14. Cora
Cora
In the morning, with a sore ass, I wake earlier than I think I ever have before. I am not surprised to find that the sun is barely up.
I dress myself without calling for Alice and Blanche, still sick at heart over everything that has happened and everything I must confess to.
There’s simply no way I can sit in the great hall for breakfast and make conversation with Prince Jasper with this knowledge weighing on me, so I will not have breakfast with the rest of the court.
However, the activities of the night have left me ravenous. Breakfast is not optional, but neither do I want to call for a tray to be brought up. No matter what I say to the valet, they will tell Alice and Blanche to come to me, and any hope of privacy to think and plan will be lost.
No one has arrived when I leave my rooms. The only person I see as I make my way to the kitchen is one guard who is going off duty. He bows his head before me, but otherwise he does not question me.
Going to the kitchens like this reminds me of my childhood.
When I was a young girl, I would often wake much earlier than my parents.
I thought of it as time that didn’t exist, or existed only for me and the cooks.
No one ever asked anything of me that early in the morning.
There were no lessons or tutors, and no visitors until later, so I was relatively free to wander as I pleased.
I loved going to the kitchens the most. They were warm and already busy despite the early hour.
I could have a slice of the first bread of the morning, perhaps with some jam on it, and I could follow the cook around, asking her a hundred questions and tasting the scraps of food she fed me.
I remember sitting on her worktable—I must have been three or four—and watching her chop vegetables to go in the soup.
It was the cook who taught me the first of my letters.
She drew them in flour on the table and helped me until I could spell my name.
We have a new cook now, a quieter woman who I do not know as well, but she has always been welcoming.
I let out a breath as I get closer to the kitchens.
They are in a level of the castle that is mostly below the ground, though the kitchens themselves are open to a courtyard where the daily deliveries are made.
The smell of bacon frying and freshly baked bread greets me, and I’m so grateful for the familiar scents and sounds of the day starting that tears well in my eyes.
I can’t seem to stop the emotion. I’m drawn to both men.
One who knows my body and offers me all of what I ask.
I could have a life as a queen of my own making.
And another who I could see a future with that would be cherished by more than just me.
I pause outside the great swinging door to blink them away. I do not want to cause alarm among the kitchen staff, or have any of them think they had done something to upset me.
I remember, as I wait for the tears to dry, that my mother used to visit the kitchens far more frequently than I ever did.
I can still hear her laughing at the cook.
Perhaps even apologizing. Why had she done that?
I cannot remember her exact words, though now I badly wish I could.
It would be my guess that she was apologizing for yet another ball running into its second day, making more work for the cook.
But I also remember that the cook never minded. She knew my mother well enough to know that she should order twice as many supplies, and I cannot recall a time when we did not have enough food to feed all the guests or enough wine for them to drink.
My mother loved having everything, and giving it away to anyone she considered a friend or anyone in need. I would love to be as beloved as my mother was. But I know truly, that would require me to marry and for the first time, I can see that happening and I could see myself happy.
With a deep breath, I rest my head against the stone wall and imagine my mother’s laughter.
I wish I could ask her about the situation I’ve found myself in, but I do not know if she would have any advice to give. Even she might be shocked and dismayed. She would still love me though. She would help me out of this mess, I’m sure.
I settle my emotions, and I listen for a moment to make sure that no one is about to come through the door, then push it open and go inside.
It is not the cook, or the kitchen staff, I find waiting for me.
It’s Prince Jasper, dressed for traveling, a basket set out on the table he leans against. I’m struck by how handsome he looks, and struck again by how he knew I was coming down to the kitchen, and yet again by his dress and the basket he—or the cook—has prepared.
“Good morning, Princess,” he says. “I have plans for us this morning. I would like to ride out in the carriage with you.”
I force myself not to wince. I am still sore from last night. Though it is bearable, I do not know how I’ll fare sitting on the bouncing seat of a carriage.
“Where will we go?” I ask, trying to buy time.
“For a ride in the countryside. It will give us more time to get to know each other.”
“Have—” He has already prepared a basket, and there is no doubt it is filled with food. “Have you called the driver?”
“I will drive,” he says with a broad smile.
“Oh,” I say, feigning excitement. “Then we will be riding outside.”
“If you agree to accompany me,” he says. If he can sense anything is off, he does not let on.
“And our chaperone?” I question.
“Surely he will ride beside us or behind us,” he answers easily.
I know that I should tell him now. I should confess to him about the man in the shadows, and what we did together last night.
But Prince Jasper is here. He did not leave.
He came down to the kitchens and made plans for us, and he did not tell anyone else about the gardens or the news would have reached me by now.
I should tell him, and I want to be honest, but I am also afraid that it will enrage him. Perhaps alone is best. Alone and away from others.
I do not have the words ready in my mind. I do not have the courage. So I answer as I should.
“I would love that,” I tell him. “Are we leaving soon, then?”
Although a bit cloudy, it is truly a beautiful day. Unfortunately it does not match my mood. It’s not like a prince to drive a carriage, but Prince Jasper seems quite comfortable with it.
I am less comfortable on the front seat. It is a royal carriage, of course, but the outer seats must stand up to any weather they might encounter, so they are not nearly as plush as the seats inside.
Prince Jasper catches me wincing within the turn from the castle.
“Princess,” he says. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” I lie, and resolve to keep a smile on my face.
When he catches me again, he stops the carriage. “You’re hurt?”
“I’m not! I’m only…I’m only sore. I am not injured.”
“From yesterday,” he surmises and smirks, and I realize after a beat that he assumes I am sore from our encounter in the garden.
I swallow thickly and turn to look out and away from him so he cannot read my expression, for I don’t know what it will tell him.
“We’ll stop then. I didn’t realize.” He quickly changes course. He offers me far too much grace and the words are there on the tip of my tongue, but they get lost in the gallop of the horse behind me. The ever-watching squire.
Prince Jasper insists on helping me out of the carriage, then finds a clear spot in the meadow and arranges several blankets and cushions from the carriage so that I can sit comfortably.
Then he sets out the basket. It’s filled with rolls and cheese and fruits—most of what I had been hoping to eat for breakfast.
Our chaperone is slightly less attentive this morning, he takes the horse to and fro, often giving us much more privacy for a bit of time before returning.
I feel somewhat better when I’ve had something to eat. I’m still searching for something to say when Prince Jasper pops a grape into his mouth and the sound catches my full attention.
“You are an only child, then,” he says. “You do not have any half-siblings?”
The poor fool is still learning who I am. Apparently so am I.
“No, I don’t.” I’m so glad to have the topic of conversation chosen that I probably seem overexcited. “Are you an only child as well?” Before he can answer I catch myself, “You have a—"
“I have a brother,” he states, nodding his head although the light in his eyes fades slightly.
Something shifts in the air between us, and I feel that I may be on more solid ground. I have shared things about myself with him, but he has shared almost nothing with me—aside for his preferences for sailing rather than riding and his filthy mouth.
“Tell me about him,” I suggest gently.
Prince Jasper indulges in a few more grapes first, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “The truth is that I have a brother although we’re almost nothing alike in appearance. Me with light hair and light eyes and him with both dark. We grew up together. We were…very close as children.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t, so I wait a bit longer. “And now?”
“Now, we have both been to war.”
“I didn’t know you fought as well,” I state truly. Both sons fighting in war is almost unheard of.
“We did,” Prince Jasper says, something flashing in his eyes. “It was not right for us to ask other men to go in our places, so we both went to fight. He was…captured. By the enemy. I was not. At first, we thought he had been killed, but later, we discovered that he lived.”
My heart aches at his tone and I’m careful with my words. “You do not sound as if it was a good thing.”
“He suffered,” Prince Jasper says, a flat note in his voice.
“He suffered greatly. It changed him, permanently. After we returned, we fought about which of us should rule. He is older, though only by a few years, and he would have taken the crown. But eventually we agreed that I should be the one to assume the throne. He is…not the same as he once was. It would not be right for him…in his state.”
“But you still have a brother,” I say. “You did not lose your brother, at least?”
“Yes,” he says, pain in his face. “Yes. I have kept my brother.”
When he moves across the blankets to me, I offer my hand to his and squeeze. The gentle touch turns to more as he moves closer.
It’s then the gallop of a horse is heard and we’re quiet a moment and our appearance more polite. We both eat and make idle chat as our squire passes by and the moment he’s out of view, it’s apparent we won’t have much time.
He kisses me more gently than he did in the garden, but that does not last very long.
It’s possible that I am the one to take things further, grabbing at his clothes and kissing him harder.
Lost in emotion and a need to be loved, I deepen the kiss, and he moans against my lips.
Before I know it, I’m on my back on the blankets with my skirts around my waist.
Prince Jasper drinks me in, his eyes raking over my exposed flesh, and he kisses hungrily across my belly before stroking his fingers between my legs.
“You’re so wet,” he says, sounding a bit shocked. “You like to fuck until you’re sore, don’t you? I knew it. My little whore.”
He needs this and so do I. It’s the only thought I have.
I spread my legs for him then, and he wastes no time in undoing his trousers. He gives his cock a possessive stroke, then pushes into me and fucks me hard. I find a way to move my hips to get some contact on my clit, then push my own hand between us.
“Yes,” Prince Jasper hisses. He whispers against my neck, “So fucking good for me. My good little whore.” The pleasure builds with every touch and every thrust.
I bite down on my lip, trying not to make any noise, and Jasper kisses me until my mouth is open again.
“Bite down on me when you come,” he orders, and I do. I come while he is fucking me like my body is his to use, my teeth sinking into his shoulder and muffling the cries of my pleasure, and he comes soon after, driving into me with deep groans that sound like they would be painful to hold in.
We lie together on the blankets for several minutes, and then Prince Jasper sits up and begins putting me back together.
He offers me some grapes from the basket, and I eat them while he readies himself.
The gallop of a horse is heard a moment later in the distance and Jasper gives me that cocky smirk.
“You look ravishing Princess, but he’ll never know. ”
“I—” Another thought has come to me, and I cannot believe it did not occur to me earlier. “I have taken nothing to prevent conception.”
Prince Jasper moves across the blanket and kisses me as if nothing is wrong. “Do not worry, Princess. It won’t be a problem.”
I want to believe him, but as we ride back to the castle in the carriage, I know it very well might be a problem.
There is a second problem as well. I have not told him about my secret lover. And now, hearing his story about the war, I don’t want to.