"Oh love," she said. "I know you would." Her eyes closed. He knew they would never open again.
The snow fell fierce and thick after she died and the day of her funeral it was bitter cold, the snow falling so fast it was almost impossible to see. The only other person present, the priest who was there to say one last mass for a departed soul, stood shivering, feeling snow soak through his fur‑lined boots. He had not wanted to perform this mass, but when David had asked him, found him in the church and stared at him with anxious beautiful eyes and asked for a death mass in a pleading voice, he'd found himself saying "Yes, of course," right away. Anything to get the strange, quiet, disturbingly beautiful young man away from him. He'd heard the stories of the King's lost son‑‑everyone had‑‑but he'd never believed they were true. Not until that day. And now, standing, watching snow fall hard and fast, he prayed only that this moment would be over soon.
David got the pyre lit. As the priest watched he pressed a flame to the wood and blew gently on it. The flame sputtered and shifted, its color fading from red‑yellow to white. The priest watched as the fire burned, consuming everything by ice, the body on the pyre swirling into a cloud too fine and too cold to be smoke.
"Dear God," the priest said, and it wasn't a prayer. He crossed himself and walked away. David didn't notice. He stood watching the fire, shaking not from cold but from grief. He stood watching the fire and snow fall from the sky like tears.
Across the courtyard David's brother and sister stood watching him. They were wrapped in furs, shielded from the falling snow by attendants standing, shivering and holding a canopy over their heads. They were supposed to be on their way to a party, but they'd stopped when they saw the brother they'd forgotten they had, when they saw the way the snow fell harder and faster with every shuddering breath he took. They watched the fire burn, saw its white flame, watched it consume by cold. They looked at each other for a moment and then the Princess lifted one hand up, held it towards the sky. Snow covered the dark rich fabric of her glove in a moment.
"The rumors‑‑"
"Yes," the Prince said. "We'll have to do something. Let me send someone to get you another glove."
"You're too kind," the Princess said, and turned toward him, arm still outstretched. He peeled the ruined glove away from her skin, captured her wrist with his fingers. They left the glove lying on the ground when they went inside. It was covered with snow by the time the doors closed behind them.
***
"Do you love me?" the Princess asked. It wasn't really a question. She was lying naked on her bed, golden skin draped by soft dyed sheets, staring, smiling at the man standing, watching her.
"Of course I do," Joseph said. His voice was kind but strained, wrecked by want. It was written all over him. He wanted nothing more than to be hers forever.
"How much do you love me?"
"I'd do anything for you," he said, and knelt down, placed one hand on her thigh. His hand didn't shake at all. "Anything."
"Good," the Princess said, and spread her legs. "Come here."
"Do you love me?" the Prince asked later. It wasn't really a question. He was lying naked on his bed, golden skin draped by soft dyed sheets, staring, smiling at the man standing, watching him.
"Of course I do," Joseph said. His voice was kind but strained, wrecked by want. It was written all over him. He wanted nothing more than to be his forever.
"How much do you love me?"
"I'd do anything for you," he said, and knelt down, placed one hand on the Prince's thigh. His hand didn't shake at all. "Anything."
"Good," the Prince said, and spread his legs. "Come here."
Chapter Three
David drifted. He was alone now and the rooms he'd shared with his nurse, rooms that had seemed cozy when he was young and cramped when he was older became cavernous, full of space he knew he could never fill. He went through her things; folded her shawl for the last time, ironed her sheets and made the bed she'd never sleep in again. He folded her tobacco pouch and put it with her pipe, took her shoes and put them where she liked them, pointing out towards the door. There was nothing else left of her except a coin with a woman's smiling face stamped on it that he found tucked into the pocket of her favorite coat. He touched the coin, traced the woman's smile and knew it as his own. He put it back in the coat.
He slept a lot, curled up on the bed he'd had his whole life, watching the small window glazed with ice and listening to snow fall. He went down to the kitchens at night and took food; tea and bread and ale and apples, ate them alone and watched the bread heels turn blue and green, the apple cores brown and melt into mush. One day a servant came and cleaned the room, directed a bent old washwoman to strip David's bed and then David, had a tub brought and said, "There's soap and towels on the table."
"Thank you," David said, and his voice came out sounding cracked and hoarse. He wondered how long it had been since he'd spoken.
"Thank your brother and sister," the servant said. "They've asked me to look after you."
"Please tell them thank you," David said. "Tell them I'm grateful and that they're too good to me, too kind, too‑‑"
"Yes," the servant said abruptly. "I'll tell them." He looked at David. His eyes were cloudy, filmed white like snow. "They're always happy to hear from those who appreciate their kindness."
He thought his brother and sister would come see him then but they didn't. The servant did though, came almost every day. Most of the time he said nothing but occasionally he told David things. The snow was very bad now, worse than anyone could remember. The King had sickened, withdrawn to his rooms. "He is fading," the servant said. "Cries out for his dead wives.
Mostly the first one. Sometimes he asks for his children."
"Does he ask for me?" David said, unable to keep hope from his voice. The servant paused, then put down the tray he was holding.
"No," he said.
***
The Prince and Princess ate dinner together every night. They ate in their own gilded dining room, late at night and all alone. They asked that all the food be served before they arrived.
Neither of them liked waiting.
"Tonight is the night," the Princess said when they met in the hallway. Her face was aglow, her eyes shining dark and eager.
"I thought so too," the Prince answered. His eyes shone brightly, dancing with an eagerness that matched hers. "Our guest‑‑"
"will be here soon."
They smiled at each other and walked hand in hand into the room.
***
Joseph knew what was going to happen as soon as he opened the door. Normally a servant from the Prince or Princess came, rapped once on the door and told him curtly when to arrive at the palace and what entrance to use, but tonight a pair of guards were waiting for him, their faces too perfectly blank to mean anything but that what he'd been doing had been discovered. He'd known it was forbidden but couldn't help it. They were both so beautiful. But woodsmen did not sleep with Princes. They did not sleep with Princesses. He had. He had and knew that if he could he would again. Wanting burned inside him and he saw no need to hide it. It had gained him something greater than he'd ever dreamed of desiring.
He went to what he knew would be his death, walking with his head held high. He walked into the castle flanked by silent soldiers and thought of golden skin and golden hair and wide knowing eyes. He thought of arms holding him, urging him on, sweet voices crying his name. He looked at the soldiers. They'd never know anything like what he'd had, what he'd found. They'd never do anything like what he'd done. He walked into a golden room and thought it was worth it.