He ran a thumb across her hand in a final caress then reluctantly released her. With a brief nod to the waiting attendants, he took his own seat.
Court etiquette stipulated that his chair should sit opposite hers at the small table, but he didn’t even want that slight distance between them. His chair sat at the quarter mark, close enough that when she plucked the folded napkin from her plate, he could have reached out to claim her hand again.
The first course was laid before them. A delicate, cold summer soup of fresh, pureed fruits and sweet nectar. Into the thin crystal flutes beside their plates, a crisply dressed servant poured sparkling golden wine.
She ignored both soup and sparkling wine and scowled at him. “Even though you won the right, there’s no point in you bothering to court me,” she told him bluntly. “It won’t do you any good. I won’t marry you.”
“And yet, still, court you I shall. As provided for in my contract with your sister.”
“You’re just wasting both our time and squandering the opportunity you say you paid for so dearly. If you truly want a Season for yourliana,you should concentrate your efforts on Spring or Autumn. They at least like you.” She glared at him and added pointedly, “I don’t.”
He wondered if she really thought that scowl of hers would frighten him off? That he would take her declared—and utterly false—distaste for him as anything but a challenge. For a moment, he was tempted to tell her how beautiful—how utterly enchanting—he found her when she was angry. But if he told her how much he appreciated her temper, she would try to stifle it. The last thing he wanted from her was that serene mask she wore around everyone else.
So instead, he smiled calmly into her flame-blue eyes and said, “Remember,moa kiri,the price for every lie is an intimacy of my choosing.” But instead of pressing for another kiss, he said, “Try the soup,shishi.The chef let me sample it earlier in the week. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. A sweet dream for the tongue.” He lifted his own spoon to his mouth and closed his eyes on a hum of pleasure. “Even better than I remember. I’m serious, Gabriella, you must try this.” Just to tease her a little and make those eyes flash some more, he refilled his spoon and held it up to her lips in an intimate demand that she give it a taste.
He had underestimated just how close to erupting the dormant volcano of her temper really was.
She slapped at his hand, sending soup splattering across the pristine tablecloth and his spoon clattering to the paving stones.
“I’m not interested in the soup! And you can take that contract with my sister and shove it up your—” Gabriella broke off the rest of her vulgar command, threw her napkin on the table and started to rise. She was done with Dilys Merimydion. So done.
Dilys’s hand shot out to catch her wrist. She let out a curdled scream of fury between clenched teeth and went to yank her hand from his grip.
The look on his face made her freeze in her tracks.
For the first time since the prince of Calberna had come to Konumarr, genuine anger glittered in his eyes, turning them from warm molten gold to something cold and hard and scary. Not scary because she feared he would hurt her. Well, maybe a little. He was lethal after all. But mostly, the look in his eyes was scary because she realized she never wanted him to look at her that way again. Ever.
“My contract with your sister cost many lives—some so dear to me their loss is a hole in my heart that will never be filled. So, no, I will not dishonor their sacrifice of my Calbernans and my friends by throwing away the right they paid for with their lives.” Each word was a sharp bite of sound that flayed her skin. “Nor will I let you dishonor your sister by breaking the conditions of her sworn oath, any more than I will let your insult your brother’s chef by refusing to appreciate the meal she has spent the last week planning and preparing to please you. You are better than that, Gabriella Coruscate. Act like it.”
Heat stung her cheeks. Her jaw dropped. The momentary pain she’d felt for his mention of lost friends—she understood the horrible ache of loss—dried up the instant he’d turned the whip of accusation on her. She couldn’t believe he’d just reprimanded her—and with such razor-edged sharpness to boot! Biting her lip, she sank back into her chair and stared pointedly at the hand shackled around her wrist until he released her. She put the napkin back in her lap. “I thought Calbernans prided themselves on never losing their temper with a woman.”
“I did not lose my temper, Gabriella. I would never do such a thing with you or any other woman. But I will not stand silent while you shame yourself by showing no care for the sacrifices, oaths, or efforts of another.”
Stung, but unable to defend herself against a truthful accusation, she sat in embarrassed silence while the servants replaced the soiled tablecloth and spattered centerpiece, wiped clean the rims of the two soup bowls, and brought Dilys a new spoon. She felt like a rude, mannerless, misbehaving child. She didn’t like the feeling one bit.
“Thank you,” she said in a subdued voice when the servants finished cleaning up her mess.
The woman who had replaced the centerpiece with a fresh vase of flowers bobbed a curtsy. “My pleasure, Your Highness,” she said.
The servants backed away to a discreet distance. An awkward silence fell.
Gabriella wouldn’t look at Dilys. She stared at the garden, a nearby butterfly, the refreshed table setting. Her fingers traced the pattern of the silverware aligned perfectly at the side of her bowl.
He sighed. “Please, try the soup, Gabriella. Ingarra created it especially in your honor. She calls it Summer’s Sweetness.”
Summer didn’t want to give in to him, but she wanted even less to hurt Ingarra by sending the soup back untouched—especially when she’d created the dish in Summer’s honor. It never occurred to her to doubt Dilys’s claim. If he said Ingarra had created the soup in Gabriella’s honor, she had.
Gabriella dipped her spoon into the bowl and brought it to her lips. Exquisite flavors burst across her tongue.
“This is delicious,” she admitted. Too good to hold a grudge because he’d made her try it. She sighed and let go of her simmering resentment.
“I told you, you would like it.” The hard glitter in his eyes had already receded, leaving them warmly golden and fixed upon her with approval and something more that set off the butterflies in her stomach.
“What’s in it?”
“A variety of fruits, nectar, spices, and I think a little magic. Ingarra would not admit it to me, but I am certain she is some sort of cooking enchantress.” White teeth flashed.
The flutters in her stomach quintupled in strength. That smile of his should be outlawed. She bent her head quickly to take another spoonful of soup, and gave a wordless murmur of pleasure. Light, sweet, fruity, tart, filled with surprise and delight, Ingarra’s concoction was amazing. Perhaps Konumarr’s chef trulycouldwork some sort of enchantment with her cooking.
