Page 106 of The Sun King's Noon

A letter, then. A letter of courtship. He’d read enough books to know the structure.‘To the honourable Sir Kaelen the Basilisk Slayer, I hereby proclaim my intention to court you. I hope you find this agreeable. Please confirm soon.’

But what colour ink should he write it in? Black was meant for courtly business, and red for threats. Perhaps a light pink?—

What even was Kaelen’s favourite colour? And did he prefer his letter to be written in cursive or plain? Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he know so little of a man he was supposed to love?

Then there was the matter of the bedding.

Richard’s stomach lurched.

Surely,surely,Kaelen would not expect it. Richard had stated plainly of his disinterest?—

But men did expect, did they not? Especially men with an appetite for it. What if, on hearing Richard’s confession, Kaelen thought himself the exception? What if Kaelen believed that hecould be the one to coax Richard’s body into wanting? That he could be the special key, the right person, the unlocking hand?

What then, when months passed, and Richard remained as he was—would Kaelen do? Grow disappointed? Frustrated? Look elsewhere, perhaps, to the buxom women and muscled men with the easy flirtations? Would Richard be able to bear it?

A shadow fell across him, and Richard jumped.

But it was only Kaelen, standing with a bowl in his hands. The man’s jaw was set tight, and his eyes wary. The afternoon sun lit the edges of his hair gold, and threw his cheekbone into sharp relief, and Richard’s heart gave an enormous jolt, as though a hand had reached into his chest and squeezed.

Oh, Richard thought distantly.By the gods, I should like to be with him.

Then he recalled Kaelen’s words from the night before, and rearranged his stare into a glare.

Kaelen cleared his throat and held the bowl out. Richard hesitated and took it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tilda and Wren drifting in their direction, but Kaelen made a flicking gesture with his hand, and the youngsters retreated.

“My king,” Kaelen rubbed the back of his neck. “Richard. I owe you an apology.”

Richard kept his face blank and focused on the bow jutting over Kaelen’s shoulder.

“Last night,” Kaelen said, “I spoke cruelly. I—” He drew a deep breath. “I unmade your truth. I took a thing you had trusted me with and decided I knew better than you did the shape of your own heart. That was wrong of me.” His voice went hoarse. “My temper rose from petty jeal—from petty frustration, and I—” His fists shuddered at his sides. “I used it as a weapon against you. You did not deserve such words, and I had no right. I have not enough words to express my shame.”

Another group of labourers ambled towards them, but were intercepted by Svetra and Talia and dragged away to another corner.

“I have given thought to it,” Kaelen continued, steadier now. “You owe me no forgiveness, and I shall not ask it of you. I shall keep my distance where possible until the mission is accomplished.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I—I am deeply regretful. I hope you will not allow a fool’s words to wound you too sharply.”

The knight inclined his head. Still avoiding Richard’s eyes, he turned to go.

“Kaelen.”

In an instant, Kaelen was on one knee by the log, his head bowed. “My ki—Richard?”

Richard sighed. Kaelen was very close. His fringe hung over his brows, and his lashes were wet at the corners.

“You did wound,” Richard said quietly. “With the suggestion that perhaps I had not searched hard enough, or met the right person, or given the matter a fair attempt.” A bitter taste came upon his tongue. “My father had said the same, again and again, until it seemed that it was him he was trying to convince instead of me. Malgrin has implied as much, more than once, before I became king.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I had thought you different. I had thought you had heard me in that spring.”

“I did.” The devastation on Kaelen’s face was plain to see. “I heard you then. And I hear you now. You know what you are and what you are not, and no man—not your father, not Lord Malgrin, and certainly not a fool like me—has any right telling you otherwise.”

“And I did not—” Richard bit his lip. “I did not flirt with Orric. I was awed—perhaps smitten in the same way I was with Sir Joffrey as a boy. But I did not desire Orric. It did not even cross my mind.”

Kaelen’s eyes creased, achingly soft. “I know now.”

Heartened, Richard continued. “It seems I—” He picked at a splinter on the bowl. “It seems I do not always strike the correct note. I have done it more than once. I—” He swallowed. “People sometimes mistake my interest as….something more.”

“They are fools.”

Richard blinked. “What?”

“They are fools.” Kaelen straightened, his voice growing firm. “Anyone who took your interest and twisted it into a shape that suited their own vanity is a fool. You are not wrong in your approach. It is they who are wrong to make assumptions—as I did—so quickly. The friends you deserve will see your sincerity and understand it for the gift that it is, and those who do not are not worth the wasting of your breath.”