Worth Fighting For

“Today is the day, little brother.” The man I have adopted as my sibling grins and rams his elbow into my side. Christian laughs at my reaction and throws his arm around my shoulders. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be brothers, right?”

“Of course.” My voice is unsure, but I agree nonetheless. Though Christian is only three years older than I am, he’s seen far more battles than I have in my years as a soldier. This being my first. There have been no outright wars in many decades, but there are always little skirmishes like the one I’m preparing myself for. The older of us kisses my forehead quickly, a very unmanly gesture on his part, and I can’t help but smile.

“You’ll do great, Sully-boy, I promise.” His low brogue makes me smile, but the moment is short-lived as we’re called to our formations. He gives a characteristically loud whoop and claps me on the back. “Ya ready, Sully-boy?” I just laugh at his exuberance and follow my comrade to our stations.

We all stand at attention for quite some time, awaiting the enemy’s first move, anticipating it. Our nerves are frayed, bodies tense as taut rope. Our faction leader sits atop his horse, the great beast prancing from one end of our line to the other, hooves barely seeming to glance against the dirt. He speaks soft words of encouragement as he passes by, our eyes meeting for barely a second before he’s moved on.

“Men, be ready. Our archers have taken the high ground, they will keep watch. Wait until the last possible moment before engaging.” There’s no need to respond, he knows we have heard him.

The ground begins to tremble as if a thousand sizable beasts were charging toward us. My hand gripping the hilt of my sword tightens, but I plant my feet firmly in the dirt. The enemy crests the hill in a tide of gleaming silver, armor glinting in the sun’s rays, the sight unnerving. The urge to run at them or simply flee is nearly insatiable, but I hold my ground, watching as they grow closer. Before they can reach us, however, the sky darkens as thousands of arrows soar above us and into the thick of the enemy’s ranks.

Both the first and second line seem to fall almost immediately, but for every one that falls, dozens more seem to rise and take his place. A second wave of death rains from the sky, felling more and more until the men fall out of their strict patterns and begin dodging and weaving so as not to be hit.

At long last, that last possible second arises and a cry goes up amongst the allies. With a mighty, collective bellow, we charge, the sound of steel on steel becoming deafening mixed with the yells of the dying. My blade goes through the first man like it would through cream. His last cough of lifeblood spatters my face but—as taught—I do everything in my power not to stop and react to the knowledge I have murdered a man.

Despite the months, the years of training we are yet losing. The number of enemies is so overwhelming I can barely register any allies. Nonetheless, I never stop.

I can’t stop.

My blade thrusts and hacks every which way until the sudden end. I stumble to a stop, panting, gazing at the battlefield around me. Those of the enemy that yet live have turned tail to flee, some taking injured comrades before running without looking back.

That is when it hits me like a boulder.

“Christian?” I look around wildly but can’t see him. “Christian!?” My trembling hands drop the weapon and I find myself running through the corpse-littered field, searching for my brother.

A familiar groan helps to guide my search, and soon enough I find him, most of his body concealed by a dead man. I drop to my knees beside him, shoving the cooling warrior away and cradling my kin. “Christian, brother.” His eyes open slowly and a small smile curls his paling lips.

“Toldja you’d make it,” he chokes out, blood trickling down his cheek as a convulsion rolls through his body. A greatsword protrudes from his abdomen, keeping him pinned to the soaked earth. Despite what I know to be true, I refuse to believe he will be taken from me.

“Christian, you cannot—”

“Shh.” He lifts a bloodied hand to my cheek, running his thumb along the bone. “Don’t lose yourself in grief, alright, Sully-boy?” A small, teasing smile settles itself onto his features before he closes his eyes once more and relaxes. For a time, he merely sleeps, but it is not long before Death reaps the only family I have known.



“Rise now, Sir Garrett Sullivan.” The king’s voice is low and sonorous, resonating through the great hall. I look up from my place before him but keep my head bowed. “Your bravery and valor in the face of adversity is what has brought you here before me. You are the only survivor of the battle, but they fare poorer than we. In return for your service, and as a gift to my son Vienna, I appoint you his personal guard.” I look up in surprise, eyes darting to the thin boy at the king’s side. He can be no more than twelve or thirteen years old, a whelp. Though the king treats this as an honor, something in me twists, feeling as though I have been punished for that which was out of my hands.

But I cannot tell him that.

“I would be most honored, your grace.” My bow is quick, but I hope he doesn’t catch my displeasure. If Christian were here, he would be laughing at my newest position. But he isn’t. The young prince casts me a lazy smile, and I make a note to wipe that superior look from his face in training. As a ruler, he must keep sight of his humility, and if his father cannot teach him such things, perhaps I shall try my hand . . .



Vienna’s hair is a rumpled mess. His eyes flick about restlessly beneath the creamy lids, veins standing out and quivering every time the eyeball shifts. The darkness has embraced my little prince fully, but he stands out like a beacon in a dark sea of sheets. His parted lips allow in and exhalations to shift his pale hair like the ebb and flow of the tide across the planes of his aristocratic face.

Playing the voyeur lasts only so long before I set to work on the task at hand. As has become customary, the heir-apparent sleeps with two partners. A titian-haired maiden and pale blond lad rest on either side of him, the girl curled like a small animal, the boy nestled closer to my prince. Heaving a sigh, I pull their outfits together and fling the garments over my shoulders.

“Young miss,” My voice comes out as barely a whisper, but the feel of my rough hands on her naked side are enough to start the girl awake. She gawps at me, not seeming to notice or care that the entirety of her body is bared and on display. For a commoner, she’s rather attractive, pert breasts, wide eyes, soft looking skin, but at this moment her beauty is irrelevant. “Young miss, I must ask you depart.” The dress hangs between us and she looks down, flushing and snatching the clothes before scuttling behind the screen to change.

I pay her no mind and move to the other side of the bed.

The boy proves more difficult to wake, and simply cuddles closer to Vienna the more I prod him. He groans and buries his face in my lord’s neck, effectively awakening him before I’d intended. Vienna’s eyes flicker open, going first to the boy and then me. He gives me a wry smile and nudges his lover, murmuring something near the thin creature’s ear, waking him easily. The pale boy rubs his eyes, which see only the man I’ve sworn my allegiance to.

“Come now, Finn. Time to go.” The pretty little thing pouts and presses their lips together quickly before turning to get dressed, gasping as he finally notices my presence, a surprised “oh!” coming from him.

“Don’t mind Garrett any,” Vienna reassures the adolescent, running a lazy finger along the firm curve of his rear.

“O-Oh, s-sorry S-Sir Garrett.” Finn trembles and quickly takes his clothes. His voice is high for a male and thickly accented by his class, though it could be audibly pleasing were he to take diction. I nod curtly and watch as he shakily pulls on his outfit before bowing to Vienna and giving him a seductive smile, saying he knew where to call on him. With that, the diminutive boy disappears and I turn back to Vienna who just smirks.

“Vienna,” I enter a state of not being simply his guard, but companion, sitting at the edge of his bed and sighing. “You know you can’t keep doing this. Eventually, one day, someone will catch you.”

The spoiled wretch chuckles, casting me a rakish smile and combing his fingers through his hair.

“Yes, yes, I know this lecture Garrett, but ‘one day’ is not to-day, and I beg of you not to ruin my morning with your serious prattle. When you became a knight did they relieve you of thy sense of humor?”

Stoic to the core, I sigh and stand. “You have lessons today, sparring with me firstly, followed by tactics and—”

“And language, and history, yes, yes, I know the schedule Sir Dullsalot.”

A sigh escapes me and I rub the bridge of my nose before ripping the sheets away suddenly, leaving the previously smiling prince bare to the world. His creamy skin is littered with bruises and welts from more violent training sessions but otherwise he’s physically perfect. A gift to women, and men, if he is to be consulted on the matter.

“Enjoying your little peek?” Vienna shifts his hips from side to side, smirking and sitting up independently of his pillows.

“I was simply searching for the ‘crowning glory of the Kingston family’. It must be hiding beneath that fuzz around your groin.”

“Your detrimental remarks only remind me how desperately you wish to share my bed.”

“My prince, you wouldn’t know what to do with a man such as myself.”

“Bend you over and—”

“You must jest, thinking I would be submissive to you in an erotic arena.”

Vienna scowls and stands atop the mattress, gazing down like a furious young god, eyes ablaze with a lusty passion. “Garrett Sullivan—”

“First Prince Vienna Kingston.” Calmly, I grip his waist and lift him from his place, setting him on the floor before me. His fingers grip my chin, forcing our eyes to meet in an intense gaze, the tension in the room growing to nearly unbearable heights. But before I am to be another notch in his bedpost, I turn my head and stride toward the screen where his training clothes wait, tossing them at the naked man. “Ready yourself. I will meet you in the courtyard.”

That was far too close for comfort.



The morning is crisp, a slight breeze gliding through the courtyard. Maids and manservants alike scamper between buildings with their chores, the gossip of the women filling the air with buzzing. One of the many reasons the courtyard is often affectionately referred to as “The Hive.”

A particular dark head catches my eyes, her noticing me at the same time. Felicia makes her way through the organized chaos, a smile on her lovely face that gives me a thrill. The merchant’s daughter throws her arms about my neck, tugging on the chestnut locks there before settling back on her heels.

“Felicia, dear girl, when did you return?”

“Just this morning, actually. Father gave me a break from unloading the caravan and I was just coming to look for you.”

“I am most pleased you found me before sparring began. Though it already should have.”

“Vienna taking his time?”

“As one can expect of my lord prince.” I chuckle at the thought of him, the brat I’m sworn to protect. The woman I’ve spent many a night with giggles and engages me in a lengthy conversation about her travels and what she’s missed. Unlike most women one comes across at court, she is not unduly vain—or at all for the most part—or jealous, she abhors gossip and gossipmongers and is truly “herself” to a near fault. Her father, a successful merchant, takes his prized daughter along on his trips around Europe and the Orient, showing off how accomplished she is; well-versed in many languages, intelligent, musically talented and a quick wit. Not to mention her near-flawless rhetoric.

It was these qualities that first attracted me to her. Ever since our first meeting, I’ve been wholly enamored with the girl known as Felicia Redgrave, which eventually grew, blossoming into what we are now.

“Have you thought anymore on my proposal?” I ask, kissing the back of her delicate hand and searching her bright eyes for the answer.

“You still wish to wed me?” A note of surprise rings clear in her voice and I can’t help but sigh and chortle at her.

“I do. More than anything in this world or the next.” Liar.

“I will.”

“You will be my bride?”

“Felicia Sullivan to the day I die.” A small noise of exultation breaks past my lips and I twirl my fiancée, kissing her cheeks and holding her close.

“What happiness have I interrupted?” My prince rakes his fingers back through his hair, smiling playfully between us.

“My prince.” Felicia curtsies and then, with the sort of exuberance only a woman can possess, announces our news. “We are to wed!”