Page 137 of The Sun King's Noon

“Shh,” Kaelen whispered again, but he was fighting back giggles.

Richard’s own composure crumbled, and a snigger escaped him. From outside?—

“—he must be somewhere, my lord. A prince does not simply evaporate?—”

“—did you check the long gallery? Did anyone check the long gallery?”

“—I checked it twice, my lady, and he was not there?—”

“—where, by all the gods, has he gone? Why, I have even introduced myself?—”

Kaelen clapped a hand to his own mouth, shoulders quaking, and Richard bit his lip.

The voices and footsteps retreated, and the corridor outside fell silent once more. Richard released a slow breath, and Kaelen’s gaze flitted to his lips.

“My prince,” he murmured. “Your beauty stretches greater than the stars on this night.”

Richard snorted. “The stars, Kaelen? Truly?”

“It is a line from my poem,” Kaelen protested, his grin lopsided. “Well, Briony has advised me to find a more suitable metaphor, but I can think of nothing better. “

“Then I shall admit, Sir Knight, you appear quite handsome yourself on this night.” Richard lowered his voice and winked. “Perhaps greater even than the stars, too.”

Kaelen’s jaw slackened. He smoothed his hair and cleared his throat. “You—you ought not to do that, my prince.”

“Do what?” Richard leaned against the door with a smirk.

“Compliment a man in a broom closet. It is not fair sport.”

“Tell me, then,” Richard said, “how did you know I had need of rescuing?”

Kaelen’s grin turned sheepish. “Ah. Well. I—I generally am always watching you.”

Richard raised a brow.

“That is to say,” Kaelen hurried on, his flush deepening, “I—I keep an eye out for you. Not—not in an, um, unnerving manner. At least, I do not think it bad-intentioned, though Corwin often calls me a creep?—”

“Kaelen.”

“—merely in the way that one notices, in a general sense, where a particular person tends to be at every given moment—” Kaelen dragged a hand down his face. “I am making this worse, am I not?”

“You seem in high spirits today,” Richard teased as Kaelen’s ears turned scarlet.

“It has been a lovely day,” Kaelen admitted. “Most of the afternoon was spent helping Dianara ask Corwin to the ball. And after, I had a turn at the training yard with Jeya. She is coming along nicely. Her footwork has improved tenfold.”

Richard frowned. Jeya. A squire. Kaelen had a squire? When had Kaelen taken on a squire?

“—and the generals,” Kaelen was saying, “they have been kind to me of late. Tonight, General Sarn told me they mean to nominate me for the Greensward Tourney next month.”

“The Greensward? Kaelen, that is—that is no small thing. The finest blades of the realm enter the Greensward. You shall acquit yourself splendidly. I have no doubt of it.”

“My prince.” Kaelen pushed off from the shelves and loomed over Richard, smelling of brandy and sword polish. He reached for Richard’s hand and turned it upward in his own. “If I were to win the tourney…there is a question I should very much like to ask you.”

Richard’s breath hitched. He had a speech prepared. He had rehearsed it ten times that day, and yet every word of it now leached straight out of his head, leaving him with only the warmth of Kaelen’s hand around his own and the awareness that they were standing absurdly close.

“Kaelen—”

“Let me,” Kaelen murmured. “Let me first, if I may, for I—I have been carrying this a long while, and I find the brandy has made me brave, and this broom closet has made me bold, and I should like to lay it down before I lose my nerve.” He drew in a deep breath. “There was once a boy of seven, with a best friend. They were taken by Velari outlaws on the road home from a market fair they’d sneaked into. They were brought to a cave, where the Velari meant to ransom them or suck their blood.”