All the World (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 8: "The king is love-sick for his minion."

Come morning I do in fact regain some of my senses, what few I have. I don't know when we actually fell asleep. After my day of jousting alone I was incredibly sore, and Edward just curled up with me in his arms, and told me to close my eyes. I did and he stroked my hair and I fell asleep.
So I'm waking up.
In the princes' chambers.
Naked.
I don't know where my clothes even are after last night. I feel the burning hatred that it's going to be incredibly obvious what happened last night. I didn't go back to my own room! Aimee knows I left and where I went. I wouldn't tell my baby sister normally that I'd had sex, but now I've spent the night with a man. Not just a man, the prince of England. Beyond jousting I'm sore in unusual ways and really not doing at all well. I'm still sweaty and I stink of sex.
But more than that I'm incredibly comfortable. Edward has his arm over me and is cuddling me gently, still sound asleep. Doesn't he have people come and wake him up even unsuccessfully? They'll find me. And how do I leave it's bloody daylight? And there's a lion crawling into the bed?
Wait.
Edward's damn lion is, without its keeper, and just crawling into the bed. An actual lion. I'm just going to assume it ate the keeper.
"Edward," I hiss, shaking him. I don't want it to hear me and eat me, "Edward."
"Hmm, all right in a while," Edward mumbles, smiling, not at all waking up or properly moving.
"Edward," I shove him again.
The lion steps up on the bed and stares at me.
Edward does not move.
"Edward," I shove him, very hard. All right I don't shove him. I punch him in the head. He did worse things to me last night.
"Go back to sleep, Piers," he says, patting my head and not opening his eyes.
"Edward there's a lion in this bed," I hiss, "Loose."
"Hm? Oh yes that's fine he usually lies there," he pats the other side of the bed and the lion calmly walks over to his other side, to lie down. The massive animal's weight is so much the whole mattress bends. The beast smells like rotting meat.
"It has no keeper," I hiss.
"I know, it's all right go back to sleep," not opening his eyes.
"It's not all right! Aren't they poisonous?" I ask.
He opens his eyes, "No, lions aren't poisonous. Why would you even think that?"
"Is that proven? Have they bitten someone and that person lived?" I ask.
"Go back to sleep it's fine," he says, putting his face down in the pillow, "It's early."
"The sun's up, Christ in heaven," I sigh, lying back down. The lion looks over at me judgmentally.
"Oh, it's fine I don't have schedule for today," Edward mumbles, rolling over a little to better snuggle me.
I sigh. I'm fucked. I'm so fucked literally and metaphorically. No one in my life can ever know this happened. No one in the world. I genuinely did not think I was like this. I really think someone should have told me. Also I'm never talking about this to anyone. I was comfortable with my sins. I didn't expect to add a new one.
The door clicks open. I dive underneath the covers which as I do, I realize isn't going to hide the fact that I'm here, at all, so I quit.
"My lord your father wishes to speak with you this afternoon," one of Edward's stewards comes in bearing wine. Hech is his name. And he just has—no reaction to my being here. At all. I'm turning various shades of red with shame.
Edward is back asleep. I'm dying of shame so I shove him again. The lion growls at me.
"I did tell Lord Edward not to let that creature in bed as it might deter others," Hech says.
"Right," I nod. Everyone knows, "You—knew I was here."
"We didn't think you'd leapt out the window, my lord. Do not fear Lord Edward's staff is—discrete," he says. Then he leaves.
"I fear," I say, quietly.
Edward rolls over a little, "Who was that?"
"Hech—they know I'm here," I say.
"So?" He frowns, "My staff won't talk. They know I'm—well it's just all right."
"You're—,"
"Prone to kissing other boys," he mutters, now for the first time he blushes, "Not that I've ever kept one in my bed all night. But."
"Yeah well I've never been found in someone's bed before," I say, sighing as I sit up more.
"They don't speak of it. It's fine," he says, frowning.
"And if they did?" I ask.
"Then let them talk, they'll never know the real truth. And it doesn't matter! Everyone has their own sin. We've got ours," he says, twisting his hand with mine, "I do not care if they do speak of it."
I do.
"I should go," I say, quietly.
"Are you all right?" He asks, frowning.
"I don't know yet," the weight of my life is suddenly awfully heavy. Things have gotten, just tremendously complicated.
"It's fine. I promise you," he says, "I'll take care of you."
I sigh, putting my head on my knees.
"I shall."
"I believe in you, just not the rest of the world," I say, quietly.
"Then that is enough," he says, kissing my fingers, "Come back tonight. I'll have supper brought up here, and we can talk about how you're never falling off your horse again. I've got no plans today I may not get dressed to be honest."
"Hech said you're seeing your father this afternoon."
"CHRIST," he drags a pillow over his head to scream into.
"I assume my lord has been informed the king is requesting him," Hech returns with Edward's clothes and—oh good. Oh good. A new set of mine.
"Did you get that from my room?" I ask.
Edward, done screaming, sits up, "No, no I really don't want to see him. I need at least a three day interval between having sex and talking to my father. I need three days to appropriately return to being the functioning person he believes I am. No. Tell him I'm ill."
"You'll see him this afternoon," Hech says, leaving.
I look over at Edward.
"Three days," he says, holding up three fingers.
"How often does this happen?" I ask, gesturing to the room.
"It doesn't! Three days that means I seduce someone in another town and then go home, which has happened twice which makes it a system. God Piers," he sighs, hands over his face.
"Did he seriously go and get my clothes from my room?" I ask.
"Oh probably yes," Edward nods.
"Fuck," I sigh.
"Are you not okay with this?" He asks, moving his fingers to look at me.
"No, no I'm fine with us, in this contained room with I guess the lion. I'm not fine with—the world," I gesture vaguely.
"Well I'm the prince, so the world must be fine with us," he says, looping an arm around my neck, "Come kiss me. Give me strength."
"Is the taste of my lips really going to help you with this afternoon?" I ask, grinning.
"Not a bit," he says.
I kiss him anyway, letting him work his fingers through my hair.
"I should go," I say, standing up to get dressed. He lies there watching me, and I toss his clothes at him. We both laugh.
Then I slip out the door, and am faced with the real world.
The castle is waking up. Walking back to my room like it's a normal thing to do. Walking back to my room like it's a normal thing to do. Walking back to my room like it's a normal thing to do. Walking back to my room like it's a normal thing to do.
None of these people matter. They don't know where I've been or what I've done. Walking back to my room like it's a normal thing to do. Walking back to my room like it's a normal thing to do. Walking back to my room like it's a normal thing to do.
It's not normal. I feel like there's something wrong with me. I'm sweating. And I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to tell Aimee? Or Jean? Where I've been? Because 'having the prince of the bloody country make love to me' is not a valid explanation. And it's the only one I've got at the moment. And also I can't say it. She's my damn sister. I'd not tell her if I'd been with a girl. But I could be coy about that. That's natural and this? This is heaven. And I can't say it either. What am I going to say?
Nothing.
I'll just deny everything and act like I don't remember what happened. I'll lie. That's great.
That's all I come up with.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say, just walking into the parlor and going directly for my room. I walk in and slam the door.
"Where have you been?" Aimee asks, following me to the door.
Why did I come in here I don't need anything I'm dressed?
"I said I don't want to talk about it," I say, opening the door slightly, which is very mature.
"I was worried about you," Aimee says, folding her arms, "You were beat up after the joust then Lord Edward's men came and fetched you. I thought you'd been arrested."
"No. I've not been arrested. I'm fine," I say, walking out, "I'm going out. I won't be back until—I don't know later. I have to do something."
"What? What is going on?" Aimee asks.
"Nothing," I say, then I just leave, face burning. Well that went well. Not. I don't know what to do. Where am I even going?
I'm confessing. I need to confess. That's good. Because if I get murdered today, for all the miserable things I've done, then I'll go directly to hell. And that would probably disappoint at least two people. And then I'd eventually get out and get to heaven and the first thing that'd happen to me in heaven is my mother would be lecturing me on how I should have confessed and not gone to hell and it was irresponsible so that'll be like hell as well and she'll have eternity to do that so no I'd just better confess now.
I go Langley's chapel. Edward said he had a confessor but he's busy right now and I feel like that would be a little obvious. I really just need to pray but I'm not sure what saint to pray to. I'm not good with mass.
And I don't even feel guilty.
The chapel is empty this time of the morning, save a few priests. I'm immediately offended by complete lack of surprise that goes along with me asking for the sacrament of confession. Like they are just assuming I've killed someone. Given my lifestyle I'm realizing that's quite valid.
One priest appears to lose some sort of drawing with the others and has to chat with me. We go to the little booth and I get into my darkened side.
"Bless me father, for I have sinned," I say, quietly, making the sign of the cross, "It's been—I don't know when I last confessed. Probably a year ago. Something like that."
"I see. And what is your sin my child?" The priest asks, rather nicely considering it was obvious he didn't want to do this.
"What?" I ask, suddenly struck by the words.
"What is your confession?" He repeats.
"Love. My crime is love," I say, quietly. Love. That's what I'm condemned for. That is my greatest crime.
"I see. Have you felt lust?"
"Yes," I say, quietly.
"For another man's wife?"
"No," I nearly laugh. But it's raw. I wipe my face, realizing I'm crying.
"My child?"
"Why'd they make you do this? I saw the others you said something what was it?" I ask.
"I am Lord Edward's usual confessor," he says, resignedly.
"Oh damn," I breath. So they know. They all know. They took one look at me and knew.
"What is your sin, my son?" He repeats, a little gentler.
I wince, rubbing my face. Why is this so painful? I breath, shakily, looking at the dark inside the confessional.
"My son?"
"I'm not your son," I breath, "Just—just don't that. That's not helping."
"What is your sin?"
"Sodomy," I breath the word, fist to my face. No I don't like this. I hate hating who I am. But I was taught to hate it.
I'm sobbing so much it's hard to breath. I close my face in my hands, just weeping. I don't want it to feel this wrong when it felt so right. I choke back the tears, tipping my head back and trying to breath. I can feel my mother's hand on my shoulder, as she guided me into church. The chants, in Latin, echoing in my mind.
"No," I whisper, closing my eyes, "No."
"Pardon?"
"My sin is love. And if love's a sin. I'll stand with Lucifer. I won't feel guilt for this," I say, looking at my shaking hands.
"What?" It's his turn to say that now.
"You heard me. If God made me it wasn't to hate who I am. And I suppose this is me, I didn't know either, yet here we are. Yes a man fucked me last night. I enjoyed it. I'm going to do it again. So if God doesn't want me, then I'll find someone who does. Or just never die. Thanks, for the talk," I say, standing up.
"Master Gaveston!"
I get up and run out of the chapel. A couple of them call my name. I don't care.
I run as fast as I can, arms pumping, until I get all the way out to the river. It's quiet this afternoon, so I just wade in and scream over the water. I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. But I'm happier than I've ever been. And even if he doesn't want me again. I wouldn't change last night for all the world.
My sin is love. I'm a better man than I thought.
I walk back to Langley slowly. I stop by the stables and check on my mare, apologizing for our joust yesterday. Then I go back inside. I'm sweaty and I need to change before supper. It's with Edward he'll probably want to tell me whatever his father told him.
When I get back to my rooms Aimee is waiting for me, near the door to stop me from leaving again. Normally I would try to, but she's clearly been crying. Her little face stained red and puffy from tears.
"What is going on?" She asks, folding her arms.
"Nothing," I say, my voice catching in my throat.
"Don't lie to me," she says, her voice rough from tears too, "You're the only family I have."
"I get to lie to you Ames," I say, closing my eyes and taking a breath, "Just let me lie to you and we'll both be happier that way?"
"I deserve to know if it's true," she says, folding her arms.
"Maybe you don't," I say.
"Please," she says.
"You don't know what you're asking," I say.
"Just tell me if what they say is true?" She asks.
"I don't know what you heard," I say, stealing my self, my chest feels cold.
"You went to see Lord Edward late last night. I know that they came and got you. And I thought you'd just left or hidden outside but—this morning everyone said you'd not left his rooms all night," she says, not looking at me.
"That's true," I say, softly.
"And his people came and got you clothes."
I nod.
She starts crying hugging herself.
"I'm sorry," I say, quietly.
She puts her little hands to her face, weeping.
"I'm sorry," I reach out to take her shoulder then think better of it.
"Why?" She asks, looking up at me like I've already died before her eyes.
"Because, I can't help loving him," I say, "I love him."
"He's the prince," she says.
"I know. I don't know what's going to happen. Or how badly this is going to end but—I'm sorry. I'm living the best that I can and—this is why I wasn't going to tell you," I sigh.
"They all know. You should've—what they're calling you," she whispers.
"I don't care," I say.
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't think that," I say.
"Is that going to be enough?" She asks.
I nod, tears on my cheeks.
"You should have told me."
"I didn't want to hurt you," I say, wiping my own tears.
"You're not the one hurting me. It's everything else—I don't want to hurt you. They kill men like you," she says, softly.
"Men like me," I say, quietly.
"I'm sorry."
I shrug, "People do this. Or it wouldn't be written down not to if it weren't thought of. And a good time."
"Yeah not with the prince of England, Piers. People are sodomites yes, not with the prince of bloody england," she sighs.
"Good, I like him to myself."
We both start laughing at that.
"God this is hopeless," she laughs.
"I know," I shake my head, "I'm sorry to catch you up in it."
"I want to be here," she says, hugging me around the waist, which hurts with my bruises but I squeeze her anyway, "You're my brother."
"Hm might not want to admit that now," I say, squeezing her back.
"I'm not ashamed of you," she says, taking my hands, and frowning, "I'm worried about you."
"Well, that's probably clever," I say, smiling, "You promise you're not—,"
"What?"
"Disgusted?"
"No," she says, softly, "Please don't leave me like that again? I can't lose you. No matter what's going on. You can tell me."
"I won't leave you," I promise.