‘You can fuck me,’ Ancel explained. Berenger’s eyes went wide. Was that the wrong thing to say? ‘I’ve always done it that way before. It’s what I’m good at.’ That was the wrong thing to say, too. ‘I mean, I want you.’ That was better. He should have said that first. ‘I want you.’ He moved a step closer, made it personal. ‘The way you want me.’
‘Ancel, you don’t have to—’
‘I want you to fuck me.’
‘That isn’t what I want.’
‘Then what do you want?’ Ancel said, in pure frustration.
It just came out. A part of Ancel knew he should be horrified at himself for allowing his annoyance to show so plainly in his voice and on his face.
But the rest of him had worked hard for weeks in this fruitless pursuit of a man with all the responsiveness of a blank wall.
He thought of all of the endless horse rides, and the slices of plain bread, and Isagoras and all the boring books Berenger had recommended, that he had pretended to have read. He found himself with his hands on his hips staring angrily at Berenger. Berenger stared back at him.
‘In six weeks,’ began Berenger, ‘I’m attending court. As a single man, I need a pet to attend dinners and functions with me. For propriety’s sake. That is all. I don’t expect intimacy in private. In fact I prefer in private that you—that you and I—’
‘Court?’ Like a flower inclining towards sunlight, Ancel’s whole attention swung to the thought. He barely heard the rest. ‘You’re taking me to court?’
‘Yes.’
‘The royal court. At Arles.’
‘Yes.’
For a moment Ancel preened, thinking of the capital: the centre of fashion, of entertainments, of the aristocracy and Veretian elite. And then he remembered who he would be going with.
‘Well, I’m going to need a lot more jewels,’ Ancel said, his annoyance returning with a snap. ‘I know you like boring young men in cotton shirts, but I can’t wander around the palace looking like this.’
Berenger was staring at him again, like Ancel was a stranger he was meeting for the first time.
Ancel lifted his chin. ‘What? I intend to make the most of our time at court. I am incredibly good at my chosen profession. Not that you’d know that.’
‘It’s possible I didn’t realise how good until now.’ Berenger was still gazing at him with that new look in his eyes. After a long moment, ‘Do you even like horses?’
‘I can’t read,’ said Ancel.
‘I see,’ said Berenger.
The next morning, Ancel threw away the plain white shirt and the simple leather hair tie, and came down to breakfast in the clothes that he liked: exquisite silks and velvets that felt good against his skin, wearing his hair pampered and long and out.
Berenger didn’t say, ‘I see,’ but the implication was there in the heavy weight of his regard as he looked at Ancel across the table.
Ancel lifted his chin, ignoring all the uninspired foods that Berenger liked and biting into a fruit tart. Since the boringness and the riding and the poetry didn’t work, he wasn’t going to waste his time with them. He was going to court—court! It was the heart of events and fashion, and he’d be surrounded by richest lords in Vere.
‘The horse I chose for you has arrived,’ said Berenger. ‘She’s a strawberry roan named Ruby. I wonder if you’ll like her.’
‘I like actual rubies,’ said Ancel.
‘I see,’ said Berenger.
When the jewel-smith visited, Berenger simply said to her, ‘Show him the most expensive thing that you have.’
For his part, Ancel stopped trying to seduce Berenger, and started enjoying himself. He had Berenger buy him new clothes, and jewels, and threw himself into preparations for his debut at court, peppering Parsins with questions about all the new styles.
Berenger remained boring and serious, but it was good for Ancel’s reputation that Berenger did not have other lovers. Ancel was Berenger’s only pet, with no danger of a rival. Berenger spent his evenings reading, and then retired alone. Perhaps Berenger preferred women. Ancel had suspected that of Louans, who had liked him face down with his hair out. Pets played at that all the time. There were brothels for that kind of thing too. But it was very like Berenger to stoically maintain celibacy rather than frequent any of them.
Ancel knew that much from the endless rides out into the surrounding villages, where Berenger still insisted Ancel accompany him. Every commoner in the province had a story about Lord Berenger: Berenger had remembered the name of their child; Berenger had stayed with them through the birth of their prize colt; Berenger had helped them with the purchase of equipment when they had none, saving the harvest. Perhaps the reason Berenger had no lover was that he was too tired, after meeting every person in the province, and memorising all of their names.