“Just a bite of the elderfruit tart,” a deep, male voice said.
Trew?
I should back away.
Instead, I remained frozen. Listening.
“Alright, you’ve talked me into it,” he purred in an actual, real, not-snide tone. “Give it to me, and I’ll share my opinion.”
No question. ItwasTrew.
Funny how I’d recognize his voice even in my dreams. Now it came smooth and lazy, pulling tight under my skin no matter how many walls I hastily built between us.
I couldn’t see him; he was somewhere off to the right. And Ialmost poked my head fully through the opening to find out what he was doing inside the kitchen at this hour of the night.
“I knew I could convince you,” a woman said in a low, sultry tone. Sultry in a busy kitchen? What in all the fates were they doing? “Anything else I can tempt you with tonight, love?”
Fuck. They were lovers. I knew it.Tempt him tonight, huh? She was trying to lure him into her bed, to… Well, it wasn’t hard to imagine what might happen if someone found themselves in Trew’s bed.
Silken sheets. Bodies moving together. His hands and mouth everywhere. He’d kiss his way down her body and shoulder his way between her thighs and…
“Maybe one of those fellawhip crisps.”
Fruit. He was talking aboutfruit, not… I shook my head, trying to drive the image from my mind of this man kissing his way downmybody, shouldering himself betweenmythighs, and…
If I were wise, I’d leave. Search a parlor or one of the upper floors of the castle. But a shameful part of me wanted to hear him laugh again, wanted to see what this version of him looked like, the one when he wasn’t a weapon pointed at my throat.
Every soft word he offered the woman sliced away at the harsh image I’d built of him. It left me bleeding with confusion, aching in places I didn’t want to name.
“A small one,” he teased. “If I eat too many, I’ll have to train for weeks or I’ll get fat.”
“Not you,” she scoffed. “You’re as fit today as you were when you were twenty.” She knew him much better than I did. This woman may not be trying to tempt him into her bed, but it was clear she adored him.
“You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” he said.
Her low, husky laugh rang out. “Aw, why wouldn’t I be?”
Irritation seared across my bones, diving up to tangle through my belly. I didn’t want him talking like that with anyone but me.
This was a side of him I hadn’t seen, and I was not only stunnedbut…sad? No, that wasn’t the right word. But this Trew was soft. Kind. Sweet, even. To staff. Not sneering or acting as if he didn’t have time to actually talk with the person.
“I’m not asking for the whole tray—yet.” Tender laughter spilled into his voice.
I shifted closer. Carefully, carefully. And I held my breath as I edged myself into the gap enough to see the entire kitchen.
He sat on a stool on the opposite side of an enormous wooden-topped island, lightly shadowed by shelves stacked with jars behind him. I wanted to smooth his mussed dark hair. Had he just gotten out of bed?
A round-cheeked and smiling and at least sixty-years-oldcook, waved a wooden spoon at him.
“You say that every time,” she huffed, but her eyes twinkled. “And every time you leave with half the tray.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” Trew asked with purring indulgence. “To keep me coming back?” He took a bite of something golden and flaky, and closed his eyes, groaning.
Fates, that sound, like velvet sliding over gravel, pleasure-drunk and lazy. A sinful, delectable, spine-tingling sound. Did he groan like that when he touched someone he loved?
It was all I could do to keep my knees from melting.
Other cooks glanced over their shoulders at him, their gazes as equally indulgent as that of the chef.
