"Are you sure you've already eaten?" Lucy asked halfway through her meal.
Florence tore her eyes off the roast and potatoes. "Yes, I told you. I already ate."
Lucy just shrugged and smiled as she chewed. "It's quite tasty. Don't you agree?"
She couldn't because she didn't know what it tasted like, but she could tell it was as good as it looked. "Yes."
"And you say the king cooked this?"
She nodded and walked to the washbasin. "He did everything. It was actually impressive."
"It's quite amazing."
Florence washed her face vigorously.
"You'll rub your face off if you keep doing that."
"Well, it's itchy."
Lucy chuckled. "You always complain about the same thing, but you keep painting your face at every chance."
The towel muffled her reply. "I like feeling beautiful." She frowned when she saw Lucy looking at her mildly. "What is it now?"
Her cousin shifted in her seat to face her. "Flo, there's a chance they'll find us here."
Throwing the towel to the side, she sat on the bed. "I know."
"And if that's the case, he'll be here in no time."
Florence knew they were having a serious talk now. More than the lie she told Emory, or the crazy and impetuous things they did in London. They never discussed the subject, perhaps because Lucy knew she wasn't ready. But her cousin was her best friend for a reason. She was more level-headed than Florence was and would always pull her down from the clouds. Maybe being locked in this room for a day gave Lucy more time to mull over things Florence ignored.
"Flo, if he finds you here, you know he won't let you escape again."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "I know."
"So why should we stay?" Lucy asked. "Why don't we leave before that happens?"
"Because I can't!" She opened her eyes and looked at Lucy. "I can't let what happened in London repeat itself."
"Flo, nothing's going to happen to me. I survived, didn't I?" Lucy asked, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands. "If King Emory wanted to honor the betrothal, he would have already done so. He doesn't want to. That's clearly the reason he lied to you about who he is. Let's just leave. I'm sure there's somewhere we can go."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "We have nothing else, Lucy. What we have left cannot take us far."
"We have another cousin in—"
She shook her head. "I cannot bring any more trouble to others." She squeezed her cousin's hands. "I'll take care of this. The king will have to marry me."
Lucy looked at her for a long time before letting out a sigh. "I still don't see how you can make him do something he doesn't want to."
"I have to make him fall in love with me first."
Lucy stood and turned away. "Oh, Lord, have mercy. You don't even believe in love. And do you think a man like the king knows love?"
Florence grinned and chuckled as Lucy returned to her food with an incredulous look on her face. She squared her shoulders and confidently said, "No, but I know he believes in honor." She stood to change her dress. "And he's a man. I'm quite certain he knows lust."
Lucy choked. "What in the devil has gotten into you?"
"Desperation, cousin." She let out a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror. "I know I'm not the prettiest there is, but I have beautiful eyes. They say they're the window to one's soul."
She saw Lucy nod through the mirror.
"My body is not to be desired..." She didn't finish her statement as her face flushed.
"But?" Lucy urged.
"I have a womb." Lucy snorted. "And it can shelter the kingdom's heir, and therefore its future."
Lucy shook her head in awe. "How your mind works constantly amazes me, Flo."
"And that's another wonderful trait, yes?"
"If he likes eccentric things, then you should be perfect."
"Well, I have a feeling he does."
***
Emory took the master chamber on the opposite wing of the manor. Marius insisted, saying he should be safe from whatever infection the Grand Princess was suffering from. Henry took the next room. One guard roamed around the estate. The manor was quiet.
However, he couldn't sleep, thinking about the problem he left in Coulway. He should be glad he had men and women taking care of his safety, but he couldn't shake off the nagging thought that he should be there. He knew the Clover was capable, but he had trouble trusting anyone nowadays. One mistake and the kingdom could crumble.
His train of thoughts halted at the sound of creaking floorboards. The manor wasn't large enough to dampen the sound of the one broken step in the stairs. He got up and poked his head out the door.
"Just Lady Lucy, Sir," Marius, posted outside his door, answered before he could ask.
"What is she doing at this hour?"
"I didn't ask, Sir."
He shrugged into a coat and walked out, holding up a hand to stop Marius. "You stay."
"But, Sir—"
"You know my rules in Birchfield, Marius," he said.
His guard pursed his lips and stiffly nodded. "Very well, Sir."
Climbing down the stairs, he skipped the broken step and looked for Lucy. He didn't have to search long. The ruckus she created in the kitchen led him to the right place.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She yelped in surprise, eyes wide in fright. But the moment she recognized him, she relaxed. "Oh, it's you. Did I wake you, my lord?"
Ignoring her question, he frowned at the pot and the vegetables. "I thought you said you're not hungry?"
"I wasn't. Now I am," she said, turning around to cut potatoes.
"Shouldn't you wash them first?"
"I already did."
He walked closer. "Did you brush them?" When she just stared, he let out a sigh. "Let me."
"No, I can—"
He gave her a look, and she paused, letting him grab everything from the table to the washbasin.
"Your coat..." Her hand pulled his sleeves high. That gave him pause. No one touched the king without permission. She grinned at him as she stepped back. "Are you married, my lord?"
He blinked. "No." She looked better oddly now that she washed off the powder. He looked away to scrub the potatoes. "Why do you ask?"
"You know your way around the kitchen. You either learned from your mother or your wife." She studied his task with interest. "But you don't seem to be a man with a mother who cooks either, which leaves the latter option."
He didn't reply right away. He rinsed the vegetables and placed them all in a bowl. "I learned on my own."
"Why?"
He couldn't tell her he spent a large amount of time holed up in this manor, so he simply chose to ignore the question. "Boil some water."
"I can do it from here," she said, pouring water into the pot.
"That's too much." When she frowned at the pot, he clucked his tongue and snatched it, pouring half of the content back into the bucket. "You clearly don't know how to cook."
"No, I don't, but I think it is mainly because no one bothered to teach me. Instead, I'm pushed to the side because they think I can't do it. Or because they can do it better."
He paused and looked at her. She fashioned an innocent smile, but the one arched brow said it all. "Fine." He placed the pot down. "Wait until the water boils before you add these."
She jumped and took the pot to the fire. "All of them at once?"
He wiped his hands dry. "No. The longest to cook comes first."
"The potatoes then?"
When she blinked at him with innocent curiosity, he nodded and looked away.
***
As she waited, an awkward silence followed. Why wasn't he leaving? Did he think she'd set the kitchen on fire? That almost happened a month ago, but she was careful now. She had a pail of water behind the door in case of another incident, and another of dirt for good measure.
She didn't mean to, but the question just slipped out of her tongue. "Are you hungry?"
"No."
Then why are you still here?
"Then..." She cleared her throat and shifted on one foot. "Do you need anything?"
He shook his head. "I'd like to ask a few things," he said.
"Are these questions from you or the king?"
His jaw twitched. "The king."
"And are these questions for me or the Grand Princess?"
The way his eyes scrutinized her could make anyone cower, but she had met men like him before. In fact, she was surrounded by them since she could remember. Nothing could make a Gavarian princess shiver at the sight of a man, whatever his demeanor may be, because they were reared to tolerate them.
"You."
She smiled. "Very well. What do you want to know, my lord?"
"How long have you known the princess?"
"We were born the same year. We grew up together."
He slowly nodded. "And how is she your cousin?"
"I'm the daughter of the emperor's younger sister."
"And the Grand Princess is his eldest daughter with his first concubine."
She shouldn't be surprised he knew. Every detail was on the papers. "Yes."
"And she has other siblings?"
"From the emperor's other wives, yes. Why do you ask about my relationship with the princess?"
"The king knows everything about the Gavarian family, but he doesn't know everyone."
"I'm just a tiny dot on the family tree. Not even a leaf." She let out a dry, awkward laugh. "It is a rather large family, you see. The wives alone create a forest."
The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes remained deadly serious. "I know."
"Do you have more questions?"
"The water's ready."
She jumped and grabbed the potatoes, dumping them into the pot too hastily. She cried out when some hot water splattered on her hand. Again, he clucked his tongue and caught her wrist. Before she knew it, he dumped her entire hand into the bucket of cold water. "Are you always this careless?"
"Yes. Servants always have to tail me around the palace because—" She stopped, realizing the slip. "I mean, whenever we're in the palace. Or even at our home, which isn't a palace, of course. But..." The rest of her words drifted as he let go of her hand and returned to the pot to drop the rest of the potatoes.
"Is there anything you can't eat?" he asked as he walked to the wall of herbs.
"Thyme. I hate it." He plucked three herbs, skipping the thyme, and stopped when she added, "And garlic." He let go of the garlic and returned to the pot.
"We still have some roasts left. Are you fine if I drop some in here?"
"Y-Yes."
He disappeared from the kitchen and returned with a cloth-covered plate of roast. She could finish that thing now if he offered, to be honest.
"You're too kind," she said as he cut the roast into smaller pieces.
Instead of an answer, he asked, "Does the princess have any reservations about the betrothal?"
"None," she hastily replied. "She's quite excited."
He didn't move for a moment, just stood there in front of the pot. When he turned around again, his face was unreadable. "How is she faring?"
"Getting better."
"Then I can meet her?"
"Maybe in a day or two. She may still be infectious."
"But you stay in the same room as her."
Blazes. "Well, yes. In case she needs me."
"And you haven't gotten sick." Before she could reply, he added, "Tell the Grand Princess I'll meet her tomorrow." As she opened her mouth to object, he walked away. "The stew should be ready as soon as it thickens."
And without much of a goodbye, he was gone.
***
Lucy sighed and rolled on the bed. "I'll just meet the man. See what he wants. I won't talk much," she said as Florence paced the room, biting her nail.
Florence stopped, ran her fingers through her short hair, and tugged. "I shouldn't have lied to him. How do we tell him the truth?"
Lucy didn't say anything, which made it even worse.
"I'll just tell him I wasn't sure who he was. That I was just being cautious."
"That's actually a good reason."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes. I think it's the best idea you've come up with in recent months."
She slowly nodded. "Very well." Her hands rested on her hips and her eyes glared at the floor. "With that reason, we can extend the lie."
The pillow muffled Lucy's groan.
"I just don't see why we have to tell him the truth while he's still pretending to be someone else."
"That's his problem, not ours!" Lucy hissed.
"He should tell me the truth first."
"Can we go back to your previous train of thought? It sounded sane."
"And he has to like me first—" She frowned at the sound of someone shouting downstairs. She rushed to the window and looked down to find the milk boy with a horrified look on his face.
"What is it, Johnny?"
The nine-year-old boy looked up and pointed with his finger. "My lady! Henrietta!"
"What about Henrietta?"
"S-She—" The young man pointed again. "She's dead!"
"What do you mean?"
"Murder!" the boy cried out.
"What in the bloody hell are you talking about, boy?" Henry's voice asked from out of sight.
Florence dashed out of the room and breathlessly arrived in the courtyard, skidding to a stop before she bumped into Johnny. Two of Emory's guards also rushed in to see the problem.
"It was him! I saw him!" The boy pointed at Emory, who just walked out from the back carrying a bloody knife. "He killed her!" This time, his finger pointed at Henry.
Her frantic eyes jumped from Emory to Henry, who stood in bewilderment, holding a hen by its feet.
Florence gasped in horror as she stared at the limp and dead form of the one chicken absolved from execution—her darling Henrietta.