Meilyr froze, before he remembered everyone else thought it was an accident.
But Haydn’s gaze had darkened. ‘I’d seen him around. Heard one of the staff say he’d been asking after you. He had a reputation – if I was the prince, I wouldn’t have let him within a hundred miles of you.’ Anger bristled. Protective, and familiar. Haydn always cared with his whole chest. ‘Not a loss, if you ask me.’
‘Haydn,’ Meilyr warned, aware how that sounded.
‘I mean it. Just…’ He quelled some of the fire. ‘Tell me, are you really all right?’
Meilyr turned to the roses and pushed honesty into the quiet words. ‘I am. Please do not concern yourself with me.’
Haydn set the clippers to a rose close to Meilyr’s hand, his desire to bridge the gap palpable. ‘Do not ask for the impossible.’ He clipped the rose, caught it and offered it. ‘Should you ever need anything, Highness.’
Meilyr gingerly took the rose. Haydn dipped a bow and turned away.
The cream-and-grey uniform suited him. It was not quite the rolled-up shirtsleeves and earth-dirtied tunic of Meilyr’s memories, but…
He gave Ser Pedr an apologetic smile, and the knight made no comment.
Nothing had happened. It was not against his marriage oaths to speak to someone he had once known, and he was certainly not about to jeopardise hispositionat court. Haydn was merely – had always been a flirt, yes, but it was simply good to see him. Something familiar in all the unfamiliarity.
It was also a genuine relief to find he did not seem angry for how things had ended between them. More of a relief than Meilyr had expected.
He looked up to find Harlantrottingto speak with Prince Osian. The steward bowed low, and the prince stepped aside and spoke – looked directly at Meilyr.
Oh, gods—
The prince nodded. Harlan bowed out and marched towards him.
Had they seen him with Haydn?
‘Highness Cadogan.’ Harlan caught his elbow and turned him without slowing their stride, moving further from the others.
Meilyr’s panic was too tangled to protest. He stumbled like a lamb to slaughter.
Concealed beyond a large archway, Harlan halted and twisted Meilyr to face them, expression severe. ‘Can you dance?’
‘I… What?’
‘Can you dance? Court dances?’ They made a stiff show with their arms, as though miming might help. ‘Can you dance any court dances?’
Meilyr’s body spluttered out a laugh. ‘I – no, not really. Festival dances are the only—’
‘Gods preserve us.’ Harlan grabbed his arm and dragged him off again. ‘What was His Majesty thinking? Far be it for me to question him, but he wasnotthinking, and now here I am, picking up the pieces as usual.’
They continued expostulating as they escorted Meilyr through the inner bailey and inside to what was probably a small ballroom but could have housed the entirety of the apothecary’s ground floor, with space to spare. The table and chairs had been cleared against the wall, where high windows cross-hatched the floor in gold.
Harlan ushered Ser Pedr inside and closed the door, then tugged Meilyr to the centre of the space. ‘Now,’ they said. ‘All you have to do is follow. The prince will lead.’ They moved Meilyr’s hands and feet as if he were a doll, then stepped into a mirrored position before him. ‘This is the opening stance for the most basic court dances – which, gods willing, you will be able to at least respond to by the end of this. Now, you make contact at the wrist.’
‘Forgive me, when is this for? I did not think—’
‘You did not think you would have to dance? At court?’
Meilyr had honestly not given it much thought.
Harlan exhaled primly. ‘A perfect pair, you two. You will be expected to dance in two nights, at the banquet celebrating the next stage of the coronation.’
Oh,dreigiauand all thegods—
‘I will suggest to His Majesty that only he be permitted to dance with you, but let me put it this way – neither of us are leaving this room until I am certain you will not embarrass him. Do you understand?’