He took her silence as his cue to continue, pulling one of the chairs to sit before her. “You survived well tonight.”
She snorted, “Is that what you call survival?”
“Yes,” he answered honestly. “It is. You handled that with all the grace I taught you.”
“Don’t mock me,” she said miserably, hiding her face in her hands. “I did terribly.”
“I mean it. Besides, peas are pesky little buggers. They’re round, slick, and nearly impossible to spear with any measure of grace. Half the earls were praying not to chase one across the table.”
Nin glanced up with a faint smile pulling at her lips. “I doubt that.”
“No, believe me. I’ve seen more dukes sweat in that dining room than you think.”
Nin chuckled, shaking her head. She sighed and looked at the crinkled handkerchief in her lap.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to run practices right now, though?”
“No,” he answered her gently. “Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow. But for now, I thought you might enjoy these.”
He revealed the candied oranges he had saved for her, neatly folded in a napkin. She had been forbidden from eating sweets during her recovery, but preserved citrus was considered a gentle restorative. Princess Marianne was also not fond of sugary treats, forcing Nin to stay cautious about eating sweets.
But…
Although the dinner hadn’t ended as he had expected, he offered herthe fruit anyway.
Her eyes glistened with quiet wonder.
It was the same look of unrestrained delight she wore whenever there were sweeter foods on her plate—an expression so unguarded and pure it pierced through his walls.
She reached for one before pulling her hand back. “But I failed…” she said, looking to the ground.
“No,” he said softly. She glanced up, and her shocked expression stirred a tenderness within him he had not expected. “You did not fail. You are a brave young woman who survived her first formal dinner.”
Nin’s eyes rounded, and a tear slipped down her cheek. A strange compulsion nearly drove him to wipe away the tear, but he restrained himself, keeping his hand clenched at his side. When she moved to accept the oranges, her fingers brushed against him for a single heartbeat. An awareness flickered through him—soft, dangerous—and unwanted.
Retracting his hands, he folded them in his lap, unsettled by how much he wished the contact had lingered a moment longer.
She held the oranges as if they were precious gems. Holding them to her nose, she inhaled softly with a contented sigh. Tension unraveled in his chest at the sight—of the simple joy radiating from her rosy smile. Although he couldn’t erase the unfortunate events that occurred this evening, satisfaction warmed his heart for bringing her some measure of happiness.
Somehow along the way, he had become partial to her smiles.
As she ate, the silence pressed in, allowing his thoughts to fester.
The court would remember tonight. They did not forgive accidents—they weaponized them. Their concern was disguised as politeness, their gossip masked behind fluttering fans. The more they could point out the flaws within the royal family, the more respect they earned for their attentiveness. Power came from tearing others apart, and many were eager to climb the ranks.
But he would not allow Nin to go unprotected. He had miscalculated once, but he would do everything in his power to make sure she would never face the wrath of the court alone again.
Chapter eleven
Nin grew still when the page handed her a handwritten note from the queen. The swirling signature was unmistakable, but she handed the letter to Lucille to read.
Lucille’s mouth pursed as she scanned the contents. When her skin paled, Nin’s insides curled.
“I’ll inform Cedric,” Lucille said and rushed to the concealed door.
Nin sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the cream fibers of the rug beneath her slippers.
The queen had invited her to tea.
