Page 24 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

I approach the other end of the table, closest to the door, and sit. The table is empty, save for a bronze tablecloth, candelabras throwing off dim light, and silverware.

I eye the butter knife resting on the table before me. With a serrated edge, it’s not much of a weapon, but it seems to be my best option.

He doesn’t say anything to me, and instead signals to the servants waiting along the wall. “Bring the first course.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” The servants bow, and then slip into the adjoining room.

Viridian and I sit in silence until the servants return with trays of steaming bowls.

Simultaneously, they place the bowls in front of Viridian and me.

“Thank you,” I say, offering the servant a small smile.

He blushes, eyes lingering on me for a moment before backing away.

Viridian clears his throat. He glowers at the servant, tightening his hand around the armrest until his knuckles go white.

Is that…jealousy?

It couldn’t be. Other than what I look like, he doesn’t know anything about me. And he said it himself when I overheard him with Lymseia. He doesn’t want this betrothal. He has no claim on me. No right to be jealous.

I wait for Viridian to pick up his spoon before doing the same. Then I dip it into my still hot bowl of what seems to be a pale broth with chopped vegetables and a leafy garnish.

Still keeping a close eye on each other, we both lift our spoons to our mouths and blow on them before swallowing.

“So,” Viridian says, finally breaking the silence. “How has your stay been?”

I snort, making no effort to hide my scorn. “Delightful.”

Viridian’s jaw tightens. “Unpleasant, it would seem.”

“Don’t tell me that surprises you.”

“Then perhaps, if it’s so awful,” he says roughly, in an attempt to be cordial, “you should tell me what would make your time here more bearable.”

I have half a mind to demand that he tell me where the dungeons are, and to let me go, while I’m at it. But I know how that conversation will go, so I don’t waste my energy.

I settle for something else. Something he can do for me. “A sketchbook.”

Viridian arches a dark brow. As if he expected something more. “A sketchbook?”

“Yes.” My tone shifts, becoming defensive. “Is that too common for you?”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“No.” He considers the thought while sipping another spoonful of soup. “I’ll have a sketchbook brought for you.”

“How gracious of you,” I say, my voice sickeningly sweet.

Viridian’s cheek twitches.

My eyes fall to my soup. We sit there, in tense silence, until we finish our bowls. It’s as if neither of us know what to say to each other, yet we’re forced to suffer in each other’s company. It brings me some joy to know he’s not enjoying this any more than I am.

The servants bring out the main course—baked fish with warm, buttery potatoes seasoned with aromatic herbs, and freshly baked artisan bread loaves.

My tastebuds buzz with the rich flavors, but I harden my expression, so Viridian doesn’t know how much it pleases me. And it seems to be working—every time I catch his gaze, he’s scowling.

Viridian holds out his goblet, and the servants fill it with more wine. They move to do the same for me.

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