So Meilyr found himself on Prince Osian’s arm, Edeva holding his hand, dragging them along aisles of colourful opening buds: camelias and choisya, euphorbia and alliums, the first spring roses.
Thank the gods Aldreda’s daughter had not been at the hunt. No child should have to witness such horror.
After a while, Osian was subtly summoned to speak privately with the Heir Apparent, so Meilyr dropped back, content to breathe in the flora. It was reassuring to touch them: to run dark, waxy leaves through his fingers and feel their comfort. Their health.
‘Meilyr?’
The sound of his given name, in that unmistakeable voice, was so discordant with reality he started.
Haydn.In all the mess, he had almost forgotten. Haydn was here – coming around the end of the carefully tended aisle, radiating half disbelief, half awe. ‘Meilyr. I’d heard the news, but I still didn’t believe it could actually be you.’
‘Haydn… I had no idea you worked here now.’
The tools in Haydn’s gloved hands were forgotten. ‘Well, it has been some time. Gods, I never expected to see you here. It’s… good to see you, though.’ Fondness glimmered in his eyes. ‘Meilyr—’
‘You will address the prince consort asHighness Cadogan,’ Ser Pedr said, appearing at Meilyr’s shoulder. ‘Or not at all. It is improper to do otherwise.’
Haydn smiled, kindly: that smile that could afford him almost anything. ‘Forgive me. Highness Cadogan.’ He dipped a slightly exaggerated bow. ‘I will do my very best to remember it. However, may I humbly request that ifHis Highnessrequires any assistance, he should not hesitate to ask.’
Ser Pedr glanced between them.
‘Thank you, Haydn,’ Meilyr said. ‘It is… good to see you too.’
‘It has been too long, Highness. I hope your predicament finds you… well.’
Predicament.That was a word for it.
But Haydn’s coyness shielded concern, and it slipped through Meilyr’s worries like an oar through murky waters. Haydn did not feel angry, or resentful either, and he always wore his heart on his sleeve – even when that meant it could be easily harmed. So unlike Meilyr.
‘Thank you,’ Meilyr said, and meant it.
‘Of course.’
Meilyr swallowed. ‘What are you working on?’
Haydn gestured with a flourish. ‘Might I be permitted to show His Highness?’
Ser Pedr merely stared, so Meilyr followed Haydn further down the aisle of roses. The knight gave them a respectable distance but watched like a bird of prey.
They stopped beside flourishing sunset-cream flowers. ‘Cyngaleg golds,’ Meilyr said. ‘They are beautiful.’
Haydn’s expression was bright and proud. ‘They adore Cyngaleg soil, as all good things do.’
‘They are early, are they not?’
‘Slightly. There’s something in the earth here, I swear. Highness.’ He moved closer, carried by his pruning path, and lowered his voice. ‘It’s so good to see you, Meilyr. Are you all right?’
‘I am. You?’
‘Just a little surprised, I suppose.’ Haydn risked an incredulous glance. ‘Theprince?’
Heat rose. Meilyr looked away and reached to trace the edges of a fresh bud. ‘I admit, I am a little surprised myself.’
‘He is excruciatingly handsome,’ Haydn conceded, ‘and no one can know you without falling in love with you.’
More shocked warmth spread through Meilyr’s cheeks. It bled into the rosebud, which began to open before he swiftly withdrew his hand.
‘I heard what happened on the hunt,’ Haydn said.