Royal Quarry

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

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

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

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

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.

Royal Quarry | Charlotte Rahn-Lee

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

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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,

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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

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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.”

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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?

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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.

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“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.

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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,

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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.

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“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,

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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

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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

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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

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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

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Cover Design by Mara McKennen

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Released in the United States of America
August 2011

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

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