“Only one?” shouted Cale from where he rested. “Here, Virago, come let me slide my blade just so!”
At this, all three men burst into laughter. Duir held my gaze, walked over to a large gilt mirror and reveled in his full reflection. “All childishness must be put aside. Virago is correct, I am a King!”
At this, the men were silenced.
Briar had been observing the madness from a nearby sofa. He left his seat, mug in hand, and came closer to inspect himself in a mirror situated opposite Duir’s. “What say you, Virago?”
“Am I to dress all of you like little boys?” I chided, half amused. “Surely, you are all more interested in me completing His Grace’s coronation vest.”
“Yes,” shouted Auberon. “What of this fantastic vest, Duir? Am I not to have Virago make something splendid for my wedding? Tienne has already issued her request and you say nothing!”
Duir held up a hand. “You shall have splendor for your wedding, too, Auberon, but you must be patient. You shall all wear the uniforms of the King’s men and be happy to do so.” He grabbed a nearby discarded garment and threw it at Auberon, who wore a sour look on his handsome face.
“Now take your leave, and ready yourselves!” Duir shouted playfully before swallowing the last of the ale in his mug.
I watched as the attendants gathered the men’s clothes and tripped behind their masters, who boisterously made their way to the other dressing rooms allotted for royal guests.
“They are ridiculous,” Duir remarked, unlacing his braises. “But they are loyal, steadfast, and brave. Well, each has at least one of those qualities. It is more than one in my position can hope.”
Seeing Duir naked made me want Seton. Why hadn’t I given in to him? Would I never know true release, or would I only know the agony of one who always longs for something beyond his reach?
“What is it? Your brow is furrowed like a priest who has passed a brothel!”
“Forgive me.” My eyes desperately tried to find something other than his naked body to stare at. “I think your leather coat, with the fox collar.”
With a resigned swig of my ale, I went about my task of dressing Duir for the procession. In the end, we decided Duir would wear a doublet of wine brocade with cream-colored calfskin breeches and the jacket of black leather with a fox collar, as I’d suggested. As I helped him into the jacket, I thought of my brother and how he despised those who wore fur.
Shaking Sylvain’s image from my mind, I presented Duir with his gloves. “Your gloves, Your Grace.”
As he took the gloves, I bowed respectfully. “You look like a man who is the ruler of a thriving land. I am proud to be in your service.”
He admired himself in a nearby mirror. I couldn’t quite believe he stood before me as the King.
He admired himself in the mirror. “You have been a good friend and tailor to me, Virago. You know me better than most.”
An urgent knocking beckoned from the door. We looked at each other. I could see the apprehension in his eyes.
“Will you not come with me? I look on you as a brother as I do Auberon, Briar, and Cale. It would be right to have you by my side this day.”
I smiled, but shook my head. “The days of me being by your side as a play friend are over. You are a King, and I am your tailor. Besides, I must stay behind and finish your vest.”
He put hands on both of my shoulders and stared hard into my face for a moment before he smiled. He let me go and greeted those who would bring him to the royal carriage.
Chapter 11
An ecstatic hum buzzed among those who had gathered at court to follow the procession. I wove my way through the ornately dressed crowds of gentry, stopping here and there when someone recognized me, mostly the women of wealthy houses who sought my approval of their gowns or my suggestions for an autumn wardrobe. It felt an eternity before I found the cool sanctuary of the workroom. The memories of the times I spent playing in this room while my father worked threatened to overwhelm me, but I resisted the lure of the past.
A single window, long and wide, looked out over the stables. The noise of carriages, horses, and shouts from grooms and coachmen carried up on hay-scented breezes. The sun continued to shine and I relished the light coming in through the open window. It would certainly be a fine day for Duir’s procession from court to the cathedral. How kind of him to ask me to attend the procession. I hoped this kindness, and not erratic moodiness, would guide Duir’s hand during his reign. One never knew how a monarch would rule or how those who lived under their hand would fare. I thought of Horace and his dismal comment, “The clock is a cruel master”. Indeed, I thought and set about my work.
An hour later, a knock on the workroom door interrupted my labors. “Yes?” I answered distractedly, not allowing my eyes to leave the vest. “What is it?” When I didn’t get a reply, I put the vest on the table, stood and went to the door. I opened it, half-expecting one of Duir’s attendants frantic about forgotten gloves or some other trivial matter, but found myself instead staring into the eyes of Seton.
“Forgive the intrusion. May I come in?”
I felt my breath catch in my throat. I’d been foolish to think my work would distract me from what had been unleashed between us. Seeing Seton before me stirred all the passions I’d felt the night before. In fact, my passion for him felt even stronger. Unable to say anything, I stepped aside.
“Thank
