The Errant Prince Read Online Free PDF

shoulders tired and defeated. Myron hesitated but turned away. Tamsen's misery was none of his business, no matter how much Myron understood the misery of being forced to do something he didn't want to do. Slipping out the open back door, Myron cut through the garden and headed for his tree.
    The sun was just setting, giving Myron enough light to fetch his cloak from the tree branch. Wrapping up in it, Myron settled in next to the tree. The light from Tamsen's cottage was the only light for as far as Myron could see, and he dozed off wondering just what had forced Tamsen to run so hard and so fast from his life as a prince.
    *~*~*
    Myron woke stiff and sore again, but a quick round of stretches sorted out the worst of it. The cottage was quiet, the back door shut, but smoke—purple, this morning—climbed from the chimney. Myron headed for the well, yawning as he went. He dragged a bucket of water up and splashed his face with it, trying to wash away the remnants of sleep. He would kill for a proper bath, but he doubted that would be forthcoming anytime soon. Cold well water would have to do. 
    He'd also love to launder his clothing. What little he had was travel-stained and smelled like he'd been reusing it for weeks—which, well, he had been. Myron wandered back toward his tree, intending to settle beneath it until Tamsen woke up, but the back door of the cottage was open again, so Myron detoured that way.
    Tamsen was half-naked, tugging a shirt down over his head. His skin was tanned, and while he was soft around the edges, there was more than enough muscle to convince Myron he was a spoiled prince in demeanor only. Myron had figured that out already, but he wasn't objecting to seeing it was true. Tamsen tugged his shirt into place, hiding the view. He turned toward the back door, lacing up the shirt. "You're still here, then?"
    "Nowhere else to be," Myron said. He stayed just outside the door, unsure of his welcome.
    "Prefer the hospitality of the trees?" Tamsen asked. He ducked to grab his boots, and his loose hair fell in his face.
    "You didn't invite me to stay," Myron said, shrugging one shoulder. He was watching Tamsen too closely, and Myron made himself look away. That didn't stop him from imagining sinking his fingers into that vibrant hair or watching it spill around Tamsen's face in the middle of— "I didn't want to overstay my welcome."
    "You're here, your welcome is already overstayed," Tamsen muttered, but the grousing sounded half-hearted at best. He sighed, shoving his hair out if his face impatiently. "Is that why you're lurking outside my backdoor like a creep?"
    "I could be a creep," Myron suggested, giving Tamsen a grin.
    "Just get in here," Tamsen said, scowling at him. "Put a pot of tea on."
    "Yes, highness," Myron said brightly to annoy Tamsen further. To Myron's disappointment, Tamsen's expression didn't change, and he simply focused on braiding his hair.
    Stepping into the cottage, Myron fetched the kettle from the fireplace and filled it with water from the bucket he'd brought in the previous day. Tamsen finished braiding back his hair, tying it off with a bit of the same twine they'd used to tie the bundles of herbs. He slipped past Myron, heading for the pantry. By the time the kettle had boiled, Tamsen had pulled together a breakfast for them: more stale bread, a soft cheese, and fresh apples.
    "How do you feel about chopping wood?" Tamsen asked, drinking down his tea as though it tasted amazing instead of like dirt and grass.
    "Not my favorite task," Myron said, yawning. He rubbed at his face, considering it. Chopping wood would keep him busy and might earn him more credit with Tamsen. "I'd need three things for doing it."
    "Oh?" Tamsen asked, a smile flickering briefly across his face.
    "A bath. I'll smell even worse when I'm done with that," Myron said frankly. "A chance to wash my clothes, too, and another spell."
    "Done." Tamsen paused, then added, "You're hauling water for the