Chapter 3
The tour of the grounds went exactly as Emrys had hoped. Trystan no longer talked of love nor the connection he felt between them, and, as intended, did not remember the kiss they shared. Emrys had never disengaged such intense memories and emotions from a person’s mind at one time before, but it was necessary to fulfilling the prophecy.
Unfortunately, Emrys remembered everything. He knew he would—he couldn’t block his own memories—and he would find a way to conceal his emotions and manage through the pain. What he hadn’t counted on, however, was the deep ache in his heart when Trystan looked at him. The affection Trystan’s eyes had held, more so in recent months, had subsided, and it tore Emrys up inside. He had to remind himself that Trystan would be his in a future life, and once that time came, Emrys vowed he’d never let him go.
Emrys settled on a turf seat in the garden.
Trystan sat down next to him, admiring the fertile garden around him as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over them. “I don’t remember this place being as lovely as it was the last time I was here. Then again, I was only eight.”
“And you were in awe then, if I recall correctly.” The corner of Emrys’ mouth quirked, and he huffed a quiet laugh. “I remember practically chasing you through the corridors and gardens. You were energetic and so full of life and wonder. You wanted to know and see everything, but you were shy too. You avoided people you didn’t know, even other children. All but…”
Trystan cocked his head, raising his brows. “All but what?”
“One.” The memory unveiled itself, and a dawning realization hit him. Emrys’ voice softened. “I lost track of you one day and eventually found you. You were in the stables, petting the nose of a horse, talking to it, when the Queen’s son approached you.”
“I’ve seen you before,” the young prince said.
Trystan jumped a little and yanked his hand away from the horse’s snout, turning to face the unfamiliar voice. A boy near to his own age with auburn hair touching his shoulders closed the distance between them. He was dressed in unassuming linen and leather.
For the first time in meeting someone new, Trystan didn’t feel the urge to hide or run.
“What’s your name?”
“Trystan.”
“I’m Marc.” The prince smiled, his blue eyes shining and locked on Trystan’s, and Trystan found himself unable to do anything but reciprocate. Marc reached up and gently rubbed the horse’s nose. The stallion nuzzled his palm. “Do you like him?”
Trystan nodded.
“He likes you too.”
“How do you know?”
Marc smiled again, and something akin to a flutter stirred in Trystan’s chest. “He didn’t turn away from you earlier. Usually, he’ll snort and huff, then turn his back.”
“Oh.”
“Go on. You can pet him more if you’d like.”
Trystan’s lips curved upward. He reached up and petted the beautiful creature. He loved animals, particularly horses.
“Here.” Marc grasped Trystan’s hand and moved it up and slightly to the left. “He really likes it when you scratch right here.”
Trystan heard the words, but the meaning didn’t register in his mind. The moment Marc’s hand touched his, images of people and things he’d never seen before—stone forests, strange humans with gray skin, bloody battles with monsters and wolves, magic, fire in the sky, castles, dragons—flashed before him.
Then, everything fell dark.
“Trystan?” Marc fell to his knees where Trystan lay, unmoving. “Trystan?”
Emrys ran toward the boys, dropping to his knees. He checked that he was breathing and listened for his heartbeat. Both were faint.
“I only touched his hand. I didn’t mean to hurt him.” Marc sobbed. “Will he be all right?”
“Worry not, my prince. Trystan will be fine.” Emrys lifted Trystan into his arms and stood. As Marc pushed to his feet, Emrys glanced between the two boys.
Marc wiped away the dampness on his cheeks. “I have seen you before as well. Are you his family?”
“In a way, yes. I also once worked for your father. Perchance that is why you recognize me.”
