Running Across Fields Pt. 3

Roxas woke with an aim to do something good for a change, to go and extend the olive branch to his wife and found himself up several hours earlier than was his preference, smartly dressed and holding a bunch of wildflowers he had sent a serving girl to gather for him, knocking at the chambers of his new wife.  There was a muffled shout from within, what sounded like a maid, perhaps, low and frustrated, maybe aimed at her serving women, to make them hurry up, and he knocked again, determined to stay until there was an answer.  The door remained resolutely shut in his face, however, and after an hour, he gave up, heading to the stables.  He would not ride that day, not with the soreness from his visit to the cathouse, but the horses were always good company, and he was never questioned there.  He rummaged in his pockets for sugar lumps, and went straight to his charger, Durant – who wasn't there.  Roxas took a deep breath before he panicked, looking around.  His tack was gone, too, meaning that whoever had taken the horse was most likely riding, and in the fresh rains they had barely a week ago, that meant heavy prints in the dirt, horse and rider pressing in deeper than simply the horse would do so.  Roxas wasn't a good tracker, but he forgot that in the rage that someone might have taken his horse out, even the stable hands knew better than to move Durant without asking first, without letting their lord know, and if he needed to be ridden for any reason, Roxas would do so, ache in his arse be damned.  He stepped out into the yard and heard a whinny from the far meadow, which ran along the side of the grounds.  He rushed back inside and saddled Moxie, his patient, placid grey mare, boosting into the saddle and driving her hard towards the meadow.  She seemed to sense his urgency and pushed herself hard, flanks damp with sweat, feet dashing beneath her, and as they broke into the meadow and Roxas spotted Durant, at the far end, she almost reared up, and broke into a canter.  Roxas reined her in, slowing her down as they approached, because Durant was known to trample if he was stressed, and he couldn't imagine that a stolen horse would be anything but.  Much to his surprise, as he drew near, he saw that the thief was taking the bay charger through the jumping course, and doing it easily, when Durant always refused the jumps for Roxas.  Why would a thief waste their time doing this when they could be making a fast escape, he wondered, and caught the flash of a black veil on the rider.  A woman.  He snarled and kicked Moxie into a fast trot to catch up, and drew level with Durant and his rider, taking Moxie over the jumps at a punishing pace to match that of the charger.
"What do you think you're doing on my horse?" he shouted, and Durant made a snort at his master's voice, slowing his pace despite the intruder's attempt to dig her heels into his ribs, "You're on de Frei land, here!"
"I'm aware." The thief shouted back, against the roar of the horses' feet, and pulled Durant back, slowing the pace down until the bay was standing still, stamping his feet slightly, "But I didn't think anyone would notice."
"That's my horse." Roxas said, coldly, noticing the voice was lower than he expected it to be, "Roxas de Frei, son of Lord de Frei.  He was the wrong horse to try and steal."
"You think me a thief?" the figure said, unwinding the veil and revealing a shock of red hair, a pale face with deep-set green eyes glittering back at him, and it was the first time Roxas looked and saw breeches instead of skirts, tight shirt instead of billows of lace, and realised the rider was not sat sidesaddle.
"I will take you before my father." Roxas said, starkly, reaching over to tug at Durant's reins.
"Now that," the redheaded man said, grinning, "Is something I doubt he would expect you to suggest."

The ride back was slow and arduous, the soreness which Roxas had easily forgotten in his rage at seeing Durant gone was settling in, making him wince as he drove Moxie in a fast trot.  She would need a good rubbing down when they got back to the stables, which he would have preferred to do himself, being at one with his horses – but his duty to his lands came first, his duty to his people and, if he admitted it, to his own pride.  He gripped his own reins in one hand, Durant tethered to Moxie and clearly hating every minute of it, although he was normally on good terms with the mare.  He was snapping, but the redheaded rider did not seem worried at all that Durant would rear, although as his usual rider, Roxas knew it was a real possibility.  Whilst it would not be too worrying if the horse thief was thrown and died for his crimes, the horse who trampled and killed outside of the battlegrounds was shot, in case he got the taste of human blood.  Durant was too fine for that, too well trained – Roxas was not going to lose him to this thin streak of piss, eyes dancing with wicked fire, almost daring Roxas to do something he should not.  Moxie caught a stone and he hissed as he came into contact with the saddle faster and harder than he had expected.
"Ah, so the little lord likes playing the woman, does he?" the redhead said, lazily, patting Durant's flank, looking for all the world as if he was simply out for a jaunt on the charger, "How does it feel when a real man makes you scream?"
Roxas did not answer, feeling his face flush hot and biting his lip, hating his body for betraying him like that.  It did not help that this man was long, lean, hair wild and loose, tattoo marks under his eyes, and reminded Roxas so much of the whore he would not be seeing again.  He had hoped that the horses could distract him from his upcoming nuptials, but this thief was nothing but a constant taunt of all he could not have, all he wanted.
"You will regret those words." He bit out, finally, finding the strength.
"I doubt it." The stranger murmured, his voice taking on a low burr of lust, "I could have you, you know.  I could take you like his does, press myself into you.  I bet you're still open, still slick and ready for me, aren't you, my little lord?  I wonder if he knows all the tricks that I do."
"Silence, knave." Roxas snarled, his temper rising.  Now that the redhead had brought it up, he could not help but imagine what it would feel like if he made good on all of those promises, if the man threw himself onto Moxie and bore Roxas to the ground, rutting with him like an animal.  It was a strangely compelling image, and he had to shift in his seat, wincing once more, to push it from his mind.  He wanted to see justice for the attempted theft of his horse, that was all.  If he was determined to go to the cathouse again tonight, then that was no business of anyone else.  He spurred Moxie on faster, and if the redhead wanted to speak again, he held his tongue.

When he entered the great hall, dragging the thief by the arm, eyes blazing furiously, the first thing he heard was his father's gasp, before the man stepped carefully down from the dais on which his chair sat, and hurried over to his son as fast as his frame would carry him.
"I found this miscreant on de Frei land, on my horse, and I want him punished."
"Are you mad?  This is utterly inappropriate." Lord de Frei hissed, and it took Roxas a second to realise that his father was not talking to him, "You are not even wearing a veil, for Niva's sake!"
It was Roxas' turn to draw in a harsh breath at hearing his father invoke the goddess of his mother's people, not an oath he made lightly, and he turned to the man whose arm he still held.
"What is he talking about?" he said, as calmly as he could manage.
"Roxas, this is – we can not do this here, and not now.  The two of you were not supposed to meet, and you – " this last was directed towards the redhead again, "Rest assured that the correct people will hear of this.  I am most disappointed."
"Axel ei Nearm, I am fair vexed with you." This voice was new, snide and rich with tones of aristocracy, a true blue blood, and Roxas fought the urge to spin around to see the newcomer.  The redhead – Axel ei Nearm, he supposed –  twisted out of his grip and swivelled on one foot, grinning.
"Ah, the full name. I must be in trouble.  Hello, Isa."
Roxas did turn then, to see the blue-haired figure of Isa fa Touren, arms folded across his chest and mouth fixed in a decidedly pointed frown.
"Don't you hello me, you reckless fool.  You are lucky that it is I your father sent, or you would be across the back of someone's horse on your way back to his lands this instant.  Out without a veil, horseback, in breeches, where anyone could see you?  Borrowing a de Frei horse without asking? Were you not too big for it now, I would take you across my knee."
As the redhead grinned at his companion, Roxas took a moment to study Isa fa Touran.  He, unlike other children born in the wake of Court Mage Xemnas' betrayal, did not have the symbolic 'x' in his name, to signify that the child was warded against his touch.  Roxas had heard rumours, he remembered, that Isa's mother had been one of the Cadre, a revolutionary group who believed that Xemnas had been acting for the kingdom, instead of against it, and so would welcome his magic upon their children, but looking at the tall, slim figure, he could not believe it.  This man looked like the epitome of lordliness, his robes a deep black and neatly pressed – he wore the clothes of a mage, perhaps held magic, which wasn't unusual in one raised by the Cadre.  Their magic was what led them to believe that Xemnas would help, rather than harm them, and Roxas took a moment to enjoy his eyes roaming Isa's body, before he looked to his father for confirmation.
"Roxas, meet your husband, Axel ei Nearm."