The Solstice Prince (Realms of Love Book 1)

by SJ Himes

  That was a handful of hours ago, and Jaime clutched the list as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. He stood out in a way he hadn’t before, his healer novice robes were a stark contrast to the kitchen staff’s homespun clothing. A servant Jaime recognized stopped and smiled at him, and Jaime took a few more steps inside, careful not to get in the way. The kitchen was buzzing with activity; the Solstice Festival was in full swing and the palace was packed with celebrants. The Ball was a few days away still, but there were events and festivities every day that required food and drink.

  “You look far happier,” the servant teased with a crooked smile. Jaime thought the woman’s name was Rula, but wasn’t certain. “Those robes fit you laddie; better than kitchen linen.” She winked. “What’s got you back here? Heard your lot were stuffed to the gills with broken hips.”

  Jaime ducked his head, the teasing making him feel more shy than scared. “Rula! Quit your flirting and let the boy through.” Cook’s familiar booming voice made them both jump, and Jaime smiled ruefully at Rula before she blended in with the crowd. Cook lumbered up to him, shirt covered in red stains and flour, but his hands were clean and his smile wide. Jaime found himself smothered in a bear hug, and he hugged back, resting a cheek on Cook’s wide chest.

  “Ah, my boy, you’ve got smiles in your eyes and more meat on your ribs. Have you found your place, then?” Cook’s voice rumbled under his ear. The man smelled of berries and sugar. Must be pie filling the air with sweetness and warmth.

  “Yes, sir.” Jaime said softly, but Cook heard him, chuckling deep in his chest.

  “Good, good.” Cook pushed back enough to look down at Jaime, and his wide smile turned wicked. “I thought for certain you might fit with Captain Marcus, but you snagged our youngest prince. Rumor has it someone made an appearance at the opening ceremony.”

  “I didn’t snag him!” Jaime said, aghast. He wasn’t a greedy social climber, looking for the best marriage option. “Prince Maxim is a sweet, kind man who…who likes me.”

  “Easy, boy.” A big hand smoothed back his hair, like his father used to do when he was little. His indignation calmed, and he could see the delight in Cook’s expression. “I meant nothing by it, Jaime. Our young prince is a favorite of ours. The crown prince and the twins travel to the summer court for half the year, but the king remains, as does Prince Maxim. King Llyr is too fragile to travel long distances; so the prince remains with his father. His heart is set here in the north, with the mountains and ice and his faraway gryphons. He sneaks in here often enough when we aren’t feeding a few thousand people a day, stealing pies and blushes from the staff. He hasn’t done it since you arrived, but then King Llyr had a setback about the time Captain Marcus brought you to us. Prince Maxim is a good lad, and you couldn’t do better.”

  Jaime bit his lip, looking down, cheeks burning hotter than the six-foot-tall flames in the grand hearth. “You know a lot about what goes on in the palace,” Jaime mumbled, embarrassed. Cook’s booming laugh made his ears feel like popping. Big hands rubbed his head once more, before Cook put a hand on his shoulder and led him to a nearby collection of stools along the wall. When it got busy, most stations in the kitchen were too active to sit, so the stools were moved out of the way. Cook nudged him to sit, and Jaime did, Cook folding his huge frame onto a stool that groaned in complaint.

  “The kitchen of any noble house is the hub of the rumor mill, my boy. Servants are everywhere, and we hear everything. Not to mention the staff of visiting nobles love to gossip. Apparently, the court is atwitter with the news that Prince Maxim may be the first of the king’s children to wed. Unexpected, of course, but then Prince Janis and the twins have had plenty of opportunity to march down the aisle.”

  “Marriage?” Jaime squeaked. “Marriage! Oh no, no no no.”

  Cook shook his head, chuckling. “Easy, boy. Rumors are only that—very few have more than a hint of truth to them. The more accurate version is that our young prince is smitten, and courting a shy young healer from faraway lands with a mysterious past. Everyone is quite curious about Healer Buchanan.”

  “I’m still a novice! An apprentice!” Jaime rubbed his face, and the paper crinkled against his cheek. “That sounds like I’m this amazing person who swept the prince off his feet!”

  “Ah, boy. Easy.” Cook pulled his hands away from his face. “Don’t be like that. The late queen was a ship captain’s daughter, Prince Janis’ mother. She wore breeches, wielded a saber, and rousted pirates from the Triplets in the strait. She died when Janis was a wee lad, but the point I’m making is, if a buccaneer can wed a king, a healer still in training robes won’t even make a ripple across the collective conscience of Pyrderi.”

  “The first queen was a buccaneer? Truly?” Jaime asked, awed. Cook nodded, no sign he was teasing. Cook snatched the paper from Jaime, who shook his head to dismiss the images of a saber-wielding woman wearing a crown. She sounded marvelous, and he mourned the loss of a woman who died years before he was born.

  “She was indeed,” Cook confirmed as he read the list from Greaves. “There’s books by the bushel about her exploits in the library, and perhaps Prince Maxim can even tell you some tales. Queen Marsalan, The Buccaneer Bride. Her ship was the Pride of Pyrderi. On her death, it went to Crown Prince Janis. She wasn’t Prince Maxim’s mother, though—he and the twins were birthed by King Llyr’s current wife, Queen Amal.”

  Cook waved down a passing undercook and handed off the list. “Bring those roots in a box, and a trolley for Novice Buchanan, please.” The undercook gave a short nod and scurried off, leaving Cook and Jaime to talk.

  “You…” Jaime hesitated, wondering how to ask what he wanted without giving offense. “You were always nice to me, but you and I never…we never…” He motioned between them, at a loss.

  “Talked like this?” Cook asked, tilting his head. Jaime nodded. “Couldn’t very well do so before, not while you were one of mine. Fosters jealousy. I was careful with you as I could be, though. A blind man could see you were still fragile, but that shield of glass you had around your heart and mind is all but gone. You’re smiling, boy, even when people aren’t looking at you.”

  Cook nodded, a firm confirmation in answer to the questioning wonder on Jaime’s face. Cook stood from his stool, looming over Jaime before offering a hand and helping him to his feet. “You come back and see me, you hear? You need friends, boy, and I’ve already invested a fair share of my time in making sure you found your feet.”

  The undercook returned, pushing a trolley laden with a large wooden box, piled high with the roots Greaves requested. Jaime eyed the golden roots, dried for storage over the winter months, but that was to be expected. Greaves said fresh or dried.

  “Thank you for the roots,” Jaime said. Cook reached out, engulfing Jaime in another spine-bending hug. A few weeks before, and Jaime would have flinched in fear. He marveled at himself—he hadn’t flinched once since he got to the kitchen.

  “You’re welcome,” Cook replied, and Jaime knew that was meant for more than just the roots.

  He wasn’t hiding anymore. Everyone knew who he was and what he could do just by looking at his robes, and here, it was normal and respected. Jaime returned the hug, happy to be smelling like berry pie filling and sugar for the rest of the day.

  A message was waiting for Jaime when he stumbled from his bedroom the next morning. Greaves was tapping the folded paper on the table as he read through a stack of paperwork. A hot mug of tea and a plate of scones filled the air with their delicious scent, and Jaime gratefully accepted the breakfast when Greaves tipped his head toward it. The tea was black and full of honey, and the heat banished the last of the winter chill from his bones. A storm had moved in from the ocean overnight, and the temperature dropped across the palace.

  The late night had been spent tending to patients in the infirmary—the flu and falling injuries were at a high, but the healers were equipped to handle the worst of it. Some guards got frostbite on
their noses and extremities, and Jaime was learning fast how to heal the hurts. Frostbite was something he’d only read about and never seen in person before he came to Pyrderi.

  Jaime finished his tea and accepted the folded paper from Greaves. “Who’s it from?”

  Greaves lifted a brow at him, and Jaime flushed when he saw the paper was sealed shut with a bit of wax, imprinted with a gryphon in flight. “Sorry.” Greaves went back to reading, content to keep to himself. Greaves was reserved in the morning, usually quiet unless they had a patient to tend.

  Jaime broke the seal and read the note. It was from Maxim, begging Jaime’s forgiveness. King Llyr wasn’t doing well with the downturn in the weather, and Maxim and his siblings had been called to attend their father. Maxim was sorry for the late notice and wished to make it up to Jaime soon. Jaime gasped, afraid for Maxim. His own heart hurt, remembering his father cremated and gone weeks before he managed to get home from the academy. Jaime never got to say goodbye to his own father.

  “What’s wrong?” Greaves asked.

  Jaime handed Greaves the note, heart thumping. Greaves read the note, going even more still than usual. “Is this normal for the king? I know he’s far older than usual for a man with children Maxim’s age….is the king….” Jaime was unable to finish.

  Greaves didn’t answer, instead standing, motioning for Jaime to follow. Jaime caught up to his mentor, and they went out to the hall between infirmary and the great room. “Master Eames may know how the king is—” Greaves stopped at a door, and knocked. “He’s the king’s chief attending healer. He may not be here if the king isn’t doing well.”

  A soft call bid them enter. Greaves opened the door and went inside, and Jaime followed on his heels. Master Eames was indeed inside, but he was with a servant who held a satchel open while Master Eames was adding vials, jars, and some small books. “Ah, Healer Greaves and our newest resident, what brings you to my door this early?”

  “Master Eames,” Jaime gasped out, worried for Maxim and his father. “Is the king…is he dying?”

  Master Eames turned from the servant and his bag and fixed his gaze on Jaime. Jaime gulped, afraid his impertinence would get him in trouble, but Master Eames’ expression eased into one of sympathy.

  Greaves put a hand on Jaime’s shoulder in support. Master Eames smiled at the gesture, a faint twist of his lips. Jaime all but vibrated, needing an answer.

  “His Majesty, King Llyr, has been dying for the last ten years, or so he complains quite frequently. He was strong in his youth, but old age has been hard on him, especially since he refuses to leave the north. His twilight years would be better lived in the summer capital or even at Hearthstone, but our king loves the north. I’m on my way to see him now, as it happens. How did you hear?”

  “Prince Maxim sent me a note,” Jaime said quietly, holding it up. “We had plans today during my free time, but his father…I understand. I do. I’m just worried for Prince Maxim. I lost my own father to a bout of early autumnal fever. I wasn’t there for my father, but maybe I can be there for Maxim.”

  “Ahh, I see.” Master Eames nodded to the servant, who bowed and carried the satchel from the room. “As I am on my way to see the king, and his children are likely by his side, perhaps you should come with me. Both of you, in fact.”

  “Both of us, Master Eames?” Greaves was as surprised as Jaime.

  “I’m getting on in years, and our dear royals will need to become accustomed to seeing more than my wrinkled face at their bedsides in the years to come. Come now, get your best robes on. I’ll wait.”

  Greaves wasted no time, pulling Jaime out of the room behind him, and they walked fast back to their own bedrooms. Jaime splashed water on his face, washing away the remnants of sleep and a too late night, and he pulled on his best set of robes. He ran back into the hall, all but crashing into Greaves, who quelled him with a sharp glance.

  They met Master Eames at the main hallway and followed him out into the grand foyer. It was still early hours, and most of the people about were guardsmen, servants, and people Jaime assumed worked in the palace, like clerks and stewards. A woman walked by dressed in dove gray robes, long brown hair pulled back in a myriad of braids, and she gave Jaime a glance from depthless eyes. Jaime moved closer to Greaves, who looked back for a moment to see why.

  “One of the magi who resides here in the palace. They don’t bite. I barely understand a thing they say about magic, but we have many of the same skills. Magi say that the healer’s gift is magic, too.” Greaves thankfully didn’t tease Jaime for his nerves.

  “Eistreans, the common folk that is, don’t care much for magic. Unless one wears the robes of the high king’s magi, anyone with magic is driven out of their homes or killed. I was thrown in chains and sold.”

  Greaves put a hand on Jaime’s shoulder, and Jaime took heart from the affection. Before his enslavement, he had enjoyed the casual and heartfelt touch of a friend, a teacher. He was learning again how it felt to be cared for, to have someone interested and concerned about him. It was strange readjusting to human touch and empathy, only in that he had reached the point on that ship of believing he would die in chains, a wretched soul deprived of life and love and friendship.

  He blessed that storm with every smile, every kind word, and every kiss from Maxim.

  Thoughts of his prince held back the nerves. He worried for Maxim—his prince always acted as if he were unaffected by anything negative, a smile not far from lips and eyes. Maxim carried himself like the prince he was, shoulders back and chin up with his hand on his sword in a comfortable, unconscious gesture.

  Master Eames was no young man; so their pace was too slow for Jaime’s nerves, but Greaves’ hand on his shoulder tempered his impatience. If he had been alone, he would have been running the entire way. He also would have gotten terribly lost and likely accosted by guards, since he had no earthly clue where he was going.

  The halls passed in a blur of opulence and light as the rising sun flashed through windows and skylights. He did notice a gradual increase in the guard population, pairs in fine armor at entrances to new halls and what he assumed to be the royal residence wing of the palace. Their robes and the master’s emblem embroidered on Master Eames’ shoulder gave them credence, and Master Eames was greeted by name when their group reached two tall wooden doors with two guards in ornate armor, one on each side of the doorway. One of the guards gave them a short bow, knocked on the door closest, then opened it. He stepped through and quietly announced them before gesturing for them to enter.

  The room was large, wide, and the ceiling was taller than Jaime was expecting. Colorful rugs covered the marble floors, and the walls were adorned with beautiful tapestries and paintings. The furniture was opulent and luxurious. There were low tables covered in metallic candlesticks and small figurines, and bowls of hothouse fruit littering every open surface.

  “Jaime?” A familiar voice cut through his fascination, and he was suddenly engulfed in a tight, warm hug. He breathed in Maxim’s heady scent, pine and that gentle warmth he associated with his prince. “Oh, Jaime, I’m sorry I canceled, but my father…”

  Jaime pulled back enough to look up into Maxim’s face. His poor prince looked tired, dark circles under his eyes and the light in them shadowed with worry. “There is nothing to be sorry for, Maxim. Your father needed you. I was worried about you, and how you were doing. You look tired.”

  “My little brother sat up with Father all night,” a deep voice interrupted, and Jaime was reminded they weren’t alone. Prince Janis stood near another door, one that presumably led into the king’s private chambers. Master Eames and Greaves were just going through the door that the crown prince held open, murmuring their thanks. Prince Janis closed it behind the healers with a soft click. Janis came into the sitting room and sat on an elegant chair, one that Jaime half expected to fall apart under the prince’s large frame. It held, which probably had something to do with the quality. “Father fell ill lat
e in the evening. He said it was nothing and sent his servants off, but his valet, thankfully, came to us and tattled on Father. We’ve been taking turns sitting with him all night. Maxim stayed the whole time.”

  “You both look very tired. Is it an illness? The flu? Can either of you catch it? If you’re exhausted your body won’t be strong enough to fight off a sickness if it’s catching.” Jaime put a hand on Maxim’s cheek, who leaned into the touch, eyes closing, humming softly. Jaime let his power go and sent his awareness out.

  Maxim was strong, and tired. Solid arms held him close, and Jaime realized just how intimate their embrace was when his gift spread along Maxim’s body. The prince burned, but not with illness. Jaime blushed and was helpless to resist his own body’s desire to get closer. He found himself leaning on Maxim, who opened his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on his palm. Jaime sighed, amazed to be feeling Maxim’s desire, his affection, with his gift. He never knew he could do that.

  “You are a dear love, Jaime,” Maxim said with a smile. Jaime’s palm tingled, and he closed his fingers on the kiss, pulling his hand down so it rested over Maxim’s velvet doublet, just above his heart. Warmth suffused his whole body, not just his cheeks, and it felt like static was sparking off his skin.

  “Maxim, your boy blushes hotter than a midsummer sky,” Prince Elric said as he left the far room, having come in while they were distracted. “Perhaps he can convince you to get some sleep? Such delicious and distracting company may well take your mind off Father.”

  “I’ll not leave until Master Eames tells us what is going on with Father,” Maxim said. “And keep your vulgar comments to yourself. Jaime is worth more than a brief tumble and a nap. He is a healer, gifted, and a kind and gentle man.”

  Maxim sounded aggrieved, angry, and Jaime widened his eyes, concerned. Elric didn’t get mad, though, instead chuckling and shrugging. He went and sat near his older brother. Janis gave Elric a stern frown, and Elric made no sign it had any impact on his future behavior.