It pushed and

pulled on his own, enveloping his lips and hunting out his
tongue. It matched all the passion Albert put into the kiss
with more to spare, and from deep inside at the back of
Manning‟s throat came those little involuntary moans, like
the one he had heard in the forest, expressing pleasure and
desire, the hunger that comes with getting what you want.
With his mouth now connected to Manning‟s, Albert could
feel those moans vibrating in his own chest. Albert gave
himself so entirely to the kiss that he might have fallen over
had not Manning held him.

Manning leaned down and swept an arm behind Albert‟s

knees, taking him into his arms. Albert gasped at being
suddenly off the ground. He leaned his head against
Manning‟s shoulder and nuzzled his face into his neck.
Manning‟s skin was smooth, and he smelled like soap. He‟d
clearly washed and shaved before coming to Albert‟s room.

“I miss the way you smelled in the forest,” Albert

murmured, kissing Manning‟s neck.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

“Dirty?” asked Manning.
“Real,” said Albert, “full of life.”
“I‟m sorry my cleanliness disappoints you.”
“Mmmm,” said Albert, “I don‟t think you could

disappoint me if you tried.”

Manning began carrying Albert around his large room.

“Where to, Your Highness?” he asked.

“The bed,” said Albert.
Manning put Albert down on his large, soft bed. Kissing

his mouth, he ran his hand over Albert‟s chest, his side, his
lower back. Albert could feel the rough skin of his palms
catching slightly at his shirt‟s fine silk. Manning‟s hand
played at the edges of the cloth, slipping underneath the
garment. The feel of this hand against Albert‟s skin made
him shiver. He took his shirt off. Manning smiled and
caressed Albert‟s skin, bringing his hand down the prince‟s
naked back, resting it on the bed behind him against the
base of his spine. Albert heard himself moan. He could see a
bulge pushing at the front of Manning‟s pants, and his own
penis was stiff and calling for attention. Albert reached
forward to undo Manning‟s garment and together they
divested each other of the rest of their clothing. Manning
climbed up onto the bed and knelt next to Albert, his cock
full and long, his face flushed, his eyes half closed. Seeing
Manning‟s desire for him enflamed Albert. He reached
forward a hand to touch that cock, and the sound that
Manning made in response thrilled him. Suddenly there was
nothing but touching and kissing, skin against skin:
Manning‟s hand on Albert‟s penis, gently tugging; Albert‟s
fingers twisting and twining their way through Manning‟s
hair; Manning‟s cock hot against Albert‟s thigh. Albert pulled

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

Manning‟s mouth to his and kissed him as though he could
never have enough.

Manning pulled back a little and looked at Albert, both

of them breathing heavily.

“Have you ever…?” he asked.
Albert shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I‟ve read all

the Greeks.”

Manning laughed.
“I want you inside me,” said Albert. “Please.”
Manning leaned over and kissed him, placing a hand

between Albert‟s legs. He made his fingers slick with the
salve, which had somehow come to the bed with them, and
eased a finger gently inside him. They worked at it slowly,
Albert calling out with the alternate pain and pleasure of it,
until Manning could enter him, filling him up. Albert gave
himself over to the sensation, crying out, gripping any part of
Manning he could reach, responding to Manning‟s motion.
He felt whole, alive, present. And when Manning came, his
handsome face open with the pleasure of it, Albert did, too,
his fluids falling back down upon them like a celebration.

Afterwards they lay in Albert‟s bed, which for the first

time did not seem too big. Albert returned to applying salve
to Manning‟s back. He found himself apologizing for
everything that had hurt Manning in the past few days.

“Some injuries are inevitable when you‟re a bodyguard,”

said Manning.

“That‟s why you should retire to a farm and raise

rabbits.”

“Then who will keep you safe?” asked Manning.
“I‟ll come with you,” said Albert. Having finished with

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

the salve he curled up against Manning, pulling one of the
man‟s strong arms around him.

“Is that so?” asked Manning. Albert could feel Manning‟s

smile against the back of his neck. “You‟d give up your
kingdom for a farm?”

“Yes,” said Albert, and he was only half joking.
“We‟d have to have a rabbit farm at the end of the earth

for the search party your father would put together.”

“I know,” said Albert.
They lay in silence for a few minutes and then Manning

said, “Your Highness….”

“Albert,” corrected Albert.
Manning smiled. “Albert,” he said, turning the name

over in his mouth as if testing the weight of it. “I should go. If
I leave soon, I can slip out before the night guard comes.”

Albert turned over to face him. He hadn‟t expected this.
“Do you have to?” he asked.
“It will be more difficult after they are on duty.”
“No, I mean, do you have to leave?”
“You know how dangerous it would be if I were

discovered here—and I don‟t mean for me.” Manning‟s
forehead was wrinkled with worry. Albert reached up and
smoothed it gently with his thumb.

“Is that all?” Albert asked.
“It would be safer for me to go—I will come again to you

whenever I can, but to spend the night is dangerous.”

Albert smiled. “Would you be missed?” he asked.
“No.”
“I‟m known to throw fits if disturbed unannounced,”

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

said Albert. “No one should come in without fair warning. We
are quite safe until tomorrow morning.”

The worry began to fade from Manning‟s face.
“Please stay,” said Albert.
“It‟s dangerous,” said Manning, but already he was

letting his weight fall back into the bed, his body betraying
his cautious intentions.

“Don‟t worry,” said Albert, “I‟ll protect you.”
“How‟s that?”
“You don‟t get to be prince without learning how to

distract servants,” he answered. “You can take care of any
rampaging deer, but leave the curious footmen to me.”

A smile finally broke across Manning‟s face. “I will,” he

said.

“Good,” said Albert. He twisted back around to lie

cradled again in Manning‟s embrace and added, “I‟m sorry I
can‟t give you a new uniform. It seems like the least I could
do.”

“Don‟t worry, Your Highness,” said Manning, kissing the

back of Albert‟s neck, “I think of my uniform as yours, and
have done so for several days.”

Albert turned slightly, leaning back against Manning‟s

chest, and together they fell asleep.

About the Author

HARLOTTE

AHN

-L

grew up in the Fingerlakes region of

New York and now lives in New York City. She has always
loved educating herself and inventing and acting out stories,
so naturally, when she graduated college, she went on to get
a Master of Fine Arts in playwriting. She has written a
number of plays and has been produced in small theaters in
Philadelphia and New York.
Charlotte thanks her family for their enthusiastic and at
times monetary support of her writing career, her twin sister
for being her first and best co-writer/acting partner, and her
beautiful girlfriend (another Dreamspinner author—can you
guess which one?) for encouraging her to branch out into
M/M romance.

Royal Quarry ©

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
382 NE 191st Street #88329
Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Anne Cain

annecain.art@gmail.com

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street
#88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America
August 2011

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-083-7

Document Outline

Dedication
Royal Quarry
About the Author
Copyright

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