The Tales of Two Seers Read online

  Besides, if Nathaniel had a friend who warmed his bed, who cared for him and got to claim him as their own, then they wouldn’t want him marrying Timothy. Nathaniel could be infuriatingly polite about it until doomsday but Timothy knew there wasn’t much about him that would to appeal to Nathaniel. Timothy wasn’t tall and breathtakingly handsome. He was less than tall, and rather than handsome, he was, well… Nathaniel had once told him he was charming, and though that had likely been more of Nathaniel’s courtly manners, Timothy hung on to the memory.

  In truth, Timothy was far from charming. He spoke loudly and out of turn, all his knowledge came from books, and his dancing skills were abominable. At the ball for his eighteenth birthday, he’d discovered that, with Nathaniel distractedly close to him, he lost his ability to move his body with anything resembling grace.

  After one too many times tripping forward into the warmth of Prince Nathaniel’s chest, Tim had bolted from the ballroom. To the sound of titters from the watching crowd, he’d run into the garden, startling several couples taking advantage of the dark. From the garden, he’d gone to the stables, hiding himself away in one of the stalls in a pile of soft hay and falling asleep not long after. He’d woken to Nathaniel’s worried face and the knowledge that he’d chosen the stall holding Prince Nathaniel’s horse.

  It wasn’t fair. All Timothy wanted was to not be trapped in this agony alone forever. But there seemed to be no escape, and tonight was further proof.

  He sighed and flopped down into a nearby chair. “How long until my uncle’s men arrive? Shall I be spending the night?”

  His uncle was going to tighten the restrictions on Timothy’s behavior for sure now, although he might be slightly mollified to learn Timothy had not endangered his life this time. Then again, he might not see it that way if he knew about Timothy sneaking past the armed guards in the guardhouse. The next two months were going to be difficult. Two more months and then Tim would turn twenty. The throne would be his. So would Nathaniel.

  It was terrible how often Tim had that thought, and how not-terrible it was. That was the danger of the curse.

  “The night?” Nathaniel asked, ending Timothy’s thoughts before they would inevitably spiral to panicked, flushed visions of their wedding—and of their marriage bed. Timothy would have been grateful to have been spared the embarrassment, but he tried not to allow kind feelings toward Nathaniel to take root. They bloomed into fondness too easily, and that wasn’t fair to Nathaniel. Although, of course, Nathaniel would take Timothy’s question the opposite of how Timothy had intended it. “You won’t be spending the night.”

  Or not.

  Timothy had been wrong. His face grew hot even without dreams of wedding garlands.

  “Fine.” He didn’t want to spend the night in Neri, even if there were fewer guards around him, and Nathaniel was too kind to lock Timothy away somewhere as Timothy’s uncle would have done. Nathaniel likely couldn’t wait to get back to bed, anyway. With whoever. Which was— “Fine,” Timothy said again, trying not to gnash his teeth or snarl or do anything else too revealing.

  Though deception had never been a particular skill of his, and he seemed to have once again won Prince Nathaniel’s enraptured attention.

  Timothy swallowed and risked another glancing study of the other prince. Nathaniel remained on his feet, watching Timothy as he always did, as if he’d never seen anything like him. It made Timothy remember his diplomatic trips to Neri to present himself—be forcibly presented by his uncle—to Nathaniel’s parents and siblings.

  He didn’t know who had been more surprised when Timothy had tried to conceal himself in a rolled-up rug only to be unrolled in the throne room in front of the Queen, the King, Nathaniel, and Nathaniel’s brother and sister—the royal family, or himself.

  Timothy had stared at the family in horror and then immediately turned to Nathaniel and that carefully blank expression of his. He’d been startled when Nathaniel had smiled. Nathaniel’s siblings, both younger, had seemed to find the situation equally funny. Timothy’s uncle, however, had been convinced Timothy had offered Neri a monstrous insult, and Timothy had spent the rest of the visit surrounded by guards when not in Nathaniel’s presence.

  The Queen and King had been polite about the whole thing. As polite as their eldest son, in fact, which only further convinced Timothy that he would be ill-suited to be Nathaniel’s husband. What would Nathaniel want with a husband who never failed to speak his mind? Yes, Timothy had studied estate management and maths and languages, but so had many other nobles and royals. There was nothing special about him to recommend him to someone as great as Nathaniel of Neri. They were a poor match. Nathaniel would be miserable, and it did neither of them good to pretend otherwise.

  Timothy tugged at his dress, wishing for a change of clothes, or at least better shoes. The dress, unfortunately, had required slippers of silk and his feet were now blocks of ice. He tried to curl his toes and made a pained noise when he couldn’t because they were frozen. “When will my uncle’s men be arriving?” he inquired quickly to mask his discomfort.

  “They won’t.” Nathaniel let out an impatient, almost furious, sound and ripped a fur throw from the bed. He stormed across to Timothy with such energy that Timothy remained stuck in his seat, unable to move as Nathaniel approached. Nathaniel tossed the fur at him and held up a hand before Timothy could think to form words. “Just use it. You’re obviously cold. It’s not going to make us more betrothed than we were yesterday.”

  Timothy sucked in a breath then closed his mouth. The fur easily reached the floor. He dug his feet into it to warm them even while he was trying to find a way to stubbornly reject the offering. He supposed accepting one kind act would do him and Nathaniel no further harm. “Fine,” he finally allowed. “Thank you.” Then he remembered what had just been said. “What? What do you mean they won’t?”

  “I mean, I didn’t send word to the Regent.” Nathaniel was regarding Timothy draped in the fur with an expression that Timothy could only describe as satisfied. “The more he tries to keep you from endangering yourself in your escape attempts, the more trouble you get into. There has to be a better way, like conversation. Since you’re here, again,” Nathaniel was only less than perfect when he was being dry and cutting, “don’t you think we should talk about this?”

  “No. There’s nothing to talk about.” Timothy’s decree lost some force when he sank deeper into the fur and tugged it close.

  He had to figure out a way around the curse. Sooner or later, one of his escapes would work. Then he’d stop finding Nathaniel instead of his real destiny. It was just like his uncle to anticipate that and ban all books on magic from the castle except for the ones kept locked in the wizard’s chambers.

  That rule had been learned the hard way.

  At sixteen, Timothy had snuck into the wizard’s rooms to borrow a book on breaking spells, but he must have read something wrong. Instead of breaking the curse, he’d fallen into a deep sleep, and, to his later mortification, Prince Nathaniel had been summoned to kiss him awake.

  The saving grace of the whole incident was that Timothy remembered nothing of the kiss, only waking up to Nathaniel’s remarkable gaze fixed on him. Of course, then Timothy had humiliated himself by touching his fingers to Nathaniel’s mouth and blushing when Nathaniel had smiled in happy relief. Timothy had lurched out of bed in the next moment, landed in a heap on the floor, and then promptly been marched by his furious and worried uncle up to the tower that Timothy would call his chambers until his wedding. The last thing Timothy had seen before being led from the room had been Nathaniel watching him from where he’d still been kneeling at Timothy’s bedside.

  Timothy didn’t like to think about it. By which he meant, he liked to think about it a lot, but only when alone, and never, ever in Nathaniel’s presence.

  Timothy’s voice went up, too nervous, too flustered, because Nathaniel kept looking at him. If he knew what Tim was thinking, he wouldn’t be so pleased.
“You can stop being so nice about it, visiting repeatedly, sending me those letters. We both know you’re looking forward to this about as much as I am. Go back to bed with whomever it is you obviously prefer and leave me to plot our way out of this.”

  Some of the warmth in Nathaniel’s eyes disappeared. “Your plots always seem to end with me. Doesn’t that concern you?” Nathaniel’s tone was almost desperate. “At all?”

  Timothy waved that off with the ease of practice. “That’s just the curse rearing its ugly head.”

  To this day, he didn’t know what his parents had done to anger a member of the Sneaky Folk so much that the Folk would inflict this on their son. An arranged marriage was one thing, but magic to force it to happen, to take away what little control the children could take in the event? That was pure spite. Timothy had been foolishly smitten with Nathaniel since the age of twelve, but even with his terrible feelings, Timothy might have quietly done his duty if not for the curse. That horrible blight forever in his future, tying him to Nathaniel no matter what he did.

  He looked up again at Nathaniel’s silence. “It’s probably worse for you.” Timothy hadn’t really considered that, deliberately, because thinking of Nathaniel wishing to be rid of him was the kind of painful thought to leave him moping for days. Now here he was, alone with Nathaniel in his bedroom, the cold, lonely bedroom that Nathaniel hadn’t even been using because he had somewhere he’d rather be. Timothy sighed. “I have known of the curse my every waking moment, but you grew up without it. You can remember a time when you were truly free. Well, as free as a royal can be.” There was always duty.

  “Little Prin—” Nathaniel stopped himself in the middle of the nickname. “Timothy, of what curse do you speak?”

  Timothy lifted his head in surprise. “The curse. Our betrothal and the fairy “gift” that came with it.” He didn’t know why Nathaniel would need this explained; he’d been there as much as Timothy had.

  “There was no curse.” Nathaniel spoke slowly.

  Timothy shook his head. “I read the accounts. ‘The fairy Robin’s Egg spread her wings over the babe in the cradle and the young boy-prince at his side and pronounced the words in her tongue to ensure the union between the two kingdoms, and—’”

  “Yes. I was there,” Nathaniel interrupted. It was the rudest he’d ever been.

  Timothy gaped at him for it, resolutely not charmed by the crack in Nathaniel’s perfection, before huffing and settling back in his seat. “Then you know she doomed us to each other. Not just marriage, oh no, she cursed us to this fate. You’re inescapable, like destiny. At least until we break the spell.”

  “That isn’t what she said.” Nathaniel stared at Timothy for a long time without so much as blinking. “That isn’t what she said at all.”

  “Yes, it is!” Timothy’s voice cracked. “Obviously, it is. She said we were bound, and in that, our nations would find happiness. She bound us unto death. Wedding or not, I’m…” Timothy stuttered as he hadn’t since he was sixteen with his lips buzzing from a kiss he couldn’t remember. “I’m yours. You are the only one I think of ever since I first saw you. You are perfect, and I am,” he yanked the fur up to his chin and ignored his stinging face, “I am the thing you can’t escape.”

  “Little Prince.” Nathaniel came forward so swiftly Timothy had no time to move away. Nathaniel frowned down at him, and then, to Timothy’s utter shock, got to his knees so Timothy had no choice but to look back at him. Nathaniel was overwhelming this close. Tim could have touched him if he wanted. Which, of course, he did. But he curled his hands into fists.

  “Yes, you are perfect to me,” Timothy growled at him, “and I am a stunted, pale, reader of books who cannot joust or even ride a horse with dignity. I am appalling and rude to you when you have done nothing to deserve it. I cannot dance. And when you take me to bed, I will have no skills there, either, not like your… not like whomever you might prefer.” He dropped his head and studied Nathaniel’s throat. “It is worse than all the hells knowing I feel this and you feel nothing except duty, and we will never be able to be apart. I would have consented if not for that.”

  “Timothy.” Nathaniel exhaled his name. “Little Prince. Look at me. Please. Just once, voluntarily look at me instead of acting as though I disgust you.”

  It was the shaky note in his voice, a note Timothy had never heard before, which made Timothy raise his eyes. Then he went very still.

  Prince Nathaniel seemed stunned, an almost feverish glow in his eyes. His mouth was open, his full lips parted. Timothy remembered touching them, and instantly, reflexively, cast his gaze safely elsewhere once again.

  “There is no curse,” Nathaniel pronounced, taking his time as if he needed the words to be clear. “For years, you detested me because of an imaginary curse.” He shook his head then put his hands on either side of Timothy’s seat. Timothy’s eyes were again drawn to his. Everything in Timothy was drawn to him and always had been, always would be. It wasn’t fair.

  Nathaniel shook his head again. “There was no curse. Robin’s Egg bound us because we were already meant to be. She foresaw our fates—our hearts—and spoke of them, and our families betrothed us, as they probably would have with or without a fairy gift. We were bound together unto death, but in our union our nations would find happiness. It was a blessing. A blessing.” Nathaniel’s warm tone did not last long. “A curse? I could strangle you. For years, I have…”

  “But. No. That isn’t…” Timothy was too warm now. “I read it, and then I met you, and you were… you! You don’t want me. Look at you, and then look at me and my everything!”

  “I have.” Nathaniel’s nearness was affecting Timothy’s body again and, with it, Timothy’s ability to react.

  Timothy was not certain where to look. “You don’t want me,” he argued at last. “You were forced into this just as I was.”

  “As a child, it felt that way,” Nathaniel agreed. Timothy shot him a surprised glance. Nathaniel’s eyes were closed. “I was raised fully aware I was going to marry you, and though I remembered dear Aunt Robin’s Egg’s blessing, I had no concept of what love was, or what she had been trying to tell me. Then I got older and I felt differently.”

  Timothy failed to keep the curiosity from his voice. “Differently?”

  Nathaniel was still kneeling before him. He opened his eyes and once again left Timothy stunned. “My beloved aunt died. I was fourteen and all I had left of her was her gift to me. I thought about it often over the next years, until I realized what a gift it truly was. I was betrothed, but she told me I would desire my betrothed. Unlike everyone else who has to search, maybe spend a whole life searching, I knew exactly where my true love was, and he was waiting for me the same way I was waiting for him. Or so I thought.”

  Timothy pushed the fur away, irritated with the heat coursing through his skin and restless with how Nathaniel refused to move from his position at Timothy’s feet. “You were looking forward to meeting me again?”

  Timothy had leapt over the castle wall and Nathaniel had simply been there, waiting.

  “I was only eighteen. I had no idea what I was in for.” Nathaniel’s tone was hardly a match to what he was saying.

  Timothy frowned. “What were you in for?”

  “Being treated like a monster. Being thought of as so frightening and repulsive that you threw yourself under a horse only minutes after meeting me. In your efforts to escape me, you’ve put yourself under a nearly irreversible sleeping spell and almost broken your neck twice that I know of. You danced with me and barely said two words, and then slept in the stable rather than spend another moment with me. If it didn’t hurt so much, I’d admire your persistence. Part of me still does. In response to it, I refused to give up as well.” Nathaniel paused. “You never answered my letters.”

  “I kept them.” It was impossible not to flush and feel shaky at the admission, and at the heavy way Nathaniel considered him. The careful study no longer seemed designed to i
rritate. Instead, it was more cautious, the look of a man who was not sure of his welcome. Timothy continued to frown, mostly out of habit. “But I am small and bookish, an embarrassment. Your family—”

  “Think I have always been too serious, and have never been so entertained as when you fling your sharp words at me and show up in unexpected places,” Nathaniel cut in before Timothy could finish. “Although, they did not understand your reluctance to marry me any more than I did. My father thought it was nerves. My mother…” Nathaniel’s voice went dry again. “My mother suggested a different reason and an entirely different approach. Now I wonder.”

  “You have wanted to marry me all along?” Timothy could not believe it. “But you are handsome, kind, honorable, and brave, just as a prince should be.”

  “And you are clever and fearless and determined, exactly what a prince should be.” Nathaniel shifted and somehow their bodies were much closer. Nathaniel was between Timothy’s knees, or would be if he continued in that direction and Timothy’s skirt were not in the way. “I have wanted to speak you, to know you, since we were boys. I knew it was as my aunt had predicted, but I did not understand what that meant until you made your first visit to Neri. The moment the servants unrolled the rug to reveal you, irritated and disheveled, your eyes found mine before you tried to get to your feet. For that single moment, your eyes were wide and bright and full of happiness to see me. You had clearly meant to be smuggled out of the castle but you had ended up back with me, and before you began yelling, you looked for me until you found me, and you were happy.”

  Knowing himself so obvious was shaming but it was Nathaniel who was flushed with emotion. “Then I was happy, too, happier than I had ever been before. There is no one else like you, Timothy of House Dirus. I like your height. You are not so little. When we danced, I thought how nice it was to have your head at my shoulder.”