Page 8 of Honeythorn
“Well, then, do we not have a duty? I am not the culprit in this. We are in the same position. Why then, have you been avoiding me?”
“I…I’ve been busy.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Milan hissed, incensed that Raphael would attempt such a flimsy excuse. “You knew what day I was to arrive. I cannot believe you are so incompetent that you could not reschedule things for the single week leading up to our marriage as to spend some time with the person who has travelledweeksto get here. Who you will bespending the rest of your life with. Or should I expect our bonding night to also be filled with paperwork?”
Raphael’s refusal to meet his eyes only angered Milan further. Who was he to look like the victim in this conversation?
Finally, Raphael replied. “I will be there for dinner.”
Milan scoffed. “Well, yes. I would hope so. What are you occupying your day with?”
At this, Raphael finally met his eyes, frowning. “Work.”
“Whatkindof work?”
The frown deepened. “I have to survey the grounds today.”
“Excellent, I’m eager to ride. I’ll accompany you.” Milan ignored the indignation on Raphael’s face and walked away. “I will meet you at the stables!”
By the time a glowering Raphael arrived, Milan had Saturnus saddled and ready, a few chunks of carrot in his hand to ingratiate himself with the mare as he stroked her muzzle.
“There you are. I thought you’d gotten lost,” Milan couldn’t help but say sarcastically. It did nothing to improve Raphael’s countenance. “I believe Mary is just taking out your horse.”
Raphael was obviously about to reply when Melissa appeared from around the stables.
“Mister Pryor! Oh, Lord Ledford, good morning.” She bowed.
“Good morning, Melissa,” Raphael replied.
Milan took a step towards her. “Did I forget something?”
“Well…you haven’t had breakfast, Sir.”
“Oh! No matter, Melissa, but thank you for—”
“Absolutely not,” Raphael cut in. Milan glared at him.
“I assure you, Lord Raphael, that I will not faint on top of the horse and inconvenience you,” Milan said acidly.
“That’s not…have something to eat.”
“And have you leave without me?”
Raphael scowled. “I won’t. I’ll ready my horse whilst you eat something.”
Milan squinted his eyes suspiciously before relenting. “Fine.”
He didn’trunto the kitchen, but he certainly didn’t dawdle on his way there, either. The comforting heat and smells hit him as soon as he entered.
“Can I steal one of these?” he asked the room in general, pointing at one of the buns on a tray.
“Mister Pryor. Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Stuffing the pastry into his mouth, he hurried back to the stables.
“Is that all you’re having?” Raphael asked in clear disapproval, already on his dark horse as Milan appeared.
