The more Osmund turned last night over in his head, the more he felt like howling. As usual, a decision that had felt so right at the time seemed utterly foolish in the morning light.
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 wasn’t even really his friend – firstly, he was technically his boss! – and he certainly would never be more to him than that. He may have liked Osmund well enough, maybe even been attracted to him, 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 was a knock on the door. Osmund sat up at once, pushing all non-workplace-appropriate thoughts from his mind. “Y-yes?”
Nuray stood at his open door. Her eyes were bright. “You helped the şehzade,” she marvelled. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
Osmund’s mouth hung open. He knew word traveled fast in the mansion, but he honestly hadn’t expected this kind of response first thing in the morning! Clearing his throat, he tried to hide his embarrassment. “It was nothing,” he said, deciding to downplay it or risk sounding immodest. “It was a plant I learned about from the horses…”
“The horses?” Nuray peered curiously at him. She came round and plopped herself firmly down 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 didn’t know the word for avoid. He reminded himself to look that up. “Not eat.”
“Your Meskato is better,” she observed.
Oh. Osmund blinked. He – supposed it had gotten a little easier to understand the language after just a few short weeks. In the wake of all that had happened to him already, he had barely noticed how much more fluently he spoke. He watched as Nuray took up the book that he kept on the bed beside him. (Dearly he hoped the scholars weren’t missing it, but surely his need was greater!) “What is this book?” she asked him. Osmund jumped at the chance to have a real conversation with her.
“It’s a dictionary,” Osmund replied. That had been the very first word he’d learned from this volume; the word was printed in the Meskato script on the front cover next to the Tolmish one. “I’m trying to… learn more words.”
Her eyes widened. “You can read Meskato too?”
“N-not yet. I mean, I’m… slowly, um, learning the script. 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. Osmund had a sudden, rather bold idea. “I could try and teach you,” he proposed. “As I learn.”
Her gaze returned to him abruptly. Even without saying anything, it was clear what she thought of this idea. “There’s no time for that!” she scolded, transparently wanting him to convince her.
“There will be! We can practice in the morning or at night.”
Now her eyes traveled to the door. “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 important. Nuray, amazingly, aided him. “You prefer men?” she guessed.
Was it so obvious to her? Osmund bit his lip. “Um, well… Yes.”
Nuray smirked. “It’s the way you look at the şehzade,” she declared, sounding more than a little triumphant. “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, perhaps at seeing his despairing expression. “You aren’t alone in admiring him. He’s a very popular prince. He’s kind and generous, and of course his looks are pleasing. He’s the favorite to ███ his father.”
“Yet people fear him.”
This, Osmund hadn’t meant to say either. Nuray didn’t face him as she spoke her next words.
“You haven’t seen him in battle. Or heard 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 asked, genuinely confused. (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 Shebyan curse his brothers. They think it cowardly and ███ to send assassins.” The huff in her voice proved she agreed fervently with this opinion.
Osmund admitted, “Then I…guess I still don’t understand.”
“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…
The blade that Cemil had wielded when he’d killed that assassin had burned with flame. Osmund had felt it again when the blade was 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. He’d never heard of a regular human able to control two different types of magic naturally, and Cemil seemed pretty firmly human.
Osmund looked at her, troubled. “Is there something special about the sword?”
“I don’t know,” Nuray said. She looked frustrated. “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 grabbed at his shoulder and gave him an urgent shake. “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 with him?”
A lump formed in Osmund’s throat looking at her. 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, and he thought he understood. She was turning to him because there was no one else willing to help. Or perhaps, he thought somberly, no one who could be trusted.
“How many people know about his condition?” Osmund pressed.
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, to Osmund’s surprise. “I’m glad you helped him,” she whispered. She sounded very glad indeed.
A thought occurred to Osmund. Very cautiously, he asked her,
“Are… you one of his admirers, too?”
Nuray just laughed at him, as if the question were ridiculous. “I have eyes, don’t I?” she said. “But no. Osmund… don’t you realize the şehzade is a man like you?”
Osmund sputtered. “You mean…”
“I mean he prefers men. It’s quite well-known.” Osmund was still processing the implications of this when she added, “You must tell me all about it if you make it into his bed. Lucky boy you are.”
“M-me? But I…” his voice trailed off. Again, for no good reason that he could explain, he felt strangely lost. “Is it really a good idea?” is what came out of his mouth.
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?” Nuray shrugged. “He likes you. And I’m sure it would be nice for him. He needs a distraction after…”
He leaned in, hanging on her every word. When she didn’t continue, he prodded, “After what?” After the would-be assassin? After the terrible headache? But somehow, Osmund knew the answer was none of these things.
Nuray teasingly 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 much happier not knowing. At the same time, he had a hunch that the morbid curiosity was going to burn a hole into 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. He gets so ███ in his books in the morning. You’ll be the one waiting for him!”
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