This Johan guy is a piece of work.
It was their third meeting in three days—meetings alone, because Portia had made herself scarce. Last he’d seen, she and Cheryl had been squealing over some nail polish that had been sent to the armory for promotion, which had seemed strange to him, but Portia explained it meant he now had “internet capital.” She hadn’t explained more than that though, as she hadn’t spoken to him about much since they’d returned from the Bodotria Trail. She’d been strictly business since he’d come back to an empty parlor after walking Johan to the door.
At first, he’d thought something had happened when he’d left her and Johan alone—the guy was closer in age, after all, and charming and fit. He’d wondered if he was officially out of her system, which should have been the best-case scenario for both of them but the possibility alone made him feel like utter shite.
She’d finally sat him down and talked to him that morning.
“We need some boundaries,” she’d said, cutting to the chase unlike the last time she’d held an impromptu meeting. “Right now, we’re too enmeshed in each other’s lives, or rather I’m too enmeshed in yours, since you don’t know very much about my life at all, actually.”
Tav had wanted to argue otherwise—he knew about her parents and her sister, the pressures her family exerted on her and the even greater weight she placed on herself. He knew a lot about Portia, but in the end it wasn’t the same as the way his entire life and family history had consumed her time. He’d been worried for weeks but hadn’t pinpointed the reason why: Portia had given him much more than he had given her, though he was supposed to be her instructor.
She’d continued, looking ill at ease. “I came here to find myself but I feel like I’m losing myself instead. So, factory reset time. Our only official relationship is swordmaker and apprentice, and maybe knight and squire if we’re feeling frisky, and we’re going to have to stick to that. I’m leaving soon, after all.”
Tav had been hurt by the matter-of-factness in her tone, and surprised by his hurt. But he hadn’t said more than “Aye. Whatever’s best for you, lass.” What else could he say? The apprenticeship was over soon, and it had been a failure. She’d made one sword and gotten nothing but headaches and piles of work that had nothing to do with the armory.
A crumpled crisps wrapper bounced off of Tavish’s forehead and onto his lap. He rerouted his train of thought back into the parlor, where Johan sat across from him with his brows raised.
“Oh, did that manage to get your attention?” Johan was rightfully annoyed, though it was a quite refined annoyance.
Tav was having trouble following along because, well, nice as he was, Johan was no Portia. Tav hadn’t realized how easy she’d made all those lessons for him. Johan had zero interest in humoring him.
Tav grabbed the crisp bag and lightly tossed it onto the table. “Sorry, mate, I drifted off. What were you saying I should know about the Queen?”
“That she enjoys challenging people to impromptu arm wrestling matches and can beat most of the peerage fair and square. Don’t underestimate her—she has a pull-up bar installed behind her throne.”
Tav rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it, I’ll pay attention. It’s rude of me to waste your time.”
“Almost inexcusably rude—almost!—but understandable. We’ve been going for hours.”
“I honestly don’t even know what day of the week it is,” Tav said wearily, pressing his palms to his face and dragging them down. His stubble was dangerously close to “creeper beard” but he’d been too tired to shave.
“It’s a great day to pay attention to your better,” Johan said with a faux haughty smile that undercut his words.
“Aye? When is this better arriving?” Tav asked, which got a chuckle from Johan. The prince stood and stretched, a reminder that though he was making jokes he was also doing work. So many people were spending time and energy to help him. He needed to push himself harder.
“All right. I’m focused now. We can get back to this weird role playing because I need to be ready.”
He couldn’t disappoint Johan, or Jamie or Cheryl or the weans. He most definitely couldn’t let down Portia, who’d run herself ragged on his behalf.
“When I was a child, my advisors told me that learning to make small talk with the aristocracy is the same as picking up another language. It requires practice and time. I think that’s nonsense, though.” Johan stroked his sharp jaw and regarded Tav through narrowed eyes. “All you have to do is channel your international man of mystery.”
Tav scoffed and tugged at a lock of hair. “International? The last time I traveled outside the UK there was no gray in these strands.”
“Okay, your national man of mystery. Just be smooth, charming, and playful, like when you were flirting with Portia at lunch today. And yesterday. And the day before.” Johan’s smile had an edge to it now.
“I don’t flirt,” Tav grumped. “Man of mystery. What a laugh. This would be easier if Portia could just tell me what to say to these gits. Like Cyrano, but wooing aristos instead of a woman.”
“If you can’t even hold a conversation without Portia by your side to guide you, you have more problems than I can help you with.” The edge had crept from his smile into his tone, and his eyes were suddenly serious.
“I can chat just fine—I’ve managed it for most of thirty-eight years, mate. I’m just tired,” Tav said.
Johan tsked. “You’re going to be tired all the time in this new life of yours. Do you know who bears the brunt of it when a man given power gets tired?”
“Christ, look, if you have something to say, just say it. Out with it.”
Johan exhaled deeply, as if he’d been waiting for Tav to ask.
“Portia is not your walking stick, McKenzie. If you cannot do something without her, that means that when you do something with her, you’re bearing down on her with all your force. You’re a large man, and every walking stick has a maximum load it can take before it snaps. Adding romantic liaisons only decreases the loadbearing capabilities.”
“Fuck’s sake, what are you on about? We’re talking the physics of walking sticks now? Portia and I are adults, and we’ll deal with whatever happens.” He didn’t need a lecture from a guy whose exploits could make a list as long as St. Nick’s.
“I don’t do love or any of that foolishness,” Johan said. “But relationships don’t just happen. You both are making decisions, even when you pretend you’re not. Ignoring that fact is a fantastic way to get hurt, or hurt her.”
“Aye, well, I don’t think there will be any hurting, okay? Our relationship is strictly professional for now.”
“For now? Schiesse de merde. That’s cute, but I have intruded enough. Is there anything else you want to talk about while you have me trapped in this dank excuse for a parlor?”
“Nope. I’m about talked out.”
“Great. Back to work.” Johan stroked his chin thoughtfully, then snapped. “Oh! I just thought of something I wanted to talk about.”
“You’re a terrible actor,” Tav said with an aggrieved sigh.
Johan ignored him. “You know what I found very taxing when my mother became engaged to the king? Being in the public eye. There was all this talk of how to handle a step-prince, what my behavior was like, my physical attributes. I wasn’t prepared for it all, but I wouldn’t talk to anyone because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.”
He glanced at Tav with a knowing look.
“I said I was talked out,” Tav sighed.
“I know. That’s why I’m talking.” Another smirk.