“I go in the stables then. Especially if it’s cold. The horses keep the stables toasty. And if it’s really cold, I stand between them and watch as they make these huge clouds with their breath. I brush and talk to them. They seem to like having me there.”
“If they are anything like me, they do.” She gave his arm a light squeeze and stared at him with those big eyes.
“Maybe I should bring a brush when I come back.”
He meant it as a joke—another poor attempt at being funny. Not until he heard the words did he realize he’d just compared her to a horse. Now he expected her to push him away and take offense. Instead she laid her head against his shoulder.
“I’d love to have you brush my hair.” She nuzzled him. He guessed she was pretending to be a horse now, just being playful, making a joke out of his joke perhaps. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt nice. Really nice. Warm, comforting, and exciting. Girls were never so kind, so … friendly. “You’re not like other men I know.”
His mind caught on the word men. Most people referred to him as a boy or worse. Even the princess, who was only twelve, called him a boy. Hearing Rose say it made him feel better than he would have imagined—better than putting on a new uniform, better than wearing a fine sword. “How would you know? We only just met.”
She laughed. It was a sad laugh. “I’ve known you longer than I’ve known most men.”
“Oh, right,” he muttered. He’d forgotten. With the exception of her dress, nothing about Rose made him think she was anything other than a pretty girl. Now that most of the makeup was gone, he found a cuteness about her, an open quality he liked. Reuben didn’t feel he had to be on guard around her the way he was with everyone else. When he made mistakes, she didn’t mock him. She had yet to laugh or ridicule him. He could be himself—relaxed—the way he had previously only felt in the company of chopped wood or horses. Rose was incredibly nice, and it was hard to think of her as a—“So what’s life like for you?”
She smiled up at him. “See, right there. You’re very odd.”
If anyone else had said this, Reuben would have cringed, but he could tell by the tone of her voice and the look on her face that Rose meant it as a compliment.
“I am?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s as if you actually want to know.”
“I do. I want to know what it’s like being … well … you.”
She looked at him, and he stared back. Her smile faded then and a sadness filled her face.
He’d done something wrong, said an awful thing. He just couldn’t figure out … “What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me. What is it?”
She looked away, letting her hair cover her face. “You didn’t say whore.”
He sat not knowing how to respond, not knowing if he should say anything.
“Why not? Why didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “It didn’t seem … I don’t know … nice, I guess.”
Her face came up again, and her cheeks were wet so that some of the strands of her hair stuck to them. “See!” she said a bit too loudly, her voice cracking so that she paused to cough. “Other men never have a problem saying it, and very few have ever been concerned about being nice to me. It’s always been my job to be nice to them. You don’t have to be nice when you pay. You don’t have to be thoughtful, or even gentle. And no one wants to talk, and if they do, they want to talk at you. They don’t want to hear you say anything, or if they do, they want you to say awful things, and they absolutely don’t want to hear the sob story of some poor girl.” She laughed again, a nervous, miserable laugh that sounded and looked more like crying.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t. I don’t even want to hear it. It’s depressing.”
She bent over and covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with sobs. Reuben didn’t know what to do. He reached out and thought to pat her shoulder, but that didn’t feel right. Instead, he just laid a hand on her arm, giving a light—and what he hoped was a comforting—squeeze. She responded by turning in to him and pressing her face to his chest. He let his arms circle and hug her. They sat under the flickering lantern for several minutes. He wanted her to feel better, but part of him didn’t—holding her was wonderful, and if she felt better, she would pull away.
“Thank you,” she said in a voice muffled by his tabard.
“For what?”
“For being different. For listening to me. For keeping me safe.”
“You don’t have to thank people for that. Anyone would—”
She was shaking her head. “No man I’ve ever known would, or has. I honestly didn’t think you existed.”
“Me?”
Rose pulled away then, breathing deep and wiping her eyes clear. “Well, a man like you. Strong, handsome, all dressed up and shining like one of those knights I hear about in fairy tales.”
“I’m a lowborn guard. I can’t ever be a knight.”
“I think you’re a knight. At least what a knight should be. I’ve actually known several real knights. They all look the same without their armor. None of them have ever been noble.”
She took his face in her hands, leaned in, and kissed him. She was gentle. A light touch. Her lips the softest thing he’d ever felt. Her fingers drifted down from his cheek along the length of his neck. Pulling away just enough to speak, still so close he felt her words, she said, “If you don’t want to dirty your new uniform, we can fold it up and set it on the other straw bale.”
“Rose,” he said, not certain where the air to speak came from, as she had just stolen every bit he had. He gained a moment by taking hold of her hands. “I can’t.”
“It’s your first day. How upset will they be if you’re a little late?”
“It’s not that. It’s … not right.”
She smiled, trying not to laugh. “No, it’s okay. Honestly. This is the first time I’ve ever really wanted to. And I’ll be able to sleep afterward—it will help. Really.”
She kissed him again, and he pulled back.
“What’s wrong?”
“I really can’t.”
“If you’re afraid—if it’s your first time—that’s okay. I like that. I’ll get to feel special.”
“That’s just it. This would be special, and that’s why I can’t.”
She stared at him, confused; then slowly she pulled back, letting her hands fall to her sides, an understanding dawning on her face. “She must be an amazing woman.”
“She is.”
“How long have you been in love with her?”
“All my life, although I only met her three years ago,” he said, realizing he’d never told that to another living soul.
Rose looked down and he thought she might start crying again. Instead she sucked in a breath and forced a stiff smile. “You’re a good kisser. Did she teach you that?”
“No, but thank you.”
Rose reached out and let her fingers brush along his cheek. She had a sad, wistful look in her eyes. “I hope she knows how lucky she is.”
Reuben looked away, closed his eyes, and bit the inside of his mouth.
How much of a fool am I?
Reuben came out of the dungeons into the whirl of celebration. Like surfacing after a dive, reality felt too bright, too loud. Lights were everywhere—illuminated pumpkins carved with faces, lanterns, torches, and candles that sat on shelves, hung from the ceiling, or were mounted on poles. The sound of flutes and fiddles rang through the stone corridors, being muffled by the patter of shoes as hosts rushed, guests arrived, and servants trotted.
Such a marvelous world. Such sights and sounds. Such beauty that they kept locked away, hidden from those who chummed with horses on cold winter nights. Reuben paused at the entrance for a moment, looking through the sweep and majesty of gowns and cloaks, wondering if he would see her. What would she be wearing for such a grand event? What might she think of his new uniform? Would he be suddenly dashing in her eyes too?