I consider this information. “So if Prince Taigan had been the one to get himself hopelessly trapped above that lava pit…?”
Valtar’s lips press into a thin line.
“You do realize that not answering is as good as an answer, don’t you?”
“Are you hungry, Princess?”
The abrupt change of subject wouldn’t be enough to distract me if it weren’t for a sudden and unignorable hollowness opening wide in my stomach. I’ve eaten no more than a few bites since before the banquet last night. Valtar indicates a little table set beneath the spreading lichen on one end of the balcony. There are three covered platters, and now that I see them, I can likewise smell tempting aromas emanating from that direction. I allow the prince to guide me and hold my chair as I sit, then Valtar takes the chair opposite me. No sooner is he seated than a man in white livery appears as though out of nowhere. I nearly yelp with surprise but manage to cover it. After all, if guards are lurking in every nook and cranny, why not a whole bevy of servants as well?
The platter lids are lifted, revealing an array of tempting dishes. Until coming to Stromin Palace, I’d not realized such a breadth of culinary options existed. It’s been mostly cottage bread, goat’s milk, and pottage for me, year after year, and no complaints so long as my belly was filled. Now, my eyes bulge at the sight of slow-roasted quail, herbed vegetables in all colors of the rainbow, soft breads that melt on the tongue, and, above all,salt. Perfect little crystals of salt added to everything. Truly the wealth of kings!
Having served our meal, the man in white vanishes oncemore, leaving the two of us in the dim phosphorescent glow. Valtar makes no move to touch his plate. But of course, he must be waiting for me to begin, as I am the de facto hostess of the hour. Assuming my most dignified demeanor, I stab a bite of carrot. “Pray tell, good prince, how didst thou successfully procure the assistance of thine fellow princes in accomplishing yon final feat of…of princeliness?”
“Didst?” he echoes.
“You know what I mean.” I pop the carrot into my mouth.
He draws a slow breath, contemplating his untouched meal. I find my gaze inexplicably drawn to the puckered scar slashed across his eyebrow. When did he get that? Was it as a child? It looks old. Who knows how many battles he’s fought, how many life-and-death situations he’s survived under the shadow of Mhoryga?
“What’s the matter?” I ask, swallowing my mouthful. “Gremler got your tongue?”
His black eyes flick to meet mine. “I…find it difficult to describe the final scenario without sounding like a braggart.”
“Oh?” I snort. “Were you simplysomagnificent as all that?”
“Almost.” His lips quirk again, and this time I swear I glimpse a flash of dimple.
I put down my fork, cup my chin in my hands, and tilt my head, eyelashes batting exaggeratedly. “Dotell, brave prince! And don’t skimp on the details. I want to knowexactlyhow magnificent you were.”
Is it a trick of the phosphorescence, or is that a flush of color tingeing his pale cheeks? I’m not sure a face like his is capable of blushing. Something inside me tingles deliciously at the notion that I could stimulate such a reaction in him.
“The final challenge,” he says at last, “required teamwork. Thepit itself was not as deep as it first appeared, but to cross to the far side, we were obliged to climb down and walk through that darkness without becoming lost in the labyrinth below. The only way to succeed was to join hands, and for one man to serve as an anchor to the others. Once linked, the farthest man, the one to reach the other side, became the new anchor, drawing the others to him across the pitch black. All done blind, of course, dependent on one another.”
“So, you were the first across, then?”
“No.” Valtar shakes his head. “I was the first anchor. Which put me in the most dangerous position as the last to cross. If the other champions had chosen to break the chain and leave me in the dark, I should have been lost.”
I shudder. How many times over the past week have I forced myself not to think of the endless winding passages through dark caverns which might so easily claim me if I ever tried to escape the palace? It’s a truly dreadful thought.
“That’s why you saved Warrick,” I muse softly. “You knew he would not leave you behind.”
“He had the look of a man of honor.”
“And we’ve already established you are a swift judge of character.”
“I am.”
I sit back in my chair, toying with the silk scarf Philippa gave me. “And the king declared you the winner because…?”
“Because it was I who convinced the others to work together—though, if I’m being fair, it would never have happened were it not for Warrick. There were some in the party who would not trust my word. Without the prince of Anfalen, we might have come to blows and slain each other on the spot.”
“But here you are, alive and well. And the winner of the firsttrial!” I tap my fork gently against the edge of my plate in dainty applause. “Well done. I hope you spent your day appropriately basking in glory.”
“It was really nothing.”
“Is that so? Just because you like to accomplish three glorious deeds before breakfast as a matter of course doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t be duly impressed.”
Another hint of color stains the edges of his cheekbones. He looks away, fixing his attention on the waterfall. Would now be a good time to give him the scarf? Or would it be best not to offer him my colors? I wouldn’t want him to get the idea that I actually favor him, that I desire for him to continue throwing himself boldly into each new challenge. Perhaps it would be best if I simply didn’t mention the scarf at all.
