Chapter 25
Ishrieked so loudly that I was shocked that the whole Palace did not wake at that very moment. I damned my hands to my face, smothering the tail end of the noise, a noise that made Ser Willoughby lose hold of Mr. Evergreen. His head struck the banister on the way back down into the bed with a thud.
“Oh, my god!” I cried, moving to check his face. I pulled open his eyes but he was out. “You dropped him!”
“You screamed like an absolute banshee!” he quipped. “I was concerned about the bats of Hell soaring through the room!”
“Daniel!” I gasped. I wheezed. I half-screamed again, half-whispered. “Daniel!”
“What!” he asked “What is it?” He looked down at Evergreen then back to me, still catching his breath. “Wait. Does this mean-? But I don’t understand. You said that boy was—?”
I paced the room. Once. Twice. My hands snaked into my braid. “I think…” I waited a few seconds to justify the thought, but I didn’t want to say it. “I need to see it again,” I said. “I need to see that it was there.”
“It was there,” he said.
“I need to be sure,” I said.
“You are sure. I’m sure. I saw it,” he said. “I saw the crest. The horse.”
“...What if we were wrong and it is some other—”
“Some other what? Horse-shaped brand, Svana? That’s your argument? I saw it. I know it. I wear it on my armor! It’s all over the castle! It’s literally on the dress you’re wearing!”
I followed his eyes as he jeered toward the design. I nodded.
“But what if it’s a different design?” I asked anyway. “What if it’s a statement he had done? I’ve heard they have artists for that sort of thing in Harbourtown.”
“This is not the markings they have in Harbourtown, and I saw it. It’s bloody fucking horse, cousin.”
“Willoughby!” I gasped. “Language!”
“You truly did not know he bore this? That he-? I know way too much about your physical preferences now. I–But wait. When he told you his name was Cyrus, did you not put two and two together?”
“When he-? Oh, you think I’m the moron here, yeah?” I asked, dreadfully offended. “The ostler’s boy was named Willem!”
“Are you sure?”
“Am I–? Yes! Yes, I am sure!” I cried with a rude array of gestures. I tried to piece it all together. “He never said-He-!” My mouth was dry. “The feather,” I said. My lip quivered. “The feather, Ser Willoughby!”
“I don’t know what that means. Are we sad or happy about a feather!” he asked.
“We’re haaaaappppy!” I wailed. It bled into a sob, wandering into his person.
His arms went up, weirdly, then he cautiously brought them around me, tentatively patting my back. “What’s happening right now?”
“Comfort me you monster!”
“I’m…I’m trying,” he said. He patted my back again a couple times, but faster.
I broke away to bend over by the foot of the bed. My hand on my stomach. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?” I asked. “What kind of sick, cruel joke is this?”
“I’m not entirely sure what’s happening,” Willoughby said. “But Cyrus-”
“Willem!”
“Right. Willem.” His head danced around. “Our friend isn’t a particularly malicious fellow. Whatever you're thinking… maybe he-?”
“Maybe he, what?!” I asked. “Forgot he was a different person? Willoughby, I have been talking nonstop about the ostler’s boy this whole summer! To him! To the ostler’s boy! I’m humiliated! I’m devastated! I’m ruined!” I wilted against the bedpost.
“You told Cyrus about the boy?” he asked. “I thought it was our secret. You were so protective of it!”
“That’s what you’re concerned about?” I pushed him– not aggressively, but annoyed. “He doesn’t know about the branding! Well, he-! He is him and you are not comforting me!”
“Right!” Willoughby became stern. “Right. Apologies. So… What does this mean? What are you thinking? If Cyrus is Willem, and Willem is Cyrus… What does that mean?”
“Is everything alright in here?” Sam asked.
We both jumped, twisting to the door abruptly. I placed a hand at my hip, in what I had meant to be naturally. It was not.
“What?” I asked. “Yes. Of course.”
“I heard shouting,” Sam said.
“Shouting? Yes.” I looked at Willoughby. “Yes. Well that’s because we were playing a game. A shouting game.”
“A game?” He looked between us. “At this hour?”
“Yes,” Willoughby said.
“I see.” Sameer yawned, covering his mouth. He stepped into the room, toward me. “You were quite loud. I’m right next door. Red door, remember?” he asked. He looked at me.
Willoughby nodded.
“What’s the game?” the Prince asked.
“The game?” I asked. “Right. Yes. The game. Actually, Daniel can explain it better than I can. He's good at teaching new players.”
Willoughby shot daggers my way. He took a moment to find the words. “It’s a game where we, uh… we invent characters. Svana is an old lady who’s lost her dog. I’m her neighbor.”
I blinked. “Yes.” Then I assumed the character, hunching over and moving my hand from my hip to my back, which was, surprisingly, not a far move from where it had been. “Bjorn, hello? Where are you Bjorn?”
“I see,” the Prince said. He smiled, then passed me to sit near Cyrus. “How is he? Any change?”
Willoughby chimed in. “He’s fine. Never better. Well. He could be better, is what I meant. Is it late? Is anyone else tired or just me? Just me? Alright then.” He faked a stretch and all but bolted for the door. “Farewell. Good night, good morning. Whatever it is, Your Highnesses.”
He vanished into the hall before I could stop him. I stood there bewildered. Then I stood up, discarding the old woman I’d pretended to be.
Sam stood again. “Listen. I want to-”
“–I should–Oh.” I paused, realizing I had trampled his words. “Your pardon, what is it?”
“I wanted to thank you,” he said.
“Thank me?” I frowned. “Why?”
He looked around the room. Then smiled. “For this. All of this. For not abandoning me in my hour of need.” He stepped closer.
“For so valiantly taking the reins when I could not. For standing up to father and now, for sitting with my dearest companion while he fights this fever. For letting me sleep. For letting me… The list just goes on and on. I’ve been a fool not to see it until now. Until this.”
He gestured to his friend.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “I just–”
Then he silenced me, in the worst way possible, with a kiss. I reeled back like a malfunctioning fishing pole, nearly snapping at the spine, but the way he held me insisted upon deepening the kiss. I smacked him, loudly, and square across the face.
Sam let go of me. He touched his jaw. Then apologized. “I’m sorry,” he said, offering it more than once. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t, I couldn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry for everything,” he said. “Are you?” He paused, then glanced down at the bed, speaking quieter. “Are you and Ser Elías an item then?” he asked. “May I ask that?”
“What?” I gagged at the thought. “Ser Elías?”
“Yes. Your knight. Is he the reason you won’t kiss me?” he asked.
“What? You’ve been having an affair since before I arrived in Chalke and it’s not stopped despite my begging. You think Ser Elías is why I won’t kiss you? Not Agatha? Not the fact that we don't get along? Elías! My knight? He’s old enough to be my father, you pervert!”
Sam looked past me into the hall. “Old enough to be your father? He looks twenty.”
I shook the dumb look off my face like I’d been dazed. “Willoughby? You think that I’m involved with Ser Willoughby? That’s so much worse!”
“Ah! That’s his name!” He snapped his fingers. “Sorry, it’s difficult to keep all you knights straight.”
“Two. There’s two of them!” I said, counting on my fingers. “One. Two.”
“Then you deny it?” he asked. “You’re not involved with him?”
“Yes, I deny it!”
He was surprised and leaned back a little. “Come. He’s always on your rides. Now it’s the middle of the night and you're playing make believe with him. I know an affair when I see it.”
“Ser Willoughby is my cousin! He’s like a brother to me,” I said. I caught myself at the thought. “Ugh! How dare you make me say that out loud!”
“Oh.” But it pleased him to learn. He pocketed his hands, grinning. “Then you slap me not because of an affair you’re having but… because of my own?” He recalibrated. “Wonderful.”
“Wonderful?” I growled. “Yes, very wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Sam said. He met my eyes more earnestly. “I’m sorry. I should not have kissed you without your permission. I’m sure you’re very confused right now.”
“Unbelievably, Your Highness.”
He nodded. “Then I will do my best to rectify the injury I’ve caused you by my forwardness,” he said. “I want us to be close. I want to…”
“To what?”
“To be happy,” he said.
“Happy. In what regard?” I asked.
“Together. How else?”
“No.”
“No?” He knit his brow, like he had never heard the word before. “Look, I know I’ve made mistakes but I am very willing to-”
“Please stop,” I asked. I turned my face.
“You’re scared,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Of course you are. I’ve wounded you.”
“I need to lie down,” I tried.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes. Go. Sleep. I’ll remain here.” He spun happily, assessing the scene. “What do I do? Do I just…?” As he discovered that he could, in fact, dip and dab the washing cloth comfortably, he became far too excited. “Look at that! Look at me go! I’m mending him.”
“...Grand,” I said. I looked at my Sword. “Sometimes he… he speaks. Just… nonsense. Nothing to worry about. Nothing real.”
Sameer nodded. “I’ll take good care of him. Go. Rest.”
For a moment I didn’t move. Then, reluctantly, I did. Carefully closing the door behind me.