Royals of Ruemri Book I: Betrothal

Chapter 6 - Part 1

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"WE ARE going for a swim," Soren announced when Raffe came back to their tent. "Elio told me there's a waterfall nearby."

He grudgingly hesitated, realizing that leaving without the prince's knowledge would violate his promise to King Alizade. With a furrowed brow and eyes clouded by a ridiculous misunderstanding, Raffe asked, "We're going where?"

"Not you," Soren retorted without missing a beat. "Me and Jiri."

Raffe glanced incredulously between Soren and Jiri, an almost comical sight that Soren restrained himself from finding humorous, fearing Raffe might refuse his request.

His body was fatigued, yearning for a proper bath after a day of riding. Soren's sore muscles throbbed with bitter pain. Why am I doing this again? Unable to wash away the grime and sweat clinging to him, Soren felt a growing desperation. He could endure the absence of everything but a refreshing bath.

Raffe glared at him. Soren calmly stared back. After moments of unrelenting throws of dagger stares with each other, Raffe inquired, "With Jac and Elio?"

Soren stopped himself from looking up at the ceiling and letting out a strangled sigh. Barely.

"They're my bodyguards. Who else would come with me?" he responded. "I'm not one to break my own promises, Your Highness. Especially not a promise to the High King."

"You're going to swim," Raffe recounted as if he had not heard Soren's reply, "with two men?"

Soren scowled at him. "They're not going to swim with me. They're to accompany me, as per their duty. What are you talking about? What are you even insinuating this time?" His eyes widened. "That I'll prey on your soldiers?"

"I did not say that," Raffe retorted.

Soren seethed. "You implied it."

"Well, you give me the reason to."

Soren's hands curled into fists. He was radiating with so much anger his hands were visibly shaking. Fuck permission. This condescending human just set his ire on a blazing fire. How did the prince even come to that kind of thought? Soren had just recently turned his twentieth summer. And although he had not laid with someone yet, man or woman, he was not so desperate to satisfy his carnal pleasure with just anyone for his first time.

He was about to snap something very inappropriate when Raffe suddenly said, "I will go with you."

Soren's jaw dropped. "What?" he demanded. "No."

Raffe left the tent without a response, striding directly to Jac and Elio, who were seated on a nearby log. Jac, his brow furrowed, his dark curly hair falling onto his forehead, was sharpening his sword, while Elio, with heavily muscled arms straining against his teal tunic and closely cropped hair, was doing the same with his sword. Raffe exchanged words with them, and the two men promptly departed.

"What's going on?" Soren asked, his voice calm but tinged with clear frustration.

"Preventing any inappropriate behavior within the army," Raffe replied curtly.

Soren felt a surge of indignation at the implication. He was reaching a breaking point where he could easily throttle the prince and leave him hanging upside down on a cypress tree in front of his men. With an edge to his voice bordering on a growl, he snapped, "Do you hold such a low opinion of me? Do you think I'm some sort of damn whore?

Soren could feel the warm-drizzled air already swirling on his fists. With jaw set on a hard line, Raffe lifted his chin and bravely met his eyes. "For the second time, I did not say that."

"Well, for the second time, you implied it," Soren countered. "I just wanted a fucking bath. What did I say that made you think I'm a blasted harlot?"

"None. But you're a dangerous walking temptation!" Raffe snapped back.

Soren blinked at him, ire gone like a tiny ripple on a calm cerulean ocean and was replaced by an almost too clear bafflement. "A what?"

"Nothing," the prince said, his scowl that seemed to never leave his face deepened. "Come now and hurry for God's sake. I told Jac to inform Commander Salav that we're going upstream to the Tiver dam."

Soren wanted to protest but Raffe was already scramming away, Jiri trudging behind him. The traitor.

Soldiers bowed when they passed but steadily went back to whatever they were doing. Soren's mood did not remotely improve during their three-minute walk, but he followed Raffe readily enough. After all, he would definitely not going to deny himself a bath.

The winds of autumn blew bitter and unrelenting. The Raffe led them south, just a few walks away from camp. No man stood guard there, but they were still within sight and sound of the encampment.

The sight of the waterfall cascading over the dam stole Soren's breath. Moonlight danced on the glittering rivulets of water, and the melody of crickets filled the air, creating an enchanting atmosphere. Unable to resist its allure, Soren dashed ahead of the prince, eagerly shedding his clothes down to his undergarments before diving into the water with unabashed enthusiasm.

While the water's surface held the warmth of the sun, its depths offered a delightful coolness that washed away the sweat and grime of the encampment. Immersed in the refreshing embrace, Soren relished the sensation of cleansing. As he swam, the dim moonlight filtered through the water, painting a serene underwater world filled with muted sounds and tranquil visuals.

He emerged from the water gasping for air and helped his starved lungs recover. Jiri was drinking at the edge of the dam and Soren left him alone. The sweet creature deserved some peace, too.

Soren turned—

And froze midway when he spotted Prince Raffe standing on the pebbled ground at the water's edge opposite Jiri. The prince, without any inhibition, unfastened his breeches and underclothes, discarding them before leisurely entering the cool waters, completely at ease and as bare as their God had made him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Soren blurted out as he backed away from the man.

From the very naked man.