Chapter 2
Unable to sleep, Noah sat in his worn, barely-cushioned arm chair by the fire with a wool blanket wrapped around him, staring into the low dancing flames. Embers popped as the wood logs glowed red from within and the ash piled in the stone hearth. He should put another log or two on the fire, but the flickering warmth soothed him, having lulled him into a soft trance.
So many sleepless nights had passed since he’d lost his husband. He hadn’t brought himself to crawl back into the bed he and Owaine had shared for more than twenty years. He’d tried a few times, but it was far too cold and empty for his heart to bear. Instead, he’d slept unobjectionably every night since his death in the chair Owaine had carved for him on their third anniversary together. The simple piece of furniture touched on memories Noah cherished, helping to fill the hole in his heart that would never fully heal.
The whinny of horses outside drew his attention toward the door. Noah scrubbed his hand over his face and stood, half expecting Trystan to rush past him with the excitement he usually held when Emrys arrived to take him somewhere, but this time, Trystan didn’t. Noah opened the cottage door and leaned against the wooden frame.
The sun gleamed with not a cloud in the sky to hide it—something rather uncommon for a spring day in Vilsir. Dewdrops still moistened the sparse grass and the vegetables in the garden along the side of the cottage, but the dirt path and road appeared dry.
Noah lifted his hand to shade his eyes from dawn’s blinding light as Emrys approached from the simple wood and iron carriage. “Good morrow, Emrys.”
“As to you. Is Trystan ready?”
“I couldn’t say. He’s not come out of his room.”
“I’m here, Father.” Trystan’s low voice echoed from within. He stepped up beside Noah and gave Emrys a tight smile. His grip on the handle of his travel box tightened. The dull ache in his chest sharpened.
Emrys’ green eyes searched his. The green eyes from his dream flashed in his mind. Trystan’s pulse quickened, unable to tear his gaze away. A wave of heat traveled down his spine, and his heart begged him to reach for him, but Trystan held strong, heeding his mind’s reminder that this man did, in fact,notwant him.
“Is everything all right, Trystan?” his father asked.
“Yes, it’s fine.” Trystan’s voice came out hoarser than expected and he blinked rapidly, begging his body not to betray him. “I just need some fresh air. I’ll take my things and meet you in the carriage, Emrys, if that’s all right.”
“Of course, Trystan.”
As Trystan stepped past Emrys and walked toward the carriage, Emrys turned to watch him. Trystan paused by the two chestnut hackneys to rub their noses the way he did every time. He nuzzled them longer than usual, as if needing the connection to alleviate the sadness Emrys sensed in him. The sadness Emrys was certain he’d caused.
“Did something happen, Emrys?” Noah spoke softly.
Emrys tore his gaze from Trystan and met Noah’s concerned one. “I may have implied that I didn’t love him. I had to.”
Noah studied him. “What if I told you I think you’re wrong?”
“You have no idea how much I wish that were true, but I am not descendant from Arthur, Noah. The prophecy states he must unite with someone who is.” Emrys paused. “I should go. We’ll return in a fortnight.”
“Let’s hope, for your sake, you’ve interpreted the prophecy incorrectly.” Noah lifted his brows, daring Emrys to rebut, but he didn’t’. “Whatever the case, safe journey, my friend.”
***
Emrys had been silent for the past half hour, lazily propping himself in the corner, his hat tilted over his eyes. Trystan let him rest as he watched out the window while they rolled along, passing fields of grass and wildflowers. Elderberry and dogwood shrubs dotted the countryside, and in the middle of one open field stood an old yew tree said to be over two thousand years old.
Trystan appreciated the quietness of the trip. He didn’t want to talk. He tried to read, but visions of his dream preoccupied his mind. Trystan wanted answers but didn’t dare ask. The last thing he needed was confirmation that the man he loved didn’t love him back.
The hours dragged on in silence until they arrived at Caerwynt Castle. As the driver began to offload their belongings, Emrys disembarked the carriage. Trystan, a little weary from the somewhat jarring ride, exited the carriage and nodded to the driver.
“Thank you, Emily,” Trystan said, glad to be standing once again, though the rank smell of the city around them reminded him why he preferred to spend his time at home or in the meadow.
A young man, perchance around twenty-five, walked toward them at a brisk pace with a boy no older than twelve on his heels. The man’s eyes focused on Emrys as he approached, a serious expression on his gaunt face. Layers of black clothing covered his short, scrawny frame.
“Ah, Lord Wyllt,” the man said. “A pleasure to see you again. The Queen has been looking forward to your visit and meeting the young man you mentioned in your recent letter.”
“The pleasure is mine, Malik.” Turning, Emrys gestured Trystan forward to introduce him. “May I introduce Trystan Caillot? Trystan, this is Malik Seisyll, the Queen’s secretary.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Seisyll,” Trystan said, slightly nodding his head.
“Please, call me Malik. Welcome to Caerwynt Castle, Trystan. I have heard much about you. I am sure you are eager to settle in and perchance have a little something to eat. Allow me to escort you to your lodgings.” He paused and turned. “Boy, collect their belongings,” he ordered and then turned to lead them through the gate.
The boy said nothing and immediately secured the items he could carry in hand. He followed Malik, Emrys, and Trystan, informing the driver he would return shortly for the rest.
