<i>I think I'd like that.</i>Ryland considered whether that was a platitude or not when Kethaias actually turned to face him.<br/><br/><i>Now. Let's go right now.</i><br/><br/>After his surprise had worn off, Ryland's smile was slow, almost as sardonic as before. "You're looking at me as though I'm going to deny you. Might I remind you to whom you're speaking?"<br/><br/>The prince of irresponsibility, of impulsiveness, of running around the entire kingdom on a chase for the best kiss or the worst gossip or the smokiest gambling house. There wouldn't be time for the kitchen staff to pack them anything so nice as the lunch splayed across the floor at their feet, but what did they really need? A bit of mulled wine still warm in a skin, finger foods, and perhaps whatever they could snatch cooling for tonight's supper.<br/><br/>"You'd better get dressed," he said. "It can be windy. Meet me at the front entrance in fifteen minutes."<br/><br/>He didn't lean in to kiss Kethaias' cheek as he might once have done, but simply slid off the couch, letting Kethaias' hand withdraw naturally from his knee. He toed over the mess to head straight for the door, and then shot back one last grin before he disappeared into the antechamber.<br/><br/>Back in his rooms, he dispatched servants with a flurry of hand motions. One sent to ready the boat and a poleman, another to ready two horses, and another to inform the royal family that he and Kethaias' disappearance was not a kidnapping. No matter that they might regard it with suspicion. A little gossip kept them lively, too.<br/><br/>That left the kitchen. Ryland was right. There were hot buns studded with currants and raisins, waiting to cool for icing, that he deftly pilfered into a sack while he waited for the wineskin. If anyone noticed, they only signed about behind his back. He gave his compliments, and arrived at his waiting horse just early enough to tie the sack to his saddle before Kethaias arrived.<br/><br/>It took them half an hour to ride there, and Ryland pushed them. It was almost a challenge, an invitation for Kethaias to show off his horsemanship. The terrain was a little too rough, their speed for it a little too fast, but Ryland did his best to show off his seat. He wasn't fond of riding, but he knew when skill could compliment his looks. A golden-haired prince on a handsome horse created an almost fairytale image.<br/><br/>Besides, he didn't want Kethaias' mood to quicken again, to grind the same miseries over and over into dust. He drove Kethaias to focus and distraction, and by the time they got to the short pier nestled in an even shorter, rocky beach, they were both puffing lightly.<br/><br/>The servant he'd sent ahead was resting his horse, while their poleman stepped onto the pier to bow deeply to them both. The boat itself gleamed, made of a bright, buttery wood, the low tent a rich bloodred, both features that stood richly against the deep blue-green of the river and the slate of sheer rockface. All the way at the top of the cliffs were dark green shrubs, sparse in their foliage tufts, though some had managed to creep down like vines. The sky was a mere azure strip.<br/><br/>Ryland pawed a stray curl from his eyes as the first wind whipped them. He signed his thanks one-handed to the poleman for arriving at such short notice and having the boat prepared in fine condition. He and Kethaias stepped across the poleman's platform down to the flat, and Ryland held the tent flap aside for Kethaias to crawl through. He bit back against too broad a grin, watching his larger form lumber down and shimmy in. Ryland managed it evenly enough himself.<br/><br/>Woven pillows and cushions littered a rug. A hole was carved in the middle of the flat for a heating stone, which was already giving off its faint warmth, caged over with a wrought iron dome. Ryland pulled the sack up with him while he laid out on his stomach--the tent would be just high enough to sit, though with necks bent; they were meant to recline. He toed off his boots immediately, then stretched out to undo the front of the tent, undoing a knot and then tying them back to the slender poles that gave the whole thing its shape, to expose the view. There was the pointed, slender nose of the boat, and then the water beyond, rippling with another cast of wind but otherwise smooth and lazy.<br/><br/>Ryland wriggled to his back. The view was one he'd seen for ages. It didn't exactly change.<br/><br/>"The polemen sing. They're chosen for their voices. No instruments, in just the quiet. We can ask him anytime you like." He turned his head, then, grinning again, and arranged a pillow under his head, then laced his fingers on his chest. "And if you'd prefer I napped, just say so. Otherwise, I might just chatter on. You won't get any quiet."