All right. One thing at a time.
He folded his clothes neatly next to the bed as the prince had done, but hesitated over what to do with his new dagger.
‘I will not be offended if you keep it with you.’ Prince Osian continued writing whatever it was he worked on as he added, ‘I usually keep mine under the pillow, in fact.’
Meilyr turned the knife over in his hands, then laid it on top of his clothes. To the prince’s look of askance, he said, ‘Then I will have no need of mine.’
It might as well have been a mile between him and the fire, it might as well have been two inches. He clambered into the furs and blankets, trying to stay small and quiet.
It was surprisingly comfortable, if cold. He could not lie still. Tried to find a position that allowed him to keep an eye on the fire, without staring.
Moments or bells later, Prince Osian rose. He barely disturbed the layers as he climbed beneath, and settled as far from Meilyr as possible on his side, back turned.
Meilyr held his breath.
There was only the high peak of the prince’s shoulders in the dim, diving into the valley of his waist in the blankets. He was as still as a mountain.
A little heat from the wine crept into Meilyr’s cheeks. Proximity.
Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen.
Carefully, Meilyr rolled to face the back of the tent, away from the prince.
‘I can sleep by the fire, if that would make you more comfortable?’
Meilyr tensed. The prince wasasking.
He had to swallow before he could answer. ‘It would be better for me to do so, if Your Majesty wishes it.’
‘That is not what I asked…’
Meilyr turned enough to make out his shape. He was tense, but not from malice. ‘Thank you, Majesty. But it is a cold night, and neither of us would fare well in the chill and out of sleep.’
Silence stretched for a count before Prince Osian said, ‘If you are certain.’
Meilyr settled, turned away. That had helped. The last of his panic levelled.
It had still been a very long time since he had shared a bed. Even when he had, he had never grown accustomed to another’s presence: their breathing, and their rustling. They had always been too close, tooloud.
Prince Osian was like stone. His presence was there at Meilyr’s back, but…
Perhaps not stone, but a tranquil lake. The waters lapped softly, and despite himself, Meilyr traced towards that smoothness through their bond, spreading his fingers slightly to assist the sensation. The prince was tired and somewhat tangled with frustration, though it did not feel as though it was directed at Meilyr. Yet again he was startlingly easy to read this close, but Meilyr knew to leave whatever troubled him well enough alone.
Oh, damn it.
‘Lord Leighton,’ Meilyr broached quietly.
He had been right, from the way the prince’s emotions sharpened.
Before he could retract the words, Prince Osian said, ‘Yes, he is one of the reasons my father agreed to the relocation of my holdings to Eascild. With Sanford’s monopoly over most of Cyngalon’s remaining viable mines and their hold over the river, he presents a dangerous figurehead should the Marches attempt to oust themselves from the Crown.’
The honesty was unexpected. ‘Do you believe that is possible?’
‘I believe he would not care about collateral damage should such an opportunity arise.’
The rest hung in the air between them. After a while, the prince softly said, ‘Sleep well.’
‘You as well, Majesty.’