The day was cool but the skies were clear, and Vasily soaked up the tentative rays of sunshine as he walked up to the castle with Mother by his side. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, aware that otherwise he was just as likely to reach out and hold Mother’s hand. He could only imagine the chaos that would set loose if his father saw.
They ducked in the side gate at the castle, but instead of taking the turn to the left that led to the kitchens for lunch like they usually did, they veered to the right along the passageway that led to the formal dining room.
When they entered it was to find King Alexei, Prince Consort Felix, and Crown Prince Davin standing in a cluster next to a long, oval table that could easily have held a dozen guests. Vasily sensed Mother hesitating next to him, and he desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, offer some reassurance, but he couldn’t. He wondered if being a prince of Koroslova would always mean being unable to reach for the one he loved.
He wondered, not for the first time, if it was worth it.
“Vasily!” His father turned, stepping forward and embracing him. Then he turned to Mother and extended a broad palm in a welcoming gesture. “And the man who saved him, Mister Jones the stablemaster!”
Mother stepped forward, giving a polite bow and murmuring, “Sire,” before stepping back.
Just then King Leopold and Queen Irina entered the room, Leopold grinning wickedly and the queen letting out a tinkling laugh. She glided over to her husband, taking his elbow and bestowing a smile on him, and as always, Alexei’s face melted into a hapless smile as he gazed into her eyes. Vasily had never been able to understand how his father’s demeanour could instantly transform into something soft and sweet at the merest touch of his mother’s hand. But now, glancing over at Mother, he thought he just might.
“Shall we sit?” Leopold suggested, and they assembled around the table—Vasily, Mother, and Davin along one side, and Felix, Alexei, and Irina along the other. Felix was seated to the right of Leopold, who, of course, sat at the head of the table.
It was strange watching Leopold act like royalty when Vasily was far more used to seeing him at the kitchen tables laughing over some joke he’d made, or watching him beg Cook for a slice of her hangover cake while he swore never to drink again and Felix mocked him.
Once they were seated, the food was brought in, and much like the night before, the conversation was careful and polite. Vasily kept an eye on Mother, who remained quiet, pushing his food around his plate and looking less like an honoured guest and more like a man for the gallows, despite what he’d said the night before. Not that Vasily could blame him—even on his best behaviour, his father’s personality was overwhelming. He longed to lean over and kiss Mother’s cheek and whisper reassurances in his ear or at least press their thighs together under the table, but he didn’t dare.
Vasily himself was finding that, although familiar, the formality he was required to adopt over dinner didn’t sit right anymore, rather like the clothing he wore, itching and chafing in ways he’d forgotten. When he thought of a future that consisted of endless occasions like this, his own appetite departed and he found himself shoving his own food around his plate.
They were four courses in, and Vasily was busy wondering how much longer until they could escape and dreaming about taking Mother back to the cottage and peeling him out of those well-fitting trousers when his father said, “Of course, Vasily, we must discuss your return to Koroslova.”
“Sorry, what?” he said, his head whipping up from his plate.
His father regarded him, steely-eyed. “Your return. When we heard about your accident, it made me realise…” He paused and, unbelievably, swiped the back of one hand over his eyes. Glaring around the table, he dared anyone to say anything before continuing. “I miss you, as does your mother. I feel you should come home and take up your role as a prince of the realm.”
Vasily stared, his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to make sense of what his father was saying. “But…a-a year,” he stammered. “I-I had a year to travel and see the world. You agreed.”
His father raised a stern eyebrow. “But you arenotseeing the world. You are working like a commoner in the stables in Lilleforth.”
“But—”
“There are far more fitting roles for a prince than a groom, and you will be safe in Koroslova,” his father said firmly. “Perhaps we shall even arrange a marriage. A nice princess.”
Blood roared in Vasily’s ears, and he felt sick to his stomach. His first instinct was to look over at Mother, who had gone sheet white.
“I don’t want a princess,” he said, teeth gritted.
“Not right away, of course,” his father continued, and Vasily couldn’t decide if he was oblivious or just used to getting his own way. “We shall say in a month, when the weather is better for travelling. Are we agreed?”
Vasily stared at him, unable to believe what his father was saying.A month?
He looked again at Mother, who caught his gaze, his eyes wet, and it was then that Vasily felt it.
Mother pressed his thigh against Vasily’s under the table, solid and comforting. That was Mother all over—looking after Vasily even in the midst of his own distress. Vasily tried to remember the last time someone had cared for him the way Mother did, and he couldn’t.
He loved his family, but he loved Mother too. It was an impossible choice.
“Mother,” he said softly—and gods, how unfair of him was it to even ask? “Mother, what should I do?”
ChapterNineteen
Don’t you bloody well cry.
Mother set his jaw and swallowed around the lump in his throat, determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. If he cried, King Alexei would have questions, and Mother wasn’t about to cost Vasily his place in the Koroslovan royal family because he couldn’t hold back a few bloody tears.
Even if his heartwasbeing torn out of his chest.
