Page 3 of A Guard and a Gardener

What I puthimthrough?

I must have stared at him for too long, my disbelief over his hypocrisy rendering me mute, because my ex-lover’s expression turned even uglier.

“If you insist on pretending you have no money,” he snapped, grabbing me by the hair and pulling it sharply, “then at least get me something to sell. There must be enough fucking riches lying around that place to fill the ocean.”

He nodded behind me at the palace and continued his angry mutterings, ignoring my pained whimpers and the way my fingers scrabbled uselessly at his hand.

“Mac, you’re hurting me-”

He yanked harder on my hair and I yelped, tears springing to my eyes.

“…you’ll do that for me, won’t you, Wyatt?”

“Sí,” I gasped, willing to agree to whatever he was asking of me now if he’d just let go of me. Which he did, mercifully, patting down the lock of hair on the left side of my head that never seemed to sit flat. It was such a familiar gesture, as was the way Macario scowled when it didn’t stay in place, that my heart felt all squishy and painful and confused.

“Of course you will,” he said softly, all smiles and soothing words again once more. “Things are really tough for me right now, Wyatt, and you’re too good a person to kick a man when he’s down.”

He stepped to the side, graciously waving me past. The thick muscles in his arm flexed with the movement. “Have a lovely day at work. I’ll see you later.”

I knew I should tell him that I didn’t want to ever see himagain, but that hadn’t gone down so well the last time I’d said it, me on the doorstep of the small set of rooms I rented in south Máros and Mac staggering down the stairwell, his stomach full of ale and his tongue sharp and bitter.

I also didn’t want him to hurt me again, and I was now actually late for work.

So I gave him a faint smile and edged past, trying not to brush against his outstretched arm. Yet he moved at the last moment so I bumped into him anyway.

Mac chuckled and clicked his tongue. “Always so clumsy, Wyatt.”

The words echoed around me as I darted up the rest of the road, the steep incline to the palace pushing the final breath from my body. And when I tripped while passing under the raised portcullis, the humiliation did nothing to ease the sting of proving Macario right.

A strong hand closed around my arm, catching me just before I faceplanted onto the cobblestones. My heart leapt as I saw the blue coat sleeve in my periphery, its gold edging marking my saviour as a guard.

“Jiron!” I said delightedly, only for disappointment to flood through me when the man set me back on my feet and I recognised the Comandante instead.

“Uh, sir,” I corrected, trying for a salute like I’d seen the palace guards do. I didn’t think I quite managed to pull it off, but Elías seemed to get the gist and his face cracked into a small smile.

“Wyatt,” he said. “Please be more careful. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself.”

He looked at the sky. “Jiron would be insufferable,” he added under his breath, and I tried to hide how much the comment pleased me.

“Sorry, sir,” I mumbled.

Elías glanced back down at me. “Unless you’re an hour early for your shift, which from what I’ve heard of you would be a Dios-damned miracle, I expect you’re late for work, Wyatt.”

I squinted past him to the huge clock face on the central tower of the palace. It was visible from most of the grounds, including the gardens where I’d been due to report ten minutes ago.

Ah, well. My mistress would forgive me. There were some in our team who resented her holding the role of head gardener merely because she was a woman: they’d been depressingly slow to adapt to the new way of things in Quareh, just as I understood there was still unrest in the northern countries over their recent legalisation of same sex and gender relationships. I didn’t give a shit. Our mistress was competent and decisive and knew more about plants than any of us, even though she’d had to learn a whole new climate of flora when she moved to Máros.

“I don’t suppose you’d tell señorita Zovisasha that the clock winder was overexuberant this morning and it’s fifteen minutes fast?” I asked with undisguised hope.

The Comandante chuckled before nudging my shoulder to shoo me on. “No, but I may be convinced to mention that you were running an errand for me this morning which made you late,ifyou work hard to make up for it.”

“I always work hard,” I told him sweetly. “But today, I promise I’ll work as hard as our king does.”

Elías’ eyes shot to mine, and when he frowned, trying to work out if I was being treasonously sarcastic, I gave him a cheery wave and skipped past him to the archway that led to the gardens.

*

Chapter Three

---