The castle gardens were gorgeous.
The path through them, laid with tiny pebbles, was bordered by looming, perfectly pruned shrubs in a serpentine hedge maze. Over the hedges, I could see dozens of powdered wigs bobbing around, hear the chatter of the noblemen and the ladies on their arms.
In the center of the hedge maze there was an open area surrounding a tall fountain. Water dribbled from the open mouth of a stone whale into the pool below.
I paused and drew close to the wall of shrubs. The King sat alone on a bench by the fountain, his back to me. His companions stood near him, engaged in some vigorous political discourse I couldn't understand. There were five men and two young boys, maybe twelve or thirteen. I watched the men's walking sticks tap the dirt and their fingers waggle in each other's faces.
The King was looking at the ground. I couldn't see his expression. Was he sad? Lonely? Plotting to kill someone?
I looked for passage into the clearing, but saw only hedges upon hedges upon more bloody hedges.
It was better this way.
I'd gotten too close already. There. You saw him. Now leave.
I pushed the voice of reason in my head away and crouched down so I could crawl through the thick shrub. At once, I regretted it. Sharp, recently cut fronds poked my eyes and scraped at my face. I didn't bother trying to justify my actions to myself. I'd gone mad, plain and simple.
Once snugly buried inside the hedge, I picked up a pebble from the ground and tossed it at the King.
It hit the ground near his shoes.
Damnit.
That should have been my sign to stop, stay put until everyone had left, and return in shame to the servants' quarters.
Return to Geoff, my only friend.
Geoff. The thought of him made my blood boil.
I picked up a bigger pebble.
This one hit the side of the King's leg. He flinched and twisted about sharply with wide eyes.
It was then that I realized what I'd done. Assaulted the monarch. They could call it attempted assassination. Attempted assassination with a pebble. Oh, mother of God.
Too late. He had spotted me.
I grimaced slightly and, like he'd done on the day we met, gave a tiny wave.
His lips dropped open in surprise. The men chattered on in ignorance, fully invested in their debate. The King stood and took one step in my direction, eyes on the group of babbling wigs.
I curled my finger in a beckoning motion.
He trotted over.
My heart was now pounding with the speed of a thousand spooked horses but I was trapped. If I tried to run, the guards would catch me in a heartbeat. I forced a smile as he knelt down and poked his head under the curtain of prickly greenery.
"Hello," I said, because I was too terrified to think of anything else and it seemed to work the first time.
His brow pinched. "What on earth are you doing in here?" he whispered. Perhaps it was my delusional state talking, but he didn't seem angry. Intrigued, more so.
I considered my list of potential answers. Working. No. Too absurd. Studying the landscape to plan a new design. Oh, hell, what was the use?
"I was sort of... watching you," I said.
For a moment he only stared at me, eyes huge. "And, um, why was that?"
"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.
I shivered.
The King lay with his cheek buried in the crook of his elbow and looked up at me through drowsy eyes. "You're not a gardener, are you?"
I was about ready to piss myself. "No."
He giggled again. "What are you?"
"Um. A hall boy," I squeaked out.
"Hmm. Well, I'm not really a king," he told me, his eyes sparkling. They cast a sort of spell on me, numbed the nausea climbing my throat.
"What are you?"
He leaned forward, smiling as he cupped one hand over his mouth. "A goblin."
Before I could laugh, a shout rang out. "His Majesty has disappeared!"
The men scanned the garden.
"Wherever has he gone?"
"He was just there moments ago."
The King frowned. "Took them long enough."
"You better go back out there," I said. "Not, um, not that I'm telling you what to do or anyth-"
"You're right," he interrupted. "We shall do it together." He took a huge breath as if preparing to ride into battle and rose onto all fours. "Away!"
I crawled after him, my eyes squeezed shut to avoid being blinded by swinging bits of shrub. The King stood and brushed himself off while the men gasped and gripped each other's sleeves.
"Great heavens, there he is!"
"My God, I thought it was a fox at first. My heart nearly ceased to beat."
One of the younger men ran to us and flung his arms about the King dramatically as if shielding him from some danger. "Oh, sire!" he sobbed. "Sire!"
"I'm alright, you see, I lost my... my-"
"Ring," I offered.
"Yes, right, and-" He held out his fingers, which bore several rings- "Mr Murray, the gardener, assisted me in finding it."
The nobleman let out a shuddering cry. "I thought we had lost you! Oh-" He leaned away and pulled a handkerchief from his vest to dab under his eye.
The Lord Chamberlain, the spider, fixed me with a cold stare. I let out a muffled yelp as the tip of his walking stick jabbed hard into my foot. "Next time," he said, "His Majesty might consider utilizing a page to locate the ring..."
The King swallowed. "Right. Thank you, Mr Murray."
"Ah," I mumbled, half fear and half pain, "Anytime."
The Lord Chamberlain narrowed his eyes but begrudgingly released me. As I was limping towards the path I heard a voice that stopped me in my tracks.
"Mr Murray?"
My breath caught. "Yes?"
The King hesitated for a moment. "Mr Murray... if you ever fancy being anything other than a hall boy... well, what I mean is, we could easily find you some proper employment."
Proper employment. Perhaps where I wouldn't be working purely for a cot to sleep on and a bowl of wet bread.
"What sort of job you got in mind?" I asked.
He shrugged. "What skills do you possess?"
I considered. The truth was, I possessed very few. I couldn't hunt, I couldn't cook. I could barely read. I didn't know how to build or craft anything. I was hopeless with any sort of tool.
"I'm good with animals," I answered finally.
"You could work in the stables," he suggested. "Do you ride?"
I'd never touched a horse in my life. "Oh, yeah. Every chance I get."
"Alright, then," he said, like he'd just sealed off a deal with some enemy country. "I shall have a page take you." He snapped his fingers and one of the young boys emerged from the huddle of noblemen. "Page, tell the stable master I've sent him Mr Murray to work."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The page bowed.
"Thank you..." I started uneasily. "I think." He wasn't really giving me the job, was he? The stable master would have to decide if I was qualified.
But still. He seemed to be going out of his way for me quite a bit.
So are you, Mr-Crawl-Through-The-Shrubs-And-Throw-Rocks.
"Good day, then," the King murmured. With his heels, I noticed we were about the same height. Barefoot, I'd be an inch or two taller.
"What?" I said. "Oh, good day."
He tilted his head a little like he hadn't expected that response. I realized how rude I must have sounded and tried to remember what the page boy had called him.
I smiled too wide and lowered myself into a clumsy bow. "Good day, Your Majesty." Somehow, it came out sounding like I was mocking him.
He smiled, then made it disappear so fast I wondered if I'd only imagined it. "Good day."
I gave another pitiful attempt at bowing and spun around to follow the page down the garden path before I had the chance to put my life in any more danger. As we walked in silence, my head swam with a seasick blend of questions.
Why ask my name? Why offer me a job? Why not toss me into the dungeon for sneaking around the gardens and lying about my position?
Could it simply be that he found me as fascinating as he'd said?
And the biggest question: Why smile as his beloved father lay broken in a pool of blood and broken stone?
I was playing with fire, hot, thirsty red flames, but I couldn't stop now. Something had drawn me to him, a willing moth to a fatal flame.
He was fire, but I was quickly realizing how much I liked the color red.