“You may compliment it, but you must reserve yourself. Eating is an art, notfor your appetite.”
Her spoon clinked against the porcelain as she tightened her grip, and the broth suddenly turned cold in her mouth.
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of food?” she asked with a humorless chuckle.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Cedric replied, his arms crossed over his chest. “What matters is how you act.”
Something pricked behind her ribs. Years of hunger gnawing at her insides like an insatiable monster rose in her memory—the exhaustion and fear that came with survival. He most likely never had to worry about such things. Biting her lip, she restrained herself from responding and focused on her plate.
They moved on to the main course, which consisted of a poached egg and a croissant. Nin cut through the egg as delicately as she could, but the yolk spilled like a brimming volcano, spreading across the white porcelain. Without thinking, she dabbed the egg white through the sticky, yellow mess, in an attempt to clean it up.
“Stop. Stop,” Cedric demanded. “You cannot rub it in like that. You’re making finger-paint art.”
The prick flared up her throat. Nin set the fork down with more force than she intended. Would she get anything right?
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself of her brother, who was receiving personal care for the first time. She glanced at the nightstand, where his last letter lay beside her bed, its scrawling print unmistakable. If she held on to those words, she could make it through these pretentious lessons.
Cedric paced around her. “Who is Princess Marianne’s betrothed?”
After she chewed and swallowed, she said, “Prince Rodrigue of Castaviel.”
“Full name.”
She rolled her eyes, “Prince Rodrigue Esteban Valladares.”
“His ranking?”
“The heir to the throne of Castaviel,” she recited. It was one of the few people she drilled into her memory since Princess Marianne was in love with Rodrigue, and Nin would have to act as his devoted fiancée in little more than three weeks.
“And the ambassador who will accompany him?” Cedric asked, his boots clicking against the floor.
Her mind faltered. Moments ago, she had the answers clear as a bell, but now there was an empty well to draw on.
“Uh,” she stuttered, her thoughts running in circles for an adequate answer. She knew it was a foreign name that rolled off the tongue in a satisfying way.
“Ambassador Don Martín Calderan?”
“No,” Cedric said, halting mid-stride. “His name is Ambassador Don Mateo Calderón. Did you read anything I gave you last night?”
“I did,” Nin said, turning in her seat to face him. Her pulse rushed in her ears. “It’s just… there’s so much information. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this.”
“You must,” Cedric said, and she peered up at his towering frame. “Your survival depends on it. I will be there when you do not have all the answers, but I cannot always save you.”
Silence settled in the room. Nin ground her teeth as she steadily met hisunflinching glare.
Light footsteps cut through the tension. Lucille placed a hand on Nin’s shoulder. “That is enough for this morning. We may resume later.”
Cedric then inclined his head. “Very well. I have duties to see to for the rest of today. We will resume tomorrow.”
When the door closed behind him, tension drained from Nin’s shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been forcing all her cracked pieces together until Lucille’s gentle touch.
Nin’s chin quivered, but she swallowed the emotions to the pit of her stomach. Lucille cleared the dishes in quiet understanding, patted Nin’s face, and left her alone with her thoughts.
Nin collapsed onto the bed, with all the lessons she’d learned throbbing behind her forehead, every rule and correction pressing in at once. Her body melted into the mattress, softer than anything she had ever known, but she stared up at the canopy with a knot in her throat.
The room was too large, too quiet, too full of things she couldn’t get used to. She remained confined here until her training was complete. She couldn’t dare step onto the balcony without fear of being seen, and the realization wrapped around her like a silk-dressed cage.
A slight weight bounced onto the bed. Bijou padded over to her and curled against her hip. The knot tightened in her throat until hot tears filled her eyes and fell into her ears. She turned onto her side, one hand resting against the dog’s soft fur.
