Chapter 12
The darkness of my bed chamber is a welcome distraction from the ripping feeling emanating from my stomach, and I groan in response. I hate this time of the month, and it's even worse that it's happening while Nate is here, and I won't be able to go down to the kitchen later.
Doing anything today is going to be a bad idea.
At least I've had four evenings of uninterrupted baking already, and I should be up and about tomorrow. Even knowing that, it's hard to accept when I know that I only have a limited time with him, and I don't want to waste any of it.
A murmur of voices drifts under the door, and I frown as I consider who it might be. I've already had a message sent to Marion to inform her that I won't be able to take any meetings today, and Betsy isn't the type to talk to herself while she's working.
Someone says something else and I realise I do recognise the voice. Maybe the pain has just made me delirious, because there's no other reason that Nate would be in my rooms.
"Betsy?" I call, sitting up in the bed.
The door to my bed chamber opens, and my lady's maid appears, dipping into a curtsy. "Your Highness."
"What's going on?" I ask.
She clears her throat. "Chef Matthews is here."
My heart skips a beat. He is here. "Help me with my robe."
For a moment, I don't think she's going to do it, but she takes it off the hook and holds it out to me. I put my arms through it, grimacing slightly at the pain in my stomach.
"Would you prefer the bedpan or the hot water bottle?" she asks me.
I consider it for a moment. I'm not particularly fond of the smell of the new hot water bottle design that's recently made its way into use, but it does have the advantage of being held against my stomach, and that is preferable to the bedpan that isn't as comfortable. "Perhaps both?"
"Of course, Your Highness," she responds as she gives me a once-over to check that I'm presentable.
"Thank you." I tie a bow at my waist, satisfied that I'm covered. It wouldn't be deemed appropriate for me to leave my rooms wearing it, but meeting with someone I've been friends with for over fifteen years, in my living space, is different.
I make my way through to my sitting room, smiling when I see Nate crouching by the fire and talking to Ember.
They certainly seem to be getting on better now that he's spent the last few days giving her food while she watches the two of us from the top of the oven.
One day, I'm going to successfully teach her how to help me bake, but it doesn't seem like that's going to happen any time soon.
Nate looks up when he hears me enter, and gets to his feet. He offers me a smile that makes my heart warmer than anything Betsy can put in my bed.
"Good afternoon," I say, making my way to one of the chairs, and noticing a tray waiting on the low table. "Did my maid send for tea?"
He shakes his head. "I brought it."
"Thank you, that's very thoughtful." And I appreciate that I'm going to be able to spend time with him.
"I recently learned that Gravin Johanna suffers similarly with her monthly courses," Nate says. "She always orders this tisane, so I thought it might help you too."
"Oh." I look at the steam rising from the teapot.
There are too many thoughts racing through my head for me to pick which one to go with.
The fact that he remembers that I suffer badly at this time of the month goes beyond what I expect, but there's also the fact that this tea might help me, and that makes me want to drink down the entire teapot's worth in a very unprincesslike amount of time.
"You don't have to drink it if you don't want to," he says quickly when I don't respond beyond the one word.
"I do," I correct quickly.
He heads over to take a seat beside me and picks up the pot, pouring some of it into a cup. He's about to set it down when he pauses and pours a splash into a second cup.
"What are you doing?" As far as I know, he's not likely to be plagued by the same affliction as I am.
"Proving it isn't poisoned," he responds, picking it up and taking a sip.
"You don't have to do that. I know you're not going to poison me."
He shrugs. "Maybe I've changed over the past five years."
"I'm sure things about you have," I respond. "And things about me have."
"But not the one day a month you refuse to talk to anyone." He says it with a lot of affection, more than I should probably deserve, considering how snappy I can get when I have to deal with pain.
"We both know it's better for everyone if I don't. I'd like to think my filter has gotten better over the years, but the pain makes it impossible to remember that I'm not supposed to just say what I'm thinking.
" As if my body knows what we're talking about, a hard cramp spreads through my stomach.
"Argh. This tisane better be magic," I mutter.
Nate laughs and takes a sip from his cup. "Well, I'm not keeling over dead."
"Always a good sign." I take a sip of my own.
It's herby and I can't say I'm a huge fan of the taste, but it's not the worst thing I've ever tasted, and if it works to help against the pain, then it might be worth it.
The warmth settling in my stomach is enough to already help a little bit, though I think some of that is also coming from Nate's thoughtfulness.
"I also brought some truffles," he says. "I made them for you when your private secretary said you were indisposed for the tasting session for the banquet."
I swallow hard. "You made them for me?"
He clears his throat. "Yes. I remember that time when we were, what, sixteen? You ate a whole box of chocolates while locked in your room for the day, and made yourself sick."
I laugh. "I did. You'd have thought that would put me off them."
"No, I wouldn't. I know how you feel about the textures of things. Once you find one you like, nothing will put you off. Even eating too many of them in one go."
It's impossible to ignore the fuzziness which is growing in response to his words. He knows me better than anyone, and it's nice to have a reminder that the time away from one another hasn't changed that.
"I think you'll like these better, though," he says. "I learned the recipe in Gaullesse from a man who claimed to have learned it from the chef who invented them."
I raise an eyebrow. "You don't believe him?"
"I have no reason not to believe him, but people are always saying that they learned from important people, so it's hard to know who is telling the truth and who isn't."
"Ah, fair enough."
"But it doesn't matter if it's true or not. The recipe is good. As soon as he told me it, I knew you'd love it because of the hazelnuts."
My eyes widen. "I do love hazelnuts."
"I know." The way he looks at me reminds me of how things were before he left, and it settles something inside me.
"I appreciate it."
"I would have sent you some with a letter, but I didn't know how the chocolate would travel. So I've been holding off until I was able to make them for you myself. At the time, I thought I'd be back in a matter of months." There's a sadness in his voice that even I can't miss.
"You're here now," I whisper, not adding the reality that we both know. He's going to leave again, and it's going to break my heart to watch him go, probably even more than the first time.
To distract myself, I pick up one of the truffles and take a bite. My teeth sink through it, and the sweet-bitter taste of chocolate fills my mouth, followed by something creamier in the centre.
"That's really good," I say to Nate.
"Thank you." His face glows at my praise.
"Maybe a little more salt, though."
He laughs. "I've missed your critique of my recipes."
I wrinkle my nose. "I'll understand if you haven't." I hold out the box for him so he can take one himself.
"I mean it, Evie," he promises as he takes one. "It's not been the same without getting you to try things." He bites into the truffle.
"It's not been the same baking without you," I admit.
"And you're right, these could use more salt."
"I'd say I'm always right, but you know that's not true."
He laughs. "I'm not supposed to tell a princess that she's wrong."
"I don't have to be a princess around you," I point out. "It's one of the things I love the most about spending time with you."
Something strange crosses his face, but I don't know what it means, or what it's in response to.
"I'd have thought getting to bake would be the thing you loved the most." The way he says it makes it seem as if it's a question, but I can't work out how. And that's not very like Nate. He knows that I like things to be direct, so I don't misunderstand them.
"Maybe at the beginning," I respond honestly.
He looks at me as if he wants to say something, but I can't tell what it is either. I'm not doing very well at that today.
"You're going to have to say what you're thinking, or I'm not going to be able to know what you mean," I say.
"I don't know if I want to ask you what the thing you love the most about baking with me is," he admits.
"You," I respond without a moment's hesitation. "You make me feel safe, Nate. When we're in the kitchen together, or even when we're here, I feel like I can be myself. That's just not something I can do around anyone else. Veronica and Artie are understanding, but it's not the same."
"I'm glad you feel that way," he says. "I want you to feel that way around me."
"I do." I reach out and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. "And I'm glad you're here today, it means a lot to me. Though I hope I'm not taking you away from anything too important."
He chuckles. "The advantage of being the chef of a visiting delegation is that I don't have nearly as much to do as normal until they arrive. Afternoon calls on princesses can be part of that."
"I'd hope you're only making calls on one princess."
"You know I am." The way he smiles makes it clear that it's true.
Despite the discomfort in my stomach, this is a good day. One that I'm going to think fondly of next month when I lock myself away from the world and don't have Nate bringing me truffles and tea.