‘I love them.’ Ancel was overflowing with happiness, and it felt infectious, spilling out into his words, and into Berenger’s new smile watching him. ‘I love them,’ said Ancel. ‘I’d sleep with you right now. I might even enjoy it for once.’
He stopped.
‘High praise,’ said Berenger, dryly.
‘Of course, with you, I’d—’
‘Oh, of course,’ said Berenger.
In the mornings, Ancel attended Berenger, his petly duty. It took perhaps half an hour to dress Lord Berenger fully, arranging fabric and tucking in laces, plus extra time to see to his hair. Ancel would have liked to have added some small flourish here or there, but Berenger resisted all his attempts to add jewellery, or ornamentation, or colour to his clothing. Another day, another brown jacket.
‘In blue or red, you could look quite handsome.’ It was something Ancel had noticed on the third morning, in the early light from the window. Berenger had a strong profile, good bone structure, and warm eyes. His waist, where Ancel was lacing, was trim, his body fit from riding. ‘Let me pick your jacket.’
Berenger sounded amused. ‘You don’t like my jacket?’
‘I like my taste better than yours, obviously,’ said Ancel.
‘Obviously,’ said Berenger.
He didn’t let Ancel pick his jacket. They attended dinners together. They had a good system in which Ancel filched the delicious confectionaries and special sweets and left Berenger all the plain stuff he preferred.
After dinner, Berenger had a series of boring serious conversations with other lords, or disappeared off into meetings, while Ancel liked to watch the pet performances, or stroll the halls or gardens with one of his growing number of admirers.
Once or twice, he picked up gossip that he knew Berenger would like and passed it back to him, and on one of his turns around the garden, he made a discovery that had him tugging on Berenger’s hand a few hours later, and dragging him deep into the coupling gardens.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never visited the coupling gardens. Do you feel no desires at all? Come on.’
‘Ancel, I don’t think that—’
‘Look, it’s those flowers from that boring poem that you like,’ Ancel announced proudly. He stood in front of the spray of white flowers.
Berenger had stopped. The flowers were night blooming, filling the air with a delicate scent. His eyes took in the sight, then after a moment, he moved forward to touch one of them, gently.
‘You’re right,’ said Berenger. ‘They’re very beautiful. And rare. In the poem, the lover is given only a single flower.’
‘What a terrible gift. I’d much rather have jewellery,’ said Ancel, wrinkling his nose. ‘Or clothes. Even the horse was better.’
Berenger’s mouth quirked, his eyes shifting from the flowers, amused and warm. ‘Yes, you’re a little more expensive.’
Since Berenger preferred serious conversation, Ancel organised a few small evening gatherings for their rooms, with only a few of Berenger’s closer acquaintances as guests, commissioning restrained performances of music and recitation. Of course, Ancel aspired to a truly great contract, but he was enjoying life on Berenger’s arm. He told himself that he would begin pursuing suitors of his own soon.
Spying Berenger on the balcony of their rooms one night, Ancel went out to stand beside him, leaning on the balustrade and looking out into dark gardens twinkling with lamps.
‘You really enjoy it here, don’t you,’ said Berenger. ‘Why?’
‘It’s—everything,’ said Ancel. ‘All the most elegant fashions, the most powerful people. Here you’re important. It’s not like a small village where you can never affect the world. I like feeling—’
Like part of it. Like the master of it. Like he had power over the men, like if they wanted him they had to pay a fortune for it. Like he was more valuable than the wine goblet Berenger held, or the silver pitcher a servant had poured from. Like he mattered.
‘Perhaps I ought to think of it more like that.’
‘How do you think of it?’
‘I think,’ said Berenger, ‘that the only person in this place who shows me their real face is you.’
Ancel could be useful to Berenger in other ways, that was a pet’s role too. When Councillor Herode entered the crowded great hall a few nights later, Ancel saw Berenger’s eyes follow him, before Berenger looked up at the dais where the Regent sat and frowned slightly.
‘What is it?’ said Ancel.