Squire (MXM)

Storm whinnied as I groomed her silver-grey coat. The designation did not suit her; she was timid in nature and had the furthest temperament I could imagine from the meaning of her name. I patted her softly, and brought a ripe apple to her mouth, which she accepted enthusiastically.

“Pretty girl,” I cooed as she crunched her treat. She nodded as if she agreed with me, and it made me smile.“ Sir Tristan will be here shortly to take you for a ride.”

I pulled my scarf tighter and woollen hat further over my ears. The winter wind was bitter, and the stables were exposed, but I loved my job regardless of the season. Since the age of fourteen, I had been a squire to Sir Tristan and he had, as he promised he would, treated me well. He had taught me the basics of reading, writing, fencing, defence and more. Now I was eighteen years old and acknowledged that the last four years had only increased my admiration for my master.

Wrapped up from the cold, his warm, smiling face appeared in the stable doorway, slightly earlier than we had arranged.

“Good morning, Sebastian,” he greeted me fondly, as he always did. “Is Storm ready?”

“Not quite, sir,” I replied. “I will ready her now.”

“Good job,” he replied, giving Storm a pat in greeting.

A clattering of hooves from outside interrupted our conversation. There was not yet any sign of snow, but it was cold, and Sir Tristan’s expression turned curious as the rider approached.

“Excuse me,” he nodded to me.

“Of course,” I replied as he left the stable, and I reached for the saddle on the rack.

Presently I could hear two voices, but I could not hear the content of their discussion. One was my master’s, of course, but the other was not one I could place.

Curiosity got the better of me and I peeked out from the stable door. The man standing with Sir Tristan was tall with rugged features. Sir Tristan was six years older than I was, and this man looked to be slightly younger than him. The visitor was clean shaven except for the dark growth that framed his mouth completely, which was not quite long enough to be called moustache and beard, but more than stubble. The style appeared to have been done deliberately and suited him well. They were engrossed in their conversation and had not noticed me spying.

The handsome stranger smiled, and though it was directed at Sir Tristan and not at me, the effect it had on me was profound. Suddenly winter felt like summer, no doubt a result of the hot flush that had overcome me. I inhaled sharply at his beautiful features and whipped myself back inside the stable before I was caught staring. I had been careful to keep my secret from being discovered and could not risk exposure now. An abomination such as mine was punishable by death, and death was not an appealing prospect. Since I found it impossible to feign an attraction to women, I pretended to be attracted to nobody.

Torn between one more glimpse of the attractive visitor or saddling the pony, I forced myself to see reason and finished making sure that Storm was safe to ride.

Sir Tristan returned soon after the clattering of hooves signalled the stranger’s departure.

“That was Prince Richard,” he nodded in the direction of the spot where the men had conversed.

A prince? I held back the returning hot flush, by concentrating my efforts on the horse.

“Oh,” was all I could muster while fastening the girth of the saddle.

“The prince has requested your company for lunch tomorrow, if you would be willing,” Sir Tristan continued, flashing his brilliant teeth in a wide smile.

The blood drained from my face. How was I supposed to keep company with a man, let alone a prince, that had affected me this way with only a smile? I started trembling, but with the weather freezing, it could have been mistaken as shivering from the bitter cold.

“Me?” I asked, trying to make sure my voice wasn’t as shaky as my body felt. “Are you sure? What could a prince possibly want with me?”

Sir Tristan either ignored my discomfort or was unaware of it.

“In truth, I know the answer to your question, but cannot tell you,” he replied.

After four years of service, I knew I could speak moderately freely with my sincere master.

“With the greatest respect, sir, why would you subject me to such torture? Am I to not know my own fate?”

“The reason is simple. I swore a promise to the prince, and he values honesty above all else. I will not risk losing his trust,” Sir Tristan replied gently. “But have faith that I would not put you in harm’s way, Sebastian. The task he has for you is not one to be endured, but rather to be enjoyed. There is every reason for you to look forward to your visit with the prince. May I send word that you will agree to attend?”

“You are my masters,” I pointed out. “I will do as you bid, sir.”

“On the contrary,” replied Sir Tristan. “Prince Richard was quite specific that you attend of your own free will. The decision is yours alone.”

An invitation of this type was almost unheard of, and certainly an honour, although I was confused as to the motive. The only reason for me to decline would be to reduce my risk of my perversion being revealed. Would they suspect my transgressions if I declined?

Was I now overthinking this?

Hoping my fate was not sealed, I responded to Sir Tristan.

“I would be honoured, sir. You may send word I will attend.”

Now I just needed to ensure I kept my eyes on the lunch and not on the prince.