Night and Day
Michael’s palms are sweaty. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest. He swallows.
“Is there anything important to attend to, Trevor?” the King turns away from him, tilting his head back to look at what Michael assumes is his advisor. His father wasn’t kidding when he called the southern men waifish, the man is tall and skinny like a one of the sickly adults in the north.
As is the King, which is… strange. Shouldn’t he be healthier if he’s the King? Is there something wrong with the food, or a sickness in the air? Michael considers the offer of private land elsewhere, if only to keep himself healthy and safe from whatever plagues the southern lands.
“Unless some sort of emergency arises,” Michael blinks and forces himself to focus, biting the inside of his cheek and looking between the three men in front of him, “you are free until your dinner with some of the lords and ladies taking care of the western towns this evening.”
“Ah, yes,” the King pulls a face and presses his knuckles between his eyes, rings shining in the light coming from the stained glass window behind him, “that sordid affair. Are you sure we cannot cancel it?”
“We cannot, sadly, but I am looking forward to it just as much as you are, if that is any consolation.” Trevor laughs gently, a handsome smile curving the edges of his mouth.
Michael has so many questions. His head is practically spinning. Why are his advisors stood at his sides? Why is there only one guard in the room, apart from himself? Why is ‘Trevor’ laughing and disrespecting the lords without punishment? Michael looks to his feet and curls his hands into fists.
“Take pity on the poor boy, Gavin,” the other advisor says gently, rustling comes from his position next to the King, “not everyone is as malleable as you.”
[CONTINUE ON AO3]











