Chapter 9
“Life is so dull with all of this chaos.”
Hanna coughed, then gave in and laughed.
“I’m serious,” I said. “I haven’t seen my friends in moons. You and Groth are my only companions.” Placing my chin on my hand, I sighed. “How dreadfully sad.”
The cook tossed the dish towel over her shoulder and gestured to the doorway behind me. “You do know that the only reason I’m still here is because I’ll likely get drained out there.”
Right.
Sometimes, because she wasn’t a feeder, I forgot she was even human. But…
“Wait.” I set my hands on the island bench and straightened. “Are you saying you’d rather put up with the late king than us?”
Impossible. Absurd.
Yet Hanna shrugged. “King Exayn was hardly here, and Jesamine was rarely allowed to leave his side.”
Whereas Brey and I rarely left this palace.
Though it vexed, I slumped on the stool and conceded, “Point taken.”
Hanna returned to the sink full of last evening’s dishes.
Bubbles drifted as I stared at the benchtop. I’d seldom visited the kitchen at Blueburn Estate. But these past moons, I’d found myself venturing to the palace kitchen, lured by memories so vivid that when the stuffy room was empty, I swore I could still hear it.
Laughter. Smile-coated murmurs. Pounding hearts.
Moans.
I trailed my finger down the freshly sharpened edge of a knife Hanna had left to dry on a towel before me.
“You said you were frightened,” I said. “At your failed little intervention last evening. Is it horrifically terrifying?” Looking up from the knife, I clarified, “Knowing you’re going to die.”
Hanna whirled. “What?” Snatching another knife from the towel, she pointed it at me. “You intend to kill me?”
“What?” I blinked. “Goddess, no.” Surveying her panicked state, I frowned. “Who would feed me?”
The cook’s hand trembled. But she kept the blade raised, swallowing harshly.
My head shook. “Honestly, Hanna.” I laughed. “You make me wonder sometimes.”
Her mouth fell open. “I make you wonder?” Then her wild eyes darted behind me.
Brey prowled into the kitchen. He halted, brows lurching at us both.
The cook lowered her knife and inclined her head.
Brey gave his own head a shake before collecting a handful of lemons from the fruit basket. After dumping them beside the drying knives, he began opening and closing numerous cupboards. When he cursed and marched into the storeroom, Hanna and I looked at each other.
A moment later, he returned. Raking a hand through his hair, he asked distractedly, “Where might the flour have wandered off to?”
Hanna squared her shoulders. “I’m afraid we do not have enough to spare for treats, Majesty.”
His hand dropped. An eye narrowed. “I’m quite certain we do.”
“I’m quite certain we don’t,” Hanna retorted.
“Hanna, darling.” Brey smiled. A smile that said he was far from amused. “How can one make lemon cakes without flour?”
The cook gave him a similar smile, though hers was more of a wince. “I suppose one cannot?”
Head tilting, eyes changing, Brey studied her. “You’ve hidden it.”
Hanna didn’t confirm nor deny.
She rolled her lips between her teeth before dancing around the truth. “Majesty, to avoid encounters with foreigners and desperate folk, produce from the southlands is being delivered on smaller boats.” A pause. “Rowboats, mostly, if we’re getting precise.”
Brey continued to study her as if she’d grown a set of horns.
I asked, “Could they not use a Pegasus?”
“Not everyone can afford such a rare horse,” Hanna said. “And using our own is too much of a risk when they’re a tempting treat for winged predators.”
Sickened, I gripped the edge of the bench. “What sort of monster would eat a Pegasus?”
“Snagorns,” Brey muttered absently, still staring at Hanna with a mixture of incredulity and suspicion. “They guard the Midland Mountains like the murderous pests they are.”
Feeling a tad foolish for never knowing that so much of our supplies were brought north on ships, I just mumbled, “There must be another way.”
“The isle is shaped like an hourglass,” Hanna explained while looking at me. She made swooping gestures with her soap-reddened hands. “The mountains and Billowing Bog hug the middle, making it almost impossible to cross the isle on foot.”
I nodded. “I knew that.”
Hanna huffed.
Now pacing from one counter to another, Brey didn’t seem to notice we were talking. On his third turn, our eyes met. As if just remembering, or even realizing, that I was here, he stilled.
Then scowled as though the shortage of flour was my fault.
It came as no surprise, and I even understood. When you despised someone, everything wrong in your life could somehow be blamed on them. But remembering that I’d once felt similarly about him didn’t lessen the sting.
This flamboyant and irreverent king had once been a bright cloud I’d feared I would never escape—until I learned his cunning charm hid a dark yet sensitive heart. A heart I’d held in the palms of my unsure hands.
By the time I had been sure, it was too late.
My own heart quietened when his scowl gradually softened into an almost pained expression. As those perfect features eased, that pesky hope entered my chest.
And withered into ash when he said, “Meet me in the chalice room with the new dawn.”
Stupefied, I shook my head. “Chalice…”
The wards.
I turned on the stool. “Wait.”
He didn’t. He stalked into the shadowed hall beyond the kitchen.
“Why dawn?” I called after him.
He drawled back, “So that we can better see what might try to kill us.”
When I turned around, Hanna was removing her apron. She tossed it on the benchtop before skipping toward the exit.
“And just where are you merrily running off to?”
Without a shred of shame, she sang, “To tell Groth and Ovan that hiding the flour worked.”
Alone, I glared at the lemons on the benchtop.
Of course the slim pickings of humans, a threatening visit from my father, getting cornered in the dining room by the staff, and even being poisoned couldn’t prompt Brey to act.
But his beloved lemon cakes could.