Page 18 of The Curse and the Silver Rose

Assuming dinner was again at eight o’clock, Amelie took a hot bath. She groomed herself as best she could without a mirror, cleaning her teeth and brushing her hair. On impulse, she perused the brass trays of accessories and toiletries on a dresser in the bathroom that she’d ignored last night. She pinned her hair with a leaf-shaped clip and dabbed perfume oil on her wrists. The fragrance was an unusual yet seductive combination of rose petals and honey.

Feeling marginally more composed than she had the night before, she departed for dinner with time to spare. The candles still lit her way through the hallways to guide her, although she believed she could almost find the Great Hall on her own.

The silver rose was concealed in her garter, and was a reassuring weight against her thigh. After what she’d seen in the apothecary that day, Amelie felt the need to be prepared to defend herself. There were phenomenons at Castle Grange that she did not fathom and were potentially very dangerous. The promise she’d made to Raphael played on her mind, too, about keeping the rose with her always.

The clock tolled eight times as she stepped into the Great Hall. Davron stood waiting by her chair, looking calm and remote. If he was still in any of the pain he’d displayed earlier in the apothecary, he did not show it. A fresh wave of shame came over her for violating his privacy.

“Good evening, Amelie.”

His voice rumbled through her, like the thunder of a summer’s storm.

She curtsied. “Good evening.”

Davron helped Amelie into her chair, then took his place at the opposite end of the table. The steaming food in front of her was different from last night, but just as appetizing. She had coq au vin, roasted vegetables, buttery clams, and several wines to choose from.

She glanced up to find Davron transferring food to his plate with stilted care. Instead of the single rudimentary fork with which he’d eaten last night, his setting was laid with the same multitudes of silver cutlery as Amelie’s. After battling with the serving tongs, he frowned at the forks lined up by his plate, before picking the outermost one.

As if feeling her eyes on him, he glanced up.

With the distinct sensation of being caught out, Amelie broke his gaze and began on her dinner. Davron concentrated fiercely, eating with agonizing slowness because he kept fumbling with the cutlery, which looked doll-sized in his enormous hands. Despite growling in frustration several times, he persisted.

Amelie resisted the urge to commend his perseverance, knowing the sentiment would be ill-received, and rightly so. No one enjoyed being patronized, even if that was not how she would’ve intended it.

She dawdled over her lavender crème brûlée, while debating internally whether to engage him in conversation. After everything she’d seen that day, she felt compelled to find answers.

He had invited her here, had he not? Well, ordered might have been more accurate. If he didn’t want company, he shouldn’t have struck the bargain with her trespassing brothers. She was not an ornament. She had a right to speak.

But how could she tactfully begin a conversation about her preoccupations? She could hardly admit to letting herself into the mirror room, or the apothecary. As far as he was aware, she knew nothing at all. She settled instead on what she’d seen outside.

“I saw a peculiar hooded figure beyond the fence line today,” she said in her most conversational tone. “A traveler passing through, I expect.”

Davron lost grip on his knife and it clattered to the floor. He ignored it, his attention snapping to Amelie. There was a marked hostility in his glare and she regretted her attempt at conversation at once.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to change his mind. Instead, he shook his head and kept eating. Amelie gulped wine, praying she could return to her chambers quickly, and in one piece.

Under the table, she ran her hand over the outline of the silver rose. Man, beast, or demon. Raphael had assured her that the sword would vanquish any of them. While it was true that Davron had been the one to give her the rose, he was also clearly unstable. Perhaps he wanted her to be armed because he knew he could not be trusted.

At last, he finished eating. Or rather, he gave up, tossing down the silver cutlery and sitting back with an aggrieved sigh. He leveled his gaze at Amelie, who had not spoken a word since she’d mentioned the hooded figure.

“Are you finished with your food?” he asked.

“Yes, I have.”

She went to stand, anticipating an abrupt dismissal like the one she’d received from him the night before.

“Wait,” said Davron.

That one word echoed through the hall, propelled by his baritone voice.

“Yes, My Lord? I mean, Davron.”

She exhaled nervously.

“Will you join me in the drawing room for tea?” he asked, enunciating the words as if he’d never spoken that particular combination before. “You have had a chance now to rest, and a chance to survey the castle, it would seem. I must tell you the truth about what it means to live at Castle Grange.”

CHAPTER 10

“Tea would be lovely,” replied Amelie, her voice rising in surprise.

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