I bit back my first response, reminding myself that he spoke as a prince speaks to a servant, not as a boy would address his father. Yet that brief moment of silence seemed to rebuke him as much as words would have. Not that he looked chastened, but I recognized the stubborn flex of his lips. I took a breath. “My prince, it has been scarcely two days since we returned. I had assumed that you would be very busy with the tasks of your reign. In the meantime, I resumed the chores of my own life. If it please my prince, I thought that you would summon me when you required me.”
“Why do you speak to me like this?” the Prince demanded angrily. “My prince this and my prince that! You didn’t address me in this fashion on our way home. What happened to our friendship?”
I saw the Fool’s warning in Lord Golden’s quick glance, but I ignored it. I kept my voice low and even as I answered. “If you rebuke me as you would a servant, my prince, then I assume that I am to respond in a style appropriate to my station.”
“Stop that!” Dutiful hissed at me, as if I had mocked him. I suppose in truth that I had. The result was awful. For a moment, his face tightened as if he were on the verge of tears. He spurred ahead of us, and we let him go. Lord Golden gave me a minuscule shake of his head, and then nodded at me that I should catch up with the lad. I debated making the Prince pull in and wait for us, then decided that perhaps he could not bend so far. A boy’s pride can be very stiff.
I let Myblack move up alongside the trotting gray as she wished, but before I could speak to Dutiful, he addressed me. “I’ve started this all wrong. I’m beleaguered and frustrated. These last two days have been horrible . . . just horrible. I’ve had to behave with perfect courtesy even when I wanted to shout, and smilingly accept flowery compliments on a situation I wish to flee. Everyone expects me to be happy and excited. I’ve heard enough ribald tales about wedding nights to gag a goat. No one knows or cares about my loss. No one even noticed my cat was gone. I have no one that I can speak to about it.” He suddenly choked. He abruptly pulled his horse to a halt and turned in his saddle to face me. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I apologize, Tom Badgerlock.”
The bluntness of his words and the honest offering of his hand were so like Verity that I knew it was truly his spirit that had fathered this boy. I felt humbled. I gravely gripped the offered hand, then pulled him close enough that I could set a hand to his shoulder. “It’s too late to apologize,” I told him seriously. “I’ve already forgiven you.” I took a breath as I released him. “And I have felt as badgered, my lord, and it has shortened my own temper. So many tasks have fallen to me lately that I’ve scarcely had time to see my own boy. I’m sorry I did not seek you out sooner. I am not sure how we can arrange our meetings without making others aware that I teach you, but you are right. It must be done, and putting it off will not make it easier.”