Hal considered this. Alaric’s face still betrayed nothing. “So, what? You think he plans to reveal his name tomorrow? He wants to beat me again to announce his newfound path?” Hal asked.
“You should leave now,” Alaric said, and his educated accent had sharpened into something almost cruel. But something passed in his eyes—what? If only Hal could read emotions as well as he could a knight’s jousting tells. “Both of you. This,” Alaric gestured rapidly between Perrin and Hal, “has been illuminating.”
Hal had just gotten his breeches on but couldn’t seem to make his hands work well enough to lace them. “Listen,” he said, turning to Alaric. “My squire is as damn forward as me. But if you are Lord Vaelor’s son, fucking me won’t?—”
“Did you really think,” Alaric interrupted, his smile turning cold, “that I wanted you here for any reason other than tomorrow’s match? That I invited you to my tent out of genuine desire rather than strategy?”
A cold knot formed in Hal’s stomach. He shut his mouth, felt himself close and retreat back to the safety of his anger, his volatility.
And still, because he could never learn, he muttered, “I don’t?—”
“You don’t understand?” Alaric’s eyebrow rose, aristocratic and contemptuous. “With your breeding, of course not. So, let me make it simple for you, then. Tomorrow we face each other in the finals. I needed an advantage. And you—” His gaze raked over Hal’s half-naked form withsomething that looked like disdain. “—you were so eager, all I had to do was suggest it.”
No. No, that wasn’t. . . He shook his head. That couldn’t be true. The way Alaric had looked at him. . .could desire like that be forced?
“You said you wanted to prove your worth without your name,” Hal hissed. “Was that a lie?”
But if Alaric heard him, he ignored Hal’s word. Alaric finished dressing and turned to face both of them fully. “Tell me, Ser Hal—do you think you’ll fight well tomorrow, pent up as you are? With your body aching and your mind replaying every sound you made, every desperate plea? Because I certainly won’t have that problem.”
The cruelty of it stole Hal’s breath. Even if Alaric was lying, even if he wasn’t who Perrin thought, this was the same ugly brand of hate every noble had thrown his way. Hal had lived in the shadow of this muck his whole life. Was Alaric embarrassed? Was embarrassment enough of a reason for—forthis?What a petty asshole.
Fuck. Fuck it all.
Hal looked at Perrin, whose face had gone carefully blank in the way it did when he was trying not to feel anything at all, and shame burned through Hal like fire.
Because it didn’t matter if Alaric was lying, then. He was right about one thing: Hal would be thinking about this for quite some time.
“Get out,” Alaric said, his voice final. “And thank your squire for providing such a timely interruption. I was starting to worry I’d have to find another way to end this before things went too far.”
Hal’s hands curled into fists. Part of him wanted to hit Alaric, wanted to wipe that cold smile off his face and make him hurt the way Hal was hurting. But Perrin was alreadyretreating from the tent, and the sight of his squire’s thin shoulders hunched against the night air broke something in Hal’s chest.
He grabbed his shirt and stumbled toward the entrance, unable to look at either of them. Behind him, Alaric’s laugh followed—soft and satisfied and entirely devoid of warmth.
“See you tomorrow, Ser Hal. I do hope you’ll still give me a good match.”
8
PERRIN
The tent smelled of sweat when Perrin returned to it, though he quickly realised he was smelling himself; his anxiety, pushing out of his pores. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking—hadn’t stopped since he’d turned away from the Nameless Knight’s canvas walls, since the image of Hal sprawled and wanting beneath another man had burned itself into his vision like a brand. He stood just inside the entrance of their shared tent, one hand gripping the support pole because his legs threatened betrayal and tried to breathe through the thing lodged in his chest.
He’d known, hadn’t he? Some part of him had understood where Hal was going when the knight had slipped out after dark. Perrin had woken immediately, and he should have gone back to sleep. He should have given his knight whatever privacy he’d been seeking in the darkness.
Instead, he’d followed. Like a dog trailing its master. Like a fool who couldn’t leave well enough alone.
The single candle he’d left burning had melted down to a stub. Its flame was guttering, threateningto go out entirely. In the low light, shadows pooled in the tent’s corners, making the familiar space feel foreign. The armour stand loomed like a silent witness to Perrin’s overreach. The carefully maintained pieces of Hal’s gear gleamed dully in the weak light, each one a testament to Perrin’s devotion, his endless service, his absolute stupidity in thinking any of it mattered beyond function.
What had he been thinking, storming in like that? He was a squire. Asquire!But no matter how he tried to dislodge the memories, he kept seeing Hal’s broad chest, muscles flexing. The Nameless Knight between his thighs, dark hair spilling over Hal’s hip. The sounds—Gods, the sounds Hal had been making. Desperate and raw and nothing like the careful control he maintained during the day. Perrin had heard those sounds and felt something tear in his chest, felt the careful architecture of his world collapse into rubble.
Because he’d wanted to be the one making Hal sound like that.
He had serviced Hal before, but only occasionally, and often when Hal had no other choice. Even then, Hal had only used his mouth and been quick about it, like he was desperate to be away as soon as he was finished. He made no noise beyond a quick grunt when he came. After what Perrin had seen tonight, whatever he’d given Hal those times couldn’t be called real pleasure.
Despite their arrangement, they had managed a careful distance; Perrin had only been providing another service as Hal’s squire. It was mostly Perrin who’d had to pretend his hands didn’t linger when adjusting armour or that his pulse didn’t quicken when Hal emerged from the bath, water still beading on his shoulders. He’d spent years telling himself that loyalty and devotion weresufficient, that he didn’t need more, that wanting more was a betrayal of everything their relationship was built on.
And then the Nameless Knight had arrived, and within two days Hal had been in his tent, in his bed, giving him everything Perrin had spent years not asking for.
Footsteps outside. Heavy. Uneven. Hal’s gait, but off balance.
