The Heir Apparent’s gaze could have buried him in the floor, for how heavily it fixed him in place, daring him to react to her flippant use of a forbidden Cyngaleg word.
The cawl seared down his throat. It was nearly perfect. Different to the one he made for Celyn and the others, different to the one his parents had made, the steam layering their whole kitchen with flavour, twining through the drying plants suspended in the rafters.
‘It is wonderful,’ he admitted.
‘Good.’ She leaned on one elbow, chin in her palm. ‘You know I need only have uttered one word to have it poisoned.’
Meilyr held her gaze.
The cawl steamed quietly between them.
‘You could have,’ he said at last. ‘Very easily, and within your right.’ He swallowed another spoonful and did not set the bowl down. ‘There are, however, cleaner ways to unmake your brother’s choice.’
‘Oh?’ Her voice was low, eyes bright. ‘How so?’
‘A knife in the dark, my body in the river before dawn.’ He stirred the cawl, found a perfectly cooked chunk of leek. ‘Or my own private breakfast poisoned, to be blamed on a jealous attendant.’
‘You cannot know whether I have poisoned that.’ It was almost a question, laced with barely tethered excitement. ‘As you said, it is my right, and Osian would have to make of it what he could. Are you not afraid?’
‘I might be,’ Meilyr said. ‘But it would serve little purpose. I would only really be afraid for my family, but if this is poisoned, I am already dead.’ He took another spoonful, savouring it.
Princess Aldreda’s mouth split into an exultant grin, and she huffed a laugh. The tension in the room snapped. ‘Trust my brother. He has found himself someone very interesting… Well, have your cawl, have some of everything – none of it is poisoned, I just wanted to see what you would do. Tea? Spiced wine?’
Meilyr steadied the fumble in his chest, damn belated thing. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty. Tea, please.’
‘You know, I would have been very sorry if you had cried.’ She poured the tea herself, shooing the attendant fondly. ‘There was the potential of you begging for your life, of course, or you could have lashed out. Either would have been fair, but instead, good heavens.’
Meilyr sipped at the pleasant, earthy bloom of the tea. Barky, stiff leaves from soil he did not know, grown with care and fondness. A brush of Cyngaleg cream, nursed with the same.
The jarring tension had made his feelings lag several counts behind his mind. It provided an odd clarity, as though part of him had gone into shock.
Would he have known if the cawl had been poisoned from that first mouthful? He had fallen behind on his poisons. If it had been, could he have done something about it? He had never had to ridhimselfof poison, so perhaps he should have been more afraid.
‘What do you think of him, by the way?’ Princess Aldreda carved herself a large chunk of cheese. ‘Osian, that is. And be honest.’
Far easier said than done. They were supposed to be married – they were married. ‘He is…’
‘Gods, do not injure yourself.’ Her expression was kinder, still amused. ‘It’s been an unconventional arrangement, to dress it in its finest clothes. But I know my brother, and unless the Denelands have turned him into our littlest sibling, he will be treating you well. I’m just selfishly trying to wrap my head around it all, and was hoping you’d help me.’
The nerves began to catch up. He forced himself to have more cawl, grounding himself with the scent, the taste, the feeling. The fields behind the leek and the carrots.
This was the future king of Khaim. Her naturally charismatic air tempted him to slip into ease, but there was something sharp about her – something different to how he felt with Prince Osian.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘in all our years, Osian never once showed any real interest in anyone. When we were teenagers, the nature of court sought to push us into some rather silly situations. I found a taste for it, but he never did, to the frustration and ire of a lot of people, might I add. More than half the court has been moon-eyed over him since he hit fifteen, and only partly because of his position.’ She scooped a hearty spoonful of lamb and carrot and chewed with a wry twist to her mouth. ‘Then he got sent off to the Denelands – which scared the hells out of him as a child, by the way – in the midst of our father trying to find him the best possible political match. He seesyou’ – she gestured with her spoon – ‘and all sense gets knocked out of him like a love-struck courtier. Why do you suppose that is?’
Meilyr answered truthfully. ‘I am afraid I could not say, Your Majesty.’
‘Of course, you are very pretty. That dark hair, and those eyes – hazel? Hazel, with that gold-green. That waist.’ She tilted her head appreciatively. ‘I would say very much his type, as though made for him, in fact. But pretty never turned his head, let alone made him swear a gods-witnessed oath of devotion. So’ – she spread her hands – ‘I’m more than enraptured with finding out why… You know, if our great-grandfather had not slaughtered all the Deneland sorcerers, I would say you’d bewitched him.’
The warmth crawled out of Meilyr’s blood.
‘And before you say something self-effacing, Osian has always been a good boy.’ She was mercifully busy piling cheese and pickle onto bread. ‘I think he would have eventually accepted one of the matches our father tried to foist upon him, no matter how unhappy it made him. So you’re not a scapegoat for that, either. You must tell me if he is a complete idiot at any point, though – or tell Demelza. She practically raised us after Osian’s mother died, did you know? She tells it much better than I do, but—Ah!Speak of the goddess and she shall appear.’
The door had opened, and both Highness Demelza and Prince Osian entered, clad in finery. Meilyr shakily moved to stand.
‘None of that.’ Princess Aldreda waved him down. ‘This is a family breakfast, no bowing or scraping. Demelza, love, you’re here, Osian there. I was having Meilyr – did I say that right?’ She did not, though it was not bad, and he barely noticed. ‘Please correct me if not. I was having him tell me all the finer, intimate details of your relationship.’
Meilyr might have flushed had his heart not been trying to throw itself from his flesh.