The secrecy. The charismatic front. The bride search. All of his aggravating behavior is being painted over with different brushstrokes.
Last night was busy with celebrations of Ophelia’s engagement, full of even more drinking and music and food. While orders kept flowing in, I wondered if the prince would attend after the day we had.
Past midnight, I’d all but forgotten about his absence until he showed up looking like he’d been further tormenting himself. I felt for the guy, his face was so drawn and ominous. Who else knows this secret? Does he carry this weight himself? It’s a heavy burden.
But now I’m starting to regret letting him stay the night. My pity got the better of me. Is he ever going to get up?
He’s still snoring out there, even as I start making breakfast. I fry up some sausages, heaps of whiskey bacon, scrambled eggs and tomatoes with flaky salt, and even whip up my favorite buttermilk biscuits, making even more of a racket with my pots and pans than usual, but nothing seems to wake him. While I wait for the biscuits to finish baking, I open the tavern, bringing down the chairs and stools at all the other tables. I throw a few more logs on the fire. The prince stirs a little when I walk by, muttering something about rings—hopefully dreaming about the one he’ll be giving Sonja soon and not the ones that quite literally put the fate of the kingdom on his back.
Should I wake him? Customers will be coming in soon, and I can’t have someone—even a prince—passed out in the bar this early in the morning. It’s bad for business. I put a firm hand on his shoulder and shake.
He wakes with a jolt, looking bleary under his mussed hair. “What?” he mumbles, confused.
Rough night indeed. “Hungry?”
He blinks at me. “Uh, sure?” He pushes his hand through his hair.
In the kitchen, the biscuits are perfectly buttery and golden brown. I add a few to an already loaded tray, complete with a pot of tea. When I come back to the main room, I find Dietan has roused himself somewhat. His eyes widen as I set everything in front of him. “All for me?” he asks.
I nod, somewhat embarrassed that I’ve gone to so much trouble.
“It’s a lot of food. Won’t you join me?” He motions to the feast.
I have to admit he’s gracious and charming—for a hungover drunk. I help myself to one of the biscuits before walking back to my place behind the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him eat like he’s never had a meal before.
“I’m surprised you let me stay the night,” he says, between a large bite of egg and sip of tea.
“And I’m surprised to find you don’t bunk down with a retinue of armed guards. Have you been out this whole time?”
“Pretty much.”
“Aren’t they in a panic about you?” I ask, wondering why the royal guard hasn’t torn Evandale apart looking for their prince.
He waves a piece of bacon to dismiss my question. “Nah, Jared and Marcus will cover for me. I am allowed a little privacy occasionally,” he says. “This is incredible, by the way.” He stuffs another forkful in his mouth.
“Privacy, huh?” I remember there were rumors about his youthful indiscretions, which seems in keeping with the lifestyle of an entitled prince. But after yesterday, I’m beginning to suspect those rumors are pure fancy.
Dietan wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, my guards were probably relieved to have Marcus cover royal night duty.”
“Let me guess—is it the snoring or the drooling that puts them off?” I laugh.
He glances down at the drool still on the table and surreptitiously wipes it clean with his sleeve. “The snoring,” he admits.
I allow a pleased smile at that.
Dietan glances around the room while he eats, taking in his surroundings with a curious eye, and I find I don’t mind the easy silence between us. It’s rare in my experience for a man to not constantly run his mouth. I’m setting up the bar for the day when he lets out a moan that makes me turn around.
He’s bitten into one of my buttermilk biscuits. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
“Oh yeah? What else are you putting in your mouth?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grins.
I try not to blush.
Dietan takes another bite. “I’m serious. You, my lady, are great at three things: navigation, swooning in my arms, and biscuits. You know, I may just have fallen in love with you.”
I roll my eyes. “Get in line, pal.”
