Chapter 32
Belle
By the third day, hunger gnawed at my stomach like a rabid animal, and I was beginning to hallucinate.
In the late evening, I’d imagined I could smell roasted meats, fresh bread, and spiced wine drifting down the hall.
I’d even woken up in the middle of the night with visions of banquet tables covered in all sorts of delicacies—roasted venison, steaming loaves of bread, and sticky pastries.
The king seemed to be reveling in my torment.
Each dawn, rather than breakfast, my captors would bring me a new cookbook.
The Tastes of the Summerlands was unlike anything I’d ever read.
Rather than dry recipes, it was packed with mouth-watering descriptions that read like poetry in my heightened state of need.
The High Lord’s Feast was more instructional, but it contained gorgeous illustrations of exotic dishes and tables laid with every kind of delight.
I couldn’t resist flipping through the delicate pages. I savored the feel of the paper on my cold fingertips, delighting in the invitation to imagine. The books might be torture, but they gave me a kind of nourishment the king would never understand.
I devoured each one he’d sent like a platter of sweetmeats, before turning grudgingly to The Book of Courtly Manners—a sad dessert, but I was a glutton for the written word.
There were no recipes, but it had descriptions of how to eat, how to pair your foods, and how to drink politely and discuss wine without embarrassing yourself.
It also contained an irritatingly long list of impossible rules for ladies: always stay poised, never soil your lips, keep your fingers immaculate, eat with your eyes rather than your mouth, use restraint, and never show your hunger.
I traced my fingers over the engraved illustrations, imagining the feasts I would hold if I were queen. I could almost smell them.
Wait a minute. I could smell them.
I sat up straight. There was no mistaking the buttery notes of browned sage and rosemary, or the savory aroma of roasted pheasant. Had I gone mad?
Rising, I stumbled to the door in a daze as the scents grew stronger. Caramelized onions. Yeasty bread. Spiced wine. I tested the handle. It was unlocked. That had to be deliberate.
I carefully opened my door, and a wave of aroma hit me. It was coming from down the hall.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked one of the guards, who stood stoically beside the threshold.
“The king has laid a table, my lady. He’s waiting for you, just as he has every evening.”
My stomach ached. I hadn’t been hallucinating. The twisted bastard had been playing games with me for days.
“Unless the huntsman is free, tell him to eat without me.” Returning to my prison, I shut the door and leaned against it, vowing one day to carve him up and feed him to the beasts.
Yet when the aromas arose again the next day, my will had already crumbled.
His trick had worked, as I’d spent the night and day imagining what lay beyond.
Like a woman condemned to the gallows, I donned the only dress I could put on myself—the one he’d wanted me to wear—and stepped into the hall.
I couldn’t help it. My stomach was in knots, and I was too exhausted to even summon a thread of magic.
It was a defeat, but my hunger drove my feet forward like a hound to blood.
The guards didn’t move or question where I was going. Light poured from a cracked door ahead on the far side of the hall. I stopped just outside, my body waging a battle against my pride.
Don’t do this, I told myself, but I pushed the door open anyway.
Candlelight flickered over a long table that was set for two. Steam rose from silver platters of glazed duck, caramelized vegetables, and two loaves of freshly baked bread and churned butter.
I lost the battle and stepped inside.
The king sat at the far end of the table, one arm slung over the back of an ornate chair, his other hand holding a glass of golden wine, looking smug. He was the only one in the room.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to join me,” he said in a smoky tone that was sultry and mocking all at once.
I was about two seconds away from climbing on the table and devouring everything. My eyes flicked over the spread. Was there any chance I could grab the platter of duck and make it back to my room before he caught me? Likely not.
He gestured to the chair beside me. “Sit. You must be famished.”
I moistened my lips. “Have you released Gregoire?”
“No.”
Tears pricked the back of my eyes, not for the huntsman, but for the war that raged inside me. I was so—damned—hungry. What did it matter in the end? The king would have his way. I would give in. I had to give in. I was only human.
“Goodnight, Your Highness,” I said weakly, and turned toward the door. “I’m sure you will have a fine feast.”
His chair scraped against the floor. “This is absurd, Belle. You need to eat.”
I turned to face him, too fatigued to muster any fire. “You could have met me halfway. I wasn’t asking for much.”
His fist clenched, then he cursed and gestured to the chair. “Fine. You win. I’ll release your companion if you end this charade.”
I stared at him blankly, barely comprehending.
“I said, you win,” he growled through gritted teeth.
I’d won. The words were strange, like a foreign language.
When their meaning finally hit, I dropped into the chair with all the grace of a sack of potatoes and began forking tender slices of duck onto my plate and shoveling the sticky vegetables into my mouth like a peasant.
“Oh gods,” I groaned as the sweet and salty flavors mingled on my tongue.
The king watched me quietly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never seen anyone make eating look so scandalous.”
“You’ve never gone hungry,” I said through a mouthful, tearing off a thick hunk of warm bread from a loaf. “You have no idea what it feels like.”
A muscle in his jaw tensed, and the ghost of something flickered in his eyes, barely discernible before he locked it away. What was it? Pain? Shame? I wouldn’t feel sorry for him. Not after he’d starved me.
“You must care deeply for the huntsman to make such a spectacle of yourself,” the king muttered.
“He’s irritating, but it’s my fault he’s here, and my duty to protect him. As well as the old man.” I narrowed my eyes. “Where did you send him?”
“North. Where he can’t make trouble,” the king said. “But he’s alive and free—and that was our bargain.”
I searched his face for any sign of deception, and finding none, I shoveled an unladylike helping of creamed capon onto my plate.
The king smirked at my over-full plate, then forked a delicate bite of duck into his mouth. “I see that you didn’t read any of the books I sent you on manners.”
I glanced at his fork, finished chewing, then smiled sweetly at him. “Actually, Your Highness, you are the one who’s in need of a lesson or two on dining etiquette.”
“And why is that?”
I pointed. “You’re eating duck with a salad fork. It’s extremely uncouth.”
He glanced at the fork, then set it aside, his mouth becoming something that was almost a grin, but far more wicked. “Are you offering to give me a lesson, princess?”
I sliced into the duck a little too forcefully, knocking some of the vegetables off my plate. “I’m sure Locke would be more than happy to assist you.”
“Ah, but that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, would it?” His lips folded into an inviting shape, and for a second, I caught myself imagining what those lips might feel like against mine. Fierce and possessive, or luxurious and claiming?
The room suddenly felt too hot, and far too small for both of us, and I shoved the treacherous thought away. I blamed the hunger. It was easier to stomach than the alternative.
I sat back, gesturing sharply to the lavishly spread table. “Why all of this? Why invite me to dinner?”
“Maybe I want to get to know you better.” His voice was velvety, his gaze calculating.
“And spying on me isn’t enough?”
Was that a flinch? No. It must’ve been my imagination. I doubted he thought twice about the consequences of his actions or whose trust he violated.
“You’re the most intriguing visitor we’ve had in years.”
It was a deflection, a dismissal. And yet it revealed an opening in his armor.
“You want to know about me? Fine.” I slathered a hot roll with herbed butter. “I want to know about the curse. I’ll trade a question for a question, and an answer for an answer.”
He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his powerful frame. “For a woman who is being held against her will, you like to bargain.”
I angled my head to the side. “I thought I was a guest.”
“Semantics.” He took an infuriatingly deliberate sip of wine, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed.
Something traitorous in my belly clenched, and I pulled my gaze to his face, searching for flaws to prove that he wasn’t in fact the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on.
Only I found myself following the curve of his stubble-covered jaw and fantasizing about what lay beneath that terrifying mask.
The room was silent apart from the crackle of the fire and the howl of the wind outside. I jabbed my fork into a hunk of spiced pear and kept eating, chewing as loudly and defiantly as I could.
“I’ll play your game,” the king conceded. “But as this is my castle, I’ll go first.”
“How generous.”
He set his large hands beside his plate and leveled me with an icy gaze. “How long have you worked for the resistance?”
The pear lodged in my throat, and I choked. He knew.
Clutching at my neck, I squirmed, trying to cough, trying to swallow, but the damned thing was stuck.
I looked up in panic at the king, relaxing in his seat. My eyes flared. He was going to let me die. This was how I would go—saved the pain of dragon fire only to face the sheer indignity of perishing by a pear.
Not the heroic ending I’d imagined. Not like in the stories.
My flailing hand knocked the pears off the table, shattering the dish and scattering them across the floor.
“Your companions told me all about your former activities,” the king said. His chair scraped back as he rose. “You spied in the castle and plotted to overthrow the king—before he married your sister, of course.”
My face grew warm, and I pounded at my own breast.
The king strolled forward casually, as if I wasn’t seconds away from dying. “You see, I’m wondering if your treachery has been redirected from undermining the lords of the Bloodvale to sabotaging my kingdom.”
I clawed at the table, my heart racing.
He paused beside my chair and leaned close. “Were you sent to spy, princess? To build a network? To overthrow me?”
I shook my head, begging him with my eyes. No.
Just as my vision began to darken around the edges, his hand slammed against my back. The pear dislodged, bouncing over the floor.
I gasped for breath, drawing each in ragged desperation. When I got it under control, I held my wineglass out for him to fill, then drained it, barely noting the rich flavors of dried fruit, pepper, and blackberry. “Thank you for not letting me die.”
He set aside the bottle of wine. “That’s why a proper lady eats small bites, slowly and gracefully.”
I eyed him closely. He’d timed that question deliberately, waiting just long enough before saving me. “Are you always such a bastard?”
Something wicked played at the corner of his mouth as he returned to the other end of the table and dropped back into his chair. “Yes. And I’m still looking for an answer to my question.”