The Sable Moon by Nancy Springer

impatiently. “Get to my room, will you, and I’ll have them bring you some things.”
    Somewhat to his surprise, Gwern did as he had said, and he sent up a servant with food and instructions for a bath. Trevyn and Meg saw no more of Gwern that night, nor did they speak of him. Megan felt Trevyn’s agitation, and she was glad to feel it subside. They danced, and walked the room together, and ate fine foods that she was never able to remember to her satisfaction, and danced again. By the time the lutes and viols finished playing, she felt music moving through her even when her feet were still.
    Taking her home through the frosty night, Trevyn held her before him on Arundel and felt the warmth of her slender body against his. Why should he want her, this skinny, sharp-nosed little maid? Yet something rose in him. To release it, he stopped Arundel where all the thousand stars could see, turned her to him, held her, and kissed her long and deep. He trembled, but not with cold, and felt her body quiver in answer. Then he felt tears on her face. He nestled her against his shoulder, stroking her hair and kissing her eyes until she was calm. She did not speak as he took her home. He saw her within doors and kissed her once, lightly, in the dark of the cottage; then he went without a word. Only as his hoofbeats faded away did Meg realize that she still wore his cloak and brooch.
    He will come for them on the morrow, she thought, and the thought made her glad to overflowing. She undressed in the dark and lay awake on her narrow bed, feeling the touch of his kiss still on her lips. It was the first kiss she had ever known.
    All the way back to the manor, Trevyn berated himself. It was mad and cruel, he scolded, to give the girl hopes. For surely he could have no serious thoughts of her! She was a commoner, without education, dower, or social grace. And she was homely, or at least so he had once thought.… But he was the Prince of the realm, gifted with knowledge, power, and beauty. Surely there would be a princess for him, a woman worthy of his regard—perhaps an elfin princess in fair Elwestrand across the sea! He must not see Meg again, he decided, not even for parting. He did not care to cause a scene.
    When he reached his chamber, he found Gwern lounging on his bed, looking more presentable since his bath. The fey youth sat up to greet Trevyn with a perfectly unreadable face. Trevyn meant to ask him how he knew about the ancient sword of Lyrdion, why he had sung his eerie song. But Gwern spoke first.
    â€œMeg is a beautiful girl,” he said. There was no trace of mockery in his voice, and Trevyn knew by now that Gwern only spoke the most straightforward truth. Such truth sent a pang through him.
    â€œWhat of it?” he retorted gruffly.
    â€œI would like to know her better. Where does she live?”
    â€œYou!” Trevyn flared in sudden anger. “You are only fit to consort with pigs! Stay away from her!”
    Gwern gravely rose from the bed. “Why, she is only a commoner, and you think she is homely,” he replied without heat. “And you have decided to cast her aside. Do you grudge me your castoffs?”
    â€œI grudge you life and breath,” grated Trevyn between clenched teeth. He was white with rage; he had never felt such rage. “Stay away from her, I say!”
    â€œWhy, you need not worry,” Gwern remarked reasonably. “She is the Maiden, you know. Where she would not have you, she will not have me.”
    Trevyn sprang at him, knocking him to the floor with one smashing fist. Blood trickled from Gwern’s nose. But this time he did not punch back. Trevyn stood panting, helpless to vent his wrath, and vaguely ashamed.
    Gwern got up, taking no notice of his gory nose. He went to the door. “I will tender her your parting regards,” he told Trevyn levelly, “since you will not face her.” There was no fight in his words, only fact.