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“Leave my hair out of this, Fadon. Besides, until you’ve felt a woman pulling on your hair while you’re balls deep inside her, you have no leg to stand on.”
Fadon shook his head, having had this argument with Jon before.
Jon laughed. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Let that hair grow, Fadon, and you’ll be thanking me ten-fold once all the women at court show up swooning at the warrior captain’s feet.”
Rubbing the top of his head and feeling its short scruff, Fadon gave Jon a look. “I highly doubt that,” he said dryly.
“Is that bitterness I hear?”
“Good thing we’re on horseback right now, Jon, or I’d have to slug you and put you in your place for that.”
Laughing, Jon shot his horse forward, gaining speed as Fadon grinned.
Despite the heat, he was happy to be out again among his men. Over the past four years and especially since returning to the Mor, a sense of restlessness had taken root in Fadon’s spirit, slowly creeping in until he couldn’t seem to sit still for more than twenty minutes without moving, in search of some kind of occupation. It had become maddening.
Not that he was at all content with this particular mission—far from it. He still harbored suspicions and quite a bit of worry for Lysander and whatever it was that was going on with him. When the envoy had set off ten days ago, his brother hadn’t sent them off in farewell, choosing instead to sleep in from the previous night’s round of revelry.
Nevertheless, getting off the mountain and out of court life eased that discomfort as soon as Fadon and his men mounted up and rode south toward Providence. And yes, the unusual heat of the last two days had been worth it.
They would be staying no more than three nights or so there in the village, and even though Fadon knew they would more than likely be bored out of their minds, the diversion still beat sitting around the throne room with his sister and brother.
His eyes drank up the scenery before him as he rode Apollo. Everything was green, made more so by the brilliance of a blue, cloudless sky. Even through the heat, the change in season from summer to autumn was evident in the scent of the air, in the drying veins of leaves that had begun to fall in small drifts of crimson and ochre. He could already feel the promise of a cool night once the hot sun set.
In front of him rode five of his men, in addition to Jon. Following behind, three more. All seasoned warriors, who, like himself, lived for the hunt. All were male Alpha, in various degrees, and action was in their blood, a vigilant readiness in every single one of them.
Not that there was any action to be had out in this scenic land, but Fadon’s men had been content, and soon they’d have a meal that didn’t consist of rabbit and paltry fowl. There was even a possibility that Providence had some village women who’d be brave enough to warm their beds.
It had been way too long since Fadon had a woman under him. Too long. The opportunities were there, sure. But just like the restlessness that had started creeping up on him lately, so did the desire for fucking. Whether he was jaded or just plain bored, only the idea of a warm cunt wrapped around his shaft sounded more promising than the actual act of seeking one out.
A call from the front had him spurring Apollo forward, Jon joining Fadon’s side as they met up with the envoy’s lookout, Varia.
“Captain, I’ve spotted a Servant of the Owl waiting on the bank of the river ahead,” the younger warrior said, pulling on his reins.
Fadon looked in the direction of the river and to the right, seeking the bank through all the thick trees that bordered the water from the trail they were on. A white form stood about two hundred yards away.
“We must be within minutes of Providence, then.” Fadon looked to Jon, who nodded at his captain’s unvoiced thoughts. “We will greet him. Keep moving.”
The troop moved on, and Fadon could feel the collective sigh of relief among the men. Tired, hot, and hungry, respite was in their grasp.
The first thing Fadon noticed once they finally met up with the Servant was that it wasn’t the same one who had come to Goth Mor Helle weeks ago to make the final arrangements for the Fealty.
Frowning, he led Apollo to the front of the group and dismounted, his eyes on the Servant the whole time. The man was in the customary white robes of the Basilica’s order, tall, but far younger than any Servant he’d ever seen in all his decades of dealing with them. With close-cropped, light-colored hair and striking blue eyes, Fadon took in his measure. Something was… different about him, odd. Fadon discreetly inhaled, seeking out the Servant’s scent. Nothing but the river in front of him and the mineral-rich soil under his feet.
Immediately, Fadon’s instincts were on alert.
The Servant bowed his head slightly in respect. “Captain Fadon Trajan, I am Servant Demos. I see you are on time. I will be your emissary for the Fealty.”
As usual, Jon had picked up what Fadon had and asked, “Where is Servant Prius?”
The robed man didn’t even blink. No reaction whatsoever to the barely threatening tone hidden in Jon’s question, nor did he take his eyes off Fadon. “The Basilica assigned me to this mission from the beginning. Unfortunately, I was unable to meet your queen when the arrangements were made. Prius was sent in my place.”
Fadon eyed Jon, who shrugged slightly.
The servant seemed harmless enough, and since Fadon could detect nothing other than boredom from him, he said, “Very well. We will ride in with you.” He looked around the pines surrounding the shore where they stood. “Where is your horse?”
“I walked here, Captain. I shall meet up with you shortly to introduce you and your men to Constant Linden. The men at the gate are expecting you.”
Far be it from Fadon to question the ways of the Owl—he neither understood them nor liked them. Servants were mostly old men with cunning ambitions, their internal politics always at the forefront of their motivations. Small-minded people whose arrogance always rancored the Ongahri. Although this one seemed cut from a different cloth. But if the Servant wanted to walk, so be it.
