“You could,” I said as airily as I could.
“Good. Why have you not married?”
“The mart had been dry. The pool that Ferris could sell me off to, small.” I kept my voice light. “And my own waters a dying prize.” Our house had been established with frost and cold quickening spells as our forte. Winters was now a moniker more suited to the frozen death.
I had scrambled and scraped, just like Ferris and Kennen, to escape our designation. But even before the estate veins collapsed, before we lost everything, I’d struggled. Otherchildren picked up techniques easily while I fumbled through the same exercises again and again.
My family needed me to marry into strength. To buy our way into a family and square that could rejuvenate our magic. But nothing about my situation suggested upward mobility.
“I don’t need a looking glass to tell me where I rate on the marriage market, nor a broken power meter to tell me lie.”
“They haven’t seen how you use your tongue.”
“My tongue does have a way of saying things that are not particularly docile and genteel.”
One thumb brushed my lower lip, parting it slightly. “That’s not what I meant.” His eyes were dark and promising. “But I also deem that a plus. And the gilded never understand what they miss.”
I gathered heated, scattered wits. “My parents weren’t as concerned with the graces as they were with the races. When they died, we went into mourning. Things were…different when it was time to come back out.”
“Your parents spent their time spilling already empty pockets. They sold everything connected to your estate magic to pay their debts. Then they indebted you further.”
My hand tightened around the knife. “Yes. How did you know?”
It was a secret that we had kept close. Oh, there weren’t many ways to lose the power of a great house, so it wasn’t a hard conclusion to reach. But once an estate was gone, one could no longer claim to be gilded. Better to think that we were just poorer in magic in this generation and the next would be strong again. Hollow thoughts.
“I know much about you, Marietta. And your recalcitrant brothers.” He was nonchalant as he stirred the pot.
“I must make sure to delve into your past as well.”
“You can try. You might even succeed. Your industriousness knows no bounds.”
I stopped fiddling with the garlic nub. “That sounds quite close to a compliment.”
“My old aunt Tilly wasn’t half as industrious, though she never found herself in dire straits.” He stirred the pot and looked at me slyly from the corner of his eye. “We called her the old battle-axe.”
My jaw dropped. “You—”
He chuckled and winked. My ire evaporated like the steam from the pot—coiling and disappearing into the air. When he used his wiles, he was tantalizing. With that purely happy look on his face, he was devastating.
“You do realize that I will have my revenge?” I cleaned the knife.
“I could hope for no less.” He flashed a grin, and I gripped the sink’s edge to keep from swaying closer. “The anticipation of your revenge is something I look forward to every night.”
Just the thought of a tavern or alley was enough to make my body warm. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, your highness.” Which would we visit tonight?
“Your majesty, if you will.”
“But of course, your majesty. Can I bring you anything?”
“A bottle and glass of the ambervale would be lovely.” He pointed to a cabinet.
I retrieved a bottle and two glasses.
We were on our second glass by the time Gabriel placed the fillets in a shallow serving dish and sprinkled them with fresh parsley.
The meal was excellent. Moan-inducing. The fish melted in my mouth—the sauce just the perfect balance for letting the flavor come through while hinting at something more,something deeper—teasing me to take one bite and then another.
I sipped the ambervale, which heightened the feeling. Gabriel lifted a brow, but the pleasure in his eyes pleased me in return. “Where did you learn to cook?”
