“No?” I replied, feigning cluelessness and bracing myself for him to lunge across the table like a beast in heat.
Prince Nicolas shivered. “Certainly not. And it’s not only that I want you. It’s that I want you with such strength. This burning inside of me—I know myself enough to know thatthis, whatever this is, is unnatural.”
My brow furrowed. He was rather self-observant. “Perhaps you haven’t met someone you fancied before. Some people never find that person.” I paused. “I’ve even read tales of people who don’t experience attraction at all.”
The prince reared back his head and laughed once, and then the amusement drained from his face. “You’re a witch.”
Before I could utter so much as a squeak of confused denial, Prince Nicolas held up a hand. His other hand palmed the knife atop the platter, and fear seized me. He lifted it, and I found myself empathizing with every rabbit I’d ever snared and killed.
“It matters not. I shall have you nonetheless, and you’ll suit my purposes equally well with a touch of magic.”
He plunged the knife into the chair’s wooden armrest. I couldn’t hold back my flinch, or the sudden choke as the apple went down the wrong pipe. I set the fruit down.
“A witch can kill a man without a trace of evidence. You’ll help me identify my enemies, and together, we’ll rebuild my court. In exchange, you’ll not only be spared, but revered as Queen Alana Callan of Antier.”
Clearing my windpipe, I tried to keep up with his madness. It wasn’t enough that the man took me prisoner, but now it sounded like he was asking me to commit murder and use forbidden magic to do so.
“Why all this plotting?” I asked, hoping to pull more information out of him before I let him know the truth. “You’re the prince. Can you not have your political enemies dealt with as you would handle any treason?”
The prince scoffed again and rolled his eyes. “I won’t go down in history as Nicolas the Terrible. Making a show of killing my enemies would ruin my reputation. Not only that…” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers and bracing his chin atop them. “Antier is a religious and superstitious land, particularly Gallae. Gallaeans treat magic as an inherently dark force, a corruption of the gods’ natural order. If my enemies die by execution, I appear tyrannical, but if they die by curses and sudden turns of misfortune, the superstitious will attribute it to divine intervention.”
I was familiar with how irrational people could be; my mother shared wives’ tales that Father would deride, the pair of them sharing a laugh over whatever village talk was especially preposterous…but I knew absolutely nothing of witchcraft, which was sure to put a damper on the prince’s plans.
“Your Highness,” I tried, hoping I’d used the correct form of address. “I’m not a witch.”
“Yet you have bewitched me,” Prince Nicolas disagreed, waving a hand in dismissal. “Call yourself what you like. I shall let you know when I have need of your abilities, but for now, there are pressing matters that must be attended to. Your lady-in-waiting, for instance.”
“My what?” I asked, too confused to press the issue.
The prince’s lips flattened with borderline impatience. “You need a personal attendant, one who can teach you a thing or two about court life. Watching you flounder about at supper was entertaining, but if it continues, I shall grow embarrassed.”
I took the apple once again and tore into it. Flecks of juice sprayed out, and I hoped a drop might land in the prince’s eye.
“How about Winnie Balden?”
“The servant?”
“Why not? She did a fine job earlier.” That, and the poor girl had asked to be remembered. It was better not to indebt myself straightaway to any of these monsters.
“Very well then,” the prince agreed. He finished his wine and stood. “In the coming days I will assign you a retinue of additional handmaidens to see that you are prepared for your role. You will need to learn proper etiquette, royal protocol, how to read—”
“I can read,” I said through gritted teeth.
“—We need to turn Alana of the Woods into a princess.”
“Chastain,” I corrected again. “Alana Chastain. My family hails from Finn’s Hollow; my parents were respected apothecaries.”
The prince smacked his forehead. “I wish you’d told me that sooner. I’m afraid you’ll have to contend withof the Woods.”
My gaze briefly shifted to the knife wedged into the armrest.
He went to the entrance and bowed, moving with such a flourish that it almost looked sarcastic. The door shut behind him, and I could breathe again…somewhat. My head swam with thoughts, but my hunger overruled my capacity for reflection.
I ate the rest of the food with a slow distrust, unsure of what I was eating and incapable of naming the various flavors and aromatics. The cheese here was different from what I’d been exposed to; it was colorful, pungent, and possibly moldy. Then there was a quail stuffed with crumbly bread, herbs foreign and familiar, and an assortment of dried berries, and that was rather good. Shortly after finishing it off I tried another dish—a jiggling white mass reminiscent of a white mushroom cap—and gagged on the overbearing sweetness. Only the accompanying syrup made from blackcurrant was edible.
The wealthy had quite a preference for sweetness, as a matter of fact. I noted the assortment of candied, imported fruits, sugared petals from violets and roses, and pastries of fig and nuts. All of this in combination with a sweet wine was enough to give a man sugar sickness. It was a wonder that any of the noble class lived to see forty.
I removed the outer robe of my nightwear and placed it on the back of my chair before shuffling to the oversized bed. My hand sank into it first, testing its firmness, and then I took the dive and felt my whole body go weightless. The silken sheets were impossibly soft to the touch, scented in the same manner as my clothes had been. It was a far cry from hides and hay.
