Chapter 7
Chapter seven
An array of silverware gleamed beneath the chandelier’s light. There were so many pieces, Nin wasn’t sure where to begin. Usually, she was given a spoon and a fork and left to dig in. Today, however, Cedric was teaching her dining etiquette.
A bowl of broth steamed in gentle wisps, its savory scent rising with the heat. It glowed like amber, not burned or watered down like she was used to, but simmered to perfection.
Because of her “illness” and to avoid suspicion, she was confined to nutritious broths, light foods, and restricted from indulging in any sweet treats.
Still, Nin’s mouth watered as she looked at the spread before her.
Flaky croissants, apples, and a bowl of sugared violets and candied orange peels tempted her with their glistening honey crystals.
Cedric considered them invalid treats, meant to settle the stomach, but to Nin, they looked positively divine.
“You’re drooling,” Cedric said.
Nin snapped her head up, meeting her instructor’s stern expression hovering above her. Blushing, she wiped her face as fast as she could and glanced to her lap to see if any dripped onto her dress.
One of his signature sighs was expelled from his lips as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “A napkin, please. But remember to bring the napkin to your mouth and pat. Do not swipe like you’re mopping your face.”
“Like this?” she asked, giggling as she playfully dabbed her mouth. “Pat, pat, pat.”
“That is much better,” Cedric said gruffly, but a twinge at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Nin suppressed a grin. One of these days, she was determined she would crack a smile out of him.
“Now,” he said, clearing his throat. He gestured to the dishes in front of her. “What course do you start with?”
Nin beheld her small spread of food, brows scrunched. Cedric had given her a dozen books to read about etiquette, history, names of royals, countries, and titles—her head was like an overstuffed sack with the seams on the verge of bursting.
“The soup?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” Cedric said. “Which silverware do you take from?”
“That one?” She pointed to the closest spoon on her right.
“The furthest one,” Cedric corrected.
Another wrong answer among the several she made over the past six days. She frowned, glancing at Lucille, who stood at her place by the wall since dining etiquette wasn’t her expertise. The woman’s faint smile encouraged her to continue.
Nin dipped the spoon into the broth and brought it to her lips with trembling fingers.
Any spill would be unforgiving on her lavender dress, and she would hate to stain the delicate silk.
It also fit her frame better since the first time Lucille had laced her up, no longer sagging at the neckline or shoulders. She couldn’t ruin it now.
Don’t slurp. Don’t let it touch your teeth. Don’t mess this up!
The warm broth filled her mouth, and she closed her eyes to savor the taste. A hum of pleasure escaped without her consent. “This is delicious,” she said.
For a moment, Cedric did not correct her.
Nin opened her eyes and met his, and for once it was not filled with disapproval or impatience, but with something unreadable, as though he were studying her in a new way.
Something prickled beneath her skin the longer his gaze lingered. She shifted in her seat as heat crept up her neck.
Whatever had passed between them vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“Truly?” he asked, surprising her with its softness. “It’s just broth.”
“Not to me,” she said. “Nothing beats a nice broth to fill your belly!”
The same something flickered in his expression before it disappeared into his stoic guard. “You are right to take your time and savor,” Cedric said, “but do not linger or moan. You must never act with any more passion than is necessary.”
“But what if it is delicious? Why can’t I compliment it?” Nin asked, sipping delicately.
“You may compliment it, but you must reserve yourself. Eating is an art, not for your appetite.”
Her spoon clinked against the porcelain as she tightened her grip, and the broth suddenly turned cold in her mouth.
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of food?” she asked with a humorless chuckle.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Cedric replied, his arms crossed over his chest. “What matters is how you act.”
Something pricked behind her ribs. Years of hunger gnawing at her insides like an insatiable monster rose in her memory—the exhaustion and fear that came with survival.
He most likely never had to worry about such things.
Biting her lip, she restrained herself from responding and focused on her plate.
They moved on to the main course, which consisted of a poached egg and a croissant.
Nin cut through the egg as delicately as she could, but the yolk spilled like a brimming volcano, spreading across the white porcelain.
Without thinking, she dabbed the egg white through the sticky, yellow mess, in an attempt to clean it up.
“Stop. Stop,” Cedric demanded. “You cannot rub it in like that. You’re making finger-paint art.”
The prick flared up her throat. Nin set the fork down with more force than she intended. Would she get anything right?
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself of her brother, who was receiving personal care for the first time.
She glanced at the nightstand, where his last letter lay beside her bed, its scrawling print unmistakable.
If she held on to those words, she could make it through these pretentious lessons.
Cedric paced around her. “Who is Princess Marianne’s betrothed?”
After she chewed and swallowed, she said, “Prince Rodrigue of Castaviel.”
“Full name.”
She rolled her eyes, “Prince Rodrigue Esteban Valladares.”
“His ranking?”
“The heir to the throne of Castaviel,” she recited. It was one of the few people she drilled into her memory since Princess Marianne was in love with Rodrigue, and Nin would have to act as his devoted fiancée in little more than three weeks.
“And the ambassador who will accompany him?” Cedric asked, his boots clicking against the floor.
Her mind faltered. Moments ago, she had the answers clear as a bell, but now there was an empty well to draw on.
“Uh,” she stuttered, her thoughts running in circles for an adequate answer. She knew it was a foreign name that rolled off the tongue in a satisfying way.
“Ambassador Don Martín Calderan?”
“No,” Cedric said, halting mid-stride. “His name is Ambassador Don Mateo Calderón. Did you read anything I gave you last night?”
“I did,” Nin said, turning in her seat to face him. Her pulse rushed in her ears. “It’s just… there’s so much information. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this.”
“You must,” Cedric said, and she peered up at his towering frame. “Your survival depends on it. I will be there when you do not have all the answers, but I cannot always save you.”
Silence settled in the room. Nin ground her teeth as she steadily met his unflinching glare.
Light footsteps cut through the tension. Lucille placed a hand on Nin’s shoulder. “That is enough for this morning. We may resume later.”
Cedric then inclined his head. “Very well. I have duties to see to for the rest of today. We will resume tomorrow.”
When the door closed behind him, tension drained from Nin’s shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been forcing all her cracked pieces together until Lucille’s gentle touch.
Nin’s chin quivered, but she swallowed the emotions to the pit of her stomach. Lucille cleared the dishes in quiet understanding, patted Nin’s face, and left her alone with her thoughts.
Nin collapsed onto the bed, with all the lessons she’d learned throbbing behind her forehead, every rule and correction pressing in at once. Her body melted into the mattress, softer than anything she had ever known, but she stared up at the canopy with a knot in her throat.
The room was too large, too quiet, too full of things she couldn’t get used to. She remained confined here until her training was complete. She couldn’t dare step onto the balcony without fear of being seen, and the realization wrapped around her like a silk-dressed cage.
A slight weight bounced onto the bed. Bijou padded over to her and curled against her hip. The knot tightened in her throat until hot tears filled her eyes and fell into her ears. She turned onto her side, one hand resting against the dog’s soft fur.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
For the first time, the little dog had crossed the tentative space between them. She stared at the canopy, listening to Bijou’s soft snores, and questioned whether everyone was mistaken in thinking she could succeed.