Chapter 6
A nyka’s nose itched from accidentally inhaling flour. The cookie baking class was in the running for the most tedious thing she’d ever done. Beatryce, however, seemed to be having the time of her life.
Possibly because the teacher of the class was a young, handsome pastry chef from the Willow Hall kitchens. Felyx Choufler. He was not only handsome, but charming. It seemed like he paid more attention to Beatryce than he had to any other student in the class.
Not surprising, as Beatryce was the only one of royal blood and the only one destined to inherit a throne. But he was howling into the wind if he thought Anyka was going to permit anything to happen between him and her daughter.
A pastry chef. The very nerve.
He was attractive. Not completely fae, she thought. He was tall and lean, with large, expressive eyes and an extra curve to his ears that reminded her of the neph, the night people, an ancient nocturnal race that humans called elves.
“Now,” Felyx said. “We are going to roll our dough out and cut it into shapes with the cutters you picked out earlier.”
Beatryce had picked out a bee, a nod to her name.
Anyka had chosen a dagger. She used the back of her hand to rub at her still-itching nose, picked up her rolling pin, and began to do battle with her dough.
The very idea that she, the queen of Malveaux, was doing such a menial thing…she sighed and pushed harder on the pin, flattening the dough in the middle.
“Too hard, my lady.”
She looked up to see Felyx at her elbow, smiling at her. He smelled like blackberries warmed by the sun.
He held his hands out. “If I may?”
She gave him a little nod.
He stood behind her, put his hands over hers, and gently guided the rolling pin across the dough. “Like this, you see? With pressure, yes, but not so firm that we destroy the dough. We want to help it expand, see?”
The side of his body was pressed against hers. No man had been that close to her since…Sebastyan, her late husband.
Felyx was either exceptionally bold or incredibly foolish. Maybe a little of both.
She glanced at Trog. He was glaring daggers at Felyx. She caught Trog’s eye and shook her head. Felyx was no threat. He was, at most, an overeager puppy that might benefit from a smack to the nose.
She moved away from him slightly. “I understand. I can manage it now.”
Felyx was still smiling, still looking into her eyes. “I have no doubt you will. A woman does not get to where you are by being incapable.”
She narrowed her eyes at his comment. Flattery or impudence? She couldn’t decide. “I am capable of a great many things. All of them infinitely more important than rolling out dough .”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, perhaps deciding his comment was better left unsaid. With a little bow, he moved on to the next person in the class, working his way around the room. Every now and then, Anyka caught him glancing her way.
Was he flirting with her? She thought he was. The idea of amusing herself with him was not without appeal. It would certainly be an entertaining distraction. But a pastry chef? Wasn’t that beneath her?
Beatryce certainly didn’t think there was anything wrong with flirting. Although she might think differently if she’d seen how Felyx’s attentions had been focused on Anyka.
That would be one way to cure her daughter’s fixation.
Anyka sighed. Being queen was a thankless job. There were times when she wished she could be someone else, just for a day. To live without being constantly watched and judged. She checked on Beatryce, who was happily cutting out bee shapes and chatting with the young Grym woman next to her.
Maybe Anyka was overthinking. A dalliance with the pastry chef wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it? She couldn’t be seen with him. And he certainly couldn’t come back to the royal apartment. Which meant she’d have to go to his room. Assuming he didn’t share it with another staff member.
She closed her eyes. What was she doing? Was she actually considering this? It was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?
She was lonely. She might not admit that out loud, but it was easy to acknowledge to herself. Galwyn was a lovely companion, but he was no replacement for the companionship of a man. And Wyett was too valuable as her valet for her to risk crossing that line.
Despite the many times she’d thought about it.
She pressed the tin outline of a dagger into her dough and wiggled it as Felyx had shown them, loosening the shape so it could be lifted out and placed on a baking tray.
This was the most asinine thing she’d ever done and yet…there was something, dare she say, rewarding about the humble task. She made decrees and proclamations all the time, but those were intangible things.
Making cookies was very different. When they were done, she’d have something to show for her efforts. Something made by her own hands.
That felt nice. Odd. But nice.
She would not think any further about Felyx and a visit to his room. That could not be. Instead, she would finish her cookies, see that Beatryce was set for the rest of the day, then Anyka would find something else to occupy herself with. Maybe a walk. Or perhaps some time on the lake.
In a few days, if things went well, Greybone would return with Lady Cynzia, then Anyka would once again have the upper hand. She would convince Lady Cynzia to work her magic and remove the curse that kept Malveaux in the gloom.
Then she’d give Lady Cynzia whatever she wanted in exchange for the power needed to take over Summerton.
Anyka would rule both kingdoms. She would find herself a consort and she would—
“My lady?”
She dropped the last dagger-shaped cookie onto the baking sheet and looked at Wyett. “Yes? What is it?”
“Hawke Wickthorne has requested an audience with you. He says he has something he wishes to discuss with you.”
It wasn’t a dalliance with Felyx, but it was something. She nodded. “This should be done in less than an hour. Tell him to come to the royal apartment before dinner to talk, then he can escort me to the dining hall and share my table.”
“As you wish.” Wyett bowed and left.
She tried to remember what Hawke Wickthorne looked like, but she could only picture the Minister of Defense, old Bard Kilwin, not the Vice-Minister. Kilwin was a crusty, hunch-backed war hound who had once excelled at his job but now was apparently too infirm to travel to Willow Hall.
Seemed to her that also made him too infirm to hold onto his position, but as there was little call for defense these days, she wasn’t overly worried about that. Although she wondered if that might not be about to change. Probably a good idea to see what Wickthorne had to say. There could be a promotion coming his way. She needed to know that he was capable of such an advancement.
Felyx directed them to place their baking sheets into one of the ovens and set their timers. The cookies were to be lightly golden brown, a process he claimed would take eight to ten minutes. She put her sheet into an oven, then returned to her workstation and turned over the small hourglass that had been provided with the other baking implements.
How could cookies only take eight to ten minutes? She would have assumed it would be more like an hour, but what did she know about baking. Frankly, already more than she cared to.
Anyka watched Beatryce. She was chatting with a few other young women near the ovens. They were all smiling and laughing. Anyka wondered how much of that was genuine and how much was because Beatryce was royal. Would any of them dare contradict her? Anyka doubted it.
Perhaps it was cynical, but it was a rare individual who didn’t fawn over a superior.
She waited out the timer, slipping on thick mitts to take her baking sheet from the oven. She brought it back to her workstation, where she turned the sand timer over again as Felyx had instructed. When it was done, the cookies would be cool enough to taste. As much as she was ready to return to her quarters, she was curious about the cookies she’d produced.
Finally, the timer ran out. She used a thin metal spatula to lift one cookie off the sheet. She nibbled the edge, expecting the worst.
It was surprisingly delicious. She had a full bite. Sandy, sweet, lemony and very much like the cookies her royal bakers produced. Anyka had impressed herself. Still, it wasn’t something she ever planned to do again.
A cookie would be a rather ingenious way of delivering a lethal dose of poison. Something to ponder, certainly.
She placed her cookies carefully into one of the provided tins, sealed it, then bid Beatryce goodbye. Anyka approached Trog, opening the tin. She took one cookie out and handed it to him. “Here. Try it.”
He held the cookie carefully between his enormous thumb and pointer finger. In his grasp, the dagger looked more like a hat pin. He took a bite, chewing carefully. His brows knit together. “Is good.”
“Of course it is,” she said, resealing the tin. “I made it.”
She strode off, leaving him to follow.
She spent the rest of the afternoon in the bath, floating, relaxing, reading a book from the mortal world about a rare, remarkable human, Lucrezia Borgia. Such an inspiration, for a human.
When she finished in the bath, she had her hair dried, oiled, and styled in the same half warhawk. She dressed for dinner in her gown of deep teal dragon skin adorned with silver filigree, tourmalines, and trillianites with a suite of jewelry to match, including a more elaborate circlet that was ornate enough to nearly be considered a crown.
Wyett arrived, and eyes averted, despite the fact that she was fully dressed. “My lady, a letter has been delivered for you from Queen Sparrow.”
“Is that so? Read it to me.”
“As you wish, my lady.” Wyett cleared his throat as he broke the wax seal. “Dear Queen Anyka. I trust this letter finds you well and enjoying yourself. Willow Hall is truly wonderful, isn’t it? I am writing in regards to the status of Lady Cynzia’s diary. Summerton’s First Professor of Magic found it to be deeply saturated with dangerous magic and, as such, the best place for it, in all of our interests, is tucked safely away in the vaults. Best wishes and I look forward to seeing you at—”
“That stupid woman,” Anyka snarled. “She really thinks I’m going to be all right with that? The dangerous magic in that book is the exact reason I want it back!”
Wyett’s only movement was to nod. “Do you wish to respond?”
“ No .” Anyka glared at him. “I don’t even plan to acknowledge I received that letter. She has a lot of brass if she thinks this matter is over.”
She calmed herself with some time with Galwyn. Sparrow was a fool if she thought that letter had solved anything. What it had done was spur Anyka on even harder. She would get that book back.
Hawke arrived precisely at the time she’d requested, a point in his favor. Wyett ushered the man in and introduced him. “Your highness, may I present Hawke Wickthorne, Vice-Minister of Defense.”
Hawke bowed deeply. “My lady, I am honored to finally meet you.” He straightened, making her look up. He was taller than Wyett, square-jawed, broad-shouldered, and had gleaming amber-gold eyes, a rare trait amongst the Grym that was considered a sign of ancient blood.
He wore midnight blue leather head to toe, with a long sword at his hip, daggers strapped to both biceps, and more tucked into his boots. His dark brown hair was braided at the temples and tied with raven feathers.
He was exceptionally beautiful.
Anyka’s heart constricted at the sight of him, all thoughts about Sparrow and her stupid letter momentarily forgotten. “I’m not sure how we’ve never met before. I’m glad you were able to make the journey to Willow Hall.”
“My lady, I would not have missed the chance to attend you for all the steel in the kingdom.” His hand went to a pouch on his belt. “I have a small gift for you, if that would be acceptable?”
She nodded as she came closer. “It would.”
He smiled as he held out a small, black suede bag. “For you.”
She took it, loosening the ties and emptying the contents onto her palm. A glass vial with another smaller glass vial inside of it, both stoppered with cork that had been dipped in hard wax to create an airtight seal, fell into her hand. The liquid inside the small vial was pale green. She shook her head. “What is it? Perfume?”
He laughed softly. “No, my lady. Venom from a fire-throated toad.”
Anyka gasped. “That’s extraordinarily rare.” Not only rare, but exceptionally expensive, if it could even be found to purchase. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“It was my understanding that poisons were a…hobby of yours.” He frowned. “Was I wrong?”
“No, you weren’t.” She admired the vial. “This is quite a gift.”
He lifted his chin, pleasure clear in his eyes. “And you are quite a queen.”
Anyka inhaled. She wasn’t one to be swayed by false flattery, but Hawke’s gift and words seemed deeply sincere. She returned the vial to its black suede bag, then tucked the pouch into the chatelaine purse at her waist.
She delicately touched his arm, the leather of his sleeve warm under her fingers. “Let us sit and you may tell me what it is you wish to discuss with me. I am eager to hear it.”
He gave her his arm and escorted her to the tall chair by the fire, then took a spot for himself on the couch.
She would have preferred him closer. Where had this man been for so long? How had he never been introduced to her before? Not only was he beautiful, he’d given her a gift that said he not only understood her, but he wanted to please her.
For the first time since the death of her dear Sebastyan, Anyka saw a future for herself in which she was no longer alone.