 “We were hiding from the Stable Master,” Tristan explained, unabashed, as he noticed the faint pink flush to Torram’s cheeks. “He doesn’t like the kitchen girls ‘interfering’ with the horses, and technically, I should be studying in the library. I’d rather my father didn’t find out.” The prince grinned again, releasing Torram’s hand and clapping the boy on the shoulder, “discretion’s the word, okay?” He turned curious eyes upon Mortimer and reached out with his good hand to stroke the creature’s skull. Had Mortimer been a horse of flesh and blood, Tristan would have been scratching him behind the ear...but under the circumstances he wasn’t really sure what he was doing. It felt strange, hard and smooth beneath his finger tips, but to all other intents and purposes Mortimer seemed to act like any other horse. The prince smiled.
“Um...” he began after a pause, glancing at Torram out of the corner of his eye the very corner of his mouth perking up just a fraction. “How do you know he’s a boy?” To his right, Miriam giggled, smothering the sound a little by clapping her hand over her mouth. Her mirth put colour into her cheeks, and her outburst served to recapture the prince’s attention.
“This is Miriam,” Tristan informed Torram, removing his hand from Mortimer in order to gesture in her general direction. He caught the older boy’s flush again and endeavoured not to smile. Miriam seemed to hesitate as she looked between Tristan and Torram. The prince couldn’t work out quite what was troubling her until she spoke.
The girl dipped a little courtesy, “it’s nice to meet you, Sir.”
Oh. Tristan looked back at Torram again. He wasn’t sure who Torram was. It wasn’t usually something the prince had to give much thought to. He out-ranked almost everyone in the castle, and had been taught to be sure to use polite terms of address when speaking to his elders. Torram was a teenager, and so Tristan hadn’t given it any thought. Miriam however had more to concern herself with. Tristan felt his gut give an uncomfortable squirm of guilt. Torram certainly looked like he might be higher born, but you could never quite be sure. In an attempt to reassure her, Tristan took hold of Miriam’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I don’t think we need to bother with any of that,” he told her, glancing at Torram for confirmation, “we’re all friends here, you, me, Torram and his boney horse.” He was relieved when she giggled again.
“I don’t suppose you’d be up for creating a distraction so that Miriam could get back to the kitchens, would you?” Tristan asked Torram, his green eyes taking on a mischievous glint. He supposed that if he walked her back personally then she wouldn’t have much of a problem, but he wasn’t sure he wanted some busy body telling his father that he’d been hiding in the stables with a kitchen maid. They were only just working through the whole being captured by pirates, almost dying and then punching a courtier’s son in the face thing. “Unless of course you’ve got something else to do?”
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