“Narcissa. Do me a favor, dear?”
I looked up from the remnants of my pie. Lady Marianna met my gaze across the table. I was surprised to see a glint of determination, and if I wasn’t mistaken, mischief, in her eyes.
“Yes?” I said hesitantly.
“Bring Bennett some food, will you? And a nice big slice of pumpkin pie. He should be about done with those reports.”
I hardly had time to stand before Lady Marianna grabbed a plate of food and some utensils, arranging them neatly on a silver tray. She thrust it into my hands.
Giselle jumped up. “Wait one second!” The seamstress ran up the stairs and came back with a familiar bundle tied off with a purple velvet ribbon. She placed it beside the plate, giving me a wink.
“I—”
“If anyone can get Bennett out of his birthday blues, it’s you,” Prince Ash said before I could protest.
“But why?” I said, bewildered.
“Because you’re going to be his wife and one simply cannot be angry at one’s wife. That would be most unwise,” Lady Marianna said, pinching my cheeks and rearranging my hair. “There. Pretty as a pansy. Albeit a little damp. Hurry now, before the food goes cold!”
I was ushered up the stairs despite my aching feet and my objections. Crown Prince Bennett’s suite was at the end of the empty hallway, his door firmly shut.
I huffed. I much preferred finishing my pie instead of subjecting myself to his cantankerous mood, but I knocked thrice nonetheless, the sound feebly quiet.
The door opened. Crown Prince Bennett glanced at the food, then at me. His waistcoat was rumpled, shirt open at the throat. He was still damp from the rain.
“Your aunt wanted me to bring you dinner,” I said after a beat.
“I’m not hungry.”
I was half-tempted to shove the tray in his hands and leave, but one look down the hall showed me Giselle and Lady Marianna making encouraging gestures. I exhaled, shoving my shoulder against the door before the crown prince could close it.
“Yes, you are,” I said. “You hardly ate anything today.”
He blinked. “Lady Narcissa, I believe I am more acquainted with the state of my stomach than you are.”
I pressed my lips together. Why was he being so difficult? “At least let me come in and sit. My feet are sore. And I’m freezing.”
This seemed to get through to him. He stepped aside to let me pass, and I set the tray down on the nearest table. The woodsy scent of cedar and spices enveloped me as I surveyed his room. A wide window seat took over the opposite wall. His bed was neatly made and the rest of the furniture was arranged in a way that lined up perfectly with the floor tiles.
The space was spotless. The only exception was the mess of papers strewn across his desk. A fire burned happily in the fireplace, warm and inviting. I didn’t miss the sturdy grate secured over it.
The crown prince shut the door. He regarded me with an unreadable expression.
“Are you going to sit?” he asked.
I grabbed the armchair before his desk and took a seat, scrambling for my next words. I felt like a pigeon on a bench. And the crown prince was the cat staring at me.
It seemed my knowledge of language had vanished without a trace. I blamed it on the lungfuls of masculine fragrance I was inhaling, though why it was affecting me so much was beyond me.
“Try some of the pie,” I managed to say, nudging the plate over to him.
Crown Prince Bennett took it wordlessly, though he didn’t make a move to eat. I was reminded of the time Lady Vanessa had visited me, pumpkin pie in hand, to tell me about her arranged marriage to Father. Had I been as frustratingly unresponsive as the crown prince?
I cleared my throat. It felt odd that one of us was sitting and the other wasn’t. “Should we move to the window, Your Highness?”
“Bennett,” he said abruptly, breaking away from the door and taking a seat at the window. He wet his lips. “Your Highness is too ceremonious at this point.”
I took the tray and joined him, shifting slightly on the cushions. “As you wish. Bennett,” I said, trying the name.
