Page 90 of The Sun King's Noon

“So were you, my king.” Kaelen’s hand reached up between them and stopped just short of Richard’s. “A prince only sixteen. Fifteen the day before, even. You weren’t to know what manner of man kept that house, nor what’d follow your kindness.”

Richard exhaled slowly. The words did not lift the weight entirely, but they did make it easier to breathe.

“Even so, I see now I have been sheltered from much. My father slaughtered those who tried to hurt me, and my mother ensured I ate well and lived in comfort. There is a privilege in that which I cannot pretend away.”

Kaelen hummed. “We were both blessed to grow under adults who guarded children. That is no small grace, and we oughtn’t forget it.” He worried at his lower lip. “But Flint concerns me. If he were ever to learn who you truly are?—”

“I know.” Richard nodded. “We shall be careful. And once the mission ends, we part ways for good.”

“For good? He has not charmed you, then?”

Richard scoffed. “I am not so easily charmed.”

Kaelen flicked him a dubious look. “Yes, my king.”

His eyes were so close that Richard could see himself reflected within them. A loose lash had fallen against Kaelen’s right cheekbone. Absently, Richard brushed the lash away.

Red bloomed high on Kaelen’s cheeks. Clearing his throat, he pushed himself up onto an elbow.

“I—I had best go and help with the harnessing,” he said, avoiding Richard’s gaze. “Boris will be looking for me.”

“Of course.”

Kaelen scrambled out of his bedroll, tugging his tunic straight and reaching for his boots. At the back of his neck, the flush deepened.

“Kaelen.”

The knight paused with a boot half on. “My king?”

“Richard,” Richard corrected. “A favour.” He sat up. “I have need of chains. Long ones, if such are to be had. The beastmaster may have some stored. See if you might persuade her into parting with three.”

Kaelen blinked at him. “Chains?”

“Quite. Three of them.”

Kaelen’s brows climbed his forehead, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Should I be concerned?”

Richard’s smile sharpened. “Do not ask, Sir Knight. And get me my chains.”

* * *

Catching the triplets was easy.Richard had chased his siblings through every passage of the castle for years, and these three nine-year-olds, however nimble, were no match for him. He took Pip first, lifting him by the collar mid-sprint. Penn surrendered with a wail when Richard yanked him out from under a wagon. Puck made it the furthest, halfway up a cart, before he lost his grip and fell into Richard’s arms.

Kaelen had gently rebuffed him on the chains—‘They’re not prisoners to be manacled, my king’—and instead, provided long, sturdy ropes courtesy of the beastmaster. Richard tied one end about each boy’s waist, knotted it twice and looped the other ends about his own belt. The boys immediately tried to untangle themselves, but their small fingers had no chance against the intricate knot.

“Y’can’t do this,” Pip spluttered.

“I find that I can,” Richard said pleasantly.

“I’ll sit on the ground, I will! I’ll never walk!”

“Then, I shall carry you under my arm, and all shall laugh and point.” Richard scooped Daisy up and settled her astride his shoulders. “Jeya. With me, if you please.”

Jeya, ten paces back as ever, grudgingly obeyed. They joined the procession with Richard at the centre, three sullen boys revolving him on their tethers, a six-year-old enthroned upon his shoulders, and a one-armed girl trailing disgruntledly in his wake.

The lyre player nearly dropped her instrument, laughing. Tilda and Wren jeered and pointed. The contortionist and Talia giggled. Even Master Clemens, glancing back from his driver’s bench, did a double-take. Flint, sitting atop the cook’s cart, tipped Richard an amused wink.

Richard flashed him a smile and kept walking.