Chapter 5
The Prince sought his mother out the moment Emrys left him and Trystan. He found her in her room, playing chess with one of the ladies of her guard while another read quietly. Two others stood guard, flanking the door. His mother’s loyal greyhound, Isolde—another name after Arthurian lore—lay at her feet.
“Mother, I must speak with you privately.”
Endelyn looked up from her game. “Can it wait a few minutes, Marc?”
“No, I’m afraid it can’t.”
“Very well.” Endelyn pushed her gold-painted, cushioned chair back from the table a few inches. Isolde jumped at the sudden movement then sat back down beside her. “Ladies, will you excuse us?”
The women exited quietly, each bowing before the Prince as they walked past him and out of the room. Marc closed the double doors behind the last one. He gestured for Trystan to sit and grabbed another chair, pulling it to the chess table.
“Emrys said to trust only you.”
“Where is he now?” Endelyn asked, unconsciously petting the dog’s head.
“We don’t know. We only know he expects to return in two days and he asked that we go to Trystan’s father’s home until then.”
“Then that is what you must do.”
“Your Grace, Emrys spoke of a prophecy,” Trystan said. “Is there anything you can tell us about it?”
“I’m sorry, Trystan. I know nothing of a prophecy.”
Trystan sighed.
“I do, however, know that Emrys protects you with his life and has for many years. There isn’t anything that man would not do for you. Trust everything he tells you, no matter how incredible it seems.”
***
“I must speak with my father also, Trystan, before we leave.”
“What will you tell him?”
Marc shrugged and twisted his lips into a smirk, his eyebrows raised. He glanced at the old leather-bound book in Trystan’s hand. “Perchance I’ll embellish on a discovery of a rare artifact with ties to King Arthur and inform him I’m going to investigate the claims on his behalf.”
The corner of Trystan’s mouth lifted into a wry grin.
“My father won’t question it, and it will buy me time away to be with you.”
“Will you tell him about me?”
“I will, but not yet.” The happiness on Marc’s face fell away. “My father does not believe in destined mates. He is convinced of my need to marry Genevieve of Bertaèyn in order to secure an alliance. The fact her name is a variation of Guinevere only strengthens his resolve, but I have continually refused.”
“Do you believe he will press the issue?”
“Perchance, but I’ll not waiver in my decision, especially now that I’ve found you.” Marc pressed a soft kiss to Trystan’s lips. “I shall return shortly, my love.”
Trystan found a quiet corner of the castle’s garden and opened the book, The Guardian King, that the Queen had gifted him. He lost himself in the hand-printed text.
“Trystan Caillot,” sounded a man’s firm voice.
Trystan looked up from the pages of his book to a man a little older than he was with fierce brown eyes standing before him, his long brown hair tied at the base of his neck.
“You are in danger. You mustn’t stay here.”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Trystan replied.
