Chapter 6
“I must take him now, Your Grace.”
“Please, Myrddin, is there any more time? Is there any other way to end this?”
“I’m afraid not, my queen, else we jeopardize him being caught, and the prophecy ending before it begins.”
“Trystan, my sweet darling. Your father and I love you with all our hearts. But now, you must go. Myrddin will protect you. When the time comes, you will remember who you are.”
The bed dipped, and the blanket and linens shifted, rousing Trystan from his deep sleep. Cool morning air crept over his skin, and then a warm body pressed against his back as a strong arm snaked over his side and locked around his waist.
Trystan nestled into Marc’s embrace, drifting back to sleep. He awoke some hours later, alone. Stretching, Trystan rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He sat up and groaned, a subtle ache in his muscles reminding him of the night before and the wondrous things Marc had done to his body, and to his heart.
After dressing himself, Trystan found his father and Marc sitting by the fire. The dirt floor quiet beneath his feet, Trystan slipped around the corner and out the door into the vegetable garden. He relieved himself in the tall grass beyond the garden and returned inside.
“I found myself privy to a conversation between Emrys and the King the other day. I heard you fought in the Battles of Derwent and Ryhn in support of my father.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I did. I was a lieutenant under Lord Umbria.”
“Perchance one day I’ll have a need to call on you for your military experience. Serving under the Earl of Umbria surely must have been an honor.”
“Indeed it was, Your Grace,” Noah replied. “And it would be an honor to serve you in the future, as well as to serve your father again.”
Trystan chose that moment to join Noah and Marc. “Good morrow, Father. Marc.” He moved to stand in front of the hearth, warming his hands against the flames.
“Good morrow, Trystan,” his father replied, taking a sip of ale.
Marc stood and stepped in behind Trystan, cupping his hands over Trystan’s upper arms. He pressed a tender kiss to Trystan’s cheek near his ear and whispered, “Good morrow, cymara.”
A short breath broke across Trystan’s lips, warmth spreading through his body from where Marc had kissed him.
Marc returned to his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“Trystan—” Noah started.
“What can you tell us about the prophecy, Father?” Trystan shifted on his feet, turning to face him.
“Not much, I’m afraid. Emrys has told me little about it. I know only that you had to find love in order to stop an evil from your past. I had thought Emrys was the one, but he insisted otherwise.” Noah’s gaze fell on Marc. “It seems he was right after all.”
Trystan’s brow wrinkled. “What made you believe I was meant to be with Emrys?”
“I thought I’d seen something in you—something about the way you would look at him—but I must have been mistaken.”
A twinge of longing sprang up in Trystan’s heart as he thought of Emrys, imagining his best friend as his mate. Marc’s fingers brushed his. The feeling dissipated.
Marc looked up at Trystan from where he sat, his eyes contemplating.
“Emrys is my closest friend, but Marc is my cymara.” Trystan clasped Marc’s hand and squeezed. “Our bond awakened yesterday when we kissed, and with each passing moment, my love for him deepens. It is as though I have known him all my life.”
“Your father would be happy for you,” Noah said, his voice a little strained. “As am I.”
A heavy silence settled over them.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about my past?”
“You are descended from a great king, and as such, your life is about to change.”
“A great king? Who? And what exactly is going to change?”
