Hunger claws in my stomach at the assortment of pastries, fruit, cheeses, and breads all spread about the countertops. They’ve taken so much care and pride in just how they’ve prepared it. The cheeses are perfectly symmetrical slices, while the strawberries are carved to look like roses.
Cyrus leads me to the counter, then gestures. “You may have whatever you wish. I particularly,” he plucks a few grapes, “am fond of these. They’re from a vineyard in Everden. I suppose the closest I’ll ever come to drinking wine.”
As I grin, I let my arm slip loose of his as I take a few steps toward the pastries. My stomach grumbles at the scent of sugar. I grab one and take a quick inhale before taking a bite. My shoulders sag at the delicious taste, a soft hint of butter melting in my mouth.
Cyrus turns to lean back against the counter as he pops the grapes into his mouth one by one. Chewing slowly, thoughtfully. He slides a slow glance to me as I take another bite.
“Feeling any better?” he asks.
I nod, still chewing on my last bite before I swallow. “Much, thank you. I must say, the pastries here are far beyond what I could have possibly imagined. The best I’ve ever had. I don’t think my mother ever perfected such a balance of flaky yet soft.”
“Did you bake?”
As I stare at the half-eaten pastry in my hand, I nod as I tilt it. Scanning the sugar-coated edges like it may tell me the secrets of its recipe. “Yes. My family…we’re bakers in Kilamber. It’s all I’ve ever really eaten growing up, because we couldn’t afford much else aside from the scraps we’d have after baking. The shop made enough to cover the costs of the roof over our heads and…” My jaw slowly relaxes until my lips part.
Medicine.
The reason we were in such an unfortunate situation is because the cost of medicine was so high. I stare at my brittle fingers holding the pastry. The pale skin covering the fragile bones. Tightening my grip before my handcan shake, I drop my hand to my side to look at him. Hoping he didn’t just witness what dawned on my face.
I reallyamsick. But he cannot know. He’d never choose a wife who might be sick enough to be a burden.
He twists his head slightly to question my trailing statement. “Enough to cover the costs of the roof and…?”
I clear my throat and dip my head, blurting the closest excuse I can find. “The repairs from the fires, of course.”
It isn’t a lie. Just another truth that bubbled to the surface. That’s why I was so terrified of dragons growing up.
A flash of a wild, red dragon bursts in my mind. The way it tore through the sky, showering fire down across the town in hot lines as all of us screamed and ran.
So incredibly opposite from the sweet, dainty things floating about back in the gardens.
“Ahh, I see.” Cyrus frowns. “I’m so sorry to hear you were also affected by the fires of Kilamber. I sent soldiers there to help clean up the ash and to help rebuild.”
I look down at the half-eaten pastry in my hand. Then decide to take another bite to occupy my mouth.
“Hey,” Cyrus breathes, and when I look up, he’s right next to me. His body heat radiates over me. That gaze flicks from my eyes down to my mouth as he inhales almost inaudibly.
I straighten, licking the sugar off my lips in case it was dusted there. He looks back up at me with a timid grin.
“You, umm…” He lifts a hand, and points at his left cheek. “A little bit of sugar there…”
Blushing, I dip my head and swipe my hand across my cheek as I place the last bite of pastry on the counter.
“Sorry, it’s actually here.” He shakes his head with an awkward laugh and points at a spot on my cheek.
I still, caught in his eyes. Slowly, I inch my chin up a touch toward him. Waiting for him to move.
Blinking rapidly, his lips part as he shifts his attention from my eyes down to my cheek. Only then does he ever so slowly, so gently, brush a shaky thumb across my cheek. His touch scatters a pleasant chill over me.
“There,” he whispers.
“Thank you…”
He drops his hand from my face, and our eyes collide again. Both of us sink into soft grins. We’re stuck in this proximity, neither of us wanting to break the connection. The silence isn’t unsettling. It’s warm and welcoming. Yet, it feels dangerous to be in it.
I whisper to break it, before we’re lost, “What is it you’re looking for in a wife?”
A hesitant smile falls upon his face as he looks down at his boots. “Truthfully, I don’t know. I only hope she can be proud of who I am.”
