Chapter 3
By nightfall, Richard’s bath was ready. The scent of sage and rose petals infused his bedchamber, making him pleasantly drowsy as he sank deep into the tub. Water lapped at his collarbones, loosening his limbs. With a pleased hum, Richard closed his eyes.
In front of him, his manservant was singing tunelessly. Water splashed as William rinsed a cloth. “Mind yer ears, milord. Water’s hot enough t’ boil a crab.”
“It cannot harm me,” Richard said. William often forgot that his bloodline was immune to flame and scalding water.
“Ah.” William chortled. “Keep forgetting, milord. Me wife says I’d leave me head at home if it weren’t stuck to me neck. Even the little ones tease me so.”
Richard cracked his eyelids open, watching William scrub at his arms. His bald head glistened with sweat, and his round face was bright with cheer. Richard had never seen him disgruntled. Supposedly, such was the blessing of being Head Cook Shirley’s husband.
William scuttled around behind him. “Hold still, milord. You got a knot the size of a turnip right there.”
His thick fingers dug in, and Richard melted as the pressure gave way to relief. “I can never seem to evade them.”
“Well, it’s no surprise, milord. You keep carryin’ the whole castle on yer own.”
His burly hands kneaded down the slope of Richard’s shoulders. Richard stiffened when the fingers neared the tattoo, but as always, William steered clear of it.
Richard’s eyes drifted closed, his body relaxing entirely. Just as sleep loomed, an image of Kaelen—cheeks flushed, throat bobbing—flitted through his mind. He sighed.
William’s hands paused. “Milord’s sighin’ an awful lot today.”
“Am I now?”
“Been around since you were a babe, milord. I know when you’re thinkin’ and when you’re broodin’. That there’s broodin’.”
That was true enough. It was one of the reasons Richard kept the tattoo visible to the servant. William did not let secrets spill.
“I upset someone.”
“Oh?”
“I had no choice.” Richard tilted his head so William could lather soap on his nape. “It was necessary.”
“Well. Whenever I upset me good wife, I make sure to give a good apology.”
Richard snorted. “This person is not my good wife. And regardless—” He frowned at his knees. “I am the king. I cannot stoop to beg forgiveness from another.”
“Oh no, milord.” William’s tone turned chiding. “There’s no such thing as king, or lord, or any other fancy power, between two lovers.”
“This person is not my lover.” When William chuckled, Richard glowered at him over his shoulder. “This person is not my lover.”
William’s grin widened. “Beg pardon, milord. But I’m only sayin’ what’s true. It ain’t your crown they want. That thing’s cold and heavy. It’s you. And you can’t reach a man or woman if you’re standin’ on a step above them.”
Richard blinked. “You are making assumptions. As I said, he is not my lover.”
“Yes, milord,” William replied, clearly disbelieving. “Maybe you offer a gift as an apology instead?”
“He is not one for material items.”
“Oh, milord. Gifts aren’t always about things. Sometimes a gift’s just a way of sayin’, ‘I see you.’ Like when me little girl brings me a pebble and swears it’s a dragon egg. I don’t need no pebble. But I put it on the mantel anyway.”
Richard raised a brow. “You are suggesting I give him a pebble?”
“No, milord.” William laughed. “Maybe a flower? Somethin’ soft. Somethin’ that says, ‘I’m sorry,’ without you havin’ to say it.”
Richard squinted through the steam. A flower might do. But Kaelen might then misinterpret the gesture. No doubt he’d freeze, his eyes going ridiculously wide, and he’d start stuttering like a fool.
With a groan, Richard tipped his head forward. Perhaps it was he who was being ridiculous. Why should he care if Kaelen was embarrassed—
No. He was past such a point now. Somehow, in the recent months, Kaelen had become dear to him. That much he knew, at least.
“Brother?”
Richard startled, the water spilling over the tub as he snapped upright. Briony’s head poked in the small gap of the door. Her cheeks were pale, almost sickly in the candles’ glow. William hurried to block Richard from the doorway, tutting under his breath.
“Briony.” Richard peered around William’s bulk. “Is something the matter?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No. I only—only wished to sleep in your chamber if I may.”
Richard hesitated. Really, at twelve, she was getting too old for such a thing. But how could he refuse?
“Of course. Return in an hour.”
With a listless nod, Briony slipped back out and clicked the door shut.
William resumed washing, hands working at Richard’s shoulders. But the knots returned anyway, tightening and tightening. Who had the blind man been? Why was Briony growing so quiet?
Steam curled around Richard, blurring the gilded edges of the tub. But the candlelight from Richard’s study desk glowed through the haze, prompting his thoughts to wander to wings and flame. He brought his right knee up to lean his cheek against as William scrubbed his back.
Two months ago, Lady Agnes had unearthed the scroll of his family’s history. “This was all I could find on your house emblem,” she’d droned. “It seems that over the centuries, someone has gone to great lengths to erase your house name from the registries.”
The answer as to why had been clear. Once Richard had recognised the emblem—a magnificent bird of flames—the female voice had burst through his skull, searing his veins with warmth. Her pride rang true as she uttered his family’s name.
“House of Phoenix.”
Richard had been certain after that. The voice that had saved his life in Caerwyn, the voice that had warned him of the blood-troll thereafter—she had been no simple entity.
She was the phoenix, one of the First Creatures, chained somewhere behind the veil in Gloamvarn’s choking dark, watching the world through his eyes and clawing into his mind when she had strength enough. Somehow bound to his bloodline.
Richard wriggled his toes and watched the water ripple. Phoenix. I am here. I am waiting. If you hear me, answer.
Silence met him.
“I will find you,” Richard murmured, ignoring William’s startled look. “One day. I swear it.”