“Can I pour you a glass?” I ask and place a hand on his shoulder, nodding at our many nights shared together over ale.
He looks up to me with a large smile, “you know that too.”
I nod with a grin.
“Your Highness,” Chef straightens next to me, bowing quickly in front of his cutting board.
I turn around and spot Keane nodding to Chef from the front of the room, his gaze moving to my hand resting on his shoulder.
“It’s been a while, Chef.”
“That it has, Your Highness.”
I remove my hand and take in Keane’s appearance from afar, watching as he turns to the men at the table in greeting. He’s the only one of the full group wearing all black, not even Desmond chose to wear the complete Warrior attire this morning. Keane’s shirt is rich in its darkness with long sleeves, the fabric tighter around his arms and back and accentuating the proud muscles of his body. It has a normal cut down the middle, one that wasn’t as deep as the one he wore last night, but I can still see that black chain sparkling from underneath before he turns away.
I sigh at the sight of him and walk into the storeroom, thinking to myself about Keane’s outfit. He’s obviously chosen to make his Warrior affiliation known this morning, but the full and commanding black can’t only be a reminder for our group. He’s reminding someone else this morning of his chosen Court, adding no hint of green to his ensemble before he meets with his father.
My head shakes in both confusion and curiosity. Keane played the role of Prince well last night, and even though he was clad in a dark ensemble, the shadow oak leaves on his attire were stitched in a vibrant green for the Court of Knowledge. So why the rebuff now?
Memories of the disdain in his voice this morning when I mentioned the fourth floor residence floods back into my mind. It was almost as if he dreaded visiting his room, as if the thought of going there unlocked some hidden animosity towards the Court that raised him. But how could that be, and why?
I sigh and look at the too many shelves in the storeroom, each hosting various vegetables, fruits, bowls, pans, and cookware.Everything. I spot a shelf holding mugs and grab a handful for our group, then bring them to a small corner where the large barrel of ale sits waiting in the shadows. I pour and bring two filled mugs out for Chef and I first, smiling when Chef drops the knife in his hands and wipes his fingers on his apron in appreciation.
“To no longer having to sneak behind your back, Chef,” I salute.
“Here here, dear Alexis,” he laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement.
We both take a swig and welcome the early morning warmth in our bellies. I leave my mug on the table and head back in the storeroom to grab the other five, frowning when I can only fit four in my hands at once. How that curvy lady in Bartley’s Village can juggle six at a time is beyond me.
The men pause their quiet talking when I walk up with their drinks.
“No voluptuous chest here for you, Cal,” I tease and lean into him.
“Darn,” he replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he helps me with the other mugs.
“I’ve got two more,” I smile and turn to walk away.
Keane’s fingers brush just below my rear in my departure, the open gesture making me jump in shock.
What in the Ancients?
The Prince catches my gaze with a small smirk playing at his lips. I walk on and do my best to ignore him, but that mischievous smile of his has me panicking just a little.
Does Keane care if the men just saw that?
Do I?
There’s no doubt that Desmond has some idea as to his brother and I, and I’m sure Cal suspects something is going on. But what of Holis and Mana? Have they noticed anything between the two of us during our travels?
I return from the storeroom and bring the last ale to Holis, the quiet twin pulling out an empty seat for me to join the group. I smile at Mana directly across the table and notice Desmond watching me curiously, the atmosphere changing from light and friendly to quiet tension in a single heartbeat.
“Please,” I smile at the men sitting around the table, “I’d like to enjoy this breakfast with you all…”
With my simple words the group relaxes back into their chairs, forgoing the previous seriousness that could’ve remained all morning. I smile gratefully and take a heavy swig of ale, letting the drink still the nerves that were just beginning to re-route in my chest.
“Apple crumble, brown-sugared ham, potatoes, eggs, and some smoked trout for our Warrior brothers who don’t grace my kitchen as often as I’d like,” Chef announces, balancing four large platters on his arms.
Desmond arches a brow in defiance. “You’ve forced me to take my meals in my room, Chef.”
