Page 92 of The Sun King's Noon

“Worst ever,” Penn echoed, digging the earth with a stick.

Puck flopped onto his back. “M’gonna die of being tied. I know it.”

“Then, Puck, your brothers shall divide your share of the food.”

Puck squinted at him. “How d’you know I’m Puck?”

Richard shrugged and reached for Daisy’s hand, brushing the crumbs from her fingers. “You have a scar on your eyebrow,where I wager you fell off something you should not have climbed. You are also, by some margin, the loudest of the three. You”—he turned to Penn—“have more freckles and enjoy insects, so being you spent half the morning watching a yellow butterfly. And you”—he tapped Pip’s nose—“have the rounder cheeks, and do not speak as often as your brothers.”

The triplets gawked as though he’d grown a second head.

Jeya scuffed her boot against a root. “Can we not go play by the spring? Just a bit. I’ll watch ‘em.”

Richard hesitated. But the spring was not far from the camp’s circle, and a dozen labourers and performers stood before it.

“Very well.” He crouched to unwind the rope from the boys’ waists. “Do not go far, and do not enter the trees. Jeya, you have the keeping of them.”

“Aye, aye.” Jeya grinned, suddenly looking a good deal younger. “C’mon, you lot.”

The triplets leapt up, and Jeya took Daisy’s hand. They scampered to the slope that dropped into the spring. Penn gave Richard a cheery wave before sliding down.

Richard snorted and lounged on the log. Around him, several men and women were already eating. Talia sat nearest, the tattoos on her forearms rippling as she blew across her bowl—a fox curling around her wrist, a vine creeping over the knuckles. Beside her was the woman with the wealth of piercings, the snake keeper crooning to her python, and a pair of men arguing over whether Master Clemens cheated at cards.

The woman with piercings caught his eye and winked. “A misunderstanding last night, Flint told me. Sorry about that, friend. I’m Svetra, I am.”

Richard gave her a strained smile. “It was no matter.”

“So, where’s your handsome man, then?”

“He is in the queue,” Richard said, peering over his shoulder. He could see Kaelen near the front, two wooden bowls stacked inhis hands. The knight said something to the cook that made her slap his arm affectionately. “Fetching me my lunch.”

Talia exchanged a grin with Svetra. “Now ain’t that a fine thing.”

“You have him well-trained, you have.” One of the men—Lamrod from last night—laughed. “Got you your breakfast and lunch yesterday. Even hung out your tunic to dry.”

The snake-keeper glanced at the queue. “Poor thing looks dead on his feet.”

“No surprise there,” Lamrod rumbled, licking his spoon. “Master Clemens and Boris have him hauling all sorts on account of his strength. Yet off he goes to fetch his lover’s soup besides.”

Richard opened his mouth and closed it again.

“I—” His collar felt warm, and he plucked at the lacing of his tunic. “I—that is…He is merely—he often—” By the gods, how was he to explain it? “I—I am simply used to him being so.”

The circle around him erupted into laughter.

“Used to him!”

“What a luxury!”

“No,” Richard said weakly. “It is not like that. I mean, Kaelen—he is generous of nature?—”

“Oh, exceedingly generous,” Talia said. “And exceedingly trained. You must be a marvel in bed.”

“Oh, aye,” Svetra mused. “Must be to have a beauty such as he waiting on you hand and foot?—”

A familiar voice came from behind Richard’s shoulder, calm and a touch chiding. “Pray, good sirs and madams, leave my lover be.”

Kaelen ducked into the cluster, two steaming bowls balanced and a chunk of bread tucked under his chin. He passed a bowl to Richard and lowered himself into the same log, knee grazing Richard’s thigh.