“Mother, why don’t you lie down until Father arrives so you’ll be rested when it’s time to see Rominy? You must nothave slept well after receiving that telegram, and I need to help Cerian find something to eat.”
The queen looks at Cerian. “When you showed up with that scowl on your face, I had my doubts, but you must not be all glares and grumps with how my daughter clearly feels about you. And you’re right, Arisanna. I barely slept a wink. A nap sounds perfect, so off with you both.”
To Cerian’s shock, she shoos them from their own room, and as Arisanna leads them away from her mother’s guards in the corridor, he turns startled eyes toward her.
“So...that’s my mother.” A light huff escapes her as she tucks her hair behind her ear and gazes hesitantly up at him.
He opens his mouth, but words are too much to ask for.
“I’m sorry,” Arisanna says. “I know she can be a bit much. She means well. Thank you for entertaining her while I was in the water closet.”
He nods.
“Are you all right?” Arisanna asks.
“I don’t know.” He pushes the words out. “That...that was...”
“Indeed.” She takes a deep breath before putting on a smile. “Let’s find you some food, all right? What do you think you could eat?”
“Not glop,” he mutters, and she laughs.
“That goes without saying. Come on. We’ll see what the hotel kitchen can come up with.”
Arisannastandshesitantlyoutsidethe hotel kitchen with Cerian behind her. His walls have gone back up even more than they were around her mother. He’s clearly fighting his own battles.
It’s all right. She’ll manage without his help. At least she’s been in a kitchen now, thanks to him.
After pasting on a smile, she knocks on the doorframe, and a man glances up from a pot of what looks like more stew.
Hopefully, Cerian isn’t too squeamish, though after his ordeal earlier, she has doubts about the strength of his stomach.
“Oh, I have a visitor. Make that two visitors.” The chef offers a surprised smile to them. “Royal visitors. This is a first for me. And here I am with a dirty apron.”
“Please don’t worry about your apron,” Arisanna says to the pleasant man. He looks like he’s in his forties. “I know you’re busy with work to do.”
“Indeed, Your Highness, but I’m happy to spare a moment for the couple whose existence ended the border raids I remember during my younger days.”
Stars above. Hopefully, he’s not prejudiced against elves like the man who threw that rock at Elowyn.
“My father always said King Lorial was a good man. My father was there when your father almost died trying to stop the fighting, Your Highness,” the chef says to Cerian.
Cerian looks up, but all he manages is a nod.
At least the man seems not to hold anything against Cerian’s family.
They’re her family now, too.
“Was there something you needed, Your Highnesses, or are you just here to chat over milk and cookies?” he winks, and a laugh escapes Arisanna before she can stop it.
“As delightful as that sounds, I hate to take up too much of your time. I was wondering...hoping, maybe...” She glances at Cerian, but he’s staring at his boots.
Right.
“My husband struggles with human food,” she eventually says. “I was wondering—”
“Say no more. I understand. I wasn’t sure what elves ate, so I’ve just been serving up the usual, but I’m happy to adjust my menu if you could give me some direction, Your Highness. I’d hate for word to spread in Lostariel that the hotel in Feressa serves glop.”
For a moment, Arisanna just stares at the man.
