“I admit, your invitation found me on a bad day,” she says, looking a bit bashful as she takes a step closer, then another. “To be honest, I’m not sure the classroom agrees with me.”
And all at once, my irritation, my stress, the things I’ve been worried about—none of it seems quite so bad. Ingrid’s here, and truthfully, I can’t imagine she’s been having an easier time of things with her tutors. I would never want to trade my war room meetings for her classroom lessons.
“Have I caught you on a bad day as well?” she asks, gentle, not accusatory.
“I know no other kind,” I say, aiming for a bit of levity. I miss the mark by a mile. I know well enough to leave the joking to Val.
“I’m sorry,” I add before the awkward moment drags on too long. “I appreciate the gesture, and would be honored to dine with you.”
Ingrid’s face transforms with a smile, and the room feels brighter.
Once our meal has been laid out and we’re alone with only the food to distract us, I start to feel the need to do…something. Tosay…something. Courtship involves those things, but that’s the extent of my knowledge. My father never had a mate, and even when he did attend social functions, I was not welcome. The only company I’ve ever had for mealtime has been fellow soldiers, and none of those conversation topics would be appropriate with my bride. The safest bet is likely to make the topic something she cares about.
“I’m surprised you’re not spending your evening among the ifrak,” I say.
Ingrid’s cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink that feels like a victory on its own.
“You uh…heard about that, did you?” she asks, picking at her food.
“I’m the king. I hear about everything that happens in this castle.”
I’m not sure why that brings another flush of color to her cheeks, but I’m inspired to learn what other words or phrases might elicit such an effect.
“The ifrak make for better company than my tutors, I’m afraid,” she says, stabbing her next bite with a level of vigor that makes me frown.
“How have your lessons been going?” I hazard.
Ingrid frowns, her shoulders tense when she looks at me across the table. “What have you heard?”
“Very little,” I say, not wanting to contradict what I just told her by admitting I haven’t had any updates on her progress. “But I’d like to hear your perception.”
“The lessons are extensive, but important if I’m to be the queen,” she says, already more diplomatic than some royals I’ve heard speak.
I nod, pressing no further while internally cursing myself. I’ve neglected her. Ingrid doesn’t have to explain what’s happening in her classroom for me to want to have a lengthy discussion with her tutors. I don’t need accusations or evidence; the quiver in her voice is all the proof I need. The same kind of quiver that lurked in my tone when I expressed gratitude for my father’s mercy when he could have left me to the Wilds.
It’s a lie. An effort to convince herself whatever misery she’s being made to endure is for a greater cause.
But there’s no greater purpose. Only another one of my failures. My inexperience and uncertainty have led me to put distance between us, and now Ingrid’s struggling to keep her head above water.
I’llfix it. I’ll find out what’s been happening in her lessons and correct any issues I find. The lessons aren’t meant to be punishment, and the realization that they may have felt that way to her makes me want to leave this very moment to make it right.
Not now, though. I’ll fix it, but not while I should be spending this time with my bride. For Ingrid, I’ll fix anything. Everything.
It’s a surprising thought, but not unwelcome. My instincts tell me to bat it away and shove down any associated feelings, but I stop myself, letting my gaze linger and soften on the woman who even still is trying to build some connection with me.
At some point, I have to stop pushing her away, or she’ll stop trying.
A hollow ache opens up like a sinkhole in my chest. I can’t let that happen.
“You know,” Ingrid says, idly looking into the depths of her wine glass. “I myself have been surprised by your absence on the training fields.”
“Captain Hilduin thinks me a distraction,” I answer quickly, before realizing that observation means she’sbeen looking.
“A shame,” Ingrid says, smirking while she swirls her glass. “I’ve found that at the right angle, I have a perfect view from my spinning wheel. It’s a pity I won’t have the pleasure of seeing you in action again. Perhaps I should speak with the captain.”
There’s no doubt from the teasing way she says it that she hopes to get a reaction out of me, and there’s no hope of hiding the reaction she’s gotten—warm, flustered heat blooms across my body, stony cracks and fissures aglow while I struggle for a response.
“Even if Captain Hilduin were to welcome me back to the bouts, I have an unending parade coming through these doors, demanding audience with me.”
