Hamish shook his head.
Darshan halted in the middle of the courtyard. “If you will excuse me?” The man was already making for the castle door before Hamish could enquire further.
~~~
The door to the empty room clicked shut. Darshan leant back on it, barely seeing the shelves of books lining the walls. He had come here only because he didn’t think himself capable of remembering the way to the guest room, much less making the journey.
His heart hammered, his thoughts twirling off into multiple spirals of possibilities. He needed to slow down, to think straight.
No wife. That thought ran through his mind the loudest. He latched onto it, trying to anchor himself, only to be caught by an eddy of questions and suppositions.
Did that mean what he thought? Could it? Whilst his tutors had taught him everything they believed he would need to know during the journey, there were only so many hours in a day and so much knowledge a mind could handle.
Nevertheless, he knew that a lack of wife or child at Hamish’s age would be rare indeed without good cause. And there were a limited number of reasons as to why not.
Could it be that Hamish preferred men? Tirglasians had a peculiar notion about men enjoying each other, a distinct aversion to the idea if his father could be believed, but it would be foolish indeed to think there were none such as himself in an entire kingdom.
Still, for a prince to be that way inclined…
No. He was clearly reading too much into it. Why, he had gotten none of the usual signals from the man in that regard. All this was far more likely to be nothing but idle hope in the face of blind lust. He couldn’t do that to himself again. Hamish certainly didn’t deserve to be dragged into Darshan’s self-inflicted implosion.
Then again…
Frowning, Darshan tipped his head back against the door. This wasn’t Udynea. What passed for a signal there would be far too blatant here. And Hamish might not even be aware of it himself or, far more likely, in denial over his attractions.
There was really only one real way to be sure and, ordinarily, he would just outright ask whatever man he had taken a fancy to if they were likewise inclined. Doing so here ran the risk of having his teeth knocked in.
He pushed off the door, pacing between it and the thick wooden table filling the centre of the room, absently toying with his rings at each turn. What to do? His curiosity wouldn’t simply leave it be. He had to know one way or the other.
He would have to be careful, though. Subtle. Hamish seemed a laid back sort, but he didn’t want to offend the man.
Perhaps if he got Hamish alone, like out in the city. A neutral place where the man felt comfortable. Somewhere like—
One of those pubs of theirs. Hamish had pointed out a few on their excursion around Mullhind. They could tuck themselves into some quiet corner. A little alcohol would help loosen the man’s tongue; in a multitude of ways should his hunch prove correct. And should his gentle questioning turn sour, he could always shamelessly blame it on the drink.
But when? He halted, staring blindly at the door. That was a harder decision. He had his duties and Hamish no doubt had responsibilities of his own to attend. Would an evening stint raise too many brows? What of during the day? It was custom amongst the desert tribes in Stamekia for alcohol to only be shared amongst family and lovers during the day. Did Tirglas have any such taboo?
His gaze slid to the books, then the shelves, before moving on to finally take in the room. He was alone, mercifully. Large windows filled the wall to his left and a pair of low-backed chairs had been positioned near them to maximise the light. Had he stumbled upon the castle’s library? He should’ve realised by the smells of leather, parchment and the dry dust of a room kept warm.
Breathing deep, he strode to the nearest shelf. A peek into one of the books—the pages crackling with neglect and age—revealed little that he understood. Another offered a gleaning of an old tale involving an attack on Mullhind Castle or perhaps a historical record. It was hard to be sure, even when his grasp on the written language was far better than the tenuous hold on verbal communication. It didn’t help that the words were all but smashed together.
Maybe if he brought Hamish here, the man could help him decipher the words and, in the process, give Darshan a less conspicuous opening.
The door rattled, jolting him from his vaguely-interested attempts to make out the tale the book spoke of—something about a lone prince, he had lost track three times already. He turned as the door opened, revealing the queen’s bubbly daughter.
Nora stared at him, those blue eyes at their widest. One of her hands alighted on her chest, clutching tight the scrolls and journals she had been pouring through during their meeting earlier; the other hand had fallen to her belt knife and was now merely resting on the hilt. “I didnae expect to find you here.”
“Am I intruding?” Darshan hastily replaced the book where he had found it. “I can leave. Or were you sent to fetch me?”
Shaking her head, she strode into the room to rest her burden on the table. “Nae, on all counts. Me mum—” A small smile tweaked her lips. “I mean, Queen Fiona has been regrettably called out to duties and willnae be back until this evening.”
“That is a shame,” Darshan replied. “Will we be reconvening afterwards?”
Again, Nora shook her head. She shuffled the scrolls into some semblance of order, glancing up at him. “What were you reading?” The question came so lightly, almost absentminded.
“I cannot rightly say.” He picked up the book and brought it to her side. “History, I believe. Unless the castle library
