Chapter 16 Kieran
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KIERAN
Iwoke to humming.
For a moment, I lay in bed, my eyes closed, savoring the melody that drifted down from the tower. Cyrene had the sweetest voice. It wove through the morning air like a spell. My bed was empty beside me, the sheets cool where she’d slept, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
Last night had changed everything. The way she’d looked at me, touched me, and said my name. As if I were important to her, special. Not someone to fear. To her, I was Kieran, not the vampire king.
I stretched, feeling lighter than I had in years. The bond between us buzzed contentedly, letting me sense her somewhere above, working in her tower room. Happy. Safe.
Mine.
The thought sent a rush of possessive warmth through me. Not mine as in owned but mine to protect, to cherish, to make smile every day for the rest of our lives if she’d let me.
After bathing, I dressed quickly, skipping my usual formal clothing for a simple light blue shirt and darker blue pants. No crown, no royal insignia. Today I didn’t want to be a king. I just wanted to be a man who pleased his wife. Who made her breakfast.
The kitchen staff froze again when I walked in, their eyes widening comically. One of the assistants actually dropped the empty pan she was carrying, and it clattered on the floor.
“Your Majesty.” She snatched up the pan. “Is something wrong?”
I smiled, which only seemed to alarm her further. “Not one thing. I’d like to cook breakfast for the queen.”
Silence fell so completely I could hear the bubbling of pots on the stove. Five pairs of eyes stared at me like I’d announced a plan to dance naked through the castle.
“You truly want to cook?” the head cook asked carefully, as if she needed to confirm I hadn’t suffered a head injury.
“Is that so shocking?” I asked, rolling up my sleeves.
A young kitchen boy snorted before clapping a hand over his mouth. The head cook shot him a glare before turning back to me.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, in the six years you’ve been king, these past few days are the only times you’ve entered the kitchens. And now, multiple days in a row, you want to cook?”
I shrugged. “What’s wrong with wishing to please my wife?”
“Oh, nothing.” Color filled her face. “I wish all men felt the same.”
The other women nodded.
“Would you be willing to help me?” I said, hoping the offer would put them at ease. “I want to get this right.”
The tension broke as several staff members smothered laughs. The head cook’s weathered face softened into something almost maternal.
“What did you have in mind for Her Majesty?” she asked.
“Something she’d like.” I had only a few ideas of what that might be. She’d eaten whatever was served without comment. Had she been silently enduring food she disliked? The thought bothered me.
Her eyes twinkled. “The queen is particularly fond of berry tartlets. She visits the kitchens often, Your Majesty.” She sounded quite proud of that.
“What else does she like for breakfast?”
“Honey in her tea instead of sugar. Apples sliced thin, not wedges. For breakfast, she prefers her eggs cooked until the whites are just set but the yolks remain soft.” The head cook ticked the items off on her fingers.
“Oh, and she loves her bread toasted almost to the point of burning. Said she loves crunchy things.”
Each detail was a revelation, small pieces of Cyrene I eagerly absorbed. I’d been so focused on keeping her safe and on navigating our arrangement, that I’d failed to observe the simple preferences that made her who she was. I’d fix that now.
“Tell me everything.” I leaned against the counter. “I want to know what she likes, not only breakfast items.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you feeling well, Your Majesty?”
“Extraordinarily well. Better than I have in years.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “I see.”
“What do you see?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing that isn’t written all over your face, sire.” She turned, issuing brisk orders to her staff before facing me again. “We’ll make her a proper breakfast together.”
For the next half hour, I learned more about my wife from my kitchen staff than I had in all our conversations.
She hummed while eating things she enjoyed.
She had a weakness for sweets but would always choose fruit if given the option.
When especially pleased with a meal, she would feed small bits to Quandary from her fingers, though she thought no one noticed.
Each new fact was a treasure I hoarded as tightly as my dragon king friend, Raoul, collected jewelry.
“She likes it when the flowers on her breakfast tray face east,” said the youngest cook. “Says it helps them greet the sun properly.”
I filed that away with all the rest.
When the tray was finally prepared with berry tartlets, soft-cooked eggs, sliced apples arranged in a spiral, and tea with honey, I studied the tray, eager to bring it to Cyrene. The head cook placed a small purple flower on the eastern edge of the tray with a wink.
“Thank you,” I said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
Her eyes sparkled. “You’re very welcome.” She paused, then leaned closer, lowering her voice, though the rest of the staff scooted near, eager to hear every word. “The queen speaks highly of you. Never fear her affection.”
The other staff nodded.
“Again, thank you.”
I was still smiling as I carried the tray through the castle corridors. Several courtiers stopped mid-conversation when they saw me, their expressions a mixture of shock and speculation. They must wonder what had changed.
But I was done hiding how I felt about Cyrene.
I started singing the tune she’d been humming earlier. The notes felt strange on my tongue, too bright for the solemn halls I’d inherited, but somehow right all the same. When I passed my Uncle Prentiss in the eastern corridor, his jaw dropped.
“Are you…singing?” he asked, as if I’d grown a second head.
“Yes I am,” I said. “I can sing louder if you’d like.”
He took a step back. “Who are you and what have you done with my nephew?”
I laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Perhaps I’ve been enchanted. Bewitched by a joy witch.”
“You’re…joking.” He squinted at me. “You never joke.”
“Apparently I do now.” I continued down the hall, calling over my shoulder. “You should try it sometime, Uncle. It’s quite liberating.”
I left him staring after me, probably wondering if I’d lost my mind. Perhaps I had. Or perhaps I’d finally found it, after years of ruling with only half my soul intact.
The spiral staircase to Cyrene’s tower provided a challenge with the breakfast tray, but I managed without spilling. Her humming grew louder as I climbed, punctuated by what sounded like muttered curses and the occasional rustle of pages turning.
When I reached the doorway, I paused, watching her.
She stood at the workbench, her hair loose around her shoulders and spiraling down her back, dressed in a peach-colored gown that made her look absolutely gorgeous.
Golden light danced from her fingertips as she attempted a spell, her nose scrunched in concentration.
Quandary perched nearby, watching with what I swore was amusement as a small potted plant danced across the tabletop.
“I don’t think plants are meant to do that,” I said, stepping into the room.
Cyrene jumped, spinning toward me. The plant did an enthusiastic twirl and promptly fell onto its side, soil spilling across the table.
“Kieran.” Her cheeks flushed a lovely pink. “I didn’t hear you come up.”
“I brought breakfast.” I held up the tray like an offering.
Her eyes widened. “You brought me breakfast again? Personally?”
“I even helped prepare it.” I set the tray on a clear space at the table placed in front of a window. “The head cook was quite helpful.”
She blinked, and a slow smile spread across her face, warming me from the inside out. “Again, this is quite sweet of you. You know you don’t need to keep doing this for me. I can go to the kitchen myself.”
“I like doing it.”
“Yes, but the kitchens?” She laughed, the sound making my heart skip. “You’re the king.”
“And you’re the queen, yet you also visit the kitchen.”
Her gaze darted from mine. “They’re nice there.”
And those living inside the castle were not. I would fix that, and soon.
I pulled a chair out for her.
She sat, and I took the seat across from her. Quandary immediately abandoned his perch to fly over to the windowsill, eyeing the tray suspiciously.
“Did you poison it?” Cyrene asked, her eyes twinkling with humor.
“Only with my charming company.”
She rolled her eyes and picked up a tartlet. “Then I accept my fate.”
I watched, entranced, as she bit into the pastry. A small noise of pleasure escaped her throat, and satisfaction surged through me. I’d done that. I’d made her happy, if only for a moment.
“Good?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Mmm.” She swallowed. “Exactly how I like them. Did you tell the kitchens, or…?”
“You’ve made quite an impression on my staff. They know many of your preferences. The way you take your tea, how you like your eggs, even which direction the flowers should face.”
She glanced at the purple blossom, positioned perfectly to catch the morning light.
I said. “I should have been paying more attention.”
She shook her head, reaching across the table to touch my hand. “You’ve had a kingdom to run, Kieran. No one expects you to memorize breakfast preferences.”
“I expect it of myself.” I turned my hand to catch hers. “I want to know everything about you. Not just the important things but the small details too. The ones that make you who you are.”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “Ask me anything.”
“How do you prefer your roast, rare or well-done?”
She blinked, then laughed. “That’s your first question? Not about my magic or my past or my family?”
“Those too,” I said. “But let’s start with the roast.”
“Rare. My mother always cooked it that way, and I can’t eat it any other way now.”