Page 8 of A Guard and a Gardener

“Finding my king...or prince, as he was then. Serving him. Watching over him. Originally being appointed with the honour and responsibility of his protection.”

I smiled, nudging my shoulder with his. “Tell me more about those times,” I said, sensing they were happier memories for him. When he didn’t shift away from my touch, I let my shoulder stay there, pressed to his in silent comfort as he spoke.

Jiron had talked for hours about childish pranks and terrifying foes. Perilous journeys and dull political events. Princes and princesses and nobles and courtiers and a whirlwind of different adventures. And when we’d said goodbye to each other that evening and all I could think about was that steady, even voice, the gentle way he moved, the way he looked like he wanted to reach for my hand but never did…I’d known then that my heart was entwined with his.

*

Chapter Five

The king muttered dark threats about a certain healer under his breath, only brightening when he caught sight of Mathias near the duck pond, where he was speaking with the head gardener.

“Husband of mine!” Ren called out, slipping from my arms with a sharp elbow to my stomach – deliberate or not, one could never tell with him – and wrenching his lover by the shoulders so he was turned forcibly out of his conversation. Mathias scowled. “Mat, you need more friends. I’ve decided to execute yours.”

“Excuse me?” demanded his companion in accented Quarehian, her eyes flashing.

The king beamed. “Another fiery northerner. Perfect. Have this one!”

“Ren,” Mathias said with clear exasperation. “Zovisasha is already my friend.”

“That was impressively quick work,mi sol.” Ren swooped in and kissed the woman on the cheek. “Pleasure to meet you, new friend.”

Zovisasha stared at him and then deliberately wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing mud across it.

“For fuck’s sake. You’ve already met her,” the king consort growled out.

Ren cocked his head, looking thoughtful. “I have vague memories of that, yes. Last year? In Stavroyarsk?”

“And yesterday and the day before that and the last four months she’s been in Máros,” he snapped.

The king smirked at me when Mathias ran a hand over his eyes, returning his expression to eager innocence when his husband looked back at him. “Then you won’t miss Starling, will you?”

And it was then that Wyatt rounded the corner of an immaculately trimmed wall of hedge, his fair hair bound into a messy plait, his trousers rolled up to his knees, and his shirt missing. I stared at the smooth, delicate planes of skin, my mouth going dry and all thoughts abruptly disappearing from my head.

Dios, he looks good enough to eat.

The boy was frowning at something in his cupped hands, and everything in me ached to fix whatever was making him sad.

“Little one,” I said softly. Wyatt’s head shot up, his mouth immediately curving into a smile that darted straight to my heart. I couldfeelthe weight of it, or rather whatever was the opposite of weight, the thing that made leaves swirl into the sky and wafted delicious scents up to the king’s rooms from the kitchens below. A delightful lightlessness, airy and happy and perfect, where the whole world resided in that one smile.

“Wyatt?” someone else asked, and I blinked myself back to the reality where other people existed. It was his mistress who had spoken, the head gardener, and she bowed her head of dark hair down to his blonde one as they both peered into what he held in his hands.

Then she cursed in Mazekhstani, a string of words that had erupted from Mathias’ filthy mouth more than once but thistime uttered in terror, and I had my hand on my sword hilt in an instant.

“No, señor,” Zovisasha chided, noticing the movement. “This is not a foe you can vanquish with a blade, sadly.”

“Then you haven’t seen Jiron use his weapon,” Ren promptly countered. He flashed me a grin. “Go on, whip it out andshowthem.”

I set my jaw, unable to deny my king’s orders even when they were obviously spoken in jest, and yet the double meaning made me falter from the uncertainty of what he wanted from me.

“Ignore that, Jiron,” Mathias said with a sigh.

Ren looked disappointed – as did Wyatt, I noticed, for I noticedeverythingabout him, and suddenly I wished the king consort had said nothing.

“You know, when I granted your commands the same authority as mine,” Ren grouched to his husband, digging a slim finger into his ribs and making the other man wince, “I didn’t intend for you to abuse that power by undoing all of my orders.”

“Just the so-called fun ones.”

“You see?” Wyatt murmured, transferring what he held into Zovisasha’s equally dirt-encrusted hands. Ren wavered up on his toes, trying to peer between their fingers. “The mould, there?”

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