He had half a mind to throw open the doors and force Callum to face him when he heard Deryn behind him. He turned to her, a little surprised, as he'd almost forgotten she was there. As she spoke, it occurred to him how lonely she must have been all those years. He'd never imagined her being all alone after her mother died, and suddenly he felt an overwhelming stab of guilt, as if he'd been the one to blame.
When she started to cry, Bertrand quickly walked to her side. He rested a hand on her shoulder, but all he could say was, "I'm so sorry." As if he'd ever had the power to change her circumstances. As if he should have known.
He sighed deeply, "I was going to tell you." He didn't mean about Callum, and his feelings for him, specifically; but in a more general sense. He had felt it important to tell her what to expect, or not expect, from him. She would have heard it soon enough. If not through gossip, than Bertrand's own siblings were likely to tell her everything. But now, he didn't know what to say. He felt a bit of shame, as if he shouldn't have kept the secret from Deryn in the first place, so he changed the subject, if only slightly, "I'm scared, too. I don't think I could-" He paused, not wanting to hurt her feelings, "I mean, not that you're not... You're beautiful, but-" He sighed, "I'm sorry." He reached over and took the book from her hand, setting it aside with no regard for proper shelving or organization. Bertrand took both of her arms in his, and said, "I don't know what the future may hold, but you never have to be alone again. I'll always be your friend."
He then felt slightly overwhelmed by it all, and though he tried to fight it, felt a few tears flow down his faced; there was a part of him that had wanted everything to be the same as it had always been. Of course things had changed, but he hadn't expected everything to have changed. He wiped his face quickly, roughly. His father had told him before that if the king must cry, it needed to be in private. It struck him, then, that crying in front of his future wife- as unfair as the union may seem- was as private of a moment as he could have outside of solitude.
"They don't expect me to be able to father any children," The words seemed to fall out of his mouth before he'd really thought them through, "Father hasn't said as much, but I know. He..." Bertrand sighed, "They would never blame you, you know."