He squeezed my shoulders gently. “Go on.”
“Why don’t you want to be king?” He didn’t answer, so I added, “It seems like a lot of people want you to be, and setting up your council has been a lot of work, so I just wondered why you’d go to all the trouble.”
He was silent for a few more seconds, then he breathed out a very long sigh. “I will tell you, but I do not want you to tell anyone else.”
I could do that. “I promise not to tell anyone else.”
He huffed. “You promise so easily.”
I folded my arms. “But I do not break promises. It’s different than lying or stealing. I… I don’t know how to make you understand.”
“But I will risk it anyway,” he said, “out of gratitude for your honesty, despite the vulnerable position it’s put you in.”
Did that mean he was offering some vulnerability of his own? “I do not want to be king because kings and queens have led to more misery in Kalshana than anything else. The Snow Queen was horrible, but she started the war because her parents had been horrible. Before them, a cousin. It’s been one chain of rulers who made everyone in Kalshana suffer. I don’t trust myself to break that chain. I’d rather set up a group that can moderate each other than let any one person try again, even if that person is me.”
That was sweet and endearing and utterly heartbreaking. “Bylur, that… is really noble. I think if you told everyone, they would be more inclined to agree with your council.”
“Auria, you promised.”
“And you’ll see that I will keep that promise. I just want you to know that I’ll support you if you decide to tell anyone else.”
* * *
I smoothed the fabric of one of the most ornate dresses that Brittania had sent to me and chewed the inside of my lip. Rat perched on my shoulder like he knew I needed emotional support, and we stared at the door to the kitchen.
A maid with her arms full of dirty platters approached the kitchen, dropped into a silent curtsy in front of us, and then slipped inside the kitchen. A flurry of urgent whispers followed her, and I bit my lip even harder.
What was I thinking? I’d avoided the kitchen for weeks, since I’d confessed my bread-stealing to Bylur, but he’d told me I could come and ask for some. I just needed to pretend I was actually the lady everyone here believed me to be.
Kusan, the head cook, opened the door and curtsied in front of me. Her two children and Monspen, the dishwasher, poked their heads out of the door. Kusan stood up and folded her hands in front of her waist. “My lady. Is there something we can help you with?”
I folded my hands as well, resisting the urge to wring them like a child. “I assume Bylur told you about the bread?”
She tipped her head. “No, my lady. I wouldn’t presume to speak to my lord.”
“But—” My own nerves fell away as I realized I didn’t need to pretend anything. Bylur had not lied. She would give me any bread I asked for. I could have come in rags, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. “Bylur said you reported missing bread?”
She curtsied again. “Yes, my lady. But not recently. I told Parcival when it happened. He must have informed my lord. And the problem is gone now.”
“Bylur doesn’t seem like the kind of fae who refuses to speak to you because of your station?” The question tumbled out of my mouth before I realized it might be offensive.
But she just chuckled. “No, my lady. But I would not presume to speak to the most powerful fae in our kingdom just because I work in his household.”
I grinned at her. “But you’ll speak to me.”
Her smile shifted to a more compassionate expression—like a mother explaining how the castle worked to her children. “You did bring yourself down here to my door.”
I blew out the rest of my nerves. “I did. Did Parcival tell you why the bread stopped disappearing?”
Her brows lifted in a curious expression. “No, my lady.”
Rat chirped an impatient encouragement. I passed a sunflower seed up to him, keeping my attention facing Kusan. “I snuck down here and took one, almost every day, when I first came here because I was afraid you would be upset if I spoke to you first.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, my lady. You’re welcome to any of the baguettes you’d like. I also make softer loaves and sweet pastries every morning.”
“Pastries?” I hadn’t dared look around the kitchen when I’d snuck in, but pastries had always been something I’d only dreamed about.
Kusan’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Come, my lady.”
