‘It’s the cooks,’ Kyor explains from where he’s sitting at his desk, charcoal in his hands. ‘They’re making breakfast. I should have thought. Should have asked them to keep it down a bit. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. I don’t mind.’ The constant hum of noise reminds me of the slums somehow. Of Ruben and Peter and having Kay constantly there beside me. Not just for a couple of hours at a ball every now and then. Nights that seem destined to end in tragedy.
Still, I’m surprised by how loud the kitchen is, with the clattering of pans and the laughter of the women as they go about their early morning jobs. It’s so joltingly ordinary.
‘Do they always wake you like this?’
‘Every day,’ he says. ‘I like waking up to laughter. It’s normally the only time of day I get to hear it. Besides, it guarantees I’m up before everyoneelse. Before the Retterheld, it ensured I got some time in the battle yard by myself. These days it ensures I’m up to train with you.’
‘Thank you.’
He moves in the space of a moment, coming to sit beside me and interlocking his fingers with mine.
‘How are you feeling?’ His eyes are full of concern, softness, safety.
‘Broken,’ I reply truthfully, then hesitate before continuing. ‘You know, it’s strange. I thought … I thought death couldn’t get to me like that again. First it was Florian, then my mother, then my father. The number of people I saw in the slums … I thought I was hardened to it. But yesterday it felt like I’d learned nothing. It’s so raw. And it’s stupid, because we’re in the Retterheld. The fact that she and Benny and I made it this far is a miracle. I should have been better prepared for it.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Hardening yourself to death doesn’t help. It just stops you from grieving people you loved. That’s not fair on either of you.’
‘And have you grieved properly?’ I ask him pointedly, keen to shift the focus and learn more about the man who held me through all my nightmares. ‘Have you grieved Zelle? Your mother? Your baby brother?’
His eyes shift from mine as he lifts his hand to his mouth and bites the corner of his thumbnail. ‘I’m sure if my mother was here, she’d say no. But I think I’ve tried my best.’
I swallow. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry you lost her.’
In all the conversations we’ve had before, I don’t think I’ve ever spoken the words or thought about what Kyor losing his mother meant to him without simultaneously being drawn back to what I also lost that night.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, he offers me a fleeting smile. ‘It’s life. We lose people. I guess the aim is to try not to lose yourself afterwards. I failed at that once.’ Silence swells between us and I want to break it. Want to break the hurt of the memories filling us both. But before I can, he’s on his feet. ‘I’ll fetch us something to eat.’
‘You don’t have to do that. I can go to the dining hall.’
‘But it’s not exactly a long journey for me, is it?’ He flashes me a smile before opening the door. The scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries floods the room.
‘You’re up late today, Your Royal Highness,’ one of the cooks calls.
‘Did we hear voices in there? A visitor, perhaps?’ Hearing Leilah’s voice is a reminder that I need to talk to her about the food for the slums,though now, with me eavesdropping on her and Kyor’s conversation, it doesn’t feel like the right moment.
‘Just after some food please, Leilah,’ he says.
‘Right. Would that be food for one or two?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’
I’m surprised by the playfulness in his tone. I’d hate to be interrogated by anyone about who I was sharing my bed with, and yet the prince is taking a ribbing from one of his staff in good humour.
‘Well, you know me, I like to keep an eye on you,’ the woman continues. ‘Make sure they’re good enough.’
‘Trust me, she is,’ he replies. ‘I think the issue is whether I’m good enough for her.’
Warmth spreads through me, and not just at his words. When I was dreaming of making it to the Retterheld I had such a clear vision of the prince. How he’d be cold, calculating, and plotting the downfall of everyone he disliked. I never imagined Kyor as someone who would spend his time chatting with the kitchen staff. But then, I never imagined he would be the man holding me all night, comforting me through nightmares, and bringing me breakfast. I know so little about him; the rest is just an image painted in my head. A version of him formed from years of festering pain. The other part is the man he projects. The ruthlessness, the constant solitude and the lack of need for anyone or anything. Neither of them seem to fit the glimpses I’ve seen of who he actually is.
When Kyor returns, the plate he carries is piled high with enough food for at least half a dozen people. But the first thing I reach for is a glass of water.
‘How long do you think we have until the next trial?’ I ask as I sip. ‘It has to be at least a few days, right?’
‘Guess so. Are you up for training now?’
I don’t reply straightaway. It’s tempting to stay here, to lock the door, to hide away from the world. But then I think of Benny. Of him waking up alone. Of him walking down to the dining hall and seeing our table empty. There’s no way I can do that to him.
