Page 138 of The Sun King's Noon

Richard stared. He knew this tale.

“And when the Velari grew hungry,” Kaelen went on, “the boy stood in front of his friend with his arms spread, because he had decided that if only one of them was to walk out of that cave alive, it ought not to be him. And he was quite at peace with this, for he was a simple creature, and he had made up his mind.

And then”—Kaelen’s eyes lifted—“and then suddenly, a prince of seventeen was also in the cave. Brandishing a torch and a sword, and with eyes of thunder, he slaughtered the Velari in fire and blood. The boy thought, in that moment, that the gods had taken pity and sent the sun itself down from the sky to save him, and when the prince offered the boy his hand, the boy could have wept from the beauty of him.”

“Kaelen,” Richard whispered.

“The prince did not know the boy.” Kaelen shrugged. “Boys are small and easily overlooked in a kingdom so large. But the boy—the boy could not stop looking. He turned from a boy into a stripling, and from a stripling into a youth, and what had begun as the worship one offers a hero became, by slow degrees, an infatuation. He watched every kindness the prince offered a stranger. He watched others ridicule the prince’s meticulousness and saw that the prince was only so because he could not bear his people being failed by his inattention. He watched the prince’s siblings mistake the prince’s worry for sternness, and the prince’s discipline for dullness, and he wanted to shake them and tell them how much was being given to them.”

Kaelen’s thumb stroked along the underside of Richard’s wrist.

“In part, it was a humiliating affair.” He snorted. “For the youth could not even meet his prince’s eyes without becoming feverish. The youth could not go a single night without dreaming of the prince’s smile.” His eyes softened. “When the youth grew into a man, the infatuation deepened. It put down roots. It became something the man could no longer have removedfrom himself, for it had grown into the shape of his ribs. And in these last months, through their shared adventures, the man discovered something he did not allow himself to see before. That the prince, for all his beauty, was not without thorns. That the prince was stubborn past the point of reason. He was often furious when he ought to apologise. He did not deign to ask for help, for his pride was a foolish thing, and perhaps, too, because he could not trust those around him more than he trusted himself.”

Richard swallowed hard. “Surely then…then the man must, with such knowledge, find his adoration cooling. Surely such flaws must be a cure of sorts.”

Kaelen stepped closer. His forehead came to rest against Richard’s, and his breath was warm on Richard’s lips.

“No,” he whispered. “In truth, the man has never been more wholly taken. Never more lost to the keeping of his prince, in every chamber of his heart.”

The tears that sprang to Richard’s eyes came at the same time as the lump in his throat. He blinked fast, for they threatened to spill. His hand turned within Kaelen’s, and slowly, he laced their fingers together.

A pale glow bloomed at the far corner of his vision, and Richard stiffened.

In the back of the closet, half-buried behind a stack of linens, stood a tall mirror in a tarnished frame. Its glass had gone a milky white, and it rippled with luminous currents.

The door again.

A tear trailed down Richard’s cheek, and he made no move to wipe it.

It was time.

CHAPTER 51

Strange, how quickly realisation set in. The pale door shone at him, and Richard tried to evade the thought, tried to stay ignorant. After all, what did it matter in the end? His parents were laughing at the ball, Dain and Selwyn were likely dancing, his siblings were safe and happy, and there was a beautiful man in front of him, spilling out his heart.

Why doubt any of it?

But the oddities of the day, all the little errors, rankled at him, shredded his nerves, and a bitter taste refused to leave his tongue.

A wonderful world did not mean it was the right one.

Kaelen’s brow furrowed on seeing Richard’s tear. His thumb came up to brush it off.

“My prince. Have I—did I—was there something I said?—”

“No.” Richard caught Kaelen’s wrist before the hand could withdraw and pressed it harder against his cheek. “No, Kaelen. Quite the opposite.” He closed his eyes. “But it is time. I must go.”

He knew it. As much as it pained him, the door had been appearing before him for a reason. It called to him in a way that made his shoulders feel heavy, made the circlet upon his browcrushingly tight. The call was neither friendly nor pleasant, and yet, he knew he had to answer.

Kaelen blinked. “Go where?” He cursed on noticing the pale glow. “What is that?” Swiftly, he moved to shield Richard, a hand over his sword hilt. “Why does it shine so?”

“It is a door, I believe.” Richard strode past him towards the corner. “I do not know where to, but I think I must walk through it.”

“No.” Kaelen grabbed the back of his doublet. “No, that is no door I have ever seen in this castle. That is—that is some manner of magic. We must fetch Dianara. You cannot—we must—” He hauled Richard to him by the waist. “Will you look at me?”

Richard did, and the sight of his knight so distressed, chest heaving and eyes wide, made the lump in his throat swell all the more. “Kaelen. My life…has never been this simple.”

“What do you?—”