Once Upon a Time

第4章 Chapter (1)

Jamil finally gave in and headed to the stables after dinner. He’d spent an hour meditating, reinforcing his mental shields to prevent himself from reacting to that man in such an uneptable way. He felt confident that it wouldn’t happen again. He’d just been startled, unprepared, his mental shields down; that was it. He would feel nothing now.

Jamil found Rohan in the zywern stables. He was with the same zywern, feeding him raw meat.

He was wearing only a pair of gray work pants.

Jamil stared at him, vaguely embarrassed but reluctantly fascinated. He had never seen a man who wasn’t his husband in such a state of undress. Men of high society didn’t go out without a cravat or at least a simple necktie, much less without a shirt. Not only was that improper, but Rohan was also breaking a number of safety protocols by not wearing the trainer uniform with its included personal force field. Not that a personal force field would save him if the zywern chose to attack him, but still. Safety protocols were there for a reason.

Jamil averted his gaze from Rohan’s back and frowned at the intricate black patterns on his left arm. Tattoos, he identified them absentmindedly. Jamil had never seen such things before, but he knew they were popular on some pls, especially among the lower classes.

“Do you always ignore safety protocols?” Jamil said. His voice came out curious rather than scathing.

Rohan went still, the muscles in his back stiffening, before he resumed the feeding. He said nothing, as if Jamil wasn’t even there.

“I’m speaking to you,” Jamil said sharply. Heavens, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone pissed him off so much so fast without even saying anything.

“Have you not been told that you should never interrupt a zywern’s feeding, Highness?”

Jamil glared at his back, incensed by the mocking undertone in Rohan’s voice.

“Your Highness,” he ground out. “You will address me as Your Highness.”

Rohan muttered something under his breath.

Jamil flushed. “What did you just say?”

“I said you have strange priorities if you’re more concerned about my manners than about the hungry, mostly untamed zywern approaching his rut a few steps away from you. Get out of the stall, Your Highness. You’re making him agitated.”

Jamil stared at him, kind of unable to believe that his employee dared to talk to his prince about an animal’s rut. It was nothing short of scandalous.

But he did take a few steps back, eyeing the zywern warily. Untamed zywerns really were dangerous, and untamed zywerns in rut were doubly so.

“If he’s approaching his—his mating season, you’re breaking safety protocols even more,” Jamil said as calmly as he could manage. He could be calm and rational. He was nothing but calm and rational. He didn’t know why this man made him behave so unlike himself. “You’re never supposed to feed a wild zywern by hand, no exceptions. You’re supposed to use teleporters to transport food to him.”

“I’m building his trust in me,” Rohan said. “How do you expect me to tame him if his only positive relationship is with a teleporter?”

“Other trainers somehow manage it without breaking safety protocols—they’re there for a reason. Zywerns can eat grown men, you arrogant berk!”

“Which is precisely why I told you to get out of the stall, Highness,” Rohan said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “You’re starting to look very tasty to him.”

The zywern’s violet eyes were really fixed on Jamil and they didn’t exactly look friendly.

“And you are not?” Jamil said, pushing back his unease.

“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have noticed that I’m covered in a scent-blocker. To him, I don’t smell like anything, but you smell like a very good, tasty piece of meat.”

Jamil fought a blush. Now that he looked beyond Rohan’s scandalizing state of undress, he could see a thin layer of what looked like dirt on his skin and pants, which somewhat explained his state of undress.

“You’re still breaking safety protocols,” Jamil said, stepping out of the stall to get behind the safety of the force field. “Other trainers—”

“Other trainers don’t have such a short time to work with,” Rohan said. “I don’t have half a year for taming one zywern, so traditional methods ain’t gonna cut it.”

This was a great opening if there was one.

“Then why did my stable master employ you for just three months?”

“I don’t take longer contracts than I need,” Rohan said, shrugging. “Three months is sufficient.”

“We rarely employ new staff. Why you?”

“Why don’t you ask your stable master?”

Jamil took in a deep, calming breath. He counted to ten before slowly exhaling the air from his lungs, trying to push out the frustration as well. “I’m asking you, and I’m ordering you to answer.”

Rohan snorted. “You can’t order me to answer. We live in a democratic world.”

“I can. I’m your employer. You will answer my questions if you don’t want to get fired.”

“Fired?” Rohan murmured, something like amusement in his voice. “I don’t precisely need this job. If I lose it, I have more than a dozen others lined up. There aren’t many zywern trainers who can tame a zywern within a few months, much less tame a zywern approaching its rut. Your stable master needs me.”

Jamil’s frown disappeared as the pieces finally clicked together. It looked like his stable master had bought a zywern that was approaching its rut and needed to tame it, and fast, until the rut hit. Zywern’s rut happened once in eight standard years and was the only time they could reproduce. Zywerns were one of the few creatures that couldn’t be reproduced by artificial means: they released a mix of hormones that were needed for sessful reproduction, and the scientists were still struggling to recreate those hormones artificially. That was why a zywern in rut was so prized for breeding purposes. But an untamed zywern in rut was extremely dangerous. It was no wonder that Jamil’s stable master had employed Rohan di’Lehr if the man really could tame a zywern in such a short time.

“My stable master knows I’ve wanted a black zywern for ages,” Jamil said, wincing a little. His stable master was a good, loyal man. He probably wanted to cheer him up after Mehmer’s death. The thought made Jamil more than a little ufortable. It appeared he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he’d thought.

Rohan snorted and muttered something under his breath.

Jamil narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t quite catch that, care to say it louder?”

“This beast isn’t exactly suited for promenades in Skyline Lane.”

Jamil’s fists clenched. Skyline Lane was a fashionable hover park in central Calluvia, one of the few places on the pl that allowed zywern flights and catered to rich and powerful. It was very popular with high society, used by members of aristocracy to show off their zywerns to each other and engage in idle gossip. Serious zywern riders didn’t go to Skyline Lane, because it was too overcrowded for real flight. Rohan di’Lehr clearly thought he was nothing but an empty-headed social butterfly, that his interest in zywerns was that shallow and superficial—that Jamil was that shallow and superficial.

Jamil glared at his back. “At least look me in the eye when you’re insulting me.”

Rohan let out a laugh. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know whatever you could possibly mean,” Jamil said, his heart beating faster.

Rohan snorted. “Don’t play stupid, Highness.”

“Your Highness,” Jamil corrected him again, irritated by this man’s apparent inability to remember the proper form of address. “And I really don’t know what you mean. Last time… there was just a telepathic bleed-through because my mental shields weren’t fully raised. That is all.”

Rohan fed the last piece of meat to the zywern. “Telepathic bleed-through,” he repeated. “You shouldn’t talk about things you know nothing about.”

“And you do?” Jamil said. “Please enlighten me. And while you’re at it, please explain why you had such a curious reaction to me the other night if you have a bondmate.”

Rohan’s shoulders stiffened, his lazy stance disappearing in an instant. “Are you stalking me?”

“Checking an employee’s file is hardly stalking.”

Rohan breathed out loudly. “Look, Your Highness. You should get your royal behind back in the palace and stop sticking your pretty nose where it doesn’t belong.”

For a moment, Jamil could only stare at him, absolutely speechless. No one talked to him like that. He couldn’t remember the last time someone talked to him as though he was an empty-headed, irresponsible princeling with two brain cells. He was thirty-three-year-old. As the Crown Prince, he shouldered the financial and day-to-day managing of one of the largest grand clans on Calluvia. People called him Prince Responsible for a reason, no matter how much that moniker exasperated him.

“Pardon?” he said at last, his voice cold as ice.

Rohan sighed, and Jamil could feel a wave of frustration roll off him.

“I meant no offense,” Rohan said gruffly, probably aware that he’d crossed the line. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Your Highness. I’m a lowly, ill-mannered peasant, after all.”

Jamil looked at him suspiciously. Was he detecting sarcasm?

“I’m tired of speaking to your back,” he said. “I order you to turn around.”

Rohan seemed to be ever tenser, the muscles of his back going rigid. “I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“Because it was no damn telepathic bleed-through.”

Jamil felt a twinge of unease. “Then what do you think it was?”

Rohan shrugged, stroking the zywern’s dark mane with steady, confident strokes. The animal looked at the trainer balefully, but, to Jamil’s amazement, actually let him do it.

“I don’t know,” Rohan said at last before adding in a rather clipped voice, “Whatever it was, I’m not eager for a repeat experience.”

Jamil wasn’t either, but that was beside the point. “Aren’t you curious?”

“No.”

“That can’t be true. Anyone would be at least a bit curious.”

“I guess I’m not anyone.”

“Or perhaps you just have something to hide,” Jamil said, cocking his head. “You didn’t tell me how it’s possibl