He pressed his palms together gratefully, then quickly went on. ‘Well, first, as you see, we have a delightful sponge with strawberry jam and fresh cream, sprinkled with a fine dusting of powdered sugar.’
Vine swiped up the tiny cake and bit into it. ‘Perfect,’ she said, through a stuffed mouth. ‘I choose this one.’
Lief glanced uncertainly at the king, before going on.‘Next to it, we have a delicate lavender sponge with gooseberry jam, topped with rich whorls of buttercream—’
Elias devoured it in two bites. ‘You won’t beat this one,’ he said, swallowing thickly. ‘But feel free to try.’
‘Traitors.’ Alarik leaned back and closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere but here. Hell, he’d take afternoon tea with the Spear over this particular brand of boredom.
‘And our third cake is infused with lemon curd and—’
‘No,’ Alarik barked, surprising himself. He snapped his eyes open and sat forward. ‘No lemon.’
Lemons made him think of his wrangler.There are people starving throughout your kingdom. Next time you decide to waste food, you should remember that.That undisguised ire in her eyes, then the unwelcome twist in his chest at her words, each one as precise as a blade.
Lief blinked in surprise, but perhaps feeling relieved to have the king’s input at all, he complied, placing two of the little cakes to one side. Elias and Vine made quick work of them.
Alarik’s head was beginning to pound. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, wearily.
Lief frowned at the remaining cakes. ‘The dowager queen really did insist that I—’
‘Which one is my mother’s favourite?’ said Alarik, eager to bring a swift end to this ridiculous charade. ‘She has curated these options, so she has clearly tried all of them already. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s hiding outside the door right now, listening in. So, just tell me, Lief, which one is her favourite?’
Lief pointed to the smallest cake, a perfect, three-tiered circle. The white icing was gold dusted and decorated in delicate purple flowers.‘The dowager queen is partial to this passion fruit and white chocolate one. The fruit itself is extraordinary. It comes all the way from—’
‘Fine,’ said Alarik, shoving the platter away. ‘I choose that one. Now, get out.’
Lief scooped up the platter. ‘Very well, Your Majesty. Thank you for your speedy—’
‘Go,’ snarled the king.
Lief was halfway out the door, when the king shot up in his seat, an idea occurring to him so quickly, he didn’t have time to second-guess it. ‘Wait.’
The steward paused.
‘Leave the cake on the table. Go find a candle. As small as your baby finger.’
Vine looked at him strangely. Elias was now too engrossed in the cheeseboard to care.
‘Right away, Your Majesty.’ The steward set the platter down as instructed, then scurried off without daring to question his king. Alarik waited for the door to close, then turned back to the table, ignoring the sparkling little cake and reaching instead for a curl of meat.
‘Right,’ he said, turning his gaze to the bloody painting above him, as though the previous interruption had never happened. ‘Back to war.’
CHAPTER 10
Greta
Greta Iversen never imagined she would be spending her nineteenth birthday in Grinstad Palace. Or any birthday, for that matter. Not that she felt much like celebrating.
She had only been at the palace for a week, but the work here was grinding and ceaseless. There were over two hundred and fifty beasts to train and most of them were either half wild or entirely unused to behaving properly. Greta had been rising each morning at dawn, shovelling down a quick breakfast of porridge heaped with honey in the dining hall before grabbing a flask of hot tea and hurrying out to the courtyard to see to the beasts. She had spent the first two days introducing herself to the beasts, cautiously approaching their pens and coming to her haunches, removing her gloves and offering the back of her hand through the bars for them to sniff. To show them she was a friend and not a foe.
For the most part, the beasts had acclimatized quickly to her presence. Those that were slow to trust received extra attention and meaty lamb chews. Food; the best persuasion for beasts and men.
Despite the long hours, Greta had already picked out her favourites. She spent her mornings with the ice bears, the oldest of whom were a pair of sisters called Baldur and Nel. Tor had told Greta about them some years ago and she had been delighted to find them still in residence at the palace when she arrived, if a little battle-scarred. Baldur was missing her right ear and Nel had lost half of her teeth and all the claws on her left paw. Then there was Saga, the heavily pregnant snow leopard, who was not yet trainable but particularly sweet-natured for her kind. Greta visited her in the afternoons, often climbing into the holding pen and humming to the beast to set her at ease. Earlier that day, as though sensing that Greta was missing home, Saga had curled up on the hay beside Greta and rested her large head in Greta’s lap, her snuffling breaths a warm comfort.
But it was the wolves that Greta loved the most. Tollo and Gale were favourites, a pair of greybacks with amber eyes, who reminded her of her own beloved Lupo. Only these two were younger and far more prone to mischief. Yesterday evening, she had been late to dinner having spent over an hour chasing after Tollo and wrestling a live chicken from his jaws.
She was making fine progress, training the king’s beasts to heel on her command. Soon, she would train them to snap and leap, and finally, to attack. Yes, the beasts here were easy. It was the soldiers she found tough.
