House of Lust by Tony Roberts Page B

sighed and looked down at his red-faced companion.  “Might as well listen to grump and mother.  Come on, you can stand outside while I get told off yet again.”
    The two made their way back up to the top and Argan felt a churning in his guts.  He always had a bad feeling when summoned to his mother.  She always seemed to be hard on him about everything, while excusing the younger Istan.  He wondered why that was so – he never worried about being told off and it only made him more spiteful.  Why didn’t someone stand up to him?
    The door was ajar and Argan passed the two guards on duty and went in.  His mother was seated behind her desk and Istan was standing before it.  He turned round and his face was furious.  “You don’t ever tell my friends to do anything ever!” he screamed, red-faced.
    “Shut-up,” Argan said and looked at his mother.  “What has this horrible thing been crying to you about?”
    Istan shouted in fury and swung his fist in a wild swing, intending to catch Argan around the face.  Argan saw it coming, and his training with the weighted swing on the martial training field came to him.  He swayed back smartly at the waist and the blow passed harmlessly by.  Without even thinking Argan’s riposte was on the way, striking his brother under the ribs.  Istan doubled up clutching his midriff and sank to the ground gasping.
    “Stop it! Both of you!” Isbel screamed, on her feet.  “Argan – how many times have I told you never to hit your brother?”
    “But you never tell him about hitting me, mother.”
    Isbel came round the desk, her eyes flashing in anger.  “Don’t answer me back, young man.  You’re getting too far above yourself.”
    “As a prince, how far is that, mother?”
    Isbel sucked in her breath and bent to help a crying Istan.  The boy angrily shook off her hand and got to his feet, tears streaming down his face.  “You hit me!  Mother, you saw that!  That’s the death penalty!  Nobody can strike a prince.  Have him hung in the yard!”
    “Istan, don’t be silly,” Isbel said soothingly.  “You struck out first.”
    Argan looked at Istan in contempt.  “Always starting fights and can’t win without running to mother.”
    “Shut up you!  I’ll go to father and have him sign your execution!”
    “Istan, be quiet!” Isbel snapped.  “Argan, I want you to apologise to Istan for ordering his friends to muck out the porcines.”
    “I shall not, mother.  If you force me to do that, then they shall continue with their horrible behaviour knowing I have no authority over them.  Bragalese peasant boys being protected from a prince of the House of Koros?  What next?  Father would be furious.” 
    The empress set her lips together in a thin line.  Things were getting beyond control with the two’s constant squabbling.  In trying to be equitable and fair to both, she had fallen into the trap of not pleasing either.  “Very well, since both of you speak of your father, let him decide on this matter, since neither of you are prepared to listen to me.  Follow me.”  She strode angrily past them and jerked the door wide.  “Out.”
    Argan glared at Istan who sneered and both kept a wary eye on the other as they slowly made their way out into the passageway.  Isbel was seething.  Let her beloved husband sort this one out; time he actually had some interaction with the two boys anyway.  She was tired of trying to be the peacemaker.  It was just one thing too much for her in her present state of mind.  Argan waved to Kerrin to remain where he was.  This wasn’t a situation he could get involved in.
    They stopped outside the emperor’s office.  Isbel motioned the guard to open the door which he did, and Isbel pushed both boys into the room ahead of her.  Heads looked up in surprise as the three entered.  Astiras was in the act of telling Frendicus what funds to set aside for paying the garrison and he frowned, his eyes narrowed.