I learned the whole truth of the kingdoms’ feud too late. When the fighting broke out, I was wrapped in my own grief, hiding from the world. If I hadn’t run away, could this all have been prevented?
“Your grace!” a man addresses my escort with an exclamation of surprise. He bows low. “How may I be of service?”
I turn to the man, glad to be distracted from the memories.
“The girl has traveled here from Cariset,” my noble guide announces. “She would like to inquire about work in the kitchen.”
“Of course. I will take her myself.”
Satisfied to be free of me, the knight gives me a curt nod and then walks away.
I almost call him back to demand his name, but I manage to stop myself before I can ruin my chances of securing a position in the castle.
“Follow me,” the man says. “But I’ll warn you, we’ve already got more workers than positions. I don’t know what you were imagining, but it’s not like the old days. We’ve got as little food as the rest of the cities.”
We walk through the unadorned halls, and the smell of something savory wafts through an open door down the back. When I step inside the kitchen, I’m hit with a curtain of sticky heat. There are five large wood ovens, along with two great hearths for roasting meats. The coals in the hearths are flaked and gray, but two of the ovens burn. They do plenty to bring the space to an unpleasant temperature, but I imagine they’re welcome in the winter.
“Marian,” the man calls across the space, making several women turn our way. Their eyes latch onto me with curiosity.
A plump woman with a severe, red face and a cap covering her graying hair looks up from her task of chopping onions. “Who do you have their, Kelvin?”
“What’s your name?” he asks me.
“Seraphina.”
He nods and then turns back to the woman. “This is Seraphina. She’s looking for work. Give her a job.”
Marian wipes her hands on her apron. “I have too many girls to look after.”
“You just lost Tamalyn to the ice princess of Renove. Surely you can find a spot for this girl.”
The woman shakes her head as if it’s out of the question.
“The young Duke of Branlin brought her to me himself,” the man cautions.
Duke?
A flutter of whispers breaks out between the girls, but Marian lets out a weary sigh. “Then, I suppose I can’t turn her away, can I?”
“I’m afraid not.”
She leaves her station, frowning at me. “Seraphina, is it?”
I bow my head in respect. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re a skinny thing,” she says. “You look about as strong as an eight-year-old boy. What am I going to do with you? You can’t haul water. I doubt you can even lift bread into the oven.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” I say, wondering if I should have chosen a different ruse.
I’m not eager to dive elbow-deep in flour, and how will I keep an eye on the royal heirs if I’m stuck in here all day?
“She’s pretty.” Kelvin flashes me a friendly smile. “Perhaps she’d be more suited for handmaiden duties?”
Marian thinks about it, slowly nodding. “If I have a choice, I would prefer to have Tamalyn back. I’ve already trained her.”
Kelvin turns back to me. “What do you think? Can you pour tea and fix hair…or whatever it is the maids do?”
I suppress a pleased smile. “Of course.”
“I’ll speak with Fenton. For now, find a task for her here,” Kelvin says to Marian. “I’ll return soon with his reply.”
“You ever chopped onions, girl?” Marian asks once he leaves, eying me with something only a smidge warmer than distaste.
“No, ma’am.”
Her eyebrows fly up. “Never?”
“No.”
“Well, then today seems like a good day to learn.”
Tears stream down my eyes as I chop the wicked root vegetables. Knowing better than to touch my face this time, I wipe them away with my shoulder. That was a painful lesson to learn.
Onion juice stings.
“It looks like you’re just about done here,” Marian says when she comes over to inspect my work. “You’ve done a fair job, though you’re slow, and the pieces aren’t evenly sized.”
“Thank you,” I say with a roll of my eyes that she can’t see from her angle.
“When you’re finished, peel potatoes.”
“Potatoes?” I ask.
She nods toward several nearby barrels and plunks a large earthenware bowl next to my gargantuan pile of onions.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, exhausted and hungry. “But how many do you wish peeled?”
“Just fill up the bowl nice and high.”
Holding back a yawn, I nod.
Hopefully, Kelvin hurries with his answer. I don’t think I’ll last another day in the kitchen.
7
Something about the evening feels ominous. I sense it the moment I walk into the dining hall and spot the plotting king’s pleased expression. He looks like a cat with a bowl of fresh cream.
The guards escort me to my usual place next to Edwin as if I can’t find it on my own. But when I pull out the chair to sit, the guard clears his throat. He points to the chair one place down.
Without a word, I take my new seat.
Moments later, I realize why I was displaced. Amalia walks into the room, escorted by a guard. She wears a haughty look of disdain, as if this is the last place she would like to be.
When she spots me, however, her expression softens.
The guard pulls out the chair next to me, and Amalia sits, looking grateful to be by my side. I set my hand on top of hers, squeezing it lightly to remind her we are stronger together. We’ll get through this, somehow.
“Strange,” King Egan says, watching us too closely. “I had expected a bit more of a happy reunion between the two of you.”
His eyes drift to Cassia as she walks into the room as if he suspects she helped me see Amalia.
Cassia simply gives him an absent smile and takes her usual seat.
“Your Highness,” says the serving-man behind her, sounding almost timid. “You’re one down tonight.”
Cassia flashes him a confused look over her shoulder. “I always sit next to Rhys.”
“Not tonight,” the king says curtly.
Hiding a frown, she scoots one chair over. Once she’s settled, she glances across the table, giving me a secret smile.
A moment later, Rhys walks into the room. Amalia tenses next to me, making me do the same. I’ve seen little of the man who dared to marry my sister without our father’s permission.
He’s handsome enough, I suppose. At least he seems like the type women like—tall, broad-shouldered, chiseled jaw, and all that.
He glances at my sister, looking unsure where they stand—as he well should be. Amalia’s irritation is tangible. I, myself, haven’t managed to make her this angry in our twenty-three years.
I meet Cassia’s gaze, wondering if she’s as uncomfortable as I am. She widens her eyes marginally, trying not to laugh. Which, in turn, makes me want to laugh—until Cassia’s intended enters the room, looking like a brooding painting.