The invitation to feast occasioned a loud and long argument between father and daughter, but the result was inevitable. Faintly sulky, Summer rode behind her father, politely sidesaddle, adorned with Humphrey’s necklace and properly resplendent in deep red linen. Deliberately demure, she trailed her father within, hands clasped and head bowed. She would not look for Humphrey. She would /not/.
He was brother to the King, Duke in his own right. Let him look for her.
But she couldn’t help glancing around.
Humphrey watched. He insisted to the king that he shall indeed wait on him so he could busy himself with tasting food and wine and cutting them up and so on. Most of his time he spent seated behind the king as well or ordering the servants around. But he still watched her. She looked stunning, in burgundy red, probably Humphrey’s favorite colour. And he noticed the necklace she wore. Either she meant to show that they had a connection or she meant to show that she couldn’t care less, he thought.
The dancing started and the king departed not long after. Humphrey’s big brother hated these events. Humphrey sat at the high table once the king departed, watching the dancers. He waited for her to dance. She can’t resist everyone after all, it would be way too rude, and sooner or later her father would interfere. In the meantime Humphrey tried to think of what to do with his newly developed heartbreak. It was an unknown, unusual feeling, and he didn’t like it at all. It reminded him of Petrarch’s works.
Well, she might not want to look at him, but she couldn’t help sensing him. The ache of his heart almost, almost changed her mind. It spoiled her pleasure in the court and feast, as well, what little there was.
Finally, desperate for distraction, she submitted to dancing, taking the first to ask and trying to lose herself in the steps and partners. It wasn’t much good, though. Lord after lord asked her if she was well, if there was aught they could fetch her, some way to bring a smile to that pretty face.
It was … it was horrid, was what it was. At least Humphrey treated her with respect for her mind, not just her family or her face.
Just no respect for her heart.
Humphrey thought the sight of her dancing would entertain him, but on the contrary, it angered him. So this is how jealousy felt, Humphrey noted to himself, as he watched the lordlings grabbing close the petite body he made love to just a few days ago. He drank two glasses of wine trying to convince himself that he didn’t care for a merchant’s daughter. He was supposed to care for princesses. But princesses didn’t care for poetry, for learning, and she did, and through that she ensured to have all his attention and by now, all his longing.
He stood and moved to the side of the hall, close to the exit that led to one of the castle corridors. When she stopped dancing and stepped aside from the floor, she was close enough for Humphrey not to think, but go and grab her arm and pull her to the corridor through the tapestries that hid it.
He gently pushed her to the wall, a hand of his keeping her waist close to him. “Why are you wearing this necklace?” he asked.
Humphrey was fortunate; she knew the sense of him in her mind, and didn’t scream when he grabbed her. Too many things had her pulse pounding in her throat. One hand rose, involuntarily, to brush the rubies, and a slight, sad frown marked her brow.
“‘It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself against Love’s blows: so I went on confident, unsuspecting’,” she quoted softly. Green eyes searched his face. He /was/ jealous. She hadn’t meant that, hadn’t expected it. He’d been too far for her to know anything but his instant anger; not what might have swelled behind it, from her letter.