Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Peas.
Of all the things Cedric had prepared Nin for, peas were the last thing on his mind.
Nin dashed out of the room as soon as the king rose to his feet and dismissed everyone. Cedric stared at the empty chair she’d left behind, far longer than he should have. The court did not rush to leave, and he stiffened when a group of noblemen strode past.
“Well, that was certainly entertaining.”
“Perhaps the princess needs more time to recover.”
“Rose Fever can leave the mind delicate, I’ve heard.”
A muscle twinged in Cedric’s jaw as he clenched his teeth.
The whispers followed him into the hall, and a sting of guilt pricked through him every time he heard someone utter her name.
He picked up his pace, head held high, until he reached his quarters.
Pressing his back against the doors, he ran a hand down his face.
Confound it all. This never should have happened.
Cedric wasted no time and slipped through the secret passages. When he knocked on the concealed door, Lucille answered with a grimace. She stepped into the passage, closing the door behind her just as he spied Nin slumped over her bed.
“I won’t allow you to lecture her,” Lucille said firmly. “She’s had enough for one evening. Let her be.”
“I’m not here to lecture. I wanted to speak with her in private,” he said gently.
Lucille eyed him with suspicion. “If you’re hard on the girl, I won’t let you have a peaceful sleep again. I’ll slip bedbugs into your sheets!” she whisper-shouted.
Cedric didn’t doubt she would. “Duly noted.”
Lucille stepped aside, allowing him entrance.
Nin sat on her bed with a handkerchief crumpled in her hands. Her head bowed to avoid looking at him.
“You saw,” she said.
The two words ripped a hollow space in his chest. His mouth tightened, guilt flooding the empty cavity.
“I did,” he admitted softly.
“I failed,” she said, her voice quivering. “You don’t have to remind me. I know that’s what you are going to say.”
Cedric frowned, folding his arms. “Now I know you can’t read minds.”
Her watery eyes peered up at him, her brows pulled together in confusion.
“Because that’s not what I was going to say,” he continued.
Nin sniffed, her nose red and swollen. The makeup was smudged, leaving streaks on her face where tears had fallen.
He took her silence as his cue to continue, pulling one of the chairs to sit before her. “You survived well tonight.”
She snorted, “Is that what you call survival?”
“Yes,” he answered honestly. “It is. You handled that with all the grace I taught you.”
“Don’t mock me,” she said miserably, hiding her face in her hands. “I did terribly.”
“I mean it. Besides, peas are pesky little buggers. They’re round, slick, and nearly impossible to spear with any measure of grace. Half the earls were praying not to chase one across the table.”
Nin glanced up with a faint smile pulling at her lips. “I doubt that.”
“No, believe me. I’ve seen more dukes sweat in that dining room than you think.”
Nin chuckled, shaking her head. She sighed and looked at the crinkled handkerchief in her lap.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to run practices right now, though?”
“No,” he answered her gently. “Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow. But for now, I thought you might enjoy these.”
He revealed the candied oranges he had saved for her, neatly folded in a napkin.
She had been forbidden from eating sweets during her recovery, but preserved citrus was considered a gentle restorative.
Princess Marianne was also not fond of sugary treats, forcing Nin to stay cautious about eating sweets.
But…
Although the dinner hadn’t ended as he had expected, he offered her the fruit anyway.
Her eyes glistened with quiet wonder.
It was the same look of unrestrained delight she wore whenever there were sweeter foods on her plate—an expression so unguarded and pure it pierced through his walls.
She reached for one before pulling her hand back. “But I failed…” she said, looking to the ground.
“No,” he said softly. She glanced up, and her shocked expression stirred a tenderness within him he had not expected. “You did not fail. You are a brave young woman who survived her first formal dinner.”
Nin’s eyes rounded, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
A strange compulsion nearly drove him to wipe away the tear, but he restrained himself, keeping his hand clenched at his side.
When she moved to accept the oranges, her fingers brushed against him for a single heartbeat.
An awareness flickered through him—soft, dangerous—and unwanted.
Retracting his hands, he folded them in his lap, unsettled by how much he wished the contact had lingered a moment longer.
She held the oranges as if they were precious gems. Holding them to her nose, she inhaled softly with a contented sigh.
Tension unraveled in his chest at the sight—of the simple joy radiating from her rosy smile.
Although he couldn’t erase the unfortunate events that occurred this evening, satisfaction warmed his heart for bringing her some measure of happiness.
Somehow along the way, he had become partial to her smiles.
As she ate, the silence pressed in, allowing his thoughts to fester.
The court would remember tonight. They did not forgive accidents—they weaponized them.
Their concern was disguised as politeness, their gossip masked behind fluttering fans.
The more they could point out the flaws within the royal family, the more respect they earned for their attentiveness.
Power came from tearing others apart, and many were eager to climb the ranks.
But he would not allow Nin to go unprotected. He had miscalculated once, but he would do everything in his power to make sure she would never face the wrath of the court alone again.