Page 48 of The Sun King's Noon

Richard’s pulse thundered, his mouth going dry. “That is not what I?—”

“A hound that dared kiss another rather than sit at your boots.” Kaelen’s laugh was bitter, sending goosebumps down Richard’s arms. “A faithful cur that ought to keep its tail wagging for the pleasure of its master.”

“Kaelen—”

“Your Majesty.” The gold light from the window carved Kaelen’s face into hard planes. “Even if I have given you every part of myself I know how to give, that does not make you my master. You do not hold my leash, and outside of my sworn duty, I may form whatever relations I please.”

The headache battered at Richard’s skull, and his vision blurred at the edges. It was all wrong. Kaelen had taken the most disagreeable meaning from it, and yet Richard, maddeningly, could not find the words to correct him. Because what was the correct meaning? That watching Ravi’s mouth on Kaelen’s had felt like salt being poured on a raw wound? That the thought of Kaelen abed with another ached as if a knife twisted his guts?

What right did he have to say any of it? He did not want Kaelen as a lover, did not want Kaelen in his bed, so with what right?—

“Very well,” Richard hissed. “Then I dearly hope you had a wonderful night with Ravi.”

Kaelen’s nostrils flared.

“Well,” he said with a vicious twist to his mouth, “perhaps I did, Your Majesty. Perhaps I did spend the whole night taking my pleasure and giving him his.”

Richard’s blood roared too loudly in his ears.

“Good,” he spat. “Then you are well matched.”

“And you too, I hope, my king?” Kaelen’s tone reminded Richard of the green potions that ate through steel. “I hope you had a wonderful night with Druid Orric.” He sneered. “I imagine a wolf is far more impressive company than a dog.”

Richard blinked. Hehadwalked the gardens with Orric after dinner, but only because the druid had offered to explain Sylari territorial customs, the way packs governed different regions. Richard had asked question after question, and Orric had answered with his patient, rumbling voice, sketching maps in the dirt with a stick while moths circled the lanterns above them.

“As a matter of fact,” Richard said, jutting his chin up, “I had an excellent time with Orric. He is insightful, measured, and always calm in conversation.”

Kaelen’s hands balled into fists, the gauntlets creaking. “Well, by all means, Your Majesty, please do enjoy your calm, measured and insightful druid. No doubt he is more mature company.”

“He certainly is.” Richard’s lip curled. “It is a quality I find increasingly rare among certain people surrounding me.”

Some distant corner of Richard’s mind screamed at him to stop, to breathe, to reach out and perhaps even apologise for allthis confusion, for forgetting Kaelen’s birthday and bearing no gifts, and to ask Kaelen if he could stop glaring?—

By the gods, his headthrobbed.

Richard shoved past Kaelen, his shoulder striking the knight’s arm, and stormed down the corridor. As he turned the corner, a part of him willed Kaelen to follow, to grab his hand and request, more softly, that they talk. It would be good to start afresh, to lay out his feelings with more eloquence.

But no footsteps came behind him.

CHAPTER 20

The girls only finished an hour past midnight. Their wrists had long since gone red beneath the rope binding them. Dust streaked their cheeks, their hair was a mess, and they staggered more than ran for the last twenty laps. When Briony’s ankle had given way on the ninetieth round, Isolde had gritted her teeth and hoisted the girl onto her back.

Richard was at the final line when they crossed. He caught Briony when she slid from Isolde’s back, and nodded to Lady Rowe, who at once moved to her own squire with a healer’s salve and a towel.

Nearby, Squire Godwyn—a tall boy with large, soft eyes—hovered with a waterskin. Richard tried not to glare at him. Godwyn’s only crime, after all, was to possess a handsome face and a smile too easily given.

By the gods, he and Kaelen are alike.

Richard failed in repressing his glare after all.

* * *

By late afternoon,the ankle sprain had clearly ceased to trouble Briony, for her stomps thundered and her lungs were in magnificent form.

“IT IS EATING ME ALIVE!”

Richard winced from the other end of the royal quarters. He’d been heading to his own chambers to dress for the ball when the shrieks erupted. Elara’s door opened two rooms down, and she emerged with her hair half-pinned. Corwin, too, appeared from the opposite direction, clad in his riding breeches, an apple in hand.