Page 101 of Of Rime and Ruin
“It was a good hunt.”
“Lots of game, I heard.” She cocks an eyebrow. “And the hunters seemed pleased by your Brine spy. She’s got quite the gift. Useful.”
Her words are bait, dangling on a line. Tempting me into gossip. I fold a pair of pants against my chest, creasing every fold with precision. “Yes. Useful.”
“Are you planning to keep her around a while?”
I clench my jaw and work hard to keep my expression neutral. With great effort, I clear my throat. “Not sure.”
“Well, it’d be a shame to keep someone sousefullocked in the guestroom forever.” Her ulterior motive. I should have guessed this visit wasn’t about laundry.
“My intentions for the princess are none of your concern, Deirdre,” I snap.
“Your Majesty, if I may be so bold?”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.” I snatch the last shirt and stuff a hanger inside the shoulders.
Her lips twitch in a small smile. “You’re harboring a foreign princess. Eventually, the truth will come out, regardless of yourintentions.”
“You want me to let her go.”
She says nothing, only lifts the empty basket to its place on her hip.
“We could feed the kingdom in half the time, with her leading the hunt. How could I let her go, when she’s such an asset to the kingdom?”
“Is that all she is to you? A tool to wield for the greater good?”
My ears burn. “I’m not…”
“At least give her the choice, Sire. She might surprise you.”
“And if she leaves me? I could never bear it, Deirdre. I—”
“Shh, shh.” Deirdre holds up a finger. “This conversation is between you and Nahla. Dinner’s in an hour. You can tell her then.”
She pushes through the door and takes a step into the hallway. My stomach sinks as she leaves. Deirdre has always had my best interest in mind, and whether I like to hear it, she’s never wrong.
The door is almost closed when I call out her name. She turns, cocking an eyebrow.
I smile, an apology of sorts. “Speaking of dinner, I’d like to serve hot chocolate tonight.”
“An excellent idea, Sire.” She winks.
Chapter forty-two
Nahla
Istandcorrected:theFrost Kingiscapable of lavishness. The table before me brims with it. Salads, soups, roasted meats, piles of sweet rolls, little jars of jam. Three plates and a bowl stack at my place setting, surrounded by various sizes of forks and spoons. And to top it all, a steaming mug of a rich chocolate drink smothered in cream.
“Are you making amends, Your Majesty?” I quip, draping the napkin over my lap.
If he thinks he can keep me locked in my room all day, then apologize with an abundance of treats at dinner, he’s mistaken. I grew up with Winona, and I know all the tricks.
“Drink that before it gets cold,” Aethan grunts. He takes a bite of roast woollygoat and chews it roughly, like he’s angry at the meat.
I lift the mug to my mouth, hyperaware of his tracking gaze on my hands, my lips. He can’t look me in the eye. Am I justsomething pretty to watch at his dinner table? A doll, once again utterly useless in my role.
Fine. See if I fucking care. I watch him over the rim of my mug, determined to hate every drop.
