Page 8 of A Wayward Movement

That was more of a challenge, given Xavier had received the lackluster magical education common to the upper classes. A prince shouldn’t lower himself to learn a trade, or so his parents believed. But he knew the basics. Keeping the egg securely tucked against his chest with one hand, he reached out and whipped a shawl right off the shoulders of the young woman in front of him.

“My apologies,” he told her in his most gallant voice, his eyes twinkling at her breathless gasp. “But your shoulders are too lovely to hide away, you know.”

Xavier’s smile just grew as he heard the familiar sigh of resignation, this time from his sister. Most of his attention was on the shawl as he spun it around in a wild circle, latching on to the resulting magic clumsily but tenaciously. He sent the magic toward the egg, thinking hard about hot sun on a dry desert, and the feel of mulled wine in his throat on a wintry night. The air around the hand clutching the egg warmed only marginally, but it seemed to be enough. The cracking intensified, and he let the magic drop, relieved. He was so unskilled with magic that the paltry effort had exhausted him.

But it was worth it. He held up his hand to see a wet, huddled anzu chick in a sea of egg shards.

“Ha!” Xavier’s cry of triumph startled the little creature, and he chuckled. “The world is loud and garish, I’m afraid, my young friend. You’d best get used to it.”

Feline eyes stared into his for an unblinking moment, then the anzu chick let out a purr.

“Now you’re in a pickle, Your Highness,” said a nearby courtier, amused.

“How’s that?” Xavier asked comfortably, unperturbed by an observation he’d heard before.

“The creature has imprinted on you,” the man explained. “As far as it’s concerned, you’re its mother. It won’t want to be away from you.”

“What?” Xavier looked over at him, startled.

“Don’t worry, Prince Xavier,” cut in the Craftsman’s Guild representative. “Anzus have a much shorter infancy than regular birds, and they’re not nearly as helpless while chicks, due to the, uh…”

“Cat’s head perched grotesquely on a bird’s body?” Xavier finished.

“Yes, that,” the man agreed. “It will be able to hunt for itself in a much shorter time than you’d think.”

“Nonsense,” said an officious man who liked to call himself the king’s most trusted advisor, but was in fact only moderately inside the king’s inner circle. “The creature will be put back with the rest of the hatching.” He reached out as if to take the anzu from Xavier’s hand as he spoke. “The prince needn’t waste his time rearing a helpless—”

Xavier cut him off with a dramatic gasp, snatching the chick away. “Stay back from my offspring, sir,” he said, sparking appreciative chuckles around the room. “It’s my responsibility now, and I am never one to shirk my responsibilities.”

The laughter was a little more stifled this time, the younger people clearly enjoying the joke but shooting furtive looks at their older counterparts, a number of whom looked more disposed to be disapproving than amused.

The distant sound of a trumpet blast made Xavier forget his playacting, however. He and Miriam exchanged an eager look.

“That’ll be Theo and Elowen back from their wedding tour.” She gave her head a shake. “Strange to think of Theo having a wife, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” said Xavier, as the two of them left the hatching room and moved across the courtyard. “He’s the sober, marrying sort, after all.”

“Unlike you?” Miriam shot at him.

He looked at her in surprise. “Of course.”

“You’ll have to marry sometime,” she told him sternly. “Theo’s been doing your job half his life, but he doesn’t deserve to have the succession dumped on him, too.”

“No lecturing, please, sister darling,” Xavier said in a pained voice. “Not so early in the morning. I’m a new parent—don’t you know we barely get any sleep? That reminds me.” He looked around, locating the servant still following in his wake. “Charles, can you run to the kitchen and fetch me some milk? Cow’s will be best, but goat’s is fine if that’s what’s available.”

“Milk, Your Highness?” Charles asked blankly.

“For my new charge.” Xavier patted the anzu tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Of course, Your Highness.” Charles hurried away.

“A good man, Charles,” Xavier said conversationally, as he and Miriam emerged onto the castle’s front steps to see a row of carriages trundling over the gravel. “Too good a heart to deserve being assigned to me, probably, but I’ll keep him all the same.”

“You have a good heart, too, Xavier,” Miriam said vaguely. “You just need to dig it up from whatever tomb you’ve buried it in.”

Xavier could think of no response to this cryptic utterance. It was ridiculous to feel exposed by his sister’s interpretation of his behavior. She’d been far too young, and knew nothing of the circumstances that had made him bury his heart, as she put it. It was absurd for him to even connect her comments with that old rejection. It was so long ago, he never even thought about it anymore.

Why, then, demanded an honest voice Xavier usually preferred to silence, did your mind fly instantly to her when Miriam accused you of burying your heart?