“I didn’t say that.” I leaned back against the cool marble of the freestanding workbench. The gaudy cake was most definitely not what I would have chosen, if I’d had any say.
She clicked her tongue. “You didn’t need to. Now, stop skirting around the question and tell me what happened.”
Crossing my arms, my gaze shifted to the harried-looking cooks and kitchen hands working hard to get everything ready for the evening. Although they were used to me being down here, I still caught one or two uneasy looks in my direction. Most were too absorbed in their tasks to notice me—which suited me perfectly, seeing as I was trying to keep a low profile. “Nothing happened. Well, no more than the usual.”
“What was the argument about this time?”
I dragged my eyes back to her. She looked frazzled, with thin lips, pinched brows and a smear of powdered sugar on her cheeks. She’d probably been up since before dawn putting the finishing touches on that eyesore of a cake. “The gown,” I admitted, scrunching my face.
She raised her eyebrows. “The dessert gown?”
I chewed on my lower lip. How much could I get away with omitting? The gown my grandmother had chosen for me was an affront. As much as I liked to leave a lasting impression, the white sequins and puffs made me look like a bedazzled meringue. I’d tried to reason with her, but it had been as effective as convincing the tide not to rise. She’d left me no choice, really.
“There was an accident,” I said, keeping my features neutral.
She heaved a sigh. “What did you do?”
“Me?” I asked, placing a hand on my chest in feigned innocence. “I did nothing. But it was awfully clumsy of that maid to spill tea all over it during my dress fitting.” I didn’t mention how I used my magic to give the teapot a little nudge. I’d been wearing the dress at the time and the spilled tea had been eye-wateringly hot, but it was completely worth it.
She opened her mouth, most likely to remind me that the maids weren’t paid enough to be chess pieces in a game with my grandmother.
Before she could speak, I added, “She wasn’t in too much trouble. Accidents happen. It’s just a shame the stain can’t beremoved in time for tonight’s festivities.”
Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m guessing you have a replacement?”
I nodded solemnly. “I can only thank Vell that I had the foresight to arrange for another gown to be made—just in case.”
She rolled her eyes. “And how did Her Majesty take the news?”
“As expected.” An understatement. My grandmother was livid. She’d immediately suspected me, of course, but had no way to prove anything.
Mae looked as though she was going to keep pushing the matter but was interrupted by an ear-splitting crash. One of the kitchen hands had dropped something porcelain on the tiled floor. Her face twisted in annoyance. “Then you’d best stay out of her hair for now. But not here, unless you want to help with filleting the fish.”
I snorted. “Don’t ever lose your sense of humor, Mae. It’s what I like best about you.”
“No, you like that I feed you tarts. Now off with you, I’ve got work to do.” She waved me off, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Very well.” I sighed dramatically, pushing off the workbench. “I’ll leave you to your fish.”
Hands on hips, she stepped in front of my path. “Before you go running off, I want you to promise me you’ll stop by tonight? I want to see you all polished up, you hear me?”
“I promise. If you swear not to cry—you know it embarrasses me.” A joke; Mae and I didn’t do emotional displays.
She scoffed, wiping her hands on her stained apron. “And don’t forget—I’ll have your real cake tomorrow.” She knew I loathed lemon desserts, so every year she baked me my own little coconut cake. When I was a child, she used to make my favorite—chocolate—but that was a luxury these islands hadn’tseen in years.
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll think twice before you throw your future queen out of the kitchen,” I said, fully expecting a reaction.
“Ha! Goddess help us all when someone puts the likes of you in charge,” she chortled.
I showed her what my grandmother would call amost unbecoming gesture, then hurried out of the kitchen, helping myself to another tart on the way.
Our relationship might not have been conventional, but there was no one who understood me better than Mae. It had been that way ever since she found me passed out in the pantry with cookie crumbs all over my face when I was four years old. Honestly, not much had changed since then—I still counted on her to sneak me treats and hide me from the maids.
She was the only person I could truly be myself around. She understood why I despised the cake and the dress and everything else that had been chosen for me tonight. And she alone knew my secret.
I hated my birthday. When people asked me why, I’d say it was because I hated all the fuss. A lie—I adored fuss. On any other day, I reveled in attention, special treatment, and gifts. But not on my birthday. Only Mae knew it was because I found it hard to celebrate a day that marked another year of the curse and another year without the mother who died birthing me.
I was an orphan, and every birthday was a reminder of everything I’d lost. But, this year, I had no choice but to celebrate.
