The more Osmund turned the previous night over in his head, the more he felt like howling. As usual, morning’s light had thrown his decisions into unflattering relief.

He’d been given a single golden opportunity, the kind of chance that only came to fortunate souls once in a lifetime. And he’d squandered it! No self-respecting enjoyer of men would sympathize with him if they heard his tale. They’d call him an idiot and be right about it.

And really, who had he been fooling with his rationale?! Cemil was his employer, not his friend, and he certainly would never be more to him than that. He may have liked Osmund well enough, but that was nothing. Who knew how many “pretty faces” Cemil had coaxed into his bed when the opportunity presented itself. Osmund had been the one there in the room with him, and he’d seemed receptive and available. That was all.

He stared up at the ceiling of his little room mournfully. If he was going to rue his decision either way, he realized with mounting grief, he would’ve at least liked to comfort himself with the memory of what would have definitely been a mind-(and back-)bending lay!

His own hand was looking like a tempting, if woefully-inadequate substitute when there came a knock from out in the hall. Osmund sat up at once, pushing all non-workplace-appropriate thoughts from his mind. “Y-yes?”

The door opened, and there stood Nuray. Her eyes were bright. “You helped the şehzade,” she marveled. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

Osmund’s mouth hung open. He expected word to travel fast in the manor, but not that he’d have to field questions first thing in the morning. “Oh, um, lucky guess,” he said, not wanting to risk sounding immodest. “It was a plant I learned about from the horses…”

“The horses?” Nuray peered at him inquisitively. She came round and plopped herself beside him on the bed. “They tell you things?”

“In their way,” Osmund said shyly. This arrangement felt so companionable. “I-I watch them. They know which plants to eat, and which parts to…um…” He reminded himself to look up the word for avoid. “…not eat.”

“Your Meskato is better,” she observed.

Oh. He—supposed it had gotten easier to communicate over the last few weeks. In the wake of all that had happened to him already, he had barely noticed his progress. He watched as Nuray took up the large volume that he kept on the bed beside him. (Dearly he hoped the scholars weren’t missing it, but surely his need was greater!) “What’s this book?” she wondered, and Osmund jumped at the chance to have a real conversation with her.

“It’s a dictionary,” he explained. The word was printed in the Sulamese-Meskato script on the front cover next to the Tolmish one, making it the very first he’d learned with the book’s assistance. “I’m trying to…learn more.”

Her eyes widened. “You can read Meskato too?”

“N-not yet. I mean, I’m slowly, um, learning the letters. But there’s a…” He wanted to say pronunciation guide, but that was still well beyond his abilities. “The sounds are printed in my language. Next to the Meskato words. It helps.”

She sat staring down at the book for a moment, tracing the embossed letters idly with the pads of her fingers. Osmund had a sudden, rather bold idea. “I could try and teach you,” he proposed. “As I learn myself, that is.”

Her gaze snapped back. “There’s no time for that!” she scolded, transparently wanting to be convinced.

“There will be! We can practice in the morning or at night.”

“The aunties won’t like me spending so much time with you. You’re mysterious, you know.”

“They don’t have to worry,” Osmund said in a rush. “I’m—”

He cut himself off. He’d just been about to confess something very private. Nuray came to his aid. “You prefer men?” she guessed.

Was it so obvious? Osmund bit his lip. “Um, well…yes. That’s right.”

She smirked, triumphant. “It’s the way you look at the şehzade. Everyone sees it!”

Heavens.

Osmund fought the urge to burrow his face into his pillow and yell. He thought he’d been careful! And he’d been entirely chaste since arriving here in Meskat! It wasn’t fair that people knew, just like they had in Valcrest!

“Don’t be ███,” Nuray cut in, noticing his despair. “You aren’t alone in admiring him. He’s a very popular prince. He’s kind and generous, and handsome enough to make anyone swoon. He’s the favorite to succeed his father.”

“Yet people fear him.”

This, Osmund hadn’t meant to say either. Nuray seemed troubled.

“I’m not afraid,” she maintained, even as her voice quavered. “But we…we at the house, we do hear things. From those who go on █████ with him.”

That sounded like what that orc soldier had said. Osmund took in her closed-off appearance curiously. “Isn’t a strong prince a good thing for the empire?” he prodded, genuinely at a loss. (He didn’t even want to imagine what the Meskato would think if they’d had Osmund for a prince.) “Don’t people approve?”

“The people do,” Nuray said quickly. “They love him. The people of Şebyan curse his brothers. They think it ███ of them to send assassins to do their dirty work.” From the passion in her voice, she agreed fervently with this assessment.

Osmund admitted, “Then I…guess I still don’t understand.”

The air grew tense. “He is different,” Nuray revealed, her expression clouded, “since he got the sword.”

The sword. Osmund hadn’t had time to turn it over in his head yet, but now that he thought about it…

That blade which Cemil had wielded when he’d killed his would-be assassin—it had burned with flame. Osmund had felt it himself, hot as coals, lying there on the floor of Cemil’s bedchamber with that searing edge pressed against his throat. Only a person with native fire magic could bring out that reaction, and that wasn’t possible, because Cemil was a healer.

“Is there something special about the sword?” he pressed, concerned.

“I don’t know,” cried Nuray. “I don’t know anything about swords or magic. None of us do. We don’t know why this is happening to the şehzade.” She pushed at his shoulder as she pleaded with him. “You don’t know anything? Auntie Damla told us you used to serve a noble family. And you can read! Can’t you find out what’s wrong?”

A lump formed in Osmund’s throat. He would’ve asked why she hadn’t gone to one of the scholars already, but then he remembered her reaction to setting foot in the library. She was turning to him because there was no one else willing to help. Or perhaps, he thought grimly, no one who could be trusted. “How many people know about his condition?”

Nuray frowned. “The headaches? Only us in his house. He must take care to hide it when he goes out. But they’re getting worse and worse.”

She let her head fall against his shoulder. Her voice came out in a whisper. “I’m glad you helped him.”

A thought occurred to Osmund. Very cautiously, he guessed, “Are…you one of his admirers, too?”

Nuray just snorted. “I have eyes, don’t I?” she giggled. “But Osmund…don’t you realize the şehzade is a man like you?”

Osmund sputtered. “Y-you mean…”

“I mean he prefers men. It’s quite well-known.” She sighed. “You must tell me all about it if you make it into his bed. Lucky boy you are.”

“M-me? But I…” he trailed off. Again, for no good reason, he felt uncertain. “Is it really a good idea?”

Of course it would be a good idea! his body screamed. Sleeping with Cemil would be a very, very good idea!

“Why shouldn’t you, if he’s interested? He likes you. And I’m sure it would be nice for him. He needs a distraction after…”

He leaned closer, hanging on her every word. “After what?” After the would-be assassin? After the terrible headache?

Nuray pushed his arm. “Ask one of the aunties if you’re so curious. I’m not going to gossip about the şehzade’s business! And there’s no need for you to worry about it. He isn’t the sort of man to bring it up.”

Whatever it was, Osmund suspected he was happier not knowing. At the same time, he had a hunch that the morbid curiosity was going to burn a hole in his stomach. A distraction, he told himself. I can be a distraction. Can’t I?

“And anyway, that’s not why I’m here,” she announced. “I’m meant to tell you that the şehzade wishes to see you at the stables after you’ve eaten.”

“Nuray!” Osmund exclaimed in horror. “You let me keep him waiting?!”

She waved him off. “Relax. Everyone knows he gets ███ in his books in the morning. You’ll be the one waiting for him!”