Shadow Guard, Your King Is Acting Strange

I was halfway through removing the ceremonial dagger from King Adrian's belt when he told me to sit down. The dining room staff went still. So did the two guards posted at the carved double doors. I kept my fingers on the dagger's hilt, waiting for the rest of the order. "Not there," Adrian said, pointing to the chair at his right. "Beside me." I glanced at the empty place setting. "Your Majesty, I'm assigned to the door." "You've been assigned to my side since you were seventeen." "That isn't the same thing." "No," he said. "It's closer." The table could seat twenty. Adrian had chosen to eat alone at its far end, as he had every night since his father's funeral. The empty chair beside him looked like a challenge laid out in silver and white linen. I lowered my voice. "There are cameras." "Then let them see me eat with someone." My hand tightened on the dagger. Adrian's gaze followed the movement, then returned to my face. His expression had the polished calm he used at state functions. Only the faint tremor in his left hand betrayed him. I sat. The room resumed breathing. A footman poured wine. The kitchen staff brought in the first course, and I tried not to notice that the king had set his chair close enough for our sleeves to touch. Adrian picked up his fork. "Tell me what you think of the soup." "I think you should eat it while it's hot." "That isn't an answer." "It's the only one I'm paid to give." He took a spoonful. "You're not paid to give me anything. You're paid to keep me alive." "Those responsibilities overlap." His mouth almost curved. It was the first near-smile I had seen since he'd sworn the oath. My life had been built around the distance between us. I was the son of a palace driver, raised in the service apartments and trained to read a room before I entered it. Adrian had been the prince with scraped knees, a stubborn jaw, and a habit of climbing the east tower stairs when tutors bored him. I had followed him through hallways and school grounds, first as a boy who knew the back entrances, then as a guard who knew every way an intruder might use them. I had learned to stand behind him. I had never learned what to do when he asked me to sit beside him. After dinner, Adrian dismissed the staff and asked me to walk with him through the winter gallery. I checked the windows, the corridor, the glass doors at either end. Then I followed him among the portraits of dead monarchs. "You've been avoiding me," he said. "I've been working." "That's what you call it?" "It's what it is." He stopped beneath the portrait of his mother. "You used to tell me when I was being an ass." "I was younger then." "You were seventeen." "I was seventeen and not responsible for your security." He faced me. "You think the crown changed what you're allowed to say?" "I think the crown changed what people can do with what I say." For a beat, he watched me. Then he reached for my hand. I moved before I could think, catching his wrist and turning it gently away. It was a guard's reflex, quick and practiced. His pulse beat hard beneath my fingers. "Don't," I said. "Don't touch you?" "Don't make this harder than it needs to be." "I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want." "You're the king. Every request is an order." "Not this one." I released him. The place where I'd held him felt warm through my glove. A door opened behind us. Chancellor Vale entered with a leather folder under his arm. He was a narrow, silver-haired man who had served Adrian's father and assumed he would serve Adrian in the same way. "Your Majesty," he said. His eyes shifted to me, then to the space between us. "I thought you had retired." "I'm still here," Adrian replied. "So I see." Vale offered the king the folder. "The morning's council brief. I'd hoped to review it with you privately." "Rowan stays." The chancellor paused. "Of course." I watched him file the pause away. Men like Vale kept their weapons in their attention. Adrian didn't take the folder. "Leave it in my office." "Certainly." Vale set it on the console table. "The council will appreciate your punctuality tomorrow. There are concerns we should address before they become distractions." "What concerns?" "Transition matters. Nothing urgent." Vale bowed and left. The door closed behind him. Adrian waited until the footsteps faded. "You see?" "I see a chancellor doing his job." "I see a man who counts how many times you stand within reach of me." I looked down the corridor. "Then don't give him anything to count." Adrian's gaze stayed on mine. "I've spent years giving everyone less than they asked for." "You're king now. That's the point." "That is precisely the problem." He started walking again. I followed, keeping the regulation distance this time. The next morning, the chancellor's office requested a copy of the dinner-room security log. By noon, a palace aide had asked whether I had received any special instructions from the king. By three, my captain warned me that the council was reviewing "unusual security arrangements." At dusk, Adrian sent for me. When I entered his office, he was standing by the window, his tie loosened and his crown absent. The city beyond the palace walls glowed with the first lights of evening. "Sit beside me," he said. I shut the door. "No." His shoulders dropped, just a fraction. "Not because I don't want to," I added. "Because they're watching." "I know." "And you keep giving them reasons." "I know that too." He looked tired enough to be someone other than the king. "I don't know how to do this without you," he said. I kept my hands at my sides. "Guarding you is my job." "I wasn't asking about your job." That was the trouble. I understood him. I understood every quiet, reckless word beneath the words he chose. I just couldn't afford to answer. So I checked the window locks, the adjoining door, and the shadowed corners of the office. "Then tell me what you're asking for," I said. Adrian looked at the empty chair beside his desk. "Stay." *****