The Winter Prince (The Lion Hunters:01)(28)

“Twenty miles to the east of here lie the High Peaks, and the country there is as cold and cruel as anything in the north,” I said.

“Ah, but you like the cold.” You brushed a peacock feather across my wrist and mourned, “Medraut, why did you not send me a pair of those beautiful African cats?”

“Oh, let be,” I said mildly, and turned toward the house. Lleu was walking down the steps from the colonnade, looking about him in wonder. He too had left the fields early.

“No. Stay. Sit by me.” You slipped your thin hand into mine to draw me down, and said conspiratorially, “I have been waiting for him. He’ll like it, don’t you think?”

Lleu made his way slowly from tower of hazel to palace of willow, slim brown hands brushing aside the snapping pennants, dark head bent or tilted skyward that he might mark each different bird. “I didn’t come down here this morning,” he called to you over his shoulder. “I only looked out through the atrium windows.”

“Do you like it, Prince?” you asked.

He walked across to us slowly, looking about him with shining eyes. “It’s lovely, Aunt!” he answered. “How did you think of it?”

“It’s easy enough to think of entertainment when you are idle as I am,” you said pleasantly. “Would you like me to tell you the names of the birds?”

“All right,” he said, but continued his own slow tour of the garden. Finally he made his way back to us and held out his hands to you that he might help you rise. You took them gratefully, gracefully, peacock feathers fluttering from your fingers. But as you rose one of your fingernails tore a raw scrape across the inside of his wrist.

“Oh, pardon!” you exclaimed, snatching Lleu’s hand to your lips so you might kiss the scratch.

He stood still and looked at you steadily. “My lady,” he said in quiet, “what did you mean by that?”

“An accident only,” you said.

“It was not an accident!” I cried, and made to stand. You halted me with one hand pressed to my shoulder, a silent order not to move. “Softer, my marksman, softer,” you said. “I can hear you.”

Th c="j noe breath of lavender hovered about your hand, and your red-and-black enameled bracelets clicked and clinked close to my ear. “You don’t do anything by accident,” I protested, but your hand on my shoulder held me powerless.

“Very rarely,” you agreed. Lleu stood before you, shorter than you, slight and dark. The peacocks milled about his knees. “Why, Prince, you have gone pale as salt!” You laughed.

Lleu swiftly turned away from you. He diverted himself as best he could, and ran his fingertips over the shining blue-black feathers of a peacock’s neck. Shy and ill at ease, he bent so that we could not see his face. I looked up at you and threw open my hands in an angry and silent query, but you did not even turn your head. “You are beautiful, Prince,” you said quietly to Lleu; “beautiful. I have never seen anyone so darkly beautiful.”

“Go away,” Lleu whispered without looking up. “Let me be. Why do you want to hurt me?”

“Dancer, swordsman,” you said. “Black hair and eyes so deep, so dark: prince of Britain, first and foremost in the high king’s sight. Are you not in every way my opponent? But for you, my son should have been heir to the high kingship.”

“Godmother, must you?” I interrupted in disgust

Lleu said irritably, “Medraut doesn’t want the high kingship.”

“I thought you might guess whom I meant,” you said smoothly. “Have you ever asked him?”

Lleu rubbed his wrist and said irrelevantly, “I hate these peacocks.”

“And me?” You smiled your incomplete smile.

He could not look at you directly. “I didn’t think I did,” he said. “But you seem to hate me.”

“Of course not, ridiculous child,” you answered. “Come, I will walk with you up to the villa.” You offered a supporting arm to him, and he took it as though in a bewildered dream. “I shall tell the king,” he said desperately.

“What shall you tell him?” you said. “You have nothing to tell him, Bright One.” You turned his wrist over and ran your fingertips across the scratch you had given him. “Shall I salve this for you?”

“Oh: don’t touch it,” Lleu said. He pulled away from you and almost ran inside, stumbling a little. I scrambled to my feet and started to follow, but you caught my sleeve and held me back. “I said to stay,” you repeated. “The little sun prince can survive a while without your protecting hand over his head.”