Nessa paused and looked up at the sky for a long moment, it seemed exceptionally blue today, or maybe it was just her. She hadn’t noticed the color of the sky for a long time, probably since she’d left the circuit. No matter what color the sky was when she was with Mitch, it’d seemed gray. Since she’d come to Shadowcrest it seemed like she was to busy to really notice the color of the sky either.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she blushed, even though there was no one to see it, the street completely empty as most people were at their tasks at this point in the day. There was one day she remembered what color the sky was. But it hadn’t been blue. It had been the most vivid sunset she’d ever seen and that wasn’t just because she remembered it.

It had been the brilliant colors in the sky, reflecting off Lake Haven, that had made her lean against the split log fence and watch it. Jarrett had joined her at the fence and rather than heading back to the house, they’d hopped over the fence and sat down on the grass.

He’d been close enough she could feel him, but not too close.

… He was good at that. Judging where to stand, when to come close, when to back off…

Then he’d put his arm around her shoulder and it had been… perfect…

She smiled and ran her hand through her hair, feeling the silky strands slither through her fingers, it was weird–good–but weird, to have her hair down. Weird but good. If she had to explain Shadowcrest in five words or less, that’s exactly what she’d have used.

The sun had hidden behind the horizon, but it wasn’t dark yet when she’d felt something nudge her hand. A carved wooden box, Jarrett studiously wasn’t watching her, focusing on the stars sprinkled across the gathering night as she picked it up and opened it.

It was like something out of a movie, one of those moments that she’d never really even imagined for herself, not even in those innocent days before the accident.

“I know,” he’d said in that quiet, steady, deep voice. “I can never take away all the hurt, all the bad memories you’ve got. I know you can’t take away all of the ones I have. But–Nessa–would you help me make new ones–maybe better ones?” Her heart had shuddered to a stop and she looked for a long moment into Jarrett’s dark, dark eyes, seeing just a hint of chocolate at the heart of the black.

“Mornin’, Nessa.” Tate said startling Nessa out of her thoughts, causing her to jump. He reached out a tanned hand to steady her and she–somehow–managed to let him touch her arm without cringing and jerking her back out of her thoughts. Tate’s smile was half-hearted and scarred, it was a smile.

There was so much that she wanted to tell him–about how time might not heal everything, there would be twinges, there would be bad nights, but with patience, time, and good friends, it wouldn’t be so bad–someday. But the words just wouldn’t come, wouldn’t surface. So she smiled back and tried to put it in her eyes, her face.

“What brings you out this way?” Nessa said instead. Tate shrugged.

“I’m–I’m supposed to see Lady Kennedy once a week–cause–well, that’s what his majesty wants.” There was more to it than that, she knew it, but she couldn’t press, not when his wounded eyes could have been hers not that long ago. She knew enough. “And you?” He asked, falling into step with her.

“I’m here to see Lady Kennedy, just a bug, I think, a little under the weather.” Nessa shrugged.

“I know Sawyer feels that way too.” Nessa snorted a laugh.

“Mine isn’t just a hangover, I’ve been feeling this way for a while. However we’re supposed to report these sorts of things to Kennedy as soon as possible so she can work her voodoo.” Nessa told him. “But I’m sure that Sawyer is feeling his head just a bit today.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think Lady Olivia did it to him on purpose.” Tate said.

“Oh, I know she did it on purpose.” Nessa winked at him with a grin. “Really, never take up a dare from the person mixing the drinks. They know more than you do.”

“I don’t think it was just the dare, though.” Tate said. “Not when it was your and Jarrett’s wedding he was celebrating. Short of him and Jolene, I think you and Jarrett were the people he most wanted to see married out of all of us. He adores you both and wants you to be happy.” Tate blushed as if that was saying too much. Given that this was a seventeen-year-old boy, perhaps it was.

Nessa nodded. The only thing better than watching Sawyer standing up in Livvie’s tavern and making that long, slurred, rambling speech, with Jolene blushed red would have been watching Kian make one as well.

Maybe she was crazy, but, there had been–just once–when she’d glanced over the audience yesterday, but she would have sworn that…

Well, Fox had paused in the middle of his preaching with an odd look on his face. She wasn’t the only one who’d turned and looked behind them. But most of the faces turned back blank if a little puzzled. The ones that hadn’t had been the King–and Heidi, they’d both looked–not quite disturbed, but… something very akin to it.

All the eyes had rested on her then, because she was still looking back, it had looked like–seemed like maybe they were seeing what she was seeing. Only unlike them, she understood what she thought she saw. She’d know that lazy lean, those beat-up boots, that hat with the grin underneath to match the brim.

Had it really been Kian? Maybe she was silly, but if it had been something else, someone else, she’d gladly delude herself, she wanted him to have seen her so badly. To see her healing, to see her happy and light-hearted. But something had been there, right? The others had had to see something.

“Nessa?” Tate asked, his hand on her elbow.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just lost in my thoughts today.” Tate nodded. His lip caught in his teeth, his eyes lost again.

“I–understand.” He said.

“Tate!” Emanuel called from the back. “Nessa, I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Emanuel, it’s nothing to worry about.” She smiled at the apothecary who looked only slightly relieved.

“Kennedy, I think, is still handing out hangover advice.” Emanuel tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Your friend is a wicked woman, I’m told. Half the nobility and that foreigner’s aide have been here this morning so far.”

“I didn’t think Lady Vivianne drank that much.” Tate said in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice. Why–oh, yeah, the little maid at the castle who was sweet on Tate and the cook had both developed friendships with Vivianne. And if she thought about it, most of last night, Tate had spent with the girls.

“She didn’t.” Kennedy said from the deck. “It was the Ambassador who drank too much and wanted me to come make it all better. He just sent Vivianne to fetch me.”

“Obviously you didn’t go.” Nessa commented.

“I don’t need to go see him to know that he had at least four of those big mugs of that devil brew Olivia was slinging around yesterday. I wrote down the same thing I told everyone else who got caught in Olivia’s trap for him.” Kennedy grinned.

“Which was?” Tate asked curiously.

“Drink a lot of water, stick to something mild and soothing to eat today, and don’t be so stupid next time.” Nessa snickered right along with the others. “There’s no miracle cure for a hangover. What was that stuff, garbage can punch?” The doctor asked, her brow arching upward.

“No idea. She wasn’t serving it to me.” Nessa said.

“Garbage can punch?” Tate glanced at Emanuel who shrugged.

“It’s an old university recipe. Quite simple. Whatever’s in the cupboard, all poured into a big vessel, like a garbage can, and stirred up.” Kennedy chuckled. Tate mouthed an ah. She turned to Nessa. “I know why the kid is here.” She jerked a thumb at Tate. “But might I inquire why you are. You just told us that Olivia wasn’t serving whatever it was to you, so I doubt it’s your head.”

“Just a bug, it’s been lingering around for a couple of days, nothing serious.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Kennedy sniffed.

“You can see Tate, I don’t have anything that needs my attention for most of the day and I know the castle will fall apart without Tate there.” She nudged him with her shoulder and smiled. Tate blushed. Kennedy nodded and then nodded at the chair outside the office for Nessa to wait in.

—

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Kennedy said, shutting the door after Nessa.

“It’s alright. I think Tate needs to see you worse than I do, all the more because he’d never admit it.” Nessa told her, hopping up on the table in the corner of the office. Kennedy looked sharply at Nessa, but didn’t agree or disagree.

“So what’s this bug like?” The doctor asked, gripping Nessa’s wrist and counting softly.

“A stomach thing, mostly. It’s hard to keep stuff down, sometimes, but it passes, my back hurts and I feel a little achy, but not feverish.” Nessa said.

“Mmm-hmm.” She looked down Nessa’s throat, tested her forehead with a wrist. Next came the general pokes and prods of a visit to the doctor’s. Kennedy looked puzzled when she finished, something like suspicion playing across her face before shaking her head.

“You’renot sick.” Kennedy said. “Unless–Nessa, I have to ask…”

“…Yes?”

“Have you engaged in intercourse–say any time in the past six-eight weeks–prior to, I imagine, yesterday. Prior to these symptoms occurring?” Nessa’s face flamed but Kennedy’s eyes managed to drill into hers while holding only compassion.

“Y-yes.” She admitted, feeling the blush spread up her neck to her ears.

“Can I assume that it was not protected–or the old stand-by of coitus interuptus?” The doctor asked gently.

“No. No, it wasn’t protected.” She whispered.

“Right. Lay back.” Kennedy said. Nessa winced but did as she was bade. “Uh huh. Alright.” The doctor told her a little while later. “Why don’t you hop off the table and sit down here.” She patted a chair back as she made her way to the other side of the desk and sat down in a chair nearly identical to the one on Nessa took a seat in.

“Nessa, you’re pregnant.” Nessa felt her heart stop entirely, in fact the entire world seemed to stop for a moment.

“I’m–but!” Nessa protested. Kennedy looked at her. “Is there–is there gonna be any trouble cause–cause I–I…”

“Had a previous miscarriage?” Kennedy asked. Nessa nodded. “I believe, when we talked about that before that you said it was a situational thing?”

“Well, um, it was.” It was. And Jarrett would never throw her down the stairs. He’d barely raise his voice to her, even when they had the occasional spat about the animals or whatever. “But–but what about my hip?”

“I can’t proclaim that old injuries will have no effect whatsoever, I’m not an idiot and things do go wrong, but I think that if we keep an eye on it, and as it’s long since healed, you’ll be fine.” Kennedy said.

“How do I tell Jarrett?” Nessa whispered to her hands, not even realizing, consciously that she spoke.

“Well, I would imagine that the word pregnant–or baby–and the word I should enter somewhere into the equation, beyond that–I–couldn’t say?” Kennedy offered blandly. Nessa stared at the doctor and then began to laugh–and then she began to weep. Kennedy stood up and put a comforting arm around Nessa’s shoulder.

But when she caught her reflection in the window–she almost would have sworn it was someone else entirely.

“…Tate?” Tate blinked guiltily as he heard the king calling his name from behind him. He’d been walking around in something of a daze and who knew how long his majesty had been trying to get his attention.

“Yes, your majesty?” He asked turning with a bow.

“I was wondering if you’d like some extra time off for the Harvest Faire.” The King said. “Fiona is going to take the delegates down to the market and I’ll be in meetings most of the morning with Dolph over some of the language in the treaties, so there’s really not much reason for you to be doing nothing here when you could be having fun there.”

“It’s all right, your majesty, I don’t really have anything I need to be doing there either.” Tate said. Lock’s blue eyes wandered over his face for a moment, leaving Tate feeling open, exposed–seen through.

“I’m giving Holly and Macy the time off too, I’ll feel quite the cruel taskmaster if you don’t take it.” The King said. “Besides, I think Macy’d like it if you took the time off.” Lock winked and grinned. Tate blushed. He didn’t know what to think of that.But all too soon the blush faded and he glanced down at his feet. Maybe Lock thought he needed fun, but he really didn’t. Leisure time was the last thing he needed.

He needed the work, the structure. If he didn’t have that, it was too easy to think and he’d tried–so hard–since then not to think. A good exhausting day of work meant a night he could tumble into bed and sleep not lay awake, remembering. Or worse, drift into fitful dreams, where it was so hard not to lose track of himself. To forget what was reality and what was a memory.

“It’s–it’s not really you being a cruel taskmaster if I volunteer to stay here. It’s probably better if someone is here, just in case.”

“Tate,” the king shook his head. “Sit with me for a minute.” Lock turned and took a seat in one of the alcoves off the hallway, leaving Tate with no choice but to follow. He tugged at the sleeve of his shirt and plucked at the crease on his slacks as Lock watched him for a long moment before sighing and leaning back against the wall behind him.

“I know I don’t understand what you’re going through. I can’t. I never went through it, but I’ve talked with Lady Kennedy about what you’re going through and what’s happening with you.” Now it was the king’s turn to tug at his shirt sleeves. “Don’t think I don’t see the way you’re working yourself into exhaustion, don’t think I don’t know that you’re doing it for a good night’s sleep.”

Tate could feel the guilty look on his face, but he was completely unable to school it into anything else.

“We’ve all done that. Me included. After my–mother died.” Lock chewed his lip. “But it’s not good for you. I don’t want you to forget how to have fun, how to relax, how to smile and laugh. After all the pain of the past few years.” The king leaned his head back again hitting it lightly against the wall. “I think we’re all in some danger of that.” His face swiveled toward Tate. “You more than most.”

“I’m fine, your majesty.” Tate dropped his eyes and stared at his hands.

“Can you tell me that while looking me in the face?” The king asked softly. Tate winced. “Tate, I am amazed by how well you’re keeping it together. Really. I doubt I would be handling what you went through half as well as you are. The fact that you can even get out of bed most mornings without being dragged puts you far above where I would be in your shoes.” Tate snuck a peek at Lock who was staring thoughtfully into space about three feet from the end of his nose. He smiled as he noticed Tate looking at him, even though Tate dropped his eyes and looked away almost immediately.

“I just hate to see you burying yourself in work, forgetting that you’re still young. You should be out having fun, spending time with your friends, flirting with that pretty chambermaid who likes you.” Tate blushed. He wished that he had the courage to bring up the fact that the king wasn’t so terribly old either. That he should have time to flirt with pretty girls and have fun with his friends too. He might work hard enough to knock him out, but the king rarely slept or ate, he simply settled down in the chair in his office and let the magic replenish him. It made Lord Wesley growl in exasperation, Lady Kennedy throw up her hands and pronounce him hopeless, and Lady Fiona…

“Oh, damn.” Lock muttered under his breath. Tate looked at him sharply, wondering if–somehow–the king could read his mind now. “Was that this afternoon?”

“Was what this afternoon, your majesty?” Tate asked.

“Fiona wants to talk with Tiff about–something. I don’t recall what.” Tate cocked his head to the side. If Lady Fiona wanted to talk to Lady Tiffany, then why did she need the king present. The two women still roomed together. They probably saw each other three or four times before noon. “And here comes Fiona up the walk, so I should probably remember what it was very quickly.”

“I’ll go find your schedule.” Tate said starting to get to his feet.

“That’s alright, Tate. In fact if I’m going to be in meeting with Fiona and Tiffany all day,” He grinned suddenly. “I want you to spend the afternoon doing nothing.”

“I beg your pardon, your majesty?”

“Go lay on the grass and enjoy the last bit of warm–or perhaps any–sunshine we’re likely to see for the next six or eight moons.” Lock said with a grin. Tate opened his mouth to protest. “That’s an order, Tate.”

Excusing himself from the king and his lady, Tate walked out into the still plush green grass. His conscience told him that there were chores and duties he needed to be doing, but what could he do when faced with a direct order from his king. Still, if the king needed him or changed his mind, Tate should probably be easily located, so he chose a spot not far away and sat down on the ground.

Maybe the king was wiser than he seemed for it didn’t take long at all for Tate to settle into the ground’s embrace, his eyes picking shapes out of the wispy clouds fluttering overhead, thoughts scuttling with them.

“You finding the questions to forty-two?” Lady Tiffany asked from near his feet. He blinked and turned his head toward the sound. Lady Tiffany grinned, she too was laying on the grass without regard to her dress or the state of her hair. He couldn’t imagine Lady Fiona doing such a thing.

“Pardon, my lady?”

“The answer to life, the universe and everything is forty-two.” That clarified very little but there really wasn’t any good way to say that. “It’s from a series of books. Anyway we already have the answer to the cosmos, now we just need a question to make it make sense. Was wondering if that’s what you were finding up there in the clouds.”

“Ah, uh, no, not really any answers or questions up there.”

“So these are mind-blanking clouds. I like it. Might help me get through this meeting.” Lady Tiffany sighed.

“Oh, Tiffany.” Lady Fiona called. “Do have mind for your dress. Grass stains are so difficult to get out.”

“When you’re doing my wash then you can bitch about my grass stains.” Lady Tiffany muttered. “Oh, but don’t grass stains add… character?”

“Houses need character, Tiffany, clothes not so much.” Lady Fiona kissed Lady Tiffany on both cheeks–in greeting she said. From what Tate knew of with the other ladies, it  was irritating. Lady Tiffany’s spine was so stiff, he could practically hear her teeth grinding from here. Lady Fiona leaned away a faint smile on her face as if she’d won some sort of contest.

“Aren’t you going to greet Tiffany, dear?” Lady Fiona asked. Now it was Lock’s turn to send out subliminal teeth grindings, but he pulled Lady Tiffany into a hug causing one of the women to gasp, though Tate wasn’t sure which one.

“So, have you given any thought to the park?” Lady Fiona asked, as if the whole world hadn’t just tilted slightly.

“Park?” Lock and Lady Tiffany asked in curious unison.

“The memorial for Lock’s late uncle. I had an idea for the gazebo.”

“Oh. Since when,” Lady Tiffany’s eyebrow rose. “Are you into planning parks?”

“I’m not, usually, but Jen and I were talking and one of the things she mentioned was the lack of appropriate outdoor wedding venues.” Lock looked at Lady Tiffany who rolled her eyes.

“You enjoy that sunshine, Tate. It’s still an order.” The king murmured as his lady lead the way back towards Lock’s office blathering on about her ideas for a new park. Maybe I’ll take that time after all. Tate thought sitting back down on the grass. It’d be nice to be around people who make sense again.

That couldn’t have gone worse if I’d been trying. Lock thought as he stared at the candle flame. He owed it to Tate to handle this well. He hadn’t been able to spare him this, he hadn’t been able to make it better and now he’d just made it exponentially worse. And what if Alistair went over to Gray’s. Gray wasn’t there.Why hadn’t he had them bring Tate to the castle? Why hadn’t he gone over to Gray’s and warded the place before he talked to Alistair.

“Lock?” Wesley asked from the doorway. “Lock? Lady Tiffany’s here.”

“Oh damn.” Lock pushed the papers on his desk around trying to remember where he put those plans that Tiffany had given him for the inn.

“Lock?”

“Sorry, Wes. I’m–scattered.” Lock said, almost upending his inkwell.

“Does it have anything to do with Alistair taking off out of here like a bat out of hell, looking like he was about to shit himself?” Tiffany asked from around Wesley’s shoulder.

“He–did?” Lock asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Tiffany said as Wesley nodded. Of course he did. I told him I was going to turn him into a pig and then had my wand out pointing it at him. It hadn’t been his finest moment.

“You told him you were going to turn him into a pig? Right on!” Tiffany laughed delightedly. He blinked. He hadn’t realized he said that outloud. “He so deserved it.” Lock’s stomach dropped.

“Lock?” Wesley asked.

“You know?” Lock asked in a small, sick voice.

“Know what?” Tiffany looked at Wesley who shrugged.

“About Tate.” Lock bit his lip. Did–who–how?

“Tate?” She asked blankly. Lock blinked again. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe he hadn’t fucked this up that badly yet. “I dunno what he did specifically, this time, but I do know he couldn’t be more of a dick if he had a circumcision scar on his forehead.” Lock looked at Wesley who shook his head.

“Er, what?”

“It’s a cheap, demeaning penis joke,” Tiffany shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“Oh.” Lock chewed his lip.

“You’re not going to look very kingly if you have a hole in your lip from chewing on it.” Tiffany told him blandly. “Is there any particular reason you threatened to turn Alistair to a pig?” A denial immediately jumped to his lips, but what was the point? Both Tiffany and Wesley knew him better than to believe the denial, even if he posed it.

“Will you both keep this quiet? For Tate?” He asked meeting first Wesley’s gray eyes, then Tiffany’s blue ones. Wesley nodded,

“Of course.” Tiffany said.

“I–tried very hard to keep a cool head, I mean Gray told me some pretty horrible things that Tate told him that Alistair did and said. Then I went to Gray’s, to try and talk to Tate. I–I know that Uncle Phillip certainly wouldn’t have meted out a punishment for hearsay. But Lady Kennedy didn’t think it was a good idea for me to talk to Tate, he was finally calming down after having told her and Gray what happened. So I decided I would talk to Alistair and see what he said.” Lock bowed his head.

“And he stood there.” Lock gestured across the desk. “And I asked him–in the stomach-churning detail that Gray had related it to me in–if he had–sexually assaulted Tate. I–I think that’s what Lady Kennedy called it. She said he didn’t–force himself into Tate, but she definitely would say he probably forced himself onto Tate.” Lock looked up. Wesley looked horrified and a little sick.

Tiffany–Tiffany just looked distant, her face completely shut down, except her eyes. Those sparked and burned like the heart of a flame. Lock went back to contemplating the floor between his boots.

“What did he say?” Tiffany asked after a few moments.

“He said that–it wasn’t–it wasn’t an assault because Tate didn’t say no.” Lock heard the shaky disbelief in his own voice over Wesley’s incredulous gasp.

“The cocksucker.” Tiffany hissed barely audibly.

“He said that if Tate had ever actually said anything, told him to leave. He would’ve, but he didn’t and–so he didn’t see what the big deal was.”

“That sounds like Alistair.” Wesley snorted disgusted.

“Has he done this kinda thing before?” Tiffany asked. Wesley sighed.

“Who knows what all he’s done.” The knight admitted. “He was always a gaol lawyer, someone who knew exactly how far he could go without getting into trouble. He could come within a hairsbreadth of breaking any rule without actually breaking it. But he always walked away cause he didn’t do it.” Lock nodded without looking up.

“He told me that he was just trying to give Tate a chance with Lady Zahrah. And that maybe–maybe it was even something Tate w-wanted.” Lock’s voice broke. “I have to admit, I didn’t handle it well. After listening to what Gray told me and what Lady Kennedy said. To have him stand there with that insufferably smug you-can’t-do-anything-to-me-for-this look on his face. I lost my temper. I had my wand out before I could even think about it. I was halfway to turning him into a pig and I didn’t even think about.”

“Well, you’re still better than me, cause if I’d been you, he’d have been oinking AND ball-less before I stopped to think about it, Lock.” Tiffany said. He raised his head and stared at her.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t lose my temper often. I’ve got a much longer fuse than say Kennedy does, but when I lose it–it’s gone and I’m usually standing in the middle of a fallout zone when I do. Everybody loses their temper sometimes.” Tiffany said.

“I’m the king, Tiffany.”

“You’re still human, Lock. Yes, you’re the king. But that doesn’t mean you need to be Superman. Tate’s a good kid and having a squirrel-fucker like Alistair stand there and tell you he might’ve even wanted it? I’d be more pissed at you if you didn’t go off on him, Lock, than I’ll ever be because you did.” Tiffany said with a toss of her head.

Lock processed that for a moment. “…Superman?”

“Literary creation. He was strong and fast and, you know, could pat his head and rub his tummy at the same time. He was Superman, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a locomotive. The point is–when you didn’t have kryptonite with you, going up against Superman was asking to get your ass kicked. I still never liked Superman much. Me I was more of a Captain Kirk sorta girl, sure he was a man-whore, but his whole crew would have followed him into the sun. Even all those sad red shirts.” Tiffany paused. “Never mind. Anyway, somehow Kirk managed to be both human and a good leader. Superman was so awesome by himself why did he need anyone else. There’s nothing wrong with being human.”

“My uncle would have known how to handle this.” Lock muttered to the floor. He heard a swish of hair across fabric, as if Tiffany and Wesley had turned to look at each other.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? Lock, what the hell makes you think your uncle would have even known this happened to someone like Tate.”

“Eh?” Lock finally looked up and Wesley was nodding.

“She’s right, Lock. King Phillip was a good man, and no, he probably wouldn’t have threatened to turn Alistair into a pig. But he wouldn’t have because he wouldn’t have cared that a nobleman talked dirty to a servant either. You did what you did cause you care. You care about Tate and someone hurt him. And then he–,” Wesley trailed off, obviously looking for words.

“Tried to cheaply justify doing wrong. Because he could.” Tiffany finished for him. Wesley nodded in agreement.

“Just how am I supposed to sit here and hate myself with the two of you around?”

“You aren’t.” Tiffany stuck her tongue out at him.

“If there’s anything I think your uncle would criticize about how you handled this, Lock, it’s that you are hating yourself for what happened.”

“Right. Often wrong, never in doubt.” Tiffany said. And Lock nodded. “I mean this isn’t getting that inn approved, you know.” Wesley smiled and stood up and headed out the door.

“Aye, my lady.” Tiffany smiled and slung the roll of paper by her feet up onto the desk. “So I’ve been thinking about that courtyard issue.” Maybe they’re right, he thought as Tiffany pointed out lines that made only passably little sense to Lock. Maybe it isn’t never falling down that makes the king. Maybe it’s the getting back up.

Gray stood by the window of the reception parlor outside of the king’s study and stared out the window at Sir Wesley and Lady Jennica. That, he thought, was what love was supposed to be like. The shy fluttery smiles mixed in with conversation that was never quite stilted. He clutched the window frame for a moment, his stomach a churning mess. He’d felt like that, once upon a time. Bailey’s face flickered in front of him and he blinked rapidly, the last thing that he needed right now was to get the issues confused.

“Lady Tiffany? Why do you always tell me what she said? What does she know?” Gray heard Lady Fiona’s voice rise sharply. He couldn’t hear Lock’s reply, but apparently it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “She’s an architect, that doesn’t make her all knowing about interior design.”

And he was pretty sure that that was not a way that love was supposed to be like. Lock was his king, son of his lord, and someone to whom Gray’s loyalty was settled on unwaveringly. He would have followed Lock into hell itself with hardly a thought. And certainly Gray didn’t know anything about picking a consort for a king, but so far he was not nearly as impressed with Lock’s lady as Lock seemed to be.

But that was a dangerous path, because it brough him full circle, to the young man currently laying in Gray’s guest room, probably asleep or if not floating in and out of a sedated haze. Lady Kennedy had told him that it was probably better that way.

“Your majesty.” The argument from the next room had apparently come to it’s close because the next thing that Gray heard was the door opening. “Lord Gray.” Lady Fiona said, a cool light tone, as if she hadn’t been yelling loud enough for Gray to hear her in the next room–over the king’s not unimpressive sound muffling spells–just moments before.

“Lady Fiona.” He turned from the window and bowed. She breezed past with little more than a smile. Lock stuck his head out the door after the sitting room door closed. “She’s gone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh–did you hear that?”

“Aye, your majesty.” Gray said. Lock sighed.

“She wants me to paint the dining hall.” Gray looked at him quizzically. “She says it’s depressing. I’ll grant it’s not a cheery room, but…”

“I thought Lady Tiffany’s thoughts on leaving it as was were quite sound.” Gray said, neutrally.

“Me too. Did you find Tate?” Lock asked, peering past the scarlet curtains at the courtyard.

“Aye, he’s–at my house–with Lady Kennedy, highness.” Gray said, surprised at the tentativeness in his own voice.

“Oh, gods! Was–was he hurt, what happened?”

“If it’s all the same to you, your majesty, for Tate’s sake, perhaps we should speak of this in private. He looked at the wall shared with the library. There was a standing invitation to all of the Crestians that they could use the library at any time. It was both too early and too late for the visitors they usually got, but still.

A stricken look shot across Lock’s face, but he turned and lead Gray to the study. Lock seated himself in the single chair on the other side of the desk and waved Gray into one of the chairs by the fireplace.

“Now, about Tate?” The king leaned forward a little, his blue eyes sparking a little with intensity.

“He was at his house when I got there, in the barn–in Dumpling’s stall actually–when I got there. Although he was quite obviously distressed, he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” Gray, chewed on his lip for a second.

“That’s not unlike Tate.” Lock said, scrubbing his hand across his stubble.

“No.” Gray agreed, if only he told people more, perhaps–but then again perhaps not. He couldn’t know, not any more than he could know that if he’d said something that morning half a lifetime ago, what it would have changed. “But it was obvious something was wrong. I sent him to my house and went and got Lady Kennedy. She gave him something to calm him down a little.”

“So did you find out what happened?” Lock was playing with the quill on his desk. A nervous habit that tended to get ink on him, his desk, and anything else on the desk, but Gray couldn’t find it in himself to scold about it.

“Tate’s been trying to court Lady Zahrah.” Gray said.

“I know, Master Jarrett and Wesley have both commented on it.” Lock looked thoughtful for a moment. “But Lady Fiona and Lady Jennica have both commented that she is much more interested in Alistair.”

“Aye.” Gray couldn’t help snarling out the word. Lock’s eyes narrowed and he abandoned the quill to lean back in his chair and steeple his fingers together. “Well, apparently ever since Lord Dolph’s wedding, the two of them have been at odds over this.”

“That long? And he never said anything?” Lock said.

“Think back to your first love affair, Lock.” Gray snorted.

“If you mean that pathetic–thing I had with Lady Emma. I wouldn’t call it a love affair.” Lock laughed.

“Still, you were at the time, quite heartbroken that she didn’t return your affections.” Gray pointed out. Lock snorted. “Would your uncle have been your first choice of confidant?”

“Uncle Phillip?” Lock asked. Gray nodded. “Okay, no, I wouldn’t have. So what did Alistair do about this?”

“His usual way of handling rivals.” They had both known Alistair growing up. He had been a bully since the first time that Kennan had brought him to court when he was hardly old enough to lace his own breeches, and a cruel one. His pattern had always been one of escalation. At first just taunts or a bit of shoving, if that didn’t work, he’d keep getting crueler, more ruthless. Lock was quiet for a minute then nodded.

“I’m guessing he tried that with Tate?” Lock said.

“Aye.”

“And he’s been sitting there suffering, right under our noses. Damn it.” Lock exhaled a long sigh. “But there’s more isn’t there?”

“Oh–aye.” Gray agreed. “Butterscotch recently had kittens, and I guess that Tate decided that he would give one of them to Lady Zahrah. And I guess that Alistair saw the two of them together.”

“Go on.”

Gray stared at the carpets on the floor. Tate’s dull, slightly slurred voice in his head, telling him of how he had been in the barn when Alistair had approached. How Alistair had told him that he wasn’t an unreasonable man, that he would even offer Tate a compromise on the subject of Lady Zahrah.

Even with the sedative in him, Tate’s voice had become near hysterical as he recounted what Alistair viewed as a compromise. Gray hadn’t thought himself a completely unworldly sort of man, but apparently he was quite provincial compared to what Alistair had been doing.

“What sort of man offers–that?!” Lock asked, his voice a shocked mix of bewilderment and growing anger. “How–how can you even–say something like ‘I’ll let you get the girl if you’ll–you’ll–go to bed with me’?”

Oh, but it got worse. Not only had Alistair said it, he then proceeded to, in stark detail, voice just exactly what he’d do to Tate. Gray’s stomach clenched and he half wondered if he’d be sick–and it hadn’t even been said to him. Just repeated by a shell-shocked voice by the boy who’d actually had to live it.

All of this had been accompanied, Tate informed he and Lady Kennedy dully, by Alistair standing too close, touching his arm, his hair, his face. He told them how he’d tried to shove Alistair away, but the former noble had simply crowded him closer to the wall, trapping him.

“Gods.” Lock hissed. “Is–is that all.”

“That’s all he said, Lock. And Lady Kennedy advised me against pushing it.” Gray admitted. “But–given the way Tate got more hysterical, the longer he talked, somehow I doubt it.” Lock nodded sharply before pushing up out of his chair.

Gray watched as the king drew his fist back and slammed it into the wall by the window.

“I’ll kill him.” The king said bowing his head “You don’t–Gray–tell me honestly–do you think Alistair–raped him?”

“No. Lady Kennedy said the physical signs of a sexual assault weren’t there. I’m not sure what signs would have been there–but she said you would have been able to tell if Alistair had–p-penetrated him. But, she did say that–he could have, with what was there, done just about everything short of–that.” Gray said. “And–she said that he definitely–mind fucked Tate.” Lock hissed a sob in between his teeth.

“How could all of those people die and he lived. Tell me, you’re the priest, Gray, how the fuck could the gods let something like that happen. All of those good people, Gray, all of them dead and some disgusting thing like him live.” Lock said.

“I don’t think that’s the Gods’ jurisdiction. I don’t think the Gods put numbers up on the tally board. We have our choices, Lock, and the Gods let us make them. Sometimes people make bad ones.” Gray said after a long minute.

“How will I ever face Tate again? I failed him, Gray.” Lock said. And what did you say to that?

“I think, Lock, if you could never face Tate again, it’d be worse for him. He–he would probably think he disgusted you.” Gray said.

“He probably would, wouldn’t he?” Lock sighed. “And he doesn’t deserve that.” The king was silent for a long moment. “Can I at least turn Alistair into a pig?”

They’re home! They’re back! Thaniel tumbled out of his bed, tripping over his tiny feet and nearly faceplanting before running for the door. After a moment’s thought, he sat down, tail wagging. It was sit, right? Not chew, pee, or beg for food. When Master bent over and patted the top of his head, he knew he’d done right.

And then the lady that Master liked. Thaniel only tried to like the people Master liked, but it was hard sometimes. They were all nice to him, gave him treats and scratches, and that made it hard to not like them. Maybe when he was older he’d be better at it.

Still it was easily dismissed as Lady tickled his ears and rubbed his tummy.

Play time seemingly done, Thaniel laid down on the rug in the sun and watched as Master sat on the high bench. Lady hesitated a moment and then slid onto the bench beside him.

“Alistair?” She kicked her foot back and forth, worrying with the thick fabric of her skirts.

“Hmm?”

“Why isn’t your house as nice as everyone else’s? I mean it’s nice.” She looked around the room. “But, it’s kinda–I dunno–bare.”

“I prefer the spare look.” Master said with a brief lift of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be brave with me.” Lady said. “If it bugs you, you can tell me.”

“My lady, I don’t need you to go to battle for me.” Master smiled. “There are no dragons in need of slaying here.” He tipped his shoulder into Lady’s and she blushed and giggled.

“Why–why did you come back to Shadowcrest? I mean…” Lady dropped off and bit her lip.

“For my father.” He smiled but it didn’t seem like a real smile. More the kind that he tended to give the horse-man who came by to talk about things sometimes. Thaniel knew that Master really didn’t like the horse-man, he was always in a foul mood whenever the horse-man left. Almost as bad as when the herb-lady came. Thankfully she’d only come twice.

“But–didn’t he disown you?” Lady asked, cocking her head to the side as Thaniel did when he didn’t understand something that Master said.

“Aye.” Master said. Thaniel wasn’t sure what “father” was, but though he’d never met Master’s father, Thaniel knew he didn’t like him most of all. He made Master more angry than horse-man and herb-lady together.”But he was still my father.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’d probably go back to my father if he were sick or hurt, even with all the stuff between us.” Lady sounded sad. Odd, Lady had a “father” that made her sad and Master had a “father” who made him angry. Thaniel chewed on the itchy spot by his tail.

“Aye. Fathers are like that.”

“My aunt used to say that parents always knew where the hooks were cause they put ‘em there.” Her foot thumped against the wood of the high bench. Thaniel gave up on the itchy spot by his tail for a new itchy spot behind his ear. His foot sorta sounded like Lady’s as it hit the floor.

“This is not untrue.” Master said. Lady looked at Master.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You didn’t really, my lady.” Master said smoothly.

“I never know.” Lady slid off the high Bench and turned to face Master. “You guys never talk about it. I mean it’s like life didn’t exist here before Kennedy showed up. Except for Emanuel’s booze problem and the cemeteries all over the place.”

“That is more or less the Crestian way, work, work, work so that the bad of the past cannot catch up to you.” Master agreed, slipping off the bench to stand facing Lady. The smell in the room had changed slightly, Thaniel didn’t like it, that smell. Though neither Master nor Lady seemed to notice.

“The whole stiff upper lip thing.” Lady nodded.

“Well, I guess we needed stiff somethings.” Master took a step closer to Lady, and the smell jumped. Thaniel wrinkled his tiny nose, if they kept this up, he’d have to go for food, or maybe wriggle through the bars and go play with the skunk.

“And everything else was taken?” Lady batted her lashes at Master. Yep, definitely had to go somewhere else. Neither Master nor Lady noticed as he made his way to the back door and pushed it open.

Lady was gone when Thaniel came back from getting his snack. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Lady, after all she seemed to make Master happy. Although he was the one who was really supposed to make Master happy, it’s just they got so–odd when they were alone together. Thaniel didn’t like odd.

“At least Zahrah doesn’t tell me my house is cute.” Master said. “You are supposed to be cute.” Thaniel wagged his tiny tail looking up at Master. Cute was good, right? “A house is supposed to be impressive, opulent, intimidating even. But no, that smug little chit gives me a house that’s cute and then tells me it suits me.”

“If even Lady Zahrah can tell that my house is hardly more than a shack, then something is definitely wrong. I’d bet, even after our falling out, my father would be horrified to see me living in this. I’ve got the blood of kings, and the house of a back country squire.” Master snarled. But he wasn’t snarling at Thaniel, at least Thaniel didn’t think so. He seemed to be snarling at the rug, but why?

Rugs didn’t make houses. Rugs did less than Thaniel did. Some day Thaniel would be able to do more–when he grew into his feet–and the rug would still be a rug.

Master kept muttering, but it was getting harder and harder to pay attention to what he was saying, the fire was warm at Thaniel’s back, and beyond the sound of Master’s muttering, the sounds of popping wood and crackling ash, night birds and crickets wove together like the strains of a lullaby and before the puppy knew it, he was off to sleep.

—

Gray had always preferred to think that he was cautious, not paranoid. Surely there were more important things than if Tate showed up to work one day. But the thing was, Tate always showed up to work. Unless the king gave him the day off, Tate was there, sick or well, no matter the weather. If he was too sick to work, he let Lock make that call, he never made it himself.

So when Gray had arrived, mid morning, with a stack of paperwork the size of a small child in tow and Dumpling hadn’t been in the stables, Gray had thought it odd. But not entirely remarkable, after all he could have taken the horse to run an errand for Lock or something. But when Wesley had come in with a rather sad luncheon of leftovers and told them that after the meeting he would go down to Master Jarrett’s and speak with Olivia about coming up to the castle to cook dinner that night, a spark of worry crept through Gray’s veins.

Tate not only wasn’t there, he hadn’t been there all day. Gray’s father, what felt like several lifetimes ago, had told him that being a steward was half answering questions and half asking them. Sometimes men didn’t show up for work. Finding out why was the steward’s job. But usually the ones you had to question were the ones with a list of excuses as long as their arm for why they weren’t at work. Not the ones who always were.

Tate lived alone, except for a cat. A dog you might train to go for help, a cat–well no one trained a cat–there were any number of things that could have happened, fire, head injury, he could have been thrown from his horse, or kicked, something could have fallen on him. And unless someone came along in time…

Gray had excused himself from the meeting, which was just a bunch of diplomatic bullshit sent from Archerglen and had headed down the hill to Tate’s. The house was still standing, seemingly untouched, but silent as a grave. No sign of Tate in the garden or out front.

He paused, for a moment, hand on the familiar wooden gate, but he heard nothing. “Tate?” Gray called. All that answered him was a faint echo of his own voice.

The door hadn’t been locked, that meant that Tate was still home. He always locked the door when he went up to the castle, even if Gray wasn’t certain why. But every room in the house was empty of anything living.

The barn, maybe? The snickt of the door closing behind him, seemed very loud as did the rustle of the thatch in the breeze.

Butterscotch appeared in the doorway of the barn and twined around his ankles. Dumpling was still in her stall, but nothing looked out of place. Something had been going on with Tate since Lord Dolph’s wedding, but none of them knew what it was, they’d all chalked it up to him being a teenager, most teenagers were moody and sullen at times. But what if there was more to it than that.

He stood up when a sound caught his ear. It was a cry, the sound of something in pain. “Tate?” Gray asked, peering into the semi-gloom of the barn. The sound immediately cut off. If it had been one of the kittens, the sound would have gotten louder, not stopped. Dumpling danced in place and Gray stepped further into the barn.

“Tate, what’s wrong?” Gray didn’t remember moving into Dumpling’s stall or kneeling in the straw that was pristine as fresh snow, or his hand falling on Tate’s shoulder.

Tate scrambled back, to his feet, ducking his head in something that was more of a cringe than a bow. “Lord Gray, I am so sorry. I-I-I…” That was all the further the boy got before his words disintegrated into sobs, though he didn’t actually cry. Gray put his arm around Tate’s shoulder, feeling as if he were reaching back in time, there was a time when Gray had cried like this. The sort of crying that felt like your insides were coming loose from their normal places.

“No,” Gray breathed into the boy’s hair. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to be sorry about it.” Other words were ringing in Gray’s ears, further blurring the lines between then and now.

“But the–the king, he was de-depending on me.” Tate said.

“The king can manage.”

“Just–just give me a minute to clean up, I’ll be–I’m sorry you had to come after me I-I-I promise it’ll never happen again. Never.” Tate said into his hands.

“No, Tate, the only place you’re going is to see Lady Kennedy.” Gray said. Tate wailed, the first sign of a tear appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“No, please! I-I can’t–not to Lady Kennedy’s. The–the–she’s there.” The hysterical note in Tate’s tone, though the words made little sense, told Gray that whatever had lead to this was in some way tied to someone at Lady Kennedy’s.

“Okay. To my house then. I’m not leaving you here, Tate. And I’m not going to take you to the castle until she’s seen to you.” Gray said firmly.

“I’m not hurt.” Tate protested, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Gray. “Nothing–nothing’s wrong, nothing happened.”

“Tate.” The boy only whimpered. Oh Tate, what happened to you?

“You know, I’m glad that I’ve got a chance to talk to you by myself, Zahrah.” Sawyer said giving his most disarming grin. Zahrah rolled her eyes.

“You’re married now, Sawyer. And your wife is jealous.” Zahrah told him. His brow went upward.

“She is?” Sawyer asked.

“That’s what everyone says and they do know her better than I do.” Zahrah shrugged.

“And to think just a couple of weeks ago she was still throwing me at other women. If it wouldn’t scandalize the entire country, I think she’d still be throwing me at other women.” Zahrah paused in midstep and stared.

“But you’re married.” She put her foot down on the ground.

“Aye.” He nodded.

“But–what are the divorce laws like here in Shadowcrest?”

“I–don’t know.” Sawyer said. “It’s not the divorce, really, it’s the annulment that’s usually a problem.”

“What’s the difference?” If she was going to have to get married as a teenager, maybe it would be better to know this now. Though she’d hope that if she got married it would be for love and to someone who she would never, ever want to divorce.

“Between an annulment and a divorce?”

“No. I mean how hard is it to get an annulment over a divorce.”

“Depends. Depends on the priest, depends on the kingdom, depends on if your marriage has been consummated.” Sawyer told her. “I think if we were really miserable, both Lord Gray and King Lachlan would give us a divorce.”

“So, it’d only be the consummation that would be a problem for you and Jolene?” Zahrah asked only to see Sawyer’s eyes drop to the cobblestone he was kicking at. “Sawyer? You–you guys haven’t–done it?” A flush crawled up his cheeks and over his ears as he continued to stare at the ground.

“She needs more time.” Sawyer whispered.

“Wow, cause if I was with a guy as hot as you–I think I’d have a hard time waiting til the wedding.” Zahrah exclaimed. Sawyer drew his hazel eyes up and looked hard at her.

“You–you think I’m–attractive?” Sawyer asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Hell yeah.” Zahrah said. “Most of you guys are. I mean, Emanuel is a bit mopey and emo for my taste, And Jarrett’s just–I don’t know how you could be attracted to him. And I mean, Lord Gray is kinda–I mean you just can’t entertain fantasies about him. There’s nothing there to work with if you spent five minutes in his company. But you’re very good looking.”

“What about Tate?” Sawyer asked after a moment’s quiet.

“He’s–cute.” She bit her lip.

“Cute?” Sawyer asked. “In what way?”

“Well, you know, cute, like Alistair’s puppy, or the new foal, or the baby chicks.” Zahrah cocked her head to the side. “How else could he be cute?”

“Like an attractive guy is cute?” Maybe Sawyer meant it as a statement, but it definitely went up in pitch as if he weren’t sure. Zahrah must have looked puzzled. “I’ve heard Lady Fiona telling Lady Jennica that King Lachlan is ‘cute’, which sounds different than when Lady Heidi or Jolene would tell me I was cute. The former sounds like someone you’re–what’s Mistress Peyton say ‘in to”? The latter was definitely baby chick cute.”

“Oh, well, it’s not that Tate’s not kinda hot. He’s just–he’s not swoon-worthy. He’s so boy-next-door.” Zahrah tossed her hair. “It’s not that I don’t like him–but he’s like best friend material. Sweet, kind, the guy you can depend on,” She listed.

“You make that sound like a bad thing. Mistress Raquel says the same thing about Blake, only it doesn’t sound bad when she says it.” Sawyer said.

“I don’t mean it bad.” Zahrah said. She chewed on her cheek for a moment trying to think. “It’s just–he’s like the actor you see in a movie that always does a great job, and you enjoy seeing him in the movie. But he’s not the leading man. He’s not the one you go to the movie for. He’s not the one you daydream over. He’s not the one you spend all weekend cutting pictures out of your magazines of.”

“And Alistair is the ‘leading man’?” Sawyer asked.

“C’mon, why is everyone so down on Alistair. He can be a really great guy if you get to know him!” Zahrah found her bottom lip pushing out into a pout. Seriously, it was totally like a movie, she was the only one who could see past his outside to the sweet guy he was underneath that.

“Maybe we do know him.” Sawyer muttered before turning to resume his path toward the house that Nessa, Jarrett, and Olivia shared. “Morning, Nessa!” He called as she stepped out onto the small front porch. “You’re looking particularly lovely this morning.”

“Sawyer, your flattery will get you nowhere.”

“But you do! Doesn’t she?” Sawyer asked turning toward Zahrah again.

“Her–your hair looks nice.” She didn’t understand Nessa. She was so much prettier when she put a little effort into her appearance. Most of the time she didn’t do anything more than pull her beautiful strawberry gold hair back in a completely unflattering braid or knot.

Between Kennedy, Jennica, and Emanuel it wasn’t like they didn’t have cosmetics around to be worn. But she was pretty sure the only time she’d seen anything on Nessa was at Jolene’s wedding. She didn’t even attempt to cover the scars on her face or give you anything else to focus on.

The looser hair was marginally more flattering.

“Okay, Liv, you win this one.” Nessa called back in the house, a laugh drifting out in response on the late summer breeze.

“Goody! I adore winning.”

“And I’ve resigned myself to not winning.” Nessa said dryly, Sawyer laughed as he followed her into the house. Zahrah followed Sawyer, knowing she shouldn’t, he was married but he had a very cute, tight butt under those hose and the fabric left very little to the imagination and it was kind of distracting, really.

“So, you ready to head up now?” Jarrett asked standing up from the table.

“Just about.” Sawyer said, turning to Zahrah, who was still lingering in the doorway. “You know, exciting isn’t always better. Fires, floods, and animal stampedes are all kind of exciting, that doesn’t mean they’re good.” What? Why was he going all Yoda all of a sudden? But he apparently wasn’t going to explain because he just nodded to her, bowed to Nessa and Olivia and followed Jarrett out the door.

“So you never finished telling me what he said.” Nessa said to Olivia who put down the needle she was using to weave with.

“Oh–you know him. King of the backhanded compliment. He asked me if I always put on weight in my ass because it was looking better these days.” Olivia tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at her backside.

“Well, what did you expect, he’s not exactly Shakespeare.” Nessa said. “And your ass looks fine, Liv.”

“That’s cause you don’t have to see me naked.” Olivia retorted dryly. “Then again no one else does either, so I guess I can live with it.”

—

Afternoons like this, soft and sweet like warm honey, were just too rare to spend cooped up in the house helping bake pastries. And even a hard task master like Olivia realized that the heart wasn’t in her apprentice about the second time she found her thoughts wandering off as she was applying icing, getting it all over the counter. So Zahrah found herself banished to the outside while Nessa and Olivia finished up the last couple of batches.

The only thing better than lounging on the pillowy grass watching the clouds in the sky was if there had been anyone to watch them with. Someone like…

“So the cruel dungeon master let you out for the afternoon, my lady?” Alistair’s handsome face stepped into her view. She felt her heart thumping just a little harder in her chest. He was so handsome and even though almost everyone called her my lady or lady Zahrah, there was just something–personal about the way he said it, something cutely possessive. Like a pet name.

“Olivia isn’t cruel, she’s really nice.” Zahrah told him as she stood up and brushed the grass off her skirt.

“Certainly.” He smiled, although there seemed to be something else behind it. But before she could decipher it, he held out a dozen roses to her. It wasn’t shy how he did it, as Tate might have, with a blush and a stammer, simply graceful and charming. “A rose for a rose, Lady Zahrah.” No, Zahrah was the one blushing.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” Zahrah said bending to inhale them.

“Well, what else could I bring such a beautiful lady” He asked.

“Oh, there you–oh Alistair.” Nessa said coming through the gate.

“Lady Nessa.” There was something small and tight in both their voices, though all they directed toward her was smiles, forced smiles, but smiles. Like she was five again and couldn’t see through it.

“Does Olivia need me for something?” Zahrah asked, her heart sinking, just a little. Yes, she was supposed to be helping Olivia and learning how to cook, but really who wouldn’t rather spend their afternoon with their crush, holding roses and being flattered rather than packing pastries up for the next morning’s market.

“Well, we do need to get these carried up to Fox’s for market.” Nessa said. A whine built up in Zahrah’s throat, which she wouldn’t give voice to, it would only make her sound like a petulant little kid in front of Alistair.

“Right.”

“Couldn’t you assist her, Lady Nessa.” Alistair asked dryly.

“Only if someone else wants to go check on the barn and feed the animals in it.” Nessa’s voice was bland. “And Zahrah is supposed to be Olivia’s assistant, which makes carrying them part of her job.” Zahrah sighed.

“I’ll be right in.”

“Tate!” Nessa called, suddenly. Zahrah looked at Nessa, then in the direction Nessa was looking, yes, there was Tate. Maybe Tate could take the pastries to market with Olivia and Zahrah could leave early. Although there was a part of her that felt guilty for even thinking it. Tate had already put in most of an afternoon working for the king, it probably wasn’t fair to make him do her job on top of his.

“One moment, Lady Nessa.” He called back.

“Well, my lady, it seems our time has been cut short.” Alistair leaned closer to her to murmur in her ear. If she’d been looking she might have noticed the way his leaning closer was timed just for when Tate rounded the corner. Might have seen the look of hopelessness cross his face. See the look of disgust cross Nessa’s. But all she could see were Alistair’s beautiful brown eyes.

“Guess so. I’ll–see you later?” She asked. He nodded with that smile that made her knees get all quivery, then headed off toward the front gate. She was still watching him, so she didn’t see Nessa pat Tate’s shoulder, or the pain on his face as the other woman did so.

“Oooh, I had never noticed that before.” Tate heard Lady Zahrah behind him, but it was obvious by the hushed tone and snicker that she wasn’t talking to him.

“Noticed what?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“That. Tate’s got a really nice ass.” Tate was glad that he was facing away from them, because his face had to be a red to rival the king’s chair cushions. And it was only getting worse as they both burst into snickers. The giggles lead him to wonder if she was serious, it would be nice if she found something about him to be attractive. It might mean he’d have a chance against Alistair. His hand tightened on the watering can handle to the point of pain.

Damn it. He thought switching the hand that the can was gripped in and reflexively clenching his now free hand. There was nothing like finding yourself short. Except, maybe, short a couple of times over. He knew he couldn’t compete with Alistair on looks, or manners, he was the fifth kid, third son, of an indentured farmer. Plain as the dirt he was currently pouring water over. Alistair was a noble.

Oh sure, he’d been disowned, but the same blood that ran through his veins ran through the veins of some of the greatest men in the kingdom, both past and present. He was a cousin of some sort of Lord Dolph’s, and there was some connection between Alistair and Sir Wesley.

He wasn’t related to King Lachlan, but he had been related, distantly to King Phillip. And he’d grown up in the court, with all the advantages. Tate might as well have grown up in a barn for all the manners he had. He wasn’t charming, or talented at anything except growing plants. Oh, that would impress a girl. He could grow roses, but he had absolutely no idea how to go about giving one.

“Oh, hi, Butterscotch.” Tate heard Mistress Raquel say. He turned around to see the carpenter’s wife bending down to pet his cat. The bending down was no mean feet. Compared to Mistress Raquel’s slim form, her belly seemed almost as big as she was. He had no idea how much longer she had before she was due, but he certainly would have kept an eye on a pet or horse if they’d been her size!

“Mistress Raquel, Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed, a bit stiffly, Sir Wesley was trying to teach him how to bow. There was still talk of the borders being opened before winter–or at least of diplomats arriving before winter–and Tate had to be ready to receive them and not look like a plowboy stuffed into a page’s uniform–even if that was what he was.

But like when Sir Wesley tried to teach him anything that was graceful, he might as well have had two left feet and a spear shoved up his arse for all the graceful he managed.

“Afternoon, Tate. Blake was wondering if you’d be–attending the King tonight?” Mistress Raquel said, giving the soft fur on the cat’s head one last stroke before standing up.

“Nah, I have the afternoon off. His Majesty says that if I have the day off, I might as well have the whole thing off.” Tate smiled even if he couldn’t keep his eyes from sliding sideways to Zahrah, who offered him a friendly smile back. A friendly smile. It might not be exactly what he wanted, but it was a smile and he had to keep from notching it up to a foolish grin.

“Well, we were wondering if you’d like to come for supper.” She offered.

“Oh, does Master Blake need help with something?” Tate asked trying to rearrange his evening chores to make time to help with it.

“Nope, just dinner.” Mistress Raquel said with an encouraging smile. “Sawyer was moping this morning when he came by to help Blake with some something that Tiffany wants for the pub. Apparently his wife is going to be at Heidi’s all day.”

If Lady Jolene were invited to Lady Heidi’s for dinner, why wasn’t Sawyer? It wasn’t the stigma was it? That Sawyer was just a gutter rat and not fit to eat at a Lord’s table?

“And Sawyer didn’t want to tag along, he says that he’s always afraid that he’s going to sit on one of the chairs and break it or something.” Mistress Raquel rolled her eyes. “Blake’s a better carpenter than that. But I understand what he means. I sorta feel out of place myself when I’m at Heidi’s or Victoria’s, y’know?”

“Aye.” Not that he spent much time at any of the noble’s houses. Still when he’d first come to live with the king, when the plague was really still a rumor in Shadowhaven, he’d felt that way about the house that was now his. While he was still racking his brain to think of something to add onto that, perhaps that it got better with time or something, Butterscotch fell into the fish pond and looked so affronted and dismayed with her wet and bedraggled state that he went to go find her one of those treats that Lady Nessa had given him for her.

“Would you like to come over too?” Mistress Raquel asked, obviously asking Lady Zahrah.

“Can I invite Alistair?” Tate’s heart plummeted and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked as miserable and unhappy as Butterscotch at the moment. It was a good thing he as in the barn and not in the yard. “That is a no face, that is definitely a “no” face.” Lady Zahrah pouted, he could hear it in her voice. “I don’t see why you don’t like him.”

“I don’t see why you do.” Mistress Raquel responded.

“He’s a sweetheart.”

“No, Jarrett is a sweetheart. Alistair is an ass.” Mistress Raquel said with a blunt forcefulness that Tate certainly had never heard in her voice before.

“He has never been anything other than a complete gentleman to me, Rae.” Lady Zahrah told her.

“You know, he used to say my lipstick looks like swamp muck and that I had a disease on my face. He used bully Blake too.” Mistress Raquel answered in that same tone.

“Well, you gotta admit, purple lipstick isn’t natural.” Lady Zahrah said. “Maybe it’s just a cultural thing, I mean some people just don’t like that sort of thing. I think my dad would say the same thing.”

“Would you ever call your dad a sweetheart?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“Well, no.” Lady Zahrah said.

“I’m not going to say that you have to choose between me and him or anything.” Mistress Raquel said. “Just don’t ask me to like him.”

“Here you go, Butterscotch.” Tate murmured to the cat who daintily took the treat and made her way off to a patch of sun.

“So, about dinner?” Mistress Raquel asked as Tate as he walked into the shadow along the side of the house, feeling, very definitely, like he was walking into a real life shadow.

“I–uh–well.”

“Great! We’ll see you in a couple of hours then.” She pulled him into a hug.

“All-All right, then.” Tate said. “Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed again, trying extra hard to do it exactly as Sir Wesley had taught him to. Lady Zahrah smiled and turned to follow Mistress Raquel who was off toward the gate already.

If she was expecting him in a couple of hours, he’d probably better get his chores finished so that he wasn’t trying to get them done after dark. He made his way into the barn, pausing in the doorway as always to look at the beautiful mare in the first stall. Why King Lachlan had given him such a beautiful horse Tate would never know.

Tate wasn’t a noble or anyone who deserved to ride or let alone own a horse like Dumpling. He would have counted himself lucky just to have the chance to groom her. She rattled her oat bucket. She’d grazed that morning, but she was just a wee bit greedy and he–probably–spoiled her. At least there were two girls in his life who liked him. He thought reaching out to stroke the silky mane, his fingers, normally so clumsy, finding that spot behind her ear with ease.

The mare sighed with bliss and tilted her head then she nosed at the bucket again and Tate laughed and went to find her some oats.

“I dunno, Dumpling.” He said to the horse who whickered. “Maybe, maybe Sawyer’s right, Lady Zahrah likes Alistair, and I know I’ll never live up to that. Never.” He shook his head. “You can put a tiara on a goat, that doesn’t make her a queen.”

“He thinks I should court Lady Olivia.” Tate sighed. “She thinks I’m a kid, which I know Lady Jolene used to say about Sawyer. But Sawyer never agreed with that. But I do. I do think, compared to her, I am a kid. Maybe it didn’t matter to him, but it does to me.”

The horse said nothing, which was probably all for the better because if the horse started to talk to him, he’d know he’d lost it. After hanging her grainbucket back on the gate to her stall, he bent to pet Butterscotch who seemed to be mostly dry from her adventures in the pond.

“I just wish…” He shook his head. “If wishes were fishes, beggars’d eat.” What’s the point in wishing and hoping, for guys like him, you just had to appreciate what you had. And he had a lot already, a nice house, a steady job, and his two girls, what more did he really need?

The forest surrounding Shadowhaven was not really meant to be hiked, and certainly not in a wedding dress. Why she hadn’t thought to grab something else to wear this morning she’d never know. And the fact that the forest seemed to be clawing and pawing, trying to drag her back, didn’t help. Or maybe it was her regrets that were clawing at her, after all, the dress was seemingly untouched for as many snags as she seemed to have hit.

She’d never thought of herself as a coward. Her father would be so disappointed in her. He always told her to stand and face her fears. Although why she should care what he’d think… After what he did to her mother. But somehow twenty plus years of being daddy’s little girl didn’t go away just cause he’d done something inexcusable. And now as she had also done something inexcusable, hurt someone who deserved it no more than she’d deserved her father’s betrayal, all because she was weak.

And to add insult to injury, she was hopelessly lost. Maybe Tiffany could wander around the woods and find the one thing that would make her the happiest, but Jolene didn’t have that good a sense of direction. She was fine in cities. But cities had always had street signs and graffiti and identifiable buildings, forests… have trees.

All she knew was that the thick underbrush was all but impassible, except the from the direction she’d just come from. And what the hell was she doing anyway? Where was she going to go? She knew very little about the countries surrounding Shadowcrest, and even less about living in the middle ages, outside of the weird amalgamate that was Shadowcrest. She flung herself down on a rock and stared at the still water of the pond in front of her.

“The road’s back that way, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Jolene jumped and stared. The voice wasn’t familiar, no one that she knew. And at first she didn’t even see anyone, then, out of the underbrush stepped a man. Definitely not a Shadowcrestian. His teeshirt was somewhat familiar as if she should know the reference from somewhere. And he wore jeans and battered cowboy boots.

He looked–somehow–wrong in these woods, though maybe not quite as wrong as a woman in a gown straight out of the Phantom of the Opera, so it wasn’t like she had room to talk.

“The road to where?” Jolene asked.

“Kinda depends on you.” The man said with a shrug of shoulders that looked sort of how she imagined Sawyer’s would in a few years. Used to hard work and muscled from it, but not large, not bulky. He sat on the rock next to hers.

“You sound like the Cheshire Cat.” Jolene said.

“Just cause the person giving it is crazy doesn’t mean the advice can’t be sound.” He shrugged again, turning odd slate-blue-green eyes on her. As their gazes locked, she felt oddly naked, not physically, but mentally, as if he were seeing straight into her thoughts. “It’ll take you home.”

“Pardon?” Jolene said glancing away from the man who rubbed his freckled nose.

“The road. It’ll take you home.” He said after a moment of silence had passed.

“And what if you don’t know where home is anymore?”

“I bet you do, Jolene.” She stared at him, though he didn’t seem to notice. How did he know her name? Where was she? “If you’d just listen to yourself, you’d find you know.” He reminded her of someone. It was an odd, tip of the tongue sensation. While outwardly there were things that reminded her of the man who was probably currently waiting for her to show up to their wedding, underneath there was–someone else. That calm voice with just a hint of a drawl tickled the back of her mind.

“How do you know my name?” She blurted when the corners of his lips curled up into a quarter smile that she would have sworn she’d seen on–oh who? And the quiet huff of a laugh, she could hear it overlapping a memory as he caught her eyes again.

“I could tell you that–and you would never believe it.”

“Great. I fell and cracked my head open and am dying, aren’t I?” The laugh was a bit more cynical this time.

“You aren’t going to die today.” He frowned slightly. “Or at least your heart will still be beating in a day, a week, a month from now.” This was getting weirder by the moment.

“I don’t know whether to be more weirded out by your psychic routine or the fact that you make it sound like I will die today.”

“You’re at a crossroads, Jolene. I can’t tell you that if you make the right choice you’ll live happily ever after. The future is way too changing to pin it down. So the right choice won’t get you happily ever after, but the wrong choice, well…” He glanced away.

“It’ll mean that I’ll die like Scrooge?” Jolene couldn’t keep the sneer out of her voice. He chuckled, that maddeningly familiar laugh taunting her.

“No. I can’t even say that. Pinning down happiness is sort of like pinning down the wind. It’s difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. It’ll be harder to be happy.”

“So if I marry Sawyer, I’ll be happy?” She rolled her eyes.

“That also depends on you. You should know by now that happily ever after is a cheap lie. Even if you could get it, you wouldn’t want it. If you don’t work for it, it’ll never be enough for you. You can be happy if you don’t marry Sawyer, you can be happy if you do. You will regret not marrying Sawyer in a way that you won’t regret marrying him if that’s what you choose. You do have a choice, Jolene. You’ve just got to figure out what road you want to take.” The man scrubbed hands through his hair and looked up at the sky.

Then he turned and locked eyes with her again. His pupils seemed to expand, the tiny flecks of almost-silver in his irises flashing. Just for a second she thought she could see–she shook her head and blinked. His eyes were just eyes again. Sparkling, mischievous and yet sad, terribly sad.

He stood up and stretched. “It’s time for me to be movin’ on.” He started off the direction she’d come from.

“Wait, that’s it?” Jolene asked, scowling. “C’mon, even Dickens’ ghosts were less cheap than that.”

“You know what you want to do, Jolene. I don’t need to tell you that. If telling you something were gonna solve this, you’d have been settled right and tight six months ago.” The man chuckled. “I think what you needed is just encouragement to listen to yourself.”

“And you got stuck with the job?” Jolene snorted.

“More like I volunteered for it.”

“Why?” Her eyebrow shot toward her hairline as she said it.

“Indirectly, this involves someone who is very important to me. If I can pass along some sense to you, maybe down the road you can pass it along to them.” He shrugged, a rueful gesture, tantalizingly familiar in selfeffacing sort of way. “Ma’am.” He grabbed the brim of a hat that wasn’t there and nodded before turning and walking off in the direction she’d come from.

In the time it took her heart to beat three slow times, she was alone in the clearing though it had certainly taken her longer to make it through the trees than that.

Jolene looked over in the direction the man had said the road was in, and then back at the now empty clearing with no sign anyone but her had been in it–well–ever. When you don’t know where you’re going any road will get you there, the cat had said.

—

Jarrett sighed wishing there was something he could say to the young man who had by now had to have figured out that his bride wasn’t coming.

“I should have known–but–I thought…” Sawyer sighed.

“Aye.” Jarrett nodded.

“Well, I suppose I should…” Sawyer shifted in his seat.

“You don’t have to.” Jarrett told him. But he would, just like Jarrett would have. That was what they both did, picked themselves up out of the dirt and went along, regardless. The sound of shoes hitting the porch boards at a run startled them both and they turned to peer at the door.

“She’s coming!” Tate exclaimed hard on the heels of bursting through the door. Sawyer’s face was awash in conflicting emotions. “His Majesty says to tell you that she says that she’s sorry she kept us waiting, but if you still wanna do this. She will.”

—

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Jolene said as she stopped under the rose arbor.

“It’s alright.” He shrugged.

“I needed a little help finding the right road.” Her eyes scanned over the wedding guests with a peculiar intensity that he could only wonder at. But then Gray was taking his place and such mundane thoughts fled. Call him a romantic, but her hold his hands in hers somehow seemed to say that they would find their way to right better than any words a silver tongue could put together.

—

Adult Content warning! This scene chunk contains adult material. You were warned!

He hesitated outside the bedroom door, slowly turning the knob before releasing it only to grip and turn it again. Somehow this was–harder–than he had daydreamed this would be. Although, wasn’t that always the way it went. “You can come in, Sawyer.” her voice called though it lacked it’s usual tone of certainty. She was laying on the bed in a white shift certainly not made to impress anyone.

“Sorry.” He rounded the other side of the bed and sat down gingerly, though he’d been sleeping in this bed in this room for weeks now. He already knew the lumps in the mattress.

“I should be the one apologizing.” Jolene said. The light glinting off the ring on her left hand. “I’ve put you through a lot and now I’m asking you to be patient while I put you through more.” He was pretty sure, given the shift she was wearing, at least part of what she meant by that.

“I understand.” He murmured towards his hands.

“I–I know it’s selfish.” She began then held up a hand as he started to protest. “But I just can’t–we can’t–I can’t.”

“At least you didn’t banish me to the couch. That’s what Livvie says she used to do with her ex-husband.” Jolene smiled at that. But it faded almost before it had finished blooming.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered again. He leaned over and started to blow the candles on the nightstand out. “Wait, Sawyer.” He turned to look at her.

“I can’t–but it’s–it’s our wedding night.” Sawyer shrugged with a nonchalance that he certainly didn’t feel.

“I’m just glad you married me.” She brushed the hair from his face with one hand.

“Liar.” She said with a snicker. “Well, maybe there is something I can do.” Her hand brushed over his shoulder and across his chest, opening his pajama top and sliding it to one side before pulling the other side off his shoulder. He sat up slightly, tossing the cloth off to one side at her gesture.

She made a noise in the back of her throat and pressed her lips to his neck right over his pulse, which started raising as she nipped gently and her hand slid down his chest, to the drawstring on his sleep trews. Even without looking at the knot, she made short work of it and then her hand slid down further. Feather light touches on his hips and belly had him hard before the first finger touched him.

“Take your pants off.” She murmured in his hair, leaving him the task of trying to manage that without sitting up because her lips were still busy at his neck and the hollow of his collar bone. Though admittedly it was the light touch of her hand, much lower on his body, that was the hardest to work around. He got them kicked off though where they fell was anyone’s guess.

“Jo–” He began.

“Hush, sweetheart, or I’ll lose my nerve entirely.” She said before kissing him. A hard, wet deep thing unlike anything she’d ever done before, almost distracting him from her free hand–almost, until it wrapped around him. He gasped into her mouth and she nipped at his lower lip, which didn’t–couldn’t entirely distract him.

And then in that usual timeless rush, it was over. Him gasping for breath, eyes wide, watching his wife who shrugged ruefully.

“Good night, Sawyer.” She said shifting herself under the covers. He slid under them himself after fishing his trews off the footboard. “I wish you didn’t have to give me the time, but thanks.” He just nodded and wrapped his arms around his wife. They’d figure it out.

“Ah, my first guest!” Sawyer said from the porch of his, his! new house. Never in all of his years of basically being a street rat did he think that at seventeen he would have a house of his very own. Or mostly, he’d be spending the next year at least taking over some of the most distasteful jobs for Fox, Ren, and Blake in trade for the materials to furnish the house, but more than likely he’d have been doing that anyway. It was his and that meant no more stepping to someone else’s rules or having to act like servant to a stuck-up brat of a nobleman while he sneered down his long pale nose.

He could get up when he wanted–or mostly, he still had to be up in time to meet Jarrett and Nessa at the barn or the pasture for feeding, milking, and tending the animals. And he could eat meals when he wanted to–or mostly, he still had to report to Master Fox’s by midmorn for chores there, and just after noon, he had to report to Master Ren’s, then mid afternoon, he had to go over to Master Blake’s, then he’d have to run to the pasture to bring in animals and help with evening feed–well, damn. It looked like he was still going to be running to someone else’s schedule.

“I–am?” Tate looked around himself surprised.

“Aye, I don’t think Master Blake and Master Ren helping carry in the furniture really counts as a guest, an’ nor does Mistress Raquel, as she came to help me with hanging stuff and arranging stuff.” Sawyer said. “You’re the first one who’s just come by for a gab not to work.”

“Oh! So this is it, aye?” Tate asked. Sawyer flushed a little as his chest puffed out like a little robin’s.

“Aye.” Sawyer said then the two of them stared at each other for a moment as if silently asking the other “now what?”.

“So what were your plans for this afternoon?” Tate asked. He had the afternoon off to “get settled” no chores or tasks or anything he had to do not even feeding this evening.

“I was gonna get the back garden planted.” Tate laughed wryly as Sawyer admitted it. Even when he had time off he was still doing chores. Well, that was the way it went, or at least that was the way it went when a lad wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Or as Mistress Peyton liked to say laughingly to Lady Victoria about Alistair “shoved up his ass”.

“Well, lemme help you.” The other lad smiled.

“You’re a guest, an’ this is your afternoon off, aye?” Sawyer said.

“An’ what’ll I do if I don’t? Sit in your new living room and admire your new floorboards if you keep to your plans, an’ if you don’t? I’ll be keeping you from getting your work done an’ then you’ll scramble to get it done after I leave or in between your other chores.” Tate pointed out ruthlessly. Sawyer nodded in goodnatured defeat and jerked his chin at the fenced off plot that contained the kitchen garden.

“So how’s it feel to own your own cottage?” Tate asked.

“I don’t even know. It hasn’t settled in about me yet. All I can think of is how many years it’d have taken me to scrape together the glim for some small rat invested hovel.”

“Isn’t that rat infested?” Tate interrupted.

“Oh, aye, whatever.” Sawyer laughed and waved, careful not to spill one drop of the manure he was pouring. “If I were still back playing in taprooms for glim, crusts, an’ floor space. I’da been gray in the beard long before I had something like that.” Sawyer looked at the house, the glass–glass, his house had glass windows, could you even believe such a thing?–glittering in the early summer light. Tate paused in the process of stabbing a training stake down into a patch of beans and looked first at Sawyer then at the cottage. “An’ likely years in the grave.”

“Aye that.” Tate said.

“Did you think you would?” The king had, when he moved from his cottage into the castle, gifted Tate with his former home.

“Well, aye, eventually I suppose, but it hasn’t really sunk in that it’s mine. I keep walking the rooms expecting to hear–the king or Sir Wesley. An’ half the time I’m not even there.” Tate admitted. Tate, after all, was still King Lachlan’s only servant and most of them weren’t ready for invisible people answering doors or meals made by magic.

“Aye.” Sawyer nodded. “Still, you’ve got some place to take the girls. If it were good enough for a marquis’ son…” Sawyer trailed off.

“If there were a girl.” Tate sighed.

“I thought you an’ Zahrah were getting on.” Sawyer glanced over his shoulder as Tate shoved the next training stake into the ground with the force of someone impaling something. “Well, there’s other girls, y’know. What about Lady Olivia, she’s real nice, an’ a really good cook.”

“An’ didn’t you say she’d been married once–an’ she’s gotta be near as old as the king.” Tate said.

“So? That don’t mean she ain’t a girl. She’s real pretty besides.” Sawyer pointed out. Tate shook his sunbleached head and sprinkled a few seeds into the ground. They fell into silence after that, with nothing more said until they were seated across the table from each other, a bowl of Lady Olivia’s soup in front of them both.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s, er, nice.” Tate said.

“Out with it.” Sawyer said. Maybe he’d been spending too much time with Mistress Peyton. “I’d rather have the truth.”

“I thought your stuff was supposed to be new.” Tate said.”This all looks kinda–old.”

“It’s a style, Mistress Raquel tells me. Shabby Chic. J–” Sawyer stumbled to a stop, looking across the table toward Tate.

“You decorated the house for Lady Jolene, didn’t you?” Tate said. Sawyer said nothing. “All of it? Upstairs? Bed, even?”

“…Aye.” Sawyer admitted.

“But you don’t even know that Lady Jolene will marry you yet.” Sawyer raised his chin defiantly. “Wasn’t that risky?”

“She’s…”

“An’ weren’t you tellin’ me there are other girls, what about Lady Olivia? You like her.” Tate said.

“You don’t understand, Tate.” Sawyer shook his head. “I like Lady Olivia an’ Lady Nessa an’ Lady Tiffany, but… the thought of trying to live without Jolene is like the thought of living underwater. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, she’s there in every daydream, in every plan. I can’t get her out of my head. An’–and maybe the house will help convince her of that.”

Tate shook his head, the stands falling in his eyes. “I don’t think it works like that, Sawyer.”

“It did for Sir Camden.” The words fell out of Sawyer’s mouth before he could stop them, painted with an unmistakable green. Was it just that Sir Camden had so much more to offer Lady Victoria? The fact that he was a knight and one of the King’s advisers and she’d never go hungry married to him? And that he couldn’t offer that to Jolene? He had no guarantees to her besides the fact that he loved her and wanted to do his best for her?

“Sawyer, don’t.” Tate said, a plea clear in his voice. “Jealousy don’t do nobody any good.” Sawyer looked hard at the other boy, something in his eyes, the way they closed tiredly, in the defeated slump of his shoulders.

“Is he still at it?”

“Sir Camden?” Tate asked, his face shocked.

“Nah, M’lord.” The scornful sneer would tell anyone who Sawyer referred to.

“It’s nothing, Sawyer.” Tate lied. Sawyer knew it was a lie in the way his shoulders slumped down more and he turned his attention toward his bowl.

“You are worth twenty of M’lord’s pretty face an’ charming manner, Tate.” Sawyer said. “All he’s got is some fine words and a silver spoon stuck up his arse. You are so much more than that.”

“You can’t tangle with him, Sawyer. Dispossessed noble or not, he’d turn you into a flapjack. Gray, he told me about Alistair, he knew him afore his da cut him off. He’s a dirty fighter–an’ mean.” Tate said.

“So why not give Lady Zahrah up, Tate?”

“I’m not like you, Sawyer. She–she… notices me.” Tate said before dropping his attention to his bowl again. Sawyer sighed and looked at his friend then turned his attention back to his own bowl of soup.

It felt kinda odd, to put his bowls into his washbowl and then adjourn to his parlor. But that oddness came secondary to trying to figure out how to help Tate, especially when as far as Sawyer could see, Tate didn’t even want help.

“Have you tried talking to the King?” Sawyer finally asked.

“The king has enough worries, he doesn’t need a grubby little peasant boy whining about getting a girl to him.” Tate shook his head.

“But you’re more than that, Tate, and the king, he likes you. I’m sure he’s got time to listen to you.” Sawyer said. “If not the king, then how bout Sir Wesley, or Lord Gray, he’s acting as priest right now, you could talk with him.”

“You can’t talk about girl stuff with Lord Gray, Sawyer, priest or no, he’s just not somebody you can talk with about that.” Well maybe Tate had a point. that statue in the church garden probably had more warmth and feeling than Lord Gray. “An’ Sir Wesley, he might understand, but he’s a knight. If M’lord pushed him, Sir Wesley’d beat him with the flat of his sword.” Right, Sir Wesley probably did lack a bit of–perspective.

Tate might have been short, but he was stocky and strong in his own right. Still, that didn’t mean that Tate knew how to fight. Other than the occasional one with his sibs, Sawyer doubted Tate had ever been in a fight.

“Well, I want you to know if you ever need a second for a fight with M’lord, I got you.” Sawyer said finally. “An’ if M’lord ever agreed to fight us both, Jarrett’d tear his hide off him, so y’got nothing to worry about.”

Tate finally smiled and as sundown fell, Sawyer saw him off, quite forgetting there was one more thing…

“Is it sad how much I want to squee?” Jolene asked Heidi.

“Over the fact that I’m getting married–or over the fact that I’ll be moving out and you’ll have more closet space?” Heidi teased.

“Which do you think? Especially considering that Zahrah will be taking over your wardrobe space before the last of your stuff clears the stairwell.” Jolene stuck her tongue out at Heidi who laughed and stuck her tongue out back.

“Ah, well, then, no. I don’t mind if you want to squee over the wedding.” Victoria tucked a strand of her hair back into the updo and headed down the stairs.

“So, ten bucks says it’s six weeks or less before Kennedy’s firing up the old preg tester again.” Peyton was saying as she came into the living room of the barn.

“You’re betting on people’s sex lives now, Peyton?” Tiffany asked, a bit incredulously.

“Isn’t anything else to bet on. I wonder how hard it is to make slot machines.” She trailed off looking at the ceiling.

“Fairly.” Victoria pointed out as she took a seat in the empty chair to Peyton’s left. The blonde looked at her with an eyebrow quirked. “Think about it. Not only would you have to figure out the mechanics of making one, you’d have to figure out how to build a generator cause they need power to run. Besides, would you really want to dump all your money into something like that?”

“Not for me, I’d build a bank of them and everyone else could lose their money in them.”

“Right.” Victoria said. “And what would you do if someone won?”

“I’d think of something, don’t kill my buzz, Vikki.”

“Have you been drinking already, Peyton?” Jolene asked from behind them.

“Oh, you know. Just a little liquid courage.” Peyton stretched.

“For what?” Jolene sneered. “You aren’t getting married, after all.”  If Peyton was in the room, Victoria would have sworn that it was her permanent expression. Granted this was the real world and not some place occupied by fuzzy little bears or ponies who were all bff’s all the time, but Victoria still didn’t know why Jolene was so disparaging of Peyton all the time.

“For seeing my ass in this dress.” Peyton waved airily. At least Peyton got as good as she gave very rarely letting the other woman get her goat.

“I take it,” Kennedy interjected before they could get any further into a disagreement. “That Heidi is ready to go and that we should head for the chapel?” Jolene looked at Kennedy for a long moment as if judging whether she’d win a battle with the doctor, but apparently she didn’t think so because she just nodded.

Heidi had decided that she wanted to have an outdoor wedding, something that was questionable, given that it was spring, and doubly questionable considering the dark clouds on the horizon, but, as Heidi pointed out, the king was a wizard. If he could bring people from the future, he could keep it from raining on one wedding ceremony.

Though she really didn’t know Heidi that well or Dolph either, the ceremony was very sweet and apparent to everyone that the bride and groom adored each other. After the vows were said, Dolph swept Heidi off her feet and spun her around, garnering applause from the spectators.

Then it was inside, after all there was no reason to tempt fate with an outdoor reception as well. The plants did need rain so if it decided to drizzle all afternoon, they should probably let it.

“Aren’t you going to have any cake, Lady Victoria?” A voice asked by her elbow.

“I want to be able to fit into this dress for the next wedding if I need to.” Victoria said turning toward Camden.

“I think it’ll fit fine,” Camden blushed then. Oh, my. Victoria stopped herself from giggling. He’d been checking her out! Maybe walking everywhere and not being constantly stuck behind a desk going over columns of numbers was helping put her curves back where she remembered them being.

“What about you?” Victoria asked. Camden’s green eyes widened for a moment. “Cake, aren’t you going to have any?”

“Oo-oh. Uh, no–I don’t think so.” Camden glanced around. “The young lady with Alistair, who is she?” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction that Camden was looking.

“Is that Alistair?” Victoria asked. For some reason she had been expect Alistair to be–the skeezy guy in the trench coat. Someone who looked like a rat. He looked normal. Handsome, even. Then her eyes flicked onto the girl talking to him. Zahrah. She was new to Shadowcrest too.

Of course Camden would notice her. Zahrah was young and very pretty, and her curves had the benefit of never having shifted out of position in the first place. She was probably closer to Camden in age than she was. Victoria stifled a sigh, as Camden would probably notice. Still, when she turned back Camden’s eyes shot up from where they’d been settled, which wasn’t on Zahrah.

“That’s Zahrah. She came a few days ago.” Victoria said, watching Camden’s face for a hint of his eyes leaping away to look at Zahrah again. Except they didn’t. Huh?

“Hadn’t you met Alistair?” Camden asked as if the girl was no longer anything he was concerned with.

“No. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I can’t name a single complimentary thing that was said about him.” Victoria admitted. Camden looked thoughtful for a moment. “What?”

“I’m trying to think of a complimentary thing I’ve ever heard said about him.” Victoria stifled a giggle. Alistair had moved away from Zahrah, who sat on one of the benches as Dolph and Heidi took the dance floor.

Camden grabbed a couple of glasses of wine and handed her one. She twisted the stem of the glass in her fingers before taking a sip of the wine, as Camden’s eyes swept over her profile.

The peace was broken by the sound of someone angrily hissing their breath in between their teeth. Victoria glanced at Camden who was watching Dolph and Heidi. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Okay, it wasn’t Camden… who then…? She wondered taking a slightly larger drink of the wine from her glass.

A stir by the door caught Victoria’s attention. “Well, my loves.” Blake said, rubbing Raquel’s tummy in a way that made Victoria smile wistfully. “I think I should take you and your mommy home. It’s walk from here.”

Considering Victoria hardly knew Raquel and Blake even less, it felt somewhat wrong to watch the two of them leaving, so she turned her attention back to the wine in her glass. Whatever it was, it was a lot stronger than the wine in a box that was served at book club and it was seeming to go straight to her head. Just one glass shouldn’t have tipped her into “buzzed” but this stuff had managed.

“Lady Victoria?” Camden sounded concerned.

“I just need a little air.” At least she hoped that she only needed some air. She didn’t know how she’d live with it if she got too drunk to walk home off one glass of wine. The young knight fell into step with her, holding the door open as the still-slightly-chilly night air hit her arms and face and cleared her head.

They both stood looking up at the sky for a moment until a cultured voice speaking in a hushed but obviously angry tone caught her attention.

“Leave her alone.” She recognized the redhair and black embroidered clothes from the back.

“You–you don’t.” Whomever responded was obviously by the voice a lot younger–and a lot smaller as she couldn’t see him past Alistair.

“Oh please, come back and retort when you can do it without a stammer.”

“Go to hell.” The boy said. Alistair grabbed the younger boy and jerking him half off his feet.

“What was that, you little urchin?” The boy didn’t say anything and the redhaired man shoved him away, obviously prepared to walk away. Camden’s fists were clenched like he was about to lay into Alistair.

“Go get Sawyer.” Victoria suggested. Camden looked at her. “Please, Camden.”

“Yes, Lady Victoria.” He said turning and running back into the reception hall. Alistair stalked past her, sneering down his nose and Victoria found her own hands balling into fists. The boy, she thought for a moment, Tate had his face buried in his hands. She wanted to say something, or at least give him cookies and a big hug, but they didn’t even know each other.

And having a woman you didn’t know witness you getting bullied was sure to perk the old self-esteem back up.

“Heyla,” Sawyer said, rounding the corner, Tate pulled his hands away from his face in such a way that Victoria was sure he was brushing away tears. Sawyer didn’t act like he noticed. “What’s wrong.”

“Just–Alistair. I asked–it’s nothing.” Tate said.

“Ah, Alistair, is it? You know the first time Jarrett put him in charge of stirrin’ the laundry, he burnt his braises?” Sawyer said. “He did. He was stirrin’ the pot of laundry o’er the cook fire, and he stirs like a sissy, y’know, barely swishin’ the water an’ me an’ Jarrett are at the pond fishin’ when we smell something burnin’ Go back and there’s ‘is braises at the bottom of the pot, burned just like the tag end of a pot of porridge in a cheap inn!”

The young bard continued to tell what Alistair would surely find to be highly embarrassing tales about him until Tate giggled, just a little.

“Alistair’s a bully isn’t he?” Victoria asked.

“That’s about all I’d call him in the presence of a lady.” Camden agreed. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I hate seeing a kid picked on, but I also know that if you interfered he’d just do it again, sometime when you weren’t around. And that Tate’d feel lower than a worm’s belly.” Victoria sighed. Camden cocked his head to the side. “My brother was bullied when he was about Tate’s age.” She felt her stomach clench.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t. But I used to.” Victoria said staring down at her hands.

“Oh.” Camden said.

“Lady Victoria, Sir Camden.” Sawyer bobbed his head as he sauntered past. Tate barely looked up as he murmured something that Victoria couldn’t catch.

As if that were some sort of a signal for people to start leaving, the doors pushed open only a few moments later, spilling Peyton and Ren out into the street. The two walked along for a moment before Ren caught Peyton’s hands in his. Not a drop of romance in her, my ass.

After Emanuel and Kennedy headed down the dark street toward the town gates, Sawyer, Tate, and Jolene followed.

“That’s quite alright, Alistair. Jarrett and I’ll see Zahrah back to the barn.” Nessa said as the doors pushed open a fourth time. Good, I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to Zahrah, and I’m not sure I trust Alistair any further than I can throw him. Especially not after what he did to Tate. Victoria thought. Not that anyone had asked her. But still it was always good to have one’s personal approval met.

Alistair followed a moment later, a snarl on his face. Lastly Wesley and Fox, followed by Tiffany, and Lock.

“If you’ll wait a moment, Lady Victoria, for me to say good night to Dolph and Lady Heidi I’ll walk you home.” Camden said, twisting his hand nervously. Victoria smiled and nodded.

The walk back was more quiet than talk, but pleasant still. And then they were back at the house with the familiar lanterns and the scarecrow watching lecherously over the crops. Maybe it was just her but that scarecrow was creepy.

“Thank you, Sir Camden.” Victoria tried to curtsy, not that it worked worth anything, but she tried. Camden nodded then raised his hand, tucking it under her chin and lifting it.