Something was tickling my cheek.

I shifted and let out a sleepy groan, wincing as sunlight pierced my closed eyelids. More tickling. I jerked upright.

The first thing I saw was two wide nostrils.

Brownie-Paulo was sniffing me.

"Aye, boy." My voice was nothing but a cracked whisper. "Hey, Brownie."

The stallion rubbed his muzzle against my hair and nickered softly.

I smiled, but only for a second. The memories of last night swirled in my throbbing head. The ball. The salons. Leo. Geoff. The knife. I searched the hay for it frantically, eyes still adjusting to being open, then breathed a low sigh when I felt its smooth handle against my fingertips.

This was good, I told myself. Having a weapon was good. Now I could defend myself.

The world spun as I struggled to my feet, gripping the stall door for balance. Everything hurt. My face. My eyes. My legs.

I'd been drunk before, and the mornings after were never pleasant, but nothing ever to this extent. I hunched over as a sudden wave of nausea racked my body and threw up a stinging mouthful of bile onto the ground.

Brownie-Paulo blinked at me, unperturbed.

There wasn't much in my stomach to go, but I stayed bent double for a minute, coughing raggedly and wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist.

I felt like a dead man walking.

Outside, I cupped a palmful of water from the horse trough and splashed it on my face. Only then did I realize how empty the stables were. Usually, by this time of day, the other boys were all awake and starting the morning chores.

Rubbing both hands over my wet face, I peered in the doorway to the tack room. Amadi stood alone by the saddle rack, a cloth in his hand.

"Where is everyone?" I croaked.

He continued polishing the saddle before him without so much as a glance in my direction. "Take the day off, lad."

My brow pinched. Just the simple movement sent a shooting pain through the back of my eye. "Is the stable closed?"

"Today is the Sabbath," he said. "The Court is in the chapel receiving God's word. No one will be riding this morn."

I frowned as a breeze swept through the open door, carrying a hint of sweet perfume to my nose. For as long as I'd known him, Amadi had never once worn perfume. "Why are you here, then?"

The stable master set down the cloth and turned, his face devoid of emotion. "I have no interest in the word of God."

With a groan, I pushed myself off the door frame and flexed my shoulders. "That makes two of us." I stumbled in a zig-zag pattern for a second before stopping at the stable entrance to look back. "I'm going to go pass out now."

"Wild night?" He appeared to force a small smile.

"A little too wild."

Amadi's eyebrows cocked, and then he was back to work, polishing the same spot over and over, almost unconsciously. I considered offering him my company, but before I could speak another wave of nausea rose in me and I rushed for the nearest empty stall.

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

Deerist Mother

I was huddled up against the brick kitchen wall, chickens pecking at the grain by my feet, smoke pluming out in fat coils from inside the building.

Something was burning. The kitchen girls were dashing across the floor like rats under sudden light, arms up and rags waving to get the smoke out.

Deerist Mother

How fare you?

I scribbled out the words. Servants were granted parchment to write home but had to purchase their own ink. Every drop was precious.

Perhaps Philip would help me. He had such beautiful handwriting. And beautiful hands. With beautiful rings. Did he think of me at all last night? Or was he too busy dancing with the Duc de Montpensier's daughter?

Mama

I am well, mostly. I am sending all my w̶̶̶a̶̶̶g̶̶̶s̶̶̶ wages save the coins spent on this ink, in fathe it reeches you well.

My mother had always insisted we learn our letters, though my brothers swore that farmers and blacksmiths had no use for reading. Martin was the best speller. The smartest, too, which was probably why he was the doctor of the family. But Mama always said he had his nose buried too far in books to see the world around him.

I miss you deerly. I hav no words to ̶d̶̶̶e̶̶̶s̶̶̶k̶̶̶r̶̶̶i̶̶̶b̶̶̶ tell you how heavy my ̶h̶̶̶a̶̶̶r̶̶̶t̶̶̶ heart is, just know I think of you evrey day.

I twirled the quill between my fingers, staring at the blots of ink and scratched-out words. The letter sounded like it was written by a bumbling idiot. Words don't come from mouths anymore, my mother told us once. They come from pens. You got to learn to use them.

She was a proud woman. She liked to pretend our family wasn't poor.

Murrays always known how to read, she'd said. Don't start acting like anyone else now.

I scratched out the entire last line and wrote:

I miss you.

Forever your belovd son,

Auden

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

The page came again that night.

I intercepted him in the servants' hall, not wanting Geoff or any of the other men to catch sight of us. The boy turned white as a ghost when I grabbed his frail shoulders, so bony they dug into my palms. "It's me, Murray," I said. "Let's go."

The page consulted his parchment slip. "Auden Murray?"

"Yes, Auden Murray. Come on."

I ushered him down the hallway and through the dining room. He gaped at me as I jogged up the polished staircase all on my own. The King's footman gave me a disapproving stare as I approached the royal chamber, clenching his square jaw as if biting back a derogatory remark. I dipped my head politely and stood back as the page read off the King's order.

Philip met me with open arms.

I gripped him tight, stumbling backward when his full weight crashed into me. "Auden. I missed you." His words were muffled against my chest. I breathed in his perfume and closed my eyes, overcome with a strange blend of guilt and relief.

I was ashamed of what I did last night.

But I'd missed him too.

Smiling, I leaned back to take in the sight of him. My pretty little angel with his long white nightshirt and bare feet on the marble floor. I looped a finger through the drawstring tie and tugged him closer.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"No," I admitted.

He grinned. "Good. Come on."

He led me to his bed, where the canopy curtains were drawn slightly apart to reveal a large tray of fresh food - glazed goose leg, apples, grapes, potatoes. A thick bowl of pottage. Steaming biscuits with the butter already melted on top.

My stomach growled embarrassingly loud. It smelled amazing.

He leaned up, an anxious smile splitting his face. "You like it?"

"Like it?" With a shaking hand I palmed my face. "This is the best thing I've seen in my entire life."

"Charles advised me that you might prefer real food to wine and desserts."

I sat on the bed to unlace my boots. I was careful to keep the knife handle concealed from view. If anything else I'd done wouldn't get me killed, sneaking a deadly weapon into the King's chambers definitely would.

He climbed onto the bed behind me and slowly ran his hands over my biceps, across my shoulders, my back. My muscles were so tense. I flinched a little as he began massaging them and glanced over my shoulder, nervous.

"Eat." He pressed a soft kiss to the back of my neck.

It felt nice. I sank into his arms and lifted the first buttery roll to my lips. The bread was thick and stodgy enough for my fingertips to leave imprints. I tried at first to eat slowly, pace myself, but within seconds I succumbed to temptation.

The goose leg was rich with flavor. I devoured it until only the bone was left, alternating with bites of apple and pear and boiled potatoes.

When my fingers grew slick with grease I licked them clean and went on eating, the way I would at home, like a wild animal.

Philip didn't seem to mind. His hands drifted down and settled about my waist, his nose nuzzling into the crook of my neck. No paradise, I thought, no eternal bliss, no Heaven could ever bring me as much happiness as I felt right then.

I ate until I couldn't swallow another bite, like a squirrel preparing for winter. Who knew how many chances I would get to eat like this? Like a king?

He filled a golden chalice with dark wine and lifted it to my lips. I tasted a rich, full sweetness, blended with hints of fruit and spice. A drop of liquid rolled down the corner of my mouth as he pulled the cup away.

Our eyes met for a long moment. He smiled, then parted his lips to lick the wine away.

I tilted my head, begging for a kiss. Our lips met softly, slowly, savoring every second.

He positioned himself atop me, his red curls sweeping down and tickling my face as our kisses grew deeper. I tasted the wine on his lips and moaned as his tongue swirled around mine and explored my mouth.

His name escaped me in a broken whimper. "Philip-"

With a sly smile, the King propped himself up on his elbows, hovering over me. "Are you going to finish your dinner?"

I nodded dumbly. My mind was empty. Whatever spell I was under, I was in deep. I would've crawled over broken glass on my hands and knees if that boy asked me to.

He leaned over and drew a cluster of grapes from the tray. I watched, mesmerized, as he plucked one from its stem and pushed the fruit past his plump lips. He leaned down and kissed me deeply, letting the juice trickle to the back of my throat.

My hands slid beneath his nightshirt and skimmed along his smooth flesh, gripping and squeezing his bare thighs. With one pull I spread them apart over mine, so that his warm body pressed down on me, holding me captive.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" I asked when we took a break from kissing to breathe.

He didn't answer for a moment. I wondered if he would say no, teasingly, or yes, proudly. Finally he smiled at me and said, "I think so."

"You think so?"

He shifted over so he was on his side, one leg tossed over the other, giving his hip a shapely curve. "I think you want from me what most men want from their women. But I don't know-" He broke off shyly. "I don't see how that could work."

My skin prickled with heat. "No, no," I murmured. "Not like that." I couldn't find the words to verbalize how I felt about him - perhaps the words did not exist - but it was somewhere along the lines of adoration, obsession, longing. "I like being... close to you," I said. "I wish we could be as close as possible. Closer than clothes, closer than air."

"Clothes are what separate men from beasts."

I looked down his body, down at all the places I wanted to touch, wanted to kiss. "Men are more like beasts than you know."

Philip smiled again. There was something wicked about it. "Auden, Auden," he whispered, his voice low. "You must learn restraint. The Devil means to test us."

"I don't want restraint. I want-" I made a strangled sound and slumped into the pillows.

He brushed a hand over my cheek, as if to comfort me. I was angry, and frustrated, but part of me welcomed this. The same part that wanted to hear how much of a dirty, wretched sinner I was and how disgusting my desires were. Maybe I liked being denied.

You're as sadistic as me, I thought. You just don't know it.

No. That was wrong.

He did know it.

Philip's fingers drifted across my jaw, tracing the bottom of my lower lip. I opened my mouth and, watching him closely, wrapped my lips around his fingertip and sucked.

"Auden," he warned.

I sat up. "If you're scared of the Devil, come sleep with me again."

He made a clicking sound with his tongue and moved to tidy up the tray. "I think I shall stay here, thank you."

"Then I'll stay here too." I closed my eyes and leaned into his warmth. For a split second, his body curved closer. Did he ache for me as severely as I ached for him?

"You cannot sleep in my bed." His words brushed against my lips.

"Says who?"

"Says me. I'm the King, in case you forgot."

"Will you have me arrested?" I teased. "You might miss me."

His cheeks dimpled in a grudging smile. He gave me a shove. "Go sleep over there or I won't give you any more kisses."

I grumbled to myself and popped another grape in my mouth as I stood. I had to adjust my trousers to hide the straining bulge. It couldn't possibly be healthy, getting hard this often without release.

Philip turned onto his belly, making his nightshirt ride up from the movement. My gaze swept over his thick, fleshy thighs and suddenly I was craving dessert.

How did one politely say, Please make my face your new throne, Your Majesty?

"Some would argue that so much as a kiss outside of wedlock is immoral," I pointed out halfway across the room. "You don't seem to mind committing that sin."

Philip twirled a grape between his fingers before taking a bite. "Let me worry about what sins I commit."

I slumped down onto the daybed and tilted my head to watch him. He bit into a slice of spiced pear and sucked his fingertips clean of its juice.

Dark heat was pooling inside me to the point of discomfort. Unable to help myself, I reached down and rubbed a hand over the ache in my trousers. A low groan built in my throat and I clenched my jaw to keep it in.

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine laying him down, my fingers tracing his soft body as I unwrapped him piece by piece, until he was bared before me.

He was a majestic creature, a diety, half angel with his chubby cheeks and big eyes, half devil with the flashing smiles he concealed.

"What are you doing?" he asked. My hand stilled.

I wanted more. Needed more. Smooth heat beneath my fingertips, lip caught between my teeth. I craved the feeling of my own skin. "Want to watch?" I murmured.

Our eyes met. He wrenched the curtain closed.

I shook my head once, then tucked my arms behind my head so I wouldn't be tempted to do anything unholy that night. Slowly, my body relaxed and a sleepy peace settled over me. My eyelids were drooping low when Philip's voice whispered across the room to me.

"Auden."

I turned onto my side and faced the bed. I imagined him on his side, too, on the other side of the curtain. Staring at the white barrier between us.

"I asked the Duc de Montpensier for his blessing last night."

His voice was low, almost regretful. I shivered at the thought of ever seeing the Duke or Marquis again. "The French are staying on, then?" I asked.

Philip was silent for a moment. "No," he answered, as if he wasn't sure why I would ask. "The Duke has matters in his own country to attend to. Soon word will spread across all England and France. Then preparations for the wedding shall begin."

"And the Duke's daughter? You proposed to her?"

More silence. Longer this time. "Her father will inform her of the engagement," he said finally.

Oh. He must want nothing to do with her. Suddenly I was brought back to the garden, to the awkward moment that had passed between the three of us. "May I ask you something?" I blurted out.

"Yes?"

"At the luncheon..." I found it was much easier to ask when I couldn't see his face. "Why did you... take my hand?"

The curtain slipped aside, and Philip stared out at me, brow creased to something painful.

"I'm sorry-" I struggled with the words. "I have to know. It's killing me. Was it to taunt her?"

"Taunt her?" For a moment, he looked taken aback. "I'm petrified of her. I couldn't walk up to her without you. Auden..."

"Stop," I murmured, my heart aching now. "You don't have to-"

"Auden, you're the only thing that makes me feel alright. My whole life, I've been afraid of everyone. I cannot speak to my future wife, I cannot even speak to my people. And then... I met you and you just... talked to me. Like it was nothing. I never thought I would see you again. But you came back." He shook his head. "You kept coming back."

I laughed. "Because I'm stupid. My sense of peril must have been damaged in the womb."

He cracked a smile too, and my heart glowed. I couldn't deny it any longer, not to myself anyway. I cared for him, genuinely cared for him, far more than because he was King and being his friend got me warm baths and delicious food. I'd never felt such a way about anyone before. Just one look into his tortured eyes and my heart threatened to break.

Philip looked down, eyelashes brushing his freckled cheeks. "Well, I for one am glad it got damaged."

"You'll have to thank my mother for that," I chuckled.

He pulled a smaller pillow on his bed close to him and let out a slow yawn. "I suppose we should sleep."

"Not tired. I'll lay here and watch you, though." I winced. "That didn't come out right."

"No. But fear not, that is what the curtain is for. You see, when the bed was built for my father he knew that you would be here to watch me in my sleep like some madman-" He laughed lightly at his own joke.

"Wait," I said. "The bed was your father's?"

Philip paused. "Of course. Everything in this room belonged to him. You're in the King's chambers, Auden."

"I know, I just..." I shrugged. "Assumed... never mind."

Philip yawned again, adjusting the pillow in his arms and nuzzling his deeper. "Your lack of sleep is churning your mind into a stew. Good night."

"Good night," I whispered.

Even after he had drifted off to sleep, I remained awake, thinking. My eyes landed straight ahead on the wooden door across the room. Not the door to the hall.

The door to Beauregard's room.

Over fifteen years ago the King's father appointed me Groom of the Bedchamber.

Fifteen years ago.

I glanced over at Philip, sleeping peacefully with his pillow tucked against his chest.

Your father didn't have a room built so Beauregard would be close to you, I thought. He had a room built so Beauregard would be close to him.