“I choose archery.” Hamish’s hollow voice boomed across the courtyard.
A soft gust of laughter escaped Darshan’s lips before he could stop it. How in the world was he supposed to best Hamish’s skill with a bow? Never mind that he hadn’t used one for some time, he couldn’t even see the target without his glasses.
“Make it through all three trials and his hand is yours,” Queen Fiona cheerily finished. “Let the contest begin!”
Most of the women headed for the training grounds, either to battle an opponent for their chance to continue on to the next trial, or to watch.
Darshan shuffled along with the throng for a short while. He was to compete at midmorning tomorrow, although he wouldn’t know the skill of his opponent until they faced each other.
He slowed as the crowd surged by what looked to be an alcove in the castle wall. Squeezing through the group, he sauntered along the outer edge, veering ever closer to that dark patch in the brickwork. Rather than a shadowy kink made by the wall and the storage building, it was a short alley leading to a door that few even within the castle seemed to know the truth about.
Gordon had led him here after a sword fighting session. The seemingly innocuous doorway opened out into a tunnel which led to the bottom of the cliff. There, the man had placed a tent nearby for Darshan’s use. It currently held a small chest of his clothing. If he was quick, then perhaps he could nip down, change and return to watch how some of the competitors fought without anyone being aware of his movements.
With one hand on the door handle, he peeked over his shoulder. Gordon seemed certain that few would even glance this way, but if anyone caught him entering and exiting, they might—
The blurry outline of a person stood in the alley entrance. Even in the shadows, their hair was a vibrant, fiery shade of orange-red.
“Excuse me, me lady,” a familiar voice said as the figure entered the alley. “You cannae go in there.”
‘Mish. Darshan took a deep breath. Time to test how well his disguise held up.
He turned to face Hamish. “Your highness.” The higher-pitched tone he forced into his voice hurt a little, especially when combined with the natural roughness of the Tirglasian language, but he would hopefully only need to hold it for a short time. “How very irregular for you to be chasing a competitor. I thought fraternising with us whilst garbed thusly was against the rules.”
“Aye and I apologise for putting you in this position, but you really shouldnae be—”
“Especially when you are rather less than recovered from being…” With his lover now close enough for Darshan to make out the man’s features, he let his voice return to its normal range. “…almost dead.”
Hamish’s mouth dropped open. He stared for some time, almost uncertain, before leaning close and whispering a single word, “Dar?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve nae seen you since you—” He still wasn’t close enough for Darshan to make out the minutia of the man’s expression. “I thought me mum had sent you packing. What are you doing?” he hissed, pressing closer. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I would have thought my attire would give away my intentions. But since you insist on having it made plain, I am attempting to save you from a loveless marriage.”
“You…? You mean you’re competing?” He stepped closer still, forcing Darshan to flatten himself against the wall or crane his neck up to see more than Hamish’s beard. “You cannae—”
Darshan laid a hand on his lover’s chest. Did Hamish tremble or was that himself? His heart certainly pounded wildly enough. “The way I understand it, you cannot object to this contest without causing a civil war, but there is no rule saying I cannot participate.” He tried to peer around the man’s bulk before giving up. He would see nothing without his glasses. “Is there anyone looking our way?”
Hamish shook his head. “This entrance is pretty secluded.”
“Come with me, then.” Swiping for the door handle until his fingers found it, he led the way inside.
~~~
Hamish halted in the doorway, not because he wanted to, but rather due to necessity as Darshan had stopped just beyond the threshold. A small ball of light hovered over the spellster’s hands as the man groped across the shelving that held the lanterns.
Feeling a little self-conscious of how an open door leaking unnatural light would look to anyone happening to pass this way, Hamish pulled the door fully shut behind him. The wood pressed against his rear, forcing him forward a half-step and into Darshan.
Darshan’s back stiffened, likely not expecting an assault on his lower back from Hamish’s groin. When the man didn’t move, Hamish strained his hearing to catch any alerting sound of the unlikely chance of someone coming up the tunnel.
“Mea lux,” Darshan breathed, the whisper of laughter riding in on the words. He sagged, leaning his shoulders back against Hamish’s chest. “I hardly think here is appropriate.”
Grunting, Hamish attempted to regain the lost space between them. The last he had seen of Darshan, the man had been adamant about leaving Tirglas on the next ship destined for the Udynea Empire. Now he was dressed in garb that mimicked those worn by the competitors and joking as if there hadn’t been a week of silence between them.
He’s competing. He couldn’t be. There were rules. Men didn’t compete alongside women, certainly not for another man’s hand. How had he even managed to enter? How could he expect to win? What did he expect to happen if he did? Or if he lost?
Sweet Goddess… All that would be needed to turn the whole contest into chaos was for the man to unveil himself. Did Darshan know? Was he aware of how dangerous and foolhardy he was being pretending to be a competitor? And for what? He couldn’t even
