Page 43 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

The woods to the west of the palace were the only place Poppy had been told unequivocally never to go, and so she hadn’t. Even though she knew Adrastos would go in with hunting parties, even though she knew they were simply woods, the warning given to her most sternly by Queen Clementine when Poppy was just a teenager had rung in Poppy’s ears ever since.

So even though Adrastos was with her, as they neared the edge of the forest she stopped walking, hesitating, looking from the thick trunks to Adrastos then back again.

‘It’s quite safe. I’m with you.’

She bit down on her lip, wishing that those simple words didn’t offer so much comfort.

She took a step forward, and another, and then she was enveloped—there was no other word to describe it—by the ancient wood, the smell of pine needles, the soft, fresh snow underfoot.

‘Tell me why you are upset.’

It was a simple commandment, but also incredibly complex to answer.

‘I—’ She lifted her gaze to his. ‘I didn’t like arguing with you last night.’

His expression gave nothing away, but when he turned to look at her, she was sure she saw something like anguish in his eyes. ‘We didn’t argue,’ he said throatily. ‘I lost my temper, and I am very sorry for that.’

The apology was unexpected. Then again, why should it have been? He had been wrong, and he was confessing to that. Adrastos was nothing if not moralistic, and when he erred, he fixed things.

‘Thank you,’ she said, simply.

‘It’s not enough,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘I lost my temper and you deserve to know why. The problem is, I’m not good at talking about any of this.’

She stopped walking, held out a hand. ‘It’s quite safe,’ she said with a hint of a smile. ‘I told you, I’m with you.’

His eyes widened and then he offered a smile back, the repeating of his own reassurance like an incantation, the bringing of a spell.

‘You came so close to the truth of it all, Poppy. I wasn’t expecting that. But I should have. You’re so perceptive.’ He lifted a hand, cupping her cheek.

‘About Nicholas?’ she prompted gently.

His face was grave; he continued walking—perhaps he found it easier to talk as he walked, rather than under the full glare of her watchfulness. Poppy fell into step beside him, reaching for his hand as the physical embodiment of her promise:I’m with you.

‘We were competitive as boys. There were just thirteen months between us, you know, and I was always big for my age. We looked almost like twins. But we were not alike in any other way.’ He shoved his other hand deep in his coat pocket, looked around, studied the lower branches of a tree they were passing. ‘We were competitive, but it was never really a competition. While Nicholas was studious, bookish, he was also gentle and sensitive. He didn’t like sports, he didn’t like camping, hunting, any of the things our father valued. He would much prefer to read than run.’

‘Whereas you were always the opposite,’ she said quietly. ‘I remember how strong you were, how big, how athletic, that first Christmas we spent together.’

‘Do you?’

She blinked away, feeling as though she’d revealed something important, something she should have kept to herself, though she didn’t know why. Sniffing, she added, ‘Objectively speaking, you were a very sporty person.’

‘Objectively speaking,’ he repeated with a small lift of his lips. ‘After Nick got sick, and grew weak, I felt this...awful sense of self-loathing. I cannot explain how much I hated my own selfish, stupid desire to beat him at all things. It had never been a fair competition. I had been born with skills he didn’t possess and didn’t have any interest in. I prayed to any god who might listen to let him live. I promised I would never gloat over him again, that I would never delight in my similarities to our father where Nick had so many differences.’

Poppy listened without speaking but, inside, her heart was breaking for the young man Adrastos had been.

‘And then he died.’ Such a small sentence to encompass an enormous amount of hurt. ‘I hadn’t realised how much I loved him until he was gone. Our competition was just a pretence to be together, to be a part of the same thing. I wonder if it was the same for him. I hope so—I can’t think why else he would have kept agreeing to race me.’

He turned to face Poppy.

‘No one ever asked me to mute myself for him, though, God, how I wish they had. I wish I hadn’t been so arrogant, so desperate to prove my superiority at every turn.’

He shook his head angrily.

‘And then he died, and life moved on. I became the heir, the sole focus of the media’s attention.’ He stopped talking, stopped walking, just simply stared into space. ‘I was no longer in competition with Nicholas, but he was everywhere around me. Every article written about me carried within it a silent comparison to my late brother. And oftentimes, unfavourable to him, as if he wouldn’t have been able to do the things I was doing. I was ashamed of my successes. Ashamed of any of the media attention I received. I hated it. I wanted them all to shut up and write about Nick instead. To write how much he’d loved reading, how many languages he spoke, how thoughtful and clever he was, how philosophical. These were things I couldn’t see value in as a child—but I had been a child! What excuse did these journalists have? Couldn’t they understand how special he’d been?’

Poppy couldn’t help it. She moved to him and lifted up onto her tiptoes just so she could place a kiss against his lips, just so she could show him what she couldn’t say: how special he was. How much she understood and cared for him.

‘You are special too, Adrastos.’

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