Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,2
the dead body of a duke.”
Benji shrugged. “He’s not my duke.”
Calarian couldn’t argue with that, so he slapped Benji on the arse and then tweaked his nipple for good measure. He was just about to suggest that they go somewhere with less risk of accidental plummeting when they were interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing.
“Excuse me? Are you the envoys? It’s just, the people are waiting for the duke in the great hall, so I said I’d come and see if he’s going to be long?”
Benji and Calarian whirled so fast that Benji nearly toppled over the edge and added to the colourful spread below, but Calarian grabbed his elbow and steadied him as he took in the sight of the newcomer.
The man was gorgeous. Calarian would have thought he was a god, if not for the fact that elves were, by nature, atheists who didn’t believe in the suppression of free will through the moralistic blackmail of an unseen authority. That, and gods always seemed so oddly angry about sex.
The gorgeous man was tall, taller than either of them, with hair the colour of corn silk, wide blue eyes that blinked in confusion, and a strong jawline. His chest was a wall of muscle—in fact, his chest had enough muscles that it was probably possible to build another, smaller, chest out of the extras. He was wearing what appeared to be leather shorts with embroidery on them, and a long-sleeved white blouse that was hugged tightly to his expansive chest by matching suspenders made of thick, sturdy, lengths of elastic and embroidered with a pattern of absurdly bright flowers and leaves. Perched on his magnificent blond head was a strange little hat with an upturned brim and a spotted feather poking up out of the band. It was vaguely reminiscent of Calarian’s Junior Wood Scout hat.
“Um, the duke’s stepped out for a breath of fresh air,” Calarian said around a mouthful of drool.
“A hell of a step,” Benji muttered.
Calarian elbowed him in the side sharply.
The tall muscular mountain of gorgeousness’s brows tugged together. “Stepped out? But where–” His question drew him close to the edge of the tower, and he looked down and drew in a sharp breath. “Is—is that Duke Klaus?”
“Yes,” Benji said. His grave expression needed a little more work, but Calarian appreciated that he was at least trying. “Or rather it was. And it was absolutely an accident, and he was definitely not at all murdered.”
“M-murdered?” the young human asked, drawing back in alarm.
“Definitely not murdered,” Benji corrected. “Are you even listening to me? I just said that. Definitely. Not. Murdered.”
The human didn’t look reassured at all.
“We didn’t push him,” Calarian said. “He... tripped and fell.”
Maybe he looked a little more trustworthy than Benji did, because the human’s alarmed expression faded into one of general wariness. “That’s a shame,” he sighed. “Dad would have been ninety next week.”
“Dad? He was your father?”
The man-mountain nodded. “And to half the population of Tournel. Maybe more.”
Calarian blinked. That could... that could work. He cleared his throat, feeling like he should at least attempt the social niceties before Benji opened his mouth and started shouting about death to the oppressors. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The blue-eyed should-have-been-a-god shrugged. “It’s not like we were close. I don’t think he even knew my name.”
His complete lack of grief, combined with the knowledge of his parentage, emboldened Calarian. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” he said. “Before he fell, he just happened to mention... sorry, what was your name?”
“Lars,” said the human. “Lars Melker.”
“Lars Melker,” Calarian said. “Yes, that’s the name that Duke Klaus said, wasn’t it, Benji?”
Benji nodded. Calarian wasn’t sure if he had twigged as to what was going on, or if he just enjoyed lying. It didn’t really matter.
“Before Duke Klaus died,” Calarian said, “I mentioned the fact that he didn’t have an heir, and he said, “But I do. Lars Melker is my heir.’”
Lars’s eyes grew round; big, limpid blue pools that Calarian wanted to throw himself into and drown. “He did?”
“Yes,” said Calarian, and elbowed Benji.
“Ow,” said Benji. “Yes.”
“We’re messengers of the kings, you know,” Calarian said. “We would never lie about something that important.”
Lars nodded slowly, his forehead wrinkling. “I... I suppose it’s possible. But why pick me?”
“He said you were best suited for the job,” Calarian said. This lying stuff was easier than he’d thought, or maybe Lars was as gullible as he looked.
“Really?” Lars looked half proud and half terrified. “But I