Chapter 27 - Tea with Wolves
"I really don't want to go."
My voice drifts through the quiet sitting room, soft but stubborn, as I run my fingers slowly along the edge of a length of emerald fabric draped across my lap.
Morning light pours through the tall arched windows, turning the pale stone floors warm gold.
The air smells faintly of lavender from the sachets the maids tuck into the curtains, but the scent is slowly being overtaken by something sharper the smell of fresh thread and newly cut cloth spread across the large oak table beside me.
Bolts of fabric spill across the surface in gentle waves of color deep green, pale cream, warm brown, and soft sky blue. Small silver needles glitter between them, and several sketches I've made lie scattered around the table, their corners weighed down by spools of thread.
Across the room Elias exhales the long, tired sigh of a man who has already heard this complaint far too many times.
"Your Majesty."
His boots shift slightly on the floor as he steps closer, the leather creaking faintly. When I glance up briefly, I see his large arms folded across his chest in the same disapproving stance he's been using for the past ten minutes.
I ignore him.
Instead I lean forward slightly and lift another piece of cloth, examining the stitching with careful focus as if the tiny embroidered vines curling along the hem are matters of national importance.
"I truly don't want to go," I repeat quietly.
Elias pinches the bridge of his nose.
"You have avoided tea with the noble ladies for six weeks." I adjust a needle between my fingers and continue working.
"Seven," I correct.
The room grows very still.
"That," Elias says slowly, "does not make it better."
"I was clarifying."
"Ophelia."The way he says my name carries the exact tone of a father addressing a particularly stubborn daughter. Which is terribly unfair. Because I am not a child.
I am a queen.
A queen who happens to be sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by sewing supplies like a runaway tailor, but still technically a queen.
"I have court duties," I say, threading the needle again.
"You attend court twice a week."
"That is still court."
"The king shortened those sessions specifically so you would have time to socialize."
"That was his decision."
"And you filled that time with farm labor."
"I was helping."
Elias' eyes narrow.
"You were hauling sacks of grain."
"They weren't heavy."
"You are the queen."
"And the farmers appreciated the help."
"That is not the point." I shrug, letting the needle rest for a moment as I smooth the fabric across my knees.
"I like the farms."
That part is entirely true.
The farms smell like wet soil and growing things instead of perfume and politics. The wind moves freely there, carrying the sounds of animals and rustling wheat fields rather than whispers behind fans.
No one watches every word I say.
They simply hand me tools.
Point toward the work that needs doing.
And laugh when I inevitably ruin another dress.
A small smile creeps onto my face as I remember the last visit.
I had insisted I help plant the late barley rows. The earth had been cool beneath my fingers as we pressed the seeds carefully into the ground, row after row under the bright afternoon sun.
My skirts had been ruined before the hour was over.
Elias had nearly fainted.
But the farmers had laughed. The kind of laughter that shakes your shoulders and makes your stomach hurt.
"You spent an entire afternoon digging irrigation trenches," Elias says, pacing slowly across the room now.
"They were flooding."
"You ruined three gowns."
"They were ugly gowns."
"You climbed onto a wagon carrying hay."
"It looked fun."
"You nearly fell off."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I was balancing." Elias stops pacing and turns to stare at me.
"You are avoiding the nobles."
"I am interacting with the people of the kingdom."
"By shoveling manure."
"They needed help."
"You are the queen."
"Someone has to help them. The king governs the kingdom. He cannot do everything himself."
"That is not your responsibility."
"so ."
Elias exhales slowly, like a man reminding himself not to strangle royalty.
"You also visited the orphanage four times this week."My head lifts immediately.
"They're wonderful."
"They have begun calling you by your name."
"They're children."
"They run toward you when you arrive."
"They're excited."
"They send you letters."
My gaze drifts toward the large wooden chest in the corner of the room.
The lid barely closes anymore.
Colorful drawings spill from inside crayon suns, crooked houses, stick figures labeled Queen Ophelia in careful, uneven handwriting.
There are tiny carved animals.
Dried flowers.
Folded paper crowns.
"They worked very hard on those," I say softly.
"They send something almost every day."
"One child mailed you a frog."
"That frog had excellent manners."
"You kept it."
"yes."
"It a frog."
"It was a polite frog."
Elias drags one hand down his face.
"The noble ladies believe you are avoiding them intentionally."
"They are very observant."
"They are starting to whisper."
"And."
"They believe you dislike them." I glance back down at the embroidery in my lap.
"They're not wrong."
Elias groans.
"You cannot say that."
"Why not?"
"Because diplomacy exists." The words leave Elias with the heavy patience of someone who has already repeated them several times this morning.
"They hated me before they met me," I reply quietly.
Elias sighs again, the sound heavy enough to suggest his patience is thinning with every passing moment. His boots shift against the stone floor as he walks a slow circle around the room, his arms folded across his chest in the same disapproving posture.
"That is speculation," he says.
"They hated the idea of me."
"That is politics."
"They hate everything I do."
"They do not hate—"
"They hate that I visit the farms," I continue calmly, not even glancing up from the cloth in my lap. "They hate that I spend time at the orphanage. They hate that I changed the maid uniforms. They hate that I read instead of gossiping about who wore which jewels to which banquet."
Elias stops pacing and simply stares at me.
"You are being stubborn."
"I am being honest."
"You are avoiding them."
"I am prioritizing other duties."
"You are hiding."
"I am choosing better company."
The sunlight glints off the threads as I pull one loose strand from the edge of the fabric. I wind it slowly around my finger, enjoying the quiet moment even though Elias continues to loom near the doorway like an increasingly frustrated guardian.
The room itself is peaceful, too peaceful perhaps.
The soft breeze slipping through the open windows carries the distant sounds of palace life: faint footsteps along the corridor outside, muffled voices echoing somewhere down the hall, and the occasional clink of armor from passing guards.
It feels like a small world tucked safely away from the politics waiting beyond the door.
Unfortunately, Elias is determined to drag me back into that world.
"You cannot keep doing this," he says finally.
"I can try."
He pauses, studying me carefully. I can almost see the exact moment he decides patience is no longer enough.
"If you continue refusing to attend tea," he says slowly, "I will report to the king that you are deliberately avoiding your royal responsibilities."
The threat hangs between us like a weight dropped onto the table.
I blink.
Then I smile.
The expression spreads slowly across my face before I can stop it, a small laugh escaping my throat as I lower the fabric onto the pile beside me.
Elias's eyes narrow immediately.
"You're going to report me to the king?" I ask, trying unsuccessfully to suppress the amusement creeping into my voice.
"Yes."
"And you believe he will take your side?"
"Of course."
The laugh escapes before I can stop it this time, warm and genuine, echoing faintly around the quiet room.
Elias' expression grows darker.
"You find this amusing."
"Very."
"Why?"
I lean back slightly against the table behind me, tilting my head as I study him with obvious amusement. "How do you think my escaping skills are getting so good?" The silence that follows is immediate.
Elias freezes.
For several seconds, he simply looks at me, his expression slowly shifting from irritation to confusion, then to something that looks dangerously like realization.
"...Ophelia," he says carefully.
"Yes?"
"...what exactly do you mean by that?"
I pick up another strip of cloth and begin folding it neatly between my fingers, giving myself something to do while I avoid answering too quickly.
"Oh, nothing important."
His eyes narrow further.
"Ophelia."
"Yes?"
"Answer the question."
I shrug lightly, still folding the fabric.
"I'm resourceful."
"You vanished from tea three separate times."
"Four."
"You disappeared from a garden reception."
"There were too many peacocks."
"You climbed a tree."
"It was very climbable."
"You escaped through the servant tunnels."
"They were conveniently located."
"You scaled the garden wall."
"That wall was shorter than expected."
Elias stares at me with growing suspicion.
Slowly, deliberately, he asks the question that has clearly begun forming in his mind.
"...Has the king been helping you?" My smile returns immediately. This time I do not bother hiding it.
"That," I say sweetly, "is between me and my husband." The word husband lands in the middle of the room like a stone dropped into still water. Elias' eyebrows shoot upward.
"Since when," he asks slowly, "did you and the king begin keeping secrets?" I lift one shoulder in a small shrug.
"We talk."
"You talk."
"Yes."
"You and the king."
"Yes."
"You have conversations."
"Occasionally."
Elias looks at me like he is attempting to reconstruct the entire world from scratch.
"You barely spoke for weeks."
"We were adjusting."
"Adjusting to what?"
"Marriage."
Elias drags a hand down his face as though trying to erase the image entirely. "You are telling me," he says slowly, "that the most feared man in this kingdom has been secretly helping his wife sneak out of noble gatherings." I consider that statement thoughtfully before nodding.
"Sometimes."
Elias looks toward the ceiling like a man begging the gods for strength.
"Why?"
"Well," I say, tilting my head slightly, "he finds it funny." The answer clearly does not help. Elias stares at me in complete disbelief.
"He finds this amusing."
"Yes."
Elias exhales slowly, the sound halfway between a groan and a prayer.
"You are going to be the death of me."
I stand slowly, brushing loose threads from my skirt before smoothing the fabric across my hips. The scattered sewing supplies remain behind me like the evidence of a peaceful morning now abruptly ending.
"Besides," I add lightly.
Elias looks at me warily.
"What?"
"If you report me..."
"Yes?"
He shakes his head slowly as he walks toward the door.
"I guard a queen who climbs trees, escapes palace walls, and conspires with the king."
"It has been a productive few weeks."
"You are still going to tea."
I sigh quietly.
"sureeeeee."
"And you will stay."
"I make no promises."
"You will speak to them."
"I will attempt diplomacy."
"You will not escape through the gardens."
"No promises."
"Ophelia."
"Fine."