To his displeasure, I close the double doors and draw the curtains over the glass. That done, I look about for something to occupy me until Rally and Ty return. Unfortunately, what I find is the king’s untouched breakfast. If I leave it there like that, the staff will know he didn’t return. That might spark rumors regarding this whole fated flames thing.
I sigh and start eating.
A quarter of an hour passes before a knock sounds at the door and I’m forced to gulp down the last of a chocolate-drenched muffin.
“Come in,” I call, swiping at my face as I stand.
To my surprise, it isn’t Rally or Ty. It’s an older man whose granite-like face and hooked nose remind me eerily of our household manager at home.
“Your Highness,” the man says as he bows at what appears to be a perfect right angle. “I am Oiken, the king’s majordomo.”
Of course he is.
“Would you kindly follow me?” Oiken says.
He leads me into the front room, which is set up like a parlor. I came this way when I arrived, but Rally and Ty moved me through so quickly that I only caught a glimpse. Now I see that the room seems designed for playing cards and embroidering for hours on end, both of which I loathe.
Rally and Ty, looking a hair out of breath, stand by the door leading to the hallway, and in front of a large window stands a Vasnan loom.
“A gift,” Oiken says, “from his majesty.”
I glance at the brothers, who are both watching me with unchecked hope in their eyes.
“How kind,” I say.
Oiken looks at me expectantly. Does he want me to sit down and start weaving now? Perhaps it’s only the strange morning making me contrary, but instead of dutifully moving to the chair set out for me, I smile.
“I’m afraid I hold no talent for the loom, sir.”
To my surprise, Oiken seems unperturbed. He merely turns to the brothers and nods his head, sending Rally lunging out of the room.
What is going on?
No one speaks in the moments after. I send Ty a questioning look, but he only answers with a watery smile. Oiken, hands tucked behind his back, stares at the wall.
In mere moments, Rally returns with a flock of girls bearing vases of flowers. They swarm into the room, set their loads on a table, and swarm out. I sneeze.
“Perhaps you might enjoy flower arranging,” Oiken says, squinting as he tries to repel his own sneeze.
“I fear I never attempted it,” I say slowly.
His nose lifts. “It is a common lady’s art.”
I’m not confrontational, but the barb stings. “Perhaps I am uncommon,” I murmur.
Oiken flushes. “Of course, Your Highness.” Another nod is aimed Rally’s way, and the man flees the room once more.
All through the morning, new diversions arrive for Oiken to entice me with.
“Painting, Your Highness?”
“It never took,” I say.
“Perfume making?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Chocolate sculpting?”
