Page 65 of Heir to His Court

I did not like this aspect of Raniel. Not at all.

“Have food and wine brought as well as a proper chair,” he said, turning away from me. “And find suitable clothing for yourself. No one has died today. You should not be attired for a funeral.”

“White is the color of the Prince.”

“I invite you to consider why.”

I retreated from the room—swiftly—and did as he ordered, seething at being reduced to a servant. If I must be a servant at least he was not beneath the dignity of my House. I had done my time as a Squire, after all, so such duties were not entirely foreign.

Food and wine arrived, and I waved off the servants to set the small balcony table myself. He didn’t turn, staring out over the city, and I excused myself to change into the clothing the staff had brought me. Another dress, fine and deep blue, fitting my body so perfectly that the suspicions I'd had the night of our first dinner date now solidified. He must have an entire wardrobe for me somewhere, made to my measurements.

“General?” I approached the table, pouring him wine and readying his plate.

I wasn't stupid enough to take the seat opposite him without invitation. I had no delusions as to my function here. If he wanted to punish me by reducing me to a servant, fine. It could be worse.

Doubtlessly, it would get much worse. Besides. . .I was fairly certain he was also testing me. I understood why. My relationship with the other three was volatile, emotional, but they allowed it. Give a girl and inch. . .

Someone brought a chair according to my specifications, replacing the airy silver and whitewood chair that matched Renaud’s table. Threnvanne observed as it was brought in. Tall backed, of heavy dark wood, and carved in animalistic designs. A chair fit for a savage.

“Did you choose the chair?” he asked, a thread of amusement there and gone in his tone.

“Does it please you?”

“It is a chair.”

I almost snorted. It was a small test of my judgement.Whydid he think I was stupid?

Threnvanne approached the table, giving it a cursory glance before picking up the glass of wine and sipping. Brave, to assume I hadn’t slipped something into it while his back was turned.

Finally he sat and leaned back, sprawling one leg out. It was such a. . .warlordy. . .pose that I wanted to ask him if I should bring him his sword.

He gestured. “Sit. Eat.”

“I am not hungry.”

The General sipped his wine, staring at me, said nothing.

I sat and grimly eyed the second setting, then dished myself a meal and began to eat like a soldier. Methodical, not bothering to taste the food because taste didn't matter.

“I know you understand the macronutrients required to maintain your strength,” he said. “And you just expended considerable power for one so young during our skirmish. It baffles me you refuse to eat.”

I speared something blindly, recalling the good old days when I could stab a blade through his hand and get away with it. “Do you care?”

Something dark clawed behind his eyes. “I cannot use a sword that is dull, or a horse that is lame. Or a consort that is fainting from hunger.”

“Ah. I see.” I smiled, continuing to eat. And smiled. Then stopped trying, because I didn’t think he appreciated it anyway. “If you know me so well, then you know I don’t refuse to eat. I just. . .forget. Or have no appetite.”

“Or fill your belly with wine.”

Reallydidn’t like this aspect of Raniel. I put down my fork. “When will you let Renaud out?”

He lifted a brow. “Do youtrulywish me to let him out? Now? The Prince of Everenne, of all of us? I thought you were more canny than that.”

My gut tightened. “You seem to be the greatest threat to me.”

He chuckled. “I am, but not in the way you think. You may have some use. I dislike waste. Renaud, when angered, indulges his vices. Do you not think he might be angry, Kuthliele girl-child?”

Hated the flat way he spoke my name. The mockery under the dry tone, the hint of patronizing contempt and boredom, as if I had absolutely nothing to offer.

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