The Errant Prince (13 page)

Myron dusted a chunk of wood out of his hair, shifting to face Tamsen. He leaned close, plucking a shard of wood off of Tamsen's jacket and letting Tamsen get another whiff of that sweet, fruity smell again. "What was that? I wasn't going too quickly."

"The opposite," Tamsen said. Myron took his time sitting back, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Too slow. You got about… a quarter of it into the power lines before your connection faltered."

"Too
slow
," Myron repeated, slouching. "Can't go too fast, can't go too slow, ugh."

Tamsen snickered, starting to shift another bit of scrap. "Once you get it in the first time, it comes easier."

"Is that so?" Myron asked, and his suggestive tone made Tamsen fumble his shift. The block splintered with a loud 'pop,' and Tamsen instinctively ducked.

Myron cracked up, dissolving into laughter. Tamsen scowled at him half-heartedly, his face hot. "You should always concentrate when shifting, no matter how many times you've done it."

"Concentrate, got it," Myron said, still grinning. "Can you show me that again?"

"Oh, shush." Tamsen shifted another bit of scrap, managing to keep that one intact.

Myron flashed him another grin before turning his focus to the new bit of scrap. Tamsen watched closely as Myron carefully deconstructed the block. He started feeding it into the power lines perfectly but wavered between almost too slow and swinging back up to almost too quickly. Then it was in the power line, shifting across the practice area. It reconstructed by the door, the bits of energy recombining flawlessly.

"There, not so hard," Tamsen said. That was seven, so as he'd suspected, Myron had been better than him. His heart started beating faster; Myron had won their bet, and Tamsen owed him… Well, whatever Myron wanted from him.

Myron snorted. "I cheated."

"Cheated?" Tamsen asked, baffled. "How? There's no cheating in spell casting."

"Oh, not with the spell," Myron said, shifting nervously where he sat. Tamsen stared, thrown. He couldn't remember seeing Myron nervous before. "I was impatient, and Shaylin wasn't letting me leave, so I tried it a few times at her house."

"Ohhh, you
cheated
," Tamsen said. He scowled at Myron, though he wasn't actually upset. Myron had admitted to it readily, after all.

"Tried it probably six or seven times," Myron said, relaxing slightly. He grinned, tilting his head toward the block. "I thought I was going too fast with the transfer, so I kept slowing it down. When it didn't work, I slowed it down again."

Tamsen snickered. That was logical enough, even if it didn't work. Myron grinned at him, all hint of anxiety gone. "So there's a room at your sister's house that's a wreck?"

"I used her guest pillows," Myron said. "I'm pretty sure she won't keep me there for days on end again in the future."

Tamsen laughed, picturing the mess of several splintered pillows. "We should work on your barrier spells so you can practice shifting on your own
safely
. The next step is to practice until you can do it in your sleep. My instructor drilled me a few hundred times before he let me try it out with myself."

"Yeah, an upended table won't always work," Myron agreed. Tamsen eyed him, but he seemed serious, if flippant. 

"Splinters can go through furniture if you screw it up badly enough," Tamsen said. He frowned worriedly, a thought occurring to him. "You're not injured, are you?"

"I'm fine," Myron said, his smile softening. "I did have a barrier up, too, and I stuck with soft items."

Tamsen nodded, leaving it at that. "Try another shift?"

Myron turned to the block. He shifted it again, back to where it had come from. The spell was much smoother, and Tamsen was sure Myron would have little trouble with the spell in the future. The biggest problem would be distraction, as Tamsen had so aptly demonstrated earlier.

"So," Myron said. He gave Tamsen his slow, hot smile that made Tamsen
want
. "Do you know what you're going to make me do?"

"I have some ideas," Tamsen said. He paused for effect. "Though making you run around the palace clucking like a chicken sounds like fun."

Myron laughed loudly, his head tipping back, and Tamsen grinned. "I'd have to get revenge for that."

"Oh? What kind of revenge?" Tamsen asked. He widened his eyes, endeavoring for an innocent look. "That could be an added incentive, not a deterrent."

"Oh, so I could convince you to cash in your prize another way?" Myron asked, and Tamsen did love the way he smiled, like Tamsen was everything he could ever want.

"I could see myself amenable to a deal," Tamsen said. He wondered if Myron would let him get away with stealing a kiss. He really wanted to drag Myron close and show him just how amenable he was.

He barely remembered the kiss Myron had given him in his cottage. What little he did remember, blurred by alcohol and exhaustion, only made him want more. Honestly, what did waiting until after his meeting with Hartley matter? The outcome of that meeting was set in stone already, so there really was no reason not to kiss Myron—

Except it seemed he'd lost his chance. Myron's attention had shifted from Tamsen to the top of the wall behind him. Myron's mouth twisted in annoyance. "As much as I like the way this conversation is going, we appear to have an audience."

"Fantastic," Tamsen said sourly. Turning, he scowled up at the figure lurking above on the far side of the enclosed practice yard. He
was
surprised to find it was Hartley doing his own dirty work. "Wonderful. What is he doing here?"

"Want me to go ask?" Myron asked. Tamsen didn't even have to look to know he was grinning. Conversely, it made him calm down, knowing Myron was ready to confront Hartley on his behalf.

"As amusing as that would be, I have a better idea," Tamsen said. He paused, glancing at Myron. "It would mean being stuck in here for a while, though."

"Twist my arm," Myron said. "Some sort of barrier?"

"Yes," Tamsen said, bringing up his magic. He cast the spell quickly, swearing he could feel the weight of Hartley's stare right up until the barrier snapped into place. It turned opaque with a nudge, covering the entire top of the practice yard. No one in the walkway would be able to see through it, but it still let in the sun, so they weren't sitting in the dark.

"Does it block sound, too?" Myron asked, tilting his head up to stare at the barrier curiously.

Tamsen gave the barrier another nudge. It rippled, taking on the additional property, and settled into place again. "It does now."

"So, barrier spells?" Myron asked. "That can be the second spell you owe me, if you want—"

"No, hold onto that," Tamsen said. He was disappointed they weren't returning to where they'd left off, but seeing Hartley hadn't exactly done anything for Tamsen's mood. "The barrier is necessary for learning the shifting spell, so it can count as part of that. Besides, you said you could do barriers."

"Sort of," Myron said. He made a face. "They suck. Here, I'll show you."

They spent the better part of the next hour sorting out the flaws in Myron's barriers, stopping only with the seventh bell rang out loudly from the wizards' wing. Tamsen wasn't in a hurry to meet with Hartley, but he wasn't going to show up looking anything less than his best. Myron walked him back to his rooms, lingering outside to make plans to meet the next day for breakfast.

All too soon, Tamsen was making his way to the Almeria parlor. He was relieved to find there was no one about, and even more relieved to find the room empty. It was a small, impersonal room. It was no cozy, romantic nook, but a room for conducting business, which was perfect.

The curtains were pulled away from the window, letting in plenty of light. The table was wide enough to spread a large map across, and seven high-backed chairs were spaced evenly around it. Tamsen crossed the room to the table, rearranging the chairs to put extra space between the seat he chose and the rest of the chairs.

Then he sat, his posture perfect and proper. His stomach was in knots, and he wished he could skip the meeting, lie to Stirling and say he'd done it. There was no way to fake it, however, and Stirling had asked. Tamsen just had to do this one thing, and then he'd be done.

Tapping his foot anxiously against the floor, Tamsen glanced around the room. There were no clocks, but he hadn't been
that
early. Shouldn't Hartley be early as well? Perhaps Tamsen had scared him off with his stunt at the practice yards. Would Stirling push the matter if Hartley was the one to not show?

Unfortunately, Tamsen wasn't going to find out, as the door opened, admitting Hartley into the room. He hadn't knocked, and he seemed startled to find Tamsen waiting for him. Either he'd expected Tamsen not to show, or he'd expected Tamsen to drag his feet and be barely on time. The latter wasn't a poor assumption; Tamsen had been chronically late for everything seven years ago, despite his best efforts to the contrary.

That was just one more reminder that it had been seven years, that plenty had changed since he'd last seen Hartley. Even Hartley was different. He hadn't seemed so when Tamsen had first seen him in Stirling's office, but he did seem older, wearier as he surveyed Tamsen from across the table. Tamsen had deliberately chosen the seat in front of the window so that his back was to the light pouring through.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Tamsen," Hartley said. He crossed the room, whatever hesitation and surprise at finding Tamsen waiting for him gone.

Tamsen frowned, not pleased at how easily his name fell from Hartley's lips. He didn't like being reminded of his title and station, but 'your highness' would have been easier to deal with. "I wasn't exactly given much choice."

Hartley didn't immediately reply to that, dragging a chair close—ruining Tamsen's illusion of space—and sitting down. He still wore the same cologne, a musky jasmine scent that Tamsen had liked once. He hated it now, wanted nothing to do with the memories it evoked.

"I appreciate you coming even more, then," Hartley said. He said it smoothly, so earnest that Tamsen wished he had a drink just so he could throw it at Hartley to ruin his composure.

"Get to the point so I can leave," Tamsen said. He crossed his arms, scowling at Hartley. He wasn't going to give Hartley anything, not even a modicum of politeness.

"Direct, as always," Hartley said with a smile, apparently undeterred. But then, why would he be? He didn't care what Tamsen felt or wanted; he only cared for what Tamsen—rather, Tamsen's station—could do for him. Hartley shifted in his seat, apparently discomfited when Tamsen only stared at him. "I want to apologize for my behavior. I behaved… poorly, and I took out my upset on you in the worst way possible."

Tamsen stayed quiet, waiting for the rest. He could conceivably sit there without speaking another word while Hartley tried to convince him, and Tamsen was sorely tempted to, just to see how it would make Hartley squirm.

"You said no to my proposal, and I thought that meant you didn't really care," Hartley continued, and Tamsen had to bite his tongue at that ludicrous statement. Hartley looked away, out the window. "I said a lot of stupid things, Tamsen, and I haven't stopped regretting it every day of the last seven years. When I learned you'd run away…" Hartley trailed off, meeting Tamsen's eyes again. "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you think the best choice was to leave."

Tamsen's stomach flipped uneasily, some of his anger slipping away despite himself. Hartley apologized prettily, Tamsen would concede that. "If you think you were the only reason I left, your ego is bigger than I thought."

Hartley smiled faintly; he'd always taken Tamsen's acerbic comments in stride. It had been one of the reasons Tamsen had been drawn to him. Hartley had been the junior head of the King's Wizards then, tapped to succeed the former head. Tamsen had naïvely thought that meant Hartley wouldn't care about Tamsen's being a prince.

"I don't doubt I contributed," Hartley said, his smile turning rueful. "I tried to find you the next day, to apologize then, but you were gone."

Tamsen shrugged. He'd left almost immediately, afraid of getting cold feet. Hartley didn't need to know that, however, just like he didn't need to know the dozen times that Tamsen had almost returned.

"How have you been doing, Tamsen?" Hartley asked when it became clear that Tamsen wasn't going to offer anything.

"Better," Tamsen said. It was true, and it had the added bonus of making Hartley flinch. "Can you get to the point, Hartley?"

"Stirling told you the mess I made of things with Sumira?" Hartley asked. Tamsen nodded, his stomach churning as he waited for Hartley to come out with it. "One of the proposed solutions to fix it is for us to marry."

Tamsen grit his teeth, waiting for Hartley's justification, his attempt to convince Tamsen it was a good idea. Hartley didn't continue, though, just stared at Tamsen, his face pensive. "Stirling told me that, too," Tamsen finally said, unnerved by Hartley's stare.

"You'll say no again," Hartley said. He sat back in his chair, slouching in defeat.

"Why were you following me? Having me followed?" Tamsen asked, changing the subject.

"You were dodging me," Hartley said, shrugging. "I wanted to make sure you were all right, and… well, to see you."

"And if I said yes, but that I'm abdicating anyway?" Tamsen asked. His tone was bitter, but he was allowed to be bitter about it.

"I'll take you however I can get you," Hartley said. He smiled at Tamsen, sad and sweet. "But you're still going to say no."

"I am," Tamsen said. "I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry."

Hartley laughed at that, and maybe he had been telling the truth about it all. That he'd been rash, that he'd let his emotions get the better of him—seven years ago and in front of the Sumirans. It didn't matter though; Tamsen's answer wasn't going to change.

"I appreciate you listening, anyway," Hartley said. He stood, tugging his jacket into place. "I hope you are happy, Tamsen."

"I am," Tamsen said. It was mostly true, but who didn't have days they were unhappy? Tamsen hesitated, but it wouldn't hurt. "And I accept your apology."