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“You are very polite,” I say.
Meeting my eyes, he clinks his goblet to mine. “You are very beautiful.”
I’d been about to take a sip when he says it. I am not practiced enough to pretend his words don’t affect me.
But I have been taught enough to know one thing. Always, always accept a compliment. Without qualifying it.
“Many thanks.” I lift my drink once more. “And thank you for bringing me here this eve.”
We stroll around the fire, and though I do not recognize anyone, Erik either knows most of the men here, or they speak to him because he is the queen’s commander. We find our hosts, and only after speaking to them do I realize . . .
“There are no trestle tables.”
Instead, food is carried on trays. I’ve accepted fruits and small meat pies, so small they fit on two fingers. We watch dancers and jugglers as the audience of less than thirty people talks and laughs.
“Do you have feasts such as this at the capital?”
We stand not far from the fire, surrounded by festivities yet still quite alone.
“Of this sort? Nay. Though I shall speak to the queen about starting such a tradition.”
His words remind me of one of many reasons this current obsession with Lord Erik Stokerton, the queen’s commander, cannot stand.
“Tell me of her.” I am curious, despite his ties to her.
“The queen?”
“Aye.”
He takes a sip of wine, and I do the same.
“She is unlike her father in every way. He was quick to anger, she is even-tempered. King Malcom curried favor with those most loyal by promising that which he could not, or should not, deliver. Cettina does it by respecting those around her and asking their opinion. Malcom would have considered that weak. But the queen does not believe relying on others is weak at all, and that is her strength. She is firm but kind.”
If I had wondered about the truthfulness of the rumors before, Erik has just answered the question for me. Cettina, he calls her. And he speaks of her as if she were a goddess, not quite human.
“You care for her?”
The words fly from my mouth, and I wish to stuff them back.
He is offended. Rightly so.
Erik sighs. “You’ve heard rumors, then?”
I don’t wish to answer, but it seems I must.
Nodding, I take a long sip from my goblet so I can avoid speaking.
“Do not believe all of what you hear, Reyne. There are those in the capital who spew untruths as if they are facts, for their own purposes.”
Is he denying it, then? But Erik did not actually say nay, he does not love the queen.
“I do not have the opportunity to hear much,” I admit. “But ’tis my own doing.”
A new song begins, and a tray of pastries are presented to us.
I’ve never attended a feast where all courses were combined. Of course, I’ve also never attended one without tables. In a courtyard.
“The water holds you back?” he guesses.
