Page 26 of The Ostler's Boy

I arched a brow, convinced, beyond all doubt, that Mr. Evergreen was, in fact, dumb enough to dare press his mouth to mine, if not prevented.

“Do you want to kiss me?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I was stunned. I shook my head. “Please don’t,” I whispered.

Cyrus stepped back. “As you command it,” he said.

Then he cleared his throat and went toward the horses again, pulling a blanket from one of the rolls and snapping it into shape onto the ground. He was quiet as he set up some sort of camp, and as I watched him fluff the cloth a second time, my chest seized.

I wanted him to want to kiss me, I realized.

There was a sourness at the back of my throat. I swallowed it, then looked away, then found his apparition again, and lost a breath.

He glanced at me for it but strolled a little further, spreading a few sealed containers out onto the mat, creating the perfect foreground to the farm’s still-standing, but long-forgotten fence.

“You’ve… I don’t understand. You’ve constructed us a picnic?” I asked.

“Eh, it’s just cheese and wine,” he said. “I hope that’s alright?”

“You brought wine?” I asked. “...Red or white?”

“I’m serving cheese. It’s white,” he said.

I bit my lip and dropped to the blanket as if the words were my command. “You’ll see I am smiling,” I said, lifting my chin to show.

“Aye, I see. And?” He opened the bottle, though didn’t produce a glass. “Are you a fan of cheese?”

“I am,” I said. “But, I was referring more to the promise we made.”

“Promise?” he asked. After a second he shook his head. “No, I know better than you promise you anything.”

“Is that a commentary of some sort?” I asked.

He shook his head again. Then, curious, offered me a swig. “Ladies first.”

I took the bottle and brought it to my lips, bashfully enjoying a very large drink. He took his turn much prouder.

“You said if I smiled, I could ride Ice,” I told him. “I’m smiling.”

Cyrus extended his leg out abruptly and well past where I sat next to him. My eyes traveled the full length of it, up to his face, which wore a very pleased-with-himself grin and the other knee erected to his side. He slunk back into a leisurely lay.

“I suppose I did say that,” he said. “But it wasn’t a promise.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Do you think you can even handle her? Wild things, Eisson mares.”

I narrowed my eyes and his hands went up defensively.

“A joke,” he said.

“Has anyone ever actually called you funny?” I asked.

His lips parted, pleased. “No,” he said. “Has anyone ever called you mean?”

“Yes,” I said.

Mr. Evergreen winked. His shirt was tightly fit, and it highlighted every crevice of the muscles beneath it. So little was left to the imagination that I completely missed whatever else he said to stare at him. It was not until he repeated it that I felt my heart come back to life just to canter wildly at its return. Everything inside my body screamed to reach out and touch him. His stomach . His arms . His mouth. Even the knights I had leered at at practice held no torch to Cyrus Evergreen’s ring of light .

I yearned to feel his sun on me. To–

I could not save my brain from its obsession. It listed ten thousand reasons why I should touch him, ten thousand why I should resist, then another for why I thought he might let me, and more for why I should not let him, but I–

“Hello?” Cyrus asked. “You still with me?”

I was caught in the act and gasped! Mr. Evergreen donned an almost impressed expression and the fire only burned further when he positioned himself higher upon his elbow.

“What?” I said, defensively. “Hello?”

“You know, in a moment like this, I’d usually ask the woman if she took pleasure in what she saw.”

I hopped to my feet.

“Whoa, hey!” he said, but he didn’t move as I paced one way, then the other. “Sit down, would you?” he asked.

“I think I should go,” I declared. “I feel ill. Faint. Yes. I feel faint. I think it may be the heat. Or it’s late. Or, I–”

“Or you’re embarrassed because I caught you ogling at me like an depraved animal?” he asked.

“I was not ogling!”

“Sit down,” he repeated. “Seriously. You’re making me dizzy.”

My fingers linked in little loops over each other. I tried to dispel my nerves to do just that, more when his face softened and his brows came together, sympathetically.

“I don’t want to beg,” he added. “I lied before. I’m not above it. Please? Please sit down? Shall I get on my knees?”

I went shyly to my mine, still holding my hands in my lap, and when my weight had settled over my feet, he collected the bottle and passed it to me.

“Grand,” he said. “Do us both a favor; have another drink.”

I obliged, following it with a second, longer one, and then placed the wine back to the blanket. It nearly tipped, but I was quick enough to right it.

“Good?” he asked.

“The wine?”

“Listen, Your Highness,” he started.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just… If anything I was admiring, yes, but not ogling. Ogling is so crass. It’s so unladylike. It’s just that you are so very…defined. And, and I don’t know a lot of men. I don’t see them; well, I see the Blades in the yard, but…I mean. You’re... You’re…I’m sorry. I’m so humiliated,” I said. I hung my head. “Please do not disclose my failure to Sameer. He already hates me.”

“He does not hate you,” he said.

“Oh, but he does,” I said. “And I just want to do this right. I just want our nations to stop the War.”

“The War is over,” he said. “For several years.”

“For now,” I whispered. “But if this fails… If I fail…”

Cyrus bobbed his head, slowly. “I understand.”

“I feel foolish. Please know that I do not mean to disrespect the Prince, or Chalke, or… or you,” I said. “I just…”

“It’s fine. If anything I am the problem. I’ve been incredibly deviant in my behavior, and you wish for it to stop, so it shall stop.”

I bit my lip. He seemed to read it well.

“Unless you do no want it to stop?” he asked.

“I am conflicted,” I said.

“Why?”

“Please,” I begged. “Like you don’t know.”

He sat up, inspecting me. “Love… You can look at me,” he said.

“I really can’t,” I whined.

“No,” he said. He reached over and lifted my chin with the tip of his finger. “No, I mean, you can look at me. Alright?”

“No,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes. You can. You can look at me; it won’t offend me, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. Alright? And I won’t tell Sam either.”

“When you say that it feels like I’m doing something wrong,” I told him.

He exhaled. “Because it is wrong. Sameer is my friend; he’s your intended. But at the same time, I can say…” He considered it. “Roses suit you.”

I did not understand until I looked at my blouse and saw its design. Then I looked at him.

“You…” There was no reply that sounded right.

His eyes ventured over the embroidery of my vest—the vest emblazoned with flowers, and grass, and thorns that I’d worn for him, and he was just barely polite enough to add an explanation.

“Beautiful; guarded,” Cyrus said. “Yes, that sounds like you, doesn’t it, Swan?”

“I-” I flushed.

“Let’s not fill every silence,” he told me. He collected one of the tiny blocks of cheese and took it to his mouth. He bit into it. “Just sit here with me. We’re just two people. Svana and Cyrus. Leave the Crown behind, and for my sanity, leave Sameer.”

I took a shallow breath.

After the longest pause, he yawned and laid back into the ground, draping a hand over his torso. It was quiet.

He said, “You can lay by me, if you want.”

I froze.

“I won’t touch you,” he promised. “I’m just looking at the clouds. I thought you might enjoy that with me.”

I checked the sky, and there were several large shapes above him. I desperately wanted to see them from his view.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate, Mr. Evergreen,” I said instead.

He agreed. “It’s not, and I don’t mean to push you,” he said. “I’m sorry I said I wanted to kiss you, too. I’m just very open and you are very attractive, you know. And now I know you are attracted to me. I had a moment of weakness, that’s all.”

“You said you wouldn’t touch me,” I replied.

“I won’t,” he said. “But I will continue to flirt with you, especially if you are so close. If you don’t feel like you can trust that, fine. Stay seated. It matters not to me.”

So I stayed.

He closed his eyes and stretched a little longer across the field, diligently filling his chest with air, then deflating it again, for so long and so evenly, that I was sure he’d slipped into unconsciousness. The woods around us buzzed unbothered, birds and insects, and on occasion, shuffled its trees. It was minutes before I noticed how perfect the pasture was and another before his breathing sank into a lower, muted pattern that made me feel like I was listening to some rare, forbidden tune.

“Are you asleep?” I asked. He didn’t answer.

Our horses chased each other around in the gated parts of the yard, and the sun was both high and bright as big white tufts scrolled past it in the sky.

Wild poppies and blue eyes weeded their way into the landscape, and though the house had been unloved for a decade, it held strong with its craftsmanship and rural charm—a stranger to the grotesque fortress of stone back home.

“I do trust you,” I whispered.

Mr. Evergreen stirred. His arm left his torso to pat the ground beside him, and though I could’ve said anything to repierce the peace between us, I heeded his request, crawling slowly and carefully into the spot he’d offered.

As I leveled to his shape, I ached at how amplified his breathing became. He handed me a brick of cheese without rustling too much, and I tried not to consider if the sensations I felt were the effect of the wine or him.

After some time, Mr. Evergreen and I moved to face one another. He started it, but we began to share memories from our childhoods. It was not long before the stories turned dark.

“You said your Governess was strict…” He watched me. “Did she hit you ever?” In my silence, he said, “I won’t tell Sameer.”

I nodded. I ran my fingers across the back of my other hand. “She used her cane a lot for it.”

His jaw flexed. “She struck you with her cane?” he asked.

My shoulders danced. “Not always. Only if I answered something incorrectly or I mispronounced a word. Once, I called it matronarch, not matriarch. I couldn’t grip my pencil right for a day or two.”

“Was she not punished?” he asked.

“It was a few bruises,” I said.

“A few bruises, and you cannot grip a pencil? Tell me the truth.”

I adjusted.

“Tell me,” he said.

“All girls are disciplined by their governesses, Mr. Evergreen. And now I am well-versed in definitions and names and politics. I had a brilliant education. Should I complain?”

“If I were King, I’d hurt her back for marring you,” he said.

I laughed but he was serious. “Mr. Evergreen…”

“I would, I promise you,” he said. “I would punish her, and I would hurt her, and I would keep her far away from you and from any children and for all of time.”

“W-Well.” I replayed his words. “Not to worry. I cannot say she is an issue for any children these days.”

“Your father denounced her?” he asked.

“No. She died.”

Cyrus blinked. “She’s dead? When?”

“A few years ago. She fell down the foyer stairs,” I explained.

“Did she suffer?” he asked.

“No.”

“A bloody shame.”

“Tell me something happy,” I hurried. “Please? Don’t let me ruin our time with such things. Tell me how to break a horse.”

He sighed. “You have to repeat yourself a lot. Repetition is your kindest friend.”

“Have you broken many?” I asked.

“Yes. Quite a few,” he said.

There was a warmness in my belly. “Quite a few,” I imitated him. “Your accent is thicker now.”

“Your pardon?” he asked.

“Heh. I like to think it happens thanks to me.”

“Are you alright?”

I wet my lips. “Your words. They’re so round and lovely.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

“Drunk? Maybe but so are you and, for that, I must confess that I am happy. Here. Like this. I like the way you speak when you’re drunk, and I feel strangely safe in telling you about Hellveig, I think.”

“Ah, shit,” he said.

“Should I not?” I asked. “I… You promised not to tell the Prince of her!”

Cyrus shook his head. “I won’t. That’s not my worry.” He stood far too easily for someone who had split the bottle, but he gave me his hand. “The horses have had some time to run,” he said. “Ice will have settled a bit. We should go.”

“Is that your trick?” I asked. “You’ve run her before.”

“As I said. Repetition. And when she gets antsy, it helps. Yes.”

“I see.” I blinked long and hard. “Is that what the picnic was?”

He caught me as I teetered from one foot to the other, and when I had regained my focus, my fingers trespassed playfully into the folds of his sleeve. His soft, linen sleeve. Bound to his tight, muscular, hairy arm. His-

I blushed. “Did you aim to settle me?” I asked.

“Ey,” he moaned. “I fear I have greatly misjudged your fortitude, Princess. And you call me the drunkard here?”

That made me giggle. Then cover my mouth with the free hand. Then giggle again.

His eyes went to the place where I played with his shirt, tugging at the tiny hills of fabric.

“Princess. Please.”

“Say Svana,” I asked, stepping ever so slightly. “Your vowels are so pretty. I’ll say Cyrus if you say mine first.”

“…I’m not sure I should.”

I furrowed. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Mr. Evergreen caught my hand before it climbed completely to his neck. His browline lowered.

“Svana,” he said, too nice. “We need to go. Alright?”

“Cyrus,” I purred back. “I don’t want to go, Cyrus. I like being out here with you, Cyrus. Cyrus Evergreen.”

“God,” he muttered, tearing away. “Have a seat, I will-"

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “I said your name. That’s what you wanted, isn't it?”

He shook his head. “I have taken advantage of you. You’re not in your mind. Sit down.”

“I don’t wish to-”

“Sit down, Svana.”

I did, but in what could only be described as a fit, and I watched him as he waltzed from one end of the fence to the other.

“I’m sorry,” he said, firmly. “When you’ve sobered, we’ll go. You can barely stand. We shouldn’t rush. Even if I ride with you, what would people say? I’d have to hold you. I cannot risk losing you off the seat or… hurting yourself trying to touch me. I’d have to explain to Sam- Oh, God. Sam.”

“Ugh,” I gagged at the name. “Why are you even friends with him? He’s awful and you’re… you’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

He sighed. “Sameer is not awful.”

“He is, though.”

“Your Highness.”

“He lures you into his lies, with fairytales and hopes, and promises of belonging with him and then he just-” I jerked my hand chaotically.

“He is kind.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. When it benefits him.”

“You’re angry. Which is understandable given the circumstance.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Is it understandable?”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Evergreen, the circumstance is that I have kept myself pristine, un touched, un loved and alone in my virginity for all eighteen years of my life. Do you know why? Because I was told to. I was told that a good wife would come intact and that I was to marry a prince in another empire, miles away, across the world, and for what? What purpose, you ask? Peace. Duty. My father’s incessant need for control? ”

“Love,” he said.

“Love?” I puffed rudely. “There is no love here, sir. Not for me that is. Miss Aggy sure finds it. Doesn’t she? My prince, too. He is likely on top of her as we speak.”

“Are you resentful of her because you care for Sam?” he asked.

“What?”

“Miss Agatha.”

“How unbelievably dare you, sir,” I muttered. “That is the dumbest question of the night!”

“I think it’s a fair question. You keep bringing them up.”

“I do not.”

“Miss Agatha is a nice woman. She is very smart. She is very good in nature. In another time, you would be friends,” he said. “You’re very much alike.”

“Oh, I suppose you think she’s gorgeous, too?” I asked. “Does her perfect skin shimmer in the perfect moonlight? Does she send shivers down your perfect spine?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you care for the Prince?”

“Do you care for Miss Agatha?” I asked.

He frowned.

“Oh my, god, you do!” I clutched my chest. “I’m going to vomit.”

“Svana.” He reached for me but I recoiled.

“Sameer, fine, but you?” I whispered. “Can I have no one for myself?”

He shook his head. “I do not care for Miss Agatha,” he said. He folded his arms. “…Do you wish I did?”

“Obviously not!” I cried, instantaneously regretting it.

He paused but then he nodded. “Because you’re angry that she spends her time with Sam and I’m simply his filler? Because you don’t want to share? Or because of something else?”

“I…” I pouted.

“Tell me. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just want to know. I think I deserve that.”

“I…” My mind was racing. “I don’t want you to find her attractive. I would feel mad about it.”

“Mad? I see,” he said.

“Because…” I tried so hard to muster the courage, but all I felt was fear.

“I do have feelings, you know? We joke but I’m not impenetrable,” he said. “I have feelings and…I have them for you.”

“I need time,” I said, shutting my eyes.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he returned. “You don’t have to answer at all.” He swallowed, then glanced at the sky. “…May I speak frankly, Your Highness?”

“Y-Yes.”

“I am a man who rarely speaks in favor of fairy tales or things that magically fall into place.”

“What?”

“You… I just, I do not believe, for even a second, that you will not have love,” he said. “Yeah? You deserve it. You’re a nice sort of girl. Nice girls should be loved. I’m certain it will come for you. But love is more hard work than anything, I’m told.”

“Love isn’t possible for me,” I said. “Not if he loves Agatha.”

“That isn’t fact,” he said. “Folk fall out of love every day.”

“Not if it’s true love. I’ve seen the way he looks at her.”

“As have I.” He sighed. “Listen, men don’t think that way. Do you understand? We aren’t— Once you and Sam are married, once you are… together in his bed, a connection will fester whether you intend for it to or not. That’s just how it works.”

“If that were how it worked, then why would prostitutes exist?” I asked.

He blinked a few times. “Come again?”

“By your logic, my father would be ten, maybe twelve times married by now. Maybe more. I haven’t counted the whores but by your word, he should have loved them all. Yes? I promise you, he did not. He barely remembered their names while they were there. And why aren’t you wed then? You’ve known women. Maybe whores.”

“I’m not sure I follow?”

“You said sex forged an interdependence, but if that were true, then our empires would have settled the score with just that. Sameer would buckle at his knees and declare himself to me, and the world would be brimming with offspring everywhere. Everyone would be smiling; there wouldn’t be war at all!”

He glanced at the discarded bottle. “How much of that did you have?”

“And the books I’ve read would not be books! The truth is, sex is sex, and come my wedding night, I’d find a deeper connection rubbing myself against a bedpost than on the Prince.”

His eyes widened at that. “Fuck me dead. Did you just describe your method of pleasuring yourself to me?”

“Ugh! It’s not like I’ve tried it!” I said. “I’ve just heard other people speaking of it! Maids and their friends, and… Okay, maybe I attempted once but I did not see the fanfare.”

He stared.

“I didn’t know where to start!” I cried.

“I, uh, I’m not sure what to say to that,” he stammered.

“E-Elías would say…” I shifted my voice as his. “ Duty first, duty last … And…”

“Whoa, hey.” Cyrus held my arm. “Steady on.”

“What was I saying?”

“Something about Ser Elías and masturbation?” he said.

“I’m… I don’t think that’s what I said.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“No,” I confessed. “No. I’m very lonely, Mr. Evergreen. And very confused.”

He said, “You’re in good company, I think,” but the horizon wandered off its certainty, and dropped. I fell into the Sword. Then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was somewhere I had never been before and in some sort of house . It was dim. Hints of light before sunset crept through the well-aged room.

A clatter of ceramic pots startled me, bringing my attention to Cyrus’s back. As soon as he noticed I was conscious, he rushed to my side and complained about his relief.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

My throat was very dry. “Is this your cottage?” I asked.

“My cottage? Is this how you think I live?”

“Well, it is dark. I can’t actually see anything.” I sat up, finding the worn arm of some antiqued chaise. “Where are we if not your home?”

“We’re still at the farm, you loon.”

He tucked a stray curl of hair back into my braid, returning and lingering just a little too long. I sank into his heat, which seemed to surprise us both.

“Why did you not tell me you were so feather-weighted?” he asked.

“How should I have known?” I asked.

“What? You’ve never had wine before?” he joked.

“No. My father doesn’t let me drink wine.”

He stoked his temple. “That would have been your first clue.”

“The better question to this mystery is why did you get me drunk?”

“I did not!”

“You gave me wine!”

“You drank it!” he said. “I just wanted you to relax.”

“I passed out.”

“Oh, believe me, I noticed. And for the record, the chance of being discovered out here with you speaking of bedposts was never part of the plan!”

“Bedposts? What are- oh!” I gasped, suddenly recalling what things I’d revealed. “Oh, God.”

“We’ll need to make haste back. Now. We’ll be fine caught anywhere alone but inside of this house. We can excuse the time if we claim we got lost in the trees but not here.”

“How late are we?” I asked. The sky was dark.

“That is a discussion for the road,” he said.

Cyrus collected my hand, and on some sort of proverbial cue, one of our horses whinnied from outside. The door to the house kicked in, followed swiftly by a shiny boot. Then not one, but two full suits of armor clamored inside. Ser Elías’s angry voice boomed across the distance between us like a crack of thunder.

“Svana!” he yelled at me. “Out to the carriage, now!”

I felt like I was ten.

His eyes found poor Cyrus Evergreen and nothing else in the room and it wasn’t long before he had snatched the swordsman by the lapel and sucked him into his space, hatefully.

“It’s time to go, old son!” he spat at him.

“She’s completely fine!” Cyrus hurried. “Look at her; ask her. I haven’t touched her. I swear.”

“What are you doing?” I cried. “Are you mad?”

Ser Willoughby appeared diligently behind his commander in the room, and he looked almost sorry for the whole ordeal.

“Into the carriage,” Elías directed me, every consonant deliberate.

I looked between the three of them, hesitating at the anger that rested on his cheeks.

“…No,” I told him.

“Now,” he said back. Cold.

“Go, Svana,” Cyrus whispered.

My name struck something in the Lord Commander, and I rooted myself deeper into the floor, staring him down.

“No,” I said again.

Willoughby tightened his grip along his belt at the same time his mentor did. He took a sadder breath, then mouthed the word, ‘leave’ at me just as Elías said it.

“Not without you,” I told him.

“I will be out as soon as I’ve had a discussion with Mr. Evergreen about impropriety.”

“He didn’t do anything improper!” I whined. “Don’t you believe me?”

Elías flared his nose. “Is that wine?”

“No,” I said, but Cyrus said yes.

“That will be our first topic as soon as I am done in here,” Eli replied. “Willoughby and I will be but a moment .”

“No,” I said.

“Svana,” he pressed.

“No. You expect me to sit idly outside while you, what? Beat a man I consider a friend? Over nothing? Against my word? My command?”

“You are in no condition to-”

“To what? Fetch you an iron so that you may join the ranks of my torture properly? Or would you like to forge your own path?” I asked.

He reared at the suggestion and glowered once at the other two before me. The tension between us broke, faltering like a bad cord.

“Svana,” he whispered.

I held in the fear that burned at the corners of my eyes. “You will not hurt him, Lord Commander. I will not have that on my conscience. It is already at capacity.”

Eli nodded, curtly, but he took a step back and complied.

“Besides, doesn't a beating raise questions?” I asked.

I spun my body like a marionette to face Mr. Evergreen, and tried so desperately to form any string of words for him. I twisted my mouth a few times but nothing came out of it.

“If you hurt him, the first thing the Prince will ask is why,” I said.

Elías loudly exhaled. He marched to the door and he swung it open. Then he beckoned me to follow and I did. Ser Willoughby came next and I loaded into the carriage before them, just as I was expected to.

Inside, I wept.