Harbor (On the Wind #3)

40. Tybalt

CHAPTER FORTY

TYBALT

F rankly, I didn’t know what to feel.

In a strange way, I was insulted that my father hadn’t bothered to plot my assassination himself. That was just the kind of hands-off father I’d always known, but I had no quarrel with Penelope’s family. None of them.

What had I done to draw their ire but exist?

That was, indeed, enough for some people to find me distasteful, and for the first time ever, I found that irksome. I’d never thought it too odd that people didn’t like me. My own father didn’t, after all.

And there were plenty of others who were quite happy to fall into my bed, so I knew, deep down, not everyone hated me so much as they pretended.

Now that my life was on the line, the whole thing felt less like a game. I couldn’t just be a thorn in my father’s side and drag my feet whenever he insisted that I change.

I’d put up almost no fight when Father had suggested I marry Paris’s sister, because the whole thing had felt pointless. Of course I’d marry a woman and settle into a role more befitting of a prince of Urial.

Only now could I see how absurd that had been. She’d have been miserable. I’d have been—well, more of a mess than I already was. And for what? There was nothing I could do that would ever be enough.

And now, with this stark proof that I was simply not up for the task of being my father’s son, I finally gave up the idea that if I shadowed him well enough, learned at his side and took what opportunities I could to prove myself, I might win him over. Instead, I found myself in the palace nursery.

It was even, gods, my own idea.

Staying hidden away was dangerous, not just for me, but for everyone near me. Isolation offered ample opportunities to anyone wanting to catch me alone, and as formidable as Orestes was—yes, even when he was completely naked and freshly out of his feathers—anyone who meant me harm only had to go through him.

Well, and Penelope, who seemed to have made it her life’s mission to keep me alive, almost as if she blamed herself for her family wanting to clear the path for her heirs, or—or even for my father’s distaste.

She’d introduced me to the carers in the palace nursery, the women who taught the children the essential skills they’d need to navigate court.

So every day now, I found myself with... children.

And it was nice.

None of them realized they ought to see me as distasteful in the slightest. I was Prince Tybalt, as dashing and romantic and noble as I’d always imagined I could be.

With the older children, we practiced dance and manners and reading and, well, Orestes would hardly leave my side, so when one of the teachers worked up the nerve to talk to him, he was soon after invited to tell the children about Nemeda.

I sat with them, Olive in my lap, and listened while he went on about how his people worked together, balanced their burdens and offered up their skills without pretense or expectation.

It sounded lovely, if farfetched, but I thought sharing that spirit of collaboration with the children would make for a better future for all of us.

So when the time came to clean up after the midday meal, I helped him. No, I didn’t particularly enjoy touching used plates or washing dishes, but, well, why would anyone like that? And what made my hands so precious that they couldn’t touch a bit of grime?

Admittedly, it made it easier that Orestes was at my side. Everything that he did had begun to strike me as noble and decent and generally reasonable, so now chores I would’ve balked at as Prince Tybalt seemed simply like things that needed doing during the children’s afternoon nap. Moreover, Orestes had begun insisting that he taste everything I ate first, to check for poison or something equally awful, and if he was willing to go to such lengths for me, I ought to take care of him as well.

There were ways I enjoyed doing that, as he had a rather fine cock, and ways I... didn’t. Like washing the plates.

It was still worth doing, and I felt less like I was taking advantage of him and everyone around me.

For the evening meal, the children often joined the Great Hall. Some drifted off to sit with their parents, though Penelope had decided to sit with us rather than at the head table. We both should have been there, and my father looked strange, up there alone with the seats on either side of him empty.

Surrounded by people and the laughter of children—admittedly quieter here in the public eye than they allowed themselves to be in the nursery—I... fit. I had a place that felt like it suited me for the first time in as long as I could remember.

Truthfully, the closest I’d ever come to this feeling was closing myself away from the world with a lover. I didn’t think belonging was possible outside of the curtains around my own bed.

And instead of fleeing to lock myself in my room as soon as I could, I sat there. In time, some of the children drifted off, yawning, to their waiting parents. My father retired for the evening.

Penelope and Olive were still there, some lords and ladies scattered around, catching up with each other about the day’s happenings.

“Should we go up?” Orestes asked.

Both our plates were clean. The ridiculous man kept insisting that if there were poison, he’d fare better because he was larger. I was not at all sure that poison worked that way, but any would-be assassin would have to be comfortable with the idea of putting children at risk to try and poison my plate. I hoped that remained a step too far for them.

I sighed. “Not yet. It’s...” In the corner, there was a musician playing her lute softly. The fire in the hearth was burning steadily, fed by servants. Olive leaned sleepily on her mother’s arm.

We could’ve left all this, and I’d never have seen it. Still, wasn’t that easier than tasting for poison and hoping for the best?

I glanced up at Orestes with a frown. “You haven’t suggested that I flee to Nemeda with you.”

Orestes shrugged. “Do you want to?”

My teeth pressed into my lip while I thought about it. That kind of openness, everywhere, sounded exhausting, but it was more than that holding me back.

Even from across the great hall, I could feel Mercutio’s glare boring into me. With a swallow, I met his gaze briefly. It was too hot to hold, and I turned back to pushing some remaining porridge around in my bowl.

“There’s work here I have to do,” I mumbled.

“Work?”

Just the word, spoken so questioningly from his lips, had my back stiffening.

“Yes, work. I should think—well, if Urial is going to get better, someone with some sense will have to have a hand in it.”

Orestes smiled, slow and easy. For a moment, I thought it was at my expense—that he thought it as ridiculous as everyone else that I might have anything at all to offer my country.

I was no warrior, no great mind, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t?—

I could . . .

I could care , at the very least, and that was a good deal more than most rulers in Urial offered. Even my father didn’t care if I died enough to have a hand in it himself. We were meant to sit back, do nothing, feel nothing. Steadiness was all that the people expected of us.

I wanted more. Perhaps Mercutio was the only person in Urial who burned bright enough to demand it, but even Paris had hoped for something better. He’d talked so wistfully about the day I would rule and how we would make things better.

It’d seemed a far-off dream to me, at the time, but now that I stood to lose everything, it struck me that there was not so much harm in change as I’d always feared.

And then Orestes’s hand settled on my thigh. He squeezed, and I realized that of course he wasn’t poking fun at me. I wasn’t a joke to him, and at my very worst, he’d never treated me like I was.

He leaned toward me, in full view of the whole hall. More than one set of startled eyes turned our way, but all I could feel was the buzzing warmth of having him near and the funny tickle that crept up my neck with his lips so close to my skin.

“I’d like to see what you do here,” he mumbled.

Then he—gods, he brushed a kiss against my temple, and my whole face lit aflame, and the strangest thing was, I didn’t care if the whole court saw. If Orestes would stay, I meant to keep him, and the stodgy people of Urial would simply have to adjust to our closeness.

Because what choice did I have, after such a sweet kiss, but to fall half out of my chair to press against his arm, turning into his shoulder?

“Maybe something... not terrible,” I mumbled. That was as high as I was willing to aim for, but it still felt a good deal better than what King Albany had to offer.

Orestes laughed. “Lots of not-terrible somethings, I’d wager. So while you wish to stay, we stay.”

“We?” I glanced up at him, biting my lip. Yes, he’d said it before, but I still wanted the assurance.

“We.”