Page 3 of By Mistake
Andrus's eyes stung.Why was this stupid bastard sonice."I didn't know there were rumors."Though he wasn't surprised.Just as he wasn't surprised no one would hire him.Help him.That someone had shoved him."Bet I can guess who's responsible," he muttered.
"Who is it?Why do they dislike you so much?"
"It doesn't matter," Andrus said.Why was he running his mouth so much?He knew better.Oresti was being kind now, but he'd change his mind eventually, or move on to something else and simply forget him.
Just like everyone else.
"You should go."
Instead of leaving, or even replying, Oresti went to the baskets and started removing the contents, puttering around the kitchen as he put everything away.When he was done, he stowed the baskets in the pantry and re-emerged with a block of tea."Where's your kettle, I'll—"
The sound of a sharp whistle blowing for all its worth cut through the air, and Oresti sighed.He set the block of tea on the table."I'm sorry, it looks like I'm being summoned.Would you— That is, could I come see you again later?Possibly tomorrow.I don't know what they need of me."
Andrus meant to say no, because why on earth would he want Oresti to come back?What was the point?But when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were, "If you must."
Of all things, Oresti grinned, and why must he be so distractingly, impossibly beautiful?"I'll see you later, then, my lord.Be careful with your hands until they're fully healed.I'll leave the ointment here should you need it."He touched two of his fingers to his forehead in a playful salute."Until later, my lord."
The door closed quietly behind him, and Andrus just stood there trying to figure out what in the gods' names had just happened.Did Oresti want something from him?Andrus snorted.What could he possibly want from Andrus?He'd just brought Andrus groceries for crying out loud.There was nothing he could offer a man like that.
Well, it was possible—remotely, very remotely—he wanted the same thing as Farthing, the cretin responsible for Andrus's ostracization.Andrus couldn't bring himself to believe it, though, no matter how naïve that probably made him.Oresti could very clearly have anyone he wanted; he had no need to waste time and money on the likes of Andrus just for a fuck.
Lips curling as his mind stirred up every unpleasant conversation with Farthing he'd ever endured, Andrus scooped up the block of tea and went to the pantry to take stock and plan out as many meals as he possibly could.He didn't like being in Oresti's debt, but he wasn't going to waste a full pantry either.
As he stepped into the pantry, though, he drew up short—and nearly burst into tears.There wasso much.Bread,eggswhen was the last time he'd had eggs?Was thatsugar?Salt, pepper, other spices.What had made Oresti even think of something as frivolous as spices?
There was butter, cream, both spelled against spoiling.Sausages, other meats he didn't even entirely recognize… Oats, flour… more vegetables than he'd had at one time in years.The tea he was still holding wasgoodtea.A jar of honey.Everywhere he looked, he saw something else.How had so much fit in two baskets?How had he purchased it all so quickly?
Gnawing on his bottom lip, looking over the absolute fortune in food, Andrus tried to make his brain work.To think logically, precisely, plan how to use every single item down to the last grain of salt.But his stomach was growling and his head was aching and he just wanted to eat without stress for once in his life.
So to the hells with it, he would.Just this once.Then he'd go get firewood, and then he would come home and plan out the remaining food properly.
Sniffling, he gathered up bread, eggs, and sausages and went to his room to cook up a feast.
Two
Oresti was going to kill someone.Maybe several someones.He'd start with his father and work his way down to those shitheel vendors who were content to stand around and do nothing as a poor young man was bullied.
A young man who was so thin he was nearly a ghost, his skin ashen and pale, his eyes full of so much pain that Oresti had wanted to hold him close, wrap him in blankets, and give him everything his heart desired until the pain was a distant memory.
That was probably the guilt talking.Oresti had just believed the rumors like everyone else, never once stopping to think about it.Cold.Stand-offish.Stays locked up in his house and won't talk to anyone.Thinks he's better than all of us, like it wasn't his dead relatives who murdered a prince.Snobby know-it-all.
How could everyone be sowrong.It bothered Oresti, personally and on an instinctual level.There was a mystery there, and he would solve it.
Right after he dealt with his father's summons.Because it wasn't as though he'd been working his ass off on murders and thefts and a suspicious fire all day, now his father had more work for him.
This would give him a chance to speak with his sister, though.His father was king, but his eldest sister ruled the court.If anyone could find the source of a rumor—and change rumors—it was her.
He used the staff entrance to slip into the palace, and servants' halls to make his way to his room undisturbed.When he arrived, his chamber servants were already there and had a bath drawn, the smell of the smokey sandalwood bath oil he favored wafting gently across the room."Thank you."
"Our pleasure, Your Highness," said Greivs, who'd been with him since Oresti was fifteen and Greivs seventeen.He could have moved on to other jobs, much easier and less demanding, but he'd always remained.He was the one real, true friend Oresti had.
Oresti smiled as he finished undressing and slipped into the bathing chamber, sinking into the hot water with a happy sigh."Any idea what my father wants?"
"I'm afraid not," Greivs replied, more casual in manner and speech now it was just the two of them."He's been in a foul mood all day, though.Hopefully you'll be the one to set him to rights."
"We'll see," Oresti said, stifling a sigh as Greivs set to work tending his hair.Growing up he'd kept it long as fashion dictated, but after joining the city police force, he'd cut it short.One instance of a rowdy criminal grabbing and yanking had been enough.It was still a little long, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to shave it close.
These days he was an investigator anyway, so much less with the hands on.
