“We should wait until she places her order.”
“It needs to be now. We can’t wait.”
He sucks in a deep breath. “That makes it trickier, but we can try.” He shrugs.
I’ll take it.
“Yes…please,” I tell him.
“You’re in luck, I’m sometimes the one who brings the tray to her, so the guards shouldn’t question me. We use a serving trolley. It should be big enough, at a push.” He looks me up and down, sizing me up in a way that’s almost comical, given the circumstances. “You might be able to fit underneath. We normally drape a tablecloth over it. They sometimes check, so they might find you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“It’ll hide you, but only if you can make yourself very small.”
“I can do that.”
“It won’t be comfortable.” He looks me up and down some more.
“Comfort isn’t my concern right now.”
Ferris nods slowly. Then faster, as if convincing himself. “I’ll go and get everything ready. Give me a few minutes.”
“Ferris.” He turns back. “Can I trust you? Can I trust you to do what is right?”
His face tightens. I see the struggle in him.
“Think of all our years as friends,” I say. “Much has changed. I won’t deny it. But the heart of who I am remains the same. I want what is best for this kingdom. For everyone in it. Human and fae alike. There are other kings who have returned like me. I plan to find them. To build something strong enough to stand against Snow.”
Ferris holds my gaze. His eyes are bright. Then he nods, once.
“I’ll help you, Baldwin.” He catches himself. “Sebastian…sorry…um…yes…I’ll help.”
He disappears into the kitchen, and I let him go.
It’s tough because trust is something I have always struggled with. Right now, I trust my instincts are right, and I trust him…I do.
I must.
The minutes crawl. I stay in the curing room, listening to every sound, analyzing every footfall and voice for a hint of alarm. None comes.
Then Ferris returns, pushing a large metal serving trolley draped in white linen.
I heave out a sigh.
Thank the goddess.
On top of the trolley sits a candle in a silver holder, a bottle of wine with an opener, and two glasses. One is plain, and the other is ornate crystal. There is also a silver cloche covering what I presume is a sweetened pastry, and some silver cutlery.
He lifts the edge of the tablecloth. “Get in.”
I do as he says. The space is not meant for a full-grown male, especially one as tall as I am. My knees press into my chest. My shoulders are almost too broad to wedge between the trolley’s legs. I have to twist my spine at an angle that sends a sharp complaint through my lower back. One of the cross-braces digs into my ribs.
It will have to do.
“This is…” I grit my teeth, adjusting an inch to the left. It doesn’t help. “Quite miserable. You will need to be as quick as you can, please, Ferris.”
“I’ll do my very best. Keep very still and very quiet.”
