A short woman who was plump like risen dough stood in the entryway, bearing a tray on one hand and the door knob in the other. Although she was petite, she manhandled the door shut with enviable strength before waddling to Elle’s bed side.
Behind her Emele, who had been smashed into the wall, slid to the floor before picking herself up and fluffing her hair and extravagant skirts.
The newcomer set the tray down and smiled at Elle. She too wore the familiar black mask with maroon edging that all the female servants wore, but she smelled like cinnamon and her butter blonde hair was covered by a white coif.
Elle studied the woman’s jacket and shift. “You’re the…cook?” Elle guessed. It was unusual for a woman to be the head cook, particularly in a chateau.
The doughy woman smiled, pleased, and nodded before she removed covers from Elle’s dinner tray.
The tray was filled with cheese, venison, pike, minced pies, peas, strawberries, and candied fruits.
Elle stared at the venison—she had never had deer in all her life, it was only a dish for the rich.
The cook soundlessly laughed at Elle’s shock and helped her sit up so she could eat.
Past the cook Emele held up a slate that read Bernadine. Elle, suspecting Emele hadn’t tutored her yet to a level where she could read names, let her gaze slide across the slate unintelligently, but held the information close.
The cook, Bernadine, conveniently set up the tray for Elle’s use and watched her dig in. When Elle looked up from her buttered peas the cook was studying her the same way she would study a piece of meat while looking for the best cut.
The cook cast off the look and smiled when she realized Elle was staring at her.
Elle uneasily swallowed her peas and mentally reviewed her conduct. Everyone seemed to assume Elle was from the village of Belvenes, which was roughly an hour walk from the castle. This suited Elle perfectly as she didn’t really want the cursed prince to find out who had plunged through his ceiling. Had Elle acted out of character as a mere village girl?
Elle nibbled on a strawberry as Bernadine and Emele exchanged scribbled messages. When she finished eating the cook took the tray and bustled out of the room.
“Can I sleep now?” Elle asked Emele as the ladies maid fussed with the curtains. The less time she spent awake the better. Unconsciousness stopped the pain—the pain from her leg, the pain from her arms, and the pain in her uneasy heart.
Emele did not acknowledge the request.
Elle stared at the decanter of alcohol sitting on a chest across the room. Emele parked herself between it and Elle and settled down with her slate.
Elle groaned when Emele wrote book on the slate before picking up a leather bound book. “I don’t want to practice reading I want to sleep,” she protested.
Emele held up the book with a resolved smile.
Elle sighed, “Book.”
Chapter 2
A Holiday
It was pouring rain when Crown Prince Lucien arrived at the hunting lodge. Severin, having arrived an hour earlier, escaped the downpour entirely and had the privilege of watching his half brother leap from his carriage and splash to the lodge door.
By the time Lucien entered the lodge he was drenched. His fine blue waistcoat was soaked and his petticoat breeches were spattered with mud. But even though he should have looked like a drowned rat, Lucien managed to wear his pricey—ruined—clothes like they were fit for a king—mostly because they were.
Severin slipped his papers out of the packs he transported them in. “It’s a good look on you,” he said as a puddle collected at Lucien’s feet.
Lucien sourly scrunched up to his face before turning to guards—who were wearing waterproofs—waiting just outside the door. He spoke to them in a lowered tone Severin could barely hear over the rain and gestured outside.
The guards nodded and exited the small hunting lodge before pairing off and setting out on patrols.
“You already had your men search the grounds?” Lucien asked, swatting cobwebs from a chair before he sat. The hunting lodge was a long forsaken lodge of the royal family’s. It hadn’t seen use in over a decade before Severin was cursed and placed himself in exile at Chanceux Chateau. Since then the brothers took to handling their joint business at the lodge, keeping Severin out of the public eye and allowing him to keep his post as his brother’s commanding general.
“I did, but another patrol would be wise. Our enemies would dearly love to see both of us killed in one strike,” Severin said.
Lucien chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I doubt anyone is brave enough to try killing you now, brother.”
Severin shrugged. “What news do you bring?” he asked, setting an inkwell on his table.
“Very little. As long as you are cursed, preparations for our war with Arcainia are limited at best,” Lucien said
Severin held in a sigh. “I told you, it would not be wise to march against Arcainia. We have been at peace with them for forty years and they have done nothing to offend us. Why do you insist on going forth with your plans?”
