“Merde,” Gawain swore, frowning at the board a moment. “I still think you should make the pieces catch fire when you capture them.”

“I still think your jacket is ridiculous,” replied Merlin. “I could make that catch fire instead?”

“By all means, if you wish to be billed for the expense.” Gawain smirked.

Arthur gritted his teeth. The wizard was doing nothing wrong. Nor was his cousin. Yet for whatever reason, watching the two of them play chess together was tremendously upsetting.

He wanted to drag Merlin away and demand an explanation. Even though the wizard didn’t owe him one. Even though it was just an innocent game of chess.

Forget the book, Arthur thought angrily. Something in his room would do. When he got back to his apartments, he realized what the emotion was that he’d felt at seeing Merlin with Gawain. Of all the things—it was jealousy.

CHAPTER 29

Apologies, Your Highness,” said Lucan, returning pale and hunched from the privy for the third time that morning.

Guests were due within the hour for the king’s birthday celebrations, and Arthur’s valet was so obviously ill. Yet Lucan insisted on denying it, stubbornly staggering back and forth from the communal easement to the prince’s rooms without managing to complete a single task.

Arthur watched as his valet shuffled over to the fireplace, leaning his arm against the mantel and resting there with his eyes closed. The man’s brow was damp with sweat, and he looked faintly green.

“Luc—” Arthur began.

“I just need a moment,” he insisted. And then he bolted for the window and vomited.

Arthur winced, then went to his bathing chamber to run his own bath. At least the stream of warm water from the tap was good cover for the sound of Lucan’s retching.

A knock sounded on the door to his apartments.

“Your Highness?” It was Brannor.

“Yes?” Arthur asked warily, padding over to see what was the matter.

Brannor’s uniform was immaculate, in preparation for the royal visitors. His boots were perfectly polished, and even his mustache had been waxed.

Arthur, meanwhile, was still in his nightclothes, his hair a tangle.

The guard’s lips disappeared into a thin line. “You’re not dressed.”

“Late start this morning,” Arthur said apologetically.

The guard’s gaze went to the window, where Lucan heaved again.

“Can you see that Luc gets to the infirmary?” Arthur asked.

“Right away,” Brannor said with a curt bow. “And I’ll have someone sent up to take his place.”

Arthur padded back into the bathing chamber, noting with displeasure that he’d used too much rose oil. The steam was cloying and sweet, but there was nothing he do could about it now. Other than toss his nightclothes to the floor and step into the fragrant water.