“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she admitted, her voice still tinged with awe. “Barstus is too... practical for anything like this.”
“Not even for a holiday?” I asked. “Surely, the palace chef would make something...” My voice trailed off when I realized my mistake. “I had never seen anything like it either. Until I arrived here. The temple where I grew up was a slave to simple things. We were lucky to get cakes on religious holidays. Otherwise, it was porridge and stew for every other meal.”
She pressed her lips together in a muted smile. “You were embarrassed because you’re not sure if I was allowed to live in the palace.”
“No, I was just—”
“I was,” she said matter-of-factly. “I grew up as a daughter of King Maksim. I have never had to endure poor temple living or making my own porridge. That sounds dreadful.”
I should have been offended. But... “It was.”
“The Barstus court is more focused on intellectual pursuits than frivolous parties. My father would have been annoyed had Chef wasted his time on something as extravagant as this.”
All I could do was blink. She’d just called King Maksim her father. And while everything in me rejected the idea that a man that pompous and uptight could be any relation to my sweet sister, I also knew that our real father might be a very distant memory to her. She had been younger than six when our parents died. And her leaving Elysia must have been rather traumatic.
Still, supper tonight was extravagant for a reason.
“It is meant to honor you, sister. To honor us. Enjoy it for what it is.”
She poked at it with her spoon. “I shall try.”
Her attention was pulled away by the man to her right. He was an older man with a scholarly sort of hat. It even had a tassel. Suddenly, I remembered studying the never-ending Barstus platitudes in Father Garius’s library. I wished I had sat closer to Oliver. If only so I could needle him into asking the tutor or teacher or whoever he was why so many of their commands were the same instruction written only a slightly different way.
One must never withhold one’s cloak should one stumble upon a cloakless widow or orphan.
If one passes a widow or orphan without a coat, one must take off one’s coat and offer it to either. Widow first. Child second.
Just remembering all the foolishness of those platitudes and the many ways Father Garius would make us copy them down on parchment made my hand cramp.
“Are you confident you should share so much about your past, Princess?”
The question came from Caspian to my left. Knowing his word traps and skepticism, I should have guarded my tongue better, but he’d managed to surprise me.
“What do you mean?”
“You speak of temple life as though it were common knowledge,” he noted, his voice too low for either of our neighbors to hear.
“And? What of it? It was made known at Conandra, where I have been for the past eight years.”
“Yet your father’s murderer has never been found. Your presence at your Heprin Temple was meant to be a secret while you were there. Maybe it should remain one still.”
His words sent fear screaming through me. “What are you implying?”
“It is obvious you love your monks, your simple childhood. Yet there is someone out there”—he paused to lower his voice even more—“or in here, who wished to end the Allisand bloodline. You would be wise to bridle your tongue.”
He was right. Of course, he was right. But I hadn’t thought of... I wanted to cry in frustration. I wanted to hit something. Had I endangered Father Garius’s life? Would someone really ride all the way to Heprin to punish a good man for his mercy on my life?
But to Caspian, I merely said, “And you would do well to hold yours. I am the future queen of this realm, second son. I would watch the way you speak to me from now on, lest your brother finds a staunch ally in me. As far as poisons go anyway.”
His too-light eyes narrowed with distaste. “I try to warn you, and you threaten me? If I thought you knew anything of palace intrigue, I would almost feel sorry for how very bad at it you are.”
I seemed to back myself into a corner whenever he was around. Why was that? The urge to punch something grew stronger. “I do not need your pity. Or your warnings. But I thank you for your very unnecessary interest in my life. You are free to now mind your own business and leave mine, palace or no, alone.”
He turned back to his second course, but this time the small smile curling one side of his mouth actually made my heart pound with nerves. What did that mean?
Had I not done a good enough job to scare him away?
Why did he look more interested in my business than ever?
