Page 15 of The Sun King's Noon

“Welcome back, Sir Joffrey,” Richard said warmly. It had been Joffrey who taught him to joust as a boy. “How was the Sylari Realm?”

Joffrey straightened with a snort. “Wild. Lively. Dangerous.”

Richard leaned forward. The Sylari Realm had always called to him. A domain that defied being governed by the mundanity of a crown. A place where the Threads thrummed strong, and the people and creatures were as varied as the flowers blooming in the high gardens.

How he’d always longed to go explore. But travel to the realm was outlawed—too many had succumbed to the goblins, werecreatures and the other beasts lurking there.

“How fared the mission?” Richard held his breath. He’d tried to keep his hopes low, but if anyone could bolster the Sylari into accepting his invitation?—

Joffrey winked. “The dryads’ matriarch—Myrafrond of the Highheart Grove—will come.”

Excitement swarmed through Richard, bright and boyish. “Truly?”

“Aye,” Joffrey said. “And the chief of the fauns, Tavrus. Wanted to kiss me to seal the deal, but I told him these soft lips are only for the good ladies.” He stroked his beard. “That was all, I’m afraid. Met a clan of wolves, the Greyhide pack. Some could talk, even, but their pack leader snarled that they’d sooner lick their arses than allow Ardenians to put them in kennels. Met the centaurs too, but those stuck-up ponces”—he made a gagging motion—“decided they were far too important to lower themselves to human politics. Tried to track the naiads and other woodland folk, but they kept out of sight.”

“Still,” Richard whispered, “the dryads and the fauns will attend. The Sylari will sit at our table. A start.”

It was what he’d yearned for since he first began his statecraft lessons as a child. Not to simply rule, but to stitch Ardenia into a larger tapestry. To bridge what his father and foreparents had kept separate by suspicion and steel. Perhaps that had been best for the kingdom in those times. But now, with Rot advancing and Galdran readying to march, unity, Richard was certain, would be their greatest strength.

One day, he thought, a wild hope flaring,one day I shall find the dwarves, and I shall invite them too.

He flinched as the door burst open.

Kaelen entered, clad in full armour, his helmet tucked under an arm. “My king! Are you?—”

He trailed off, eyes tracking the plunge of Richard’s bathrobe, before his gaze wrenched back up to Richard’s face with a heavy flush.

Richard was torn between a sigh and a smile. It’d taken time for him to come to terms with the fact that Kaelen wanted him as a lover, to understand that Kaelen was now a man, and that the knight’s more carnal desires did not equal disrespect. Elara had said it best—Kaelen yearning to hold Richard in bed was simply another way for him to show his love.

But Richard had made his rejection clear to Kaelen in the Nightbourne Realm’s springs. He’d explained his absence of human desire.“This is why I cannot give you what you hope for,”he’d said, and Kaelen had accepted it with a noble grace Richard had come to expect from him.

So why was it that the foolish man’s stares persisted?

And why was it that Richard’s own eyes could not help but flit to Kaelen? Even now, despite the sweat dripping down Kaelen’s neck and the graze on his cheek, he looked so very handsome.

“Stop ogling the king, you daft sod!”

Richard jumped in unison with Kaelen. He watched with some amusement as Kaelen registered Joffrey’s presence. Thecolour drained from Kaelen’s face, and when he next spoke, his voice was high-pitched.

“Sir Joffrey! You have returned safe!” He retreated to the door. “How wonderful.”

Joffrey’s grin held a feral edge. “Won’t you give your old master a hug?”

“Ah.” Kaelen blanched. “My—my lord father—he’s terribly ill, actually. I only came to—I should go attend him straightaway?—”

“Is he?” Joffrey scoffed. “That’s curious, boy. Cause ‘fore I came here, I met the Lord Commander. Grouching, he was, about the absurdity that his son’s blood rushes south when he sees the king massacre.”

Richard’s brows rose as Kaelen squeaked.

“My—my father must be feeling better.” Kaelen scrambled to put on his helmet. He made for a ridiculous sight—armoured and helmeted in a bathing quarter. “My mother is—actually, she is at death’s door, I should?—”

“I’m at death’s door?” Selwyn stepped out from the cupboards, a stack of linen in her arms—clearly trying to smuggle some for the healing halls. “How strange. I feel quite well.”

Kaelen gaped, jaw slack. “Oh, how wonderful, Mother. You’re—you’re looking improved. I—I am heartened to see it. Well, I should be getting to work.”

“I only want one answer from you, boy.” Joffrey’s grin dropped, his fist slamming into a palm. “Word is you stood right in front of the king before the attack.” He spread his hands. “Why am I hearing then about how the king had to defend his sister on his own?”

Kaelen fled, his footsteps echoing as loudly as the clank of his armour, and Joffrey cursed and gave chase. Something in Richard’s chest untangled, and he found himself laughing. Hecould not stop even when Selwyn neared, and it was only after Joffrey’s distant bellows faded that Richard stopped.