Pet (Captive Prince Short Stories 4)

‘Stay and join me,’ said Berenger. Ancel ate the plain food with the good manners of a merchant’s son, and none of the teasing flirtation that marked his own profession. They talked about Isagoras. Ancel had heard men waffle on about Isagoras before, so he knew just what to say. When he didn’t know what to say, he knew how to gaze into Berenger’s eyes and ask questions.

Then Ancel stood and demurred that Berenger ought to rest. Berenger smiled ruefully and said Ancel was right but he hoped they would talk again. Apologising for his tiredness and looking genuinely regretful, Berenger left for bed.

The next day Ancel went out to the stables. He navigated the dust and the unpleasant smells and the horrible sounds. Ancel ignored every screaming instinct that was telling him to flee, and put himself into the stall of a grey spotty horse. He broke out into a cold sweat when it nosed his chest, then forced himself to put a hand on its neck.

Soon enough, a familiar voice. ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she.’

‘She’s wonderful.’ He felt the presence of Berenger in the stall behind him.

‘Do you ride?’

‘No. That is, I’ve always wanted to learn, but never had the opportunity.’

Berenger put a hand on the horse’s neck, near his own. ‘I could teach you.’

‘Really? I’d love that,’ said Ancel.

He woke the next morning with his body screaming in protest. A few hours of horse riding seemed to have set every muscle in his thighs and back into agony. He limped about his own rooms cursing all animals but smiled and forced himself to walk normally when he came down for breakfast. He covered the wince every time he stood up or sat down.

‘Twinging a bit?’ Berenger said.

‘A bit.’ He smiled. He thought he could still smell horse, and ignored it.

Servants brought out breakfast, a selection of different offerings. Ancel wanted the cake, but took the plain bread and ate it. Berenger sat back in his chair, watching Ancel approvingly.

‘I think it’s wonderful that you want to learn to ride.’

‘I’ve heard that pets sometimes accompany the nobility on hunts,’ said Ancel.

‘You’ll need a good hunter to do that. There’s a mare I think would be perfect for you, a strawberry roan. I’d be honoured for you to have her,’ said Berenger. And then, ‘What is it?’

‘Your first gift,’ said Ancel, with a sweet smile, coving the stirrings of victory. ‘My lord.’

It happened in the library one night several weeks later, as Berenger was talking about politics. Ancel nodded and half listened while Berenger said—blah blah the Prince, blah blah the alliance with Akielos—then, in the pause, Ancel looked at Berenger with sincerity in his eyes.

‘You want to be loyal to the Prince,’ said Ancel, ‘but the rumours trouble you.’

Berenger looked over at him in surprise.

‘In the end, aren’t we all looking for someone to be loyal to?’ said Ancel, softly.

There was a long moment of nothing but the sound of the flames from the nearby fireplace, and the warmth of Berenger’s brown eyes.

‘Is that what you want?’ said Berenger.

‘It’s what I never thought I’d find,’ said Ancel, ‘until I met you,’ and it was happening, finally, it was finally happening, the two of them drawing closer in the firelight, Ancel’s arms sliding around Berenger’s neck, leaning in to—

‘Ancel—no.’

They were staring at each other from two paces away. What had gone wrong? He had read Berenger right. He was sure that he had read him right.

There was a terrible, awkward silence.

‘You may have made assumptions,’ Berenger spoke first, not looking at him, ‘after I bid for you in the ring, but I—’

For a moment, Ancel didn’t understand. And then suddenly the rejections and the refusals made sense. ‘It doesn’t have to be like it was in the ring,’ Ancel said in rush, relieved to have discovered the root of the problem. He hastened to reassure Berenger. ‘I don’t have to be the one who does that.’

He waited for Berenger to get it. Berenger didn’t seem to get it.