Harbor (On the Wind #3)

4. Tybalt

CHAPTER FOUR

TYBALT

M y father’s boldness startled me. When I’d followed him and his guide from the throne room, I’d imagined Father had put Orestes away, waiting until he could glean how to take best advantage of the situation for the good of our kingdom. All my life, I’d been told what a witless, useless fuckwit I was.

But I hadn’t put a foreign diplomat, an unknown entity, in the very worst room in the castle. It was like Father wasn’t considering how this would reflect on Urial, how the Nemedan might think this was all that we had to offer and this was a backwoods sty of a country, poor and destitute.

Only then, Orestes asked a question and used my name, and that—that startled me. Yes, I was well dressed, and I liked to think that I had a certain bearing, but?—

“We haven’t been introduced.”

Orestes shrugged. Even sitting on a box in what amounted to the lowliest servant’s quarters, he was gratingly imperious. “I’ve heard enough about you. Frankly, I suspected it wouldn’t take too long for our paths to cross.”

My stomach twisted. There were a very small number of people from whom he might have heard stories about me, and none of them would’ve been particularly kind. Had it been my erstwhile lover, or the silver-haired bastard who saw too much and spoke the truth too sharply?

My smile turned stiff. “I could hardly let such an esteemed guest remain unacknowledged, and I’m afraid a proper introduction must have slipped my father’s mind.” I looked around the room, and I swore a roach scuttled by toward the shadowy corner. “Among a number of other things,” I mumbled.

“Can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Orestes said, voice perfectly reserved. He folded his hands as he leaned on his knees, and my gaze briefly fell to his broad, rough-looking fingers.

I raised a brow. “Don’t you?”

The way his lips curved, knowing and amused, said that he did and was simply too decent to say anything outright. He was... more of a courtier than Paris’s Nemedan had been.

“In any case,” I said, “there must’ve been some mistake. These quarters are hardly suitable for a man of your station.”

“Are they suitable for anyone?” Orestes asked, innocence exaggerated in his wide-blinking eyes.

“Of course.”

“Then they’re suitable for me.” He rubbed his hands together and made a strange little gesture, like he’d barely held himself back from blowing a warm breath across his fingertips.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. If this is what Urial has to offer, I’ll most humbly accept.”

A prickle of annoyance tingled at the corners of my jaw, and I realized I was gritting my teeth. “You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.” Even then, he was hiding a quiver.

I scoffed. “I will never understand what compels men like you to insist they’re fine when they’re not. It’s as if, for every pound of muscle you gain, you lose a proportional amount of wit.”

“I’m plenty witty.”

“Then perhaps you’re just stubborn.”

To that, he could only grunt, so I suspected I hit the nail precisely.

“You’re shivering,” I observed, earning a glare from him. “And I’m fairly certain that, were you to crawl under that threadbare blanket to try and improve your conditions, all you’d earn yourself is a terrible case of bedbugs.”

Orestes flinched, scooting forward so that his chest scratched on the floor. Skeptically, he looked at the bed behind him as if it might lash out.

I grinned, triumphant.

“So,” I continued, “you can continue in your stubbornness, remain cold, and risk a terrible itch, or you can?—”

Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? I was the next best thing to useless when it came to the work of making things happen, but I did have a title that tended to motivate people who could affect change, so long as my father wasn’t there to gainsay me at every turn.

“A moment,” I said to Orestes, and I stuck my head out into the corridor.

There was a servant girl, a bundle of linens clutched tight to her chest, who blinked at me as soon as the door opened, and immediately ducked her head again.

“You!”

She flinched, and I’d swear I heard a squeak. “Y–Your Highness?”

“Yes. Indeed. See that Sampson’s old rooms are outfitted for our new guest here. I’d have him relocated to the royal wing.” Sucking in my cheeks, I looked over my shoulder at Orestes, shivering there on his box. I huffed through my nose and turned back to the girl. “And have a hot bath prepared for him there.”

It hadn’t been long since Paris’s family had fled the palace and taken off south—certainly not long enough for anyone to draw my father’s favor enough for him to want to give them such a fine suite full of who knew what kind of business Sampson and Hector had kept there and left behind.

“O–Of course, Prince Tybalt. Shall I—Is there anything else?”

“Food?” I tossed over my shoulder.

Orestes nodded.

“Food,” I said to the woman. “Have a plate brought to the quarters as well. Whatever the cooks are preparing for my father tonight should suit.”

Her head bobbed and she dipped a curtsy before skittering off to see it done.

That left me alone with Orestes and his one trunk, and—perhaps I should’ve asked her to send someone back to help with it.

Before I could worry, Orestes stood and heaved the thing up himself.

I hummed, looking over his thick arms, bunched with muscle that strained with the weight. “I suppose all that bulk isn’t for nothing. Very well. Come along.”

By the time we reached Sampson’s quarters, there were already kitchen boys rushing up with buckets of boiling water for the bath. They darted around us to slip inside, muttering excuses before rushing back out.

Looking into the empty rooms was... strange. Paris and his family were gone, but I?—

Well, it hardly mattered now, did it? They’d chosen their allegiances, and they weren’t to me and mine. A pity, but fine.

Still, looking into the familiar space, it was like someone had died. I’d never been comfortable with the grief that crept up on me then.

I shook myself out of the sudden swell of melancholy and smiled at Orestes. “You may make yourself comfortable here. There is a bell for the servants”—I nodded at it, a thick golden cord hanging in the corner of the room—“should you need anything. Though...” I allowed myself the leisure of looking him over, head to toe.

It really was a shame that he was a bird-worshipping heathen. I’d have liked to keep him.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have my fun.

“Should you find yourself in need of assistance in reaching any of your, ah, nooks and crannies,” I said, “do feel free to call on me.”

Even as I batted my eyelashes, I expected Orestes to scoff and put me off as quickly as the other Nemedans had. Instead, his eyes darkened, focusing on me as his cheeks hollowed out and his lips pursed.

Was he?—

Was he seriously considering it?

A wave of fire crept up the back of my neck, into my cheeks, and I cleared my throat. “In any case, we shall be seeing each other soon, no doubt. Enjoy your—your?—”

I waved my hand at the room, the tub, the servants, and, gods, made a hasty retreat.

I hadn’t been so unsettled by a man’s stare since?—

Well, ever.