A list of questions ran through Tahki’s mind, but before he could ask them, he heard footsteps tapping on the stairs.
“You’re late,” said a young man. “I was beginning to think you’d finally had enough of me and ran away to the capital.”
Tahki watched the man glide toward them. His movements were precise, like he planned every step before he took it. He looked about the same age as Rye. His golden hair hung in wispy locks, parted to the left side, a close cut on the back and sides. He wore white and royal blue clothing trimmed in gold and strode over to them with fluid motions. He studied Tahki the same way a horse breeder might assess the worth of a broodmare, and suddenly Tahki realized how shabby he must look in comparison to this well-dressed and, if he was being honest with himself, alarmingly handsome stranger.
When the young man approached, he swung his right arm over Rye’s neck and drew him in for a hug. Tahki thought Rye would resist. The intimate greeting seemed in such contrast with his stoic demeanor. But to Tahki’s surprise, Rye embraced him.
“This is Dyraien,” Rye said when they broke apart. “Dyraien, this is Gale’s solution, Tahki.”
Tahki had never been introduced as a solution. The way Rye said it, though, made him sound less like a solution and more like a problem.
“Nice to meet you,” Tahki said. He extended a hand, because it was the formal Vatolok greeting.
Rye cleared his throat. “I mean, this is Prince Dyraien Királye.”
Tahki retracted his hand. Prince Dyraien. He should have recognized the name, and suddenly forgot how to show respect to a Vatolok prince. Should he bow? Touch foreheads? Offer him some kind of gift?
Dyraien gave him a gorgeous, princely smile. Tahki wanted to smile back, but he didn’t trust himself. He was too tired. A smile might come off like a scowl, and he’d probably already insulted him.
“I’m sorry, Your… Highness. I didn’t recognize you,” Tahki said. When princes and princesses would visit the palace, he’d always stood as their equal, thanks to his father’s reputation. He never had to worry about being disrespectful. Now he would have to tread with caution.
“Don’t let Rye fool you,” Dyraien said. “He’s only jealous he won’t get all my attention now.”
Rye clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“And don’t apologize,” Dyraien went on. “You may address me as Dyraien. Titles are reserved for those who lack self-assurance.”
His words sounded so fluid, so lyrical. Vatolok was a language of harsh syllables, but Dyraien wove his words like fine silk. And then Tahki remembered bowing was the correct edict. He started the motion, but Dyraien reached out, grabbed his wrist, and tugged him closer. He held him by the arm, smelling of rosewater and pine.
“You are my guest,” Dyraien said. “Don’t think of me as a prince, think of me as a host. If there is anything you need, ask.”
Relief washed over Tahki. It had been the first kind words spoken to him since he’d arrived. Finally he’d found someone who didn’t treat him like a burden. This was the kind of welcome he’d been accustomed to back home. Tahki tried to pull away, but Dyraien drew him a little closer. The gesture felt almost intimate.
“I do mean it,” Dyraien said. “The seclusion will get to you. But I will do everything in my power to make this feel like a home away from home for you.” His thumb lightly brushed Tahki’s palm.
“Thank you,” Tahki said. “I think I’ll feel better after some sleep, and after I know what I’m getting myself into. I mean, the details of the project. That’s all. I didn’t mean to say that I’m getting myself into anything… sorry. I just….” Dyraien’s finger lingered in his palm. The touch felt so faint it might not have even been intentional.
“Dyraien,” Rye said. “It’s late, and he looks tired.”
Dyraien’s smile wavered slightly. “You really shouldn’t apologize so much, Tahki. If you ever do something that truly demands an apology, it won’t feel as sincere.” He released Tahki’s arm. “I’ll go over the project details with you in the morning. It’s only us three in the castle tonight, so you shouldn’t have anyone disturbing you. Now, you look in desperate need of a bath and supper.”
Tahki released a shaky breath. “That sounds wonderful.” His eyes drooped a little at the thought of warm water and a comfortable mattress.
Dyraien motioned for him to follow. Rye moved silently behind him. Dyraien made grand gestures with his hands when he spoke, his body constantly moving along with his mouth. Rye kept his back straight and said as little as possible.
As they walked up the stairs, Tahki remembered the woman in the window. His father would say it was rude to question your host on the first night, but Dyraien seemed open to questions. “It’s only us in the castle you said?”
“Is that so odd?” Dyraien replied. “I’ve become accustomed to life without servants.”
Tahki hadn’t even considered how strange it was for royalty to be without anyone to cook and clean and saddle mounts for them. “Forgive me for saying so, but I saw someone in the window. A woman. She looked at me. At least, I think.” He realized then he might have imagined it.
Dyraien and Rye stopped. They exchanged a cryptic glance, and Tahki felt like an imposition.
“I see,” Dyraien said at last. “I was hoping this could wait for morning, but we might as well get this out of the way. Up here, step quickly, please.”
They reached the end of the hall on the second floor and stopped outside a door with red-tinged wood.
“You look quite exhausted,” Dyraien said.
