Arden blinked, startled.
Hapton shoved a hand through his thick blond hair. “Beckett’s not coming, Your Grace.”
Arden closed his eyes as a wash of pain scoured through his pelvis. He rode it out and shakily heaved himself from his elbows up to sitting. “Are you…? Are you sure?”
Hadn’t Jack said that Beckett would…?
“Yes, Your Grace. Very sure.” Hapton’s usually friendly face was set and coldly disapproving.
Arden curled in on himself at the show of anger. “Very well,” he said, and only made a tiny gasp when the pain clamped around the base of his spine and chewed. He sent Hapton what he hoped was a polite, dismissive smile. “In that case, perhaps I shall take a nap. That’ll be all. Thank you, Hapton.”
Hapton dithered at the doorway.
“You are dismissed,” Arden said with a snap of authority born less from confidence and more from panic.
Hapton inclined his head and closed the door with a click behind him.
It wasn’t asbad as last time, Arden told himself.
Truly, it wasn’t.
It might feel that way, but he was imagining it.
You see, last time, he’d clawed his clothes off—not on purpose!—and ended up on the bed making some sort of fretful nest.
He wasn’t even on the bed this time.
He gritted his teeth and pressed his forehead to the cold wooden door. Oh. He hummed. It helped a bit, he thought? To make a little noise. He’d tried holding it back entirely but the effort had made him scream, which had made Hapton burst through the door, almost as frantic as Arden about it.
Arden ordered him away.
He…
To his shame, he’d inquired about Beckett first, but…
He shouldn’t have asked. He knew it when Hapton’s expression turned hard and disapproving again. “Your Grace, Beckett said you must command him if you want him tonight, and you must do it yourself and in person?—”
“No,” Arden gasped.Commandhim? That poor boy.No. “No, no. That’s fine. I am perfectly…I understand. Perfectly.”
He didn’t.
Hedidn’t.
Beckett was kind. Beckett had kissed him, and told him how to kiss Jack. He’d helped him.
He’d been nice.
Jack said he wouldn’t want Arden to muddle through alone. Jack must have been wrong. And it was fine. Beckett was allowed to change his mind.
“It’s because of His Grace,” Hapton blurted.
“Hmm?” Arden had managed to let out a mostly even-sounding query.
“Pissed off about His Grace being sick, he is. Else he wouldn’t be being such a prick about this. Begging Your Grace’s pardon.”
“I do understand. That you, H-hapton. That w-will be all.”
Hapton picked Arden up when he went down to a knee—just lightheaded, Arden said. Perhaps I’ll have something to eat later—and eventually, thankfully, left.
