Page 92 of Falling Princess
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Ifound my appointed knight in Cata’s cheerful kitchen, wearing a plain black apron. The countertop was filled with a dizzying array of vegetables which Lorcan systematically eviscerated with an alarmingly large knife. Blue eyes meet mine, watchful and a bit wary. Not quite as unreadable as before. Hardly an open book, though.
I’ve earned that wariness, though. The watchfulness, too, if I’m honest.
“How can I help?” I asked, after filling the electric kettle. If I could go back and redo the entire beginning of our relationship, I would. “You don’t need to cook for everyone. You’re not our servant.”
Technically, of course, heismy servant, and a very dedicated one. I bit my lower lip. The kettle pinged, and I added hot water to my waiting mug.
“It’s one of my healthier coping mechanisms,” Lorcan said without looking at me, focused on his work. The knife flashed frighteningly fast in his hands. His fingers are full of scars. “My mother worked in the castle kitchens while my father served as a royal guard.”
He doesn’t often acknowledge the traumatic shit we ask him to do for us. How many lives has he taken, yet he still manages to be this sweet, bashful boy?
Not a boy, I suppose, at twenty-one. His frame is still lanky as though he hasn’t quite finished growing. My gaze lingered, as it often does these days, on the hollow of his throat. I remembered lightly tracing those hills and vales. I think about it a lot.
“I didn’t know that about your mother. What else don’t I know about you?”
There was a flicker of blue as he glanced at me. “What do you want to know?”
Everything.“Anything you feel comfortable with sharing.” When he didn’t respond immediately, I added, “Put me to work. Tell me what needs doing, and I’ll do it.”
A faint stain touched his cheeks. My comment was vaguely suggestive, now that I think about it. I sipped my tea. Lorcan lopped the roots off a leek and chopped it into a neat pile. I’ve learned by now that if I wait him out, he’ll eventually respond.
“You can grate cheese,” he said finally, with his gaze directed at the vegetables he was busily dicing. “Aprons are hanging next to the pantry.”
I was about to protest that I didn’t need one, but one glance down at my Royals U logo shirt and I realized my nipples were two visible beads tenting the soft fabric. Right. That seems to happen a lot these days when he’s around. Better cover those up.
I scooted off the stool, flipped my braid over my shoulder and chose a ridiculously frilly apron that someone must have given Cata as a joke. It’s so unlike her, printed with flowers and bees and fruit. Ruffles cascaded around the neck, hem, and pocket. It made me smile, so I picked it over a plain one like Lorcan’s.
“How do I do this?”
You’d think I would have some understanding of how to cook for myself after a year and a half, but he’s taken point on kitchen duty since the very first day. I’ve never had to learn.
Lorcan set aside his knife and pointed me to a different cutting board and box grater. “Hold the top. Press hard.” He demonstrates. I flattened my palm against the plastic handle. My daily efforts to improve my upper body strength must not be paying off yet, because on my first attempt, the cheese block slipped and the grater fell over. I yelped.
“Are you okay?” Lorcan took my hand and examined it. My breath caught, the way it always does in these small moments of contact. I know they mean nothing, but I can’t help it. I was hyperaware of his body, warm at my back as he took my hand and turned it, inspecting it for any sign of injury.
“I’m fine.” There were so many butterflies in my stomach that if he didn’t stop touching me, I knew I would do something regrettable. Ever since the safe house, I’ve been on tenterhooks around him. “A broken nail. I’ll live.”
He frowned but let me go. The nail isn’t even broken. It’s just a bit of chipped paint from my manicure, but he ran it under cold water anyway.
“I can do this, Lorcan. Let me try again.”
He hovered over me like I was a child playing with matches instead of a grown woman fumbling my way through her first cooking lesson. I held the box grater firmly against the board and tried again.
“Use your palm.” He stood behind me, one arm on either side in a protective cage, covering my hands with his and demonstrating the right amount of pressure. His breath ghosted against my cheek. My mind fritzed out.
“Can you handle it from here?”
His voice startled me back to reality. “Of course.”
This is one princess fail you can’t afford, Zosia.
It’s a good thing Raina didn’t witness that little incident. We’ve gradually made a neat exchange this term—last year, she was the one who would hang around in the kitchen with Lorcan while he worked. Now I’m the one making a nuisance of myself under the pretext of helping. I propped my bottom on a stool, took a sip of tea, and tried to keep from glancing over at my knight. It didn’t quite work. Playing the eye contact game has become much more dangerous lately. I’m constantly on the edge of spontaneous combustion.
I finished grating the block of cheese by the time he was done chopping the vegetables into neat piles.
“I’m sorry I was so hostile toward you, at first.”
