Having quickly ascertained that he wasn’t the least bit interested in reading anything in Old English, Arthur had accidentally started to doze instead. The sound of Gabriel turning pages, his quill scratching against parchment when he went to make a note, and the distant footsteps that occasionally passed the quiet library were too strong a sedative to resist. It was all rather pleasant, until the moment when Gabriel shut a book too loudly, startling Arthur awake so suddenly that he almost fell off the chair.
‘I’m finished,’ Gabriel said.
‘Right,’ said Arthur blearily. ‘Yes, me too.’ He staggered up and stretched, noticing Gabriel’s eyes flicker briefly to his midriff where his tunic had ridden up, and then away again. ‘To bed, then?’
‘I actually – I’m going to the mews,’ said Gabriel.
Arthur had vague memories of the mews. Gwen had kept a tiny sparrowhawk when she was a child, although she seemed utterly terrified of it. Arthur would have given anything to have a bird, but had pretended to find the whole thing beneath him to disguise his jealousy, and once he had committed to his disdain it was hard to shake. He was still sneery whenever anybody talked about falconry. It certainly helped that when people really liked birds they became absolute bores about things like feeding schedules and flying weights.
‘As you’re up,’ Gabriel said slowly, ‘would you mind – you might be able to help me with something.’
‘Ah,’ Arthur said, taken aback once again. He had assumed that Gabriel was just tolerating his company – and yet now he was asking for more of it. Intriguing. ‘Yes?’
‘Right then,’ Gabriel said, looking embarrassed but leading the way.
When they reached the building that housed the mews, a wonky stone structure near the orchard, Arthur expected Gabriel to ring for somebody – or for a servant to just appear out of thin air, anticipating his arrival even at such an unsociable hour – but instead he produced a key from his jacket and unlocked the door.
Inside it was dark and there was an odd, animal smell; a musty combination of wood, leather and bird droppings. As Arthur’s eyes adjusted he started to see the shuffling, uneasy shapes of birds on their perches, housed behind slatted wooden gates. They were hooded and blind but could clearly sense the intruders, and Arthur felt a strange urge to hold his hands up to demonstrate that he was a friend, not a foe.
‘Which one is yours?’ he said, and the bird closest to him extended its wings a little in protest before shuddering and settling back on to its perch.
‘She’s a peregrine falcon,’ Gabriel said quietly. ‘The large one, at the far end. My father gave her to me when I was thirteen. Her name is Edith.’
Arthur peered into the gloom and glimpsed a bird further down the row, hunched over and somehow bristling with anger even in dingy silhouette. He shivered involuntarily.
‘She looks friendly.’
‘She’s not,’ Gabriel said shortly. ‘Well – she likes me.’
‘Are we – are we going over there?’
‘No,’ Gabriel said, approaching another door. Arthur followed closely behind him, reluctant to be left alone in this room full of sinister raptors. The door opened with a creak, and there was a sudden burst of flapping wings and strange, high-pitched shrieking.
Arthur jumped about a foot in the air, and grabbed Gabriel’s arm without meaning to.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Gabriel crooned, and Arthur turned to stare at him; he realised a beat later that Gabriel was absolutely not talking to him, and released his arm. Gabriel closed the door behind them; it was lighter in this room, the moonlight filtering through a tiny, barred window, and illuminating the demonic creature that had attacked them.
‘What’s that?’
Gabriel laughed softly. ‘She’s a fledgling crow.’
‘It doesn’t have a hat on,’ Arthur said warily. The crow wasn’t tethered, either; it was standing in the middle of the small room looking up at them, turning its head rapidly from side to side as it tried to decide which eye it wanted to observe them through.
‘No, she’s not a hunting bird,’ Gabriel said, still using the love-soaked, deeply affectionate tone of voice that Arthur had heard only once before, aimed at the cat. Gabriel leaned down and held out a hand; the crow hopped forward and then nibbled hopefully at his finger.
‘Why is it in here then?’ Arthur said, discomforted again by Gabriel’s sudden transition from awkward silences and stunted half-sentences into easy confidence.
‘She’s not supposed to be. She fledged last week – they often leave the nest before they’re ready to fly, they’re too bold for their own good – and she hurt herself. I didn’t want her to get into any more trouble, so I brought her inside, and since then she’s just been hopping around here eating scraps and getting in everybody’s way.’ Gabriel twirled his index finger, and the crow followed it with her head, turning around in a jerky circle. ‘She’s got a wound on her side – there, you can just about see it when she lifts her right wing, with the white patch.’
‘So she’ll leave? When she’s healed?’
‘I hope so,’ said Gabriel, as the bird tired of spinning and attempted to fly up on to his bent knee in a very uncoordinated flurry of dark feathers. ‘She’s a wild bird. Not a pet.’
‘Right. No name, then,’ Arthur said, bending and reaching out for the crow, who smartly sidestepped him.
Gabriel laughed again, and Arthur felt a warm pull of satisfaction at the sound. ‘No. You can give her one though. If you’d like.’
‘What?’ said Arthur incredulously, straightening back up. ‘Christ, no, that’s – that’s far too much responsibility. It’s your crow. You should name it.’
‘I recall you had no trouble renaming my cat …’
‘That’s because your cat has a stupid Arthurian name.’
‘Good point,’ Gabriel said, looking up at him and raising an eyebrow, ‘Arthur.’
‘Well, I didn’t name myself, did I?’ Arthur said, folding his arms and watching as the crow tried to decide whether it was pleased or furious that Gabriel was scratching it on the head.
‘Can you … I need your hands,’ Gabriel said. Arthur was so startled he just stared back at him. ‘Just come down here for a minute, will you?’
‘Er … All right.’ Arthur knelt awkwardly on the hard stone floor, knocking his thigh against Gabriel’s accidentally, and then briefly considering doing it again on purpose. The crow was assessing them both with utmost suspicion; Gabriel held out his finger for her consideration, and then suddenly grabbed at her, managing to press both wings against her sides so she couldn’t escape. He turned her over on to her back, and her spindly legs stuck out ridiculously from her feathery little body as she glared at him accusingly.
‘Hands,’ Gabriel said, and Arthur held them out. Gabriel immediately pressed the crow into them, and Arthur jolted at the unexpected warmth of both bird and fingers. He felt strangely skittish, and tried to concentrate on the task of containing the angry ball of feathers now wriggling against his palms. ‘Don’t squeeze her, just hold her firmly. Turn her towards the window a bit, I want to get a look at her injury – she doesn’t let me do it any more, I think she’s quite tired of me.’
He gently pushed two of Arthur’s fingers out of the way to release her right wing and then pulled it away from her body, leaning in closer to get a good look. He dipped his head so low that Arthur could feel Gabriel’s breath, warm against his knuckles. The crow made a strange, hoarse squeaking sound and then turned her head to one side to study Arthur properly; she was looking at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and was not particularly impressed.
‘There we go,’ Gabriel said to the crow, letting go of her wing. ‘Healing up nicely. You can release her now.’ Arthur opened his hands and the bird righted herself indignantly, then dropped down on to the floor to gather herself. ‘Thank you. You were good at that – just the right sort of grip.’
‘That’s what they all say,’ said Arthur, but they were still very close together on the floor, and it hung awkwardly in the air between them. He wouldn’t have said it at all if he’d realised that Gabriel was looking right at him – well, down at him, even while kneeling – with the moonlight picking out the fine-boned features of his face. ‘You don’t have any freckles,’ he said suddenly.
‘Er – what?’
‘Your sister has freckles,’ Arthur said, as if this explained anything.
‘She takes walks,’ Gabriel said, his brow furrowing in a way that already felt very familiar. ‘Every day, she walks …’ He stopped abruptly, as if he’d been interrupted; as if Arthur had been doing something other than staring stupidly at him.
As much as Arthur liked to give the impression that he was some sort of seasoned rake, he rarely managed to follow through when actually confronted with an attractive boy. Mitchell from the kennels was a recent and notable exception, and had been the one to make the first move. Flirting was easy – Arthur was never short of words or winks, and he parcelled them out freely – but hurtling head-first into anything more was an incalculable risk, and this particular risk was off the charts.
Nevertheless, Arthur felt the strange, quiet tension in the room building. Gabriel’s eyes were still soft from looking at his damned crow, and – he really didn’t think he was imagining it – they were soft from looking at him, too.
He tilted his head and looked quizzically at Gabriel, then gave a little shrug, leaned forward and kissed him.
Gabriel let out a muffled sound of surprise, and for half a breath he barely moved; Arthur could have sworn he felt the slightest bit of give, the tiniest touch of reciprocation, but suddenly he was being shoved away with considerable force. His back hit the floor and knocked all of the air out of him in a violent wheeze. The crow was apoplectic, screeching and flapping its wings, seemingly wanting to get in on the thrilling fight it was witnessing.
‘Um,’ said Gabriel, staring at him in wide-eyed panic. Arthur stared back, breathing heavily. ‘Excuse me.’ Before Arthur could respond he was up, and gone.
‘Well, shit,’ Arthur said, staggering to his feet, pushing his hair back and straightening his jacket as he attempted to regain some small semblance of his dignity. He felt shaken and slightly sick from the full force of Gabriel’s rejection – although admittedly, part of it may have been from his impact against the floor. The crow blinked curiously up at him.
‘Don’t repeat that,’ he said sternly. ‘You’re too young for that sort of language.’
He crossed to the door, closed it carefully behind him, then half jogged through the next room to avoid looking at the menagerie of menacing birds, grimacing as he heard them shake out their wings in agitation as he passed.
He was just wondering what he’d do about locking up when he stepped outside and found that Gabriel was still standing there, looking like a spooked horse.
‘The key,’ he said. ‘I mean – the lock. I need to …’ He gestured hopelessly at the door, and Arthur stepped aside. He seemed to be having a fair amount of trouble with it, which gave Arthur time to consider his approach.
‘Er – I’m really sorry about that,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘It was … you know. A mistake. It’s late, and … apparently all that talk about ancient magical deities really gets me going.’
Gabriel didn’t say anything. He finally managed to turn the key in the door, but then just stood there staring at it, his back to Arthur.
‘In my defence, I really did think—’
‘Is this why you made a deal with Gwen?’ Gabriel said quietly. ‘She knows?’
Arthur squinted up at the starry sky and only momentarily considered lying. ‘Yes.’
‘She’s protecting you. Because you’re … you don’t like women?’ He said it slowly, as if the pieces were only coming together in his mind as he did.
‘I like them just fine,’ Arthur said. ‘For strictly hands-free activities. Going to concerts. Book clubs. Turns about the hall.’
‘Why did she agree to this?’ Gabriel still hadn’t turned around. It was making Arthur extremely nervous. The full repercussions of what he’d just done were hitting him as violently as he’d hit the floor. He had kissed the Prince of England … on a whim. Gabriel could be angry enough to tell his father – he could be angry enough to have Arthur arrested, for that matter, for losing his mind and attacking him in a shed.
‘I can’t – um,’ Arthur said stupidly. ‘You’d have to ask her.’
‘Right,’ Gabriel said. ‘Right.’
‘Are you going to …’
Arthur faltered, because Gabriel had finally turned to him with an expression of such uncharacteristically fierce determination on his face that Arthur strongly considered making a run for it.
He cleared his throat nervously and tried again.
‘Is this the part where you—’
He had been about to say ‘call the guards’, but as it turned out there was no need for any further speculation to that end, because Gabriel had stepped forward and kissed him.
It was extremely clumsy – he had approached with far too much speed, and practically knocked their heads together – but Arthur pressed a hand to Gabriel’s neck to steady him, feeling Gabriel’s curls brush against the tips of his fingers as he held him in place. Gabriel had the element of surprise this time, but if there was one thing Arthur knew he was good at, it was kissing; his eyes fluttered closed as Gabriel tentatively put a hand to his chest, and then Gabriel was moving more insistently, surprising Arthur with the urgent press of his mouth and the fact that his fingers were fisting in Arthur’s tunic.
Arthur was just really getting into it, deeply enjoying the hitch in Gabriel’s breath when he let his mouth go all soft and yielding, when he was suddenly pushed away. Again.
‘Sorry,’ Gabriel said, pink and wild-eyed and breathless. ‘I – damn.’
Arthur grasped for something to make the moment less awkward and failed. ‘You should call your bird Morgana,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘You know – Merlin the cat, Morgana the crow.’
‘Right,’ Gabriel said. ‘Thanks.’
And then Arthur was looking at his back. Again. He stood watching the prince walk quickly away and then turned and kicked the wall of the mews, immediately feeling guilty when he heard an alarmed, avian shriek emanate from within.
‘Well,’ he said to his aching foot. ‘That certainly clears things up.’
‘Where have you been?’ Arthur said when Sidney finally came stumbling through the door a few hours later.
‘You bloody well know where I’ve been,’ Sidney said, wrinkling his nose in affront. ‘You’ve been where I’ve been. You left where I’ve been. I was waiting for Agnes, and then I was with Agnes. Where have you been? You’re all dusty.’
Arthur had been sitting and staring out of the window at the stars since he’d returned to his quarters. It had all felt rather romantic and dramatic at first, but after a while his neck had started to hurt.
‘I was with Gabriel,’ he said. ‘And then I wasn’t.’
‘Uh-oh,’ said Sidney, pulling up a chair and sitting down heavily next to him. ‘What did you do?’
‘Kissed him,’ Arthur said matter-of-factly. ‘In the bird shed.’
‘Shit,’ said Sidney. ‘Is that some sort of slang for something I don’t want to know about?’
‘No, it was a literal – it was a shed full of birds.’
‘Shit,’ Sidney said again. ‘Shouldn’t we be packing? Shouldn’t we be out the window and halfway across England by now?’
‘Can’t see why,’ Arthur said, leaning back in his chair and looking rather smug. ‘Because he kissed me back.’
Sidney gaped at him. ‘In the bird shed?’
‘You’re awfully fixated on the bird shed.’
‘You’re right,’ Sidney said, rubbing his eyes with both hands. ‘Let’s back up to – what happened?’
‘He was showing me his birds,’ Arthur said, feeling slightly hysterical now, ‘and he had this crow, and he – he called it sweetheart, so obviously I had to … He ran off and I thought the bill had come due, the chopping block was calling, the noose was nigh, but then instead he – he asked me if I liked women, and then he kissed me.’
Sidney put his head in his hands. ‘Is this treason?’ he said, muffled by his fingers. ‘Or is it just a regular crime?’
‘I was wondering that. But you have an alibi,’ Arthur said, patting him on the arm. ‘You were lurking outside a secret underground party.’
‘Please just … This was a one-time thing, right?’ He peered through his fingers, looking very tired. ‘Tell me it was a one-time thing.’
‘Definitely,’ Arthur said. ‘Absolutely. He’s not – you know. He barely talks. He reads books.’ It was true; Gabriel was not his usual type, and he needed to be practical. It would be one thing to risk his neck for some confident, dashing prince with muscled thighs and witty repartee to truly die for, but Gabriel was quiet, and strange, and ultimately just – not worth the hassle.
Even if he was nice to birds.
‘Ah, yes. His dusty looks and lack of personality have captivated you,’ Sidney said, sighing and getting up. ‘I’m going to bed. Suggest you do the same, instead of staring dramatically out of the window like you’re in a poem.’
‘I don’t do that,’ Arthur said crossly, and Sidney rolled his eyes as he went over to his cot and started taking his boots off.
Arthur left the window, went to bed and stared dramatically at the canopy for another hour instead. It was far less romantic, but much easier on the neck.