CHAPTER 7
Keenan
Before Master Elias took him in, a hot bath was nothing but a tale that Mama told with longing in her voice. Afterward, it was an infrequent luxury; they only had time to heat the water on rest days, and Keenan rarely had the patience to wait.
Thank the heavens for the castle staff.
Lowering himself into the tub, he sighed as the relative heat of the lukewarm water soaked into his frigid skin. The woolen blanket had contained his body heat, but he wasn’t putting off as much as usual.
It was glorious to be warm again.
Beyond the curtain surrounding the tub, light footsteps and shuffling papers told him the nurse was lingering nearby. She was afraid he would faint or start bleeding again or—something.
Maybe die from embarrassment if the queen or princess returned? Based on the nurse’s shock, their appearance at his bedside was as unexpected as he thought. As was the queen’s ready agreement to look for Oliver and Liesl.
Especially after Keenan showered her daughter with tea. That had been in his mouth.
Groaning, he dropped his head against the copper ledge and sank lower in the water. Of all the first impressions he could make on a beautiful woman, let alone a princess, he had to choose spitting on her and then treating her to his colorful language.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t be around long enough to worry about it.
Queen Arisa had promised to send her men to find his friends, even though he hadn’t been very helpful since he didn’t know which direction Liesl had run.
He didn’t even know which direction he had run.
But with men familiar with the mountain range searching, surely he would know something soon.
Right?
Keenan leaned forward, dunking his head for a moment before resurfacing. If Liesl hadn’t escaped the bandits, or if she hadn’t found someplace warm to wait out the storm…
He pressed his palms to his forehead, water from his hair dripping into his eyes as his mother’s cry of pain echoed in his ears. He hadn’t been able to save Mama. He couldn’t fail another young woman, too.
~
The sitting room was larger than the set of rooms he’d lived in with his parents. And the mirror of a dressing room was visible through a door in one wall, beyond which must be the bedroom where someone had stowed his travel bag.
Keenan hesitated in the doorway, gaping at his temporary living space.
He’d never been inside the castle in Hartford; Princess Arabella always picked up her orders at his market stall, and the nobles who purchased his weapons sent servants if they were too busy to come themselves.
He’d rarely made deliveries to their fancy homes.
But as he took in the finery of the room before him, he felt certain this was a room reserved for important guests. Not a stray who wandered in by accident.
“Are you sure this is the correct room?” he finally managed, turning to give his guide a wrinkled smile. He gestured to his travel-worn outfit. “I don’t quite match.”
“This is the suite Queen Arisa ordered for you, sir,” the maid quietly replied. “You’ll find a selection of clean clothes in the wardrobe.”
“Come again?” Pulling his eyebrows together, he rubbed his chin with one hand as he examined the maid and her downcast eyes. “I’m a simple weapon-smith. And I brought my own clothes.”
She peeked up at him. “It is the queen’s wish that you be suitably dressed for dinner. A footman will arrive soon to assist you.”
Then without waiting for his response, she spun and trotted off down the hallway.
Shaking his head, Keenan finally stepped into the suite. First the bandits that wouldn’t fight, then a pursuit that ended without his capture. The fortunate appearance of the castle walls while he stumbled through the trees, followed by an accommodating queen and a room fit for a prince.
This was quickly becoming the strangest day of his life.
He pulled open the closet door, frowning at the flashy outfits inside. His calloused fingers snagged the soft fabrics, and he didn’t have to try them on to see that the shirts clearly weren’t broad enough to fit his shoulders properly, while the trouser legs were a little long.
Great. He was going to look like a peacock with a poor tailor.
A knock rang through the room while he was struggling to fasten the buttons on the cuffs. Who designed these crazy things? “Come in.”
“Good evening.” A footman opened the door and bowed to him, then crossed swiftly to his side. “Do you need assistance?”
Keenan raised his arm. “Buttons don’t belong on shirts in my world.”
“As long as you’re here, they do.” Chuckling, the footman grasped the recalcitrant sleeve and pulled the ends together. “But this doesn’t quite reach, does it?”
“I won’t tell you that it does.” The fabric pinched his wrist, making him wince. “What’s your name?”
“Saito.” The footman fought the garment a little longer, then dropped it, frowning. “I’ll arrange for these to be altered, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be less than perfect for the queen tonight. I’m sure she would prefer for you to maintain the use of your hands.”
He didn’t sound like he believed it, though.
Once Saito had made Keenan’s appearance as polished as it could be under the circumstances, he led Keenan out into the hall.
As they walked, Keenan worked a finger under his collar and tugged.
If this would help him recover Liesl, he’d do it.
But in the meantime, his borrowed clothes were trying to strangle him.
“Ah, Keenan. Welcome,” a smooth voice greeted as he stepped through the dining room door. “I am pleased to see you looking better than the last time we met.”
Dragging his eyes from the crystal chandeliers, Keenan dropped into a deep bow.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” His voice echoed in the large space, only somewhat dampened by the tapestries adorning the walls.
He eyed the long wooden table running down the center of the room.
Dozens of empty chairs lined the sides. “Am I early?”
Queen Arisa smiled and beckoned him toward the end where she and the princess sat. “No, of course not. The winter castle doesn’t host many guests these days; it will only be the three of us tonight.”
“The—three? Of us?” he echoed. Looking closer, he realized that most of the dishes on the table were serving dishes. Only three places were set: the queen’s at the head, the princess’s at her right, and an empty one at her left. To which Queen Arisa was waving an inviting hand.
Keenan glanced over at the princess, but she was watching something on the far side of the room. Swallowing, he stepped up to the chair and reached a hand toward it.
A footman sprang forward. The man pulled the chair away from the table without so much as a sound and looked at Keenan expectantly.
Keenan stared back. Had he misunderstood the queen’s intention?
The footman jerked his eyes toward the seat and then back to Keenan. The princess sighed softly, lifting an eyebrow in what he assumed was disdain.
“Sit,” the footman breathed through motionless lips. “I’ll push the chair in under you.”
“I can manage a chair.” Keenan frowned. “Why would I need you to—”
“Just sit,” the princess muttered without looking at him. “Ignorant peasant.”
Whipping his gaze to her, he scowled and jerked the chair out of the footman’s hands. He set it heavily on the floor, dropped onto the cushioned seat, and dragged it forward with his feet, relishing the loud noise it made as it scraped across the stone floor. “I sat. Happy?”
The queen cleared her throat. Keenan’s irritation vanished at the sound. What had he been thinking? Queen Arisa had been incredibly gracious so far, but she could rescind the order to search for his friends if he angered her.
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” he stammered out. He should have said more, but somehow your daughter was infuriating and I was attempting to annoy her didn’t seem like an acceptable explanation for royalty.
A muscle under the princess’s left eye twitched, but Queen Arisa maintained her polite expression. Too polite, perhaps. “May we begin our meal now?”
Surprisingly, the princess looked chastened as well. Her gaze skittered away, her right shoulder rolling back a little. Did that mean she was ashamed of what she’d said? Or only of her part in eliciting his reaction?
The queen flicked a finger. Before Keenan could puzzle out the meaning, three servants stepped forward, uncovered the serving dishes, and began transferring food to the diners’ plates.
Keenan opened his mouth to protest, but the queen raised an eyebrow. He’d already misstepped once tonight. He couldn’t risk upsetting her again.
So even though it galled him to sit and watch someone else serve his food, he snapped his mouth shut and waited quietly.
The dinner was an uncomfortable adventure.
Not only did his untouched drink smell like wine, he had too many pieces of silverware, and the number of plates that the servants whisked away before loading another with food was shocking.
Why make them wash so many extra dishes?
Surely they didn’t eat this way when the entire table was filled with guests?
But watching the queen and her daughter, not to mention the perfect synchronicity of the servants as they performed their dance, he had a feeling this was indeed how they ate every meal, no matter the number of diners.
“You’re very quiet, Keenan,” Queen Arisa mentioned mildly as another dish vanished from their places. “Is there anything you would like to tell us? Or to ask?” Her eyes flicked sideways to her daughter with a hint of slyness. “About Sakura, perhaps?”
The tiara nestled in Princess Sakura’s dark hair twinkled in the light from the chandeliers as she turned to face her mother. A tiny wrinkle formed in her forehead, but she said nothing.
Unsure how to proceed, Keenan wiped his hands along the hem of his waistcoat. “I didn’t expect my conversation would be welcome. I’ve never eaten with royalty before.”