Hamish grinned, boyish mischief glittering in those blue eyes. “I was there as punishment. Cook had me peeling tatties for several hours.”
“Peeling—?” Darshan laughed at the imagery. “What did you do? Flog off the silverware?”
“Something like that. Where were you headed?”
He shrugged. “Nowhere, really. But I was wondering… I am interested in taking you up on that offer of showing me one of your pubs.”
“Now?”
Taking in the slight confusion on the man’s face, Darshan decided some reassurance was in order. “Not a date.” He wouldn’t presume anything until he had gotten to know Hamish a little more. “Just a… cultural experience, if you would.”
The man’s puzzled expression deepened, scrunching his nose. “Date? As in a set day?”
“No,” he drawled. He hadn’t been taught the actual word for such socialisation. Finding out if he’d a like-minded individual nearby hadn’t exactly been on his intended agenda, certainly not according to his father or tutors. Only now did it occur to him that such outings might not even be a done thing in Tirglas. “I meant as in an excursion involving a romantic couple. Which I was trying to stress my suggestion is most certainly not that,” he babbled, mentally kicking himself.
Hamish scratched at the underside of his chin. “I dinnae ken…”
Darshan scoffed. Perhaps there was a sliver of truth in Gordon’s words about his brother last night. The poor man. “If you are thinking of first garnering your mother’s permission, then I am rather afraid you have missed her. According to your sister, Queen Fiona will not return home until evening.”
“Nora said that?” He bit his lip, his gaze settling on a window set deep into the corridor. “Evening, hmm?” Grinning, his focus turned back to Darshan, that boyish mischief reigniting his face. “Sure, then. We can be back well before she arrives. You go change into that plain outfit you wore to the city yesterday whilst I saddle the horses and I’ll show you one of me favourites.”
“Wonderful!” Darshan fought to hide a grimace of wearing the same attire behind exuberance. It had been laundered as to his requests—by a most amused middle-aged woman—but to be seen in public wearing the same outfit so close together would’ve turned him into a pariah back home.
Hamish paused as he took a few steps towards the stairs. “Oh, and Darshan? The date thing? We call it ducking out.”
“Noted.” His heart pounded. Excitement or anxiety? Either seemed plausible. If things went to plan, he would know where he stood on certain matters. He just hoped Hamish didn’t react poorly should the answer be negative.
~~~
The Fisherman’s Cask was situated near the docks and served as a sort of hub for all sailors, be they locals in search of a drink close to work or travellers from afar. That was what had first drawn Hamish to this place in the distant past, beyond it being the farthest pub from the castle.
Propositioning men here had been easier on his conscience. Sailors were often more willing to bed another man than other like-minded land-working Tirglasians. They’d also the added benefit of being off home with the tide.
The smell assaulted his nostrils first as Hamish opened the door. Always did. It was a sort of briny stench that spoke of fish guts and seaweed drying on the shore. He didn’t know where it came from as the pub interior was immaculate, its flagstone floors kept clean of dirt and drink in equal measure.
Whilst he had learnt to ignore the smell, he glanced at Darshan to gauge the spellster’s reaction. The man’s nose wrinkled slightly, but he voiced no objection towards venturing further so Hamish led the way into the room.
Smoky lantern light greeted them. It glowed dully on the battered wooden tables and muddied the mortar clinging to the assortment of stones that made up the walls.
Despite it being mid-afternoon, The Fisherman’s Cask already had a wide assortment of patrons. Some nearer the door were deep in their drink and oblivious to all else. A group to their left played darts, the dull thunk as each one hit the target was greeted by collective groans or cheers. At the back of the room, another bunch tossed wooden rings onto the tusks of an old boar head.
Darshan froze at Hamish’s side, his expression one of uncertainty. “Well now,” he breathed. “What a quaint place. Not exactly a high-end establishment, is it?” He arched a meaningful brow at Hamish.
Heat flooded his face and he offered up an apologetic smile. Maybe I should’ve chosen another pub. Something a little more suited to serving an imperial prince. The man’s attire, although absent of the embroidery and gems of his arrival garments, practically glowed in the low light. Hamish wouldn’t be surprised to discover it was silk or finely woven linen.
On the other hand, they were here now, leaving would likely generate more rumours than having a few pints together could ever hope to garner.
Darshan must’ve come to a similar conclusion as he seemed to gather himself and waved Hamish on. “Please, lead the way.”
Inclining his head, Hamish strode across the room. Curious eyes, some already deeply fogged with drink, tracked their passage. More likely, they watched the ambassador. He would need to be mindful of opportunists attempting to accost the spellster once they left.
They settled on a couple of barstools, where Hamish flagged down the barkeep, Ewan.
Unlike the farmer of the same name, this man had a sickly grey complexion that matched his greying blonde hair. He’d a sparse beard and, through it, a disapproving frown had permanently etched itself into his face, dragged down further by heavy jowls.
Still, there was a hint of youthful curiosity gleaming in his dark gaze as he eyed Darshan. “This is the ambassador I’ve been hearing so much about?” Ewan asked Hamish, jerking his head towards the man in question.
Hamish fought to hide a smile as one of Darshan’s
