Eat the Poor

VII

"Dunno." I shrugged. "You looked bored."

Silent again. He looked down, eyelashes blinking rapidly against his cheeks. "I am," he murmured, and then as if on impulse he shuffled around so we were facing the same way and sank down on his belly beside me. "Won't you get in massive trouble for hiding here?"

It was my turn to be at a loss for words. We were so close our shoulders nearly brushed, so close I had to wonder if I smelled bad. He had an artificially floral scent about him, not unpleasant. It blended rather nicely with the real flowers.

Was he not afraid? To be without his guards under the bushes with some filthy, plague-riddled hall boy? Suppose I took out a dagger and cut his throat?

Was I not afraid?

"I know who you are," he said, and I froze in utter terror. "You're... on the day of my- Mr Murray, isn't it? I'm good at remembering names."

"Yes." I flashed a look at the ground. "But, uh, no one really calls me Mr Murray."

He blinked. "Do you have another name?"

I wriggled around a little, hoping it would alleviate some of my discomfort. It didn't.

You got yourself into this mess. You can't blame Geoff for this one.

Somehow it was Geoff's fault, I convinced myself.

"Most people just call me Auden. 'Mr Murray' reminds me of my father. Of course you-" I took a deep breath. My stomach was starting to churn as if I were on a ship in the middle of a storm. "You can call me whatever you want."

"Alright," he said. "Mr Murray."

"Well then." I rocked forward, as if to get up, then abruptly stopped myself. What if it was a law that one couldn't walk away from the King? Or crawl away, in my case. Perhaps that was illegal. Who knew.

"Mr Murray, what exactly do you do here?" His amber eyes were directly on mine. If he was afraid, he certainly didn't show it.

They were gorgeous eyes, really.

God, stop it.

He was undeniably beautiful. There was no chance to avoid noticing it. Soft features, pearly skin and big eyes. He seemed a bit plump, but not like his father had been. Rather like a squishy pillow that might be fun to hold.

He has the power to kill you in an instant.

"I'm a gardener," I mumbled.

The King broke into a laugh. "Really?"

"Certainly. I just left my, eh... clippy-things at the shed."

"Clippy-things. Oh my goodness, you're strange," he giggled, like it was a compliment. "Oh, Mr Murray, you're ever so fascinating - you will tell me more about yourself, won't you, and-"

"Won't-" I broke in, my head spinning, "won't your friends out there miss you?"

He fell silent and followed my gaze to the group of men talking in the garden. "Those aren't my friends," he said. "They're courtiers. They follow me everywhere." He grinned mischievously and pointed out an older man in a lengthy black wig. He had bushy eyebrows and a long pointed nose. "That's Beauregard, my Lord Chamberlain. He's been with me since the cradle. At times I'm convinced he exists purely to vex me."

The Lord Chamberlain was an odd-looking fellow, tall and thin save for his stomach, which bulged out over his legs. His shape reminded me of a spider's - a round body with long, skinny limbs.

I remembered the spider I'd seen on my first night in the castle.

Winding around its prey. Paralyzing it.