“For what?”
“For asking,” she says, eyes on the dishes she’s now arranging on the table. “Hiln says I talk too much to the nobles. I don’t mean to. I was just raised friendly is all. I forget myself.”
“Hiln is entitled to her own opinion,” I say, settling into a chair, “but your friendliness is most welcome here.”
A ghost of a smile plays over her lips. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Satisfied, I glance over the spread before me as Cora fills a glass with a sweet-smelling wine.
“I don’t think I can eat half of this,” I say under my breath.
Cora chuckles. “That’s what I said, but Hiln insisted, and I dare not fight her.”
“She does seem formidable.”
A quiet laugh that could pass for a cough is the only response. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Majesty?”
“Might you check on my cat friend?”
Her eyes lift, and glancing behind me, she points toward the bed. To my shock, when I turn to look, he’s now lounging there amongst the pillows. “How does he do that?”
Cora shrugs. “He’s a cat. You’ll have to name him soon, you know.”
“Indeed.”
Taking up her tray, she says, “Is there anything else you’d like?”
“Might you loosen my gown before you go?” I glance toward the bathing chamber, which is still silent. “So that no one else has to come later?”
Though no one has said so, I suspect Hiln is my actual ladies’ maid, and that such a thing is her job. At home, I rarely wore gowns that required assistance, but the one I was put in this morning will be a challenge to remove without ripping.
Cora folds her lips together. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but Hiln had thoughts on that as well.” Darting her own glance toward the bathing chamber, she leans near and in a hushed tone, says, “She was of the idea males like to do that sort of work themselves.”
She and I both color up to our eyebrows.
“Oh,” I say.
“Mm,” she says.
And we both color some more, if that’s even possible.
“Well—” Cora clears her throat. “If you’re not needing anything else, I’ll be off.” Curtsying once more, she scuttles for the door.
“Thank you, Cora,” I call after her.
She bobs a curtsy once more. Hesitates.
“Might I say one thing more, Your Highness?”
“Of course.” I fortify myself for more of Hiln’s disconcerting advice, but the way Cora’s eyes brighten suggest the words to come are her own.
“The staff,” she says, “we’re real glad you’re here. We’ve waited a long time for a queen. His Majesty has waited a long time.” She hugs the tray to herself. “There’ll be some who are unkind because, well, they’re not used to humans, and they had their own ideas about who the king should marry, but I hope you’ll like Tirenth anyway. Truly, I do.”
Before I can respond—or even think how to—the bathing chamber door creaks opens and Cora bolts from the room.
Leaving me to face the king as he stalks out in a cloud of steam.
27
