Emrys studied his expression. His eyes distant, Trystan looked past him across the field of wildflowers. The muted, purple-orange glow of the setting sun lit Trystan’s face. Emrys sensed the pain he hid. “Still no clues about your real parents I gather.”
Trystan lifted his gaze and stared at Emrys. “No. Nothing,” he whispered. “I’ve been searching for years, Emrys. I don’t understand how there cannot be a single person alive who knew who they were. I just want to know who I am… where I am from…”
“Give it time, Trystan.” Emrys swept his black, wool overcoat aside and crouched down in front of him. “You will find the truth someday.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I know you will. It’s not in you to give up.”
“Sometimes, I think you know me better than I know myself,” Trystan replied, his tone still edged with sorrow. “It is strange how you so often seem to know what I’m thinking.”
“Just intuition. You are a very easy person to read, and I do know you quite well. So,” Emrys said, shifting on his feet. “What book is it this afternoon that has the good fortune of garnering your attention?”
Still crouched, Emrys reached down beside Trystan’s foot and lifted the small, leather-bound book from the grass. He flipped through a few worn pages before turning to the cover. He quirked a brow. “The Prophecies of Myrddin? Where did you find this?”
“I happened upon it while looking through your library. Actually, it and a couple others fell out of that dusty, broken old box you keep on the top shelf.” Trystan took the tome from Emrys’ hand. “Something about this one seemed, I don’t know… important.”
“I’d nearly forgotten about this. I haven’t opened that box in years.”
“I hope you don’t mind my borrowing it.”
“Not at all. Keep it as long as you like.”
“Thank you. Are we still on for our travels tomorrow?” Trystan turned his gaze toward the setting sun and took a breath. “I am looking forward to Caerwynt.”
The ache in Emrys’ chest expanded. Trystan’s words held only sorrow even though he knew how much Trystan enjoyed exploring old castles.
“Do you not wish to go?”
Trystan gave his head a slight shake, still staring toward the horizon. “No. I do.”
“Good.”
“May I ask you something, Emrys?”
“Of course.”
Trystan looked up at him, and their eyes locked. Emrys’ heart jolted with the desire to lean forward and press his lips against Trystan’s, but he held back. He couldn’t jeopardize this world or Trystan’s life for his own selfish wants.
Trystan sighed.
“Trystan?”
“How do you know when you’re in love?”
Emrys inhaled deeply, as quietly as possible. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Oh.” Disappointment filled Trystan’s eyes.
The sting of regret burned within Emrys’ heart. “Why? Do you believe you are in love with someone?”
“No.” Trystan shook his head. “I had thought—never mind.” He pushed to his feet, his shimmering eyes fixed on the setting sun. “It’s getting late. I should head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Trystan left Emrys in the meadow, making his way home as he tried to ignore the constricting pain in his chest. Emrys didn’t love him as he’d thought, and that fact hurt more than anything he’d ever felt before. After losing one of his fathers mere months ago, Trystan had felt a growing need inside him. The need for Emrys’ affection. As each day had passed, Trystan found himself longing to hear his voice. Flutters of warmth would erupt in his stomach at the sound of his laugh. And every time those emerald eyes caught his, his heart would skip a beat, sometimes more.
But none of that mattered because Emrys didn’t want him.
Emrys likely saw him as nothing more than a friend. A fact that shattered Trystan’s heart because he was undoubtedly in love with Emrys, even if Emrys was nearly twenty years older than him, but that would have to change.
