Mylo stood in the shadows watching as the king and his consort snuggled comforting each other. Truthfully he didn’t understand what was so wrong with the two men loving each other; at least they were loving somebody. He was sorry for his part in what was happening. He should never have agreed to put the damn plant in the bedchamber of the king and his consort.
He wasn’t quite sure what the significance was of the plant; he wondered why the giver wanted to remain anonymous. The plant itself was beautiful. Why would something of such beauty put such fear in King Quinlan? Scratching the side of his face he wondered how he was going to explain his part in this whole mess; even though he didn’t know who the original sender was, he could tell them who paid him to place the plant where he did. Mylo jumped when Cleric Saskia suddenly appeared beside him.
“You look troubled,” Saskia let his voice wash over new comer in a way meant to soothe him. As a cleric his gift was the ability to soothe the soul.
Mylo studied the cleric; his dark blue eyes drew him in. It made him want to confide everything to this man. Mylo’s gaze dropped to the cleric’s full lips as he began to speak. “It was me. I put the plant in the king’s room.”
“Now why would you do that?” Saskia asked softly, one eyebrow rose in curiosity.
Mylo shrugged, “I was paid to. I don’t see what the big fuss is so someone wanted to give the king’s consort a pretty gift.” Cleric Saskia’s face held a sad quality or so Mylo thought.
“You do not know the meaning of such a gift.”
“No,” Mylo shook his head.
“Such a gift is an ill omen; they say that to be given this particular gift you have been warned that a bounty has been placed upon your head.”
“Oh shyte,” Mylo groaned, “I didn’t know; I mean, if I had known I would never have done it.” It wasn’t until the king spoke that Mylo realised that cleric Saskia had led him to stand in front of the king.
“Who gave you the plant?” Quinlan could barely contain his rage. He wanted to lash out at somebody and this man looked like a pretty good target.
“It was Ormand; Lord Dalziel’s son. He told me that it was a gift from one of Consort Brayden’s friends.”
“Did it not seem strange that Ormand didn’t want to deliver the gift himself?” Quinlan demanded. He rubbed soothing circles on Brayden’s back as his husband shuddered in his lap.
“I thought that at first; but then he told me that you were upset with his father. He said that Consort Brayden was holding him to blame for his father’s stupidity.” Mylo paled significantly, “oh, how could I have been such an idiot?”
Cleric Saskia placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and felt him jump. “What is your name?”
“Mylo; my name is Mylo Kornel.” Mylo said softly.
“Where do you come from Mylo Kornel?” Brayden asked. “Just by looking at you I can tell that you are not from Panthea.”
“No, Consort Brayden. I am from the lower end of Darvish. My family are mainly sailors. My mother sent me here after she dreamed that I would be needed here; my father did not want me to come.”
Surprise crossed cleric Saskia’s face. “Would your mother be Bryn Kornel; Mistress of the Keep?”
A true smile crossed Mylo’s face. “Yes, that is my mother.”
“What is going on?” Brayden asked as he leaned back into Quinlan’s chest.
“Bryn Kornel is a seer of great power. I met her years ago when I was but a child; she told me then that she would send my mate to me when they would be needed most.” Cleric Saskia let his gaze wander over Mylo. The young man was definitely his type; muscular with strong arms to hold him when needed. The strong face let the world know that he was not a man to be messed with. Yes definitely his type; now if only he had the markings that would prove that he was his intended mate.
“Could you take off your shirt?” Cleric Saskia asked.
“What?” Mylo took a step away and his hands clenched in the front of his own shirt. “Why do you want me to take off my shirt?”
“Your mother told me that there would be something on your upper body that would let me know that you were the one fated to be my mate.”
“Oh!” Mylo nervously pulled his shirt over his head; wadding it into a ball in front of him as cleric Saskia stared at his naked torso.
“Well?” Quinlan asked.
Cleric Saskia could only nod; his fingertips reached out and traced the pattern that ran down Mylo’s left arm from the base of his neck spiralling around to his inner wrist. It was exactly as the seer had predicted. Cleric Saskia cleared his throat.
“He is my mate.”