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“How often did you and your mother have baking days?” Theresa asked. She was at the stove, stirring the wine mixture for the darioles while I worked on the pastry for the shells at a floured section of the marble countertop. The leavening for the échaudés was rising off to the side of my workstation.
“Only once or twice a year,” I replied, turning out the ball of pastry dough and picking up a rolling pin. “We’d set a day with Mrs. Stotts, so we’d have two of everything to work with, and we’d make cakes, pies, and cookies, mostly. Nothing fancy like this.”
“My family’s tastes are pretty simple, too. I’d never even heard of darioles until I started working here.”
“You two look like you’re having fun.”
The interruption of that silvery voice made my heart leap in my chest. “Nokto!” I exclaimed, dropping the rolling pin with a clatter and spinning away from the dough to run across the room and hug him.
“Ivetta-” he protested, his entire body tensing when I threw my arms around him. Then he sighed and relaxed, wrapping his arms around me, too. “You don’t have to act so surprised. I wasn’t dying.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said, giving him a light squeeze. “I’m relieved. You were really sick.”
“Good to see you’re not dead, Nokto,” Theresa said. “Ivetta, this is about ready to boil.”
“Oh, I need to roll the dough out,” I said, releasing Nokto at Theresa’s reminder, but I stopped to study his face first. Although he was still unnaturally pale, his crimson eyes were bright and smiling with the lazy curve of his lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Not dead,” he said, taking me by the shoulder and turning me around. “Go roll out your dough.”
“Okay, but you should sit down,” I told him, sending a worried glance back at him as he followed me to the abandoned rolling pin.
“I won’t be here that long,” he replied. “New dress?”
“Oh, uh, yes,” I said, looking down at it. The white apron I wore covered most of the front, but Nokto had a clear view of the dark green fabric from the back. It was soft, light, and immensely more comfortable than any of my fancy princess gowns. “Theresa and Belle gave it to me.”
“It was supposed to be a present for after the engagement ceremony, but I thought she needed a pick-me-up,” Theresa volunteered. “How’s everything going with…you know?”
Nokto leaned his hip against the counter next to me, crossed his arms over his chest, and shrugged. “Fine. What are you two making?”
“Right now, darioles,” I said, unwilling to press him about his evasive answer. “We already started échaudés, and I’m hoping it’s hot enough that they’ll be ready by evening, but we’re also making beignets, a strawberry tart, honey cake, and for dinner, meatloaf.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re something else, Ivetta. I’ll spread the word, but don’t expect to see everybody. Luke’s still in Benitoite, Jin and Licht are out, and Chevalier and Clavis are…” He shrugged again and pushed off from the counter. “We’re all busy.”
“Oh, before you go,” I said, stopping him. “Do you, um…” I glanced over at Theresa at the stove. Her green eyes met mine with a question. “Do you remember what you said last night? When you had a fever?”
He frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I wanted to ask you about that.”
“So…you don’t remember.”
He shook his head.
I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “We’ll have to talk about it later.”
Theresa groaned in exasperation. “I can keep a secret, Ivetta.”
“It’s not that, it’s just…it’s personal,” I told her. “Maybe after all this is over?” I asked Nokto.
He nodded and walked away. “Yeah, sure. Don’t work too hard.”
“The same to you,” I called after him.
The afternoon passed quickly as Theresa and I turned out dessert after dessert. She kept up a steady stream of light, cheerful conversation, which I followed gladly, too busy recounting things like my first baking disaster to worry about the happenings elsewhere in the palace. Leon stopped by for a few minutes to grab a few darioles, hot and fresh from the oven, and Yves dropped in about an hour later to test the beignets. As Nokto warned me, they were the only ones I saw. I didn’t want to think about what Jin, Chevalier, Clavis, and Licht might be doing. And Luke…
His absence had nothing to do with the attempt on my life, so he was a safe topic of discussion with Theresa.
I still didn’t understand what he saw in Arianna. The revelation that she’d said some very nasty things to me at the start of the coronation ball hadn’t stopped him from pursuing her. He’d apologized to me on her behalf after confronting her about it, saying she wasn’t usually like that and she wanted to apologize in person the next time we saw each other. I wondered how he could say what she was and wasn’t usually like when he’d only known her for just under a month. But if this was a passing infatuation, it hadn’t run its course yet, and Sariel, at least, approved. For the first time since Luke came to the palace, he was attending his lessons of his volition, not just to keep me company, and he was putting in a lot of work toward becoming more prince-like. He still climbed trees, dressed informally, and had the same winning, boyish personality, though, which made me feel a little better about everything. He said Arianna liked how different he was from the other princes. I just hoped she wasn’t leading him on simply for the novelty of being with a commoner-turned-prince, because his heart was in this relationship. If hers wasn’t…
Well, I couldn’t say I really knew her, either. One brief encounter certainly wasn’t enough to get to know somebody. Even if it had left a bitter taste in my mouth.
My lessons with Sariel and the many social engagements I attended with assorted noblewomen had given me insight into why Arianna lashed out at me, so I somewhat understood her reaction. I was already familiar with the concept of a girl growing up learning the skills she needed to get married and have children. For commoners, that meant cooking, cleaning, sewing, and anything else they needed to know to become a good housewife. Looks were important, too, although skills weighed heavier on the scales a man used to measure a potential spouse. A plain woman who could keep house was much more likely to marry a sensible man who would provide her with a good home than a beautiful woman who couldn’t even make a meal. Most marriages had heavy parent involvement, varying from fully arranged marriages with no input from the couple, all the way to a more permissive arrangement where a young man had to earn permission from the young woman’s parents before the marriage could proceed.
The concept was the same for noblewomen. They just had different standards and expectations. A noblewoman needed to marry well, both for her own security in life, and to improve her family’s standing. A baron’s daughter should marry up to a viscount, a viscount’s daughter should marry up to an earl, and so on, although a wealthy man of a lower rank might be a better match than a less influential man of a higher rank. Etiquette, dance, politics, economics, culture - all the subjects I was learning now were things noblewomen learned as little girls. Although many noblemen would settle for a beautiful, well-mannered, ditzy woman who promised to look good on her husband’s arm at social events and produce children to carry on the family name, the more discerning noblemen, and often higher-ranking ones, wanted someone who could provide all that and help with politics and business, too.
The higher the rank, the higher the stakes. And there was no higher rank for an unmarried woman in the upper class than that of a princess.
Marrying anyone below the title of prince was an insult to a princess. She grew up with the pressure of finding and marrying a king or a prince in line to become a king, and that meant she had to provide the complete package. Beauty, intelligence, fertility, alliance with a powerful country - if she wanted a prince to look twice at her, she had to be someone worthy of standing at his side. Arianna had grown up in this world, and if I hadn’t come along, I knew Chevalier would have married her. She had it all, along with the promise of strengthening the existing alliance and bringing increased trade between Rhodolite and her wealthy home nation of Benitoite. She had almost achieved what every princess dreamed of achieving: marriage to a prince who would become a powerful king of an influential nation.
And then I ruined everything. Me, a maid with such a dubious background that no self-respecting commoner would marry me. The revelation that I was, in fact, a princess did little to soften the blow, since my home nation didn’t even exist anymore. I’d done no work, and I brought nothing to the table, and yet I was the one who was engaged to marry a powerful king of an influential nation.
I could understand her frustration.
“Okay, but that still doesn’t justify her calling you a cheap, lying slut,” Theresa pointed out, slamming the oven door harder than necessary after she removed the first aromatic meatloaf from its interior.
“No, of course it doesn’t,” I said, feeling the échaudés. “I think these are dry enough to bake now.”
“What if she’s behind all this?”
I pursed my lips in thought as I arranged the échaudés on a baking sheet. “Well, I hope not, for Luke’s sake, but I think this is something to do with Obsidian, not Benitoite.”
“So, it’s Gilbert.”
“No, it isn’t,” I answered immediately.
“You seem pretty sure about that.” Another oven door slammed shut behind me as she removed the second meatloaf. “Whatever happened with him last time?”
Nothing I wanted to think about now.
“He doesn’t want me dead,” I said simply.
Another slam. She sighed. “Okay, I won’t ask. How long do those need to bake?”
“Fifteen minutes. I didn’t think we’d get them done this early.”
The kitchen door flew open, followed by a clatter of boots drowning out the last slamming oven door.
“Do I smell meatloaf?” Leon asked excitedly.
“Yes,” I giggled, sliding the first baking sheet into one of the hot ovens. “I thought Nokto told you. Theresa and I made four this time, so-”
I interrupted myself with a shriek when Leon grabbed me by the waist, spun me to face him, tossed me into the air, caught me again, and crushed me to his chest in a hug. He and Theresa were laughing heartily. My heart was pounding out extra beats for each breath I was too surprised to take.
“Leon! Put her down!” Yves scolded.
“I knew you were an angel!” Leon said, planting a kiss on my cheek before he set me on my unsteady feet. If it wasn’t for him still holding my arms, I probably would have toppled over.
“You almost made me one,” I gasped, one hand over my racing heart.
Yves sighed in exasperation. “I’ll take over here, Ivetta. You should go take a break.”
“Um…I just have to put the rest of the échaudés in the oven-”
“What he means is you should leave before everybody gets here,” Licht said, making eye contact with Leon. The darkness in Licht’s crimson eyes cooled the warmth in Leon’s amber eyes, and when he looked back at me, his smile seemed a little forced.
“Yeah, he’s right. We’re all just gonna talk shop, and you don’t wanna hear that.”
“Okay, I guess we can eat in Chevalier’s room,” I said slowly, meeting Theresa’s eyes across the kitchen.
“The library would be better,” Licht said.
Suddenly, I lost my appetite. That meant Chevalier was in his room or headed in that direction, probably to clean up before coming to eat, and I had a good idea what he’d been doing and why he needed to clean up. The images of bloodstained clothes in his laundry hamper and the pool of blood covering a section of cobblestones in the gardens flashed through my mind.
“The library, then,” I said, swallowing down a wave of nausea. “Excuse me.”
“I’ll make a plate and meet you there,” Theresa said, her voice more cheerful than usual as I pulled free from Leon and avoided eye contact with everybody on my way to the door.
“Don’t bother.”
Julius and Mark were still at their post in the hallway. I’d told them earlier that they and the rest of my guards were welcome to enjoy the snacks, too, as I was sure they were all on duty, given the circumstances, but none had taken me up on my offer, and I didn’t reiterate it now. I just told them I was going to the library. They fell in step behind me, the clanking of their armor echoing louder than usual, like the clashing of metal on metal echoing down that dark stone corridor.
I shivered and took a deep breath. That was long in the past, and it wouldn’t happen again. Chevalier would make sure of that.
However he felt was necessary.
I hated that this was necessary.
The sharp, metallic odor of blood hit me before I saw them. I could never forget that smell after two miserable days of being surrounded by it. Me, the walls, the floor, the dagger in my torturer’s hand - it covered everything, and it covered Chevalier and Clavis now. I saw them at an intersection and stopped in my tracks. That was the last and only time I’d ever seen Chevalier covered in blood. It had dripped from his face and his sword, staining his clothes and adding to the violence in his ice-cold eyes. Clavis had probably been just as bloody, but I didn’t remember seeing anything except his face in that brief interval when Chevalier handed me off so he could mount his horse.
They were too close for me to avoid them.
Burnished gold and glacial blue eyes flicked to mine in faces hard as stone.
I hated knowing they were like this again because of me.
“Dinner’s ready in the kitchen,” I said coolly, and then I walked away.
ns 15.158.61.21da2
