“Aye,” Mother said. “Mad for each other, they are.” He turned to Vasily. “What about you? Is there a nice lass waiting at home?”
Vasily shook his head. “No.” He hesitated, unsure whether he should say more. But, he decided, hewasmeant to be spreading his wings—and he couldn’t do that without ruffling some feathers. So he took a deep breath and added, “I’m more interested in nice young men, actually.”
It was the first time he’d admitted out loud that he preferred the company of men, and he waited with bated breath, bracing himself.
Mother, though, just shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of willing lads working around the castle. All I ask is that if it’s my grooms, you don’t bugger them too vigorously. I need them fit to work.”
And with that he took his empty plate and walked away, leaving Vasily staring after him. He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it.
ChapterThree
Vasily Petrov was a puzzle.
Mother couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about his new groom, but there was something odd about him.
The lad really did know his horses, and in the week that he’d been here, he’d already proven himself an asset, but at the same time, he seemed clueless about some of the simplest things.
For example, he always took his meals in the kitchens. Mother wasn’t sure if he couldn’t cook or just preferred not to, but three times a day, Vasily trekked over to the castle to eat.
His second morning at the castle, he’d looked most put out as he’d explained that the fire that had taken him forever to light the night before had barely lasted any time at all. When Mother had asked if he’d banked it properly, he’d responded with a blank stare.
Mother had made sure to stop by that evening and set the hearth up to last through the night. Part of him had worried Vasily might be offended at Mother assuming he was ignorant, but on the contrary, he’d beamed at Mother, thanking him profusely.
He’d never played a hand of cards, but watched in fascination as the other grooms dealt and folded and bet their pennies while he asked questions aboutwhytwo red cards were better than two black ones, and what did four of a kind mean?
And just yesterday he’d asked Mother if someone would be coming by to clean his cottage any time soon. Mother hadn’t replied, just raised an eyebrow, and after a few seconds, understanding had dawned on his face. Vasily had blushed a deep red, ducking his head and mumbling, “Of course. I’m meant to do those things myself, aren’t I?”
It wasn’t that Vasily didn’t know how to work hard. His long days in the stables had proven that. It was more like he didn’t know how to take care ofhimself.
It had prompted Mother to ask, “Who looked after you back home, lad?”
“Oh, um. We had people who did all that,” Vasily had said, eyes still downcast. “It wasn’t like here.” He hadn’t shared further, and Mother hadn’t pried. Vasily was one of Mattias’s, after all.
Perhaps his being here had something to do with his confession that he preferred the company of men. Mother didn’t know much about Koroslova, but he did know that there were some things they were firmly against, and that was one of them.
Regardless, Vasily was a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a horse blanket—but despite that, Mother couldn’t help but like him. He was a pleasure to work with, genial and well-mannered, and always ready with a smile or a joke, his soft, lilting voice often echoing through the stables as he hummed while he worked.
More than once this past week, Mother had found himself humming along.
If anything, Vasily was almosttoocharming. With his shoulder-length golden hair that he kept pulled back and tied in place with a leather thong, his broad muscular chest, and his enchanting accent, he was the newest darling of the palace staff. Today was the second time this week Mother had rounded the corner into the stable yard to find a gaggle of kitchen girls staring transfixed as Vasily told them tales of his home country.
When he saw Mother, Vasily nodded at him and said, “Mr. Jones is here, and so I must go back to work, ladies,” while pressing a hand to his heart. Most of the girls scattered, giggling and whispering behind their hands. One or two showed signs of lingering but were soon dissuaded when Vasily picked up a shovel and started to muck out the stalls.
“You could just tell them to get back to work,” Mother pointed out once the last of the doe-eyed lasses had departed. “They’ve all got better things to do than be hanging around the stables.”
“They weren’t here for long,” Vasily said. “Besides, they’re just being friendly.”
Mother let out a sigh and pondered whether Vasily had grown up under a rock. “Lad, they’reflirting.”
Vasily stared at him, eyes wide with shock. “Are they?”
Mother cast his gaze heavenward. “Course they are.”
“Why on earth would they do that?”
Mother wondered at Vasily’s obliviousness. He wasn’t interested in that sort of thing himself, but even he could see that Vasily had a certain exotic appeal, with his hair and his accent and his bright eyes and brighter smile. “Well,” he said. “It’s. You’re.” He cleared his throat, dragging the toe of his boot through the dirt. “They’re taken with you, aren’t they? You’re charming, lad, and handsome to boot.”
Vasily’s face broke into a delighted, if somewhat shocked, smile. “Am I?” It was as if nobody had ever told him he was attractive before.
