Deep-rooted terrors thawed to the surface. If he and Celyn were known to Khaim, if they werehunted…
Meilyr already lived every day in fear of discovery. But having Khaim truly come after him, come after Celyn, twisted all the numbness into thorns and memory.
‘What can I do?’ he asked, damning the flora. ‘Your Majesty, I will do anything to keep Celyn safe.’
He would, a thousand times over.
Prince Osian settled on something. ‘There is perhaps one way.’ He turned – towards the windows. ‘I had my knights perceive I knew you, so I might later vouch for your character without them having to break their oaths and lie.’ He stood in the golden light streaming in, oblivious to Meilyr’s panic, one hand resting on his sword and the other tight behind his spine.
The plants, though facing inwards, had blessedly stilled.
‘I am to take up the mantle of Prince of Cyngalon. I have moved my holdings, and the Council governing Cyngalon, here to Eascild.’ It was strange to hear someone Khaimlic, especially of such high rank, not refer to it as the Denelands. His pronunciation was also flawless:kun-galon, smooth and flowing. ‘In order to receive my father’s support for this change, he has requested that I marry before my coronation. A political marriage, to strengthen bonds and solidify the court governing a populace he fears may still be… volatile. None of his proposed matches interest me, and I wish to make a different kind of statement.’
Meilyr’s senses still suggested the prince told the truth, but he was withholding something.
‘Members of the royal household are considered above refute,’ Prince Osian said, ‘able to enact judgement without trial or punishment. It is not just, but it is the law.’ He turned back, illuminated, eyes like the sea. ‘You swore your life for your brother. I would ask for only a moment of it, to make you all but unreachable. Both of you. To make certain you are protected.’
Meilyr’s heart beat faster, heady beneath that gaze.
The prince exhaled quietly and said it. ‘Become prince consort. Marry me.’
The world fell away beneath Meilyr’s feet.
A petal fell from a primrose.
‘I had hoped to marry from within the Cyngaleg populace, as a political statement. My father would never approve, but if we act swiftly, it will be too much scandal for him to undo it. Stand by my side until after the coronation, then we will annul our union, and you and your brother will be free to continue your lives. If we do this, you would become members of my household, elevated beyond reach. There will still be an inquest, but any move made against you would be quashed before it began.’
A thousand thoughts buffeted Meilyr. One tore free. ‘Why…?’ This was aprince of Khaim, and he was an irrelevant Cyngaleg peasant. He would have believed himself hearing things if not for the absolute conviction with which the prince had spoken. ‘Why me?’
The prince’s jaw worked: a tell of tension as he came to stand closer. ‘I believe you and I can help each other. I know this is sudden, and for that I am sorry. But this…’
Thiswas so far removed from reality Meilyr could not catch up.
This was the Prince of Cyngalon. Khaim’s monster, set upon Cyngalon to remind them they were a people quashed. His blood beat with a lineage that had devastated countless Cyngaleg lives, generation after generation. A lineage of murderers, oath-breakers and dragon-killers.
Meilyr’s reading of him was muddied: conflicted. He could not pretend to understand the political delicacies, but this might be the only way to help Celyn, even if it cost Meilyr his own life.
He swallowed. ‘I have your word Celyn will not come to harm. Any blame will be placed on me.’
‘I swear it.’
Truthful enough. ‘He will be kept from this, from being exposed and endangered.’ All things Meilyr would suffer for him.
‘Yes, I swear it.’
Meilyr would have died for Celyn. This was something far less instantaneous, and perhaps all the more painful.
He did not have to think. The flowers settled again in his resolve. ‘If you are certain, Your Majesty, then I accept. I accept your proposal.’
The prince nodded, hesitated, then left Meilyr alone and wondering if he had maybe died in that street.
There was not enough time to process anything. The prince returnedall too soon, ahead of a highly ranked member of castle staff, Meilyrguessed from their fine pale clothing and severe demeanour. Sharpfeatures and tanned skin, they marched past the prince to look him overthe way a dignified owl might assess a hapless sparrow fallen onto itsbranch.
‘Their name?’
‘Why not ask them?’ the prince suggested. ‘And introduce yourself, Harlan. There is no need to be rude, save perhaps with me.’
Harlan’s almost black eyes snapped to Meilyr. ‘Your name?’