The Prince's Boy

THE PRINCE'S BOY: CHAPTER 83

83: Kenet

I was sitting up in a tangle of blankets on a sleeping pallet when Marksin came into the tent carrying a silver tray. He set it down next to me on a trunk and I saw it held a silver wine cup.

"I know it is better fresh from the source," he said,"but..."

"Thank you, Marksin," I said, and drank it before I could think about it much more. It was cold and thick, and had the scent of heartbreak. But I was now done with tears.

Marksin bowed and took the cup back.

"Please, don't," I said.

"Don't what?" He stood holding the tray, unsure.

"Don't bow to me and treat me like, like..."

"Like royalty? But my prince..."

"Like I'm made of spun glass. You know me better than most, Marks. Please, treat me as you used to."

He set the tray down and sat on the pallet. "But you're not who you used to be," he said, though his hand rubbed familiarly at my leg through the blanket. "If you were, I would have fed you your breakfast myself."

"I don't suppose there's any chance of that now."

"Even if it would work magically, my prince, the general has given orders we're not to touch you."

I looked up, stung. "Has he?"

"He is nothing if not respectful of who belongs to whom," Marksin said gently. "He is far too honorable to do else. You belong to someone else now."

I folded my knees and rested my arms and head on them. "I know."

He continued the soothing circle of his hand on my ankle. Apparently the rule against touching me didn't preclude touching through the blanket. Or my ankle. "I don't understand why you no longer want to be his. I thought this was the guard you had set your heart on?"

"He is. Or, he was. I... I cannot explain." I clutched my stomach then, as a new pang of hunger seized me. I remembered how voraciously Jorin had eaten after waking up in Pellon and wondered if I would need more than my usual share of sustenance, too.

Marksin looked as if he wanted to say something then, but he held his tongue. "I will come visit you later."

"Am I a prisoner in the tent?"

He laughed as he stood. "Hardly, my prince. But if you wish to avoid him, this is the one place he is forbidden to go."

"Even though I am his?" I asked bitterly.

"You are. But the tent is mine and he will not trespass here without my leave. Roichal and I will bring you your dinner."

"Very well."

I went back to sleep for a while, and was surprised when Marksin returned much sooner than dinnertime. He muttered something about there being very little to do, with most of the cavalry in hiding and scattered across the foothills awaiting word.

"I don't mean to presume, my prince, but if your hands are idle, there is leatherwork to be done...?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I would welcome the distraction." And besides, working side by side to condition and treat his and Roichal's boots and tack, I could pretend for a little while that I was still the third note in their chord, brought together by a harmony of fate and my own choices. We fell easily enough into the familiar task with no need to speak.

After some time, though, Marksin did speak, and at first I thought him merely making idle conversation. "Did you know," he began casually, as we worked, "that your guard's magic gave the general back what the mage had stolen from him?"