Page 19 of Winter's Fate

Katrina swiveled slowly in his direction, eyebrows raised, while the regent popped his mouth open like a fish. Almost as if they’d forgotten he was there.

Laena met his gaze, her own expression startled. Or maybe it was… curious. Birdlike, almost. “No, my lord,” she said slowly. “I have not.”

Callum had never been one for politics or maneuverings, but he could piece the situation together easily enough. He’d met her at the gate in the early afternoon, and the assassin had not come until well after nightfall. Which meant they’d withheld dinner, at the very least. Intentionally.

Callum might not be a royal, but he knew that visitors to palace sitting rooms were typically provided with an unceasing parade of sandwiches and pastries, to say nothing of the teas and coffees and carafes of wine.

It would have to be intentionally withheld, the servants instructed to send nothing.

These roaches had not even given her a guard. Suspicion crawled up his spine, and he found himself leaning toward the sniveling regent, wishing he could wring the man’s neck.

Callum didn’t know why she’d come back here at all. No wonder her paramour had chosen to remain in the countryside. Callum forced himself to picture the man. He found he needed to remind himself of the fellow’s existence, and though he’dnever met the famous stablehand, he opted to imagine him with a bulbous nose and knobby knees.

Even in his imaginings, the man was kind. Nothing like these people. And nothing like Callum.

Callum nodded in Laena’s direction. “I’m no lord,” he said, echoing her protests about him calling her a lady. He jerked his chin at the guard who’d spoken up about the shattered window. He, at least, was not in the regent’s pocket. “You. Go to the kitchens and obtain the lady some dinner. She’s staying in…?”

He looked to Katrina, who shook her head and—for the first time that he’d noticed—deferred to the regent.

Who cleared his throat. “No rooms have been prepared,” he said.

By the black poison, what sort of peoplewerethese? And Hawk hoped to bargain with them for an alliance? The regent had tipped his chin toward the ceiling, standing by his statement, but the slight shift of weight between his feet gave away a hint of shame. Or at least embarrassment. That was something, at least.

Both he and Princess Katrina were looking at Callum. And he could feel Laena’s eyes on him, too. Would she be angry with him for interfering? When he glanced her way, though, she merely looked bemused. As if she wasn’t used to someone speaking on her behalf.

In Callum’s mind, the stablehand grew a wart in the middle of his forehead. He should be here to defend his lover. His wife? Perhaps they’d wed by now.

“Have the food sent to my rooms, then,” he said, the words coming out as a growl. “And be quick about it.”

Katrina opened her mouth as if to object to someone else giving orders in her palace. But Callum was finished with propriety. No doubt General Landon Moore would’ve simpered for the queen-to-be, laughing as she sent her injured sister awayin disgrace. But Moore had been too slow, and Callum was here in his place.

He turned on his heel, nodding at Laena to follow, and made for the door. “We mustn’t linger any longer,” he said. “The king must know of this attack. The delegation leaves at dawn.”

CHAPTER 8

Laena was too exhausted and sore to overthink the fact that she was back in Callum Farrow’s guest chamber, seated by his fire as the palace physician administered treatment. Though the way the captain loomed over the proceedings, it was as if he suspected the physician of sending the assassin.

The physician was a man Laena didn’t know. Physician Gale, who’d served her family since her birth, must have retired. She would not have minded seeing the man again. But his replacement was businesslike and gentle, his movements deft as he examined her injuries. He administered cool cloths to her head and neck as well as ointment to her healing cut.

“No intense exertions for the next few days,” he said. “A precaution only, you’re perfectly fine. But do watch that cut for signs of infection.”

Laena nodded, too tired to ask whether ‘intense exertions’ included traveling to far-flung lands. She would be on a ship. How intense could it possibly be?

The food arrived as the physician took his leave. A servant wheeled in an overflowing cart. Laena didn’t know the servanteither, which was something of a surprise. She’d always made a point to know everyone, by face at the very least. Many stayed in the palace throughout their careers. It seemed Kat had replaced much of the palace staff. Or perhaps Declan had.

It would be like them—to ensure loyalty by hiring new workers. Laena hoped they had at least arranged new employment for the others, if that was the case; it was hardly their fault they’d worked here when Laena had been heir to the throne.

Captain Farrow shooed the servant away, inspecting the tray of food with a glare she would have expected him to reserve for the most heinous of lawbreakers. Then again, judging by the looks he’d leveled at Kat and Declan back in the queen’s sitting room, the man had a whole library of such looks to choose from.

“Any assassins hiding in the pudding?” Laena started to rise from her chair. If she went much longer without eating, especially with the scent of freshly baked bread and savory meat overwhelming her senses, she’d be forced to shove the man bodily out of the way. Though she doubted she was capable of budging him, even if she threw her entire body weight at him.

Farrow grunted as he wheeled the cart over to her, motioning for her to remain seated. “One can never be too certain.”

By the mages, she couldn’t tell whether or not the man was making a joke. But when he pushed the food closer, she found she didn’t much care. They’d brought heaping platters of tenderly roasted meat and crisped vegetables shining with oil, mashed potatoes and cheeses and every kind of sauce she could imagine. There was fruit she hadn’t beheld in five years—tangy citrus from the southern islands and the reddest grapes she’d ever seen—as well as a dish of ruby-red apples. The bread alone made her want to weep.

On the corner of the cart was a small plate set with four chocolate cookies. Rolled into balls, they required no baking,only a night spent in the icebox. She’d learned to make them herself as a child, before she’d understood how much it cost to import chocolate from overseas. Her mother had always reserved them for special occasions.

The guards, physicians, and servants might be new. But someone in the kitchen remembered Laena’s favorite. The thought brought stinging tears to her eyes, which she blinked away before they could fall and embarrass her.

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