The Errant Prince (9 page)

"Ah, well, if there's one thing I've learned from Reina, it's that forgiving is the only way to build a relationship that lasts. Everyone says stupid things—"

"It's been seven years," Tamsen said, cutting Stirling off because he so did not want to hear about Stirling's near-perfect relationship. "How is Reina?"

Stirling smiled, a stupid, soppy grin that made Tamsen acutely aware of his own loneliness. "Wonderful. You've got four more nieces and nephews, you know, and another on the way."

"Really?" Tamsen asked, startled. He'd known about two of the new children, Illiana and Wendall, but two others past that? He'd always kept an eye out for news of the royal family when he visited any of the cities he sold his herbs in, but he hadn't heard anything about two
more
children. Stirling and Reina had had two children before he'd run off. Four more and another on the way? "No wonder you want to marry Lizaben off already."

Stirling laughed, clapping Tamsen on the shoulder. He turned solemn. "Don't run off, all right? I understand if you don't want to stay forever, but please don't disappear without a word again?"

Tamsen hesitated but nodded. He could promise that much, given he hadn't expected anything but anger and condemnation if he ever returned. He could give Stirling some warning if he wanted to leave again. "I'm not agreeing to have anything to do with Hartley."

"If you hear him out—" Stirling held up a hand when Tamsen started to protest. "If you hear what he has to say and are still opposed, I will find another way to smooth things over with Ellewyn."

Tamsen stewed on that. He wanted to say no, to never have anything to do with Hartley ever again. Seven years of bitterness weren't going to be assuaged by one speech, no matter how pretty Hartley made it. Stirling wasn't asking for much, though—he could certainly be asking Tamsen to marry a Sumiran princess and resume his duties to the kingdom, after all.

"Fine," Tamsen agreed, dreading it already. He'd be an adult and sit through one conversation, no matter how desperately he wanted to avoid the entire matter.

"Thank you," Stirling said. He relaxed slightly, and Tamsen felt a pang of guilt. He'd left Stirling to clean up his mess when he'd run. He may have no intention of agreeing to marry Hartley, but if it made Stirling feel better that he'd given Hartley a shot, well, Tamsen would.

He just wouldn't be happy about it. Picking up his glass of whiskey, Tamsen sipped at the contents, narrowly resisting the urge to drink the entire glass in one go. Adult, he was being an adult. "So tell me about your children. Six of them now, really?" Tamsen said, looking for a distraction and curious at the same time. Stirling grinned, but before he could speak, someone knocked loudly.

"Hold that thought." Setting his drink down, Stirling stood and crossed the room. Tamsen sank down in his seat, trying to focus on the good instead of the looming talk with Hartley. He would get to visit with Stirling and Reina, meet his new nieces and nephews. That was good.

It was also likely he'd get to go home, and he could stop worrying about a King's Guard showing up on his doorstep at any moment. He'd be able to visit, and Tamsen liked that thought. The worst part of running off had been leaving Stirling and his children behind. He'd liked playing with Kirson and Lizaben.

He'd also get to see more of Myron, if Myron was amenable.

"I'm sorry, Tam, there's been an incident I need to handle," Stirling said, frowning down at the message he was holding.

Tamsen waved the apology away. He may have been gone seven years, but that didn't mean the kingdom stopped simply because he'd returned. He stood, setting his glass down next to Stirling's. "That's fine. I'm not going anywhere."

Stirling smiled, stepping up and pulling Tamsen into another embrace. Tamsen returned it, somewhat awkwardly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged someone, and wasn't that sad. Stirling let him go after a moment, leading Tamsen over to the door. He pointed to one of the guards. "Escort Tamsen to his quarters, or wherever he wants to go. Stay with him until a new guard arrives to relieve you." Turning toward Tamsen, Stirling continued, "We kept your rooms up in case you returned. I'll see you for lunch tomorrow? I'm sure Reina and the children will be excited to see you."

"I look forward to it," Tamsen said, meaning it. He followed the guard from Stirling's offices, noting that Stirling had entirely new secretaries, and two extra to boot. They didn't gawk much at all, but then, they
were
royal secretaries, and that required discretion.

The walk from Stirling's offices to his old rooms was surreal. The halls of the palace were familiar but so different from what he remembered them as. The presence of Stirling's guards kept people from approaching, though Tamsen didn't doubt there would be plenty of rumors swirling about his return immediately given the stares he was collecting.

He saw a few familiar faces, but no one he wanted to talk to. He hadn't left many friends behind when he'd run off, and he wasn't here to socialize, past with his family. Tamsen's nerves felt like they were stretched taut, and he was almost afraid Hartley was lying in wait somewhere. He made it to his rooms unscathed, however, and Tamsen let himself into the outer rooms, leaving the guards in the hall.

As Stirling had said, the rooms had been maintained. They smelled fresh and bright, like the citrus-based cologne he'd favored when he'd been younger. Tamsen wandered through the suite, marveling at how much space was actually in each room. The receiving room was larger than his entire cottage, and his bedroom even bigger.

The rooms were filled with familiar things: books on magic and governing and poetry and music, the flutes he'd dallied at playing, gifts and knickknacks from Stirling and Reina and a few from Hartley he wanted to pitch out the window. It was more unsettling than traveling the familiar halls, and Tamsen wanted to go home, go back to the cottage where everything was familiar and calm.

He wanted his simple little garden, the meadows and woods he could disappear into if the urge struck him. He didn't want to be trapped in his room to avoid conversations he didn't want to have; he didn't want to deal with Hartley or people who only wanted to talk to him so that they'd have the latest gossip. He wanted to see Stirling and Reina and his half-dozen nieces and nephews, but he didn't want any of the rest of it.

Except perhaps Myron. Tamsen smiled faintly at the thought of Myron, but even that didn't settle him. He headed for the balcony off the bedroom that overlooked the royal gardens, hoping that being outside would help soothe his restlessness and temper the feeling of being closed in and trapped. The balcony was missing the plants Tamsen had kept out there, but the furniture was the same and he sank down into one of the comfortable chairs and gazed out across the gardens.

Tamsen's thoughts inevitably settled on Hartley. What had he told people after Tamsen had disappeared? How had he convinced Stirling that he was sincere, and why on earth had he held onto the idea of marrying Tamsen for
seven years
, to the point that he'd almost ruined an alliance with Sumira?

Shaking his head, Tamsen forced himself to think of something else. He'd have to spend at least a week, maybe two, at the palace to placate Stirling after his meeting with Hartley. He could probably slip away to visit the city proper and try to find a supplier here. There were a few plants he wanted to try his hand at, but he'd had no luck procuring seeds through any of his usual suppliers.

He could also raid the library, and that was a pleasant thought. Tamsen's collection at home was eclectic at best, though he had more than a few rare tomes among the more common. It still paled in comparison to the Royal Libraries, and Tamsen had been looking for new magic to try out. Perhaps he could drag Myron to them as well; he doubted Myron often got leave to patronize the Libraries.

If, that was, Myron still wanted to spend time with him. He'd seemed sincere, and he hadn't seemed any different in Stirling's office when confronted irrevocably with the fact that Tamsen was a prince. Still, Myron had made it clear he didn't want anything casual, and he didn't want to start anything until he was sure Tamsen was free to do so. Tamsen hoped that didn't extend to spending time together.

He'd find out, Tamsen resolved. That was a much better prospect than spending his time alone. Tamsen settled his feet up on the rail of the balcony, smiling faintly at the stars as he thought of things he could show Myron around the palace that might impress him.

*~*~*

Tamsen jerked awake, alarmed and disoriented as he realized he wasn't in his cottage and there was a strange man shaking him awake. He shoved himself upright in bed, blinking tiredly at the stranger.

"My apologies for waking you, your highness, but you have a guest who is insisting upon seeing you," the man said, stepping smoothly back from the bedside. A servant, Tamsen's tired mind supplied, though he hadn't seen anyone about the previous night.

"Who are you?" Tamsen asked, trying to force his bleary mind to work.

"Madsin, sir," Madsin said promptly. "I am part of his majesty's royal service, on loan to you for the duration of your stay."

"Ah." Tamsen supposed that made sense, though he hadn't thought about it. He stared at Madsin, trying to recall what the man had woken him for.

"Shall I inform your guest that you are unavailable?" Madsin asked, his expression not changing. Guest, right.

"Who?" Tamsen asked. There were very few people he wouldn't turn away, but better to check than to get an earful about it later.

"Lord Hartley Whitwood of the King's Wizards, your highness," Madsin said.

"I'm unavailable until I'm dead," Tamsen muttered, rubbing tiredly at his face.

"Very good, sir," Madsin said, turning to leave.

"Don't tell him that, but…" Tamsen trailed off, too tired to think of polite phrasing.

"You're not available at the moment," Madsin filled in, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

"Thank you," Tamsen said, falling back to the pillows. All eight of them—and he definitely did not need eight pillows. He was not awake enough to deal with servants or Hartley or anything besides sleeping more. The door to his bedroom clicked shut, and Tamsen shut his eyes.

What was Hartley thinking? Tamsen had never been a morning person. He'd grown used to getting up early at his cottage, but that didn't mean he liked it. By his estimation, it was before even the first bells of the morning. Perhaps Hartley had been aiming to take advantage of that? Tamsen yawned widely, trying to fall back to sleep, but his mind wouldn't shut off now that he was awake. One more strike against Hartley.

Climbing from bed, Tamsen headed for the dressing room. His old clothes still filled the room, and Tamsen poked through them, endeavoring to find something that didn't scream 'royalty.' He'd finally settled on a dark blue jacket with gray breeches when Madsin appeared.

"Shall I run a bath for you, your highness?"

"Yes, please," Tamsen said, brightening. He'd forgotten that perk of his rooms. All the suites in the royal wing included baths with running water, drawn from the reservoir below via magically constructed piping. That meant Tamsen could have a bath whenever he liked—without having to haul water. Or rather, without making servants haul the water.

"Lord Whitwood bid me to inform you that he would return later," Madsin said.

"Fantastic," Tamsen said, casting a dark look in the direction of the receiving room. Stirling had probably talked to Hartley, and Tamsen should just get it over with, he knew, but knowing wasn't the same as doing.

Madsin disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Tamsen alone in his dressing room. Tamsen poked around, finding a few boxes of forgotten jewelry, but he put them back. He didn't need jewelry; he was aiming to look as far from a prince as he could. The sound of running water started up from the room next to him, and Tamsen yawned again, hoping a bath and breakfast would revive him.

Leaving the dressing room, he ran into Madsin in the bedroom. "You don't need to assist me with bathing, but could you order breakfast for me, please?"

"Of course, your highness," Madsin said, inclining his head respectfully. "Call if you do require my assistance with anything."

He disappeared into the receiving room, and Tamsen shook his head, heading into the bath. The water was coming in hot through the magically charmed tap, and the air was thick with steam. Tamsen stripped down quickly, pleased to note the faint scent of lavender on the air. He lurked at the edge of the tub until it was two-thirds full, then turned off the water and climbed in.

It was almost too hot, but Tamsen endured it until he acclimated. He sank down in the water, enjoying the roomy tub, which was far bigger than the little one he had at home. He'd only been soaking for a few minutes when Madsin tapped on the door and stuck his head in.

"You have another guest, your highness," Madsin said. "A King's Guard? He would only give the name Myron." Madsin's expression didn't change, but there was a faint undercurrent of disdain in his voice at that lack of decorum.

"That's his only name," Tamsen said, trying to ignore the way his heart began to beat more quickly. Myron had come to see him. "He can stay if he doesn't mind waiting."

Madsin nodded, ducking back out of the bathroom. Tamsen stared after him. He sank down in the tub, smiling faintly. He hadn't expected Myron to come see him, at least, not so soon. Eventually, yes, given he still owed Myron two new spells, but Tamsen hadn't expected to see Myron until he went and tracked Myron down.

Ducking under the water, Tamsen combed his fingers through his hair. He hastily washed up, suddenly in a hurry to get clean. It still took him far too long to wash even as quickly as he moved. Tamsen climbed from the tub, drying himself off thoroughly. He went back to his bedroom, somewhat surprised that Madsin had laid out his clothing. That was what servants did, though thankfully Madsin wasn't there to offer to help him dress.

Tamsen dressed with care, despite knowing that Myron had liked him well enough in his usual, much more worn clothing. The jacket and breeches still fit him remarkably well—they were a little loose, but given the clothes were seven years old, Tamsen couldn't complain. He brushed and braided his hair and tied it off with a ribbon.