Page 95 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“I thought so. Our farmhouse would be crowded and noisy as I called everyone in for dinner. The kitchen would be hot and stuffy, and I’d be sweating as I dished up the food and ordered my seven brothers and sisters to wash their hands. I’d begin serving up the meal—bowl after bowl—so many bowls. Simple fare, soup or mush with hunks of bread. Maybe some potatoes, and on good days, a small portion of chicken, venison, or rabbit for everyone. My mother would come from her sewing room, or from the laundry at the back of the house. She would take her portion and then leave to find a quiet spot to eat alone. My father would come in from the fields or pastures, take his bottle and his bowl, and fall into his chair by the fire.”
I run the silky bits of Caer’s hair through my fingers, loving the clean, glossy feel of it. “I’d sit with the children at the table and oversee the meal. Afterward there would be pots to scour, chores to finish, faces to scrub, teeth to clean. I’d be making sure everyone went to the outhouse before bed and that the bedpans in the rooms were empty and ready for nighttime use. Fights would break out between the children, and I would have to quiet them quickly, because Pap would be stone-drunk by then and noise makes him angry. The little ones would all have to be wrangled into bed time and time again, because heaven forbid they stay put and do as they’re told.” I laugh softly. “There would be a thousand small tasks to finish before I could crawl into my own bed. And even then, I usually had one or two little interlopers who simply couldn’t sleep without being right next to me.”
My eyes are stinging, and I blink them quickly, trying to clear the tearful mist creeping over my vision. “Of course this was before I took my position as a maid to Master Drosselmeyer. Since then, our neighbor girl, Dorothy, stays to help with the dinner before heading home.”
My hands have stilled in Caer’s wavy locks. He reaches up, circling my wrist with his slim fingers, grazing his thumb over my pulse point. “The life you speak of sounds wearisome at best and soul-killing at worst,” he says. “Yet in your voice there is so much love for these children… so many children.”
“I do love them,” I whisper. “Wanting a different life for myself doesn’t mean I don’t care, or that I don’t miss them.”
Caer tilts his head back farther to look at me. “I wish someone in my life loved me half as much.”
The tugging begins in my heart again, strong and sweet—like a tether of honey and cornsilk, like a vine flowering between us.
“Your life isn’t over yet.” I stroke his forehead. “You may still find that someone. And Riordan cares about you deeply.”
“I annoy him.”
“You do. But I think he does love you, in his own way.”
“But he won’t dothiswith me,” Caer says, waving his hand generally at us and our surroundings. “He’ll play games, but he won’t…”
“Snuggle?”
“Yes.” He sighs, relaxing. “This is perfect.” But the next instant he frowns, bristling a little. He pulls away, sitting up. “He’s right,” he mutters. “Iamsoft and weak.”
“Who told you that?”
“A self-absorbed asshole with pink hair.” He shakes himself and gets up. “I should go prepare for Court. I need to entice that Seelie painter to come back here with me so Riordan can question her.”
“So you’ll both be whoring yourselves out tonight?” I wrinkle my nose after I say it—it sounds more judgmental than I wanted it to.
“Are you jealous?” Caer cocks an eyebrow.
“No.” But I can’t look at him when I say it, and he laughs, delighted.
“Youarejealous! I love it.” He comes back and ducks in, his mouth approaching mine—and then he hesitates. “I don’t want the Seelie girl to smell you on me,” he says apologetically. “She needs to think I’m unattached.”
“Aren’t you?” I lift my eyebrows. “Unattached?”
He touches my nose lightly with one finger, his lashes drooping seductively over his eyes. “Let’s just say, I would gladly put your collar around my own neck again and let you lead me around.”
My stomach thrills at the words, the image. And another part of my body thrills at the sight of his bare back, perfect ass, and saucy tail as he saunters out of the room.
I tuck my legs underneath me, pick up the bowl of porridge, and settle in. Might as well enjoy being alone in this magical luxury, with this delicious food.
I could try to escape again. Caer left me unattended, unbound—I could find the front door and leave the house. They might have been lying to me about what’s outside—perhaps I could get away for good.
But Riordan promised he wouldn’t lie to me again. And what they’ve told me seems to fit with their actions, their choices. I can’t help believing them. Which means the safest place for me is right here, with my captors.
Heels click against the wooden floorboards, and Riordan appears in the doorway of the parlor. He stands there, staring at me. I can only imagine how I must look to him, snuggled in a fluffy pink dressing gown, with my feet tucked up and my cheeks rosy with warmth, a bowl of porridge propped on my knees and my mouth full of the latest bite. He must see me as a soft, silly human, weak and foolishly trusting.
As for him—he’s especially stunning tonight, dressed in his revealing court attire. His beauty snatches my breath; I almost choke on my mouthful of porridge.
But I manage to swallow. “Did you… oil yourself?”
“The Queen’s favor toward me has been lessening. I need to look my best.”
“I hate that you have to do this.”
