Lyndal stared back at him, trying not to let her disappointment show. ‘I was keen to volunteer my time at the almshouse, schedule permitting, of course.’
He pushed his plate away. ‘Mother has mentioned this idea of yours to me, and I must say, I am not in favour of it.’
All the food she had eaten felt like it was wedged in her chest suddenly. ‘May I ask why?’
‘We need people to be self-sufficient, not relying on handouts. Almshouses indulge the lazy.’
‘I disagree.’
He laughed.Laughed. ‘You would. It does not matter. You can disagree all you like, so long as you listen. We must address the bigger problems we are facing.’
‘Bigger than mass starvation and death?’
‘The solution to that is to invest in our farmers.’
She triedveryhard to remain composed. ‘What good will that do if the meat doesn’t reach the hungry?’
His face hardened. ‘It will, when there is adequate supply.’
She knew she should have stopped there, changed the subject, done something Queen Fayre would have approved of. Done anything else. Instead, she said, ‘There must already be adequate supply given the nature of the deals currently being made.’
‘What are you talking about?’ His tone was impatient.
‘I’m talking about forty head of cattle that were sold outside our walls.’
She saw it then, a flash of something that confirmed what she knew. He recovered quickly though, plucking his napkin off his lap and dropping it on the table. ‘I do not appreciate the accusation in your tone.’
‘Can you clarify what you mean when you speak of investing in our farmers?’
The king looked over at the servant by the wall. ‘Leave us.’
All of Lyndal’s bravery left her. She sensed a change in him when the door closed.
‘I will not discuss business with you,’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘Even when you do become my wife, you will remember your place. Do you understand?’
She nodded.
He rose, extending a hand to her. ‘Come. Let us go to my bedchamber.’
She stared at the outstretched hand, her stomach churning. ‘I don’t want to go to your bedchamber.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Heat filled her face ‘We’re not wed. I’m not required to produce an heir yet.’
His hand fell. ‘It was not a question.’
‘It should have been.’ She rose from her chair. ‘Goodnight, Your Grace.’
‘You are not dismissed,’ he said, raising his voice.
‘I am not one of your servants.’ She took a step towards the door. ‘I wish to leave.’
He was surprisingly quick as he positioned himself between her and the exit. ‘Perhaps my mother failed to tell you that what you want is irrelevant. Now, because I am a patient man, I am going to ask you politely, once again, to join me in my bedchamber.’
She was trembling now. ‘And because I am a lady, I will politely decline. Please move out of my way so I can leave.’
He approached her so fast that she stepped back in a panic, knocking her chair backwards.
