Page 62 of The Duke and the Disciple

Pieter nodded. “Another time.”

“Stewardess Wynter, perhaps you’d like to tell us about Duncarrow then.” Rustan slumped back in his chair with a thoughtful look at nothing.

“Oh. I...” Imryll furrowed her brow. “What would you like to know, my lord?”

“Why you would give up such a distinguished title as princess, for one.”

“It may be you find the title distinguished because you’ve never had to wear it.” Small titters echoed down the table. “I never wanted it and was told I was not fit for it. They only gave it to be me because they were persuaded by my perceived easiness to control. They were wrong. King Torian was my dearest friend. His dying made the keep unlivable for me.” She sighed deep and tried to smile. “Witchwood Cross is home for me in a way Duncarrow never could be. I may not have met my husband in the most traditional way, but fate put him in my path for a reason. And I thank fate for it every day.”

“My bodyguards are all ugly old men,” Nyssa complained. “Is this why, Mother? You’re worried I’ll run off to some far-flung village and elope with one?”

“You are uncouth and will be lucky to marry the woodcutter’s son with that mouth,” Felice snapped. “Stewardess Wynter, by all accounts, you have made the steward an honest, settled man, and there were years we were not certain it was possible. Ignore my daughter, who has only learned to receive respect, not give it.”

Nyssa hmphed at her plate.

“It’s quite all right, my lady. I would be a fool to expect others not to be curious about the princess who defected with her guard.” Imryll set her napkin on the table. Aesylt caught her eyes, witnessing a darker pain than her words would allow. “Would it be rude for me to excuse myself to check on Aleksy? He didn’t sleep well last night.”

Felice waved a hand. “Being a mother must come first.”

Imryll lifted from the table, bowed, and left in a rush.

“Is talking about Duncarrow so undesirable that Aesylt would change topics and Imryll would flee the room?” Rustan asked with a wry grin. The question was loaded though. Few men in the realm hated the crown as much as Rustan Dereham.

Aesylt tried to answer, but Rahn stayed her with a quick nod and a smile that didn’t fully form.

“I have few memories before Duncarrow, my lord, and I spent my years on the island teaching others. There’s little to tell that would not bore you,” Rahn explained. “Like Imryll, I’ve found a greater sense of purpose in Witchwood Cross and am grateful for the opportunity provided by the steward and his generosity. And to you, for allowing us to continue while we wait.” He dabbed his mouth and pushed back. “If I recall, there’s a section of the Wintergarden covered by a canopy of branches that protects you from the elements. If you don’t mind, I’ll indulge myself in a stroll before the ice sets in. Thank you for the excellent meal.”

Aesylt rose, but he shook his head and left without her.

Felice was next, declaring she had an appointment with her seamstress, and then Rustan, who had business in the village.

“The scholar really has no wife?” Nyssa asked, frowning at the door everyone had exited through. Her face was half-lit by the roaring hearth, the other side steeped in shadow.

“Correct,” Aesylt said. She watched the door, slighted by Rahn’s gentle rejection. “And has no desire for one.”

“Do the two of you talk about your desires often?” Nyssa’s tone was impish, with a matching grin. “And does your brother know?”

“The scholar is a treasured friend of the Wynters,” Aesylt replied testily. “And Drazhan encourages my passion for science.”

“Passion for science or for the beautiful man who could bring a village to his knees with that soft voice of his?”

“Our relationship is purely professional, Nyssa.”

“And what does professional mean to you, Aesylt?”

Aesylt glanced at Pieter for help, but he seemed amused by the fraught exchange. She could only wonder, bewildered, where the beautiful coquette goading her had come from and where she’d put her old friend. “Nyssa, what you’re implying is, frankly, dangerous and could lead to unnecessary trouble for him. I’m not the only researcher in his cohort.”

“Just the one he couldn’t bear to be parted from.” Nyssa stood, lifting her skirts with a soft bow. “I must join Mother with the seamstress. Only the best for the ball.”

“Ball?” Aesylt asked, but Nyssa lifted her head high and took her answer with her.

“More of a cozy soiree now, a coming out of sorts for her marriageability, which is just a formality,” Pieter explained when she was gone. He leaned over and grabbed Nyssa’s half-drunk wine, finishing it. “Mother still wants to open the ballroom, which is absurd. There won’t be more than a couple dozen people in attendance, now that the village is on lockdown.”

“Because of us.”

He shrugged. “No one else will say it, but they’re all a little relieved not to have to put on the full show.”

“Well, thank you so much for your help back there,” Aesylt muttered and stood. “What did you do with the Nyssa I remember?”

---