Prince Osian sat beside him, tucking his tunics so they fanned around him. His voice was nonchalantly flat. ‘You are a menace, Your Majesty.’
‘Rude.’
‘I hope you have not been terrifying him out of his wits, Aldreda darling.’ Demelza sat next to the Heir Apparent, on Meilyr’s other side. She gave him a kind, half-questioning look.
Edeva stirred and sat up, blearily rubbing her face. In the same motion, she crawled over to Prince Osian and curled up with her head on his knee.
‘Only testing his mettle,’ Princess Aldreda said. ‘He passes, by the way. I love him, and you must immediately give up your claim, Osian.’
‘Only if he wishes me to do so.’ The prince smoothed Edeva’s little shoulder.
‘Perfect. Meilyr, sweet thing,king consortis an awful lot more fancy than prince consort, don’t you think? Demelza dearest, tell him of the perks I could provide him when I ascend to the throne.’
Demelza shook her head fondly. ‘Be kind, love. He does not yet know you well enough to see you are teasing him.’
‘I’m not teasing him, and Osian even said it’s all right.’
‘I said only if he wished for it. Besides, you might want to ask Nabeel his opinion.’
‘Oh, he’ll understand,’ the Heir Apparent waved off, ‘and I’m sure Meilyr will agree, soon enough. Listen—’
‘Are we waiting on anyone?’ the prince asked.
‘You mean Wystan? Absolutely not. I made sure he would have an unequivocally corking hangover, and when asked we will say he could not be roused for love nor gold. I’ve had enough of his whining for a lifetime, and wanted a chance to have at least one decent meal with my favourite people before everything turns back to pomp. Hopefully, tomorrow at the hunt we can all get absolutely filthy, and anything but sensible. Gods, Osian, have some stew and let me tell you how awful it is that I can no longer tease you at home.’
Conversation drifted hither and thither, pulled mostly by Princess Aldreda’s whim. Meilyr tried to school his breathing enough to eat anything more.
She had been joking about sorcery. It had only been a joke.
If it had not been, he would be dead.
He forced down more cawl, discreetly pushing aside the abruptly sour lamb. Tried some of the bread and fragrant cheese. Forced himself not to imagine the fields the tastes evoked on his tongue.
Though his blood was part of what made him so good at his work, it also made eating difficult: death dulled awareness, and control. Butlifeechoed long after the roots had dried, the heart stopped. He could always feel a trace of what had been, especially when his emotions were heightened.
Meat, at times like this, was unbearable. Ash in his mouth. Life choked by the harsh, often terrifying instant before the end.
Throughout breakfast, Prince Osian glanced at him frequently. Meilyr did not meet his eyes, and was only forced to input a handful more times before the meal ended.
‘I suppose we should get to it.’ The Heir Apparent rose with mock stiffness. ‘Someone mentioned a tour of this charming abode? And I suppose someone should go wake Wystan. He’ll be even more unbearable if he thinks we left him out of two things on purpose, and I’d love for him to learn where all the gates are, in case he wishes to rush home.’
Meilyr kept his head down, only half meeting Demelza’s reassuring smile as she and the Heir Apparent led off, Edeva hanging off the former’s skirts.
Prince Osian touched his elbow. ‘Do you require a moment before we begin?’
‘No, thank you, Majesty.’ Meilyr must look a state if the prince needed to pretend to check in on his well-being. ‘I am fine.’
‘If you are certain.’
He was not, but would find a way to pretend.
They followed the others, arm-in-arm.
ELEVEN
Hawthorn.
Symbolic of spring, love, protection. Hope and fear, sex and death.